#(( both smart enough and dumb enough to just be fucking IMPOSSIBLE

[royalreef]

[paradlselost]

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄

black noir x female reader

⎨ 𝐀𝐍 ⎬ this is set in SEASON FOUR so obvious spoilers ahead . this is just a drabble , i will post more about black noir in the future but i really needed to get a smut out for my own sanity 🙏 i need both earving and noir II . also that’s me under the table with him (:<

⎨ 𝐂𝐖 ⎬ second person point of view , mentions of mourning , straight up smut : p in v , unprotected sex , semi - public sex , zero pullout game .

How could he explain it to anyone who would happen to walk in? That it was a mistake? A heat-of-the-moment interaction? It certainly didn’t feel like an accident; the way you gripped his dick like it was a lifeline. Maybe in this moment it was, truthfully, it felt like the only thing keeping you grounded to this earth.

The once cool glass table below you rocked back and forth as if uncertain on the legs that held it up. At some point you would be worried it would break below your combined weight; but the mushroom-like head of his cock slamming back into a certain bundle of nerves drained every thought from your mind.

Visitation was extremely limited thanks to everything Homelander and Sage were doing, but a special exception had been made for you. Earvings closest friend, his unrequited love come to gather some semblance of closure from the new person under the mask. Wearing his suit as if years of unrelenting loyalty to Vought was dumbed down to him being a character any actor could play.

Maybe it was stupid to think otherwise, to hope there would be any kind of memorial for the man you had loved so dearly; how could everyone move on so fast from someone who had been there for so long? It wasn’t fair; but maybe his memory was better off out of your mind - out of pain and suffering and with his friends for eternity. Whatever eternity looked like.

New Noir may be a bit clueless when it comes to his role, but he’s not stupid. He could pick up on the way you avoided looking at his mask at first or how you apologized under your breath every time your hand brushed his armor. You were the best lead he had to figure out how to play this character he was thrown into. Not for a second did he believe his predecessor was only a brain dead maniac.

And he could be wrong, but he had a feeling his hunch of Earving loving you back was true. How could he not? You were gorgeous, head tilted back and jaw slack, knuckles turning white from your grip on the other side of the table. He didn’t remove his mask, only the cup that covered his crotch was off. He had to be acquainted with that area of the suit as boners against the covering hurt most of the time, and taking off the suit to get off in a bathroom stall was far too difficult.

Closure, what a funny word for what was happening. Maybe you could imagine it was Earving behind you, pounding against your cunt and creating those sweet wet sounds that vibrated through the room; but at this point nothing but the rhythm of his cock slipping in and out of you at such a pace could stay on your mind.

The cameras watched you two, no doubt, it was the meeting room after all. Your warm breath and the sweat that trickled down your form had created a slight fog against the once cool desk, a surface slippery enough to make him grab your hips to keep you in position. Hard, like he didn’t know his own strength, but you wouldn’t mind the bruises in the shape of his gloves, would you?

Cock-drunk, fucked stupid but still smart enough to feel the stutter of his hips and the throb of his dick inside of you. Fantasies of Earving often ended in him fucking his cum that leaked out of you back in, but you were suddenly acutely aware that this wasn’t him. You didn’t know if he was sterile; an important question you had accidentally skipped right over.

“Wait wait-“

Too little too late. Just as you had suppressed your eyes from rolling back into your head for the millionth time; he let out a groan. Grabbing your hips to stay impossibly close to you and pushing inside as far as possible, letting himself paint the walls of your cunt with his cum.

Panting, a gloved hand traveled from your hips to the very front of your thighs. His body pressed against you; keeping you on the table as he caught his breath - mindlessly playing with your clit, as if it was second nature. After a moment or two he seemed to realize what he did; you could hear him hiss softly from behind you, embarrassed.

“Oooh fuck - I’m sorry.”

[popponn]

bits and such, about him.

summary: he loves you in his own way. (aka expanded hcs on how he shows his love to you)

note: i want an isagi so bad at this point i will just cry. also i miss sae. nagi is kinda there ig (jk nagi u shojo protag). sometimes thinking about these guys are very comforting even when it comes out as pure brainrot. warning: none, just fluff. isagi is downbad, sae is a house cat variant, and nagi is something else. reader's gender unspecified, implied post canon au.

characters: isagi, sae, nagi

isagi falls in love with you again and again over the smallest things. it could be you rearranging your things, it could be you looking up to the sky, it could be you crouching alongside him, it could be you laughing at something he finds actually unfunny—repeatedly, without fail it keeps happening. in these sorts of moments, it is very obvious too. his breath would come to a halt slowly, his shoulder sagged, his mouth opening into a silent gape, all while his blue eyes would stare at you, filled with feelings that are impossible to word out. his signs are obvious enough that even strangers could know them. the worst thing is that on times like this, it means isagi yoichi's infamously smart brain will go on a holiday for a bit. adding to the fact that his eyes rarely leave you whenever you are in his vicinity, this means it happens a lot in a public setting. after the third time of seeing this happening right in front of them, most of his friends sort of agree that it would be best to leave the lovesick, down-bad isagi alone. more for their sakes because all they get is either a dumb "huh" that is very cute actually or a very angry, on-field tone of "shut the fuck up fucking donkey i'm admiring right now" which unfortunately did happen to a genius, a speedster, and a king. it nearly ended in a bloodbath multiple times but at least you know he is a man that could not be moved.

sae likes it when you play with his hair and vice versa. the annoying thing, though, is that he rather doesn't say shit for three days than admitting this to your face. some call it an acute case of terrible communication skill some call it kuudere rizz—nobody knows which one is the correct term but the good thing is this guy speaks louder through his action than his words. which mean acting like a spoiled house cat with shitty attention seeking tendencies—where you could be working or resting your exhausted leg and without any warning, you will have his head on your lap. don't bother protesting, you will lose the inevitable staring contest. just play with his hair, comb it, pat it, arrange it while praising him—just spoil him. and if he says "your hair is wet" even right after you dry it off, just sit down and let him " dry" your hair. no, it's not an alibi to have you chatter while he listens and touches your hair. no, he does not kiss you on the hair you are imagining shit. and no don't let anyone touch your hair. sae's possessive streak is a rare thing but if anyone touches your hair, that's just asking for it. honestly, it will be easier for both of you if he just says "hey can we forego the hairdryer and have your head on my lap instead this time" but this is an itoshi bloodline elder. the best he could manage is just suddenly burying his face in your hair or suddenly touching it when he is not in the mood to play a game. again, like a cat just taking something he wants. the cat is handsome and loving in his own way though.

nagi turns out to be a very very vocal person when it comes to you. aw, he must be away for a week because of a match? good luck to everyone on his team because he will whine about it every minute or so. some wanted to murder him, but thank god, an "if you look cool don't you think they will be happy?" is enough to shut him up—on camera at least. and wow he thinks you look good in your clothes? you will know it. nagi will say "wear it again", " it suits you", and many other short sentences indeed—he is still not a wordsmith—but simply by the sheer frequency of his praise? everyone and their grandma will know it. one time a brave, poor soul asked him "why the fuck are you so noisy about them?!"—and turns out it is simply because he likes your reaction to his words. you could respond back with cheer, with a calm suave, or sometimes flustered laugh, and nagi eats those up. remember to have special reactions for him though, since he is not above copying a koala or maybe some flirty toucan to have those. nagi has been a tad bit shameless though, despite everything, therefore maybe it's not unsurprising that he kinda of becomes after getting together with you. (in the background, niko nods sagely, "i see. so it's like your oshi character who you want every info of from a dating sim." while barou snaps with a "fucking what?" nagi takes a second to think, and goes, "...kinda." which is obviously an understatement.)

[sooniessoulmate]

𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔰 - 𝔠𝔥.5 - 𝔪𝔲𝔩𝔱𝔦-𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫 𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 5 : 𝔦𝔪𝔭𝔬𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔢

𝔠𝔥.4 🌕 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔱 🌕 𝔠𝔥.6

“Are you ready to have some fun?” Han smirked, hitting his hand with the bat.

“Um, are we playing baseball?” Y/N wondered, trying to remain calm.

“Well if baseball involves me hitting you with a bat then yes we’re playing baseball,” Han laughed.

Changbin walked around the corner carrying a rope.

“If you play nice and do as you're told, you might make it out of this alive,” Changbin smiled.

“I don’t know,” Jeongin laughed, walking into the room carrying a knife with dried blood on the blade. “I kind of want to see what your insides look like.”

“Who are you people?”  Y/N asked.

“You were right, Minho, she really is stupid,” changbin smirked. 

“Yea I told you, this bitch makes Seungmin well… nothing could really make him look smart either,” Minho laughed to himself.

“Heyyyy,” Seungmin pouted. “Is it because I’m too smart already?”

“You’re such an idiot,” Minho stated, coldly.

“My mom says I’m the smartest boy alive, I just make dumb decisions,” Seungmin explained.

“Well you’re mom is an idiot too then,” Minho laughed.

“Don’t talk about my mom,” Seungmin snapped, standing up, instantly regretting his decisions.

“And what the fuck are you going to do to stop me?” Minho snarled.

“Nothing sir,” Seungmin sighed, sitting back down.

“Enough with the games,” Soyeon huffed. “What are we going to do with the little bitch?”

“Yea what are you planning on doing with me?” Y/N interrupted.

Han walked over to where Y/N was standing, he raised his hand up, lightly caressing her cheek, “you seem a little frightened.”

“This isn’t the most ideal situation,” Y/N nodded, too scared to move.  

“Let’s agree to disagree on that,” Soyeon smirked, using Y/N’s prior argument against her.

“We need some answers,” Changbin interjected.

“What kind of answers?” Y/N wondered.

“Who are you and why are you here?” Minho huffed.

“I’m Kwon Y/N but that’s really all I have,” she announced, hoping that would be enough to be released.

“You only answered a portion of the question,” Changbin snarled.

“WHY ARE YOU FUCKING HERE?” Han yelled, swinging the bat at Y/N’s head, stopping when it was an inch away from her face.  He broke out into a maniacal laugh.

Y/N panicked, she could feel her body getting warm, she knew this feeling and hated when it happened, but had no control. All the candles around the room, instantly ignited.

“Did she do that?” Seungmin gasped.

“Impossible,” Changbin argued, “she’s human.”

Han rested the bat on his shoulder, cocking his head while examining the scared girl in front of him. Jeongin pushed through, standing between the two, the huge smile immediately dropped from his face as he clenched both of his hands around Y/N’s neck, applying just enough pressure to let her know he meant business.

“How did you do that?” Jeongin snarled, as a creepy smile slowly crept back onto his face.

“Please don’t hurt me,” Y/N pleaded.

Jeongin squeezed a bit tighter, dropping his smile again, “I think we’re past the point of you getting out of here unharmed.”

The flames on the candles grew to three inch flames, the sounds of the crackling fire overtook the silence in the room when the door flew open, exposing Chan in the doorway.

“What the fuck is going on in here?” Chan snapped.

Jeongin released Y/N’s neck, spinning around, pretending as though he wasn’t doing anything sinister.

“Chan,” Jeongin smiled. “I’m so glad you could join us.”

The flames of the candles dissipated as quickly as they ignited. Y/N placed her hand on her neck, breathing heavily as tears slowly escaped her eyes. She quickly ran out of the room not waiting for any explanation, nothing was going to explain this situation away and make it ok, she just knew she needed to get out of there as quickly as possible before more harm could come to her.

“What the fuck was going on?” Chan growled again.

“We were just playing a little game with the new girl,” Jeongin said with a huge smile on his face that immediately turned into a scowl as he cocked his head to look at Chan.

“It doesn’t seem like it was a friendly game,” Chan argued.

“She was having a lot of fun,” Changbin announced. “I was just getting ready to tie her up.”

“What was the purpose of this?” Chan asked.

“Don’t you want to know why a human is in our school?” Minho asked.

“Of course I do,” Chan nodded, “But this isn’t the right way to figure that out.”

“What would you have recommended?” Han laughed, swinging his bat around in little circles in front of him.

“I'm planning on finding the answers out,” Chan announced. “I think Jungwon has the right idea. We should become her friends then we’ll be able to figure everything we need out in due time.”

“Eh that sounds boring,” Minho grunted. “I don’t want to be friends with her or even pretend like I do.”

“I’ll be her friend,” Felix smiled, walking into the room. “I like making new friends.”

“Yea yea,” Changbin rolled his eyes. “Of course you would offer.”

“Felix, you’re the worst one of us,” Seungmin stated.

“No,” Felix argued. “I’m the nicest.” He smiled so wide, appearing so sweet and genuine making everyone shiver.

“Look,” Han interrupted, “Our way got more answers a lot quicker than your ‘perfect plan’ could ever.”

“What do you mean you got answers?” Chan asked.

“Somehow she lit all the candles with her mind when she got scared,” Changbin explained.

“How?” Chan askes. “She’s human.”

“Yea that’s what I was working on finding out,” Jeongin huffed, taking a seat next to Seungmin. “Before you had to break up the party.”

“I’m only going to say this once,” Chan snarled. “There will be no harm to come to that girl. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!?”

“But…” Han started.

“DO. YOU. UNDERSTAND. ME.????” Chan repeated, slamming his fist against the wall, punching a hole through the surface.

“Yes sir,” Han sighed.

Y/N ran down the hall, in a panic, scared and trembling. She ran as fast as she could trying to get as far away from those guys as possible. When she turned the corner she bumped into someone she thought she recognized but wasn’t sure from where.

“I’m so sorry,” Y/N said after bouncing off the man standing before her.

“You should watch where you’re going,” Niki stated, coldly.

“I said I was sorry,” Y/N said as tears continued to stream down her cheeks.

“You don’t have to cry over it. I’m not that mad,” Niki said.

“I’m not crying over this,” Y/N argued. “I just…I just…nevermind.”

“What?” Niki wondered.

“I need to find Jungwon,” she stated.

“What a coincidence,” Niki smiled kindly, placing his arm around Y/N’s shoulder. “I was just coming to look for you to take you to Jungwon.”

“Really?” Y/N asked, looking up at Niki with wide eyes.

“Yea,” Niki smiled, wiping her tears away that were staining the once rosy cheeks. “He wants me to take you to him.”

“That would be wonderful,” Y/N forced a smile in return.

“Just come with me,” he smirked, guiding Y/N down the hall.

𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔳 🌕 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 🌕 𝔫𝔢𝔵𝔱

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔫

[clingyduoapologist]

Inspired by these cut scenes but like as number 294948 on the list of things Ubisoft could have done with the Assassin/Templar dichotomy instead of just abandoning it for four games in a row the idea that the Templars dismiss so much of assassin ideology as a fantasy, as nothing more than imagination. Because like there’s so much interesting things you can do with that like, as an obvious one, acknowledging that the Templars are right here. Yeah, what the assassin’s want is infeasible, it is a fantasy and that’s okay. This idea that the assassin’s will never truly win is so interesting to me because that’s kind of the point. They’re playing a much different game than the Templars, who lord over the people as gods and view every action as a win or a loss. It’s why they’re the ones who shored up power over the centuries. They played the long con because they have an end goal. But that’s not what the assassins fight for. Nothing is true and everything is permitted. They don’t fight to stop Templars, they stop Templars because the Templars don’t get humanity. A world where the assassin’s lord over the people and punish those who stray from their creed, the world Al Mualim wanted, is a world that’s incompatible with the brotherhood’s ideology. Freedom means that some people will use it to do bad things. To the Templars, this is a failing, but to the assassin’s that’s just like. Life. A perfect society where everyone is free to do as they please and nothing will ever go wrong again trust 🙏 sounds dumb as shit because it is, but it’s also no less stupid than Templar Fascist McGee going I and I alone am smart enough to hold dominion over all humanity. At the end of the day they both share impossible goals. But the brotherhood isn’t about goals. It’s not about endgames. It’s about people. People who are flawed, and who are going to get angry, and who are going to fuck up badly, and repeatedly, for fucking centuries. Because that’s what people are. Or maybe they’re not idk. Believe what you want. Nothing is true, everything is permitted.

Anyways can’t wait for shadows to come out so all of this can be ignore so fucking Ameterasu can be like btw I Love Fascism Now face my MAGICAL ATTACK YOU’RE TOO OVERLEVELED TO FIND CHALLENGING AHHHHHHHHH

[roniarose]

Guardians 3 thought dump

Aaaah i actually liked an MCU movie for once

The Guardians were kind of the perfect team to go up against that type of villain, a team thats taken two movies to learn and are still in some ways learning that their differences and flaws are what makes them a family, up against someone who sees those flaws as a failure to be discarded. All of the Guardians spend a lot of time across all three films trying to escape how others view them, so this antagonist really feels like the perfect choice to culminate the trilogy

Also man the russos took a fat wet shit all over gamoras arc and james gunn still managed to salvage it and make it work, I was fucking terrified the whole movie that they were gonna end up together when thats literally impossible with this gamora, But gamora calls out quill immediately in this, and tells him thats shes not that person he so desperately wants. Peter still at least has the arc that he was meant to have regardless of gamoras fridging, where he needed to realize that hes projecting what he needs from other people onto those people, especially gamora. The movie still hints that they COULD end up being together, they just both need to spend time becoming more actualized versions of themselves. And peter needs to resolve more of his emotional baggage and sexism.

Its funny because from the way 2 ended its really obvious that gunn had planned for them to be together in 3 but that basically got ruined when she got tossed into the infinity stone pit. :/ i’m glad gunn was smart enough to realize that trying to redo 2 movies worth of relationship buildup across one movie was a bad idea

Lets see what else

Oh, hey Nathan fillion, long time no see! I’m glad you finally got to be in a story about a ragtag found family in space that didn’t end up getting canned, and i think the fight you did in the building that looked like a middle school science textbook illustration rocked, 10/10 keep rocking the Michelin man fit

I like that Adam Warlock is a big dumb idiot man that carries a pet around and listens to king crimson because its super obvious gunn had no clue what to do with him but had to have him there because the mcu continues to be an ever expanding nightmare mess. 10/10 no notes

Obviously the i am groot reveal was cute, and also a kind of cycle break that didn’t feel forced or like it had extra gravitas added to it, the reveal that the audience is part of the family now just gets to be a simple little moment

I love that nebula gets to be relatively more relaxed in this movie on the whole, she honestly deserves it, let her sip her lil sodie pop.

