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violentdelightsandviolentends · 4 months ago

Note

hey!!

could i maybe get a roommate fic where carmy’s getting ridden and about to come and has no filter so it slips out that he loves her

Baby, Please.

it’s been on the tip of his tongue for too long. it was only a matter of time.

roommate!carmen berzatto x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. carmy’s a bit pathetic at some points in this (you’re welcome)

word count - 2.4k

authors note - ah shit, here we go again. I always end writing carmy as a little bitch in these, sorry lmao (i’m not). but here it is!! a love confession!! will they ever talk about anything, I hear you ask? we’ll see…

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

series masterlist. masterlist. inbox.

Carmen automatically smiles when he hears your keys clinking against the lock in the front door.

As soon as he clocks it, he rolls his eyes at himself. You’re not supposed to get butterflies in your stomach when your roommate comes home on a random Thursday evening.

And yet here he is, sitting on the couch, trying to play it cool - as if he hasn’t been waiting for your return for the last hour and a half.

You’re usually back from work before he is, and suddenly he’s grateful for it. He couldn’t do this everyday. Sitting, waiting for you to come home as if you’ve been gone for months rather than nine or so hours. The apartment feels a little bigger, a little colder without you in it. Carmy wonders how he lived here for so long without you.

You swing the door open, kicking off your shoes instantly. Throwing your bag onto the counter, you take in the sight of your home. It’s clean, tidied, more organised than you’ve seen it in a while. Carmy’s been putting the work in while you’ve been gone.

“What happened, Carmen? Are you okay?”

“W-what?”

“Were you stress cleaning?”

He laughs, all full and warm.

“No, babe. Just regular cleaning.”

He rises from the couch, coming over to press a kiss into your cheek before slipping your jacket off your shoulders and hanging it up behind you.

“Carmen, what’s that smell?”

“Tomato and basil slow baked rigatoni. Homemade garlic bread. And then, if you have any room left… my homemade snickerdoodles.”

“Did you… cook for me?”

“Yes I did, baby. It’s the least I can do after you’ve been at work all day.”

It’s all so domestic, so thoughtful, so heartfelt, that you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. You step forward into his space, looping your arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his lips. He grins at you when you pull away.

“What was that for?”

“A thank you,” you whisper, kissing him again. “I really won the roommate lottery, huh?”

“We both did,” he chuckles, covering your face in kisses while you squirm in his arms.

Eventually, he lets you go, but not before raking his eyes up and down your figure very slowly. He takes you in - your work clothes, the way your hair is falling out slightly, your bare feet. As much as you want to let him devour you, you’re starving. A different kind of hunger to his.

“Dinner first. That after.”

“What after?” he plays coy, trying to fight the smirk off his face.

“Don’t play dumb, Berzatto. It’s not a good look on you.”

With that, you leave the kitchen to get changed, laughing as you go.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You sink further into Carmy’s side on the couch, trying desperately to pay attention to the vintage sitcom that’s playing on the TV.

All you can focus on are the rough fingertips tracing patterns on the bare skin of your thigh. They keep getting higher, brushing the seam of your pyjama shorts occasionally. Every so often, Carmy leans in to press a kiss onto your temple, into your hair, behind your ear. You rest your head on his chest, soothed by the steady beat of his heart.

“That was the best meal I’ve had in a long time, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I could eat that pasta every day for the rest of my life and die a happy woman.”

Carmy laughs, and the sound rumbles through both of you.

“I don’t cook for you often enough.”

You sit up, then, turning in your seat to look him in the eyes.

“Carmen. You cook for me almost every day.”

“Yeah, but… not really.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Most of the time when I’m cooking at home, I’m trying a new recipe, or perfecting an old one - for the restaurant. And then we both eat it for dinner. But tonight, I actually picked a recipe I knew you’d love, and made it for you. Because I don’t cook for you often enough.”

You lean in to press a gentle kiss to his lips, smiling as you do it.

“You know I don’t mind either way, right? Whatever you make is always delicious. Except for that weird duck mousse from last week. That was… awful.”

He shoves you playfully, laughing when you topple backwards onto the couch cushions. Climbing onto you, he digs his fingers into your ribs, chuckling as you try to squirm away from him.

“Stop, before I kick you in the stomach or something,” you plead, wrapping your legs around his waist to try and keep him still.

When that doesn’t work, you resort to dirtier tactics. You roll your hips up into his, watching as his face changes when he realises what you’re doing. The tickling stops, replaced by fingertips gripping your sides in a completely different way.

“Fuck,” he murmurs into your neck as he drops his head down. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Minx.”

“Well you wouldn’t stop, so…”

“You’re usually telling me not to stop, honey. ‘Oh, Carmen, don’t stop baby, don’t stop’…”

You laugh as he mocks you, half in disbelief, half in amusement.

“You’re such a dick.”

“You still want me though, huh?”

The atmosphere in the room shifts, tension thickening in the air. Carmy’s eyes go dark as he looks down at you, gaze raking across your face. You nod in response to his question, chewing at your bottom lip.

“You gonna let me thank you for dinner properly, Berzatto?

Who is he to say no to an offer like that?

You tighten your legs around his waist and pull his hips down to yours, flipping you both over on the couch. You settle with your thighs on either side of his, your weight keeping him anchored down to the cushions.

“You look so pretty underneath me,” you whisper, tracing the features of his face with your gentle fingertips. “Pretty, pretty boy.”

Carmy’s hips buck up into yours at the praise.

“You’re so fucking predictable,” you giggle as he groans. “You love this, don’t you?”

“Love what?”

His voice is all strained and breathy already, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Being my bitch.”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes, but his tightening grip on your waist gives him away. You lean in to press your forehead to his, breathing him in for a moment. Carmy tilts his head up to meet your lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth as you whine.

You tangle your fingers into his hair, melding your lips against his. You let him explore your mouth, winding your hips down into him in a steady motion. You lean back to pull his shirt over his head, yours following suit shortly afterwards and ending up in a pile on the floor.

Carmy kisses his way across your chest, nipping and sucking as he goes. You’re way past the don’t leave marks stage. Neither of you care anymore. You rake your nails down his stomach, smirking when he shudders, goosebumps rising across his skin.

You tip forward to bite at the muscle of Carmy’s neck, licking a stripe up his throat as you go. He tastes like his minty shower gel and cinnamon sugar from the snickerdoodles. It’s the perfect combination to make your mouth water.

He tangles his fingers into the waistband of your pyjama shorts, trying to tug them down. You go to stand up to help him, but the whine he lets out stops you in your tracks.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

“Carmen, if you want my pants off, you need to let me stand up.”

“You can do it here.”

He pulls you back down into his lap, ignoring your raised eyebrows. You manage to slip your shorts and panties down one leg, rising awkwardly on the other to try and get them off. You kick them to the floor, chuckling as you settle back over Carmy’s hips.

“Happy now?”

“Very happy,” he mumbles, reattaching his lips to your jaw. “The happiest. Got the prettiest girl in the world naked in my lap right now.”

Heat rises across your chest at the compliment, head ducking down to avoid his eyes.

“Shut up,” you mutter, tugging down the waistband of Carmy’s sweatpants.

You pull them and his boxers off in one fell swoop, dropping them onto the floor. When you take him in your hand, he reaches out and grabs your wrist, looking up at you through thick lashes.

“Wait, baby.”

You freeze instantly, finally meeting his gaze.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong. Just need to get you ready first.”

You shake your head, gentle smile on your face. He’s always thinking about you. Selfless boy.

“I am more than ready, Carmen.”

When he looks at you with skepticism in his eyes, you decide to make a point.

You trail your fingers down your stomach, pulling them through your wetness when you reach it. Sliding a digit inside, you rock your hips, throwing your head back. You can both hear how ready you are, and it makes Carmy groan.

“Oh, fuck.”

He’s whispering in awe, careful not to spook you when you’re so clearly in your own little world. You add another finger, and Carmy has to grip your hips as hard as he can to stop himself from flipping you over and having his way with you.

You remove your fingers and shove them straight into Carmy’s mouth, panting as he laves his tongue around them. You both whine in unison. Always so in sync.

“I’m more than ready,” you whisper into his jaw. “Promise.”

“I believe you,” he croaks, wrecked already. “Please.”

“You’re so pretty when you beg.”

You line him up, sinking down ever so slowly. You want to feel every inch, every ridge, every movement. You don’t want to miss anything.

You both drop your heads back in bliss, chests heaving against each other. You’re adjusting, while Carmy’s trying to get a hold of himself. He doesn’t want it to be over too quickly, but it so easily could be if he isn’t careful. He runs his hands up and down the bare skin of your back, admiring how soft you are.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he says through gritted teeth. “Shit, baby.”

“You feel so good. So big, Carmen. Fuck.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you can’t help but tease, running your thumb over his bottom lip.

“Talk like that. Fuck.”

“Oh,” you laugh in fake realisation. “You like it a little too much, huh?”

He leans his head forward to rest on your chest, gasping when you lift your hips up to drop them back down. It’s all so slick, so easy. It’s like you’re made for each other, made to fit together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

You can’t help but want to push him a little further. He’s always so quietly domineering, so seemingly in control, that you love when he allows himself to fray at the edges slightly. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t get you off.

“So you don’t want me to tell you how you’re filling me up just right? That you’re so big, that you feel so fucking good? That I could sit here for hours? That I’ve never had it like this with anyone?”

Carmy’s hips buck up involuntarily, and you chuckle a little cruelly.

“Baby, please.”

“Okay, Carmen. Okay.”

You press a sugary sweet kiss to his lips before settling your hands on his broad shoulders to give yourself some stability. You set a steady rhythm, winding your hips up and gliding them back down with a clear purpose. Your knees ache, and your hips are being held open a little too wide, but you feel delirious with it, high off the pleasure. It’s good. So good.

“Shit, honey. Fuck. S’good, yeah? So good. Keep going, don’t stop.”

You’ve always found his babbling amusing, but right now there’s nothing funny about the way the sound of his voice pushes you undeniably closer and closer to the edge. You never want him to stop talking.

Carmy moves one hand from your hip to between your legs, rubbing soft but intentional circles onto your clit. It sets your nerves alight, whole body buzzing with anticipation.

You keep your rhythm going, even as it’s getting harder and harder to concentrate. You can feel that Carmy’s close, that he’s sitting on a knife’s edge waiting for you. You realise, suddenly, that you want him to come before you. You want to undo him.

You move one hand to tangle in his hair, while the other settles at his throat. You don’t squeeze too hard, just enough to turn his moans into breathy little ah ah ahs.

“Baby, please. Fuck, so close. So good, honey. You’re so good.”

Your grip tightens in his curls, making him groan. Your hips get faster, and so do his fingers on your clit, the pressure more insistent now.

“Fuck, yeah, that’s it, don’t stop baby. Fuck, I love this. I love you. Keep going, so close. Atta girl.”

Your brain is too lost in your actions to register his words. Instead, you press your forehead to his, kissing him gently in contrast to the violent slam of your hips. This juxtaposition seems to be Carmy’s undoing, his grip on your hip tightening so much you hope it’ll bruise.

He emits the most gorgeous moan you’ve ever heard when he comes, which sends you straight over the edge. You tighten like a vice, whole body shuddering with it. Your climax seems to last forever, every single one of your nerves fried and frayed.

You both come down slowly, foreheads pressed together and lungs heaving. You’re panting into his mouth, smoothing out his hair where your fingers have ruffled it. Carmy’s arms wrap around your back, pulling you in so you’re chest to chest as he presses a kiss to your temple. You sit like this for a while, completely at peace in each other’s company.

Eventually, after what could have been hours but was probably minutes, you break the silence.

“So we should probably talk about the I love you, huh?”

@jazminsjaz @buendiabebeta @kingsqueensandvagabonds

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catboybiologist · 6 months ago

Text

So.

Re: tumblr bans of transfemmes.

Let's ignore PhotoMatt for a moment. Manbaby tech CEO doubling down on a stupid decision and making himself look like more of an ass doing so is not a new phenomena.

Tumblr has consistently said, in both public statements and leaked internal communication, that they're essentially running a skeleton crew.

They keep saying that they don't have the resources to moderate, manually review posts, have any kind of appeal process, or anything. So, as people have widely received communications about, they seemed to have automated a significant portion of the moderation to operate solely on the quantity of reports (probably with a basic filter, eg quantity of reports regarding a certain post, within a certain timeframe) to automatically ban or shadowban accounts.

And so, they wipe their hands, both to the users, the public, and their own consciousness, and go about their automated operations.

All of this is likely true. Tumblr, at this point, is essentially abandonware internally, a kind of weird vanity project/dumpster ground for server infrastructure for Automattic. Likely, they don't want the bad press of "shutting down" fully. Or maybe the trickle of revenue they get here just barely exceeds operating costs, so why not keep it around?

Whatever is the case, the bans are a result of an automated process working in the background. I'm giving them some benefit of the doubt here, of course, we can't know anything for certain- but it seems like the individual bans are not based on any specific, manual action.

And that doesn't fucking excuse anything.

Because at some point, multiple people sat down at tumblr, and decided how to cut costs.

And they decided that the bare minimum of report abuse prevention was one of the first things on the chopping block.

Before the boops. Before GUI reconfigures.

They decided to cut something that is necessary to manage online communities.

They decided to cut something that ensures any targeted group will have any kind of community online.

And then, after all of that, the only manual intervention is doubling down on the shitty decisions that the automated systems make, and plucking reasons out of their ass for why they were the right decisions all along.

It's pure silicon valley brain. Blame the computer often and always. Use it to shield the active decisions you made when designing the computer that way. Treat it as a fact of life as opposed to something they actively made decisions for.

Is tumblr staff hitting the banhammer on each transfemme one by one? No.

Is tumblr staff deliberately crafting a system that allows TERFs and other conservative bigots to get rid of the "undesirables" for them? Yup. But they sure as hell are trying to not say the quiet part out loud. If they can always point the finger somewhere else, to the advertisers, to the automated systems, to the TERFs, then they can always have juuusssttt enough plausible deniability.

But being the "queerest place on the internet" requires concious acknowledgement that queer people will be targets of harassment, and you will have to protect against that.

Side note, this is why I do try to keep my blog at least somewhat SFW. Its one of the main reasons why I choose not to reblog all of the posts I'm tagged in- if the post is overtly NSFW, I've probably seen it, appreciated it, and consciously decided my level of interaction with it mostly based on how "tumblr friendly" it is. Is that bowing down to them? A little. It's also my choice. I value the community I have here. The pushes that y'all have given me gave me the strength to transition, and honestly gives me a lot of motivation to research HRT biology as much as I can, among many other things.

Yeah, I post pictures that are clearly meant to be found attractive in ways that are generally not socially acceptable , but never actual NSFW. I would like to think that I'm pretty safe from bans, but hey. Who knows. I don't want to lose my follower base, and the community around it.

And yeah, I'm gonna annoyingly remind you of the other places to find me, make sure to check my pin. If you don't know where to go, just find me on reddit and go from there, I'll post about it if anything happens.

#I hope this rant is at least somewhat intelligible #im in lab late night and typing this out as fast as i can in between experiment steps #stay safe out there yall

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uncookedfeeler · 2 months ago

Text

Citrus II🍋

Yuna x Reader

Tags : 7k, smut, incest, daddy kink,

Part 1

Five past eight in the morning, you arrive in front of your company, after having crossed a few blocks in the capital, at the automatic barrier, you wave to the guards to say hello and make your way to the underground car park, of course you have reserved your own space, not far from the lift, the privilege of having an important place in the company, you say to yourself; once the car has stopped, your bag in hand, you walk at a brisk pace to the lift and press the button for your floor.

Your impatience and shame are growing, you're late, which is far from your usual routine, especially when your president is probably waiting for you in your office. The reason for your lateness is even more shameful, but you're determined to put these thoughts aside during the working day.

Once you are on your floor, you pass through a second glass door, which you open with your badge. In the corner is the office of your secretary, who stands up to greet you and to warn you that the CEO is already in your office, just as you had expected.

"Hello Mrs Kang, and thank you, how long has he been here?"

"Not long, he arrived 5 minutes ago, he seems to be smiling, I think you'll be fine," she replies with a nervous smile, "would you like me to make some coffees and bring them to you?"

"No need, I'll do it myself, otherwise nothing else for the rest of the day? "

"There's a lot of paperwork to do today after the president leaves, your meetings don't start until this afternoon". You give her a thumbs up before putting your hands on the latch of your door.

Your office was a modern space filled with clean lines and muted tones. A large executive desk dominated the room; behind it, tall windows filtered soft daylight through half-drawn blinds, while recessed lights softly illuminated the dark wood cabinets lining the back wall. In the corner, a pair of white armchairs and a sofa were accented by a single red cushion.

Across from you is your chairman, a middle-aged man with short grey hair and a warm smile. His face has visible wrinkles, particularly around the eyes, suggesting a friendly mood. He is wearing a formal dark suit and tie.

“I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr Ahn,” you say, bowing 90° to him.

"Ha ha, hello director, there's no need to be so formal, just get up and sit down,”he says, pointing with both hands to the seat in front of him.

“Thank you, would you like a coffee while I'm up?”

“A short one then, my wife says I drink too much.”

You walk over to your desk and behind your chair is a piece of furniture that runs the full height of the wall, on top of which are various decorations, including your personal coffee machine.

“They all say that, but a good machine needs its fuel to work properly, doesn't it?”

“Absolutely.”

A few minutes pass as you place your respective coffees on the table between you, warning him that they are still very hot.

“I heard about the new contracts with JYP, good work Director Shin, I imagine it must have taken a lot of negotiation, they're notoriously difficult to do business with.”

“You could say that, it's not the first time they've worked with a cosmetics company like us, and it seems that their previous partnerships haven't been very successful, but with the work of the whole team, I think we've convinced them to count on us.”

“We still don't know the names of the models who will be wearing our products? if they match our latest collections well, I think it would be a great boost to our sales.”

“No information on that, the TWICE girls would be perfect, they embody the mid-twenties woman and seem to have finally lost their all-cute and pink ribbon image.”

As you finish your sentence, you see the chairman smiling after taking a sip of his coffee.

"Really good coffee, and why not ITZY, I'm sure they could certainly manage it too", the President smiles obviously as he mentions the group to which your daughter belongs.

"Yes, I'm sure", you reply with a touch of humour, the President knows very well who your daughter is and the joke shows how close you are to him.

"By the way, how is your daughter, she's appearing all over the country, she really seems to be riding on her popularity, you must be very proud of her".

"Sure, I try to keep up with her, although it's not as easy as it sounds, I imagine she'd be surprised to model for our company, I doubt she knows where I work or my position," you say with regret in your voice.

"Raising a daughter is not easy, I'll give you that, my older daughter... "Before he can finish, your phone rings to tell you that you've received a message with an attachment.

"When we were talking about the wolf, she sent me a message, sorry, go on, sir," you say, trying to get the conversation going again.

"Take your time, it's important to maintain a relationship with your children, especially when they've left home," he replies, leaning back on the sofa to take a step back.

After unlocking your phone, you click on the notification to open Yuna's message, which contains a link to a video and the message "how to grow my lemons", the link takes you to the streaming site Yuna uses and a replay starts :

"I've talked about this before, but the other day I took two lemons home to my parents that I've been growing for a long time, I'm not very good at it, so I asked my dad for help, he worked hard on them yesterday, you should have seen him, he played with them first and then he watered them generously, I think he's learning as much as I am, so I looked up on the internet how to grow them properly:

- First you need to stir the soil well with your fingers or a tool, then you need to push the seeds in deeply until they reach the end, then you need to water the soil regularly with love to increase the chances of getting a big lemon.

My two lemons have already grown well, so I'm wondering if I shouldn't put in a new seed to make a third, much bigger than the others," she said as she finished her explanation, stroking her stomach several times each time the word seed was mentioned.

Your promise to keep your impure thoughts out of your workplace, but Yuna's provocation, so innocent at first, is dangerously immoral and exciting in the right context.

"Your daughter seems to have found a passion for gardening, which is rare for young people who have only known the capital and its huge buildings," the President replies in an amused tone.

"However, I wonder if young women have an attraction for fruity things, it brings a sweet and innocent side while retaining the exotic taste of a sweet and strong flavour, should we explore this avenue for our products?" he asked, he's the President after all, so business comes first for him.

"It's hard to say, I know she had a shoot with different fruits as a concept, she doesn't quite fit the image of a young teenager, but an entry-level range for young girls with products that are easy to apply and discreet or even fragrant could be a target".

Another message appears on your screen with only the text ‘Now you know how to do it 💦🍋’.

The shock is quite brutal, you would never have imagined that your daughter would be so direct with you on this subject, after all you only really resumed your father-daughter relationship yesterday, the difference in personality between the nice, almost innocent girl you had yesterday and this morning and now, where she doesn't hesitate to tease you in public or by text message, a part of you hopes that she is just doing it for fun and not to satisfy you for fear of being abandoned again.

