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vibelladonna · 2 months ago

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❛ 𝑔𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝓍 𝑔𝓃!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Half a brutal week of finals, your idea of short recovery is simple: horror games, dim lights, and your boyfriend Sol breathing in your ear through voice chat like he isn’t actively trying to ruin your focus. It was supposed to be just another cursed indie night — you, the monster, and a few well-aimed insults...

...until Sol’s reactions hijack the match entirely. One death screen, one whispered apology, and one desperate Discord call later, and suddenly you’re the one getting hunted — not by pixelated nightmares, but by your very real, very flushed, very wrecked boyfriend begging for your attention like his life depends on it. Turns out, surviving finals was the easy part.

…Surviving him? Yeah, good luck with that.

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: soooo, on April 7th, while I was supposed to be studying for my psych and chem midterms, I stumbled across some [ art ] by @bonw0n — and yeah, I was this close to dropping everything to write this immediately. I behaved… mostly. Might’ve snuck a few "study breaks" to get some of it out. I’ve seen others write for this request too, so here’s my take — hope you love it, dearest.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions.

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: sol x gn! reader, smut, masturbation, voyeurism, mutual pining, voice kink, begging, desperate sol, one-sided voice chat (at first), tension so thick you could choke on it, accidentally turning him on, slight corruption kink if you squint, dirty thoughts two idiots falling harder than they realize, and sol is down bad and it’s so funny.

April is hell for college students. fucking tell me about...

Anyone who says otherwise has either dropped out, is lying, or majors in something unserious like something dumb—underwater basket weaving.

It’s exam season—a month-long bloodbath where coffee becomes a food group, sleep is theoretical, and your notes look like they were written by a madman mid-breakdown. You’ve been living in libraries, buried in color-coded flashcards and PDF textbooks you don’t even remember downloading. Your backpack weighs more than your will to live, and your playlist? Just sad lo-fi beats and the occasional mental breakdown.

But you did it.

You clawed your way through a few of your finals already, each one more cursed than the last. You turned in essays with hands that felt like claws, circled scantron bubbles like your life depended on it. And when the last “Submit” button was pressed today—you didn’t cry.

You almost did. But instead, you stared at your ceiling for twenty minutes contemplating existence… then decided to not kill yourself with another night of studying.

Tonight? You earned a break. And your poison of choice?

Well, overall, after exams, most people do one of three things:

Talk about the exam like it was a shared war trauma.

Vanish the second time’s up—those lucky bastards just evaporate into thin air.

Crash into bed, possibly start crying because of overthinking. Bonus points if you start crashing out.

Then there’s the rest—out at some crusty frat party, doing keg stands like their brain cells aren’t already on life support. Or sparking up until they’re spiritually ascending, eyes redder than the F they just got in psych stats. But not you.

Oh no, you? You’ve got taste. Elegance.

Horror Video Games.

And not the cute, fluffy kind either. You’re not out here playing some "build your dream town" simulator, collecting adorable animals with quirky little personalities who talk about their feelings. Nope, not you. You're not clicking through endless dialogue trees in a visual novel where every decision leads to either a hug or a heartbroken confession—though, let's be real, you’ve totally dipped your toes in those a couple of times. It's fine. No one's judging.

But nope, you're deep in the muck of horror. The darker, the better.

The more twisted, morally questionable, and "I probably shouldn't be playing this at 2 AM" the story is? That's the kind of game you're downloading like it’s got a bill overdue. You don’t need to sip on some overpriced vodka. You don’t need to hit the vape and pretend you’re too cool for life.

What you need is pure, unfiltered psychological trauma in 1080p.

Forget a chill evening—you want to feel like your mind might short-circuit at any second. You need the cozy glow of your LED lights bleeding across a desk littered with energy drinks and half-functioning headphones. You need your haunted little playlist of indie nightmares and "this game is banned in 12 countries" storylines.

This is your version of therapy. Replacing exam stress with the emotional damage of a pixelated ghost child whispering from behind a locked door.

There’s just something magical about sinking into your chair like a sentient blanket burrito, headset on, game booted up, and letting the real world dissolve into static.

Just you, the dark, and whatever fresh hell is waiting around the next virtual corner to emotionally ruin you. Again.

That was all you could think about during your god-awful fifty-minute-long lectures—well, that and how your professor’s voice sounded like someone chewing chalk while reading a textbook aloud. Especially on your longer days, where it felt like your brain was actively trying to escape through your ears or your eyes get heavy—despite sitting right up front of the class you deadass fall asleep in the middle of lecture…

Still, you powered through. Took notes. Faked interest. Dodged a group project like it owed you money. You even hit the library for a hot minute, pretended to be productive, and then finally dragged yourself back to your dorm like a half-dead NPC on a quest for salvation.

First stop? Food.

You threw something questionable-but-edible into the microwave leftover take out you ordered yesterday and stared at it like it held all the answers to your suffering. Greasy, hot, probably taking a year off your life, but comforting in a ‘screw it, I survived today’ kind of way.

Then came homework. Ugh.

You sat down, cracked open your laptop, and forced yourself to speed-run your assignments like you were defusing a bomb. Brain on autopilot. Tabs everywhere. Safari sounded like it was about to take off with your laptop. But you got it done—somehow. Whether your answers make sense? Always, make sure to check everything before you turn in, timestamp and all.

Then finally—finally—you hit the shower.

The hot water came down like it had a personal vendetta, absolutely obliterating your stress, your regrets, and possibly your skin barrier. You just stood there, letting it scald you like a rotisserie chicken, steam turning your bathroom into a sad little sauna with zero luxury but maximum existential crisis.

You hummed. You danced. You nearly slipped. You played that one song—the one you’ve been listening to on loop for days like it’s the soundtrack to your life’s fake documentary. You know, the one that starts off giving you chills and ends up giving you a migraine once your brain decides it’s time to ruin it. Classic move.

Then you stood there longer than you needed to, contemplating your next victim in the horror game queue. Real priorities.

Afterward showering, you did your usual post shower routine then you pulled on your favorite set—something soft and chill but definitely showing more skin than necessary. But who were you trying to impress? No one. You just liked how your blanket felt better that way. Priorities.

Besides, the whole point was to feel the warmth of your blanket better. You wrapped yourself in it, a cozy cocoon, and sank into your gamer chair, legs tucked beneath you, heart already settling into that familiar rhythm.

Your desk was a beautiful kind of chaos—lived-in, deliberate, curated for comfort and carnage. At the center of it all stood your mid-sized monitor, propped on a stack of mismatched textbooks like some sacred relic. It bathed the room in soft, moody colors, its screen already alive with the eerie flicker of the horror game’s menu.

Game boxes were stacked like grim little trophies on your shelves, each one a memory of a night spent half-screaming and half-laughing, usually with Sol on the other end.

Twisted monster figurines stared blankly from their perches, arranged meticulously from “mildly unsettling” to “this one gave me a complex.” And the posters? Cult-classic psychological thrillers and cursed films—tattered at the edges, warped slightly by years of devotion. They stared back at you from the walls, their looming silhouettes shifting every time the screen flashed with static or movement.

Your gamer chair was a throne, worn-in just right—soft, broken in by years of sleepless nights and stress-fueled gaming binges. Draped across it was your oversized blanket, the one that swallowed you whole and made you feel like a cryptid rising from a cocoon. There was something sacred about that chair. It knew things. It had been with you through exam week breakdowns, existential dread marathons, and now, it was your command post.

Your controller was resting on the desk beside you, waiting.

The game was already launched, the lobby open, and your headset nestled comfortably over your ears. The built-in proximity voice chat was activated—just you and Sol in your own little bubble. The room was quiet but not silent. The faint buzz of the monitor, the gentle hum of your fan, the occasional creak of your chair when you shifted—it all became part of the ambiance.

And right on cue… Sol was already online.

His username—pumpkinlover00—pulsed softly in the game lobby like a heartbeat. Waiting. Always waiting. Same time, every night. Like a ritual. Like a promise.

There was no need for a message. No awkward small talk. No fumbling attempts at icebreakers. You two had long since passed that stage. This was muscle memory now—deadass unspoken rhythm built on laggy screams, ill-timed reloading, and the electric hum of shared adrenaline.

You reached for the controller, the soft click of your grip syncing perfectly with the moment his voice crackled through the in-game chat.

“Yo,” Sol murmured, his tone rough and low like he hadn’t spoken all day—maybe he hadn’t.

You grinned, stretching out in your throne of a chair and tugging the blanket tighter around you. “Yo yourself,” you said, thumbing through the loadout menu lazily. “By the way… when were you gonna tell me your gamertag was pumpkinlover00?”

There was a few seconds of silence.

Then, a sigh. The kind that screamed regret.

“It was a dare,” Sol said, as if that explained anything.

You snorted, already grinning as you adjusted in your seat, “Yeah, okay. But pumpkinlover00, though? Be honest. Did you also bake it a pie and whisper sweet nothings to your jack-o-lantern?”

“You keep talking and I will leave you mid-extraction,” he warned, dry as dust.

“Do it. I’ll tell everyone in the dorm that you made a shrine out of pumpkin guts and played Linkin Park while crying.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t just tell them,” you said, spinning your controller in hand with flair. “I’d make PowerPoint slides. Full color. Transitions. Soundtrack.”

He groaned, however you heard the little snort of laughter he tried to bury. Then his eyes landed on your own in-game tag floating proudly above your character’s head: DumpsterSnacc_.

“…You named yourself after trash food,” he muttered.

“Excuse me? I named myself after a rare and powerful snack born in the fires of poor life decisions and gas station cuisine. I am the forbidden flavor.”

“Sounds like you were found in the dumpster.”

“Bold talk from a guy whose username sounds like a seasonal candle from fucking grocery store.”

He laughed at that—low, sudden, genuine. “Alright, alright. Let’s see which one of us gets ghost-murdered first.”

The game flickered to life with its usual guttural startup scream, the kind that sounded like it had regrets and 3 unpaid debts. Your mission scrolled across the screen in grim text, paired with a deep voiceover that could narrate your funeral.

You selected your loadout: flashlight, flares and, of course, your unshakable sense of superiority.

“Alright, Pumpkin Spice,” you said, cracking your knuckles. “Ready to yank some haunted toaster ovens outta Satan’s basement?”

Sol chuckled. “Lead the way, Snaccrifice.”

The screen cut to black. And the horror began. Eveything loaded in with an unholy screech—part static, part radio distortion, part something that sounded like it came from a throat that shouldn’t exist.

You and Sol had just booted up the latest co-op indie horror hit: R.E.P.O. session. A physics-heavy, proximity-voice nightmare where you and a friend sneak into abandoned, rotting buildings to repossess cursed artifacts... all while being stalked by something that learns how you play.

Smart. Fast. Shapeshifting. The kind of monster that knew your patterns better than your therapist. Naturally, you both took it dead seriously. It was so serious, in fact, that your characters were dressed like absolute clowns. Literally.

You had picked grey skin with the bright neon outfit, oversized heart sunglasses, and an inflatable donut ring as a belt. Sol, not to be outdone, went full chaos: Green skin, a banana suit, and ski goggles, paired with bright orange gloves. His character model moved like a confused mall Santa.

“I swear to god,” he muttered through the proximity voice chat, distorted by digital reverb, “if we die looking like this, I’m logging off forever.”

“No you’re not. You're emotionally attached now,” you replied, confidently stomping your ridiculous pink boots toward the first hallway.

You’d already picked your roles.

You were the lead retriever—the brave idiot who runs in, grabs the cursed junk, and throws it back like it’s Black Friday at a pawn shop.

Sol? He was the cart dude—your ever-loyal partner who stayed behind just far enough to avoid immediate death, but close enough to catch whatever hell you flung his way.

He pushed the in-game collection cart behind you with janky, glitchy physics, the wheels squeaking like it was haunted by a grocery store demon. You turned around dramatically, forcing your character model to do a sudden 180.

Because the game used proximity-based voice chat, this also forced your character and Sol’s to make deep, intense eye contact. Eye contact that was only made worse by the exaggerated googly eyes stuck to your sunglasses. “Alright,” you said in your Serious Voice™, stepping forward with authority. “Game plan.”

Sol’s character nodded, “Hit me.”

“We’re hitting the west wing first. Storage room. There's an artifact in there worth at least $1800 in-game bucks. Probably cursed. Probably breathing. I’ll go in, grab it, scream if I die. You stand back, push the cart, and if something runs at you, throw it my way and run.”

There was a pause.

“That’s… that’s your plan?” he asked.

“It’s a working plan.”

“It’s a dumbass plan.”

“It’s our dumbass plan.”

You both stared in silence again, your avatars breathing heavily, noses almost touching on screen. Sol finally sighed. “I hate that I trust you.”

“I hate that I’m the brains of this operation.” You smirked, turned on your flashlight, and marched forward.

The darkness swallowed you both whole.

Behind you, the sound of a cart creaking along… and the soft jingle of a banana suit bouncing into the unknown.

You were just finishing loading a creepy little porcelain baby head into the cart—its painted eyes were scratched out and it laughed when you dropped it, so that was great—when the game's staticy radio pinged.

Incoming call.

Username: Hyugo_WasHere

You froze. So did Sol.

“No,” Sol said immediately, full volume, the word sharp enough to slice the tension. “Do not answer that.” Too late. You were already clicking accept.

The call connected with a loud, cheerful “Yooo! Pumpkin Boy! You in that haunted IKEA game?”

You grinned. “Hyugo, you tryna R.E.P.O some haunted junk with us?”

“Am I?” he said. “Am I ever. I’ve been watching Sol’s stream on Discord on mute for like ten minutes. Sol’s scream when the mannequin fell was a chef’s kiss.”

“It fell from the ceiling,” Sol hissed. “And it grabbed my shoulder. You would’ve screamed too.”

“I would’ve shot it,” Hyugo replied flatly.

Sol groaned, already defeated. “I swear to god, if he logs in—��

“He’s already at the party,” you said casually, watching the character list update.

A second later, a new player spawned in the safe zone, cyan color. And dressed like a goddamn menace. Hyugo’s avatar was in tight metallic leggings, a sparkly vest, and a jester hat with bells that jingled with every movement. His character moved with the swagger of someone who wanted to be shot first.

“Why are you like this?” Sol muttered.

“Stealth is a suggestion,” Hyugo declared, spinning in place.

“You’re going to get us murdered,” Sol added.

But you? You were already laughing. “Let’s go, Yessss, let’s go team. The ghost’s not ready.”

As the mission progressed, the building changed. Literally.

The layout shifted the deeper you went, doors that led to supply closets now opening into winding hallways, entire wings that didn’t exist in the beginning of the match suddenly sprouting up like tumors. The wallpaper pulsed. The ceilings dripped. Somewhere in the distance, something screamed like it had teeth where lungs should be.

You, Sol, and Hyugo pushed on. Slowly, methodically.

You led the charge, grabbing cursed relics and slapping them into the cart with casual violence. Sol stuck close, flashlight flickering, cart wheels creaking, muttering price estimates like a haunted appraiser.

Hyugo, despite all odds, actually helped. He wandered ahead with a scanner, pinging valuable loot and joking in proximity chat about how your footsteps sounded like wet noodles. “$1200 mirror up here,” Hyugo called once, voice crackling. “Probably possessed. Can I make it kiss itself?”

“No,” you and Sol said at the same time.

Still, you were doing fine.

The cart was getting full. The radio said Extraction Ready in 3 Items. You were winning. So, you split up briefly—Sol stayed behind with the cart while you moved into a shadowy side room to grab what looked like a golden antique camera. It was twitching in your hand as you placed it in the cart with a clang.

That’s when Sol ran in. Not walked. Not jogged.

He sprinted in like something was directly behind him, eyes wide, headset audio crackling with his panicked breath. “Gun.”

You looked up. “What?”

“Gun!” he barked again.

“Dude, what—?”

“GUN!!” He was just repeating it now, flailing his arms like his in-game model was having a seizure. “BIG—GUN—HE HAS A GUN—”

“Who has a gun?!”

“THE BLIND GUY!!” Sol whisper-shouted. “HE ALMOST SHOT ME!”

You blinked, slowly crouching. “You mean the monster has a gun? Like an actual gun?”

“Yes! A fucking shotgun. Like He’s blind, but he’s got aimbot—he hears you, and just—” Sol mimed a gun recoil. “Pop. Dead. No warning. No build-up. Just excellent ass hearing and bullets.”

You snorted. “So what I’m hearing is: don’t make noise.”

Because the Blind Huntsman was coming.

The cart was half full, sitting between the overturned desks and office rubble. You had all scrambled to hide, moving fast as the soft, dragging footsteps of the Huntsman echoed from the hallway—his boots heavy, and his breath sharp, unfiltered, like someone breathing through shredded cloth.

You dove under a busted-ass metal table in the middle of the room, the thing barely standing on three legs and draped with old-ass hanging wires and paper folders that probably hadn’t been touched since the building caught its first haunting. The light was dim, pulsing like a dying heartbeat from some emergency light in the hall. Dust settled thick on the floor, the smell of old rot and burning metal clinging to the air.

Across from you, Hyugo’s stupid cyan avatar ducked under another table, practically hugging the wall like some horror-movie goblin. He looked so ridiculous in that clown-ass outfit y’all let him pick, and the way he moved just made it worse—jerky, crouched, twitchy, like someone who was definitely going to get caught first.

And then there was Sol. Goddamn Sol. Man had one job—hide. But instead of tucking under a desk like a normal person, he panicked and wedged himself behind the door. Behind. The. Door. Like the Huntsman wasn't gonna swing it open and yeet him into next week.

Earlier, before shit hit the fan, he had said all calm like, “I’m gonna scope the hallway next. The cart’s almost full. Let me just—wait, hold on—” His mic clicked. That dreaded click.

You knew something was wrong. So did Hyugo.

Both of your avatars shifted ever so slightly—tense, alert.

Then Sol said it. “I’m getting a call.”

You silently screamed. Huygo’s shoulders went up like “no way this idiot’s serious.”

You hissed, “Sol, no—”

But he said it. Out loud. “Hello?”

The door didn’t creak open. It detonated—BOOM.

The sound rattled your headset so hard your mic peaked. Splinters flew, chunks of drywall exploded like confetti, and dust swallowed the whole room. The screen shook like a natural disaster, and you actually jumped IRL, heart hammering. Sol’s body got flung back like a ragdoll—slammed straight into a metal filing cabinet, bounced, and crumpled like a puppet with cut strings. It was the worst-looking hit you’d ever seen in-game. Just flopped there, half-folded behind some drawers.

And yet… somehow… the bastard lived.

He slowly sat up, stunned as hell. Twitchy, like he had just experienced every lifetime trauma at once. His mic crackled in all staticky, and he muttered: “…what the fuck.”

You were dying. Not in-game. In reality. Trying so hard not to lose it. Your whole body was trembling from how bad you wanted to laugh. You slapped both hands over your mouth and held them there like a makeshift muzzle, eyes wide, shoulders shaking.

You peeked out at Sol’s avatar.

He was looking dead at you.

And you felt it. The shame. The betrayal. The comedy. Whoever coded that eye tracking in this cursed game deserved an Oscar. Sol just sat there, traumatized, and stared at you like “you saw that, didn’t you?” And yeah. Yeah, you did. And it was the funniest shit you’d seen all week. Then Hyugo’s dumbass peeked out too.

Hyugo peeked out from his hiding spot—real slow, real cautious—and locked eyes with Sol first. Sol’s avatar, still slumped against the cabinet like a traumatized Victorian ghost, stared back. No words. Just… the kind of look that said "Don't you dare."

Then Hyugo turned and looked at you. Your own avatar, tucked safely under the rust-ridden desk, met his gaze with the same energy. A silent pact. Do not make a sound. Not a breath. Not a giggle. Not even a pixel twitch.

And Hyugo? He was trying, man. He really was.

You could see it—his character model shook slightly, his shoulders giving that telltale twitch. Like he was holding in a sneeze. You knew the warning signs. The snort was coming. And then—“Pfft.”

CRACK.

The Blind Huntsman didn’t even hesitate. Didn’t pause. That cursed bastard snapped around the second he heard the slip. One single shot. Pinpoint. Surgical. Hyugo’s head went supernova. Cyan body parts everywhere. His avatar’s body slammed into the edge of the metal table with this sickening clunk, arms flailing once before collapsing in a stiff, horrifying ragdoll motion. His limbs twitched for half a second… then silence.

Just the head left. Rolling.

Like the Huntsman said, “shut the hell up” with extreme prejudice.

Dead. Instant. No revive. No second chances.

The man got deleted like he owed the server money.

You were fully biting down on the sleeve of your hoodie now, hands over your face, trying not to scream with laughter. Shoulders shaking, breath hiccupping through your nose like a possessed hamster. Your eyes were stinging from how hard you were crying—silent tears of pure, uncut chaos.

Sol’s mic crackled again, dry as hell. No emotion. Just raw judgment. “…I hope you get haunted, bro. I really do.”

You couldn’t even answer. You were beyond words. The cart you were supposed to be pushing? Yeah. You just stared at it. Like maybe if you focused hard enough, you could will the mission to complete itself.

And the Huntsman? Still there.

Pacing slow. Heavy boots echoing through the static haze. He hadn’t forgotten. Not about Sol. Not about you. He was still walking. Still waiting for someone to slip up. And you could feel it—He was pissed.

You and Sol managed to slip out while the Huntsman circled the wreckage, still checking corners like a paranoid ex. You bolted left, Sol darted right—no words, just instinct and pure panic-fueled coordination. Both of you were half limping, half sliding into the hallway, ducking behind the rusted lockers and broken shelving until the Huntsman's heavy steps grew distant.

There was a long, quiet beat once you were safe.

Then—“…Did we just leave Hyugo’s decapitated ass in there?”

You stared at Sol. He stared back. Then you both turned to look at the cart you’d spent ten minutes loading, still sitting abandoned in the middle of the room next to Hyugo’s... head.

“Motherf—”

The next ten minutes were pure stealth-game agony. Crawling back, avoiding cameras, sensors, trying not to alert any monster. You had to watch the Huntsman loop its route three times before Sol gave you the go-ahead. He moved to the body. You got the cart.

Teamwork, right?

Eventually, you loaded the final files, got the cart into the hallway, and hit the extraction point with barely a second to spare. The screen faded to black.

Round complete.

The next scene dumped the three of you back into the familiar starting truck. Same cramped space. Same dim, flickering fluorescent light humming overhead like an anxious fly. The air in the truck felt heavier than before, like it still remembered the chaos from the last round.

Sol stood in the corner, arms crossed, glaring at absolutely nothing with the weight of every bad decision Hyugo had ever made. You were perched on one of the benches, legs pulled up, hoodie sleeve still a bit damp from when you nearly choked on your own laughter earlier.

And then there was Hyugo.

His avatar spawned in silently, just standing there for a long second like he was processing his own digital funeral.

Then he exhaled like someone twice his age. “…damn, I got clapped.”

That was all it took.

You started laughing again, that quiet, breathless kind that rocked your shoulders and made your stomach hurt. Hyugo cracked up beside you, doubling over, no shame at all.

“Who the hell answers a phone call in the middle of a mission, bro?” you snorted, elbowing his character like it could knock some sense into him.

Sol didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. Just slowly raised his arm and pointed at Hyugo like he was pressing a mental “report player” button.

“That's what your ass get,” he said flatly. “Prank-calling me mid-hide with your creepy-ass burner number? You deserved that karma in 4K, dumbass.”

Moving on, the next map flickered into existence as the truck doors groaned open. Bright, sterile white lights cut through the foggy interior, revealing a massive abandoned science lab, all clean metal, reinforced glass, and flickering emergency signs that suggested terrible things had happened here. The air was thick with strange green mist hissing from the vents, swirling in ghostly patterns around overturned desks and shattered containment pods.

Hyugo was still sprawled on the floor from his latest brush with death, groaning dramatically. You and Sol stepped over him like he was part of the scenery.

"Science lab, huh?" you muttered, adjusting your gear.

"Great," Sol sighed. "Haunted test tubes. Love that."

Hyugo finally pushed himself up, grinning like he hadn’t just been yeeted toward acid twice in the last five minutes. “Oh, y’all are gonna love this.”

He opened his inventory with a smug flourish, the soft chime echoing like a game show reveal. And there it was:

The Hourglass.

Not just rare—stupid rare. Glowing in vibrant shades of purple and pink, pulsing slightly like it had its heartbeat. The mist around your group even seemed to freeze for a second, as if reality itself was like, wait, what.

You and Sol both just stared. At it. At Hyugo. Then, back at the Hourglass, like you were waiting for a hidden camera reveal.

“You found that?” you asked, taking a cautious step forward.

“Yup,” Hyugo said proudly, hands on his hips. “Just vibing in the vents. Found it near a corpse. Thought it was lore or something.”

Sol blinked like a tired professor dealing with the world’s most dramatic intern. “Hyugo.”

“Yeah?”

Then it happened.

Hyugo’s model jerked slightly, like a status effect triggered, and when his mic crackled back to life, he was no longer speaking like Hyugo. No. Now, he was channeling something deeper. Something ancient. Something theatrical.

He straightened up with cartoonish grandeur and spoke in the slow, wise tone of a final boss monologue. “Sunny,” he began—Sol’s cursed nickname—“I have acquired… the capsule.”

You blinked. “The what?”

“The capsules. Of time. The very essence of fate distilled into radiant fragments. This—” he gestured dramatically to the Hourglass, “—is our salvation. Our burden. Our destiny.”

Sol deadpanned. “…You’ve been holding it for three seconds.”

Hyugo ignored him. Spun on his heel with dramatic flair. “We are going to win this game. For the realm. For the vent corpses that came before us.”

You crossed your arms. “Hyugo—”

“If it means I have to sacrifice my life…” Hyugo continued, raising one hand to the digital ceiling like a knight accepting a divine quest, “so be it. Let my KD be shattered. My dignity obliterated. My outfit scuffed—”

Sol raised his weapon slightly. “Don’t tempt me.”

Hyugo gasped. “You would turn on me now, Sunny? After all we’ve been through? After I carried you through that cursed stairwell map with the glitchy ass doors? Have you no heart?”

You tried not to laugh. Failed.

“Onward, you two!” Hyugo declared suddenly, pointing dramatically at the truck doors as they creaked open to reveal the misty lab ahead. “We must go! For glory! For loot! For Sunny’s tragic lack of skills!”

Sol muttered, “I have skills—”

“SILENCE! The prophecy unfolds!”

And with that, Hyugo bolted forward, cape fluttering—he didn’t have one, but you felt like he did—into the ominous green mist, yelling something incoherent about “ether trails” and “data packets of destiny.”

You glanced at Sol. Sol glanced at you.

“I’m not reviving him when he gets face-checked by a mimic chest,” Sol said, voice flat as asphalt.

You tilted your head, smirking. “You know we’re following him anyway.”

“…Yeah. I hate that,” he muttered, already moving.

Without a second of hesitation, Sol opened his inventory with the resigned grace of someone prepping for a ritual he swore he wouldn’t take part in. One swift flick later, he pulled out the gun—the gun. Sleek, matte black, gold trim. The kind of in-game weapon that costs 7,000 currency, your soul, and your firstborn. Came with a single magazine and a kill count higher than most player stats.

Your eyes widened. “Sol—”

Before you could even finish your sentence—BANG.

Hyugo collapsed like a folding chair. A single headshot. Dead. Instant. No fanfare. His body rag-dolled across the floor and slammed into the lab wall with a sad little clunk, the Hourglass clattering beside him like a dropped Fabergé egg. “…WHAT THE HELL?!” Hyugo’s mic exploded back to life as his model twitched on the floor.

You exhaled. “What the helly?”

Hyugo groaned. “What the helly??”

“What the helleante?” “What the helleon musk?” “What the helleberry pie?”

“What the Hellebron James?” “What the Helly Rae Jepsen?”

“Guys.” Sol’s voice cut in, calm but worn, like a man hanging by a single thread of patience. “Shut the fuck up.”

He walked over, still holding that overkill gun in one hand like it weighed nothing, then, without missing a beat, used the grab function to hoist Hyugo’s limp avatar off the ground. His digital arms dangled, legs flopping like a sack of potatoes in skinny jeans. “Bro—BRO,” Hyugo shrieked, squirming. “Put me down! What are you doing?! SOL—Sol stop—STOP—”

You trailed after them, watching like an exhausted parent witnessing their two chaotic ass sons take very different approaches to conflict resolution.

“Sol. Come on.”

Sol’s avatar stopped just at the edge of the glowing, toxic pit bubbling in the middle of the containment zone. The green light cast eerie shadows across the lab walls. He slowly turned his character model, head cocked toward you.

One word. “Justice.”

“BRO I’LL BUY YOU A SKIN,” Hyugo screamed. “A WHOLE PACK! LIMITED EDITION! I’LL PAY FOR IT WITH MY OWN CURRENCY—”

Sol took a step closer to the pit. Paused.

Hyugo whimpered. “Please don’t Wario-yeet me into acid, I’m useful…”

Another step. The acid hissed below, eager. Hungry.

You raised a hand like a referee about to blow the whistle. “Sol. We do need him to activate the switch in the next room. You remember the puzzle door.”

Sol sighed, heavy and reluctant. “I hate teamwork.”

Hyugo, still dangling: “I LOVE teamwork.”

After a long moment, Sol dropped him. Hyugo screamed like a dying fax machine as his avatar plummeted toward the acid below—arms flailing, mic peaking—until you lunged. Frame-perfect grab. Caught him by the hoodie just before he splashed into the bubbling green abyss. His scream cut off immediately. For a second, the whole game seemed to lag, his body glitching mid-air as you held him up like some divine intervention.

Silence. Then: “—Y-you saved me,” Hyugo breathed.

You dropped him. He hit the floor with a loud thunk.

"Don't thank me," you muttered, brushing off your sleeves. "I just didn't wanna hear that scream again."

Hyugo groaned, rolling onto his side. "You two are bullies."

Sol casually reloaded his gun. “You’re welcome for the content.”

Hyugo sat up, rubbing his digital head like he could still feel the gunshot. “I’m getting a new squad.”

"You say that every round," you smirked, already scanning the lab. Beyond the glowing acid pit, the corridors stretched into eerie, sterile hallways, the green mist rolling between shattered glass panels.

Oh, yeah—and the rest of the game? Oh, it completely fell apart. What started as a semi-coordinated dungeon crawl quickly devolved into Hyugo’s personal chaos playground.

You were trying to play with some semblance of focus. Sol was attempting to maintain professionalism, a beacon of composure in the chaos. And then there was Hyugo, who effortlessly turned the entire game from a tense "sci-fi horror dungeon crawl" to a wild, unhinged improv comedy show—complete with light war crimes.

He was a menace. No—he was the menace. A digital gremlin incarnate. One moment, you’re creeping down a shadowy lab corridor, the eerie hum of the ambient music seeping into your headphones, the air thick with tension. You’re on edge, weapons ready, your mind focused on the mission at hand… and then—BOOM.

Big Sean’s “I Don’t F*ck With You” intro explodes through team chat, its intro blaring like a furious soundboard god had just unleashed chaos upon you. You whip around the corner just in time to see Hyugo, arms flailing, sprinting full speed through a doorway, the music pounding in the background. Behind him? A grotesque, duck-shaped miniboss, honking like a malfunctioning bike horn and spewing acid everywhere.

You couldn’t help it.

You were dying from laughter, struggling to even aim properly, your screen a blur from tears of hilarity.

Sol, on the other hand?

“TURN IT OFF,” he growled, weapon drawn, hands visibly shaking with frustration. His usual calm demeanor? Gone.