I loved Draxs lil dad moment in the third act as well, and how it ends up forcing nebula to learn that emotional intelligence is just as vital to have a practical intelligence. Up until that point she really underestimated him and a lot of the rest of the team because she had been taught by thanos a lot of the same things our villain believed, that theres only one kind of way to be, and that only perfection and results matter. She ends up learning through the guardians and drax that we each of our own individual strengths and perceived flaws, and that real perfection is in the culmination of those forces in our lives. I thought it was nice :)

The last thing i can think of is that I liked how a series defined musically by track from the 70’s and 80’s ends off with a track from the 2000’s. A way of communicating subtly our characters aren’t trapped in their past anymore. Great stuff

Anyways thats what i got atm, if you stumbled on this and are wanting more mcu stuff, sorry to disappoint, this is prolly the last mcu thing i’m checking in for unless something reveals itself to be more interesting in the future. I wanna try and talk more about other things tho, so maybe you will like those posts!

Testing this out

[violetueur-archive]

abilities  &  super-powered  themed  prompts » ACCEPTING

@geistxhund​​​ asked: [ FIVE ] for sender to have overexerted their abilities,  causing them to pass out in front of receiver.

❝ Okay, ❞ the word come out as a harsh, shaky breath, ❝ I think we're almost past this shitshow. ❞ Simmering rage laces her ragged, tired voice, and Nicolette allows herself to be momentarily comforted by the feeling of Khaz's back pressing to hers as they work in tandem to dispatch the dumb fucks attempting to put an end to their lives. The tense set of her shoulders does not dissipate, but she’s no longer hanging off the edge of rational thought. Exhaustion clings to every muscle in her body as the blood not splattered across the concrete shifts above an open palm, ready to take shape and deal a killing blow. Things could’ve certainly gone better— this definitely hadn't been the plan, but then again, to ever dare hope that something would go right for either of them was a pipe dream. Luck was not a gift the raven nor coyote had been blessed with.

The job was supposed to be fairly simple, or at least Khaz had been led to think so. Not that he was gullible enough to truly believe something like that. Nothing was ever easy in his line of work, especially not a job a client was so reluctant to do themselves they were willing to pay someone else to do it for them. Business was business, but this was just ridiculous. Nicolette shuddered to think how things would've gone if she'd relented to Khaz's gentle insistence that she stay behind. Technically, she wasn't meant to be here— wasn't part of this world, on paper or even in notoriety. Where Khaz chose to make a name for himself in the underworld, she preferred to remain in the shadows. A frequent, but temporary, visitor. The penchant for violence had been engrained within her; although, the reality of it was that neither had really had a choice. This lifestyle had been beaten into her for years, but the coyote had been bred for it from the very start.

In the end, she supposed the only good thing that came from it all was that they'd found each other, somehow, despite all the shit they'd had to push through to do it. Khaz had become such a constant in her life at this point, solid and unwavering in both support and affection, that she hated to recall how bleak it had been to be alone or how much worse it would be to lose him, now. It was impossible to tag along every time even if part of her would like to. He would not allow it, whether for her sake or on principle, and Nicolette knew it wasn't smart, anyway. Khaz still tried his best to cling to lighter morals and she wasn't yet willing to give up her false act of normalcy in the real world to risk someone seeing and remembering her face, if left alive. But she’s unbelievably relieved to have come with him— to have trusted her gut instinct, because killing became the only option when they’d suddenly been surrounded by more opposition than expected. Even with the two of them fighting together, it's a struggle.

He's already badly hurt— the raven can tell without even needing to look. Can sense it, feel it, maybe even smell it like a shark drawn to blood in the water. There weren’t many left, so the nightmare was nearly over. It’s a little presumptuous that she allows herself to begin a sigh of relief, confident that the worst has passed, but then the air becomes stuck in her throat as she hears the sound of Khaz grunting in pain, heaving a wet cough. She turns just in time to see him finish off the man who'd gotten too close and stabbed him in the side— it’s not a wound that should kill him, he’s certainly brushed off worse, but for some reason he staggers. He lifts his head just enough to nearly meet her eyes, breathing ragged as he attempts her name, and then she watches with unveiled terror as he all but crumples to the ground.

She isn’t fast enough to catch him, briefly frozen in place by panic and fear. It almost overwhelms her, nearly sends her spiraling, until she notices movement in her peripherals. The remaining assailants try to take advantage of the situation— one down, the other confused— most aiming for the unmoving man laying in the dirt. Nicolette reacts on instinct to throw herself towards and over his body, arms and legs caging Khaz beneath her as she hovers over him like a feral beast protecting its wounded partner. The look in her eyes must be unnervingly wild, expression severe, because the attackers hesitate, no doubt fearing a savage beak and sharp talons. The raven makes a wounded noise as she shifts atop the coyote, drawing his limp form into her arms, using her own back to shield him from all harm. It’s only mildly successful, her face burying into the crook of his neck to muffle a cry as multiple bullets bury into her flesh. She knows that a couple have nicked him, but there’s something else, too. Her face feels wet as she pulls back slightly, and Nicolette peers down in agony to spot the deep gash in his shoulder. ❝ Get up... Khaz, please, wake up... ❞ She’s trembling, hearing nothing but the sound of her own rapid heartbeat and erratic gasps— does not hear the footsteps coming closer. ❝ No... no no no no, please— !! ❞ She tastes his blood on her tongue.

And then, Nicolette sees red.

The next thing she knows, it’s eerily quiet, save for her labored, heaving breaths. She’s standing, staring down an indecipherable mess of gore. Peering down, she catches sight of her hands, stained wholly crimson, as are her legs, her clothes, her chest. It’s even in her hair. It’s a rare occurrence, she thinks distantly, for most of the blood drying upon her skin to not be her own. Every inch of her aches, clotted wounds and strained muscles screaming in protest as Nicolette turns and lowers to her knees before Khaz’s body. Now that the threat is gone and the initial panic has waned, she understands what he has done. Overclocking the spine was hardly the preferred decision, but she knows he only ever did it when he felt it absolutely necessary. Perhaps things had not been as under control as she’d thought, or maybe he’d let his emotions get the better of him and put his fear for her safety above his own wellbeing as he often did. It had given him a few extra minutes to help fight, but it had nearly devastated her in exchange.

The realization does not abate her worry, or the crushing sense of anxiety hanging at the edge of her mind. She knows that the moment will come where it overwhelms her completely. When they are somewhere safe, and he’s laying on the couch sleeping soundly with no sign of waking, this moment will replay. It will take her, then, and she will have no choice but to succumb. At least he will not be awake to witness it. Surely, it will not be pleasant, nor pretty. Nicolette moves closer and trembling hands reach out. ❝ Oh, Khaz... ❞ They hover over him as if afraid, before touching with a kind of gentleness one uses to handle fragile glass. Her fingertips wipe the blood and hair from his handsome face, stroking over a bruise at the corner of his scarred lips. She gathers him into her arms then, one nestled securely under his knees as the other slides behind his back to hold his shoulder and pull him against her chest. She stands and lifts him as she goes, exerted muscles straining only for a moment before her grip tightens.

❝ I’ve got you, ❞ she whispers, voice choked and wavering with emotion, ❝ it’s okay... we’re okay. You’ll be alright... I’ve got you. ❞ There is nothing left to do, of course, but go home.

[gemjen]

i'd had so many new beginnings, fresh starts, rebrands - whatever you wanna call it, but it is what it is - in both my near and far past, i've lost count.

this is the first time i'm actually recognizing something good in implementing past experiences when it comes to making new choices.

i'm making a change. a real change.

it's so real, it's almost tangible.

i know it's real this time.

for sure: this time, it's real. no mlre fucking around, i've found out enough to satisfy my curiosity; nearly died in the process but the satisfaction brought me back.

it's time to move the fuck on.

for so, so long, i have been ridden with this fear of abandonment - i still am, it's overwhelming and overbearing and my bpd is bpd-eing and whenever i can't help but surmise i'm about to experience abandonment, i go through a narc crash i swear i'm not a narcissist i'm just traumatized i swear i'm capable of loving i swear i'm doing my best not to push people away i swear i can be better i swear i can love better i swear i can hurt the ones i love less than i always do im sorry im sorry im sorry im sorry

but i realize i'm not alone. i am loved.

god loves me.

my family loves me.

my people love me.

i'm far from a perfect example and i don't even dare think i'm a perfect match in friendship romance family partnership you name it for anyone but i know damn well i do my best to recognize what my loved ones need and try to channel it from within me as much as i possibly can

i don't want to hold back my need for love anymore, i'm tired from sucking it up and pretending i don't need it. i do. and god damn it (!!!!!) i need to finally see what it's like for someone to accept the love i direct towards them. me loving someone is personal, and the other has nothing to do with it. it's out of their control. but shit, fuck, i just want people to trust me when i let them know what i feel for them. i want for my people to let me return the affection.

i want them to trust me. my loved ones don't trust me.

how are they supposed to, when i quite obviously don't love myself in the way and amount i should? what is anyone else to expect to be treated like when they see me abusing my own self?

i would never abuse anyone but myself. and i've abused myself way too much, it's bot even funny anymore. it never was.

my friend said the other night: "i think you've punished yourself enough."

and he's right, and i do compulsively punish others through myself.

i abuse myself to the point where i end up trying to decide whether to beg myself for death or mercy.

i can never seem to decide, but it's just one of those things that are better of being given up on. it's not about giving up, it's about detaching yourself.

but then i end up detaching from my own self as well.

'love yourself, so that you could learn to love others, so you could learn what it's like to love god...'

but my problem is, i'm way too smart and perceptive to play that dumb. a smart person can only play dumb so much. the rest is a nearly impossible to overcome of a challenge, and ain't nobody got time for that.

i'm done playing dumb.

i admit i can be unintentionally dumb sometimes. dense. dull. whatever.

but i can't keep making it a conscious habit. it's not funny. it's not cute.

i...

i keep thinking about this one thing a lot: i am actually deeply terrified of losing any more of my friends to suicide. or any other manner of death. the impact of losing someone for good, i don't think i could handle it as well as i used to if, god forbid, something were to happen.

i don't mind losing relationships with people, but i want my estranged loved ones alive. i need them alive.

because every night for the past fuck knows how many years i have been dreaming of my dead friends and relatives rising from the dead paying me visits relaying messages from the other side it used to make sense but now it's borderline no scratch that it's full-on psychotic at this point

grief has punctured a billion holes and seeped into my skin and invaded my bones meat and tissue and bloodstream and nervous system and all of me and all i can do at this point is stop digging graves i don't want to be digging up later on

[saintlypsychopomp]

i fucking hate that ant hill

Your grandmother burns her garbage in great, stinking piles that make you a little nauseous. When you’re twelve, you ask her why, and she looks at you like you’re stupid. Two weeks later, she looks at you (impossibly small, thin, and fragile, only coming up to your chin), and she motions for you, curling one bony finger (it’s gnarled like your mom’s, the same way their faces match).

“Ven paca, mijita." She’s got a funny way of talking. Like her words are curling and loping, like cats who don’t know where they wanna go. The words stretch too long, and your dad makes fun of her, and you hate him a little bit. He talks stupid too, or he did before he started mimicking radio announcers. You know you sound silly in both languages, but it doesn’t stop you from saying everything you think. 

You follow her (obviously), because talking back to grandmother isn’t very smart anyway, and you’re smart enough to believe in self-preservation. So you don’t really say anything; mostly, you just trot after her. Except sometimes you’re supposed to say things that would stop her from doing stuff, except that’s a very generous overestimation of your abilities.

So mainly, you do the smart thing and shut up.

“ves esto?” You do, because you aren’t that dumb or blind. Unlike what she seems to be a little bit convinced of (you aren’t too offended; she’s met your parents),

It’s an anthill, bigger than you’d seen in your fucking life. Except the time you saw that exact anthill and also fell in it. It only felt a little like you were going to die, so you shut up about it, unlike your idiot brother, “Uh-huh.”

It’s only a tiny bit of a surprise when she takes a coke bottle full of gasoline (there was a hole drilled into the lid; you remember that clearly for some reason) and pours it down their hill. It’s less of a surprise when she fishes in her pocket for the matches; you pull them from your own bermuda shorts (purple and ugly) and press them into her palm (it’s probably one of the only times she lets you touch her; you aren’t touchy people).

Grandmother (as she’s become in your head, tall and imposing despite being four feet and six inches [like your mother, impossibly frightening, topped the scale at four foot eight]) smiles approvingly and tosses a lit match into the ant hill.

You wish you could say it was horrible, but that it gave you insight into God and his whims; maybe that it was some defining moment for you. But all you remember is the feeling of your grandmother’s hand guiding you a safe distance away from the hill.

[sinfulcries]

PRETTY BOY CHASER 、KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

authors note. this is an au in which raiden shogun catches kazuha before he flees inazuma with tomo's vision and assigns you, the head of the vision hunt decree to punish kazuha how you please. also d'you whores miss me? it's been a while since i put something out so hopefully this will suffice <3

tw. noncon, size difference, voyeurism, exhibitionism, spanking, dacryphilia, sadistic reader, manipulation (?), bondage, knife play (carving your name into his thigh), unprotected sex, virginity loss, belly bulge, power imbalance, strength kink

“Let go of me!”

Were the first words that Kazuha spat as soon as he came face to face with you towering in front of him. You knew that the boy wanted to kill you, to take revenge for letting the Shogun kill Tomo without bothering to stop her however, the tight grip that you had on his arm only tightened at his defiance-- The grin creeping its way onto your handsome face growing as he struggled fruitlessly against your hold.

The boy looked quite pretty with tears brimming his eyes. No one could blame the quivering boy as he sobbed uselessly for help, not when he was under your supervision. If Kujou Sara was nothing more but a scary confidante of Ei, You were a monster compared to her.

You were quite notorious for your merciless-ness; how much people you’ve killed to please the Shogun and her goal for eternity. No one could really count the amount of bodies and visions you’ve taken on one hand, however, your reputation for fucking and toying with pretty Inazuman men always went side by side with that information-- Not that you really cared when you had such flawless play things to corrupt and toss away like little toys.

Kazuha could feel his stomach churning with fear as you threw him against the rough floor, ordering your men to hold him down in place as you pressed the cold blade of your sword against his warm cheek. “How adorable. I wonder if you’d look even cuter all fucked out for me” You smirked.

“W-What..? No! Are you crazy?!” Kazuha protested, only earning a deep chuckle from you in response. The venom that dripped from every word you spoke sent a shiver down his spine and he could merely gulp once you trailed your blade down to cut at his clothes, leaving him naked and vulnerable right in front of you. “You have no room to complain, boy. I’ll kill you if you try to fight back.”

Death or dignity. Both choices were truly hard to choose from but Kazuha was smart enough to know that he could only recover from one. Instead of fighting back against you, the man slumped defeatedly against your taller form, letting your calloused fingertips roam his body.

It was humiliating, having to endure the way your hands roughly grabbed at his waist, pulling his lithe body closer to yours as you continued to take your sweet time defiling him.

The sick grin plastered on your face only proved that you felt the opposite.

“It’d be such a waste to just let you go,” You hummed amusedly, not missing the way the pretty boy panted whenever you pressed your thumb against the sensitive dip in his waist. “I should knock ya’ up, turn you into my lil’ husband instead. Wouldn’t you like that, darlin’? Being split open on my cock every day?”

Kazuha wanted to tell you no— but it was almost impossible with the way his cock twitched at your words, the sick and twisted part in his mind telling him how it’d be ‘safer’ to spend his time with you rather than wandering out alone without a destination in his mind.

“Hm, seems like you enjoy the idea.” You were quite pleased with his reaction despite the few exchange of words and you wasted no time in bending the smaller boy over with ease, admiring the sight of his creamy ass before giving the skin a harsh smack. The way Kazuha jolted in surprise only urged you to repeat the action, wanting to see him breaking beneath you like the dumb lil whore he truly is.

The thought of having such a flawless little play thing right on his knees for you was enough to get your cock leaking with desperation to fuck him, however, something was missing.

The urge to keep Kazuha as nothing but an object plagued your mind and without a second thought, you placed a palm over the boy’s mouth, watching the confusion in his face morph into horror once he realised that you were carving your name into his once clean thigh. Even your hand clasped around his face wasn’t enough to mask the wretched scream that escaped his throat; And your men could do nothing but stare in horror as you continued to torture Kazuha and take the last bit of his sanity.

He wasn’t even sure if he was going to make it out alive at this point! With the way his heart was racing, vision in a haze with the scent of his own blood in the air, Kazuha was positive that he'd be nothing but a dead, used up corpse by the time you were finished with him.

“Shhh It’s alright little one, M just showing you who owns you.” Kissing his neck reassuringly, It was almost as if you were mocking the latter for not being able to fight back. He was pathetic, Not because he let you abuse him, but because a part of him liked it. A part of him wanted more.

The sound of clothes rustling was enough to snap the white haired boy out of his daze, the sight of your impressive cock making him gulp with fear as it twitched intimidatingly against your abs. “I’ve wasted enough time. I reckon you can take it without any preparation right, Kaedehara?”

Kazuha pales at your words. “What—? Please no..! I can’t..! No—!”

You definitely wanted to make him beg a little more however, your patience was wearing thin and you couldn’t help but grab his waist possessively, rutting your cock against the puffy rim of his ass before tearing past his tight cunt.

Another scream left the boy’s throat, his mind not being able to comprehend the feeling of your thick cock impaling him. It felt disgusting but so fucking good… Kazuha wondered just how fucked out he looked at the moment, just by you entering him.

“Ah fuuck, now that’s something I’ll always look forward to.” You whistled cockily, tightening your hold on his waist as you fucked into him like a ragdoll, letting his body leave the ground to rut into his cunt like nothing but a toy.

