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wndaswife · 2 months

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saving room for dessert | wanda maximoff & fem!reader

Dinner with the new neighbours sets you on edge due to the repeated subtle passes made at your wife. You reestablish your ownership over Wanda in the kitchen while your guests wait for dessert in the dining room.

Word count: 6864

Tags | MDNI: smut, domestic fluff, humour, jealousy, possessiveness, reader has a penis, handjobs, brief thigh fucking, daddy kink, degradation, but way more praise, what is the word for almost getting caught fucking in the room beside the dinner guests??, sub!wanda maximoff

A/N: the corny alliteration of vision and virginia's name was not my doing it is based on his comic series ndskjfnkjfn

The town of Westview was a rather quiet one, though both you and your wife really loved the neighbourhood community, for it was friendly and close-knit. When you first moved into Westview together, it was because Wanda’s job had relocated her to somewhere further than where you had previously lived, and close to the charming town that was alike to the kind you had always talked about living in together.

Both of you were delighted to find that the people of Westview were welcoming and kind, and that there were frequently tourists that made the small town buzz with life, for Westview’s small-town charm along with its infamous preservation of its older architecture and landscape was a sight that many of those from the more bustling areas of New Jersey enjoyed visiting.

Though Westview had a tightly-knit community and a steady flow of cheerful tourists, it was rather uncommon for the small town to get new people moving in, so when one of the new neighbours ended up working alongside Wanda, the two of you were rather eager to get to know them — a long-time married couple with two children who’d graduated from college and were now living elsewhere.

After about two weeks of scheduling between the four of you, dinner that had long been spoken about was finally happening at yours and Wanda’s.

You were looking forward to it, for Wanda spoke quite highly of the wife, who she described as an extremely kind and funny woman. You had spoken with her a few times too, but only by chance like under casual circumstances when you were bringing in groceries with Wanda and she was out gardening.

Additionally, Virginia, the wife, lived in Russia until she was eight, and though Wanda was Sokovian, the two were able to initially enjoy discussing their Slavic similarities in culture and dialect until they became closer, chatting casually about things from their spouses to Westview. Eventually, conversation led up to Wanda inviting Virginia and her husband, Vision, over for dinner.

You were looking forward to it, and though Wanda was looking forward to dinner with the neighbours too, she also enjoyed hosting and cooking, and so the kitchen was busy and smelling wonderfully for the last little while as you cooked together.

Mostly, it was Wanda who took the lead with cooking, but since being married, her talents had rubbed off on you; you could now dice onions at perhaps two-thirds of the speed she could, and Wanda also always says you’re good at cleaning up after her while she cooks.

But also, you really just loved doing things like this with her, when you could just talk about anything, just the two of you, while doing things you could only dream about when the two of you were still only dating, living in a place together that you could also only dream about back then.

You wrapped your arm around your wife’s waist once she slid the potato dauphinoise into the oven and shut it, pulling her into your body and kissing her forehead. “I love you,” you uttered into her warm skin.

She held your chin in her hand and angled your face to hers so she was able to kiss your lips. “I love you too,” she replied, smiling sweetly at you.

Your guests were five minutes early, perhaps to make a good impression, for they could have been exactly on time if they so preferred seeing as though they lived right next door.

It was you who opened the door as Wanda was finishing up a few things in the kitchen, ensuring the cheesecake you had made earlier was comfortably sitting in the fridge waiting until it was time to serve dessert.

Also, she thought it’d be a good impression for you to greet them first, since you’d yet to meet either of them officially.

Cheesecake was actually your signature greatest achievement in the kitchen aside from nearly — not nearly at all, really, but you like to boast — keeping up Wanda’s onion-chopping. You’d taken the cheesecake recipe from a cookbook, and it was Wanda who adjusted most of the measurements and changed some of the ingredients, but it was you who could make it perfectly.

Well, Wanda could make it perfectly too, and probably better, but she never tried; she liked the way you made it, and gave you recipe credit though it was her who really reconstructed it to be what it tasted like now. But she always says that it was you who found the original recipe, at the end of the day.

Not that any of that would matter to your guests, and maybe it might be a story told over dinner if the topic came up, but it mattered plenty to you and Wanda; you wanted to concoct a special dinner together, preparing dishes with special meaning. Though some of said meanings were not as profound in their history as the cheesecake’s, like how Wanda lathered the dinner rolls in butter a second time halfway through because you liked when the top of the rolls weren’t completely dry by the time they were finished baking.

In any case, the intention was to host a dinner that was friendly and warm, and so the dinner spread was selected with intention.

“Hi,” you greeted with a smile, waving a bit awkwardly for no reason at all before ushering them into the foyer and closing the front door behind them. “You must be Virginia — I’ve heard lots about you from Wanda.”

The woman, slightly taller than you and with smooth, soft looking dark hair that ended at the mid-way point of her slender neck, beamed at you as she stepped into the house, her husband following behind her. She took your hand with both of hers, warm fingers caressing your hand gently. “And you must be Y/N. I’ve also heard quite a bit about you from Wanda,” she said, eyes crinkling at their edges as she smiled.

She gestured to her husband, a clean-shaved blonde man with aviators, slightly shorter than his wife but still a bit taller than you. “This is my husband, Vision,” she introduced. “I don’t believe even Wanda’s yet met his acquaintance.”

It was when Vision shifted the lidded ceramic bowl into his other hand to free one in order to shake your hand that you realised he was carrying something. You shook his hand with a friendly smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” he said cordially and with a smile.

“Virginia!” Wanda cheerfully greeted as she walked into the foyer, hair fixed up and now without her cooking apron on. They exchanged a hug and Virginia kissed her cheek before introducing Wanda to her husband.

“Thank you for having us,” Virginia said appreciatively. “We’re both thrilled to finally get to know both of you better.”

Wanda replied, sharing a tenderness with Virginia within their met eyes, “You’re very welcome. Y/N and I have been looking forward to tonight all week.”

“Oh,” you interjected softly, realising Vision was still holding his ceramic bowl. “I’m so sorry, let me take this into the dining room for you.”

“In fact, I’ll also take the both of you into the dining room too,” Wanda added lightheartedly. “Let’s get out of the foyer. You can set your shoes down anywhere by the door, and the coat rack’s right here.”

Once wine had been poured and everyone’s plates were served the dinner you and Wanda had made together — pomegranate-brined chicken with white balsamic charred peach, potato dauphinoise, and a medley of some vegetables — you each sat at the dining room table, enjoying your dinner together.

There was conversation about how wonderfully everything tasted, and you were sure to credit Wanda with taking charge in the kitchen, allowing her to talk a little bit about how she prepared the meal and delving into details the couple asked her about, like how she had made the potato dauphinoise so creamy.

You began to truly enjoy their company for how much they were complimenting your wife.

Until there was Vision’s, You’re a gorgeous woman who can put together an equally as gorgeous dinner spread — Y/N’s hit the jackpot.

“Dinner couldn’t have been done without Y/N,” Wanda assured and then looked at you with a proud smile mostly meant for your eyes, but you weren’t paying as much attention to her as you were scrutinising Vision’s body language after his comment.

It wasn’t… inherently malicious.

But there was something implicative in his wording that made you slightly sceptical of him.

Perhaps in an attempt to… Well, you actually weren’t entirely sure what Virginia was attempting to do when she lightly corrected, “Both Y/N and Wanda have hit the jackpot finding each other. You two seem so perfect for each other. Not to mention, if I might be so blunt, you’re a rather attractive couple.”

Wanda laughed, but in the way she regarded Virginia’s expression for just an additional moment before looking back down to her plate to respond with something humble and bashful, you knew she was also curious about the other couple’s compliments.

“I moved the wine around!” you tried, intentionally poorly, to call after Wanda when conversation came around to discussing the different wines you had, resulting in Wanda leaving to go get one the opposite couple loved. “Sorry, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t believe I’ve yet told her how I reorganised down there.”

As you headed down the hallway, you inhaled and exhaled thoroughly to untie the uneasy kink in your stomach, sure to keep your shoulders still so your tenseness wasn’t obvious to your guests who could still see your back until you headed downstairs to where the wine was kept, for their comments hadn’t stopped since the first time.

Wanda looked over her shoulder at you when you descended the stairs and she straightened from looking around at the selection. “Baby, do we still have the Pinot Grigio they were asking about?” she asked, hands on her hips as she leaned back a bit and ran her eyes over the selection on the wall in front of her.

“Are they swingers or something?” you asked as you approached, placing a hand atop Wanda’s hand on her hip as you reached around her and took the white from the wall to her left.

“Oh, you moved them,” Wanda noted, thanking you when you handed it to her.

You stood beside her in front of the wine rack and repeated your question, looking up at the closed basement door before asking again. “Are they swingers?”

“What?” Wanda looked up from surveying the wine, looking confused. “What are swingers?”

Clarifying, you replied, “Couples who sleep with other couples.”

“Them?” she asked incredulously and laughed. You took that as a ‘no,’ then looked over at the basement door curiously as if you could see them through it, ruminating over their comments. Then Wanda was silent and unmoving and you looked at her as she was tapping her fingers against the glass of wine, seemingly in deep thought of her own. “Well… Come to think of it…”

“Wanda!” you hissed. “You invited swingers over to our place for dinner!”

“I didn’t know!” she answered. “I just thought… Virginia talks about her sex life often and I suppose there are some times that she’s alluded to… to swinging about with other couples—”

“It sounds weird when you use that term like that — just say sleeping with,” you interrupted.

Your wife gave you a look and you cracked a tiny amused smile before she continued. “Anyway, yes, I suppose they’re swingers. I didn’t know!”

With your arms crossed, you tapped your fingers against your upper arm in thought, and Wanda supposed you were thinking of how to converse with them now that you both knew they were swingers. But instead you asked hesitantly, meeting Wanda’s eyes, “Are you… interested in that?”

Wanda scoffed. “Y/N, no. Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied. You surveyed her face for a moment longer and she fully turned her body to face you. “You really think I want to sleep with other couples?”

“No, I don’t, but we’ve never had the conversation before, so it’s possible that you’ve had it on your mind before, even in passing.”

She assured, “I do not want to sleep with anyone else but you.” It was almost funny to hear those words come out of her if you thought about it with no context, but context given, it was really a relief to you. “I’m entirely satisfied with only us, and the thought of being with anyone else disturbs me greatly. I’m not offended that you asked just to make sure, but the idea of being with another couple, or anyone but you, has never been anything that I’ve entertained. Y/N, I didn’t even know what swinging was until a moment ago.”

“Okay?” she checked in, her voice soft, letting her other hand with the wine hang by her hip while she stepped towards you and cupped your cheek with a warm hand. “I really didn’t know — and not even subconsciously, if you’re thinking that.”

“Okay,” you confirmed and smiled at her, causing Wanda to smile at you in response. She leaned forward and kissed you.

When she pulled away, she met your eyes and your chest warmed when Wanda’s smile crinkled the sides of her eyes. Her thumb rubbed against your chin adoringly. “I’m unsure how we ought to go about signalling a lack of interest in having sex with them,” she told you.

“Just a lack of reciprocation, maybe?” you suggested, and at that, you perked up at the recollection of their commentary that you now knew was flirtatious. “Wanda, if Vision calls you gorgeous one more time, I’ll fuck you over the dining table monogamously in front of them — I’m serious. It’s driving me crazy. He’s right, but to know they’re both just thinking of how much more gorgeous you’d be if we were all having sex is rather startling.”

It wasn’t that they weren’t making subtle passes at you too, but since Wanda was far more communicative and talkative, it was natural that their efforts to become closer circulated your wife far more than it did you.

Wanda laughed and pushed at your shoulder playfully, her head thrown back slightly. “You’re such a freak,” she said. She took your hand and you headed out of the basement together. “It’s okay. Now that we’ve spoken about it together, I’m sure it’ll be much less awkward since we know they’re swingers. It likely won’t be a problem until they bring it up, and then we can clarify that we’re not interested.”

The plan was more than simple, but it failed to consider how agitated you were becoming, little comments now seeming much larger now that their intentions were clarified between you and your wife.

It was things from Virginia noting how you seemed to be the one to ‘take charge’ in the marriage, to asking outright how often the two of you had sex, about children and the possibility of them, and plenty of other things that were likely of no consequence but seemed irritating to you because you were simply irritated.

Mostly, it was Virginia’s comments that were permitted to be slightly more vulgar as it was she who asked about yours and Wanda’s sex life, for she was now more than only work friends with your wife, and she’d shared much about her own intimate tendencies with Vision before.

The conversations about sex weren’t crude, and mostly they were merely jokes, but knowing the intentionality behind them now made them far more than that.

But it was about more than references to sex; there were comments made about how both you and Wanda were such a perfect couple, how well you worked together and how kind you were — observations upon observations about how you and Wanda were within your marriage.

It seemed they had standards, at least.

And truly, Virginia and Vision were kind people and you would thoroughly enjoy having them as neighbours as soon as it was made clear that you and Wanda weren’t interested in sleeping with them.

What irritated you wasn’t necessarily all about them and their commentary, for they knew not that you and Wanda weren’t interested, and anyways, if Virginia had been alluding to being a swinger along with her husband on several occasions, this dinner might very well be interpreted by them as interest.

So you didn’t necessarily dislike them.

It was all true that you and Wanda made a wonderful pair and that Wanda was gentle and so generous, and that she was beautiful and all the things that had been said about her tonight.

She was very funny too when she wanted to be, and had great taste in movies and all her clothes always sat so well on her shoulders, and her hair was always so soft and the crook of her neck was always very warm, and her fingers were gentle and curious when she had them wrapped around you, and she was so delicate when she slept, and her elbows were a nice shape, though you don’t think you ever told her what you thought about her elbows — all this Virginia and Vision didn’t know, but for whatever reason, you thought so much about it all.

And for another inexplicable reason, it was rather related to how irritated you were.

“Y/N and I have been married for two and a half-ish years now,” Wanda said in response to a question you weren’t listening to, placing her hand on your thigh. You looked over at her and she smiled at you sweetly.

You’d only said a few things in the last few minutes, little comments and visible reactions to show that you were engaged in the conversation, but nothing majorly contributory. You looked to the side in brief thought then said, “Two years and… seven months.”

With a second more to think, you also added, “Three days.”

Wanda thought that was funny, but also sweet, and her smile widened, perking up her ears slightly as her smile grew. She squeezed your knee and pulled her hand away to take a sip of wine. “Indeed — two years, eight months, and three days.”

“If we feel so inclined to place trust in my math,” you joked modestly.

You watched as Wanda conversed further with your guests, watching the way she laughed and how she looked over at you often to see your reactions to things or to just make eye contact with you. Specifically, you liked when she looked at you while she was laughing to see if you were also laughing, to share in that joy with you.

As you watched your wife between sips of wine, there was a rupture of adrenaline that came over you. All that you’d been thinking of about Wanda wasn’t some abstract concept about some idea of Wanda — they were all about the woman you loved, the woman who loved you, the woman you were married to.

The woman who was yours, and who’d only ever be yours, as you were hers.

The thought warmed you and made you feel delighted, but your cheeks felt warm and the wine warmed your throat and chest in such a pleasant way, and suddenly, you needed Wanda then and there like you knew you had her.

“Are we all ready for dessert?” Wanda asked, looking around at the table to see everyone’s plates empty with their silverware to the side.

When Vision confirmed for both himself and Virginia, Wanda said, “Y/N’s made a wonderful cheesecake for the occasion. She can be quite the chef.” Her praise made you feel a bit bashful and you smiled at her gratefully.

Virginia expressed excitement for dessert while you and Wanda collected the empty plates to bring to the kitchen, letting them know it’d be a few minutes.

You followed behind Wanda as she headed down the hallway and into the kitchen. Dishes were thoroughly emptied and rinsed before being placed into the sink while Wanda carefully took the cheesecake out of the fridge.

“Can you take this?” she asked, holding the cake out to you. You took it from her and placed it on the island counter at the centre of the kitchen. “I think I’ll slice some fresh fruit and arrange it nicely on top. I didn’t want to do it before it was served or it wouldn’t be fresh.”

You were listening, but not quite taking in what she was saying. You watched her closely as she took out some fruits and honey from the fridge and brought it to the counter before taking out the cutting board. She tucked loose hair behind her ears and pushed her sleeves up.