At no point do you want to force her down a path that won't make her happy, you've already thrown away your morals for her, now her happiness is your only concern, her wishes are your orders and pleasing your princess remains your goal in life.

You thank her for the guide and send her a sticker of a cat blowing kisses, followed by an 'I love you'. You put your phone back in your pocket to resume your conversation with your CEO as the clock ticks.

"I think we're done, I've really enjoyed this chat, I knew I could count on you to come up with new ideas, would you like to join the monthly review of their project, let's bring them the seed of your future fruity project," as the President stands up and walks towards the door.

"Sure, I'm following you"

The meeting has seemed endless, the chair and the others have taken it in turns to stimulate the discussion with their ideas, and what was supposed to be a simple project review has turned into a kick-off meeting for your project. It's past lunchtime and you've just returned to your office, completely drained of energy and with an appetite that's starting to grow. However, your position in the company means that with a simple phone call you can have a member of the kitchen staff come to your floor with your food.

"Knock, knock"

"You can come in"

"Morning, Director Shin, here's your lunch," says an athletic-looking young man as he places it on your desk.

"Sorry for the inconvenience, I've had a busy morning and my legs need a rest," you say in a moment of weakness.

"No, no, no problem, sir, I'll come back for the tray later, enjoy your meal". The young man leaves your office in a hurry.

As you pounced on your meal like a hungry hyena, this break being one of the rare moments when you let your invasive curiosity take over, you grabbed the mouse of your computer to open the search browser and typed in the name of your company as well as your first name, you had this strong feeling that you knew what was being said about you or your company, public opinion is important and you were also worried about letting your bad reputation tarnish that of your daughter in case of problems at work.

And although you didn't show her much, it was also your ritual to follow your daughter's career. All these years you have been following her journey as an adult in the industry, and it fills you with pride that today your daughter's name still appears at the top of the search rankings.

Her latest Instagram post seems to have set the internet on fire, as you click on the top trending link to see a series of photos of her in the bathroom of your house, her hair flaming red, her make-up perfectly applied to her face and her brown eyes piercing through the mirror. She's wearing a lovely black and white tank top and I'm sure you'll agree that she looks absolutely fucking gorgeous in these photos, the comments are flooding in with praise for her look, despite the occasional haters, but nothing new.

You quickly take out your phone to leave a message for your princess:

"I've just seen your photos, you're as beautiful as ever," while attaching a photo of the article you took with your phone. Once you've sent the message, you go back to your meal and your thoughts take over, you realise that this kind of little intention would have started from the beginning of her career, the simple fact of exchanging with your child and the feeling that comes from it soothes your heart and too bad if you become a clingy dad, you're going to tell her every day.

You're suddenly brought back to reality when your phone displays a notification saying that she's replied to you with a simple :

"Hihi thank you 😛, look at my little present", while a second message appears with a still blurred image, followed by a third in the conversation, Yuna had sent it as sensitive content, so you have to click on it to view it, and you're far from imagining what's revealed before your eyes: the last message served as a description with the words:

"it was just after the shower when i was getting ready to go to the company, my little lemons have turned into cherries, all i need now is your big seed 🍒" the photo is taken from a higher angle where your daughter lifts her top to reveal her small breasts and the many hickey marks still present on her body, Her left breast and nipple are well marked by your mouth, not forgetting that she's not wearing anything, and you can see her little bush underneath, with a comment at the bottom: "To 🍼 my 🧔🏻, He must 🍼 my 😻 first".

At that moment, your cock springs to attention in a flash, it shoots up through your trousers and slams against your belly, any man knows that pain and it's far from pleasant, you loosen your belt to give your raging member a little slack, this little minx knew what to do to excite someone and the hours were going to be long from now on.

The rest of the day goes by slowly, you don't dare take out your phone for fear of getting into an embarrassing situation, you still feel some vibrations in the afternoon, but like a good professional you don't even look, the hours go by until the beginning of the evening, you leave your office and go to the underground car park, you make the effort to look at your phone and all you get are trivial messages, You're a little disappointed because you were secretly hoping for more messages from Yuna, halfway there you find yourself stuck in traffic on the road and you decide to call Yuna to find out how her day went, she answers almost immediately but doesn't answer your question, but you can hear the girls chatting as if she had picked up the phone and put it on a table.

You wonder what kind of phone she uses to get such good quality, the girls' voices are easily recognisable and the sound is as if you were in the room with them.

Yeji: "Ugh, yesterday's shoot was so chaotic! I swear we almost lost our minds trying to get the perfect angle".

Lia: "I know, right? I thought we were going to end up on a blooper reels. Remember when we all turned the wrong way during that one scene?

Ryujin: "Yeah, and Yuna was the only one who actually turned the right way! I guess she has an 'inner compass' or something..."

Yuna: "Hey! I just knew what to do! Plus you stole my concept, remember!"

Yeji: "I mean, you didn't mind talking about it online, you even mentioned your dad again, you're such a daddy girl after all"

Yuna: "Not you too! Can we please not talk about my 'daddy issues' again?"

Chaeryeong: "We can't help it! It's just so weird how you don't even look at all the sexy boys around us, I wonder what you do with all those pictures of him you snatch from the internet".

Lia: “'Even though we know what she's doing, she's acting cold towards him, but in the end it makes you hot, doesn't it? you should at least try dating someone, we've all done it so far and it's like, we're not asking you to sleep with them, just get some dating experience”

Chaeryeong: “Easy Lia-unnie, you're the one taking selfies with your exes' dicks in your mouth aren't you? they never fucked you anyway so keep your advice to yourself”

Chaeryeong:“Yuna, listen, we're not forcing you to do anything, but try to use your youth to meet people, it's weird to see you alone at home all the time.”

Yuna: “Unnie, that's not the problem, I'm just afraid of being rejected and I don't know how to tell him how I feel about him, we haven't been very close since mum left”.

Ryujin: “He's your dad Yuna, of course you love him in your own way, let's just say, just tell him and you'll be free of this burden, then we can go and pick up some hot guys backstage”.

Yeji: “I don't think she likes you getting fucked in the toilets when the newbies show up, same goes for you Chaeryoung, no one's putting any pressure on Yuna, right?”

Lia: “Easy for you to say when you're being fucked by your childhood sweetheart, we're not so lucky to have someone who loves us for something other than our bodies”.

Yuna: "It hurts, doesn't it? Aren't you afraid of getting pregnant?"

Ryujin: "'Are you kidding? Wait, you've never...? not even with the toys you hide in the box under your bed?"

Yuna: ”'OF COURSE NOT".

Yeji: "Stop laughing you bitches, Yuna this ain't that serious, yes it can hurt, you have to be prepared downstairs and remember we take all the pills the company gives us and don't forget we always use condoms, DON'T GIRLS?"

Ryujin: "Don't give us shit about it, they shove it up my arse anyway, you think I'm going to let those sons of bitches touch my pussy? a good load on the face, that's what it's all about'."

Lia: "Same thing, they can fill my arse but my pussy is off limits, I love to smash their cocks and make them scream in pain when they try to pull out'."

Chaeryeong: "Fucking listen to these bitches, apart from sucking cocks when I want to, I only fuck other girls, no risk on my side."

Yeji: "See, we're all careful, protect yourself well and don't forget your pills, they help with your periods too'."

Yuna: “I'm out of pills and I don't have a condom, but it's not like I need one, is it?!!, I'm going home tonight, don't wait for me”.

Ryujin: “Don't take it like that baby, I can give you some if you want”.

Yeji: “Yuna, come back!!! “.

You hear the loud thud of a door slamming and limbs flailing as Yuna leaves.

Yeji: “ 'Well done girls, that was clearly a good time to bring her down and make fun of her and her problems”

Lia: "Sorry unnie, we didn't think she'd take it like that, I'll go and get her'.”

Ryujin: “Stay here, you're making it worse.”

Lia: “Bloody hell, how can someone like that be so ignorant of her own sexuality, do you think she likes girls instead?”

Chaeryeong: “She's got a crush on her dad, are you stupid or what, we don't say anything to avoid the subject, she's just wanted to fuck her dad for a long time, she's got photos of him on her phone, on her wallpaper, a photo of him under her pillow, the poor thing is in desperate need of fatherly love”

Yeji: “ I don't know what happened last night, but since then she's been really nervous about it, let's leave her alone, otherwise she'll go crazy and we don't know what she'll do”.

Yeji: "We'll see about that later, it's almost time. Get ready and I'll go to her, you three go with the managers. We'll go back to the company, Chaery, get her bag and phone. She left it on the table."

Calm returned to the room and before you lost the connection to your daughter's phone, you heard

"Looks like you've got work to do Daddy Shin, sorry for the trouble" and she hangs up.

This is a lot to take in, and apart from the sexual debates between the 4 girls, which did not leave you without a reaction, the hardest thing is still Yuna's problems, which confirm your fears about her feelings, your daughter is not the provocative woman she pretends to be in the message, she is a young woman who still has a lot to learn about her own love and carnal feelings, knowing that your little girl is 'pure and innocent' would make any father smile, but on the other hand, what is the harm in learning about her sexuality? The trauma that has held her back, and for which you are probably responsible, is preventing her from moving forward in her life as a woman.

You'd been thinking all day about how to punish your daughter for her insolence, but the person you'd been talking to didn't exist. With Yuna's true feelings in mind, the next logical step seemed to be to wait for her at home and assume your role as father, as a princess deserves.

When you get home, you look at the clock and realise that she won't be home for another hour or two. That gives you plenty of time to tidy up, do your laundry and take a shower. You've picked up some bad habits living alone, but now that you're sharing your home with someone else, it's time to get the ball rolling again and restore the beauty of your property.

Time flies and you've barely had time to get out of the shower and into your new clothes when you hear the door latch click. You quickly step in front of it to see a redhead running towards you, dropping her bag in the doorway and giving you a big hug.

"Welcome home, darling," you say, stroking her head as you feel her face sink into your chest and a wet feeling hit your chest.

"I'm sorry daddy, I..."

"SHhh, it's all right, I'm here."

The situation is very different from yesterday, Yuna's shell seems to have burst the moment she saw you, you feel the warmth of her body against yours as her arms wrap around you, you say nothing, leaving one of your hands on her head and the other on her back.

"Dad, I... the message... it's not .... I wan...."

"Just breathe, I'm not angry, you know,"

"I just wanted to make you happy, I wanted to show you I'm a big girl, I'm so embarrassed now"

"You don't have to make me happy, it's my job to make YOU happy, and don't bother trying to act big, you're my little princess, that's all".

Just as she seems to have calmed down, you take her face in your hands to wipe away the last of her tears before placing a loving kiss on her forehead, "I love you," you say in a low voice as if to lull her to sleep, "I will never let you down, my only daughter.

Yuna is lulled by your words and you feel the weight of her body fall on your arms, "just rest on the sofa, I'll bring you a snack, you must be tired from your day's work", she accepts without flinching as you prepare something to eat while you wait for dinner, your daughter sits on the sofa, her head resting on a pillow, looking at you, when your eyes meet you exchange a smile without saying a word.

The evening passes smoothly, while your daughter rests and eats, you finally talk about your respective days, leaving your erotic exchanges out of the conversation, she finally gets to know your job, while you finally know what happens off camera, the night is felt and you suggest she take a shower while you prepare dinner, again she accepts without concern.

"Would you like to join me?" she asks shyly.

"Yuna, your legs are shaking, you don't have to push anything, I'm not going anywhere," you reply to her completely unexpected request.

She doesn't even answer and locks herself in the bathroom, slamming the door. You really can't understand what's going on in her head, but there's no time to lose, so you start preparing dinner.

Like last night, the meal is spent in church-like silence, each of us with our own thoughts. Yuna is completely withdrawn and doesn't even look at you, which is quite an awkward situation for you as she seems so close and then suddenly so far away.

You try to break this silence in the desert and ask her if she wants to watch a film, she takes a while to answer and then accepts, saying that she has to change first so that you can start getting everything ready while you wait for her, it's a good start and the film could give you a new topic of conversation to revive the dialogue between the two of you.

While she's still in her room, you call out to her to ask what film she's interested in.

"Ruby Gillman, Teenage Kraken Please, Giselle-unnie told me it's good".

You hear through the house, you recognise your daughter, who has always loved cartoons, once you've found them on Netflix, you adjust the brightness of the lights for a subdued effect, you've prepared a blanket and something to eat.

The minutes tick by and you wonder what Yuna is doing, you don't see much, it takes so long to get into pyjamas, but you tell yourself she's probably on her phone at the same time, which often doesn't help.

You hear her footsteps behind you and when she appears behind you, you see her wearing a simple pink t-shirt, you can easily guess that she's not wearing anything underneath as it hugs her breasts.

Suddenly she's straddling you, saying, "Forget the film, I want you, Daddy," as she pushes her body into yours and lies on top of you in a lotus position.

"Yuna, please, I," you don't finish your sentence as she slaps your face.

"STOPPP REJECTING MEEEEEEEEEE' she screams at the top of her lungs as she bursts into tears over you, 'WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS, I....I....I JUST WANT YOU TO LOVE ME' WH... WHY ARE YOU HURTING ME LIKE THIS?

Your daughter lashes out at you in shock at what's happening in front of you, you grab her arms and she becomes helpless under the difference in strength between the two of you.

"Yun..."

"I just want you..." she says, her face completely ravaged by tears, the face of someone who is deeply hurt and can't take it anymore.

Something breaks inside you, all this time you've assumed she would throw herself at you, just to be like the others, just to receive the love you would have given her anyway, you've hurt her again and again until you made the same mistake you made with your wife.

Your daughter loves you more than anything and you are too blind to see that she doesn't know how else to show it, but this time you will make it right and give yourself to her.

Without further ado, you threw your lips over hers, releasing her wrists from your grip and sliding your hands from her lower abdomen to her breasts hidden under her t-shirt.

"No bra, you little rascal?"

Instinctively she puts her hands on your shoulders and fights your tongue with hers, you attack her nipples with your hand and they are already hard, the attack on her breasts causes Yuna to moan which is absorbed by your kiss, you go down her neck to place your marks while she can finally listen to her pleasure.

"Daddy, your cock, give it to me" she says as she plunges her hand into your shorts and meets your cock through the underpants, you lift her up with the strength of your legs and come to remove your underwear in one go, your cock is now naked between your daughter's thighs and she puts her hands on it.

"Put some saliva before baby," she listens to you religiously, but instead comes and gets the saliva overflowing from her pussy and applies it to your cock.

"Let me use my juices before you use yours," she says as she works your cock up and down, your shaft growing under Yuna's movements and the pleasure is truly enjoyable.

One of your hands digs into her soaking wet panties and you massage her slit with your fingers, your moaning cries joining in as you pleasure each other.

Quickly she gets up from the sofa to kneel in front of you and she begins to lick your cock with delicacy, her tongue starts at the glans and she places kisses on it, then her tongue and lips come together so that she tries to suck your sperm, her lips then go gently down the length of your cock and your cock goes slowly down her throat.

"Yuna, that's good, you're doing great," you say as you put both hands on her head to guide her, you watch as your cock disappears into her mouth as the sensations of her work send shivers down your back, from time to time she pulls out to spit on your shaft before sliding back in,

Yuna learns as she goes and her technique is perfected with each dive, after a while your breaking point comes and you refuse to finish here so you help her pull out and try to save your orgasm for later, her mouth overflowing with saliva and she looks at you with appetite.

"Sorry baby but it's my time to eat you now" you tell her as you take her in your arms and go into your bedroom where you lay her on her back on the edge of the bed, without further ado she attacks her pussy with your mouth and she presses her thighs against your head, Your tongue immediately attacks her slit, which rushes to secrete its juices, which you suck up as you go, her clit is quickly attacked by one of your hands, which takes great care to titillate the little bean, with delicacy you move up and down her slit, from time to time penetrating her entrance with your tongue to prepare the work,

The poor red girl cries out with pleasure as she experiences being devoured by her lover for the first time, she clings to your hair which she pulls when the pleasure is too great, on your side you shift into second gear and penetrate your daughter's pussy with two fingers, you feel like you're piercing a flan because the inside is so soft.

“Daddy don't stop, it's coming” your daughter cries out as she feels your third finger deep inside her, your mouth has turned into a wet wiping system as her pussy floods your mouth, you keep up the rhythm until you feel your daughter leave and in a flash her body goes rigid and her pelvis convulses under the power of the orgasm.

You lift your head and climb onto the bed to kiss your princess with a little “I love you” in her ears,

"Daddy, I want you,” she says, stretching out her arms to ask you to come inside her, “it's time to put that seed inside me,” as she spreads her pussy in front of you.

Worried, you reach over to your bedside table for a condom, but Yuna stops you.

“It's ok daddy, I'm on the pill and it's a safe day, you can pour everything into my secret garden", Yuna's naughty language excites you immensely and your cock hurts so you give in and come to lie on her entrance and gently tap your cock to soak it in her juices,

You sink gently and anxiously into your own daughter, resting your elbows on the mattress so that you can kiss her as you move inside her, every inch of her is painful and she lets you feel it as she scratches your back with her fingernails, you kiss her tenderly as your hips move up to touch her pussy,

Your cock feels the tightness of her vagina as well as the warmth and moisture from your excellent preparation work, the passage through her pussy is made without too much effort and you slide deep inside her like butter, on the other side Yuna seems to take your big cock like a champion and despite the pain she has already wrapped her legs around your waist.

You feel her warm, rapid breathing on your face as you look into her eyes, just inches apart.

"Daddy, I can feel you inside me, my little pussy just ate your big dick."

"Are you alright baby, I won't move until you're ready".

"I want to sit like on the sofa".

You obeyed her orders and gently lifted her up without pulling back to let her sit on you, you put yourself on her buttocks and she was now resting all her weight on you, the change of position made your cock dig even deeper inside her and she felt it well.

"Don't move, I want to stay connected to you like this," as she strokes her stomach trying to feel your cock, "keep eating my tits, please.

Just as your cock seems to have bottomed out, you turn your attention to her pair of little red lemons, You really loved her tits, they are not as big as some but in your eyes they are perfect, the texture of them, the feel of them in your hands and the way Yuna reacts every time you nibble on her nipples.

You decide to kiss your daughter and whisper "Shall we?" to which she only nods, you begin to rock your hips as your cock slowly emerges from her pussy and then slowly returns, never fully exiting, you carve your daughter's walls with your cock and Yuna moans with pleasure at the work of your rod.

“♥Hmm....♥Ah....♥Hmm, ah....♥ Daddy, your cock is turning me inside out, every time you push in it feels weird down there, it's a bit painful but also extremely pleasurable, I can feel your big cock pushing my sides apart and knocking on my garden gate, keep it up, I want to feel your cock ravaging me".

You pick up the pace at your partner's request, your cock seems to have done its job well as you are able to withdraw completely before impaling her again with no problem, under the force of your hips Yuna lays her head on your neck and sucks you like a baby, you let go of her breasts to lock your hold on her by circling her waist with your arms, once firmly in place you pound her with all your strength.

“♥Ah....”

“♥Ah.... DADDY”

“♥Ah....

♥Ah.... DA”

For long minutes, you hold her close as your cock slams violently into her pussy. The pleasure comes from the fact that Yuna has her head back, unable to form a sentence. Pleasure has taken over her body. You feel your orgasm building slowly. While your daughter is already on the verge of hers, you feel her legs squeeze you hard as she explodes on your cock and her fluids flow down it. Yet you don't stop your thrusts.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Stop it"' At her command you stop and discover your daughter's face completely undressed, her hair sticking to her sweaty face and you push aside the lips that hide her eyes to kiss her.

"Let me do it now" she asks as she moves her hips on her own to embrace your sensitive cock, her movements are fast, her pussy devouring you at its own pace and you put your hands on both her buttocks to support her, you give little slaps to her delicate skin and as she fucks herself on her father's cock you feel your orgasm coming and you warn her.

"Yuna, I'm coming"

She gives you the coup de grace when she puts all her weight on her descent and your stiff cock pierces all her pussy until your balls kiss her pussy, inside your cock floods her and for the first time in her life Yuna is at the door of motherhood, her pussy sucks your sperm with efficiency and you withdraw from her.

Yuna is still sitting on your lap, your breaths heavy, your bodies full of sweat and juice, and neither of you can stand the silence as Yuna's cum begins to flow.

"Ah baby, that was amazing. You were amazing!"

"Thanks daddy, do you want some more?"

"I'm sorry darling, I'm not young anymore, my penis is withered."

You can see the disappointment in Yuna's eyes. In your youth, a second round might have been possible, but now your libido is limited to your arousal, and after emptying yourself into her, you no longer feel anything on that level.

"Daddy... Are you going to leave me like this?" says Yuna as she gets down on all fours, points her bottom at you and spreads her pussy with your cum dripping from it.

