#infections affect behavior
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"oh. what is with the... new look?" ( she's curious she's curious !! )
☣ — Oh, how he wished he had seen the side effects that would come with succumbing to so many experiments. If only he had been smart enough, had been confident enough to go against his grandfather's wishes. If only had hadn't been so terrified to do anything that would get him thrown right back into that dark, horror inducing darkness. Perhaps he could have been able to prevent such an unfavorable outcome? Perhaps he wouldn't have to hide himself away from all the people he once called his friends and family out of fear for what they'd say, what they'd do, what they'd end up finding out about him that he had tried to hide for so long. His body had been suffering for years, yes, he'd known that much... but for him to discover that his body would change for the worse within the span of a few years? It was more than he could stand.
☣ — Hair that was once as black as the darkness he'd been forced to endure was now as pure as freshly fallen snow, royal blue irises once as deep and mysterious as the darkest depths of the ocean were now as bright and clear as the ice from the glaciers of Alaska. Even his once somewhat pale skin had become even paler, making him look almost akin to a walking corpse. Just like all the ones he'd seen since childhood. He was going to end up looking just like them. Being just like like them.
☣ — No. No. Nonononononono. He couldn't be like them. He couldn't be just like them. He couldn't be. He just couldn't. Hecouldn'thecouldn'thecouldn'thecouldn't— HE CAN'T BECOME ONE OF THEM!
☣ — Strands the color of pure untainted snow bounce ever so slightly as he turns to face the other, mind mulling over the question that he had been asked, an intense burning sensation welling within his very being as if his entire body had been lit ablaze — being forced to acknowledge his sudden drastic change in appearance... it was more than he was prepared for, but he chooses to keep his usual smile present — ice blue irises slowly coming to a close before placing a singular hand against the back of his neck, fingers appearing as if he was lightly rubbing the tender skin (when in actuality he was digging his nails into the flesh).
☣ — "Ahaha, do you like it~? I was thinking of giving something new a try." A lie. Everything that had come out of his mouth in that moment was nothing but one big lie fabricated in order to keep the other from worrying, in order to keep himself from having to admit his suffering aloud. He couldn't bare to tell her something like that. He had made her a promise, after all. This might forsake that promise. "What do you think? Do you like it? Think I should keep it this way from now on~?
#☣ [ ' I αɱ ƚԋҽ ҽαƚҽɾ σϝ ɯσɾʅԃʂ αɳԃ I'ɱ ʅσσƙιɳɠ ϝσɾ ʂσɱҽσɳҽ ƚσ ϝҽҽԃ ɱҽ. ' ] - ✡ Iɳ Cԋαɾαƈƚҽɾ ✡#☣ [ ' Eʋҽɾყσɳҽ Lσʋҽʂ A Vιʅʅαιɳ. ' ] - ✡ Dιƈƙʂσɳ Gҽɾαʅԃ Rҽɠιɳαʅԃ Sιɱɱσɳʂ ✡#☣ [ ' ԋҽαʋҽɳ'ʂ ɯαιƚιɳɠ ϝσɾ ყσυ ɯԋҽɳ ყσυ ƚαƙҽ ყσυɾ ϝιɳαʅ Ⴆɾҽαƚԋ. Lҽƚ ყσυɾ ʂσυʅ Ⴆҽ αƚ ɾҽʂƚ. ' ] - ✡ Cɾყʂƚαʅ Sʅҽʋαɳƚ ✡#☣ [ ' Wҽ ƈɾҽαƚҽ ƚσ ԃҽʋσυɾ. Nσƚ ϝσɾ ʅσʋҽ Ⴆυƚ ϝσɾ ρσɯҽɾ. ' ] - ✡ ƈԋɾყʂɳαҽ ✡#☣ [ ' Wԋαƚ'ʂ συɾ ʅιϝҽ ɯσɾƚԋ ιɳ ƚԋҽ ҽɳԃ? ' ] - ✡ Dιƈƙʂσɳ x Cɾყʂƚαʅ ✡#☣ [ ' Sҽɾʋҽԃ α ʅιϝҽƚιɱҽ'ʂ ϝαιƚԋϝυʅɳҽʂʂ ƚσ Ⴆҽ ԃҽɳιҽԃ. Hσɯ αɱ ι ƚσ ҽʋҽɾ ʅιʋҽ ƚԋιʂ ʅιϝҽ? ' ] - ✡ Rҽʂιԃҽɳƚ Eʋιʅ Ϭ - Mαιɳ ✡#☣ [ ' Fσɾ ϝυɾƚԋҽɾ ɾҽʂҽαɾƈԋ. ' ] - ✡ Aʂƙʂ ✡#{ Here you are Serin! }#{ The ask that I promised you a bit more information in! }#{ Basically... as I said before- the mix mash of various viruses that his grandfather infected him with are all fighting one another. }#{ So it's technically breaking down his immune system and sending everything about his body out of wack. }#{ He's losing pigmentation. He's getting the shakes. His hands aren't as steady as they used to be (meaning they tremble). His vision is- }#{ blurring and sometimes even his speech slurs a bit. The biggest noticeable thing about him is that he can't preform his experiments as- }#{ well as he usually would because it's affecting his brain/thought process too. So he can't think as clearly which also makes his- }#{ behavior ten times more erratic and unpredictable than it used to be. So he's just deteriorating and doesn't wanna admit it. }#{ As usual he's keeping shit to himself and just playing it off as nothing more than him trying something new. Or even as a possible joke.#{ Cause Dickson can't handle things when it's about him very well. Especially stuff like this. }
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The World You Never Knew
When Gojo is sent to a small region to dispose of a powerful curse, only to learn it’s already been dealt with, he finds something far more interesting.Or, rather, someone.
Yandere!Gojo x reader
Tags: Rape/Non-con, violence, yandere/obsessive/possessive behavior, threats of blackmail, smut, P in V, v fingering, rough (more on Ao3)
Word count: 12.1K
an: A present to Poly @/Envy-of-the-apple. Absolutely stunning individual, that one, HIGHLY recommend his work. Pls go tell him that you love his porn and jerked off to it 12 times in his anons.
This is a repost from my other blog, as this one will be dedicated to dark content. Sorry, and thanks for bearing with me <3
“Ughhhhh.”
“Gojo Satoru! This is–”
“Yeah, yeah,” a lazy hand waved through the air, irritated, like swatting away an annoying fly. “I got it. Go to this town, deal with the spirit. Is that it? Really? I mean, do you have to send me specifically? Seems underneath me.”
“It’s a Grade 1. Ieiri doesn’t fight, Nanami is busy on another mission, and the Kyoto branch is busy training new sorcerers. You’re the only person left.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“This is not a request! It’s an order, Satoru.”
A deep, heavy, long-suffering sigh escaped the owner of the Six Eyes, who finally kicked his feet off the office desk and rocked his chair back into its proper upright position. “Fine,” he ground out, slapping his knees as he stood up. “I’ll go. Where is this place again?”
Yaga’s cheek twitched. “Kami-shima.”
Gojo nodded, half-paying attention as he dug around his ear with his pinky. “‘Kay.”
“Thank yo–”
Before the teacher could finish his statement, the door to his office slammed shut, prompting him to drop heavily into his seat with a groan.
He rubbed at his forehead, defeated and drained after dealing with the heir of the Six Eyes. “That child…”
All he could do was pity any village inhabitants that might cross paths with Gojo Satoru.
«___° ° °___»
“Left!”
On cue, you ducked right, dodging a nasty swipe aimed straight for your head. A moment later, a second arm lashed out, and you somersaulted to entirely avoid the series of limbs racing towards you. Dirt clung to your back as you rolled onto your feet, your arm working to wrap the heavy chains of your tsuri-dōrō around your wrist and palm.
The demon screeched and spun to face you, enraged by your swift escape. Its arms flailed, sickly green and bronze appendages that wriggled and writhed, squirming like worms on a wet stone – six on the left, nine on the right.
You and Mirio had been running circles around it for the better part of fifteen minutes, wearing down its stamina chip by chip. You had already lopped off two of its arms and a leg, scorch marks decorating its infected, necrotic flesh, but it had yet to slow down.
“Back, right, down!”
You raised your right leg, and slammed it down the moment a wobbling, flailing limb appeared beneath you. Your lantern dropped on top of it behind your calf, and you channeled your mahou into it. Its blue flame flared, blazing up the length of the monster’s arm on command, eating away at its thin tissue. The inhuman sound that escaped its gaping maw grated on your ears, but you only increased the power behind the fire, pushing until the arm burned through and fell off.
As the demon stumbled away, howling at the top of its lungs, its disembodied arm continued to twitch and thrash, like salt thrown onto frog legs. Your nose wrinkled, and you kicked it away, turning around to continue fighting, chain winding once more in preparation to be thrown.
But, to your luck, a long spear was already stuck through the beast’s center, spikes protruding like the rays of the sun to keep it lodged in place, poison dripping off the polished wood. A paralytic, specially designed to affect only demons. The stronger the demon, the more the paralytic affected them.
Your name was shouted. “Now!”
Wasting no time, you swung your tsuri-dōrō over your head twice, and launched it at the demon. The dark metal legs caught onto a flap of loose flesh and punctured into the muscle beneath, providing the perfect hold needed to maintain steady, undisturbed contact.
It screamed, but it was too late.
“Burn!” You shouted, weaving twin flames chasing one another down the black chain until they reached the center of the lantern. In an instant, the entire monster was engulfed in a blistering, cyan inferno. It wailed as its body began to flake and fall away, washi lit with a candle and released to float to the heavens. Rapidly, your target decayed, crusting and disintegrating until all that was left was a pile of ash that, too, was fading.
Before it wholly disappeared, Mirio jogged over, her hands clasped; pinkies and ring fingers intertwined, index and middle fingers set flush to one another and pointing upwards.
“Be released,” she urged. With a damp poof, the ash popped, fizzled, and was gone.
You sighed in relief, allowing your tsuri-dōrō to settle on the soil. Bent over, you propped your hands up on your knees, gulping down gallons of air to catch your breath. You’d been napping soundly under the warm sun until Mirio had shown up, panicked as she shook you awake and informed you that a demon was encroaching on the village. Given no time to stretch and yawn and prepare, you’d hopped up and ran straight into battle.
You didn’t regret it, no, of course not. But, man, you were going to be sore in the evening. You could already feel the acid leaching from your thighs, causing your muscles to twitch like soapy bubbles popping.
“Sure you’re not too old for this, ma’am?” A tease, given to you from your very own apprentice, one darling Akinori.
They were a spritely, young kid, far too eager for the fate awaiting them, the obligation they accepted when they became – pleaded to be – your apprentice. They aspired to be like you, like the rest of the Exorcists that wandered the island, and while you weren’t entirely comfortable with the pedestal they put you on (unintentionally, you knew. They were a good kid and meant well), you remembered what it was like when you were their age.
Starry-eyed, excited to play your part in protecting your home, your people, defending them from the monsters under the bed that used to scare you.
Now, all you wanted was a nap. A strong drink, too.
“Nori,” you panted out, and stood straight once more. “Shove it up your ass.”
They pouted. “Is that any way to speak to your apprentice?”
You used your index finger to flick at their forehead. “I warned you, you knew what you were getting into. No complaining, now.”
Nori snorted and rolled their eyes, but obeyed, skipping up to your side. Their stripped, paperless parasol was folded, and with a flick of their wrist, the weapon disappeared. Following suit, you let your chain fall to the ground, and both it and your tsuri-dōrō vanished in a bundle of sparkles.
Beside you, Mirio was writing on a strip of paper, a block of wood held underneath it for support. “Time of exorcism: 14:23. Well done, that was quick. It only took seventeen minutes.”
You groaned as you arched your back, hands on your lumbar to aid in cracking the vertebrae there. “Not bad. You’ve gotten better at callouts. How’s your vision?”
At the mention, your fellow Exorcist rubbed her eye, grunting. “Not awful. Aches a little, but I think it’ll go away in a few minutes.”
Nodding, you clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Take it easy.”
She nodded back. “‘Course. Do you want to go report to the Elder about the demon?”
Cocking your head side to side, wincing at the clicks in your neck, you hummed in consideration. “Yeah, sure. Let’s get it out of the way now.”
With Nori tucked against your side, the kid rambling (again) about how cool your strength was (again) and fluffing up your ego (appreciated), your little trio made their way towards the Elder’s home, ready to turn in the report. Ideally, you’d get it over quick, and be freed to continue that late afternoon nap of yours.
Unfortunately, the world seemed to have other plans.
Stopping in your tracks, you locked onto a figure approaching from the distance, dressed nearly from head-to-toe in black, save for the shock of white hair decorated atop their head. They walked hunched over, hands tucked away in their pockets, clearly detesting whatever had brought them to this hamlet.
Noticing that you’d fallen behind, Akinori and Mirio called out to you simultaneously.
You waved them off pacifyingly. “Go ahead without me, I'll deal with this.”
“You sure, auntie?” Nori asked, peering skeptically at the incomer.
You crinkled your nose at the bridge. “Don’t call me that, you’ll make me feel old.”
“Would you prefer ‘mom’?”
You began reaching to tug off a shoe. “You–!”
Mirio grasped Nori’s arm and began tugging them away, waving at you from over her shoulder. “See you at the Elder’s house, auntie! Be careful!”
You scoffed, folding your arms across your chest petulantly as you watched your juniors disappear across the bridge in a fit of giggles, Nori’s laughter carried on the soft, ocean breeze to you, and you eventually sighed as you dismissed your irritation. “Damn children,” you mumbled, returning your attention to the stranger, who was now only a few meters away.
Closer, now, you could see it was a man – a boy, really. You had at least a decade on him, maybe that and a half. His cheeks were still round with youth, scrawny despite his unruly height. Wide shoulders, yes, but arms and legs like twigs. Lanky, damn near sickly with just how pale the exposed skin of his face was.
Even so, you could recognize the presence of mahou no matter where you were, and his was particularly strong. White hair, too. Strange, you thought. Albinism? Something else? It was certainly a unique look, if nothing else. You’d ask about it later, if you found the chance.
“Welcome to Kami-shima,” you told him once he was in reach, arms lowering to rest at your sides. “What brings you here?”
He stopped in front of you, head raising to show that he was wearing round shades, the lenses pitch black. Hell, you weren’t sure he could see through them at all to begin with, but he made it here and hadn’t tripped yet, so maybe it was simply an illusion that made them look darker than they were.
He was silent for a drawn out moment, then responded, a plucked brow raising. “Who are you?”
“Manners,” you chided, then gave your name. “I’m a local Exorcist.”
He quipped sarcastically, “Exorcist? What, like, you scare away ghosts? Puh, you know those aren’t real, right?”
Good heavens, who raised this boy? Even your grandpa, notorious hardass that he was, was never this condescending.
“No,” you enunciated slowly. “I exorcise demons. You’re lucky, we just got rid of one shortly before you arrived.”
He frowned, and a look of deep consideration crossed over the parts of his expression you could see. It made him look like he was pouting, like thinking was a task he wasn’t ever keen to do. Pretty easy to clock him as a spoiled, rich kid. This had to be a punishment for him of some kind.
You met him less than thirty seconds again, and you could already see why it would be.
He huffed, the noise one of disbelief. “Wait, the cursed spirit? You got rid of it? That thing was a Grade 1, how could you exorcise it?”
“The hell does ‘Grade 1’ mean?” You mumbled, and shook your head. “Nevermind. I was able to exorcise it because I’m the most experienced Exorcist in this part of Kami-shima.”
“But, you’re so…weak.”
Your brow twitched and you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath to calm yourself. “Someone needs to discipline you,” you insisted. “Come on, I’ll take you to the Elder.”
In truth, while you did intend to show him your way of life, since he clearly had no clue how any of this worked, there was something about him that unsettled you. Greatly. Part of the reason you wanted to hurry and meet up with the senior was so that you weren’t alone with the newcomer anymore.
He was a jerk, sure, but that’s not what (wholly) bothered you.
No, it was the way you could feel him staring into you, through you.
You couldn’t see his eyes, but it was easy to sense the sheer power behind his gaze, the way he seemed to look down at you as if you were an insect. Maybe, that was his Strength, those eyes of his. Gods, what an unsettling thought, for someone’s power to lie within their eyes alone. All he would need was a glance. A peek, and cities would be razed.
His Weakness would be blindness, were someone to somehow reach his face and claw out those orbs, but you had a feeling that nobody would ever get the chance.
As much as you hated when people wore sunglasses, since it made them look exceptionally suspicious, you were, inexplicably, grateful that his were planted solidly on the bridge of his nose, blocking his hues from your sight. Whatever it was about them, the irritating tickle in the back of your mind told you that you didn’t want to ever peer into them personally.
Without waiting to see if he was following you, you started walking towards the village, and a few, delayed seconds later, you heard him jog to keep up.
“What’s your name, kid?” You queried.
He clicked his tongue. “Gojo Satoru,” he replied, like you were supposed to drop onto your knees and stick your head in the ground, performing dogeza for having not realized his identity sooner.
Instead, you blinked at him from the corner of your eye, and kept striding forward.
“Alright, Gojo. Nice to meet you,” you hummed. “Were you drawn to Kami-shima because of the demon?”
Gojo cocked his head to the side, further and further until his jaw popped. “Yep. Got sent to this…place on a mission.”
You let out a ‘huh’ sound. “Mission? Oh, so you’re part of another sect of Exorcists? Are you from the mainland?”
He shrugged idly. “Nah, I’m a sorcerer.”
“Sorcerer? What a weird name.”
“You people are the ones with the weird names. Demons, Exorcists, what’s up with that?”
You raised a hand on instinct to smack the back of his head, only to be stopped completely by the sensation of…air?
Staggering to a stop, you flexed your hand, sensing the strong resistance pushing back into your palm. It wasn’t like you had been frozen into place, your hand hitting a brick wall; you could still feel the energy flowing in and around it, the twitching of your muscles that indicated you remained in control of them. You were moving, just incredibly slowly, enough so that by the time you breached through this invisible barrier, you’d likely be bones rotting and returning to the earth.
Withdrawing, you brought your hand to your chest, rubbing your thumb into the center of it to swipe off the excess mahou the ability left on you. “What in the world? Is– is that your Strength?” You were so certain his eyes were his Strength, were you wrong?”
A grin split across Gojo’s lips, tugging at the corners until it pushed his cheeks upwards. “Infinity. It’s the inherited Technique of the Gojo clan. Neat, right?”
“Technique?” You repeated. “How does it work?”
“Anything that comes into contact with Infinity is slowed down infinitesimally until it almost ceases entirely.”
How fascinating, you thought. How terrifying. The power to divide a number upon itself forever and never reach zero, to apply that to himself, to others.
Just what was his Strength?
Deciding to let the Elder figure it out for you, you crossed the bridge with Gojo in tow, offering hellos to the familiar faces you passed by, who stared unabashedly at the outsider. The aforementioned outsider himself didn’t appear to mind the attention in the slightest. If anything, he relished it, waving and grinning at the older women, cooing at the young children hiding behind their mother’s legs.
Your people weren’t unkind to newcomers. Given how small the island was, the low population, visitors weren’t common. You had nothing to offer tourists; attractions, interesting structures, none of those existed. All you had were beautiful landscapes, a tepid oceanfront, local specialties, and warm hospitality.
For most, that was more than enough. Those that came knew what to expect, and didn’t make a fuss.
You believed Gojo wouldn’t behave that way, and your neighbors seemed to think the same.
The call of a youngling made you turn, watching as an adolescent boy ran up to you, arms outstretched. You knelt down, allowing him to crash into you, the force causing you to puff out an ‘oof’.
“Miss Exorcist, Miss Exorcist,” he practically bounced on his toes. “Is the demon gone?”
Patting his back twice, you hummed in assent. “All gone. We took care of it, don’t you worry.”
“What did it look like?”