It was such a fucking sight, seeing the sight of his pale stomach bulging with the sheer size of your cock! And your men watched with pure fascination, observing with the way Kazuha’s tongue lolled out in bliss, eyes rolled into the back of his skull showing that he was starting to enjoy it too.

“Tell me boy, who do you belong to?” You grunted, mercilessly thrusting into him. Kazuha could tell that you weren’t asking him, you were demanding him to say that he was yours; And the poor boy couldn’t exactly disagree with just how good you were making him feel!

Each push of your hips, made Kazuha gargle and whimper with want. He couldn’t exactly think properly with the way your cock rubbed against his velvety walls, each precise thrust hitting his prostate with enough force to bruise him and knock him up. All the boy could form was nothing more but a garbled variation of “I belong to you~” in between moans.

Soon enough you’ll dumb the pretty boy out to his limit where he’ll think of nothing else but your cock and wanting to become your cum dump. It was almost inevitable with the way your cock effortlessly moulded his insides to your shape. The way you snapped your hips, knocking the air out of his lungs with each brutal thrust or the way you clamped on his waist impossibly tighter, pulling his back closer to your chest was slowly turning him into a braindead mess.

“N..No more–! Can’t take.. Ah! — it anymore!” Kazuha squealed girlishly, feeling his cute little cock twitch painfully. You merely scoffed at the overstimulated boy, hoisting him up higher until he was impaled, balls deep on your creamed length. “I’ll make you take it.”

You could see the white ring around the base of your cock forming each time you pumped in and out of the boy, and as soon as Kazuha squirted all over himself, feeling your cockhead in his guts, you pressed a kiss against his sweaty nape, filling his cunt to the brim with your thick cum. Grinning, you couldn't help but taunt the boy further, “You’re mine now, Kazuha.”

[missmentelle]

Why Smart People Believe Stupid Things

If you’ve been paying attention for the last couple of years, you might have noticed that the world has a bit of a misinformation problem. 

The problem isn’t just with the recent election conspiracies, either. The last couple of years has brought us the rise (and occasionally fall) of misinformation-based movements like:

Sandy Hook conspiracies

Gamergate

Pizzagate

The MRA/incel/MGTOW movements

anti-vaxxers

flat-earthers

the birther movement

the Illuminati 

climate change denial

Spygate

Holocaust denial 

COVID-19 denial 

5G panic 

QAnon 

But why do people believe this stuff?

It would be easy - too easy - to say that people fall for this stuff because they’re stupid. We all want to believe that smart people like us are immune from being taken in by deranged conspiracies. But it’s just not that simple. People from all walks of life are going down these rabbit holes - people with degrees and professional careers and rich lives have fallen for these theories, leaving their loved ones baffled. Decades-long relationships have splintered this year, as the number of people flocking to these conspiracies out of nowhere reaches a fever pitch. 

So why do smart people start believing some incredibly stupid things? It’s because:

Our brains are built to identify patterns. 

Our brains fucking love puzzles and patterns. This is a well-known phenomenon called apophenia, and at one point, it was probably helpful for our survival - the prehistoric human who noticed patterns in things like animal migration, plant life cycles and the movement of the stars was probably a lot more likely to survive than the human who couldn’t figure out how to use natural clues to navigate or find food. 

The problem, though, is that we can’t really turn this off. Even when we’re presented with completely random data, we’ll see patterns. We see patterns in everything, even when there’s no pattern there. This is why people see Jesus in a burnt piece of toast or get superstitious about hockey playoffs or insist on always playing at a certain slot machine - our brains look for patterns in the constant barrage of random information in our daily lives, and insist that those patterns are really there, even when they’re completely imagined. 

A lot of conspiracy theories have their roots in people making connections between things that aren’t really connected. The belief that “vaccines cause autism” was bolstered by the fact that the first recognizable symptoms of autism happen to appear at roughly the same time that children receive one of their rounds of childhood immunizations - the two things are completely unconnected, but our brains have a hard time letting go of the pattern they see there. Likewise, many people were quick to latch on to the fact that early maps of COVID infections were extremely similar to maps of 5G coverage -  the fact that there’s a reasonable explanation for this (major cities are more likely to have both high COVID cases AND 5G networks) doesn’t change the fact that our brains just really, really want to see a connection there. 

Our brains love proportionality. 

Specifically, our brains like effects to be directly proportional to their causes - in other words, we like it when big events have big causes, and small causes only lead to small events. It’s uncomfortable for us when the reverse is true. And so anytime we feel like a “big” event (celebrity death, global pandemic, your precious child is diagnosed with autism) has a small or unsatisfying cause (car accident, pandemics just sort of happen every few decades, people just get autism sometimes), we sometimes feel the need to start looking around for the bigger, more sinister, “true” cause of that event. 

Consider, for instance, the attempted assassination of Pope John Paul II. In 1981, Pope John Paul II was shot four times by a Turkish member of a known Italian paramilitary secret society who’d recently escaped from prison - on the surface, it seems like the sort of thing conspiracy theorists salivate over, seeing how it was an actual multinational conspiracy. But they never had much interest in the assassination attempt. Why? Because the Pope didn’t die. He recovered from his injuries and went right back to Pope-ing. The event didn’t have a serious outcome, and so people are content with the idea that one extremist carried it out. The death of Princess Diana, however, has been fertile ground for conspiracy theories; even though a woman dying in a car accident is less weird than a man being shot four times by a paid political assassin, her death has attracted more conspiracy theories because it had a bigger outcome. A princess dying in a car accident doesn’t feel big enough. It’s unsatisfying. We want such a monumentous moment in history to have a bigger, more interesting cause. 

These theories prey on pre-existing fear and anger. 

Are you a terrified new parent who wants the best for their child and feels anxious about having them injected with a substance you don’t totally understand? Congrats, you’re a prime target for the anti-vaccine movement. Are you a young white male who doesn’t like seeing more and more games aimed at women and minorities, and is worried that “your” gaming culture is being stolen from you? You might have been very interested in something called Gamergate. Are you a right-wing white person who worries that “your” country and way of life is being stolen by immigrants, non-Christians and coastal liberals? You’re going to love the “all left-wingers are Satantic pedo baby-eaters” messaging of QAnon. 

Misinformation and conspiracy theories are often aimed strategically at the anxieties and fears that people are already experiencing. No one likes being told that their fears are insane or irrational; it’s not hard to see why people gravitate towards communities that say “yes, you were right all along, and everyone who told you that you were nuts to be worried about this is just a dumb sheep. We believe you, and we have evidence that you were right along, right here.” Fear is a powerful motivator, and you can make people believe and do some pretty extreme things if you just keep telling them “yes, that thing you’re afraid of is true, but also it’s way worse than you could have ever imagined.”

Real information is often complicated, hard to understand, and inherently unsatisfying. 

The information that comes from the scientific community is often very frustrating for a layperson; we want science to have hard-and-fast answers, but it doesn’t. The closest you get to a straight answer is often “it depends” or “we don’t know, but we think X might be likely”. Understanding the results of a scientific study with any confidence requires knowing about sampling practices, error types, effect sizes, confidence intervals and publishing biases. Even asking a simple question like “is X bad for my child” will usually get you a complicated, uncertain answer - in most cases, it really just depends. Not understanding complex topics makes people afraid - it makes it hard to trust that they’re being given the right information, and that they’re making the right choices. 

Conspiracy theories and misinformation, on the other hand, are often simple, and they are certain. Vaccines bad. Natural things good. 5G bad. Organic food good. The reason girls won’t date you isn’t a complex combination of your social skills, hygiene, appearance, projected values, personal circumstances, degree of extroversion, luck and life phase - girls won’t date you because feminism is bad, and if we got rid of feminism you’d have a girlfriend. The reason Donald Trump was an unpopular president wasn’t a complex combination of his public bigotry, lack of decorum, lack of qualifications, open incompetence, nepotism, corruption, loss of soft power, refusal to uphold the basic responsibilities of his position or his constant lying - they hated him because he was fighting a secret sex cult and they’re all in it. 

Instead of making you feel stupid because you’re overwhelmed with complex information, expert opinions and uncertain advice, conspiracy theories make you feel smart - smarter, in fact, than everyone who doesn’t believe in them. And that’s a powerful thing for people living in a credential-heavy world. 

Many conspiracy theories are unfalsifiable. 

It is very difficult to prove a negative. If I tell you, for instance, that there’s no such thing as a purple swan, it would be very difficult for me to actually prove that to you - I could spend the rest of my life photographing swans and looking for swans and talking to people who know a lot about swans, and yet the slim possibility would still exist that there was a purple swan out there somewhere that I just hadn’t found yet. That’s why, in most circumstances, the burden of proof lies with the person making the extraordinary claim - if you tell me that purple swans exist, we should continue to assume that they don’t until you actually produce a purple swan. 

Conspiracy theories, however, are built so that it’s nearly impossible to “prove” them wrong. Is there any proof that the world’s top-ranking politicians and celebrities are all in a giant child sex trafficking cult? No. But can you prove that they aren’t in a child sex-trafficking cult? No, not really. Even if I, again, spent the rest of my life investigating celebrities and following celebrities and talking to people who know celebrities, I still couldn’t definitely prove that this cult doesn’t exist - there’s always a chance that the specific celebrities I’ve investigated just aren’t in the cult (but other ones are!) or that they’re hiding evidence of the cult even better than we think. Lack of evidence for a conspiracy theory is always treated as more evidence for the theory - we can’t find anything because this goes even higher up than we think! They’re even more sophisticated at hiding this than we thought! People deeply entrenched in these theories don’t even realize that they are stuck in a circular loop where everything seems to prove their theory right - they just see a mountain of “evidence” for their side. 

Our brains are very attached to information that we “learned” by ourselves.

Learning accurate information is not a particularly interactive or exciting experience. An expert or reliable source just presents the information to you in its entirety, you read or watch the information, and that’s the end of it. You can look for more information or look for clarification of something, but it’s a one-way street - the information is just laid out for you, you take what you need, end of story. 

Conspiracy theories, on the other hand, almost never show their hand all at once. They drop little breadcrumbs of information that slowly lead you where they want you to go. This is why conspiracy theorists are forever telling you to “do your research” - they know that if they tell you everything at once, you won’t believe them. Instead, they want you to indoctrinate yourself slowly over time, by taking the little hints they give you and running off to find or invent evidence that matches that clue. If I tell you that celebrities often wear symbols that identify them as part of a cult and that you should “do your research” about it, you can absolutely find evidence that substantiates my claim - there are literally millions of photos of celebrities out there, and anyone who looks hard enough is guaranteed to find common shapes, poses and themes that might just mean something (they don’t - eyes and triangles are incredibly common design elements, and if I took enough pictures of you, I could also “prove” that you also clearly display symbols that signal you’re in the cult). 

The fact that you “found” the evidence on your own, however, makes it more meaningful to you. We trust ourselves, and we trust that the patterns we uncover by ourselves are true. It doesn’t feel like you’re being fed misinformation - it feels like you’ve discovered an important truth that “they” didn’t want you to find, and you’ll hang onto that for dear life. 

Older people have not learned to be media-literate in a digital world. 

Fifty years ago, not just anyone could access popular media. All of this stuff had a huge barrier to entry - if you wanted to be on TV or be in the papers or have a radio show, you had to be a professional affiliated with a major media brand. Consumers didn’t have easy access to niche communities or alternative information - your sources of information were basically your local paper, the nightly news, and your morning radio show, and they all more or less agreed on the same set of facts. For decades, if it looked official and it appeared in print, you could probably trust that it was true. 

Of course, we live in a very different world today - today, any asshole can accumulate an audience of millions, even if they have no credentials and nothing they say is actually true (like “The Food Babe”, a blogger with no credentials in medicine, nutrition, health sciences, biology or chemistry who peddles health misinformation to the 3 million people who visit her blog every month). It’s very tough for older people (and some younger people) to get their heads around the fact that it’s very easy to create an “official-looking” news source, and that they can’t necessarily trust everything they find on the internet. When you combine that with a tendency toward “clickbait headlines” that often misrepresent the information in the article, you have a generation struggling to determine who they can trust in a media landscape that doesn’t at all resemble the media landscape they once knew. 

These beliefs become a part of someone’s identity. 

A person doesn’t tell you that they believe in anti-vaxx information - they tell you that they ARE an anti-vaxxer. Likewise, people will tell you that they ARE a flat-earther, a birther, or a Gamergater. By design, these beliefs are not meant to be something you have a casual relationship with, like your opinion of pizza toppings or how much you trust local weather forecasts - they are meant to form a core part of your identity. 

And once something becomes a core part of your identity, trying to make you stop believing it becomes almost impossible. Once we’ve formed an initial impression of something, facts just don’t change our minds. If you identify as an antivaxxer and I present evidence that disproves your beliefs, in your mind, I’m not correcting inaccurate information - I am launching a very personal attack against a core part of who you are. In fact, the more evidence I present, the more you will burrow down into your antivaxx beliefs, more confident than ever that you are right. Admitting that you are wrong about something that is important to you is painful, and your brain would prefer to simply deflect conflicting information rather than subject you to that pain.

We can see this at work with something called the confirmation bias. Simply put, once we believe something, our brains hold on to all evidence that that belief is true, and ignore evidence that it’s false. If I show you 100 articles that disprove your pet theory and 3 articles that confirm it, you’ll cling to those 3 articles and forget about the rest. Even if I show you nothing but articles that disprove your theory, you’ll likely go through them and pick out any ambiguous or conflicting information as evidence for “your side”, even if the conclusion of the article shows that you are wrong - our brains simply care about feeling right more than they care about what is actually true.  

There is a strong community aspect to these theories. 

There is no one quite as supportive or as understanding as a conspiracy theorist - provided, of course, that you believe in the same conspiracy theories that they do. People who start looking into these conspiracy theories are told that they aren’t crazy, and that their fears are totally valid. They’re told that the people in their lives who doubted them were just brainwashed sheep, but that they’ve finally found a community of people who get where they’re coming from. Whenever they report back to the group with the “evidence” they’ve found or the new elaborations on the conspiracy theory that they’ve been thinking of (“what if it’s even worse than we thought??”), they are given praise for their valuable contributions. These conspiracy groups often become important parts of people’s social networks - they can spend hours every day talking with like-minded people from these communities and sharing their ideas. 

Of course, the flipside of this is that anyone who starts to doubt or move away from the conspiracy immediately loses that community and social support. People who have broken away from antivaxx and QAnon often say that the hardest part of leaving was losing the community and friendships they’d built - not necessarily giving up on the theory itself. Many people are rejected by their real-life friends and family once they start to get entrenched in conspiracy theories; the friendships they build online in the course of researching these theories often become the only social supports they have left, and losing those supports means having no one to turn to at all. This is by design - the threat of losing your community has kept people trapped in abusive religious sects and cults for as long as those things have existed. 

[bubbleteaimagines]

He cheats and gets someone else pregnant

Haikyuu Boys Drabbles

The one where you finally realize your worth and don’t forgive a cheater

SUNA RINTARO

It was inevitable, he supposed. You weren’t a dumb person- you’d figure it out soon enough. You’d pick up on the signs- notice how much he’s been going out lately and staring at his phone. Laughing at things you hadn’t sent him, becoming distant, slowly but surely.

Suna knew you’d find out.

He just wasn’t expecting it to be soon.

He had come home one evening and took a shower like normal. While he washed up, he made the terrible mistake of leaving his phone in the kitchen, thinking that there was no way she’d text him. Their relationship was dwindling, after all. Suna was beginning to let the guilt get to him.

After 3 long months, he finally realized what he had wanted. He wanted you, forever and always. He wanted to marry you and spend the rest of his days traveling and experiencing new things with you.

Unfortunately though, he figured it out too late. A boys mistake, thinking that the grass was greener on the other side. And he’d soon pay the price for that wishful thinking.

While you were cooking dinner, you couldn’t help but notice how often his phone was going off. It kept dinging every few seconds, quickly causing you to become irritated.

Suna’s phone never went off that much, and so you thought surely it must be the boys. They probably added him into a group chat, you figured.

Oh how wrong you were.

The minute you walked over to the device and picked it up, you could truly feel your heart break. Searing pain burst through you like a rocket, a gasp leaving your lips as you scrolled through the messages.

8:53 PM

Unknown: Suna? Do you think we could talk?

Unknown: I know you said that you were going back to Y/N, but I...I’m pregnant. And it’s yours

Undeniably, you were shocked and confused. Pregnant? Who was this that was texting his phone? And why the hell did she think she was pregnant by your boyfriend?

A sickening feeling began to bubble in your stomach. Putting the phone down, you clenched your fists and took deep breaths.

In and out, Y/N. In and out.

Surely there was an explanation for this, right? You’d ask Suna as soon as he got done showering, and he’d laugh and tell you how this was all a misunderstanding. Some prank by Atsumu, wanting to get him back in his own cruel way.

But...

One look at his face, though, and you knew everything.

“Tell me you didn’t,” Your bottom lip trembled as you stared at Suna, his eyes widened as he looked at the phone in your trembling hands. Once again, it pinged, but you didn’t even have the energy to look. The only thing you were focused on was your heavy breathing, and the fact that you were becoming light-headed as Suna stepped forward.

“Y/N, baby, I can explain.”

As soon as those words left this lips, your entire world shattered. Letting out a sob, you dropped the phone and used your hands to cover your mouth in horror.

“So you did.”

Suna became panicked as soon as you started crying, holding onto the kitchen table to keep yourself from falling over. The pain that you felt was indescribable, not to mention the absolute betrayal. You had given everything up for Suna- and he repayed you like this?

“Y/N/N, please,” Suna was begging as he moved closer, trying to embrace your crying figure in his arms but you pushed him away, sudden anger taking over you.

“Don’t touch me!” Suna flinched as your damn near threw him off, backing up so far from him. The look in your eyes nearly killed him as you made eye contract, “I don’t want your filthy hands on me now that I know where they’ve been!”