The sight of your daughter in this position would have turned any man on. You feel like it, but your desire is gone for the moment. You see your daughter wiggling her bottom, begging you to fuck her, and you're powerless to stop her.

"Dad, I'm sorry... I lied, I haven't taken the pill yet, I want a second shot or I won't take it. The longer you wait the more your seeds will fertilise my garden, look how hungry my pussy is, come and make sure you flood my pussy next to save my career."

You're at a loss for words, whether to believe her or not, but one thing's for sure, she knows how to work you because your cock has come back to life and you're going to take malicious pleasure in making her regret having put that doubt in your head.

You grab her hips and penetrate her little pussy, slamming your balls against her arse,

The gentleness of before has been transformed into a wild fuck where only pleasure is king. Your hands are firmly planted on her hips as you pound her with your pelvis, creating waves on her buttocks that will soon feel the onslaught of your hands.

"Daddy, your cock is stirring my insides, your sperm is mixing in my pussy, push hard".

Your daughter is now nothing more than a vulgar hole in your assaults, the seed of doubt she has planted in your mind has completely removed your sanity. If she is indeed unprotected, your first sperm must have done its work in spite of you. When in doubt, you prefer to flood her a second time and make sure she takes her medicine.

Go ahead daddy, make me your property, claim my pussy as your own personal garden, I'll take care of all your fruit,' Yuna's provocations rage in your mind. So you explode into your offspring's pussy again, you stand for a few seconds spasming against your daughter's ass as she collapses onto the bed, then you do the same, completely exhausted.

'Was that true about the pill, baby?

'Yes...' she says shyly. Now that all her libido has left her body, she presses you against her breasts and whispers in your ear: "It's too early to taste my juice, you'll have to give me some more water.

Your daughter is soon off to dreamland, still naked, and the bed is soaked with the fluids of your lovemaking. You make sure you look as tired as possible before you too collapse.

You wake up to a pleasant smell, but also to a body in pain. The bedroom gym session hasn't done your body any good, but your mind is at peace. As you leave your room, you see Yuna in an apron preparing breakfast. Beside her is a pack of contraceptive pills, two of which are already empty. When she sees you, she says:

"Good morning, Dad, you're going to need your strength, remember, you have to stir the soil first before you put your seed in. We're going to have to spend some time on this before you can make my pussy fertile for you."

Later, as you're driving to work, you see an important email from your CEO and a message from Yuna; you'd like to think that the email is more important, but that would be lying to yourself,

The text message is just a selfie of your daughter still in bed next to you with the message 'I've got a body full of marks, the girls are going to realise what we've done, not to mention I've still got your sperm in me 🤭"

Classic Yuna, but you'll have to get used to it. You've made a pact with a demon, but who cares, you're no angel anyway.

As for the email, just looking at the title 'Meeting with JYP & ITZY', it looks like you're finally going to meet one or more members of your daughter's group.

______________________________________________________________

#kpop smut #yuna smut #itzy smut #itzy x reader #yuna x reader

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yotanamachinetools · 2 years ago

Text

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#Automatic Membrane Filter Press #membrane filter press #membrane plate filter press

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peachesofteal · 1 year ago

Note

Single mother with Simon as neighbour au? Yeaaah in love with them.

Light on - single mom/neighbor fic Simon Riley/female reader

Simon hasn’t seen you in a few days.

He hasn’t seen you in the hall, or on the roof. Hasn’t seen you on your little balcony, like he did the other day when you were sitting on the little rickety metal chair, sipping a hot cup of something, too big sweater wrapped around your shoulders.

“Good morning.” You called to him, somehow keeping your voice light and soft, warm. He managed a response, serrated and off key, as he stubbed his cigarette out and slipped his mask from his pocket to his face.

He wonders if you’re alone. He never hears anyone else with you except little Emmaline, no man’s voice. No woman’s. He hears you, though. He hears you leave in the mornings, off to somewhere he’s not aware of. Hears you come home in the afternoons, your voice carrying down the hall while you talk to the baby, words muffled and tone light. Hears Emmaline, crying in the mornings and at night. Hears her screaming sometimes, angry about something, the raw pitch of her displeasure filtering through the paper-thin walls, her screeching and wailing probably loud enough to wake the entire floor. He hears you sing to her, just the lightest sounds of a muffled lullaby, coming from the room that’s opposite his bedroom, and he wonders if that’s where your bedroom is too.

He thinks about you being alone, doing everything by yourself, taking care of the baby, taking care of yourself. Who makes sure you’re okay? Who’s watching out for you?

He gets his answer, two days later, six hours before he’s slated to leave for the next op, when he stumbles upon you in the pouring rain, nearly in tears, Emmaline in a cloth wrap pressed to your chest, paper grocery bags in your arms, standing outside the building’s front door, one free hand frantically searching for what he automatically assumes must be your keys. As soon as he spots you, he increases his pace, legs stretching out in front of him and closing the distance between the three of you in record time.

“I know, I know.” He hears you trying to comfort her as he gets closer, your usual sweet voice edged in a frantic, viscous tone that has his fists clenching. “I’m here, baby. It’s okay.”

“Need some help?” He calls, and you turn with wide, nervous eyes. When you see him, when you realize it’s him, you relax, and blurt out hurriedly:

“Oh my god, do you have a key?” He pulls his own from his pocket, sliding it into the lock and then holds the door open, your body pressing against his when you brush by. “They usually don’t lock this door during the daytime.” He knows. He doesn’t tell you, but he had a strongly worded conversation with the building manager two days ago, when he came across the bloke in the lobby. He terrified the man, but he’s not sorry at all, and he feels certain that the front door will remain locked from now on. Leaving the bleedin’ front door unlocked, for anyone to walk in here. Not anymore.

“It should be locked.” He says flatly, and you purse your lips like you’re going to argue, setting down the grocery bags and then fidgeting with the wrap that has Emmaline sitting snugly against your chest.

“Shhh. I know, I know. You don’t like the rain.” He eyes you curiously, watching you unwrap the long pieces of linen slowly. He’s never seen that before, never seen someone carry a baby around like that, Beth always…

Beth. His skin slicks cool with sweat when the thought rips across his mind, old, buried memories gnawing at where he’s put them away, where’s he’s kept them hidden. Beth. Joseph. Tommy. Tommy holding his son, Joseph as a baby, little boy with blonde curls and happy smile, Tommy and his mom-

“Simon?” you say his name softly, tilting your head, and he blinks, snapping his focus back to the present, back to the now, with you, with Emmaline. “You okay?”

“Yeah, alright.” He points to the brown bags. “Need a hand?” He offers, and you reward it with a gracious smile that shines like a bright light that he can’t look away from. Fucking hell.

#peaches writes #light on #simon riley x female reader #Simon Riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader

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glossysoap · 11 months ago

Note

Gaz dosent know what he likes to see more in your pussy. His cock, his fingers, his tongue or your favorite vibrator 🫠

bloody shame ; kyle garrick

warnings/tags: 18+, fem american reader, smut smut smut, best friends to lovers, obsessive best friend gaz, squirting, overstimulation. italics = fantasies.

word count: 3.2k

Kyle’s palms stung as his calloused skin rubbed against the metal pull-up bar. He huffed as he pulled himself up, holding himself up for a few moments before slowly lowering himself down.

Pull up, hold, lower down. Up and down. Up and down. Again and again, working his way through his long set of pull-ups. Once he hit his last pull-up, he let himself land on his feet with a gentle thud.

He was walking over to the bench press station when he heard the doors to the gym push open. He looked at the reflection on the mirrored walls in front of him to see you and Soap walk in, both dressed in standard training gear.

His chocolate brown eyes automatically trailed up and down your figure, drinking in every detail and feature. He loved how that compression shirt perfectly hugged your curves and accentuated your breasts, all while showing off your muscles. He loved how your leggings hugged your waist and how the fabric smoothed over your legs like butter.

All Gaz could think of when he saw you wearing those leggings that hugged you perfectly, is how he wanted to grab you by your hips and bend you over. He wanted to hear your little shocked yelp as he pulls you against him, gripping you by your plump curves. He could imagine your eyes widen just a fraction as you look back at him, your eyes peering up at him through your lashes. He wanted to yank your leggings down your waist, revealing your white thong and your soft skin that he ached to grab and squeeze. He wanted to palm your soft flesh with his calloused hands, before bringing his hand down in a spank, letting the skin become sore under his touch.

He wanted to grind himself up against your clothed cunt, feeling you all warm up against his dick. He wanted to pull your panties to the side, ridding you of that flimsy fabric and revealing your already soaked pussy. He wanted to let the head of his cock graze your lips, teasing you with the smallest bit of contact. He could just imagine you whine and wiggle back against his cock, begging for more.

“So desperate, doll. Love seein’ you like this, all wet for me.”

“Please, Gaz,” He could imagine you whining, looking back at him. “Please touch me.”

He was brought out of his fantasies by Soap’s incredulous voice hitting his ears.

“So yer’ tellin’ me, it’s common in the states for ladies to fake it?” He overheard Soap ask, his Scottish voice filtering through Gaz’s headphones that had paused after a song.

Gaz’s brows furrowed as he picked up a dumbbell in each hand, ears perked up as he unintentionally eavesdropped on your conversation with Soap.

What in the hell.

He watched as you failed to stifle a laugh, hinting at your own surprise at the subject. Or at least, your surprise at Soap’s nonchalance on the matter.

“Past the TMI stage, are we?” You joke.

Kyle started lifting the dumbbells, alternating between arms and grunting with each lift up. He couldn’t help but look at the two of you through the mirrors reflection in front of him, curious as to where the conversation was going.

How the hell did the two of you get to that topic?

He watched as Soap brought his thermos up to his mouth, taking a swig of water and you standing next to him, sanitizing the machine you were about to use.

Kyle saw you laugh a bit, almost humorlessly, as you looked up at Soap through your lashes.

“You have no idea.” You shoot back with a roll of your eyes, moving to sit on the machine.

At the tone of your voice, Kyle made a noise of indignation deep in his throat. You sounded way too familiar with the subject of faking an orgasm.

“Speaking from experience, aye?” He heard Soap quip, only half serious as he didn’t expect you to take the bait.

No, you couldn’t have possibly faked your—

“Again, you have no idea.”

Gaz’s eyes widened.

No way. Kyle’s arms falter from pure surprise as he lifts the weights.

He saw Soap cough on his water, just as taken aback as Gaz was by your insinuation.

“What, don’t tell me you’ve had to fake it?” Johnny asks.

Gaz’s brown eyes dart right back to you.

“Okay, I won’t tell you that.” You have a sarcastic quip, uncapping your thermos.

No fucking way.

(….)

That’s how you ended up here.

In Gaz’s quarters, in his bed.

With your knees pushed up against your chest and his cock buried inside your cunt. Your head thrown back against his pillows and his face buried in your neck, mouth already marking you up.

“Fuck,” He grunts against your skin, leaving wet open mouthed kisses as he spoke. The sound of his hips slapping against your skin mixed with the sound of your moans.

He couldn’t help himself as he drank in your squirming form trapped beneath him, all sweaty and on display for him. He commits every detail to memory. Every mark and scar and curve that decorated your body, every inch that he had been so desperate to see for so long. Now, he was finally seeing it. And he couldn’t get enough.

He couldn’t get enough of how your brows knit together and your eyes scrunched shut because you were so overtaken by the raw pleasure. When your mouth wasn’t hanging open and letting whines fall out, you were biting your bottom lip in an effort to muffle your noises of desperation.

When he notices you trying to silence yourself, he angles his hips to hit that spot just right and brings one hand down to rub at your swollen clit. That’s a fool proof way to get you choking on a sharp cry of pleasure.

He couldn’t get enough of your breasts bouncing with every thrust, your nipples just aching to be sucked on and tweaked.

He couldn’t get enough of how your legs spasm and twitch as he thrusts into you, your muscles unable to control themselves as they contract. No matter how much you squirm though, he just holds your legs steady — with a firm grip right in the crook of your knees. His soft yet calloused hands squeezing the supple flesh of your leg, his thumbs tracing small circles on your skin.

He couldn’t get enough of how fucking wet you were, how wet noises filled the room while he rutted into you. He couldn’t get enough of how you were squeezing him so fucking tight, so fucking warm.

He just couldn’t get enough of you.

“Oh my god,” You moan, feeling that knot in your stomach wind tighter and tighter with every thrust of his hips. You couldn’t fucking believe it. Not even a full round into it with your best friend, your Gaz, and you were already closer to the edge than you ever were with any of your exes.

Even using a toy didn’t feel this good.

“Can’t believe you didn’t come to me for help.” Gaz mutters into your ear, angling his hips at a new, cruel angle. One that had you choking on air, your hands working to clutch him impossibly closer as his breath fanned hot against your skin.

“Gaz, fuck—,” Your cries of pleasure would be cut off by a moan as his mouth latched onto your nipple. His tongue lapping across the sensitive bud and moaning around it, the vibrations only adding to the pleasure.

“Bet that feels good, huh? Better than any of those other blokes you fooled around with? Yeah, that’s right.”

Moans and whines echoed throughout his room as his hips thrust inside your warmth, your face contorted in pleasure and your hands clutching at his broad back to ground you in reality. Your nails dug into his skin, dragging and leaving stripes across his back.

“You know where I am, doll. Coulda fixed this problem a long time ago.” He all but growled into your ear, feeling you squeeze around him so fucking warm and tight and perfect.

“Hm? Why didn’t you just come to me? Why didn’t you get your best friend to help you?” He asks, as if he wasn’t forcing an orgasm out of you right now. As if you could respond in any capacity.

He glances over at your blissed out face and his lips break out into a smirk.

“Please, please,” you whine, not even knowing what you were begging for.

“Oh, yeah? Feels that good, huh?” He croons in your ear, his pace never slowing as he thrusts inside your soaking pussy. Brown eyes burning into your face as moans poured from your lips and tears streaked down your cheeks. “Poor baby. Can’t even fuckin’ talk.”

Every second he was buried in your cunt and filling you so deep inside, you felt yourself grow closer to the edge. Your toes curled and your legs twitched as they were pushed up against your chest.

“But I asked you a question, love. And I expect an answer. Why didn’t you come to me?” Gaz grounds out, punctuating each word of his question with a hard thrust. Soaking up every whimper and whine and moan you let out.

When you still didn’t give him a sufficient answer, besides your mindless babbling, Kyle grips your jaw and forces you to look at him. Your eyes shoot open, all wide and glossy as you have no choice but to hold his gaze while he fucks you. “Hmm?” His eyes boring into yours, savoring your teary eyed fucked out expression as you willed yourself to form a coherent response.

“I didn’t— fuck,” You cut yourself off with a moan, “I didn’t think that was an option. I didn’t think you liked me—”

Your explanation was cut off by him closing the short distance between you and crashing his lips down to yours. Your eyes widened but you quickly melted into him as the head of his cock kept hitting that spot that made your toes curl. He swallowed any moans and whines as he forced his tongue inside your mouth, tasting you so wholly and completely. The kiss was messy and passionate, full of unspoken feelings and building tension that had finally come to a breaking point.

With each whine and moan that Gaz pulled from you, he smirked against your lips. Those noises only pushed him to make you cum even faster.

“You have no. Fuckin’. Idea.” He all but growls against your mouth, nipping your lip as his hips thrust cruelly with every emphasized word. “No fuckin’ clue how much I like you. How much I love you.” Your brows knit together at his muttered words, so taken aback by his confession that you were half convinced you had imagined it. That you had conjured it up amongst the fog that filled your head.

“But I’ll make sure you know.” Was all he murmured against your lips, eyes flitting open to drink you in. He sneaks the hand that was holding your jaw, all the way down your stomach and between your legs. His fingers quickly find their place on the swollen bundle of nerves that was your clit, rubbing the sensitive bud furiously as he kept thrusting. He could feel the itch of his curls brush up against his hand and your juices drenching the hair and creating a seal around the base of his cock.

He found himself rushing toward his own orgasm right as yours crashed over you, letting out a guttural curse as he came inside you, his cock spurting ropes of cum into your warm cunt. He watched your face contort in even deeper pleasure as you felt his warmth flood your pussy, mixing with your own juices.

It didn’t take long at all for you to cry out into Kyle’s mouth, feeling him grin against your lips. He pushes past his own sensitivity and grinds hard into your cunt, his fingers still rubbing your clit as you squirt all over his cock, squeezing him for all he was worth.

“There you go. Just like that.”

(….)

He was far from finished at showing you how much pleasure you’ve been missing out on.

Only a mere few minutes had passed since you came around his cock before he had moved down your body and found his home between your legs once more.

Your heart was pounding as you came down from your high, your chest heaving and your eyelids weighing heavy. Your mind was fuzzy and clouded, and your cunt was throbbing and pulsing.

Your legs were shaking, feeling so sensitive and boneless — so when you felt his gentle hands prying your thighs apart, your legs jolted. Your breath hitched and your eyes shot open to see Gaz’s head buried between your slick covered thighs.

You could already feel his breath fanning your sensitive pussy. “Such a pretty fuckin’ pussy.”

As soon as you felt his hands grab your hips and pull you down his bed, you scrambled to get away from his mouth. Your cunt was still throbbing and your legs were still weak, making it almost pointless to squirm away from his touch. Your legs that felt like jelly were no match for his strong grip, his arms full with corded muscle built from years of training.

“Kyle,” You whine, eyes glossy as you look down at him, “ ‘M so sensitive.”

His eyes crinkle at the edges as he grins, looking up at you from between your legs. His arms snake around your thighs, keeping you anchored for him and leaving your cunt on display.

Just how he likes it.

He looks up at you through his lashes while he bites at your thigh, savoring the gasp that falls from your lips. Then he sucks that bit of soft, warm skin into his mouth, forming a suction in favor of a future hickey.

“Oh, I know, baby.” He croons, voice sickly sweet, brown eyes peering up at you as he hikes your legs over his shoulders. You yelp as he pulls you impossibly close to his waiting mouth. Your hands find purchase in the sheets below you, fisting the fabric in an effort to ground you in reality.

“But you’ve never had anyone eat this pussy like you deserve, huh? I just know you haven’t.” He lowers his face down to your dripping cunt, the juices of your cum mixing with his. “Such a shame, doll. Bloody shame… for this pretty pussy to go neglected. To not be absolutely worshipped.” He traces your slippery folds with two gentle fingers, spreading your juices up and down your slit, before using those fingers to part your folds and revealing your cunt all spread out and ready for him. You gasp with every touch and trace of his delicate fingers.

“So that’s what I’m gonna do. That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.” Is all he said before diving into your soaked pussy.

He was messy and unabashed, with no care for how loud he was as he tasted every inch of you. He took his sweet fucking time devouring you, kissing along your folds and licking wet stripes along your slit.

“Gaz, oh my god-,” You cry out, throwing your head back against his pillow. Your hips jerking and bucking up against his mouth involuntarily.

He smiles against your cunt as he hears you moan and cry over and over, writhing in his hold from how sensitive you were. He licks a wide stripe up and down your pussy, savoring your juices and cum as if it were his last meal.

“Fuck, you taste so fuckin’ perfect.” He groaned into your cunt, his voice sending vibrations into your core and making you moan even louder.

He didn’t leave his fingers out, though.

The entire time his tongue was licking up your juices, his fingers were playing with your pussy. Starting out slow, dipping those same two fingers inside and letting the pads of his fingers gather your juices. Pushing them in and feeling around your velvet walls, feeling you squeeze around his fingers so damn tight — as if his cock wasn’t buried in your cunt only a few minutes prior.

“So fucking tight. Almost pushing’ me out, love.” He groans into your pussy, before finally dipping his tongue into your entrance.

“Kyle, fuck-,” You cry out, feeling him tongue fuck you while he pumped his fingers in your slippery cunt. Your hips bucked and twitched, making him grip your hips even tighter, grounding you against his face.

His fingers quickened as he heard your moans grow high pitched, knowing you were growing closer and closer with every passing moment.

“Mmm-hmm, that’s it.” He moans into your cunt, delving his tongue even deeper. He curled his tongue and hummed into your heat, almost even growling.

He curled his fingers inside you, enjoying the way you squirmed and jolted from all the sensations. Your legs wriggled on his shoulders, moving on their own accord as his mouth kept working in tandem with his fingers.

“Please, please, please!” You babbled mindlessly, tears stinging at your eyes and your lips sore from being bitten between your teeth too many times.

He smirked against your cunt, one last tactic popping in his head to push you over the edge.

All while pumping and curling his fingers, he used his free hand to reach into his nightstand drawer. He felt silicone beneath his fingertips before swiftly pulling it out, revealing a sleek vibrator. It was small, only about three inches long and matte black.

He clicked the toy on and felt it vibrate it in his hand, excitement flooding his veins as he imagined you jumping from the sudden vibration against your cunt.

