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dollfacefantasy · 2 months ago

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LOCK AND KEY ♡

pairing: yakuza!ryomen sukuna x fem!reader x yakuza!satoru gojo

summary: you finally have a chance at a big break in your career, a story that would take you from a measly crime reporter to a real journalist. the only catch is it's about the two most dangerous men in the city. when they find out about it, surely nothing will go wrong...

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, non/dubcon, kidnapping (sort of), threesome, p in v, blowjobs, facefucking, biting, spitting, praise/degradation, mentions of violence + blood + murder + typical crime stuff

a/n: this is a belated birthday gift for my bestie @kaitkatme who i love so very much. i hope you like it <3 also thank you to @explorevenus @nexysworld and @fearcvlt for beta reading!! as always reblogs and comments are appreciated.

Your eyes fluttered open to stare at the ground below you. They found carpet you didn’t recognize. The spot directly beneath your face was soaked a darker shade by a pool of your blood. You could feel the source — a steady stream of crimson leaking from your nose. A dull ache throbbed through your skull as you tried to recall what led you to this point. Where were you? And why were you waking up here?

Lifting your head, you scanned the rest of your surroundings. Whoever was keeping you put you in a dark room doused in red lighting. Windows speckled the walls parallel to you while a large grand door took up the one opposite. Every surface appeared ominous, drenched in shadows. Obsidian carpet dusted the floor. You were thankful for that aspect since you’d been positioned on your knees. That foamy layer was the only thing sparing your joints from soreness right now.

Furniture was sparse throughout this place. A large sectional couch with thick seats sat in one corner while what looked to be a small kitchenette took up another. It seemed like a guest house; though, you didn’t see any makings of a bedroom. Perhaps it was located in the alcove you couldn’t see to your left.

Near the entrance stood a mirror. Through its reflective pane you were able to see your situation and the position of your limbs despite the stiffness in your neck.

You were bound at the wrists with restraints that tied to your ankles. They connected back to the wall behind you as well. That was how you managed to stay upright even while unconscious. Thankfully, all of your clothes had been kept on. Despite the bruising and blood on your face, you couldn’t see or feel any signs of other injuries.

Still, these factors didn’t answer any questions.

Your memories were returning to you, slowly and one at a time, but building a bigger picture nonetheless. This morning you’d woken up at the same time you always did. You went through the usual steps of your routine before walking to work. A man had catcalled you on your way. When you’d told him to fuck off, he called you a ‘stupid stuck-up bitch’ in return. You remembered fishing your phone out, jotting down a sentence in your notes app about doing a story on street harassment at some point in the future.

Earlier in the day, gray clouds had masked the sky as water drizzled down like half-hearted tears. When you arrived at the dreary office complex that constituted your workplace, you strolled right into the elevator and stood silently. Two men entered after you, crowding your smaller frame towards the back. They spoke as if you weren’t even there and carried on their conversation about potential solutions to the problem that was their wives not putting out enough since having babies number two and three.

Another note. A potential investigative report into marital rape.

When the doors in front of you had finally parted, you squeezed between the two sets of broad shoulders to freedom. You made your way through the array of desks ahead and found your own towards the back corner of the room. Right away, you slipped your phone into the drawer before booting up the computer. Those other stories could wait. The one you were working on today blew both out of the water.

You had clicked on the little folder in the top right corner of the screen. The one with no label. A slew of documents popped up across your screen. Faked financial forms, criminal records, suppressed victim statements, old news clippings. And your itinerary with one last interview lined up for tonight at 8 pm.

The final nail in the coffins that you built for Satoru Gojo and Ryomen Sukuna.

It would be the last piece of evidence you needed on the two leaders of the worst crime families in this city. An exclusive account with a former member of the Gojo Clan who worked closely with Sukuna’s circle on their shared endeavors and was now turning on them both as he fled for his life? This would make your career.

No longer would this paper have you reporting on the lower rungs of the crime beat. With all the work you’d done for this, your editor would be forced to acknowledge your talent and dedication. You’d be given good stories that would help innocent people and make actual change. You wouldn’t have to interview burnt out cops or clueless onlookers about a car accident. With Satoru Gojo and Ryomen Sukuna’s collective downfall as a mark on your resume, you would do so much more.

Finally, you would be a real journalist.

The rest of the day had been pretty mundane if you remembered correctly. You’d spent most of your hours writing the beginning of your article and then prepping for the interview later.

The interview…

You’d been on your way to that when the memories stopped. The sky was already dark when you left the building. Golden streetlights glowed every twenty feet or so along your path. You remembered running your questions through your head as you walked, preparing for the possibility that you’d have to talk this guy back into sharing if he started getting cold feet.

Someone had called out to you though. It startled you. That you remembered. You didn’t see anyone else on the street, but that deep tone hailed you all the same. He hadn’t said your name. It’d just been something vague like lady or miss. Clearly not anyone who knew you.

But you looked in that direction all the same. Your eyes met a shadowy figure before pain radiated through your entire face.

Then everything went dark.

The most obvious conclusion to you now was that this had something to do with your scheduled interview. But you figured if that were the case, your body would already be floating through some river by now. Such was the fate of those who came too close to toppling the house of cards.

Something similar happened to the last guy who tried to expose the Yakuza syndicates. It was a few years ago, but you didn’t forget. How could you? He’d sat at the desk closest to your left. You could still remember his pudgy face and thick glasses.

Even worse, you could still remember the photos of him strung up in that slaughter house.

Well… at least you weren’t strung up yet. Bound and bruised maybe, but that didn’t mean certain death. After all, this was a pretty nice room to keep someone in for the sole purpose of execution.

The thoughts swirling through your head soon came to an end as you heard muffled voices outside the room. They started out barely noticeable but grew louder as seconds ticked on. You had just enough time to mentally brace yourself before that large door opened.

Two men entered the room. Your eyelids were still a bit heavy, but you didn’t need 20/20 vision to recognize them.

Standing next to each other, the pair looked like polar opposites. Both were muscular, but one was lean and the other bulky. Both wore designer t-shirts, but the lean one sported black while the bulky one chose white. Both of them looked at you like an apex predator, but the one in black with piercing blue eyes and the other in white with smoldering red.

Satoru Gojo & Ryomen Sukuna.

Your heart stopped beating in your chest. As if lifted by mere survival instinct, your eyes no longer gave you trouble. You could see in clear view as the two men approached you. An unnerving smile claimed Satoru’s face. The arrogance was there on Sukuna as well, just a much more muted version of it.

“Good. She’s awake now,” you heard Sukuna’s deep voice rumble. “She’s been passed out for a few hours.”

“I bet. Poor thing’s probably tired. Looks like your guys roughed her up a bit,” Satoru said, his lips turning into an exaggerated frown.

Your eyes flitted between the two of them. They didn’t have any weapons that you could see. Maybe you’d be spared for a little while longer.

“What… what’s going on?” you asked, struck by how raspy your own voice sounded.

The two of them looked at you, taking in your haggard appearance along with the will to survive you still possessed.

Satoru grinned impossibly wider.

“Awww, that’s how you know she’s a good little reporter. Already asking questions,” he teased.

His hand stretched out towards you as if he wanted to pat you on the head like you were a prized pup. Instead, you wrenched away like a wounded animal. You tried to escape his touch with such force that you nearly toppled over. He simply laughed at your close call, but another strong grip on your shoulder spared you from faceplanting.

Nausea rolled through you at the sudden touch. Never in your life had you wanted to crawl out of your own skin so badly. Sukuna’s palm was warm but rough. Something someone might mistake for human if they didn’t know the kind of man it belonged to. You looked up at him through your lashes. Unlike Satoru, he didn’t wear a teasing smirk or hold any amusement in his eyes.

“Let go of me,” you whimpered. You hated how weak your voice sounded. It came out scared and desperate, which to be fair, you were both. You just didn’t want it to be so obvious. But something about Sukuna stripped you bare, shattered your usual methods of concealment.

“Quiet,” he said.

To your surprise, his fingers released your bicep, giving you a second of peace. But that was only so they could grab your jaw instead. The calloused tips dug into your cheeks. There was no pulling away now.

Satoru clicked his tongue. “You’re gonna learn real quick that you wanna be nice to me, sweetheart. I’m much more friendly than him.”

While held still, Satoru fished a white cloth from his pocket. He brought it to your face, wiping the tacky blood off your nose and lips before tossing it onto a nearby table.

Despite his minor kindness, you chose to ignore all that his statement implied. In your mind, both of them were equally horrible, and you didn’t want to get to know them well enough to discern which of the two was slightly less evil.

At work, you were forced to look at pictures of them constantly. Their cocky grins and intense stares filled the paper. You had to flip through page after page of stories about their scandalous escapades or legal dramas to get to your pieces at the back.

You loathed it.

Everyone in this city knew they were dirty. All of you knew that they made their money from the blood of others, that they stayed in power by shooting down any competition. But somehow everyone came to an agreement that you would all pretend they were just typical elite socialites. That their money came from their established bloodlines and that they kept it up through skillful investments.

You’d been so close to unraveling the lies. But it didn’t matter anymore. Not right now anyways. All you could do in this moment was survive. And to do that, you decided to focus on the more serious member of the duo. You figured he would give a better chance at getting out of here. Or at least a way of reaching a destination without so much drawn out anticipation.

“Where am I?” you asked.

Another brief moment of silence went by. Your question remained unanswered.

“Why are you keeping me here?” you tried.

“You really don’t know?” Sukuna said. The words sounded rough and scratchy, but his cadence was so smooth it sickened you. “You’re a clever girl. I’m sure you have some idea.”

You shook your head.

With your face held in place by Sukuna’s strong hand, Satoru reached out and actually managed to sweep his palm over your head. And not just once. He took advantage of your predicament and pet you several times, smiling at the grimace that overtook your features.

“Come on. Don’t insult us. We know you’re smarter than that,” he teased. “You’d have to be to find out all that you did.”

“How did you-” you started to ask. You’d been so careful. You secured every connection, terminated every unnecessary history of contact, kept all your information as private as possible. They couldn’t have traced you, so how did they know?

“It doesn’t matter how,” Satoru said.

“I was careful! I-”

“You were so careful, you didn’t think that it was possible we might have a few of your coworkers on our payrolls?” Sukuna interjected.

Fury, anguish, and humiliation rushed through you all at once because, no, you hadn’t considered that. You’d never entertained the idea that any of the people you worked with would sell you out. No part of you regarded any of them as paragons of journalism, but some optimistic shred of your psyche had refused to even contemplate that idea.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” Satoru said, taking clear enjoyment from your faith in the world being shattered.”Your boss couldn’t have been more willing to give you up. He let us know all about your little story a few weeks ago.”

That reveal stung even worse. The past few weeks, all the nights you stayed late, all the hours you spent poring over documents and trying to find people willing to talk, all for nothing. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if that interview you’d been heading to had been set up under the supervision of one of them.

You tried to stifle any further dismay, not wanting to give them any more satisfaction. You should’ve known asking how was futile. You had to change your angle, focus on the relevant information. They had discovered your intentions to go after them. Now you just had to look for a way to survive.

Internally, you tried to contemplate your current options. Really only two came to mind. Comply or deny. Neither sounded appealing, but you decided on the one you believed would speed things along.

“So what? Why am I even here? You killed my story already. There’s nothing else I can do,” you said. You fought with your vocal chords to keep your words even, to appear some kind of tough.

“Do you think we really believe you’ll just let this go?” Sukuna asked in return.

“We know you won’t accept a pay off. You’re way too honest for that. And a few vague threats won’t do the trick either,” Satoru said, squatting down to be eye level with you. “But-”

“Why haven’t you just killed me then?” you asked, cutting Satoru off. Your eyes stayed angled at Sukuna.

For the first time, your defiance seemingly got under his skin. It cracked the cocky exterior he’d so carefully crafted with each word he spoke. That sparkle in his eyes dulled a little bit.

Before you could really register it, his hand darted for your face again. He wormed his long fingers underneath the thickness of Sukuna’s palm, flexing off the other hand. With a small jerk, you were looking at him again.

“What’d I say about being nice?” he asked. The words weren’t overtly angry. Impatient, low and tense sounding, but not angry. Not yet.

You didn’t dignify the question with a verbal response. Without even breaking your harsh glare towards him, you spit. Your saliva flew across the small gap between your faces and struck his cheek. The clear glob landed right below his eye. You almost flinched at the contact, so certain a volatile reaction from him would follow. But it didn’t. Instead, that sparkle flickered again. Amusement glowed at the center of his irises once more.

With a quiet chuckle, he wiped your spit from his cheek. He then brought those same saliva-coated fingers to his mouth and popped them inside, cleaning them of your fluids.

Your face twisted into a grimace. You couldn’t recall seeing something more repulsive in your entire life. That made him laugh.

“You’re disgusting,” you said.

“And you’re so cute,” he teased, pulling you back in his direction.

On his other side, Sukuna tilted your chin upwards. He didn’t interject to help you, didn’t bother pulling Satoru back. He just watched as the other man leaned forward, brushing his nose along the shell of your ear before nipping at the lobe.

Your eyes squeezed shut, and you tried to pull away. Satoru’s tongue slid from between his lips to trace a path down your neck. He kissed along the thumping artery in your neck, his lips pressing against your skin in time with the strong pulse.

“We have other uses for you,” Sukuna answered your original question, his grip on your neck still firm. “You’re much more valuable to us alive than dead.”

Uses. The word sent a chill down your spine.

“I’d never do anything to help the two of you,” you said.

He chuckled, deep and raspy, not at all concerned with your protest. “That’s not your decision, little one.”

A rush of involuntary heat flooded your body following the term of endearment. You refused to acknowledge it. Your body was just confused by the objectively pleasant touches.

His hand slipped around to the back of your neck as he crouched to be level with you too. He gave the sensitive flesh there a squeeze. You had limited mobility with your limbs bound, but you still tried squirming away from Satoru’s wandering mouth.

Upon feeling you recoil, Sukuna’s hold tightened further, like an owner’s grasp on the scruff of their puppy’s neck.

“Just tell me what you want. You don’t have to torture me first,” you whimpered.

“Oh c’mon, princess. Does this really feel like torture?” Satoru cooed with a final kiss to your cheek. He pulled back to look into your eyes. Despite the softness in his voice, he still looked so fucking smug. You hated it.

“What do you want from me?” you tried again.

While you could put up a good fight, you found your resistance breaking down pretty quickly under the constant touching. Half of you trembled with visceral hatred, pure revulsion at the feeling of their skin on your body. But the other half, the one you wouldn’t admit to if you could help it, felt something closer to frustration welling up because they were teasing. They weren’t giving you any real satisfaction.

Everything was too much, and you just wanted away from them. The contradictory mix of emotions was making your head pound and your chest ache. You closed your eyes tight again, hoping that maybe if you believed it enough, this would turn out to be some sick nightmare, and you’d wake up alone in your own bed.

“All we need from you is your cooperation. Be a good girl and listen,” Sukuna said. He gave the nape of your neck another squeeze, his nails digging into the delicate skin.

Your eyes opened again, connecting with his red ones. They gleamed so bright it looked as though actual rubies had been embedded into his sockets.

At the same time, Satoru ducked in again to lay some more kisses upon your throat. His hands settled on your waist, smoothing up and down your soft curves. Every time they lowered, you could feel them pushing the line, testing how far they could delve beneath the hem of your shirt before you gave a severe reaction.

“You know this feels good,” Satoru murmured between kisses.

“No it doesn’t,” you said.

He chuckled at that, not letting up in the slightest. With a soft, disapproving click of his tongue, he tutted at you. “You’re lying. You can say you don’t like it all you want, but your body betrays you. Your skin is getting all warm, you’re squirming, and I bet… if I were to feel right here, you’d be all nice and wet for me,” he whispered as his right set of fingers slid between your legs, pressing on the seam of your slacks.

You jolted in surprise. A small squeal bursted from your lips at the sudden pressure there. You tried clenching your legs shut without losing balance, but it didn’t matter. His lithe digits continued sliding back and forth unobstructed.

Against your will, you whimpered. You couldn’t help it. He was stroking you just right, and as much as you hated it, it felt fucking good. His fingertips coasted over your pulsing clit and massaged your entrance where you already knew, true to his inference, you were starting to drip.

Drawing your attention back to him, Sukuna’s other hand came up to cup your jaw. His thumb landed on the seam of your lips before nudging its way in.

“Try to bite, and we’ll both lose a finger,” he warned.

You didn’t even entertain the possibility that he could be bluffing. If you caused the slightest bit of pain to his thumb, you were certain he’d inflict ten times as much onto you. So you did nothing. You felt the warm thickness of it on your tongue, felt the calloused pad against your soft muscle.

He pulled it back and forth a bit, in and out, testing you. In all honesty, you didn’t find yourself wanting to bite. Rather, your lips closed around his thumb with more purpose, actively accepting the digit instead of loosely allowing it.

“There you go,” he praised. “You already know what to do.”

Nausea bubbled up in the back of your throat again, but it was short lived, overpowered by the muted bliss Satoru was stroking into you down below. You let your eyes droop closed and even laved your tongue on his digit.

It was slowly setting in that you weren’t going to get out of this. You figured the next best thing would probably be playing nice until another opportunity for escape arose.

Seconds later, you felt warm breath puffing against the side of your throat unoccupied by Satoru’s mouth. Little chills broke out over your skin. His other hand fell from the back of your neck, down your spine to the small of your back. He pulled you a little closer to the both of them. As close as he could while you were still restrained.

“You don’t have to admit you like it, little one. Just stop fighting. Let it happen.”

With that, he moved in on your neck too. He was rougher than Satoru. His teeth scraped over your sensitive flesh before his mouth latched onto a specific patch of skin. He bit it. Not just a little tantalizing nip. An actual bite. You gasped, tilting your head back and inadvertently giving them more access.

The bite on your neck wasn’t hard enough to draw blood, but it was sure to leave a mark. He started with just that one before continuing with a series of more down towards your shoulder.

Despite this, Satoru remained relatively gentle. He worked in the opposite direction, heading up towards your lips. His eyes rose to be level with yours. That same cocky attitude glimmered within.

“Still think I’m disgusting?” he asked.

“Repulsive even,” you replied.

“Let’s see if I can get you to think of some other big words to describe me,” he said, ducking in to connect his mouth with yours.

At first, your body tensed. You stiffened up under his touch. But in a matter of moments, you slowly began to kiss back. Your lips tentatively mimicked his movements before you found yourself settling into a rhythm. He was still vile, but his kisses maybe weren’t so bad…

With Satoru occupying most of your attention, you didn’t notice Sukuna’s hands falling away or his mouth receding from your marked-up neck. Your eyes were shut while making out, so you also didn’t see him stand up. You didn’t catch him undoing his fly and dropping his pants either.