“Y/N...-”

“Shut the fuck up Suna!”

You could no longer control yourself as rage began taking over your body, slowly but surely replacing the tears. The more you processed it - the more you looked at that bastards face and realized that he had went and knocked someone up while you were at home, cooking his dinner - the more infuriated you became.

“I cannot fucking believe you. Like are you serious right now?! I spend all day, all fucking day waiting for you Suna. I cook your food, I run you baths, I do everything I can to make your life less stressful and then you go and do this shit?”

“Baby just listen me, it’s not like that, okay?Whatever you saw- it’s in the past! Me and her- it meant nothing. I realize that now. It’s me and you baby- just us. That’s all I want,” Suna felt tears trailing down his cheeks as he desperately pleaded his case. Desperately grabbing at you, trying to hold you as if that would make everything okay. As if a simple “I’m sorry,” could fix what he broke.

Instead, you found yourself laughing bitterly and fought the urge to smack him in the face. No, you decided you’d have more dignity than that. You’d pack your stuff, peacefully, and leave this asshole here to rot.

“Whatever.”

That was quickly decided in your mind and within seconds, you were shaking your head, scoffing as you pushed passed him and practically ran to your shared bedroom.

“Wait-! Y/N, what are you doing? No, no, no, no!” Suna panicked even more when he followed you and saw that you were hurriedly packing your stuff in a suitcase. It was messy, and you barely had half of your shit but you decided that it’d do. At least until right now. At least until...well, you didn’t really know anymore.

You and Suna, you guys were supposed to be each other’s forever. You were supposed to be endgame, but as it turned out, Suna ruined that before you could even get a ring.

You scoffed again at the prospect of ever marrying him. Now, you began to think about why you even wanted him in the first place. How did you not notice the signs? The lack of effort for weeks until Suna suddenly warmed up again and began treating you like you were his world.

How did you not catch on? How did it completely slip your mind that you were dating a cheater, until the facts suddenly smacked you right in the face?

“What does it look like I’m doing, Rintaro,” You rolled your eyes, zipping the suitcase and then booking it to the bathroom. You quickly grabbed your body wash, all your hair products and then your toothbrush. You lazily threw them in a another bag and then stood up, glaring at Suna who tried to block you from exiting the door.

“Move,” You stared him down, venom lacing your words. “I don’t fucking have time for this.”

“Baby, please,” You flinched as he reached out to touch you, to stroke your cheek with the same hands that had touched her. They were slightly wet, presumably from wiping his tears away, but all you could think about was that you weren’t the only one he had been coming home to. You weren’t the only one he had been fucking and touching.

The thought made you absolutely sick. You were sure that if you didn’t get out now, then you’d puke all over your- his expensive furniture.

“You have to listen to me,” Suna silently cried, his body shaking as he stood there, begging for the one person he needed in his life to stay. “I told you- she means nothing. I don’t want anything to do with her, I only want you, Y/N.”

“And the baby?” Dammit. You couldn’t help yourself. Once again, your anger began to fade as tears gathered in your eyes.

Suna had a child. He had a fucking child with some stranger he’d known less than six months. She was carrying his blood, something that was supposed to be your moment. You were supposed to give him his first child. You were supposed to be the one he shared that part of life with, not her.

“I- what?”

From the looks of it, you’d almost think that Suna didn’t know. His eyes were wide, his whole body stopping as he stared at you incredulously.

And then it hit you.

He didn’t know.

He didn’t even know that she was carrying his baby. He was completely clueless. Both of you were blindsided.

At this, you couldn’t help it. You did laugh, a bitter sound that sounded almost like you were mocking him.

“Wow Rintaro. How fucking stupid could you get?” You let out a watery chuckle, shaking your head as a tear ran down your face. “If you’re gonna cheat and fuck someone else, then at least be smart enough to wear a condom.”

“But I...that’s impossible,” Suna whispered, mostly to himself. “I don’t...I mean she can’t possibly...how did you...?”

“She was blowing up your phone while you were in the shower. How did you think I found out?” You gave him a fake smile. “For someone that doesn’t like putting in a lot of effort, you sure did put a lot into making sure you fucked this relationship up. And then your own life too.”

You hated to say it, but you silently enjoyed the way Suna was going to suffer. At the very least, it was absolutely what he deserved for cheating in the first place. Now, his life was probably going to be ruined. His career, his dreams, everything he had planned...

It was gonna go down the drain.

And you for one were grateful he wasn’t dragging you down with him.

“I...” Suna was at an absolute loss for his words. His whole body slumped, seemingly going numb as he just stayed in the doorway, looking shocked. It gave you the perfect opportunity to push past him, a small smirk on your face despite the searing pain in your heart.

You knew it was serious when he didn’t even try to stop you when you opened the front door.

“I left your phone on kitchen floor. Maybe you should call her. I’m sure you’d like to know more, seeing as it is yours. For your sake, I hope it’s a bouncing baby boy. That’s what you always wanted, right?”

You spoke one last time, making sure to rub salt in the wound before taking a final glance at the man you loved.

He looked broken, a sheer sobbing mess as he still stood in your bedroom door. A part of you couldn’t help but feel bad. You couldn’t help but want to go over and embrace him, dropping everything and tell him that things were gonna work out.

That was the part of you that still loved him.

But the other part...

The other part of you told you that it’s what he deserved. He cheated, and now he has to live with the consequences. Loosing you, and becoming a father at the age of 20.

That was the part of you that gave you the extra push. That was the part of you that gave you the strength to close the door, forever walking away from the man that broke you and the empty house that held all of your dead dreams.

——————————— ☁️ ——————————

BOKUTO KOUTARO

You didn’t believe it. Or more like, you didn’t want to believe it. You didn’t wanna shatter your fantasy world, one that you had been living in for four years.

You didn’t want it to break, because if it did...

You didn’t know what you were going to do.

For the last four years Bokuto had been your world. Your absolute rock, your sunshine on a cloudy day. He made you laugh, he made you feel welcome and special like nobody else had before.

Surely...your Bokuto wasn’t capable of this. Surely didn’t...he couldn’t have...

You didn’t even wanna think about it. Bile rose up in your throat every time you thought about it...his lips on hers. Caressing her and holding her the way he was supposed to only hold you.

You didn’t wanna think about it, but yet-

You had no choice as you stared at the pregnant woman before you.

“I’m sorry,” She had tears in her eyes as she sat on your couch, sobbing while simultaneously holding her belly. While holding his baby.

She had come to you only a few hours before, taking you by complete surprise. Never in your life did you ever think you’d come face to face with your boyfriend’s baby momma.

But that’s exactly what had happened.

Apparently, she and Bokuto had both had a one stand a few months ago. It was when he had traveled to Tokyo for a game and you stayed behind because you had school.

It was the one weekend you weren’t there to support him. One weekend...and you had lost him forever.

“It’s not...it’s not your fault,” You told her somewhat awkwardly, although you didn’t really mean it. She had slept with your boyfriend, after all. And now she was pregnant, claiming the baby was 100% his.

That wasn’t even the worst part though.

The worst part was that you couldn’t even be mad at her, because she didn’t know. It was a one night thing. She had told you Bokuto had left in tears the next morning, rambling on about how she meant nothing and that he had you to come home to.

She claimed that he regretted it the minute he realized what happened. Crying out about how he was going to propose and then rushing out without so much as a goodbye.

Oh how stupid he was to name drop you.

You almost wished he hadn’t, because that was how she had found you. After finding out that she was pregnant, she tried to reach out to Bokuto only to realize that he was telling the truth. He’d been with you for four years.

But did that really even mean anything anymore?

“It’s just- I just-” The girl shook her head. “I just want you to know that I never meant to hurt you. If I had known...if I had any other choice...”

“Actually, I’m sort of glad you reached out to me. Thank you for that. That was good on your part, seeing as I doubt he would have told me,” You smiled numbly, not capable of feeling anything at the moment.

It was like...your entire body was on shut down mode. It had become numb, desperately trying to block out the pain you were sure that was coming. And you, for one, were absolutely grateful. You didn’t wanna think... you didn’t even wanna fathom how broken you were gonna be.

So you didn’t. Instead you kept your thoughts quiet and relished in the numbness.

“You know...” You laughed bitterly, sadly shaking your head as you sighed, “Bokuto’s always wanted a kid. He kept begging me a few weeks ago to have one, but I said no. We’re both so young, you know? We had our whole lives together.”

You hadn’t meant to make her cry even more, but that’s exactly what your words did. They cut a knife through this random girl’s heart, causing her pain that she had stolen that from you. Bokuto, he had taken that from you as well.

“I’m sorry,” Once again, she apologized, but you weren’t much focused on that. Instead, your attention snapped towards the front door as you heard keys jingling outside. With a sharp push, your stomach dropped.

Bokuto was home.

“Hey hey hey! Babe whose car is that-”

Bokuto’s smile suddenly dropped as he walked into the scene, your dull eyes and the girl’s tearful ones ones trained on him. Immediately, his whole demeanor began to crumble down and he nervously looked between the two of you, his shoulders dropping.

“...outside. What’s this?”

“Bokuto, I believe you know her,” You were eerily calm as you pointed towards her, showing no emotion as Bokuto’s eyes flickered to her stomach. “This is Kayla. From Tokyo, right? I think you guys have much to discuss.”

Bokuto was at a loss for words as you rose from the couch, gesturing for him to take your seat. But instead of listening, he decided to make things difficult and run after you like a lost puppy as you made your way to the bedroom.

“Babe, babe wait! Y/N, please baby I can explain. I can explain, I can explain, I swear! Just let me, just please let me-”

“Bokuto,” You stopped him, holding up your hand and shaking your head. “I’m not in the mood, really. Just go talk with her alright? She came all this way to find me, so it’s rude not to.”

“But baby-”

“Go,” You suddenly became firm, gritting your teeth as you stared him. For a second, you took a small pause, and then Bokuto heard the words he never wished to hear his in life. “And don’t you ever call me that ever again, Koutaro.”

“K-Koutaro...?” Bokuto stuttered slightly, reeling back at the use of his first name. “But baby...y-you never call me that. Ever.”

“Oh yeah?” You couldn’t help but laugh on how clueless he was. I mean honestly, you never thought that Bokuto was stupid but now...“Well what the hell else am I supposed to call you? Read the fucking room Bokuto. Your pregnant fucking mistress is sitting on my couch, crying her eyes out and you’re worried about me calling you by your first fucking name? Get a god damn grip.”

For the first time that day, emotion began peaking out from your eyes. Pure anger bubbled up inside of your body, finally manifesting after holding it in for so long.

It felt good, in your opinion, to finally feel something. A delayed reaction, sure, but late was better than never.

“B-But-”

“Shut up,” You rolled your eyes at his trembling form. “I don’t wanna hear anything else from you. So go talk to her. Figure your shit out while I pack mine.”

“No!” Panic was evident in his voice as he suddenly grabbed your arms, preventing you from entering your bedroom. Shocked, you siteuggled in his embrace but Bokuto was extremely strong.

“What the hell? Let me go!”

“Y-Y/N! Baby y-you can’t leave me! You can’t! What about our plans? What about forever and always, you and me?”

“Did you think about that before you got drunk and fucked her?” You snapped harshly, causing him to whimper. “Exactly. So don’t come pulling that bullshit out on me, Bokuto. You’re the one that ruined that.”

“But-” At this point, he was searching for something, anything to make you stay as you shoved him off and then stormed in your shared room. “But baby I- we had this whole plan...I was gonna propose! Please, I...I even got the ring! Here I’ll prove it to you!”

While you were busy running around the room throwing all your stuff together, Bokuto suddenly dashed to the kitchen and retrieved a box he had been storing for a special occasion. He completely ignored the girl that was sitting on his couch, not even sparing her a second glance as he rushed back to you and dropped to his knees.

“See?” He hurriedly opened the box and desperately grabbed your hand, slipping the shiny diamond on before you could even protest. “I had it made for you, Y/N! Pure diamond, princess cut. It’s even engraved with your name baby! Please...”

You had to admit, you wanted to break down as Bokuto began to cry, looking awfully small as he kneeled by your feet. To make matters worse, he kept kissing your hand and mumbling tearful apologizes that yanked at your heartstrings.

By now, your initial exterior had began to crumble. Pain began to surround your heart, squeezing it so bad it almost felt like you were burning. A swell of tears gathered in your eyes, and you almost, almost gave in.

You almost sank to your knees and cried with him, almost pulled him into your arms because you didn’t wanna let go. You loved Bokuto, you truly did, and you wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of your life with him.

He was a good man, that probably made an honest mistake. He was everything you had ever wanted. And you were so tempted...so tempted to give in. Until you realized that you deserved better.

“I’m sorry,” Sniffling slightly, you yanked your hand out of his grasp and shook your head. “But I need to go. I can’t stay here anymore Bokuto...you ruined this. You ruined us, and now you have a woman in there carrying your child. You have the family you’ve always wanted. Don’t ruin that too.”

Hastily, you leaned down to press a bitter kiss on his forehead and then stood back up. Bokuto sobbed as he watched your figure retreat, standing high despite the heartbreak.

It was then that he realized that even though you were letting him go, you’d be just fine. You’d pull yourself together eventually, you were strong like that. You didn’t need him, but god, what about him?

He wasn’t sure if he could survive without you. He could barely even breathe and you hadn’t even walked out yet.

Was this what it was going to feel like from now on? Empty, hollow...meaningless?

“Please.”

One last time, he cried out of you. He begged you to stay.

But you knew you deserved better than that.

“I’m sorry.”

And with that, you left him behind. Forever.

[wheelsup]

kissing lessons

summary: one of your classic movie nights with spencer turns into a learning opportunity

A/N: this is really fluffy, but the whole story centers around kissing. use your own judgement! i’d say it’s at worst 16+

category: spencer reid x gn!reader, fluff (with a bit of spice)  best friends to lovers (sorta)

warnings: just kissing, a brief implication at the end

word count: 3k

Occasionally, the team will spend an extra night in their hotel before heading home from a case. Be it due to poor weather conditions, or the fact that your case wrapped in the dead of night, the reasons for flying don’t ever matter. Because the majority of the times when you have to stay that extra night, you and Spencer have sleepovers.

The routine is pretty much the same. You’ll stock up on gas station snacks – sour peach rings for Spencer, salted microwave popcorn for you – and reconvene in one of your hotel rooms. Preferably, whichever of you got the better deal that week – a bigger tv, a room further away from the ice machine. And you’d rent the cheapest movie available on-demand, the options spanning from low-budget sci-fi to poorly written rom-coms. That night, the viewing fell under the latter category.

Spencer perched at the foot of your bed with both feet tucked under his legs, criss-cross style, while you laid against the headboard to watch. Every now and then, you tossed out your commentary and he’d ignore it. He always says you’re too critical of movies and you’re of the belief that he’s too forgiving.

“I don’t think they should end up together,” you mumbled, words slurring around your mouthful of popcorn. You pulled a face right as the movie approached the romantic climax, after spending the past ninety minutes actively rooting against the couple. Spencer ignored you, pretending to be engrossed in the movie to spite your disparagement of it. “They both suck.”

You groaned, slumped further against the pillows, and shoved your sock-clad toes under Spencer’s left thigh in a call for attention. He jumped at the intrusion, but ultimately, your efforts were futile.

And then the big kiss commenced, and your booing finally piqued his interest. “Gross! I feel bad for people who kiss like that.”

A small bell went off in his head and he took a curious glance at you over his shoulder.

“What do you mean?” he asked. He stopped chewing and the piece of candy in his mouth pushed out his cheek, giving him an adorably innocent look. His brows scrunched in the middle and his nose had a tiny crinkle in it, utterly confused.

You scoffed and matched his expression. “Are you serious?” You jerked your head in the direction of the television and Spencer whipped his head back, squinting. He couldn’t figure out what you were pointing out, what it was that was so obviously wrong to you. “Spencer, he’s swallowing her chin!”

Oh. He hadn’t noticed.

Feeling dumb, he muttered, “I thought that’s how you’re supposed to kiss…” It wasn’t the deepest confession to admit to you that he lacked some knowledge when it came to kissing, but he still refused to look at you as he said it.

“Spencer, please tell me you haven’t been kissing people like that.” You narrowed your eyes at the back of his head, sitting up straighter in bed. He shrugged and lowered his head, focusing on his snack as his fingers dug into the packet of gummy rings in his lap.

He popped another piece into his mouth, pretending to be occupied with eating so as to avoid your prying. “I dunno.”

It didn’t occur to you until that moment that Spencer might have learned everything he knows about kissing – among other things – solely through watching movies. How else could he look at that and think it’s normal? And you’re left wondering if he’s ever even practiced it with another living human. He clearly didn’t want to talk about it, but unfortunately, that only heightened your interest. You had to know.

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?” You kept your voice low, your tone implying that you were ready to exchange this secret with him. You wouldn’t judge him if he admitted he hadn’t.

He scoffed loudly, and though you couldn’t see his face, you’re positive he rolled his eyes too. “Yeah, of course.” Then quietly, he added on, “But it was only like… for four seconds.”

You nodded thoughtfully, considering how this new piece of information adjusted your existing view of Spencer. For some reason, you couldn’t tell if you actually expected him to be experienced or not.

He didn’t exactly scream that he’d… gotten around, for lack of better words, but you’re still surprised to learn that he’s barely done it at all. You supposed he was objectively cute, that maybe you could see it if he weren’t your best friend. And yeah, he’s a little awkward, but he’s smart and kind, so he has three great things going for him, and you’re surprised more people haven’t swooped him up yet.

Your lips curled down in thought, brows raised in curiosity. “And was it good?” It was a genuine enough question, because you’ve never really thought about Spencer Reid and kissing in the same sentence before. As it turned out, there was a lot of missing information relating to those two things.

“I don’t know! I didn’t get, like, a feedback form,” he grunted, angling his shoulder even further away from you. If you could’ve seen him, you’d notice his face boiling and turning red with heat. All this inquiring made him think harder about his … talents … than he’s ever had to before, and he’s not a fan.