You mulled over his question, deciding how to tastefully leave out the grosser details a kid his age didn’t need to know. “It was tall, with a big mouth and so many arms, I lost count,” you embellished, not mentioning the stench of rot and decay that stuck to it like a miasma, nor the way the detached arms wriggled like abandoned lizard tails.
He hooned, brown irises glittering with fascination. “So cool! Was it strong?”
“Super strong.”
“But, you’re stronger, right? That’s why you won!”
Enjoying his chiming laughter, you leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. “That’s right. I’m way stronger. No big, scary monster is gonna get you, not under my watch.”
He giggled. “Can I be like you one day? See and fight the monsters, too?”
You hummed in contemplation. Not many were born with the ability to see the demons, let alone take them down. “Even if you never get to see them, it’s never a bad idea to get stronger. Gotta protect that little sister of yours if I can’t be there.”
He nodded firmly, deadly serious. “I’ll keep her safe. I want you to be proud of me.”
“I already am,” you ruffled his hair, his dimples appearing in his cheeks. “Now, go, find your mom. I’m sure she’s worried about you.”
“She’ll make me do chores…”
“Then, you better hurry back before she gets mad and gives you more work, hm?”
He gasped, suddenly aware of the consequences of avoiding chores. He wormed his way out of your hold and scurried off, thanking you on his way.
As you stood back up, Gojo appeared at your side out of nowhere, nearly scaring you out of your damn skin.
He paid your spook no mind, his attention focused on where the kid had vanished down the tight alleyways. “They know?”
“Huh?”
“They know about curses? That you’re a sorcerer? The people of this island?”
You blinked. “They know about demons, and that I’m an Exorcist, of course, they do. Why wouldn’t they?”
“They’re not supposed to,” he claimed, brows knitting. “We’re meant to protect humanity, so they can live in ignorant bliss.”
Your lips tugged downwards in displeasure. “That’s too dangerous,” you explained. “If they didn’t know, they’d have no way to protect themselves if one of our Exorcists isn’t around. How are people supposed to survive in this world if they aren’t aware of the threats that exist in it?”
He didn’t reply to that, lost for an answer. “How do they know, if they can’t see curses?”
From the back pocket of your pants, you pulled out a wooden token – an omamori. “From the shrine,” you informed him. “Grants protection, and kinda works like a siren. If a demon is close by, the omamori creates a thin barrier around the owner that can deflect most demonic attacks. Gives them enough time to get back to safety and warn the Elder.”
“Who is the Elder? You keep mentioning him.”
Giving him a wan smile, you pushed open the door of a nearby home, jolting your head towards it.
“You’re about to meet her.”
True to your word, as you stepped inside, you found the Elder sitting in her armchair, nursing a steaming cup of tea as Nori and Mirio rambled about the defeated demon.
“–And, then, she threw her tsuri-dōrō on it, and it went fwum! Totally badass!”
Mirio smacked the back of Nori’s head. “Language!”
“Wha– but it’s true!”
The Elder laughed, her crackling voice soothing the bickering pair. “It’s alright, little Mirio. They’re still young, let them be excited,” she said, placing her cup on the side table next to her chair. “Besides, we have guests.”
Both of the younger two in the room whipped their heads around to take in your and Gojo’s presence.
“Hey,” you greeted. “Miss me?”
Nori hopped up to their feet from the floor and pointed at Gojo, completely disregarding you. “That’s him! That’s the stranger!”
This time, it was you that whacked them on their shoulder. “Manners! It’s rude to point and yell.”
They pouted. “Sorry, auntie. But, that’s him, right?”
Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sighed. “Yes. This is–”
“Six Eyes.”
All present froze to look at the Elder, who gazed at the white-haired man with wonder and awe.
Gojo scoffed. “Finally, someone recognizes me.”
She shook her head. “Not you, boy. Your Strength. You wield the Six Eyes, do you not?”
You watched his jaw muscles feather, but the pride of someone being aware of his power overwhelmed any sort of irritation her dismissal incited. “I do. What of them?”
So, it was his eyes, after all. You were right.
“That’s powerful magic there, boy,” she warned. “Too powerful, in the wrong hands.”
He rolled his eyes (well, his head – those sunglasses were in the way, and he was notably very aware of them) and sucked his teeth. “It’s fine, I’m the strongest. Best hands, right here.”
“Elder,” Mirio tugged at the woman’s sleeve. “What are the Six Eyes?”
She took the girl’s hand into her own pair, palms worn soft with age. “They’re like your eyes, but much more powerful, my dear. Capable of seeing everything.”
“Everything?”
She confirmed, “Everything. Light, mahou, your heart. Nothing can hide from those eyes.”
Mirio placed a hand over her chest, evidently covering her heart, protecting it from Gojo’s intrusive gaze, were he to try and see it for himself.
It explained the glasses, at least. Likely to dampen the effect of his Strength. You imagined that having them bared was unpleasant, if the Elder’s words were true. Mirio suffered from potent headaches if she channeled her Strength for too long. Was Gojo’s Strength permanently activated?
“That’s not all to you, is it, child?”
Gojo grumbled something about not being a child, so you stepped in.
“He claims to have something called ‘Infinity’. In short, I can’t touch him,” you told her. “Elder Aisha, is it possible for someone to have multiple Strengths?”
Aisha considered it, resting her chin between her index and thumb. “It is, though it is more rare in today’s age. With less demons, there’s less need for an Exorcist to possess multiple Strengths. Your ancestor had two.”
“My ancestor?”
She got to her feet with a groan and pop of her knees, and hobbled over to a nearby bookshelf. Her lithe fingers skimmed over the backs of a few books, and eventually pulled one out. She popped it open and flipped through a number of pages, then handed it to you to observe.
On the page was an ukiyo-e painting of a man settled in seiza, flowing kimono robes pooling around him. On his left stood a bronze lantern, unlit, its chain looped neatly in coils under its base. You realized that it was your lantern.
“Your ancestor, Yoshitsune,” she tapped on his face, “had the ability to create any item the good spirits deemed necessary to ensure his victory in battle.”
“Fascinating…I had no idea. What about Gojo, then?”
Gojo made a noise.
You lifted your head from the book. “What?”
He crossed his arms, tapping his toe on the soft rug of Aisha’s living room. “This is boring. I didn’t come here for a history lesson.”
Your temperature spiked with anger. “You–”
“Of course,” the Elder interrupted you. “My apologies. My dear here,” she motioned towards you, “will give you a tour of our modest town. Won’t you, dear?” She asked rhetorically.
“I–”
At the way she pried your fingers off the book and snapped it shut, you promptly closed your mouth and swallowed down any objections.
“I’d be happy to,” you forced a positive inflection. You didn’t want to leave, you wanted to learn more (Aisha had a way of making your grown ass interested in anything), but you knew when to bow your head and accept a task, even if it was one you despised.
Tomorrow. You’d pester her tomorrow. Hopefully, by then, the stranger would be gone.
«___° ° °___»
Surprisingly, he was obedient in trailing after you, a bit like a duckling.
You expected more whining, more complaining, more bitching. Your home, after all, did not seem like a place that would hold his attention for any length of time. Though, you supposed that was accurate, since it was you he was keenly captivated by.
It made your stomach churn.
So, you tried to take the spotlight off of yourself. “How long are you staying?”
He shrugged one shoulder languidly. “I was gonna leave as soon as I got rid of that cursed spirit, but since you already killed it…might as well stay. A mini vacation, y’know? I definitely need one, the higher-ups have been yapping their old, greasy heads off again. It’s so annoying. They talk and talk and talk, going on and on. Can’t stand it. They never shut up.”
Tongue held between your teeth, you let him go on, ignoring your desire to stick a rock in his mouth. Currently, you planned to show him the boring spots around town, confident you could scare him into leaving early.
“Peachy,” you muttered once he paused to take a damn breath. “Great, well, I’ll show you around, then drop you off at an inn–”
“Ooooor, I can just stay with you.”
You coughed on your spit. “Pardon?”
He kicked a pebble. “I mean, it’s way more convenient. We won’t have to cut our conversations short, and we can get to know each other better.”
The lilt at the end of his sentence sent an uncomfortable shiver down your spine. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“I’m way older than you, it’d be impro–”
He stopped in front of you. “I don’t care.”
Your hands clenched at your sides. “Gojo–”
“I’m serious,” he asserted. “I don’t mind that you’re older.”
“That’s not– I mind.”
Gojo raised his hands placatingly, almost as if surrendering. “Don’t worry, I won’t leech off’a ya. I’ll compensate you fairly for housing me. As thanks.”
You snarled. “I didn’t agree to this.”
“You should come with me, back to Tokyo,” Gojo said. “We always need more sorcerers. Strong sorcerers.”
Whiplash. From one topic to the next, never giving you a chance to find ground to stand on.
A bubble of something trickled up your throat. Hesitance? Distaste? Anxiety? Something that made acid sting your esophagus. Your anger dissipated, replaced with disorientation. “Oh,” you responded dumbly, lagging behind. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not interested.”
“Why? It’s so much better than this place,” he insisted, jeering at your surroundings. “More interesting. Plus, I’ll be there.”
That’s exactly the issue.
Your eye twitched in offense. He knew exactly how to rile you up, and it was working, to your chagrin. The constant turbulence was throwing you off balance, pissing you off. “This is my home. I won’t stand by and let you insult it simply because our way of life is different from yours. Like I said: thanks, but no, thanks.”
The boy remained silent, expression neutral, and it had nervousness twisting in the pit of your gut. You’d rather he yell at you, shame you, call you dumb or old or what have you. So long as he didn’t examine you the way he did now, unresponsive, biding his time. Picking you apart down to the molecular level, separating your atoms until you were strewn apart, latticework for him to admire.
A dissection done by your shrine god would have been less invasive. Their hands wouldn’t have felt as abrasive while digging through your guts, their nails wouldn’t have scratched your cold, stiff arms and legs. Not the same way Gojo’s glare peeled your layers off one by one, time taken to examine each and every slice with diligent fixation.
Your god would take your Strength, and return it to the world, allowing it to one day resurface so it may return to your reincarnation when the time came.
Instinctively, you knew that Gojo would take it, and keep it for himself.
He’d wrap his hands around the flickering flame of your soul, squeeze the heart of your very being, just to feel your warmth. He’d search through your body to find what his greed most desired, and cling to it, breathing in the scent of ash and cracking cherry bark that released a sweet scent as they burned, one too enticing for him to admire only in passing.
He’d take your tsuri-dōrō and let it burn everything until only you remained, cupped in his palms, held too high above the smoking soil to consider jumping off.
Not unless you wished to succumb to the blaze yourself.
You waited.
Waited, and waited, and waited, apprehension growing, sweat forming at your hairline and slipping down your temple as you anticipated the explosion that would follow your rejection, the burst of emotion too violent to keep contained inside a body that never knew how to back down, a mind that was never told no.
He opened his mouth, you held your breath–
“Just give it some thought, okay?” Gojo smiled, his head tilting to the side benevolently. “It’s an open offer.”
–nothing.
No burst, no violent meltdown, no tantrum from the spoiled brat. No demands, no threats, none of your expectations met.
It should relieve you. To some degree, it did.
A bigger part of you, the part that had bundled up energy in preparation for an argument that wouldn’t happen and had no outlet anymore, tensed up in a brief twist of panic.
He wasn’t calm, not at all. Anyone else, he could easily fool, bearing that charming grin and nonchalant stance, his tone easy and cheery, accepting the rejection with grace and humility. Anyone that wasn’t you.
Your sensitivity to mahou meant you were painfully aware of how strongly his flared.
At your refusal, it swelled fiercely, gasoline poured over unlit charcoal. It came like a heavy downpour, a cataclysmic cleansing of the sin that infested the ground you walked on, the tree canopies you hid under. A freezing rush in the dead of summer, frostbite nipping at your fingertips, craving your heat, the iron of your blood, to feast on your vitality.
Then, it was gone.
Its swift arrival was followed by an equally swift departure, leaving behind a vacuum, energy sucked out too fast. It staggered you, your equilibrium briefly interrupted, confusion and fear making you dizzy.
But, he kept smiling, pretending nothing was wrong.
You knew better than to point it out, to mention his temper, the displeasure you knew paced back and forth, a caged animal that salivated and rubbed its side into the bars, knowing it was a matter of time until it was freed, given permission to hunt its promised meal.
You bit down your prey response, the temptation you had to fawn, to placate. Apologize, tell him you changed your mind, you’d go, so long as he didn’t destroy your home.
You’re a fighter, for fuck’s sake. An Exorcist. You’re better than this.
You stifled the need to say that aloud. To assure him you weren’t going anywhere.
“Yeah,” you said through your teeth, a strained simper. “I’ll think about it.”
«___° ° °___»
The moment you unlocked the door to your house, Gojo made a beeline for your couch, dropping into it with a weary sigh. Comfortable, right at home, like he belonged.
Just make it through the night, you tried to convince yourself. Have to make it through the night. Then, he’ll be gone.
Cracking his knuckles, he stretched out his long legs and tucked his hands behind his head. “Thanks for housing me.”
The cheek, the gall. You had trouble believing you’d somehow let the kid coerce you into permitting him entry into your private space. What would your Chichi think of you now? You mourned, grumbling as you kicked off your shoes and stacked them neatly in the genkan, scowling at the way he let his fly every which way. Because you weren’t raised to be petty (though you wanted to be), you gathered his sneakers and aligned them, too.
“Yup,” you replied sarcastically, popping the p. “My pleasure.”
He ran you ragged, practically dragging you through the streets, stopping to eat at your favorite restaurant (he paid, claimed it was ‘his treat’. The restaurant might no longer be your favorite). He demanded to see the shrine, the gift shop – “we don’t have a gift shop.” – the beach – “I’m not going swimming with you.” – anything he could put his mind to.
Frankly, you were exhausted, and wanted him out of your home, but you wanted your bed more.
“You’re sleeping on the couch,” you told him flatly. “I’ll get you a blanket.”
He whinged. “What, won’t let me in your bed?”
“I’m not giving you my bed,” you spat out grumpily as you tugged open the hallway closet and tunneled through it in search of a blanket. If you had it your way, you’d let him cover himself in toilet paper for the night, but your Mama raised you better than that. Unfortunately.
He mumbled under his breath, “That’s not what I said…”
Quilt in hand, you blinked at him, not having heard him properly. “Huh?”
“Nothing,” he swept away your curiosity in a sing-songy tone. “Where’s your bathroom?”
You waddled over to the couch, not quite able to see exactly where you were going until you dropped the pile of fabric onto the corner seat of the couch. “Oh, uh. It’s down the hall, first door on the left.”
Wordlessly, he got up and vanished into the room. The light flicked on, the door closed, and you were alone.
Visibly, the tension in your body melted, stress you didn’t know you were holding. Your shoulders slumped, and you were able to breathe, conscious of his absence. Air bolted back into the room, uninhibited now that his stifling, dominating presence wasn’t there to consume it all for himself.
For a few sacred, precious minutes, you stood there, absorbing the peace of existing without the ghostly sensation of Gojo breathing down your neck.
The sound of the tap turning on drew you out of your reverie, and you busied yourself. Unfolding the blanket, laying it across the sofa to act as both a sheet and comforter Gojo could fold over himself, propping up a nearby throw pillow, trying not to think about whatever it was he was doing in your bathroom. Pretending. Pretending all of this was normal. A familiar guest visiting from the mainland, one that acted normal, looked normal, sounded normal, was normal.
It only lasted so long.
The door opened, and out he came, yawning loudly. Round sunglasses still in place.
His hair was mussed up, face ever so slightly damp, water droplets clinging to a few strands of pure white. Fresh, ready for bed.
Like you, he was pretending. Whether for your sake, or not, you didn’t bother trying to understand.
His mahou continued to flow through his veins, primed, never released. His energy bounded off of him in waves, lazy, seafoam lapping leisurely along the beach’s shoreline. Sand darkened by the salt and water, then lightening as the murky green receded.
While you knew that he and his sorcerer kind functioned differently from you and your Exorcist kind, you were certain that his energy was distinctly abnormal. Never resting, never sated. It salivated, greedy, intent to devour anything he got his hands on.
If you weren’t careful, it’d be you he gorged himself on, ingesting you, flesh and bone and sinew and all.
“Man, I’m wiped,” he lied, stretching his arms high above his head. If he stood on his toes, his fingertips would brush the ceiling.
Your lips tugged at the corners into a flat, stiff line. “Good timing. I finished setting up the couch for you. You can go ahead and sleep now.”
As he passed you, he tapped your ass twice. “Thanks, pretty.”
You squeaked, covering your backside, but he appeared none the wiser to your plight. Or, purposefully ignorant.
Just overly friendly, he doesn’t know any better. Spoiled brat, young, a kid.
Whatever excuse you needed to comfort yourself, you sought out, jaw wound shut. He’ll be gone tomorrow. He’ll be gone tomorrow. He’ll be gone tomorrow.
The bearer of the Six Eyes plopped down onto his makeshift bed, adjusting to get comfortable, and sighed like an old dog. Happy. Right at home.
“G’night,” he drawled.
“Goodnight, Gojo.”
He grumbled something, but you were far past caring, not bothering to stop and ask him to repeat himself. Hurriedly, you locked yourself in your bathroom, hands braced on your sink, lights off. The thought of looking at yourself was unbearable, facing how much a 20-something-year-old unraveled you as easily as plucking a loose string on a knitted sweater, rows upon rows of destroyed for mere curiosity. Vapid, temporary interest.
Fuck, you couldn’t wait for him to be leave, so you could erase him from your memories using bleach and a wire brush.
Gulping down your loathing, you flicked the switch, and dared to meet the foe residing in the mirror.
She posed the same way you did, skin pulled taut over her knuckles, bones protruding from how tightly she gripped the wooden edge. Bags darkened the crescents under her eyes, cheeks sunken, scleras bloodshot. Were you a stranger, a friendly neighbor, you would have asked her if she was sick, bid her to sit down, wrapped her fingers around a steaming cup of ginger and lemon tea.
But, there was nobody who could help you now, give you that comfort. Your Mama and Chichi were on the other side of the village, enjoying having the house to themselves ever since you moved out a decade ago. Sunday brunches were a given, those weekly visits ritualistic and necessary and wanted.
Showing up uninvited, so late at night, a stranger left behind in your home?
They’d have your head on a pike.
Bear with it. You were an adult, an Exorcist. Gojo was just some runt from the mainland.
You’ll be okay.
Won’t you?
Massaging your temple to encourage your blooming headache to go away already, you reached out with your free hand to grab your toothbrush, only to halt dead in your tracks.
It was wet.
A cold shiver swarmed you, raising hairs along your arms and nape, goosebumps forming.
He–
He used your toothbrush? Your toothbrush?
It– sure, you forgot about getting him a new one, but surely he would have known to ask for one.
You clamped a hand over your mouth, forcing yourself to breath heavily through your nose, slow and deep inhales. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fucking fine. It’s a toothbrush. You were lucky that you had spares, and even if you didn’t, you were able to use your finger in a worst-case scenario.
Pointedly avoiding the now tainted toothbrush, you rifled through the top drawer of the counter, locating a brand new one. You ripped open the packaging, ran it under the water, added toothpaste, and scoured at your teeth aggressively. You went at them like you hated them, like there was blood stuck in them, drenching the wells of your molars, staining the enamel. Behind your incisors, on your cuspids, to the back of your tongue, gag reflex triggered.
You brushed, and brushed, and brushed, panting when you finished. Fluoride in your stomach, stinging your nasopharynx, the cost to feel clean, at least here.
Had you felt safer, were there not a stranger down the hall, you would have sat down in the shower and let scalding hot water wash away your revulsion and make you anew, burn away the dirt of where he dared to touch you, of where his eyes strayed.
Choking out the toothpaste, mouth aching from the cold water you punished yourself with, you nearly clawed at your face to rinse away the oil and grime of the day, wanting to be done already.