With one more glance up at your fucked out face, he pressed the vibrating toy against your throbbing clit.

“Kyle, oh fuck!” You all but screamed, utterly overwhelmed by the mix of sensations. You were drowning in pleasure and ecstasy as his tongue lapped at your wetness and dipped into your cunt, while his fingers pumped into you at a furious pace. To top it all off, an intense wave of vibrations suddenly washed over you.

You didn’t know where the hell it came from, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Not when you couldn’t even feel your face. Not when you couldn’t even tell which way was up and which way was down.

Not when your best friend was busy making you cum over and over. Not when your best friend was making you feel better than any other man ever could.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You wail, feeling that knot burst deep in your stomach as you squeeze tight, pulsing over and over. You squirt all over his fingers and tongue, absolutely drenching his chin and his palm in your juices. Your slick coated the vibrator as he held it against your cunt.

“There you go.” He purred, fingers working you through your orgasm.

“Bet you wish you would have come to me sooner, doll.”

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission. you can use this work as a scriptfill for gonewildaudios as long as you credit me and link me.

🏷️: @warenai @viylikescats @cassiecasluciluce @divine--serenity @ghastlybirdie @lilpothoscuttings @jumbojazzcats93 @krakenbabe @lordlydragon @violet-phantoms @bunnyreaper @blackrose4242 @ansaturn @luvecarson @kenqki @luvmeijii @mercurysjoy @shadowycreatormentality @zittles3000 @theloneshadow24 @moonriseoverkyoto (struck out names are accounts that tumblr won’t let me tag)

#mw2 x reader #modern warfare 2 x reader #modern warfare x reader #call of duty x reader #cod gaz #cod x reader #cod mwii #gaz x reader #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz smut #kyle gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #mw2 smut #gaz smut

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librababe99 · 3 months ago

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More Than Skin Deep

Word Count: 766

cw: Fem! Reader, Self-esteem issues, reference to scars and disfigurement, established relationship, hurt with comfort

A/N: This is my first time writing for Wade! Honestly I wanted this to be short and sweet–plus this man is sooo deserving of some gentle love❤️ Would y’all be more open to content with Wade? How are we feeling?

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨

The night was quiet—surprisingly so for a place like New York City, where the streets never truly slept. But here, in the dim light of Wade’s apartment, the world outside seemed a distant memory. The soft glow of the streetlamp filtered through the window, casting a warm, golden hue over the room, illuminating the gentle rise and fall of Wade’s chest as he lay on the bed.

You sat beside him, your fingers tracing the well-worn path over his skin. Wade Wilson—merc with a mouth, the man who’d seen more carnage than most could even imagine—was currently as still as you’d ever seen him. His eyes were half-closed, a rare vulnerability etched into the lines of his face.

Your fingers followed the familiar route, gliding over the uneven terrain of his chest. Every scar, every imperfection, was a testament to the battles he’d fought and survived. They were part of him, part of the man you loved, and you cherished each one.

“Why do you do that?” Wade’s voice was softer than usual, lacking the usual quip or joke. There was something raw in his tone, something unguarded. He didn’t open his eyes, though. Maybe he was afraid to see what might be reflected in yours.

“Do what?” you asked, your voice equally gentle. Your fingers continued their journey, moving lower, tracing the ridges and valleys of his abdomen. His skin was warm beneath your touch, the tension in his muscles gradually easing under your ministrations.

“This.” He gestured vaguely to where your hands roamed. “Touch me like I’m… I dunno, something precious.”

You smiled, though he couldn’t see it. “Because you are.”

Wade let out a scoff, the sound more automatic than genuine. "Come on, you can't really find this attractive," he muttered, a trace of self-deprecation in his voice.

You smiled softly, leaning down to kiss one of the scars on his chest. "I find you attractive," you whispered against his skin, feeling the subtle tremor of a laugh as it reverberated through him.

You shifted, lying down beside him so you could face him, your hand moving to cup his cheek. His skin was rough here too, but to you, it was perfect. You brushed your thumb across the ridge of his jaw, feeling the way he leaned into your touch, despite himself.

“You’re not just scars, Wade,” you said, your voice firm but tender. “You’re the man who makes me laugh until my sides hurt. You’re the guy who takes on the worst of the worst to protect people, even if you’d never admit that’s why you do it. You’re the person who makes me feel safe, and loved, and important.”

Wade’s eyes finally opened, and you saw the conflict in them—an uncertainty that rarely showed itself. “You really believe all that?”

“I do.” You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips, soft and slow. “I love every part of you. The loud, the quiet, the scars, the smile… all of it. You’re mine, Wade, and I’m not letting go.”

He exhaled a shaky breath, his hand coming up to rest on yours where it still cupped his cheek. “You’re too good for me,” he said, but there was less conviction in his words this time.

“Maybe,” you teased lightly, pulling back just enough to see the faint hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “But you’re stuck with me now.”

Wade’s hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the lie in your words. But there wasn’t one. What he saw was the truth—the unconditional, unwavering love you had for him.

“Guess I could get used to that,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

You kissed him again, letting your lips linger, savoring the taste of him, the feel of him. Your hand drifted down his chest once more, over the scars and the rough patches, your touch reverent, worshipful. You poured everything into that kiss, into your touch, wanting him to feel the depth of your love, to know it was real.

When you finally pulled back, Wade’s eyes were dark, filled with something that looked an awful lot like hope.

“Thank you,” he whispered, the words barely audible.

You just smiled, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead, your heart full. “Always.”

And as the night stretched on, with the world outside growing quieter still, you stayed wrapped in each other’s arms. Wade’s body relaxed completely under your gentle ministrations, his heart finally accepting what his mind struggled to comprehend.

That he was loved—scars and all.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨

#wade wilson #deadpool #deadpool 3 #deadpool and wolverine #marvel #mcu #fem reader #wade wilson x fem reader #wade wilson x reader #deadpool x reader #fluff #hurt/comfort #ryan reynolds

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theculturedmarxist · 2 years ago

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In photos of 2023’s World Economic Forum- or Davos as it is commonly called, after the Swiss resort town where it annually occurs- you might not notice the HEPA filters. They’re in the background, unobtrusive and unremarked upon, quietly cleansing the air of viruses and bacteria. You wouldn’t know- not unless you asked- that every attendee was PCR tested before entering the forum, or that in the case of a positive test, access was automatically, electronically, revoked. And if you happened to get a glimpse of the strange blue lights overhead, you could reasonably assume that their glow was simply a modern aesthetic choice, not the calming buzz of cutting edge Far UVC technology- demonstrated to kill microbes in the air.

It’s hard to square this information with the public narrative about COVID, isn’t it? President Biden has called the pandemic “over”. The New York Times recently claimed that “the risk of Covid is similar to that of the flu” in an article about “hold outs” that are annoyingly refusing to accept continual reinfection as their “new normal”. Yet, this week the richest people in the world are taking common sense, easy- but strict- precautions to ensure they don’t catch Covid-19 at Davos.

These common sense, easy precautions include high-quality ventiliation, use of Far UVC-lighting technology, and PCR testing. You’ll also see some masks at Davos, but generally, the testing + air filtration protocol seems to be effective at preventing the kind of super-spreader events most of us are now accustomed to attending.

It seems unlikely to me that a New York Times reporter will follow the super-rich around like David Attenborough on safari, the way one of their employees did when they profiled middle-class maskers last month. I doubt they will write “family members and friends can get a little exasperated by the hyper-concern” about the assembled Prime Ministers, Presidents and CEOs in Switzerland. After all, these are important people. The kind of people who merit high-quality ventilation. The kind of people who deserve accurate tests.

Why is the media so hellbent on portraying simple, scientifically proven measures like high-quality ventilation as ridiculous and unnecessary as hundreds of people continue to die daily here in the US?

Why is the public accepting a “new normal” where we are expected to get infected over and over and over again, at work events with zero precautions, on airplanes with no masks, and at social dinners trying to approximate our 2019 normal?

We deserve better. We deserve to be #DavosSafe as the hashtag going around on twitter puts it. Your children deserve to be treated with the care that world leaders are treating each other. Your family deserves to be protected from the disease which is still- unlike the flu- the third leading cause of death in the US. We don’t deserve to be shoved back into poorly ventilated workplaces while our politicians and press assure us that only crazy people would demand to breathe clean air.

Clean water and clean food are rights we fought for; we have regulatory bodies that ensure we aren’t exposed to pathogens via our water supply nor our food. In 1854, John Snow famously conducted his Broad Street Pump study in London and demonstrated that cholera was water-bourne; however, it took decades for our public policy to catch up with our scientific knowledge.

A public health case study published by the NBCI describes the years that followed:

The first use of chlorine as a disinfectant for water facilities was in 1897 in England. The first use of this method for municipal water facilities in the United States was in Jersey City, New Jersey, and Chicago, Illinois, in 1915. Other cities followed and the use of chlorination as standard treatment for water disinfection rapidly grew. During the 20th century, death rates from waterborne diseases decreased significantly, and although other additional factors contributed to the general improvements in health (such as sanitation, improved quality of life, and nutrition), the improvement of water quality was, without doubt, a major reason.

Forty-three years passed from the initial demonstration that pathogens were being spread via water, and public action and regulation to halt disease.

Can you imagine, in the 1890s, being somebody who argued against cleaning the water?

Can you imagine, in those years of plentiful cholera, calling the people who demanded shit-free water “hold outs”?

One thing COVID realists are accused of is being “doomsayers” and “fearmongers,” so let me share a dose of optimism about the future with you. When we choose- whenever we choose- to get COVID under control, there’s an exciting new world awaiting us. One, not only without constant COVID reinfection, but where our kids can grow up free of colds, flus, RSV, and many other common bugs. And no, contrary to what you may have heard, staying healthy (shockingly enough) is not bad for children!

Once we choose to institute ventilation standards and introduce new technologies like Far UVC lighting- and embrace masking as an easy, kind, and useful tool to control outbreaks- we can bring every nasty airborne pathogen under control the way we did cholera. We didn’t have the science before; now we do. (I mean that quite literally; I can’t recommend enough the linked Wired article cataloguing the long journey to establishing that Covid is, indeed, airborne).

We face a stark choice; down one road, the one with zero infrastructure upgrades, no air quality regulations, and Covid safety only for those who can afford it, you and your family will get Covid this year. You will get Covid next year. You will continue to get Covid over and over and over again, as the health problems - like cardiac damage, viral persistance, and immune system dysfunction- continue to build up. (The billionaires, of course, will not).

Down the other road, we quite simply treat ourselves the way Davos would. We engage with what the science is telling us and we build a safer, better world for our kids. We embrace the lessons this pandemic is teaching us, and let go of things we now know are harming people. We stop clinging desperately to the idea that 2019 will come back if we just get the virus one more time, and we come together to achieve what we’ve been told is impossible: elimination.

The economic elite thrive on our divisiveness and blame casting. They don’t mind that we’re calling each other names, engaging in racial stereotyping, or leaving disabled people to die, so long as we keep their machine running. But we can choose to stop throwing blame at each other, and direct it where it belongs: at the powerful people who’ve left us to suffer, at the politicians who are whipping people into a frenzy over masks instead of over our millions of dead, at the talking heads on TV that work so hard to convince us: you want to get sick. It’s better than being a *weirdo* or a *hold out*.

We needn’t wait 43 years to redirect our energies. France and Belgium have already introduced new air quality standards, and DIY projects to build Corsi-Rosenthal boxes for schools and healthcare settings have popped up around the country. We have the science, we have the technology. All we need now is the political will and the solidarity to truly end the pandemic- the kind of solidarity the super rich always show with one another.

The billionaires at Davos don’t accept continual Covid reinfection. They demand better. It’s time we demand better too.

#covid #covid 19 #covid prevention #davos world economic forum #world economic forum #forever covid

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alygator77 · 2 months ago

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♬♪ ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : beat of my heart ♬♪

♬ pairing. college au // drummer! gojo x psychology major! reader (f)

♬ summary. being a psychology major with a passion for music, you're no stranger to chaos—between juggling school, caring for your mother, and working at a local music shop, you've learned to keep your cool. but when a cocky drummer pushes your patience to the limit, a chance encounter with satoru gojo—an enigmatic, sharp-tongued musician—turns your world upside down. as you're drawn to his dangerous charm, an unexpected connection deepens, but so do the secrets you've both been running from. will you get caught up in his rhythm before you realize it’s too late?

♬ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, slow burn, smut, angst with comfort, some fluff, readers mom has dementia, mentions of suicide, alcohol/weed usage, unresolved trauma, commitment issues

♬ words: 7.3k

♬ a/n. hi lovelies, welcome to the debut of this fic :) very excited to explore this dynamic between satoru and y/n, thanks for reading ♡

♬ taglist: open

series masterlist ♬ next chapter → pending...

ch 1 // the first measure

“Emotional regulation is defined as the process by which individuals influence the emotions they experience, when they experience them, and how they express them in response to different stimuli.”

Staring at the neatly printed words in your psychology textbook, your mind automatically begins to dissect the concept.

Emotional regulation. The holy grail of human behavior, wrapped neatly in clinical terms. It’s the ability to keep yourself in check, to craft a perfect mask that hides what’s boiling beneath the surface. The world only gets to see what you allow. If it were as easy as the textbook made it sound, half your classes wouldn’t exist.

Letting out a breath, you sink deeper into your chair.

People aren’t simple equations you can balance, after all—people are… complicated.

Emotions, even more so.

They ebb and flow like unpredictable tides, swelling when you least expect them, crashing down when you think you’ve regained control. They are messy, stubborn, and relentless—especially when the brain stops following its own rules.

Your mothers face comes to mind—uninvited. Her once-bright eyes are now dull with confusion, emotions flickering in and out like static on a broken TV. Dementia has stolen the filter that once kept her reactions in line with reality. It’s as if her mind is betraying her, one piece at a time.

You press your fingers against the pages of the textbook. Will any amount of psychology truly prepare you to untangle the complexities of the human mind? Can it allow you to help her—or at least understand her—before she’s lost entirely?

Before you can sink further into that thought, an ear-splitting crash reverberates through the store, jolting you back into the present. Glancing up with a sigh, the peaceful hum of the music store is shattered by the clumsy cacophony of someone abusing a drum kit like it owes him money.

Clearly, emotional regulation isn’t on that guy’s radar.

Yet, somehow, you’ve grown used to it. Working part-time here has taught you how to tune out chaos, as if the dissonance of the store has become its own kind of background music.

It’s chaotic, but it’s your kind of chaos.

The strings of guitars being tested, the pounding of drum kits, the chattering of customers—it all blends into a rhythm you no longer notice.

You’ve been working part-time in this quaint little music shop for so long that silence has become unsettling. If it’s too quiet, your mind starts wandering, spiraling into places you don’t always want to go. And so, the chaos is your anchor—it helps you focus, keeps you present.

Studying in silence feels foreign.

“Ugh… I have such a headache,” Utahime’s voice breaks through your thoughts, her hand pressing to her temple. Standing a few feet away, she shoots a glare towards the drum section. “He’s been at it for practically an hour now. Like… come on. Is he trying to destroy that kit or learn how to play it?”

Glancing up from your textbook, you eyes land on a brawny guy with jet-black hair, slamming away on the drums with no sense of rhythm, no control—just brute force.

“Has it really been that long?” you ask, blinking at the scene. The noise had faded into the background for you, becoming just another layer of the store’s soundtrack.

Utahime gives you a look that screams disbelief.

“You didn’t notice?”

You shrug.

“Guess I’ve learned to tune it out.”

“Tch… wish I could do that,” she rolls her eyes, rubbing her temples like the sound is physically burrowing into her skull. “That guy is killing me.”

Oh, shit. Now that your attention is focused, you notice just how bad it really is. It’s not just noise—it’s borderline offensive to music. He’s not even playing the drums—he’s assaulting them—completely unaware of the sonic devastation he’s unleashing on the store.

Utahime lets out another long, exasperated groan, her entire body sagging as she leans forward in defeat.

“I swear, if he keeps going, I’m going to snap,” her elbows rest on the counter, and she presses her forehead into her hands. “y/nnnn,” she whines, lifting her head just enough to glimpse at you. “Can you please do something?”

Glancing around the store, you catch the irritated looks of other customers—one guy near the synthesizers is glaring openly at the drummer, his hand gripping a set of headphones so tightly you half expect him to snap them in half.

It’s like the whole store is holding its breath, waiting for someone—anyone—to make it stop.

A sigh escapes your lips as you close your textbook. It’s one thing to tune out the chaos when you’re focused on studying, but now that you’re paying attention, the noise feels like an assault on your senses too. You can’t blame Utahime for losing her patience—though she’s never been one to take matters into her own hands.

“Fine, I’ll handle it,” you mutter, pushing yourself up from your seat.

“Oh, thank God,” she breathes, finally peeling her hands away from her temples. “Please, work your magic. Before we all go deaf.”

You roll your eyes internally, though you can’t help the grin tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Magic. Sure—that’s one way to put it.

What Utahime calls ‘magic’ is really just years of learning how to manage other people’s shit without losing your cool.

It’s not magic—it’s survival. A skill you’ve honed out of necessity, not desire. And sure, maybe your love for psychology helps—you’ve got the theories to back up the practice—but most days it feels more like wrangling toddlers who never learned how to grow up.

Taking a steady breath, you step into the fray, weaving through the store’s labyrinth of instruments and displays. As you get closer, the vibrations from the drums rattle through your bones, crawling up your spine. The sound is unbearable, like nails on a chalkboard amplified through a megaphone.

The guy doesn’t even look up, his head bent low over the drum kit, raven hair falling in messy strands across his forehead. His arms move with the rhythm of someone who has no idea what rhythm actually is, and the muscles in his forearms ripple with each heavy-handed strike as he slams the sticks down like he’s personally offended by the drums.

You stand off to the side for a moment, watching him have at it. You’ve dealt with a lot of difficult people working here, but this guy? He’s so oblivious to the fact that the rest of the store is on the verge of mutiny.

Clearing your throat, you raise your voice, hoping to break through his focus.

“Excuse me!”

Nothing.

Another crash of the cymbals, loud enough to rattle your skull. Your jaw tightens as you try again, this time louder.

“Excuuuuse me!”

Still nothing. He’s completely in his own world, bashing away with reckless abandon. It’s like he’s in a vacuum, utterly disconnected from the chaos he’s creating around him.

Jesus this guy… your patience thins and you step closer—close enough now to feel the heat radiating off him from his overexertion. His shirt clings to his back with sweat, and the muscles in his arms continue to ripple with each reckless swing of the drumsticks.

He’s not just playing hard—he’s playing like he’s got something to prove.

As you reach out to tap his shoulder, you try to keep your touch firm but not aggressive, although, the moment your fingers make contact with him, his entire body jerks—drumsticks freezing mid-air as he whips his head around to face you.

His dark eyes lock onto yours, sharp and filled with a flicker of annoyance.

“What?” he snaps, voice dripping with irritation.

Keeping your expression neutral, you try not to let his attitude get to you.

“You’ve been at this for a while,” you begin, as calm as you can manage. “We have a limited selection and there are other customers who may be wanting to try this kit.”

His eyes narrow, clearly unimpressed.

“So?” he drawls, waving the drumsticks lazily, like your request is beneath him.

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you press your lips together in protest. Stay professional, you remind yourself. Shifting your weight slightly, you square your shoulders and look him directly in the eyes.

“So,” you continue, voice firmer this time, “store policy is thirty minutes per instrument. You’ve been playing for over an hour.”

A low, sarcastic laugh bubbles from his chest, the sound filled with mockery as he tilts his head back slightly.

“And… what are you gonna do about it?” leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his knees like he's settling for a show—eyes glimmering with amusement as his lips curl into a smirk. “Throw me out?”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek—every fiber of your being is itching to knock this guy down a peg.

Ugh. What a tool.

The condescension in his voice grates on you like sandpaper, but you force yourself to stay composed.

“Look…store policy is pretty clear,” you reply evenly, nodding towards the sign behind the counter. “You either give someone else a turn, or I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Your words seem to pique his interest—his smirk widens, eyes flicking over you slowly, appraisingly. Suddenly you’re more interesting to him than this drum set. He pushes himself off the stool in a slow, deliberate movement, and you hold your breath the moment he towers over you.

He’s by no means, a small guy.

The light behind him is blocked from his broad shoulders, and there’s a new edge to his gaze now. The moment he invades your space, it is just a little too close for comfort.

“Oh yeah?” your stomach turns from the low suggestive timber of his voice, “And what if I don’t feel like leaving, sweetheart? You gonna make me?”

Ick.

This guy might take the cake for being the most difficult prick you’ve had to deal with here, and that’s saying something. Working in this music shop, you’ve come across a lot of full of themselves wannabees, praising themselves like the next big thing—acting like God’s gift to music when all they want to play over and over again is ‘Stairway to Heaven,’ and ‘Wonderwall.’