You were prepared to do some more digging when the slump in his back made you feel a tinge of guilt. It was your fault he looked so defeated. You pressed too hard, disregarding his boundaries just because you wanted to know more. And now, he was wondering if there was something wrong with him, because you wouldn’t leave it alone.

He barely noticed as you swung your feet from under his thigh and rocked onto your knees, leaning forward to nudge his shoulder with your palm. It hauled his attention out of his thoughts and back into the room. You wanted to apologize, but instead you settled with “I’m sure you’re fine, Spence.”

He nodded unconvincingly. By the glow of the screen, you could see he was still gnawing on the inside of his cheek, focusing his eyes as he played with a loose hangnail on one of his fingers. It made you feel even worse. “Are you actually worried about it?” you asked, laden with concern.

“What if I am bad at it?” He whispered, like saying it too loud would make it true. “And that’s why it’s only happened once?”

A large exhale puffed out of your nose as you weighed your options.

You could go back to your original plan and apologize for setting him down this path of doubt. But that wouldn’t do anything to stop him from worrying, anyway. You could tell him there’s no correlation between the way he kisses and how frequently it’s happened; that you’re sure the reason isn’t because he’s bad. But you don’t know that for sure.

So, fuck it, you thought, grabbing a fistful of his pajama shirt and tugging him closer to you roughly, pressing your lips onto his.

This way, you’d at least have an informed opinion to be able to tell him if he was good or bad.

His lips were softer than you expected – not that you’d thought about them often, they’re just impossibly softer than they look – and invitingly warm. But they were completely stiff.

You could tell he was trying to kiss you back by the way his mouth ferociously moved over yours. He was trying to be a passionate, engaged partner, but he forgot about the aspect of tenderness.

His lips felt like two solid objects just sliding around on your face. They didn’t move in any sort of accordance with yours. There was no push and pull, your lips didn’t mesh perfectly together to form a solitary unit as they moved in unison.

It felt more like his lips were your opponent, putting up an attack and defense play against the actions of your own.

You pulled away, resisting a giggle at his bewildered face. “You’re not so terrible,” you swipe the corner of your mouth, smudged with Spencer’s flavored chapstick, “But it could use some work.”

He was at a loss for words, mouth gaping open as his eyes darted around the room and all over you. Maybe he’d find an explanation for what just happened carved into the walls somewhere or written across your forehead.

What happened was that you kissed him. And he was a little bit bad. Simple as that.

“I-I wasn’t ready!” he stammered, chucking up his hands defensively. He’d process the fact that he’d just made out with his best friend at a later time, right now the bigger concern was the slight cringed look on your face. He sulked and folded his arms.“What was so bad about it?”

“Well,” you scratched the back of your ear, trying to gauge if he’d react well to getting some advice, “my first tip would be to relax your lips.”

“Okay, I can do that.”

“And don’t think too hard. You should react to what’s happening in the moment, not worrying about what your next move is gonna be.” You could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to envision what that would play out like in a real situation. “You wanna try again?” you offered, figuring he’d learn much faster if he was more hands-on about it.

He nodded, and you leaned in close, waiting for him to go for it. His heart quickened under the pressure of performance, eyes screwing shut as he closed the gap. His mouth smashed into yours as he dove in hard. It was toeing on the side of too harsh, but you let that one slide in hopes it was just a byproduct of his nerves.

You had to tap his knee to remind him to relax, and he loosened some of the tension he had in his lips. He slotted his between yours, allowing them to be pliable to your movements and remembering to react, not plan.

He moved his mouth leisurely against yours, trying to match your pressure and pacing. They actually started moving in time with yours at some point. The kiss took on a shape of its own as he started getting out of his head, letting himself enjoy the kiss for what it was in that exact moment.

It was already better than before. Leaps and bounds better. But then he tried to deepen it, building on its intensity but adding more… something into it. You couldn’t even tell what it was he was trying to do.

“Okay, second tip…” you inhaled sharply, pushing him off of you with a palm against his chest. Whatever it was, it needed to stop. “You kinda do this thing like… where you’re blowing air into my mouth?” You scrunched your nose, punctuating your dislike. “That feels weird. Don’t do that. If anything, do the opposite.”

“I’m supposed to suck the air out of your mouth?” His face contorted, voice already slightly exasperated. He barely understood what the air thing was that you claimed he did. He didn’t realize in the process of trying to add pressure to the kiss, he was just forcibly blowing against your mouth.

“Not literally, no.” You laughed a little, rubbing your palm in a comforting pattern on his chest.”But you can use your lips to suck on mine, or my tongue… just nothing involving the exchange of breath. We’re not in CPR training.”

He eased up a little with your joke, adjusting to your advice he gave it another try. After a few moments, he latched onto your bottom lip with his own, sucking it softly into his mouth. “Yeah, like that,” you mumbled against him, voice pitching high in encouragement. He sucked on it with a little more greed, holding it for a second, then eased up, varying the pressure of his movements just like you did before.

You made a mental note to praise him for that at a later time, deciding to instead part your lips to see if he’d venture into further experimentation.

He caught on quickly. He parted them further, prodding his tongue against them as you opened to allow him entry. Just as you started to really enjoy it, he ran his tongue over the inside of your mouth, moving it fast and roughly like he was a washing machine.

“Stop,” you grimaced, tearing away quickly. You had to swipe your hand over your mouth to get rid of the excess saliva that really shouldn’t have been an issue in the first place, given how brief the frenching was. “Your tongue is way too aggressive.”

Overwhelmed, he tilted his head to the ceiling and let out a frustrated grunt, slapping his hands down to the top of his thighs.

There were too many factors to worry about. He had no idea how you looked at him with a straight face and told him not to think too much when there were a million things he needed to remember all at once; he needed to vary his moves to keep it interesting, but make sure he’s not ruining the flow by changing things up too much, and to be gentle but not timid.

All of this was second nature to you, but it was brand new to Spencer. Could you really blame him for not getting the hang of it right away? You decided to stop your list of critiques short for this round to spare him. He’d get there eventually, but not if he felt discouraged too soon.

“I don’t see why people like it in the first place,” he huffed, his head returning to it’s normal posture. In Spencer’s eyes, there truly wasn’t any appeal to kissing with tongue; it looked sloppy and unnecessary, and as you’d just confirmed, it actually was.

You thought about his statement for a second. There’s a certain allure to it, and you didn’t know how to describe it to him. So instead you cupped his cheeks in both your palms and slid your mouth over his again. As his jaw slacked its tension, you slowly pushed your tongue past his lips and gently pressed it against his own before swirling them together.

You sighed softly into his mouth, running your fingers through his hair and tugging carefully at the ends. He made a small noise against you, something like a whimper, and you swallowed the vibrations of it. As you retreated, you captured his bottom lip between your teeth and gave it a light, teasing tug. You soothed it again with your lips before releasing it, a proud giggle forming in your chest as Spencer chased after your lips as you broke apart.

“That’s why.” You smirked at the dazed look on his face. His eyelids remained closed longer than necessary, still feeling the ghost of your mouth on his and a tingle where your fingers were in his hair.

“Oh.” His voice came out meek as he slowly came back to reality, brows wrinkling up his forehead as he opened his eyes.

He put both his palms down on the mattress, one laying flat on either side of you, and dove forward to resume the kiss right where you left it. A surprised squeak left you as his mouth collided with yours with an insatiable hunger. You brought one hand back to his hair, and he was a goner.

He unfolded his legs from under himself and shuffled onto his knees, following his hands until he practically crawled into your lap. Each of his legs hooked onto either side of your thighs as he hovered over your lap, leaning his body entirely into yours.

The physics of it didn’t hold up; he’s taller than you are, and his chest was too heavy for you to carry. The balance was off center and it sent you tumbling back onto the mattress, bringing him down with you until his chest laid on yours.

It was the perfect force – the weight of him on top of you. He tasted like peach candy and sour sugar, and you found yourself craving more of it.

You shuffled higher up the mattress, giving him space to stretch out his body as he followed yours. One of his hands found your waist, gripping tightly, while he placed the other on the mattress beside your head, using it to steady himself. Sliding your legs out from under him, you wrapped them on the outside of his hips, using them to pull him closer down to you.

It only broke off in moments when both of you absolutely needed to get air, gasping as you pulled apart for brief reprieve before colliding again. He followed every word of your advice, getting better with each passing second until he exceeded expectations by leaps and bounds.

Your fingers weaved through his hair, passionately tugging the wavy strands to angle him against you and igniting his nerves under your touch. A soft moan leaves him and you’re encouraged to tighten your grip on them. His hips bucked reactively at the sensation, and he quickly pulled back, a slight embarrassment creeping up his cheeks. He got too carried away.

You took in his flushed face and swollen, kiss-bruised lips. They’d turned a shade of red brighter than you’ve ever seen them, and it was all you could do not to dive for them again as his tongue sweeped over them, soothing the burning heat you’d left on them.

Before he could apologize for his eagerness, you nudged your nose against his, your smile skimming against his lips. “So what else don’t you know how to do?”

☆

☆

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[xjoonchildx]

greedy | myg x reader | chapter five: do we look like recruiters to you?

summary: being a loner has never bothered yoongi until now.  until you.

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 6.7K

notes:  thank you all so much for rolling with the changes to my posting schedule. it’s been a while since i posted an update and i really wanted to give you guys a chapter. plus it makes more sense, in my mind to break it out like this.  in this chapter, you’ll notice that ko starts calling OC “jagiya.” thank you to the korean reader who brought to my attention that my previous nickname for her didn’t fit as well as this one! 

anyway, you guys make me endlessly happy with your feedback on this story. i’d love to hear what you think of this chapter.  beta read by @hobi-gif​ because i would wither away without her analysis. also beta’d by the awesome @btsarmy9593​ who has been so awesome to give me her feedback. thank you to @augustbutwinter​ for the words of encouragement. and of course, the boos @ladyartemesia​ and @untaemedqueen​ pitched in to help me in this journey as well.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

*************************

Min Yoongi wakes up with a problem.  Well a few problems, actually.

The first is that he has to pee.

The second is the head-to-toe pain that starts to register the moment his sluggish brain kicks into gear.  He starts from the bottom -- gingerly wiggling his toes, carefully stretching his legs -- and slowly works his way up, taking mental inventory of what hurts and what doesn’t.

A lot of shit is landing on the hurts list right now.

The third problem -- and perhaps the most pressing -- is the problem pressing into his side right now.

Your hair is still damp.

Yoongi noses into it and lies in the quiet for a while, breathing you in while you sleep.  You smell like his shampoo and his soap.  You’re wearing his t-shirt and basketball shorts.  You are covered in him; fitted to him.  Solid and warm and real.

Which brings him to his next problem.  

This is the kind of feeling that’s way too easy to become addicted to.  The kind of feeling that makes you do stupid shit.  Take away the mangled body and the looming safety concerns and this is easily the best morning of his life.

That’s why when you stir and burrow a bit deeper into his side, Yoongi ignores the pain radiating from his sore ribs.  He ignores the way his arm has fallen asleep under you, ignores the intermittent buzzing of his phone from the nightstand warning of missed texts.

He ignores the tiny voice in his head that says don’t get attached to this feeling.

Yoongi ignores everything but you and this because right now, it’s the only thing he wants to think about.

And then he’s drifting off again.

***************************

This time, Yoongi wakes up alone.

The deep steadying breath he takes while he’s trying to work up the nerve to get out of bed hurts like hell.

Everything hurts like hell, actually -- the back of his head where he can feel scrapes left behind by the brick wall, his jaw from where he took that driller to the face.  His knee from where he jammed it into that fucking goon’s stomach.  

But his shoulder is what’s really fucking everything up right now.

He can’t remember telling you where to find the sling or how you got it on.  Can’t remember you positioning his pillows around his injured arm or slipping into bed beside him.  He’d been so fucked up by the pain and the adrenaline withdrawal that he’s pretty sure he blacked out at some point.  

So Yoongi lies there for a minute, trying to piece together what he can remember of last night.  

The memories come back to him blurred and disjointed, out of order.

He remembers feeling like he might vomit when you shoved his shoulder back into place.  Awkwardly accepting your help taking off his jeans so he could shower.  Nearly falling to his knees under the hot water.  Pulling himself together long enough to stash his gun in a drawer when you’d stepped away.

And it’s that last memory that makes his chest go tight.

Last night, hiding his gun seemed like the right thing to do.  A way to keep you separate from the ugliness he normalized a long time ago.  But this morning the half-assed lie of omission makes him feel guilty as hell.  A pathetic attempt to delay the inevitable.  Chewing gum jammed into the crack of a dam.

He has to tell you about that gun.

So he gets to work on dragging his ass out of bed.  It takes him way too damned long to sit upright, way too damned long to slide himself off the edge of the mattress.  Longer than that to slowly limp his way into the bathroom where he pees for what feels like a solid ten minutes.

He’s still rubbing the sleep from his eyes when he spots the bright red toothbrush sitting in the cup on his sink.  

It’s just some cheap throwaway he brought home after his last visit to the dentist -- a long-forgotten backup that’s been stashed in the cabinet under the bathroom counter for months.  But now it’s sitting out in the open, in that cup. Right next to his own blue one.

Yoongi stares at it and scrubs a hand over his face.

And that tiny voice in his head gets a bit louder.

************************

He finds you seated at his piano, bare-faced and hair tousled.  Fingers tracing light patterns across the keys of his custom instrument, gaze taking in all of the tiny details he paid a small fortune for.

He could have stayed there for a while, just appreciating the view had you not caught him staring.

Your dark eyes flick up to find his and Yoongi’s pulse quickens at the warmth in them.  At the soft, shy smile that comes over you just before you clear your throat and lower your eyes back to the keys.

“Beautiful,” you sigh.  

No kidding, Yoongi thinks.

He crosses the room slowly.  Tries his hardest not to limp but the throb in his knee makes that nearly impossible.  Sadness flashes across your face as you watch him sink heavily onto the bench beside you.  

“I can help you, you know,” you admonish softly.

Yoongi shrugs, motioning to the sling.  “You already have.”

He stills when you reach one hand out to brush your fingertips across the redness on his jaw.  You stroke your thumb across his aching cheek and Yoongi leans into the touch, savoring the feeling of your skin against his.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, “I’m so sorry you’re hurt, and -- ” you pause to shake your head sadly,  “-- and I’m so sorry it’s because I put you in this position.”

Yoongi sucks in a deep breath.

He can’t bring himself to tell you that he can’t think straight when he imagines what could have happened if that fucking goon had gotten you alone.  Can’t bring himself to admit out loud that he could have pulled his gun and ended that piece of shit without losing a second of sleep.  

Would have, had you not been there.

“Better me than you, Doc,” he says thickly.  “You made the right call.”

You press a gentle kiss to his throbbing jaw.

“You still mad at me?”

You whisper the words into the shell of Yoongi’s ear and a slow heat builds in his gut.  

“Yeah,” he lies, dropping a kiss on the delicate skin below your jaw.  He ghosts the tip of his nose against the curve of your neck and you shudder under his touch. He’s forced to check himself, leaning back for a few inches of badly-needed space.  

On the bright side, at least his dick isn’t broken, too.

He clears his throat.  “If that guy had brought backup -- ”

“ -- If that guy had brought backup, he’d have been out of the car long before you left his buddy in a pile on the floor,” you interrupt gently.

Yoongi chuckles.  “Just admit you’re terrible at following directions.”

“You happen to have your MRI results around here anywhere? I’d be interested to see what they say about that shoulder.”  

You raise one brow when Yoongi narrows his eyes at you in response.  “No? Well, then I guess I’m not the only one who’s bad at following directions.”

“Guess not,” Yoongi admits with a smile.  

Your turn your attention back to his piano, touch reverent as you slide one hand across the rich black lacquer.  

“When you first walked in, I was going to say something really dumb like do you play?” you admit with a laugh.  “But no one owns something this magnificent unless they have a passion for it.”

“Yeah, I play,” Yoongi murmurs.  “When I have two functioning arms.”

He’d intended to earn a laugh with that tease, but the joke falls flat.  Sadness creeps back into your features.

“Yoongi,” you say quietly, gaze dropping into your lap.  “I honestly don’t know what would have happened to me last night without you.  And all I can think about this morning is why?  Why did you do this for me?”

Fuck, that’s a loaded question.  

If Yoongi had the balls, he’d tell you straight up that he fell for you the moment he laid eyes on you at Songdo .  That you feel like his chance at something more.  But Yoongi doesn’t say any of that.  

Instead, he coughs up a weak white lie.

“We’re both out here flying solo Doc.  We have to look out for each other.  Besides -- ” he tips your chin up with a gentle press of his fingers and finds your dark eyes glassy with unshed tears.  “ -- I have a thing for that smart mouth of yours.”

He earns a tiny smile from you then, just the slightest curve of your lips.  And he’s this close to kissing the soft, sad expression right off your face when that voice in his mind fucks everything up again.

Tell her about the gun.  

The thought is like a bucket of cold water over his head, jarring him from the intimacy of this moment.  Yoongi swallows thickly before opening his mouth to tell you the truth.  But before he can speak, you do.

“I have something of yours,” you say, reaching into the pocket of your borrowed basketball shorts.  Yoongi watches you produce a worn handmade bracelet and holds his palm open to accept it.  “It fell out of your jacket last night,” you explain.

He rubs his thumb over the smooth metal corners of the cross that dangles from aged leather.  It brings back the memory of his baptism -- of the day Mrs. Bak proudly gifted it to him while he was still damp from the ceremony.  It also brings back the memory of last night -- when he’d clutched it between his fingers and sent a silent plea for protection skyward.

It’s been a long time since he’s prayed.  It’s been a long time since he had anything to pray for.

“Are you religious?” you ask softly.

Yoongi shakes his head.  “Honestly? I don’t know.”  A self-conscious heat creeps up his neck.  “Just makes me feel better, I guess.  Is that dumb?”

“No,” you reassure quietly, bringing one warm hand up to cup his cheek.  Yoongi covers your hand with his, laces his fingers in between yours.  “Not dumb at all.”