Hyugo didn’t even flinch. “I WOULD RATHER DIE!”Instead, he leapt. A full-on swan dive off a second-story catwalk, arms spread wide in dramatic, angelic fashion, while the music still blared through the speakers. His avatar ragdoling gracefully down to the depths below, and that ridiculous duck miniboss followed right after.

You? Hysterical. Barely holding it together.

Sol? “I hope it eats him.”

The only thing more ridiculous than Hyugo's antics was the fact that you all still couldn't stop.

The next round? It was a complete disaster.

You were trying to maintain some semblance of control, moving stealthily through a high-alert containment zone. Alarms blared in your ears, the shrill sound slicing through your focus. Enemies were everywhere, ready to pounce at the first sign of trouble. Sol was on point, carefully lining up a perfect shot on a sniper perched high in the rafters. It was the kind of moment that made you feel like you were finally in control.

And then, suddenly—LOUD BABY CRYING.

The mic exploded with static, the shrieks vibrating through your headset. You froze, your camera whipping around to see what the hell was going on. There, crouched behind Sol, was Hyugo.

And he wasn’t even doing anything. He was just vibing. No weapons, no tactics. Just existing, silently in the corner.

The worst part?

Every time you looked directly at him, he shot off like a rogue NPC with a death wish. His character zigzagged around the hallway, darting every which way, a trail of baby wails following him like an ominous echo through the halls. It felt like you were being haunted by the ghost of daycare past, each screeching cry more absurd than the last.

Sol's jaw was clenched so hard you could practically hear his teeth grinding together. He spun on you, his frustration practically palpable. “I’m this close to uninstalling.”

You shrugged, not even bothering to hide your grin. “Let him live. He’s the only one distracting the minibosses.”

Sol’s glare could’ve burned a hole through steel. “He’s distracting me.”

Of course, things didn’t get better.

You were one artifact away from completing the mission.

Going back for the legendary Hourglass.

A cursed, time-warping relic that everyone knew was crucial to the final steps. You had made it this far, fighting tooth and nail to stay alive, to push forward. The whole mission had come down to this one piece.

Sol exhaled slowly, trying to keep it together. “Alright. Where’s the Hourglass?”

Before you could even answer, Hyugo shot up from the corner where he’d been hiding, far too excited. “Ooh! I’ll get it!”

You and Sol both said it in unison. “NO.”

You pointed at him, voice firm. “I’ll get it.”

You sprinted off, cursing under your breath as you dashed through the corridor, praying to every god in existence that Hyugo wouldn't somehow decide to follow you and make the situation even worse. The last thing you needed was him trailing behind you like a damn toddler in a toy store, causing chaos at every corner.

When you finally returned, panting, gripping the eerie-looking relic in your hands, you were met with a sight that made your blood boil: Hyugo, standing atop a console, looking absolutely delightful in that damn ugly seasonal cosmetic hat.

He spun around like he was auditioning for a low-budget action movie, and before you could even blink, he started blasting the most obnoxious clapping sound effect. His character mimicked a ridiculously exaggerated movement, like he was giving backshots to Sol's and yours.

That was it. You were done.

No more laughter. No more tolerance for his nonsense. The mission was right there, within reach, and yet here he was, ruining everything with his antics.

You slammed your hand down on your mic key. “Hyugo, what the hell is wrong with you?” you growled, voice dripping with annoyance. “You can’t be serious. Every time we get anywhere, you turn this game into a circus. We’re not here to play dress-up and throw sound effects around. This isn’t a comedy show!”

You glared at him through the screen, fury bubbling up. “I’ve been trying to finish this mission for hours, and all you’ve done is run around like a damn gremlin, causing chaos and wasting everyone’s time! I swear to god, if you don’t knock it off—”

Hyugo, of course, just stood there, you knew for a fact that he’s grinning like an idiot behind his fuck ass character. The last shred of your patience snapped. You looked at Sol’s character on the screen, knowing he was feeling the exact same way. Sol’s normally calm demeanor was clearly strained, but he wasn’t saying a word.

“Hyugo,” you seethed, “I’m done. Just—get out. If you can’t take this seriously, then don’t waste our time. You’re a walking distraction and a complete menace. Maybe if you stopped playing clown, you’d actually be useful for once.”

Without waiting for any kind of response, you spun around in your seat, fingers slamming against the buttons in a blur of frustration. The shot rang out, and with a satisfying pop, Hyugo's avatar’s head crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

There was a long, tense silence. You were still fuming, but you didn’t care anymore. Hyugo was out of your hair. The relic was in your hands. The mission was finally going to be over.

Or so you thought.

Then, out of nowhere, his voice crackled through the mic, calm and far too chipper. "Alright, I’m logging off for the night," Hyugo announced, as if he hadn't just spent the last hour turning the game into a goddamn circus. "I’m gonna play something else. This is... yeah, this is too much for me."

You blinked, taken aback. He was serious? After everything? You were half-expecting him to jump back in and say, "Just kidding!" or somehow start another round of chaotic shenanigans. But no. This time, he wasn’t even bothering to tease Sol. No baby were crying sound effects, no loud meme noises blaring through the speakers, no swan dives off catwalks.

You let out a long sigh as the weight of the chaos slowly lifted from your shoulders, but just when you thought you could finally call it a night, Sol shot you a look that could only be described as a challenge.

“Don’t tell me you're actually done,” he said, a smirk creeping into his voice. “Come on, it’s late, but we’re so close. You’ve gotta finish the level with me. I dare you.”

You raised an eyebrow. You were exhausted, physically and mentally.

The idea of continuing felt like a cruel joke, but you knew one thing: Sol wasn’t backing down, and he had a way of wearing you down with that competitive streak of his. "Fine," you muttered, giving in. "But if I regret this in the morning, I’m blaming you."

Sol gave you a look through the camera—equal parts smug and tired triumph—as you queued up a new level, eyes bleary but still gleaming with challenge.

“You sure?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, stretching like a smug cat. “This one’s deep in the DLC vault. Real freakshow hours.”

You smirked, fingers already flying across the controller. “Bring it on, coward.”

What loaded next was an obscure, borderline-broken DLC map—one of those buggy, cursed messes made by a dev who clearly needed therapy and a hug. Everything about it was off: the lighting was dim and sickly, the corridors were way too narrow, and worst of all, voice proximity was cranked up to hell. It didn’t just pick up speech. It picked up breathing.

Neither of you noticed it right away—until Sol whispered a dumb joke and the monster twitched on the screen.

“Oh hell no,” he muttered, sitting up straighter. “This thing reacts to voice pitch?”

You hummed, too tired to even laugh properly. “Mmhm. Screeches at loud noises, tracks whispers like a bloodhound.”

“Great,” he deadpanned. “So basically, I die if I sneeze.”

You forged ahead anyway, navigating through the maze of twisted hallways and creaky floorboards. The monster’s guttural growls kept brushing up against your nerves, but your exhaustion forced you into a kind of laser-focused calm. Your voice dropped lower, slower, softer—soothing, unintentional, intimate.

“Go left,” you murmured. “No—wait... not yet... okay, now. Stay close to the wall.”

There was silence on Sol’s end. Long, uncomfortable silence.

“Why are you... whispering like that?” he asked, voice a little thinner now.

You didn’t even look up. “Monster hears pitch. Screams attract it. I’m trying to not to get us murdered.”

“Sure,” he said, and then quieter, “It’s just... wow. Okay.”

Another corridor, another wave of tension. You were crouched behind a rusted shelf, heart thumping, flashlight flickering like it had stage fright, as the game’s monster—this twitchy, multi-limbed freak that sprinted at sound—skulked somewhere nearby.

You leaned into your mic, voice steady, low, breath soft. “Hold your position… grab the crowbar… don’t move… until I say so.” Smooth. Silky. Calculated.

And then—“Sol?” Nothing.

“Sol?” Still nothing.

You peeked down the hallway just in time to see Sol’s in-game avatar standing completely still like some tragic mannequin left in a post-apocalyptic mall. Just… chilling. No movement, no reaction—man really just decided to embrace the void mid-mission. Then, out of the shadows, the monster shrieked like a dying lawnmower and launched itself at him.

“SOL—WHAT THE FUCK?!”

You screamed his name like he’d walked into oncoming traffic. His character didn’t even flinch. He just stood there, stoic as hell, right until the monster decapitated him with enough force to send his character’s head flying halfway across the screen like it owed him money.

“Oh my god—SOL, YOU DIED, YOUR HEAD—YOUR FUCKING HEAD WENT INTO THE SKY.”

Still no response.

Just the sound of the monster doing a victory screech and your own mic picking up your frantic panting as you became the hunted next. Now it was your turn to run. You booked it, chart in hand, tripping over half-looted shelves and whispering panicked commands to no one. You were not about to leave those high-priced relic items behind. No way. That shit was worth more than your character’s life, and you were committed.

You could feel the vibration through your controller ramping up—like it was trying to match your pulse. The sound of claws scraping concrete got closer. Louder.

Then—“Nnnh…” A noise. Quiet. Way too quiet. But there.

You froze mid-run. “Sol?” No answer.

“…Are you—are you for real jacking off right now?!”

A pause. Then, barely audible through your headset, a low mumble:

“Keep talking… please,”

“I AM IN A GAME, YOU SICK LITTLE FREAK! THERE IS A DEMON CENTIPEDE THING TWO FEET BEHIND ME—I AM FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE—AND YOU’RE TRYNA BUST?!”

The controller was still buzzing in your hands like it had a personal vendetta. Maybe it was the in-game monster. Maybe it was your own nerves. Or maybe—just maybe—it was Sol, breathing way too hard in your headset and dragging your sanity down with him.

And the worst part? It was funny. Because you'd forgotten—actually forgotten—you were even dating him. You were so used to Sol being somewhat mean, clingy, pouty, and generally up in your business that his little habits no longer register. Until now. Until this very cursed match. Because this?

This was a whole other level.

Just when you rounded the next corner—BAM. The monster dropped from the ceiling vents like it had a grudge, tackled your character, and splattered your health bar in one hit. Your screen flashed a dramatic, unforgiving red:

YOU DIED.

You blinked at the screen. Jaw slack. Controller limp in your hands.

“…Are you kidding me?” you said, voice cracking. “I just got jump-scared to death because you decided to moan in my ear like we’re in some low-budget audio drama.”

Nothing. Just silence. Then, his mic crackled.

There was rustling, a shift, the soft sound of movement, and then Sol exhaled. Shaky. Like he’d just run a marathon—or committed a sin.

“I-I’m sorry,” he muttered, breathless and too soft for comfort. “I couldn’t help it. Your voice… it was driving me crazy.”

Your face went hot. Neck, ears, everything. You curled your toes on instinct. That stupid familiar twist of heat hit your stomach before you could even think to shut him up.

“Sol,” you hissed, but it came out more like a whimper.

“I—can we switch to Discord?” he asked suddenly, almost desperate. “Please, please, Pumpkin. Just for a sec. I need you to see what you’re doing to me.” He begged, using said nickname.

Your heart stuttered.

You weren’t proud of it, but the way he begged—soft, needy, breath catching like he was barely holding it together—yeah.

You were a little turned on.

Fine. Maybe more than a little.

You stared at the screen, still frozen on your defeat, the red YOU DIED taunting you like it knew exactly why. The headset felt suddenly too hot on your ears, like it was echoing back his voice over and over again. Your fingers flexed around the controller like it owed you an explanation.

“Sol, we’re in the middle of a game,” you muttered, but the protest was flimsy, half-hearted at best. Because let’s be real, your fingers were already flying to open Discord with the kind of speed that betrayed just how curious you really were. How desperate, aww.

“Then quit it.” His voice was a rough whisper, thick like honey poured over gravel, dark and syrupy-sweet. “Quit the game. I don’t give a damn if it’s ranked, or cursed, or if the final boss was personally designed by the devil anymore. I just need—”

A low, broken groan tore from his throat, vibrating through the call and sending an electric shiver straight down your spine.

“—need you to look at me.”

And when the video call connected?

God. You looked. And you immediately regretted it.

The screen flickered to life, and there he was—Sol, wrecked and breathless, like he’d been fighting for control and lost. His black and neon-green hair was a disheveled mess, sweat-damp strands clinging to his forehead. His shirt was rucked up past his hips, revealing the sharp cut of his abdomen, the tantalizing dip of his V-line—like he’d gotten impatient, like he’d been touching himself just thinking about you—well, of course, all he thinks about is you after all.

Bruises littered his skin, dark and possessive, marking him up in a way that only made him look wilder, more feral. His red-orange eyes were blown wide, pupils swallowing the color, glassy with desperation. His hands trembled where they braced against his desk, mic discarded like even that was too much to hold onto.

“You did this,” he accused, voice raw, wrecked. A confession. A prayer.

Your throat went dry. Heat flooded your veins, crawling up your neck, your cheeks, your ears—everywhere. You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to sting, just to keep yourself from whimpering.

“You’re insane,” you breathed.

Sol nodded, feverish, eager. “For you? Every damn second.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out shaky, breathless. “We were just gaming—”

“No.” His voice dropped, sharp and dangerous. “You were gaming. I was trying not to lose my goddamn mind listening to you—your threats, your fucking voice, whispering curses like you were trying to ruin me.”

“I was not!” you protested, weak, already squirming.

“‘I’m gonna shove this bat so far up your undead ass, you’ll respawn with it sticking out your mouth,’” he quoted, verbatim, voice dripping with accusation. His gaze burned into you, unwavering. “Tell me that wasn’t filthy. Tell me you didn’t know what you were doing.”

You swallowed hard. “Okay,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe that one was a little hot.”

His grin was wicked, triumphant, as he leaned closer to the screen, like he could taste your surrender. “So,” he murmured, voice dipping into something dark, hungry, “still think we’re finishing that match?”

Your cursor hovered over “Rejoin Game.”

Then, with a slow, deliberate click, you closed the tab.

“…I hope that monster knows it died for a very good cause.”

Your breath hitched as Sol leaned back, his fingers hooking under the hem of his shirt with a slow, deliberate smirk. "You wanna see more?" he taunted, voice dripping with sinful amusement. "Then say it."

Your lips parted, heat coiling low in your stomach as you narrowed your eyes. "Take it off. Now."

A sharp, breathy laugh escaped him as he obeyed, dragging the fabric up and over his head in one smooth motion. His chest was perfectly—toned, flushed, his pierced nipples glinting under the dim light of his room.

You hadn’t noticed before, but each one was adorned with a small silver med-sized bars, the metal catching the light as his breathing quickened. "Fuck," you muttered, biting your lip. “Aww, you’ve been hiding these from me?"

Sol’s grin was all teeth. "Not hiding. Just waiting for you to ask."

Your gaze raked over him, lingering on the way his stomach tensed as he shifted, his fingers toying with the waistband of his pants. "And what else are you hiding, huh?" you challenged, voice dropping into something darker.

"You gonna show me everything, or do I have to make you?"

A shudder ran through him at the command, his pupils blown wide. "Fuck—" His fingers trembled as he undid the button, the zipper sliding down with a hiss that sent a jolt straight to your core.

And then—"Holy shit."

Your eyes locked onto the glint of metal there, nestled along the length of his cock, a delicate Frenum piercing tracing from the tip down to the flushed, aching pink of him. He was big, thick, and heavy in his hand as he gave himself a slow stroke, the silver bead catching the light obscenely.

"You—" Your voice cracked. "You’ve had this the whole time?"

Sol’s breath came in ragged bursts, his free hand gripping the edge of his desk. "Yeah," he admitted, voice wrecked. "Thought you’d—ah—like it."

You did. God, you did.

“Play with yourself,” you ordered, rather quickly—voice dripping with dark command, leaving no room for hesitation. “Let me see how pathetic you look when you’re desperate for me.”

A sharp, wounded whine tore from Sol’s throat, but his hand obeyed instantly, sliding down his stomach to wrap around his cock—already hard, already dripping, the metal of his Frenum piercing glinting under the dim light. His fingers moved in slow, torturous drags, his breath hitching as he squeezed just the way he knew you liked to watch.

“Fuck—fuck—” His hips jerked, chasing his own touch, his thighs trembling. “Tell me—” he gasped, voice wrecked, “tell me how I look.”

You leaned closer to the screen, lips curling into a cruel smirk as you drank in the sight of him—his black and green hair sticking to his sweat-slicked forehead, his pierced nipples pebbled tight under your gaze, his abs flexing with every ragged breath.

“Like a whore,” you purred, low and filthy. “All these piercings, all these pretty little decorations—just for me to look at, huh? You like showing off? Like knowing I’m staring at your cock and thinking about how mine it is?”

Sol moaned, high and broken, his free hand flying up to pinch and twist at his nipple, the metal barbell catching the light. His back arched off the bed, his whole body shuddering. “Yours,” he gasped, voice cracking. “Always—fuck—always yours.”

You watched, transfixed, as his fingers moved faster, his strokes turning messy, needy. His other hand kept playing with his nipple, tugging at the piercing just to hear himself whimper, just to feel something sharper.

And God, you were losing it too.

Your thighs pressed together, trying to relieve the ache building between them, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. Not when you could see the way his cock twitched in his grip, the way his stomach muscles clenched as he got closer. Not when you could hear every broken gasp, every bitten-off moan.

Your mind raced with want—with the desperate, clawing need to have him here, in your room, on your bed, begging for you to climb into his lap and ride him until neither of you could think.

You imagined his rough, massive hands dragging down your body, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he whined into your ear. You could almost feel the heat of his skin under your palms, the way his muscles would tense as you traced every scar, every bruise, every inch of him.

And his piercings—fuck.

You wanted to lick them, to bite down just hard enough to make him gasp, to suck his nipples until they were red and swollen. You wanted to taste every part of him, to sink onto his cock and feel that Frenum piercing drag inside you, hitting every perfect spot until you were both sobbing.

But most of all?

You wanted to see those eyes—those obsessive, red-orange eyes—locked onto yours as he came undone beneath you, whispering your name like a prayer.

"Be careful with yourself, pretty boy," you murmured into the mic, voice dripping with false sweetness—but the tremor in your breath gave you away. Your fingers slid between your thighs, slow, teasing, just enough to make your hips twitch. "Wouldn’t want you to break before I’m done with you."

"Sol," you breathed, voice dripping with sin as your fingers traced slow, teasing circles over your own skin—just watching the way his eyes darkened, the way his breath hitched when you bit your lip. "You have no idea how badly I want to touch you right now."

His throat bobbed, his grip tightening around his cock like he was barely holding on. "Fuck—tell me," he begged, voice already wrecked.

You tilted your head, letting him see the hunger in your eyes—the way you ached for him. "I’d start with your face," you murmured, dragging your fingertips down your neck, mimicking the path you’d take on him. "Kissing you so deep you forget how to breathe. Then your neck—"

Your teeth grazed your lower lip, just imagining the way he’d shudder. "Biting you just how you like it. Gentle? Or hard enough to make you whimper?"

Sol’s hips jerked, a broken sound escaping. "Hard—fuck, please—"

You smirked, dragging your nails down your chest, watching his gaze follow every movement. "Then I’d take my time with these," you purred, rubbing your own nipple just to watch him lose it. "Your piercings—god, I’ve thought about them so much. The way they’d feel against my lips, cold metal and hot skin. I’d tease you until you were begging me to move lower."

His breath came in ragged pants, his hand moving faster, desperate. "Lower—where—?"

You let out a slow, sinful laugh. "Guess."

Your fingers trailed down your stomach, lower, lower, until his eyes burned with recognition. "Oh, Sol," you sighed, voice thick with want. "You liar, such a bad boy. All this time, you never told me about this."

You licked your lips, imagining the weight of him, the way that frenum piercing would feel pressing against your tongue. "I’d take my time tasting you, savoring every inch—until you were shaking, until you couldn’t stand it."

Sol’s back arched, his free hand gripping the edge of his desk like he was about to snap. "You—you knew—?"

‘No," you admitted, your own fingers slipping between your thighs, moaning softly at the contact. "But I dreamed about it. About how it’d feel when you fucked my throat, when that little metal bar hit the back of my tongue. You’d try so hard to be good, wouldn’t you? But I’d make you lose control. Make you push deeper, until I was choking on you—until you came so hard you screamed."

He let out a strangled groan, his thighs trembling. "Or—fuck—or you could ride me," he gasped, his voice raw with need. "Take what you want, use me—‘

You cut him off, “Fuck—fuck—fuck—“

Your breath hitched as you rocked against your own fingers, Sol’s blown-out, filthy gaze locked onto you through the screen. He was watching—watching every twitch of your thighs, every shuddering gasp, every slick, desperate stroke of your fingers. And God, the way his lips parted, his chest heaving, his cock twitching against his stomach—like he was made for this. For you.

"That’s it, pumpkin," Sol groaned, voice wrecked, his fingers digging into his own thighs as he fought not to touch himself yet. "Look at you—fuck—look at you, taking yourself apart just ‘cause I’m watching."

You whimpered, arching off your gamer chair, your free hand fisting the blanket. "S-Sol—"

"Tell me," he demanded, his voice rough, needy. "Tell me what you’ve been thinking about. What you dream about when you’re pretending to focus on your goddamn finals."

Your hips stuttered. Fuck.

"Y-You—" you gasped, your mind spinning with him—Sol, yours, always yours, forever yours—jumping on him, riding him, your mouth around your cock as you ordered him to take it and be still until he was sobbing your name. Or maybe him pounding into you—vice versa if you have to be honest, his thick cock splitting you open, filling you up so good, so perfect, slow and deep one second, then brutal the next, fucking you senseless until neither of you could think—

"Fuck, Sol—!" You bit your lip hard, your thighs trembling. "I—I want you—inside—want you to fucking ruin me—"

A sharp, punched-out moan tore from Sol’s throat, his hand finally—finally—wrapping around his cock, stroking hard, fast, like he couldn’t hold back anymore. "Yeah? Where?" he growled, his hips jerking up into his fist.

"Tell me exactly where you want me, pumpkin—"

"E-Everywhere—" you whined, your fingers working faster, your body burning. "My mouth—my hole—fuck, just—fill me up, Sol, please—"

"Fuck—" His head tipped back, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“J-just you—fuck, you cumming so deep inside me—gonna make me drip with it—" You moaned, loud and shameless, your climax crashing into you like a fucking tsunami—and just as you came, shaking, screwing your eyes shut, you heard Sol break.

Sol’s breath hitched, his rhythm faltering. "I’m—I’m close—"

You locked eyes with him, your own pleasure coiling tight, unbearable. "Then come," you demanded, your voice a dark, delicious command.

"Come for me, Sol. Let me hear how much you need this."

And when he did—when his whole body shook, when his voice broke into a desperate, pleading cry—"Ngh—pumpkin.”

His back arched off his chair, his cum flying—literally hitting his camera with a wet splat, his cock pulsing in his hand as he kept stroking, milking himself through it, his moans filthy, pathetic, perfect.

"Shit—look what you did—" he panted, his voice wrecked, his cum streaked across the screen like some kind of obscene trophy. "Fuckin’—everywhere—"

You laughed, breathless, your body still buzzing. "Mmm… should’ve been inside me instead."

Sol’s eyes darkened, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Next time," he promised, his voice low, dangerous, "I’ll make sure none of it goes to waste."

Then, with a smirk that sent a fresh jolt of heat straight to your core, he leaned closer to the camera—and licked a stripe right through his own mess.

"Fuck," you breathed.

Sol just grinned, his lips glistening. "Better than video games?"

You groaned, throwing an arm over your face. "Shut up."

He laughed—warm, bright, yours—and you couldn’t help but smile.

The screen between you flickered with the remnants of what just happened—Sol’s chest still heaving, his lips parted, his skin flushed down to his collarbones. You both just breathed for a second, the air thick with satisfaction, the kind of exhaustion that curled warm in your stomach.

“Fuck,” Sol muttered, voice rough, dragging a hand down his face. “We’re gonna have to clean this shit up.”

You snorted, stretching lazily, your muscles loose and tingling. “Your camera’s never gonna recover.”

He glanced at the mess streaked across his lens and groaned, but there was a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Worth it.”

You both took a second to recover—him wiping his screen with the hem of his shirt, you grabbing tissues to clean yourself up—moving in comfortable silence, the kind that only came when words weren’t necessary. When the heat between you spoke louder than anything else.

Then, softer: “Exams fucking suck,” you sighed, flopping back onto your chair, legs still trembling slightly.

Sol huffed a laugh, rough and warm. “Tell me about it. I think my brain’s just soup at this point.”

“Same.” You grinned at the ceiling, still feeling the ghost of his gaze on you. “But at least we’ve got this.”

“This?”

“Yeah. This.” You gestured vaguely between you, as he shifted in his seat, giving you another glimpse of his toned stomach, the way his sweatpants rode low on his hips. “The games. The dumbass voice chats. The… other stuff.”

There was a pause.

Then, so quiet you almost missed it—

“This is the only part of the day I actually look forward to.” Sol admitted.

Your breath caught. “…Yeah,” you murmured after a beat, voice softening. “Same.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was loaded—warm and electric, like the air right before a thunderstorm. Then Sol broke it, his voice dipping into something teasing but dangerously sincere.

“Your voice is dangerous, you know.”

You laughed. “Why? ‘Cause it almost got you killed in-game?”

“No.” His tone shifted, low and deliberate.

“Because I think I’m kind of into it.”

“Oh my god—” You grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it across your room, your face burning.

Sol laughed, the sound bright and unguarded, and you could picture him—sprawled back in his chair, smug as hell, that lazy grin playing on his lips.

You both laughed it off—mostly—but when the moment settled, neither of you moved to leave the call. The screen stayed open, Sol’s heavy-lidded gaze still fixed on you, lingering like he was memorizing every detail.

Fuck. The night couldn’t end like this.

You glanced at your clock. “…I don’t have another final until Friday.”

Sol’s eyebrow arched. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You bit your lip, then slowly—deliberately—spread your legs, letting him see the mess you’d made, still glistening between your thighs. “So… you could come over. Bring snacks.”

His breath hitched. His fingers twitched against his desk, like he was fighting the urge to reach through the screen.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough.

You smirked, then—just as his eyes darkened with hunger—you poked at the screen, sticking your tongue out before abruptly ending the call.

Leaving him with nothing but the image of you.

And another hard bulge in his sweatpants.

“Fuck,” Sol groaned to the empty room, already scrambling for his keys. He grabbed his jacket, his pulse racing.

Yeah. This was so much fucking better than video games.

The call between you and Sol was already too much—voices tangled in panting breaths, the slick, filthy sound of skin on skin, the way Sol whined your name like a prayer. It was overwhelming. Distracting. So much so that you didn’t even notice the other set of ragged breathing.

A third participant in the call.

Hidden in the shadows of the voice channel—camera off, letting go rugged breaths —Hyugo sat frozen at his desk, bathed in the dim blue glow of his monitor. All he’d meant to do was pop in, apologize for trolling you both earlier, maybe convince you to queue up another round. But then he’d heard your voice. Sol’s voice. And then—

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

His fingers, which had been idly scratching at his thigh, froze. His breath hitched, sharp and sudden—like he’d just taken a hit straight to the chest.

This wasn’t just a call.

This was filth. A live, unfiltered, obscene performance—and he was the unseen, uninvited spectator.

And that alone made him hard, fast.

It wasn’t long before Hyugo’s baby-blue hair, usually tied back in a neat half-pony, now hung loose—sweat-damp strands clinging to his flushed cheeks. His lips—god, his lips—were bitten raw, his teeth sinking into the fabric of his own shirt to stifle the pathetic little noises threatening to spill out.

He hadn’t meant to stay.

He definitely hadn’t meant to touch himself.

But the way you talked to Sol—low, commanding, dripping with filthy promises—it wrecked him. The way Sol begged for you, voice cracking on your name, the way he whimpered when you teased him—

Hyugo’s hand was already slipping past the waistband of his sweats before he could stop himself.

“Fuck,” he breathed, silent, trembling.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. Wasn’t supposed to be listening.

But god, the way you talked about ruining Sol—

His cock twitched in his palm, already leaking, already aching as he quickly fisted himself, trying to be quiet. He could’ve put himself on mute, but—

The risk of getting caught turned him on more.

So he tested himself, gagged by his own shirt, watching his cock pulse in his grip, his thighs tensing as he fought to keep his hips from jerking forward.

He should leave. He should close the call.

But instead, his fingers tightened, stroking slow, so fucking slow, just to drag it out, just to hear more.

By the time Sol left the call, Hyugo was ruined.

His thighs shook. His free hand clutched at his own shirt, dragging it up to his mouth to bite down as his hips jerked forward—

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck—

He barely had the presence of mind to grab a few napkin from his desk, cupping it over the tip just as his orgasm ripped through him—a silent, shuddering cry muffled into fabric as he spilled into his palm, his cock throbbing with every pulse.

“F-fuck—!”

He slumped back in his chair, chest heaving, skin burning, his cock still twitching as he dabbed himself clean, careful not to let a single drop ruin his precious gaming setup.

Disgusting. Pathetic. And so fucking good.

He still couldn’t believe you two—blissfully unaware, oblivious to the fact that he’d just come to the sound of you and Sol falling apart.

Hyugo’s lips curled into a shaky, guilty smirk.

"Maybe I should still be annoying in y’all’s games more often," he thought, breathless, wicked.

This wasn’t better than video games, but—Fuck.

He didn’t mind shit like this now. He’d take it every damn time.

…y’all… should I write a threesome? jkjk…

Also... not gonna lie, writing this made me like Sol. Just a tiny bit.

#the kid at the back x reader #the kid at the back vn #tkatb #solivan brugmansia #the kid at the back sol #tkatb sol #tkatb vn #sol brugmansia #sol x reader #tkatb smut #the kid at the back #sorry not sorry #tkatb x reader #the kid at the back hyugo #tkatb hyugo #hyugo sugimoto #hyugo x reader #the kid at the back smut #the kid at the back mc

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agent-cupcake · 1 year ago

Text

Ulterior Motives

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f! student Reader

Synopsis: Gojo becomes a little bit infatuated with his bratty new student.

Warnings: Explicit smut, noncon, teacher/student relationship (reader is 18+), possessive behavior, manipulation

Tags: Spanking, panty gag, dacryphilia, dirty talk, vibrators, bondage, orgasm torture, bratty reader, humiliation

Word Count: 24.4k

Notes: This one is for ABanonymous, I hope you didn't mind the wait and I especially hope you enjoy the story. The title IS a reference and if you know, you know.

Next requested fic I will have out next Saturday, and that's a pinky promise.

“Is this seat taken?”

Bored, a little tired, you turned your gaze up to the interloper with a rejection at the ready. You stopped at the cafe to warm up, you weren’t in the most social of moods.

But you didn’t say anything when you saw the speaker. Your lips were parted and ready, but the words puffed out as nothing more than air. There was something wrong about him. If you hadn’t been so utterly—perhaps even willfully—detached from your surroundings, you might have noticed sooner.

It was a trick of yours. Good for interviews, social gatherings, and first impressions. Bad for relationships, communication, and your general interest in other people. The girl with long, straight hair ordering a brown sugar bubble tea was annoyed. The man behind her was texting someone, likely his paramour, because his bad mood was being soothed with excitement and lust. The female half of the couple behind you was excited, her male partner was bored. Those were things you knew. Things you sensed as intuitively as you interpreted sounds from vibrations and visuals from light.

The tall, white-haired man standing above you wearing a dark uniform and white bandage over his eyes was a solid, unreadable wall. The energy surrounding him wasn’t emotional, it was manifested, strong bordering on physical and, most likely, very bad news. You looked around the cafe, searching for some further clues about this utterly bizarre stranger, but nobody else seemed especially interested beyond his odd appearance. You cleared your throat.