The sooner you were in bed and fell asleep, the sooner the next day would come, and you’d be free again. Free from those eyes, that mahou, that person. If he could be called that.
if he could be considered human.
Tenderly, you opened the door and peeked down the hall, finding Gojo’s back to you, fast asleep.
Thank fuck.
Cautious as a mouse, you tiptoed to your room, skillfully avoiding all the creaky spots in the floor. You didn’t feel safe ‘til you shut and locked the door, which you leaned back onto. Gods, you were exhausted. The weight of the day hung on your shoulders, causing your feet to drag and stumble over the pile of clothes on the floor.
Bewildered, you looked down, and found a shirt, tank top, and pair of pants strewn across the floor, tossed haphazardly.
Why were they on the ground?
You didn’t recall having left them there, but then again, you weren’t the most tidy person, and tended to be forgetful. Maybe, you dropped them on your way out that morning, unworried, figuring you’d toss them in your hamper when you got home.
It rubbed you the wrong way, scales made of teeth that shredded into you, but…who else, if not you? Gojo never left the bathroom, the door remained closed the entire time he occupied it. You didn’t own any pets, but it wouldn’t have been the first time a stray cat got in. Though, you didn’t see or hear any critters scuttling around. A check of the hamper indicated that nothing hid inside it, either.
There was nobody else to blame.
The conclusion felt wrong, yet you came up with no other ideas.
So, all you could do was pick them up from their resting place on the floor and toss them into the hamper, alongside the clothes you were wearing.
Where you usually took your time getting ready for bed, liking to pamper yourself. the sensation of being watched hadn’t left you since Gojo arrived on your island. The less time you were naked for, the better, in your opinion.
Quickly, you swapped out your blouse for a loose, oversized T-shirt and slipped on a clean pair of panties. Normally, you didn’t wear more to bed, disliking the sensation of bottoms rolling up your legs while you slept, but you needed to put on something more than just underwear. You were safe in your room, but it wasn’t enough.
You searched through your dresser, tugging out the pair of sleeping shorts you found and drawing them up your legs, over your hips, finishing them off with a small bow at the front.
There. Better.
Sort of.
Not much, actually.
It’d have to do. You were sleepy, tired of the day, threadbare. Your bed called to you, and you had no intention of ignoring it.
The sheets welcomed you soothingly, embracing your form in that familiar hold you were longing for, coveting. Fluffy comforter, downy pillows, comfortable mattress, everything you required to smooth down your hackles, at last able to lower your guard. You were safe. Safe. Safe.
Images danced on your ceiling, hazy recollections and fantasies, absentminded planning, zealous to have your individuality returned to you. Dreams of taking a day off, visiting the docks, hiding from your student that would inevitably drag you to a nearby field to ‘train’, AKA watch you swing around your tsuri-dōrō. A day to yourself. All you needed was a day to yourself, and everything would be good again.
Right as your lids began to slip shut, succumbing to your exhaustion, something pressed against your lips.
Soft, warm, plush, pillowy.
Your eyes snapped open in an instant and you were sitting up, pushing away whatever was touching you, leaning over you.
In the dim, silver light of the moon, you saw him.
Gojo Satoru.
His sunglasses weren’t on, but, god, you fucking wished they were. Without them, there was nothing to conceal the horror that greeted you upon making eye contact.
Blue.
They were so, so, viscerally blue. Wide, shimmering, glossy. Fairy crystals that shone the same way the moon did; they imbibed all the light in the room, practically glowing from the sheer vim they contained alone, digesting the slivers of night.
You gasped, scooting back minutely. “What are you doing?”
How did he get in? You didn’t hear your door open, and furthermore, it was locked. It wasn’t possible, it wasn’t–
The door’s open.
It was open, swung wide to show the lightless hallway, a chasm left in dearth of his mahou.
“I’m kissing you.”
“Wh– I know that,” you snapped, eyes shifting back to him. “I’m asking why you’re kissing me.”
He blinked, considering you as if you were a few degrees short of intelligence. “I like you.”
Fuck. This is what you were worried about, on some level. You should have known. People always seemed to enjoy putting you on a pedestal, unconcerned for the discomfort it caused you. You weren’t someone to be idolized, not like this, by someone like him.
“Look, Gojo.”
“Satoru,” he corrected. “Call me Satoru.”
Your nose wrinkled. “Look, Gojo,” you emphasized. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea, but I’m not– this,” you pointed between yourself and him, “isn’t happening. You’re too young for me, we met today, and I’m– I’m not interested, alright?”
He frowned. “I told you that I don’t care how old you are.”
“I care,” you specified. “I care that I’m much older than you. It’s– it’s wrong. Okay?”
Lashes of pearl fluttered. “Why? I’m above the age of consent. I am consenting.”
You exhaled, growing frustrated. “That’s not the point. It’s not about the age of consent, it’s about the differences in maturity, the power imbalance. Besides, I’m not consenting.”
He kept quiet for a long moment, taking in your features, processing your little tirade. Outwardly, he gave no reaction, and you didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing.
But, he started to lean back, retreating from you, and you breathed out the air you were holding in relief.
Idly, defeated, he dipped his head. “I get it.”
You relaxed, muscles losing their tension. “Good, I’m glad.”
“You’re playing hard to get.”
Before you could react, he was on you, tackling you back onto your bed.
“Get off of me!” You screeched, shoving at his chest, trying desperately to lift his weight from your body.
His size was deceptive, his might hidden under layers of black cloth. You were older, you had more experience, you were supposed to be stronger. You were a teacher, you were an Exorcist, for fuck’s sake.
Yet, it took him no effort at all to pin you down, knees thrown over either side of your waist, weight settled to keep you immobilized. You struggled valiantly, fighting with all your might to dislodge him. Nothing. He didn’t so much as budge.
“I can play hard, too,” he promised, lips split, harsh pants of excitement escaping him. “That what you need, huh? Someone to knock you down a peg?”
You opened your mouth to scream, but he slammed his hand against your lips, a demented look glimmering in those terrible orbs of his. You tasted the salt of his flesh, dug your teeth into his palm, but garnered no reaction from him; none aside from the low groan that rattled in the base of his chest, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Shh, shh,” he hushed. “What’ll your neighbors think if they came in and saw this? You, in bed, with me?”
You froze, heart leaping to your throat. No, no, he wouldn’t.
“Are you really gonna let them see you taking advantage of me?” Slowly, he pulled his hand away, smirking down at you.
You peeled your tongue from the roof of your mouth, your maw suddenly painfully dry. “They won’t believe you. It’s my word against yours. I grew up with these people, they know me.”
“Did you know, most of the time, people are completely unaware that their loved one is a murderer?”
Your lip trembled. “What?”
He nodded solemnly, pouting. Degrading. Condescending. “It’s true. When interviewed, family, friends, they all say they had no idea, their loved one would never. They know them, after all. So, they’d know if their father was a murderer.”
“What are you getting at?”
He leaned closer, too close, he was going to swallow you whole. One hand toyed with the hem of your sleep shirt, twisting it, smoothing it out. “Everyone has secrets. Who’s to say this isn’t yours? Liking younger men?”
“I don’t like younger men.”
“How are they supposed to know? All they’ll see is you sharing your bed with someone who is too young for you. Your words.”
You were torn.
He was lying, manipulating you, scaring you with the thought of being ostracized by your community for something that wasn’t true. You knew it wasn’t true, you were certain that your community would know it wasn’t true.
But, how were you supposed to explain that he overpowered you? This young man, in his early twenties at most. Yes, he was strong, but you had age, experience. You should have been able to fight him off without issue.
You couldn’t.
He found no fight when he dug the spindly lengths of his digits into the edge of your shorts, and yanked.
The fabric tore on its way down your thighs, jolting and exposing more and more skin in short bursts as he tugged the material off, off, off. He spared it no mercy, disregarding your sniffles of protest. You could hear him mumbling that he’d buy you a new pair, as many as you wanted, better, prettier, as if that was what you were upset about.
His nails scratched at the bared flesh of your legs, merciless in his efforts to strip you, fighting against his odd positioning over you that he didn’t want to change. You squirmed, kicking out as best as you could. It freed one foot in the process, and he decided that was all he needed.
You blinked, and he was between your thighs, hands hooking under your knees to tug you closer, wrapping them around his lithe waist. To your absolute, utter horror, he pressed his hips directly into yours, the seam of his uniform digging into the split of your center, and you felt it. Him.
Hard. Undeniably, ruthlessly solid, flesh turned to stone. It froze you in the midst of your struggle, and he took the opportunity to grind into you, firm, unforgiving. He rolled against you, huffs and wimpish grunts spilling from his lips, and your panic was brought back tenfold. You jerked and twisted with renewed effort, trying to claw at his arms, his shoulders; wrap your fingers around his throat and squeeze until he went limp, until his chest jolted, then stilled.
For all your exertion, it did nothing to deter him. In fact, he moaned when your nails caught on the soft skin of his stomach under the rucked up edge of his top, dragging angry, vicious red lines into the pale give of the muscle beneath.
“God, I can feel you, so warm,” he hissed through his teeth, snowy lashes squeezed shut as he focused his energy into leeching the heat from your core.
Distressed, you whined, a pathetic noise unbefitting of you. Too ugly, too weak, too unlike yourself. This wasn’t happening, it simply wasn’t.
“Look at that,” he purred. “Wet for me already. Knew you were pretending.”
You startled. “I’m not!”
He set his finger against the gusset of your underwear and slid it upwards, through the natural dampness that had gathered there. He must have mistaken it for arousal.
His teeth shone white, canines sharp, primed to bite into your jugular and shake, rip, tear. Snap tendons and gnaw muscle. Eat you.
“‘Course, you are, don’t have to lie,” he patted your hip contemptuously. “I know I’m pretty. I know the effect I have on women, it’s okay, I won’t judge you. I like it.”
You inhaled to berate and lambaste and criticize him, but he didn’t let you start. He rolled his finger around your clothed clit, and all that came out of you was a pitchy, shaken noise. He focused on it, jabbing it, and was convinced your yelps of discomfort were pleasure. It was evident, his nescience, on how your body worked, what felt good for you. Granted, you doubted it’d feel good even if he did know what he was doing.
His impatience won out when he removed his hand after less than thirty seconds of scraping over where your clit was, missing half the time. Antsy, he hooked the band of your panties, tugging at the cotton material more and more discontentedly until he grabbed at it along the stitching on the side and pried it apart, thread and fibers splitting and popping.
“Hey!” You bayed.
His lips left a wet smooch on your temple, and you cringed. “It’s okay, it’s alright, I’ll buy you more. Or, better yet, don’t wear any in the first place.”
His fingers slid through your folds and you coughed on a hiccup of surprise, jerking away from him. He fastened his hand to your hip, keeping you from going any further. Hell, this was pure hell. Nothing less, nothing more; raw suffering in the form of a man intent on dragging you down to the depths with him. He’d carve a home from the molten rock, a cubby made with his own two hands, and he’d bury you in it, somewhere you’d never be able to escape and leave him.
Two fingers propped at your cunt, then pushed in, slow and piercing. You sucked on your teeth, face scrunching in discomfort as the long things poked and jabbed at your soft internals, deeper and deeper. He didn’t stop at the first, nor second joint, sorrowfully. He kept going until he physically couldn't anymore, stuffed to the knuckles, the knobby things barely grazing the nub at the top of your vulva.
You hated it with every fiber of your being.
It was uncomfortable, unpleasant, and so very far from enjoyable. Oh, but who were you to fool yourself? He wasn’t doing this for you, of course not, no matter how hard he tried to convince you that he was. That he wanted you to feel pleasure, sweet and gratifying. When he fingered you, it resembled a clinical examination more than a sexual act, the kind where you and the doctor avoided looking at each other as they tested your pelvic muscles and checked for abnormalities.
He pushed his fingers in and out, not bothering to curl them, scissor them, do anything special at all with them. They were just…there, scoring lines into your pussy, neutral.
Your relief upon their removal was short-lived. His hand fumbled with the hem of his pants, allowing you to notice that his belt had already been loosened, button and zipper undone, pulled low. Blue and white striped boxers sat on display for a brief period, then were pulled under his stiff length, revealing it to you.
Long, not especially thick, curved upwards, the tip an angry pink that neared on red.
Fuck no. No, no, no, this was not happening, not to you.
You might as well have been fighting against a stone golem, though, for how little he reacted to your attempts at escape. He paid no mind to your spitting, your thrashing, your begging pleas for him to not do this to you, to reconsider, your assurances that you’d forgive him if he’d just stop right this instant!
If you didn’t know any better, to him, you were nothing more than the annoying buzzing of a fly trying to get his attention. Something for him to swat away, squash uncaringly.
Your heart dropped to your toes when you felt the tip of his leaking cock notch against your unprepared hole, your chest seizing, your lungs collapsing beneath the sheer weight of your raw, unfiltered fear.
Then, with no consideration for you, he shoved forward, and seated himself to the root in one vile, painful thrust.
You didn’t realize you were crying until your voice broke, splintering apart in your throat.
Above you, Gojo was panting, whining, practically trembling where he sat, pelvis flush to yours. Your spine arched off the bed, burning pain pulsing inside your core from the forced stretch. You were no prude, but it’d been so long since you’d lain with anyone. You were barely wet enough for a sheen to show on your folds, let alone take anything inside you without the careful prep he lacked the skill to partake in.
Gojo didn’t care for it, evidently.
He was too impatient, too needy, too eager. He yearned too much, and didn’t stop to think about what he wanted, just that he wanted it now.
You sobbed, hiccuping, tears spilling from the corners of your eyes to race to your temples. He cooed at the sight, leaning forward, closer to your face. The movement carried him further, his tip nudging against the squishy ring of your cervix, and you wailed.
“Oh, shh, shh, it’s okay, I’m here,” he purred. “I’m here now. You don’t have to worry, I’m not going anywhere. You have me.”
“Pull out– pull out!” You yelled at him, pounding against his chest.
He grinned. “Want me to move already? D’aw, who am I to deny my woman?”
Your eyes widened. “Wait, no, no–!”
Your imploration came a moment too late, and fell on ears that were never going to listen to you.
Satoru drew back until the ridge of his glans tugged against the thin webbing of your entrance, and then, he barged back into you, splitting your walls apart to make room for himself.
The friction was agonizing, unforgiving. It scraped against you, sandpaper on fragile glass, painstakingly etched and painted patterns and designs worn away in rapid passes by an uncaring hand. He was intent on erasing the marks placed on you by time, by the ones you grew up with, loved, hated, missed, and replace them entirely with stains made in his visage.
Tattoos you’d never be able to remove; hundreds of eyes with endlessly cerulean depths that sucked in any unfortunate to see them. Lines and crosses and nooses that, no matter how hard you scrub, would continue to choke you forevermore.
You opened your eyes, vision blurred with tears, and startled to find pitch black voids.
Accretion disks of swirling tanzanite orbited pools of bottomless ink, meres that spanned miles across, nearly consuming the cornflower of their enclosure. Were it not for the tight rings keeping them confined, you were sure they’d spill and flood the world, drown you in their infinite expanses, under their waves. It’d fill your lungs until they burst, pour into your veins until red bled out and left you suffocating in the eternal void that was Gojo Satoru.
His inexperience shown through in the rough, jerky movements of his hips, the way every other thrust seemed to nudge into that one spot that made electricity race through your joints, while the ones in between punched directly into the sensitive nerves at the furthest point inside you, fornices bullied and bruised.
Sweat dripped from his forehead, landing in wet splats on your chest and collarbone where he hovered, hot breaths fanning across your tacky cheeks. You cringed at the sensation, trying to angle your head away.
Oh, but Satoru – he only saw that as an invitation, one he had no qualms about accepting.
He buried his face into the side of your neck, latched onto the skin over your fluttering pulse, and sucked. Hard.
You sobbed, spine arching, forlorn as he branded you in the form of broken capillaries and teeth-shaped indents. He suckled, cruel and vile, slobbering onto you like a mutt. Purebred, but he was no better than the beasts he put down, rotten to the core, that was the only thing that could explain this, him.
He kissed his way up your jaw to your cheeks, nipping at them; to your lobe, licking into the shell of your ear, and you recoiled from him. His chest vibrated with a hoarse chuckle, enamored with your violent indignation. He sought to lock lips with you, but all his humor fell away when you avoided his mouth, upper lip curled into a sneer.
A hand roughly grabbed your jaw, pressuring you to look at him, the anger that marred his unfairly beautiful features. Brows pinched, eyes narrowed, fire licking up the column of his spine to spread like poison on his tongue.
“Do not run away from me,” he snarled, nose almost tip-to-tip with yours, invading. “You’re gonna kiss me back, or I’ll get the entire fuckin’ town in here and make sure they know you forced yourself on me. Got it?”
You drank down your antipathy and resentment for him, aware now that, if he was willing to overpower someone over a decade his senior for his own pleasure and gain, he’d absolutely make good on his threat. If he was willing to ruin your body, he was more than willing to ruin your life.
What choice did you have but to open your mouth and let him spit into it? How could you do anything but give in, let him mash your lips together, let him shove his tongue down your throat and feed on you until all that remained of you were bones and teeth and hollow eye sockets?
The basin of your mahou hemorrhaging through the puncture wound in your chest, run through a sieve to gather the flecks of gold and red blood cells that comprised your entire being. Plasma leaching from your marrow, spilling into a worthless puddle on dry soil to water a flora long dead. Lungs suctioned flat to your thoracic vertebrae, organs shriveled, body reduced to a useless shell, a pitiful imitation of life.
For once, you blessed a man for his inexperience, as it meant Satoru was done with you in a couple minutes. They stretched forever and ever, vanishing beyond the horizon, but it was done, he was done. He spilled inside you, but that was an issue for a separate time, something else to be dealt with when you weren’t under the body of a demon wearing the skin of a man. Evil embodied.
Should have exorcised him as soon as you saw him, you shamed yourself.
But, it was over. He would get off you, and you–
You startled when you felt the pad of his thumb nudging at your clit, uneven back-and-forth swipes that halfway resembled circles, and started sliding in and out of you once more.
“Gotta make– gotta make a wo-woman squirt if ya wanna – fuck, you’re so warm – wanna knock her up. That’s what he–” he choked, stilling for a second, then harshly pounded into you out of the blue.
It shocked you, your mouth dropping into a silent yowl, tears sprinkling your clumped lashes like weeping stardust.
“That’s what he told me,” he spat out, rage flashing in his eyes, across the furrow of his brow. “Maybe, not everythin’ was a lie, eh? Maybe, he was tellin’ me the truth about somethin’.”
He was gone from this world, you could tell. It was in the way he no longer saw you, the woman he’d shoved onto her own bed, the person who’d taken pity on him, housed him, taught him how she lived, survived. He had this far away look, this seething hatred, this pulsing need, this agonizing sorrow that ate him from the inside out. A wound that scabbed, but never healed, always present, always twitching in time with his heart, reminding him of its presence.
Heartbreak.
Gone as quickly as it came, he was seeing you again, and you wished beyond everything that he was still in that distant headspace of his, where you didn’t exist, where you could pretend none of this was real. A bad dream. A demon that slithered through the cracked-open window to infest your mind and feed off your nightmares.
His eyes made that impossible, sadly. All they did was remind you, assure you, that this was as real as ever.
Slowly, he leaned down, lashes never fluttering. His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, breath fanning into the conch, and he spoke.
“Let’s find out together, yeah?”
«___° ° °___»
“Here’s how this is going to work,” he wrapped one of his arms around his neck and pressed on the elbow to stretch it, taking the opportunity to scratch his back while he was at it. “You’re gonna tell that little group of yours that you’re coming back to Tokyo with me–”
You bristled. “No.”
“–or, I’ll tell them that you took advantage of me while I was sleeping.”
Nausea roiled in your stomach. “You wouldn’t.”