Tell her about the gun.

“Doc,” Yoongi whispers thickly, “We need to talk about something.”

Your hand falls away from his face and your spine goes stiff with tension and Yoongi almost loses his nerve.

Almost.

“Okay, so I was, uh -- carrying a gun last night,” he starts, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck,  “I carry a gun all the time, actually.  I hid it because I didn’t want to freak you out.”

You say nothing, expression unreadable.  And Yoongi keeps talking.

“But I don’t want to keep things from you,” he says quietly.  “I want you to know exactly who I am. No half-truths.”

Your eyes drop back down to the piano.  You pluck at one of the keys and a somber note rings out, lingers in the air between you before you speak.

“You have a gunshot wound in your back, Yoongi,” you murmur.  “It’s not exactly a leap of logic.  Besides, I already saw your gun.  It was in your drawer last night when I got you a change of clothes.”

Yoongi nods slowly, processing the fact that you’d discovered the gleaming silver piece and hadn’t written him off right away.  You’d still slept in the crook of his arm last night.  You’re still here right now.

“And yeah, maybe it does freak me out a bit,” you admit.  “But after what I saw last night, maybe I can understand a bit, too.”

Yoongi lets go of the breath he’s been holding and takes your hand in his.  Maybe is as good as he could have hoped for at this point.  Maybe is not a dead end.  

“I have something to tell you, too,” you admit after a moment.  “I’m due at the hospital in a few hours.”

“Doc,” Yoongi groans, hand tightening reflexively around yours.  “You can’t go back there.”

“I don’t have a choice,” you insist, pulling away.  “This isn’t just some job I fell into, Yoongi.  This is years of my life.”

Yoongi is quiet for a few seconds, willing his rising agitation to subside.  He’s careful to check his tone before he speaks.

“You’re not safe there.”

“I have to go back.  I don’t have a choice,” you repeat.  “I can’t afford to get blacklisted and Lee is still my boss. And if he’s already got wind of what happened last night, he’s going to be gunning for me even harder than he already has been.  I have to tread carefully.”

Yoongi shoves a hand through his hair.

“You have to meet me in the middle here, Doc,” he exhales.  “There’s got to be something halfway between you walking right back into that hellhole and you losing your job.  Take a couple of sick days.  Give me some time to figure out who your boss is working with and what I can do about it.  Can you do that?”

You’re quiet for a moment as you consider his proposal.

“Yeah,” you concede softly.  “I can do that.”  

You lift a hand to brush a lock of hair out of his face and press your mouth to his.

Every cell in Yoongi’s body stands at attention.  He cards his fingers into the soft mass of your hair and kisses you slowly -- carefully -- all too aware of the way he’d manhandled you last night.  

Not even the pain in his jaw could take away from how good it feels to touch you like this.  Not even the ache in his ribs could stop him from leaning into you. He slips his tongue past your lips and you whimper, fingers curling into his sore knee.  

He could not give a shit.

Yoongi leaves your mouth to trail kisses down your jaw, and you tip your head back, offering him the soft expanse of your neck.  He accepts it gladly, mouth hot and open on your skin, savoring your scent and taste -- enjoying the way he can feel your pulse fluttering wildly under his lips.

He’s enjoying it all so much that he gets careless.  The elbow of his injured arm connects with the sharp edge of the piano and he recoils instantly.

“Dammit,” he groans. “Fuck.”

“Oh, shit,” you gasp, clapping a hand over your mouth.

The pain is so potent it seems to radiate all the way from his arm to his temples. Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut as he waits for the ringing in his ears to subside.

“Yoongi, your shoulder, it's -- it’s really bad,” you admonish quietly.  “If you keep going like this, the damage is going to be permanent.”

“Trust me, I know,” he sighs.  “I’m going to get this looked at, I just haven’t.”

“I want you to see a friend of mine at Asan today,” you urge.  “He’s a good doctor.  He can get you some pain relief.  Get you back to working condition.”

Yoongi nods weakly, pain still ebbing from his arm.

“But it’s not a substitute for an MRI and it’s not a substitute for surgery,” you warn.  “This is just a temporary fix.  You have to be careful.  Whatever you’re planning, just please be careful.”

Yoongi skates the pad of his thumb over your lips before kissing you just one more time.

“Don’t worry about me, Doc,” he murmurs.  “I’m going to have some help.”

**************************

It’s amazing what a pair of high-powered steroid shots and a bottle of industrial-strength painkillers can do for a guy.  

Yoongi pulls into the parking lot at Maekju feeling almost human again.

If the text messages that have been blowing up his phone all afternoon are any indication, everyone is here tonight.  Everyone with the exception of Namjoon, of course.  He doesn’t drink anymore and even when he did, he always preferred to drink alone.

Jungkook is the first person Yoongi spots, leaned up against a pool table, beer in hand.  He’s watching Jimin and Taehyung face off at billiards while Seokjin and Hoseok sit side-by-side at the bar, deep in conversation.

The maknae’s eyes go a bit wide when he takes in Yoongi’s unusual gait and immobilized arm.

“Holy shit, hyung,” he breathes as Yoongi approaches.  “What the hell happened to you?”

Seokjin whips around in his barstool at the sound of Jungkook’s greeting, but Hoseok doesn’t take the bait.  He stiffens in his seat but refuses to turn around. Stubborn bastard.

“Yoga accident,” Yoongi mutters, stepping up to the bar next to Seokjin.  The older man smirks as he takes a long pull of his beer.

“How’d you drive with that thing on?” Seokjin asks, motioning to Yoongi’s sling.

“Carefully,” Yoongi says dryly.  “Listen, can you give me a minute with Jung here?”

Seokjin’s critical gaze bounces back and forth between Yoongi and Hoseok, who is still resolutely pretending not to notice the conversation taking place just inches from his face.  He stares into a television mounted high above the bar and sips his whiskey with feigned indifference.

“You two need couple’s counseling, I swear,” Seokjin groans, rolling his eyes. He stands to his feet to relinquish his barstool and claps a hand over Yoongi’s good shoulder.  “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Hoseok, the fucking infant, grabs a newspaper abandoned on the bartop and proceeds to pretend to read it.  Yoongi slides into the stool next to him anyway.

“Miss me?”

Hoseok doesn’t answer.

“You’re not gonna say hello?  Not gonna ask me why it looks like I spent all night falling off a cliff?”

“Nope.”

Yoongi waves off the bartender who starts walking in his direction.  The last thing he needs is a drink.  He’s got so many painkillers in his system right now that one sip of booze would probably have him under the bar in seconds.

“Come on Hoseok,” Yoongi sighs.  “Don’t be a dick.  I’ve literally never seen you read a newspaper.”

“I like to stay informed,” Hoseok shrugs.

“Well, I’m trying to talk to you.”

“Oh, so you talk to me now?” Hoseok snickers.  “That’s new.”

Hoseok’s probably earned the right to his petulance, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying.  Yoongi starts to reconsider that drink.

“Jung,” he groans.  “I’m trying to apologize here.”

“So apologize then.”

“Fine,” Yoongi mutters.  “I’m sorry I’ve been an asshole lately.  I’ve been twisted up over some shit that has nothing to do with you or family business.”

Hoseok grabs his whiskey off the bar and finally -- finally -- pivots to face him.

“A giant asshole,” he corrects dryly.  

“Yes. A giant asshole,” Yoongi repeats.  “We good now?”

Hoseok sips his whiskey slowly, eyes narrowed at Yoongi over the lip of his glass.

“Buy me a drink.”

“Fine,” Yoongi hisses, flagging the bartender.  

Hoseok leans back in his barstool, looking a bit smug.

“Now this shit you’ve been twisted up about,” he starts, brow cocked.  “Would this have anything to do with your secret doctor friend?”

“Maybe,” Yoongi admits, scratching at the back of his neck.  His injured shoulder is tired from carrying the extra weight of the sling.  He rolls it gingerly as Hoseok looks on.

“Would this have anything to do with why you look like you got jumped on your way in here tonight?”

Yoongi’s cheeks warm at his partner’s blunt observation.  “Maybe.”

Hoseok drains his whiskey just as the bartender arrives with a fresh one.  He takes a long drink before setting his glass back down on the bar.  His lips purse thoughtfully as he levels Yoongi with a long, assessing look.

“Okay,” he says calmly. “So who do we have to go fuck up?”

**************************

Dr. Lee Geon just looks like a fucking weasel.

Yoongi glares at the man as he strolls into the coffee shop a few blocks from Songdo with just minutes to spare to his shift.  

Lee bears little resemblance to his photos on the hospital website.

He’s thin -- just this side of gaunt -- hollow cheeks prominent below dark under eyes beneath a sparse dusting of greasy hair.  Were he not dressed in a rumpled lab coat and equally creased scrubs, Yoongi might have missed him entirely.

Across the room, Hoseok peers at Yoongi over the top of yet another borrowed newspaper -- is this the guy? -- and Yoongi answers with a furtive nod.  

He goes over the plan they’d worked out in the car in his head.  They’d find the guy -- make sure he was the guy -- and then follow him out of the shop.  Catch him just before he got into his car.  Shake him up a bit before shaking him down for information.

There’s one thing Yoongi still hasn’t worked out, though.

Just how much he’s going to allow himself to hurt this asshole before sending him on his way.  Lee slowly shuffles his way to the front of the line as Yoongi imagines jamming his fist into the man’s stupid fucking face.  Imagines doing it over and over again until the piece of shit is unrecognizable.

Yoongi watches Lee order his drink as he kneads at the tender muscles of his shoulder.

Ditching the sling was probably a bad idea -- definitely against doctor’s orders -- but it was a risk he was more than willing to take.  He’d downed a couple of painkillers and shoved his shoulder into a brace and decided he could deal with the dull throb just for the night.  

No way in hell he was going to confront this scumbag looking like some kid who just fell off his skateboard.  

It doesn’t take long for the barista to put together Lee’s drink.  He grabs his coffee and Yoongi tenses in anticipation of his next move.  But instead of heading for the exit, Lee heads for the bathroom instead.

Yoongi locks eyes with Hoseok across the room and Hoseok raises one brow.

Change of plans?

Yoongi nods.

*****************************

Lee’s coffee sits abandoned atop the sink ledge.

Yoongi and Hoseok slip silently into the bathroom and get right to work.  Hoseok blocks the door as Yoongi quietly creeps past the stalls, ducking his head to peer beneath each one.  Lee’s scuffed sneakers are the only pair of shoes he spots.

His ears pick up on a faint sound coming from inside the locked stall.

It’s a kind of soft, intermittent rasping.  Yoongi concentrates on the noise, isolates it until he comes to the realization that it’s sniffling he’s hearing.  He turns to Hoseok and taps his finger against the side of his nose and Hoseok nods his agreement.

Yoongi shakes his head in disgust.  Is there a single substance this idiot isn’t addicted to?

It takes a moment for the sniffling to subside.  It’s followed by a few seconds of quiet rustling in which Yoongi can picture Lee carefully pocketing whatever’s left of his coke.  The noises from behind the brushed steel barrier finally stop and the next thing Yoongi hears is the distinct clink of the latch coming apart.

Lee swings the door wide -- gets one look at what’s waiting for him on the other side -- and nearly jumps out of his skin.  

He startles so hard that he almost falls backward into the toilet.  But he catches himself, regaining his balance and staring back at Yoongi with wide, worried eyes.

Yoongi stands there and says nothing.

“Excuse me,” Lee mumbles, eyeing him wearily as he tries to slide past.  He takes two steps forward then stops in his tracks when he spots Hoseok.  Lee swallows thickly, eyes darting back and forth between both men.

“Is there a problem gentlemen?” he croaks.

Yoongi takes a step towards Lee.  He shrinks back when Yoongi reaches for his badge, yanking the retractable cord as he pulls it close to examine it.  Yoongi runs his thumb over the raised lettering on the laminated card, letting the taut silence linger for dramatic effect.

Then he lets go of the badge without warning, fighting a smile when Lee flinches as it snaps back into place.

“Yes, we have a problem,” Yoongi confirms pleasantly.  “And yes, it’s you.”

The little color left in Lee’s face immediately drains out.

“Look, I don’t know who you guys are, but you don’t w-want to mess with me,” he stammers, voice cracking comically halfway through his flimsy threat.  “I know people.”

“Oh shit,” Yoongi’s eyes go wide with feigned concern, “You hear that, Jung?  This guy knows people.”

“Sounds scary,” Hoseok chuckles.

Lee starts to breathe harder, chest rising and falling faster.  Pupils blown with fear and coke.

“Now, here’s the difference between you and us, Dr. Lee,” Yoongi explains calmly.  “You know people.  But we -- ” he motions to himself and then to Hoseok, “ -- are people . Do you understand what I’m trying to say here?”

Yoongi punctuates his point by brushing the edge of his open leather jacket aside, allowing his pistol to peek out from underneath.  Lee’s eyes lock on it as he nods slowly, pulling deep, noisy breaths through his nose.

“Great.  Now we don’t have to play the game where you pretend not to know about the bullshit you’ve been pulling over at the hospital, right?”

Lee shakes his head slowly.

“So that means we also don’t have to play the game where you pretend you didn’t send some fucking street goon to rough up a little old lady, either. Right?”

The man’s mouth drops open like his first instinct is to deny that accusation. But he steals another look at Hoseok and shuts it instead.

“And then -- ” Yoongi jabs Lee in the chest with one finger and the man jumps back, “-- you tried to send that same goon after your own resident.  But here’s the thing, Doctor Lee.  She knows people, too.”

Lee’s body goes rigid.  Yoongi watches him process the information with his drug-addled brain, a flare of recognition finally sparking in his dull eyes.

“I saw you at the hospital,” Lee whispers.  “You know her.”

“Don’t worry about who I know,” Yoongi shrugs.  “Worry about what you’re going to say in your resignation letter.”

He advances on the man again, closing the space between them.  Lee tries to back away, but he runs out of room.  He tilts against the stall door.

“Resignation letter?” he echoes weakly.

“The one you’re turning in tonight,” Yoongi explains coolly.  “Before you get the fuck out of Songdo and then get the fuck out of Seoul.”

Lee sputters for a moment, grasping for his next words.  

“Well, where am I supposed to go?” he bleats.

“Do we look like recruiters to you, man?” Hoseok cuts in sharply.  “We don’t give a shit where you go -- you just have to go.  You sure this guy is a doctor, Min?  He seems way too dumb to be a doctor.”

“Nah.  This guy’s a junkie pretending to be a doctor,” Yoongi accuses, dropping any pretense of good humor.  “Pretending to be a tough guy, too.  But all of that ends tonight.”

Yoongi grabs Lee by the chin, jerking his head into place and forcing the trembling man to look him in the eye.

“In ten minutes, you’re going to walk your ass into that hospital.  You’re going to tell them you are leaving.  You are going to take that piece of shit pharmacist and anyone else who’s involved with you.  And then you are never going to step foot in this city again.”

He pauses to enjoy the way Lee’s pupils dilate even wider with fear.

“You’re not too high to understand what I’m saying to you right now, right?”

Lee shakes his head weakly, jaw still pinned in Yoongi’s vice grip.

“Great. Now just one more thing before you go on your merry way,” Yoongi says, voice low with menace.  “Give us the name of your street guys.”

Lee panics.  “I can’t,” he whines from between compressed cheeks.  “They’ll kill me.”

Yoongi grips his face tighter, crushing the man’s jaw and using it to push his body flush against the stall.  His fingers and knuckles turn white with the force of his grasp and Lee groans weakly at the pain.  

“I will kill you,” Yoongi seethes. “Me.  Right fucking now with my bare fucking hands if you don’t give me that name.”

Lee is sweating so profusely that Yoongi wonders briefly if he’s having a heart attack.  He’s probably got enough coke in his system for that to be an actual concern.  But the pathetic little shit manages to pull himself together long enough to follow directions.

“Kkangpae,” he wheezes.

Yoongi’s iron grip stays in place, even as he turns to Hoseok, even as both men exchange a look.  That is something he did not see coming.  Perhaps his recent personal issues are family business, after all.

He finally releases Lee’s jaw and the man rears back, breathing hard.

“You have exactly one day to get the fuck out of this city,” Yoongi instructs quietly.  “And that is not an offer I’m prepared to make twice.”

Lee licks his dry lips, nodding his head slowly like he’s just come out of a trance.  “Okay.”

“Great chat,” Yoongi smiles, patting Lee’s cheek.

Hoseok leaves his post at the door to cross the cramped bathroom and reach for the coffee Lee abandoned minutes ago.  Both men watch in silence as he turns it up over the sink, pours it out, and then tosses it in the trash.

He heads back to the door and holds it open.

“Damn Hoseok,” Yoongi murmurs as he brushes past.  “That was cold.”

*********************************

YOU

There’s buzzing.  Of that, you’re sure.

But in those first few moments that you’re rousing, you can’t be sure if you’re hearing it or dreaming it.  You’re disoriented.  It’s the second time in as many days you’ve woken up in an unfamiliar bed.

Shafts of sunlight pour through the blinds and you squint at them, trying to get a sense of the time of day.  If the amber tinge is any indication, it’s late into the afternoon.

The buzzing sounds again.

You roll to your side to grab your cell phone off the nightstand and blink at a long list of waiting texts.

ko: wake up sleeping beauty [ 11:36 AM ]

ko: i have news [ 11:45 AM ]

ko: big news [ 12:22 PM ]

ko: and gaeran tost-u [ 1:02 PM ]

ko: ready for you to wake up now [ 1:43 PM ]

ko: don’t mind me just gonna bang a few pots and pans [ 2:11 PM ]

Any curiosity over Ko’s big news is overshadowed by the way your heart drops when none of those messages is from Yoongi.  

Before you’d left his apartment, he’d asked you to stay.  He’d cleared his throat and looked down at his hands and explained that he’d feel better if you weren’t alone until this entire mess was settled.  But the way he looked at you in those last few minutes together made you feel like his proposition was about much more than just your protection.

It made you want to say yes.