Her neck was exposed and you felt the urge to smell her perfume, feel the warmth of her skin against the tip of your nose.

You stepped forward so your pelvis was pressed against her hip, an arm wrapped around her waist as you pulled her close and ducked your head beyond the strands of her hair, burying your nose in her neck. She tipped her head to the side, allowing you room to kiss up her neck.

You felt the vibrations of her laugh against your lips.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I need you,” you answered briefly, using your other hand to tug her sleeve down slightly and expose some of her shoulder so you could kiss there too. There was no response from her aside from a soft hum, and you knew it had been on her mind too. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about it; all their implications have made me think of you all night.”

“And that constitutes you needing me now?” she asked, turning her head to look down at your face along the slope of your nose and forehead seeing as your face was still half-buried within the crook of her neck. “I would have thought you’d be too busy brooding.”

She was trying half-heartedly to taper your desire, but the soft inflection in her voice told you she’d certainly felt the same thrum you’d been feeling too.

“I was busy with far more important things.” You wrapped your fingers around her wrist carefully and led her hand down to between your hips, and in spite of her hesitation, Wanda’s fingers wrapped delicately around you through your pants. Your hips immediately bucked into her hand.

Wanda inhaled sharply then sighed at the feeling of you. “Y/N…” Your name trembled on her lips. You watched as she swallowed, eyes flickering up at the hallway in front of you both. Her jaw tensed and she looked back down, fingers twitching as she internally fought against her most rational objections.

She bit the inside of her cheek before her hand moved, unbuttoning your pants then unzipping. She met your eyes, her hand pausing momentarily, perhaps wishing you might change your mind suddenly and stop her before she was unable to stop herself. But you said nothing, only meeting her eyes with stubborn conviction.

Your gaze made her cheeks flush a soft pink and Wanda shifted in her spot, pushing her own hips against the edge of the island counter, no doubt feeling her own desire growing. She looked down and tucked her hand past the waistband of your underwear, pulling it down along with your pants until your cock was free.

“I’ve been thinking about having your lips around my cock,” you whispered, your lips brushing against the lobe of her ear. “About the way you groan when I pull out just enough so you can taste the way you make me feel against your tongue before I fuck myself down your throat. I thought about how beautiful your pussy looks when I lay you down and spread your cunt open. I thought about you.”

Her breathing became heavy at the sight of your arousal, seeing how you twitched as you spoke about her. Her hand wrapped around you, her thumb brushing gently over your sensitive tip and eliciting a soft grunt from you.

“Fuck, Wanda,” you cursed from beyond clenched teeth. Your hips twitched forward into her hand and Wanda didn’t wait a moment before giving you the friction you wanted, her hand jerking around you and repressing a moan of her own as she felt you throb and twitch in the warm confines of her palm.

Your arm wrapped around her waist advanced upwards, pulling up some of her shirt and exposing some of her lower stomach as your hand groped at Wanda’s clothed breast.

She let out a soft moan and you watched as she squeezed her thighs together and further pressed her pelvis into the kitchen counter in desperation. Her hand gained speed, ensuring to graze around your tip each time her hand continued its rhythm around you. Her head rested on your shoulder as she watched the way she touched you, watched the way you let her touch you, her breaths shaky as she felt her own desire climb.

But how could you deny your wife mutual pleasure?

You moved the cutting board to the side and Wanda watched as you readjusted things.

“Y/N, don’t,” she protested quietly. “We can’t.”

Ignoring her, you moved from her side, her hand releasing from around you as you placed your hands on her hips and pressed her against the counter.

You unbuttoned her pants and watched over Wanda’s shoulder as she watched your hands, her chest rising and falling, gripping the edge of the counter. She was so warm against your body and her perfume smelled so nice.

You pulled her pants down along with her underwear, allowing you to press your cock against her perfect ass.

Wanda exhaled a deep, trembling sigh and she leaned forward against the counter. “Y/N,” she weakly protested again, reaching back and trying to swat your hand away.

Impatient about wanting her to give up her hesitation, you pulled her pants down further below her ass and slotted yourself between her thighs, parting her wet cunt with your dick and brushing your tip against her clit.

Her head fell back against your shoulder and you felt her thighs squeeze together ever so slightly, nudging you up against her clit.

“We can’t?” you asked.

“They’ll…” Wanda braced herself again and straightened her back, knuckles turning white as she pressed the pads of her fingers into the underside of the counter. “They’re in the other room. We’d have to…”

“Be quick?”

She nodded.

“I can be quick,” you told her. You kissed the corner of her jaw, the hollow part behind her earlobe. “You know I can be quick.”

Your hand slid down her stomach, the heel of your hand brushing against the space between her hips before your fingers found her clit. Carefully, you brushed them against her, feeling the way she twitched her ass back against you, subtly rubbing herself against your cock that was still throbbing between her thighs.

“Beg me to fuck you.”

Wanda looked over her shoulder at you. “What?” she asked. “I thought you wanted–”

“But you were so adamant that we couldn’t. Now, I’m not so convinced myself,” you said. “You’ll have to beg me.”

“Y/N, please,” she whispered impatiently.

You gave a quick pinch to her clit and Wanda repressed a yelp as her body jolted against yours. “That’s not how you beg, baby.”

Wanda urged, “We don’t have time.”

“Make time.”

Impatient, you spanked Wanda’s ass lightly and took a handful of the soft flesh, eliciting a sharp inhale from your wife before she sighed out, “Oh, Y/N…”

She reached back, parting from your hips to make enough room for her hand. She wrapped her hand around your cock and stroked it slowly, bending herself over the counter and presenting herself to you obediently.

“Please, daddy,” she begged. “I want you inside me. I want… I want you. Please. I need you.”

You watched as her desperate hand continued to pleasure you, watched as her back arched as she bent over the counter. You pushed her shirt up her back, eyes running up the delicate curve of her spine and feeling with your palm the smoothness of her soft skin.

“Are you… Are you going to?” Wanda asked nervously, fully aware of the fact that you had every liberty to pull away and forget all about wanting to fuck her right there and then. She wasn’t exactly meeting your eyes, not that she could at the angle she was looking back over her shoulder at you, but she wasn’t exactly trying to either, for the possibility of you leaving her all desperate and unfucked was all too real.

You hummed in what sounded like consideration, but really, you were just running your eyes down the curve of Wanda’s lower back and the perfect swells of her ass, watching the way she continued to hesitantly stroke you, desperate to please and desperate to have you inside of her.

“How could I deny you, Wanda?” you finally answered, and you saw your wife flush from beyond her mess of loose strands, looking away and at the hallway ahead that led to the dining room.

“We really have to be quick,” she reminded, letting go of you but not without brushing her thumb over your tip again.

A hand came to her upper back and flattened her against the kitchen counter, a soft grunt leaving Wanda as was pressed down against the marble. “You really overestimate yourself if you really think it’ll take very long to get you to come,” you mocked, hands hooking under her hips and around her upper thighs, arching her back further and sticking her ass up.

At the sight of her cunt, you groaned and parted her sticky mess with your thumb and middle finger, brushing your index finger down across her clit. You ran your thumb across her hole, dipping ever so carefully into her before removing your hand to position yourself against her opening.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” you said, “how embarrassed and shy you were every time they mentioned sex or asked about our sex life. Trust me, there were dozens of other things running through my head, but one in particular.”

Wanda gripped at the edge of the counter, taking in a breath as she felt you prod at her opening with your tip, dipping in just enough for her to feel the stretch of your cock sliding into her. “What… What was it?” she asked quietly.

“I wondered why you felt such an urge to act so embarrassed talking about sex when you know what a fucking slut you are,” you gritted out before your hands tightened around her thighs below her hips and pulled her ass back against you so your cock slid into her with a single thrust.

You leaned forward to grunt against her shoulder, muffling your noises and letting your wife know how good she felt. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good around my dick, angel,” you groaned. “Sweet innocent girls wouldn’t be able to take cock like this, Wanda. You put up a front when you’re with them, but you know how much you love getting your pussy fucked raw by daddy. Isn’t that right?”

Wanda shut her eyes tightly, her moans and yelps being only partially-swallowed as she tried to keep them from escaping past her lips, though it become increasingly difficult as you began thrusting forward, trapping her between the kitchen counter and your hips and forcing her to withstand the entire impact of your brutal fucking.

“Th-That’s right…” she conceded.

“I know it is,” you agreed. “I know it is, because it’s fucking filthy. You’re a filthy slut, baby. You can hear it, can’t you?” You reached down to rub your fingers against your wife’s clit. “You can feel how much it turns you on that you’re all daddy’s, that daddy can fuck you whenever she wants because she owns you.”

Your forehead laid against her shoulder and Wanda reached up to cradle the back of your head with her hand, interlacing her fingers with your hair.

“That’s right. Fucking take it,” you grunted into her ear, feeling yourself growing closer each time Wanda’s walls squeezed around you, listening to her delicate high-pitched yelps every time you pinched her clit or thrusted into her so hard her ass stung with the way your skin slapped against hers.

Her hips were beginning to become sore with the way they were pressed against the edge of the counter.

“Do any of you need help in there?” Virginia called from the dining room, audibly beginning to head down the hallway to the kitchen.

“A-Ah, no!” Wanda called back, her attempts at repressing her moans making her response come out slightly more aggressive than she’d wished. “Please don’t! We’re almost finished. Just…” Her head hung as she quickly ran out of excuses, but she couldn’t bring herself to push you away — not when she was so, so close.

Not when you felt this good inside of her, holding her so close against you.

You felt so good with your arms around her.

You took a handful of Wanda’s ass as you shoved her further down against the counter so she was being soundlessly fucked from behind as her hair gradually became undone, her shirt riding up to expose that beautiful curve of her spine that you loved.

“Wanda’s a bit of a perfectionist with decorating the cake,” you added, digging your nails into her malleable flesh and watching as smooth ivory tinted into a flushed red. “She wants it to be a surprise!”

“I promise we’re… we’re nearly finished!” Wanda called back, slightly breathless, before quickly burying her face into her arms and muffling herself.

Virginia gave in, saying something about having the both of you promise not to work too hard because both she and Vision would love the cake anyways. But neither of you paid much attention once you heard her walking back down to the dining room.

“You feel so good inside of me, daddy,” Wanda whimpered into her arms. “Please come inside. I want to feel you. I wanna feel how warm you are.”

Being degraded always turned Wanda on, but it was being praised that made her come; you loved how your wife was so sensitive to sweet things like that.

So you lifted her from the counter with your arm wrapped around her waist so her arms were taut with her hands gripping the edge of the counter again. From here, you were pressed against her with access to whisper into her ear.

“You’ve been so good for me, haven’t you, sweetheart?” you complimented against her cheek, pressing a kiss there and running your hand beneath the confines of her shirt. “All nervous and hesitant to let daddy make you feel good at first, but you knew better later, didn’t you? You know that I know what’s best for you, honey.”

Wanda nodded fervently. “Yes, I…”

Your hand pulled Wanda’s bra to the side and you kneaded her breast with your hand, feeling the way her nipple hardened against your palm before moving to the other and pinching her other nipple between your thumb and forefinger. “Oh, I know,” you cooed when she leaned back against you with a prolonged, quiet moan. “My princess, you’re such a good girl.”

“Why don’t you listen to what a good girl you are, hm?” you asked, moving both your hands down to grip her hips again and pulling her against you. You watched in detail as you pulled out of her, her glistening pussy wrapped around your cock, before you thrusted back in, your obedient wife taking every inch.

Both of you listened to how her cunt sounded around your dick, her slick coating you as you throbbed inside of her, her tight walls squeezing you in just the right way, feeling the way the pressure from her walls gripped around your tip when you pulled out at just the right length.

“Fuck, baby, your pussy feels so good,” you groaned, leaning back so you could watch the way her ass looked when you rutted your hips against her. Unable to help yourself in spite of the noise you knew it might make, you delivered a spank to the side of Wanda’s ass.

You then wrapped your arm around Wanda’s waist again, your other hand moving up to cup the side of her cheek and turn her head around so you could kiss her lips. “Come on, angel, fuck yourself on daddy’s cock. Let me see how badly you wanna come on my dick.”

Wanda obediently began moving, arching her back to allow herself leverage to fuck herself back against you, listening to how her ass slapped back against your hips.

“That’s good, baby. You’re so beautiful,” you breathed out against her neck, kissing the warm expanse as you listened to Wanda whimper and try to hold herself together until you gave her permission to come. Your hand groped her breast again. “You’re so needy for daddy’s cock, hm? You’re making such a fucking mess, Wanda.”

“Y/N…” Wanda whispered, her arm reaching back to grab at the edge of your shirt. “Please let me come. Please.” You kept your chest pressed against her upper back, allowing her to meet your eyes when she turned her head to plead.

“Come all over daddy’s cock, baby, come on,” you permitted. “I love to see you all desperate for me. Let me see you come, Wanda.”

Wanda ground her ass back against your hips, burying your cock deep within her pussy as she came around you, walls gripping at your twitching cock. You felt her pulsate around you as she grasped desperately behind her, searching for your hand.

You interlaced your fingers with hers and kissed her lips as you came to your own hilt, emptying yourself inside of her and letting her feel your warm cum fill her up to the brim until you could feel yourself dripping out from the sides of her cunt.

Weakly, you continued thrusting into her, fucking your cum deep inside of her as Wanda whimpered, sensitive and still pulsing around you as she felt your sticky warmth shoot up inside of her.

“Oh… I love when you come inside of me, Y/N,” she breathed out, satisfied and tired as she let go of your hand and used both to balance herself against the counter as she slumped forward.

You grinned at her and kissed the back of her neck as you pulled her underwear up first, giving her sensitive cunt a quick swipe through her panties, telling her to keep your cum in for as long as she could. Then you did her pants back up and did the same for yourself.

The rest of the cheesecake decorating went relatively fast after Wanda quickly cleaned herself up in her kitchen window reflection.

Actually, neither of you had ever decorated a cheesecake so fast considering you decided to go a bit overboard with some whipped cream to make up for how long you both took — it would’ve made far more sense to come out with a more intricately decorated cake. It was a decently-sized cake, just enough for four people to enjoy, so it didn’t take as long as it would’ve if it were sized regularly.

“Oh, we were so worried you might’ve needed help with the dessert,” Virginia said the moment the both of you stepped into the dining room, Wanda with the cake in hand and you with the plates and silverware.

“We’re so sorry,” Wanda apologised. “One of us set the cake lopsided in the fridge and it came out a bit kooky, so we had to reshape it and all. And then the organising of the fruit and—” She waved her hand dismissively as she set the cake down. “Well, it’s all finished now.”

You set the plates down for everyone along with their respective knives and forks. “We hope you didn’t have to wait too long,” you told them apologetically.

Aside from how your initial impression as a couple spiked Virginia and Vision’s interest in wanting to sleep with both you and Wanda, the meal thus far must’ve paid off, for they really didn’t seem irritated at all after waiting for dessert.

And they did end up enjoying the cake too.

Except for Wanda, however, who seemed to be rather distracted with something else. You watched as she kept readjusting herself in her seat, her thighs squeezing together every so often and taking sips of her wine just to fidget with the handle of the glass.

You were rather eager to fuck your wife in the bedroom too after dinner, but before that, to see how much of your cum had leaked out of her.

By the looks of it, she had failed to hold much of it in.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #elizabeth olsen

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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 5 months

Note

Hello! I love your writing. Can I request an actress y/n story of her doing the Vogue 73 questions interview and some of the questions being cute stuff about her relationship with Tom and the interviewer going viral on social media.

73 Questions with Vogue || Tom Blyth x actress!reader

A/n: this was so fun to write, thank u for the request anon :)

Warnings: none

Wc: 606

Tom Blyth x actress!reader au masterlist

Divider by @pommecita

You step into the grand foyer of your opulent home, adorned with exquisite art and gleaming chandeliers. Vogue’s cameras follow your every move as you prepare to answer their 73 questions. The air is charged with anticipation as fans worldwide await a glimpse into your glamorous life.