The first indication of his changed position you got was the fat leaky tip of his cock nudging your cheek.

Reluctantly, you disconnected from Satoru’s mouth, turning your head to eye the interruption. As it came into your view, you had to make a conscious effort not to let your brows raise to the ceiling. In all your life, you’d never seen a guy so big. Not only was his shaft long, but it was so fucking thick. Your mind wasn’t even concerned with who it belonged to right now. You could only watch in awe as his fist slid up and down, stroking it with a tight grip.

Satoru didn’t seem as phased as you. He grabbed the other man’s cock without hesitation, eliciting a sharp hiss from him.

You watched as he gave it a couple strokes of his own while rising to his feet. It was only a few before Sukuna pried his hand away with a strong grip on his wrist.

“Watch it,” he warned, similar to the tone he used with you.

“Cool it, big guy. You’re just as bad as her. Acting like you don’t like something that obviously feels good,” he teased.

You were sure if anyone else had said that, they wouldn’t get the chance to speak like that again. But Sukuna only scowled at him before reaching for your head. He pulled you in closer, looking down at your wide eyes as his dick slid across the side of your face.

He rubbed it across one of your cheeks, then the other. His eyes took in every little reaction you had. The small crinkles of discomfort, the shuddery breaths of desire. He took his time, toying and teasing before he actually brought it before your lips, so close that a few beads of precum smeared on your bottom lip.

“Wha- what do you want me to do?” you said.

It wasn’t that you didn’t know. It was that you didn’t think you could.

For the first time, he laughed. And it wasn’t like Satoru’s. Nothing about the sound was lighthearted or fun. It was a deep, sadistic rumble. A sound that was the final many heard before they met their end.

“What does it look like I want you to do? Open that pretty mouth and suck it,” he said. The hand on the back of your head moved you in closer, slipping the tip just past your lips. “Same rules as before: you try biting, and I’ll make the slaughterhouse seem like a fantasy.”

You hadn’t planned on resisting anyways, but after hearing that, all the fight seeped out of your body. At first, you didn’t put much effort in either. You just kind of sat there on your haunches, letting him do as he pleased.

He pushed his hips forward. His cock slid into your mouth inch by inch. It was only a second or two before you felt his head starting to nudge the back of your throat. The urge to gag pricked at you, but you tried your hardest to suppress it.

You squeezed your eyes shut while keeping your jaw loose and your fists clenched. He rocked in and out of the warm embrace your throat provided.

Even with your eyes closed, you still sensed Satoru’s presence. His spindly fingers caressed the top of your head and trailed along your temple. A touch probably intended to be soothing, but one that came across to you as teasing.

Following a few more shallow thrusts, you felt a tug at the back of your head. It was too jerky to be Satoru. Your eyes opened to find those same red eyes staring down at you again, a lecherous grin spread across Sukuna’s mouth.

“Trying to make me do all the work?” he said. “You’re still as a corpse down there. If I wanted to fuck one of those, I would’ve killed you.”

You tried mumbling out a sorry, but around the dick in your mouth, the word was incoherent. He didn’t need to give further direction. You began lightly bobbing your head. The movements started off tentative, as if you were still figuring out how to move at all, but slowly, you found your rhythm.

Your eyes closed again, but this time not as tight. Like his thumb before, his cock served as a distraction. You didn’t have to think right now. Didn’t have to worry about how you would get out of this. Didn’t have to ruminate over how you would day get revenge. All you had to do was work on taking his dick farther and farther down your throat with each push of your head.

“Atta girl…” he mumbled from above.

A slow exhale blew from your nostrils. His relaxed tone eased your nerves as well. The pace at which you sucked became more languid. Your head swooped closer to his pelvis more fluidly. Saliva oozed from your mouth, thoroughly coating his length and your chin.

In the midst of losing yourself to the task at hand, a whisper broke through your bubble.

“Gonna untie you now, princess, so we can both play with you.” Satoru’s breath fanned against your ear as he spoke. “You better behave. I won’t mind chasing you down, but I don’t think it’ll be as fun for you,” he said as his fingers came around back to free your arms from their bindings.

The ties fell loose and dropped to the floor. Instantly, you brought your wrists to your chests, massaging the skin that felt raw from the rough material of the restraints. You swiveled them to get the blood flowing normal again all while still flicking your tongue against the ridge of Sukuna’s tip.

You heard him choke out a groan before pulling you off, a ragged breath spilling from his lungs. At the same time, you sucked air in. You took in all that you could while your airway wasn’t obstructed.

“Fuck… that’s a good girl,” he praised. You again ignored the heat that flashed through your lower abdomen.

Your eyes opened again, your lids feeling a little weighted this time around. They both came into your view. Sukuna’s cock hung between you and him, shining with your saliva and dripping pearly precum from the head. On the other side, Satoru also had his dick out now. He stroked it in your direction. It was also impressive in size, long and thick enough to make your mouth water, but after seeing the monster between Sukuna’s thighs, you didn’t feel apprehensive.

“Cute… she already looks a little cockdrunk, and she’s only had you,” he said.

Less patient than his counterpart, Satoru yanked your head closer and sheathed himself entirely inside your mouth in one go. You actually gagged this time around, globs of your spit leaking from your mouth as your eyes watered. Your hands flew up to his thighs in an attempt to brace yourself, but he kept you as close as possible, your nose nestled against the swath of coarse white hair.

You could hear them both laugh a bit and say something back and forth to one another, though specifics evaded your ears. Sweet humiliation floods your veins at the sounds. Satoru keeps you in place, not moving while throbbing in your mouth.

Although Sukuna had explicitly said no biting, he never said anything about your nails. You dug them into the meat of Satoru’s thighs as hard as you could, until the pale skin turned pink with little crescent markings.

Instead of hissing in pain and ripping you off of him, Satoru moaned. His hips bucked forward, lodging his shaft so deep in your throat you actually thought you were at risk of choking and dying. Your vision faded and noises grew distant.

Just as you thought you were about to lose consciousness, he tugged you backwards. Not all the way off his dick, far enough that you were still drooling on the tip as oxygen came back to you. The clear fluid oozed from between your lips like a leaky faucet.

“There we go. That’s better,” he hummed before easing your mouth on him again.

You took some initiative, hoping that might spare you from another close call with blacking out. Your tongue slithered over his veins as you’d done for Sukuna. The other man in question who was reaching out to stroke your head.

“Don’t forget about me,” he teased, nudging his hips at you a bit.

Your hand came up without thinking. You wrapped your fingers around his thicker shaft and began stroking it at a rhythm a bit slower than the one your mouth moved at. It seemed to satisfy him. He didn’t say anything else, nor did he make a move to handle you.

Satoru did however.

Your mouth’s smooth pace only staved off his enthusiasm for so long. Before you knew it, each of those large hands came to rest on either side of your head. They held you in place, held you still so he could take over the motions.

He wasn’t too rough at first, gentle as someone could be while fucking your face. His thrusts remained shallow and even. You kept your focus on twisting your hand around Sukuna’s length. You couldn’t see what you were actually doing, but as large as he was, there wasn’t really a chance of losing him.

As the pleasure started to build for Satoru, he got a little faster, a tad overeager. He wasn’t ramming his dick down your throat, but he was starting to move faster. You could barely keep up with it. It was intoxicating in a way; left you feeling lightheaded and spun out of order.

We have other uses for you. Sukuna’s earlier statement echoed through your mind again. They definitely were using you. Satoru rutted against your mouth as though it was a toy crafted just for him, and Sukuna watched the skilled swivel of your fingers like it would be eternal.

You lost track of time down on your knees.

You weren’t quite sure how long you’d been down there by the time Satoru was stepping back and letting his cock drop from between your lips. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t like you were so eager to see what else they had in store for you.

Your eyes cracked open again. You hadn’t realized they’d even shut. The first thing in your line of sight was Satoru’s shaft, still hard and flushed and soaked with your saliva. From there, your pupils rose, gazing upon the two grins above.

Satoru reached out to pet your head, and this time you didn’t pull away in the slightest. Instead, your head leaned into the tender touch, nuzzled at the palm providing you a sliver of comfort.

“That’s it. You’re coming around,” he cooed. “We just have to break you in a little.”

His voice actually sounded kind of nice when it wasn’t polluted by that arrogant lilt. It hit your ears all smooth and soft, like a steady stream of champagne poured into a glass.

Almost a polar opposite, Sukuna spoke from beside him.

“Get her up. Move over there,” he said, tilting his head in the direction of the couches.

“You got it,” Satoru said in a sing-song tone.

He gave your head one more caress before ducking around back to untie your ankles. The restraints came apart quickly under his nimble fingers. After they slipped off, you felt the same relief flood your feet that you’d felt earlier in your hands.

He scooped you up off the ground, cradling you in his arms like a bride. Despite being leaner than Sukuna, he didn’t lack any strength. He moved with the same fluidity that he’d entered the room with.

Under normal circumstances, you would have fought him every step of the way. Each step would have seen you kicking and squirming, trying to get him to drop you just so you could scramble to freedom. But in all honesty, you were in no condition to scramble. Being on your knees so long had left them feeling like jello. You doubted you could successfully make the short trip to the couch let alone bolt through an unfamiliar house in an unfamiliar area.

Upon reaching the luxurious seats, Satoru sat down and put you in his lap, another move you would have protested if you didn’t feel so off balance right now. He held you to his chest, stroking down your neck and onto your shoulders. Sukuna sat one cushion over from the two of you.

Without saying anything, he took your legs into his lap. You just watched, unsure of his intentions. But all that came of the move was the soothing feeling of his thick fingers massaging your calves one at a time.

All you could do was blink. You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting, but that wasn’t it. His digits dug into your muscle with obvious strength, but it wasn’t at all painful. If anything it felt nice, like an aid to your circulation after being bound for hours on end. You just couldn’t comprehend why he would want to do it.

Breaking you from your confusion, Satoru whispered in your ear, “Let’s get you out of this dirty thing.”

At first, you didn’t know what he meant. However, upon looking down, you realized the front of your shirt had become stained with both blood and saliva. It was in rough shape, much worse condition than when you’d put it on this morning for work.

You didn’t really try to stop him from pulling it off your body. It would be pointless. Instead, you remained motionless as he slid each of your arms from the sleeves and guided it off your torso. The fabric’s absence sent a small shiver through you.

He brought the shirt up, using it as a makeshift cloth to cleanse your face of any remaining spit from your jaw.

“So pretty even when you’re all messy,” he praised quietly, dropping the garment to the floor beside the couch.

You assumed your bra would be the next thing to go, but Satoru’s fingers targeted the button on your slacks instead. He popped the silver out of place and slid the zipper down before shimmying you out of them. Again, with your current lack of strength in your legs, the process went easy, like removing clothes from a doll.

“You’re being so good right now. Keep it up, and you’re really gonna like it here,” Sukuna said while continuing his slow massage on your legs.

For a split second, that sentence triggered your journalistic instincts that you thought Satoru’s cock had knocked out of your head. You’re gonna like it here. So they were planning to keep you around. This wouldn’t be a one thing. They weren’t sending you out with a bang. It was as Satoru had said. They were breaking you in.

You didn’t really understand why. The trouble of keeping you prisoner didn’t seem worth the spoils they gained from it. At least in your mind.

Reading the confusion written all over your face, Sukuna’s palms slid up to your thighs. He tugged you down a little bit. You shifted from Satoru’s lap to the cool material of the couch, leaving only your head on his thigh.

The large hands spread your legs apart. Another shudder coursed through your body. You felt completely vulnerable in this position, like a small puppy caught between two wolves, your soft belly left exposed for their sharp claws and teeth.

Though nothing so ghastly happened. Sukuna’s fingertips continued to ghost over your inner thighs and hips, the touch feather-light.

“You have something to say?” he said.

But you shook your head.

“You do,” he continued. “Come on. I won’t bite. Not again anyway.”

“I just… so you’re really not gonna kill me?” you said, your voice wary.

“We already told you we weren’t,” Satoru chided from above, his hand stroking your cheek.

“But why? What’s the point? Why would you keep a loose end?” you asked. You knew you should probably shut up. Why argue against your own survival? But the innate curiosity inside of you craved an answer.

“You won’t be a loose end,” Sukuna said. “You’ll be under lock and key here. There won’t be any risk of you getting loose.”

His hands began to push your thighs up against your sides. Heat flooded your cheeks. The position left you totally exposed in the most compromising way. You wanted to ask why; although, you had a hunch, but you figured they may begin to grow annoyed with your questions.

He could tell you weren’t satisfied.

“You may not understand why, but killing you would be such a waste. You’re smart, calculating, and you’re not bad to look at,” he said.

One of his thumbs began to graze the center of your panties, eliciting a gasp from you. Up and down, the pad of his digit traced from your slit up to your clit.

“You’ll be nice to have around, a good little stress reliever. And when you’ve proven yourself enough, you’ll be useful to the business as well,” he went on, completely matter-of-fact.

“I don’t want to-” you started to whimper. But he cut you off with a swat between your legs.

“What did I tell you? It’s not up to you. Would you rather end up like the last guy?”

You shook your head again.

“Good. So don’t worry about that for now. Keep being a good girl, and we’ll talk about it more later,” he said.

His fingers hooked around your panties, beginning to tug them down your legs. You squirmed in response; both the cool air hitting your most sensitive spot and the idea of him seeing all of you like this making you anxious. Your thighs tried to close on instinct, but he blocked that and kept you open to his eyes.

“Ah-ah. Behave,” he tutted.

He pulled your panties the rest of the way off without incident. His eyes trained on your now revealed pussy like it was prey.

“You really are pretty,” he said. “I’ll have to get a taste later.”

Later. A part of you was almost disappointed. But before you had time to register that disappointment, his fingers swiped through your folds.

You gasped softly. His digits caressed over the slick skin with an exploratory touch, gauging how wet you were.

At the same time, Satoru’s fingers slid beneath your bra straps. The smooth pads of his finger tips also ventured South as they coasted towards your breasts. He squeezed them under the material of the cups. His thumb and index finger toyed with your nipple for a second before undoing the clasp in front so it could end up pooled with your shirt on the floor.

“You’re gonna take both of us,” Sukuna said as his fingers glided across your entrance.

“At the same time?” you squeaked.

“Not today,” Satoru teased. He leaned forward, smiling upside down at you.

“We don’t wanna ruin you right away,” Sukuna added.

You wondered what exactly not ruining you would entail, but you didn’t have to wait long. Seconds later those thick fingers receded from your cunt and tapped your hip.

“On all fours. Facing me.”

You followed the order as though you were being timed, flipping over and swiveling around. Satoru rewarded your new position with a firm smack to your ass. You bit your lip in shame. Neither of them needed to hear the embarrassing sound that wanted out of your mouth.

The sound of ruffling clothes came from behind you. Probably Satoru removing his shirt. You didn’t make an effort to find out for certain. It was only background noise to the man in front of you.

He held your jaw in the palm of his hand. With a bit more pressure, you were sure he could crush the bones there. But he didn’t. He just kept you still, watching every little reaction on your face.

You felt Satoru line up behind you. It was obvious when he started to push in. Your brows furrowed. Your lips rounded out into a little ‘o.’ Even though his girth hadn’t made you gawk, it still stretched you a little as he worked himself all the way inside.

A small squeak forced itself from between your lips as he bottomed out and his silky tip bumped your cervix.

“Good girl,” Sukuna purred from in front of you. “Just keep holding still.”

The deep timbre of his voice had your insides fluttering. Your walls massaged Satoru’s shaft with every little contraction.

He groaned from behind you. “Fuck… she’s tight,” he sighed as he began to rock his hips.

You moaned, the motion of him unsheathing himself from you almost as nice as when he filled you up completely. He started off at a slow pace, back and forth in a nice steady rhythm, striking deep with every thrust. Your breaths grew shaky, and your fingers clutched the cushion beneath you.

It was only a matter of moments before he started to speed up. He wasn’t jackhammering yet, but he was on the road there. His pelvis slapped against your ass in quick succession, the sound beginning to echo in the dark room. You bit your lip while letting yourself adjust. If not for Sukuna’s palm below your chin, you had no doubt your head would be hanging by now.

He just continued looking down at you, scarlet eyes baring into your very soul, making absolutely sure you got no break.

“You’re taking it so well, letting him get you all warmed up for me,” he praised.

Your body shuddered. You could only imagine what Sukuna would feel like. Thicker than Satoru but just as long. Would he handle you like this? Would he go harder or slower? Would he cum quick or last until you were begging for mercy. You supposed it wasn’t really worth thinking about. You’d find out once Satoru finished, and given how often he was moaning back there, you had a hunch that would be sooner rather than later.

You kind of wished you could see his face — how that pretty pale skin flushed with desire, how those dark pupils dilated within the eerie blue irises. After how he’d humiliated you, you wanted to see the proof of his desperation as well. But the sounds would have to suffice. Them and his increasingly tight grasp on your hips.

His arms vibrated with the strength it took to hold on, to not cum too soon. He clearly wanted to savor you a bit more before relinquishing you to the other man’s hands. Your back arched like a cat’s as his strokes brought you more and more pleasure with every blow.

The change in your posture prompted him to swivel his hips, to find a new angle that could brush against something else. He found what he sought in no time at all. Your toes curled and your eyes rolled back as he slammed against that sweet spot within you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whimpered before you could stop yourself.

An annoying, breathy chuckle came from behind. “Right there, huh? That’s where you like it?”

Reluctantly, you nodded. To your surprise, he didn’t say anything else to mock you. He just kept drilling into you like his life depended on it.

The both of you started to pant. Your arms wobbled underneath you, barely able to support yourself upright. You knew you were fast approaching your own release alongside Satoru.

Sukuna released your jaw, and that was when you let yourself collapse. Your arms buckled, and your cheek squished against the couch. Satoru held you in place there, pounding into you even harder than he had been before.

You came first. It crashed over you in a sudden wave. You choked out a whine, your body tensing up under him as the bliss rolled through you. And he just kept going.

He had better stamina than you’d expected. You whimpered and squirmed beneath him, hoping he’d hit his high soon and let you get some relief. But he continued to hammer into you without hesitation.

Only when he’d battered you firmly into the depths of overstimulation did he finally let himself go. He slammed all the way in and shot rope after rope of sticky, hot release into you. It was a good thing you were on the pill. Not that they had bothered to ask. But really, why would they? You doubted they would be concerned about any potential problem that arose from this. They were in the business of making things — people — go away.