Never mind that it’s insane to feel so at home in his personal space -- or that coming to that realization might have sent you into a mild panic.  In the end, you’d had to say no because you couldn’t bring yourself to leave Ko on her own while this madness played out.

You rub the sleep out of your eyes and fire off two quick texts.

you: i hope you’re okay. please be careful [ 2:33 PM ]

you: up now. be down in five [ 2:34 PM ]

**************************

Ko makes good on her promise of gaeran tost-u.

You’re greeted by the pleasant smell of the sugared egg dish as you walk down the stairs.  Ko sits at her kitchen table, eyes shining with excitement, and pushes a plate at you when you slide into the chair across from hers.

“Eat,” she orders sweetly.  Your stomach rumbles on cue and you waste no time digging in.

“This is really good,” you declare around a mouthful of bread and eggs.  “I might have to live with you forever.”

Ko smiles wide and the expression makes you feel warm from the inside out. The bruising on her face is barely visible now, easily hidden with a little makeup. Her eyes crinkle with happiness as she watches you eat without saying a word.

“Alright,” you sigh, loathe to stop eating even for as long as it takes to speak.  “Spill it. You look fit to burst.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” she complains cheerfully.  “Dr. Lee is gone.  Walked into Songdo last night and walked out forever.”

You gasp halfway through your next bite, sputtering as you try to catch your breath around a mouthful of toasted bread.  Ko stands to grab you a glass of water which you gratefully accept.

“Well, don’t die on me now,” she teases, “Because there’s more.  Nang left, too.  And Tuan and Beom from pathology.  All four of them quit without even so much as a notice, Jagi.  Isn’t that wild?”

You sip your water slowly and Ko’s eyes flash as she watches you.

“Yoo called me early this morning and said the entire hospital is talking about it. There’s a bunch of crazy theories going around.  And here I am, drinking my tea.  Thinking about how you took a few sick days and showed up here. Thinking about how healthy and rested you look right now.  Isn’t that interesting?”

You nod, jamming the sandwich back in your mouth for an obnoxiously large bite.

“And I can’t help but wonder if there’s some connection between this very convenient development and my very sweet, secretive friend.”

Ko’s mouth twists into a teasing smile as you chew your food absurdly slow.

“That sandwich isn’t going to last forever, Jagi,” she says dryly.  She lifts her teacup to her mouth and takes a dainty sip.  “And trust me, I have nothing but time.”

She leans back, cup in hand.

“Okay, so I might know something about it,” you admit after a while.  “But there’s still a lot I don’t know.  And I’m not sure how much of this you want to hear.”

Ko tuts under her breath.

“I want to hear it all.  I’ve got quite a few years on you and trust me, very little shocks me anymore.  So now you spill it.”

You take another sip of water and clear your throat.

“Okay,” you exhale.  “So there’s this guy -- ”

“ -- Oh, I love it when stories start like this,” Ko interrupts.  She props her chin up with her hands like you’re telling a bedtime story and you shake your head with a wry smile.

“He’s been kind of… helping me, I guess.”

“Helping you,” Ko echoes.  “As in helping you out of your clothes?”

“No,” you deny hotly, cheeks warming.  “He’s a friend.”

Ko doesn’t bother to call you out on the weak lie.  But her face says what her mouth doesn’t when one skeptical brow raises high.

“Go on.”

“I told him about what was going on at the hospital and he said he could help me,” you explain slowly.  “So I’m pretty sure he figured out a way to run off Lee and Nang.”

Ko taps her finger against the side of her teacup.

“So let me see if I have this right,” she muses.  “You tell this friend -- who you’ve never once mentioned, by the way -- that you’ve been having this very dangerous trouble at work.  And then your friend somehow manages to convince two grown men who’ve worked at Songdo for years to give up their high-paying jobs and up-front access to IV drugs overnight.”

You shift uncomfortably in your chair.

“And just like that -- ” Ko snaps her fingers for emphasis, “ -- they’re gone without so much as a fuss.”

You nod weakly.

“Jagi,” Ko’s voice drops low.  “I take it your friend’s not a mailman, is he?”

“No,” you mumble.  “Definitely not.”

Ko hums under her breath.  She carefully lifts her teacup to drink, eyes trained on you over the rim.  Her quiet scrutiny makes you anxious.

“Can I ask you a question?” she asks after a long pause.

“If I said no would that stop you?”

“Not a chance,” Ko laughs.  “Would this friend happen to be the mysterious, handsome man who asked for you in the ER a few weeks back?”

Mind like a steel trap, this woman.  You should have known Ko would make that connection and fast.  There’s no point in denying it, so you don’t.

“Yes,” you whisper thickly. “He is.”

It’s hard to get a read on Ko’s reaction.  Over the years, you’ve come to rely on her sweetness and wisdom and warmth.  But now, as you stare into her dark eyes and try to interpret her careful expression, you realize there’s something else you need from her.

Her approval.

“Ko, I think I -- ” you pause to choose your words carefully, “ -- I think I might be in really deep with this guy.”

Ko snorts.

“Oh, I think you might be right about that, Jagiya .  And if he’s helping you with something like this?  Chances are, you’re not alone.”

“Yeah,” you exhale, wringing your hands together beneath the table.  “Thing is -- I need you to tell me I’m not making a mistake here.”

The corners of Ko’s mouth lift into a soft expression of surprise.

“Oh, Jagi,” she chides sweetly.  “You know I can’t tell you that. I don’t know anything about this man.”  She reaches across the table to cover your hand with her own.  “But you do.  You’re the only one who knows how you feel about him.  And you’re the only one who knows if he’s a good man underneath it all.”

Ko squeezes your hand and you turn your head before she can see the tears that threaten in your eyes.  The amber sunlight outside her kitchen window is shifting orange now, flares of light reflecting off the glass.  

You stare at them and think about Yoongi.

Until now, it’s like you’ve been splitting him into two different men -- the bruised, bloody con artist from the exam room and the quiet, teasing flirt from the coffee shop.  Until now, it’s been the only way to reconcile your complicated feelings.

But it's well past time you accepted the truth.

The same Yoongi whose cheeks had pinked when he’d asked you to stay is the same Yoongi you watched beat the shit out of a hired thug.  The Yoongi who carries a cross is the Yoongi who carries a gun.  They’re two halves of one whole.  

And you can’t pine for one and reject the other.

Your cell phone buzzes from the pocket of your pajama pants.  You reach for it, relief coursing through you when you spot Yoongi’s name on the screen.

yoongi: one more thing to do before we can talk [ 3:01 PM ]

yoongi: it’s cold outside, be sure to bundle up [ 3:01 PM ]

Yoongi’s random mention of the weather confuses you.  You stare at the texts and Ko stares at you, concerned by the baffled expression on your face.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” you insist, shaking your head.  “Just, um -- ”

Bundle up.   A tingle runs up the length of your spine as realization slowly creeps over you.  

“Excuse me for a moment,” you murmur, slipping out of your seat.

Ko watches you dash up the stairs, slack-jawed.

You make a beeline for your borrowed room, throwing open the closet doors to find the coat you’d left hanging there on arrival.  The coat you’d worn to and from Yoongi’s.  You hurriedly dig into the pockets, fingers immediately making contact with something hard and jagged.  

You pull it out.

The shiny silver key in your palm looks like it’s never been used, sharp edges gleaming in the waning sunlight streaming into this room.

You don’t have to guess what it’s for.

You just close your fingers around it and hold it tight.

*****************

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[nagito-kissmaeda]

Mother May I Sleep with Danger - Servant!Nagito Komaeda x Reader

ミ☆ not a request, I’m just really horny for servant asjdkfkflddj

Summary: future foundation reader is kidnapped by the WOH and figures if they’re going to die anyway……..

Contains: Explicit Sexual Content, Fem reader, no pronouns used

Word Count: 3589

The foundation is not going to be happy with you.

Not only did you balls up your mission into Towa City, but now your uniform is ripped all to hell, basically slashed to ribbons by the Monokuma who managed to overpower you. It was your new set too, all fresh and clean. This mess is going to get you seriously mocked by the men in operations when you get back.

That is if the foundation even lets you back onto the helicopter after this disaster of a mission.

You huff and turn to face the man lurking in the far corner of your cell. He’s been standing there for the past 20 minutes, just shaking and staring at you with wide grey eyes. You had been planning to just ignore him until he left, but he isnt leaving, “What do you want?”

He doesn’t answer, just wraps his arms around himself and starts giggling.

“Are you just going to stand there all day?” You snap, crossing your arms and glaring up at him from your seat on the floor, “If you’re going to kill me just get it over with, the anticipation has all but worn off and I'm just starting to get angry.”

“Ah...kill you?” He giggles again. His voice is a lot gentler than you had been expecting. What with the manic eyes and tangled hair. You were prepared for him to be downright menacing. He sucks in a breath and levels his gaze with you, “I wouldn't kill you. That would be waste.” The chain around his throat jangles as he gestures at you with his mitted hand, knees wobbling like they are barely strong enough to keep him upright, “Honestly, a bug like myself killing you would help no one. It would be utterly disappointing for both sides, and what is the point in that? No despair...no hope...ahhhhaaaa…” he brings the cuff of his jacket up to his mouth and starts gnawing on it, “it would be completely pointless...mm?”

“Why haven't the children killed you?” Your brows draw together, watching his balance shifting from foot to foot, “You must be at least eighteen, right?”

He wheezes, throwing one shoulder up in a haphazard shrug, “Older. I think. I honestly can’t remember.”

For some reason. A terrible little voice in the back of your head whispers - Hey, at least it’s legal! You balk at your own lack of decorum. The man is still currently chewing so furiously on his sleeve that drool has started rolling down his chin, his hair is so matted that if you dug your fingers into it you would probably never get them out again. You are smart enough to take one look at this wheezing, sweating, drooling mess of a man and think: gross.

Unfortunately, your cunt is dumb enough to disagree.

Maybe it’s because you’re going to die anyway. Maybe it’s because his black jeans cling very tightly to his thighs. Maybe you just have terrible taste in men. It doesn’t matter why, but for some godforsaken reason, you are attracted to him.

“So. Are they just keeping you around as a--” you examine him again, eyes locking on the chain dangling down by his knees. (why does looking at that make you want to rub your thighs together?) “--a...pet?”

He laughs again, finally letting the sleeve he was chewing on drop back down to his side, “A fitting position for someone like me, but no. I am their servant.” The man takes a step towards you, the chain jangles in ways that your insides apparently find arousing. You swallow, “I came to this town to seek refuge, but...well...you can see how that turned out.” he laughs again, shoulders quaking with the noise. You can help but notice the stiff way the hand obscured by his mitt is moving. Like he doesn't have any real control over it.

“Ah.” You say, eyes still focussed on the hand you cannot see, but can imagine perfectly well. That hand, along with his age, seem to only lead to one conclusion, “You’re one of the remnants of despair, aren’t you?”

He grins at you, manic, all sharp teeth and wild eyes, taking another step closer to you “Oh! I didn’t expect you to recognise common garbage like me…” he makes a noise that is dangerously close to being a moan, before exclaiming, “you’re right, I am!” His grin turns syrupy in a way that you find yourself enjoying much more than you should. His eyes hooded as he breathes, “does that disgust you? Does my very presence make you want to spit in my face?”

The way he speaks, his soft lilting tone. It almost sounds like he is crooning, purring. You shift on the floor, trying to ignore the wetness pooling between your legs. You have gone from wanting to fuck a regular crazy man, to wanting to fuck a crazy man literally out for capture by the company you work for.

“Listen.” You start, suddenly nervous, “The foundation is looking for you, all of you. But Togami in the other cell and I are working with-”

Your words catch in your throat when he comes barreling towards you and claps his bare hand over your mouth. His eyes are wild when they meet yours, pupils little more than pinpricks in dark swirling circles that dig deep inside of you, his voice drops to a terrifying whisper, “No. Not yet...I have important work I must do and you will not keep me from it.”

“We want to help.” You hiss into the meat of his palm. Horrified at how you feel the jagged grin that tugs at his mouth deep in your stomach. His mouth pulls so wide that his lips tear and bleed, drool pooling at the corners of his mouth and dripping over his lips when he starts laughing again, loud and manic, wheezing and decrepit.

“You truly are an embodiment of hope. You think you can...ah...haha…” He wheezes again, tangled white hair falling over his face and he tries to hold in a laugh, “You truly think you can help me? What a feat that would be! Endlessly impressive I’m sure” He leans in closer to you, eyes calm once again, hooded and piercing, “Thank you for your kindness, but I assure you. It will not be so simple.”

His face is so close to yours now, you can feel his breath on your face, see the bags under his eyes and the way his papery skin has wrinkled around the corners of his mouth. He looks half dead, but under that. You see soft skin, pretty long eyelashes and what are undoubtedly the most stunning eyes you have ever seen. You are going to die soon anyway, so you dont stop yourself from whispering, “You were very pretty once. Weren’t you?”

His lips curl into a smile, but his eyes look almost sad, “Most would disagree.”

“Hm. That’s a shame.” you whisper, trying to ignore the seductive tone you have adopted, “I think you’re still quite pretty now.”

He lets out a wheezing giggle, dropping down into a crouch in front of you and resting his hands on his knees, “Are you trying to win me over with words of kindness? With sharp lies wrapped in goose down?”

They aren't lies, but you can tell he won't believe you even if you try to convince him, “Just tell me what you want with me.”

“What do I want with you?” He breathes, reaching out a shaky hand and running his knuckles down your cheek. One side of his mouth quirks up in a smile at the feeling of your skin, “I don’t want anything...eheh...I just...I just want to watch. I want to see what you will do, I want to see you fight.”

“I’d be able to fight better if you let me out of the cell.”

“Aha. Cute.” He drags his tongue over his lower lip, “But wouldn't it be so much more satisfying to watch you overcome impossible odds? For your hope to overcome the utmost despair?” His head tilts to the side and he smiles, “I have faith in you. I’ll be cheering you on, just dont expect my help.”

The more he talks, the less you understand him. At this point you're barely even listening to his words and are just letting the soft tones of his voice wash over you, his eyes are blinding, it feels like he is staring straight through you. The door of the cell is still locked, Togami is still far enough away that he couldn't hear you if you screamed. Help won't be coming for a long time if it is even coming at all.

And you want to fuck a remnant of despair.

“What’s your name, pretty boy?” you whisper, reaching out a hand to push some of his tangled hair away from his face.

He stills, for a moment. The panic in his eyes is so powerful that even his ceaseless shivering stops. He blinks slowly, unsurely, and his lips pull up in a smile, “My pathetic name isn't even worthy of being heard by someone like you.” he breathes, leaning into your hand as it comes to rest on his cheek, “Servant will suffice.”

You make an upset noise, sitting up on your knees and leaning in closer to his face. His eyes aren’t grey, you realise, they’re green, “Are you sure? I was hoping for something a little more...intimate.”

“Intimate…” he whispers, almost like he is testing how the word tastes on his tongue. His face is so close to yours now, your hand reaches around and curls into the mess of hair on the back of his head. He starts shivering again, a wheezy laugh escaping his mouth almost breathlessly as he (with a surprising amount of tenderness) lowers you down to lay on the hard concrete below, “Is...this what you mean?”

Your heart is racing. He looms above you, knees planted firmly on either side of your hips. His hair tumbles down over his face, obscuring his beautiful green eyes in shadow and you feel your hips twitch upward at even the anticipation of his touch.

“Exactly what I mean.” you purr, slowly sliding your hand down the length of his chain. He quivers above you, a broken moan leaves his mouth when you give it a gentle tug. Your lips curl into a predatory smirk, and then you tug it again, hard.

His mouth collides with yours and a shocked gasp escapes his throat, his arms shake at your sides, desperate and almost panicked. It only takes a moment for him to soften, returning the kiss with a newfound passion, moaning deep and loud into your mouth and leaning into you. His kisses feel a little messy and unpracticed, but he makes up for it with enthusiasm. Choking on a groan when you bury a hand in his hair and pull tight on the strands.

He moves away from your mouth, trailing down the side of your throat and sucking hard on your skin. You can feel his breath hot and heavy in your ear as his tongue lathes over your flesh, teeth sinking in hard into the join between your throat and shoulder.

A moan breaks free from your mouth, and your hips buck upward high enough to meet Servant’s and you can feel his gasp against your skin. He grinds his hips down on yours in response, sucking in a breath at the friction.

“This…this really is my lucky day…” he whines, leaning back on his heels and undoing the few surviving buttons on your shirt. Your bra is conservative, skin toned and unflattering. It’s designed for missions out into the wastes of the world, not for whatever is happening right now.

Servant doesn’t seem to mind, running his tongue across his chapped lower lip, eyes blown wide as he drinks in your form. A shudder runs through him, and he swallows, “may I?”

You nod, “please…touch me…”

He giggles, gripping your breasts in both of his hands (though the hand hidden by the mitt is only really able to press down, but he is trying his best.) before burying his face between them, sighing happily against your skin. You choke on a moan when you feel his tongue run up your cleavage, hands squeezing almost desperately.

“Servant…” you whisper, “my bra, take it off…”

He leans up, a shy smile on his face, “Ah, I would like to! But uh, as I’m sure you know-“ he waves at you with his mitted hand, “-I can’t really use these fingers”

The thought of the dead hand attached at his forearm should deter you, but it doesn’t. You sit up just enough to unclasp your bra, chucking it off into the corner of the cell before grabbing Servant’s bare hand and pressing it to your breast. Servant chokes, brushing his thumb over your nipple.

Your breath hitches, and he is emboldened enough to take the other into his mouth. Your back instinctively arches upward, chasing the warmth of his mouth encasing your nipple, the finger and thumb on his bare hand pinching at twitching the other. His tongue is wet and sloppy, this is no precision to his licks and sucks. The servant is running on animalistic desperation alone.

Luckily, that doesn’t bother you much at all.

The cool metal of the chain presses down hard on your bare stomach, his mitt is scratchy where that hand is pressed firmly to your waist, not able to grab, but it still reads as possessive. You can feel him panting and moaning against your breast, his tangled white hair brushing against your skin in a way that makes you shiver. Your sex is aching, the way he furiously circles his tongue around your nipple feels almost feral and it makes you want more.