"Mind your step," you caution the interviewer, noting the subtle elevation that often catches people off guard. "Oh, thanks," he chuckles in response to your warning, and a reciprocal grin plays on your lips. The interviewer then dives in, initiating the conversation with, "What's your morning routine like?"

You flash a radiant smile, “I start my day with a strong cup of coffee and a walk with Tchai.” As you speak, you gently caress your spoodle, cozily curled up on the sofa.

"Tchai is so adorable! How long have you had him?" The interviewer questions, giving your dog an affectionate pat. "I've had Tchai since I started dating my partner Tom, it was actually his gift to me for our one year," you share with a smile, recalling the moment Tom surprised you with the dog of your dreams.

As you stroll through the expansive living room, the camera captures the elegance that surrounds you. A question about your career follows, and you share anecdotes from your latest film.

“I actually took this from the set of tbosas, it’s a photograph of my character and Coriolanus that was on Coryo’s bedside table during the first scenes,” You show the camera the photo, your grin reflecting the fond memories associated with it.

“Texting, calling, or FaceTiming?” The interviewer probes further. “FaceTiming for sure! I’m too slack most of the time to text, so I'd rather FaceTime people because then I can see their reactions,” you share, casting a glance over your shoulder as you navigate through your hallway, adorned with captivating artworks.

The interviewer then delves into a more personal inquiry, asking, “How do you handle the pressures of fame?” You take a contemplative pause, “I’ve learned to prioritize my well-being and maintain a grounded perspective. Surrounding myself with genuine people helps.”

Entering your plush home office, you take pride in showcasing the awards adorning the shelves. The conversation seamlessly transitions to your personal life, and a subtle smile graces your lips.

“Congratulations on reaching your three-year anniversary with Tom!” The interviewer beams, and you reciprocate, “Thank you!” “Could you share a bit more about your relationship with Tom?” the interviewer inquires.

Your eyes light up, “Tom is incredible. We support each other’s dreams and share a deep connection. He’s my biggest cheerleader. And I'm genuinely grateful to have someone like him in my life.”

The camera follows you into the stylish kitchen, where you casually pour a glass of water. “What’s the key to a successful relationship?” He asks. “Communication, trust, and a lot of laughter,” you reply, your tone sincere.

The resonant creak of the front door interrupts the air, and a familiar voice follows, causing an immediate and infectious smile to light up your face. “Oh, there’s Tom right now,” You chuckle setting the glass down before you make your way to the foyer, the camera effortlessly trailing your every move.

“Hi sweetheart,” Tom removes his sunglasses, drawing you close for a tender kiss before casting a warm smile at the camera. “Go, continue your interview,” He encourages, his eyes filled with affection, as you return the grin and redirect your attention to the ongoing interview.

Moving towards the sunlit terrace, you reveal breathtaking views. The interviewer probes further, "How do you maintain a work-life balance?" You chuckle, turning your gaze towards the camera, "It's a juggling act, but quality time with loved ones is non-negotiable," You point out.

As you ascend the staircase, your eyes meet Tom, engrossed in play with Tchai on the couch. A soft giggle escapes your lips, captured by the camera momentarily fixated on the fleeting connection.

"What's something people don't know about you?" You ponder on the question before replying, "I'm allergic to most flowers," You reveal as a soft chuckle leaves your lips. "Really? I wouldn't have known," The interviewer comments, surprised at you revelation.

"Oh, absolutely! During the filming of tbosas, I couldn't escape the constant sneezing, and my eyes were continuously watery, especially when shooting scenes outdoors in the district. We had to take a lot of takes with those scenes" you confess with a sheepish smile, casually walking backward while maintaining a steady gaze with the camera.

The tour continues through a luxurious walk-in closet, filled with designer attire. "Favorite fashion trend right now?" You gesture to your chic outfit, "Effortless elegance. Comfort meets style."

"What are your top artists that you listen to?" You walk over to your vinyl player, hands flickering through the vinyl records. "That's a tough once since I listen to a wide range of music. But I think I'd have to say my top three would be Olivia Rodrigo, The Neighbourhood, and the Smiths," You smile, picking out the 'Louder than bombs' vinyl and playing 'back to the old house'

"This is actually Tom and I's favourite song from the Smiths," You reveal with a grin. "You seem to have quite a collection of hats, care to share some light about the meaning behind your huge collection?" The interviewer points to a wall where about 20 cowboy hats were hung up.

"Funny story actually, these are hats that Tom and I have either taken, or were given from the set of Billy the Kid." You pick up Tom's cowboy hat, "Those who have watched the series, which you definitely should, would recognise this hat to be Billy's," You showcase the hat to the camera.

"This one I was gifted to by the director," You point to a white hat, "And these ones are from other cast members like Daniel, Alex, Ryan, and a few others," You gesture to the others.

A sudden knock at the door causes you to look at the door where Tom peaks his head around, the camera zooming onto him as he grins. "I made some iced chai's, your with oat milk" He walks in, handing you yours and one for the interviewer, "Awe, thanks babe," You gratefully smile at him.

"Yeah, thank you Tom!" The guy smiles at Tom who smiles warmly before leaving. You take a sip and let out a satisfied sigh from the cold beverage. "Mhm, this iced chai is delicious! Is this something you drink often?"

"Oh I love everything and anything chai. That's why I named my dog tchai cause I love it so much," You chuckle, "Do you usually have it with oat milk?" The interviewer asks as you hum, "I'm lactose intolerant so I drink oat milk,"

“Oh I see, I can tell Tom is very thoughtful, what’s your favourite trait that he has?” He asks a difficult question, “You can’t make me choose, I love everything about him!” You giggle.

“Okay, okay, sorry just say one that comes to mind then,” He chuckles, “hmm, I love the little things he does like putting medicine and a cup of water on my bedside table when I’m sick, buying chocolate for me when he knows I’m not having the best day, braiding my hair when I’m in my office doing work because it de-stresses me.”

“He’s the best boyfriend I could have ever asked for,” You smile like a schoolgirl thinking about him. As the interview concludes, you step into the sunlight, the epitome of success and poise.

The Vogue 73 questions interview becomes an internet sensation, captivating audiences worldwide. Your fans celebrate not just the actress but the genuine, relatable person behind the glamour.

In the days that follow, headlines laud your openness and authenticity. Your relationship with Tom Blyth becomes a the talk of the internet once again. The internet buzzes with admiration, turning the Vogue interview into a timeless moment in your career.

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agent-cupcake · 10 days

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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me-writes-prompts · 1 month

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:-"I sense some tension...and not the friends type." Friends to lovers prompts-:

(Y'alllll I could not help myself. I had to do more!!! Hehehe. Tag me if you guys write any of these :)

The 'just friends' kiss that they have to do as a dare but they both like it and can't stop thinking about it 👀

^^ "I mean, I kinda liked it, I guess..." but then they see their friend's smug face and cough, "I didn't mean it that way!" "Uh huh."

"You know...for someone who says they like me just as a friend, you sure do blush a lot in my presence. What's up with that?"

Going on DATES without realizing that they're doing couple-y things and someone casually commenting they're a cute couple (hehehe)

^^ "We are not a couple. I swear-" "Yeah, never. They're not even my type." "Yeah, same here." (sureeeee mhmm)

Hugs lasting a little longer than usual, and it gets all awkward because they are waiting for the other one to pull away, but neither of them wants to.

Always being extra affectionate with them(i.e. complimenting, playfully teasing, etc)

Communicating using only their eyes(AHHHH)

Pillow fights turning into tackling fights into blushing messes

^^ "It's not fair though! You never let me tickle you! :(" "You have to get close to me to do that." They say with a teasing lick of their lips and a grin. "I- shut up!"

Borrowing their clothes and never returning it just so you can be warm and cozy in them and feel like it's their arms wrapped around you>>>>>

Calling them the first thing when they have a bad day, because they know seeing the other will make it so much better

^^"Hard day?" They ask with a gentle smile when they come in. "Yeah." And that's all they need before they have a cuddle session with both of their favorite movie playing and them just snuggled up :'((((

"You look at them like they hung the stars." A silence. "They did so much then that, and I can't ever be grateful enough, even if I wished to." (angsttttyyy)

*Confessing* "I...I love you. I don't know if it's okay to fall in love with your best friend, but I love you. And it's fine, if you don't love me back, because loving you has been the easiest thing I've ever done, and I'd never stop loving you even if you didn't love me back." "You know what? It is okay to love your best friend, because that's what I've done as well. And I would've never know that you also love me, if you never said it. So let me say this, I love you too." (I am deceased, did i just wrote that?)

Cue the long, slow kiss and the tears that run down their cheeks while doing so. And they lived happily ever after!

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scalingsvt8thusiast · 1 month

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Wait for your love 2 (angst)

summary: you wait in silence, waiting for wonwoo to finally love you

inspired by Ariana Grande's We Can't be Friends (AKA Wait for your love)

a/n: I feel like this is much better quality than part 1 tbh, this is why i normally write in the daytime. I feel fresher yk :D

Know that you made me

Wonwoo was never much of a social boy. So when you initiated a conversation back in high school, he found himself devoid of any communication skills whatsoever. It took him a hot minute to realise he was a blubbering, stuttering mess.

For the rest of the day, he couldn’t get your bright smile out of his head. He couldn’t stop thinking how about your pigtails would swing so cutely when you moved your head and that little lisp you had because of your braces.

He went home that day thinking it was a one-off conversation, thinking that you’d realise how much of a loser he was and request to move seats. To his surprise you join him at the cafeteria the next day. You slid into the seat opposite him while he was mid bite into his sandwich. He looked around thinking you were talking to someone else. When you realised what he was doing, you threw your head back, letting out a melodious laughter. Wonwoo would compare your laughter to wind chimes on a windy day, it had a calming effect. He would try his best to have you reproduce that sound, succeeding almost instantly on his lame attempt at a joke.

He found himself looking forward to school on the daily, wanting to be close to you so much so that he would walk you all the way home, even though his house was the complete opposite direction. He’d go to sleep every night, replaying all your conversations in his head, replaying that beautiful smile of yours in his memory.

He didn’t think life could get any better than this until you had invited him to hangout after school. It was just a simple movie get-together. Wonwoo panicked for hours on what he would wear, changing between two of his favourite t-shirts at least 10 times. He finally chose the shirt with your favourite character on the front, hoping you'd compliment him (You did, luckily he had a face mask on because you would have thought he was sick from how red his cheeks were).

During the movie, no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on what was happening on screen, he found his attention straying to you. The way your facial expressions would change rapidly depending on the plot had him hooked. Fortunately you never asked him any questions about the movie because God knows he wouldn’t be able to answer you.

Wonwoo felt like he was on cloud nine. He had you both in school and after school.

In his final year of high school, it dawned on him that the two of you may not have long to go. He had spent sleepless nights contemplating on what he should do. Wonwoo knew that he had to tell you some day that he was so irrevocably, undeniably in love with you.

The day finally came when Wonwoo had manned himself up enough to tell you. He had lured you out to your favourite cafe under the guise of having some important news. He put his lucky socks on while hoping and praying that even if you were to reject him, he would be able to take it well (he wouldn’t).

When he got to the cafe, Wonwoo felt as if all the air was sucked out of his lungs. There you were in your usual seat, your hair up in a messy bun and wearing the prettiest sun dress. When you turned to greet him with that warm smile, he felt like he was staring at the sun.

“There you are!” You teased, “For once, I’ve arrived earlier.”

“Hey!” Wonwoo tried to sound as casual as possible.

“Okay, so I have some exciting news!” You started, turning your phone towards him. “I got in!”

Wonwoo squinted at your phone, it was an acceptance letter from the same university he was due to attend. He remembered you not wanting to apply to that university because your course was incredibly competitive. Considering the university was quite high ranking, you had reasoned that you would be rejected so you didn't bother trying.

“Oh!” Wonwoo eyes widened after reading the letter. “Congratulations!”

You beamed at him, your happiness warming Wonwoo’s chest. “We’ll be seeing each-other next year then!”

At this, Wonwoo relaxed. He didn’t have to tell you today. He had the next few years to plan a proper confession.

“So what was it you wanted to tell me?” You put your phone down and laced your hands together, giving Wonwoo your full attention.

“Oh, er,” Shit, he hadn’t planned for this. “I- I saw the cinema was rerunning Star Wars. We should go?”

Me and my truth we sit in silence (not really)

After graduation, Wonwoo’s brother had invited him to Seoul. Initially Wonwoo was reluctant, he wanted to spend his holidays with you at the beach, rolling around in the park, at the library, anywhere really. He just wanted to be with you.

Wonwoo eventually decided to go, not because he actually wanted too, but because you were going to spend some time with your relatives in Paris. He wouldn’t be with you even if he didn’t go. So after some encouragement from you, he booked the ticket.

Seoul was fun. It would have been more fun if you were there.

Wonwoo spent his days either in bed or on his brother’s fully built gaming PC, always thinking about you. His brother, noting that Wonwoo only had one friend (you), decided to make him join the local boys in some casual basketball. While Wonwoo was unwilling at first, his brother bribed him with a new gaming laptop. It was embarrassing how fast he ran to the court.

There Wonwoo met a few new friends, one of them being Kim Mingyu.

Wonwoo had planned on keeping to himself throughout the games but Mingyu decided to destroy that plan of his by greeting him as soon as Wonwoo stepped onto the court.

“Hello! My name is Mingyu!” Mingyu said, approaching Wonwoo with an outstretched arm. “I’ve never seen you before, you new?”

“Yeah, Wonwoo.” Wonwoo shook Mingyu’s hand hesitantly.

“Wonwoo? No, I’m Mingyu.” Mingyu replied quizzically.

“No!” Wonwoo stammered, “I’m Wonwoo.”

Mingyu mouth curved into a grin, his canines on full view. “Come on, I’ll intro you to everybody else!”

It didn’t take long for Mingyu to grow on Wonwoo, especially when they found out they were bound for the same university after holidays. Especially when Mingyu reminded Wonwoo so much of you.

After that first match, the rest of Wonwoo’s holiday was spent with Mingyu and his group of friends. They went skiing, footballing, swimming, anything under the sun. Everywhere he went, he would think about bringing you and how much more fun it would be if you were with him.

Mingyu was the rascal that taught Wonwoo the wonders of alcohol. Of course, Wonwoo didn’t know when too much was too much, thus he ended up confessing to his friends about you.

“Okay, big guy, let’s get you home.” Joshua wheezed as Wonwoo’s full weight was pressed onto his shoulder.

“Mingyu, you better apologise to his brother.” Seungcheol scolded the younger man as he helped Joshua pile Wonwoo into the taxi.

Mingyu waved Seungcheol off as he got into the passenger seat of the same taxi.

“Where are we going?” Wonwoo slurred, his body slumped onto the backseats.

“We’re going to send you home, bro.” Mingyu said, chuckling along with the taxi driver.

“Will we see y/n?” Wonwoo sounded hopeful.

Mingyu turned to look at his friend. Wonwoo had his eyes closed with a serene look on his face. Mingyu recognised that look whenever Wonwoo brought you up.

“We won’t see her today.” Mingyu replied with a smile, he liked watching his friend talk about you. Anything that involved you always made Wonwoo the happiest man alive.

“But why?” Wonwoo whined, he didn’t like the thought of not seeing you.

“Because she’s not here, but you’ll see her soon.” Mingyu emphasised as the taxi man arrived at Wonwoo’s house.

Mingyu pulled the drunk boy out of the backseat and bid the taxi man good night. Mingyu decided to crash on Wonwoo’s couch tonight.

“Have I ever told you about how pretty y/n is?” Wonwoo sighed dreamily as he remembered your beautiful face.

“Yes, yes you have.” Mingyu muttered as he tried his best to balance his friend on one arm while opening the front door.

“Well, she’s so pretty! Like the sun!” Wonwoo recounted, swinging his free arm wildly over his head. “She looks like she stepped right out of story book.”

“Of course, bro.” Mingyu responded, as he guided Wonwoo towards the bed.

“I can’t wait to see her.” Wonwoo groaned as he buried his face into his pillow.

Mingyu smiled and closed the room door.

It’s just me and you

If Wonwoo earned a dollar for every time his breath was stolen by you, he would be a millionaire.

There you were at the front door of your shared apartment. You no longer wore your hair up, instead letting it run down your shoulders. You ditched your jeans and sweatshirt for a satin skirt and a frilly top which hugged your figure so well. It had Wonwoo reeling.