“Excuse me, what?” you asked, composing yourself.

“May I sit here?” he asked again, smiling.

This could be interesting. Or bad. You shrugged as if disinterested. “If you want to.”

He took the seat across from you, his smile fixed in place. “Thank you, I can’t stand drinking alone.”

“Of course.”

“I’m Satoru Gojo,” he said, undeterred by your unfriendly demeanor. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You introduced yourself in turn, smoothing your hair and hoping you didn’t look too terrible. Could he even see you? Somehow, you got the feeling he could, but it didn’t look like the bandage was mesh.

“Did you hear about what happened at the City Central Library?” he asked, bracing his elbow on the table to cradle his head. “Nasty business.”

The words themselves were casual, but they left you with the same feeling as when you got caught sneaking out. That little pang of surprise, a stark interruption of suspense with panic and then a mental scramble as you tried to come up with a believable story that would get you out of trouble.

Did he know? That made the most sense, otherwise it was odd that he’d ask. But if he did know, you had no idea how he could, and had no way to guess how much he knew.

No response was worse than a bad one, so you fell back on the easiest and usually the most effective approach. “What happened?” you asked, furrowing your eyebrows with a vacuously concerned expression. The kind of look that made it seem as if any question was so hopelessly complex, like the slightest problem was simply impossible for a girl as empty-headed as you to grasp.

“There was a gas leak of some kind,” Gojo said, his mouth set into a contemplative line. A second later, that solemn expression melted into a mischievous half-smile. “Rather, that’s what the news will report. We know better, don’t we?”

You frowned, your head tilting to the side and eyes curiously wide. “We do?”

“A curse manifested itself there. Nobody died, but it was close.”

“A curse?” you repeated slowly. “Are you talking about ghosts or something?”

“Something like that.”

You laughed, the light and ditzy airheaded kind of laugh. “Oh, come on. You’re teasing me, aren’t you.”

“When we interviewed the receptionist at the library,” Gojo said, his casual demeanor unaffected by your act, “she mentioned a young woman who stopped by and warned her that something bad was going to happen.”

“Oh?”

“Actually, I have three accounts of people saying that they were contacted before an incident involving a curse occurred. One of the tips was anonymous, but the third was at a construction site. The manager said that a pretty young woman approached him and warned that the conditions would be hazardous and he needed to be very careful. He’s in the hospital now.”

“That’s terrible,” you said, frowning. It was more of a pout, really.

Gojo pulled his phone out of his pocket. He clicked a few things on the screen—so he could see from behind the bandage, how odd—before holding it out for you to look at. It was security footage, presumably from the library. Although the quality was terrible, it didn’t take a genius to recognize that it was you in the video.

“This is from yesterday,” he said. “A curse was exorcized at this library earlier today.” He turned the screen to look at his phone, looking between you and the footage with theatrical scrutiny. “This does look a lot like you.”

“I don’t know who that is, but it can’t be me,” you said, pouting more. “I don’t even have a library card.”

“To be clear, I’m not accusing you of causing these incidents. If I thought you were, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Gojo told you. He put his phone in his pocket, picking up his drink to mess with the straw. “How long have you been able to see them?”

“See what?”

“Curses. Evil spirits, whatever you like to call them.”

You stared at him for a long moment, trying to decide if you wanted to continue playing dumb. He obviously didn’t believe it. Besides, you were starting to get very curious about this strange not-blind man and the disconcerting amount of information he had about things he shouldn’t.

“As long as I can remember,” you finally answered, dropping the act.

“Do they scare you?” he asked, as unconcerned with your shift in demeanor as he had been with everything else.

“They’re definitely ugly,” you said. Gojo snorted in amusement at that. You looked down to consider a real answer, pushing the chunks of ice at the bottom of your cup around with the straw. “I’m not scared of them. They’re dangerous, but more like how a wild animal is dangerous.”

“Is that why you warn people?”

You shrugged.

“Hmm,” he hummed, stroking his chin thoughtfully, staring at you through the bandage. It really was a creepy feeling. “Something still isn’t adding up. Sorcerers are more likely to come into contact with curses, but you’re not reacting to cursed activity; you’re predicting it. Moreover, the places who reported your warnings have no other connection. It’s unlikely that you were coincidentally nearby to feel the cursed energy.”

“Sorcerers?” you asked, continuing to push your straw around your cup idly, the ice crackling.

“People who can see curses and manipulate cursed energy. You could also call them curse users. Of course, I don’t think you’re either. At least, not yet.” He gestured to you with his drink. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“You didn’t ask me a question.”

“Didn’t I?” he asked with a frown. “Ah, whatever,” he waved it off dismissively. “How are you finding and predicting curses?”

“I use a map,” you told him, like it was obvious. It was obvious to you, at least.

“A map,” he repeated bluntly. Without any aura to read, you wished you could see his eyes at least.

“That’s usually how you find things, isn’t it?”

“You’re saying that you have a map that tells you where curses will manifest?”

“You’re asking a lot of questions,” you said. “I don’t think I should be talking so openly to a strange and mysterious man.”

“Mysterious? I told you, I’m Satoru Gojo,” he said, placing a hand on his chest. “I’m a jujutsu sorcerer and a teacher at Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School. If anything, you’re the strange one for going around cryptically warning people about evil spirits. ”

You narrowed your eyes at him, pursing your lips. The logical part of your mind rejected everything he was saying outright, it sounded made up. Then again, you knew there was some truth to what he was saying, even if the words he used were different than your own. The fact was, it seemed like he had more information than you. You didn’t like that.

“You warn people about these curses in an attempt to protect them,” Gojo said, his tone softening a little as he tried to level with you, “but they never believe you, and so they get hurt anyway. Doesn’t that bother you?”

You shrugged. “It does sound pretty ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” Gojo said. “Nobody believes you see the things you see, or that you have a very special gift, but I do. If you tell me how you predict these curses, I’ll teach you how to take care of the problem yourself. More than that, I can teach you how to use your cursed energy to do things nobody else can.”

He had you on the line with that one, and he knew it. You didn’t have to be able to read his aura or look in his eyes to understand that smug grin.

“I read once that mediums could perform a sort of dowsing technique with maps,” you said, giving in. “I’ve always had a knack for divination, so I tried it out. Even with my eyes closed and using different maps, I could reliably find and mark the same spot. It didn’t really turn out how I wanted it to though.”

“How so?”

“You’ve seen TV shows and videos about hauntings where ghost hunters dig up all kinds of scary and interesting stories, right? I was hoping it’d be like that. You know, exciting. Instead I marked a lot of schools and hospitals and that sort of thing.”

“That makes sense,” Gojo said. “Curses tend to congregate in places like that.”

“Well, I was disappointed. But then I started hearing news stories about people getting hurt in places that I marked on my map. I don’t know, I guess I didn’t want it on my conscience.”

Gojo nodded thoughtfully. “This… dowsing ability, can you do it on purpose, or does it happen randomly?”

“What do you mean?”

“If I got you a map right now, could you mark places where a curse will manifest?”

“It depends on if there’s a place on the map where a curse will manifest,” you said.

Rather than get offended by your cheeky response, Gojo carried on. “Are there any locations you’re watching out for at the moment? Other than the library, I mean.”

You considered that question. “I’ll tell you, but if this is for a TV show, I don’t consent to being on camera,” you said. “Not wearing this, at least.”

He laughed. “This is not for a TV show,” Gojo said. “Although, if it was, I don’t know why you would need to change your clothes. You’re cute, the messy look is endearing.”

“Ah, I guess you are blind after all,” you said imperiously, pulling out your phone to find the website of the other place you had marked. “There’s an antique shop. I don’t think anything has happened there yet. I tried calling, but the guy got angry. I guess lots of people try to claim things there are haunted to get a discount or something.”

“Do you have the address?”

“Yep, right… here-” You flipped the screen towards him. He peered at it for a second before smiling again.

“Oh, lucky! I know somebody who should be just nearby.” He pulled out his own phone, dialing a number.

“You said you exorcized the curse at the library,” you said, “will you do it there too?”

“If there’s a curse there, yes.” Gojo pressed call and put his phone to his ear. After a few rings, you heard a voice on the other end. The exchange was short, he gave the address and some words of encouragement. You couldn’t hear specifics, but it didn’t sound like the person was too pleased.

“I don’t know for sure that something is there,” you said after he lowered his phone.

“Have you ever been wrong?”

“I haven’t followed through on every lead,” you said. “There are potentially dozens of times that I’ve been wrong.”

“But all of the ones you’ve tracked have been correct, yes?”

You smiled. “Yes.”

“What an interesting ability,” he cooed. “And you possess a respectable amount of cursed energy. I knew it. You should come to study to be a jujutsu sorcerer.”

“What?”

“I told you that I could teach you how to use your abilities, didn’t I? You’re a bit old to be scouted, but everybody starts somewhere. I think you have the potential to be a great sorcerer.”

“You’re joking.”

“Not at all.”

“You said you teach high school, didn’t you?” you asked, raising your eyebrows. “I’m almost through my third year. It would be strange to transfer so late, I wouldn’t want to do anything to risk my graduation.”

“Do you have plans for after you graduate? Work? University?”

“I’m going to study business.”

“Really? You don’t strike me as the business type.”

You gave him a very flat look. “You don’t strike me as the teacher type.”

Gojo laughed. “You got me there. I’m only saying that you go to university so you can get a job, right? If you study at Jujutsu Tech, you will have a guaranteed job upon graduation.”

“What kind of job?”

“Exorcizing curses, saving the world, that kind of thing,” he said, waving his hand casually. “It’s not something many people can do, you know. You have to be a special mixture of brave and crazy to face curses knowing you could get hurt—knowing that others could get hurt if you fail. It’s tiresome, scary, and you very rarely see much of a reward.”

“You’re not exactly selling this.”

“Really?” Gojo asked. “You look plenty interested to me. You don’t want to live the rest of your life being normal and bored, do you? You’re too special for that.”

You blew out a big breath, trying to think independently of this whole bizarre situation and the fact that his flattery was more effective than it should have been.

“I’m still not sure I believe you,” you said. “Isn’t there some sort of saying that you should never trust somebody who hides their face? An innocent young girl like me could get hurt trusting scary men like you.”

“Scary?” Gojo repeated.

“You are, aren’t you? I can feel it.”

“You mean that you can sense my cursed energy?”

“Is that like an aura?” you asked. “Because I can’t read yours. That hardly ever happens.”

“Aura?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You know, spiritual energy and emotion and that sort of thing.”

“Ah, this might be a difference in terminology. This is cursed energy,” Gojo said, raising his hand and curling his fingers as if holding something. The intimidating energy that surrounded him pooled there, a dark shroud around his hand. All of the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, the discomfort prickling like thousands of little needles poking against your skin. “Is this what you mean?”

“No, that’s… Bleh,” you said, exaggerating your shudder. “I’m talking about aura. People’s emotions, their mental state. I think your cursed energy is stifling yours, I don’t know. Or maybe you’re not human.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, lowering his hand, the dark energy flowing back into him. “I think you have the potential to be a wonderful sorcerer.”

“Really?”

“I’ll teach you. I’m the best, you know. Aren’t you tired of knowing that there’s a problem you can’t fix? Do you think you can live a life of ignorance now that you know there are answers?”

Before you could respond, his phone rang.

“Yes?” Gojo asked, taking the call. Whatever the person on the other end said made him smile. “Sure, sure. You can’t leave it there, I’ll transfer you the money… Yes, of course.”

He hung up and leaned forward, dropping the phone and cradling his cheek in his hand.

“There was a cursed object there,” he told you. “It would have been a while before the seal unraveled enough to be noticeable, but it was only a matter of time before it began attracting curses.”

“If you take it away, that means the place will be safe?”

“We’ll keep an eye on it to be sure, but, generally, yes. You saved innocent people from being harmed by an unseen evil. They will be allowed to continue on living their boring, mundane lives. That’s what a jujutsu sorcerer does.”

You nodded thoughtfully. It was the smartest choice to simply reject him and leave and move on with your life.

Most likely.

Absolutely.

But when you mentally followed that course of action to its completion, you knew that a part of you would always exist in this little cafe sitting across from the strangest man you had ever met considering an offer that scared and excited you. You would always wonder about the answers he promised, every day you would wonder if there was something more.

“If everything you’re saying is true-” you began.

“It is.”

“-then I’ll consider it.”

Gojo smiled. “I’ll have Ijichi get your transfer paperwork pushed through. We’ll have to move fast, you have a lot of missed time to make up for. You don’t mind, do you?”

“I said that I’ll consider it,” you told him, taken aback by his presumptuousness.

“Sure, sure,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “I’ll be in contact soon, okay? Be ready.”

Despite your attempt to retain a certain amount of resistance and control over the situation, things moved exactly as fast as Gojo said they would. He was telling the truth about all of it. There was such a place as Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School, and he was a teacher, and although being such a late transfer was weird, it was all legitimate.

The explanations were easier than you thought too. Mom was utterly charmed by Satoru Gojo. He came to your house wearing expensive clothes and a pair of sunglasses with his white hair flipped boyishly over his brow and explained the situation with a big, charming smile and the most disarmingly blue eyes you had ever seen and she was putty in his hands. She didn’t always believe you about spirits—curses, as Gojo called them—but she believed it from him, enthusing about how she’d always known you were special, and that you could do things nobody else could. It was moments like sitting in the room seeing Mom’s aura flash and sparkle with attraction and desire that made you wish you didn’t have the ability to see them.

Not even two weeks after the cafe conversation with Satoru Gojo, you were packing up and moving to live on the Tokyo Jujutsu High campus grounds. As you packed, you thought a lot about the first time you saw an evil spirit. You screamed and screamed. It wasn’t until your grandmother came and comforted you that you calmed down. She had that effect on people. Making them comfortable, making them feel safe.

Throughout your life, you flirted with divination and spirits and dark energy mostly for your own gain and amusement, but she was a real deal spiritual woman. If she were alive, she wouldn’t have liked who you were. That had been true for a while. You wondered what she would think of you going to study to exorcize curses, if that would have met with her approval. You wondered what dad would think. It had always been his plan that you should go to university. He wanted you to be educated before you got married. Funny, because he abandoned his university educated career-driven wife for some ditzy young thing he met at a bar.

It was kind of funny to think that, in the end, you wouldn’t go to university and you wouldn’t get married. Spite wasn’t a good primary reason to do something, but you couldn’t deny the frantic heat of its inspiration.

“I don’t know,” Haruka said, her voice distorted through your phone’s speaker as you unpacked your things. The room you were given on the Jujutsu Tech campus was larger than you thought it would be, although it didn’t look nearly so big with your stuff strewn everywhere. Mom laughed at your materialism, but you didn’t want to be underprepared. “I like him, but I don’t think he likes me back.”

You slipped a shirt onto its hanger, rolling your eyes at her dramatics. “The only way you’ll know is if you ask him.”

“It’s weird for him, I think. ‘Cause I’m still in school. I mean, there’s barely a year difference between us, but… I don’t know. Maybe it is weird. If my mom knew I was dating Ikki, she’d flip out.”

“Then don’t ask him out.”

Haruka sighed. “I wish she was like your mom. She lets you do basically whatever you want.”

That stung, although you weren’t entirely sure she meant it to. “The way I see it,” you said, sidestepping that comment, “it won’t be weird after you’re out of school. Wait a few months, it’s not like you’re going to have time with exams going on.”

“I wish you were here. Now when I make bad decisions I don’t have anyone to blame them on.”

You laughed. “I was thinking the same thing. I can’t copy your homework anymore, why even bother being friends?”

“Because,” Haruka said, clearly taking offense, “I am-”

“Knock knock,” somebody called through the open door, startling you. You turned to watch Gojo come in, looking around your room while Haruka rattled off all of the many reasons she was an invaluable friend to you. Well, you assumed he was looking around your room. He had returned to the bandages covering half his face, hiding his impossibly beautiful eyes.

“One second, Haruka… Can I help you?” you asked him, raising an eyebrow to hide the flicker of excitement you felt seeing him.

“Oh, are you talking to someone?” Gojo asked. “I can come back later.”

“Ah, no, that’s fine,” you told him, very easily deciding that you would rather talk to him than listen to Haruka’s boy troubles. “Haru, I’ve gotta go,” you said, picking up your phone. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Is that a man’s voice?” she asked. “Why is he in your room, what kind of school is that? Is-”

You ended the call, cutting her off. “Do you need something?” you asked.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“You didn’t,” you said, returning to hanging up your clothes. “Although she’s probably going to tell everyone this whole transfer thing was an elaborate lie to cover for the fact that I got knocked up and ran away with some guy. I’m not sure why, but nobody believes I’ve dedicated myself to a strict religious lifestyle.”

“How much do they know about your abilities?” Gojo asked, walking over to your bed and sitting down, grabbing one of the stray magazines off the floor. He flicked through the glossy pages of fashion advice and gossip with a distinct lack of interest.

You snorted, hanging up one of your last few dresses. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all,” Gojo said, dropping the magazine to flip through another. “It can be very isolating to keep such a big secret from the people closest to you.”

“It would be such a drag to explain,” you said. “Besides, nobody wants to know that things like curses exist. They just want to live their normal lives where things make sense.”

Gojo hummed in amusement. “Is that really the only reason?”

The tone of his voice set you on edge. It sounded like he was implying something. “What do you mean?”

“It would make things more difficult for you if anybody knew you could read their mind, wouldn’t it?”

You frowned at him, although he didn’t seem to be paying attention. “First of all,” you said, putting a hand on your hip, “I can’t read minds. Second of all, it’s not like I’m actively trying to spy on people. I can’t help it.”

“Calm down,” he said with a smile, tossing the magazine aside. “I wasn’t making any comment on your character. It was an observation.”

“Right,” you said, forcing yourself to let it go. “By the way, where is everyone else? The rooms around me all look empty.”

Gojo waved his hand nonchalantly, standing up. “There aren’t any other third year girls.”

“Did something happen?”

“No, it’s not abnormal. Jujutsu sorcerers are extremely rare.” Gojo walked towards the wall you had half covered with various posters and decorations. “I heard your admission interview went well.”

“Of course it did,” you said, smiling. He didn’t see it, too focused on the map. You had it set up on your wall like you had at home, ready in case the mood struck.

“That’s the library,” Gojo said, tapping a finger against the marked spot. His fingers were long. Considering his abnormal height, it was hardly surprising. It was attractive though. You shut that thought down fast. You could acknowledge it as a fact, but he was your teacher now. Besides, he probably had women throwing themselves at him from all angles, you’d rather be celebate than be reduced to one of the many.

“And right there,” you said, coming up behind him to point at another mark, “is the-”

“Antique shop,” he shot you a smile over his shoulder. “What an interesting ability.”

“Isn’t this sort of thing normal for, um, jujutsu sorcerers?” you asked, the term coming out a little awkwardly.

“Not at all. Sorcerers are highly individualistic. There are inherited techniques, but many of them are unique to the sorcerer. They’re innate, carved into your frontal lobe.” He tapped his forehead, turning towards you.

“But you can do the same thing,” you said. “Reading people’s auras and all of that.” You grinned, raising your eyebrows playfully. “You’ve got a third eye.”

“Six Eyes, actually,” Gojo said. “Although it does seem like you have a related form of extrasensory perception.” He threw an arm around your shoulders, swaying you back and forth. “You’re a little mini me! Isn’t that exciting?”

The sudden touch made you stiffen up, too surprised to react immediately. The only coherent thought you had was that he smelled really good. You shook that out of your head, pushing at his arm in a half-hearted attempt to get some space.

“What can you do then?” you asked. “Can you teach me?”

Gojo stopped swaying you around. “Weren’t you listening to anything I said? Jujutsu techniques are-”

“-innate and unique,” you finished for him. “But you can teach me how to get better at my own techniques if they’re like yours, right?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Gojo said, stepping away. “If you try to run before you learn to walk, you’ll fall on your face. You’re getting a late start, so you’re going to have to work hard.” He raised his pointer finger to lecture you. “You’ll start by getting control over your cursed energy.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding. “How do I do that?”

“First! You clean your room,” he said. “It’s a mess in here. Then come to the classroom. I’ll have to find Oyama.”

“Who’s Oyama?”

“The other third year. He’ll be able to help you when I’m not here.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Are you disappointed?” Gojo cooed, leaning forward to put himself on your level, pursing his lips in a mocking display of pity. “As much as I would love to teach my cute little student personally, I have obligations to fulfill as a sorcerer. I hope you don’t miss me too much in the meantime.”

You gave him a flat look, hiding your genuine disappointment behind your irritation at the mockery. “I’m sure I’ll live.”

“That’s the spirit!” Gojo said, patting your head. “Okay!” He stood up straight, turning away. “Don’t take too long,” he called as he left, “I hate having to wait.”

“I’m sure this will only take me four or five hours,” you said. “Maybe six. I hope you don’t miss me too much in the meantime.”

Gojo didn’t respond to your taunt, shooting you a final smile over his shoulder, one that was all blinding white teeth. The covered eyes made it more menacing than playful.

“I hate it when you ignore my calls,” Mom said. “It’s been over a week since you gave me any sort of update. There’s only so much time I have to talk to you, so when you don’t answer, I have no idea what to think.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you said in as apologetic a voice as you could fake, holding your phone between your ear and shoulder as you did your nails. It was a futile effort, there was no way you could keep your hands manicured. All you could do was fight back your cuticles and paint your nails knowing they would be chipped the next day. “I spend all my time training, studying, or exhausted from training and studying. Do you remember Gojo talking about how being a late transfer meant a lot of extra work? I want to succeed here, so I have to put in the work.”

As you hoped, the apology and mention of Gojo quelled some of her fire. “Oh, well, I still expect you to keep me informed.”

“I know,” you said. “Really, there’s not much to say.” Other than going out on a mission with Oyama for the first time and helping him exorcize a nasty curse that you helped to find with your unique ability, but you weren’t going to tell her that. You were saving that for when Gojo came back from whatever mission he was off doing. Instead, you painted a lick of red onto your pinky nail, carefully working the color into the edges. “How are you?” you asked her. “You mentioned you were seeing that guy from the lab?”

“Didn’t I tell you? I had to end things with him,” Mom said. “He was a real piece of work.”

“Oh, no you didn’t. I’m sorry,” you apologized, capping the nail polish bottle and appraising your hands. Serviceable, under the circumstances.

“You know how men are. You think they’re fine, but they turn out to be completely crazy.” She huffed, you could imagine the way she would shake her head. “Actually, I’ve been spending some time with a man from the second floor. It’s going really well.”

“Oh, that’s exciting!” you exclaimed with enthusiasm, rolling your eyes. She was almost as bad as Haruka with the boy drama. You wanted her to be happy, of course you did, but having to hear about her messy romantic life got tiresome.

“When you get back, maybe the four of us can go out for dinner.”

“Four?”

“He has a daughter. She’s a little younger than you, I’m sure the two of you would get along really well.”

“Yeah, that sounds fun,” you said, really scooping deep to manage an enthusiastic tone. “I’m just not sure when I’ll be able to get some time away. Like I said, I’m very busy.”

“It’s been two months, surely you can ask Gojo for one weekend home.”

“I’ll ask him,” you told her, making sure she could hear your doubt. Hopefully this fling wouldn’t last long, you really couldn’t stomach the thought of feigning interest in some stranger’s daughter.

Content that your nails were dry, you peeled your phone away from your ear.

“But I’ve gotta go for now,” you told her. “I promised Oyama I’d study with him. You know, final exams.”

Another lie, although one you didn’t feel as bad about. In reality, final exams at Jujutsu Tech weren’t at all like at a normal school. You would still be graduating, but not through lengthy tests. It felt a little cheap to have all of your studying go to waste, but you weren’t about to complain.

“Yes, of course,” Mom replied. “Don’t forget to keep me informed, alright?”

“Got it,” you said. “I’ll talk to you later. Love you, bye.”

“Love you.”

You hung up, tossed your phone to the side, and uncapped the bottle to paint your toenails.

Gojo returned a few days later with kitschy souvenirs from some small village you had never heard of and a big smile, eager to hear how you were progressing. For that matter, you were eager to share it with him. He hadn’t been gone too long, but you were working harder than you ever had before, and getting better accordingly.

“Okay!” Gojo said, leaning against the edge of his desk. “Tell me everything I’ve missed. How is your training?”

“I’m getting a lot better at controlling my cursed energy,” you said. “You can tell, can’t you?”

“I can,” Gojo said, the corner of his mouth lifting in a little smile. “What about your hand-to-hand training?”

You frowned at how quickly he brushed over your impressive accomplishment. Even Oyama was a little impressed by how quickly you adapted to the natural movement of cursed energy. Once again, you tried to get a read on Gojo’s state of mind to know what he was thinking, but it was as impossible as before.

“I got punched in the face for the first time,” you said.

The comment didn’t have the intended effect of eliciting amusement or confusion. Instead: “Did you deserve it?”

“What?” you asked, indignant. “No, not like that. I was sparring with Oyama and I realized that I’d never been punched in the face, so I asked him to. It seems like the sort of thing I needed to experience.”

“And what did you learn?”

“That Oyama enjoyed it way too much, and I needed to buy waterproof mascara. It made my eyes water like crazy.”

Gojo laughed, but didn’t give you anything else to work with.

“I’ve also learned that I’m really not into fistfighting,” you said, finally being serious. “I’ll definitely want to use weapons.”

“Your cursed technique is more effective the closer you are to the opponent, isn’t it?” Gojo asked. “So you’ll want something that can work at very close range.”

“But first I’ll have to learn how to reliably close the distance. I’m not fast enough. Yet.”

Gojo nodded thoughtfully. “Speed is important, but reading your opponent is more valuable in that situation,” he said. “If you ask nicely, I may be able to help.”

“I have to ask?”

He sighed dramatically. “My time is in high demand.”

“Some teacher you are,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes in as exaggerated of a way as possible.

“Watch your tone,” Gojo told you, wagging a finger. “You don’t want detention, do you?”

“I’m so sorry, sensei,” you said, batting your eyelashes. “I didn’t mean to disrespect you.”

He didn’t immediately respond to the taunt which, when you couldn’t get a read on his mood anyway, was oddly unsettling.

“You’re lucky I’m such a kind, patient man,” he finally said, his voice softer than before. “That cheeky tone could get you in trouble.”

“I’ve heard that you’re way worse,” you said. “I’ve heard that all of the higher-ups think you’re a nuisance. I’m only trying to be more like you, sensei.”

“You might find you don’t enjoy where that gets you,” he said. The tenor of his voice was playful, but the tension beneath wasn’t.

“You wouldn’t do anything,” you said, hoping to laugh it off.

He smiled, but didn’t laugh.

“I heard what happened in Shinjuku,” Gojo said before things got too awkward. “You were able to identify the type and motivation of the curses and warn Oyama. That’s impressive.”

“Oh… Yeah, thank you,” you said. “It wasn’t that difficult once I understood what type of place it was. Officially, it was a club, but that was only a front for their prostitution scheme. Of course the curses would hate men.”

“You know, I’ve been thinking, with proper honing, you might reach a point where you can perceive the nature of a technique before it can be used against you.”

“Really?” you asked, excited by the idea. It sounded like an impressive trick.

“It’s possible, certainly. But,” he pointed at you, “you’re a long way off from developing a skill that complex. Don’t get distracted from working on the basics.”

“I know, I know,” you said, trying not to seem too petulant. “I know I have to practice with my cursed energy, but sensing things about people and curses, that’s intuitive.”

“It’s hard on you, isn’t it?” Gojo asked, although it wasn’t much of a question. “Your ability is empathetic, not sympathetic. To understand what you’re facing, you have to let it in. That can be very dangerous. You have to carefully control it.”

“It’s not comfortable,” you allowed. “But I can do it.”

“To know the nature of the curse is to be confronted with the absolute worst of humanity, and it very well could end with you cursing them in turn.”

“I won’t let it get to me.”

“Not to mention how dangerous it is, I’ve known sorcerers who are rendered entirely catatonic just through proximity to especially strong curses, and that’s with their defenses up.”

“I can handle it,” you insisted, frowning.

Gojo paused, considering you with his head tilted curiously to the side.

“You said you asked Oyama to punch you in the face,” he said. “You might be a bit of a masochist, but I assume you were looking for that experience in a controlled environment.”

“Yeah, something like that,” you said, too caught off guard by the change of topic to properly react to the masochist comment.

“That’s smart, actually,” Gojo said. “Come here, I want to show you something.”

“Show me what?” you asked, frowning.

“The danger of special grade cursed energy. Come here, I don’t want to cast too wide a net and catch anyone else. This is for educational purposes only, alright?”

“Okay,” you said, hopping off your desk and approaching him.

“What do you feel?” Gojo asked, pushing away from the big desk to stand up straight. His height continuously took you by surprise. Maybe you’d find loafers with more of a heel, it was annoying to have to look up at him like this.

“Not much. You’re as mysterious as ever,” you said, an unmistakable note of bitterness in your tone.

“Okay then. Are you ready?” Gojo asked.

“Go ahead,” you said, bracing yourself. You knew cursed energy, you had felt it both from sorcerers and actual curses. You thought you were prepared.

You were not prepared.

Cursed energy flared out around him in an oppressive wave, capturing you in its field. The only thing you could think was that you were going to die. There was nothing you could think to compare it to. Fear flooded your system, it was all that existed. Not the fear of pain or death or any human threat, but complete and total destruction. Cellular annihilation, the ruination of the thing that was ‘you’ until not one part remained. You couldn’t move. His cursed energy snuffed that out, squishing down everything that wasn’t animalistic terror. When your legs gave out, you barely felt it, only the weakness of your body caving in. Gojo caught you before you fell, holding you up against him.

“The way you feel right now,” Gojo muttered, his voice soft and low, “this is what it is to be truly helpless. This is what you’re ultimately up against. Unless you’re prepared to endure the depths of hell, your arrogant curiosity will destroy you.”

Just like that, it was over.

You sobbed, hiding your face against his chest. It was pathetic, but you couldn’t control the entirely bodily reaction now that you were arrested with blind fear. Your body was practically vibrating from how violently you were shaking. Never in your life had you experienced such horrific, visceral fear. It was worse than you would have thought, even though you were never actually in any danger.

“Ah, maybe that was too much,” Gojo said regretfully, patting your back.

“Wha-aa-as that-t yo—uor te-eh-chnique?” you asked, your stammered words muffled against his chest. How embarrassing.

“That? No. If I had used my technique, your brain would be mush right now.” Gojo ran his hand over your hair, almost affectionately stroking it. “Do you need me to carry you to your room? I wouldn’t mind.”

Your hands tightened in the front of his uniform, although you couldn’t recall when you began holding onto him. Gojo hummed, petting your hair again, his hand idly lowering to your back, and then your waist, and your hip.

It was only a flicker, a fraction of a second, but you felt the barest whisper of glee. Lust. For blood or otherwise, you didn’t have the capacity to tell, but the impression was in such stark opposition to your own tumultuous feelings that it startled you.

You gasped, stumbling away from Gojo like he’d shocked you. Luckily, you managed to catch yourself on the edge of one of the desks rather than fall. He was, as ever, completely inscrutable. Whatever you thought you felt, it was gone as fast as it struck.

Unable to read anything else from the man, you decided that it was your imagination, a subsequent reaction born from a panicked brain. It was difficult to hold onto the feeling of primal terror now that it wasn’t actively battering down your defenses. Without any actual danger, your brain couldn’t generate the same intensity. With shaking hands, you wiped beneath your eyes, keeping them averted.

“That was embarrassing, I’m sorry,” you said.