You hook your leg around the back of his knees, and use the leverage to flip the both of you over. Servant gasps when his back hits the ground. You grin, physical training at the Future Foundation is finally coming in handy.

Servant looks like a perfect ruin beneath you. His hair spread out on the hard concrete, eyes glassy with desire, cheeks bright red and mouth wet with saliva. You laugh, you can feel him quivering below you. The quivering grows worse when you tug his black jacket down off his shoulders and start working his shirt up and over his head. He is so thin, sickly, shaking, barely even there. All jutting bones and paper thin skin.

“Are they feeding you?” you find yourself asking quite seriously.

Servant giggles, “They’re children. I feed myself when I find the time.”

“You don't often find the time, do you?” he sucks in a breath when the tip of your finger runs up over his exposed ribs. You lean down and press a hot kiss to his collarbone, “Are you sure that you’ll have enough energy for this?”

“Ehehe...Don’t concern yourself with that-“ he leans up enough to lick all the way up the length of your throat, “I can be quite tenacious when required”

You don't doubt it. Leaning back down to kiss him firmly, licking into his open mouth as your hands trail down his torso and to the button on his jeans. He whines loudly when you undo the zipper and wrap your fist around the hardness in his boxers. His hips stutter up into your grip and you smile against his lips. He’s cute. It’s cute how desperate he is. You sit up, grinding your hips down against his, moaning aloud at the feeling of his cock pressing firmly against your clit through your panties.

Servant breaks out into a breathless giggle, panting and moaning as he pushes his hips up to meet yours, shivery and insatiable. The only light in the room is a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, just bright enough to catch on his teeth when his chapped lips curl back in a grin.

“Yes~” He whines when you grind down again, pretty eyes fluttering closed and white hair spreading even further across the concrete, “use me use me use me!”

You like that. You like that a lot, “You want to be used?” you breathe, sitting up just enough that you can wriggle out of your panties, hiking your tight pencil skirt up over your hips.

“Please...please…” he whimpers, hips stuttering up even though there is nothing to meet them. Drool trailing down his chin, “I want you to use me for your pleasure…” he gasps out a moan, like even the thought of it is too much for him, “...cum all over me...please...ruin me…”

“Okay…” you whisper, pulling his boxers and jeans down his thighs to expose his cock, he hisses a breath in through his teeth that turns into a moan when you grab him, “Can you be a good boy and stay still for me?”

He nods furiously. Thighs and stomach tensing as he forces himself not to move. It becomes even harder when you slowly slip yourself down on him, letting your head loll back in a moan at the feeling of him filling you. He cries out, hands jumping up to grab at your waist, trying so hard to keep his hips still when all he wants is to chase your warmth.

A smile crawls its way across your face when you lean forward, placing your arms on either side of his head. He stares up at you, enamoured with you, face flushed red and mouth hung open, “You feel so good, Servant.” you croon, slowly licking up the shell of his ear.

He mewls, thrusting up inside of you just a little. He just can't resist.

“I’m...I’m sorry, I'm so pathetic ehehe” he pants, “Can’t even follow such a simple order.”

“Well, hopefully you will do better with this next one.” You start, adjusting yourself so your bare breasts are now right in front of his face, “suck.”

He doesn't waste one second, licking up under one of your nipples and then pulling it into his mouth. Peering up at you through his pretty eyelashes as he sucks languidly on your tit, swirling his tongue around and moaning so deeply that you can feel the vibrations.

“Ahh…ah! You’re such a pretty boy, aren’t you?”

He nods

“Such a good boy.”

He nods again, moving his hands from your waists to your breasts, pressing them close enough together that he is able to suck on both nipples at once.

“Oh! Ohhhhhhhhh fuck- I…hng…” you rock your hips forward, keening loudly when the head of his cock meets your g-spot. Servant is still trying to stay still. Panting loudly as he furiously licks and sucks on both of your nipples. Wet and sloppy with little to no precision, so desperate to taste you, to devour you. The pleasure in your stomach is curling and twisting, the feeling of him so deep inside you, quivering as he resists the urge to move. It’s so much and not enough all at once.

“Servant…” you groan, hips twitching forward enough to grind your clit down on his pelvis, “you…you can move…”

His hips snap up immediately. He doesn’t waste even a second to drill himself deep inside of you, almost sobbing against the flesh of your breasts when the desperation he has been holding in finally gets to escape. He is animalistic, he is hungry. His hands move from your breasts to grip tightly to your hips, encouraging you to bounce up and down on his cock.

Luckily you don’t need much encouragement. Sitting up enough that your breasts leave his mouth with a lurid pop, throwing your head back and riding him like your life depends on it. Underneath you, you can hear the sound of his chain jangling with the force of his upward thrusts, along with his staccato breathing as he loses himself deeper and deeper within you.

Sweat drips down your forehead, down between your shoulder blades, it feels so good, it feels so wrong. The ever present itch of his mitt presses against your skin, a grim reminder of everything he is, everything he has done. It only turns you on more.

“I…I…AHAHAH! I’m…close.” He stammers, eyes wide when they fixate on the spot where you are joined, sharing himself disappearing inside of you again and again. His bare hand slides down your side and around to your clit, rubbing fast, messy circles that make your hips jump forward.

It’s too much, you can feel your insides growing tighter and tighter as his fingers bring you closer to the release you need so badly. Tossing your head back with a strangled moan as you finally cum, clenching hard around his cock and almost sobbing with how good it feels, how good he feels.

As Servant chases your release with his own, breaking into a breathless laughed as he pounds you with reckless abandon, cumming deep inside of you-

You can’t help but think that the foundation is really not going to be happy with you now.

But as Servant comes down from his high, his grip softens, his eyes grow sleepy, and he gives you a gentle smile that makes you heart race just a little-

And you realise that you don’t really care anymore.

[kitacco]

clouds.

pairing: fem!reader, gojo satoru.

genre: angst, smut.

summary: ignorance is a bliss.

cw: age gap, manipulation, violence, cursing.

wordcout: 2.7k.

! part two !

you and gojo met a long time ago, through mutual friends.

one of your friends was dating one of gojo’s friends. sheer coincidence, you thought.

you two would meet often, along your friends. for some reason, you and gojo happened to be intimate friends of each friend in common, so you’d often find yourself sitting by gojo’s side while the couple chatted and kissed lovingly. gojo didn’t talk to you at first, neither did you. he was older than you, much more, and you were too intimidated by his appearance. you’d rather stay in silence then talk to him and make yourself look like a fool.

but gojo wasn’t like that - at first.

that’s how the both of you started to look forward to these little getting-togethers, asking your friends for when the four of you would hang out again. 

it’s actually pretty funny to think how the both of you became friends, even your friend joked about it.

one night, at your friend’s place, the two of you got a little overwhelmed with the lovey-dovey atmosphere your friends were putting up on the couch. gojo had left a few minutes before you, leaving you behind. you couldn’t take it, and decided to leave for a while too, entering the kitchen without noticing gojo sitting on the floor mindlessly. of course, his long legs and your silly feet met together, making you fall on the floor right next to him.

you hated when gojo would bring it up everytime people asked how the two of you became so close, telling them how red you looked. 

your friends dated for three years, until, like every relationship, things started to get tough, until they broke up. you were devastated, but the two of them assured you that they’d get along for the safety of you and gojo’s friendship.

you didn’t mind it, gojo either. thinking the friendship would start to dissipate, the two of you continued to meet, this time just the two of you. gojo would invite you to his place, and you’d invite him to yours. like any other friendship, you guys would talk, sometimes drink, sometimes fall asleep on the couch while watching a movie, sometimes drive around, anything. you believed your friendship with gojo was pretty strong, despite the difference in age, he became really important to you, and so did you to gojo. 

so then, when did things got crude?

you knew the answer, and so did gojo. but the two of you had erased the chapter long ago.

one night, you and gojo found each other in a rather large group of mutuals friends. he hadn’t told you he was coming, and neither did you. nothing was going on, the two of you had met just yesterday, but since each of your friends (at the moment exes) had invited you and gojo, you thought it’d be impossible to meet. yet there the two of you were.

gojo was bewildered when he saw you coming inside his friend’s place, your best friend by your side with a smile on her face. the two of you were quick to catch on what was happening. your friends informed you not too later, telling you the two had started talking again and were gonna try to make it work one last time.

you blamed it on the atmosphere, gojo on the alcohol. either way, the two of you locked eyes, following each other up the stairs.

the first time, the two of you agreed it was a spur of the moment. gojo hadn’t gone out in a while and neither had you, it was understandable.

the second time, the both of you thought the same thing; you were just in need of some action every once in a while.

but then, why the both of you met a third time?

“what do you think?”

you accepted his offer without hesitation. you trusted gojo, and you thought it’d be a good idea to help each other, after all, you were friends, right?

that’s how everything started.

gojo would come knocking on your door like any other day, the two of you would chat, maybe cook something, watch a movie, and then gojo would start kissing your neck, and you’d run your hands through his hair.

you thought you were so lucky. gojo was a handsome man, and you knew if he wanted, he could get in the bed of any other women he wished, yet he picked you.

maybe that’s why, through the time, your eyes started to see gojo in a different light.

you couldn’t be blamed, gojo did too. he was gentle, loving, making sure you had a good time, you almost believed he was starting to feel the way you did.

until gojo finally looked into your eyes.

he ignored it, since, there was no way you felt that way about him, right? it was the unwritten rules in this game the two of you were playing. it’s been years, why’d you see him like that at this point?

gojo ignored as much as he could everytime he rocked his hips into you, but in no time, it was impossible to avoid your eyes, watching him lovingly as your tongue dangled out of your mouth in pleasure.

the most smart decision probably would’ve been talking about it. it was simple, gojo just had to tell you he didn’t feel the same way, you were a special friend to him, but he didn’t see you in such eyes.

but gojo started to bottle those thoughts up. he’s met many women in his life, and he didn’t want things to end like that with you, he didn’t want to lose you too.

that’s what he told himself - even though, what gojo didn’t notice, was that instead of your company, he started to enjoy more your body.

gojo had a good time with you, you were sweet, you would take anything he offered you. everything gojo wanted to try you accepted it with puppy eyes, eyes that started to unsettle gojo.

because, who in their right mind would allow be touched under the table with all your friends around?

and who would allow a man like him call you names and slam you against a wall the second he entered your house?

you did, and gojo started to dislike it.

you were so naive, so utterly in love with gojo, and enamored at the idea of him loving you the way you dreamed he would, you started to accept more and more.

gojo would fuck you with your head hanging out the side of the bed, your body swinging and the blood rushing to your head, disrupting the pleasure you concentrated on feeling, because you should be enjoying whatever gojo did with your body.

you knew you didn’t, though. you knew you hated when gojo would ask you to suck him on the bathroom while your friends chatted outside, and you hated when he fucked you in a public bathroom in the middle of your friends wedding. but how could you complain? gojo loved you.

you should’ve stopped him the moment you stopped feeling the high he did. the moment the pleasure he was feeling didn’t reach you, but you didn’t. not because you thought gojo loved you, but because you loved him.

you brought it up one time, as gojo stripped you of your clothes, the blood rushing through your ears by the way he yanked your shirt over your head. “i think you’re being too rough.”

gojo chuckled, tilting his head as he planted a kiss on your mouth, assuring you’d eventually enjoy it.

you believed him, even the mornings after when your legs and arms were sour, and you were incapable of opening your mouth too wide. gojo would only laugh.

gojo hated it, though.

gojo hated the way you would continue to stick around like a lost puppy. he couldn’t bring himself to stop the situation, but why weren’t you stopping him?

after that comment, you never said anything else, and gojo knew you wanted to, he hoped you wanted to. because he knew you hated the things he was making you do. you weren’t that kind of person, hell, you hated that kind of attention. gojo knew the only reason you agreed to fuck without compromises the first time was because you wanted him to be happy. gojo knew that, and hated you for that.

why were you acting like a bunny? you weren’t like that. you weren’t docile like guinea pig, nervous like a deer, no, you weren’t like that. you were funny and straightforward, you never let anyone step over you, but then, why were you letting gojo step all over you like that?

gojo knew the answer at the bottom of his heart, but he, like many other things, ignored it. he wasn’t responsible for you, you were a grown adult and you could take care of yourself. if you wanted to, you’d easily get up and end everything. but why weren’t you.

things between you and gojo started to change. soon becoming a year, this dynamic continued between the two of you, yet, the connection was nonexistent. he wouldn’t call, nor text you, and the only time you two would meet was when he was feeling horny. he would come, fuck you, and leave right after finishing. at first, he’d tell you goodnight, he’d tell you to have a good day or he’d greet you before entering your place. but after a month, he would only come inside your place, fuck, and leave right after. you tried to get him to talk, trying to grab onto him everytime he finished, and gojo quickly picked on your behaviour.

you soon realized that probably the reason gojo continued to stick around you wasn’t because he considered you a friend, but because you were easy to control; you were his source of entertainment.

who would put up with gojo satoru? you laughed to yourself, would anybody allow to be treated the way gojo does to you? maybe that’s also the reason why he’s constantly knocking at your door.

once gojo noticed how much you tried to get him to stay a few minutes by your side, he decided the only way to stop you was fucking you dumb enough you’d pass out.

gojo knew you didn’t deserve to be treated like this. gojo knew he was a dickhead, taking advantage of the friendship you had built over the years. the thought of another man treating you like this was revolting. the thought of another man abusing your trust, betraying you like that, hell, he’d probably go after that guy and kill him with his bare hands if he could. yet there he was, growling onto your ear and violently pounding into you.

the fact you allowed this to happen, permitted him take you whenever and wherever, managed to hunt him. everytime he heard you panting next to his body, incapable of bringing yourself to your feet, gojo turned his back to you. and he wishes, he fervently wishes the image of your face in pain, silently begging for him to stop, could knock some sense into his head.

news flash: it doesn't.

everytime he notices your eyes close tight and your fingers fidgeting, gojo regains energy, taking in the noises coming out of your mind and reading you like an open book, only inciting this sick flame inside of home. the sick idea that if he treats you like this, you will walk out. 

gojo folds your body and he knows you can’t take it, praying you will scream and push him away. you should. but then why are you putting up with this?

gojo doesn’t understand, that’s why you try to think.

but gojo knows what he’s doing is wrong. gojo damn well knows, and that hope slowly turns into loathing, because, are you stupid? can’t you take the hint?

this could be easily solved if he spoke to you. but gojo had long gotten bored of any form of communicating, he hated weak people. 

gojo hated you and that sick love you felt for him.

gojo watched your friends reactions to your bruised neck. it’s not like he cared. he wished you did though. but you assured them you were alright every single team.

“your friends are fucking dumb,” he scowled in your ear while your body continued to shake, his hips yanking you forward and forward where the top of your head continously hit the headboard.

gojo started hating your friends, he would always remind you that. he hated them because everytime he grabbed your neck with all his force, they still wouldn’t budge.

how long were you gonna put up with this?

“there he is,” gojo hears coming from the door as heavy steps approach him.

he doesn’t react fast enough, and a hand lands on his cheek with such force he’s genuinely dumbfounded.

“babe!” his friend yells, watching his girlfriend take a step back, gojo’s cheek swelling at the hit.

“what is wrong with you?” she screams again, completely ignoring his friend.

gojo has a bad feeling, but he doesn’t say anything.

his friend is quick to grab onto his girlfriend, who suddenly feels like slapping gojo across the cheek again.

“you psycho! what is wrong with you?” she says again, and gojo knows what she’s talking about.

your friends had gone on their honeymoon, leaving for about two months. within those two months, gojo and you started to experience new situations. gojo would slap your face, your cheek, your mouth, every time getting a little more and more violent with you.

your friends never said anything, but he knew your best friend would.

still, he was hoping you’d try to stop her, so where were you right now?

“babe, calm down, what are you talking about?”

“well, your asshole of a friend has been doing whatever the hell he wants with my friend and i won’t let him get away with it!”

gojo’s friend is confused, but gojo doesn’t say anything, expectant of what you had probably said.

“she thinks i don’t notice but how can i ignore it? gojo’s been treating her like a bag of sand, like a lifeless doll he can do whatever the hell he wants to and i won’t let him any longer!”

“why doesn’t she come here and say it herself?”

the two other people are taken aback. gojo is wearing a contented smile, as if he was finding the situation amusing. your friend scoffs, genuinely dumbfounded.

“what?”

“if she’s having a bad time why doesn’t she tell me?”

“you dumb fuck, maybe because she loves you?”

“and what has that to do with me?”

your friend latches at his cheek one more time, but gojo traps her wrist in his fingers before she can hit him with her force. his friend comes into the argument, “i don’t think you’re being fair, gojo.”

“how is she being fair? i never force her to do anything, why are you putting the blame on me?”

gojo shrugs, walking out of the kitchen, leaving the couple completely speechless.

you jump on your seat at the banging of your door. is late in the night, still, you don’t expect gojo to be at your door, neither were you expecting him to treat you with such force.

“what’s up with you?”

his fingers wrap around your neck, completely enveloping his hand around it, with so much force your eyes are quickly seeing white dots.

“w-what do you mean?”

“if something’s happening you’re telling me, right?” he asks you, but you don’t know if he expects an answer, either way, you were unable to answer, barely fighting for the last of air in your system. “answer!”

“i can’t,” you whisper.

gojo’s cloudy vision finally clears out the moment he feels a tear run down his hand. you start sobbing, unconsciously losing air, but you’re incapable of stopping yourself. you can’t take it anymore.

gojo takes a step back and you fall to your knees, your fingers going straight to your neck as you exhale.

“we’re done,” is all he says.

“wait! wait, gojo, please wait!” you call out, running after him. gojo isn’t running, but his legs move faster than he’s ever walked, trying to disappear from your presence as fast as he can.

because he’s finally realized everything he’s done, and he finally realizes how much he genuinely loves you.