He was literally speechless at how gorgeous you had become over the holidays. You were already undeniably beautiful before, but this was another level. He swore he could have fainted right there and then.

“Wonwoo?” You called for him, snapping him out of his daze.

“Y/n!” Wonwoo tried to sound as normal as possible, he could feel his pits getting sweatier by the second. He quickly wrenched the box you were carrying from your hands, beautiful people shouldn’t have to do work like this.

He tried his best to hold a full conversation with you, trying to reproduce all the advice he had gotten from the boys over the holidays. All while moving your boxes for you, ignoring your pleas to help.

God, how was he going to live with you when you looked so good.

The next few days, Wonwoo tried his best to talk to you. He would join you for meals and listened to you marvel about Paris, he would answer all your questions about Seoul and he would try to elicit if you had met anyone of interest while on holiday. It went a little something like this:

“So,” Wonwoo cleared his throat, “meet anyone in Paris?”

“Oh, I told you Woo,” you smiled as you flipped the pancake on the pan. “I met Minnie! She’s from Thailand.”

“Yes, Minnie.” Wonwoo trailed off. “Anyone else?”

“Erm, I guess I met her friend Yuqi, she’s sweet.” You said, laying the cooked pancakes on plates before joining your friend at the dining table.

“What about boys?” Wonwoo said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“Boys?” You tilted your head. “What about them?”

“Did you meet any boys?” Wonwoo quizzed, eyes not meeting yours as he cut up the pancakes and placed it on your plate.

“Not really? I mostly went around with Minnie and her group of friends.” You said in between mouthfuls of dough and maple syrup.

“Oh.” Wonwoo couldn’t stop the feeling of relief blooming in his chest.

“Besides, you’re the only boy I need, Woo.”

You gave him another one of your pretty smiles and Wonwoo tried his best not to melt right there and then.

You got me misunderstood.

Mingyu had dragged him out to a party every other night. After Seoul, Wonwoo had learnt to actually enjoy some outings that didn’t involve you. That and he didn’t want to seem like a loser who stayed at home 24/7 in front of you.

It backfired on him majorly, partying every night with Mingyu’s never-ending stamina meant that he would be sleeping throughout the day and not seeing you as much as he would like.

He was extremely embarrassed by the amount of times he had called you to bail him out of a party. Mingyu would always disappear with some girl, not that Wonwoo minded, but that left him stranded a party alone and drunk. He couldn’t even remember how he got home one day if not for the note you left for him by his bedside with a bottle of Paracetamol.

I have an early class today, text me if you need anything ;-)

Wonwoo ignore the pounding in his head. Gently, he lifted the note and Paracetamol bottle, as if it was the most precious thing in the world. He pulled out a box he kept under his bed, it was full of small trinkets he had stored from the outings with you over the years and a scarf you had knitted for him back in high school. He placed the two new treasures carefully in the box before going out to buy himself another bottle of Paracetamol.

One night, he was tipsy, not drunk. Or so he thought he wasn’t.

Maybe it was how Seokmin hyped him up at pre-drinks. Or maybe it was because Soonyoung had thought him the way of the Horanghae. He wasn’t sure but Wonwoo found himself filled to the brim with courage.

He leaned on your car in quiet contemplation as you fumbled with your car keys.

He looked down at you.

Gosh, you were so cute with your messy hair and glasses. He hadn’t seen you in specs for the longest time and it made him crazy.

He wasn’t sure what came over him, he grabbed your hand and flipped you against the car. Caging you with his arms.

His eyes traced every feature of yours, appreciating the way your eyes were wide from shock, the way you looked slightly confused with your raised eyebrows. The way your lips were glossy from your nightly vaseline routine.

“Y/n,” Wonwoo paused, searching for the right words. “You’re so pretty.”

He watched as your cheeks turned a light shade of pink. You were so cute.

Before he knew it, his lips were on yours. It was only right that you were his first kiss.

The next morning he shot up from his bed. He couldn’t remember anything after the kiss. He traced his own lips lightly with his fingers. Smiling like a maniac.

Suddenly a wave of insecurity crashed over him, his smile fell.

What if you didn’t like it? It was his first kiss, what if he was a bad kisser? What if you didn’t like him? What if you thought he was a weirdo? Oh my god, did he accidentally sexually assault you?

The blood drained from his face, how was he going to face you now?

We can’t be friends, but I’d just like to pretend

Wonwoo spent weeks avoiding you.

He imagined the look of disgust on your face and he couldn’t bear to even look at you.

He spent his nights partying, trying to push the fears of you rejecting him out of his head.

Mingyu and the rest of the boys became increasingly concerned. The more responsible boys would drag Wonwoo home every night. That’s how some of them had met you.

You opened the door after a few knocks, even if it was 4AM in the morning. You’d apologise profusely on Wonwoo’s behalf as you helped them drag him to his bedroom. Once Wonwoo was comfortable in bed, you’d offer them a drink and the couch to sleep on. Worry filling your eyes at how tired each of them were.

Each and every single one of the boys liked you immediately. They found that everything Wonwoo said about you was true. You truly were a pure and gentle soul.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Seungcheol hissed at Wonwoo.

Soonyoung eyed his friends wearily. The three of them had just found a seat at the library and were busy unpacking their things.

“What do you mean?” Wonwoo was taken aback, Seungcheol rarely got mad at him.

“That was y/n, wasn’t it?” Seungcheol said in between gritted teeth.

As the three of them walked into the library, you were just on your way out. Wonwoo had spotted you first, quickly hiding behind Seungcheol and Soonyoung, albeit failing due to his height. Your lips stretched into a grin as you waved enthusiastically at him. Wonwoo quickly looked away, not wanting you to see him like this.

The two other boys watched the entire exchange, they saw the way your face fell when Wonwoo pretended not to see you. Seungcheol and Soonyoung exchanged glances before waving back at you. You beamed at the both of them and disappeared out of the library.

“Why are you ignoring her?” Soonyoung asked quietly.

“I’m not ignoring her,” Wonwoo whispered, “I just didn’t see her.”

“Bullshit.” Seungcheol said, receiving glares from other library-goers.

“She’s very nice.” Soonyoung muttered, looking at his friend. He wondered if somewhere along the line Wonwoo had gotten possessed by some demon.

“Look,” Seungcheol whispered angrily, “If I had a housemate like you, I would have moved out ages ago.”

Soongyoung nodded in complete agreement. Wonwoo shrunk in his seat as the older man berated him.

Seungcheol sighed and gave Wonwoo a stern look, “I’m not sure why I have to tell you this, but you are lucky to have her.”

That night Wonwoo found himself lying on his bed. He could see the light streaming through the gaps of his door from the dining room. You were probably sitting out there, studying.

He slowly got up from his bed and looked around his room, he needed an excuse to talk to you. His eyes landed on his pile of worksheets from his most recent tutorial. That was worth a shot.

He pulled his door open slightly and peeked out. You sat at the dining table with your head resting on your textbook, apart from the sound of your diffuser running at the coffee table, it was complete silence.

Wonwoo bit his lip, were you sleeping?

He decided to try his luck.

“Y/n?” Wonwoo croaked out as he emerged from his room.

Your head shot up from the book and your eyes met his.

“Could you help me with this?” Wonwoo said lamely as he held out the worksheet for you to see.

Wonwoo was inwardly sweating. What if you rejected to help? What would he do then?

He watched as you gaze drifted from him to the pieces of paper in his hands. He watched as your lips curled into a smile.

“Sure!”

He was lucky. So fucking lucky

“Thanks.”

Not how you made me

Wonwoo was drunk. Again.

Tonight, Mingyu had invited him to a house party. Someone’s birthday or something. He hadn’t planned on drinking but of course the drinking games got to him. It was Seokmin’s genius idea to play drunk foot volleyball and Wonwoo seriously sucked at that game.

By the end of the match he was stumbling all over the place. Then he saw you. Or thought he saw you.

The other boys had all disappeared somewhere into the house and this girl who looked a whole lot like you was currently chatting him up. Granted Wonwoo’s glasses had been destroyed in drunk foot volleyball and all he could see was a blurry mess. He ended up making out with you(?) at some corner.

Next thing he knew, he was lying bed.

His head was pounding as he turned to his bedside table and pulled out his spare pair of glasses. He was finally able to see clearly with them on. He turned to his side and there was a girl sleeping next to him.

Wonwoo froze.

What happened? Who was this girl? Were you home? Did you see him last night?

“Fuck” He cursed, he quickly got up and pulled on a pair of pants.

“Wony? Get back into bed.” The girl muttered as she turned to look at him.

“I’m sorry if this makes me sound like an asshole.” Wonwoo said, hesitantly. “Could you please get ready to leave?”

“What?” The girl said sitting up from the bed.

“I’ve got an early class.” Wonwoo had to come up with some sort of excuse.

“So?” She rolled her eyes before lying back down. “I’ll just let myself out later.”

“No, no.” Wonwoo’s eyebrows furrowed as he ran a hand through his hair. “My girlfriend is in the next room. Please Leave.”

At this the girl begrudgingly got out of his bed, Wonwoo quickly turned around to give her some privacy. When she finished changing, she headed for the door.

“You have a girlfriend and you’re going around fucking other girls?” She said on her way out. “Fucking asshole.”

Right after she left, Wonwoo went to knock on your door. He knocked a few times, calling your name timidly. There was no answer. He reasoned that you must have left for class.

He would talk to you after class. He had to.

So for now it’s only me

Wonwoo came home from class, ready to speak with you.

He entered the apartment and realised how empty it was. He looked around. All your things were gone.

No.

He made his way to your room and pushed the door open. There was nothing but an empty bed and a study table.

No, please.

He turned to the closet and pulled it open. He was met with nothing but hangers and empty drawers.

Please.

He pulled out his phone to send you a quick text. It was probably a prank.

Please.

He realised he had an unread message. From you.

Hey! Sorry, for such a last minute notice. Due to personal issues, I don’t think I can live with you for the rest of the term. Don’t worry, I’ll still send you my half of the rent until you find someone new. Good luck :)

He had fucked up.

a/n2: again, always open to criticism. there will be a part 3. I promise. depends on when I want to write it :D

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nebulous-library · 1 year

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little acts of intimacy: how they like to be touched - tokrev boys

in specifically a not-inherently-sexual manner. what kind of physical contact with you gives them the warm fuzzies? hcs for a selections of my personal tokyo revengers blorbos, including: Mikey, Draken, Baji, Chifuyu, Kazutora, Hakkai, Taiju, Koko, Inupi, Sanzu, Ran, Rindou, and Izana

Mikey feels most at home when he’s cuddled up into your arms, especially if you’re taller than he is. It makes him feel like your teddy bear. 100/10, definite nuzzler.

Draken likes sitting on the floor by the couch while you have your legs draped over his shoulders, just chilling. Better yet, though, if you start massaging his shoulders or neck, he’ll melt.

Baji is a sweetie who just wants to hold hands, actually. There is a specific part of his brain that simply demands Hand Holdies. He will feel so loved and special if you hold his hand, especially if you do the interlocked fingers hold instead of the criss-crossed palms way. Also is not opposed to it if you simply rest your hand on his ass. Like, not even in a sexual way, just as a little “hehe, mine >:]” kinda thing.

Chifuyu will fucking melt if you rest your head on him, or put your hand over his heart. Especially the latter, he’ll be so flustered.

Kazutora likes when you run your fingers through his hair. It makes him feel safe. Like, this is a genuinely therapeutic sensation for him, it’s so gentle and he doesn’t fully understand why his heart swells when you do it, he just wants you to never ever stop.

Hakkai’s favorite way to be touched is when you reach up and put your hands around the back of his neck and stroke his jaw with your thumbs. He’s so shy at the start of your relationship that he can’t always find words, but sometimes all you need is that communication via eye contact. It takes a little time, but that’s the kind of thing that makes his heart flutter – you, holding his face, and looking at him with adoration.

Taiju’s favorite place to be touched is mid- to lower-back. He carries a lot of tension there and it can be on the sensitive/tender side. He loves it when you’re out together and you sling your arm around him and rest your hand there. When you’re in private, he’ll just flop down on the bed shirtless, staring at you until you take the hint that he wants a massage. Just sit on his ass and work the tension in his lumbar region, he’ll melt for you. Bonus points if you get playful and start writing things with your finger and making him guess. He thinks that shit’s hella cute.

Koko has a few things he likes. Number one is when you pet the buzzed side of his hair and will nuzzle into your hand. Another favorite is when you hold onto his arm when you’re beside him. Just kinda loop your arm through his and hold on. He likes having such full body contact without it being Full Body Contact™️, y’know? Also, adding a little bit of zest to this, he’s 100% a “pull him close by the waistband of his pants” kinda fella. Yes, in a spicy way, but also just in an “enjoying being pressed against you” way.

Inupi’s favorite thing is when you cup his jaw or rub behind his ear (big puppy vibes, obvi), especially if you’re calling him by his given name. His heart will simply explode. Also like, any time you rest the palm of your hand on his tummy. He just feels relaxed idk.

Sanzu likes when you sit with him and have your legs across his lap. It’s casual but just intimate enough that he can comfortably squeeze your knee and grin to himself that he’s lucky enough to call you his. But if you wanna be extra forward with him, bite him in front of the others. Hold his hand and just casually bring it up toward your mouth and CHOMP. He knows that means you love him.

Ran is a surprisingly big cuddler. Whether it’s falling asleep or waking up, he just likes having you in his comfy space — his bed. Non-sexual physical contact is absolutely his jam. Not that he doesn’t love railing you, but man, his natural state is so low-energy. He wants to trap you in his blanket cocoon and just stay like that and watch youtube videos or some shit. Definitely makes a fuss if you break free because the heat is too much, but you will not fully get away from him. He’s one of those “must have some part of himself touching some part of you” dudes. Good luck. Also, bonus: he also enjoys when you braid his hair for him (his arms get tired when he does it himself)

Rindou is also cuddly, but in more of a Mikey kind of way. While Ran is very open with the fact that he wants you to let him hold you, Rin Rin would never be so bold. He’ll pretend that he thinks it’s dumb or some shit, but somehow at the end of the day he’ll always curl up with you. But HE wants to be the one being cuddled. Much more tsuntsun about it than Mikey, who would simply dive into your arms. Treat Rindou like he’s your snuggly little teddy bear. Let him bury his face in your chest while you stroke his hair. Tell him you love him and know that when he responds with a muffled, “......shut up.” that’s simply his way of saying he loves you too. Bonus: if you’re out and about, he’ll lean on you. Like, in the way that tall people do. He won’t mean it to mock your height, he just doesn’t know how to convey that he wants to be touching you when you’re out in public.

Izana honestly probably prefers touching rather than being touched. He likes to have you in his lap, letting him just have his hands roaming all over you. His fingertips will dance along your thighs and up your sides or along your arms. He imagines he’s painting his marks along your skin, in patterns only he can see. He’ll smile to himself and rest his chin on your shoulder. But if you must return the favor, he particularly likes it when you sit beside him and just hold his arm in your lap and mindlessly run your fingers up and down his forearm.

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iinotinlxve · 2 months

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↪✩would they hold your hand?

⤷ characters: yuuji, megumi, toge, nanami

⤷ summary: How they respond and feel about hand-holding!!

⤷ a/n: jjk has officially ruined me. thanks gege

wc: 622

↣ yuuji itadori ☆

Yes. When he can't kiss you, he's always holding your hand. In the halls on your way to class, standing and talking to Megumi, casually doing anything and his hands are interlocked with yours. They're always warm, maybe even clammy-- you're always surprised when they're cold after he's been outside.

His favorite time to hold your hand is during walks. Both of you in casual clothing, looking at all the shops lining the street. The sidewalks aren't particularly busy, and the weather's perfect.

Yuuji is a really fast walker. He's always anxious about one thing or another, and slightly more active than the average person. But recently, he's tried to slow down a little more to enjoy the moment with you. And because you tell him to...

↣ megumi fushiguro ☆

He doesn't show it, but he secretly likes holding your hand. However, he rarely holds your hand in front of other people. And when he does, he doesn't bring attention to it. Usually it's you who grabs his hand, and he doesn't let go. He only regrets it later, when he gets teased by all his friends.