“This isn’t too bad of a reaction. It’s kind of cute, actually.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” you agreed with breathless sarcasm, trying very hard to compose yourself. “For the record, I preferred being punched in the face.”

“I’m sure,” Gojo said with a little laugh. “Well,” he clapped his hands together, effectively ending the report, “you look like you could use a break, let’s go see what’s for lunch.”

“It’s so stupid,” Haruka said, her sniffling voice crinkling through your phone's speaker.

You laid on your back while listening to her cry, staring at your dorm’s plain ceiling. Things with Ikki hadn’t gone well. Normally you could at least pretend to care about her love life, but your thoughts were elsewhere.

“I knew he didn’t like me, I just thought since he was so nice and-”

It pissed you off to be so consumed by thoughts of one man, but it felt like there was a whirlpool in your head. You could fight it for a while, but all too soon your thoughts would return to your enigmatic teacher. Back and forth, back and forth, you bounced between trying to convince yourself to be realistic about yourself and the creeping paranoia that there was something going on.

Gojo was a very physical sort of person. It was conceited to think he’d be interested in you when he was attractive enough to get any woman he reasonably wanted. He was only helping you. It wasn’t intimate. Even if it felt a little strange, that was normal for combat training, wasn’t it?

He was interested in you. He was taking advantage of his role as your teacher, teasing you for his own amusement. That flash of lust was real, and it warned you of danger. The awkward nerves you felt around him were rational.

Back and forth and back and forth and-

“Hello?” Haruka snapped.

“Ah, um, yeah, I’m really sorry, Haru,” you said, realizing after a beat of silence that you had missed your cue.

“Whatever. I know you don’t get it.” She sniffed and then cleared her throat, composing herself. “I don’t suppose you know any hot guys, do you?”

“No dice,” you told her, although your thoughts went in a different direction. Gojo was hot, but he was also older than you and your teacher and there was no way. You rubbed your temple as if you could physically drive out the intrusive thoughts. It was pure ego.

In any other situation, you would be able to check for sure, but not with him. That was it. You didn’t know, and so you were making assumptions. Everything was normal, you were the one acting like a fool, self-obsessed enough to think you were getting the attention of an attractive older man.

“When you visit, we’ll have to go out looking for guys,” Haruka said. “I want to do something crazy before classes start.”

“I’m sure I can find a way to sneak out,” you joked. Mostly joking. You weren’t confined on campus, it was a little hard to find time.

That weekend, Gojo was gone, Oyama was busy, and you had the day to yourself. Rather than wasting it on campus, you hopped on a bus to the Tokyo station and took the train to Yokohama. You thought you would feel different returning to familiar stomping grounds after being away so long, but you didn’t. Nothing ever really changed.

That thought struck you especially when you spotted a pretty girl in a red sundress lackadaisically scrolling on her phone on a bench at the station. Haruka Inaba consistently scored top marks in every class, volunteered at hospitals in her free time, and reigned over the school’s tennis club throughout her second and third year of high school. She was the type of girl other girls wished they were.

A cursory look over your social media timeline would present picture after picture of the two of you having fun together, and she was the only person you had ever told about your dad leaving your mom for a younger woman. In short, she was your best friend.

Although, it might have been more accurate to say you had entered into an alliance. Everybody had a face they preferred other people didn’t see, when you were honest with someone that made you close, but didn’t necessarily foster a lot of affection.

“I hope you didn’t wait too long,” you said, greeting her with a smile.

“It was no big deal,” she told you. “The station’s on the way to the mall anyway.”

“Well then, shall we?” you asked.

“Of course,” Haruka said, getting to her feet and tossing her hair back to expose her perfectly smooth neck and shoulder, a very practiced gesture. “I’m surprised your mom didn’t come. You haven’t seen her since you left, have you?”

Internally, you rolled your eyes at how obvious the question was. Testing pressure points, or just looking for gossip.

“She’s a busy woman, I wouldn’t ask her to spend her day off with me,” you lied as you shuffled into the crowd of foot traffic flowing out of the station and onto the street. Mom didn’t even know you were in town. “Besides, I hate shopping with her.”

“That’s fair. What are you looking for today?”

“Athletic wear that isn’t hideous.”

“Do you do a lot of exercise at that new school of yours?” she asked, saying ‘school’ like it was a joke.

You shrugged. So far, you had been vague about Jujutsu Tech. It was impossible to be specific without sounding insane. Besides, Haruka only wanted to know more so she could dismiss the idea that you were special enough to be scouted for an incredibly upscale and mysterious school and she wasn’t.

“A bit,” you said. “What time are we meeting Fumiko and Kaoru?”

“The movie starts at four-fifteen,” Haruka told you.

“Oh, Ikki’s coming too,” you said. “I hope you don’t mind, Kaoru invited him before I could ask him not to.”

Haruka smiled tightly, her aura flashing aggressively. “Why would I mind?”

You let that one go, knowing better than to rub it in.

After that, you and Haruka relaxed into a far more superficial, casual dynamic. Clothes were a great unifier, and she had great taste.

The world was set right. No curses, no fighting, no second guessing people’s feelings. The other three showed up around lunch. There was still some strain with Haruka and the ever-oblivious Ikki, but you pretended you didn’t notice. The movie was boring, the dinner conversation even more-so, but you were rewarded with a milkshake out in the open air plaza.

Haruka and Fumiko were arguing with Kaoru about action versus drama movies. You wondered what type of movie Gojo preferred, if either. He was capable of stunts cooler than any action hero, but you weren’t sure he’d buy into drama either.

Was that some sort of mystical divination, your errant thoughts predicting the future? Probably not, although it was concerning that your thoughts would stray to him so easily.

You realized someone was behind you a fraction of a second before their big hands were covering your eyes. “Guess who,” he said. He, as in, one of the few people who could easily sneak up on you, who could make you nearly jump out of your skin, your cursed energy flaring and heart racing.

You grabbed Gojo’s wrists, pulling his hands away from your eyes and turning to face him. He wore a casual button-up, a pair of retro round lensed sunglasses, and a huge grin.

“Who are you?” Ikki asked, his body tensed and halfway out of his seat.

“It’s alright,” you said, putting a hand on his arm. “This is…” you said, looking at Gojo as you tried to think of an answer.

“I’m her teacher, Satoru Gojo,” he finished for you with a megawatt smile, waving to your friends. Haruka looked impressed, her eyes dragging over him without even an attempt at subtlety. The other three looked at him with a range from mild interest to outright hostility.

“I thought you were on a mi—a business trip,” you said.

“I finished early,” Gojo said, wedging himself between you and Ikki to wrap an arm around your shoulder. The stool was high enough that he didn’t have to lean down very much, but he still almost pulled you out of the seat. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?” His face was right next to yours. You couldn’t look at him, not when he was peering over the top of his sunglasses, giving you the full weight of his beautiful eyes.

You cleared your throat, irritated that he would go out of his way to embarrass you. “This is Ikki, Haruka, Fumiko, and Kaoru,” you told him, gesturing to them in turn.

“You’re more than welcome to join us, Gojo,” Haruka said, leaning forward with her eyes fixed directly on Gojo. “She’s spoken very highly of you.”

“She didn’t say you were so young,” Ikki said, clearly disgruntled by the way Gojo had pushed him aside. “Are you really a teacher?”

“Ah, you flatter me!” Gojo said, laughing a little louder than appropriate. “Well, as much as I would love to stick around to hear embarrassing stories about my cute little student, it’s time for us to get going.” He released you, standing up straight. “It was nice meeting you all.”

He couldn’t be serious.

“Us?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. There’s something we need to do before going back to campus. It’s time sensitive, we have to hurry.”

“I’m kind of in the middle of something,” you said. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“No, it can’t. Come on.”

You played out the scenario where you continued to argue, but all of them ended with the same eventuality. He was, no matter what else, your teacher. Sighing dramatically, you slung your bags over your arm and stood up.

“I guess I have to go,” you said. “It was fun, I’ll see you later.” Fumiko and Kaoru smiled back, but Haruka was fixated on Gojo. You could practically see the hearts swirling in her aura. Ikki was unamused on the edge of hostile, glaring at Gojo who had put his hands in his pockets, unconcerned.

“Okay,” you said, turning away from your friends. “Lead the way.”

Gojo smiled. “Don’t worry,” he told you, taking off with his long-legged strides, “it’s not far.”

“Is there a job?” you asked, trotting behind him to catch up. The plaza was congested with the late afternoon crowd, it was a bit of a battle to make your way out until you reached the equally crowded sidewalk.

“It’s something very important,” Gojo told you. “Time is of the essence. Can’t you walk any faster?”

“In these shoes?” you asked incredulously, coming to a stop beside him as you waited for the crosswalk light to turn.

“I’ve never understood that,” Gojo said, looking at your feet. “Why wear something that you can’t move around in? I’d hate that.”

“Because these shoes are adorable and they make my legs look great,” you said, once again rushing to keep up with him as he crossed the road.

“Oho?” Gojo asked, slowing his stride to look at you with a smile. “Are you trying to impress somebody?”

“I want to impress everyone,” you said.

“It was that guy you were sitting next to, wasn’t it?” he asked knowingly. “Are you dating?”

“Ikki?” you asked. Your nose scrunched up at the idea, you could only imagine Haruka’s reaction. “No, we’re not.”

“Really? He was very protective of you.”

You shrugged, not really interested in that particular topic.

“How was your trip?” you asked, prompting him to tell you about England. When you thought about the city of London, you imagined big stone castles crawling with translucent ghosts in huge gowns, but he said it was just a regular city with regular boring curses.

You weren’t as disappointed by that as you might have been otherwise, too busy trying to keep up. Apparently, not far meant something completely different to Gojo than to you, although part of that was that he refused to slow down for your sake. It was almost like he was amused by forcing you to scramble behind him, but you didn’t want to think he would be that rude just for his own entertainment.

It was a huge relief when he stopped in front of a collection of businesses. “Wait here,” Gojo said, grabbing your shoulders and pressing down as if to plant you in place.

“Yes, sir.”

He went into the store and you waited dutifully, looking around at the people passing by. You felt out the area curiously, but there wasn’t much. People’s auras that projected regular, boring emotions and some vague, stale residuals, the tumultuous swirl of rotten energy that swarmed the city like a foul stench. Nothing out of the ordinary.

It was difficult not to replay his questions in your head, it really only added to the confusing mess of nerves and doubt you felt when you thought about Gojo. Why would it matter if you were dating Ikki or not? It wasn’t his business whatsoever. But really, not that you would ever openly acknowledge it, the idea that Satoru Gojo would give you attention in that way was thrilling. Not good, not bad, just thrilling. It was because of who he was, you knew that rationally, and you knew that was a weird and childish way to think. There was no way he had any inappropriate sentiments towards you, no more than you did him.

When you thought about it like that, you just got irritated. With him and with yourself.

“Okay!” Gojo called, easily catching your attention as he left the store and came to stand by you. He held a little box from the bakery, although you couldn’t see what was in it. “Close your eyes and say ‘ahh’.”

“What?” you asked, your eyebrows furrowing.

“Come on, do it,” he insisted.

You did as he said, making no attempts to hide your exasperation. Gojo pushed a pastry puff into your mouth, leaving a smear of cream over your bottom lip.

Chewing the pastry, you opened your eyes to Gojo’s eager smile. “Well? Delicious, right?” he asked, licking off the extra cream from the fingers that had just been in your mouth.

You nodded as you swallowed, more distracted by the way his tongue ran along his long fingers than the flavor. Which was ridiculous. “Are we waiting for someone?” you asked, forcing yourself to focus on that instead.

“No, we’re going back to campus. These are the best profiteroles I’ve ever tasted. We had to hurry—they make a fresh batch for the evening crowd.”

“So… there’s no job?” you asked.

“I never said it was,” he told you, popping another pastry in his mouth.

“This was the thing that was so important that I couldn’t spend time with my friends that I never see?” you pushed. “You’re not serious.”

“Are you mad?” Gojo asked. “I got some just for you.”

“I haven’t seen them in a long time,” you said. “And you were acting weird.”

“You are mad,” Gojo said, frowning. “I only wanted to share something nice with you. After all, you’ve been working so hard. I’m proud of you.”

“Is that it?” you asked. “Really?”

“What else?” he asked.

“Hello?” you asked after picking up the call. You were waiting for your laundry, half-heartedly leafing through a book about historical cursed objects.

“Did you make it back alright?” Haruka asked from the other end.

“I did,” you said. “I’m sorry about earlier. Gojo is a little… eccentric.”

“He’s gorgeous,” Haruka said. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me your teacher was so hot.”

“He’s my teacher,” you said, surprised by the flare of irritation you felt at having her point it out. Of course he was hot, but you couldn’t acknowledge that. You wouldn’t want to anyway, not when you were still feeling so conflicted.

“Yeah but he’s young. What do you think, twenty-five? Twenty-six?”

“He’s my teacher,” you repeated.

“He’s not my teacher. Do you think he’s single? I didn’t see a ring.”

“No,” you said bluntly, closing the book with a snap.

“No, he’s not single?”

“I mean no, I’m not having this conversation with you,” you said. “It’s weird and disrespectful.”

“You’re kidding,” Haruka asked. “Since when do you care about that?”

That caught you off guard; you didn’t have an answer. Any response you could think of led to increasingly disquieting explanations. “I don’t think Gojo’s the dating type,” you told her, deciding to side-step that question completely. “He’s out of the city about as often as he’s here, so I doubt he’s got much time for that sort of thing.”

She hummed. “Maybe I can come visit you on campus. It’s just outside of Tokyo, right?”

“It’s a religious school,” you told her. “No visitors on campus.”

“That’s so lame. You should give me his number then.”

“Why would I do that?”

“For me,” Haruka said. “To mend my broken heart.”

“You can’t date my teacher.”

“I’m not looking to date him,” Haruka said. “Come on, you owe me. Please?”

“Look, Haru-” you began, ready to try to explain to her why it was a bad idea that wouldn’t go anywhere, but she cut you off.

“Unless you really are saving him for yourself,” Haruka said. “I guess I wouldn’t put it past you.”

You closed your mouth, swallowing your warning. For that, she could deal with another rejection. “Okay, I’ll ask.”

“Thank you!” Haruka said. “Okay, I gotta hurry to take a shower, text me. Don’t forget, okay?”

“I won’t,” you said, truly meaning it. “Goodnight.”

The next day, the sun was high and hot as you dropped down to sit next to Gojo on the field-side benches.

“Your form is looking much better,” Gojo said. “I like that outfit too. Is it new?”

You smiled, preening a little bit at the compliment. “Thank you, it is,” you said, smoothing your hair back. “You know, men don’t usually notice clothes.”

“I notice everything you do,” he said. “It’s the best way to keep track of your progress.”

“Right,” you said, smiling and accepting that with a nod, aggressively rejecting the fluttery nerves the comment inspired. “Sensei, may I ask you something personal?”

“Oh? What is it?

“Are you seeing anyone? Romantically, I mean.”

“That’s hardly an appropriate question to ask your teacher.”

“You asked me if I was dating someone,” you pointed out. “I’m only asking for a—a friend.”

“A friend?” Gojo repeated dubiously. “Well, you can tell your friend that I’m not seeing anyone. Not exclusively, at least.”

That confirmed that, at least. “And you’re okay with younger women?” you asked, acting more flustered than you felt. “My age, I mean. Or, you know, around my age. Not me, obviously.”

“It depends on the woman,” he said slowly, leaning forward with a little smile curling his lips. “What’s she like?”

“I guess you could say she’s kind of like me,” you said. “Some people think she’s difficult, but maybe you don’t mind that?”

“Is she secretly very shy?” he asked. “Perhaps because she’s afraid of her true feelings?”

“She is a little shy,” you allowed. “You’re intimidating sometimes, sensei. And it’s scandalous because you’re my teacher.”

“I won’t be your teacher forever.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“But I would hate for anyone to think I’m playing favorites.”

“It’s not like I’m asking for special treatment.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Not at all. I’d rather you keep the entire thing between you two,” you said, your tone reverting to its normal timbre.

“What?” Gojo asked, his voice flat with confusion.

“My friend Haruka. You met her yesterday. She asked me to give her your number and see if you were interested,” you said. “It’s the only way to make up for having to bail out on the plans we had last night. That’s okay, right? It was your fault.”

“Are you still mad at me for that?” Gojo asked.

“I’m not mad,” you pretended to consider his nonplussed expression for a moment. “You seemed interested before.”

“You were misleading me on purpose, weren’t you? How cruel. I thought you were a nice girl.”

“Misleading you? I don’t know what you mean, sensei. I told you I was asking for a friend.”

If you could see his eyes, you had a feeling they would be narrowed. “In that case, I’m afraid I’ll have to pass.”

You shrugged. “Your loss.” Taking a drink, you pumped yourself up and got to your feet. “Okay! I’m gonna win this next match for sure.”

You jumped off the benches. You did not win the next match. You did, however, feel as if you had scored some sort of petty victory with Gojo’s obvious confusion. You wondered if he truly thought you were making a pass at him and was willing to play along, or if it was just as much a game to him as you. If you could read him, you’d know. And it wouldn’t be a source of many late nights spent looking up at your ceiling wondering if you were reading too far into innocuous interactions.

But you couldn’t.

You shouldn’t have played into it. That was the conclusion you quickly drew as March rolled out into April and your training reached a feverish intensity. The more you trained, the stronger your Divination became, the more you realized how utterly outmatched you were, how unprepared. Not only with Jujutsu sorcery, but with your enigmatic teacher.

The interactions seemed so banal at face value, but they became the only thing you could think about. It was always something.

“Oh, look at you!” Gojo said, startling you as you were leaving campus one Saturday morning. “That’s very cute. Did you get all dressed up just for me? I’m flattered.”

“No, I was going to go out.”

“It’s for a boy, then. I see.”

You rolled your eyes impatiently. “If I was dressing up for you, I’d be dressing up for a guy. But I'm not.”

“Oh, but I just remembered,” Gojo said, snapping his fingers. “I’m taking you along on a job. You need more experience, don’t you?”

And he was always so close. Maddeningly close, finding any excuse to touch you.

“Oop, there’s an eyelash on your cheek,” Gojo said, leaning in close with his lips pursed as he pinched it off. “Okay! Make a wish!”

You resisted the urge to shrink back, looking at the bandage covering his eyes as impassively as you could. “I wish-”

“No, don’t tell me!” he said, waving his hands. “Otherwise it won’t come true.”

The two of you would be walking somewhere and he’d grabbed your hand. “No, no, we’re going this way,” he'd say, acting like it was the most casual thing in the world to entwine his fingers with your own to guide you.

And the other things, a friendly arm thrown over your shoulder, his hands physically adjusting your stance when practicing fighting, his relentless proximity, it added up. Added up to what? You didn’t know. Whenever you expressed discomfort, Gojo seemed so confused.

You thought that at least when he was away on missions, you would have space to breathe, but even then you felt his domineering influence.

“Where are you going?” Oyama asked.

“It’s not your business.”

“Is it an emergency?”

“No. I’m-”

“Then you need to be training, your hand to hand is still way too sloppy.”

And then it was:

“You marked a spot on your map, we should go check it out.”

“And it can only be done today,” you said flatly. “On the day I had off. When I specifically mentioned I wanted to go out.”

Oyama shrugged as if helpless. And, honestly, he probably was. You had a feeling you knew exactly where the orders were coming from.

When Gojo came back and you asked him about it, demanding some explanation, he looked utterly baffled by your confrontational tone.

“You need to focus,” Gojo said, frowning with concern, his aura as impenetrable as ever. “You’re still so far behind your fellow sorcerers.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders to comfort you, his voice lowering intimately. “I know it’s difficult right now, but when you’re strong, you can do whatever you want.”

The string of cancellations as well as the thing with Gojo not working out was the breaking point for Haruka. She stopped inviting you places. More than once, you considered telling her the truth, coming clean about everything regarding Gojo’s strange behavior, but you didn’t.

Even if you told her the truth, that you weren’t necessarily trying to invite Gojo’s attention, it would validate the thing she first assumed when asking you to get his number for her. That was an old wound, an uncomfortable situation in high school with the tennis instructor. Besides, when you presented the case to yourself, it sounded insane. A handful of interactions with a man who was a bit eccentric, being restricted because you were so far behind other sorcerers.

Sometimes you felt insane, like you were missing something vital, drawing the wrong conclusions from inferred motivations because you couldn’t read Gojo like you could everyone else. You asked for a transfer to the Kyoto campus, and you clung to that. They said they would consider it, but you weren’t sure if they took it seriously. You couldn’t provide any details as to why you wanted to move, not even to yourself.

All you could do was lay in bed listening to white noise TV overthinking every comment he made and interactions you had, your thoughts caught in the endless back and forth of confusion.

“You weren’t there to greet me,” Gojo said, calling into the empty gym where you were stretching. He had been gone for three days and, unlike when you first began at Jujutsu Tech, you weren’t excitedly looking forward to his arrival. Or maybe you were? At least it was something other than the oppressive isolation and relentless training, but it only really upset you. “I got you a souvenir.”

“I’m good, thanks. Did you have a fun trip?” you asked in an icy tone, refusing to turn around to address him with respect.

“I wouldn’t call it fun, it’s work.”

“Still,” you insisted, rolling your shoulders, “it must be nice to have a little freedom.”

An awkward silence followed your comment.

“You’re not mad or something, are you?” Gojo finally asked.

“I’m not mad.”

“I haven’t done anything to deserve this attitude,” Gojo clearly wasn’t convinced, you could hear the theatrical dismay in his tone. “What’s got you so grumpy?”

“I’m not grumpy.”

“So why are you pouting then?”

Finally fed up with the badgering, you whirled around to face him, resolved to be upfront, to not give him a way to get out of the question. But then you looked him up and down and felt an odd jab of disgust and guilt twist in your stomach. It was so much easier to think the worst of somebody when they weren’t there to provide any sort of counternarrative. Seeing Gojo, it was hard to believe that he was the person you sometimes feared him to be. He was too attractive, powerful, and intelligent. It didn’t make sense that he would resort to underhanded means to manipulate you.

“Is there a reason I’m not allowed to leave?” you asked, staring at his covered eyes.

“What do you mean?” Gojo asked, the picture of innocent confusion. “Nobody’s stopping you.”

“Really? Because when you’re here, you stop me and, when you’re not, Oyama finds a reason that I can’t. It’s almost uncanny that so many jobs coincide with the days that I make plans.”

“Have you tried asking Oyama?” Gojo asked. “Maybe he has a crush on you.”

“He detests me,” you told him flatly. “I don’t blame him.”

“Oh? Do you want me to talk to him about that? I hate to think that my students aren’t getting along.”

“I want to know what’s going on,” you said, trying to keep calm.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Gojo said, his act of innocence perfectly maintained. Unless it wasn’t a mask. You couldn’t tell. “Are you feeling okay? Maybe you’ve been working too hard.” He frowned, thinking about it for a second. “I know! Let’s go out together. I’ve been dying to try this new sushi restaurant in town. I’ll invite Oyama and we can all get to the bottom of whatever it is you think you’re feeling.”

The moon hung high in the sky as you did training exercises in the field near your dorm, trying to shut your brain off. Nothing was solved over dinner. Of course not. Both men acted like there was nothing strange going on.

No, of course you were allowed to do whatever you wanted. Of course they weren’t stopping you. But if they were, they had good reason to. If they were, the problem was that you were just so weak. Sure you were making progress, but you weren’t even close to catching up with other sorcerers your age.

When you got back to your room, you broke down and called your mom, intending to tell her everything. The isolation, the suffocation, the worries you had about your teacher’s behavior. But all she could talk about was how well things were going with her new boyfriend. They were considering moving in together. And it was fine if she gave his daughter your old bedroom, wasn’t it? You didn’t need it anymore. You texted Haruka, but she didn’t reply, posting on her social media story to ensure you knew she was ignoring you on purpose.

So you decided you needed to hit something. It helped you calm down, at least. It was easier to believe the world had a semblance of peace in the dark of the night.

“Looking good!” a familiar voice called from behind you. You were trained enough to not be startled, taking a defensive stance as you considered how you were going to handle this. “I am curious as to why you’re out here though. I thought you were tired.”

That was the reason you gave after you got back to campus, the reason you immediately excused yourself from his company. Gojo knew it was a lie then, and said it like a joke now.

“I can’t sleep,” you said, shrugging as you turned around.

“I see. You’re not still angry with me, are you? Even though I didn’t do anything wrong?”

“No.”

“Then I can’t help but wonder what face you’re imagining on that training dummy.”

“Are you that hopeful that I’m thinking about you, sensei?”

He laughed. “If anything, I’m worried,” he said. “You know what they say about a woman scorned.”

“You told me I needed to train more,” you pointed out. “Do you have any tips? I prefer fighting with knives, but I can’t trust that I’ll always have weapons, and I still need to get in close if I’m going to use my Divination.”

“I’m not sure there’s much to read from your current opponent,” Gojo said.

“I’m being serious,” you said. “If you don’t want to help, that’s fine too.”

“No, I do. Okay, get into a defensive position,” he instructed, which you did.

Gojo walked around to stand close behind you, you could feel the warm thrum of his body, the energy coursing through it, the power.

“Your posture is fine, the problem is your mindset,” he said, his voice lower. He reached around to brush his fingers over your flushed neck and over, across your shoulder and down your arm. “You can’t think of it in terms of only using your cursed energy or only your body. Jujutsu sorcery is more than the sum of its parts. You fight with your whole self.” His hands settled on your hips, repositioning them slightly to the side. Then his palm laid flat over your pelvis, dragging up your stomach. Your skin crackled with little sparks of electricity, crawling and thrumming and alive and nervous.

“Sensei, I’m, uh…” Tongue-tied. A shiver snaked down your spine and you resisted the urge to move and put distance between you. You cleared your throat. “I understand that part, it’s just…”

“You don’t feel it yet. The harmony,” Gojo said. “Most people aren’t actively aware of their bodies, but a sorcerer has to be.”

“I am,” you said softly.

“Are you really?” Gojo asked, his lips brushing your temple. “Do you feel how your cursed energy flows through your body? It has its own circulatory system, you just have to find its pulse, synchronize it with your own.” He raised his hand up to press against your neck, lightly pressing against the place where your blood erratically thrummed beneath the skin.

“I get it,” you told him, you turned around, grabbing his hand from your neck, pressing your palms flat together.

Gojo looked taken aback, but didn’t withdraw. You saw nothing from within him. Felt no flicker of emotion.

“You know, I… I realized,” you said, looking up at his half-covered face, imagining a pair of sparkling blue eyes, knowing he was staring at you. “When we’re close like this, I can feel your… Infinity. The endless expanse that separates you and me.”

“Really?” he asked, sliding his hand to the side. It dwarfed your own. “I heard that you’re getting even better at reading people. It’s very impressive how fast you’re progressing, I’m so proud.”

“I thought that would help me figure you out, but it’s not your cursed energy keeping me out. It’s your infinity.” You looked at where your hands met. You felt his skin, his warmth, and yet you knew the connection wasn’t quite there. It was impossible to truly connect with him. “Trying to read you is like trying to find a flame in an endless abyss. Even the few times I thought I’ve seen something, I can’t be sure that it wasn’t just an illusion in the dark.”

Gojo’s head tilted curiously. “What was it that you thought you felt?”

“I’m getting stronger,” you told him rather than answer, pressing your hand ever more firmly against his. “If you give me a chance, I’ll show you. That’s why you’re keeping me from going out, right? Because you think I’m weak.”

“I’m not keeping you from doing anything,” Gojo told you. “I don’t know where you got this idea that I am.”

You dropped your hand, stepping away from him. The words were a knife twisted in your chest. He made you sound crazy. Made you feel crazy.

“Right. I’m going to bed,” you told him flatly. “Goodnight.”

“Hello?” Haruka answered, her voice groggy from just waking up. She probably wouldn’t have taken your call if she was fully awake.

“I’m too sick to train or study today,” you told her, holding up a potential outfit for the day. Gojo was gone, and you were done asking for permission to leave. “I’m going to be laid out in bed all day today and tomorrow.”

“What?”

“Do you think Ikki and Kaoru would be interested in hanging out? I could use a drink.” While you were still a little over a year out from buying liquor, both Ikki and Kaoru were of age and they didn’t mind hosting little parties at their shared apartment.

“It’s eight in the morning,” Haruka said.

“Not now, I mean later. I’m gonna catch the twelve-twenty train. Let’s get lunch, or go shopping. Honestly, I don’t care, I just need to get out of here.”

“Um. Yeah, I think we could do that.”

“Great. See you then.” You hung up before she could change her mind.

They waited until you were more than a little drunk to ask. You should have expected that, although you also didn’t expect to get so drunk. Ikki kept handing you drinks, urging you to relax and enjoy yourself. The world was warm and sweaty and spinning and comfortable and lovely and frightening.

“Okay,” Ikki said, catching your attention. A cigarette hung out of the corner of his mouth like he was some kind of cowboy. He only smoked when he got drunk, it was kind of cute, not that you would ever tell him that. He already knew it anyway. “What’s up with you lately?”

“What?” you asked, blinking fast.

“Kaoru thinks you got knocked up,” Fumiko said, speaking up from her position leaning against Kaoru’s chest.

Kaoru frowned down at her.

“What?” you asked, trying to force your drunk brain to think sober thoughts. “It’s not anything like that… It’s a… It’s nothing.”

“You’ve been blowing us off every time we asked you to come out without any explanation,” Haruka said. “It has to be a boy.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Come ooooooon,” Fumiko pushed. “It’s a guy. He’s keeping you all to yourself.”

“That’s not it,” you insisted.

“Is it something illegal?” Ikki asked with a puff of smoke.

“No, nothing like that,” you said. Then you broke out laughing, looking at your nearly empty beer. “It’s not like I have a boyfriend or anything. It-it, okay it is a guy. We’re not dating. It used to just be a weird vibe but now it’s like, weirder. He stops me from leaving and if he’s not there then he gets Oyama to keep me from going and there’s always a reason, but it’s still… That’s weird, right? I had to sneak out to come tonight, and even then that’s only because he’s out of the country.”

“There’s no way,” Haruka said, her voice flat with genuine disbelief. You could tell she was already prepared to call you a liar. “You’re saying you’re some kind of hostage?”

“Wait so, what, there’s somebody at your school who’s obsessed with you?” Kaoru asked. “What even is that place?”

“It’s that teacher, isn’t it,” Ikki said, pointing his half burned cigarette at you “The creepy guy with the glasses.”

“He’s not, like… creepy,” you said. “I don’t know, it’s just weird.”

Haruka scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Why would a guy that looks like Gojo go through all the trouble for you?”

“Tell him you’re dating me and I’ll beat him up if he keeps you all to himself,” Ikki said with a lopsided grin, butting his cigarette and throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“How would that help?” Haruka snapped, glaring at the two of you, her aura sparking with anger. That was very not good.

You shrugged off Ikki’s arm, scowling and trying to snap back to sobriety. “I knew you would do this if I told you,” you said. “That’s why I didn’t say anything before.”

“Why would I believe you? I know how you are. This is just like that one time in our second year with the tennis coach.”

You frowned. Of course she would bring that up. “That wasn’t-”

“You thought he was cute, but he didn’t reciprocate so you told everyone he was a perv.”

“Wasn’t that guy fired for trying to get with his students?” Kaoru asked.

“Yeah, but he wasn’t into her,” Haruka argued.

“It’s weird that you’re jealous about sexual harassment,” you told her bluntly.

“Okay! I think we should take a breather,” Ikki said, trying to smooth things over. “You girls might’ve overdone it a little.” You pushed him off, your own temper flaring to meet Haruka’s fiery aura.