A surge of discomfort ripples through your body, but you stand your ground. You know how this goes—he wants a reaction, and you’re not about to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.

“Look dude, I’m not asking,” your tone sharpens, leaving no room for argument. “This is your last warning”

His eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise, and a low whistle escapes his lips, as if he’s impressed—but it’s the kind of faux admiration that makes your skin crawl.

“You’re a tough one, huh?” he muses, chuckling softly.

Leaning in, the heat of his breath brushes against your skin as he invades your space once again—far too close for comfort—and you feel his gaze sweep over you slowly, lingering in a way that feels slimy and unwelcome.

“I like a girl with a little fire,” he adds, voice dropping lower. “It always makes things more fun.”

Gross.

Your hands curl into fists by your sides and you fight the urge to recoil as a surge of revulsion twists through you like a knife.

But before you can respond—before you even have the chance to formulate the sharp retort already forming on your tongue—the air shifts and a new voice cuts in.

“Wow, did I just walk in on the world’s worst pickup line, or are we about to throw hands over a drum kit?”

Turning your head towards the source of the voice, your eyes land on a tall figure standing a few feet away—his hair is a striking shade of snowy white, messy and untamed, falling in tousled strands that almost brush against the black sunglasses obscuring his eyes, and even with his face partially hidden, there’s no mistaking the mischievous glint tugging at the corners of his mouth—like he’s watching the scene unfold for his own amusement.

Despite the casual nature of his appearance—jeans slung low, a loose-fitting hoodie—there’s something undeniably striking about him. It’s the kind of presence that demands attention without asking for it

Who the hell is this guy?

Clearly irritated by the interruption, the drummer straightens up—his smirk faltering as he sizes up the newcomer.

“This doesn’t concern you, man,” he growls, tight with irritation. “I’m just having a little conversation with her.”

The snowy stranger’s grin turns sharp, though his voice remains light.

“Yeeeah, see, that’s where you’re wrong,” he steps up beside you, and without hesitation, his arm slips around your waist, pulling you smoothly into his side like you’ve always belonged there. “Everything concerning her concerns me.”

Your heart skips a beat, caught off guard by the sudden, possessive gesture. Part of you bristles at the boldness, but another part… feels oddly safe in his grasp—like he’s been by your side forever.

There’s a shift in the atmosphere as the drummer's eyes narrow—like the balance of power has tipped—the presence of this stranger throwing him off.

“Oh really? And just who the hell are you?” he snaps.

Your mysterious stranger doesn’t miss a beat—he chuckles softly, his sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his eyes—brilliant, vivid blue, and gleaming with a spark that teeters between playful and dangerous. It’s the kind of look that makes your heart flip.

“Oh, me?” he feigns innocence with a nonchalant shrug, like this whole thing is just mildly amusing to him. “I’m nobody special.”

Sliding his sunglasses back into place, he casually pulls you in a bit closer, and you are met with the warmth of his body as he leans into you just slightly.

“Just here to make sure my girl doesn’t have to deal with assholes. Y’know how it is.”

Your mind scrambles to catch up.

Your girl? You blink, heat rushing to your cheeks as the words rolling off his tongue begin to register. You barely know this guy—hell, you don’t know him at all—and yet here he is, acting like the two of you are something.

But…maybe it’s working? Because the drummer’s eyes narrow further, his expression twisting as a furrow darkens over his features. Ah…but then you realize he’s not focused on the claim your stranger just made—no, his attention is locked on a different word entirely.

“Asshole?” he echoes, voice rising with indignation, practically spitting the word back. Clenching his fists, he steps forward with a scowl twisting upon you face. “You calling me an asshole?”

“Well, yeah,” your stranger remarks casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He shrugs again, utterly unfazed by the tension mounting between them. “When the shoe fits…I mean, you’re acting like one, aren’t you?”

Pure rage flashes across the drummer’s face, and you can visibly see his fists trembling slightly.

Uhh… on second thought, is this guy even helping?

Now you’re not so sure if your so-called rescuer is making things better or worse, because clearly, the drummer is on the verge of snapping.

“You better watch your mouth man,” the drummer snarls, fury simmering beneath the surface.

But the stranger’s grin only widens, and he exudes a confidence that makes it clear he’s not worried in the slightest.

“Heh. That’s a warning I get a lot,” he muses, tilting his head slightly. “But y’know what? I don’t usually listen.”

It's a wonder the drumsticks the drummer is fisting haven't cracked under pressure, given how tightly he clenches them—his knuckles turn white.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” he growls through gritted teeth.

A low hum rumbles against your strangers’ lips as he ponders the question thoughtfully.

“I mean, I’ve been told I’m pretty hilarious,” he scratches the back of his head, like he’s seriously considering the statement, then, glancing at you, his eyes gleam with amusement as his sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose slightly.

“Whatcha think babe? Am I funny?”

The question—and that pet name—catches you completely off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless.

But the drummer isn’t interested in the little game your stranger seems to be playing. His jaw clenches—teeth grinding audibly as his face hardens into something feral.

“I’m about two seconds away from wiping that stupid grin off your face,” he spits, taking another aggressive step forward.

Fucking hell, is a fight really about to break out at your work?

Your pulse quickens, and for a split second, you think he might actually swing at him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the stranger says, still grinning like none of this phases him.

He releases his hold on your waist and steps forward with a smooth, almost lazy movement, placing himself between you and the drummer. His hands slip casually into his pockets, posture relaxed, but the air around him shifts.

“Let’s pump the brakes, big guy,” he tilts his head slightly, a dangerous edge creeping into his tone. “You’re welcome to try. But I’ll tell ya right now—” his teasing lilt diminishes, replaced by something colder, more commanding, “you’re not gonna like how it ends.”

His words—a warning and a challenge wrapped in one—hang heavy, and for a moment it feels like the entire store is holding its breath, waiting to see what happens next. Glancing around, you notice a few customers watching the scene unfold.

Fucking hell—this has gone from bad to worse.

And yet…the drummer doesn’t swing. He doesn’t move—doesn’t even flinch.

He’s seething—rage evident in the set of his jaw, the clenched fists at his sides—but something about the stranger’s calm, unwavering demeanor is throwing him off balance. It’s almost impressive, really.

No, scratch that—it is impressive.

You misjudged this guy. He might have walked in here like a cocky troublemaker, throwing out cheesy one-liners and pushing your buttons, but now? Now, he’s cool under pressure, defusing a situation that could’ve easily escalated into violence.

Body language often says more than words ever could, and his is completely in control—relaxed, hands in his pockets, not a single muscle tensed for a fight, yet there’s a sharpness beneath the surface—an unspoken control that demands attention.

It’s brilliant in a way. He’s defusing the threat without lifting a finger—a textbook example of how to manage tension without aggression. This guy is winning a psychological game the drummer doesn’t even realize he’s playing.

Their silent standoff stretches, until finally, the stranger breaks the silence with his smooth and almost disarmingly casual voice.

“Look, man,” he shrugs one shoulder with a nonchalance that seems almost practiced. “This is me giving you a chance to walk away with your dignity intact.” Tilting his head slightly, he gestures toward you with a subtle nod. “She asked you politely to stop. This is a store, not your personal garage. So maybe it’s time you pack it up and go before you make things worse.”

There’s a moment—a pause that feels like it stretches just a beat too long—where you can practically see the drummer’s gears turning in his head, weighing his options, trying to hold onto whatever’s left of his bravado.

Then, finally, he mutters through gritted teeth,

“Whatever.”

The word is spat out, dripping with frustration and barely-contained rage, and with a sharp movement, he tosses the drumsticks onto the kit—the wooden sticks clattering against the drums in a final act of defiance.

“You’re not worth it, and this place sucks anyway,” he mutters, full of aggravation, but his heart no longer in it—it’s clear his fight has deflated.

Turning sharply on his heel, he shoves past both you and the stranger with a forceful shoulder, storming toward the exit, and once the door slams shut behind him, the sound reverberates through the store with an unmistakable finality.

Just like that, the tension breaks. It’s like the whole store exhales at once—the weight lifting from the air as the distant murmur of customers resumes.

Before you can fully process what just happened, the stranger beside you turns his attention back to you.

“Well, that was fun,” he remarks, “Could’ve gone worse though. I mean, I didn’t even get to throw a punch. Talk about anti-climactic, huh?”

You barely manage to take a breath as he closes the space between you just a little more, his movements slow and intentional, and your heart flutters the moment his sunglasses slip down slightly, just enough for you to get a direct glimpse of his eyes. They lock onto yours—those bright, vivid blues—and for a second, everything else around you fades into the background.

“Seriously though,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “You okay?”

There’s something undeniably genuine in his tone, something that cuts through the playful exterior and lands right in your chest. You weren’t expecting that—this tenderness from someone who moments ago had brushed off a near-fight like it was nothing.

His eyes—soft but still burning with intensity—hold yours captive, and for a second, you forget how to speak.

“Uh… yeah,” you manage, “I think so.”

“Good,” he says with a nod, pushing his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Because I think you owe me a ‘thank you’ for that stellar rescue.”

You blink out of incredulity.

Thank you?

So much for tender—who does this guy think he is? You nearly scoff aloud. He wants a 'thank you' for a rescue that, truthfully, you weren’t even sure you needed?

Unsure whether you’re amused or annoyed by his arrogance, you open your mouth to respond—but before you can say anything, he cuts you off with a wink.

“Kidding,” he says with a chuckle, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. “Always happy to help.” His hands settle into his pockets and he pauses, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. “Especially when it means I get to rescue a pretty girl like you.”

The compliment lands harder than you’d care to admit as you feel the warmth creeping up your neck and into your cheeks—betraying the fact that—against your better judgment—you’re not entirely immune to his charm.

A flicker of something stirs in your chest…

—nope. Let’s not go there.

Pushing it down before it can grow into something more, you refuse to let that feeling root itself.

You’re not looking for attention, especially not from a guy like this—a guy who flashes a cocky grin like he knows it works. The kind of guy who acts like the world bends to his whims.

Romance? No thanks. You’ve got bigger things to focus on. He’s exactly the kind of distraction you don’t need.

“Rescue might be a strong word,” you mutter, finally finding your voice again as you cross your arms over your chest. “I had it under control… mostly.”

“Oh, you did? My bad,” leaning in slightly, his voice lowers as if sharing a secret. “But trust me, that guy? He was one wrong word away from turning this into a full-on disaster. You’re lucky I stepped in when I did.”

You can’t help but raise an eyebrow at his comment, refusing to let him rattle you this time, and there’s a flicker of amusement creeping into your voice as you challenge him.

“Lucky, huh? So, what now? You expecting a medal or something?”

His grin widens—a grin that’s undeniably magnetic, but you resist being pulled into its orbit.

“Naaaah, I’m not that high maintenance,” straightening himself, he regards you with a slight tilt of the head. “But… I’ll take a coffee if you’re offering.”

You blink, momentarily thrown off by his response.

Did he just… ask you out?

“Wait, what?” you stammer, not quite sure you heard him right.

“A coffee,” he repeats smoothly. “Y’know, like a reward for my heroic efforts.” He pauses, just long enough to make it clear he’s toying with you. “Or is that too forward? I can settle for your number instead.”

You can’t help the scoff that escapes your lips—a sharp exhale that’s part disbelief, part amusement. This guy is unbelievable.

Nope. You’re not going to let him get to you that easily.

“I don’t even know your name,” you shoot back, lifting your chin just a little higher, “and you’re already angling for a reward?”

“Ouch, y/n,” he replies, placing a hand dramatically over his chest as if you’ve wounded him deeply—his grin, however, never falters. “That stings.”

You stare at him, your brows furrowing in confusion.

“How do you…?”

“How do I know your name?” he finishes for you, clearly enjoying this a little too much. He tilts his head. “Well, for starters, your nametag.”

Oh.

You glance down quickly and—of course—there it is, printed neatly on the tag pinned to your shirt, and now you are mentally kicking yourself for not realizing sooner.

“Right… of course,” you shake your head in mild embarrassment. It’s infuriating how easily he’s messing with you.

An amused chuckle dances on his lips and he leans back ever so slightly—hands in his pockets like he has all the time in the world.

“But that’s not the only reason I know you,” he adds, voice taking on a more playful tone, almost like he’s daring you to figure it out. “You really don’t recognize me, do you?”

You blink, trying to piece together where you might’ve seen him before. There’s something vaguely familiar about his voice…have you heard it before? Do you know him?

“I don’t…” you start, trailing off, searching for any spark of recognition, but you come up blank. “Uhh… should I?”

Flashing you a toothy smile, he's clearly delighted by your confusion.

“Ouch again. Double whammy,” with a dramatic sigh, he shakes his head in mock disappointment as his crooked grin curves up. “I guess I’m not as memorable as I thought.”

Your eyebrow quirks up at his theatrics, and despite yourself, the corner of your lips do too. Ugh. You want to be irritated with him but somehow, he makes it incredibly hard to be.

“Right… well,” tilting your head, your voice dips with playful sarcasm, “maybe if you told me your name, it might jog my memory?”

With a soft chuckle, he slides his sunglasses off and rests them on top of his head, and just like that, you’re greeted with the full, unobstructed view of his eyes—striking, electric blue, so vivid they almost don’t seem real, and they lock onto yours with an intensity that sends a flutter through your chest.

“Satoru,” he says smoothly, as if his name alone should be enough to make everything click. “Gojo Satoru.”

The name floats in your mind, like it’s circling around something, but still, nothing concrete surfaces. He seems so confident—so sure that you should know who he is—and it only adds to your frustration.

Do you know him?

Generally, you keep to yourself, both at work and on campus—with your moms condition you don’t really have time for the exciting college life. Tilting your head, your eyes narrow as you study his face—surely, you would have remembered someone like him... wouldn’t you?

“Gojo Satoru…” you test the name on your tongue as if saying it aloud might unlock some hidden memory. But still—nothing. “Sorry, not ringing any bells.”

Satoru laughs again, rich and unbothered, like this is the highlight of his day.

“Wow, I’m really striking out today,” he shakes his head in mock dismay. “I guess I’ll have to try harder next time.”

Before you can muster a response, he reaches out casually, plucking a pair of drumsticks from an endcap display nearby, twirling them between his fingers like it’s second nature. He examines them for a moment, then looks back at you with a raised brow.

“So, since we’re here and I’m feeling generous… how about you check me out?”

You glance down at the drumsticks in his hand, then back up at him—his expression is unreadable, that signature smirk lingering as if he’s waiting for you to catch up.

“...you mean ring up the drumsticks, right?” you clarify, though your voice is uncertain.

“Sure, let’s go with that,” he murmurs, and then, with a sly wink, he adds, “But I don’t mind if you do both.”

For a beat, your breath hitches, and you fight back the urge to roll your eyes.

Okay—this is guy is definitely a flirt. You’re not falling for his trap.

“Wow… you’re really not subtle, are you?” reaching out, you snatch the drumsticks from his hand. “How many women actually fall for that?” you turn on your heel towards the counter, and he follows in step.

“Hmm…I’m not exactly keeping score,” he admits. “But let’s just say I don’t hear too many complaints.”

Glancing back at him, you arch an eyebrow as you approach the register—fingers automatically moving to unlock your cash drawer, and he leans casually against the counter beside you, propping his elbow on it—like he owns the space.

“Will say though,” he adds, voice dipping lower, “I don’t usually have to try this hard. You’re pretty special.”

You scoff, your fingers hesitating slightly over the keys, though you refuse to let him see how his words make a tiny flutter bloom in your chest.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” you mutter under your breath, trying—and failing—to focus solely on the transaction.

Satoru hums, watching you with that same playful gleam in his eyes.

“Nah,” his tone drops to something almost conspiratorial, “you’re definitely one of a kind.”

Yup. He’s a smooth talker—and without a doubt, bad news.

Pressing your lips together, you force your gaze to remain on the screen in front of you. He’s playing a game, and you’re determined not to lose.

As you scan the barcode on the drumsticks, he casually pulls out his wallet to pay, and that’s when something catches your eye—a student ID peeking out from the clear pocket inside his wallet.

Narrowing your eyes slightly, your fingers hover mid-air as you get a better look. The ID is familiar—yet you can't make out the school’s name plastered right across it, but the logo and the colors are unmistakable.

Wait a second…

“We go to the same school?”

Satoru looks up, his grin stretching even wider and the glimmer in his eyes practically daring you to catch up—he’s been waiting for this moment.

“Took ya long enough,” he teases, playful but with a hint of smugness. “Yeah, we do.”

You blink, the pieces clicking together a little too late.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” you demand, unable to stop the half-accusatory, half-embarrassed tone that underlines your voice. A groan slips past your lips and you shake your head in frustration. “I swear…you’ve been messing with me this whole time.”

With an amused chuckles, Satoru lifts his shoulders in a casual shrug.

“Hey, it’s more fun this way,” he leans in a little closer, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. “Besides,” he pauses, tilting his head just slightly while his lips curve into a sly grin. “I like watching you piece things together. You’ve got this cute little furrow in your brow when you’re thinking hard.”

The intensity in his eyes makes your breath hitch, and no matter how hard you resist, there’s that undeniable flutter in your chest, warm and unwanted.

“How come I’ve never seen you around?” you ask, trying to steer the conversation back onto safer ground.

“Oof. You’re killing me, y/n. I pass by you every day, actually.”

You frown, narrowing your eyes.

“Every day? Where?”

“The water fountain,” he says smoothly, tapping his fingers on the counter rhythmically, just a light touch. “Y’know, where you sit and study. Every afternoon, without fail. I walk by almost every day.”

Ah. That’s why his voice must’ve sounded familiar. You probably heard him—another voice blending into the background while you were studying.

“Really? Guess I never noticed you.”

Resting his chin in his hand, a dramatic huff falls from Satoru's lips as they form into a pout.

“Jeez…you don’t quit. I can’t believe I’m that forgettable.”

You can’t resist the soft laugh that escapes you, despite yourself—it’s hard not to find his antics at least a little amusing, and though you’d never admit it, the way he’s so desperate for your attention is almost… cute.

“Maybe you just blend into the background too much,” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow while extending your hand, silently gesturing for his payment.

“Ouch...” he winces dramatically, pulling out his card before placing it in your hand. “Okay, that one stung a little.”

“Yeah, well… I’m sure your ego will recover,” you quip, glancing up briefly before focusing back on the transaction. But there’s a brief pause as you swipe his card—a silence that suddenly feels charged with something else.

You can feel his gaze lingering on you, heavy and expectant, and you try your hardest not to give in to the pull to look at him again—but the heat of his attention is unmistakable, almost like a gravitational force pulling you in, and you can feel your pulse quicken under his scrutiny.

“I gotta say, you’ve got a sharp tongue—I like it,” he murmurs.

Your fingers freeze for just a second, your breath hitching slightly as his tone shifts, and you can’t resist—your eyes flick up and he holds your gaze captive yet again.

“But it’s a bad habit, y’know,” he continues, his voice dropping, growing more intent as his eyes flicker over your features. “Not being aware of your surroundings like that...” leaning in just a fraction, his words become a quiet murmur between the two of you. “What if some creep tried to take advantage of you?”

The gentleness in his demeanor… is he genuinely concerned? It’s hard to tell—harder than you’d like to admit—and it’s easier to convince yourself he isn’t—that this is all part of his charming routine, because that makes it easier to ignore the subtle pull he has on you.

“Well,” you keep your voice steady, despite the flutter in your chest, “lucky for me, no one’s tried. Unless…” tilting your head slightly, a teasing smirk tugs at your lips, “you’re secretly admitting to being a creep.”

Satoru’s laugh spills out, rich and warm, breaking the moment just enough for you to catch your breath.

“Nah, I’m not creep,” his voice lightens as he straightens up just a little. “Just a concerned citizen looking out for someone who’s too absorbed in her textbooks to notice the world around her.”

You huff, though the corners of your mouth twitch upward against your will.

“I can handle myself, thank you very much,” you quip back, determined to maintain control over the situation. In a quick, defiant motion, you grab the receipt and shove it into his hand, a small victorious gesture.

“Right, right. You definitely proved that today when I swooped in for the rescue,” he teases, and his hand brushes yours ever so briefly as he takes the receipt—a touch so light is sends a tiny spark up your arm. “But hey, what if you don’t show up at the fountain one day? I’m gonna have to file a missing person’s report.”

You can’t help but laugh at his ridiculousness, the sound escaping before you can stop it.

“A missing person’s report? Seriously?” you roll your eyes.

“Yup,” he grins, emphasizing the ‘p’. “You’re there so often it’s practically routine. Same spot. Same time. Every day. It’s kinda predictable, y/n. If I don’t see you there one day, I’ll just assume some creep finally got to you.”

You narrow your eyes at him, though you can’t help the faint heat rising in your cheeks.