He leveled you. “I will, and I won’t feel bad about it.”
You stared at him, trying to figure him out, call him out on his bluff, but you knew he wasn’t lying. Saliva coated your mouth, and you had to swallow to hold back the urge to spill acid onto the floor.
When you spoke, your voice was far too soft, too broken. A pitiable whimper. “Please, don’t.”
The boy shrugged casually. “I’m being nice, you know, by giving you a choice. It’s up to you. I’m happy to do it either way.”
A tear slipped down your cheek.
You didn’t flinch when he cupped your jaw as tenderly as he would a lover’s, swiping it away with the pad of his thumb.
“I’ll take good care of you, promise,” he swore. “Make sure you want for nothing. Give you all you want. I have more than enough money for both of us. For a whole family. Whaddya say, hm?”
You never did have a choice, did you?
Not from the moment you were born on this island, not when you obtained your Strength, not when you were trained to be an Exorcist, or when Akinori attached themselves to your hip in spite of your vehement refusal to tutor them.
And, not from this.
From becoming Gojo’s.
Having gone into autopilot, you obeyed his orders, fearing what he’d do if you didn’t. No need to pack anything, he said, I’ll just buy you new stuff at home. Better than these rags. Come on, let’s go. Early birds and worms and all that.
The village was as peaceful as ever, this time of day.
The fishermen had set out to the sea about an hour earlier, right before dawn broke through the nebulous heavens. Those that stayed behind roused late, taking the chance to catch a bit more shut eye.
You, too, would have been enjoying a long rest, were it not for the tidal wave that loomed on the horizon, threatening, waiting for you. White-crested waves, foam spitting up from their roiling motions; an endless abyss that pined to swallow you whole. It whispered that you had a choice, an order to give, one it would happily deliver on.
Sacrifice yourself, or let all you love be washed into the ocean, your own personal Atlantis.
Akinori, Mirio, and the Elder also weren’t able to enjoy the extra rest, much to your guilty conscience.
They stood in front of you in a row, each wearing their own miens of disappointment, of hurt, of grief.
Aisha glared at you, really. You’d made a promise to protect this land, your home, after all. And, now, you were going back on your word, your vow. She had every right to despise you, to scorn you. She didn’t, though, you knew. You wished she did. She saw right through you, past the cracks in your façade, the lies you fed her about wanting to learn more about demons and be stronger for them, better.
To save the world.
In reality, it was to save only yourself.
Please, understand, you begged silently. There’s no other way.
Mirio had her hands clutched in front of her, gazing anywhere but at you. Her brows were pinched in the center, and you yearned to lean forward and press your thumb to the wrinkle forming there, to brush it away with that signature cheeky smirk of yours, and a caution that she’d age faster if she made faces like that.
You kept your hands, stained and bloody, to yourself, not wishing to taint her with your sin.
Akinori appeared uncharacteristically serious. Severe.
Gone was their impish demeanor, their mischievous nature. In its place sat an emptiness, a chasm formed too soon; a ball of ice drained before it could freeze its core to keep itself whole. Your heart ached for them, your stomach twisted into knots, your throat squeezing tighter and tighter until you were sure that your vocal cords would burst from your neck.
“You’re really going, then,” they said. A statement, not a question.
Still, you nodded.
“There’s so much to learn out there, beyond Kami-shima,” you reasoned, lying through your teeth. The words tasted like ash and acid on your tongue. “Power we never knew existed. Imagine it – I’ll get stronger, then we’ll never have to worry about demons invading our home ever again, yeah?”
“You promise?”
Glancing over your shoulder, you spotted Gojo standing a distance away. Far enough that he resembled a stick figure, but still close enough for you to feel his stare burning into your back.
You swallowed, and faced Nori again, whispering to them, needing to ensure it stays between you and them, and nobody else, especially not Gojo.
“You have my heart,” you said. “Keep it safe for me until I can get it back, okay?”
They peered deep into you, glancing between your eyes, trying to seek out the deeper meaning in your words – if there was any. You simultaneously hoped they would and wouldn’t find it; a selfish desire to be seen, to be acknowledged, and the knowledge that they’re safer knowing nothing about you. Forgetting about you.
Nori nodded once, tersely.
You took that as your cue to leave.
Taking your hands off their shoulders, you drew in a deep breath, let it out, and gave the trio a smile you could only hope was semi-convincing.
“Don’t wait up for me, yeah?” You laughed. It sounded strained. “I’ll see you all again.”
Whether or not they knew it was a lie, you said nothing more, and didn’t stay to hear what they would say. It would break your heart worse than the whole interaction already had, worse than the knowledge that your chances of actually returning home were slim to none.
Picking up a light jog, you left them behind, joining Gojo at his side. He didn’t hesitate to pull out a hand from his pocket and link it with yours, fingers intertwining and squeezing until the bone inside ached.
He smiled innocently up at you, anyway. “Finally done?”
You glanced over your shoulder, hoping to see that your little family had already left, praying they hadn’t. Uncertainty over your own emotions fizzled under the surface when you saw they were there, watching you, unmoving.
For what you knew would be the last time, you mouthed goodbye to them, and closed your eyes, blocking them from sight.
“Yeah,” you coughed out.
His smile could be heard through his voice. “Great, I was waiting ages. You talk way too much, y’know? You’re gonna love Tokyo. I’ll take you to all the good places…”
You tuned out his voice, letting him ramble to his content as he guided you away from the village, away from Kami-shima, away from the one home you knew. Where you were born, where you lived, and where you were certain you would die.
When he squeezed your hand, you brought yourself back to the present, longing to sink into a void. To disappear, never have to deal with this, with him.
When did you ever have a choice, though? The moment he saw you, it was over for you.
“There’s no place like home, right?” He prodded, poking your side with his elbow.
“Mhm,” you agreed with a rigid growl, clenching your jaw, gritting your teeth. “No place like home.”
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AN: thank you for reading :D I hope you enjoyed ♥
#tw: noncon#tw noncon#asterlust writes#The World You Never Knew#TWYNK#dark!gojo x reader#yandere!gojo x reader#yandere x reader#yandere!jjk x reader#yandere!gojo#dark!gojo#this is a repost from my other account#so please don't worry#I'm not out here stealing a fic from someone else#chimera-dreams is my account
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♡ you happened - LN 4 ♡
Summary: Did I just... fall in love with the worst person to fall in love with?! *crashes out in a grocery store*
WC: 2565
CW: fluff, friends or something to lovers, use of swear words ☝, joke about death/banter, also not proofread and I've veen awake for almost 24 hrs and my last sleep was 4 hours long :D
Your whole life, all you ever heard was “Oh the two of you are so cute together!”, “Just wait, you two were meant to be”, “Never say never!”
Everyone, your family, his family, neighbors, even staff at restaurants and cafes you frequented thought it. Spoken as if it was written in the stars that you and Lando Norris were fated. You’re not kidding when you say that both your families have placed bets on when you two would finally end up dating… turns out the person who gets closest to the day will win $1,000.
At first, it didn’t really bother you. It was quite easy to get on with life and ignore their antics. But as you grew older, it stopped being a little joke or little bits of hope within them. When you started dating your first boyfriend in high school, your family audibly sighed when you introduced them to him. The audible sigh was only the start as well. Soon they were making sly comments about how your boyfriend didn’t have green eyes like Lando or curly hair.
When your family continued their behavior with the second boy you brought home, you stopped introducing them.
The pressure didn’t just affect you and your love life. After some time, you and Lando stopped talking. After being inseparable since you were practically born, the two of you were pushed apart because of your families and their incessant need to hope for something truly insane.
You think it had been about 9 years of no contact before you and Lando had reconnected. And the only reason that you two had found each other again was because you needed a new roommate and Lando was lonely…
It was awkward at first. The two of you had grown up and completely changed as people. The interests and hobbies you once had as children were now nonexistent in your lives today. Everything has changed: your favorite colors, foods, and movies.
It took quite some time, but now you two know each other better now. Though Lando is rarely in the city where you two live, he’s always home when he’s there. The man never leaves the house and it was quite concerning at first. You wondered if he was deficient in vitamin D. The doctors probably thought he went out less than a vampire.
The one thing that really helped the two of you to bond, besides having mandatory hangouts at least once a month, was when you had been infected with a cold and had somehow shared it with Lando. The two of you were almost bedridden for a week. To make sure neither of you would need to be sent to the emergency room, camp was set up in the living room. Who knew being cramped together in the same room for a week would make the two of you best friends again.
Not only did you guys relearn each other's favorite colors and movies, but now you know his favorite video games and what his life is like. Lando also got to learn about what you studied in university and how you once duetted ‘Everyday’ from High School Musical 2 with Phoebe Bridgers at a bar in Manchester. After sharing this information, Lando had mentioned the fact that he had never seen any of the High School Musical movies. Sure his sisters had played it in the house as kids but he never paid any mind to it. Naturally, you forced him to watch all 3 movies and now his favorite song is ‘You Are the Music in Me’, HUMUHUMUNUKUNUKUAPUA’A was a close second though.
And because you had forced him to watch all the HSM movies, he made you play some video games with him. After some debating, he had decided that the two of you would play ‘It Takes Two’. He claimed it was a great way to “create moral” and “bond” with each other. The only thing you had gathered was that you and Lando would make a terrible team no matter what you two were doing.
Sports? Someone would break the other's nose by accident. Video games? A controller was going to get broken.
You had also learned that the both of you liked to taunt and poke fun at each other in a way that would make others concerned.
-=+=-
“Don’t you think it’s romantic? Dying for each other?” Lando said, leaning his head back to look at you and smiling cheekily.
“I’d rather kill you myself, thanks.” you say, rolling your eyes and making Lando let out a chuckle. The chuckle then leads to a coughing fit. This in turn made you laugh and now then the both of you were having a coughing fit.
Through coughs and grasps for air, Lando said “Karma, bitch.”
Some gaslighting from you may have followed after you’d hit Lando in the face with a pillow.
“Lando, I swear. The pillow just levitated on its own and hit your face.”
-=+=-
You were sitting in the kitchen, working on your laptop when Lando came in and wandered over to the fridge. You watched as he opened the fridge, analyzed its contents for approximately 2 seconds before closing it and turning to look at you, “Heyyyy, y/n.”
Raising an eyebrow at him, you respond “Heyyy, Lan.”
“So, uhm. Do you wanna go to the market with me? I need something for quick meals and snacks and I could use some company.”
“You could use some company or are you still scared of the pigeons outside the market door?” you question.
“Hey! Those beasts are out for blood! I swear on my future dog's life, TWO of them came for my head last time I went.”
“Sure, big man. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” you say as you stand and walk over to pat his shoulder, “You’re driving though. These narrow roads make me wanna swerve into oncoming traffic.”
“Deal.” Lando says as he follows you out the apartment door.
-=+=-
Lando had already parked the car and the two of you were walking to the doors of the market. You watched Lando try to “sneakily” tiptoe through the market doors, keeping an eye out for any potential threats (pigeons…).
He was just halfway through the door when a customer in the store had accidentally dropped a box of cereal. Lando tripped and nearly fell before catching himself and trying to brush off the fact that as a grown man, he was terrified of birds.
“Smooth.” you tease “Smooooth.”
Lando grabs a basket and walks quickly further into the store. Think it's to say he was at least a little embarrassed by what had just happened. By the time you managed to catch up to him, he was already at the opposite end of the store, browsing the tampons.
“Lan?”
“Yeah?” he says as he turns his attention back to you.
“Is it that time of the month or something?”
“Nah. Just… looking…observing.”
“Right. I’ll just go and grab some crisps.” you say, pointing somewhere behind him.
“Oh sick! I’ll go with you.” he says, skipping down the aisles.
As the two of you debated between some of the options of crisps, the song being played in the market had changed and you’re confident that everyone had heard the gasp that escaped Lando’s mouth when he heard the opening notes of ‘You Are the Music in Me’.
Before you could even register what was happening, Lando had dropped the basket on the floor and grabbed an abandoned whisk off a shelf, using it as a makeshift microphone for his performance. When it was Gabriella’s turn to sing, Lando turned the “microphone” to you, raising an eyebrow in anticipation.
Reluctantly, you sang your bit, making a smile erupt on Lando’s face. Half-way through the song, Lando was running and jumping up and down the aisle, dancing and lip syncing to the song.
You couldn’t help but laugh at his antics. You were also laughing at the realization that he was so embarrassed of being startled by cereal that he ran through the store to hide, but now he’s openly performing in the middle of the store, not caring who could be watching and judging.
God, I’m in love… shit.
No, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.
No way you were in love with Lando Norris. You were never going to live this down. Some people in your family will be $1,000 richer. They will comment on this for the rest of your lives. You will have lost. They will have won. This was forever going to be something they would use against you.
Fuck.
After a minute, Lando had noticed the sudden change in your emotions. One second, you were laughing and smiling brightly at him and with him. The next, your face had dropped and turned to stone. Did he do something? Were you embarrassed? Of him?
“Hey, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” Lando questioned, concern drawing his features.
Too embarrassed to be truthful, you tried to think quickly and faked being agitated.
“Yeah, you happened. Dumbfuck.” you say as you trudge past the man.
Lando’s heart dropped. What did he do wrong? You’re clearly upset but he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t know how to fix it.
He watched your back drift away and out the door of the market, standing with his feet planted in one spot, unable to move and chase after you to make sure you were okay.
-=+=-
What the fuck did I just do? You thought as you leaned against Lando’s car, rubbing your hands down your face in frustration.
This is insane. How are you in love with him? You mean, it’s not that there’s anything wrong with Lando and liking him. But why did you have to be in love with him? Why must you be cursed with eternal mocking and teasing from yours and his family?
And what were you gonna tell him? You were happy one second then mad the next. You almost yelled at him and ended up pushing past him, hitting his shoulder with yours pretty roughly. You crashed out in the middle of a grocery store…
Before you could come up with a game plan on how to explain this to Lando, or atleast come up with a good lie, Lando was already walking to you and unlocking the car. All he did was spare a quick look at you before getting in the car with the groceries. For the split second your eyes met his, you couldn’t decipher how he was feeling or what he was thinking. It was almost as if there was nothing there.
When you opened the car door and dropped into your seat, he didn’t say a word. He barely paid you any mind. The whole drive back to the apartment was filled with an uncomfortable silence. His eyes trained on the road, never once moving off the road. If you were in the car any longer, you’re sure you would’ve suffocated under the weight of uncertainty.
-=+=-
You walked into the apartment with Lando carrying the groceries, tailing you. Not only was the car ride spent in eerie quietness, but so was the walk to the apartment from the car.
You heard as the front door clicked shut, standing by the kitchen counter and fiddling with your hands and tempted to pick at your nails, a bad habit you’ve had for years.
Lando put the groceries onto the counter and flicked his eyes to your hands for a second “Stop picking at your nails. S’not good for you.”
Thank god. He spoke. So he’s not upset with you?
You watched as the man leaned his hands against the counter before speaking “So, you gonna tell me what’s wrong?” he says calmly.
“Hm? Nothing’s wrong.” your voice pitched higher than normal.
“Bullshit.”
“What?”
“I’m not the smartest person but I’m not stupid either, y/n.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“Okay, so tell me what’s wrong. Everything was fine and then all of a sudden your face and mood had dropped. Not only that but you stormed out of the store after telling me that I happened?” he says, trying not to take his frustration out on you. Though you think he should for the way you had behaved.
“I- I’m fine, Lan.”
“Stop lying. Please. I don’t like lies, especially not from you cause I can tell when you’re lying. You’re a terrible liar.”
Your jaw drops, “Am not!”
“Please. Remember when you ate that last spring roll and you tried to convince me that a squirrel came in through the window and stole it?”
“Okay, well. I see your point.”
“Exactly” he breathes out “So, what’s wrong? Why are you lying to me?”
With a deep breath and a ‘yolo’ you confess “I think I like you.”
“Why do you sound distressed?”
“Because this is distressing.” you rasp.
“Why?!”
“Lan, you know our families and their incessant need to butt into our lives and force us together. If they found out, I would never live it down. My whole life, I’ve had to fight the allegations. But now?! Now they will forever taunt us with this information. Also I feel the need to point out that some people will be $1,000 richer because of this. Do you really want to give them that? Do you, Lando? Do You?” you ask, furrowing your eyebrows.
“Well, I mean… would it be that bad?”
“Huh?”
“Well, I think it would be okay? Like, I don’t think it’s a bad idea. And so what if they tease us for this? It just means that they maybe did some voodoo or paid an etsy witch… or we really are meant for eachother.” Lando says, his voice getting softer the more he spoke, as if he was afraid. Afraid of your reaction, what you would say, how you would feel.
“I- I mean. There’s nothing wrong with it? I guess it’s just unexpected. And things like that make me panic. I think I blew this really out of proportion.” you wince.
“Ya think?” Lando laughs “You stormed out the market and almost caused a scene.”
“Yeah… I also didn’t get my favorite ice cream and I’ve been craving it for ages.”
“Oh, well… I actually got it for you. I remember you saying you’d been craving it and wanted to get you some. It was one of the reasons I asked you to come with me to the market. I also ended up getting it cause I thought it would be brownie points for if I had actually done something wrong. I also got brownies… for extra brownie points.” he, totally nonchalantly, winks at you.
Maybe this won’t be so bad. You’ll be his and he’ll be yours and it will be simple. You truly did feel a lot for him, which was scary. But it’ll be worth it. It will also be worth all the teasing from your families and friends. When you’re with him, you still get butterflies and that in itself makes up for the lost time. And you won’t lie, you’d missed all those years spent apart. Now you’ve got each other and that’s all that matters. From kids to teenagers to adults, everything changed except for one thing, the love you had for the other.
#formula 1#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 writing#f1 x you#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#lando norris fanfic#lando norris x reader#lando norris imagine#lando x reader#lando imagine#lando norris#norris x reader#mclaren#formula 1 imagine#formula one#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 fic#lando norris fluff
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One of the underdiscussed tragedies of covid is the fact that a ton of newly disabled people have been shoved into the discursive spotlight as the dominant voice on disability issues to spew frankly rancid takes
Basically everything said i have immense compassion and solidarity and time for coming from struggling individuals but whej spoken as a major discursive line, many of these takes are having pretty disastrous effects on the discourse and efficacy of the socio-medical field of chronic illness management and justice
Long covid is real, and debilitating. It's also novel-- the longest anyone can possibly have had long covid is about 5 years. I don't know that I know any chronically ill person who's condition arose as an adult who've made meaningful progress in managing their illness well in under 5 years; NOR anyone who hasn't made significant progress coping in under 10 years.
Becoming disabled is terrifying and there's a lot of grief and frustration and rage to work through-- and a lot of ableism. Most people who became #disabilityjusticeadvocates after being disabled by long covid have absolutely 0 knowledge of the history or tactics of disabled movements. Frankly offensive and ludicrous comparisons to AIDS, for example, run rampant-- despite the fact this is nothing like AIDS and ppl making these comparisons appear to be only passingly familiar with the AIDS epidemic and wholly unaware of the current abuse and criminalization forced on ppl who are HIV+. We can make critiques of how capitalism and frankly civilized society disables people, specific political critiques of covid even, without rudely and unhelpfully asserting that this is the Worst Thing That's Happened And Nobodys Ever Had It As Bad As You. It is not, and will never be, *literally illegal* to have long covid. Fuck, governments actually DID SOMETHING and responded!! It sucked, because it will always suck, it pushed poor people hardest, and so on, but cmon. You cannot seriously compare problematic but prompt vaccine rollouts and ongoing intense research into management and cures to 20 years of unaddressed death; nor a "resistance" movement that essentially amounts to insults & ineffectual propaganda to one that worked extremely hard at building communal support structures and making legit gains. Yall ain't even pumping infected air into the cdc offices. Smh.