“I bet Gojo turned you down and that’s why you’re making this up,” she said, her voice raising. “Or, no, you just want to outdo me. Brag about how you’re so much better just like always.”

“The only reason you’re saying this is because you’re mad he didn’t wanna sleep with you and you think it’s my fault,” you told her, working hard to keep the drunken slur out of your voice. “It’s not like I enjoy having somebody breathing down my neck all the time, although I’m sure you’d love the attention. You beg for it often enough.”

“You do too!” she said, getting shrill. “You just act like you don’t. Being a prude doesn’t make you superior.”

“That’s true, I don’t need self-respect to be better than you,” you snapped. In the ensuing silence, everybody in the room was just staring at you. Like you were the one out of line. Like they hadn’t ganged up on you to force you to tell them what was going on.

Angry at them and angry at yourself for losing it so spectacularly, you stumbled drunkenly to your feet. Ikki got up too, although you pushed off his help as you went to the bathroom. Haruka shouted insults after you, which you ignored.

Instead you went into their bathroom, marveled at the disgusting state of a place shared by two guys, and threw up.

The knocking woke you up. It took a minute of looking at the sunshine peering in through the blinds to realize you were on Ikki’s and Kaoru’s couch, your back cramping from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position. A glass of water and two painkillers sat ready for you on the messy coffee table alongside empty beer bottles and snack wrappers. You groaned, sitting up and taking the medication with a wince.

Whoever was at the door continued to knock. You grunted, standing up. Bad idea. You nearly fell right back down, but you managed to stay on your feet. You were about to answer the door before you realized that could be a bad idea, turning around to find Ikki.

The door to Kaoru’s room was closed, but the other door yawned open. You peeked in. Haruka was passed out on the bed. You could hear the shower running from the bathroom.

“Ikki?” you called through the door. “Someone’s knocking.”

“What?”

“Someone’s at the door,” you said. “Are you expecting anyone?”

“No,” he said. “Will you get it? I’ll be out in a second.”

Perhaps hearing voices inside, the person at the door only got louder. You sighed, annoyed by their insistence.

You returned to the living room to open the door, squinting at how bright the morning was in comparison to the dark apartment.

“Good morning!” Gojo enthused.

You blinked hard three or four times, willing reality to bend to make what you were seeing stop being true.

“Woah, you look like shit. Did you have a fun night?”

“What?” you asked, baffled beyond comprehension.

“Who is it?” Ikki asked, coming out of the bathroom with billows of steam and only a towel around his waist, drying his hair absently.

“I’ve come to retrieve my wayward student,” Gojo said.

You stared at him, hungover and confused and wanting nothing more than to lay back down on that horribly uncomfortable couch and never get up.

“Are you ready to go?” Gojo asked you when he got no answer.

You let out an unsteady breath, closing your eyes for a second to try and gain some clarity or zen. Nope. That was a lost cause.

“Give me a second, I have to use the bathroom,” you said, turning away from him towards the bedroom to get your bag.

Haruka was still passed out, a fact you were very grateful for. You weren’t completely clear on the details of last night, but the broad strokes were all there. You slung your bag over your shoulder and went into the steamy bathroom. Clearing the mirror in squeaky finger-streaks proved Gojo right. You looked like shit.

After dry heaving a little as you brushed your teeth, you put on clean clothes and sorted out the mess that was your hair. It wasn’t perfect, but you didn’t look as awful as you felt. When you returned to the main room, Ikki was dressed. The room was heavy with awkward tension, although Gojo didn’t look at all uncomfortable. You weren’t sure you wanted to know what words were exchanged.

“Ready to go?” Gojo asked. You sighed, throwing your bag over your shoulder.

“I’ll talk to you later,” you told Ikki, smiling apologetically.

And Ikki, in his endless wisdom, did the last thing you expected and grabbed you around the waist, pulling you in for a kiss. He stared at Gojo the whole time, aggression swirling around him thicker than any desire or affection. Using you to prove a point. That was unlike him. Gojo might’ve just had a way of pulling out the worst in people.

“Call me later,” he said when he released you, winking.

“Bye,” you said, forcing a smile.

“It was nice to see you again,” Gojo said, smiling and waving in a too-cheerful way. You walked out into the sunlight, wincing at how bright it was, going for the stairs without waiting for him to follow.

“Did you have fun last night?” Gojo asked as you took the stairs down to ground level.

“Yeah,” you said, too tired and irritable to play along.

“You know, as your teacher, it’s my responsibility to look after your wellbeing,” Gojo said, hopping the last few steps to stay next to you. “Underage drinking can have very dire consequences. Especially when you’re spending the night at a man’s home. I would hate to think that you’d be taken advantage of.”

“Why are you here?” you asked, turning to face him. “How did you know where to find me?”

“I got back last night. I was worried when you weren’t on campus,” you could feel his gaze as he looked you up and down. “I’m glad to see you’re just fine.”

“Right,” you said. That didn’t answer your question, but you doubted you would get anything better. “Can we stop to get breakfast?”

“Can you wait until we get to the station? We have to hurry to catch the train.”

“Hurry for what?”

“Didn’t you read my messages? You have a job,” he told you.

“You’re kidding.”

“You begged me for a chance to prove yourself, well here it is. If you do well on this mission, I’ll consider you for a promotion of sorts. Isn’t that exciting?”

Through a series of increasingly unfortunate circumstances, the thread you were following led to a realization that the curse was based on the time of day. That is, exactly before sunrise. By the time you figured that out, you had about nine hours to kill.

Gojo said he’d rent a room for you to rest, but it had to be close enough that you could be at the lot exactly on time. On short notice and in such a small area to select from, the choices of accommodations were slim.

One room, one bed. If the embarrassment didn’t kill you, the cliche would.

Gojo showering gave you some time alone to prepare yourself, at least. It wasn’t like you were afraid he would do anything, but you couldn’t say you were exactly comfortable with the arrangement. The whole day, you had been standoffish, but now you were just tired and nervous. Of course you wanted to prove yourself to him, but you also got angry every time you thought about him springing this on you when he knew you weren’t operating at your best. It felt calculated, but you knew that he would easily deny that if you accused him of anything.

The worst of everything was how meticulously he avoided any conversation about your behavior, or Ikki, or his own motivations for doing this. The more stormy your mood got, the bigger he smiled, and the more he acted the role of the caring teacher.

Just like always, you felt like you were a little crazy. Drowning in delusions of self importance.

You sat crossed legged on the foot of the bed and put on a ghost hunting show. If only being a sorcerer was like on TV. Dramatics, theatrics, silly devices, and easy answers. That had been your original hope when you started playing with Divination. You wanted something exciting, the cheap thrills weren't doing it anymore.

Well, you got what you wanted. You certainly weren't bored.

“What are we watching?” Gojo asked as he came out of the bathroom with a cloud of steam, drying his wet hair. You cleared your throat and averted your eyes from his partial nudity.

“Ghost Adventures,” you said, staring straight ahead at the screen.

“What’s that?” he asked as he got onto the bed, laying on top of the comforter. The robe mostly covered his bare torso.

“A ghost hunting show,” you answered. “It’s American.”

“Is it any good?”

You snorted out a short laugh. “No. We don’t have to keep it on.”

“I don’t mind.”

You stared at the TV for a minute before checking your phone again. Haruka hadn’t texted you all day. At first, you were resolute that you would only accept an apology, but the longer you thought about it, the more you reasoned yourself to accept anything.

“Isn’t it uncomfortable to sit like that?” Gojo asked, startling you. You turned off your phone screen, setting it on the bedside table.

“I’m fine.”

“I heard that if you sit with your back hunched like that you’ll get stuck that way.”

You rolled your eyes, although you did swing your legs around to lay against the headboard. As much as you wanted to pretend it wasn’t true, you were still tired from the previous night. Since he made no move to do it, you got under the stiff sheets, trying to fluff the lumpy pillow into comfortable submission.

“Are you dissatisfied?” Gojo asked suddenly.

“What?”

“Are you dissatisfied with your life as a sorcerer? When you first started at Jujutsu Tech I thought you were over your rebellious delinquent phase, but now you’re falling back into the same habits. I can only assume it’s because you’re dissatisfied.”

“It was one night,” you argued. Chewing on the words and your lip for a second, you cast a sideways glare towards him. “If there weren’t such strict restrictions about when and how I can leave campus, I wouldn't have had to lie.”

“You’re still technically a student, of course there are restrictions. Do you think that’s unfair?”

“Oyama doesn’t have the same restrictions.”

“Oyama is nearly a Grade Two sorcerer, and he’s never had any behavioral issues.”

“Right,” you said, your voice flat. At least that was a different answer than you had gotten previously, some acknowledgement that you were getting unfair treatment.

“If you’re this unhappy, why haven’t you said anything?” Gojo asked.

You wondered how much he already knew or assumed. He wasn’t stupid, he was painfully perceptive. Unless it was all in your head, and he truly did not understand why you were reacting like this because he had no reason to think you would second guess his behavior and motivations.

“You already have a lot to worry about,” you told him.

“I always have time for my cute little student. It’s my responsibility to see that you’re satisfied. I have noticed that you seem a little more tense. Is the stress starting to get to you? It’s important to talk about these things, you know. Otherwise they can spiral into a much larger problem. We have to rely on each other as sorcerers.”

“I’m fine.”

Gojo hummed. You pretended to be very interested in a case about some old haunted asylum where they tortured patients or whatever.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” Gojo said when the show cut to commercial. “Your abilities can be considered dangerous to yourself and those around you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sorcerers and curse users go to great lengths to keep their techniques secret. The mere idea of your Divination puts them at risk. While it’s not fully refined yet, there is a non-zero chance that you will be able to read techniques in their entirety. I’m sure there are already conversations being had about taking you out. Nobody’s stupid enough to try anything when you’re under my protection, but if they saw a chance, they would jump at it.”

“So I can’t leave,” you said, staring hard at the TV as a commercial for foot cream played out.

“You can!” Gojo said quickly, his voice energetically trying to placate you. “Neither myself or any other sorcerer will hold you against your will. You’re an adult, you can do what you please. I’m only telling you of the risks you face now.”

“How would they know about my technique?” you asked.

Gojo shrugged glibly, his expression just as unreadable without sunglasses or that bandage. “These things have a way of getting around.”

In the very deepest part of your brain, you wondered if he didn’t have a hand in that. If he wouldn’t be willing to put you at risk if it meant you needed his protection. That was ridiculous. Truly. No matter what else Gojo had done, he hadn’t done anything you could call evil. The jujutsu world was just dangerous, and you already knew that.

“I understand,” you said, trying to sound unaffected.

Neither of you spoke for a while, although you didn’t think he was watching the TV any more than you were. It was a ridiculous story and they were so deadly serious about their silly spirit boxes.

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” Gojo asked. “I’ll wake you up when it’s time.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I should. Do you want to turn it off?”

“I don’t mind. You usually sleep with the TV or something on anyway, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but…” You frowned, your assurance trailing off. How did he know that?

“I’ve always wondered why,” Gojo said. “Are you afraid of the dark? That seems inconvenient for a sorcerer.”

“I have bad dreams,” you said.

“Will I have to worry about you waking up kicking and screaming?”

“Bad, not scary,” you corrected him, trying to make yourself as comfortable as possible. “Isn’t it wonderful that no matter how hard you repress things when you’re awake, your brain can just shove it in your face when you’re defenseless?”

“I understand that,” he told you with a wry smile.

“So even the strongest has to deal with that?” you asked, stifling a yawn into your palm. “I guess there really is no hope for the rest of us.”

“I’ve read that nightmares offer insights into our psyches,” Gojo said as you stared at the ceiling. “Things that we fear the most… and things we want the most.”

“I dream about my dad coming back,” you said softly, without thinking. You scrubbed your palms into your eyes, laughing humorlessly. “It’s pathetic. Sometimes I wish I’d dream about curses or whatever. The happy dreams are so much worse.”

“I truly believe that love is the worst curse of them all,” Gojo said softly.

“You’re probably right.” After a moment, you added, ”I’m sorry. For whoever you dream about, I’m sorry.”

“Who said I dream of anything?’

You huffed. “Fine. I take back my sorry.”

“You can’t, I’ve already accepted it. It warms my heart to think of my cute little student worrying about her sensei. What would you do to help me, I wonder?”

Your face scrunched up in disgust. “Nothing. Forget it.”

“I’d be more than happy to return the favor, you know. If you’re lonely,” Gojo said, turning onto his side with his head propped up on his arm, “I can help you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Liar,” Gojo said. “I’ve noticed how sad you are, how you refuse to reach out to anybody for support. I know what that's like."

“I don’t need anyone's support,” you said, avoiding his eyes. “I can either get over this, or I can’t. That’s on me.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Gojo said, even softer. “Even the strongest need help sometimes, and you’re hardly the strongest. I’m worried about you.”

You sighed, even more annoyed. “Don’t be.”

Gojo groaned dramatically. “You make it so difficult to be a good teacher and mentor. I want to help you, but then you act like this. It’s like you’re trying to rile me up.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, a cold flush running through your stomach.

“I’m telling you that you should be more careful,” Gojo said. “I’m not entirely sure you realize that you could very well face consequences for your behavior.”

“Is that a threat or something?” you asked.

“No, of course not,” he told you with a smile. “Now go to sleep, you’ll need it if you’re going to perform well tomorrow. Remember what’s at stake.”

The next afternoon, after getting your wounds treated and taking a long nap to make up for two nights of barely any sleep, you stood in the classroom facing Gojo. You had been expecting bad news, but not quite to the gleefully dismissive extent that he saw fit to deliver it.

“Suffice it to say, you did not meet my expectations. I guess you’re stuck with me for a while yet,” Gojo said, smiling like it was great news despite the attempted apologetic tone.

You grit your teeth. “Is this what you meant about consequences for my misbehavior?”

“What do you mean?” Gojo asked, tilting his head curiously.

“I don’t know what you want, if you expect something from me or if you’re mad I’m dating or whatever, but I did a good job,” you said. “You know I did, so-”

“You didn’t,” Gojo said, cutting you off. “I carefully evaluated every part of your performance, and I don’t think you’re ready to take on more complicated jobs. This isn’t a game. There are lives at stake. Your life, the lives of your fellow sorcerers, and the lives of the civilians we’re trying to protect. If you want to accuse me of trading favors or having an unfavorable bias, you’re more than welcome to take your case to the higher ups. I’m sure they would be delighted to hear of any perceived misconduct. Otherwise, I recommend you focus on your training.”

You nodded stiffly, biting your tongue. “Yes, sir.”

“I know you’re upset, but it’s important that you don’t rush something you’re not ready for. You could get hurt.”

“I understand. If you’ll excuse me then.” You turned to leave his office, your shoulders high and tense.

“Oh, right! I was told this morning that you asked for a transfer,” Gojo said, snapping loud enough to make you wince. “It was denied.”

You looked over your shoulder, a cold bit of dread sinking into your gut.

“Kyoto doesn’t need any more sorcerers at the moment, especially when you're still such a low level sorcerer,” he told you, returning to that innocent tone. “Why was it that you wanted to transfer anyway?”

“No reason,” you said, hiding your expression and leaving quickly.

The disappointment was bad, but what you hated more than anything with the humiliation. If Gojo were honest, then you could understand your failure, but not in the way he presented it to you. He was going out of his way to embarrass you. Hot bouts of sticky red fury filled your stomach and your head whenever you thought about it, a feeling so mean and aggressive that it hurt.

You couldn’t call your mom, you wouldn’t know what to tell her. Haruka still hadn’t texted you. Ikki had asked if you were alright, but there wasn’t anything you could think of to say to him. You knew what he wanted, what he expected from you by offering what he saw as help, but you couldn’t do that. Even if it pissed Gojo off, it wasn’t satisfying. He would view that sort of behavior as petty. It was petty.

If you were going to do something, it had to be big. Something that you weren’t supposed to do, something that would make a point, something that would soothe your embarrassment. When you felt yourself drawn to the map on your wall, pencil in hand, it was like a golden opportunity had fallen into your lap, gifted directly to you by fate.

“Oyama! We have a job,” you told him, acting like you were unhappy with the arrangement.

“What are you talking about?” Oyama asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

“It’s a spot on my map.” You could see his hesitation so you feigned annoyance. “If you want to go alone, that’s fine, but Gojo told me I had to as a part of my evaluation.”

He believed it, not even checking to make sure you were telling the truth.

As soon as you were conscious, a ragged gasp ripped up the inside of your dry throat, panic shooting through your veins like ice water. You groped your chest and stomach, searching for wounds that weren’t there. A little yelp of fear left your mouth and you wrenched your body upright. The sheet fell from your chest, making you realize that you were not dressed, and you were not alone.

Ieiri shot you a concerned look, blowing a final puff of smoke out of the window into the dark night before butting the cigarette. “Careful,” she warned, “your wounds are healed, but you’re going to be weak.”

Tugging the sheet up to cover your chest, you realized you were in the clinic, and then your memories crashed through the gauze of groggy ignorance. The curse, the fight, the terror, and then the stupidest plan you had ever concocted. Although you weren’t wounded anymore, you coughed weakly, your body reacting to the mere memory of suffocating on your own blood.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

You groaned, falling flat onto your back. “I feel like I got hit by a truck.”

“How much do you remember?” Ieriri asked, closing the window.

“Everything.” Unfortunately. Your face scrunched up as you tried to put the horrific memories of your mutilated body out of your mind. “Is Oyama okay?”

“He has a few bruises, nothing major.”

You nodded, relieved for that. If he got hurt after you forced him to take you along, you’d never live it down. After a second, you threw an arm over your face, something like a raspy laugh crackling its way out of your sore chest. “I think I did something extraordinarily stupid.”

“Like using yourself as bait so your fellow sorcerer could exorcize a curse?” Ieiri asked dryly.

You opened one eye to look at her. “Did it work?”

“It did, although you very nearly died for it. The broken ribs were the worst. You’re lucky they didn’t puncture anything vital.”

Hiking up the sheet over your healed chest, you sat up again. Your head spun, but the only pain you felt was phantom, like your brain was unable to reconcile the severe physical trauma with your perfectly healed body.

“It was the strangest thing,” you said. “The curse was smart enough to know to attack the stronger sorcerer, but I… I forced it to focus on me.” You winced, a shiver of soul-deep revulsion slithering down your throat all the way to the pit of your stomach as you remembered what happened after that. Remembering pain after the fact was difficult enough, let alone thinking of the right words to describe the experience.

“You need water,” Ieiri said, pressing a bottle of water into your hand. You eagerly accepted it, uncapping the bottle and chugging the whole thing. She was calm as ever, if tired.

Capping the bottle, you cleared your throat again. “I don’t suppose I can borrow some clothes?”

She patted a pile of folded clothes on the bedside table with a tired smile. “They won’t fit, but it’s better than streaking across campus.”

“Thank you,” you said, wrapping yourself in the sheet to fully sit up.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” Ieiri said, turning to leave the room. She paused in the doorway, looking over her shoulder at you. “Oh, before I forget, Satoru wants to see you as soon as possible. I doubt he expected you to wake up so quickly, I’m sure it can wait until morning.”

You frowned, your stomach twisting up at the thought. “Where do you think he’ll be?”

“He’s probably in his apartment. I doubt he’s asleep, if you wanted to talk to him now.” She snorted, shaking her head. “That man sleeps less than I do.”

“Got it,” you said. “Thanks.”

She hesitated in the doorway, thinking about what she was going to say. “Satoru was very upset when he heard what happened. I know he worries about his students, but this is different.”

“How so?” you asked, tensing up at the faint insinuation.

Ieiri sighed. “I’m not trying to involve myself, you’re free to do what you want. But, speaking as someone who has known Satoru for a while, be careful. I care for him, but his nature doesn’t always lend itself to respectable behavior.”

“Okay,” you said flatly, narrowing your eyes at her. You didn’t get the sense of any malice or disgust, but the words were obviously pointed.

“That’s all,” Ieiri said with a light shrug, leaving the room and closing the door. You squeezed your eyes shut, wondering what to think about that. You didn’t know if you wanted to believe her or not. It was the first time anybody confirmed some of the strange things you felt about the man, but you didn’t know if that made it any better.

Besides, you hadn’t so purposefully baited a reaction just to shy away now.

At twelve-twenty-five, you left the clinic. Considering you almost died earlier that day, you didn't feel too terrible. Every muscle in your body was sore and shaky, like you had been training too hard, but you had just slept for nine hours. Even if you laid down, you wouldn’t sleep. If Gojo wanted to talk, you would talk. The reasoning behind it was, on the surface, because you wanted to get it over with.

There might have been more to your compulsion, but you were too irritable to interrogate your motivation.

Before going over, you stopped by your room to exchange Ieiri’s borrowed clothes for a clean shirt, oversized hoodie, fresh panties, and a pair of shorts. While you were there, you took the time to wipe the mascara rings out from under your eyes, swipe on some lip balm, and pull your hair back to mitigate the mess. What you really needed was a full coat of foundation and some dry shampoo, but the idea that you were so desperate to impress him pissed you off even more.

On your way to the faculty apartments on the edge of campus, you thought about the best way to handle this. Gojo would know why you lied and disobeyed him, he wasn’t stupid. There wasn’t any way you could think of to reframe the narrative either. You did it because you wanted to, and because you were angry about his ruling, and because you thought you could get away with it, and because you felt the need to act out against his authority.

You still weren’t sure what you were going to say when you stopped in front of his door, knocking before you lost your nerve. Footsteps sounded almost immediately from the other side, and then the door slid open. Gojo stood on the other side. He was dressed down for the night, wearing a casual t-shirt and sweatpants. His hair was messy and eyes uncovered, sparkling in the faint light from the lamps along the path.

“Oh, you’re awake!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t think I’d see you until tomorrow.”

“Yep, I’m all fixed up,” you said, throwing your arms out as if to present yourself. “Ieiri said you wanted to see me.”

“I can wait until you’re better rested,” Gojo said, putting on a dramatic frown.

You sighed, feeling awkward of all things. The whole time, you had been geared up for some sort of confrontation, but he was so calm, behaving just like he always did. Maybe Ieiri had misunderstood his mood.

“I don’t think I could sleep with this hanging over my head,” you told him. “Unless this is a bad time.”

“No, it’s fine. Come in,” Gojo said, opening the door wider to usher you through.

Despite the traditional exterior, his apartment was decorated in a plain yet clearly expensive style, a marble coffee table and velvet upholstery and understated lighting. What struck you the most was how good it smelled inside. The TV was on, but muted, splashing color and light into the dim room.

“Do you want tea?” Gojo offered, shutting the door. “Water? Strawberry milk?”

“I’m okay, thanks,” you said. “I’d rather get this over with.”

“Get what over with?” Gojo asked as he walked around you. He wasn’t wearing shoes, so you toed yours off, setting them next to his.

“You’re going to yell at me, aren’t you?” you said, maintaining a casual demeanor despite your anxiety.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he said, dropping onto the couch. Those were unmistakably Fendi Pequin stripes on the armrests, the thing must have cost a small fortune and yet he was lounging on it. “Do you want me to?”

“Not especially.”

“How about you sit down,” Gojo offered, patting the spot on the couch beside him. You shuffled from foot to foot, rethinking your decision to come to his place so late at night. It was so far down from all of the other buildings. Even if you screamed, nobody would hear you. But that was stupid. He could have done anything he wanted to do to you in the hotel, and he didn’t. You were making things up to justify your discomfort.

You sat down stiffly, more than aware that you were sitting on a piece of furniture that cost as much as your mom’s car.

Gojo shut off the TV, leaving the two of you in the intimate near dark. It had been muted, but somehow the room felt even more quiet. His attitude was horribly off-putting. Ieiri said he seemed upset, but you weren’t getting that at all. If anything, he seemed more relaxed than the last time you saw him.

The silence dragged on and on, you had no idea what to do or say. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, not when they were uncovered and you were alone.

Finally, he sighed theatrically. “This is my own fault,” Gojo said. “I’ve always known you had behavioral problems. I thought—I hoped that it wouldn’t come to this. You could have died.”

“But I didn’t,” you pointed out, keeping your voice steady. “Nobody died, the curse got exorcized, and everything’s fine.”

“Is that your defense for disregarding my authority, lying, and putting yourself and Oyama at risk?”

“It’s not a defense,” you said. “It’s a statement of fact.”

Gojo laughed, a sound that made you flinch away. It wasn’t forced, he sounded genuinely amused. “You are such a pain in the ass,” he said, smiling as if he was endeared by it. “I can’t tell if you’re unafraid of the consequences or if you really don’t believe you’ll face any.”

“I did face consequences,” you argued. “Didn’t Ieiri tell you how badly I was injured?”

“That’s not enough, is it? If you have the chance, you'll definitely do something like this again. The danger is a part of the thrill for a girl like you.” He hummed thoughtfully. “No, I need to take care of the underlying issue.”

“The underlying issue?” you repeated.

“You have no respect for authority—mine or otherwise.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sensei. I have the deepest respect for you,” you said, looking up at him with innocently wide eyes. It didn’t get the rise you wanted, his expression didn’t change. The unrelenting calm and friendly demeanor he maintained was beginning to creep you out.

“Normally, I don’t mind. I understand; I can’t stand people ordering me around. With you, though, it really irritates me. Maybe I should try a little more discipline.”

“What are you going to do, spank me?” you asked, raising a brow. You could hear how desperate your sarcasm sounded, an attempt to regain control over the situation.

Gojo’s head titled as he considered your taunt. “That’s not a bad idea, actually.”

You rolled your eyes, your hands curling into fists to hide your increasing anxiety. If you could read his feelings, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, but you couldn’t tell how serious he was. “You’re funny.”

“Oh? But that wasn’t a joke. I think that might help fix your attitude.”

“So breaking my ribs wasn’t good enough, but that is?” you asked, disguising your fear and dread with more desperate scorn. “Come on, don’t be gross.”

“It was your suggestion.”

“I was joking! I didn’t actually… I mean, you can’t just…” You shook your head rather than try to finish that statement, kicking yourself for getting so flustered.

“You were never punished as a child,” Gojo said. “You said your dad left? I bet that, after that, your mom grew distant. She yelled at you, but you never faced any serious consequences for your misbehavior. You only got better at hiding your indiscretions. Is that it?”

“That’s not your business,” you said, every muscle in your body drawing up tight in response to that accusation.

“Children who aren’t taught boundaries and respect grow up to be rotten adults,” Gojo said. “Spoiled, rude, self-important adults.” With every word he moved closer.

“You would know, right?” you said, clinging onto the strength of attempted wit.

Gojo smiled. “Oh yes, I know very well. I’m rotten too. Shoko told you, didn’t she? That’s why you look so scared right now.”

“I’m not scared,” you said, clenching your jaw.

“There's been something I've been meaning to tell you for a while,” Gojo said. He put a finger beneath your chin to lift it, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You’re not as complicated of a woman as you think you are. I know you think you’re better, but in reality you’re playing the same games, just with different rules. All of the posturing to get my attention, the misbehaving, the petty tricks to make me jealous–you're so obvious.” He let out a relieved breath, smiling. “Whew, I’m glad I finally got that out.”

“What are you even saying?” You asked, pulling away from him, shaking your head fast. “This is a joke, right?”

“I almost pity you. It isn’t entirely your fault. You’re young, ignorant, and weak, you couldn’t possibly have known where this would go. It’s not in your nature to leave well enough alone.”

“Stop it,” you said, your voice harsh.

“I’m the same,” Gojo continued as if he hadn’t heard you. “It’s not in my nature to spare the weak or ignorant just because I feel bad for them. I’m not nearly that nice.”

“I know you won’t hurt me.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” he asked. “You showed up on my doorstep in the middle of the night begging me to punish you. I am a man. Even I have my limits. You've been testing them from the beginning.”

“You have to stop,” you said, your demand taking on the edge of a whine. “This is insane.”

“I’ll give you one last chance, okay? Prove me wrong. Leave,” Gojo said, backing off and gesturing to the door. “This is it, this is the last time you’ll get away without facing any consequences.”

“Gojo, why are you-”

“Three.”

“Nnn-no, wait, I-”

“Two.”

You stood up, swaying on your feet, but you didn’t run. You took one step back from him, afraid, but you didn’t run.

“One,” Gojo said, grunting the word as he got to his feet and picked you up, tossing you over his shoulder.

“No!” you shouted, struggling to escape his grasp as he carried you further into the apartment. “Stop it, put me-put me down! Stop, I want to go! I’ll leave! Put me down!”

“I warned you what would happen, it’s not my fault you never listen,” Gojo said, dumping you onto his bed. You bounced once, scrambling to get up and away. “No, don’t move,” he ordered, his voice low and authoritative, freezing you in place. His eyes sparkled inhumanly in the dim light.

“I want to go,” you said, softly, your heart racing, pounding harder because you couldn’t move. “I’m leaving, I’m going and-”

“No, you’re not,” he said, rolling his eyes as he opened a drawer on the nightstand, looking inside with a thoughtful expression. “By all means, keep up the act. The whole brat thing is pretty hot. There’s no point in punishing a girl who’s well-behaved.”

“What are you going to do?” you asked.

“I’m going to spank you for being such a naughty student,” Gojo said. “I don’t want to be too cruel, I know you’re sensitive. That’s fine. I can be nice too.” He looked up at you. “Do you think you can stay still on your own, or…?” He smirked. “Of course you can't.”

“You’re scaring me,” you said, hoping the words would break his act.

“Don’t be afraid,” Gojo told you, rolling his eyes like you were being unreasonable. “I won’t hurt you that much.”

You were going to be sick. “You can’t-”

“Of course I can,” Gojo said, pulling what you recognized as a vibrating wand and a pair of handcuffs from the drawer. “What you mean to say is that I shouldn't. You’re right about that. I'm well aware that this is a bad idea, and I might regret it, but it's too late to let that stop me. You know the feeling, don't you?”

“No, no. You,” you shook your head, unable to form the words in your shock and disbelief at this situation, “you can’t.”

“You already said that,” Gojo said, putting the toys on the bed to kneel on the very edge. You flinched away, but you didn’t dare run. He would definitely catch you, you could feel the thrill in his cursed energy. It was all a game.

“I know,” you said, trying to think of the words to reason with him and coming up short, “but… You can’t.”

“The way you’re looking at me is too good,” he said with a boyish grin. “You genuinely can’t believe that somebody finally called your bluff.”

You shook your head.

“I think this will be good for you,” he said. “You need to learn this lesson. It’s better to learn it here, in a controlled environment.”

Gojo grabbed your legs before you could scramble away. You yelped, slapping his hands when he grabbed your hips. That did nothing to deter him from flipping you onto your belly and wrestling your hoodie and shirt off before collecting your arms and pulling them behind your back. Even though you were fighting him so hard that it hurt, he was barely trying, as if the process of overpowering you was as inconsequential as putting the leash on a small dog. You cried out as he secured your wrists in the handcuffs, giving them a solid tug to test their hold. They were lined with soft material, but they obviously weren’t the fuzzy bachelorette party kind that could be easily escaped. There was no way you could get out of them on your own. You tried to use your cursed energy to break free, but it did nothing. Had he reinforced them somehow? Was that possible?

“Gojo, stop,” you demanded. “You can’t do this, you can’t!”

“It’s humiliating, isn’t it?” he asked, pulling your panties and shorts off in one go, getting them over your legs no matter how hard you tried to kick him off. “Being at the mercy of another person. Next time you think about misbehaving, think about this feeling.”

“Stop it!” you yelled, truly thrashing now. He grunted, sitting with his legs aside your torso, threatening to crush you. “Stop, get off. You’re hurting me!”

“It’s okay if you fight,” Gojo said. “But you know it doesn’t matter, don’t you? You’re so weak.”