However, he loves holding your hand while making out with you. He'll interlock his fingers with yours as he kisses you, enjoying how you squeezed onto his hand.

Sometimes he'll hold your hand out of anger, if you can't walk straight. Or if you started to run off somewhere and couldn't stay on track. Overall, he's not physically affectionate, but that doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy it, especially if it's with you.

↣ toge inumaki ☆

Since he can't communicate his ideas in verbal language, he relies on other methods to express his affection. So yes, he enjoys holding your hand. Just casually, almost with a slight bit of intrigue and curiosity. Like he was fascinated by the fact you wanted to hold his hand.

He's quietly affectionate, leaning his head on your shoulder. Most exchanges between you were wordless, because he finally came to terms with the fact that you were okay with his silence. At first, he thought he had to try harder. To say something to you. But he soon found out that you didn't care all that much. As long as you were with him, that was all the communication you needed.

↣ kento nanami ☆

I don't see him as a hand-holding guy, but rather the type of person to put his hand on your thigh while you're sitting down at a restaurant.

Discreetly, under the table, almost like an absent-minded habit. He enjoys how your skin feels under his touch, finding a bit of comfort in just your presence alone. Plus, his hands are so much bigger than yours- in public, your normally just latch onto his arm and walk that way.

He'd also rest his hand on the small of your back, especially when you're wearing some sort of dress. Small, discreet hand placement while you're talking to someone, gently pulling you close to him. Sometimes he doesn't realize he's doing it. When you call him out, he just apologizes with a small smile. Although, you figure he's not really sorry...

↣ satoru gojo ☆

He's holding your hand all. the. time. Dragging you along, yanking you by your wrist towards him when he mentions you in a conversation. It's almost like he's bragging. He likes clinging onto you or staying close to you while focusing on something else. He turns off his Infinity, just for you.

He also really likes hugs, squeezing you for comfort. He likes spooning you in bed, and opening his arms with a small pout as he waits for you to hug him. And if you don't comply, he'll whine and complain until you do.

He's definitely outwardly affectionate, both in front of other people and in private.

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sameschmidtdiffname · 4 months

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Easy Money

Derek Danforth x AFAB!Reader

Summery: Minimum wage is a joke these days and we've all gotta make rent somehow. And who knew blonds could be so fun?

Tags: AFAB/Female pronouns reader, no use of y/n, voyeurism, sex worker!Reader, drug use (marijuana), sex while high, drinking, cursing, bisexual Reader, fetish party, reader plays with several people, tempature play/improper use of ice cubes, sex toys, possessive!Derek, dick piercing (I will not debate this,) face fucking, breast play, oral sex (male recieving), thigh riding, cock warming, cowgirl and doggy position, praising, pet names, edging, rough sex, spanking, vaginal fingering, degradation, dumbification if you squint, dacrophillia. There is no plot. This is just porn. Straight up.

Notes: Y'all begged to me, now y'all begging to your man. You're welcome. Also, please consume substances responsibly. Do NOT assume an edible ain't shit. They ALWAYS are.

•°○《▪︎☆▪︎》○°•

The gig is simple. Stand there and look pretty.

The woman who had hired all of us was very clear on the rules; serve drinks, talk to the men, don't have a brain, and if Derek Danforth gives you an ounce of attention, you return it. Sex was optional, but they pay less if you do not engage.

I was just there for the check. Times are hard, but this dress is easy to fit into... if I don't breathe. Jesus, it's tight.

The architecture of the mansion is beautiful. Really, if I wasn't working this party I'd be studying every room for an hour each. High ceilings, detailed woodwork. It's a shame it's all bathed in purple blacklights with everyone wearing neon glowsticks.

The people in attendance are in various states of undress. Some wear their clothes fully, some wear nothing at all. Most are in various states of undress, including the waitresses.

All of our dresses are the same- tight, black, and an easily detachable top with nipple pasties underneath in the shape of blacklight activated glow stars. It's tacky, but the girls who have removed their tops are getting way more tips. And with the debt I'm in, plus the security making absolute sure no camera are recording anything, what's the harm in if I join them? It's more money for me.

The various trays contain different things. Some drinks or shots, others different foods. Then there's the drugs. Oh yes. Cocaine, pills, capped needles on at least one tray I noticed. On mine are several marijuana joints, blunts and even edibles. Our employer had told us we were allowed to indulge, but any damages caused due to our inebriation would come out of our check.

Edibles usually aren't shit for me, so I feel quite safe.

A strawberry cube is tucked safely under my tongue, taking a long while to melt. I can feel my muscles relaxing, making me smile more to the guests as I work my way through the crowd. The beginning gentle buzz helps me to forget the way these people leer at me, some even reaching over to touch me before retracting their hands quickly.

"These guests are quite used to casual sex," the woman had informed us. "There's a code here. You'll each have a pendant around your neck. Depending on the color you choose it will inform them of your preference. Red is for looking only, green means you're okay with sexual touch. It's up to your verbal communication if that touch leads to penetration."

The party was tacky, but at least consent was key.

My color currently is red. It will take more of this edible for anything to change. And currently I see no one making the trouble worth it, anyways.

Right now, anyways.

A man with bright, blond tipped hair and a loud outfit works his way through the crowd. Laughing and speaking with some, taking in the different women serving different items. There's a confident swagger in his walk, one that normally I would scoff at when sober. But with the melting cube quickly joining my bloodstream, I simply stare curiously. It's unintentional, honestly. But he takes notice, narrowing his eyes in reciprocated curiosity before making his way over.

"You're new," he says. I offer him the tray.

"I don't know what you mean," I say politely. He picks up a large blunt, taking out his own lighter instead of using one of the complementary ones on the tray. He takes a long pull, shoving the item back into his snakeskin jacket pocket that doesn't match his zebra print, silk looking button up with black leather pants.

"The other girls have been working here for awhile. Who brought you here?" He asks after taking a long pull, holding it.

"Riley," I answer. He nods, exhaling.

"She's worked here a couple years. You two close?" He asks.

Not particularly. "We're friends," I answer. He smiles a bit, taking another hit.

"You like the party?" He asks.

"I like the lighting," I answer. "And I can't say no to free edibles."

"You take some?" He asks. In answer I scoop the edible onto my tongue and stick it out for him to see. "Good girl, that shit will make you relaxed."

"How much is it?" I ask curiously. Can't be too much, surely.

"Told my guys to pick up 1000mgs," he answers, taking another hit.

... what?

My confusion must be obvious.

"You not used to that?" He chuckles, leaning against the wall next to me.

"I induldge regularly, just... lower amounts," I answer. He exhales, laughing.

"You'll have fun then. Especially if you change your color to green, but that's completely up to you," he says. There's a moment of silence between us before I speak up.

"Nice outfit," I say. He raises a brow at me.

"Yeah?" He asks, scanning me up and down. "I think I prefer yours."

"It matches better, that's for sure," I say. He laughs, then sticks out his hand, his smile confident.

"I'm Derek, by the way."

"Ah," I say. Derek.

Derek!

"Nice to meet you, Mister Danforth," I say, accepting his hand. It's warm and large, strong against mine.

"I don't want to hear Mister out of you unless you change colors, pretty girl," he says, squeezing my hand. I feel myself smiling, heart fluttering a little.

"And what would happen if I did change it, Mister?" I ask politely. His grin widens.

"Well, with the way you look already I'd say people would have a fun time with you," he says, stepping closer. "I wouldn't mind a taste myself. I like my girls warmed up, though."

"Warmed up?" I ask, raising my brow.

"I'll tell you what," he says. "You're welcome to leave your tray anywhere, as I'm sure they've told you. You can change your color to green, enjoy your edible and just let the crowd guide you to me. I promise they will." His eyes roam over me, taking me in with a hungry gaze, his mind distracted by obvious thoughts. I wonder how well his shoulders would hold me.

Shit. He's right, this is strong. The herbal smell on his breath is inviting, and I'm already leaning in. Plus, his outfit is beginning to make visually stimulating sense.

"Isn't it polite for a host to show his guest around?" I ask, batting my lashes. I can feel my eyes drying out, my cheeks buzzing and my body beginning to feel the bass of the music just a little bit more than I was a second ago.

"It is, pretty girl," Derek says, taking another hit. "But you're not a guest, are you?"

No, I'm not. I begin to pull away when his hand catches my pendant.

"You want me to get that for you?" He asks, exhaling through his nose.

"Yes sir," I answer with a smile, placing my tray carefully on the table beside me.

"Good girl," he praises, changing the color with a quick flick of his thumb. "You'll fit in just fine."

Before I can respond, his lips attach to my neck, sucking earnestly and harshly. I can't help the small cry that escapes me, my hand finding his hair and burying itself in it as he pins me against the wall.

His hand cups my breast, kneeding it carefully as he creates patterns across my skin with his mouth, licking at the newly bruised flesh before moving on to a new, unmarked area. He holds his blunt up for me, trying to keep it still enough to allow me to take a hit. I accept, holding his hand steady by the wrist, inhaling as much as I can.

His lips detach from my throat, his eyes red and glazed over as his lips graze mine.

"Care to share?" He asks lowly, his fingers still tweaking at my nipple. I'm vaguely aware that my pasties have been removed, where they've gone to I've no clue.

Obediently, I blow the smoke into Derek's mouth, his hand leaving my breast to cup my jaw, holding my mouth open with his large thumb. Once I'm done he takes his own hit, holding it for a moment before pressing his lips against mine, sealing them together before blowing the smoke into my mouth as well. His tongue slides against mine, tasting of whiskey and smoke. I don't hate the way it blends with the sweet, surgery strawberry cube still melting under my tongue.

He pulls away slightly, breathing heavily.

"You taste sweet," he says. "Mind if I try some?"

"Go ahead," I answer. I expect him to take an edible from the tray, but instead he leans in again, his tongue searching for the half melted candy. He finds it under my tongue, slipping it onto his and then pulling away, smiling in satisfaction.

"Oh," I breathe, batting my lashes in surprise.

"I'll trade you," he says, pressing a small kiss to my cheek as he passes the blunt to me. "Just let the crowd lead you, sweet girl. I'll see you in a bit."

Before I can even think of a response, he slips amongst the crowd, gone in the blink of a hazy eye.

Alright. This is fine. Great, actually. I take a hit of the sour tasting blunt and begin walking amongst the crowd.

Derek was right, I am an eye catcher. Or maybe these people aren't particularly picky. But it doesn't take long at all before people are touching me, sliding their hands over my hips as I pass by, stopping me for a moment to press me against their bodies, leaving a mark or three on my skin. The attention makes my mind blank, smiles on my lips as I whisper 'thank you's, the patrons slipping tips into the tight pockets of my skirt as they release me, letting me blend into the crowd once more until someone else catches me.

I should be revolted, I know this. But the people aren't hard to look at, and with as much as I have flowing through my system all I can really think about is how amazing I feel. My joints feel like air is passing straight through them, my head feels light and free of racing thoughts. The lights entrance me, making me easily distractable until a woman guides me gently towards her group, placing me on her lap as she talks with what I'm guessing are work colleagues. Or something. Fuck if I care.

Her hand strokes my back carefully, not speaking to me as I continue hitting my almost burnt out blunt. She glances at me from time to time, smiling sweetly as she watches me.

"Can I have some?" The older woman asks gently. Her lips are painted a dark black, revealing white teeth underneath. Her features are sharp, contoured by heavy makeup. Her hair is shaggy and black, and God, she's... broad. Muscular and looking like she could eat me alive. I wouldn't mind if she tried.

I hand her the last little bit, letting her have what remains as I begin to focus on her hair. It's soft, feeling amazing between my fingers.

"You have anywhere you need to be for the rest of the night?" She asks, her voice deep.

"Derek," I breathe, barely focusing. She and the other women amongst her let out a noise of recognition, some even laughing a little.

"He likes his girls pent up," Another says, nodding. "Says he likes them used, but we all know that's not true."

"Derek likes to go for hours," warns a woman with blue hair that glows in the blacklight. "Hope you have a lot of energy saved up. If he likes you, you won't go home for days."

The woman with black hair is finishing the blunt, flicking away the last little bit and letting it land wherever.

"You mind if we help you?" She asks.

"No," I answer, my hands running over her broad, leather covered shoulders. "I don't mind."

The women aw over me, moving closer and touching different parts of me.

"Focus on my thigh, good girl," says the dark haired one. "Just rock yourself against it and let me know when you're close." She turns to the second woman, nodding her head towards me. "You want to taste her?"

The second woman nods, joining me on her lap and grinding herself against the first woman's other thigh before bending over to wrap her lips around my nipple, moaning as she does.

The third woman, the one with blue hair, simply watches, continuing to talk to the dark haired woman, stroking my back as she does. The first woman seems engaged in the conversation, occasionally sucking on my other breast before responding to the blue haired woman. The second woman is fully engrossed in tasting me, sucking and nipping at my breast eagerly, moaning as she does.

The stimulation feels amazing, my head tilted back as I rock on the dark haired woman's thigh, my body feeling things it never has before. The feeling of two women sliding their tongues across my sensitive nipples, sucking on them at the same time at different paces is almost enough on its own to make me cum. I can feel how wet I am even through my underwear, surely staining the first woman's clothes.

"Shit, Ava. She may not make it to Derek at this point," laughs the blue haired woman. The first woman, Ava, simply smiles, admiring me.

"Should we let you cum, good girl? Or do you want Derek?" She asks, bouncing her leg as she does.

I moan loudly, my mind unable to form a response. This is lovely, just absolutely wonderful. But something tells me that if I waited, if I edged myself like Derek seemed to prefer, then I would be well rewarded.

"Wait," I pant, still rocking my hips against her thigh. The three women groan, laughing a little more as they begin to give me space.

"You think she's good enough for him?" Ava asks the second woman.

"If she's not, he's out of his mind," she says, tearing herself away from my breast and standing to move onto the blue haired woman's lap instead.

Ava guides me off of her before standing tall and admittedly terrifying. She pulls me up gently, taking my hand and leading me through the room. "Follow me, sweet girl," she says. "I'll take you to the main event."

The other two women wave at me, smiling wickedly before turning their focus onto each other. As the drugs begin to hit harder, just a little ways from my peak, I begin to wonder what it is I've really gotten myself into.

A pair of double doors reveal the same dyed blond man on a plush couch, lounging lazily as he speaks to a small group of people in the private lounge. Upon seeing me guided into the room, he smiles eagerly, quickly sitting up.

"I told you you'd find me," he says, setting his whiskey glass in front of him on the small, glass table.

I smile warmly at him, trying to keep my balance as I walk around to him.

"You get her all ready for me, Ava?" He asks, gently placing his hands on my hips and guiding me to sit on his lap, my back pressed against his chest.

"I did," the woman says, joining us. "She's pretty pent up."

"Did she get you pent up, pretty girl?" Derek asks, laughing softly. I can feel the blush in my cheeks, my eyes barely able to stay open as I lean my head back onto his shoulder.

"Feel her if you don't believe me," Ava offers. Derek obliges, dipping his hand between my thighs, pushing my thin panties to the side.

"Fuck," he groans. "You weren't kidding."

Derek guides my legs to spread open, one hand keeping me open for everyone to watch as his other hand explores my vulva.

"Don't worry about everyone else," he whispers in my ear. "We're all just here for a good time. Right, pretty girl?"

I nod, moaning as his finger swirls around my clit. He continues speaking to his friends, drinking casually as his hand toys with me.

"You want some?" He asks, offering me the glass. I shake my head. I'm fucked up enough.

"Water?" He asks. At that I nod, and with the quick snap of his fingers it only takes a blink before he's holding a water in front of me, complete with ice cubes inside.

"Go ahead," he says. "Take a drink."

I obediently lean forward, placing my bottom lip on the edge as Derek tips the water into my mouth. It's soothing at first, my body relishing the cold rush it gives me. Derek's hand glides up and down my folds, teasing my entrance.

"You like the cold?" Derek asks. I try to respond, forgetting the glass in front of me. The water spills down onto my body, freezing and making me cry out in shock at the sudden sensation.

Derek and his friends laugh, his lips pressing soothing kisses along my shoulder blade.