“Predictable?” you retort, trying to sound indignant. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh, you are,” he counters, clearly reveling in your reaction as he slips the receipt in his pocket. “But hey, that’s not a bad thing. It makes you easier to find if you ever disappear.”

Shaking your head, you roll your eyes, a snappy reply ready on your tongue, but he’s already raising his hands with a dramatic flair, like he’s about to paint the scene in vivid detail.

“I can see it now: ‘Missing: Cute girl who spends way too much time by the water fountain. Last seen buried in a psychology textbook. Answers to y/n.’”

It’s impossible not to laugh again, the sound bubbling up as you watch him weave his ridiculous scenario with such confidence and flair. His eyes flick to yours, and a satisfied grin tugs at the corner of his mouth—clearly pleased with the effect he’s having on you.

“Wow,” you manage between chuckles. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

“Mhm,” he hums in agreement, leaning slightly closer. “Gotta be prepared. I don’t want anything happening to my favorite water fountain girl.”

Your heart flips—and for a second, it feels like he’s given you some kind of title you didn’t realize you wanted. You try to brush it off, to ignore the warmth spreading across your cheeks, but it’s not so easy with the way he’s looking at you.

“Riiiight… well, lucky for you,” you manage, attempting to sound nonchalant, “I’m not planning on disappearing anytime soon.”

“Good,” he murmurs, low and smooth. “Because I’d miss seeing you.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep the upper hand, though the small smile that tugs at your lips betrays you.

“Uh-huh. Sure you would.”

There’s a brief moment, just the two of you—his gaze still locked onto yours, when—

“Ahem.”

You jump slightly at the sound, turning to see Utahime standing beside you, arms crossed, a knowing smile pulling at the corner of her lips. She gives you a look—a very knowing look—that sends heat rushing to your cheeks all over again.

“I’m taking my break,” she says, her tone casual but her eyes dancing with mischief as they flick between you and Satoru. “So… don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”

Suddenly hyper-aware of the tension in the air, you swallow hard and offer her a tight smile.

“No promises,” Satoru quips, that cocky grin returning to his face as he leans against the counter slightly—clearly unfazed by the interruption.

After Utahime saunters off, he continues smoothly, picking up right where he left off.

“So...” he starts again, “What do you say? How about you give me your number? Just in case I need it, y’know, for emergencies.”

He’s relentless, isn’t he?

Heat creeps up your neck as you blink from his boldness—with a soft, incredulous laugh, you desperately try to find your footing again.

“You really don’t give up, do you?”

That familiar and confident gleam glistens in his eyes as his grin widens.

“Not when it comes to someone as interesting as you.”

There’s a flicker of something in your chest—a flutter that you’re quick to squash.

“Mmm… sorry,” you murmur, tone sweet but firm. “But I don’t think you’re ready for that kind of disappointment. I’m really not interested in players.”

For the briefest moment, his grin falters, and something unreadable flashes behind his eyes—a momentary crack in his facade. It’s so quick, so subtle, that you almost miss it. But there’s just enough time to wonder if maybe you hit a nerve.

Still, Satoru recovers in an instant, his playful charm sliding back into place like nothing happened.

“That’s cold, y/n,” his voice light and teasing, though there’s a trace of something deeper, almost wounded, lurking beneath. “You really think I’m that kind of guy?”

Tilting your head slightly, you cross your arms over your chest as you study him—gaze sharp but not unkind.

“Yeah, well, I’ve met enough guys like you to know how this works.”

With a soft chuckle, and a smooth, almost lazy motion, he lowers his sunglasses from where they’re perched atop his head—resting them back on the bridge of his nose as the dark lenses now obscure his eyes from you.

He’s hiding behind them—letting them do the work of shielding his real thoughts. Huh. Typical behavior for someone who enjoys the chase but avoids real vulnerability.

“You’re quick to judge. I’m just a guy who knows what he wants. And right now? I just want your number.”

Classic deflection—you think. He’s not even denying it. Still... something about the way he says it makes that familiar flutter stir in your chest, and you hate it.

“Yeah... that’s not happening,” crossing your arms more tightly, you try to maintain control of the situation.

His hands come up in mock surrender as a small, amused sigh slips from his lips.

“Bummer,” he concedes, though there’s no real disappointment in his tone, only amusement. “But hey,” he picks up the drumsticks from the counter, “offer’s on the table if you ever change your mind.”

“Right... I’ll keep that in mind,” you dryly reply, knowing full well that you won’t.

“Please do,” he shoots back with that infuriatingly confident grin. “Besides, I’ll be seeing you around, water fountain girl.”

The familiar nickname brings an unwanted warmth that you attempt to shake off.

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Gojo.”

But Satoru just steps back toward the door, exuding that same unshakeable confidence. “Oh, I’m not worried,” he says with a cocky smirk. “You’re predictable, remember? I know exactly where to find you.”

You open your mouth, ready to fire back with something witty, but before you can, he’s already halfway out the door, twirling the drumsticks between his fingers with effortless ease.

“See ya around, y/n,” he calls over his shoulder, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft jingle before you even have a chance to respond.

And just like that, the store feels quiet again, as if the air shifted back to normal now that he’s gone. You stand there for a moment, blinking at the closed door. You should feel relieved that he’s gone, that the exchange is over, but instead, you’re left with this strange, restless feeling you can’t quite shake.

What the hell just happened?

Shaking your head, you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. There’s a part of you that’s frustrated—frustrated at how easily he slipped under your skin, how effortlessly he managed to unsettle you with nothing but a grin and a few flirtatious remarks.

You hate that you’re even thinking about it. About him. He’s just another guy with too much confidence for his own good.

But something about the brief crack in his facade sticks with you. That fleeting moment where his grin faltered, and something else—something almost vulnerable—flickered behind those cocky blue eyes.

What was that?

With another shake of your head, you push the thought aside. He’s a flirt. A player. The kind of guy who never takes anything seriously.

That’s all there is to it.

You don’t have time to psychoanalyze every flippant guy who crosses your path, even if there’s a part of you that’s still curious.

Just as you’re about to shake off the thoughts entirely, your phone buzzes in your pocket, snapping you out of your daze. You pull it out, glancing down at the screen.

Kyoko: Hey sweetie, just wanted to let you know your mom's been having a rough day today. She’s more confused than usual, keeps asking for you. Maybe you could visit soon?”

Reality crashes back in—grounding you in the weight of your responsibilities.

With a sigh, you run a hand through your hair, already mentally preparing yourself for the evening ahead.

You: Thanks for the update, Aunt Kyoko. My shift is almost over, I’ll be home soon.

Focus. There’s no room for distractions—not right now.

Not with Satoru Gojo. Not with anyone.

a/n. thanks for reading the debut of bomh (or i guess the re-debut since this is a rewrite? hehe). i'm excited to explore a lot of topics in this fic, and rewriting it definitely helped rekindle my passion for this story. so, i'm looking forward with whats to come! hope ya'll enjoyed 💕 → you are currently all caught up ♪

taglist:

@gojoslefttoenail @satoryaa @ninjaturtletoes @murtabuckz @sorcerersseestars

@reagan707 @sakurasimppp @sugxryratz @tkyemfk @lovelyjkook

@lovebittenbyevans @kaemaybae @bloopsstuff

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biteofcherry · 8 months ago

Note

🧚🏻‍♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe drabble about:

Steve + “Are you trying to hide from me?”

Thank you for sending the Hoe Fairy my way, through all the trials and dangers of time zones 😆💖

Grateful for it, I wrote something slightly longer than a drabble? Oops.

I'm creating a new dark-ish universe here, so brace yourselves.

New World Order

soft dark!Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: After the snap and the breaking of the Avengers the world has turned into a darker place than it already was. Being under Steve Rogers protection should be your beacon of light, right? So why does it sometimes feel as if you're caught in a sticky web?

warnings: semi dystopian universe; soft dark Steve Rogers; manipulation; sprinkle of gaslighting; economical/situational power imbalance; dub-con; smidge of breeding kink; sex (p in v);

word count: 3k

Main Masterlist

A small creak startled you. Your body tensed and jerked, the jars in your arms almost falling to the floor. You held your breath, tightening your hold on the precious cargo.

The sound came from the other room, the one anyone from the compound could’ve walked into, so it shouldn’t scare you. Not when you made sure to cover any tracks leading to this special, secret unit, which you’ve discovered a few days ago.

Slowly, careful not to make any sound that might alert whoever was roaming out there, you put the jars down on the shelf. One by one. Gently. You kept your breath shallow as you did, keeping your movements to the minimal. Then you stayed still, counting down seconds in your head and listening for any sounds from outside.

As one minute passed into another, then another, until it was seven minutes, then eight, you began to relax slightly.

No further sounds, steps, nor voices came. You assumed they were gone, whoever it’s been.

With a little huff of breath, you turned around. The nose of your boot bumped into the box of supplies you sneaked inside. It made little to no noise, but it was enough for the domino to fall down completely.

Something clanked on the other side of the wall. Then the hidden passage in the wall opened.

Bright daylight filtered through and the broad, dark silhouette filled nearly the entirety of the doorway.

You lifted your hand to shield your eyes from the sudden burst of light, letting out a small squeak as you curled inwardly. It took you a mere second to recognize who caught you and while your heart eased at the realisation, there was still a part of you that feared the outcome.

“I was wondering what kind of mouse has been hiding in the walls,” came his soft, deep voice. “Turns out it’s my own little scrapper.”

Captain Rogers walked in. Despite wearing heavy boots he still managed to move quietly.

The wall closed automatically after him, leaving the two of you in a small room with light fixtures casting pleasant, but artificial glow from the ceiling.

“Are you trying to hide from me?” His lips curled in a lopsided smile, but the way he slightly tilted his head made you aware that he wouldn’t like it, if you said yes.

“Of course not,” you let out a nervous laugh, gripping the edge of the counter behind you.

“Not from you, Steve.” Nervousness still buzzed inside you, spiking as he neared closer and closer.

Steve Rogers, Captain America, could be a scary motherfucker, if he wanted to. Usually, however, it was reserved for anyone trying to harm people he protected. Or if his subordinates broke his rules in any way.

He may not be the golden boy you remembered from the very few, rare press conferences and pap photos from a decade before. Too much has happened, since he was the poster of glorified values the government tried to sell.

First, they stripped him of the crystal areola they put themselves on him. Named him a fugitive and a traitor, for wanting to protect his best friend and fight for justice.

His other colleagues have turned away from him, leading to breaking of the Avengers formation, which was supposed to protect the people.

Then, when the ultimate threat appeared, the remaining politicians blamed Steve and the other heroes for being unable to defeat Thanos. Tony Stark never returned. So many others have dispersed into dust. For a few years - as the world around you spiralled into dystopian nightmare - phantom governments have been using Captain America and other Avengers as the arguments for why so many things were failing.

Living became hard. Well, even harder than it used to be. People turned jaded and distrustful, so very few still tried to show each other support. Unable to count on governmental help, people have started forming their own little groups. Little communities that took care of each other, but were very wary of anyone else.

You met Steve when you shyly walked into one of the support groups he was leading. You’ve seen posters inviting people to the meetings, but for quite a long time you stayed away from them, because Captain America or not, these groups always meant selling your soul in some way.

Steve lured you in with his patience and soft voice, but was firm in pointing out that if you’d like to take some of the provisions back home, or needed aid, you had to do some labour in return.

You weren’t opposed to that, but you were wary. Still, you agreed.

Each task seemed more and more important, or that’s what you told yourself, because with each you’ve somehow gotten to work closer and closer to the Captain himself.

You worked dutifully, which was something Steve didn’t omit to praise you for on a few occasions. Which perhaps was the reason why he assigned you to a team that so often worked closely with him.

As much as it filled your chest with warmth, your gut tightened each time he got a little closer.

And he always got closer.

You always sensed his gaze on you. Felt your heart jumping whenever he grazed his fingers along your arm, in a seemingly innocent, sweet gesture. But there was something about his attention, about Steve himself, that made you feel uneasy.

He was charismatic, but also less lenient.

Caring, but didn’t give second chances.

Patient, but often merciless in his decisions.

He was still Captain America, but bitter and darker. Worn-out and dirty, like his suit, with the trace of a star that used to shine hope to those who saw it. Now that faith trailed with darkness.

When Steve approached you one evening, as your team was scavenging the territory the Captain and his Avengers have liberated from under the influence of bloodthirsty gangs, you felt that quickened pulse and whispers of self-preservation instinct telling you to be wary.

He said that he noticed you watching him. Which rendered you speechless for a moment. If anything, you always caught him looking your way.

Did he really think you were the one checking him out? Was it why your gazes met every time?

You stuttered with your response, not quite knowing how to explain yourself. Steve offered you that disarming, comforting smile. He touched your hand. Slipped his fingers between yours, ever so slowly rubbing the pad of his index finger between two of yours.

Such a small, meaningless gesture, but something about it had your cunt clenching in response, as if he was insinuating he wanted to rub you somewhere else.

Before you managed to explain the situation, Steve turned the tables on you once again. He leaned in and confessed that he missed intimate touch, as well. That it was understandable and he felt honoured you would give him your attention.

Then he simply walked away, joining Natasha to make further decisions regarding the operation; leaving you dizzy with confusion and conflicting emotions.

Was he right? Were you subconsciously seeking out his attention? Was your sense of unease in his proximity provoked by your attraction to him?

Because Steve Rogers was a very handsome man. From the soft strands of hair he had grown a little longer, to the way his broad chest tapered into narrow hips and possibly the sexiest ass you’ve ever seen.

From that moment, the Captain often approached you, smiled at you, and touched you however briefly. The pounding of your heart increased each time, your thoughts still clouded.

When he caressed your cheek one time, while having just returned all dirtied and splattered with blood from a mission abroad, your breath stuttered. He asked you to help him out with patching some bruises and you didn’t find the strength in you to deny a request from a wounded man. Captain America at that.

He took you to his quarters. At Steve’s command, the AI closed the door after you. Your fingers trembled as Steve guided you how to unzip and take off his suit (since his shoulder throbbed so hard, he seemingly couldn’t do it himself).

Steve’s fair skin was indeed marred with bruises and a few cuts, which you cleaned and patched. In response to your breathless “I better leave” after you were done, Steve slid his big hands onto your hips and softly asked you to stay.

Perhaps it’s been too long since you kissed anyone. Or maybe his grip on you tightened enough for the fear of repercussions freezing you in place.

With a tiny whimper, you gave in to his demanding lips and wandering hands. Despite your brain screaming at you to run away, your heart rate accelerated with pleasure, quickly drowning out the fear.

Steve had you sinking down on his thick cock right there, while he still sat in the chair and his suit was barely pushed past his hips. He groaned praises at how good you felt; how hot it was to feel your tight cunt stretching around him; how sexy you sounded struggling to take it all.

Even with some of your brain cells fighting against it, your whole body surrendered to Steve and the pleasure he drew out of you over and over again.

Maybe he was right all along and you were starved for intimate contact.

Maybe you were choosing to let him take you, so he wouldn’t hurt you or your family in any way.

Later, as you laid in Steve’s arms, you debated with yourself how good it felt to be held and protected, and that maybe it was worth following Steve’s subtle commands.

He took you again in the morning. On your side, sliding into your sore pusy from behind. When you hissed that it hurt, Steve slowed down, but didn’t stop. He distracted you by arousing other parts of your body - rolling and pinching your nipples, sliding his fingers between your lips and fucking your moth with them, using his wet digits to rub your clit.

Both of you returned to your duties afterwards, but in the evening Steve simply wrapped an arm around you and greeted you with a kiss on your temple. Then guided you back to his quarters.

He talked to you about everything, asked about your past, as well simply about your day.

But not once did he ask, if you wanted to have sex with him.

As the days passed, the less brave and determined you were to reject him. Especially not after Steve started coming over to your quarters, to meet your parents and play this whole thing, as if you really were a couple.

So if he was this sweet and supportive, why did you still fear displeasing him in any way?

“I mean I’m not hiding at all.” Your speech quickened slightly, as you explained your actions. “I may have hoped no one would find this spot that quickly. I would tell you about it, I was going to. But first I needed to, um, I wanted to-”

“Easy, honey.” Steve cupped your cheek.

He ran his thumb along your lip, cooing at you softly.

He didn’t look angry, nor suspicious. Which lessened your worries.

“So you found one of Tony’s panic rooms.” Steve took a quick look around. “Not many people know about their existence. Not many can find them.”

“It was actually an accident,” you laughed at that, remembering how you stumbled when changing light bulbs in a weird fixture in the main lounge room and instead of breaking the mirror on the wall the pressure of your fall activated sensor in the wall, opening the passage to this room.

You told Steve the story, watching mirth form crinkles around his eyes. He kissed your forehead softly, before pulling away. Not enough to leave much space between your bodies.

“And why are you storing provisions here?” He glanced at the jars and cans you stacked on the few shelves.

“Just in case. We have a storage and everything is rationed generously, but-” your gaze dropped as you mumbled- “somemayhavebeenstolen.”

“What was that?” Steve’s tone chilled and you felt the hair on your nape standing to attention.

With two fingers, he tilted your chin up. Blue eyes bore into yours, a Captain’s command in them snapped you into obedience without an order falling from his lips.

“I think I’ve noticed someone sneaking out some portions. Often.” You admitted. “I wanted to make sure we wouldn’t suffer much loss, in case that person continued to steal.”

“Why haven’t you reported it?” Steve frowned, his hold on your chin turning into an unpleasant pinch.

“Because the person I should report to first, is the one who takes it.” You also tried to convince yourself that maybe Walker simply was giving it away to someone in need.

“You could’ve told me.” Steve pointed out, his frown deepening in displeasure.

“But you always talk about the importance of chain of command,” you blurted out.

Which actually surprised Steve. His eyebrows arched up and then his disapproval was shifting into amused satisfaction once again.

“You’re so dutiful, honey.” Steve’s grin made you gulp nervously.

His gaze slowly trailed down. When it returned to your face there was a possessive glint in the blue irises. A hot jolt stroke down your spine, pooling in your lower belly with heat in preparation for what was to come.

Because even if your lips wanted to part on a pitiful No, you knew Steve would take anyway. And he’d make sure your body was on board with his desires.

“Why don’t you continue your impeccable service for your Captain, huh?” Steve dragged the zipper of your jacket down.

It was butter soft brown leather; once belonging to Steve, but since it was too big on you, he graciously encouraged you to cut and sew it, so it fit you better.

Steve parted the sides of the jacket, exposing your chest. One move was enough to yank down the stretchy top you had underneath. Your breasts spilled out and you clenched your fingers on the edge of the counter, forcing yourself not to cover yourself, even though you felt shy.

Steve cupped your breasts with his hands; squeezed them and kneaded gently. The coarse fabric of his fingerless gloves provided additional sensation. He rolled one nipple under his thumb; pinched the other. His mouth swallowed each little moan of yours.

He drew out a whine out of you as he tugged your bottom lip between his teeth, at the same time unzipping your jeans. Steve knelt down to take off one of your shoes and pull your leg free from the pant leg. Enough to have you spread for him as wide as he wanted.

“Umm-” you swallowed hard as Steve stretched to his full height.

He was so much bigger than you. So much stronger. Sometimes, when he had you in his arms, it truly made you feel safe. Other times it scared you; made you quickly comply.

Steve picked you up so easily, sitting you on the narrow counter and standing between your legs.

“I don’t have any more pills,” you revealed. “Contraceptives, I mean. Bruce said it will take a few weeks for the production to be finished, after that one ingredient turned out to be spoiled.”

Steve met your eyes. He listened to what you were saying, nodding his head intently as you spoke, but still unzipped his suit and freed his cock.

You couldn’t help it, your gaze flicked down. Seeing it almost daily didn’t diminish the awe of the cock a primal part of your brain declared perfect. Your pussy clenched, growing wetter in preparation for what was inevitable.

Steve’s hand closed around his girth and he gave a few pumps before guiding the angry-red tip into your hole.

He slid inside with a groan. Your own choked cry responding.

When he met slight resistance due to your position, Steve hooked his arms beneath your knees and pulled your legs upwards. Your ass tilted and your upper body angled backwards. It allowed him to sink fully in, until you felt that unpleasant pressure against your cervix and his balls met your buttocks.

Then, as he bottomed out in your unprotected pussy, Steve regarded your words.

“Slight inconvenience. But we’re skilled in adjusting to new situations and challenges.” He rested his forehead against yours; his voice growing more raspy and breathless. “If fate wants us to have a child, then we will rise to that blessing as well.”

He rocked his hips into you, his pelvis grazing your clit. You squeaked, bracing your hands on Steve’s shoulders.

“Fuck, honey.” Steve withdrew a few inches then slowly thrust back in. “Your sweet cunt is so tight and wet for me.”