“Stop it! Just—ngh-” He shoved your panties into your mouth before you could finish that thought, muffling the words. You just yelled in disgust, in despair, in anger. And it didn’t matter.

Gojo leaned over you, brushing your hair away from your ear to speak directly into it.

“I’m sure you’re having a difficult time thinking clearly, but it’s important you remember what I’m about to tell you,” he said. “The next time I allow you to speak, I expect you to address me properly. I really don’t think that’s too unfair. I am your teacher, I deserve some respect, don't you agree?”

You shouted through the gag, shaking your head back and forth.

Gojo hummed, dropping his shirt on the bed next to you. He lifted his weight from your back and turned around to sit on the edge of the bed. You used the opportunity to roll onto your side, trying to get away from him, but Gojo had no problem collecting you, letting you flop on the bed across his lap while you writhed helplessly. The first touch of his hand against the back of your bare thighs made you jump, tears of humiliation already pressing against the corners of your eyes.

“How many, do you think?” he asked.

No.

There was no way. You shouted in panic, kicking your legs. There was still a part of you that simply rejected this all, that couldn’t believe this would happen. Things like this didn’t happen to you. Not you.

Gojo’s palm landed loudly against your ass, the smack striking your skin with a burst of stinging pain and the sickening flush of humiliation.

“I knew you were going to be a problem from the first time we met,” he told you, rubbing his palm over the sore spot. “You think you’re better than everyone else. I can’t stand undeserved self-importance.”

He spanked you five times in quick succession, spreading them out across your ass and upper thighs. You struggled and yelled and kicked, but his other hand easily kept you in place.

“You’re not fighting very hard. I really thought it would be harder. Are you sure you weren’t secretly hoping I’d do this? You can admit it, I won’t tell anyone.”

You shouted, pooling up all over your cursed energy to fight him off. Gojo rewarded you by spanking you more, focusing on your upper thighs, slapping the same spots over and over until your shouting became sobbing and the skin buzzed, burning red hot.

“I know, that wasn’t very nice,” he said, rubbing the sore flesh, coaxing it out of becoming too numb to his touch. “You’re not very nice either, are you? Wearing all those cute little outfits to tempt me, flaunting that guy to make me jealous.” You yelled in fear when he raised his hand, but he only playfully tapped your ass, digging his long fingers in to knead it, just playing with you. “And then using your friend to taunt me… I think you deserve to be punished for that, don’t you?”

You shook your head frantically, squirming and writhing and kicking to escape. But he spanked you again, and again, and all you could do was endure the pain. Gojo mixed in the playful swats with genuine strikes, keeping you crying, always on the edge, unsure if he was going to hurt you or not, not when he was going to stop or where this would go.

You weren’t counting, and you weren’t sure if he was either, but eventually he let up.

“Mmm, that looks like it hurts,” he said, tracing the tender flesh with his fingertips. You cried, glad he couldn’t see your face. “Poor little thing. Okay, let’s-” Gojo flipped you around, pulling you up onto his lap.

Putting any amount of pressure on your stinging ass made you yelp, your back arching. He didn’t care. He grabbed the vibrator and flicked it on, pushing the head past your pussy’s outer lips to buzz against your entrance before dragging up, drawing slick circles around your clit. You thrashed against him, but your kicking legs couldn’t do anything and there was nowhere to go. Gojo moved with your struggling in an indulgent way, like he was wrangling a disobedient animal, letting you tire yourself out as he tilted the wand this way and that to really grind it against your clit.

“It’s a little intense, I know,” he said. “If you just relax and let yourself enjoy it, you’ll feel so much better.”

You pressed your face against his shoulder, telling him to stop. The words were all mush, muffled by your own panties. Every part of your body was alive and awake and agonizingly sensitive, covered in a thin film of sweat and goose-flesh and anticipation. When he casually toyed with one of your nipples, you felt it like a jolt of electric heat straight down between your legs. The vibrator’s steady hum bypassed any reasonable objection your body would have to pleasure, a reaction as invasive and involuntary as pain.

When you realized you were going to come—going to come like this—you shouted, straining your shoulders in an attempt to escape the cuffs. Gojo laughed, holding you tight as you spasmed and jerked around in his lap. Your hips bucked and the vibrator pressed against your clit just right and you almost blacked out.

“Aha, that’s it, isn’t it?” Gojo asked happily, grinding the vibrator there.

Toomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuch—it hurt. You tried to tell him that, you tried to fight your way out of his grasp, you tried to do anything you could to escape but it didn’t matter as your body shuddered with the orgasmic flash of pleasure, a feeling so intense it felt like nausea.

You came with a helpless cry, hiding your face against his shoulder as you jerked with each wave of stifling, intoxicating, sickening heat.

Gojo didn’t stop. You reared back to meet his eye and he just grinned, looking down between your legs to make sure he was keeping the vibrator in exactly the right place to make you spasm and kick and choke, panicked and overwhelmed.

You didn’t know if you were coming again or if it was just one long string of overstimulation tricking your mind into pleasure, but you felt it draw out like soda fizz all the way to your fingertips and toes.

“Okay, what have you learned so far?” Gojo asked, shutting the vibrator off and setting it aside. You mumbled something into the gag, tossing your head back and forth. “Oh, right.” He laughed, pulling your panties out of your mouth. “What have you learned?”

“Stop!” you told him in a wrecked voice, glaring at him with watery eyes. “It doesn’t matter how many times you spank me, or-or… I’m not playing along with your-your sick games, I’m not…” You closed your eyes, struggling to get out of his lap, sobbing and panting and angry and humiliated and-

“Wrong.” Gojo shoved your panties back into your mouth. “You know what? I’m glad you’re a difficult student. Really,” he said. “It’ll be so much more rewarding when you finally learn your lesson.”

You ignored him, squeezing your eyes shut and turning your face away.

“It doesn’t matter what I do to you,” he mused. “That’s what you said, right?”

Without warning, Gojo’s hand landed directly between your legs with a sharp smack. You screamed, really screamed, squeezing your thighs together until the muscles trembled.

“Oi, open your legs,” Gojo told you, his voice low and serious, more than you had ever heard.

You kept your eyes shut, shaking your head fast.

“You’re saying you won’t?” he asked, his fingers tracing along the seam between your legs.

You shook your head again, trying to squirm out of his lap.

“Oh my, what a brave girl,” Gojo cooed mockingly, grabbing one of your legs to pry them apart, catching it with his own leg and pinning it against the bed. He spanked your pussy two, three, four more times, each one making your body jolt violently, another cry gurgling out of your throat.

When his hand landed with a sickening smack for the fifth time, it stayed there, his fingers curling to find your entrance. You bucked against him, shouting for him to stop. Asking him to stop. The words were muffled, there was nothing you could do other than cry and toss your head to the side as he pushed his fingers into you, you couldn’t even close your legs.

“What’s this?” Gojo asked, pulling his fingers out of you. They glistened with evidence of your arousal, of your shame. “It really makes me question which one of us is sick.”

“You!” you shouted, trying to make yourself heard over the gag.

“Me?” Gojo asked, his eyes wide with innocence. “You’re the one who’s getting wet for your teacher. That’s pretty twisted.”

He pushed his fingers back into your pussy, driving them deep and curling them on the way out. For the first time, his breathing was getting unsteady. He kept rolling his hips up to grind against your ass, letting you feel his erection.

“Aaah, you’re really wet. And tight.” He thrust his fingers back into you with a wet squish, scissoring and curling them to make you spasm and shake. “Hey, hey, I’m gonna give you an out right now, okay?” Gojo said, his voice quick with excitement. “If you ask me nicely, we can suspend your punishment and get on to the fun stuff instead.”

He pulled his fingers out to take your panties out of your mouth, dropping them onto the bed.

“Come on,” Gojo said. “Ask me. I know you want it.”

You set your jaw, glaring at him through teary eyes. It was weak, pathetic, and petty, but silence was the only thing you could think to do that wasn’t giving him what he wanted.

He frowned, put out with your response.

“Jeez, you’re such an insufferable brat!” Gojo complained, flipping you onto your stomach. The sudden slap of skin meeting skin followed by the pain when he spanked you again made you scream, your legs pathetically kicking, your shoulders straining to free your hands.

“Stop!” you yelled, your voice shrill.

“Oh? But I thought you were being brave?” He said mockingly, spanking you again, and again.

You sobbed, pressing your face into the bed to muffle yourself as his hand came down again. Even though you fought him, there was nothing you could do to make him stop. True helplessness. It hurt, and there was no escape from it. Not when he took the time to brush his fingers across the tortured skin in between bursts, soothing you with a gentle touch.

“I don’t understand why you’re being such a baby about this,” Gojo said. He grabbed one of your stinging ass cheeks, pulling it to get a good look at your pussy. You knew you were wet. It wasn’t your fault, but you felt the same shame. “It can’t hurt that bad. If I used a cane or a belt or something I’d get it, but I think you’re just making a big deal to try and make me feel bad. It’s not working. You deserve this and, between you and me, it’s kind of sexy to see you so pathetic.”

Without warning, Gojo tossed you onto the bed face up, your arms pinned uncomfortably beneath your back. Your back arched and you dug your heels into the mattress, pushing yourself up the bed until you were curled against the headboard, your legs up to try and hide as much of your body as possible.

“By the way, are you a virgin?” Gojo asked, shoving his pants and underwear off in one go before looking for something on the floor. He found it quickly, returning to the bed. He didn’t care about his nudity. Why should he? He was beautiful and he knew it. Of course Satoru Gojo wouldn’t stop at being the strongest, or the most handsome, or whatever, of course he would have the perfect cock too. “I don’t care either way, I’m just curious.”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head, averting your eyes from his body to meet his as you pushed yourself into the headboard. They glittered in the dim light, wide and excited.

“No, you’re not a virgin?” Gojo asked. You realized what he had grabbed from the floor when he caught your ankle, forcing your foot through a loop he’d made with his belt.

“No! No, no, stop!” You shouted, trying to keep him from getting your other foot. He frowned when you kicked at him, desperate to keep him away. The resistance of his cursed energy kept you from actually kicking him, and you were rewarded with a hard, mean slap against your inner thigh. You squealed, giving him the chance to get your other foot in the belt cuffs before securing them.

“I was gonna be nice about this, but I guess not,” he said. You whined, sobbing. “You probably like it rough anyway, right? Girls like you always do.”

He pushed your knees up to make space between your legs, letting your bound ankles fall onto his back. You watched him stroking his cock. This was going to happen. He truly intended to fuck you. It didn’t set in until right in that moment how utterly powerless you were to this violation. His fingers had been one thing, but his cock was big enough to hurt if he wasn’t gentle.

“Don’t do this,” you whispered, your voice weak and pathetic. “Satoru, I’m begging you not to. I’m sorry, okay? That’s what you want me to say, right? I’m sorry, so don’t-”

“It’s too late for that,” Gojo said, separating your pussy’s outer lips, his tongue peeking out as he lined up his cock. You made a helpless sound of upset, trying to buck him off, but there was nowhere for you to go. “If you were really sorry, you should have apologized when I gave you the chance.” He pushed his hips forward, just a little, testing the resistance.

“Sensei!” you said, your panicked thoughts finding something to cling onto to make him stop. “Sensei, please stop. Please.”

Gojo smiled, his lips parting when he forced the head of his cock past the initial resistance of your pussy with a jarring pop. He groaned, both of his hands holding onto your waist while he shallowly rocked his hips.

Your mouth fell open, a sensation like shock striking against the viscerally real weight of his dick inside of you. That fell away to panic when he began to move, pushing a little deeper with a pinching ache.

“Ah—fff-take it out!” you squealed.

“Ah, and you were being so good for me,” he said, jolting your body with a hard, mean thrust. You whimpered, and writhed, and your pussy clamped down around him to try and force him out, but it didn’t matter. He was bigger and stronger and you were drenched from the vibrator. “Look at me.”

As soon as you met his eye, he pushed a little deeper, clearly reveling in the way it made your expression twist in pain and betrayal, more tears forming in your eyes and streaking down your temples. He licked his lips, rolling his hips shallowly to let you adjust to the size and weight of his cock. Like he was being nice.

“How can I feel bad when you look at me like that?” he asked, his voice lower and breathy. He pushed deeper again, your body jolting and a helpless sound punched out of your chest.

“It hurts,” you ground out through your teeth, more tears falling into your hair. The desire to be brave faded in direct relation to how much of his cock was inside of you. Being spanked was one thing, but the internal pain of violation wasn’t something you could handle. It was too intimate, too profound, too cruel.

“Yeah, you’re way too tight. That guy clearly hasn’t been fucking you properly. Do you want your sensei to make it better? I’ll help you, all you have to do is ask.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, weighing your options. Option. “Please, sensei,” you said, hating yourself a little more.

“Look at me when you’re begging,” Gojo said.

You winced, but the sudden snap of his hips made you relent. You met his dangerous, beautiful eyes. “Please, Gojo-sensei. It hurts, please make it better.”

“Aw, you’re such a good girl,” he cooed, grabbing your cheeks. “Of course I’ll help you.” His hand lowered to pin you down by the neck while he fumbled in the sheets beside you with the other. You heard the vibrator turn on a second before it was against your clit. There wasn’t anywhere for your body to go when you seized up, your back snapping into a nearly painful arch.

“No!” you yelped, but it was hard to get anything out from the obstruction of his hand on your neck.

It didn’t matter that his cock was big enough to hurt as he continued to push it into you. It didn’t matter that your shoulders burned or that your hands were numb.

“Go ahead and come,” Gojo told you sweetly. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? It’ll make this easier.”

You grit your teeth, breathing out hard through your nose, trembling as that little bubble burst, your pussy spasming around his cock as he began to set a steady pace. When his hips met your ass, slapping against the raw skin, you cried and yelled, but it all got lost in the confused haze of pleasure and pain and confusion and disgust and so much, too much.

Gojo was laughing. Fucking you too fast and too hard, focusing the vibrator right against your clit to keep you moving with him, your body writhing beneath his like you wanted it, soaking his cock until the room was filled with the profane sound of skin slapping and wet squelching.

“Mmm, it feels good, right?” Gojo asked. “I know you think I’m mean, but I really only want to take care of you.”

You came again, babbling the words ‘no’ and ‘can’t’ and ‘stop’ as if they had any meaning anymore, as if you weren’t well on your way to coming again despite how torturous the excess of stimulation had become.

“Sometimes, that means I have to be a little hard on you.” He fucked you hard enough to knock your head into the headboard, the entire thing pounding against the wall with each solid thrust. It hurt, it felt like he was splitting you apart, slamming against your cervix without even an attempt at kindness. But, at the same time, he turned the vibrator up a setting, rubbing little circles onto your clit.

Gojo put a hand on your mouth to stifle your scream, it was that loud and shrill, borderline feral with the terrifying intensity of your orgasm. You didn’t want to come anymore. You really didn’t, you felt like you were going to die if you did. And he laughed, giving up on the hard pace to fuck you fast, his breathing becoming increasingly unsteady and his laugh shivering out into moans.

Sobbing into his hand, you came again, unable to understand anything beyond the cock pounding into you and the vibrator torturing your clit.

Gojo dropped the vibrator suddenly, pulling out of you with a helpless sound. For a second, you heard the lewd schlick schlick schlick of his hand desperately fisting his cock and then you felt hot spurts of cum on your chest and your stomach. He finally took his hand off of your mouth, turning the vibrator off. All you could hear was your breathing and his breathing and the frantic pounding of blood in your ears.

“Whew, okay,” Gojo said, lifting your legs to get out from under them. “Where were we with the lesson? I think… I was spanking you and you were being a brat about it. Have you had a change of heart?”

You sobbed brokenly, squeezing your eyes shut. Trying to adjust to the shift of tone while you were still reeling from getting fucked, your torso covered in sweat and cum, felt like one of the most cruel things he had done so far.

“Please, sensei, please no more,” you begged, your voice breathy and cracking at the end. “Gojo-sensei please, I-I do, I respect you. I’ll—anything, please just…”

“Ahh, there’s a good girl. Finally,” Gojo said gently. “Okay, three more, and then I’ll forgive you.”

“No!” you cried hoarsely. “Please, no more.” You strained against the cuffs, thrashing as much as you were able. “Please, I’ll do… Please.”

“I need to make sure the lesson sticks,” Gojo said sweetly. “You’ve been so unreceptive. Three more, and then I’ll let you come again.”

“No!” you squealed, even more upset by that. The idea of feeling the vibrator again physically hurt, it was almost worse than the idea of him spanking you again.

“I want you to count them, okay?” Gojo asked pitilessly.

You sobbed, shaking your head, but you couldn’t do anything when he rolled you onto your belly.

“Don’t be so dramatic about it,” he scolded, getting behind you and pulling your hips up so you were on your knees, your back arching. He spanked you and you yelped, burying your face in the pillows. Gojo waited before sighing. “Count them, otherwise I’ll lose track. You wouldn’t want that, would you? We’d be here all night.”

You sniffled, peeling your face out of the pillows to turn your head. “One,” you whispered.

His hand landed again, right over the first. You cried out a word that mostly sounded like, “Two!”

And again, one of the hardest so far. “Thre-EE-”

“There, wasn’t that easy?” Gojo cooed, flipping you around and grabbing your ankles by the belt cuffs, pushing your knees up to your chest. When you heard the vibrator turn on, you tried to get away, squealing out your objections, sobbing and desperate and flinching away from the mere idea of more. It was like being presented with a bottle of liquor after a bout of alcohol poisoning.

“No, please no more, I can’t, please.”

“I told you, one more,” Gojo said. “You can do one more, can’t you? I think you can.”

You wailed when he pushed the vibrator against your swollen, oversensitive pussy, grinding it in little circles right over your clit while you spasmed and shook and tried desperately to escape the inevitable.

Coming when you were so overstimulated wasn’t pleasant, it was just more and more and too much, all of it piled onto your overloaded nervous system and making you shake as the pitiless heat flared up to bursting, pulling your body taut, and then it snapped, leaving you even more helplessly, hopelessly overstimulated than before.

Gojo didn’t pull it away, continuing to grind the vibrator against your clit, cruelly drawing out your feverish torment.

You wailed, your head tossing back into the pillows, your hips wildly trying to twist out of his reach. “Yo—ou said-”

“One more,” Gojo finished for you. “Come on, don’t be such a baby about it.”

Your nostrils flared and you sobbed pathetically and your pussy felt like it was burning just as desperately as your sore ass, but Gojo was going to wring one more orgasm out of you. It wasn’t hard, even if it hurt. Even if you cried and shook and felt the world darken around the edges when you felt the surge of pleasure fizzle out through you before it left you pained and panting and miserable.

But he finally shut the toy off, letting it fall to the side.

“What do we say?” Gojo asked, dropping your legs and falling onto his side next to you, propping his head up with one hand.

You groaned, your chest hitching with every breath. “I don’t…”

“Thank you, sensei,” he prompted sweetly, “for teaching me manners.”

“Thank you, sensei,” you repeated dumbly, keeping your eyes closed rather than acknowledge his heavy stare. “Thank you for teaching me manners.”

He laughed. “Wow, that’s really embarrassing. Earlier you were bragging about how it didn’t matter what I did to you, weren’t you? I was almost impressed with your resolve, it’s a shame to see it cave in so easily. What happened?”

You sobbed, shaking your head. “Shut up, you’re… It wasn’t my fault, it was you who… who…”

Gojo hissed, pulling a breath in through his teeth. It was a bad sound. A dangerous sound. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” you said, your eyes snapping open with fear. “I’m sorry, I’m…”

He frowned. “Maybe you haven’t learned your lesson after all,” he heaved out a big breath, sitting up. “That’s fine, I’m ready to go again. Anything for my favorite student, hm?”

#gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jjk gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #not sfw #tw. noncon #my writing #EVERYONE KNOWS IT

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arminsumi · 2 years ago

Text

S. GOJO ★ DID YOU KNOW THAT YOU'RE IN MY FANTASIES?

Pairing : fem reader / teacher!Gojo

Synopsis : Gojo j*rking off to fantasies of you until eventually the two of you do it together on a phone call.

Warnings/tags : 🔞 smut, solo male m*sturbation, p*rnstar fantasy, d!ck visuals, big d!ck Gojo, risky m*sturbation (office), slight perv behavior, toys, breeding kink, use of sl*t, dirty talk, m*sturbating on phone call, pillow humping, mutual m*sturbation, phone sex

Note : lol this is the post that got accidentally published once. i hate tumblr mobile!! 😿 i still want to edit the original bc it has some juicy stuff. but i put some of it into this 😈

Library | Gojo

The first time he does it, he doesn't actually realize that he's fantasizing about you. You enter his mind randomly one night as he winds down after a long day of teaching. He naturally slides his hands down his pants.

Satoru starts massaging his growing hard-on through the fabric. His big hand wraps around the veiny shaft and he gives it a few squeezes, sighing at the sensation.

Satoru hastily unbuckles his belt and slides it off with a whip-like snap, pale veiny hands rolling it neatly before setting it down on the table besides his bed. Those pale veiny hands quickly push down the hem of his pants and grab the base of his stiff cock.

He starts stroking it slowly up and down, with his eyes closed in relaxation and his other hand snuggled behind his head.

Jerking off leisurely, not rushing at all, just enjoying how it feels to pleasure himself with his own hand.

He pictures you naked. It's just a brief thought. He grumbles at himself and shakes the image out of his mind, as if he was indulging in a taboo act.

You're the teacher he works alongside. Every day you greet him with that sweet smile and kind voice that makes his heart tick. You're so innocent and untainted, he holds back from imagining you lewdly even though he really wants to.

He bites his lip at the thought of you.

Today was hard for him, you know, because your tight uniform seemed... especially tight. He commented on it in the afternoon, of course very subtly;

"Nice tits." he flirted jokingly. But his eyes were glued to your breasts like he'd never seen a pair before.

"Thanks. My uniform shrunk in the wash." you giggled in response.

"Ah, I see." he nodded understandingly, gulping when you bent over to pick something up — even if you tried to keep your skirt down, it still rose up your thighs just enough for him to find out that you wore a G-string.

The image of your body is stuck in his head now, when he's all alone in his king-sized bed.

It makes him cum. And he cums gently, letting out a barely audible grunt of breath while it dribbles out of his cockhole and runs down his shaft.

He swipes some cum off the underside of his cock and sucks it off his finger, tasting himself. Then he falls asleep like a baby, not thinking too deeply on the fact that he came to the thought of you.

****

The next few times get more and more intense.

His cock feels so much better when you're on his mind. Even when he's in a risky setting... like his office.

Though no one would dare to walk into Gojo Satoru's office without permission, there's still the risk that you could just burst into the room — maybe to complain about him slacking off.

He thinks about the risk, and it turns him on more... his cock twitches at the fantasy of you walking in on him stroking his big cock while sat in his office, long legs spread wide and head tilted back in ecstasy.

You'd find out the obvious but dirty fact that even Gojo Satoru needs to let off steam every now and then. He's not just a teacher all the time, he's also a frustratedly horny man.

Satoru squeezes the tip of his cock and clenches his jaw.

The angry veins decorating his shaft are all raised. His cock pulses harder at the thought of you walking through his office doors — he'd love to see your reaction. Would your mouth drop open? You'd find out just how huge his cock is. Would you offer to help? Nah, that only happens in porn, right? He keeps fantasizing about the scenario as if you and him are two pornstars on set.

In this fantasy, you're just sooo shocked and thirsty for Gojo Satoru's big cock, you can't help but ride him in his office even though you risk the whole school hearing the skin slapping and moans.

He pumps his fist up and down his cock faster. You know, originally he intended to nap — he rarely gets any sleep because of much he's needed in the Jujutsu world. But for some reason, after passing you by in the corridors, he got an angry boner that just wouldn't go away.

Working up a sweat under his black uniform, Satoru slumps down in the chair while totally getting lost in his pornstar fantasy of you. He gets too hot so he splits open his jacket and unbuttons his expensive shirt until his abs are exposed. It's funny, he's slowly turning into a performer... and all he's doing is just jerking off alone for himself.

"Fuck." he mutters under his breath.

He orgasms so hard while thinking of you deepthroating him that his toes curl — that never happens. Cum splatters on his abs and he breathes heavily.

You knock on the door and he gets shocked out of his skull.

"Gojo? I have those files you requested." you spoke through the door, "Can I come in?"

"Shit uh, wait! Just give me a second!" he yells, hurryingly cleaning his cum off his abs with a tissue.

He hastily discards the tissue, and buttons up his shirt, leaving a slit of his chest exposed to catch your eye, and calls for you, "Come in."

You swish your hips when you walk in, and it drives him nuts. He acts ordinarily, like he wasn't just getting off to a wild fantasy of you, his co-worker.

"Here they are." you say, and set the files down on his desk.

"Thanks." he stares at you hard.

You'd look so good bent over my desk.

"Gojo?"

"Yup?"

"You look flushed, do you have a fever?" you ask innocently.

He swallows and replies shakily, "Nah, I'm good. I was just... doing push-ups."

"In your... office? Fully clothed?" you eye him out confusedly.

He makes a cute, dumb face and shrugs his shoulders.

****

Satoru's made jerking off part of his nightly routine. It helps him sleep. And he also can't help himself; you're more in his life now than ever, he keeps your company often and his feelings are growing quick.

He's laid in bed.

His lips part erotically and his legs tremble as he furiously jerks off. Suddenly, he shoots forward and groans "Fuck!", cumming hard all over his crotch.

Satoru's cock doesn't want him to sleep tonight. It stands up again a few minutes after he cleans up his cum and rolls onto his side to sleep. He grumbles and tosses around, hoping his boner will go away.

But it doesn't.

So he starts grinding his cock into the bed, whimpering your name into his pillow. Why is he whimpering your name? And why can't he stop himself?

He scrunches up the duvet and humps it, ass muscles tensing with each rough thrust. The friction isn't enough, he starts stroking it with his hand.

But even that isn't satisfying enough.

I need a fleshlight so bad.

He squeezes his cock tight, massages his fat balls, switches hands even, does everything he can. But his cock is needy for more and his orgasm refuses to come along.

Satoru grumbles and stops, glaring up at the ceiling for a good long while before coming up with an idea.

He props a pillow and buries his heavy cock into it. Then he plants two big hands on it, grabbing it as if it's your hips, and thrusts his greedy cock back and forth.

The bed squeaks under the force of the Strongest's hard thrusts. He fucks the pillow and talks dirty to it in his mind, pretending it's you.

"Just let me have your pussy, please."

"You wanna have my babies? Of course you do. Slut."

"That's it, lay there and let me knock you up."

The thought of you squeezing his muscular biceps in your tiny hands is what makes him cum. He groans and clenches his teeth, jawline becoming super defined as he cums into the crinkled up pillow. His gooey cum spills out and stains the fabric.

He gets hit with a wave of post-nut clarity. "What the fuck..." he pushes his hair out of his eyes.

His forehead is sweaty, his chest is heaving, and he feels so guilty for getting off to you again.

****

So Gojo Satoru bought a fleshlight after that frustrating night. He rushed to leave work early, so you caught him.

"Don't be lazy, 'Toru." you frowned, "You're really gonna let me finish this paperwork all by myself?"

The doe eyes you gave him stuck in his mind. All he replied with was a suspicious chuckle and a lame excuse.

"I'm so tired, gimme a break just this once, please?" he pleaded, feeling his blood rush south. You looked especially good.

"Alright, fine then. Get some rest, okay?" you said caringly, letting him off.

He squeezes his cock into the pocket pussy and pumps it up and down quick, relishing in the sound of lube squelching.

The toy is too small for his big cock, but he likes that. It makes him think about how tight you'd be — oh damn it, there he goes again thinking of you when he really shouldn't be.

"I know it's too big, baby, but take it please..." he's dirty talking to you in his mind.

Satoru's got an unsuspecting kinky side to his personality, and it really shows as he fucks his toy. His heavy balls slap against the silicone, causing lube to squirt out.

He momentarily stills inside to suck the sticky cherry lube off his finger, imagining it's your juices. Thinking of how you taste makes his cock twitch, and he starts up with his pounding thrusts again, grunting under his breath and clenching his jaw.

Satoru's got an awful breeding kink. He once told you at a Christmas party that he hoped to start a family one day. Now suddenly as his orgasm works up with each thrust, he thinks back on your response;

"Me too, I'd love to have a big family."

He groans and twists your words in his fantasy; "Cum inside me, Satoru! Gimme your babies!"

"Fuck." he hisses, cumming hard inside the fleshlight.

Once isn't enough, he keeps filling it until he works up a sweat and his cock tires out.

After cleaning his cum out the toy, he washes his face in the bathroom and leans over the sink, shaking his head at himself for thinking of you saying such lewd things.

****

Fact: Satoru sleeps naked.

When passing the mirror in the mornings, he rubs his eyes and takes a moment to check himself out. He flexes his abs, and then a raunchy fantasy brews in his mind;

What if she rode my abs? Could I make her cum like that.

"Oh my god." he mutters out loud, rubbing his face in annoyance at his own horniness.

He slides on his sweatpants without underwear — cock too big, you know, gotta let it breathe without underwear. And he goes to the kitchen to make an super-sweetened coffee.

But his boner is annoying him. It stands up, making a bulging tent out of his sporty sweatpants.

Abandoning his coffee, Satoru gets his fleshlight and tapes it to the kitchen countertop, and squirts lube into it until it oozes out. He likes it sloppy.

Still thinking hard about the fantasy of you riding his abs, he lubes his abs up and caresses them slowly, feeling up and down his chest and tweaking his pink nipples for a bit before paying his cock attention.

"That's it, ride my abs. I know you like them."

He'd love to see you humping on his stomach like it's your pillow. As he slides into the fleshlight and slowly pumps in and out of it, he wonders how you touch yourself. Do you use toys, or your fingers? Do you take your time?

Pressing his two palms flat on the kitchen countertop, Satoru starts fucking the fleshlight harder and harder until the squelching sound is loud enough to reach his ears.

He's starting to think more deeply about you — how soft and warm your cunt must feel. How it would squish under the weight of his heavy cock. He'd definitely slap his cock onto your tummy to show you how much cock you were about to take inside.

Without thinking, he brokenly moans your name as he cums hard.

****

One night, you're on a call with Satoru. He lays back on his bed, long legs stretched out. Even though you're talking business stuff, the sound of your voice gets him hard and he rolls over — soft grunts carry through the phone to you.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Moving around. You were saying?"

As you keep talking, Satoru starts subconsciously humping his pillow.

"Ugh, fuck..."

"What was that?"

"Sorry, got a cramp." he lies, sensitive cock twitching against the pillow.

He humps it harder and harder, sometimes slowing or stopping to reply to something you say.

"Are you okay? You sound like you're breathing heavily."

"Yeah, just... working out."

"... what's with you and working out so often? Didn't you work out in your office the other day? Freak." you giggle.

Your giggle makes his dick throb. He smiles guiltily.

"I've just been enjoying myself lately... um, with exercising." he speaks, voice sounding oddly sultry.

He keeps sliding his cock back and forth on the pillow. You return to the previous topic of grading problems, and he listens intently.

"What do you think, Satoru?"

He lets out a squeaky grunt that could easily be excused as one of those noises you make during exercise.

"Couldn't hear you, c-can you repeat that?"

"(blablablagradingsomethingsomething) Satoru." he hears you say his name at the end again and it brings his orgasm closer.

He nearly chokes as he swallows. "Yeahhh that sounds g-good... so good. Ugh, fuck."

"Satoru?"

He cums so hard hearing you call his name. As his cum spurts out, he pretends like nothing's happening and keeps talking to you in a shaky voice. A few seconds pass and he speaks a little more normally.