With a sigh, Satoru eased himself out of you. He gave you a pat on the hip before sinking back into the couch and pushing his now damp white hair out of his face.

You didn’t get the same chance at relaxation.

Before you could even roll onto your side, Sukuna had his fingers around your wrist. With a tug, he guided you into his lap. He’d sat down since letting you go. He’d also taken his shirt off, allowing you a clear look at his sculpted figure. Your hazy eyes raked along the muscles covered in scars and tattoos.

He laughed quietly at your obvious interest. His large hands took each of your thighs and spread them over his lap so that you were straddling him. It was nice in a way, to be maneuvered so gently. To be positioned like a doll, not having to exert any effort yourself. In the past, you would’ve thought it’d be something you hate. But in this situation, it didn’t feel so bad.

His hand splayed across your chest next. It kept you upright and looking at him.

“You look so pretty. Like you can barely remember your own name,” he mocked, a grin slowly spreading on his face.

The hand that wasn’t propped on your chest slipped down between your legs to grab his cock. He angled it upwards, dragging the head over your folds a few times, nudging it against your skin without actually entering. You squirmed a little at the feeling, slightly in discomfort but mostly in wanting what was being offered.

“Calm down. You’re gonna get used to this in no time,” he said. Threat or promise, you couldn’t really tell.

You were completely soaked between your thighs. The combination of your own arousal mixed with Satoru’s cum leaking out of you left a mess, but it had you slick enough that he slipped inside without issue.

Your eyes widened. It wasn’t just his size or the stretch but also the overstimulation that had your nails digging into his bicep. Strangled whines erupted from you as a weird, sweet sting settled in your center. He hushed you, the hand from your waist running up and down your back while he pushed his hips up.

“Shhh shh shhh, you’re a good girl, remember? You’ll get used to it,” he said, a sinister smirk across his face.

You squeezed your eyes shut, nearly doubling over from that tone alone. The physical sensation truly wasn’t that bad. Not as bad as you expected anyways. With a few deep breaths, you found yourself more comfortable. He was doing all of the work. It was just that fact that this was happening at all that knocked the wind out of you.

He continued to slide you all the way down on his dick. Once you were settled against his lap, ass flush against his thighs, he let you sit there for a minute. You stayed motionless on top of him, just taking in the raw feeling of him tucked inside you.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asked. You looked up at him, at that fucking smile. “Think you can ride it for me?” he said.

You knew he was mocking, and you wanted to say yes, just out of spite. You wanted to push yourself up and bounce on his dick till he was moaning for you just like Satoru had been. But the fact that you could barely find the energy to get any response out told you that wasn’t a realistic possibility. So you shook your head no.

“That’s what I thought,” he said. He tugged you close to him. Your upper body landed against his chest with a small thud. “But that’s ok. You don’t have to do anything. Just let me take care of it.”

He grabbed your hips and began lifting them up and down on himself with ease. His hips also rocked up into you from below. And you just let it happen like he told you to.

Your eyes drooped close and your grip on his arm became weaker. He was much quieter than Satoru, barely making any noise at all compared to the other man’s near-constant moaning and groaning. But you were quieter this time around too. Maybe it was the lingering effect of Satoru. Maybe your adrenaline was wearing off. But despite the pleasure swirling in your lower half, you felt almost floaty. Your brain felt like it had melted down into a small puddle that was slowly leaking from your ears.

“You’re gonna be a perfect fit around here,” he rasped. The words almost sounded divine, whispered into your ear from the heavens. “You might act up a little at first, but I know how to handle a brat. And you’re already showing how good you can be.”

It got no response out of you. You were in no shape to argue or disagree.

That didn’t matter to him though. He slammed up into you harder, getting a sharp gasp from you.

“I’m gonna have fun getting you to crack,” he said.

At that, you whimpered. If this was how it felt, there was a good chance you’d have fun too.

He kept thrusting up into you, pumping his own cock into your slick hole where Satoru had already spilled himself. You couldn’t keep track of how long it took for him to reach the peak too. Everything was in a fog right now. You heard yourself moaning, felt him fucking into you, but everything was distant. It was possible you came again, but overstimulation gave you a constant high so you couldn’t really tell.

But before you knew it, his breaths became heavier. His chest puffed against you at a quicker rate. His balls smacked against your ass with more force. You turned your face against his chest. You knew the end was near but every sense you had was so overwhelmed you could barely stand it.

He came with a quiet groan. The most noise he’d made the entire time. He fucked the warm fluid into you in the same way Satoru had. Maybe they’d shared someone before.

For a few minutes after finishing, he just sat there basking in the afterglow with you melted on top of him.

But then you felt a cool hand on your back. One that didn’t belong to Sukuna. Your eyes opened to find Satoru next to the both of you.

“Hey, princess. You ready for a nap?” he teased.

You whined and went to shove his face away even though, in truth, the answer was undoubtedly yes.

He just laughed, catching your hand and pulling your arm around his shoulder. Sukuna squeezed your hip before lifting you off of him completely and allowing Satoru to scoop you up like he had before.

“You did good for the first time. Let Satoru help you, and get some rest,” he said. He stood up, reaching for his clothes scattered around the floor.

You didn’t get the chance to say anything before Satoru was walking away with you in his arms. Lazily looking around, you saw he brought you into a small bedroom, just off the alcove next to where you’d been tied up.

He placed you on the bed gently and walked away to grab something. You watched as he grabbed a small towel before returning to you. With gentle hands, he cleaned up the mess between your legs.

He confused you. Well really, they both did. While he was seemingly the more mean of the two, the one who’d tease and mock, the one who’d pound you into the couch without care for how it affected you, he was also the one coddling you, caring for you as though you were made of glass.

And Sukuna. Apparently he was the rough one, the least tolerant of bullshit, the one who’d threaten you about biting but mark up your neck like he was a wild animal, he’d been relatively gentle while you were on top of him.

It left you with a lot of questions, but you had the mental capacity for none of them right now.

“See, it’s not so bad here,” Satoru said while tending to you. “I’m sure you won’t love it right away, but you really will be a good fit soon enough.”

You stayed quiet at that. Whatever job they had planned for you after having their fun, you didn’t want to know. You couldn’t imagine doing something so polar opposite of everything you stood for. But would you give up your survival if that was the cost of refusing? You weren’t sure.

Soon enough, Satoru had wiped you thoroughly enough. He discarded the towel and smiled down at you for a second. His fingers came out and ran just along the bruise on your eye.

“I’ll bring you some ice for that. Just try to get some sleep for now. When you wake up, I’ll have them bring you some dinner. And we’ll be back to check on you later,” he said with a grin.

You didn’t bother asking who “they” were or where he and Sukuna were going or what they would do next. All would be pointless questions, and all you wanted to do now was sleep. You could think of a different angle for this when you woke up. But for now, you let your eyes close as the main door to the place shut. Vaguely, you heard the lock click into place.

#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo smut #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk imagines #jujustu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #ch: satoru gojo 💌#ch: ryomen sukuna 💌

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merakiui · 9 months ago

Text

promising young man.

yandere!riddle rosehearts x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, one-sided student/teacher relationship, obsession, dark thoughts, jealousy, delusion, brief descriptions of blood/gore, violence, death, murder, brief nsfw note - riddle's perfect world comes crashing down with the arrival of foreign exchange student azul ashengrotto.

He meets him in Intro to Psych.

Azul Ashengrotto struggles to parse English, but he’s dressed like a businessman with his pressed suit and leather Oxfords. The only thing that reveals his status as a student is the black backpack he carries to class. Riddle’s seen him around campus a handful of times. It’s hard to miss him when he seems to throw himself into social circles with practiced grace.

This is the first time he’s ever had class with him, though, and so now he gets to see him in a classroom setting. There isn’t much about him that immediately strikes Riddle as odd. He’s well-dressed and prompt with a polite tongue. Every time he speaks in his thick accent, the one that just commands admiration and attention, that tiny Italian flag pinned to the strap of his bag becomes even more apparent.

Riddle’s not sure what he’s doing in this class. Perhaps he’s aiming to study law as well. He’d hoped to find more people with similar academic hobbies and interests and, while he’s yet to form any lasting bonds, he’s been wondering what sort of person Azul is.

On the first day of class, he introduced himself with confidence: “Buongiorno, amici. I am Azul. I look forward to the year with all of you.”

Though the structure and pronunciation of English proved awkward in his mouth, that didn’t stop him from opening himself to others. He’s friendly and outgoing, always welcoming conversation when it’s thrown his way. Riddle finds it impressive. If he were in Azul’s shoes, he’s certain he’d feel just a little lost attending school in a new country, far from home, surrounded by people who speak a completely different language. But Azul is resourceful, a dab hand at communication despite the barrier in vernacular. Perhaps that’s where his charm comes from.

Riddle thought the two of them might get along.

But then Azul proved academically formidable, and then you began to pick his brain after class, during time that was specifically reserved for Riddle so that he could discuss psychology with you.

So now Riddle sits in his seat, impatiently awaiting his chance.

“The law over in here is fascinating,” Azul says, leaning closer as you show him something on the desktop computer.

“What’s it like where you’re from?”

“Mm. How to explain… The law is…”

“It follows a civil law tradition,” Riddle pipes up, casually flipping a page in his textbook. He does it for show. He’s aware it probably makes him look like an arrogant know-it-all.

You peek past the screen at him. “Oh! Riddle, you’re still here. Hello!”

He hums, warming under your gaze. “I always am.”

“What was it you were saying about the Italian legal system?”

Azul stares at him. An unhappy frown tightens on his face.

Uplifted with pride, swimming in the clouds, Riddle elaborates: “I’ve only just started researching it, but it’s very interesting. In the realm of criminal law, trials are often led by judges or a select few to form a panel unlike the juries we have here. Of course you’ll find differences everywhere. All countries have justice systems and law enforcement. Still, it’s fascinating to compare and contrast the fine details.”

From across the room, Azul’s stink eye has never been more obvious.

“Ah, that’s right. I’ve heard a few things regarding the way cases are handled over there. From what you know, Azul, would you say the system is harsher here than it is there, or is it the other way around?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Azul says, and that polite mask of his slips for a second. “I’ve never done crime.”

Riddle snaps his book shut and rises from his seat. “Let’s hope not. You’ve a promising career ahead of you.” He smiles sweetly at Azul like he’s particularly stupid.

Azul tracks him as he packs his belongings away and strides towards the door. His brilliant blue eyes are dark. “Ci fai o ci sei?” he mutters, clicking his tongue discreetly. “Rompipalle…”

Riddle will later learn these are slang phrases. He’ll learn a lot of things later—things he thought he’d never need to learn.

Thinking it a joke, you laugh and wave your hand about dismissively. “Aren’t you going to stay, Riddle? I watched the first episode of that podcast you recommended.”

Riddle perks up at that. “You watched it?”

“This past weekend, yes. It’s a riveting series. They really dig deep into the facets of a criminal.”

“Don’t they just?” He hugs his textbook close to his chest, nearly vibrating out of his skin. Finally, the moment he’s been waiting for—an opportunity to speak with you. “I’m amazed at how much time and research goes into each episode, and they always treat each case with tact. It deserves so much praise.”

Azul glances between the two of you. Riddle is sick with satisfaction. Once more, his blue hues land on him.

“You like criminals?”

“Not in that way, of course not.” Riddle shakes his head. What a preposterous assumption. “I find their minds to be exceedingly, bewilderingly captivating.”

Azul blinks back at him, owlish. He doesn’t seem to grasp most of what Riddle’s just said.

“In short, I think they’re a fine learning experience.”

“An experience? Non capisco.”

“For those wishing to pursue a career in criminal justice or law. Think of it like watching a tape from a criminal investigation. It’s important to study the interview techniques and tactics utilized by detectives to understand what’s most successful in gathering a proper confession.”

Azul nods along. “Ah, capisco.”

“We’ll cover things like that later in the semester. Don’t feel so overwhelmed, Azul.”

“I’m not. I learn as I go. Grazie, Professor. You’re very kind.”

“I’m happy to help. If you ever need anything, my office hours are on that sheet I gave you. I had a colleague of mine translate the syllabus for you. If you have any questions or need accommodations of any kind, let me know.”

“I will.” He fixes the strap of his backpack and, after bidding you a final farewell, stalks past Riddle out the door. His footsteps echo down the hall until eventually they’re no more.

“Riddle, if you have a moment, I’d like to speak with you.”

“Of course. Anything,” he says hastily, his heart stumbling in his ribs.

“If you wouldn’t mind, could you help Azul out? I notice he struggles taking notes during lectures. If you’d be willing to share your notes with me so that I can get them translated, that would be great.”

Riddle doesn’t want to share, but this is an opportunity to be praised in spades. “I’d be glad to. I’ll scan and email them after each class.”

“Thanks, Riddle. Your notes have always been so organized. This is a huge help. I’m sure Azul will be just as grateful.”

I’m not doing it for him, he thinks, bitter and envious.

But he just smiles, standing a little taller when you compliment him.

Your notes have always been so organized.

What is he getting so territorial for? He’s had you for four classes in past years. Azul’s only known you for a few measly weeks. That’s nothing compared to the special bond you have with him.

Riddle isn’t worried.

1 September, 20XX.

Dear Diary,

(Name) Rosehearts has quite the lovely ring to it. Far more musical than that of (Name) Ashengrotto. I’m almost certain he sits there in class, silently drooling over Professor. Just last week, he took my seat at the front. The gall to do such a thing! Can you imagine? He must know that seat is the best for getting a perfect view of Professor. It’s childish to bicker over seating arrangements and I refuse to stoop to his level. That said, the seat is mine. Professor’s time is mine.

I’ve deigned to share my notes, but only because Professor put such faith in my abilities by personally asking me. Even though it’s foolish, I’m tempted to sabotage the notes so that Azul will have incorrect study material. But that would be unfair and an infraction upon all that I stand for when it comes to academic fairness. Thus, I’ve refrained from doing anything of that sort. I’m certain Professor would disapprove.

It makes me happy to know Professor listens to the podcast I recommended. I wish we could discuss it at length, but Azul is always there and he takes up so much of what little time there is. It’s infuriating. I wish he would just drop out of the class. That way it will be just Professor and me, as it was intended.

Perhaps he will once the coursework comes knocking.

Sincerely,

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle slumps forward over his desk and combs his hands through his hair.

“That rotten Azul…” he sneers, his face scrunching into something sour. “He’s always monopolizing your time… Does he not realize how important it is to me—how much I look forward to talking to you? And you smile at him… You look at him with those sweet eyes of yours and he’s completely undeserving of such treatment! It never does anyone any good to be greedy, yet there he is…”

He inhales deeply, holds it for a few seconds, and then exhales.

What am I supposed to do? How can I make this right again?

Azul isn’t breaking any rules. It’s not a crime to seek you out for conversation after each class ends. But therein lies the issue. There is nothing wrong with that. It would be wrong if, say, there was an illicit exchange between the both of you. Like a taboo relationship of sorts…

Riddle startles in his seat, his eyes blown wide.

Azul isn’t having a secret affair with you, is he? Not that it could be considered cheating when you’re not yet married (and Riddle intends to keep it that way). He has a plan. When he graduates, there will be no formal barriers holding him back from starting a relationship with you. He can email you freely without the need to circle back to academics. He can invite you for tea or coffee and the two of you can chat about things that aren’t school, and it won’t be weird or overstepping boundaries. Because he won’t be your student anymore. He’ll be Riddle, your former student. And former students have better odds than current students, do they not?

He’s thought it out carefully. He was raised to be responsible, to do everything right.

And though he’s thought of it in passing—considered what might happen if he were to try to play at being a seductive siren—he’d never truly act on such folly. But Azul… It isn’t too impossible to theorize he might be sleeping with you for a better grade. What if he’s forced you into it? What if he has some sort of wicked blackmail? What if you’re holed up in your office every day, scared for your career, while Azul bends you over the desk and uses that boyish charm of his, that silky-smooth accent, to coax the sweetest of sounds from—

Riddle shakes himself free of that thought. He’s not going to imagine it any further. He doesn’t need to be plagued with graphic imagery, gross as it may be.

Even though he chases the fantasy from his brain, it returns to poke at him. He gazes at his lap, noticing the substantial strain in his pajamas, and groans.

It would be easier if he wasn’t where he is now. Logically, he’s aware he doesn’t have much of a chance. Neither does Azul. Unless he’s sleeping with you in secret. Then he has a chance. But he’s not. He can’t. That’s against the rules.

And even if he was, it wouldn’t be very fair for him to do the very thing Riddle’s abstained from.

His hand closes around his dick. He feels pitiful as he pumps himself to scandalous visions.

It’s not fair.

He should have a chance. In a perfect world, he’d have you. He’s earned this, hasn’t he? He’s worked so hard. So why isn’t he allowed to have you?

It’s not fair.

Why does Azul get to relish in your attention when Riddle’s left alone in the shadows? Why can’t you look at him like you used to? Why can’t you praise him for knowing all the answers? Why can’t you tell him good work when he does just that? Why must you coddle Azul? Riddle thinks he can speak perfect English. He’s just playing it up to look weak and pathetic—to garner your sympathy!

It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.

He’s the good one. The one with perfect marks. The one with perfect attendance. The one every professor holds in high regard.

Riddle squeezes himself and sucks in a breath through grit teeth.

He’s not funny like Azul. He doesn’t have that awkward charm Azul has. He can’t speak another language fluently. He’s never traveled out of the country. He thinks he knows everything, but he only knows so much.

He can fascinate you with the intricacies of his mind, each fold primed for education, but Azul can do better because he has social experience.

Riddle can’t believe it. He, of all people, is jealous of someone.

Cum oozes from his dick and coats his fingers in a pearly-white. It isn’t satisfying.

Right then, he thinks his world would be better if Azul stayed in Italy.

Or maybe it would be better if Azul wasn’t in his world at all.

On his way out of class, Riddle stops Azul in an empty corridor.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

He blinks back, oblivious. And then he smiles, revealing a row of perfect teeth. “What I’m doing?”

Riddle won’t say it. He can’t. Because then he’d be admitting the truth Azul’s trying to pry from his heart, whether that’s his intention or not.

“You know very well what you’re doing.”

A silent head tilt is his reply.

His temper is nearing its boiling point. It’s been on a low simmer ever since Azul first bewitched you, and it’s threatening to spill over.

“I see the way you and Professor look at each other during class. You may think it discreet, but I know.” Riddle folds his arms over his chest, feeling very proud of himself for successfully playing Sherlock. “I can tell there’s nothing formal about it. So how long has this been going on? How long have you been flouting the rules?”