My heart fucking hurts for the huge numbers of ppl who have become disabled without access to support and then asked to become discursive authorities on disability while still trying to figure out what living as a newly disabled person can look like, but I'm also fully pissed at the behavior of some of yall and how bystanders willing platform really ineffectual and frankly ableist shit because of "listening to affected voices".
People ARE making moves-- there are support groups and communities sharing new strategies both from DIY versions of new literature and observations from personal experiments. Nicotine patches are what I'm aware of most recently and i bieve Four Theives published a guide to a drug that *cures* a meaningful, but not fda-requirememt-satisfying # of cases. It is possible to take strides, movement is still possible, it is important to not lose rage or critique! AND everyone is still figuring this thing out (let me reiterate that long covid is getting a comparatively huge amount of research and attention than many other chronic illnesses, like fr) & the least some of yall can fucking do is not drag the entire concept of chronic illness management down in your despair.
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Summary: Amorica is a virus that makes people turn yandere. Never would you have thought, that your boyfriend Izuku would be one of the infected.
Pairings: Yandere! Izuku x Reader Warnings: Yandere behavior, violence Remember: English differs a lot from German, so I apologize for possible mistakes:
Love-Virus: Amorica

"Deku! Here, here! HELP!" shouts a young girl, whose legs are mercilessly smashed in a pile of rubble. She is small and petite, has her whole life ahead of her. She can't give up yet, not if she has to see someone else.
Her boyfriend, her darling, her everything.
She MUST see him again, she still MUST spend time with him like she planned it and she MUST marry him, start a family with him and grow old together.
She just has to!
"HELP!!!! DEKU! I'M HERE!" she screams with full force and thankfully her cry for help is finally heard. In front of her appears a muscular green-haired man, number one among all heroes, one who goes by the hero's name Deku. He has saved thousands, no, even millions of people. Today he is there for her, for the poor little girl who whimpers and shivers in pain.
"Don't worry, I'm here now," he says and puts on his broad and wide smile that everyone in Japan, no, even the whole world, knows. He lifts the debris aside and pulls her out so gently, even though his hands look like they could crush someone.
She breathes a sigh of relief as the pressure on her body subsides. It was really hard to bear. She sweats all over her body, the stress brought her into high gear.
"Thank you, Deku!"
The hero only nods in response, but his smile hasn't even left his face. Not even when the girl's sweat mixes with his and causes a tingling sensation in the affected areas.
_
"Izuku, you're scorching hot!" you realize when your hand almost burns on his forehead.
It's been a day since the earthquake. Your boyfriend was on duty and once again saved countless lives.
Your boyfriend is a good person, maybe even the best.
You're incredibly happy to have him and when you look at his reddened face, you can see that he feels the same way.
He always forgets to think about himself.
You just smile as you put a cool rag on his forehead and give him a tender kiss on the cheek.
"I'll make you chicken broth, okay? Rest until then, you will certainly feel better."
Izuku just nods and closes his eyes. Just a few seconds later, you hear slight snoring from the living room.
You smile.
Even if you don't like it when he's sick, you still like to nurse him back to health.
_
"Izuku, your fever won't go down! You've been on 39 degrees for three days! You have to go to the doctor!" you shout through the house.
Your boyfriend just shakes his head.
"It'll be okay. I'm sure I'll feel better tomorrow."
"Don't kid yourself, Izuku. That's what you said two days ago."
You're worried, no, scared, because you don't know what to do about it.
Izuku just lifts the blanket and opens his arms.
"Just come here, please. Then I’ll feel better."
You frown, but you still comply with his wish. Usually, your boyfriend doesn't want you to get too close to him when he's sick. He is always afraid that he could infect you.
That's why you're surprised when he hugs you and gives you a kiss on the forehead.
More worry spreads through you.
Maybe it's really something so serious....
_
"Do you really have to go to work?" your sick boyfriend asks you as he makes his way to you. Today is the fifth day that Izuku has his fever. You had the days off, but now you have to go to work today.
"I'd rather take care of you, but I have to."
Izuku hugs you, his strong muscles holding you firmly in place.
"Why don't you take the day off?"
Laughing, you shake your head and give him a kiss on the cheek. Reluctantly, Izuku lets go of you, a pout on his lips.
_
"Darling!", Izuku greets you as you get home. He has already torn the door open before you have even arrived at your house.
With your eyebrows drawn together, you walk towards him. Usually, you both always call each other by name.
Izuku was never the type for pet names.
Is it his illness?
Izuku has never waited so eagerly for you.
Is it his illness?
Izuku has also never hugged you as tightly as he does now.
Is it his illness?
Today is the sixth day. Will he get well soon? Hopefully he will get well soon. It makes you nervous, worries you and gives you a little anxiety.
"How are you feeling today?"
"Better, but I missed you so much."
You put your hand on his forehead: it really seems to be cooler now.
_
"36.5 degrees. Congratulations, you're officially healthy today," you smile. Izuku returns your smile and gives you a kiss on the forehead. "Are you going on patrol right away?"
"Yes, of course. I've rested far too long, haven't I?"
You just nod and laugh. You can't wait to get back to your usual everyday life.
_
"The virus, Amorica, spreads through bodily fluids among people. The exact number of people affected is still unknown, as it is not noticeable to the infected and the people around them. Symptoms include exaggerated longing for one's partner, unhealthy jealousy or immoral behavior. Those affected explain that they have begun to no longer perceive their actions as bad. How contagious the virus is, is still unknown at the moment. However, scientists suspect that some are immune to it.
Today we tell the story of Molly. She is a 20-year-old lawyer who is infected with the virus. Molly doesn't know how long she has been ill, but her boyfriend pointed out that her controlling behavior began a month ago. At first, the signs were only vague, there were only frequent questions about her boyfriend’s well-being. After a few weeks, Molly started following her boyfriend everywhere. Days later, Molly committed her first murder out of jealousy. Although her boyfriend was in constant contact with her, he has no symptoms.
How-"
You change the channel in shock. For some time now, the news have been reporting on such cases. Izuku also tells you that there are frequent cases. The infected act out of unhealthy love: they stalk, kidnap, even kill. The victims are usually distraught afterwards and have to seek therapeutic help.
Society is afraid, people are becoming suspicious, you also have concerns.
What if you annoy someone infected?
A shiver runs down your spine.
Hopefully not...
_ _
Meanwhile, Izuku watches you from the door frame.
For some time now, his desire for you has become bigger. He can't really explain it, but somehow, he wants your attention especially often, want to hug you especially often and wants to kiss you especially often – from head to toe.
What's wrong with him?
Of course, he loved you before, otherwise you wouldn't be in a relationship. For some reason, however, he can't let you out of his sight, as soon as he averts his gaze, his heart aches.
It hurts, cramps and contracts.
It's like he needs you to survive, because without you, his heart doesn't beat anymore.
It's worse when he's at work. He can't think of anything but you!
All the injured people he saves suddenly have your face!
Then his breathing becomes more and more heavy until at some point he can't breathe at all, suffocates almost at nothing.
He always comes home immediately afterwards, so, he can calm down when you greet him at the door, with your sweet loving smile. Every tension, every worry and every fear that ran through his whole body until now dissolves and is replaced by a feeling of warmth and security.
Even now, as he watches you from a distance, it feels like everything is in harmony.
He breathes in and out in a relaxed manner as he lets the situation sink in and then sits down next to you. However, when he looks at your face, he notices the deep wrinkles of your forehead and the look of worry in your eyes. He copies your facial expression and puts an arm around you, pushing you close to him.
Your scent rises to his nose and despite the situation, he has to suppress a moan as his eyes roll back.
Had your smell always such an intoxicating effect on him?
"What's the matter, darling? Is something bothering you?" he murmurs as he rests his chin on your head.
"No... well, yes, sort of," you say and return his hug. Izuku's heart seems to jump happily as your tender arms wrap around him.
"Well then, go on! What's going through your pretty head?"
"Well, there's this infection going around right now and I'm afraid of what people are capable now. What if someone is after me because I'm only talking to her lover?"
Then don't talk to anyone, you only need me. Just stay here, then nothing happens. I protect you, with me you are safest.
Izuku would like to say that, but before he can say the words, the penny drops. His eyes widen when realization hits him: he is infected.
"Don't worry, nothing will happen," he says, gives you a kiss on the forehead and goes into his study room, locks himself in.
That explains everything! That's why he's no longer himself!
Oh no.
Oh no.
Oh no.
What is he doing now!? Is there a cure? Not yet, right?
He grabs his green curls tightly as he drops into the chair.
What if he endangers you because of this virus! You would leave him!
No, you would never leave me, I wouldn't let that happen.
No, no, no, away with these thoughts. That's not him! These are not his thoughts; this is the virus!
His heart beats like crazy and his breath becomes heavy as panic runs through his veins.
He already had to deal with a few cases involving the virus. Some infected people locked their loved ones in the basement so that they could not leave them, some broke their legs for the same reason. As a sign of love, some carved their name into their partners skin with a knife.
What if Izuku will do something like that to you?
At the thought, he quickly rushes to his trash can as he vomits.
These are horrifying ideas! He doesn't want that, he's afraid, so incredibly afraid.
The only thing he can do now, is to get out of your way and hope that he will heal for some reason, or you will leave him and go somewhere, where you are safe of him.
Leave? No, you can’t abandon me! I'm nothing without you!
The thought makes him vomit again.
_
It's been a week since Izuku started to avoid you like the pest. You're worried, something is bothering him and he refuses to talk to you about it. He locks himself in his room, sleeps there and doesn't even come out to eat.
Today, you made ramen the way he likes it best. You knock gently at his door, but there is no answer.
"Izuku? I made ramen. Would you like to come out and eat with me?" you finally ask after a while.
He doesn't even open the door when he answers you, his voice only sounds distant and quiet from the other room.
"No, I'm not hungry, but thanks for preparing."
Tears form in the corners of your eyes as you are rejected yet again. He always says that, but even if you leave him a bowl, it's still left untouched the next day.
"Izuku, what's wrong with you? Please talk to me!"
There is no answer and then you sob loudly as the tears flow.
"Izuku, did I do something wrong? If so, I'm sorry, but please stop avoiding me!"
Again, no answer and then you leave, crying and heartbroken.
_ _
Behind the door, Izuku's world collapses when he hears your crying. His heart splits into thousands of shards with every sob.
He tied himself up at the other end of the room so he can’t go to you.
He had a hard time getting through the first two days, but at the third he couldn't stand it anymore and stood next to your bed at night and watched you. For this moment, all his thoughts were in harmony and he had been able to relax again after two days of suffering.
That was the last time he saw you, because he realized how sick his behavior was.
Then he tied himself up so he would not be tempted to get too close to you again. Deep down, he knows that these shackles are of no use at all and that he could break them with ease, but he tells himself that they are indestructible.
For the sake of both of you.
_
Three days later, he hears a man's voice from the living room.
Who is this?
He doesn't know this voice. Has the time finally come? Are you leaving him now?
No, no, no! You wouldn't do that to him, would you? You wouldn't replace him just because he doesn't show up for a few days, would you?
Who is this?
Who dares to get too close to you?
"Make yourself comfortable on the sofa," you say.
"Thank you, I'm glad that we're doing something together again. How long ago was the last time? Three years?"
"Yes, maybe. It definitely feels like an eternity. What a coincidence that I saw you on the street today."
So, you know each other from the past? Why doesn't he know about him? Why didn't you tell him about this guy? Why is he in your apartment?
Why are you doing this to him?
He is trying so hard for you, and you!? You're cheating on him!
No, no, no. You wouldn’t, you would never do something like that. He has to calm down, otherwise he will do something he might regret.
Izuku doesn't know how long they guy stayed already, but every second feels like torture. He doesn't want to keep himself restrained anymore. He misses you so much.
So so so much.
He will certainly never hurt you, right?
The victims of infected people are usually distraught afterwards and have to seek therapeutic help.
But with him, it will never come to that. He will treat you like a princess as you deserve. He will carry you on his hands and make sure that you lack nothing, that you are always well.
So, he can stop, right? He can go out, right?
"By the way, are you single? You know, I've always had that huge crush on you and always hoped to see you again. Maybe you can give me a chance, hm?" says your visitor.
_ _
Before you can answer, the door of the study suddenly breaks and dust and smoke is blocking your view.
What the…?
You only hear breaking bones.
Your heart pounds rapidly against your chest as it begs you to run away. But you can't help but be glued to the ground as panic flows through you.
Only when the view clears, you recognize Izuku, who is holding the smashed skull of your childhood friend and looks at him deranged, breathing heavily. Then his eyes suddenly wander to yours and a big smile pulls onto his lips.
"Darling!" he says and throws the skull away like it’s garbage. When he takes a step towards you, you take one back, shivering. Izuku's smile falls and he looks at you anxiously.
"Don't be afraid, I would never do something like that to you!"
You can only cry as you stretch out your arms in front of you, hoping it will keep him away and protect you.
"Don't cry, darling, please. Everything’s okay!"
"No, stay away."
You know that if Izuku really wanted to do something to you, he would so already. He has the power to do so.
Who would have thought that your beloved boyfriend would ever kill someone? Number one hero? The best person out there? The hero, who saved thousands, no, millions of lives?
That you'd ever be afraid of him?
Who would have thought that a virus could change a person in such a way that you finally decide to rush to the exit.
But you don't get far when two muscular arms wrap around your stomach and capture you. Izuku pushes you close to him as he buries his nose in your hair. You hear him inhale loudly and exhale contentedly as he squeezes you even harder.
"Finally," he says. "Finally, I have you in my arms again, darling. I promise that I will never avoid you again. I have no idea why I did this in the first place. How did I come up with this idea? Am I stupid? This feels like heaven!"
More tears flow down your cheek as he drags you further and further away from the door.
"We have so much to catch up on for the long time we haven't seen each other."
#mha#bnha#yandere#x reader#mha x reader#anime#yandere midoriya x reader#yandere deku x reader#yandere bnha#yandere mha#yandere x reader#yandere male#yandere x darling#virus#yandere virus#yandere x you#yandere deku#yandere izuku#yandere midoriya#yandere izuku x reader#yandere boyfriend#yandere hero x reader#female reader#f reader#my hero academia#yandere boku no hero academia#yandere my hero academia#boku no hero academia
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Okay, let's discuss the odds of survival from every nde from the adult mains on the show.
103: Chim and the rebar through the skull: 10% chance of surviving a perforating head trauma. Decent odds, but the exact injury Chimney had 2 survivors registered in history, a worker in the US in 1848 who had major behavior changes and was never fully recovered, and a man in Brazil in 2012, who had a helmet on at the moment of impact, and he lost 11% of grey matter, he's still being studied as a medical miracle and while he did recover, he still has trouble with activities that require both sides of the brain to communicate. Chances of Chimney to be back at work in a month with no side effects are none.
104: Bobby and the plane: if you're underwater for less than 5 minutes, the odds of survival are 90%, bigger with immediate assistance, so good chances here.
105: Bobby and the building burning down: Smoke inhalation has a 27% mortality rate, lower with immediate treatment, good odds.
106: Buck and the bread: the odds of one dying from choking on food is around 1 in 2,461. The mortality rate of a tracheostomy done in an ICU with proper instruments and personnel is between 28 and 39%. I don't think Abby and kitchen knife qualify but let's say 39% chance that would've killed Buck.
109: Buck in the flooded elevator: Same odds as Bobby in the plane.
109: Buck and the swinging bowling ball: The mortality rate from blunt trauma to the chest is between 4% and 60%, which is a very odd stat, but the 60% part is when it affects the heart muscle, since Buck was in full gear that is meant to protect him, I will put him in the 4%.
202: Hen falling through the floor after the aftershock: surprisingly, if nothing falls on top of you, the odds of surviving that fall are 100%, so that one is accurate.
209: Hen getting shot as a teen: Survival rate for a generic gunshot wound is actually around 80%, since we don't know where she was shot, I'll take those odds.
211: Doug stabbing Chim: 8% mortality rate for a stab wound like Chim's if treated fast enough, which he was.
213: Dough stabbing Maddie: same odds as above with a possible infection due to the movement.
214: All that water falling on top of Eddie: No amount of water dropped on a person would kill them unless you're talking about drowning, the surface tension wouldn't be maintained, I just wanted to add this one in because it's kinda crazy.
215: Hen and the scorpion venon: for my surprise, the mortality rate actually is less than 1%, it is pretty safe unless you're allergic, win for the show.
218: Buck and the truck bombing: the odds there are hard to calculate without creating a model of the explosion, but I did find an article about explosions of military vehicles that's a close enough baseline, it gives a 25% odds of survival if the explosion happens in an open space. There is no good way to calculate the odds of Buck surviving the being crushed part, most injuries similar enough just result in amputation. The subsequent surgeries Buck had after have about a 90% success rate.
301: Buck and the blood clots: it actually has a 92% survival rate if treated fast enough, which was the case.
302: Buck (and Christopher) and the tsunami: the odds of surviving being at ground zero of a tsunami are zero. Studies actually indicate that if the water is at about 90 cm (around 3 feet) or just generally "above the waist" you won't survive, not just because of the drowning, but because of the debris in the water.
308: Hen and Chim and the ambulance crash. Since there was no damage to the ambulance, their odds of survival there are 100%.
309: Bobby and the gamma radiation: The survival rate for short-term exposure to high levels of gamma radiation is 40% but that doubles with immediate treatment.
310: Michael and the brain cancer: they never specified the type of tumor he has, but generally speaking, the odds of survival are at about 35%.
315: Eddie and the helicopter crashing: 80% survival rate on those. I was surprised by that one.
315: Eddie getting shot in Afghanistan: odds of surviving the ones he got are still at about 80%, like Hen.
315: Eddie and the well: that's a lot harder to calculate. He was submerged for less than 5 minutes, so same odds as Bobby in the plane and Buck in the elevator, around 90% chance of survival the possible drowning. The actual collapse is harder to calculate, the closest irl situation I could find was a mine collapsing, but there isn't actually a study on the odds of survival of those since apparently the odds of surviving those depend on your ability to "self-escape" if you survive the actual collapse, so much so that there are programs to train miners to do that. Since Eddie has both the military and the lafd training, I will accept that he could get himself out.
317: Athena being assaulted: The mortality rate overall is 27% as long as they get medical care in a timely manner.
401: The landslide: there actually aren't actual studies on the odds of surviving a landslide, since the mortality rate is determined by the type of debris that's brought down with it, not the actual landslide.
405: Buck and the motorcycle: The odds of survival, if you're wearing a helmet, are actually 95%.
405: Buck and the warehouse fire: Again. 27% mortality rate for smoke inhalation.
406: Michael and the blunt trauma to the head: it depends on the severity, but it is a 75% survival for Michael's case, adding this in because he was actually unconscious and he had a brain tumor.
409: Not really an nde but the us has about 22 deaths per 100000 births, and you're at more risk if you're older, so giving birth could've killed Maddie.
413-14: Eddie and Bobby getting shot: Again, 80% survival rate.
I can't really calculate Maddie's chances of dying of ppd or the chances of them dying in the prison riot/being kidnapped so 5a is pretty calm
516: Bobby (and May) getting hit by the roof: remember how I keep saying you have high odds of surviving if nothing falls on top of you and the debris is what's going to kill in a landslide or tsunami? This is the debris. But I also can't calculate the odds of them surviving that without the actual specifications of the roof of the call center, BUT there are studies about your odds of surviving your house collapsing, mostly because of earthquakes, a survival rate is estimated to be at about 6% if, if there's no fire, which there was. The chances do go up to 90% if you're hiding under something sturdy, it's why they teach you to go under something when an earthquake hits, the more you know.
517: Jonah stopping Chimney's heart: There's only a 20% chance of restarting someone's heart. Jonah did it twice. Not good odds for Chim. There might be different rules here tho since he never lost a shockable rhythm, I don't understand enough medicine to know for sure.