"Must be some work out routine to make you swear like that." you joke, voice suggesting that you knew exactly what he just did.

"Uh... y-yeah." he acts a fool. His face burns red hot realizing that he just possibly fucked up big time.

"Well, you're probably all sweaty and gross. Why don't you go shower and I'll call you back?" you suggest.

His heart beats hard and he cringes at himself. "Yeah, I think I'll go do that..." he looks down at his cum staining pillow. "... wish you could join me." he mutters under his breath.

"Wow," you giggle. "I didn't think you liked me in that way."

He grins, cheek squishing against his phone screen. "Sorry for being a perv."

"Not at all. I like the attention you give me."

His heart flutters. Well since the mood is set, he thinks, maybe he should prod and see how far he can take this.

"Do you think of me when you're alone in bed?" he asks.

When you hesitate to reply, he gets a little nervous.

"More than I'm willing to admit." you reply.

He smirks. "Oh yeah?" he flusters you with his deepened voice. "What do you fantasize about?"

"Mmm, come find out." you tease.

His boner is sticking up, begging for some relief.

"... I'm hard."

"Yeah, I'm wet."

"Uh... do you mind if I...?"

"Exercise?" you joke.

He giggles guiltily, "Yeah."

"... why don't we do it together?"

He widens his eyes and blanks for a second.

"You wanna touch yourself with me?" he asks in disbelief.

"I am already." you reply.

He chokes up, "Oh."

"So... what exactly were you doing earlier?" you ask suggestively, rubbing yourself through your panties slowly.

Satoru hums, "You wanna know my exercise routine?"

"Haha, yeah..."

"... I was just fucking my pillow. I never usually do that unless I'm really sensitive."

"Oh, so my voice got you sensitive?" you tease.

"Maybe." he replies breathily.

Precum beads out of the tip of his cock, enough to make a squelching sound as he jerks his hand only up and down the first few inches of his cock.

"... are you going fast or slow?" you ask.

"Kinda fast..."

"... okay, then I'll go faster, too."

Satoru listens intently, desperate to hear you moan. When he puts you on speaker, he can hear how wet you are.

"A-are you using a toy?" he asks, hearing some sort of thrusting action through the phone.

"Yeah... I'm trying to hit my G-spot but it's hard. Wish you could come help me." you pout and he can hear that cute pout.

"Shit, I'd love to. H-hold on a minute, will ya sweetheart? I wanna use my toy too. Keep touching yourself, don't stop."

Satoru hears your soft noises as he reaches over into his bed-side table drawer to fish out his toy and lube.

He hastily lubes up the fleshlight and slides into it. "Fuck..."

Biting on the hem of his shirt, Satoru exposes his flexing abs as he fucks his fleshlight loud enough for you to hear. He lazily tugs his shirt off with one hand, never stopping his thrusts.

"Satoru, I'm really close already..."

"I-it's okay. I can cum q-quick if you just say my name."

You can hear him pounding into the toy harder when you start moaning his name. All he needs to tip over is for you to announce your orgasm, and then he lets out a low growl and rolls his eyes back, releasing a hot load of cum.

His balls are squished up against the entrance of the toy as he stuffs every inch inside. And then oops, the poor toy breaks.

"Haha, fuck." you hear him

You ease out of your orgasm state and come back to reality. Oh, did you just have phone sex with Gojo Satoru?

"What happened?" you ask.

"I broke my toy." he replies smugly.

You laugh, "Oh, that's unfortunate." you say, "Well, if you need a new toy come pick me up tomorrow and take me out on a date."

"Wow."

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

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darlingdaisyfarm · 1 month ago

Text

BOY GENIUS IN LOVE

tags: nsfw, college!Ford, first relationship, fem reader, obsessive behavior, “good girl” (forgive me im weak), reader wears skirts, first time, fingering, oral sex, public sex, both u and Ford are virgins

this was a request from anon that i saved to drafts but tumblr deleted it (i’m so sorry). it was about college Ford getting addicted to you after you start dating. i hope you see this anon :(( im so sad tumblr deleted my draft + ur ask

ᯓᡣ𐭩 you met him in the back of the library, of course. because Stanford wanted silence in its purest form, though it looked like he was hiding. you were the only other person who’d choose the fifth floor annex by choice. most people thought it was dusty, haunted or simply boring. but you liked how the lamps gave off that golden-honey glow, and how the windows were always cracked open. it was pretty there.

Ford noticed you first. not that you were hard to notice. . . your soft knits and pleated skirts and glossy stockings that clung to your thighs, Ford thought you’d been dipped in onyx. always with a pen tucked behind your ear. such a smart little thing. but more than that, you read. properly. Ford watched your lips moving faintly when you hit a complicated passage, head tilted, looking like a lost kitten.

Fiddleford said he was being stupid, lurking in the same row as you day after day and never saying a word. “yer gonna pass out from sheer repression,” he said, rolling his eyes as Ford scribbled in the margins of his notebook rather than say hi. but Ford couldn’t help it. he was already enchanted. smth about the way your eyes lit up when you found the answer to your own question in the footnotes of some scientific text. how you bit your lip and tapped the page when you were trying to commit a theory to memory. adorable.

you noticed him the day he dropped his bag, books exploded across the linoleum, so you knelt down to help before he could even stammer out an apology. your hands brushed and both of you looked up at the same time. his glasses awkwardly slid down his nose. you gave him a smile. “you’re always back here, i was starting to think you were a ghost.”

Ford laughed but it came out like a cough at first because he was still so damn nervous. then he relaxed into it, eyes crinkling at the corners behind those big, sweet lenses. “you’re the ghost,” he blurted and then panicked. “i mean— not like that! i just mean, you always vanish before i can say anything. not that i’ve tried. well, i have. in my head. you know.”

“wanna study together sometime?” you asked, and to him it was the most romantic thing you could’ve possibly offered. Ford nodded so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. the next time you sat together, he brought you coffee and three backup pens. and you caught him staring at your stockings every time you crossed your legs. it was adorable.

the first time he noticed, it was unintentional. purely visual input. you were sitting across from him in the tiny study alcove you’d both claimed. he brought the books, you brought the snacks. and you leaned back to stretch so the hem of your skirt fluttered. the sunlight from the library window lit you up, letting a slow golden spill across your thighs, where your stockings ended and soft skin began. Ford saw garters. he saw lace. and immediately forgot the square root of negative one.

very weird cough escaped him as if he'd choked on the dust. get yourself together, Stanford! you didn’t seem to notice though, but it sat with him for the rest of the afternoon, searing into his hippocampus. you were wearing different stockings every day. he hadn’t imagined it. he knew he hadn’t.

and every time, he told himself: don’t look. don’t think. don’t you dare be the kind of man who makes this weird. you were his friend now. study partners, even. you brought him your class notes when he was sick, and he helped you fix your calculator when you dropped it, and sometimes you brushed lint off his sweater without even thinking about it and he had to pretend his brain wasn’t screaming inside his mind every time it happened.

and it got worse. because you liked him. you liked liked him. you smiled when he said smth about gravitational waves. you leaned in when he explained interdimensional theoreticals. you brought him muffins. you poked his shoulder when he got smth right. you played with the strap of your bag when you were nervous. and eventually, finally, you asked him if he wanted to get coffee with you, but, like, not as a study thing.

he said yes so fast he knocked over his water bottle.

Ford didn’t know how to behave around you after that. it wasn't because you were different, but because he was. Ford felt like he’d touched something radioactive as he was sweating through his t-shirt, short-circuiting when you showed up in a plaid skirt and wine-red tights. the coffee date turned into a bookstore visit. the bookstore turned into a walk. the walk turned into a shared burrito at that food truck you liked, both of you giggling and wiping salsa off each other’s mouths.

and then there was the second date. where you wore lip gloss that shimmered beautifully when you smiled, and you said, “you look cute when you fidget,” and Ford had to literally reboot his nervous system. he was so tense he dropped his fork. couldn’t stop rubbing the edge of his coat sleeve between his fingers.

your thighs are right there. you know what you're doing. you have to. right? no! no, you're just pretty. girls are pretty. you don’t have to turn into a werewolf about it, Stanford. but god, what if you'll sit on his lap. what if you'll climb into his lap and Ford would feel the fabric of your stockings against his—

stop. stop. stop. stop.

you laughed at smth he said about string theory. he was sweating because you crossed your legs. unexpectedly, you handed him a piece of your dessert and Ford stared at your lips for five seconds too long before he let you feed him.

you weren’t trying to kill him. probably. maybe. but you liked how shy he got. how he pushed his glasses up when you leaned in too close, and how he flinched every time your thigh brushed his under the table. and when you walked home together that night and your fingers barely touched, you heard him swallow so loud it made you giggle.

Stanford still thought about that first day. your lip gloss. your pretty outfits. the curve of your handwriting. but now he also thought about what it’d feel like to have you sitting in his lap during office hours, flipping through flashcards while he tried not to pass out.

and worst of all? you hadn’t even kissed him yet.

you didn’t talk about it, not really. no one ever said “we’re dating” or “you’re mine” or “i like you like that,” but it was so obvious it almost hurt. your name was always on his lips and his glasses were always smudged with your lip balm. you sat together everywhere, shared drinks, pulled each other close by the elbow, touched fingers when you passed things back and forth. and god forbid you go more than three seconds without feeling some part of each other.

and you grinded. you grinded so much. behind the library stacks. in empty classrooms. in stairwells between lectures. his coat wrapped around both of you, covering to keep it decent while your hips rocked against his, your hands in his brown hair, his handsome face flushed and dazed, breathing into your collar, afraid of making a sound.

his thighs were so solid, wrapped in those tailored wool trousers he wore all the time. cruel things, rough where they shouldn’t be, pressing into your softness, and it made the friction so good, too good, made your breath shake every time you rubbed against the hard shape of him and whispered his name.

“we shouldn’t, we shouldn’t do this here,” he always said but then why his hands stayed on your waist and his hips pressed up into yours? “someone might see,” he’d whisper against your throat, even as he kissed you under your ear, even as you rocked against him slowly, dry humping like crazy and nothing else mattered but the way you could feel him, stiff and thick through all those layers.

you’d whimper and he’d shudder. you’d breathe into each other’s mouths and whisper things like “feels so good” and “you’re so warm” and “i think i might come just like this, fuck, Ford, i’m gonna—“ and he’d hold you tighter, breathing so hard because he was going to die right there if you didn’t stop, except neither of you could stop.

and it just kept happening. the tension wound tighter and tighter. the kissing got hotter. his hand found your ass under your skirt one day and didn’t move. in respond, your fingers brushed the bulge in his pants during a movie night and you both sat frozen, breathless, two dorks in love.

you didn’t mean to give him a hand job. it just. . . happened. you were both in his dorm and he looked so flushed and desperate and pretty, you’d never seen his pupils that blown out before.

“i want,“ he said, eyes fluttering shut. “can i? i want to touch you, no. i want you to touch me.”

“yeah, okay. yeah, Ford, it’s okay.” his cock was warm, so hot through his boxers, twitching when your palm brushed over it, and you both gasped as if it was the end of the world. you watched his needy face while you touched him with slow, trembling and unsure strokes, fingers so nervous but gentle because you didn’t know exactly what you were doing but god, he whimpered and it vanished all your doubts away.

“oh my god,” Ford putted his hand over his mouth, trying to keep it all in. “feels so good, please, don’t stop, that’s s-so—“

he came in your hand. messily and helplessly. with his red face buried in your shoulder as he gasped and gasped and said your name and begged, thrusting into your hand. by the end of it it all was so sticky. heaven on earth. both of you giggling and out of breath and kind of in shock about the whole thing.

and then he wanted to try. his hand went under your clothes, had been aching to go there for weeks. six fingers trembling as he pushed your panties aside and touched your folds, your clit, your soaked softness. “you’re, you’re wet, you’re already so wet,” Stanford kissed you while he fingered you, moaned right into your mouth. and his fingers were so fucking clumsy, but you guided him with gasps and whines and little “right there, baby, like that, oh—fuck, yes—“ and your smart boy just listened, eager and panting, his whole arm flexing as he tried to give you what you needed.

when you came on his fingers it was with your forehead pressed to his, your skirt all rumpled and his name falling from your lips in hoarse sounds. Ford smiled, kissing your cheeks, your nose, your fingers. you both laughed again.

it happens on a tuesday. not a particularly romantic one, not a holiday or a celebration or an anniversary (though you both will end up counting it like one, later). you’d both been studying again, him pacing while he monologued about theories, you curled up on his bed taking notes, your thighs bare and crossed under you. he couldn’t stop staring.

you looked up, caught him. and blushed, chewing your pen cap. “what?” you asked innocently. and Ford just blinked at you, waking from a trance, and answered, softly. “i really want to make love to you.”

and that was it. just two awkward nerds with their hands shaking as they slowly stripped each other down to skin.

the first time he slid inside you, shaky, too slow, panting softly into the crook of your neck, you both cried out at once. “oh my god,” you whimpered, fingernails pressing into his back leaving red marks. “Ford, Ford, it’s so big, it’s so—“ he gasped, body trembling. “youre so tight, darling, didn’t know it would feel like this. . .”

you clung to each other, rocking messy, with no rhythm at all, your shaking legs wrapped around his waist, moaning so loud because neither of you had any idea how to handle it. and when you came with stars behind your eyes, it was so intense you sobbed into his chest. he followed only some minutes after, gasping your name like a man drowning.

that should’ve been the end. but he kept going.

you didn’t mean to fuck again that night, and definitely not twice more the next morning, but Stanford couldn’t help himself. because he’d discovered oxygen and now couldn’t survive without the feel of you around him.

it didn’t take long before Ford’s libido eclipsed all else. poor genius, he’d always been obsessive. hyperfocused, easily fixated, nerd who could talk for hours about things like rifts in spacetime or secrets of the universe without even stopping to breathe. you should’ve known that once he got a taste of you, once he got to feel your thighs clench around him and your cunt flutter so tightly when he moaned your name, he’d treat you like one of his beloved discoveries.

but no one warns you about what happens when a man so smart gets addicted to your pussy.

wednesday is lab day so you lean over the table too much and fiddle with your pencil between your pretty lips. Ford sits across from you hard as a rock, biting his tongue while he tries to listen to Fiddleford talk about transistor configurations. but it’s hopeless. he keeps slipping off to the bathroom just to stroke himself thinking of you, spilling into his palm with a bitten-back moan, forehead pressed to the stall door. he doesn’t even make it back in time for the quiz.

but it’s not enough. it’s never enough.

it’s been two whole days since you last stayed the night in his dorm. two agonizing days of him jerking off under flickering dorm showers, biting his lip to keep quiet while the water beat down on his flushed skin. mondays make him unbearable. he won’t even look at you in class because he knows, if he does, he’ll spend the whole hour with his cock stiff under the desk at the sight of your lipgloss or the shape of your thighs under that skirt.

by 4pm he’s dragging you into the back of the library, shoving you up against the wall between reference books you’re never gonna read, panting against your cheek. “i missed you,” as his fingers fumble to shove your underwear aside. “i need it. i can’t concentrate.” your panties down to your thighs, his cock already pressed between your folds before you can catch your breath. your arms loop tight around his neck, mouthing soft kisses against his jaw as he slides inside.

you started carrying spare panties in your bag. stopped wearing bras under your blouses because he couldn’t keep his hands off you anyway. he’d bend you over his desk, shove a hand over your mouth, fuck you until you were blinking up at him all dazed and dripping. once he even took you right by the astronomy hall, gripping your hips while he fucked you so hard his glasses fogged up.

“you feel too good,” he’d whisper in between thrusts. “i swear, didn’t know it could feel like this—“

and the worst (best) part? he was good at it now. so good. all those fumbling, clumsy first thrusts turned into something downright ravenous.

Ford learned fast, like he always did. one time you were trying to study, nose deep in a textbook, sprawled on your tummy with your feet kicked up behind you, wearing a little sweater and nothing underneath but knee-high socks and. . . that was a mistake.

“Ford, baby, i have to finish this chapter, we got exam tomorrow“ but he was laying kisses on the backs of your thighs, pushing your panties aside and groaning when he saw the shine of you already waiting for him. “don’t worry,” he murmured, pulling his cock free. “i’ll help you concentrate.”

you tried. really tried to keep reading. you bit your lip and gripped the pages. but then he pushed inside and suddenly it was so hot for no reason in the middle of November. your eyes widened, hips tilted up of their own accord, and you whimpered over your textbook while his cock thrusted into your softest parts.

“just read,” Ford whispered, mouth against your ear, one hand pressing on your lower back to keep you tilted up. “be a good girl and study while i fill you up.”

you came like that, making such a mess on his cock, face in your book, ruined your exam notes. and he didn’t stop even after, just rutted slower, deeper, staying inside because “you’re so warm, so perfect, i wanna live here.”

and he meant it. because now, he fucked you every day. sometimes more than once. until your legs shook and your panties were just too damp to wear. while you studied, while he explained theories into your mouth.

you study in his dorm but Ford's too distracted by the way you sit with your legs open so. . . best solution is him fingering you under the table while you review notes, moaning under his breath every time your cunt clenches around his fingers. “this isn’t studying,” you try to protest, biting back a moan. “yes it is,” Ford replies, kissing the shell of your ear. “studying your anatomy, sweetheart. i think i deserve an A.” he makes you finish twice before you even look at the next chapter.

but no, calling it just fucking would be wrong. it was always tender, sensual even. messy hair, flushed cheeks, his voice breathless, telling you how beautiful you were as he pushed inside.

Stanford Filbrick Pines, the boy genius, gets so addicted. he goes from “i’m not sure i’m doing this right” to “i don’t think i can go twenty-four hours without being inside you.”

and it’s every day, every goddamn day. multiple times, if he can swing it. he wakes you up with soft little kisses, a gentle hand already palming at your chest under the blankets, and by the time your eyes flutter open he’s rutting against your hip like a dog in heat.

but thursdays. . . you don’t know what it is about thursday. the schedule? the way he only has one lecture in the morning? whatever it is, it makes him feral. yeah, thursdays are the worst for you, because that’s when he gets bold. when he puts you in his desk chair, throws your leg over the armrest, and kneels in front of you between essays, unbuttoning your blouse. “you’ve been working so hard, love, you deserve this. let me take care of you. please.” he groans, burying his face in your pussy, making you sob and shake and come again and again while your notes flew off the desk and your fingers knotted in his soft brown curls.

and that wasn’t even the beginning. thursdays meant getting bent over the counter before breakfast, groped in the hallway, shoved against the peeling wallpaper and kissed so hard your knees buckled.

by week seven, it’s a game of where. it doesn’t matter when anymore, because any time is fair game. he’s fucked you in the dorm stairwell, in the math department’s basement closet, in the cramped little photo booth at the student union during your lunch break, one leg on the little bench while he thrusted into you.

once, Ford got so riled up mid-lecture he leaned over and whispered, “your skirt’s too short. you’re not wearing anything under that, are you?” and when you didn’t answer fast enough, he stood up, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you into the hallway like a man possessed.

he bent you over a bench by the lockers and fucked you so fast and rough your vision went white at the edges. then he went right back to class with sweat at his temples and still aced the damn presentation. unbelievable

you learned not to wear skirts if you actually wanted to make it through the day without being groped. you learned to bring water and snacks because he’d fuck you until you were lightheaded.

by finals week, he was sliding your underwear off under the table in the library, whispering, “just sit on my lap, please, baby, i’ll be quiet, i swear. i just need to feel you around me.”

there’s no break and no off switch. not that you were complaining, but weekends were dangerous. he makes love to you for hours on sunday mornings, long, slow, thick strokes that have you drooling into the pillows, whispering praises into your mouth while he fucks you so gently it makes you cry from how soft it is. saturday afternoons he’d go down on you until your thighs shook, then hump against you like a boy losing his mind over his first crush.

Ford’s kisses made you weak. no, everything about him made you weak. his hands, his mouth, his voice when he whined in your ear that he couldn’t think straight without your cunt around him.

but every thursday, he shows up behind you, hard already, “you busy? no? good. because i need to be inside you. right now. or i’ll lose my mind.” now, every day's a new excuse to be inside you <𝟑

#gravity falls x reader #ford pines x you #ford pines smut #ford pines #ford pines x reader #stanford pines x you #stanford pines x reader #gravity falls smut #gravity falls x you #stanford pines #gravity falls #young stanford pines #x reader #stanford pines headcanons #gravity falls fanfic #grunkle ford

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junovae · 6 months ago

Text

giving blowjobs to the tf141 men under a desk at their workplaces - headcanons

simon "ghost" riley | streamer/gamer

you and simon had gotten into an argument earlier

so of course you slip under his desk while he livestreams to get your revenge

he instantly knows what you are doing as soon as he feels a hand tugging down at his sweatpants

doesn't even try to push you away

instead, a provoking and smug smile forms on his face as he bites his cheeks

mutes his mic as soon as your soft lips engulf the tip of his cock

immediately thrusts his dick into your warm mouth, causing you to choke

grabs your hair with one hand and guides you up and down, coating your saliva all over him in euphonies of slurps and gags

you didn’t like fighting and secretly missed the way he filled your mouth to the brim with his length

the chat explodes with messages informing him that his mic stopped working or that he was muted

the sound of you choking on his fat cock is music to his ears

"you think you can beat me at this game? how 'bout we play another one. try not to make a sound when i unmute, hm? if you win, i'll fuck you real nasty later."

john price | ceo

john price is the big-name ceo of the corporation you're employed at, working under him as his personal secretary

before a business meeting, he has you on his knees for him as he slathers his cock all over the tongue that you are sticking out for him

to help the two of you de-stress before the meeting, he says

once the shareholders start entering the room, he moves you under the big desk

the meeting goes along as planned without any hiccups as you silently adore his throbbing cock with your mouth

he contains his composure, continuing to write notes on his paper

being the tactical leader he is, he sees this as another challenge

occasionally, he lets out a sigh through his nostrils when he feels his tip hit the back of your throat

nearing the end of the meeting and reaching his climax, he looks down to see a mouthful of his girth stuffing your face

the tears in your eyes is what gets him. he knows it took a lot for you to stay quiet

he plans to praise you later for it

as the meeting ends, he releases his cum into your mouth, prompting you to swallow all of it

"come to my office later, angel. i need you to help me manage my schedule."

the rest of his daily agenda consisted of cancelled meetings and a full 24 hours of fucking you all over his office - against the bookshelf, bent over his desk, and with plenty new positions you never imagined were possible

kyle "gaz" garrick | librarian

it's finals season and the library had become your second home

thankfully, it was a bit more bearable as you had someone you knew to bother when taking your study breaks

needing a hiatus from your session, you decide to go bother kyle

making sure no one was looking, you slide under the front-desk of where he was sitting and pull out his dick

he looks at you wide-eyed and asks what you are doing

you ignore him, careful to make eye contact while playfully sucking on his balls

he covers his mouth in embarrassment

asks if you can do this another time, preferably when he wasn't working

but as soon as you let go of his cock, he swiftly scoots closer and holds your head to push your mouth back on him, causing you to let out a soft gag

he lets you take the lead with your mouth, appreciating the visual of your bobbing head going down on him

you make him feel so good that he ends up whining softly with each bounce

the two of you try your best not to let out any sound, weary of the silent atmosphere

you guys are in a library, for fuck's sake

this causes him to grip onto the table and bite his lips in hopes of preventing himself from making any more noise as he cums all over your face

his cock twitches as he slathers the evidence of his climax all over your face

"fuck. i wish i could let them hear how well you were sucking me. you’d probably like that, huh?"

john "soap" mactavish | personal trainer

john accidentally double-scheduled a training session with you and another person that day

luckily, you had come in early to his gym office, surrounded two-way with glass wall partitions

with time to spare, he gladly shows you some new stretching exercises he wanted to incorporate into his lessons

you tell him that you want to test your flexibility

he's not sure what you mean but once you pull him over to his desk and unzip his pants to reveal his already rock-hard cock, he smirks

something about seeing you in your workout attire

you bend over into a bridge pose as he fucks your mouth

he hisses at the sight of your bent-over-backwards body sucking on him. fuck, this is so hot, he thinks

the way his ball sacks were slapping against your face made him feel dizzy

he instructs you to switch to the next position, the upward-facing dog

soap was losing all his inhibition, groaning loudly with each suck

every time he told you to switch to a new orientation, you showed him without fail, your skills

it was the bow pose that had made him release in your mouth, seeing how your hands were bound behind you pushed him far off the edge

"i'm cancelling the session with the other person. by the time i'm done, i want you fully naked and ready for me to fuck the shit out of you."

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honey-pages · 7 months ago

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Weaker - Viktor X Reader (Study Date Part 2)

This is part 2 to Study Date - as requested and crossposted to Ao3.

Description -

Viktor takes you to the lab, and then takes you in the lab.

1.8k words

Part 3

F/M. 18+. Smut. Pussy Eating, Sex , Dirty Talk, Semi-Public.

The colours of the books in the library seemed much more vivid as you moved to stand. You could not help but be both intimidated by Viktor and irresistibly drawn to him. The events of what just happened were written in blaring red pen across your thoughts and you wobbled a little as you stood up.

“Careful now, we cannot have you passing out before you even get to the lab” Viktor smiled, steadying you with his hand.

You returned the expression. Even looking at him, knowing what you had just been reduced to, was difficult. You felt as though your face was betraying your memories and that if you were to continue, soon the whole library would be alerted to the complete arousal you were drugged by. Almost as if some imaginary announcer would come over the loudspeaker and announce to everyone the slight noises Viktor’s hand made as he-

“(Y/N)? are you okay? You look a little pale; did I take things too far?” He whispered.

“No!” You reply, a little too quickly and sharply, “No, not at all. You have just made me so weak”.

“Weak in a good way?” He asks.

“Yes, definitely in the good way”, you clarify.

He appears happy with this, collecting his things into a bag, and placing the unnecessary extra books back on the return rack. Viktor is the only person you know who is both bold enough to finger you in the library, but also caring enough to double check with you afterwards that it was okay to finger you in the library. You chuckle to yourself. You would never have guessed he was so- out there. Or maybe you would, you had often fantasised about him doing similar things, but you would never have thought that they would leave the confines of your imagination.

The walk to the lab from the library was not too far. There was a passageway that fed between both, and this was the path Viktor took you down. You chatted as you walked. There was no awkwardness, he was as smooth as ever. Any visual signs of stiffness were hidden by his cool outward kindness and personality.

“I mentioned to you earlier about my project. Ill happily show you what I am working on if you are interested.” He suggested

“I’d love to see; it is some kind of robot if I am correct?” You reply.

“Me and Jayce are putting together some concepts to form a sort of robot - yes. Though there are a few other more… personal things, I’m working on.”

You wondered what this could be as you approached the lab. Passing through the large outer door, the lab was cold but intimate. To the centre was a large diamond like window, open fully, a thick breeze washing through. You had only visited this place in passing, bringing about notes and paperwork and strange little contraptions. It wasn’t a place that was widely accessible as it was usually kept just for Viktor and Jayce. It felt quite alien to be here, like you had walked into some mysterious world in which you were a little out of your depth.

“Water?” Viktor calls to you.

“Oh, yeah! Thank you!” You reply.

He fills you a glass from the water station labelled “DRINKING WATER- NOT COOLING FLUID.”

“We had an incident a while back” Viktor references the sign, “Jayce was a little chilly for a few days.”

You laugh, it was easy to imagine. Viktor props himself against the edge of the main table and hands you the glass, watching as you drink most of the water. You hadn't realised just how thirsty you felt.

“Better?” He suggests.

“Much”

“It’s a good idea to keep your fluids up, considering how much you lost earlier” He grins.

You suddenly cannot drink more water. You flush red, but play it off coolly, sitting on the edge of the table not far from him and placing down the glass.

“It’s also a good idea to keep your fluids up considering how much more you are about to lose.” He adds.

Viktor closes the gap between the two of you, standing in front of you between your knees. Even with you sat down, he stands face to face.

“Do you know how long I have wanted to do what I have done to you today?” He asks, “For months I have watched you. I have sat next to you, hard and aching, waiting for the right time, for when I felt right touching you. I need to taste you.”

Your stomach is in knots once more, the wetness from not too long ago is now feeling extra sensitive as you begin to pulsate. Him confessing his need for you fills you with unexpected courage. You place your hands on his back and pull him in gently, closer. You press your hips against his, the table height aligning them both. You angle your face upwards, and lightly plant a kiss against his lips. He accepts and deepens it, testing the waters with the tip of his tongue, enveloping you and drawing you in until both tongues are dancing and passionate.

His hands are wandering as you feel his weight against you, they find first the edge of you face as he holds it, then your hair, following down to your shoulders, round to your breasts. He applies pressure; hands of a scientist feeling and curiously undoing, testing and taking apart. He gropes at you harder, and you feel him, firm and straining against his clothes.

He begins to undo your shirt, slowly removing it and sliding it off your body, at the feel of you in a bra he breaks the kiss, looking down in admiration at you before him.

“Ah, Miss (Y/N), you’re perfect.”

You catch his eyes as they gaze back up at your face, you hold them there, not removing your stare as you reach forward for his zip.

He grins, a laugh escaping, “Oh no, I have waited too long to touch you to be hindered by my own cock.”

He pulls away rapidly, searching around the room. He finds his chair, pulling at it until the wheels oblige and it drags in between your knees. He sits down, head level with your hips.

“I am adamant Miss (Y/N) that I taste you.”

He places a flat hand against your chest, pushing you down gently until you lay flat on his desk. When in this position, you can see up and into the sky through the other looking large window.

“Viktor, the window is open” You feign complaint.

“You were quiet enough in the library, I am sure you can behave for me again.”

His hands raise your hips, sliding down your clothes and underwear, leaving you almost bare in front of him. Your legs are closed instinctively, and he reclines back in his chair enjoying his view.

“You are hiding from me, (Y/N). Spread your legs for me. I want to see all of you.”

You hesitate out of nervousness but widen them for him. You watch the clouds in anticipation. The chair creeks and the wheels squeak. Viktor slides the flat of his tongue directly up the centre of you, gathering up your earlier wetness and sweeping it over your clit. He wraps both arms around each for your thighs and holds you down tight as he demolishes you.

You cry out loudly at the surprise of it, but he doesn’t stop. In fact, he increases his speed and pressure, curling and flicking his tongue around your clit desperately. You grab onto wood of the table to keep yourself from shaking.

“Oh God, Viktor- “

If he replies, it is buried deep inside of you as he continues to work, his whole face wet.

“I have changed my mind. I don’t want you to behave for me. I want to hear you; I want to know what I do to you. Let Piltover know.”

“Viktor!’

He replaces his tongue with an addition of two of his fingers. He tests you carefully when inserting to ensure you slide open for him and he meets no resistance. He rhythmically pushes his fingers inside of you, working you up and then crashing his palm against your clit. He sometimes breaks rhythm to rub you with his open palm. He utilises the whole of his hand when his tongue is not busy.

“Viktor, I need you. “You cry out.

“I’m sorry, I can hear you over the sounds of my hands.”

Louder this time, you moan, “Viktor please, I want you to fuck me.”

The outside world is somehow quieter, but you are not very aware of your surroundings, a blurring realisation sweeps over you that you do not care. All you need is Viktor. Viktor is restraining himself from releasing his cock and taking you. He is twitching and sensitive and very aware of just how easy it would be to give into his urges and fuck you into the table. He wants to focus on your pleasure. He adds another finger. Your moans are too much for him, you are too much for him. You weaken him and suddenly he is inappropriately touching you in the library, you always make him come undone. He debates whether to give you what you want.