Azul stares at him. His shoulders shake with his chuckle. “You’re funny.”

Riddle startles. His accent—

“I’m here to learn just as you are. What I do outside of the classroom is none of your business, so it would please me greatly if you could stop prying.”

His eyes narrow into vicious slits. “If you lay a hand on—”

“Oh, I’ve done more than that.” Azul smooths the nonexistent wrinkles in his sweater vest. The same brand of sweater vest that Riddle wears. “But you have no proof. The courts here will want that, won’t they? Or is it harsher here? Will you need to peer inside Professor to see for yourself? I wouldn’t know. I’ve never committed a crime.”

Disgust pools in his stomach. He feels like he could vomit, and it isn’t because he’s appalled by the conspiracy Azul’s proposed. It’s because he should’ve been the one to do it if it was that easy. Instead, he musters a mean glare.

“Who are you, Ashengrotto? What do you want?”

“I’m just a student like you. I want to learn lots from Professor.” He brushes past Riddle, his voice a melodious hum. “And some things can’t be taught in the classroom.”

Riddle opens his mouth to let the angry tirade fall, but he chokes on the words. There’s so much he wants to say, but all of it will come out accusatory. And that’s where Azul has him pinned. It’s all baseless accusation.

He doesn’t want to believe it. Surely you wouldn’t… It’s impossible! An academic and social infringement! It’s wrong!

It should’ve been him.

Later that evening, cooped up in his room, Riddle scrawls furious lines in his diary: He’s a liar. A cheat. An embarrassment to this institution. I should be the one who holds Professor. I should be there in Azul’s place. I’ve worked so hard. I deserve it. I’ve earned it!

He can’t let this madness go on any longer. He won’t tolerate it.

Looking at it logically, Riddle has illustrated the negatives and the positives in his notebook.

If Azul’s insinuations are true, then all Riddle needs is valid evidence. Unfortunately, that would mean you might lose your job given the circumstances. If it’s consensual, both of you are equally at fault. If it’s not, Riddle hopes Azul will burn in a terrible blaze.

But if you do happen to lose your job, it would relieve some of the weight burdening his situation. He could start a real relationship with you. It’s plausible! Perhaps not very realistic, but there’s always a shred of hope to be found in misfortune.

Riddle wonders if he should just ask you and save himself the headache.

He gazes sidelong at Azul, who has since claimed that seat for his own, and chances a glance at his open notes.

That’s Riddle’s handwriting.

He’s sure of it. That’s his handwriting. He writes his notes in cursive. He writes in a perfect, elegant slant. His letters always connect. There’s no denying it; that’s his handwriting on the page.

A disturbing thought crosses his mind: Has Azul been practicing my handwriting?

It sounds impossibly silly. Who would devote so much time to something so witlessly fraudulent? Riddle wracks his brain for a reasonable explanation. Why would he need to practice someone else’s handwriting? Riddle could understand if Azul struggled to write in English. Most of his work is submitted in his native language. You allow this exception even though Riddle finds it unfair. Maybe it’s because you treat Azul’s work like it’s something special, and you jump through all of these hoops just to get it translated. Why can’t you treat his work with that same amount of care?

Riddle drags his pen along the page, scribbling mindlessly. Why is he doing that? He has nothing to gain from writing like me.

But then Riddle realizes the notebook is the same as his. The same color, in fact. He wonders when Azul purchased a new one. Did he purchase a new one, or has he always had this one?

Riddle looks down at his notebook.

That’s Azul’s handwriting.

He blinks twice and rubs frantically at his eyes. When he looks back at Azul’s notebook, it’s to a page filled with Azul’s stylish scrawl.

Have I…been copying him this entire time?

No, surely not! He would never plagiarize. That’s one of the biggest sins of academia. He couldn’t live with himself if he did that!

Besides, he’s not the copycat. It’s Azul in his sweater vest, boasting the same writing implements as Riddle, using the same brand of notebook. Riddle’s not copying him. It’s Azul. It must be.

It can’t be Riddle. He’d never do such a thing.

After class, you call Riddle up to your desk. He hesitates, his heart thrumming wildly, and shuffles over.

“Yes, Professor?”

“Riddle, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.” You withdraw last week’s assignment from a folder and set it down. “You wrote this, did you not?”

Riddle scans the typed document. “I did, yes.”

“May I ask if the Italian was intentional?”

“The Italian?” he parrots, confused. “I don’t understand what—”

In between brilliantly articulated paragraphs, he’s sprinkled in Italian words and phrases.

He coughs out a rattled laugh. “I must have been studying it for another assignment before I did yours. I…can’t believe this happened. It was fully unintentional. I’m very sorry.”

His face is flushed cherry-red. He’s never felt more humiliated.

“It’s not a big deal. I just wanted to ask. It definitely confused me.” You take the paper from him, smiling that understanding smile he loves so much. But then, rather intrusively, he wonders how many times those soft-looking lips have been on Azul, wrapped around him, sending him to cloud nine… “I actually asked Azul to translate it for me. He said all of it was written correctly. You must be very adept in your Italian.”

“I… I suppose I am,” he answers after a tense minute.

His brain is swirling like sediment stirred up on the ocean floor. When did I pick up Italian? I’m not taking any language courses this semester. I don’t even own an Italian dictionary… Just what in the world is happening?

“Ah, you don’t have to look so pale! It’s not going to affect your grade. I only wanted to fulfill this nagging curiosity of mine. Thank you for all the good work you do.”

Riddle nods mechanically. When you ask if he has time to stick around and discuss more psychology podcasts, he shakes his head and mumbles a feeble excuse.

He tears through his desk and all of the drawers in his room in search of it. If it’s not there, he can relax. If it’s not there, he can chalk it up to stress. If it’s not there—

It’s tucked away in his bookshelf. A little pocket dictionary. English to Italian. And it’s been bookmarked and annotated.

Riddle pulls it from the shelf in a baffled daze. When did he get his hands on this? More importantly, when did he read through it? In a hurry, he empties the contents of his backpack and flips a few pages in his notebook.

His notes from class. Dated for today. Written in Azul’s script. And at the top of the page, an exact copy of his signature, a name that isn’t Riddle’s: Azul Ashengrotto.

Riddle peers at his trembling hands. He flexes his fingers, curls them into a fist and then unfurls them.

He seizes his psychology textbook next and skims the chapter index in search of an answer. He lands on it. Page 371. Dissociation.

Two minutes into a phone call with Trey, he’s asked a simple question: “Are you speaking with an accent?”

Riddle bristles. “Of course I’m not. Of…course I am not,” he says, sounding the words out. His brow furrows. Why does my tongue feel so clumsy in my mouth? “I’ve always spoken this way, have I not?”

“I can’t say. I mean, come on, Riddle. You’ve gotta be pulling my leg.”

“You know very well I don’t pull legs, Trey.”

“You told me buongiorno when I picked up.”

“I did not!” he snaps, scandalized. “I said good morning as I always do.” And then he pauses. “I… I did say good morning, didn’t I?”

Trey’s silence is answer enough.

Riddle sucks in a sharp breath. Neither of them says anything.

Eventually, Trey speaks. “Do you want me to come up there? I could bring you a tart or…something. You sound…tired.” He chooses his words carefully. “Silly question, I know, but I’ve gotta ask. You’re not overworking yourself?”

“No, not at all.”

“And you’re getting enough sleep? What about food?”

Riddle frowns even though Trey isn’t there to see it. “I’m fine, Trey. Midterms are coming up. I’ve got to focus. I refuse to fail.”

Again, the other end is quiet. A minute later, Trey says, “Do you have time this weekend?”

“This weekend?” Riddle flips his planner open to this week. “I do.”

“All right. Is it cool if I visit?”

Riddle almost declines, so it surprises both him and Trey when he replies with, “Please.”

“I’ll be there,” he promises, and the call ends before Riddle can say grazie.

Trey brings six strawberry tarts. Riddle shares three with him over tea at the campus café.

“So what’s up?” Trey points his fork at Riddle. “You sound like yourself, but you don’t seem…fine.”

Riddle chews thoughtfully. He can’t confide in Trey because Trey wouldn’t understand. Because he’d apply Trey Logic to everything, and Trey Logic is almost always sensible. Riddle doesn’t want to hear it.

“I submitted an assignment in Italian,” he says instead, casually, as if it’s not a big deal.

Trey looks at him like he’s grown a third eye. “Since when do you know Italian?”

“I dabble.”

Trey laughs. Upon seeing Riddle’s serious expression, the humor sticks in his throat. “Oh, you meant that. Well. That’s…good then? If it’s for a foreign language course—”

“It was for psychology.”

“You…wrote in Italian…for a psychology assignment?” he reiterates, attempting to parse it. He drags his fork through his cut of tart, but he doesn’t bring it to his lips. “Why?”

“I couldn’t say. It perplexed me to no end when I realized it. My professor thought it was curious.”

“It is. I mean, you don’t find that just a little…unusual?”

Riddle stares at him over the rim of his teacup.

Trey tries again. “Was the Italian correct, at least? It wasn’t all nonsense?”

He nods. “It was as if I was translating and switching between words. Like using the Italian word in place of an English word.”

“Huh…”

“It’s not very impressive. I can do much better than that.”

“I’m not doubting your capabilities. I’m just…trying to understand why.”

Riddle smiles. “Why not? I think it’s very good to study another language. It opens more doors for opportunity, and it’s a challenge that proves rewarding in the end.”

“Is that it?”

“Precisely.”

The conversation comes to an abrupt halt there. Trey changes the subject. They chat the afternoon away.

Later, Riddle returns to his diary.

He writes an entire entry in perfect Italian. Workbooks pile up on his desk; he’s not sure when they got there. He’s filling them out so fast his hand gains new calluses.

Azul visits your office around the same time Riddle used to. Now it’s Riddle who trails after him, hoping to catch him in the middle of a nefarious scheme. He’s not sure he’s ready for whatever he might learn, but he swallows his rage and carries on.

Azul turns just as Riddle ducks around the corner, perfectly out of sight. He waits until he hears the tell-tale click of those pristine Oxfords against linoleum before continuing. Azul walks right past your office and then he’s gone. Looking both ways, Riddle creeps further down the hall.

Where is he?

There’s a tap on his shoulder. He whirls around, startled, and is about to unleash verbal tyranny when he stops short. You stand there, looking positively puzzled.

“Are you looking for something, Riddle?”

“No… I—” He cuts himself off. “Actually, I was hoping I might discuss something with you. The final project.”

“Oh, of course! Did you come earlier? I stepped out of my office for a second. Sorry if my absence had you looking all over.”

Riddle falls into step with you. “It’s quite all right.”

He’s not sure what he hopes to find by sitting in front of your desk, gazing at the familiar interior of your office. He manages to get through all of the questions you ask him regarding the final project.

“I have too many ideas,” he lies, “and I’d like assistance in narrowing the topics down to one.”

He glances slyly at the floor. Would Azul be bold enough to hide a voice recorder or a camera somewhere? Or is there something of Azul’s left in here? A cheeky means of marking his territory, maybe?

Riddle turns up empty.

He stalls the conversation expertly for ten more minutes. During that time, he can’t locate anything from his semi-thorough observations.

Maybe it’s hidden in your desk. Maybe there’s nothing at all.

No. No, there has to be something.

He thanks you for your help and, shouldering his backpack, leaves.

Just as he turns down the hall, Azul steps into his path.

“Your mind is exceedingly, bewilderingly captivating.” He snickers like a devil. Riddle wants to punch him. “So many ideas. Where do you have the space for all of that?”

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop.”

“Oh, is that so?” Azul taps at his phone and then turns the screen towards Riddle. There’s a picture of him in the hall, looking awfully disoriented. “It’s not very polite to stalk now, is it, amico?”

Riddle narrows his eyes. “How easily that accent comes. Almost like flipping a switch.”

“Non capisco.”

“You should know you’re going to ruin your life and Professor’s.”

“I’m not.” He smiles cryptically. “You’re going to ruin it for me.”

Fed up with his attempt at mind chess, Riddle stalks past him in a huff.

You walk into class five minutes late, disheveled and breathless. You’re babbling about a meeting that ran late, but Riddle can’t trust that.

Meetings don’t end in frazzled hair and crooked ties.

What’s even more damning, perhaps, is when Azul Never-Late-to-Class Ashengrotto walks in fifteen minutes after you. He sits in the seat beside Riddle. There’s not a hair out of place on his person. Except there is. The glass face of his luxury wristwatch is smudged with a fingerprint.

Riddle wonders what forensics would have to say about that.

He phases in and out of focus during the lecture. He can’t stop searching you for fine details. He can’t stop questioning Azul’s presence beside him.

How dare you? he thinks. How dare you defile my professor? What makes you think you have the right to do such a thing when I’ve been working hard all this time? When I’ve been nothing but perfect…

He glances at his notebook. A single phrase has been scrawled over and over, so manically that the lines loop and overlap in angry criss-crosses. Lo voglio morto.

At the end of class, Riddle catches Azul in the hall.

“I would like to review with you for our upcoming midterm.”

“What an honor.”

Riddle hums. “Let’s compare our notes tonight. You can stop by my room after dinner.”

Azul grins like he can read through Riddle. Like he’s in on a joke Riddle’s not privy to.

“I would be happy to study alongside you,” he says, his accent thick.

Riddle imagines a rope around his neck. A rope of thorns and barbed wire, pressing into his jugular until, inevitably, it severs his head clean off.

Azul arrives on time. He really does feel like an echo of Riddle. Same school supplies. Same notebooks. Same fashion style. Same manner of writing.

Riddle shuts and locks the door behind him. He doesn’t waste time waltzing around the subject.

“You’re the reason Professor was late today.”

“You’re mistaken. I simply lost track of the time.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then what is? I had nothing to do with Professor’s tardiness. If it bothers you so much, why not tell Professor to be more conscious of the time?”

Riddle grits his teeth. He’s sick of this. Sick of these mind games. Sick of all this mental chess.

Sick of the fact that he gets to have you when you should have been Riddle’s from the start!

“You’re a liar! Do you know the gravity of your actions—the severe consequences that’ll undoubtedly befall Professor? Do you know you’re jeopardizing a brilliant mind all for your own immature fun?”

Azul holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Those are harsh accusations. They could ruin my life, you know.”

“Oh, like that’s such an issue.” Riddle scowls.

“Your room is quite nice, I must say.” Azul looks around, his hands in his pockets. He spies the many Italian workbooks lining Riddle’s shelf, and a slimy smirk pulls at his lips. “Imitatore,” he marvels, his eyes bright with an eerie sort of joy. As if he’s just discovered a particularly filthy secret and can’t wait to tell someone.

“If it isn’t the pot calling the kettle black.”

“And what makes you think Professor would ever entertain you?” Azul rounds on him, still smiling. “Professor loves me most. There was never any room for you.”

Riddle hears the distant crackle of something fraying. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I? All I did was take your best characteristics and make them even better. Italian lovers are a romanticized ideal abroad. You were never an option, let alone a consideration.”

How dare you. How dare you. How dare you!

Azul steps towards the door. “Addio. Le mie condoglianze.”

That something inside Riddle finally snaps, and with it goes his restraint. He grabs Azul’s wrist and yanks him to the floor. There’s a struggle for survival. During the scuffle, Azul claws at Riddle’s arm and face. Riddle kicks him down. And then his fingers wrap around his psychology textbook—all 800-something pages, a hardcover—and he brings it down, brutal like a guillotine.

“How dare you walk away in the middle of a conversation!” he berates, lips curled in a monstrous sneer. “How dare you touch what isn’t yours—what you didn’t earn!”

He thinks he sees a real smile on Azul’s face, but in the midst of blind rage he can’t tell.

He sees red. He feels red. It splatters his room in a mess of broken bone and pulpy gore. It flecks his face, warm and thick and soupy.

It all ends with Intro to Psych.

Riddle is bathed in blue light, afloat on a chaotic sea.

Distantly, in the back of his mind, he can hear his mother in hysterics: What have you done?! Do you have any idea what you’ve just done—the future you’ve so carelessly thrown away?! All of my hard work?! Do you realize what you’ve done?!

And he does.

If there’s anything Riddle has ever been one-hundred-percent certain of in his life, it’s this. He sits on the steps to his dormitory, battered and bloodied, and bites into the strawberry tart clutched between crimson-stained fingers.

Despite the crisp autumn air, he feels warm.

An officer approaches him just as he’s licking his fingers clean of strawberry and blood.

He holds his arms out before the woman can say anything. He already knows what comes next.

Riddle has always wondered what criminals think and feel in the aftermath of grisly crimes. He can’t feel much of anything other than hollow relief. Maybe that’s just the adrenaline snuffing logical thought and remorse. He thinks everything and nothing all at once. He’s sure he’ll feel it all come crashing down when he’s sat in the station for questioning and then the reality of his actions will seep in, awakening him from a vile, murderous dream.

Right now, he isn’t concerned with that.

You lived filthy and you died just the same, Riddle thinks as he’s led to a police car. And now there’s no part of you Professor will ever want.

#happy very belated birthday rido <3 #yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere riddle rosehearts #yandere riddle rosehearts x reader #yandere riddle x reader #yandere riddle #tw: student teacher relationship #tw: death #tw: murder #tw: blood #tw: violence

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adumbratrapedme · 1 year ago

Text

streamer!kenma x reader - secret relationship

Synopsis. kenma, in the peak of his career neglected y/n, but dont worry! our pudding head knows exactly how to fix things!

wc. 2,9k words | genre. angst to fluff | cw/tags. streamer!kenma x reader, angst to fluff, post time skip, neglect.

important ! Please if the content was of ur enjoyment dont doubt following me, liking and sharing ;D! maybe i'll make this a little series of streamer!kenma and his girlfriend lives, i have nothing else to say so, enojey! !

Kozume Kenma, or "kodzuken" to his online legion, had finally reached the apex of his streaming career. Years of relentless grinding had paid off, but success often comes with a price. Especially for a relationship... and a sometimes insecure girlfriend.

Y/N, once the undisputed star of Kenma's social media and life, felt a pang of loneliness. She was undeniably happy for her boyfriend, but ever since his rise to influencer status, things had changed. Gone were the days of their selfies plastered across his feeds. Now, his past posts, brimming with her face, were archived – a digital ghost town. Kenma, wary of online scrutiny, decided to keep their relationship private. While Y/N understood the logic, it gnawed at her. Five years together, built on trust and shared experiences, felt invisible to the world. Unknown to Kenma, sleepless nights plagued Y/N.