It was tight, because he hadn’t prepared you thoroughly - sometimes it was a blessing, because there were other times when Steve was so focused on making you soaked that he turned you into an overstimulated mess.

Also because his dick was so fucking thick.

“My perfect pussy. Isn’t it?” Each stroke was a purposeful, unrushed torment, so that you felt those inches penetrating you. Owning you.

“Y-yes, Steve. It’s yours,” you mewled when he poked your cervix again.

“It was made to be filled, honey.” Steve’s pace started increasing. “Its purpose is to take my cock and milk every last drop of my cum, until your womb swells with it.”

There were protesting voices in your head, demanding that you shake your head no and that you tell him you didn’t want to get pregnant. But they never made it past the barrier of voices supplying that you always dreamed of having a family and that Steve would take good care of you.

Even if the objections somehow made it onto your tongue, the moans and cries Steve was eliciting with each thrust and filthy word deformed them into agreement.

“That’s it, honey. Taking your Captain so well. Going to take all my cum and thank me for it.”

#Steve Rogers x reader #Steve Rogers x female reader #Steve Rogers x you #Steve Rogers imagine #soft dark!Steve Rogers #soft dark!Steve Rogers x reader #soft dark!Steve Rogers x female reader #dark avengers #Siri #stargazingfangirl18

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sgt-tombstone · 2 months ago

Text

different first meeting au

after Ghost escapes Roba, he runs and he doesn’t look back. a part of him doesn’t care enough to go back and kill him; the rest of him can’t stomach the thought. it’s cowardly, he knows, but he doesn’t care about that either. after eight months of being tortured, the last thing he wants to do is go back. but he also doesn’t want to go home.

he runs to Belize. there’s a safe house there, he knows; a well-stocked one. it’s deep in the jungle, far from civilization: just what he needs. it takes him a while, but he gets there, and the safe house is paradise in earth. hot and humid, with bugs the size of small dogs, but it’s the same forest that Chiapas was in, so he’s used to it, and this… is definitely not Chiapas.

Belize, he has to admit, is beautiful. the forest is a riot of color and sound, sunlight filtering through the dense foliage to glitter off of perpetually dew-coated leaves. the forest is thick enough that he never worries about running into anyone because no one in their right mind would be out here.

and the house… it was obviously built by someone with money burning a hole in their pockets. some rich drug lord, if Ghost had to guess; probably got arrested and their property confiscated by the British government before Belize gained independence. he doesn’t think too hard about it. the house itself is massive. two stories, nestled deep in the forest, with floor-to-ceiling windows facing the sunrise. if he squints a bit, he can almost see the Caribbean sea, or maybe it’s just isolation setting in. either way, he’s never been happier. the house even more well-stocked then he’d hoped; there are several month’s worth of food and supplies piled in the pantry and closets.

he originally only intended to stay for a few days, maybe a week. long enough to catch his breath, lick his wounds, and get back on his feet. but a week comes and goes and no one has found him. no one has shown up at the door threatening dishonorable discharge for going AWOL. technically, he thinks, he’s MIA. they probably think he’s dead. strangely, he doesn’t have any particular urge to disavow them of the idea.

as one week turns into two, he starts to relax. he keeps his semi-automatic by the door and his sidearm by his bed, just in case, but access to all the food he could want, no responsibilities, and nothing but calm surrounding him urges him to let his guard down. it’s a heady feeling after so long being on guard; his whole life, really.

he finds himself lying in bed at nights, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he ever has to go back. Roba is still alive, still a danger, and he should probably do something about that. he’s the only one alive to do so. but the alternative is even more alluring. he could simply… disappear. shed his skin like a snake and start over. take the opportunity for what it is and let Simon Riley die for good.

he’s been moving for so long that stopping feels foreign, and yet. good.

would it be so bad to stay? he could let it all go, all the pain and trauma and torment. the stress and rigidity and discipline. would it be so bad to lay it all down?

it’s a pervasive thought, and he tries to convince himself that it’s not fear. he doesn’t let him think about stagnation, about endless days stretching before him. he tries to enjoy every day, one day at a time, and resolutely shuts out the looming threat, bigger than even Roba: boredom.

he’s been moving for so long that stopping feels foreign.

at the four week mark, there’s a knock on the door, and every ounce of military training comes rushing back. he has his gun in his hands before he even registers the sound. no one should be here. no one should know this place exists. it’s completely off the map, known only to SAS who have used these lands for training. which can only mean…

they’ve found him. he tries to quell the panic that the thought sends arcing through his chest as he presses himself against a wall, breath held in his throat, gun clutched tightly. he’s not hiding, he’s not. he just wants them to go away.

the knock echoes again, heavy and insistent. yet still… polite. the fact that they haven’t busted the door down is shocking, if they know who he is, if they’re here for him. if they’re not…

he slowly approaches the door, weapon at the ready, and nearly shoots the man who falls through the entryway in the head before his reflexes kick in, just in time.

he studies the man for a moment, assessing. trying to figure out what the fuck to do, because it’s not every day that your safe house gets infiltrated by a passed out soldier bleeding heavily from his head and leg. finally, Ghost drags him further into the house so he can close the door, and grabs his first aid kit.

several hours later finds the man patched up as best as possible, given the limited resources, and propped up in one of the spare bedrooms. Ghost sits on the floor next to the bed and tells himself that it’s for security and not because the man is unfairly attractive. young, maybe a little too young for his tastes, with a stupid looking mohawk and a couple of inches missing, but what he lacks in height, he makes up for in bulk. his lips are caught in a perpetual pout, jawline and cheeks accented by a light brushing of stubble, grown out a bit from being stuck in the jungle for days, if not weeks.

he’s obviously SAS, and if Ghost had kept track of time, he wouldn’t have been so shocked; the SAS always sends a new batch of fresh-faced hopefuls to Belize this time of year. this one must’ve gotten separated from his squad. it happens with every new group; at least one wanders off into the jungle and usually is never heard from again. this one got lucky.

he wakes up a few hours later, and Ghost forces himself to pretend that the man’s piercing blue eyes aren’t the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen. the first words out of the man’s mouth are, “I need to get back,” which is odd because the first words out of Ghost’s mouth are, “I’m not going back.”

stalemate.

the man, Soap, he learns, is an enigma. he’s grumpy about his leg and the fact that he won’t be able to walk for at least two weeks, which is fair. he’s cheerful, though, in a way that Ghost can’t fully wrap his head around. he thanks Ghost profusely for saving him, which Ghost shrugs off because what was he supposed to do, let the man bleed out in his foyer?

Ghost tries not to let on that he’s former (current?) SAS, which is a doomed attempt from the start; looking the way he does and acting the way he does, he could never be anything hut military, and Soap’s not an idiot. he sees the muscle mass and the facial scarring and the close-cropped hair and clocks him in an instant. Ghost finds that he doesn’t really mind. even worse, he finds that he’s kind of missed it. the discipline, the camaraderie, the purpose.

having Soap in the house is… something. infuriating, at times, because the man could talk a wall into crumbling if he set his mind to it, but it’s mostly relaxing in a way Ghost isn’t quite ready to explore yet. Soap’s presence, his constant chatter, highlights just how lonely Ghost had been. he finds himself gravitating towards the other man as often as possible, finding excuses to be in the same room no matter what they’re doing. he learns that Soap likes explosives and baking, that he has a big family back in Scotland, that he joined the army at 16 and he’s hoping to be the youngest candidate to pass SAS selection. Ghost doesn’t like the way his smile drops whenever he says that, reminded of his injury and the fact that he’s probably not even considered a candidate anymore.

as Soap heals, something in Ghost does, too. every passing day makes the restlessness under his skin itch more, makes his fingers ache for the pressure of a trigger. nightmares of Roba’s torture shift to dreams about Roba’s death, about bloody hands and slit throats, but not his own.

still, he’s not ready to give up the tranquility yet. the itch hasn’t gotten bad enough to don his fatigues once more, and Soap doesn’t seem to be in a rush either. even after his leg heals, he seems content to lay around the house, soaking up sun and sleep like a lazy teenager. which… he’s only eighteen, so Ghost supposes it’s not wholly inaccurate. not that Ghost is any better; his mid-20s body is more than willing to take full advantage of the rest he gives it, the rest he’s never been able to have before.

one month turns to two, and still they linger. they linger around each other, too. somewhere along the line, Soap started to let his gaze wander over the shape of Ghost’s body when he thinks he’s not looking, and Ghost would feel flattered if he weren’t the only human being in two hundred square miles, at least. Soap is a hot-blooded soldier stuck in the middle of the jungle; of course he’s making eyes at the only thing with a pulse in sight. but Ghost can’t deny his own growing attraction to the other soldier, built day by day, shitty joke by shitty joke. it’s their favorite pastime, even if they both profess to hate each other’s jokes, and one day, Soap makes a joke so bad that Ghost can’t help but to lean over and kiss him, just to shut him up.

it’s like a dam opening, and every surface in the house gets christened. every ounce of pent-up frustration and desire gets poured out in between them, soaked up into bare skin and open mouths. but even this is, ultimately, relaxing. there’s no rush, no sense of urgency, and something about it makes Ghost’s skin prickle. he can tell it’s getting to Soap, too.

three months after Soap’s arrival, Ghost tells him about Roba, tells him about his torture and his escape, tells him that Roba is still out there somewhere. tells him that you get six months of MIA before they consider you dead. it’s too late for Ghost, but it’s not too late for Soap. he could still go back.

together, they make the decision.

together, they set out, leaving the house behind. it feels weird, being in fatigues again, holding his weapon again, marching alongside someone again.

he’s been stopped for so long that moving feels foreign, and yet. good.

together, they kill Roba. it’s not easy and it’s not painless, but they work as well together as Ghost thought they would; they meld together seamlessly, following each other’s unspoken commands as if they were in each other’s heads, and the sparks of satisfaction that race along Ghost’s spine are only partially due to Roba’s rotting corpse that they leave behind.

when Ghost picks up the skull from the floor, the same one that Roba had used to torture him all those months ago, and carefully carves the front off, Soap doesn’t question it. and when Ghost pulls a black balaclava out of his pack and carefully affixes the skull plate to it, Soap stands by patiently, watching without a trace of judgment. and when Ghost pulls it on for the first time, settling the hard bone over his own face, gazing out through white eye sockets, he doesn’t miss the way Soap’s own eyes darken at the sight.

with an unspoken agreement, they head back to the UK. back home. getting out of Mexico is hard, especially once the US border control gets involved, but a flash of Soap’s rank opens doors. sergeant, Ghost thinks approvingly; he’s never thought to ask before, but it suits Soap.

when they get to the UK, all hell breaks loose. Price is, to put it mildly, livid, but Ghost can see the true concern and relief tucked under his ridiculous mustache and boonie hat. it’s been a year, almost to the day, since Ghost had gone missing, and four since Soap went AWOL. their return causes a stir around base, and the upper brass push for both of them to go through selection again, but Price pushes back just as hard, and within months, they’re both reinstated and under Price’s command in the 141.

they keep their relationship secret, or as secret as they can, because neither of them is nearly as subtle as they think they are, but Price doesn’t care. they’re essentially trauma bonded; do not separate. eventually, Ghost will tell Price what they did together, what they left in their wake at Chiapas, but he doesn’t need to know for now. it’s enough that both of them seem settled, seem happy. it’s enough that they’re both alive.

every single night, as Ghost settles into his uncomfortable barrack cot, the sounds of sleeping soldiers seeping through the walls, Soap curled up in his arms, he thanks whichever higher power is listening that he didn’t stay in that safe house.

#based on a youtube video description lmao #call of duty #cod #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghoap #ghostsoap #soapghost #john price #kyle gaz garrick #tombstone's epitaphs #tombstone’s skeleton fics

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tranquilpetrichor · 4 months ago

Text

lesson learned

synopsis: in which a tutoring session turns out to be much more in disguise.

cast: tutor!gunwook x fem!reader ft. gyuvin and ricky (briefly)

genre: high school!au, f2l

wc: 2.2k (2225)

warnings: suggestive, making out, yn’s outfit has a skirt, gunwook kisses yn on neck, they call each other "cute" and "hot, they r nerds, please don’t do this in a study room, barely proofread and edited help

a/n: i swear why is finishing stuff so hard, this could be so much better but i'm happy i managed to finish it. also it's kinda hard not writing from y/n's perspective but it shre is interesting. i wanna make longer fics lol but for now enjoy this bc i love writing about nerds and especially ones who are down bad.

be sure to reblog and like to support your creators!

bright sunlight filtered in through the windows of the empty study room as park gunwook typed away on his laptop, trying to get homework done quickly.

outside, some students were walking across campus, birds were flying freely, and there were a distinct lack of clouds in the sky.

he would probably be there too, but he was supposed to be tutoring you soon. as boredom was slowly starting to set in, he double-checked the time. it was one minute after your appointment was set to begin.

odd. you weren’t usually late to anything.

before he could ponder it further, you walked into the room, sighed and put your stuff beside him, apologizing for being late. “i was talking to another professor about something, and i didn’t expect it to take that long. my bad…”

something seemed a bit different about you, but he wasn’t sure why. he shrugged the thought off and chuckled quietly.

“it’s no problem, y/n. one minute is nothing. do you prefer the curtains open or closed?”

you waved a hand at the window. “let’s close them.”

he got up and pressed a button on the light switch panel near the doorway, and the curtains automatically came down. this private school sure spent money on interesting things, but at least they were occasionally useful.

cute outfit, he thought.

was that a new pair of boots? it paired nicely with the skirt you were wearing. you managed to look hot and adorable at the same time.

how unprofessional to be distracted by your appearance—he frowned.

snap out of it. it’s time to do math, not stare like an idiot.

luckily, you didn’t say anything, even though he swore he saw a tiny smirk on your face, which you quickly removed in favor of a more neutral expression.

that was weird, he thought as you got your tablet out—the one you liked to take notes on during the calculus class you two had together.

he wasn’t sure of your exact grade in the class, but he heard it was quite high. you were smart, but didn’t seem to have problems asking for help if you needed it. in his opinion, that was pretty admirable.

gunwook noticed that if you did need help, you’d go to the teacher or try and talk to him. the two of you exchanged numbers eventually, texting each other for study sessions.

he loved being able to talk to you more, slowly learning little things about you—like how you wore a certain necklace on big days for luck, that your go-to snack was nuts (he couldn’t help but think of you as a squirrel after that), and that you had a dog named citrus.

he got the feeling that you weren’t the biggest on socializing with many people, preferring to only keep compaany with a few friends. he’s mutual friends with a few of them, like jungwon.

it was refreshing compared to his large friend group (although he loved them) and the many people who were merely interested in him for his looks.

of course, he wouldn’t mind if you were interested in his looks, but hopefully you also liked something beyond that.

you probably did—who else would end up chatting about precious stones or logical fallacies with him? he loved seeing you excited and passionate.

god, his face was probably going to be red if he kept this up.

“i see you said you wanted to look at stuff from the last lecture when you were booking the session,” he said, trying to banish certain thoughts from his head. “series can be difficult, so i get it.”

you nodded, offering him a sweet smile. “yeah, i just wanna go over a few of the divergence and convergence problems on the first practice problem set. i have the problems listed here.”

you pushed your tablet in his direction, and he picked it up.

he glanced at your solution for the first one, nearly written. “i mean, it looks like you applied the test correctly. just to make sure, how did you know to use that one?”

you didn’t hesitate to answer.

“given series is a p-series where p is equal to three. p is greater than three, so the series will converge.”

as expected, you kept up with his questioning. of course you probably knew what a damn p-series is. he’d just wanted to hear your voice some more.

speaking of voices, maintaining a professional tone with you was a miracle. gunwook’s composure and eloquence were paramount to getting him through student council meetings, debates and tutoring sessions, but those skills seemed to want a temporary vacation.

“do you want to move onto the next one?” he said, defaulting to his standard tutor voice.

“mhm. i remember our teacher said there was more than one way to do it. i never tried to figure out the other ways, but now i’m curious.”

gunwook flipped to a certain page in his notebook. “do you want me to show you how i did it? it’s definitely a different method, but we got the same answer.”

you shrugged. “sure. take your time.”

you were twirling your stylus pen in your hands and swiftly tucked it atop your ear. fuck, did you not know how cute you looked? your hair was neatly parted near the middle right now, but he wondered what it’d be like to see you disheveled. at this point, he might be thinking with something other than his brain.

you spent another few minutes talking with him, bringing his memory back to previous tutoring sessions. he remembered you said once that having to justify your reasoning on a topic was one of the best ways to deepen understanding, and that he was skilled at identifying the holes in your arguments.

“that’s why i would hate to lose a debate against you,” you had admitted. “it’s always more fun when we can work together.”

the offhanded comment could’ve had another meeting. as an friend, gunwook couldn’t quite discern your intentions, though. whether you just wanted him at arms length or in your arms was just another guessing game he played.

he was aware that the balance of power was always shifting between you two, but at the end of the day, you two were pretty much equals intellectually, keeping things in equilibrium. however, his underlying feelings of attraction threatened to ruin the balance.

as the session continued, you had a satisfied smile. you asked him about unrelated math proofs and got him off track. why did you want to discuss all this when your sessions were usually more focused? something was definitely off.

“well, that was actually everything i wanted to ask about,” you said to him suddenly, packing up swiftly. “i was just going to go if you don’t have anything else.”

he frowned.

no, please don’t.

what was wrong with him?

“unless, you wanted me to stay..” you continued, a smirk on your face. your laptop was closed and all of your study materials were neatly filed away.

you were definitely teasing him, and it was working, your behavior making him somewhat flustered. there was no turning back if he let himself escalate things right now. he could just let you leave—that’s what rational gunwook would do.

fuck it. rational gunwook was not in the room right now.

he reached out and grasped your arm. “and if i did?”

you smirked and stepped towards him. “then i’ll make sure you don’t regret your choice.”

with that, you pressed your lips to his, surprising him. gunwook quickly recovered, his arm snaking around your waist, pulling you in more.

no wonder you booked the session for an hour and a half.

if anyone opens this door, i’m definitely getting kicked out as a tutor. at least these walls are pretty soundproof.

he pulled away for a bit to catch his breath. "wow, did you come here just to kiss me?”

you laughed, gazing at his eyes. "it wasn't only for that, although i'd be happy to do it again. let me clarify. i have feelings for you.”

you continued. “i’ve honestly thought about it. you’re hardworking, and not just in the classroom. when i see you practicing or studying, you dedicate yourself fully, and it inspires me to do the same. you're kind, even to people who don't deserve it. on top of that, you’ve always been a good person to talk to about anything and everything. i trust you.”

“oh, and i guess you’re cute. and hot.”

you added the last part with a small smile. after each reason, he found himself surprised by your sincere words.

gunwook groaned. “y/n, you have no idea how down bad i am. i don't even remember exactly when it started, but what i do know is that i met someone interesting, someone who challenges me and jokes with me. someone who's beautiful in every way. i'm so fucking into you."

he paused, before deciding to tease you a little. "i have a question about one thing, though. you ‘guess’ i’m cute?”

“well, did you want me to say for a fact that you’re cute?” you asked.

he pouted slightly. “would have been better.”

“fine,” you said, taking his hand. “it is an undisputed fact that you’re cute.”

“thank you.”

"and hot."

"i guess so..." you rolled your eyes, an amused grin on your face. “now can we get back to kissing?”

“i was acually trying to be professional, even though i had feelings for you too,” he whispered against your ear. “but since you insist, i’ll give you what you want.”

not wanting to rush despite his boyish excitement, he leaned down and slowly began to kiss you again, running one of his hands gently through your hair. you closed your eyes.

“want you to take control, gunwook,” you said, your breath hot against his skin and your arms wrapping around his neck.

how could he say no? he was so screwed whenever it came to you. wasting no time, he brought your hips closer to his, enjoying the proximity.

he’d never seen you like this, so blissful and carefree. all he wanted to do in this moment was to make sure you kept feeling that way.

he got a small idea.

“hold on, i’m going to lift you,” he said, and you tightened your hold on him, lifting your legs so that they wrapped around his waist. you looked like a koala, hanging on so protectively to him like he was a branch.

you let out a tiny laugh of glee—it was the cutest thing he’s ever heard.

he moved over to a chair, and carefully sat down with you in his arms. your skirt was spread across your lap, contributing to the newfound messiness of your appearance, and your legs dangled off both sides of the chair.

“let me know if you don’t like something,” he said in between kisses. “the last thing i want to do is pressure you.”

“of course,” you responded, squeezing his shoulders reassuringly.

as a surge of newfound confidence rushed through him, his kisses became more intense, trailing down to your collarbone. you tilted your neck slightly to allow him more access to the area.

shit, he was probably the luckiest guy alive right now.

“so beautiful,” he murmured, tracing your chin with one of his hands, “and you’re mine.”

damn, calm down now.