"I'm sorry, were you not ready for that?" He asks sweetly, smiling at me. I shake my head. He places the glass on the table in front of us, collecting a couple of ice cubes before leaning back and adjusting me to face him.

"Let's get you prepped then, yeah?" He asks, popping one into his mouth and chewing.

My eyes widen, mouth opening in question just before Derek wraps his own lips around my nipples, sucking gently and swirling the quickly chewed cube around the hard bud.

"Fuck!" I cry, leaning backwards. Ava catches me, stroking my hair as she watches.

"I knew he'd like you," Ava says in my ear. "He likes breaking in the new girls personally."

Derek's fingers tease my entrance, threatening to dip in while he sucks on my breast, moaning around the cold flesh. He swirls his spit around, rubbing my clit with his thumb.

"You taste amazing," he moans, his breath cold. "Love to taste more."

I moan happily, spreading my legs more and bucking against his hand.

"Take me," I moan. "Do whatever you want."

"Jesus, she's excited," he laughs. "How long has it been, sweet girl?"

Too long. Much too long.

It must be obvious based on the way he trails lower, kissing and sucking on my skin as he begins to slip my skirt and underwear off of my lower body.

"Is this okay?" He asks, looking up at me expectantly. I nod eagerly, rolling my hips towards him impatiently.

"I don't think she likes teasing, Derek," Ava comments.

"No?" He laughs. "Do you like teasing, sweet girl?"

I shake my head slightly, whining. He and Ava laugh, Derek placing a kiss on my stomach.

"Well, I don't want to go too fast, new girl," he says. "Could break you, you know."

"No you won't," I whine. Derek sucks sharply on the spot, leaving a dark mark.

"Gonna have to teach her a thing or two, aren't I, Ava?" He asks. "You know where that toy is?"

"What toy?" I ask.

"Don't you worry about a thing, pretty girl," Derek instructs. "I'm gonna take care of everything for you now. Just relax."

Ava removes herself from the couch, disappearing to look for something. As I'm distracted, Derek slips an ice cube into my warm cunt.

"Ah!" I cry out sharply, arching my back as my hips roll automatically, unsure what to do to relieve myself. "It's cold."

Derek simply laughs, sitting up straight and dragging me onto his thick thigh.

"It's supposed to be," he says mockingly. "That'll work in the meantime while we wait for Ava to come back."

I start to grind against his thigh, my cunt clenching around the cold cube rapidly as I feel the melting water begin to drip out of me. Derek pulls my hair, tutting his tongue against his teeth as he shakes his head.

"Stay still, that's an order," he says sharply. Someone offers him a cigarette, which he takes with no hesitation. When someone offers me one as well, he waves them away.

"She's had enough," he says. He keeps his hand in my hair, keeping a close eye on me to make sure I don't move.

"You enjoying the party?" He asks me.

"Yes," I say.

"Yes what?" He asks, taking a drag.

"Yes, sir?" I say. He smiles.

"Good. You're smart." He turns his attention to a man asking about some account, rambling something about bitcoin and such. Ugh. I don't know why I'm surprised.

I keep my hands clasped behind my back, pressing my chest forward to allow him easy access. This pleases him, his smile growing genuine whenever he glances my way. Once he bounces his leg, making me squirm for more. At that, he pulls my hair, shaming me for breaking the rule.

"Behave," he commands sharply. A few minutes later, however, he bounces his leg again. This time he doesn't stop.

The jolting motion sends shockwaves through my system, the drugs making me weak and stupid. He's not watching me, seeming involved in the conversation, and this ice cube is nearly melted inside of my cunt, dripping more and more. I can't handle this.

I shift my hips subtly, testing the waters. He doesn't notice, and if he does he doesn't care. I do it again, slightly harder against his thigh. Derek is talking about some party in Havana, laughing about a different conquest. I work slowly, making sure he won't turn his eye onto me. Finally, after a few minutes of grinding against him, I feel confident enough to begin a slow, steady rhythm against his thigh, his leg still bouncing against me.

My body feels amazing. Light, stimulation pounding throughout me, it only takes a few minutes before I'm on edge again, my pussy making his thigh slick and easy to grind against as I ride him. My cheeks burn with heat, my eyes eyes fluttering shut as I lose myself in the rhythm, fully focused on how hard his leg is bouncing. The vibrations go right to my clit, making my pussy seize around nothing now as my pulsing heat had caused the cube to disappear. I begin to grind faster and faster, desperate to cum. I don't realize I've begun panting, moaning as I ride him, and the attention in the room has turned towards me in full with Derek rubbing his hand up and down my back slowly, grazing his nails across the skin of my back as he watches with a look that makes him look like the cat who ate the canary.

"You close, sweet girl?" He asks me. My blush deepens, my eyes fluttering open in realization. Derek simply quirks a brow at me, exhaling his smoke into my face as he waits for my answer. My hips stutter, hesitating to continue.

"Don't get shy," Derek scolds. "You were just fine fucking yourself a moment ago. What's a few dozen people watching you?" He asks.

People are chuckling now, making small comments of encouragement.

"You looked so pretty, baby. Fucking yourself stupid on my thigh," he says as his lips tease my tits. "Didn't she look pretty, everyone?" He asks the room, glancing around at the people who respond with affirmations.

I lean forward, trying to hide my face in the crook of his neck. What had I been doing? In front of this entire room? I'd just needed a few quick bucks, that's all this was supposed to be. This was exponentially further than I'd ever planned.

Derek tuts, pulling me away from my hiding place. "Oh no, you wanted to cum. I'm going to make sure you cum," he chides. "I wonder how you'd feel on my cock. Would you like that? You'd feel better if you were on my cock, wouldn't you?"

I nod shyly, my eyes avoiding everyone but Derek. He glances around the room once more, noises of encouragement growing louder.

"You wanna get me ready, baby?" He asks encouragingly, taking one of my hands from behind my back and guiding it to his stiff, clothed cock.

I gasp lightly, squeezing it and grazing my thumb up and down his dick covered by the tight, leather material.

"You look big," I mutter.

"Feel big too," he chuckles. "Go on, try it out. I think you'll like it."

I think I will.

It's hard to see in the odd lighting, so my hands struggle with the hidden zipper.

"Try getting closer," Derek teases, his breath warm against my ear. "It doesn't bite like I do." To emphasize his point, he sinks his teeth into my neck, harsh and quick before releasing me, leaning back in his chair. The sudden movement makes me dizzy, my mind reeling as I automatically sink to my knees in front of the plush, velvet sofa.

Once his pants are opened, he springs out, no underwear confining him. Jesus. He's mostly average, leaning towards the larger side. It's mostly the piercing that surprises me.

"Like it?" He asks. I glance up at him, his grin cocky as he takes a drag from his new cigarette. Hey, man. What happens if I swallow this?

I stammer, opening my mouth and trying to say something.

"You need help?" He asks, wrapping his hand decorated with several rings around his shaft. "Open your mouth again," he commands. I do so without hesitation. His other hand guides my head down, forcing me to swallow it halfway down. I moan in satisfaction, my eyes slowly shutting as I take in the taste of his skin.

"Atta girl. Take a minute if you need to," he says casually. I can smell the thick smoke near my head, his hand stroking my hair gently. Ava must have returned because he's telling someone how warm my mouth is.

"You ready, sweetheart?" He asks. "Wanna show you off for my friends."

Taking a deep breath and opening my eyes once more, I lower myself slowly to his base. He's just long enough that when his piercing collides with my uvula I cough, nearly choking on him. More gentle laughter escapes the crowd, Derek praising me as he begins to thrust into my mouth.

"Just stay there, sweetheart," he says. "I'll do the work."

True to his word, Derek begins pumping his dick in and out of my mouth, whispering something in Ava's ear. I begin taking in the other people around the room, most of them watching us eagerly.

"Watch me, sweetheart," he commands, snapping his fingers and pointing at himself. "You don't have anywhere to look but here."

I obey, keeping my eyes trained on him as he smokes his cigarette which rests between his lips, his jaw gritted as he rolls his hips into my throat, his eyes glazed over in pleasure and who knows what else.

Without warning, someone begins fingering my cunt. A startled moan escapes me, vibrating around Derek's throbbing cock and making him moan, his face confident.

"Don't worry baby, it's just Ava," he says, stroking my hair. "You like Ava, right?"

I moan again, Ava's fingers quick and shallow in my tight pussy.

"Ava certainly likes you. Almost stole you from me, isn't that right?" He asks her, tapping his cherry carelessly onto the floor behind him.

"That's right," her deep voice purrs in my ear. I moan again, my eyes almost fluttering shut from pleasure until Derek grabs my hair, fucking my face roughly to bring my attention back to him.

"Hey now, don't get too happy," he scolds, but he's smiling. "You still like me more, right baby?"

I moan, pressing my tongue to his underside as he slides in and out. He tastes sweet, his jewelry creating an interesting feeling in the back of my throat. Ava withdraws her fingers, quickly replacing them with a vibrating bullet instead.

"Mmph!" I moan, my eyes nearly fluttering shut again. The speed increases, making me drip and writhe my hips against nothing.

"God, she's fun," Derek moans. "Ava, book her for Cabo," he says.

Cabo??

"You like her that much?" Ava laughs. Derek simply glares at her. Is this a thing? Trading girls, fighting over them? What is this?

"Just fucking talk to whoever about it," he spits, his dick quickening in my throat. I'm gagging around him, barely able to catch my breath as I press my hands desperately against his thighs. "Anyone else fuck her tonight?"

"Don't know," Ava shrugs. She brings her face close to mine, her breath hot in my ear. "Did they?"

I moan, trying to shake my head. Derek nods, smiling.

"Perfect," he drawls. The bullet inside of me is driving me insane, enough to keep me on the edge of pleasure but not enough to tip me over. My eyes look up at him, wide and begging, tears beginning to spill from my waterline and streaming down my face.

"You're killing her," Ava scolds him. "Is he being mean?" She asks me. Yes.

"She can take it," Derek says. "You like it a little mean, don't you baby?" He asks, smiling. Yes.

"See?" Derek says. "She's just fine."

Actually, I'm about to hit my peak drug wise, and I can't fucking breathe. But all it does is make me want more, my throat taking him as deep as I can as I moan around him, my tongue moving desperately, eager to swallow his load.

"Think I should cum down her throat?" He asks Ava, his head tilted back in pleasure, cigarette nearly burnt out between his lips.

"Would you like that?" Ava asks, setting the speed of the bullet to max. I scream around Derek's cock, overstimulated and stupid. "I think that's a yes."

"God, you're amazing," he praises. "Such a perfect fucking slut."

Right before he reaches his edge, he pulls me away, admiring the long, thick string of spit that still connects my swollen lips to his cock.

"Look at that," he says. "Should take a picture of that someday."

His hand drags me up by my hair, guiding me to return to his lap. Once I'm straddled across his lap, his fingers delve into my cunt, fucking me quickly as he presses the bullet against my g-spot.

"You like my cock, pretty girl?" He asks.

"Yes," I moan, my voice and throat raw.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent."

His fingers remove the bullet, and he quickly replaces his hand and bullet with his pulsing cock, both of us moaning at the feeling.

"Jesus, fuck," he moans. "You are fucking tight. I can feel everything."

My cunt spasms around him, eager for whatever friction he'll grant me. He stays still, something that's clearly a challenge for him.

"Gonna stay there for awhile," he says. "Wanna make sure you're ready, baby."

My spit on his dick makes for excellent lube, his piercing comfortable against my cervix. His hands run up and down my thighs, squeezing here and there, eventually moving to massage my ass.

"The crowd loves you," he praises, pulling me close to his chest. "Think I love you too."

I'm very high. I'm very horny. I will do whatever this fried hair, cocky ass motherfucker tells me to do.

A waitress walks behind the couch, offering us a tray of joints. Isn't that my job?

"Go ahead, take one," Derek instructs me. I do so, reaching for the lighter on the tray.

"Don't bother, I have one in my pocket. Thank you," he says to the waitress, dismissing her. He reaches into his coat, taking out the lighter before discarding the jacket, leaving him in his zebra printed button up that shows off his chest hair along with a white gold sparkling chain.

He holds the lighter for me, lighting up the joint as I hold it between my lips.

"You're gonna smoke me out, okay angel?" He says, leaning back against the couch, his arms stretched out along the back. I rest one hand against his chest, taking a hit and holding it for a second before leaning forward and blowing it into his mouth.

One of his hands find my hair, pressing my lips against his, his cock twitching inside of me as his tongue slips into my mouth, establishing dominance before allowing me to pull away for another hit. Then another. Then another.

As he inhales the last hit, his hips begin rolling into mine, his voice low as he groans.

"Go on and start riding me, angel," he moans, completely lost in the pleasure. "Show me how you want me."

My hands grasp his shoulders, clinging desperately as I begin to glide up and down his length, his cock twitching against my most sensitive spots with each glide.

"You ever fuck a pussy as good as this?" I ask, watching his jaw shift subtly from side to side as he focuses on my tightness.

"Oh, she speaks now?" He asks, smirking. "Grow a fucken brain, princess?"

His tip slams into my cervix, making me gasp and press my tits into his face. His mouth works quickly, biting and sucking at the tender mounds as I ride him.

"I'm just making conversation," I say. I'm high enough my filter is gone, my brain rotted to the point I'm only focused on my pleasure. He moans against my tit, looking up at me while he buries himself in my body.

"I can't say I have," he says, grinning. "Why, that turn you on?"

Immensely. Not that I'd tell him that.

"Say it," he dares, his cock slamming into me. "Don't hold out on me."

"Maybe I will," I tease, tugging his hair. My hips speed up, riding him hard enough I can feel the couch rocking ever so slightly.

"You're fun," he chuckles. "Say it."

"No," I say, slamming my wet cunt against his base, making him groan loudly.

His teeth sink into my skin, pulling on my nipple to the point I'm on the razors edge of pain and pleasure.

"I don't mind waiting," he says, his tongue flicking against my nipples. "I like causing pain."

His teeth sink in deeper, his fingernails dragging down my back slowly as he slams into me, making me bounce hard enough I can feel it in my stomach.

This is a hell of a paycheck.

"I like it," I say. He chuckles.

"That's not enough," he says.

"I wanna be the best girl you've fucked," I add.

"Mm, need more details." His teeth release my nipple, leaning forward and quickly catching it once more, sucking on the almost raw flesh hard enough it feels like I won't be able to wear a shirt for the next day or two. One of his hands return to my hair, gripping it and pulling it hard enough I can see the people behind us, some of them still watching, some focused on each other, most people switching between the two as they fuck each other.

"Come on, you were just so confident," he laughs against me before returning to his task. My chest burns with want and embarrassment, my eyes glazing over as I give in.

"I wanna make you pussy whipped," I moan. "I wanna glance at something and get it from how desperate you are to get the chance to fuck me."

He chuckles lowly. "I think we'll get along for a while," he says in a satisfied tone, finally releasing my tits from his torture.

"Gonna get me on payroll?" I ask, smiling as I throw my leg onto the back on the couch, giving him better access to fuck me.

"Play your cards right and I'll get my surname on you, pretty girl."

It's an evening of drugs and sex, come morning I'm sure he won't even remember my eye color. But for tonight, can't a bitch dream?

"Go ahead and laugh," he dares. "I get what I want."

"And you want me?"

"Fuck yeah."

He forces me to my side, turning me onto my stomach and hiking my ankles onto his shoulders.

"Jesus!" I cry, feeling his cock bury into me from behind, slamming straight into an overwhelming spot that makes me blind with pleasure.

"Too much," I cry. "Fuck, too much!"

"And that's a problem?" He laughs, abusing me as he smacks my ass, admiring the way my skin reddens.

"Yeah, you're not getting another dick ever again," he decides, his hips chasing after a high that tears screams from my throat. I'm so overstimulated I don't even know if I can cum, my eyes crossed and ass feeling his palm bearing down on the sensitive flesh time and time again, growing more rapid in succession, forcing me to clench his length harder with each new hit.

"Come on, pretty girl," he growls, pressing his chest against my back, his hands keeping my hips pressed against him with no chance to escape. His balls smack against my clit, making me moan in stupidity. "I know you want to."