517: Hen and the propofol: too much propofol has a 32% chance of killing you. I don't know how much Jonah gave her, but death is in fact a side effect. Fun fact for you is that propofol is part of what killed Michael Jackson.
606: Karen's heart-stopping: that one has a 90% survival from a penetrating wound BUT since her heart stopped, we have to add that 20% chance of her heart restarting. You do only have a 6% chance of dying due to a splenectomy. The heart stopping is the big deal here.
610: Buck (and Eddie) and the lightning: You only have a 10% chance of dying being struck by lightning, mostly because the statistic takes into account getting hit with the charge being released from the primary target as being struck. So Eddie also counts here. Buck did die though.
610: Buck's heart stopping: Remember that 20% chance of restarting your heart? Only if cpr starts immediately. By medical personnel. In a hospital. You have 9% of surviving coding in the street. Buck didn't get cpr until 3 minutes after his heart stopped. His chances of survival are lower than that 9% but hard to calculate exactly.
618: Chim and the gurney stabbing him: I wanna say the 90% survival rate of a penetrating wound to the stomach, but he did remove the object and didn't get medical attention for a while so that lowered his chances.
618: Hen and the concussion: the odds of no damage here are 99%, yay Hen.
618: Eddie and the broken ribs: You actually have a 10% chance of dying from broken ribs.
618: Bobby trapped under the bridge: I'm gonna use the same odds from the roof in mayday and say it is at about 6%. Debris will kill you, dude.
701-3: Bobby and Athena and the ship capsizing: they were never fully submerged, so no risk of drowing, and you actually have a 99% chance of surviving a ship capsizing if rescued. Ngl, I was surprised about this one.
706: Chimney and the encephalitis: mortality rate is 40%.
709: Athena and the smoke inhalation: same odds as every other time, 27% mortality rate.
709: Bobby and his heart stopping for a whopping 14 minutes: He wasn't at a hospital but cpr started immediately, so 9% chance of his heart starting back up.
810: Maddie getting her throat slashed: There are no definitive odds on how likely you are to survive getting your throat slashed, the consensus seems to be that if it doesn't hit an artery, and Maddie's didn't hit an artery since arterial blood gushes and Maddie's didn't, and you apply pressure immediately, which Maddie did, a surgeon could save you, so she's a firm maybe. All places do seem to agree that the blood loss and stress should've made her miscarry tho.
Now that I got this very extensive list out of the way, that does lowkey need me to believe these characters are immortal or have the greatest luck in the unluck in the universe, let's get to the thing that matters.
Do you know what's the survival rate for CCHF? 70%. Bobby survived multiple events where his survival was at under 10%. But a virus with a 70% survival rate killed him. #LoveRealism
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Thank You For This Meal.
Sinister!Mark X GN!Reader (NSFWish?)
**Content Warning: Cannibalism as foreplay, obsessed behavior, cannon typical violence, idk if this counts as dubcon but I'm going to tag it anyway to stay safe 👍 Dead dove do not eat, basically **
Authors Note: as someone whose main blog's most liked post is about cannibalism metaphoring obsessive love you know I had to do it to ‘em. It's not super over the top but I respect when it's not someone's yum.
“You look absolutely mouth-watering right now, dear,” Mark hums. Despite the saccharine-sweet tone, it comes off as mocking.
You try to remind yourself to breathe, it would only encourage him more if he thought you were scared. He liked when your heart pittered in your chest like a rabbits in a hound's jaws. But in a way… weren't you?
Mark's reign of terror had come fast and brutal, as he operated with most things in life. Funnily enough, you'd never really known the extent of your powers until he'd taken over. Figuring out you could regenerate had been easy enough; a few scraped knees and papercuts fading in an instant had been enough to clue you in, but you still felt the pain when it happened, so it had never felt practical to do anything with it.
It had remained a convenient lucky draw for most of your life the way other people ended up with a fast metabolism or a few extra inches in height.
Then he took over.
People died by the millions, it was harder to stay alive than it was to give up at this point. Cities lay in ruin or leveled all together. Scavenging for food and water was to risk being spotted and being made into an example for anyone still foolish enough to resist Mark’s rule.
For the first few weeks, you’d naively thought yourself one of the lucky ones. Wounds sealed shut in seconds, while others suffered through severed limbs and festering infections. You never had to fear bleeding out, never had to fear dying.
But there were fates much worse than death.
Being discovered by Mark was a freak accident that had somehow become the new primary event your life orbited around.
You had banded together with a small camp of survivors, hoping to make it to Canada, where whispers of a resistance had begun to spread when Mark had found your little party.
It had been over in seconds. Wet blood and intestines had painted the dirt like a bad contemporary art piece.
You hadn't been spared either, it was the first time you'd really had put your powers to the test.
You'd gasped and coughed up thick iron as muscle rewound together under repairing torn flesh and blood reflowing its way through your veins as if the clock had been rewound. Your body rejecting Mark's easy destruction, refusing to stay ruined.
And Mark… Mark had looked at you like he'd never seen anything more beautiful.
His smile had felt like a death toll.
It's hard to say what exactly you'd become to mark. Some fractured version of a beloved pet maybe, on call and in demand at all times, affection and complete obedience was expected, and if it wasn't given? Mark had zero issues putting your powers to work. Bones turned to dust like brittle sticks under his hands, muscle peeled away like slow-roasted ribs, tendons snapped with a sicking ease, and just about anything popped with the right amount of pressure.
Tonight was just another night in a long list of obscenities.
The position you found yourself in was humiliating at best. Bound with rope, bare, spread out on the table, gagged, arranged with meticulous intent. The position meant to look equal parts erotic and appetizing, meant to stir some fine line between lust and hunger in the man stalking you like a starved wolf eager to indulge in both.
He closes in enough to run a gloved hand over your exposed thighs. Your muscles betray you and tense under his feather light advance, as he licks his lips.
“What would I do without you, huh?” He thumbs over the rope preventing you from closing your legs.
“So pretty so… appetizing.” He squeezes the fat of your thighs, drinking in the way your breath picks up.
He leans in between your legs, nuzzling against you, his warm breath ghosting over your skin. Watching you through dark eyelashes, eyes half lidded but gaze no less sharp as he takes in every twitch, every flinch, every reaction. You swear he salivates when your muscles go taunt.
“What's wrong, baby? Scared I’m going to–” He nips at your thighs then laughs at the way you flinch from the graze of his teeth.
“Yeah, I’d say I don’t bite, but… we both know that’s not true.”
Your breath hitches, and your eyes flicker up to the dark ceiling, knowing what's to come. The relief is short lived when Marks hand wraps around your chin with a grip like lead.
“Hey.” He forces you to meet his eyes, the amusement gone in an instant.
“Look at me. You know I hate when you do that.”
He reaches over to dip two of his fingers into some sort of dark sauce before he spreads it across your thigh in a slow deliberate motion that borders on reverent.
“I've been thinking about how you taste” he murmurs, licking the dark liquid off his fingers.
He smirks at the way you eye him.
“Oh don't have such a dirty mind. You know what I meant, although… that's not such a bad idea either.”
He puts his hands on your knees and spreads you impossibly further forcing you to arch your back slightly to stay in the position comfortably.
“Maybe after?” He muses almost thoughtful, “As a treat.”
Despite yourself, your heartbeat flutters. Whether out of fear of what's happening or the anticipation of what's to come you don't know, Mark has a weird way of making arousal and terror feel identical.
His grin sharpens, and you sympathize with the lowly fawn stalked by the lion. It never had a chance, and it seems…
Neither did you.
“Thank you for this meal.”
Mark's mouth opens and for someone who looked so human he had a way of making it feel like it was a maw that was about to wrap around the meat of your leg.
Blunt teeth start to break skin and you can’t tell if the droplets hitting the wood below are remnants of the sauce or the first beads of blood spilling out of you.
It hardly matters. It'd be back as soon as it was gone, mouthfuls of warm flesh for him to sink his teeth into and sate his never ending gluttony over and over again.
Because Mark Grayson broke everything he touched.
And finally, he'd found something that could survive it.
#invincible#mark grayson#invincible x reader#mark grayson x reader#sinister!mark x reader#sinister!mark#capevincible x reader#capevincible#that dumbass name amazon came up with smh...#dead dove do not eat#my fav freak 🙏
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OP Men When You're Injured
Context: I don't mean mortally injured, I'm talking something not too serious that kind of inhibits your movement like a broken bone or recovery from a surgery
Law, Kid, Ace, Luffy, Zoro, Sanji
Law
A/N: can we get a little commotion for this gif tho?? Why is he so perfect?? 😭
Law as a doctor is perfectly normal about your injury. He knows with some rest and eventual rehabilitation you'll be just fine. No big deal.
He makes sure you're healing well and comfortable, like he would with any patient
Law as your boyfriend is different.
In the case of an injury with no risk of infection, he'll press a kiss to it. Yes, like he's kissing your boo-boo 🥹
Law does not leave your side. He is your shadow. Where you go, he's right beside you or at the very least in the same room as you.
At first he deadass tries to convince you he's not lingering at all and he's the same as he always is.
But you both know he's lying. He practically moves his office wherever you decide to be for the day.
He can't help himself. What if you fall? What if you reinjure yourself? He's so pressed about the worst case scenarios, and given his past, can you blame him?
He quietly grumbles and pouts about his own "irrational" behavior because he knows in reality you can absolutely go about your day. You're a little slower but you're fine. But he just can't let you. As soon as you start to struggle, he's right beside you offering to help.
If you're aggravated by his hovering, he's twice as annoyed by it. He's literally so frustrated with himself lmao, you might end up having to comfort him instead.
Even if he complains (is it really complaining if he's actually happy lol) you're happy because all this extra time around you makes him extra affectionate. Law snuggles close to you, justifying his closeness by explaining how physical affection can lower cortisol levels.
KID
Oh Kid smh 😔he has no idea how to treat you so he just decides to behave like everything's normal lmao
Legitimately though, even if a inanimate object is what caused your injury, he's destroying it. Just out of pure fury that you were hurt.
He'll huff when you fall behind or have trouble doing something, but he just can't leave you to suffer
He's a man of action lol so he'll probably end up doing things for you just for efficiency sake. You're walking too slow? He picks you up. Can't grab or hold something? He'll do the whole thing for you and next time you try to do the same thing you find he's made something to make it a lot easier for you while you heal.
Anything you need to assist you he'll happily build.
If you have a cast or anything like that, he's gonna draw all over it (honestly, the whole crew will. You're gonna have the most bad ass cast ever)
He absolutely calls you a baby for wincing or complaining. He doesn't mean it...mostly.
If he's not keeping an eye on you than Killer is.
It's not like he's worried or anything! Fuck you for saying that!! He just doesn't want to hear or see you whining and complaining. It's annoying. Okay, sure Kid.
He genuinely hate seeing you in pain though, even if it's just wincing it reminds him of losing his arm and he never wants you to experience anything close to that.
ACE
Ace is your little emotional support boyfriend...or maybe it's the other way around 🤭.
He'll curl up at your side while you recuperate and completely dozes off.
He takes looking after you very seriously and asks Marco lots of questions, even if there's not a whole lot he can do.
He doesn't pity you, but he does feel really bad. Even if it was just an accident, he hates seeing you limited in any way.
He might accidentally treat you like you're made of glass.
It's just because he cares a lot, and he really doesn't want anything else to happen to you.
Every single morning he wakes up and asks how you're feeling or if you're in any pain.
There's a lot of people on the Moby Dick and accidents happen all the time, so don't be surprised when he literally clears a way for you to traverse around the ship.
I'm not saying he's impatient buuuut he will definitely glare at whatever part of you is injured and say, "Jeez, can you heal up already?"
He gives you space, but only if you ask for it. He just doesn't want you to feel like you're ever in this alone.
LUFFY
Luffy is neither patient nor gentle lol but he's extremely loyal
He'll goof off and continue to go on adventures, but he's not gone for long
Even his crew is surprised when tells them he's not going to get distracted because he knows you're back on the Sunny waiting for them.
He's always bringing cool things back to you since you can't do as much as you usually can. Just because you can't be right beside him doesn't mean you have to miss everything.
God bless him he's gonna try to bring you some meat so you'll heal faster 🤭.
He'll absolutely forget you're injured at some point and probably tackle hug you.
The last thing he'll let you do is stay cooped up in bed unless Chopper insists that you have to. Even if you need to rest you can do it right next to him on the head of the Sunny, right?
Exactly like Ace he's going to frown at whatever part of you is injured and say, "Jeez, can you heal up already?!"
He gets whatever you need and probably overdoes it. Need a glass of water? He just straight up brings you the whole barrel.
More is better! Besides, you need to hurry up and get better!
ZORO
He's not worried. He's so chill about it, actually. ...Until you start to move around.
The way he switches up is laugh worthy. He goes from nonchalant to overprotective in an instant.
He practically holds his breath as you make your way around the Sunny, watching you like a hawk.
Admittedly, he does tease you a little. He'll grab things for you, but hold them out of your reach or call you a little turtle if you move slower. He thinks it's very cute hehe.
For better or for worse, Zoro's not a hypocrite. He won't hound you to take it easy if you think you're up to a task. Even if Chopper really wishes he would.
He still won't leave you though, unless you're resting and stationary, he's by your side.
Zoro is your attack dog boyfriend. There's no way anyone (*ahem* Luffy) is fooling around too close to you. There's not going to be a chance you could get hurt more or reinjured.
When you're alone he checks in with you to make sure you're okay, not because he's shy about being soft in front of people but more so to protect your privacy.
He kind of likes doing extra things for you, he won't say it out loud but it makes him really happy when he can do things while you recover. He considers taking care of someone he loves to be such an honor.
SANJI
Unless whatever injured you is vitally important (e.g. the Sunny), he's kicking the shit out of it on principle because how dare anything even dare to hurt you lmao
Are you surprised that he dotes on you hand and foot? You shouldn't be.
I think it also goes without saying he is cooking you best meals.
They're gonna have to tie him down when it comes time for your rehabilitation because he wants to do everything for you.
He's such a sweet heart! He leaves you little messages like "you're doing great!" and "I love you!"
Literally this man lives with you on the ship and he still got you flowers, a get well card, and a little stuffed animal like he's not going to see you every single day
He loves carrying you (as long as it's Chopper approved). He's beaming down the sunny with you in his arms.
He makes the cutest little picnics so you can eat comfortably
Sanji's also an emotional support boyfriend lol. In between cooking for the crew and other duties, he's curled up right next to.
He might coddle you a little too much but it's just because he loves you so so so much
#one piece x reader#one piece x you#law x reader#one piece#one piece x reader headcanon#luffy x reader#sanji x reader#zoro x reader#kid x reader#ace x reader#roronoa zoro#portgas d ac#trafalgar law
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Rlly like ur yandere stuff. What are ur thoughts on Josh and Bill (specifically) fighting for the reader's love? They're the most toxic so it'd be interesting to think about.
Controlling You Makes Me Better

Summary: Yandere! Bill and Yandere! Josh fighting for readers love
TW/CW: Yandere tendencies, obsessive behavior, online stalking, online bullying, stalking, emotional abuse
A/N: You anon’s really want to die/POST
Reblogs are appreciated!
* The school would need to install a WWE ring if these two fought for the same person
* This time, it was Bill who fallen head first, though it wasn’t without challenges
* Probably thought you were just a normie in disguise. I mean, how else could you be “normal” AND have an interest in the nerdy stuff they dedicated their lives to
* Every time he saw you alone, he could feel himself getting aynersm
* You’ve infected him with your evil mind powers, dammit!
* He complain about this to the club cause “This could be a sign we’re going to be affected by THOSE people”
* Secretly, he keeps writing about you. It’s like he can only think about your name when he’s alone. His mom sometimes catches him curled up in his bed, just muttering your name
* Josh fell harder. He’s always been suspicious of you, but the moment you showed him kindness and actually briefly hear him talk about his interests, he was sold!
* He could spend hours upon hours writing you love letters. Plus, he’ll buy you the things you want and need (definitely didn’t break into your locker and found your interests that way)
* Cut to Pete and Jerry wondering where tf they went cause the club was over 30 minutes ago (they’re using the school computer to stalk your online profiles)
* Josh would drag Pete into this and try to convince him to stop Bill “from getting the one good thing in his life!”
* That would include making Pete into a “personal spy”.
* Can see Pete being more brave here since he really doesn’t give a fuck about Josh’s goal. He’d be pretty stiff while talking to you though, as Josh instructed him to ONLY ask for personal information about you, no expectations
* He’ll make Pete proofread his letters before stuffing them into your locker. Pete would make sure Josh makes said letters much more graphic than they need to be (mainly to fuck with him, but also see if you’re actually into shit like that)
* Bill uses Jerry for the online portion. At this point, Jerry knows Bill’s Greedo318, and definitely has another account to use 4chan and other lolcow sites for
* Bill’s mission? Make Josh the worst lolcow possible. He’s already one for the group, how hard could it be online?
* Forcing Jerry to spend hours into the night to find both information about you and Josh.
* He’s sleep deprived, but manages to find incriminating evidence against Josh (mostly about him getting into rage bait + obsessiveness of his favorite franchise. Jackpot
* Going under ANOTHER account, Bill would make consistent uploads of Josh’s activity and encourage online bullying/trolling of him to an extreme
* He’ll even get Jerry to do the same thing with the other half, and make it look as deplorable as possible.
* In real life, Bill would avoid you, as he doesn’t want you “to infect his mind more than it already has” (though he’ll stuff a collectible you’ve been looking at for a while)
* Can imagine Pete and Jerry complaining to each other how sick they are for working with the two of them, but ultimately still doing so out of fear + curiosity
* It’s getting overwhelming, having constant gifts and explicit love letters thrown your way. You may even want to get a new locker (don’t worry! A quick search in the school database will ensure they find your new location)
* Not to mention constantly being harassed by four nerds. You may want to consider moving schools (or states)
#the eltingville club#welcome to eltingville#eltingville club#bill dickey#eltingville bill#eltingville#pete dinunzio#bill eltingville#jerry stokes#yandere bill dickey#the eltingville club bill#bill dickey x reader#the eltingville club josh#josh levy x reader#eltingville josh#josh eltingville#joshua levy#josh levy#yandere josh levy#yandere tec#eltingville comic#eltingvile club#tec x reader#yandere x you#yandere x reader#yandere character#yandere
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You're becoming oddly ableist.
Talking about medical reality isn't ableism
One of the most striking findings was that post-COVID deficits in hospitalized patients look similar to 20 years of normal aging. The team also found that people who had been hospitalized with COVID had reduced brain volume in key areas and abnormally high levels of brain injury proteins in their blood.
Our findings indicate that COVID-19 is associated with molecular signatures of brain aging and emphasize the value of neurological follow-up in recovered individuals.
The pandemic has highlighted the complex interplay between viral infection, immune aging, and brain health, that can potentially accelerate neuroimmune aging and contribute to the persistence of long COVID conditions. By inducing chronic inflammation, immunosenescence, and neuroinflammation, COVID-19 may exacerbate the processes of neuroimmune aging, leading to increased risks of cognitive decline, neurodegenerative diseases, and impaired immune function. Key factors include chronic immune dysregulation, oxidative stress, neuroinflammation, and the disruption of cellular processes. These overlapping mechanisms between aging and COVID-19 illustrate how the virus can induce and accelerate aging-related processes, leading to an increased risk of neurodegenerative diseases and other age-related conditions.
"COVID-19-induced microhemorrhagic lesions may exacerbate DNA damage in affected brain cells, resulting in neuronal senescence and activation of cell death mechanisms, which ultimately impact brain microstructure-vasculature," says Dr. Muralidhar L. Hegde, Ph.D., a professor of neurosurgery at Houston Methodist and a corresponding author of the review. "These pathological phenomena resemble hallmarks of neurodegenerative conditions like Alzheimer's and Parkinson's diseases and are likely to aggravate advanced-stage dementia, as well as cognitive and motor deficits."