His phone buzzed incessantly, a constant barrage of love comments, fan messages professing love, and even DMs from other streamers seeking collaboration. Despite knowing Kenma's loyalty, a seed of doubt sprouted – a fear of being overshadowed by his online fame.

Today wasn't any different. Y/N woke to an empty space beside her, the familiar chill a stark contrast to Kenma's usual warmth. He was probably hunched over his computer again, another night sacrificed to the algorithm gods. A pang of sympathy stabbed at her. How could she blame him? Reaching the peak of streaming was his dream, and his excitement over the recent growth was infectious. All she wanted to do was support him, even if it meant sacrificing their mornings together.

Treading softly towards the studio, the faint glow of the monitor spilling into the hallway. Inside, Kenma was indeed sprawled on the worn couch, exhaustion etched on his face. She knelt beside him, her touch feather-light as she ran her fingers through his sleep-tousled hair.

"Ken… sweetheart," she whispered, her voice a gentle nudge. "Why didn't you join me in bed? Your back will hate you later."

Kenma stirred, a low groan escaping his lips. "Just… so tired, Y/N. Almost beat my viewer record last night." A hint of pride snuck into his voice despite the fatigue.

"Amazing, babe! That's fantastic news," Y/N beamed. "But sleep is important too. Come on, let's get you some proper rest. Breakfast is ready, I made your favorite – [insert Kenma's favorite food]."

His response was a mumbled curse, a stark contrast to his usual cheer. A frown tugged at Y/N's lips. Was he annoyed? She knew he was exhausted, but his reaction felt harsher than usual. Maybe she was overthinking it. Taking a deep breath, she nudged him again, this time a little more firmly.

"Up you get, sleepyhead. We can talk more after breakfast."

Moments later, Kenma shuffled out of the studio, a mix of exhaustion and… something else clouding his features. Y/N followed, her smile strained. Breakfast was ready, but the air between them felt thick, a potential storm brewing beneath the surface.

The breakfast was a tense affair. Kenma scrolled through his phone, barely picking at his food. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the clinking of his fork. Finally, Y/N decided to break the ice.

"Hey," she started cautiously, "I was thinking… we haven't really had any quality time together lately. Don't you think it would be nice to… maybe go somewhere tomorrow? Just the two of us?"

Before she could finish her suggestion, Kenma let out a heavy sigh. "Y/N, I can't tomorrow, or today for that matter. I'm swamped. There's this charity stream thing with some new, up-and-coming streamer. My manager practically forced me to do it."

A flicker of disappointment crossed Y/N's face, but she quickly plastered on a smile. "Oh, I see. No worries, I understand completely. You're busy, that's perfectly fine." Her voice held a hint of forced cheerfulness.

A beat of silence hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions.

"Of course I understand," Y/N continued, her voice dropping to a low murmur. Maybe a little too low. "My name isn't Kozume 'Always Understanding' Y/N, after all."

Kenma finally looked up from his phone, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean? What are you getting at?"

Y/N's carefully constructed smile faltered. A surge of frustration bubbled within her. "Maybe," she said, her voice tight, "you should consider what being 'Kozume Understanding' actually costs sometimes."

Kenma pushed back from the table, barely touching his breakfast. "Look, I appreciate you trying to be supportive, but I have a lot on my plate right now. I gotta get everything set up for today's stream." He mumbled something about needing more coffee and practically bolted out of the room.

Y/N sat alone at the table, the untouched food mocking her. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision. Understanding was one thing, but feeling invisible was a whole other story. The air crackled with unspoken resentment, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

A few hours had crawled by since the breakfast debacle. Y/N found herself folding warm laundry in the bedroom, the rhythmic whoosh of the dryer a monotonous lullaby. In an attempt to bridge the gap, she turned on the TV, pulling up Kenma's stream. He was just a few rooms away, physically close yet emotionally distant. Tuning in had always been a source of comfort, a way to connect even when they were apart.

But today, the comfort was replaced by a gnawing emptiness. The stream displayed two camera feeds: Kenma on one side, and a girl on the other. The unfamiliar face sent a jolt through Y/N. So, this was the "new streamer" Kenma mentioned. Y/N hadn't expected a girl.

They were playing Minecraft, a stark contrast to the usual high-octane games Kenma gravitated towards. The girl was chirping cheerfully, gathering flowers, while Kenma focused on mining deep underground. A humorless chuckle escaped Y/N's lips. How predictable.

Despite his focus, the chat box buzzed with activity. "Great duo!" "Shipping them so hard!" "You two should collab more often!" The girl, clearly enjoying the attention, punctuated her flower-picking with playful glances towards Kenma and flirtatious comments. He, on the other hand, seemed oblivious, a mix of annoyance and feigned disinterest etched on his features. He muttered a few sarcastic replies, clearly trying to deflect her advances.

But Y/N wasn't convinced. The way the girl preened, the way the chat reacted, it all felt… intrusive. A subtle shift began to gnaw at her. Maybe it wasn't just the lack of quality time that bothered her. Maybe it was the realization that this new reality, this world Kenma inhabited, wasn't one she felt comfortable sharing.

With a decisive click, Y/N shut off the TV. Enough boyfriend content for one day, she thought bitterly. Intellectually, she knew there was nothing wrong with Kenma collaborating with another streamer, especially a girl. Yet, a suffocating tightness constricted her chest.

It wasn't just the girl's undeniable beauty – the cascading hair, the infectious voice, the effortless charm that seemed to captivate the chat. It was the way the internet, that ever-hungry beast, latched onto the situation.

Four hours. That's all it took for the fandom to erupt. Fan art depicting them as a couple flooded Twitter. A dedicated hashtag, #KenmaAndQueen (Queen being the other streamer's username, no doubt), trended at an alarming rate. The internet worked in mysterious ways, Y/N thought, a humorless laugh escaping her lips.

Tears pricked at her eyes as she scrolled through clips people had already made of the stream. The girl's relentless flirting, the forced interactions designed to fuel speculation – it all felt like a cruel parody of their own relationship. Y/N couldn't hold back any longer. Fat tears streamed down her face, blurring the screen.

The last few months of loneliness and neglect had taken their toll. The trickle of tears transformed into a torrent, sobs wracking Y/N's body. The sound was probably louder than she'd intended, echoing through the house.

A few minutes later, Kenma appeared at the bedroom door, his face etched with concern. "Y/N? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

Y/N's sobs intensified, her voice barely a whisper. "Kenma," she managed to choke out, "do you like Queen?"

Kenma's brow furrowed in confusion. "Queen? What do you mean?"

"The streamer you were with today," Y/N explained, her voice trembling. "Do you like her? Is she better than me? Prettier? Funnier?"

Her words hung in the air, heavy with insecurity. She felt like a shadow compared to Queen's radiant presence, her own worth diminishing with each passing moment.

Kenma's eyes widened in disbelief. "Y/N, what are you talking about? Queen is just a colleague. I don't like her in that way. And you're the most amazing, beautiful, and intelligent person I know. Don't ever compare yourself to anyone else."

He gently pulled her into a hug, his warmth radiating through her. "I love you, Y/N. More than words can say. You're the only one for me."

Y/N's tears subsided, replaced by a sense of relief. Kenma's words were like a balm to her wounded soul. She nuzzled into his embrace, feeling safe and loved.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice still laced with emotion. "I just felt so insecure watching you with her. The fans, the comments, the whole situation just got to me."

Kenma chuckled softly. "I understand, love. But you have nothing to worry about. You're my everything, and no one could ever replace you."

He held her tighter, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm of her emotions. Y/N felt a surge of gratitude for this man who saw her for who she truly was, insecurities and all.

As they sat in silence, enveloped in each other's embrace, a sense of peace settled over Y/N. Kenma's words had not magically erased her insecurities, but they had offered a glimmer of hope, a reminder that their love was strong enough to weather any storm. An idea sparked in Kenma's eyes. He reached for Y/N's hand, his expression a mix of determination and nervousness. "Come on," he said gently, pulling her towards his streaming room.

Y/N's heart hammered against her ribs. She wasn't sure what Kenma was planning, but a sliver of hope flickered within her. They entered the room, the familiar hum of the computer the only sound. Kenma settled back into his gaming chair, gesturing for Y/N to stand beside him, just out of frame.

He took a deep breath and addressed the chat. "Hey everyone, sorry for the sudden break. Thanks to some attentive viewers, it seems you might have heard some… background noise." He glanced at Y/N, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yep, those cries were from my amazing girlfriend here."

A collective gasp, presumably from Queen, erupted from the speakers. Y/N felt a wave of heat flush her cheeks. Kenma ignored it, his focus laser-sharp.

"The truth is," he continued, his voice low and sincere, "I haven't been the best boyfriend lately. I let my career take priority, neglecting the most important person in my life." Y/N's breath caught in her throat.

He reached out, gently taking her hand in his. "This is me, publicly apologizing. Y/N, I've been a jerk, and I want to change that." He squeezed her hand, his eyes locking with hers, conveying a wealth of emotions that transcended words.

A beat of silence hung in the air, thick with tension. Then, with a swift movement, Kenma pulled Y/N closer, framing her face in the camera's view. "This," he declared, his voice husky, "is the most amazing, supportive, and thankfully, understanding girlfriend a guy could ask for." He leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a tender kiss.

"Isn't she the prettiest?" Kenma murmured against her skin, a playful glint in his eyes. He pulled back slightly, cupping her face, his gaze holding hers. A blush bloomed across Y/N's cheeks, a mixture of relief, surprise, and a flicker of possessiveness aimed at the unseen Queen.

Kenma chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. "Alright everyone, enough mush for one day. We'll be back with the stream shortly, but for now, I have some serious apologizing to do." He winked at Y/N, a silent promise hanging in the air.

#kozume x reader #kozume kenma #haikyu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu #streamer kenma #streamer!kenma #secret relationship #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n

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another-fanfic-haven · 9 months ago

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Stress

so, uhhh. comfort post. i'm extremely uncomfortable since yes. Word count: 1209 Song? If anyone's interested: Nikitata - Paranoia

What a terrible luck you must have. You thought your life was getting back on track after you took the chance and moved out of your parents' homestead, diving head-first into the unknown.

And now, all your choices come to bite back, reminding you of all the unresolved issues you carry.

You thought you had your life figured out and your career path chosen. Now, doubt is clouding your conscience. Was that the right path? Why does it feel so wrong? That's what I wanted to do, for Christ's sake!

But you feel... trapped. Trapped in a career with no sight of going anywhere higher, trapped in a crappy, tiny apartment, not to mention - shared with a person you know nothing but their name.

But you can't return either. Your pride isn't letting you. To come back, would mean to admit a defeat, hanging a white flag, and proving everyone around you right; You aren't as good as you made yourself seem.

You sat in front of your computer, staring blankly at the blinking cursor in an open document - a report waiting for you to finish it, your hands clawing into your arms with bruising strength, clinging onto any sensory stimuli - even pain. God, it is horrible, isn't it? You feel like you're fading in and out of existence, your heart beating rapidly, indicating another wave of that dreaded feeling - the feeling of uncertainty, surreality. Nothing feels real - YOU don't feel real. Closing your eyes and breathing isn't helping you much either - and if anything - it makes the sensation worse, plaguing your vision with terrifying figures and flashbacks to the gruesome crime scene photographs. The sounds around you disappear, replaced by deafening screech in your ears.

Oh gods another wave.

And now you feel like the whole universe is judging you, staring straight through the persona you've maintained so well for so long - you're not as strong as you made yourself seem.

"Hey, are you okay?" A voice rang through the booming sound in your head, paired with a warm sensation on your shoulder. Someone noticed your struggle, fantastic as if this day couldn't get any worse! The hand pulled on your shoulder, turning the chair - and you on it - away from the screen. You couldn't look up, frozen in this hunched position. All you could see were the deep blue button-up shirt, neatly tucked into the combat pants.

The person sighed, either in pity or worry. Or both.

"You're taking a break, rookie." The person stated, pulling you gently up from the chair and wrapping one arm around your shoulders, keeping you close to their body. "Redfield! Be useful for once and make some tea for them. Chamomile if there's any left."

Your conscience came back - at least for a moment. You looked up sheepishly, squinting your eyes against the bright light. Albert glanced down at you, giving you a soft nod and nudging you to come with him. Not like you had any choice - he held you close and tight to his side. He was gentle with you, leading you into his office, making you sit on the soft, leather chair - the same one you sat all these months ago during your interview. Except now you were a trembling, anxious mess, digging your nails so deep into your arms that they left crescent-shaped scars.

His hands gently pulled your hands away from further hurting yourself, holding each of your palms in his. He kneeled in front, looking into your eyes - or trying to, you're staring blankly into your hands - now held by Albert. His thumbs traced across your knuckles, gently pressing on them, giving you the comfort you clearly need.

"Wait here." He stood up, placing your hands on your knees. The warm, comforting sensation left as he made his way across his office, and before you knew it, your body felt enveloped in something - heavy and soft - his officer jacket. The weight feels like a balm for your sore body, cocooning and grounding.

Gods, not again. You're on the verge of tears. And for what reason? Hell, if you knew. You close your eyes shut, praying silently, trying and hoping that this burning sensation in your throat and tears threatening to spill from under your eyelids will dissipate.

His hands returned to yours the moment the first tear rolled down your cheek. His touch was... oddly gentle. You've never expected this cold captain to have such warm, tender hands.

"Hey. Calm down." He whispered, looking at you. His expression was... sympathetic. If you can call the usual deadpan face with an almost clinical gaze disguised by worry gentle in any way, that is.

"Tell me what you see. Look around, describe it." He nudged your hands, pressing onto every finger. You nodded, lifting your head and looking around. Your head feels so wrong, empty and busy, thoughts running through like on a highway, yet you can't find the right words.

"I- I see..." You stuttered, battling the sensation that you were about to break apart. You took a deep breath, collecting your thoughts one more time - at least attempting to. "I see... bookshelves. Your computer. Some binders... The S.T.A.R.S. banner? Or is it a poster?" You focused your eyes on the decoration behind his chair - the same insignia you and he display so proudly on your shoulders.

"It's a banner, good observation." He nodded, moving his hands to your wrists, massaging the inner parts with his thumb. "What else do you see."

You swallowed the tears, giving the room one more look. You shuddered a shaky breath, the tension in your body leaving with each breath you took, growing steadier, calmer.

"I see... a desk lamp, with a cord hanging from it. And the desk, it's dark and looks heavy. I see... metal blinds on the window. And a coat hanger by the door."

And as if on command, Chris barged in with a large mug in his hands.

"Sorry Wesker, had to convince Becca to use her tea col-" He called, his voice cutting halfway through once he saw you - hunched over and Wesker's hands resting on yours. "Shit should've knocked..." He added.

"You should've," Albert commented. His demeanor immediately seemed to change from caring to cold and bossy in an instant. How does he do that? "Put the tea on the desk and leave."

Chris did as ordered, trying to not overstep his welcome. He hurried, giving you one sidelong glance - looks like he's worried, too. The doors closed behind him as he left, leaving the two of you alone once more.

Albert stood up, leaving your hands alone - after they trailed behind his, longing for more of the contact. Nothing good lasts forever, after all.

"Drink this. It should make you feel better. And you're taking the rest of the day off. No whining, no "buts" you're in no shape to work." He handed you the mug, placing it in your hands and guiding them into the handle.

"Now, do you have someone to check on you later?" He asked, leaning on his desk and crossing his arms on his chest.

#albert wesker #resident evil #albert wesker x reader #resident evil x reader #re wesker #re x reader #resident evil wesker #x reader #resident evil fanfic #resident evil fanfiction #albert wesker x you #wesker x reader #stars wesker #i am severely unwell yes

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 1 year ago

Note

Ok regarding that “can i make Yves do my homework if I give him my childhood pictures” ask, exactly how much access does Yves have to our lives? Does he have images or videos from when we were still a baby or would they be new information to him?

A bunch of my baby pictures and videos are lost because my dad lost the computer that had them but we recently found my aunt’s old camera filled with our childhood pictures, it was a pleasant surprise for us but would it be for Yves too?

It absolutely is. If Yves was there with you while your aunt showed you the photo gallery of her old camera, Yves would momentarily lose a bit of inhibition and let his pupils dilate to a maddening degree before instantly constricting it back to appear normal. It's a rare, super deluxe edition photos of you, there isn't anything else like it out there as they're most likely not uploaded to the internet or a cloud based service, where he could easily hack.

Him coming across media from your childhood or at least during those early days where people still go to and get their photos developed, is like winning the lottery for him. Because, although he tries to collect everything relating to your existence, there is only so much he can do in a day. He rather prioritizes the present and the future, as the past is the past; neither you nor him can change it, he can only understand or connect it to your current behaviours or thought patterns.

He does have some information about you as a baby or a child, but that is if they're "readily available" to him. (I.e., it can be found in predictable places like in your childhood home.), that is why, Yves would try to build a good relationship with people you grew up with, to extract information.

Despite being reclusive as he is, Yves would never fail to attend every and any family gathering he is invited to or expected to come. Encouraging that drunk uncle to drink more if he knew he has something to say about you, bribing your relatives with gifts and career opportunities, perhaps even drugging that really difficult and combative cousin to make them more bearable to interrogate.

As soon as he knew your aunt could be another goldmine of your data, he would get to work. Wasting no time building a rapport with her, it's a piece of cake given how obsessive and manipulative his nature is.

Inevitably, your aunt will come to love him and see Yves as family. By extension, her relationship with you will skyrocket too, she will invite you to her place much more often even though she might not be the most sociable person in the first place. Yves will find a way to make her bend to his whims.

The majority of their conversations would be about you, only sometimes Yves would talk about something else if it meant he could keep the drive to spill more about your lore going. His sharp ears and mind will pick up on clues as to where he might find more pictures or writings about you. He would then break into your aunt's home to give it a thorough shakedown and leave without a trace. Yves would repeat this process until he's positive that she has nothing left to offer. That camera is getting fucking stolen and replaced with a duplicate.

It didn't matter if your aunt was a minimalist or a severe hoarder, he would go through all her things just to try and find pieces of your puzzle. He would wade through cobwebs, dust piles, rat droppings and mould if he had to, Yves isn't scared to get dirty to obtain what he wants, "squeamish" isn't in his vocabulary.

When she is robbed of all your essence, Yves would become distant. Not hostile towards her, just cold and indifferent. He would still maintain some sort of relationship with her though, in case she becomes useful again later. As of now, he either puts his entire focus on your current peripheral and direct life, or start to hunt other members down- from his snooping, he had learned of other people who may have valuable input about your childhood.