I cry out, tears streaming down my face, hair stuck to my wet skin as I feel my cunt begin to throb in warning, my stomach clenching as the knot inside me begins to snap, my mind growing fuzzy and static as I pant eagerly.

"Fuck, she's close," Derek moans to someone, small whimpers escaping him as he pumps into me, his teeth digging into my shoulder, sending me over the edge.

Someone's screaming, and I have the vague idea it may be me. I can feel Derek's front soaked in my cum, his dick slamming into me in a way that I just know I'll have a migraine in a few minutes.

"Good girl," he praises. "Fuck. Amazing girl. Taking good dick like a fucking pro."

His cock throbs in me as he cums, deep and right next to my cervix, keeping himself buried as his seed pumps into me, hot and thick.

"I wasn't joking, sweetheart," he mutters in my ear, his voice exhausted. "You and I are going to become good, good friends."

I groan as I feel him slip out, his fingers pushing any cum that drips from my folds back into me, then placing a plug into my aching cunt. His hand grips my hair, pulling me back up to sit on his lap as he accepts a new drink, his cheeks flushed as he tries to regain his breath.

"Let's get something to get your energy back up, hmm?" He asks, pressing a firm kiss on my sweaty forehead.

▪︎《•☆•》▪︎

Cabo doesn't sound all that bad, Danforth. Not bad at all.

Masterlist

I wrote this instead of sleeping. Anyways, see you next time for Mike Schmidt. Stay safe pookies <3

#josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson fanfic #derek danforth #derek danforth smut #derek danforth x reader #derek danforth beekeeper #the beekeeper #derek danforth x you #jhutch #josh hutcherson x reader

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fuctacles · 2 months

Text

LATE BLOOMERS

Eddie hates spring.

It’s getting warmer and swarms of people are going outside to piss on his good mood. Kids are screaming, parents are showing publicly how terrible they are, the sun is glaring into his eyes, and birds are chirping. Literal hell. His last slivers of peace are the nights and early mornings when everyone is still sleeping.

Except her.

She’s new here, moved in around Thanksgiving last year, and has been running daily ever since. Eddie had noticed her passing his house now and then, her chestnut ponytail swinging with the movement.

Every morning, in a very un-Munson fashion, he sits on his porch, the cold planks digging into his ass, with a thick sweater, and a coffee warming his body. All so that he can nod at one of the many joggers blemishing the neighborhood.

He always liked drinking his morning coffee in the crisp, chilly air, still foggy and void of people, still in their beds or getting ready for work. She is a great motivator to do it every morning, to wake up to his alarm and start his day early.

She’s like clockwork, always on time and never out of breath. Barely missed a step the first time he nodded at her in a casual “good morning, neighbor” greeting, and now every time she passes his house she looks to the side, catches his eye, and smiles, raising her hand in a small wave.

Eddie’s heart swells in his chest and he’s on the verge of weeping into his coffee every time.

It’s all the interaction they’ve had so far, and he’s not even sure what the woman’s last name is, though the rumors he’s heard say it’s Harrington. He likes to imagine she chose this route to see him just like he chooses to wake up early every morning to drink his coffee on the porch, even though no jogging type would go for a metalhead freak like him. He might just be conveniently on the way to her favorite bakery or something.

He hates spring a little less when it’s warm enough for local joggers to dress down. It gets him swooning over some ankle like an ancient bachelor. A couple of days later the temperatures rise to sports bra levels which he learns the hard way while choking on his coffee.

It’s tight, obviously, but no amount of support can prevent the obvious bounce accompanying the movement of running. He tries his best not to be a creep and greets her with the same smile.

He thinks he’s prepared for the sports bra the next day, but he’s heavily mistaken when the transgender flag rounds the corner. He gets the coffee on his t-shirt this time as he recognizes the top she’s wearing from the same site he used to get binders from.

She's a little hesitant with her greeting this time, and Eddie can’t stand it. So he opens his stupid mouth and yells:

“Me too!”

She looks at him quizically so he adds, albeit a tad more timid:

“I’m trans.”

And to his absolute horror, she starts walking up to him.

He’s thinking the worst things: maybe the colors are just a coincidence, maybe she got it because she liked it and has no idea what it means, or maybe he’s about to get shunned by the local community that he already doesn’t feel welcome in.

But then there’s a megawatt smile directed at him and every bad thought evaporates from his brain.

“Really?” she asks, and he can only dumbly nod.

“Thank god! I worried it would be like, a problem.”

Her hand is out and she’s right in front of him.

“I’m Stephanie,” she says. Her hand is warm against the morning chill. Enveloping and strong.

“Eddie.”

She smiles, warm and teasing, wreaking havoc across Eddie’s internal organs.

“Is there a chance I’d get a glass of water?”

Eddie straightens up immediately.

“Yes! Of course! Come in, come in!” He opens the door and motions her inside, hoping the filtering jug is full.

It is, so he pours a glass for the gorgeous creature in his kitchen.

“Thank you,” she says politely and it’s so simple, but Eddie’s melting inside as he watches her swallow the water and lick her bottom lip.

“Hey, listen…”

“Mhm?” he makes a questioning sound, eyes drawn to the way she crosses her arms, making the muscles flex and frame her cleavage.

“Would it be weird if I asked to borrow a sweater? I heavily overestimated the weather today.”

Eddie was nodding before she was even finished, head bopping so hard he was getting dizzy.

“No! Just give me a moment!” he said before running up the stairs to his bedroom to grab the first clean hoodie he could find. “Here.”

“Thank you.” She smiles and he has the pleasure of watching her put on his clothing. “It’s stupid, but I’ve been dressing up, or dressing down rather, to…” She bites her lip as she zips up the hoodie. There’s a flaking-away Metallica logo across the chest. “There’s this metalhead on my route I wanted to impress, I guess.”

Eddie swallows down the lump in his throat.

“I’m pretty sure you’d impress him in a skiing suit.”

She chuckles.

“You think so? Maybe I should just suck it up and ask him out then,” she wonders out loud, turning to leave, and Eddie’s stomach sinks. But then she’s turning back and laughing again.

“Eddie! Do you want to go out with me?”

The relief he feels melts his bones.

“Of course I do! Why do you think I’ve been freezing my ass on the porch every morning?” He goes for the snark because he doesn’t know how to deal with having this beautiful woman’s full attention.

“Breakfast tomorrow? The usual time?” she asks. Because of course, she’d take him on an early morning date.

“Should I buy a tracksuit?” he jokes, but to his horror, her eyes sparkle.

“That would be perfect.”

Stevie event interest check

#mine #steddieholidaydrabbles #steddie #stevierything #stevie harrington #transfem stevie harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington #ff #st #stranger things 4 #steddie fanfiction #steddie fluff #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie drabble #cj x steddieholidaydrabbles

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bluebeary-jay · 10 months

Text

Midnight kisses

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: Jackson celebrates the New Year’s Eve, and you're thinking about finally confessing to your crush how much you like him. but Joel Miller, the object of your affections, might have other plans in mind. (based on this adorable request!!)

Tags: FLUFF my beloved 🥰, Joel is very flirty in this one, lots of crushinggg, just old sweet mutual pining (also they're both lovesick idiots)

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and being drunk, jealousy, age difference

Word count: 5.4K

A/N: i had a lot of fun with this one 🥰 thank you so much once again for the request, dear, i hope you'll like what i came up with. (btw this was supposed to be a short fic but it seems i'm unable to write one 😔) still i hope yall will like it and as always, happy reading!! 💕

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

The party was in a full swing.

You didn’t expect anything else from the Jackson community. Ever since you arrived here, you were astounded by the effort that the people living in this small town were making to create a life as normal and joyous as possible – for their children and themselves. And today, on New Year’s Eve, they outdid themselves. There was food, music and drinks – almost as if the apocalypse outside those walls never happened.

You were sitting by one of the tables, sipping on your beverage while you waited for your friend, Angie, to arrive. Dancing alone didn’t sound like an appealing idea, so while you waited for her, you opted for some people-watching – though if you were honest with yourself, it was more like ‘person-watching’.

Your eyes strayed to a figure on the opposite side of the room for like a twentieth time, but you couldn’t help it even if you wanted to. Because there stood a man who still, even after more than a year of knowing him, made the butterflies in your stomach take flight.

Joel Miller.

He looked really good in a clean flannel and fitting jeans, you conceded. His hair was slightly wet, like he washed it just before coming to the party, and combed a little to the back, making the silver strands in his hair and beard shine in the low lights. You found yourself unable to look away or get rid of that stupid grin on your face that lingered when Joel smiled lopsidedly at something his brother said. The muscles in his arm bulged when he lifted his glass to take a sip, and you watched the lines of his neck when his throat bobbed...

“You’re ogling,” murmured a voice next to your ear, and you jumped a little in surprise. Next to you stood Angie, smirking at you.

“Jesus, Angie.” You put your hand on your chest, your heart pounding rapidly. “A ’hello’ would be nice.”

Your friend knew, of course, about your massive crush on Joel Miller, and you thought more than a year of pining on your part would cause her to grow bored of all the jokes and teasing that she threw your way. Apparently, you were wrong.

“Hello,” she said, then sat down on the other chair and leaned closer to you with a wide smile. “You’re ogling. In a room full of people, may I add.”

“I’m not,” you murmured defensibly, but your face grew warm at the realization that she caught you. “How long have you been standing here, anyway?”

“Like half a minute. By the way, you’re also drooling.”

“I’m not!” you repeated, now in an irritated whisper. You knew you weren’t drooling, but still had to refrain yourself from wiping your mouth, not wanting to give her the satisfaction. “Stop making things up.”

“You should just go talk to him.” Angie casually nodded in Joel’s direction. “He didn’t come with a date, sooo…”

“That doesn’t mean anything. Maybe he’s waiting for someone.”

“Uh, duh!” Angie flicked you on the forehead, and you hissed. “For you to make a move. You can… oh, I know!” she bounced in her seat excitedly and clapped her hands. “Ask him to dance with you!”

You almost snorted. “Joel Miller dancing? Sure. He wouldn’t agree even if he did like me.”

“He does like you. Jesus, you flirt with each other all the time.” The smile disappeared from her lips and she rolled her eyes. “Honestly, you’d have to be blind and deaf not to notice. And maybe dead.”

“There’s no flirting, I told you.” You took a sip of your drink, glancing at the object of your affection. “He talks in this way to everyone.”

“He never called me ‘darling’,” Angie retorted. “Or gave me his jacket when we got caught up in the rain.”

You smiled softly at the memory, but that just made you feel even more hopeless, because since that day, you weren’t able to have a normal conversation with the man you liked so much.

“What do I do?” you whined, leaning on the table. “He’s so beautiful. And he for sure doesn’t see me that way.”

“Are you drunk already? You said you didn’t want a repeat from–”

“–from last year, yeah,” you finished for her and sighed. “I’m not drunk, just feeling down. There’s no way I’ll be able to tell him I like him, Angie.”

“Maybe you won’t have to.” Your friend nudged you gently. “You can just inconspicuously take him under one of the mistletoe and go ‘oh, what’s that?’, and then…”

“What mistletoe?” you asked, only now looking up at the ceiling where familiar-looking leaves were tied with a string to the support beams under the ceiling and above the doors. “Why is there mistletoe hanging?” you asked skeptically. “It’s a New Year’s Eve party.”

“I think they haven’t taken it down since last week.” Angie shrugged, but then grinned at you. “Don’t you think it’s a sign, though? So many places to kiss your crush under~...”

“Jesus, keep your voice down,” you groaned, hiding your face in your hands again. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re impossible,” she mocked in a low voice. “I’m trying to help.”

“I know, babe,” you whined, and sighed heavily again. “You know what, maybe I should just forget it. Let’s go have fun, dance, and later throw up from all the food and…”

Suddenly, Angie interrupted you with a high noise in her throat. You gave her a questioning look and she looked at you with a tight-lipped smile and wide eyes.

“He’s coming here.”

“What?!” You automatically turned around before Angie hissed for you not to look, and sure enough, there was Joel Miller, making his way through the crowd with his eyes locked on you. “Oh my god,” you breathed, clutching at your friend’s hand. “He must’ve seen us talking. What do I do?”

“You sit there and look smoking hot, and let him flirt with you,” she answered with confidence you didn’t feel. “And maybe you won’t even need to ask for the kiss, maybe he’ll do it for–” Her eyes darted above your shoulder. “Oh, hey, Miller.”

You gulped and took a deep breath before turning around and– oh, God, he looked even better up close.

Angie kicked you lightly under the table when you didn’t say anything, and you cleared your throat, smiling up at the man you were so crazy about. “Uhm, hi, Jo– Mr Miller.”

“Didn’t I tell you to call me by my name, sugar?” He had kind of a boyish smile on his face that made him look younger and even more handsome, which in turn made your stomach fill with warmth. He sat down next to you, and his eyes scanned you down and back up, slowly, lingering on your legs and curves just for a second longer. “You look lovely.” He then glanced at Angie, sending her a nod. “Both of you.”

“Really?” you beamed, and Angie kicked your ankle again, making you wince. “Uhm, thanks. You clean up nicely yourself.”

A trace of smirk ran across his face, but it was gone before you could make sure it was really there in the first place.

“Are you enjoyin’ the party?” he asked casually, hiding one hand in the front pocket of his jeans. Your eyes followed his movement before you caught yourself.

“Y-yeah, it’s nice. A little too loud for me, but really nice.”

“Maybe you wanna step outside for a bit, then?” Joel nodded in the direction of the deck in the back, and your heart started beating faster.

Did he want to be alone with you? Or was just being polite and preferred to talk somewhere quieter, and you were getting your hopes up unnecessarily? You hoped it was the first, that he genuinely enjoyed chatting with you as much as you did with him – but you never knew with a man like Joel Miller. He was an enigma, sometimes serious and so stoic that you couldn’t for the world figure out what was going on in his head, and other times charming and teasing, making you weak in the knees when he was looking at you with that fiery glint in his eyes…

“Sugar?” Joel asked, lifting his eyebrows with what seemed to be amusement, and you cursed yourself mentally for spacing out.

“Sorry, I… Yes, let’s– sure, let’s go.”

All of you stood up and you looked over your shoulder at Angie with a panicked face, but instead of reassuring you, she sent you a quick, sly grin.

“You two go ahead,” she chirped. “I’m gonna go look for my date.”

“Angie–” you whispered, giving her a look, but the woman just winked and turned around, disappearing into the crowd of dancing people. “Angie!”

Before you could go after her, you felt a big, warm hand on the small of your back, and your entire body tensed. Joel leaned over to your ear, whispering in a low voice.

“Shall we?”

“Yeah,” you squealed, so quietly he probably didn’t hear it over the loud music. “Sure.”

Your legs moved on their own, going where he guided you. The walk to the terrace in the back lasted no longer than fifteen seconds, but it felt like hours had passed. You were very aware of the light pressure of his fingertips on your back, with only one layer of material separating your skin from his, and the nerves of feeling him so close behind you were making you walk stiffly and oddly – though, miraculously, he didn’t seem to notice.

“I don’t like how loud the music is, either,” Joel said after you two exited the main room, and he closed the door. Then he glanced at you again, his eyes flicking to your bare legs just for a second longer. “Are you cold?”

“No,” you answered truthfully. Not only was it nice to feel the cool air after sitting in a stuffy room with a crowd of people for so long, but also you still felt warm from Joel’s closeness. “I’m alright.” Joel nodded absentmindedly, and you squinted. “Did you want to talk about something or…”

“Nah, just wanted to escape for a minute.” He rubbed his beard and shrugged, but there was tightness to his body language. “Not much to do in there except for drinkin’.”

“And dancing,” you cut in.

Joel glanced at you, and the lazy smirk returned onto his features.

“You like to dance, sweet girl?” he asked, and you felt your face growing hot when you heard his tone. Low, drawling and oh, so delicious.

“If the party is good, yes, I guess so.” Then you remembered what Angie suggested earlier, and you took a shaky breath, mustering all the courage you had in you. “We… if you want, we could dance a little later, if they play something nice…?”

But the hot nerves in your chest turned to cold disappointment when Joel started to shake his head with a chuckle. “Nah, darlin’. Sorry, I don’t… I’m no dancer.”