Covid results in brain damage. Brain damage results in shifts in behavior and/or personality. This is something that must be discussed.
Signed,
Someone who experienced life-altering brain damage three times as a teenager
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I had a dream I was in a government building and there had been an outbreak of a parasite on the fifth floor. It was a small yellow or red ball that attached itself to you somewhere and changed your behavior in two ways:
1. You couldn't see it on yourself, so you wouldn't remove it
2. You felt that you couldn't leave your current location without taking some of the furniture with you.
So the top floor of the building was full of people trying to lug chairs and tables and parts of the cafeteria down the stairs, with the elevators long since jammed as people were trying to fit bookshelves and couches in them. People were climbing out windows and using ropes to get to lower floor, all while tightly gripping a lamp or office chair.
I escaped that way, and then had my parasite removed (by an owl biting it off, natch) and I discovered I'd been doubley parasited: I knew I'd gotten infected once, but I didn't realize it had happened twice, because of the way it was affecting my mind.
Once I was out (I only made it to the third floor), they sent me back up (apparently having had it before made you immune?) to tell them about what I saw there: the government had a tank and a laser cannon and was planning to blow up the fifth floor to end the threat.
I tell the infected that, and they panic, and try to escape even harder... Still with their furniture and such.
I was let out then, but couldn't get that far from the building thanks to some other drivers doing some Carmageddon Shit to each other. One of them had a chainsaw big enough to cut a car in half in one swipe!
They didn't get me, but the resulting pile-up got my car trapped on the highway.
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Good evening folks! I'm dropping this lil headcanon thingy that's been on my brain, that very much leans into the fanon territory!
Trigger warnings just in case!: Mentions of mild cannibalism because it's Alastor, and biting
I'm still figuring out how to properly write Alastor so this may be OOC! This was not proofread so please don't mind any grammar mistakes! Enjoy reading!
Alastor just causally bites, Mainly your arms and shoulders, not in a sexual way he just... Bites
Your shoulder is exposed? How scandalous! Your getting bit, he's holding your wrist for whatever reason? CHOMP, You wear something that exposes your forearms? You guessed it! It's biting time!
Broski's teeth are SHARP, don't be surprised if you end up bleeding a bit and bro just takes that as like juice, a liquid snack,
A sauce if you will,
Of course the biting typically takes place in private or when the others aren't looking, because basic decency, just because you're in eternal damnation doesn't mean you should lack proper manners! Especially if you're romantically involved!
Also his eyes do the tweaking out thing whenever he bites you
Oh you think he's gonna look dapper and handsome when biting? No.
he looks like someone just injected feral juice and some type of drug into him, even if it's for a spilt second

This is what you get when he bites,
Is it his way of showing affection? Is it some type of weird way to gain control over you? Maybe it's to make you flustered or lose your composer for a second perhaps even to cause you a moment of misery because he's a weirdo
Or emergency snack time,
I know he's a cannibal and not a vampire but I feel like you toss some glitter on him and shine a flashlight at him he'll be a decent dupe for that one guy in twilight
I also feel like you would NOT survive doing that to him, do not throw glitter on the Radio demon and then blind him with a flashlight
You two could be having a very nice time, taking a walk, maybe your just sitting side by side somewhere and he'll just gently take your arm and before you can even process it you feel a stinging feeling and you see the oh so feared Radio demon with his teeth mid-way into your arm looking goofy, so silly.
I feel like if you start biting him back he'll either be displeased with it and nip that behavior in the bud or it becomes a game between you two,
Bonding by just chompin' down on your S/O's arm very wholesome
Also I don't know if you can get infections from getting bit in Hell but I feel like you should disinfect the bites, he might have something
Thank you for tuning in and reading folks! I hope you all have a wonderful evening!
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Content warning (light) : Experiments / Abuse / Body and eye horror tw(?)


The album cover is sick as hell, I initially thought it was skeletal parts, but it looks the most like an MRI scan showing a brain with a lot of abnormalities, including signs of head trauma.
The most profound detail I found in the "brain" is the dark spots.
Dark spots in the brain are usually the result of a brain lesion, a permanently damaged area of the brain usually caused by injury, infections, exposure to certain chemicals, etc. General trauma.
If it's someone's brain, I suspect it's Till's brain. aside from Luka, he has been through the worst of the Alien's mistreatment since he was a child, under Urak's (the bastard's) care he had been exposed to much abuse. The sheer harshness and hostility of Urak's "training" make it obvious why he was probably one of the only pets to withstand it all.




Life-long injury in some form is surely a given to me. Seeing as it's already been mentioned that because of Urak's abuse, his pets rarely make it to the end because of the mental issues they had developed, and experiments can kill them before they even make it to the stage.
Back to the brain, it has a lot of abnormalities (especially in its appearance). I can't explain much, I'm not a neurologist. But based on the research I did the the most damage seems to be near the Frontal lobe and the Precentral gyrus.
source source source
This could explain Till's already implied mental problems, one of them (In my opinion) being some form of dissociation, round 6 was the most telling as his behavior was out of sorts having been broken down he changed drastically, throughout the whole round he was emotionally distant, i'd probably describe it as him being in a daze.
And his hallucination of Mizi during the karaoke scene could be a symptom of that to ease out of the moment.
(I also see that as more of a coping mechanism for Till, but I'm taking it into account for this since it's likely.)
Experiments always looked intense, I wonder just what chemicals and substances he was exposed to, in one of the opening scenes of CURE we're shown what looks to be DNA splitting, or duplicating? there could be a multitude of reasons for that. But it makes me curious just how deep this goes, and how much it affected Till. There is a lot of things about him that could be explained with Urak's presence in his life.
Having his brain tampered with to such a degree, I think we'll start to see the horrific effects come to light here soon.
#im not well#alien stage#alnst#alnst till#alien stage till#as soon as i fucking find you urak as soon as i FIND YOU#USFG#RUGH#AURGH#explodes#STAY AWAY FROM HIM#GET A JOB#the fact that this could also be Luka's brain just really highlights how similiar their situations are#i hope that the psychological effects of the bastard's abuse on Till is showcased more in round 7#tell me if i missed a cw i don't normally do that but I'm trying to get into the habit#ough watch me edit the fuck out of this later#snotty sniffling#till alien stage#till i love you#you dont deserve this man#FUCK URAK#in one of the frames of cure. there is also a scene where it looks like dna is being duplicated#till's likely. during an experiment#so whos to say urak didnt...meddle with his brain a bit#to study him or something?#likely enough to me
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Is "safe sex" even real? Never done it so idk but you mentioned risk profiles once. I feel like demographically I've got a higher risk profile and the anxiety about that really prevents me from going and trying anything. Do you think that's overly anxious in a negative way?
"safe sex" is a really misleading and binary term. There is never any guarantee of safety in anything we do. Every choice we make comes with risks. Hell, choosing not to connect with other people sexually (if you have any desire to) does ITSELF come with its own risks and costs over time.
The chase after perfect, guranteed safety will only lead to us feeling powerless and afraid, because it is an impossibility. All that we can do is inform ourselves of the risks, mitigate the risks we are the most concerned about and that affect others, and then knowingly accept what risks we still face as the cost of leading a full, enjoyable life.
When we inform ourselves about risk mitigation, we learn there are certain steps that we should probably take to protect ourselves and others if we are engaging in behavior that carries risk. If you're having sex with a complete stranger, it's probably smart to use a condom. If you have sex regularly you might want an HPV vaccine or to be on PreP to prevent HIV transmission. When you meet up with people you should get tested for COVID. You should get vaccinated against COVID. If you want to get suspended in rope from the ceiling don't use a hardware store $3 carabeener, get the good shit from the rock-climbing supply store. Things like that.
But even if you use a condom, you might get herpes or HPV or crabs or a yeast infection. Even if you never have sex, you might already have herpes or HPV or crabs or a yeast infection. I've had several of those things, including some of the "scarier" sounding ones, and they're really not that big a deal. They're just a thing that happens in life. Most people have them. You pop a Valtrex when you have symptoms, you shove a suppostiory up your vulva when it itches, you sleep without underwear on, you communicate with partners, you move on with your life.
Sure, I do what I can to avoid the risks I am most concerned about. I take PreP right now because not getting HIV would be preferable to me. But I could still live if I got it. I am informed about the realities of living with HIV today, which makes that fear more manageable. It is easier for me to make carefully considered and yet realistic decisions surrounding my risk profile because I can confront the realities that scare me and learn more about them.
The body is not separable form its environment. We are connected to our surroundings and the people around us, and our bodies get sick, catch viruses, grow old, get messy, and die inevitably and return to the earth. With our one life, we each have to choose what is most important to us and what potential costs we can stand. But with each year that passes, a cost to our bodies is already incurred, and there's nothing we can do to prevent aging and death from coming our way.
So what would you like to do while you are around? Would you like to have sex with condoms? Go on PreP? Get the HPV vaccine? Take random loads in a glory hole? Make out and dry hump with a cutie at a party and catch her cold sore? Cross the street in the dark after looking both ways? Go out dancing so late that your sleep is disrupted for the whole week? Get your heart broken? Have a great all-consuming love? Have children? Endure a torn labia while giving birth? Try psychedelics? Go on a swinger's cruise? Get a UTI from spermicide? Roleplay online instead of meeting in person? Fuck people with a strap-on?
The choice is yours. And no choice you make will be perfect or come without risk. No life is safe. Accepting loss is one of the necessary tasks of leading a life. But you can educate yourself, reflect on what you most want out of life and what you fear, and then take steps to demystefy your worst fears and mitigate the risks that loom largest to you and the people you care about.
Whatever you decide, I hope you have some fun.
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"Oh my, I just signed into a new account in this app with this random phone. Since it was around few days without being touched, i decided to claim and it is mine now! I wonder what do i do here? Do i just talk with people out of nowhere? Perhaps making friends... Oh! Maybe find other people who i know in this app too! I'm so excited to start this journey here. 💕"
NOTE ;; (Updated.)
This is an AU Roleplay account. Feel free to interact with Shelly, or her other friends to acknowledge the situation more better. Dandy's world oc, Roleplay account or other AUs are allowed to interact.
SITUATION
This is an Alternative universe of Shelly having the Lovesick Effect. The Lovesick effect only affects people whom constantly feeling down, angry, ETC, and can be left Permanent sick if untreated properly or soon.
The ones who are Affected by this are; Shelly, Shrimpo, Razzle and Dazzle, Astro, Boxten, And Goob.
The dead toon is only Poppy due to past interactions had happened before.
INFORMATION
Dazzle is the first Toon/Mascot to get Lovesick in the first place, Lastly Astro to get Lovesick at the end.
Lovesick can spread throughout in physical contact, or in emotional. And can changes people minds constantly in place and mess with their brain causing them to act all Lovely-Dovey to the ones they are close with only.
Shrimpo's attention is all over Goob and Boxten, For multiple reasons, he had infected them both along the way which caused them to be sick.
Astro is still a quiet Toon/Mascot, But more likely happier than before. Dandy are avoiding him at some point to avoid being Affected by Lovesick which causing Astro constantly feeling a bit Heartbroken. Luckily, Shelly is always there to make him feel loved.
Dazzle cries often of being constantly Heartbroken. Razzle helps him calm down alot to avoid being constantly heartbroken when being ignored, Making Dazzle feel better afterwards. (No. They are not in love or whatsoever, They are more like Brothers to each other.)
Shelly REALLY loves to be around with Vee and Tisha. Even when Vee constantly push her away, She doesn't give up nonetheless. Tisha also keeps her distant to avoid being Affected, but sometimes talks to her to engage in conversation to let her know more about Shelly in the state.
CHART OF RELATIONSHIP
* Will not be updated on this one. Keep that in mind Goob and Boxten are newest ones.
Shrimpo/Astro ; They do not get along at all. No reason, But Astro have reasons that he cannot express.
Astro/Dazzle ; They get along pretty well! They talk alot and express their feelings, Constantly greeting in sight to maintain friendliness towards each other!
Dazzle/Shelly ; They get along pretty fine. But at some point whenever Shelly sees Dazzle in such a state she would think Dazzle is too naive to find someone loveable. While Dazzle seeing Shelly get constantly pushed away, He often thinks that she's being pushy to others. But nonetheless, They do get along pretty fine.
Shelly/Shrimpo ; Shrimpo does NOT like how Shelly is being a pushover while Shelly thinks that Shrimpo is overreacting. Only if Shrimpo didn't constantly judge her pushy behavior.
Shrimpo/Dazzle ; Shrimpo sometimes thinks Dazzle needs to behave and stop being too naive to give out love to people, yet feel bad and wonder why he always like this. For Dazzle, He sees Shrimpo always thinks about how he is naive, but Dazzle does not see that way and reassure Shrimpo that he is ok.
Astro/Shelly ; Astro thinks that Shelly is okay. And Shelly thinks Astro is cool!
Feel free to interact with Shelly! She is(n't) 'new' here in Tumblr afterall!
#dandy's world#art#dandys world#dandy's world au#lovesick#dandy's world rp#dandy's world shelly#dandy's world shrimpo#dandy's world astro#dandy's world razzle and dazzle#infection au#mark my words jawsinnnn...
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Stellar Behavior 💜 Part 3
“It's not the price of anything or a deal. Just let me eat you out again.”
PAIRING: Officer!Yoongi x Mafia (f)reader
SUMMARY: Yoongi needs you again, and you strike a deal. This time, you don't ask for any favors, though. Now what?
WORD COUNT: 5.9k
GENRE: Gangster AU, Law AU, enemies to lovers, smut
RATING: R (explicit)
WARNINGS: corruption, power dynamics, mentions of crimes, guns, knifes, semi-public sex, fingering, oral (f rec), masturbation (both), caught having sex, unprotected sex, switching, bratty, hate sex...
A.N. Ignore the excuse for steamy hot sex... Again, infinite thank yous to @moonleeai and @downbad4yoongi for working through my crazy and being incredible! Enjoy 🔥🔥
Masterlist | Masterpost | AO3 | Wattpad | < Previous Chapter | Next Chapter >
Yoongi threw the package of gum across the desk, ignoring it when it fell to the floor of his office. It was empty, again, and his fingers were twitching with how much he needed a fix. He huffed; as if quitting smoking fucking mattered.
His last promotion so many months back had not come without its challenges. His bosses knew how difficult his cases were, but after he saved Officer Jimin, they chose him for the job. He heaved a deep breath and pressed his eyes beneath his eyeglasses; the problem was that he wasn't the one who actually fixed it then, and he didn't have a way to fix things now.
He thought about you more often than he'd care to admit. Initially, he thought you had infected him. How else was it that he thought of you for no reason, got boners at random times just remembering something about you, or couldn't jerk off without thinking of you?
It was all because he was lust-crazed the last time you were together. He shouldn't have succumbed to it and given you what you wanted, but he was thinking with his dick. That was it. He didn't know he could act like that, but he guessed you did that to him. So he shouldn’t have been intimate with you or let it get to his fucking head, let alone have your name written across his cock for months for no reason. He was an idiot, but no one else got him going. And so he had given you everything you wanted.
He held his end of the deal once he checked the address you gave him. It was easy to get a warrant since witnesses were placing key directors of the conglomerate in that area, and in a second, everything had gone down. Like wildfire spreading, the amount of incriminating evidence found in that gambling house was still turning heads months later. It was a win for the department, a success with the public, and it affected a long chain of people in power, from managers to politicians. Once again, Yoongi was seen as the face of justice, and he was left uneasy about it.
He had used the flash drive well, but first, he asked his team to investigate its contents. He was done with being your puppet; you were as bad as the people you were helping put away. How the hell had you gotten that info? You had a reputation regarding information, but still. What did you know? And how did you know it?
Unfortunately, he couldn't find anything. All he had were suspicions and gut feelings, but that wasn't much of a case. Still, he'd get to the bottom of it. He'd find your dirty little secrets, and not because he wanted to have something on you like you had on him. Not because he wanted to blackmail you, but to level the playing field.
The problem was that he needed you again. He handled his cases fairly well, but a drug operation had just gone south. The undercover agent who infiltrated to bust the biggest net of distribution in Seoul had just died in a shootout, and they couldn't even recover the body because the dealers took him with them. The family needed to be informed, and without their son to bury, it was bound to be a huge problem. It didn't matter that Yoongi took over the operation a couple of months ago; his head would roll, and he wouldn't be able to bring peace to the lost agent or his family. He sighed and pressed his eyes; his failure he could handle, but not leaving the grieving family like this.
So he got up, left his office, and crossed the parking lot to his car. He worked at a more prominent building now, but the road was the same one as he drove to Aether. He couldn't think of anyone else who could help, and you had always come through. Maybe you knew where his body was or how to get to him, or any other information that could help. It didn't hurt to try, even for a price.
The sly smiles you gave him popped into his mind, but he stayed focused. That wouldn't happen again, and this was bigger than him. This was about doing the right thing again, and you'd surely understand.
He was surprised when the security at the Aether recognized him and instantly let him in without checking him. As he followed a member of the club's staff down a familiar path, he considered that he had only been there once, so that had to be your doing.
Before he could think further about it, he was stepping into your office with the door closing behind him. You were wearing a white shirt with a couple of buttons open and had your hair up in a messy bun, sitting at your desk working at your computer as if you had a simple office job. You stayed focused, typing whatever you needed before waving for him to take a seat. His eyes traced every detail of your focused expression. You looked healthy and glowing, focused on your work, and he wondered if things were working out for you.
“My, you look stiff, Chief,” you commented, taking a glance at him before wrapping up whatever was taking your full attention from him. Your smile had a hint of mischief, and it was a relief. “In need of a drink? Must be, after the whole drug mess and agent down ordeal.”
His shoulders softened, “I need your help.”
You straightened your shoulders, “Why would I help you?”
“Because there must be something you want.”
Silence stretched between you as you both just eyed each other. Neither one gave away what was running through your minds, and he decided to wait quietly. He could overthink this — excuse himself for calling you greedy and/or letting you think he meant it sexually — or wait for your spirited self to run the show.
He was certain about waiting, thus having time to adjust to you, and yet you scrunched your nose slightly and looked away when a notification popped up on the screen. It made him feel uneasy in your presence for the first time, and he decided to change his approach. He was coming to you for help; the least he could do was make it interesting for you, too.
“I thought it could be in your interest as well,” he restarted, sitting comfortably. “They're stepping into your territory, no?”
“I'm not in the drug market.”
“But you want to be.”
His heart started racing, and he cursed you in his mind. Did you want him to chase you? To plead and beg like before? Did you have to look so effortlessly breathtaking doing it?
The corners of your lips twitched, and it was the only hint of the familiar mischievousness he was used to. You stayed quiet as you considered things, even eying the paperwork on your desk in front of you for a moment.
He wondered if he should say something else when you finally said, “If I help you bust their network and get your agent, you'll let me take some of their product.”
He pursed his lips, “If I bust them, I'll already be helping you with a competitor.”
“But without immediate product, I won't be able to control the market and distribute it safely,” you shrugged, and he was mesmerized. You were doing business, and he shouldn't be that entranced, but he was. “Trust me, that's the only right way of doing it. Otherwise, the small fries will start selling bad products and have people sick and overdosing on your streets.”
He knew his answer but insisted anyway, “And my agent?”
“He's been moved to one of their warehouses where coincidentally they have their ‘clinic’,” you used your fingers to quote, then pressed your lips. “They'll dump him somewhere soon.”
He nodded. That was one of his fears. They needed to get rid of the body so as not to be incriminated, and he needed to get to him before they did something irreversible.
“What can you do?”
You hummed, “Addresses and names. But we'll need to coordinate when you raid them so some products can slip through the cracks. Except for that particular warehouse, you should go there as soon as possible.”
“We have a deal.”
You reached for a sticky note and scribbled before giving it to him. “I can arrange for people to support your operation quietly in a couple of hours.”