All of this is happening in the background. You wouldn't suspect a thing, there wasn't a dip in his attention for you. In fact, he may have gotten a lot more smothering, as Yves would be shaking at the thought of testing out his new theories and hypothesis that were birthed from his new knowledge.

He just loves you so much that he couldn't help himself but to get greedy. Yves wants all of you; past, present and future. And any version of you that could have been.

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere male #oc yves #yandere concept #tw yandere #yandere oc x reader #yandere x you #male yandere oc x reader

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delta-orionis · 2 days ago

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Tuesday Again No Problem 6/17/25

My last Tuesdaypost was over a month ago. Oh god.

Listening

Mostly fallow? I've been re-listening to old podcast episodes a lot. I'm kind of Going Through It right now.

TWOAPW posted a new episode about Beyond Two Souls, a game I have never played, but one that my brother knows a lot about for some reason:

youtube

Everything I learned about this game was new to me, but listening to this episode with my brother was fun because I got to hear his visceral reactions to the descriptions of some of this games... interesting writing choices.

Watching

A coworker recommended Angela Collier to me a while ago, but I finally got around to watching some of her videos:

youtube

This one was particularly intriguing to me. I heard the legends about Feynman all throughout my undergraduate physics career, and yes, I have even encountered the "Feynman bros" that she talks about. I didn't think much of it, but learning that his reputation is mostly hearsay was... interesting.

At one point she even held up a book that looked familiar to me, and I looked over and realized I had the exact same edition on my shelf. I remember exactly where I was when I got it, too. Eerie.

Her videos are definitely not for everyone. I feel they appeal to an audience who has at least some familiarity with the astronomy/physics undergrad experience, and the weird idiosyncrasies that come with it. The videos are also on the longer side, and have a tendency to meander... that sounds like a bad thing, but I was enjoying listening to them while I did other things. They're more conversational in nature.

This video in particular struck me as someone who does science communication professionally now:

youtube

She talks about the difficulty of communicating science when the science in question is a new, niche, poorly understood field that is constantly evolving, and how public opinion about said field can turn as a result. (Honestly it had shades of the BobbyBroccoli video series about Cold Fusion. Not exactly the same, obviously, but another example of the way public opinion can turn on a niche field of research.)

And this one is just a very good rant about why a specific type of plot is just. Very bad. In a number of different ways.

youtube

Playing

I picked the Switch version of Rain World back up to play some Expeditions. You can tell how well it's been going for me from this post alone.

In other news... I've been playing a Lot of the Pokemon TCGP in my spare time. I have finally settled on a deck that Works for me. Maybe I'll have to completely re-make it once the next expansion comes out, but for now it gets the job done.

Making

I almost forgot to mention! I got a new computer!!!! Aaaaahhhh!!!!!

It's not super beefy, but it is LEAGUES better than what I was using before. My computer takes less than a minute to boot up now. It feels like a miracle.

I could be using it to play more graphically intensive stuff, but of course I went straight back to modding Rain World.

Something about the Watcher DLC really disagreed with my laptop; it ground my modding process to a complete halt. Thankfully it runs nice and smooth on my new computer, so I've been getting back into level editing.

In other news, I finally got around to making proper references for my iterator OCs in preperation for Artfight next month:

I'm pretty excited for Artfight... I don't know how active I'll be able to be, but I had a lot of fun last year and I'm looking forward to experiencing it again.

---

That's all for now, see you next week (if I remember).

#tuesdayposting #tuesday again no problem

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joelmillersdumbslut · 2 years ago

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I think it's time you had a pink cloud summer (part one) (joel miller x f!reader) 18+

masterlist

summary: After losing your job and moving back to your hometown, you begin a fast-paced and steamy summer romance with your parents' friend, Joel Miller. (no outbreak AU, no use of y/n)

rating: 18+ explicit (minors do NOT interact)

warnings (for this chapter): age gap (reader is in late 20's, joel is in his 50's), dirty talk, pet names, hand kink (if you squint), mutual masturbation, fingering, hand job, soft!joel, dbf!joel, just a mix of smut and fluff

word count: 5.2k

a/n: this is my self-indulgent attempt at a smut and fluff series featuring my fav, joel miller. hope you enjoy it! ♡

ao3 link

You’re a loser. You’ve resigned to that fact. Your career has abruptly ended at the ripe age of twenty-eight. Over a fucking Zoom meeting, of all the ways to be laid off.

We appreciate all the hard work you’ve done for us.

You’re just not the right fit for this company.

We wish you luck with your future endeavors.

The job you fought so hard for. The one you studied and practiced hours for the interviews alone. The late nights spent at the office, weekends of writing emails and checking for messages from your coworkers. All gone in an instant.

After a few days of crying and wallowing in your misery, you call your parents. They drop everything to help you move back to your childhood home in Austin.

Your room is untouched. Pink bedding, unicorn decals on the walls, plastic glow-in-the-dark stars clinging to the ceiling. You cringe and beg your mom to let you paint over it. But, she loves reminiscing about the good ol’ days of your youth, and asks you to think about it before making any “irrational” decisions. You leave it as is. For now.

While you’re hauling the last box from your car to the house, a hand touches your shoulder. You spin around to see a man. Graying hair, scruffy beard, dressed in dirty jeans and a black t-shirt. His biceps protruding through the cloth. Your first thought is how attractive he is. And how he looks so familiar.

“Hey there, remember me?”

You squint at first before it hits you.

“Mr. Miller? I haven’t seen you since… Since I don’t know when,” you set the box down and he embraces you. His cologne fills your nostrils and you take a deep breath, hoping to remember the smell.

“You call me Joel now, we’re both adults, right?” he chuckles.

Joel lets go, his eyes trained on you. “Thought you were livin’ in Dallas. Had you a big girl job.”

Your face falls, you play with your hair nervously, “Well, I did. Guess they had enough of me.”

“Sorry, babygirl,” he mutters, the word knocking the wind out of you. “Sure you’ll find somethin’.”

“Yeah, if you have any leads, let me know,” you laugh awkwardly.

Since when did Joel get so handsome? Was he always this way, but you were too young to notice? Or care? His long, thick fingers comb out the curls in his hair and your heart skips a beat. Salacious thoughts about those fingers run through your mind before Joel’s gravelly voice brings you back down to Earth.

“Your mama invited me over for dinner. Lemme carry that for you.” Joel picks up the box and heads for the door.

—

“I know it’s weird. Please don’t judge me,” you feel embarrassed at the fact that the hot, older friend of your parents is standing in your childhood bedroom. You feel the urge to rip the decals off the walls, throw the girly bedding out the window. Anything to prove to him you’re not a kid anymore. Your anxiety doesn’t seem to faze him though. He sets the box down on the desk next to your computer, taking in the scenery around him.

“I like the stars,” he says, nodding at the ceiling.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen a night full of real stars,” you admit. “It’s hard to see them in the city.”

A prolonged pause fills the air. Joel raises his eyebrows, looking to test the waters.

“Maybe I could take you,” he murmurs.

“Like, the two of us?” you ask, stepping closer to him.

“Yeah, just like that,” he affirms. He closes the distance between the two of you. You’re standing face to face. Joel reaches out to caress your cheek. Your body is on fire.

“I’d like that,” you hum.

Joel seems to be thinking. Weighing the options of his situation. You bite your lower lip in anticipation.

And before you know it, Joel’s hand is reaching for yours. It happens so suddenly. His lips crash into you. His beard tickling your skin. You reciprocate, kissing him back, your hand clutching his fingers for dear life. You don’t dare pull away. Not yet. His tongue enters your mouth and collides with yours. Instinctively, you moan, and Joel drops your hand to wrap his arms around your body, pulling you even closer to him. You can feel something poking you through his pants. Your hand moves lower and lower and—

“Honey, dinner’s ready! Have you seen Mr. Miller?” your mom’s voice calls from the hallway.

The two of you separate. Quickly. Joel stands beside the desk, the box blocking his lower half from view. You sit on the bed, ignoring the wetness growing between your thighs.

Your mom is now in the doorway, apron tied around her waist. A delighted expression shines on her face. She has no idea what events just transpired in her daughter’s childhood bedroom. And you are going to make sure she never finds out.

“Joel was just helping me with my moving boxes,” your smile is as sweet as saccharine.

The older man gruffs and moves to tousle your hair, “It’s good to have her back.”

—

You think about his tongue, what it would be like between your thighs. You think about his fingers, wondering what it would feel like if they were to hold your breasts. You think about his cock straining against the denim of his jeans, desperate and hungry. Just for you.

You masturbate all night long.

Thinking of him.

—

In the morning, you decide to go for a walk. You can’t job hunt. Not yet. Not with your mind clouded like this.

You need to figure out where this is going first.

You head down the street and round the corner. Joel’s house is on the left. It’s Monday, but you hope he’s there. Maybe he took the day off from work. How could anyone be expected to focus after that moment in your bedroom?

He’s waiting for you on the front porch. His hands are occupied with his guitar, morning sunlight gleaming against the wood of the instrument. It reminds you of the way he’d play songs for you when you were a teenager. You would sit on the floor of his living room, watching in awe as his fingers danced across the neck of the guitar. You’re trying to recall what exactly he played for you, maybe it was Bob Dylan or Pink Floyd, but that memory soon escapes your brain when Joel glances up at you. He smiles as you carefully take the steps, each foot landing on the wood with a heavy thud. You cross the porch and sit down on the swing next to him.

“Good morning,” you finally say. Your hands are already shaking. Afraid you read the signals wrong. Terrified he may turn you down.

“What do I owe this pleasure?” he asks, setting the guitar down against the porch railing. His arm envelops your frame, pulling you a little closer. Your heart is nearly beating out of your chest.

Your answer is honest. Straight-forward. Simple.

“I came back for more.”

—

You find yourself standing in Joel’s living room. It’s been so many years, but it’s just like how you remember it. Knick knacks, magazines, and books spread out across shelves. A record player with a stack of vinyl in the corner. You thumb through the collection, settling on a Soundgarden album. You vaguely remember Joel telling you about them when you were going through your “emo phase.” You had preferred Nirvana instead. Once you slide the record onto the slipmat of the player and drop the needle, the heavy, sludgy rock music fills the air. You turn back to face him.

He’s been watching you intently, a small grin on his face. “Just makin’ yourself at home, huh, babygirl?”

You blush at that word again. It fills you with a warm, fuzzy feeling. One that feels so wrong that it’s got to be right.

“What, you like when I call you that?” he teases, his hand brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“What are we doing?” you ask quietly, your skin burning against his slightest touch. You know exactly what you’re doing. You know what’s about to happen in this house. You just want to hear him say it. Make it come to life. Make your fantasy a reality.

“Whatever you want, pretty girl,” he kisses your forehead, moving down to your neck. The small nips and bites he leaves have you aching for more, but you silently pray he doesn’t create any marks for your parents to see. How would you even begin to explain that?

“Is what we’re doing okay?” you mumble between his kisses, fighting off all the moans trying to escape your lips. “What if my parents find out?”

Joel pulls away, holding your hands. His soft brown eyes stare into yours.

“We don’t gotta do anything you don’t wanna do. We’ll go at your pace,” he whispers. “And if they find out, I’ll take care of it. How’s that sound?”

It’s an offer you can’t refuse.

—

“Ri-right here?” your voice trembles as Joel leads you to the couch. He had suggested you start there before making your way to his bedroom. On one hand, it feels rather adolescent. But on the other hand, there’s something about sneaking around like a couple of teenagers that excites you.

“Remember what I told you,” Joel plants kisses along your hairline as he helps you sit down on the couch. “Whatever you wanna do. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

He heads into the dining room, returning with a chair. He sits across from you, waiting for you to make the first move.

Moments pass. Joel’s hand reaches out, caressing your cheek. You can feel yourself melt as his calloused fingertips brush against your skin.

“It’s—It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything, with anybody,” you say suddenly, mindlessly picking at your fingernails. “Work kept me busy. I guess I don’t… I don’t even know where to start.”

Joel stares at you, deep in thought. Finally, he asks, “You wanna watch me?”

You glance up at him, amused. You’ve never done this with a partner before. Especially not with an older man like Joel. But, you aren’t going to let your lack of experience stop you.

“Okay,” you grin.

At your command, Joel unbuttons his jeans. He slowly pulls the zipper down. You observe his fluid movements as his cock springs from his boxers, and he begins to stroke himself. Soft moans slip away from his lips. He occasionally looks at you to smile.

After a few minutes of watching Joel touch himself, you begin to feel your insides throb. Thinking about how badly you want him. Your nerves dissipate as you remember what he told you. Whatever you want. At your pace.

“I can’t let you have all the fun,” you giggle as you slip out of your shorts. Joel groans at the sight of you in your underwear.

“Such a pretty thing,” he murmurs, pumping into his hand at a quicker pace. “You gonna play with yourself for me?”

Your hand slips into your panties and you start rubbing your clit. Your fingers moving in slow circles against your already sensitive bud. You whine from your own touch, which causes Joel to crack a smile as he further examines you.

The two of you watch each other. The only sounds in the room consist of your simultaneous labored breathing and the record player needle reaching the end of the vinyl, a dull scratching noise on repeat.

“Can I see you, babygirl?” a whimper breaks away from Joel’s throat. You can see the head of his cock is now glistening in precum. You wonder how close he is.

With a smirk, you kick off your underwear, spreading your legs for him. You swear the old man’s heart stops for just a moment as he stares straight into your dripping pussy. Absolutely hypnotized.

“So pretty,” he exhales, his hand quickening its strokes, “That all for me?”

“It is,” you reply in a hush, “Is that cock all for me?”

“Just for you, babygirl, just for you,” Joel sighs.

You buck your hips as you keep touching yourself. You can feel your orgasm building quickly as you watch Joel. Imagining his cock inside you is pushing you over the edge.

“I think I might cum soon,” you whisper, your fingers moving faster against your clit, fire growing deep inside your belly.

“Can I help you, babygirl?” Joel asks, removing his hand from his cock. You nod frantically, needing something, anything to help you release the tension building inside your body.

The long and thick middle finger of Joel’s hand is suddenly curling up inside you, hitting places you forgot had existed. Places your own fingers can’t even reach. He moves in and out gently. Your body stiffens right as you’re about to let go. You hear Joel mumbling words of encouragement, plenty of them including “babygirl,” as you cum all over his couch, your arousal trickling down the back of your thighs and sticking to the fabric.

Joel follows you soon after. He takes your slick from his finger, using it as lube for his cock. He mutters obscenities as you watch him orgasm, long liquid ropes splattering in the palms of his hands. He breathes heavily in the afterglow, looking up at you to grin.

“How was that, babygirl?”

You nod, your brain still thinking of his fingers, his cock, his mouth, his everything, unable to find the words you’re looking for. Joel stands up and walks to the kitchen.

You begin looking around for your clothing, not remembering where you had tossed it during all of the commotion. You hear the kitchen sink running as you pull on your underwear, reaching for your shorts next. Once you’re fully dressed again, you make your way to the record player on the other side of the living room and flip the vinyl to the next side. Trying to find excuses to stay a little longer in case he wants you to leave. Your heart sinks, hoping that’s not the case. Hoping you’re more than just material to jack off to.

To your surprise, Joel’s arms wrap around you from behind, and he leans down to kiss you.

“You don’t have anywhere to be, right?” his voice is a little wobbly. You wonder what he’s got to be nervous about. If anything, you feel like you should be the anxious one.

“I was hoping to stay for a while. If that’s okay,” you answer, turning around to face him.

“Good,” his smile is genuine, warm. “I was plannin’ on takin’ you to see the stars.”

—

When dusk rolls around, Joel leads you to his truck. He holds the door open for you as you settle into the passenger seat with plastic bags filled to the brim with snacks and drinks. You set them on the floorboard and put on your seatbelt as Joel sits down next to you in the driver’s seat. You’re looking through your phone for songs to play on your mini-road trip when you receive a call.

“Shit, it’s my dad,” you mutter, eyes darting between the “Answer” and “Decline” icons on your screen. You never told your parents where you were headed when you left this morning.

“You should tell ‘em where you are,” Joel suggests, turning the key in the ignition to start the vehicle.

“You gotta help me then,” you respond, your eyes full of fear. You aren’t sure how your parents would react if they were to find out you spent the day messing around with their longtime friend. And even though you’re an adult who is capable of making her own decisions, even if that includes developing a relationship with an older man, you're still afraid of their reactions.

“‘Course I will, babygirl,” Joel grips your thigh as you tap on the “Answer” icon.

“Hello?” you try to remain cool and collected when you pick up the phone.

“Honey, where have you been? Your mom and I have been worried sick,” your dad’s voice echoes through the speaker.

“I know, I’m sorry. I lost track of time,” you explain. Not totally a lie. You just won’t tell him what you spent your time doing.

“Where are you?” your dad asks.

You glance at Joel, your eyes pleading for help.

“Don’t worry, she’s with me,” Joel answers. “Found her a temporary job while she’s lookin’.”

“Joel, is that you?” your dad’s voice is drenched in confusion, “What did you find for her to do?”

“Figured she could organize my paperwork and my blueprints,” Joel says calmly. Your eyes light up as you remember Joel’s carpentry business. It’s a good cover.

“Yeah, he needs all the help he can get,” you add with a grin. Joel smiles back at you.

Your dad lets out a sigh of relief, “That’s mighty kind of you, Joel. Just make sure she’s not out too late.”

“Dad, I’m twenty-eight years old. I’m in good hands with… Mr. Miller,” you remark.

“I know, I know. We’ll see you when you get home,” your dad says and the call ends.

You stare at your phone, wondering how the hell you just pulled that off.

“You know, you’re gonna have to actually work for me now,” Joel teases you as he backs the truck out of the driveway, turning onto the street.

“I don’t know, seems like a lot of effort. What exactly do I get out of it?” you joke back at him.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Joel chuckles, his hand reaching for yours as he drives toward the highway.

—

An hour later, you’re fifty miles outside of Austin. On the way to your destination, Joel tells you about this river with beachside parking that’s great for stargazing. It’s hard to focus on the conversation when his fingers are interlaced with yours. Those same fingers that were touching you just hours earlier. You snap back to reality when Joel squeezes your hand.

It’s pitch black when you pull into the parking lot at the river. The sky is littered with stars and planets and the blinking lights of airplanes flying overhead. Just begging for you to see what wonders it holds.

You climb into the bed of Joel’s truck, laying on your back. You forget about how uncomfortable it is when Joel joins you, his arm wrapping around you.

“See that one right there? That’s Jupiter,” he whispers, his scruff grazing your ear.