“Noone here is,” you retorted, a bit hurt by how quick his rejection was. “It’s just for fun.”

“I know better ways to have fun than t’make an idiot of myself in front of bunch of people.”

“Like what?”

Of course, you just had to ask.

Joel smirked, as if he was just waiting for it, and took a step forward, forcing you to take one backwards. His brown eyes bored into yours, making you weak in your knees, and you promptly turned your gaze away, not able to withstand the tension in the air. With a cough, you walked up to the wooden railing, pretending that you weren’t feeling sheepish at all.

“For one, talkin’ here with you is fun enough for me.”

You forced yourself to look at Joel when you heard it, just to see if he’s joking, but the man appeared genuine. He leaned against the rails, his hand right next to your shoulder, and you couldn’t get rid of the thought of how easy it’d be for him to cage you in this spot with his strong arms, how he’d make your entire body tremble…

But you weren’t quite sure yet if he was being sweet or just tried to mess with you, so you decided that a teasing response would be the best course of action.

“I don’t know.” You shrugged lightly. “I’d still like to find someone to dance with tonight.”

At that, Joel’s hand gripped the railing tighter and his body stiffened. You had to hide a triumphant smirk on your face, pleased that you managed to throw him off his game – whatever it was that he was playing.

“One of your friends?” In your peripheral vision you saw him lifting his eyebrows with the faintest of scowls. “Or one of those shady guys sittin’ at the bar, staring at pretty girls like you? ’Cause they’re no good for you, darlin’.”

“Oh, really?” you scoffed and lifted your chin, feeling touched that Joel was acting so protective – (and maybe even… jealous?) – about what you said. “You were the one that didn’t want to dance. What do you know about what’s good for me, anyway?”

“Those guys won’t treat you right. They just want a girl to spend the night with, and you deserve better than that.”

He was right, of course, but it didn’t mean you were going to openly give him his due. You made an acknowledging noise, not really sure what to say, but Joel didn’t seem to mind. He continued in a quiet, raspy voice that sent shivers down your spine. “You deserve someone who’d take real good care of you, darlin’. Not some drunk out of their ass idiot.”

“Are you drunk, Mr Miller?” you asked, not looking at him in fear he’ll see how red his words made you, though you could still see his smirk in the corner of your eye.

“No.”

“You act like you are.”

“C’mon, sugar, look at me.” He took your chin between his fingers and your body went rigid. His warm gaze met yours for just a second, and he tilted his head forward a little. “Do I look drunk?”

“A little.” You turned your head away, but he tsked and guided your chin back.

“In the eyes, darlin’.” You gulped at his words, and his dark, brown irises twinkled in the fairy lights dangling from the roof and walls. “And call me Joel, please.”

His chest was almost touching yours, and you felt the wooden railing digging into your lower back, but at that moment you didn’t mind at all. Joel was so close, and your breath hitched in your throat when you got enveloped in his earthy smell, with a tinge of bonfire and… was that cologne? For some reason the discovery that he used cologne for tonight made your heart flutter.

But as much as you loved every second of being so close to him, you remembered that you weren’t alone on the terrace. There was a pair of people talking – well, now kissing, judging by the sound of it – and your eyes darted to the side to see if they were looking at you both. “Come on, there are people here. It’s not…”

The man clicked his tongue in disapproval and moved slightly closer, now practically pinning you against the railing with his body, and you squealed unwillingly when he, once again, made you look at him.

“Eyes on me.”

And God, if it wasn’t the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen or heard. It was unfair how much power his gaze and tone wielded over you.

“Okay,” you managed to whimper, and the corner of his mouth curled upwards, creating that adorable dimple in his cheek.

“And my name, sugar.”

You didn't know why you were complying so easily, but something about the softness and tenderness in his voice made you feel safe. He wouldn’t hurt you, of that you were absolutely sure.

“Okay, Joel.”

His thumb brushed the edge of your bottom lip with the softest of touches, making your legs almost turn to jelly. It made you want to say his name again, though in a much more needy tone.

“That’s a good girl,” Joel murmured with a smirk, never looking away.

Lord, have mercy.

You were so grateful for the wooden rails behind your back, because you were sure you’d collapse any second now if he kept looking at you like that.

“I… Joel…”

“Tell me if you’re uncomfortable,” he murmured without taking his eyes off of you for even a second. Your brain was mush at this point, but even if you could formulate any words, you doubt you’d ask him to step away. So you settled on shaking your head slightly, to which Joel nodded. “Lemme know immediately if it changes, darlin’.”

How could you be so blind? All you could think about was that Angie was right – there was no way Joel Miller wasn’t flirting with you. Maybe he even liked you. Maybe – just maybe – he wanted to kiss you just as much as you wanted to kiss him.

“Didn’t you wanna… get back to the party?”

You didn’t make any move to get away yourself, however, not wanting him to drop the arm with which he was holding your chin. The material of his shirt was bulging over the lines of his biceps, and it felt really nice to stand so close to him.

“I’m in no rush.” Joel’s voice dipped, and your insides tightened. “You?”

“No, but–”

“Here you are, you ol’ fucker!”

Joel took a step back, and you both turned to see his younger brother walking clumsily through the door with a big, drunken grin on his face. You cleared your throat, still breathless and blushed, but both Millers didn’t pay you any mind anymore.

“Tommy.” Joel’s face was like made out of stone, but his eyes were betraying how irritated he was with the interruption.

“You thought you’d manage to get away, ya old dog?” Tommy hooked an arm around his older brother’s shoulders and finally looked at you to send you a wink. “Sorry, sweetheart, gotta borrow ‘im for a second. He has a date to get to.”

It took you a couple of seconds to register that yes, you heard him right. A heavy veil of hurt and disbelief slowly fell down on you, and your eyes started to prickle as you looked from Tommy to Joel.

“A date?”

He had a date. Why then did he talk and act this way with you, making you feel like you ever had a chance with him?

“C’mon, don’t keep a lady waiting,” Tommy said to Joel instead of answering you, and tugged the other man back inside, but Joel didn’t move. “Who knows, maybe you’ll even get lucky tonight!”

That you couldn’t listen to.

Trying to hide how painful his words were to you, you ducked your head and tried to slip past the brothers, desperate to get out of here. A hand – which felt so achingly familiar now – shot out and grabbed your elbow before you could escape. You lifted your tearful eyes only to meet Joel’s sorrowful ones.

“Darlin’, wait. It’s not…”

“No, it’s okay,” you interrupted him, tearing your gaze away. “I wanted to go to the bathroom, anyway.”

Joel looked like he wanted to say something else, but you couldn’t bear being in his and Tommy’s presence any longer. You slipped out of his grasp, quickly coming back inside and navigating your way to the bathrooms.

He had a date for tonight. And still he flirted with you and touched you so lovingly, and… and almost…

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid! To think you ever had a chance.

You dashed into the bathroom and quickly opened the first free stall you saw, then shut it behind you. There you just slumped against the wall and wrapped your arms around yourself, giving in to the flow of your tears, but trying not to make a sound.

You felt so foolish for letting yourself fall under Joel Miller’s spell, for ignoring that he obviously couldn’t be interested in someone like you.

He probably saw you as a dumb child. No wonder he’d prefer someone else, probably a woman closer to his own age.

But why did he have to be so cruel, to lead you on and hint that…

No, you realized. It was your own damn fault for letting your heart justify his every action towards you.

Almost ten minutes must’ve passed before you got a grip on yourself and decided to go find Angie. You needed to talk to someone, preferably distract yourself from the unpleasant situation you had to experience, and maybe try to salvage the evening somehow. With that in mind you took a couple of breaths, wiped your eyes and then hesitantly exited the bathroom.

You only managed to take a couple of steps, however, before your eyes were drawn to a familiar and beautiful side profile. You wished you didn’t know his face so well, because then you wouldn’t see Joel whispering something to a stunning woman you didn’t know at the far end of the room. She was hanging off his arm, bright eyes and a million-dollars smile directed solely at him. Joel appeared to be looking around, but a few seconds later he put his hand on the small of the woman’s back – just as he did earlier with you – and started walking. Neither of them looked your way before exiting through the front door and leaving the party.

As well as a gaping hole in your heart.

*****

A few minutes later you managed to find Angie. You were a mess at this point, barely able to stop yourself from sobbing. It was truly pathetic.

“I don’t know her name. But I saw them leaving, and she was hanging off his arm and–” you choked on your words and gave a humorless laugh. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

“I’m so sorry, hon.” Angie looked at you sadly. “We can ditch the party if you want. Go to my place and watch some movies,” she suggested gently, but you were already shaking your head.

“No, no. I’m fine, really, I… I think I'll just go home. But you should stay with your girlfriend.” Angie looked like she was about to protest, but you squeezed her hand reassuringly. “I promise I’m okay. I’m just gonna go straight back home and lock myself inside with a bowl of ice-cream. Or go to sleep.”

“I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

“I… I think I need to.” You gave her a weak, sad smile, and stood up. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? You have fun, I don’t want to ruin your night, too.”

“You’re not ruining anythi–”

“I mean… this. All of this stuff with,” you swallowed heavily, “him.”

Angie still seemed unconvinced, but finally nodded after a while. “Alright. But come and get me if you feel worse.”

“I promise. Love you.”

“Love you, too. Take care of yourself, okay?”

You nodded, then went towards the side exit and out into the snowy night without looking back. You didn’t want to stay here and watch as all those happy couples share sweet kisses at midnight, thus reminding you of your heartbreak.

This time you had your coat on, but it was far too thin for this kind of weather. You wrapped it tighter around yourself and hid your hands in the pockets, starting to make your way home. It was a bit far from the main square, but you needed to get away from the music and laughter of the partygoers as quickly as possible.

Alas, you only managed to walk one street away when out of nowhere, a big hand grabbed your elbow, stopping you in your tracks. “Wait.”

You turned around and took a step backwards at the same time, freeing your arm with a strong tug. The words full of anger were ready to spill out of your mouth, but that was until you saw who stood in front of you with a painful expression.

The last person you expected to see here.

“Joel?” You whispered surprisedly and looked around, but there was no one else nearby. Not that strange woman you saw him with, at least. “What are you doing here?”

“I was lookin’ for you,” he rasped between gasps, like he ran all the way here. “You weren’t at the party.”

“Why were you… What are you doing here?” you repeated more coldly, the sight of him only making your fresh heartache so much more noticeable. “I thought you left.”

“M’so sorry.” Joel’s beautiful dark eyes were full of sadness and weariness. “I would have never left you if I could help it, darlin’.”

He took half a step forward and lifted his hand slightly to graze yours with his icy-cold fingertips. You weren’t wearing any gloves either, so his touch sent a jolt up your arm. You looked down at it, but gently moved your hand away. “I don’t understand. Didn’t you have a… date?”

“No.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes, shaking his head. You avoided his eyes and instead watched as snowflakes landed and melted in his hair. “No, it was Tommy… You saw how drunk he was, and he wanted to set me up, insisted on talking to that girl, but I…”

“You should get back to her, then,” you said dryly, really not having strength to even hide how hurtful his mere presence was. You went past him, hiding your neck in your coat. “I don’t want to keep you from–”

“Darlin’, wait.” Joel grabbed your arm again, though still gently and without any force. “Listen, she was nice, but I told her that I can’t get involved in anythin’, because I…” He faltered slightly when you looked him in the eyes, for the first time since your talk on the terrace. “There is… it’s– fuck.” He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, as if gathering courage. “There is someone else,” he finally spoke, his voice almost trembling, and looked at you again, “that I’m madly in love with. And it’s you.”

Through the open door to the party someone shouted what sounded like the time, but it was all happening in the background of your mind. All you could focus on was Joel, standing so close to you and looking almost scared as he waited for your reaction.

Cold crept up your limbs and up to your cheeks while you tried to digest what the hell you just heard, but as if held by the invisible force of his gaze, you couldn’t move an inch.

“...what?”

“I… really, really like you,” Joel whispered, his dark and sad eyes drilling into your unbelieving ones. “I went to this party just to see you, darlin’. And I’d never chose to spend the evenin’ with anyone else but you. I’m so sorry I left you like that and…”

He then gulped and very slowly lifted his hand to your face, not fully cupping your cheek but hovering just above it. He searched your eyes, but when you didn’t back away, he touched your skin carefully, and an involuntary sigh escaped you as your eyes fluttered closed.

You never thought one could be touched with such care and fondness. No one has ever treated you like that before, like you were made of the most precious glass.

“You can tell me to fuck off,” Joel whispered, and you opened your eyes to find his face a little closer than before. “I just thought that maybe… if you would maybe, too…”

He was getting flustered again, and it was the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen. It must’ve been close to midnight now, because you noticed that the music stopped and the racket inside the building was at its peak, though it was hard to distinguish the words people were shouting when your heartbeat was almost deafening in your ears.

“But I saw you leaving with that woman.” You had to make sure you were on the same page with him before you did something idiotic. Again. “You aren’t…?”

“No,” Joel breathed a quiet chuckle and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, while his eyes danced across your face. “It’s only ever been you, darlin’.”

Then he must’ve heard something – his head turned to the side to look at where the party was still going on, before his eyes returned to you, and you felt his thumb swiping your cheek in an oh, so tender manner.

“May I?” he asked in a whisper, so close that his breath skimmed your parted lips. You hoped he was asking about what you thought, but this time wasn’t brave enough to ask and clarify.

So you just nodded.

And Joel leaned in, without any hurry, and kissed you.

It was fitting, you supposed, that only a couple of seconds later the clock chimed midnight, and shrieks of laughter and cheers filled the air while the people still present at the party celebrated loudly. You couldn’t care less, however, because in that moment, your entire world was Joel. His – still cold – hand caressed your scorching cheek, and the other found its place on your hip. The smell of him, the warmth with which his body radiated, and the feeling of his lips, rougher in touch than you’ve imagined, but still soft in movement – all of it together was almost overwhelming.

You parted after a while with blissful sighs, though didn’t move away – Joel still held you close, his forehead pressed to yours, and eyes shut tightly, as if he was in pain. He took a trembling breath when you touched his jaw with your icy fingers.

“Tell me to stop,” he pleaded in a murmur, taking you aback. “Sugar, if you don’t… Please, tell me to stop.”

You shook your head and held onto him tighter before he even finished.

“Please, don’t stop.”

Your lips clashed again, tongues meeting and dancing together, and it was the closest you’ve ever felt to any type of heaven in this cruel, forsaken world. Joel pulled you flush against him and kissed you again, more forcefully this time, tangling his fingers in your hair. You let out an involuntary moan, but his mouth swallowed the sound immediately, not giving you a split second of respite.

“I wanted to do it a year ago,” Joel muttered between the kisses, before he took your face in his hands to look you in the eyes properly. He smiled, that same adorable and boyish smile, when he saw how breathless and flushed you were. “Wanted to kiss you so much, sugar, but,” he obviously fought back a laugh at this point, his eyes crinkling, “you got wasted and puked your guts out just before midnight.”

“Oh my god.” You didn’t know he saw it, particularly the moment when all the alcohol you consumed a year ago refused to stay in your stomach. “I wasn’t– I don’t usually… I got drunk ‘cause I saw Sheryll kissing you on the cheek,” you admitted with embarrassment, feeling your skin growing even hotter. “I thought you and her were together at that point…”

“But why did you get drunk because of it, sweet girl?” Joel mused, brushing his nose against yours and obviously teasing you. You snorted and shook your head.

“You know why.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

You playfully pushed him away lightly, but he tightened his grip around you, not letting you step away.

“You’re an asshole sometimes,” you whispered, making Joel chuckle. “Fine. I really wanted to kiss you, too. Happy?”

He smiled and kissed you again, softly and passionately this time, cradling your cheek in his palm.

“Very,” he whispered against your lips and dragged his nose up to plant a kiss on your forehead. “Very much, baby.”

Your heart fluttered with joy at his affectionate tone. Joel pulled away, his hands leaving your body to cover your own, situated on his jaw and arm.

“Now, what do you say we head back inside?” he asked with a disarming smile, brushing your knuckles with his thumbs. “And maybe you’ll let me ask you for a dance?”

You didn’t give an answer, but the joyous kiss you pressed to his lips – which, with your enthusiasm, almost made both of you topple over into the snow – spoke for itself.

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