He caught the sticky note, rolling it in his fingers. “I can't do it that quickly.”
You nodded and asked for the paper again, then added something under it before returning it. “My private number. Use a burner and let me know.”
He took the note and looked at it nonchalantly, but his teeth still nipped his bottom lip. Why was he getting that excited? It wasn't a date. It meant absolutely nothing. And yet, he felt giddy when he looked at you getting back to your paperwork. He wanted to jump from the chair and—
“Was there anything else?”
You asked, looking up from the documents as though you were surprised he was still there.
He pressed his lips, “Just… We made a deal.”
“Yes.”
“And I guess I didn't leave you wanting like last time.”
You sat back and gave him your full attention again, though your typical mischief was nowhere to be found.
“Are you trying to say you expected a sexual favor?”
“Yes.”
You scoffed, “Well then, shouldn't you be happy there isn't one?”
He didn't respond and just evaluated your reaction. Were you upset with him? Why weren't you teasing him relentlessly for even bringing it up? Were you no longer interested? But then, why did you sound just a little bit annoyed? Was he reading into it too much, or could he just already read you?
He got up and put the paper inside his jacket pocket before taking it off and leaving it on the chair. You observed him and straightened even more against your office chair when he circled the desk to get to you.
“I didn't request anything,” you reiterated.
“I know,” he answered calmly, turning your chair to him.
“I'm not threatening you either,” you added, your eyebrows furrowing slightly in confusion.
He looked down at where he knew your knife would be and nodded, “You're not.”
You looked up at him, almost flabbergasted, “So what is it? Or do you just want to hear praise or something—”
“Thought you'd tease me about it,” he admitted, then moved to his knees because standing and forcing you to look up didn't seem natural.
You pressed your lips, “There's nothing to tease. You gave me exactly what I asked for.”
From that angle, you looked even more powerful, almost majestic. His brain was really wired wrong because instead of happily leaving through the door, he wanted to touch you.
But he wouldn't until he understood, “And there's nothing else you want?”
“There is,” you didn't hesitate, almost making him smile. But he didn't because you didn't seem at ease.
“Then ask.”
“There's no need.”
“And if I want you to?”
“Why would you want that?”
Your suspicion was plain in your light frown, and he took a moment to think it over, “Because we should celebrate. We're doing something good.”
You tilted your head, “We're saving your ass.”
He rolled his eyes; it wasn't just that, and you knew it. “And that's also a good thing. So let's enjoy it.”
“You’re already going to pay me for—”
“It's not the price of anything or a deal. Just let me eat you out again.”
Your eyes widened, “What?”
Your stupefied look wasn’t enough for him to back down nor to think closely about what he was doing. He looked down at your legs, covered above the knee by a raised skirt with golden floral patterns. Every ticking second increased his eagerness, no matter how patient and composed he seemed. He could already see his long fingers indenting the flesh of your thighs, and he could almost remember the exact scent between them, too; it made him dizzy with want.
“You just…” You started, tilting your head slightly again, drawing his eyes up. “Want to give me head… to celebrate?”
He hummed, licking his lips subconsciously, and you blinked. It took you a second, but a crooked smile pulled your lips, and you spread your legs. You exuded a snobbish nonchalance that almost annoyed him. Still, there was a clear invitation in your actions that he prioritized over anything that could stop him from getting what he wanted.
His fingers gripped your outer thighs gently as he moved in, nuzzling your soft skin with a deep breath. He could have forgotten why he wanted to be that close in the months that passed, but taking in your sweet scent, he chose to forget everything else instead. The fact that he shouldn’t do this, that he didn’t have to, the cameras, the time and place; none of it mattered. There was no use in letting the disgust or frustration disrupt the moment he’d finally attained what he had fantasized about for so long. His teeth and tongue teased you gently, earning your hand in his hair, and he sighed, relaxed. Just for a little while, he’d admit he wanted it and grasp it all.
Still, he moved slowly, or as slowly as he could in his urge. His deft fingers dragged the hem of your skirt slowly back while he feasted on the sight being revealed, an inch at a time. His tongue kept circling over your sensitive skin, yearning for what he knew would soon be unveiled, and your deepening breath only made his hunger stronger. Your nails were grazing the back of his head, massaging his scalp in waves as if you wanted to pull him closer and urge him to move faster. He could only agree with you, but there was a sweet torture in making you both long for it.
“Is it the humiliation, Chief?”
Your voice was a wanton breath that had him sinking his teeth just a little more while he finally revealed what was under your skirt.
“No,” he murmured back, voice taken.
Why were you not wearing any underwear? He could have asked, but the question slipped from his mind. One second he was taking in the view of your glistening slit, juicy just for him with barely a touch; the next, he was jumping forward, springing on his heels to press his face to your core as hard as he could to taste you.
His tongue darted out, spreading over your lips to open them, tasting and collecting as much of your wetness as possible, and you moaned. He heard it; you didn’t mean to, but you wiggled on your chair to give him better access and intensify those sensations, melting you, releasing even more of you for him to taste.
He could have made you work for it, but he was thirsty and, like a junkie, addicted. Every drop made him forget himself and crave the next, and when it came, it reminded him why he wanted it all to begin with. You were a force of nature, reacting to him like the perfect storm — quaking above him, breathing heavily with your voice etched quietly to the little wheezes, trembling with your legs firm around his head. He sighed, nuzzling your clit greedily. After longing for you for months, your taste had finally invaded his mouth, and along with your scent, he was drowning. A sigh of contentment escaped his lips — he had reached paradise.
Your thighs clenched around his head, and he tried to prevent you from pushing him away by holding onto you tighter, but the arms of your office chair were making things difficult.
He was displeased but had to move away and breathe, “Stay still.”
“Yoongi…”
Your voice was broken, and your flushed, desperate expression twisted his guts unexpectedly. In a second, he rose to his feet and grabbed your arms, yanking you to stand up before dragging you with him. You didn’t offer resistance, pliable to him, just like last time.
He placed you in front of the smoked glass overseeing the dance floor of Aether just below, and you extended your arms to support yourself on it. Instantly, his lips latched onto the back of your neck, right under your messy bun. Your moan gave him goosebumps, and he didn’t stop, tracing your curves with big, open hands while suckling your skin.
You drove him crazy. Last time, you were sitting above him, pleasuring yourself on his face like you owned him, and now, you were letting him position you and touch you to his heart’s content. He wanted to get on his knees so you’d grind on his face, but he also craved leading you to the state you were in right now, at your utmost vulnerability, letting him do as he pleased.
But all he wanted to do was get more. Like an alcoholic downing a drink after a long drought, he craved more of you with every inch he touched, whiff he took, and flavor he swallowed. Even with you vulnerable in his arms like that, he didn’t want to subdue you or take advantage — quite the opposite.
He kneeled and moved to slot himself between your parted legs and the glass. He yanked the skirt back up to have unrestrained access before licking and biting your mound while his fingers traced a slow, maddening trail up your legs. You groaned above him, and he was lost again, needing more of your voice just like that.
He gripped your ass, pulling you flush to his face with his lips brushing your clit. You jolted, searching for something more than a fleeting touch, and he groaned. The more you gave him, the more he wanted; there was no holding back.
“Look,” he whispered, looking up at you. Your open lips, graciously letting your quiet whimpers out, trembled, and he nuzzled your bikini line. Your scent intensified his crazed desire, but he insisted, “Look at them.”
You did, as one hand of his kept you in place, grabbing your ass cheek, and the other disappeared between your legs. He observed you, taking in how you gasped when his digits sunk inside, widening your eyes at the unsuspecting crowd. It set his nerve endings on fire the way you whimpered softly above him while your slick slid down his fingers as he pressed inside your velvet flesh. It was why he needed more, coaxing you with his hooked fingers to see where he could take you.
Your whimpers became inconsistent, and not even a thumb rubbing your clit made you fall into the rhythm. On the contrary, you kept tightening, moaning, and yet he could sense the note of annoyance in your tone. His eyes and mouth were on you, licking the soft spot where your leg met your mound, and he wondered what more could you possibly want.
He knew you were close; he had obsessed over the little signs of your peak, and he was seeing them now: your lip tucked between your teeth as you fought rolling your head back while moans slipped from your throat. And yet, you weren’t letting it happen. Why?
The answer came when you grasped his hair between your fingers and pulled him to the right spot. You forced him there while you humped his face, pressing his head to the glass, and a smile crept on his face. Your moans became desperate as you viciously chased your climax on his mouth, and the euphoria lit his head like fireworks. He didn’t know why, but you taking what you wanted from him was so fucking hot, his hard cock was aching inside his pants.
It didn’t take long for you to find the perfect friction, and he helped by suckling. The moment your clit slotted between his lips and he sucked hard, you tried to move but it was too late. He heard it in the pitch of your moan, the way you cowered over him against the glass, and the faint grind as you trembled against his mouth. You were heavenly— like a godsent delicacy, your orgasm only accentuated your taste, your divinity, and like a fool, he couldn’t resist.
You pulled away. He knew that moment would come, and perhaps that was why his tongue had been restless. Even during your aftershocks, he still searched for more, licking your cum off your swollen lips like an opportunistic slob. Yet, he relented when you moved back and stayed kneeling to give you space, removing only his head from the glass.
His dick was throbbing in his pants, crying for attention and relief, but his mind was somewhere else. His hungry eyes stayed on you as he wiped his chin, and you composed yourself. He had what he wanted. Of course, he’d have more if he could, but a part of him expected you to tell him to leave now that you were satiated. It would both anger him and amuse him if it were the case, so he was anticipating what would happen next.
“Sit down.”
He almost jolted, confused. He was already kneeling—
“Sit,” you insisted more firmly, pointing at your office chair.
You walked over and perched yourself on the desk, facing the chair between you two, and suddenly, he thought that maybe it wasn’t over yet. He got up and did as you asked, spreading his legs to accommodate his hard dick. It wasn’t a hint. He wasn’t able to think that far. All he could do was look at you, already so tranquil, when he wanted to mess you up all over again.
“Pull your dick out.”
He burned from the inside out, taking seconds to comply with a muted eagerness. He remembered you saying that last time all too well, and the thought of you using him again got him so excited his fingers were shaking.
“Grab it,” you said, and he did, fighting to keep his eyes open to look at you.
You were observing every move of his long fingers, and you surely didn’t miss how his cock was weeping. Your tongue peeked out between your lips as he spread it over the tip, and the sight was enough for him to release more. His balls tensed, still tucked tight inside his pants as his whole body screamed for release. Wouldn’t you put him out of his misery?
“Show me,” you demanded, licking your lips, and he almost groaned. His plea must have been clear in his eyes because you bit your lip. “Show me how you work your cock.”
His palm moved down his length, and he shook his head. He needed to feel you, to touch you, to have you on his lap, moaning with every plunge of his hard cock inside you, and yet you changed everything. You just had to ask for something, and he instantly did it, like a puppet entranced by your charms. Not even the principles he upheld withstood; there was only them or you, and you were undeniable.
Doing what you asked had its dangers, but having your full attention was worth it. Your dark eyes were boring into his, drinking the sight of him fisting himself on your chair like you were equally hypnotized. Fortunately for Yoongi, jerking off meant controlling how soon he’d blow, and he could edge himself all night if it meant having the chance of you riding him.
He didn’t count on you opening your shirt slowly, pushing each button through its eyelet, working your way from top to bottom as though the fabric bothered you. But the more you revealed, the harder it was to stay put. Your unblemished skin looked appetizing, smooth, begging to be licked, bitten, shown the meaning of want. Your breasts, tucked inside your bra, looked too constrained for his taste. He knew what your round breasts looked and tasted like, and he was on the verge of begging for the chance to touch them. He could drive you crazy, he wanted to, and—
He held his breath and slowed his hand, taking you in like a mirage. You squeezed your tits over the bra, moaning under your breath before those same hands moved lower to pull your skirt up. Your legs spread, and he almost jumped, the sight of your slick dripping ever so slightly a pure taunt that he wanted to follow through. But your hand moved down to rub your clit, and he groaned.
You were driving him fucking insane. He could have pumped his cock a bit harder and come, but why the fuck would he when your wet heat was right there? He wanted it, and you, and your tantalizing scent and sensual moans, and—
It was so subtle he almost missed it. While one hand worked your clit and another had fun gripping your chest, your head fell back to breathe heavily, and your feet dangled in his direction before settling. It might have been nothing, but he didn’t need much; he rolled the chair forward slowly, almost imperceptibly. When he was close, he reached his free hand to brush your shin, and you let him. You raised your foot to his lap, and it was all he needed to hold onto you.
He grabbed your leg, tracing it up to settle it, and soon did the same to the other. Then, he didn’t know what happened, only that he was hungry. He touched up your leg, feeling your outer thigh and leaning forward in doing so. This prompted you to breathe heavily and lean into him too, reaching for his head in a familiar motion that had him jumping at the opportunity to finally lick your chest.
You supported the back of his head as he buried his face between your tits, licking and nibbling your flesh mindlessly. Your bra was in the way, so he pulled it down bluntly to access your nipples, and you whimpered. Your breathing was ragged as he suckled, refusing to stop his bites even when you pulled on his hair.
His hand was hitting yours with each pump around his cock, but it only riled him up more. You weren’t stopping, as crazed as him with all that lust. This certainty relaxed him, and when you pulled his head again, he let you guide it.
He found your neck and sucked viciously, groaning into it and trying not to come. You had a scent to you, which mixed with every sweet whimper, made it hard to not find a way to shove himself deep into your embrace. Instead, he focused on kissing and nuzzling up your jaw, and you whimpered, grabbing the hair at the back of his head, but not to turn him away.
You pulled him closer, and his lips grazed the corner of your mouth. He slowed, tentatively leaning to reach the same spot, and you left him despite your hold on him. He nuzzled your cheek and tried again, and you almost met his mouth, and it was the breaking point. You lost your patience and pulled him in to crash your mouths together, pushing your tongue between his lips to create a wild struggle.
Kissing you was everything he thought it was — feral, spicy, dangerous, and sweet. Your tongue was aggressive, mapping his mouth like you owned him, and fighting you back was addictive. He matched you with savage licks, pressing himself hard to you until you needed both hands to grab him close, and so did he.
He grabbed your hair between his fingers, keeping you locked in his kiss, while the other pulled you flush to him. You were breathless but unrelenting, and he shared in that hunger, licking and nipping your lip at the slightest chance.
Your legs wrapped around him, and his cock brushed your core, reminding you there was a way to make it all derail, and you took it. You felt the gun on his shoulder holster pressing to your inner thigh, but it only made you throb and want it harder. He had felt the knife on your garter and had left it there, too. You could use it, and that was part of the thrill. He could use it too, or his gun, or his beautiful long fingers around your neck, and you gushed between your legs.
You scrambled between savage kisses to grab his cock and aim it straight at your core, and he tried getting rid of his pants. Yoongi could do all that, but he wouldn’t, and the power it gave you was inebriating. He was also an agent of the law, someone you despised on principle, which made the way he fucked you so much sweeter. Like two polar opposites, you were drawn to be filled by his cock and use your nails on the back of his neck and shoulders to press him to you.
He groaned into your mouth, opening his eyes to see the way your face scrunched up in pleasure. He’d never admit it, but it was enough to drive him to his knees. You were beautiful but looked preciously delicate when the pleasure he gave you loosened all the control you had.
He snapped his hips to push himself further, and you groaned, grabbing his ass cheeks. You were lost as he moved, letting your mouth hang open as he kissed you all over your face and jaw. He also needed to get used to your tight walls challenging his control.
But once he did, he grabbed your hair and pulled it, forcing your chin to raise and your eyes to meet. You clenched around him, and it was the last straw.
“I’ll show you,” he grunted before supporting a hand on your lower back.
It was all he needed to start fucking you without a preamble, and you closed your eyes and let him take over. His grip on you as he pounded into you gave you the liberty to let go and just feel him. He groaned near your ear as he buried his face in the crook of your neck and it was enough to melt you, reveling in the way he used you so well. You didn’t know how a cop could fuck this fucking good, but—
“Boss! You need to—”
“Out!” You shouted, trying to look back at whoever dared to enter your office without fucking knocking, so you knew who to mess up after this. Yoongi hid further in your neck, but he didn’t stop, thank fuck. “Get the fuck out!”
Whoever it was slammed the door closed quickly, and you almost lost your shit. The fucking audacity—
“Nuh-uh,” the grip in your hair forced you to meet his eyes, your fire facing the cool in his dark eyes. “I’m fucking you right now.”
You clenched around him, and a squeeze of his hand around the back of your neck pulled you down to earth. He felt good, too good. Maybe that was why you were on edge, ready to explode in every direction.
He wanted your focus completely on him, and you melting into him wasn’t enough. He released your neck and slid his hand between your bodies, leaning back to change his angle so he could rub your clit, and you jolted. You peered at him between hooded eyes, only to let your head fall back with a deep groan.
He chuckled as you leaned back to take him deeper, trembling with how good it felt. He loved that look on your face.
“Look at you,” he rasped, his grip on your hip so hard, his fingers dug divots into your skin. “So fucked out.”
You looked down and moaned breathlessly, and he could relate. His shaft was glistening, disappearing inside you in a blur as he pistoned into you, and he almost lost composure.
“You’re creaming my cock,” he taunted, slowing down and seeing how you bit your lip and wishing it was him instead. “So fucking greedy.”
“Shut up, you’re one to talk,” your voice wavered, and he laughed. You were upset because his hips slowed, but his fingers circling your clit didn’t. He could see the way you breathed was ragged, an inch away from your climax, and it was the power trip he was looking for.
He smirked, “You’re right, I’m greedy.”
He reached your arms to pull them around his neck, then held your waist down before jump-starting things again. Your legs wrapped around him, and the moans instantly poured from your lips when he began rutting into you again. You could feel it in all the right spots, especially when your clit ground on him with every thrust. The speed was intoxicating, but it wasn’t the most important. Yoongi deserved a medal for managing to stuff you with his cock while humping your clit consistently. At the lack of one, you tried to kiss him, and he bit you. You whimpered, licking your lip to check for blood while he effectively crushed you to him so he could fuck you senseless.
You couldn’t explain it, but it was all you needed — consistency, an anchor, and the fucking duality of that cop drilling you to oblivion. Finally, when your orgasm sparked, you sank your nails into his shoulders and screamed, and he only embraced you tighter, as if holding onto you. Him grounding you only accelerated your climax; you were like the fuse of a firework, consumed in a split second.
You writhed in his arms as the height of pleasure shook you, but he pressed you down on his cock as if to feel every throb around him. His groan followed closely after, adding a second pulse deep inside you to your clenching. You stopped breathing so you could feel it and hear him, hooked on everything. His damp skin under your lips, his chest heaving against yours, his fingers indenting the flesh of your ass — every sensation contributed to an afterglow that was more sparkly.
So when he pulled back to look at you, with flushed cheeks, disgruntled hair, and the absolutely most exquisite face you had ever seen, you laughed.
He wasn’t bothered and stayed still while you threw your head back and let the laughter shake your shoulders, “We probably fucked up all my paperwork.”
He looked down and noticed the papers under your ass. Considering how wet you were and how he had just pumped you full of cum, it was safe to say you were right.
“I’ll help you,” he said before he could think, pulling away.
You groaned quietly, then jumped to your feet, unbothered by the way you were so close, there was barely any air between you two. “Don’t worry, take your time.”
You walked away and composed your clothes and hair casually as he tucked his dick back inside his pants with his eyes trained on you.
“I need to handle whatever that was,” you said, pointing at the door. Then, with a crooked smile, you tapped his jacket on the chair and said, “Don’t forget your jacket.”
You left without as much as a wave, and he heaved a deep breath. There you went again—
He glanced down and recognized a name on one of your papers. He made sure you weren’t at the door, then took a closer look, and his breath caught.
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