“Viktor, please- “

With his face buried, he undoes his belt, buttons and zip, freeing himself. You are unaware of this as your vision is still fixed on your view of the labs window.

“Please what?” He asks in amusement.

“Please- “

As you say the words, he pre-emptively enters you, catching the words in your throat. You shout out loudly. You may hear mutterings from the street below, but you aren’t sure. Viktor makes an ungodly noise as he enters you, almost falling over the edge himself. His hands are now fixed in fists on either side of your waist as he pounds into you against the table.

He feels the pressure building. He needed this, needed you. He fixates on the way you look underneath him, splayed out on his desk all for him. He watches the open window, the people walking by below. If they were to look up, they would see him. You grip him, the sides of you holding him tightly, pulling him in, contracting against his length.

Viktor is about to make you undone. With each thrust the feeling doubles and you feel tighter than previously as your body works up to its release. You try to warn him but the only sounds escaping you are unintelligible.

A sudden hard thrust sends you over and you cry out. “Viktor, I- Im- “.

Viktor knows. He has felt the clench of you around him and feels you grip him tighter than before, pulsating and spasming. This is enough and he can’t control himself. He pushes deep inside and fills you.

“(Y/N)- “

Words seem to have escaped the both of you. Breathless, panting and messy, you cling to each other.

Viktor stays inside you for a little while after as he begins to soften. Seeing you filled with him, so vulnerable and bare, it rewires an emotional response. Something in him changes and softens more for you than it already was. He holds you for a long time and does not let go.

#viktor x you #viktor x reader #viktor smut #viktor lol #viktor league of legends #viktor arcane #request #smut #arcane

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luvyeni · 8 months ago

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⠀ ( drabble ) waist ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 앤톤 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ you and anton teasing each other ヾ

boyfriend!anton・ reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ ‎ ‎unprotected sex, cockwarming ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ wc ・ ‎0.5k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 ever since i saw that video my brain chemistry has been changed ...

「 VISUALS 」

“baby , how long does it take to do your skin care?” your boyfriend whined from the bedroom , you laughed. “here i come.” you turned the light out , walking into the room. “there you go.”

you climbed into bed , and into his lap straddling his waist , he tossed his phone to the side holding your waist. “i missed you.” he said. “i’m right here ton.” you smiled. “and yet i still miss you.” he said , you bent down to give him a kiss. “well im right here.” you whispered against his lips. “yeah.” he repeated. “you are.”

the tension you could cut with a knife; your lips ghosting over his. “stop being such a tease.” you smiled, his hands rubbing the side of your waist. “kiss me.” he said. “please.” you gave into his pleas , planting a kiss on his lips , pulling away. “another.” you gave him another peck , trying to pull away , but he grabbed the back of your neck. “do it right please.” pulling you down into a deep kiss , his tongue swiping the bottom of your lip. you whined into the kiss , allowing him to push his tongue into your mouth , both of you letting out a moan.

after a while of just kissing; well and you grinding down on his lap, anton couldn't control himself any longer , pulling away from you , breathlessly. “take your shirt off.” it was actually his , but you decided not to tease him, reaching up to lift your shirt off your head. “good.” he said , his big hands rubbing down the side of your bare waist. “now your shorts.”

he sat up , removing his pajama shorts while you removed yours, beckoning you over to straddle his waist. “ride me.”

“fuck ton.” you moaned, grinding your hips back and forth , his cock dragging along your walls. “that's it baby , keep riding me.” his hands steading you. “goood fuck , you feel so good.” his cheeks glowing and red , from sweat and the heat from your bodies. “your pussy feels so good.” he groaned , a tired smile on his face. “so tight.”

your hands planted on his chest. “fu-fuck , you're so big.” gasped out , your legs growing tired, you whined. “t-tired.” you nodded. “let me take over.” he said , planting his feet on the bed, still holding your waist as he began to buck up , bullying his cock deeper inside you. “fuck.” your body now hunched over , your whimpers and moans in his ear giving him encouragement to go faster , holding you still “fuck , fuck baby , baby im gonna cum.” he let out a whimper like moan. “me too baby , let go.”

you came with a moan , shaking in his hold as he thrusted up into you few more times , cumming inside you , his sticky cum sticking to your insides. “shit.” he let out a breathless laugh. “we need to shower.” you whined. “can it wait until morning?” you asked. “i just want to stay like this.” he sighed “okay , but if i wake up horny then you'll responsibility.” you laughed.

“i’ll be sure to wake you up with the best fuck of your life.”

©LUVYENI

#riize x imagine #riize drabbles #riize smut #riize hard thoughts #riize hard hours #riize x reader #anton x reader #anton smut #anton fanfic #anton hard thoughts #anton hard hours

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 7 months ago

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book 7 part 12 part 1 thoughts!

***THIS POST CONTAINS MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR BOOK 7 PART 12 OF THE MAIN STORY!!*** This spans part 227 to part 244, focusing on Cater and Deuce.

We will get the other 3 Heartslabyul boys in 2 future updates. The second part is Ace, then Trey. Riddle is last!

Please note: this is NOT meant to be a summary or a translation; these are only my initial thoughts on the events that roughly unfold. There may be details overlooked or misunderstood in this post, so PLEASE do not use this as a translation.

We land in what seems to be a hallway at NRC. Unfortunately for me (who seeks vengeance against a certain lion for emotional damages), Leona provides no funny reaction to the bumpy travel while dream hopping. He even makes fun of those who had a hard time, calling them weak if something like that gets to them 💀 YOU'RE ALREADY ON FUCKING THIN ICE, KINGSCHOLAR

Grim gets distracted by the smell of lunchtime so he scampers off to the cafeteria to eat! But... um!??!?! Scarabia mobs in mohawks get aggressive with us.

Before they wail on us, who should appear but the owner of the dream, Deuce!! Our guy has blonde hair (it's a Japanese trope that delinquents bleach their hair). He intimidates the mobs away with some backup from dream!Trey and dream!Cater, who still appear to maintain their vice dorm leader and "#3 in Heartslabyul" positions, respectively. Sounds like Riddle is still the dorm leader as well.

Deuce, Trey, and Cater spot Leona and kind of start picking a fight with him???? They say that if Ramshackle has been taken over/absorbed by Savanaclaw, then there will be problems (or something to that effect). (SORRY, THE DIALOGUE IS SO WEIRD AND FULL OF TERMS I DON'T UNDERSTAND CUZ EVERYONE'S SOUNDING LIKE A DELINQUENTTO SOME CAPACITY)

Cute detail: it's stated that Yuu is typically seen with Ace and Deuce! So even in the world of Deuce's dream... he still thinks about their friendship!!

Leona (and Ortho), actually Being Smart, backs off and lets Deuce take Yuu + Grim over to the Heartslabyul table to eat (even though Sebek gets mad about it). Leona tells the others it's better to observe the enemy first, then demands that Idia find a way for him to listen into the conversation Yuu + Grim are having with Heartslabyul. Luckily, Idia is able to hook them up aaaaand...

We get sort of a reinactment of that part in book 1 where Trey explains the 7 dorms at NRC to us, except this time Deuce is dropping the lore in a really bombastic way.

ALRIGHT, SO. In Deuce's dream, the 7 dorms are still the same as they are irl but each dorm sort of functions like its own... gang????? And there are daily gang wars to use the facilities at school. Certain dorms rule over certain territories, and if you want to go there or do something specific then you have to beat a member of the respective dorm in a battle. Rach dorm has a suuuuper over-embellished title... THIS FEELS LIKE SOMETHING STRAIGHT OUT OF A DELINQUENT MANGA (I also want to add that the devs chose the most unhinged expressions in each character's repertoire for the following visuals:)

Heartslabyul is centered in the library; you need to pass them to borrow books.

Savanaclaw owns the botanical garden (LOL BECAUSE LEONA'S ALWAYS FUCKING NAPPING THERE *flashbacks to the time he almost kicked our shit in for stepping on his tail*). If you want any herbs or other items from the greenhouse, you need to go through Savanaclaw.

Octavinelle is in charge of the area bordering Ramshackle, around where the Mystery Shop is. Sam has apparently signed a deal with them to have his store there. You can avoid a fight with them if you pay a "toll".

Scarabia is considered moderate compared to the other dorms, but they're serious about food, as they reign over the cafeteria, as well as places on campus that produce food/ingredients, like the windmill and chicken coops. It'll be hard for you to take the Master Chef course if you aren't comfortable with constantly pummeling Scarabia kids.

Pomefiore handles the courtyard and the potionology/alchemy labs. If you have to do a makeup lesson in that department, be prepared to contend with them.

Ignihyde students usually don't come out of their territory, which is the auditorium and infirmary. hbfbyoadfadfpfas DEUCE SPECIFICALLY MENTIONS THAT ORTHO IS A NEW MEMBER AND THAT HE'S LIKE A FIERCE GUARD DOG 😭😭😭

Finally, Diasomnia has hold of the coliseum and stables. They are considered the toughest dorm and command respect, otherwise lightning will fly.

Ramshackle is basically Switzerland (ie neutral territory); the ownership is not determined by fighting but rather is determined by the headmaster. (We got no cool visual, lol)

Leona and co. try to think about ways to wake Deuce up... Since fighting seems like an everyday thing in this dream, maybe we have no choice but to go with a physical blow...? But if fighting is so normalized, maybe that wouldn't work... Plus, there are so many faces that the darkness has taken on, so it would be hard to overpower them all. They also discuss their own impressions of Deuce (ie how he looks/tries to present as an honors student versus his efforts and suspected "bad" background). In this dream, Deuce is apparently considered a top performer based on his contributions to the uh student gang wars 💀

A Heartslabyul mob rushes in and reports to Riddle that Octavinelle students are invading the library. Riddle sends Adeuce to clean up and they have this really shounen manga-esque battle where the Octa mobs call Ace and Deuce by long nicknames and Deuce even lets out an ORAORAORAORAOROARAOROAROA!!

A bunch of books are chucked around in the ensuing battle, which causes Sebek to literally FALL TO HIS KNEES and check on them. He laments that they've been damaged and is very upset by this. However, Sebek becomes truly ENRAGED when he actually opens a book and notices its contents are faulty. Like the spelling is screwed up, the pages are blank, or the writing that's there is hard to read. Sebek concludes that the contents of the books are fucked because the dreamer, Deuce, has not read these materials himself to understand them. AND DEUCE DARES TO CALL HIMSELF AN ASPIRING HONORS STUDENT???! SEBEK WON'T STAND FOR IT!!

... This fucking green haired fool shouts at Deuce and provokes a fight by shaming him 🤡 LMAO, Sebek calls the books just papers bound by a cover, IT CANNOT BE CALLED A BOOK!! He tells Adeuce to READ the damn books and then hit each other with the knowledge they gain from reading... OKAY NERD

They open up a book that should list the rules of the Queen of Hearts, but because so much of the book is blank, only like a handful of rules are written down. Deuce says that's not correct, there are WAY more rules--in fact, 810 of them! This starts to wake him up, but dream!Ace becomes darkness and tries to convince Deuce that, at NRC, only strength matters so he doesn't need to study to get to be an "honors student".

HJBAHJBAFSBHDSAHBAS HLAFHL DEUCE STARTS HAVING FLASHBACKS TO ALL THE TIMES ACE FUCKING BULLIED HIM AND DEUCE LEGITIMATELY GETS SO MAD HE FULLY WAKES UP

Wait, this is so sweet 😭😭😭 The image that Deuce has in his mind right before he wakes is his and Ace's reunion with Yuu and Grim at the end of book 6...

Deuce joins us to beat back dream!Ace. Of course Ace isn't this one, the real Ace is way more insensitive and annoying!!

Deuce starts to sort of talk down to himself. He says if his dream turned out like this, then there must have always been a part of him that "wants" to solve everything with his fists. Ortho comforts Deuce by saying that though Malleus's dream is created based on a person's desires, the output can be highly variable depending on the individual.

Sebek starts scolding Deuce again for not reading books in their entirety, and they discover one book that seems to have more information than the others. "The Story of the Trump Soldier" is a famous children's book in the Queendom of Roses, containing short stories about the Trump Card soldiers that serve the Queen of Hearts. Deuce says that he has always admired those soldiers and how cool they are, especially when they chase lawbreakers through the rose maze!

AWWWWW Deuce would beg his mom to read this book to him when he was little.. and when he finally learned how to read himself, he'd read and reread the book from front to cover. WDBHLYOIDFFIADIADF WAIT WHY IS THIS ACTUALLY SO CUTE... OTL

Deuce wants to continue reading where he left off and Sebek says the ideal way to read is in quiet so you can focus on the words. ASBHBLSAIHIDBASSD THEY CRACK A JOKE ABOUT HOW SEBEK ONLY EVER SHUTS UP WHEN HE'S READING...

Sebek seems to demonstrate genuine interest in what Deuce reads. I half anticipated him to follow up with an insult, but Sebek is actually very mindful about different reading levels. He even makes a comment that a simple children's book such as this is able to be the start of someone's love for literature, that it can still have the power to move someone as it does Deuce. That's honestly really powerful.

They then get into a conversation about picking books for each other; Sebek suggests that Deuce pick out an easy book for Yuu and Grim to read sometime. We also learn that Sebek would do this for Silver, but that Silver would get sleepy and never fully finish Sebek's recommendations. Deuce has this nice line where he goes "Even if these books are empty now, someday they will be filled", expressing his desire to become that honors student ideal for real and not just superficially.

Guys, I'm glad you like reading (I like reading too) but now is REALLY not the time for it... 🤡 The moment's cute and all (and it definitely feeds into Sebek's character arc about opening up to non-fae), yet it still feels weirdly placed to have so much casual banter when everyone knows what's at stake.

aiuaidbadab Sebek says that he will check out "The Story of the Trump Soldier" when he's out of the dream world... which is so sweet, right up until he transitions into mocking people who don't understand the emotional value of books. Silver apologizes to Deuce for Sebek's attitude and they prepare to hop into the next dream.

But wait! Where's Leona...?

... BRO WAS NAPPING ON SOME LIBRARY CHAIRS WHILE EVERYONE ELSE WAS TALKING ABOUT THE JOYS OF LITERATURE 🤡 ASJVUFEOVEOQIVib;WBIEQTOIPfwpib He finally wakes up with a stupid hot yawn and asks if they're done with their errands.

Okay, NOW we're ready for the next dream. Off we go!

We land in front of Heartslabyul dorm.

OH LORD Grim's gonna be fried up and eaten, I swear... Leona gets mad at him for clinging to his necklace while they fall out of the sky. Grim claims he didn't notice it was Leona because his hair was all over the place (Grim just grabbed what was close to him), and that leads to Leona filing a complaint to the manager (Idia). "Oi, daikon radish sprout! Make travel more convenient for me." Idia refuses, claiming he's too busy and that since travel only takes a moment, Leona can suck it up. He also has the BALLS to say Leona shouldn't pull a selfish second prince move ,adbilbiodsbiasdi AND THEN LEONA GOES HE HAS SOME CHOICE WORDS FOR HIM NEXT TIME THEY MEET FACE TO FACE, YANNO?????? Omg guys... the girlies are FIGHTING...

On the other hand, Deuce LOVED dream hopping. The wind in his face is even better than what he experiences when he rides a magical wheel. Even if he can't control where he's going while falling, he really liked the rush.

Up comes dream!Ace. He asks if Leona's over for tea or something, which makes me laugh a little because even though Leona knows how to act all proper, he LOATHES actually doing it. Anyway, Ace says that there was a Magicam notif about an urgent matter, so they're going to hold a trial. Deuce is confused that such an important announcement would be made via social media, then tells Ace off for not being in dorm uniform for the trial. Deuce also says that students from other dorms are NOT allowed to be present for trials since they're one of Heartslabyul's most sacred traditions. Riddle would behead you so fast! ... Which confuses Ace. SO YEAH FELLAS, I THINK DORM LEADER!CATER IS CONFIRMED...

Ace leaves for the trial, with Deuce chasing after him. The rest of us decide to go after them, since all the Heartslabyul students would be gathered at the trial and it will be easier to determine who the dreamer is.

But up comes... Deuce?! This must be the dream! or NPC Deuce. So we decide to deal with him early and get him out of the picture. He doesn't revert to darkness at any point, so we speculate that this is because we haven't run into the dreamer yet, or maybe because the darkness has yet to register us as a threat to the dream's stability. In any case, we tie up dream!Deuce so he doesn't interfere!

To the courtroom we go! I think it's the first time we've seen this asset...?

It's very lively inside, some students aren't in dorm uniform though.

OH MY GOOOOOD dream!Riddle is a regular ol' student now. Interestingly, he's got a little red heart as his card suit. It's a similar color and placement to Cater's diamond mark, but he shares the same suit as Ace. sdhlbabiyfaio AND HE'S NOT WARING HIS DORM UNIFORM, HE'S BREAKING A DARN RULE HIMSELF

(Trey is still vice dorm leader!)

The courtroom doors open and someone zooms in on a skateboard! It's Cater, the Heartslabyul dorm leader and our resident dreamer.

He is surprised to see students from other dorms present, especially Leona. ADBKHLADBILADBSI LEOAN LIES HIS ASS OFF ANS CLAIMS DEUCE INVITED HIM TO TEA AND CATER BELIEVES HIM

Cater takes a selfie with Leona and posts it on Magicam. Dream!Riddle interrupts to let him know the trial is starting 15 minutes late, so Cater apologizes and says they should begin for reals.

Leona and Idia have a brief exchange about dorm leadership. Most students probably want to be dorm leader more than not being dorm leader. They each express their own opinions about their title; Idia doesn't want to live under someone who is incompetent (he thinks highly of his own skills) and Leona just hates the idea of following someone else's lead. Spoken like the duo who don't have vice dorm leaders, eh...

Uuuuh so it looks like the trial is for a mob student that was too afraid of Cater to invite him to a croquet game. Cater decides to skip to the part where he gets mad and commands Riddle to behead the mob. Sebek complains about the lack of actual deliberation, but Cater dismisses it. All that he needs to render a judgment is his anger, right?

Mmm, that's interesting. Cater's being just as strict as Riddle is irl and continues to use Riddle's power as a means to punish others. His reputation is also just as scary as Riddle's is in book 1, and Cater mainly seems to be using his emotions to judge others. So in one way, yeah, Cater is laxer with the rules (he allows other students to join trials, lets people wear the wrong uniforms for important ceremonies, makes announcements via Magicam, etc.) but is still a force to be reckoned with.

Dream!Trey suggests hearing some witness testimony since there are special guests in the audience today. They have Deuce bring up witnesses, so Deuce picks Yuu and Grim. On the stand, we claim we don't know anything and the jury records our statement using their smartphones.

abhldbilasiyasoyfe THSI IS SO DUMB THAT LEONA GAVE UP TRIYNG TO UDNERSTAND THE SITUATION AND PROCEEDS TO NAP 💀

Deuce drags the still sleeping Leona up to testify. Despite being handled so roughly, he doesn't wake up one bit!! Leona mumbles something in his sleep, it's an order to Ruggie about how he wants a deluxe menchi katsu sandwich at noon. Cater announces that this is SUPER important testimony so the mobs hurry to write it down.

Last up is Silver! He's the only one that takes being questioned seriously and answers with sincerity. He is asked where he was and what he was doing at the time the grave offense was committed. Silver says probably enjoying tea in the dorm. Dream!Riddle asks why, is it his unbirthday? To which Silver says his birthday (May 15) is a little further away.

This makes dream!Trey realize it's an unbirthday, so Cater announces they MUST have a party! And... BOOM, the background goes dark with tons of neon light fixtures! Cater demands food (which I guess is the context for his new SSR's initial artwork) and has dream!Riddle DJ FOR HIM??????!?!??!?!???????? 😭OKAY, I did NOT want to side with Kingscholar but I'm afraid I have to this time... This has got to be the most nonsensical dream so far, which I guess is fitting seeing the source material www

Deuce wonders if Cater is dissatisfied with Heartslabyul irl, because the Heartslabyul in the dream seems so different. Leona drops it on us that this is actually the Heartslabyul of the PAST, when the previous dorm leader was in power. Deuce would not know about it because he's a first-year student.

BEFORE ANYONE SAYS "Omg, Cater former dorm leader theory real!!!", the game does NOT confirm this. Leona speaks about the previous dorm leader as if it was another student. He never once names Cater. (Oh, and we learn that Leona challenged his dorm leader for the seat when he was a second-year student.)

Deuce reflects and realizes he never really knew anything about the third years because he never bothered reaching out to them. YES, HERE'S A POWER OF FRIENDSHIP AFTER SCHOOL SPECIAL LESSON OTL He also thinks back to book 1 and how not enough strictness (like what they are seeing now) is its own vice, like how too much strictness can also be trouble.

asfuiadofadaefi WHAT THE FUCK

Leona proposes the idea that Trey and Cater are both "using" Riddle. He compares the scenario to how people will bring up a young leader, Riddle, as a pawn in order to overthrow the previous regime (ie the lawless Heartslabyul). Then Trey and Cater become advisors to the new ruler, manipulating him in order to create the kind of country THEY want. It's a tale as old as time. anfbiyoaafiyodgovyqefoiy I HATE HOW MUCH OF A BIG BRAIN MOVE THAT IS...AND OF COURSE FUCKIGN L*ONA OF ALL PEOPLE SAYS IT

The dream!Heartslabyul boys encourage us to eat and drink. Most of us are force fed or pressured into taking a bite/sip, but Leona won’t fall for it. Cater tries to get him to drink mysterious juice from a bottle (does Leona wanna be beheaded?), but bro’s not having it.

Ortho (the one guy who cannot eat) interrupts and reminds everyone that the darkness is trying to lull them back to sleep. We then get the reveal that Trey, Riddle, AND Cater are the darkness, meaning that this Cater is a clone and the real Cater is elsewhere.

Battle time~

Aaaah so Ortho couldn’t identify Cater as a clone because apparently it takes a really strong imagination to make convincing copies??? That, and he comments that Cater sees himself an objective way?? Something, something, because this is a dream, it is hard for Ortho to determine what the true composition of something is.

LOL???? The real Cater barges in, he saw the other Cater’s Magicam post about Leona coming over for tea and got excited about it??? He sees the black sludge everywhere and is sooo confused… It’s literally the meme of the guy walking in with pizza boxes only to find the room on fire 😭

Dream!Riddle is on a rampage and beheading everyone, and THAT triggers Cater to wake up. His own dream fucked up THAT hard.

Deuce is about to be collared but Cater uses Split Card to make a bunch of clones that catch the strays of Riddle’s UM and protect Deuce. This must be the context for his new SSR's groovy!

He and some new clones join us to beat up the darkness! As they’re melting away, dream!Trey and Riddle call out to Cater AND CATER SAYS THEY’RE DISGUSTING, THE REAL TREY AnD rIDDLE QoULD NEEEEVERRR… “Could you please disappear? Bye bye ⭐️”

OH MY GOD 😭 Cater Diamond is not beating the bi allegations… First it was him excitedly running into the courtroom when he saw that LEONA was there, now he’s all like “It’s thrilling to be woken up by the prince”. I THINK WE ALL KNOW WHO THE REAL LIONKISSER IS HERE FOLKS.

zbsnsbiska Cater compliments Idia’s video an says it’s sooo cute 😂 but Idia is not thrilled with that comment.

Cater says that he’s not unhappy with Heartslabyul irl (Deuce’s misunderstanding, ig??). He actually likes the dorm the way it currently is. So I guess Leona's theory about Cater trying to revolutionize Heartslabyul wasn't true after all?? ADFHJAFBUASDUO CATER ROASTS LEONA BY SAYING HE'S NOT THE TYPE TO BE SAYING THAT BECAUSE WASN'T LEONA TRYING TO DO THIS SHIT IN BOOK 2.

ADBILABIYOAOYOIB CATER MOM MODE?????? He scolds Leona and says the Heartslabyul underclassmen are cute because they're stupid and easy to deceive, he doesn't want them to become twisted and gross because of Leona's' poor guidance. THEN CATER CLAIMS HE HIMSELF IS A KIND RELIABLE AND COOL UPPERCLASSMAN THAT WOULD NEVER EVER TAKE ADVANTAGE OF DEUCE... Is this the same guy who fucking tricked us into painting the roses red for him??? THAT Cater??? *stares at him* Leona says no way will Deuce buy that bullshit BUT DEUCE DOES INDEED BUY CATER'S BULLSHIT OTL YOU POOR SWEET SUMMER CHILD...

ADFBHUFSYUOFSOYFEO CATER CALLS SEBEK "SEBEK-CHAN"... This throws him off, because "Sebek-chan" is something his older sister calls him, but when Cater says it, it sends a shiver down his spine!

The group agrees to head to Ace's dream next. Before they depart, Cater seizes this opportunity to take a group selfie~! aberiylaiyladasd Cater wanted to take a pic of his dorm leader outfit as a souvenir, but then he says he also wants to take tons of pics of Leona-kun! (Leona says this feels like harassment adshasd) adshuvoayafeyovifpbiVIYFWPF CATER DIAMOND YOU WON'T FOOL KME, I KNIOW A LIONKISSER EHWN I SEE ONE.

Aaaand we set off to the next leg of our journey! That's it for this update.

Man. I did NOT expect a Deuce and Cater-centric update to be THIS bulky but here we are, I guess 💀

The highlight of Deuce's dream was definitely the part at the end where he shares his favorite book with Sebek. Now, I still got HUGE gripes with the pacing and how the characters continue to waste valuable time chit chatting and hanging around but that aside, I really liked what this moment did for both Deuce and Sebek's characters. We get confirmation that Deuce truly does want to work and study hard to be an honors student--and as for Sebek, we get to see him actually opening up and sharing something he genuinely loves with others. You can tell just how much he values reading; he doesn't dismiss Deuce for reading an "easy" book and sees actual value in it being a jumping point for others to get into other books. He is constantly sharing books he loves with his friend Silver and encourages Deuce to do the same for Yuu and Grim. AND THIS IS FURTHER PROOF THAT SEBEK IS THE BEST B--*is bricked into silence*

Anyway, I'm glad they didn't stop Sebek's character development in Lilia's dream. I'm definitely now getting the sense that Lilia's dream was just the initial "rude awakening" for him when he's confronted with a dose of his own racism thrown back at him. He's not used to his loving grandfather being so vitriolic to him on the basis of his race. And now in more recent updates Sebek is being exposed to the good side of students from other dorms (such as Jack), as well as connecting with them via shared interests (like he is now with Deuce). It's so adorable how Sebek promises he will check out the book Deuce loves so much once he returns to the real world, AHAHHHHHHH H HHHH H H H H H HH H H H H H H H OTL SEBEK-CHAN LEMME SQUISH YOUR CHEEKS MYR PRECIOUS BABY BOI

Something else I appreciated about Deuce's dream is how his friendship with Ace, Yuu, and Grim is made relevant. When he first runs into Yuu and co., he worries that Ramshackle has been absorbed by Savanaclaw and doesn't want to fight his friends. Then when things are cleared up, Deuce still invites Yuu and Grim to come eat with Heartslabyul. He and Ace fight together very well in his own dream--so well, in fact, that it reminds me a lot of how Silver and Sebek are perfectly coordinated with one another when they fought the flowers in GloMasq. It's Deuce's own (loving) anger towards the real Ace that ultimately wakes him up. And you can tell that Deuce places value in his relationship with Ace, Yuu, and Grim by how he acts. AND THEN WHEN HE WAKES UP HE'S THINKING OF THAT TIME WHEN ALL OF US REUNITED... HOW IS THAT NOT SUPPOSED TO MAKE ME TEAR UP A LITTLE...

I thought I wouldn't enjoy Cater's dream, but I actually found it to be very fun! I loved how silly and nonsensical it was; it really tickled my Alice in Wonderland-loving bone. asdvhdvsoidsa I'M SHOCKED AT HOW MUCH WEIRDLY PLACED L*ONA CONTENT THERE WAS IN ACATER'S DREAM OTL I expected him falling asleep to be a gag at some point, and I was right (it happens in both Deuce and Cater's), BUT I WAS NOT EXPECTING CATER TO BE SUCH A LION SIMP, NOR WAS I EXPECTING L*ONA TO MAKE THAT REALLY SMART ANALOGY ABOUT A POTENTIAL HEARTSLABYUL REVOLUTION... **slams an angry fist on the ground** LITERALLY SHAKING SOBBING THROWING UP OVER HERE 🤡

The twist with the real Cater being somewhere else was really interesting, but it's a shame we never got to go deeper with this idea or get exposure to the "real" personality of his. I think there was another missed opportunity (although this would still prolong the pacing problems, lol) with dream!Deuce being taken out so early. I thought for sure that dream!Deuce would escape his binds and interrupt the trial, and then that would lead into a whole Ace Attorney style segment where they try to deduce which Deuce is "real". It would parallel how Cater's UM allows him to make clones, as well as how Cater keeps putting on an act and not showing his true self to others. At the climax of the trial, the OG Cater could make his grand appearance and the rest of his dream could still proceed like the version we really got. I DON'T KNOW, I THINK IT WOULD HAVE BEEN COOL TO SEE... (<- totally biased Ace Attorney fan)

That being said, Cater's dream felt... more geared toward comedy than being serious? And it's not like we haven't had dreams like that before, but it feels especially hollow because we've been waiting SO LONG for him to get more depth, be if exploring his dark side or explaining more of his general inner thoughts. It sucks we didn't get any of that.

Cater's not a character I care for a ton, but I think I saw a side of him today that's pretty funny! He was delivering banger roast after banger roast, especially when he called out Leona for trying to overthrow another regime while accusing him of doing the same. dbiabsiofobiapb Also love that we get a reminder of how underhanded Cater is (something I felt we didn't see outside of book 1 when he tricked Adeuce into doing his chores for him). He fr abuses his status as a "trustworthy" senior and accuses LEONA of corrupting the kids to gain Deuce's support 💀 That scene was so funny, it had me in stitches!

With every new dream, I think I become more and more confused about how these things even work. It feels like they offer a completely contradictory explanation or a new detail to overcomplicate the situation every update, and now I have like NO understanding of anything. What confuses me the most about this update is how BOTH Deuce and Cater claim what we saw in their dreams does not reflect what they actually want. Like... Isn't Deuce ASHAMED of his delinquent era? Doesn't he NOT want to go back to that? Isn't he trying hard to study and to be an honors student irl? That's the opposite of what the dream shows. Yeah, it would be more convenient for Deuce to understand and succeed if everything were decided with strength instead of smarts, but this is still actively NOT what he would want, especially given all the time and effort he sunk into reforming himself. Cater also very explicitly states the has ZERO interest in being dorm leader, so why is it that his dream manifested this way??? I suppose you could say he's lying (because he very much is a liar) and is hiding his true desires?? BUT EVEN THEN THIS DOESN'T MAKE TOTAL SENSE BECAUSE HOW DO YOU EXPLAIN DEUCE OVER THERE??????

So how are these supposed to be their "happiest" dreams????? THIS MAKES NO SENSE and all I'm getting from this (until the writing clarifies) is that the devs didn't actually make the dreams "happy", it's partly this way because they just wanted a convenient excuse to write scenarios that would be interesting for the players to see, such as Leona being king or delinquent Deuce or Savanaclaw Rook or whatever OTL I'm hoping this gets properly explained by the end instead of continuing to flounder and leaving the fans to come up with all the answers for themselves... (I also pray for us to stop wasting time doing nothing while the world is about to end, but given that this is an Important Part of the Pattern, I'm guessing there is no chance this is happening. A BIRD CAN ONLY DREAM.)

Alright, that's all from me. See you next main story update for Ace and Trey's dreams...!

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