“How do you know?” you squint your eyes, trying to see it a little better. A bright blue glowing dot in the nighttime sky. Millions of miles away from you.

“Looked it up before we came here. Wanted to impress you,” Joel sheepishly admits.

Your heart skips a beat as the two of you continue to look up into the atmosphere.

“You know,” Joel breaks the silence, “It’s been about ten years since I last saw you. We got a lot to catch up on.”

“Well, we’ve got all the time in the world now,” you lean over and kiss his nose. It’s hard to see in the dark, but you swear his face briefly turned red.

You nod at one of the clusters of stars in the sky and ask, “Which one is that?”

“Which one? Hard to see with all of ‘em so close together.”

“That one riiiight there,” you smirk, your finger pointing at a star at the very edge of the cluster. All by its lonesome.

“Don’t know,” Joel laughs, “Maybe that could be our star.”

“I like the sound of that,” you murmur, cuddling closer to him.

—

You spend your days at Joel’s house. He actually puts you to work organizing his carpentry blueprints and filing business paperwork. But, it’s easy and you’re grateful for something to keep you busy. Spending time in Joel’s presence is an added bonus.

It’s been a few weeks since you watched each other. Glimpses of that moment keep swirling around in your mind. You try to focus on alphabetizing Joel’s client list, but all you can think about is the way his hand wrapped around his cock. Sliding up and down his length. You think about how you wish that was your hand instead. You wonder what his skin feels like, you wonder what it tastes like, you wonder what it would feel like inside of you—

“You workin’ hard or hardly workin’?” Joel’s voice disrupts your impure daydreams and you nearly jump out of your seat.

“I’m almost done,” you stammer, spinning around in your chair to face Joel. He’s standing just inside the doorframe of the home office. He’s covered in dirt and sawdust and sweat.

“Gonna take a shower. You wanna hang out when you’re done?” he looks at you expectantly.

You’ve been skipping dinner with your parents a few nights a week to “hang out” with Joel. Which entails making out on his couch, your hands traveling across each other’s clothed bodies, kisses on cheeks and necks and shoulders. Every night, you pray that it leads to something more.

“If you wanna hang out, I’ll be free,” you can feel your face burn, wondering if he has anything special in mind for the two of you tonight. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

“Good. Got a surprise for you.”

Or maybe it’s not.

—

“We’re here,” Joel puts the truck in park, glancing over at you with an enthusiastic expression.

“A record store?” your face is planted against the glass window of the truck as you marvel at the flashing neon “open” sign hanging on the shop door.

“Thought maybe we could pick out some new albums together,” Joel runs his fingers through his hair, “Since you like my record player so much.”

You beam at him and lean across the console of the truck to hug him. He seems surprised, but returns your embrace, his hand rubbing your back.

“Come on, let’s go!” you break away from him and push open the truck door. Joel scurries after you.

The inside of the store is filled with racks and shelves. The vinyl records are organized by genre, mostly in alphabetical order. A little anarchy seems to exist in certain sections, but what you’re focused on is rock. The bridge that connects you and Joel.

You thumb through the albums whose artists start with the letter “N,” already knowing exactly what you’re looking for. Joel joins you, amusement dancing across his face as he watches you.

“Oh my god, they have it!” you exclaim, carefully sliding a record out from the batch before you.

“What’s that?” Joel scrunches his eyes as you show him the cover.

“Only one of the most monumental albums in history! It’s from when Nirvana played acoustic versions of their songs live on MTV,” you explain quickly, your excitement growing.

“Were you even alive back then?” Joel teases, scanning a stack of records in front of him.

“Can we get it, Joel? Please?” you bat your eyelashes, fully prepared to go all doe-eyed in the case that he tells you to put it back.

“Only if we can get this,” he says, holding up a dark pink album cover with hands and arms reaching up to the text of the band’s name.

“Pearl Jam? You still listen to them?” you smile, remembering that Joel had given you a burned copy of one of their albums when you were in high school. You don’t remember ever listening to it, but now you hope you have it packed away somewhere in one of the moving boxes in your bedroom.

“‘Course I do. You think I’m old or somethin’?”

“You’re not that old,” you playfully punch his arm.

You feel the urge to say something. You’re not sure if the two of you are there yet, but you want to see how he reacts. See if this is going where you think it might be. Better to figure it out now than get your heart broken later on down the line.

“This is probably the best second date ever,” you confess hesitantly.

Joel looks surprised, but not startled. He takes your hand, leading you to the cash register.

“‘Probably?’ Anything I can do to make it the best second date ever?” he asks, a small grin appearing on his face.

“I’m sure you can think of something,” you smirk, relief washing over you.

—

Once you get back to Joel’s house, you kick off your shoes in front of the door, making your way to the living room. It’s late and you should be home by now. Your parents are probably worried. You know you should hurry home. But, you have to arrange the albums perfectly. You decide to organize Joel’s existing pile into alphabetical order after he admitted to you that he normally leaves the records lying around when he’s not listening to them.

After spending a few minutes getting everything systematized, you finally place Nirvana and Pearl Jam next to each other in the stack, standing back to admire your handiwork. Ever since you lost your job, you’ve been feeling like you don’t have control over anything. But, at least Joel lets you have this with his albums and his paperwork. A little bit of calm amidst turbulence.

“It’s gettin’ late,” Joel is standing behind you now, “You should probably head home.”

“Yeah,” you respond somewhat sullenly. Spending time with Joel has recently become the highlight of your days. You always manage to find reasons to stay. Because leaving is the hardest part.

“Unless…” Joel begins.

You turn around, your eyes darting between his face and his hands.

“Unless what?” you ask.

Joel’s hand reaches up. He tips your chin as he leans in to kiss you. The press of his lips is soft, doting, sweet. You ache for more. You always do. With him, it’s never enough.

“Can I touch you, babygirl?” he asks between bated breaths. Pulling away, he looks into your eyes. Waiting for your confirmation.

“Please,” you whimper, “Please touch me.”

Joel guides you to the couch, gesturing for you to lay down. You shimmy out of your pants and underwear, letting them pool onto the floor. As soon as you’re on your back against the cushions, Joel climbs on top of you. His kisses are ravenous as he nibbles your collar bones, leaving his mark for you to see, to admire later on when you’re alone.

“You ready?” his hand moves from playing with your breast to just below your belly. He hovers over your sex, waiting for you to give him the word.

“I’m ready.”

“If you don’t wanna do this anymore, you tell me to stop. Okay?” Joel refuses to break eye contact with you until you nod.

His middle finger easily penetrates you and slips inside your body. A gasp evades your throat and you arch your back. Joel begins to move slowly, his calloused fingertip hitting your sweet spot just right.

“How’s that feel, babygirl?” he asks, kissing your jaw.

“So fucking good,” you murmur, focusing on the pleasure being transmitted from your core to your limbs to your brain to your teeth to your toes.

“Want another one?”

He certainly doesn’t have to ask twice because you’re wildly nodding, silently begging and pleading for more.

“You let me know if it hurts,” Joel adds another finger, sliding deep inside you, pumping in and out a little bit faster now.

“So, so good,” you can already feel your orgasm building, climbing up from deep down inside your depths.

“I know, babygirl, you’re so fucking wet. Just imagine how wet and tight you’ll be when I finally fuck you,” he cooes.

“I want you so bad, Joel,” you whine, panting faster as your body exudes your satisfaction.

“Soon, babygirl, soon. Just focus right here, right here on my fingers. Cum for me.”

And you do. You cum all over the couch, liquid dripping from between your legs. Joel fucks you through it, slowing down once you’ve reached the end. He gently removes his fingers from your pussy, holding them up to his mouth. He sucks on them and you feel desire rise up inside you again. You want him so bad. You feel insatiable.

“You taste so good, babygirl,” he leans down and kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Can… Can I touch you?” The words barrel past your lips.

Joel sits up, leaning back against the couch. He unzips his jeans, reaching into his boxers. He eases his cock out. It’s already hard, waiting just for you.

“Come here,” he smiles.

You suddenly sit up, leaning against him. Your hand makes contact with him. The skin is soft and smooth. Just like you had imagined it.

It’s been a long time since you’ve touched another person. So, you mimic what he had done a few weeks earlier. You start out slow, your hand gliding up and down his shaft. You glance up at him to gauge his reaction. Joel is breathing deeply, his eyes closed. Focusing all on you.

“How does it feel?” you question him, your hand moving a little faster now.

“Feels good, babygirl,” he murmurs. His head tilts toward you, his kisses along your neck are driven by desire and lust.

“Bet it would feel better if my pussy was wrapped around you,” you purr mischievously.

That gets a groan out of Joel. His sighs are getting shorter, raspier. He must be reaching the edge.

“You got a mouth on you, you know that?” he teases.

You hurry your hand’s pace, hoping to help Joel arrive at his climax. Your thumb grazes the head of his cock, you can feel arousal dribbling out.

“Doin’ such a good job for me,” Joel moans, “You’re gonna make me cum, babygirl.”

You stroke faster as he releases into your hand, covering your palm in a sticky, ropy substance. You slow down, kissing him on the cheek.

Then you climb into Joel’s lap, holding him close to you. Your chests rising and falling as one. You spend several moments like this. Just existing. Together. Joel’s fingers interlace with yours, combining each other’s fluids.

“I don’t wanna go,” you whisper.

“You don’t have to,” his lips brush against you, “Stay here with me for a little while.”

A little while turns into several hours. Time spent kissing and listening to music and dancing in the living room. You sneak back into your bedroom after 4 a.m. You’re careful not to wake your parents. You wouldn’t even know how to begin to explain the bruises on your skin, the pounding in your chest, the yearning in your heart.

You fall asleep thinking about how losing your job and moving back home originally felt like a death sentence. But, now with Joel, it feels like the beginning of a new life.

And there’s so much yet to experience.

—

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel x reader #joel tlou #joel x you #the last of us #pedro pascal characters #joel the last of us #tlou

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spacetimewithstuartgary · 2 months ago

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New SpaceTime out Monday

SpaceTime 20250505 Series 28 Episode 54

Discovery of a vast molecular cloud next door

Astronomers have discovered a vast invisible molecular gas and dust cloud near our solar system.

Jupiter’s giant polar cyclones under the microscope

New data from NASA’s Juno mission is shedding fresh light on the fierce winds and cyclones raging in the far north of the gas giant Jupiter and the extreme volcanic action on its fiery moon Io.

A Russian spacecraft about to crash back to Earth

A failed Soviet era spacecraft designed to land on the planet Venus is about to crash back to Earth.

The Science Report

83.7% of the world’s coral reef area now impacted by heat stress.

Taking cannabis gives you a higher risk of heart attack.

The unexpected evolutionary history of echidnas and platypuses.

Skeptics guide to the South Carolina ghost lanterns.

SpaceTime covers the latest news in astronomy & space sciences.

The show is available every Monday, Wednesday and Friday through your favourite podcast download provider or from www.spacetimewithstuartgary.com

SpaceTime is also broadcast through the National Science Foundation on Science Zone Radio and on both i-heart Radio and Tune-In Radio.

SpaceTime daily news blog: http://spacetimewithstuartgary.tumblr.com/

SpaceTime facebook: www.facebook.com/spacetimewithstuartgary

SpaceTime Instagram @spacetimewithstuartgary

SpaceTime twitter feed @stuartgary

SpaceTime YouTube: @SpaceTimewithStuartGary

SpaceTime -- A brief history

SpaceTime is Australia’s most popular and respected astronomy and space science news program – averaging over two million downloads every year. We’re also number five in the United States. The show reports on the latest stories and discoveries making news in astronomy, space flight, and science. SpaceTime features weekly interviews with leading Australian scientists about their research. The show began life in 1995 as ‘StarStuff’ on the Australian Broadcasting Corporation’s (ABC) NewsRadio network. Award winning investigative reporter Stuart Gary created the program during more than fifteen years as NewsRadio’s evening anchor and Science Editor. Gary’s always loved science. He was the dorky school kid who spent his weekends at the Australian Museum. He studied astronomy at university and was invited to undertake a PHD in astrophysics, but instead focused on a career in journalism and radio broadcasting. Gary’s radio career stretches back some 34 years including 26 at the ABC. His first gigs were spent as an announcer and music DJ in commercial radio, before becoming a journalist, and eventually joining ABC News and Current Affairs. He was part of the team that set up ABC NewsRadio and became one of its first on air presenters. When asked to put his science background to use, Gary developed StarStuff which he wrote, produced and hosted, consistently achieving 9 per cent of the national Australian radio audience based on the ABC’s Nielsen ratings survey figures for the five major Australian metro markets: Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Adelaide, and Perth. That compares to the ABC’s overall radio listenership of just 5.6 per cent. The StarStuff podcast was published on line by ABC Science -- achieving over 1.3 million downloads annually. However, after some 20 years, the show finally wrapped up in December 2015 following ABC funding cuts, and a redirection of available finances to increase sports and horse racing coverage. Rather than continue with the ABC, Gary resigned so that he could keep the show going independently. StarStuff was rebranded as “SpaceTime”, with the first episode being broadcast in February 2016. Over the years, SpaceTime has grown, more than doubling its former ABC audience numbers and expanding to include new segments such as the Science Report -- which provides a wrap of general science news, weekly skeptical science features, special reports looking at the latest computer and technology news, and Skywatch – which provides a monthly guide to the night skies. The show is published three times weekly (every Monday, Wednesday and Friday) and available from the United States National Science Foundation on Science Zone Radio, and through both i-heart Radio and Tune-In Radio.

#science #space #astronomy #physics #news #nasa #astrophysics #esa #spacetimewithstuartgary #starstuff #spacetime #hubble #hubble telescope #hubble space telescope

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izicodes · 1 year ago

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Hello! Do you have any advice on getting into freelance coding or remote jobs in the field? I'm having trouble with my current endeavors of applications and my current customer service job isn't doing me well enough to want to stay, so I'm hoping for progress sooner rather than later. Anything helps, thank you!!

Hiya 🖤

Thanks for reaching out with your question about getting into freelance coding or remote jobs. Making a transition can be challenging, but with dedication and strategic steps, you can definitely progress in your career.

Firstly, consider specializing in a specific field of computer science rather than trying to learn everything. This will help you become an expert in a niche, making you more attractive to potential clients or employers.

The big thing to look at is (1) what specific job do you want? Don't know yet? That's the first thing you need to find out. (2) Found the job you want? Go to this website "roadmap.sh" and click the job title you want and look at the roadmap to become it. (3) Have an idea of what you need to learn? Now study :)

Here are some extra key pieces of advice:

Public Code Repositories

Showcase your coding skills by contributing to public repositories on platforms like GitHub, GitLab, or others. This allows potential employers to see your projects and assess your coding abilities.

Online Certifications

Earn certifications from reputable online courses like Freecodecamp, Codecademy, or SheCodes (if you're a woman). Displaying these certifications on your LinkedIn profile adds credibility for remote work or even freelance work because then clients will trust your skills more if it's back up with evidence (projects and/or certificates).

Links: "Massive List of Thousands of Free Certificates" / "The Udemy courses I use" / "FreeCodeCamp" / "Codecedemy" / "SheCodes" / "Udacity" / "Coursera" / "Google"

LinkedIn Profile

Revamp your LinkedIn profile to reflect your job title. Use a title that aligns with your dream job, and highlight your skills, certifications, and projects. You don't even need work experience OR do what a lot of my developer mates do have no work experience and set your "job" as a self-employed freelance developer... little cheat there~!

Links: "LinkedIn Career Explorer" / "Tips for speaking to/reaching out to Recruiter" / "Tips for Landing Your First Entry-Level Developer Job" / "Career Services for Web Development" / "The Talent Cloud Community: Careers Workshop"

Volunteering

Help someone out with a project for their business or whatever. For example, I helped a guy I met in a programming discord server build his portfolio page for free, but I care more about the experience. Search online for volunteer jobs with your dream job title e.g. Volunteer App Develope, but in your country would be better. The experience you can you can add to your LinkedIn. the project you work on you can add to your resume/experience.

Link: "SkilledUp Life"

Networking

Connect with professionals in your field on LinkedIn, even if you don't know them personally. Growing your network can open up opportunities and expose you to valuable insights. Events in person or online, servers (I found volunteer opportunities here), forums, Twitter (I found some mates on there), Instagram (another place I found developer friends). Networking can even help with building group projects~!

Link: "Tips for speaking to/reaching out to Recruiter"

Project Building

Work on both small and big projects to demonstrate your capabilities. Highlight these projects on your resume and portfolio.

Links: "Building projects after learning a new concept advice" / "Tips from learning using multiple resources" / "Tips on learning programming with ChatGPT" / "Harvard University Free IT Courses" / "The Udemy courses I use" / "Free Programming Books" / "Coding Advice for beginners" / "800 free Computer Science classes"

Online Presence

Share your learning progress and projects on various platforms like Tumblr, Twitter, Instagram, LinkedIn, or YouTube. Employers often appreciate candidates who actively showcase their work and commitment to learning. I made a post for Tumblr coding blogs:

Link: "Codeblr Blog Advice: 8 Blog Coding Post Ideas"

Good luck!!

#my asks #programming #coding #studyblr #codeblr #progblr #studying #comp sci #programmer #student #study life #coding study

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jcmarchi · 1 year ago

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Stanhope raises £2.3m for AI that teaches machines to 'make human-like decisions' - AI News

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/stanhope-raises-2-3m-for-ai-that-teaches-machines-to-make-human-like-decisions-ai-news/

Stanhope raises £2.3m for AI that teaches machines to 'make human-like decisions' - AI News

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Stanhope AI – a company applying decades of neuroscience research to teach machines how to make human-like decisions in the real world – has raised £2.3m in seed funding led by the UCL Technology Fund.

Creator Fund also participated, along with, MMC Ventures, Moonfire Ventures and Rockmount Capital and leading angel investors.

Stanhope AI was founded as a spinout from University College London, supported by UCL Business, by three of the most eminent names in neuroscience and AI research – CEO Professor Rosalyn Moran (former Deputy Director of King’s Institute for Artificial Intelligence), Director Karl Friston, Professor at the UCL Queen Square Institute of Neurology and Technical Advisor Dr Biswa Sengupta (MD of AI and Cloud products at JP Morgan Chase).

By using key neuroscience principles and applying them to AI and mathematics, Stanhope AI is at the forefront of the new generation of AI technology known as ‘agentic’ AI. The team has built algorithms that, like the human brain, are always trying to guess what will happen next; learning from any discrepancies between predicted and actual events to continuously update their “internal models of the world.” Instead of training vast LLMs to make decisions based on seen data, Stanhope agentic AI’s models are in charge of their own learning. They autonomously decode their environments and rebuild and refine their “world models” using real-time data, continuously fed to them via onboard sensors.

The rise of agentic AI

This approach, and Stanhope AI’s technology, are based on the neuroscience principle of Active Inference – the idea that our brains, in order to minimise free energy, are constantly making predictions about incoming sensory data around us. As this data changes, our brains adapt and update our predictions in response to rebuild and refine our world view.

This is very different to the traditional machine learning methods used to train today’s AI systems such as LLMs. Today’s models can only operate within the realms of the training they are given, and can only make best-guess decisions based on the information they have. They can’t learn on the go. They require extreme amounts of processing power and energy to train and run, as well as vast amounts of seen data.

By contrast, Stanhope AI’s Active Inference models are truly autonomous. They can constantly rebuild and refine their predictions. Uncertainty is minimised by default, which removes the risk of hallucinations about what the AI thinks is true, and this moves Stanhope’s unique models towards reasoning and human-like decision-making. What’s more, by drastically reducing the size and energy required to run the models and the machines, Stanhope AI’s models can operate on small devices such as drones and similar.

“The most all-encompassing idea since natural selection”

Stanhope AI’s approach is possible because of its founding team’s extensive research into the neuroscience principles of Active Inference, as well as free energy. Director Indeed Professor Friston, a world-renowned neuroscientist at UCL whose work has been cited twice as many times as Albert Einstein, is the inventor of the Free Energy Theory Principle.

Friston’s principle theory centres on how our brains minimise surprise and uncertainty. It explains that all living things are driven to minimise free energy, and thus the energy needed to predict and perceive the world. Such is its impact, the Free Energy Theory Principle has been described as the “most all-encompassing idea since the theory of natural selection.” Active Inference sits within this theory to explain the process our brains use in order to minimise this energy. This idea infuses Stanhope AI’s work, led by Professor Moran, a specialist in Active Inference and its application through AI; and Dr Biswa Sengupta, whose doctoral research was in dynamical systems, optimisation and energy efficiency from the University of Cambridge.

Real-world application

In the immediate term, the technology is being tested with delivery drones and autonomous machines used by partners including Germany’s Federal Agency for Disruptive Innovation and the Royal Navy. In the long term, the technology holds huge promise in the realms of manufacturing, industrial robotics and embodied AI. The investment will be used to further the company’s development of its agentic AI models and the practical application of its research.

Professor Rosalyn Moran, CEO and co-founder of Stanhope AI, said: “Our mission at Stanhope AI is to bridge the gap between neuroscience and artificial intelligence, creating a new generation of AI systems that can think, adapt, and decide like humans. We believe this technology will transform the capabilities of AI and robotics and make them more impactful in real-world scenarios. We trust the math and we’re delighted to have the backing of investors like UCL Technology Fund who deeply understand the science behind this technology and their support will be significant on our journey to revolutionise AI technology.”

David Grimm, partner UCL Technology Fund, said: “AI startups may be some of the hottest investments right now but few have the calibre and deep scientific and technical know-how as the Stanhope AI team. This is emblematic of their unique approach, combining neuroscience insights with advanced AI, which presents a groundbreaking opportunity to advance the field and address some of the most challenging problems in AI today. We can’t wait to see what this team achieves.”

Marina Santilli, sasociate director UCL Business, added “The promise offered by Stanhope AI’s approach to Artificial Intelligence is hugely exciting, providing hope for powerful whilst energy-light models. UCLB is delighted to have been able to support the formation of a company built on the decades of fundamental research at UCL led by Professor Friston, developing the Free Energy Principle.”

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Tags: decision making, development, funding, llm

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missywritesfor7 · 1 year ago

Text

❤️‍🩹Lifeline | MYG❤️‍🩹

Synopsis: It’s long been controversial for idols to date, but idols dating each other can be really beautiful or a complete nightmare. When Yoongi's relationship with another idol is discovered, he decides maybe it’s time to break the taboo and show people it’s ok for idols to date. Instead, they find themselves caught in the midst of one media frenzy after another and struggle to keep their relationship as strong as it had been the past 2 years. Yoongi finds a self destructive way to cope, and it causes even more problems than it solves. As they fight for their relationship and their careers, they discover that sometimes, the only way to truly be free is to let go.

Pairing: idol!Yoongi x idol!OC

Warnings: nsfw, alcoholism, cheating, depression, anxiety, Yoongi goes through a bisexy ho phase, Yoongi is also in his alcoholic phase, post-military BTS

Previous chapter | Next chapter | Masterlist

Ch. 25: Approval

Yoongi’s first week home came and went and before he knew it, Hyeri was heading off at 6 in the morning for her first day of work on her new drama. He woke up to see her off feeling full from her excited smile as she bounced out the door in glee. A few hours later he grabbed his things and took off for his studio.

There’s a chill that shoots through Yoongi’s body when he takes his first steps into the company building. He’s trying to remain optimistic as he steps on the elevator and gets hit with a storm of anxiety. The fear starting to cloud his mind before he even makes it to his floor has him feeling suffocated. Once he realized how truly afraid he was of being back in his old tempting environments, he couldn’t seem to shake the dark cloud creeping in telling him that he’d end up falling back into the same shit he was in before.

When he steps into his studio he’s immediately hit with the memory of the last time he was there. It’s actually a bit of a fuzzy memory, he was pretty fucked up at that time. He shudders then takes a look around. Everything in his studio has remained largely untouched. He can tell a few things were moved a little, likely from someone searching for any hidden bottles. Other than that the place is spotless.

He takes a seat in his chair and lets out a deep breath. It shouldn’t be this difficult, but just getting started takes him about 10 minutes of idly sitting there spinning slowly in his chair before he finally powers his computer on and gets to work. It’s rocky at first, keeping his focus for more than a few minutes at a time is proving difficult. But just like the glass of water in the desert that she is, he gets a text from Hyeri that gives him the boost he needs.

[Hyeri]: My first day is going great so far! I don’t have much time, I just wanted to tell you I love you and I’m proud of you 😘

Yoongi takes a deep breath and smiles. Somehow she’s always there at the right time.

[Yoongi]: You give me so much strength, my love. I’m proud of you too and I’ll never stop loving you ❤️

That’s all it took. One of seven people he has the deepest love for is cheering him on. He can do this. He cracks open his bottle of iced coffee and dives head first into his music.

Minho suggested he start easy when he returns to work. If things start to feel overwhelming then he should call it a day and allow himself time to relax and recharge. Hours fly by and Yoongi is nowhere near stopping. The anxiety he felt coming into the building has been washed away in a decaffeinated wave of confidence and determination. He’s got 2 months worth of music to go through and polish and he’s fired up getting through song after song. He’s only pulled out of his tunnel vision by a knock at his door.

“I didn’t know you were here,” Namjoon says when Yoongi opens the door for him.

“Yeah, I’ve been here since this morning,” Yoongi says inviting Namjoon to take a seat on the couch while he returns to his work chair.

“This morning?” Namjoon asks confused. “Like a few hours ago?”

“What? I mean early this morning. I got here around 9 I think.”

“Hyung,” Namjoon chuckles. “It’s 3 am, you’ve been here all day?”

“I have?” Yoongi questions looking at his phone that confirms it’s currently 3:15 am. “Shit,” he chuckles. “Yeah I guess I’ve been here all day.”

“Rainbow didn’t call you to come home yet?” Namjoon jokes.

“She usually doesn’t bother when I’m here,” Yoongi laughs. “I guess I should probably go, huh?”

“You’ve been here all day, hyung. Get some rest.”

“What about you? Why are you still here?”

“The usual. I was about to head out now though. You should come.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi swivels in his chair to start saving his work and shutting his computer down. “Need a ride?”

“You know I do,” Namjoon laughs.

Yoongi finishes gathering his things and the pair head down the quiet hall to the elevator. The building is mostly deserted at this hour aside from the two or three night owls quietly working away in their own spaces. They make it out to Yoongi’s car and take off.

“It’s good to see you back, hyung,” Namjoon says during the ride. Ever since they all got together for dinner upon Yoongi’s return Namjoon has been quite amazed at the difference. For two months the last image of Yoongi that was left in his mind was of him wreaking of alcohol while they hit him with an intervention that all of them had hoped wouldn’t have to happen. Now he looks like he’s back to his old self and smells like sweet lemon and ginger tea instead of booze.

“It’s good to be back,” Yoongi smiles. “And thank you.”

“I told you the other day you don’t have to thank me. You’re my bro.”

“I know, but I mean Hyeri. Thanks for looking out for her.”

“I always look out for her,” Namjoon chuckles. “She’s my sis.”

“I know that too,” Yoongi chuckles trying to find his way to the point he’s trying to make. “It’s just that you know I worry about her a lot and when I felt like I was so messed up that I couldn’t be there for her, I always felt better knowing you were there.”

“Of course,” Namjoon reiterates. “You’re both my family, if I can ever do anything to make sure my family doesn’t hurt, then I will.”

“That’s why you’re our leader,” Yoongi smiles. “I just know I can trust you with my life, and that includes Hyeri. She doesn’t have any siblings so you fill that space for her.”

“Hyung,” Namjoon says sensing some bit of nervousness from Yoongi. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“What do you think about…marriage?”

“Marriage?” Of all things Namjoon could have guessed, marriage isn’t one of them.

“We talked about it and I can’t get the thought out of my mind. I might just be thinking crazy, but I’m not sure. What would happen if we got married? I’m crazy right? But if we did…would you be ok with it? Would everyone else be ok with it?” Yoongi is rambling as he tends to do when he’s nervous. Beads of sweat are starting to form on his forehead and he’s trying his best to hold his breath steady.

“Slow down.” Namjoon shakes his head. He’s a little endeared by how flustered Yoongi is when trying to discuss the topic, but he also feels he may be getting ahead of himself. “You’ve only been back home a week.”

“I know, it’s crazy.”

“Hyung chill. There’s a lot you need to think about first, like how no one even knows that you two are even dating. If you two show up married out of the blue what do you think people will think? Or maybe you could stay a secret, but you’ve already expressed how upsetting it is for you having to hide now, how long can you keep hiding when you’re married?”

“You’re right,” Yoongi sighs pulling up to Namjoon’s building.

“I’m not saying you should never do it, if that’s what you really want to do. I just want you to think about it. You can’t rush into this because there are some things you won’t be able to undo, you know?” Namjoon gives Yoongi a look that tells everything. A look telling Yoongi that regardless of how he feels, he has to think about the fans who could feel betrayed if he doesn’t approach things carefully.

“Yeah,” Yoongi nods. “I understand.”

“Get some sleep.” Namjoon opens the door to exit the car. “I’ll see you later.”

Yoongi nods and watches Namjoon shut the door and enter his apartment building. He appreciates Namjoon’s input, and as the only person that knows both he and Hyeri the most, he’s happy he could get those feelings out to a knowing third party. Still, as he drives home he feels a little disappointed. He wanted Namjoon to be more on board with the idea, although his advice was absolutely correct, he just hoped to get a more solid vote of approval. Yoongi parks his car when he gets home wondering why he suddenly felt the need to get Namjoon’s approval, not as a fellow group member who would no doubt be effected by this, but as a close friend of Hyeri’s. As her family.

Yoongi isn’t surprised to see Hyeri still awake in bed when he gets home. He could hear her mumbling lines to herself as soon as he walked through the door then entered the bedroom to see her sitting up going over her script.

“You’re home?” She asks somewhat surprised.

“You didn’t think I would be?” Yoongi chuckles. He drops his things near the door where he’ll pick them back up in a few hours after he gets some sleep and heads right back to the studio.

“Usually you stay the night in your studio when you stay this late,” she says putting her script aside and rolling towards him while he removes his clothes.

“Did you want me to?” He lays next to her and wraps his arms around her.

“No,” she chuckles. “I like it better when you’re here.”

“You can thank Namjoon for that. He talked me into coming home for some rest. I didn’t even know it was this late.”

“Of course Namjoon was there too,” she jokes. “What’s he been working on?”

“I’m not sure, we didn’t even talk about music.”

“The two of you not talking about music? That’s crazy!” She jokes. “What did you guys talk about then?”

“Well…” Yoongi hesitates unsure if he should tell her he brought up getting married. Maybe now isn’t the time. Namjoon was right, he should slow down. “Just a little bit of everything.”

“Right,” she nods unconvinced.

“Why are you still up anyway?” He asks trying to change the subject. “Don’t you have an early call tomorrow…or today I guess?”

“I just wanted to run through my lines one more time.”

“At nearly 4 in the morning?”

“I didn’t get home until two,” she giggles. “Now that you’re here I can get some sleep.”She snuggles closer to him and he kisses her forehead.

Through the course of the week the routine stays the same. Hyeri leaves extra early, Yoongi leaves hours later. They both get home at incredibly late hours, usually within a couple of hours of each other. Then they wake up hours later and repeat the process. Yoongi likes the routine, it gives him a new alcohol free normal.

The following week Yoongi has his session with Minho. He’s in brighter spirits this time talking about the songs he’s been working on, the plan he and the guys are working on for their next comeback, and his excitement for the future. Of course Minho brought up marriage and going public and Yoongi told him about the talk he had with Namjoon. While Yoongi spoke about how he felt Namjoon was completely right and he should slow down and really think before doing anything drastic, Minho noticed a slight shift in his tone. Even though Yoongi doesn’t realize it, he began speaking softer and almost as if he were a child talking about how he wanted something for Christmas but his parents said he wasn’t old enough for such a thing. Yoongi quietly commented that he was a little let down that Namjoon wasn’t 100% on board, and that’s when Minho made the realization.

“Have you brought this up to the other members?” Minho asks.

“No,” Yoongi admits. “After talking to Namjoon I figured it’s not really necessary for me to bring it up to everyone.”

“Why did you decide to tell Namjoon about it?”

“He’s the one who knows me and Hyeri the most,” Yoongi shrugs. “If he thinks it’s a good or bad idea when it comes to her, then I trust him.”

“Right,” Minho nods. “Why did you feel let down though?”

“I don’t know,” Yoongi mumbles looking down at his lap.

“What would have been a less disappointing reaction from him?”

“I don’t know,” he repeats. “I just thought he’d be a little more…excited? Supportive? No, he is supportive. Everything he told me was right, but something still felt like he wasn’t sure about it.”

“Sure about what?”

“Sure about…” Yoongi pauses to think. He knows he keeps talking in circles because he’s struggling to articulate what he’s really feeling, but Minho finally helps him out.

“Would you marry Hyeri if Namjoon was not ok with it?”

Yoongi remains silent.

“Would you continue dating Hyeri if Namjoon didn’t approve of it?”

Yoongi closes his eyes with his lips pressed shut.

“It’s not about the group, because you haven’t even brought it up to the others, so why do you feel you need Namjoon’s approval over anyone else’s?”

Yoongi sighs and opens his eyes. “He’s her brother. If I were to propose to her I would want her family’s approval first. He’s her family.”

“Do you feel like he disapproves?”

“I don’t know,” Yoongi groans. “He wasn’t really clear whether he approves or not, he just told me I should slow down, which is fine I understand his point, but I was hoping he would be more…enthused.”

Minho cracks a small smile. He only wanted Yoongi to say it so that he could face it. Yoongi knows that too and as much as he grits his teeth, he knows he won’t stop feeling a bit down about it if he doesn’t acknowledge and work through it. He knows he’s done a lot of things to betray everyone’s trust, so he feels Namjoon is just cautious not wanting Hyeri to get hurt. This thought only turns into a self depreciating cycle in his mind where he has visions of every drink, every stranger, every lie he told that chipped away at everyone’s trust in him until he became nothing but a heavy burden and a liability. He did this to himself.

He thought he had worked through a lot of these feelings, but as one wound was treated, there was another that had been ignored.

Sometimes you have to hurt to heal.

All of the nights Yoongi did everything in his power to ignore those feelings only caused those wounds to go untreated and get infected. Now he’s having to feel the pain he tried to avoid as the scabs are ripped off and the wounds are treated the way they should have been in the first place.

Yoongi goes above and beyond with everything he does these days. Healing doesn’t happen overnight, so in the meantime he’s just trying to get by. Trying to get by, by overcompensating for every fault that exists in his mind. He assists in any project he can when discussing the group’s comeback plans. He gets home in the wee hours of the night and finds the energy to make Hyeri a small breakfast that she can have on her way to work in the morning. He then wakes up with her after only a few hours of sleep to see her off and give her a loving start to her day. When he’s at the studio he entertains anything the members bring him and offers whatever time he can to doing whatever they ask. He feels it’s the least he can do for times that can’t be undone.

Yoongi has been home a month now. He’s been back on his regular work schedule for three weeks, and he’s been slowly dissolving into a self deprecating yes-man. The good thing is that no one is looking to take advantage of him so he’s not being used or abused, however he’s not getting much sleep and it’s starting to show on his face. No one seems to notice though, except Minho.

Deadlines are approaching, track lists are being finalized, behind the scenes cameras are everywhere, and dance practices are starting up again. The new routine Yoongi molded into has been blown away and now he finds himself in the chaotic whirlwind of the comeback schedule. There’s no set date for the album yet, but as always there’s still a lot to be done before the public even knows a thing. Recordings, promo videos, photoshoots, endless meetings to discuss concepts, album designs, merchandise, and tour dates. The dreaded tour that Yoongi finds himself stressed out about. Thankfully there’s still quite a bit of time before he has to face that head on. For now, another of his past demons is returning to haunt him.

“Stay home? Why?” Yoongi asks his manager through the phone. He received the call at 7 am, just before he was about to leave for the studio. Suddenly being asked to stay home has his heart racing.

“The media is at the entrance,” his manager solemnly says. “It’s seems someone has caught wind of the lady who stole your Black card in LA. She was convicted and somehow a reporter here learned that you were one of her many victims. There’s….a lot of buzz right now and we just want to look out for your safety.”

“Fuck,” Yoongi groans. “It’s that bad?”

“We’ll be putting out a statement soon asking for privacy at this time, but until things calm down staying home would be best for you right now. If you need anything at all we can make sure you get it, but you should lay low.”

As if being secluded in a cabin for two months wasn’t enough laying low. How bad could the media be right now? And why? He’s a victim in this case, what do they want him to say? He sighs heavily and lays across the couch clutching his head. He had an entire day planned, what about that? With deadlines getting closer he can’t afford to lose time like this. Is it so bad that it’s worth this? He decides to check socials because he knows the trending tags will tell him.

The trending tags told him a lot.

[Yoongi]: Call me as soon as you can

[Yoongi]: Or come over

[Yoongi]: You should definitely come over

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