“wow, for someone who’s so sweet, you sure do have a possessive side.”

he winced. “is it too much?”

you laughed and smiled playfully. “not at all. i find it hot.”

that sentence alone sent a warmth through his body.

“that’s good to know,” he replied with a smirk. he was definitely going to do that more often.

soon, his lips found yours again, like a moth to a flame. damn, he could spend all day doing this (if they had no risk of getting caught).

in his pocket, his phone buzzed, and he sighed, looking at the notification.

gyuvin: r u coming to get ice cream with me and ricky? u said ur tutoring thing with ur gf ends at 4:00

the time was 3:44 pm. wow, were they really at it for that long?

gunwook smiled. gyuvin had texted “gf” as a joke, but little did the poor guy know.

“is it something important?” you asked, still on his lap.

he shut off the phone, looking back at you. “it’s gyuvin. during lunch, me, him and ricky made last minute plans to get ice cream—they’re asking me if i still want to come. i should get going soon.”

of course, his feet didn’t want to move.

you looked intrigued. “do they mind a plus one?”

yeah, they're going to tease me the entire time.

“i’ll ask,” he responded, face somewhat warm from embarrassment. "but one of these days, i’ll take you out on a proper date, just us two. you deserve it.”

your eyes lit up, and you smiled. “i’ll hold you to it, gunwook.”

his phone buzzed again.

gyuvin: yea sure bring her, we support

gyuvin: besides i have ricky he's gonna be my bf now

"they said yes," gunwook said, laughing silently at gyuvin's last message. "let's go in 5 minutes?"

you reciprocated, resting your head gently on his shoulder. "any longer and i don't think i could leave."

#zb1 x reader #kflixnet #kwritersworldnet #zb1 gunwook #zb1 fluff #zb1 drabbles #zb1 headcanons #gunwook x reader #park gunwook #zb1 scenarios #zb1 reactions

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consciouscarrot · 29 days ago

Text

day 23 - semi-public [g.g.garrick]

kyle “gaz” garrick x fem!reader

content warnings; fucking in an alleyway, p in v, almost caught (by a stranger)

notes; i use shh too much in my writing

kinktober/flufftober masterlist

—————

“oh fuck, kyle,”

“shh, i know, baby,”

you’d been teasing kyle all evening, from “accidentally” flashing him right before you’d had to leave, to sliding your hand just a little too far up his thigh when you were sat in the pub. it had gotten to the point where even johnny was giving him concerned looks, going as far as asking if he was okay after his breath had hitched suddenly, adjusting his trousers to try and hide the way his cock had chubbed up under your touch.

eventually reaching his limit, he’d dragged you outside, pulling you into a nearby alleyway before pushing you against the wall, mouth moving against yours, devouring you as his fingers encased your neck, gentle pressure against the sides.

you squealed when he lifted you up, legs automatically wrapping around his waist as he pulled your thoroughly soaked underwear to the side, pulling out his cock to rub the tip against your dripping slit, slowly pushing in to your tight heat, letting out a low groan against your lips.

his thick cock near split you open, cunt pulsing to try and accommodate him, head tossing back with a muffled moan, hand covering your mouth as a poor attempt of staying undiscovered.

“gotta keep quiet, dollface. don’t want one of the boys seeing y’like this, do ya?”

“no, just you, only you,”

his hand gripped at your ass for leverage, face buried in the juncture of your neck, panting and gasping into the damp skin, balls slapping against the fat of your ass.

your eyes watered at the overwhelming feeling of him pounding his hips into you, mixed with the curly, wiry hairs above his dick brushing against your pearl with each thrust, whining quietly into the dark alley.

you both stilled when a man came round the corner, only a couple of meters away. the dark lighting just about covered you, but you met kyle’s gaze with wide eyes, palm still covering your mouth, his dick still fully bottomed out in you.

the man stumbled around, before unzipping his fly and taking a leak, piss splattering on the ground as he muttered to himself. you struggled to hold in your laugh, both from the absurdity of the situation and some of the words that came from his mouth.

finally letting out your giggles when the man left, kyle chuckled with you and sighed a breath of relief, moaning at the way you clenched down on his length with each laugh. he was unable to help himself and quickly resumed his movements, too caught up in the feel of you to laugh at the way you whimpered in surprise, fingers clutching at his shirt.

“m’close, can’t hold back much longer,” he warned, hips stuttering against yours.

just about managing to gasp out a little ‘me too’, your legs shook as you gripped desperately at him, pleasure almost too much to bare. loud moans filtered through your palm as skilled fingertips swirled figure eights on your clit, you sloppily rolled your hips back against his, meeting his thrusts.

“come on, baby, wanna feel ya cumming round my cock. let go f’me,”

brain short circuiting, your eyes rolled to the back of your head, electrifying pleasure washing over you as you came together, your pulsing cunt filled with the pearly cum spurting from his tip.

you went slack in his arms, foreheads pressed together as your chests heaved from exertion, watching each other with half-lidded eyes.

he carefully placed you down, pulling your underwear and skirt back in place before putting his cock away. he kept you close to him, peppering kisses on whatever bare skin he could find as you readjusted yourself, stroking over the wild tendrils of your hair.

“was that okay, sweet girl?”

“eh, mediocre at best,” you winked, turning to go back into the pub with wobbly legs and his cum dripping down your thigh.

he followed after you, snorting when you nearly fell over as your legs gave out, “y’cheeky little shit.”

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jayke0 · 9 months ago

Text

Nicotine Lust

Pairing: Jake Lockley x afab reader

Summary: Your attempts to keep your smoking kink under wraps become futile once you're reassured that your boyfriends’ lungs aren't at stake.

A/N: I couldn't stop thinking about @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction 's smoking Steven, so i wanted to do smth from Jake's perspective ❤️.

Also if you know which tiktok lady Jake’s talking about then bonus points to you!

Rating: nsfw, smut

Warnings/Content: smoking, g/n nicknames, I've never smoked so forgive me if literally all of it is wrong, blowjob, face fucking, ‘fucktoy’ nickname, ‘slut’ nickname, Dom!Jake, Sub!Reader, p in v, unmentioned protection, riding, doggy style, creampie, lmk if there's anything else I should add :).

Word count: 4,020 (yeah… I'm pretty sure this is my longest fic yet.😅)

Credit: @automnepoet for proofreading ily. And Fen ofc ofc.

…………………………………......................………….

You hate to admit it, but when Jake smokes, it's like an automatic switch is clicked in your brain; like you're literally being turned on.

It's wrong, so so wrong. You don't want to be getting turned on by something that is ultimately ruining your boyfriend's lungs, all three of your boyfriends’ lungs.

It's only when you mention it to him one day that he settles your worries.

“The suit heals ‘em.”

“What?? For real?”

“ ‘Course! That's the whole point of it.”

You raise a brow. “It's not for you to heal your black lung.”

“Well no, but it's for healin’, ain't it?” He pulls out his packet of tobacco and places it on the windowsill, along with his papers. His fingers work meticulously as he lays out the paper and lines up the tobacco, sprinkling it onto the paper like he's decorating fucking cupcakes with chocolate sprinkles.

“I thought ya liked it anyway.”

You have to drag your eyes away from the man's hands as he rolls the cylinder between his fingers. “What? No... that's weird.”

Your boyfriend cocks an eyebrow at you, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Really? So that look that ya give me, or the way ya watch my hands ain't got nothin’ to do with ya gettin’ all hot and bothered?” He brings it to his lips, running his tongue along the edge of the paper in a way that makes your cheeks heat up and your arms fold over your chest defensively.

Jake is easily the best at reading you and your body, especially when it comes to your not-so-subtle arousal.

Your eyes move back to his hand, watching him push the filter into the end with his middle finger before rolling the other end shut.

“No, I just find it interesting. It's good for me to know how to roll a cig… I guess.” Your words trail off as you realize how dumb that sounds; there's no way in hell that Jake lockley is going to believe that lie.

“For who? Ya side piece?” He jokes, the smirk turning into a full-grown grin while he brings the now formed cigarette to his lips. It's only when he flips open his lighter and the flame lights up the end that you come to the conclusion there's no point in hiding it… not now that you know they're safe.

“Alright!... I like it, is that what you wanted?”

“Show me.” His lips are pressed together tightly to keep the cigarette in place, but he's learnt how to talk out of the gap in his lips.

“Excuse me?”

“Show me how much ya like it.” The man's voice is deeper now as he pulls the cigarette from his lips and exhales a cloud of smoke, considerately not blowing it in your direction; and fuck if it doesn't make you squirm.

You want to sink to your knees right there, rip his black jeans from his thick thighs and suck him dry, but your stubbornness stops you. “I'm not some kinda fuck toy, Jake!”

“Ya weren't sayin’ that last night, were ya?” The cigarette meets his lips again and his chest expands as he takes in a long drag, not being as considerate with where he blows it this time.

You irritatedly waft the smoke away from your face, but his gaze, oh lord the way his eyes glare at you, a dark stare that pushes you to your knees anyway as if he has the fucking force. Resting your hands on his knees, you part them slowly, keeping your eyes transfixed on his as you slide your hands up his bulky thighs and over his crotch, all while he takes another drag.

“Good fucktoy.” He says with a playful tone as he pets your head condescendingly, the name and gesture ultimately turning you on more while you toy with his belt buckle to pry his jeans open. “Eager, ain't we? I love it when you're this eager, mi vida.”

The smell of the smoke is starting to sting your nostrils, but all worries of second-hand smoke fade when you pull his boxers down his thighs and reveal his half hard cock. “I'm not the only eager one," you raise a brow at him, taking his hardening length in your hand to hear a soft groan from him.

“Oh c'mon, what guy doesn't love gettin’ his dick sucked? Especially from a slut as pretty as you, cariño.” His thumb runs over your cheek, and then your bottom lip. “Now, open up for me, okay?”

His hand replaces yours as you obediently open your mouth and lean forward, wanting to feel him grow hard in the heat of your mouth. His length is heavy on your tongue, the familiar tang of his skin and pre-cum making you hum softly to send vibrations through his cock, resulting in a pleasured grunt from the man.

“Mmm that's good… good angel…”

The calmness in his voice and the way his shoulders drop indicate that even his trusty old cigarettes can't relax him like you can. You always know exactly what makes him tick, what buttons to press to get him coming down your throat in minutes, but despite that, he continues to take drags from his damn deathstick.

Your eyes are fixated on his lips as he brings it to his mouth again, holding it loosely between his two fingers before inhaling the nicotine. He meets your gaze, a shallow thrust from his impatient hips making you pull back with an annoyed squeal; you're not willing to admit how turned on you also get when they're impatient with you, though you're like 90% sure that Jake has caught on anyway, as usual. A string of drool falls from your lips and lands on his head, spreading down the thick, tanned length before your lips follow.

“Thaaat’s it, just like that, darlin’.” He groans, feeling your lips stretch and the warmth of your mouth envelop him. His fingers caress your hair before his large hand eventually comes to rest on the back of your head; an exciting threat that he could push you down on his girth at any point.

Of course, though, he doesn't. He's more patient and collected than the other two, even when you manage to relax your throat and sink all the way down on him.

“Oooh cariño, that's new. Ya been practicin’?” Jake's back arches off of the window, his cigarette back between his lips so his hand can join the other on the back of your head. You pull off with a pant, nodding proudly, “Steven loved letting me practice on him, did you know he's into throat training?”

Your words warrant a growl from your boyfriend as he tightens his grip on your scalp. “C’mooon, stop teasin’ me,” his lip is cocked up in a scowl as he take another drag from his cig and blows it out.

You don't spend any more time fucking around, your own thighs pressing together just from the situation and sight in front of you. You lower your head on him, but don't take him fully, wrapping your hand around what you can't fit in your mouth so you can start bobbing your head. Your tongue glides over his slit each time you almost pull off, with just your lips wrapped around the blunt tip before you dive back down.

“Fuuuck, that's so good. Shit you're so good at that, mi vida.” His praises go straight to your core, making you speed up your actions.

The man tilts his head back and takes the cig out of his mouth, the end now getting dangerously close to his fingers, but he couldn't care less, all he cares about is the wet heat of your mouth already pushing him closer and closer to his orgasm. He takes one last drag and puts out the butt as it reaches his fingers, taking in a sharp inhale when you deepthroat him again just as it burns his finger tips. “Such a good fucktoy, goddamn angel…”

His groans get louder, your head now bobbing up and down on him rhythmically as you twist your fist around his throbbing length in just the right way.

Hand joining the other, he pushes you down once, then twice. “Just a little more darlin’, ya can do it, I know ya can—,” his pants are heavy, low moans cut off by gasps. “Gonna come down that pretty throat, just a little further, sweetheart.” You feel his hips lift off the window sill and towards your face, the gesture making you choke a bit before you take him fully again, fingernails digging into his plump thighs enough to leave marks as your face scrunches up.

It's only a few more seconds and he's coming down your throat, just as he said he would. You can barely taste the saltiness as he moans loudly, adam's apple bobbing in his throat with his back arched enough to feel his tummy on your forehead. You pull off after a few moments with gasps, your chest rising and falling quickly as you take in the air you'd briefly missed out on.

“Ay cariño… ‘m sorry, are ya ok?” Jake's gaze is still lidded and dopey, though a lot softer now, and you feel his thumb run over your cheek.

“Yes,” you say hoarsely, giggling afterwards at the sound of your voice while you wipe the spit from your chin. “It was hot. I liked it, honey, don't worry.”

He sighs, a smile replacing the worried frown his had on his face just seconds before. “Ah, good, angel,” he leans down and kisses you, not caring about the taste of himself on your lips. “You owe me an orgasm though.” You mumble on his lips, feeling the low chuckle rumble in his chest as he joins you on the floor without even pulling away from your plump lips.

”I can do that, cariño.”

+.｡ﾟ:;｡+ﾟ+｡::ﾟ｡:.ﾟ｡+｡+.｡ﾟ:;｡+ﾟ+｡::ﾟ｡:.ﾟ｡

Jake hasn't been out since that morning, and now it's getting to 3 days, and you're worried.

Did your odd little kink freak him out? Maybe the thought that his lover gets off on him damaging his lungs made him uncomfortable.— No, that's not the sexy part, because that WOULD be weird. It's watching him carefully, masterfully, assemble the tobacco. Watching the way he rolls it between his thick digits and runs his tongue over the edge before lighting it. You'd noticed how his eyes close in satisfaction with that first drag, and how his eyelids lower to a more relaxed manner, giving him that deadly lidded gaze that is sure to be the death of you.

The presence creeping up behind you breaks your train of thought, and you sigh contentedly as you feel large, warm hands run over your shoulders tenderly. You drag your eyes away from the tv screen to tilt your head back and look at one of your boyfriends, whichever one it is.

Jake always insisted on growing his facial hair out, but Marc and Steven are so strongly against it that you'd think they have some kind of personal vendetta against it. That being said, it's hard to tell them apart sometimes, especially when you're looking at them upside down.

“Hello, handsome.”

“Hello, angel.”

Blood instantly rushes to your face, and you know Jake notices it, given the way his lips quirk into a grin.

“Took you long enough…” You mumble softly, lifting your head to avoid his burning gaze.

“Ay, I know I know. I ain't really got an excuse.” He gives your shoulder one last pat before moving around to the couch and placing himself down next to you, arm promptly resting on the couch behind your head. “Did ya miss me, though?” His fingers toy with your ear, a gesture that he'd quickly and delightedly learnt annoys you.

Your silence is met by a dark chuckle from the man. “Did ya miss these?” The sound of cardboard rustling grabs your attention, your head slowly turning towards him before your eyes focus on the box of cigarettes in front of you.

“I thought you didn't like ‘pre-rolled bullshit'.” You quote his words with a scoff to hide the excitement already bubbling up inside you.

“I don't, but they come in handy, don't they? ‘Specially if I'm tryna rile ya up again.”

His left leg is crossed over the other in a casual sitting position, body angled towards you invitingly with his arms spread wide enough to make his t-shirt stretch across his toned chest.

“So… you didn't find it weird then?” Voice tentative, you shuffle over to him, having missed his tight bear hugs and calming tone of voice… even if his cockiness does get on your nerves sometimes.

A small frown replaces the grin that almost constantly adorned his face. “No, mi vida, ‘course not.” His hand reaches towards your face, calloused thumb running under your eyes softly. “I'm just as into it as you are, hell, I thought that was obvious.” His low chuckle makes your chest warm and a smile break the pouty look you had plastered across your face, especially when he leans in to kiss your forehead.

“Thank fucking god.”

A deep laugh from your boyfriend only makes your face and body grow warmer, the smile widening before you lean into his lips to place a kiss on them.

“Ya could've spoken to the other two.” He says, hands resting on your waist to pull you closer for a cuddle.

“Didn't wanna worry them.” It's almost remarkable how quickly you melt into their arms, quicker than you have with any other person… ever, really.

Jake's fingers trace your face gently, eyes roaming all over your features and drinking them in as if he hasn't seen you in years. “Ay cariño, you're too kind for ya own good.” He chuckles softly, pressing another, slightly longer kiss on your lips.

That slightly longer turns into much longer, which then turns into you panting into eachothers's mouth, craving one another as if it's integral to your survival.

“Please do it again, honey, wanna see you do it again.”

The friction from your bodies grinding relentlessly together has him dazed, his brain taking a few seconds to compute.

“Oh, angel, so impatient,” he teases as he grabs the box of cigs from the table and pulls one out. He runs it under his nose and takes a big whiff, letting out a loud, pleasured groan afterwards to make you giggle at his silliness, which you do.

You bite your lip, and he puts the stick between his rosy lips, looking up at you hungrily. “This what ya wanted, darlin’? ‘S this what you've been waitin’ for?” His tone is almost condescending, but his words roll off of his tongue in such a smooth way that you're quick to forgive him.

Your hips automatically grind down on him as you nod, biting your lip hard, before you feel his hands land on your waist again, traveling underneath your shirt and over your warm skin until you feel his fingers just brush over your left nipple. The hem of your shirt moves past your face before you can even think about it, your eyes still glued to his pretty mouth as you roll your hips on him to pull those soft grunts from his throat.

“Look at ya, I've barely touched ya and you're all worked up.” He grins as he brings his hand down to the waistband of your sweats to slide them lovingly down your thighs. It's a little mortifying how you don't even question him, how you don't even need anymore working up thanks to a heated make-out session and the sight of the cig hanging from his lips loosely. You lift your ass to help him pull them down, your underwear following suit.

That's when you realize he hasn't even taken his grey t-shirt off, and you're stark naked in his lap.

“This has got to have a name...” You rest your hands on his chest, the feeling of your bare cunt grinding against his jeans making you tilt your head back.

“Hmm?” He asks, undoing his belt buckle and fly.

“Your thing for having me completely naked while you can't even be bothered to take your shirt off.”

He laughs at that. “Maybe, ya should look it up later. See if it's on that woman's TikTok page.” He pulls his twitching cock out of the confines of his boxers, running his thumb over the ruddy tip. The gesture makes you take in a soft inhale, inching your hips closer to him so you can let his cock slide between your folds and through your arousal.

You both groan at the movement, and you watch Jake shuffle in his pocket for his lighter moments later, bringing the small flame to the end of the cig to light it. His chest expands, and then deflates as he blows the smoke away.

“You're so gorgeous, mi vida.” He says softly, two fingers holding the cigarette tightly as he runs them across your flesh to make goosebumps prickle across your arms and your cheeks heat up.

“And you're so handsome, Jakey.” You moan softly as he brings his mouth close to your chest and places kisses all over the expanse of skin, guiding your hand down between your bodies to help him slide inside you.

He pulls away and places the stick between his lips again to take in another drag and admire the picture in front of him. “Such a pretty angel,” he reiterates, feeling your warmth envelop his aching length as you sink down on him.

Your thighs shudder just a little, a pant escaping your lips as your hole stretches around him with ease, used to their girth by now.

“Love the dumb little look on ya face when ya take it, cariño. Ya like havin’ me stretch ya open like this?” Jake's words travel straight to your core, fueling the fire in your tummy as you lift your hips just to sink back down on him.

“Yes, baby, I love the way you stretch me open.”

The moan that comes from his lips is wonderful, and it's followed by another billow of smoke, the cig back in the corner of his mouth so he can guide your hips. You can see him already gritting his teeth around it, taking in sharp inhales as you start a deep rhythm on him.

“Oh baby…” You moan. You desperately want to close your eyes to enjoy the feeling, but the sight of him fucking you with that deathstick between his teeth is too glorious, penance for the time you spent worrying. “Shit, you look so hot, Jake. So fucking sexy…” You groan as he grasps your ass, gripping the flesh and dragging you down on his cock with growls.

“Ya look even better takin’ it, darlin’, ya take it so well; my pretty slut.”

You grip his shoulders, cursing him for being able to push your buttons and make you whine at the most humiliating of names. Your body always tells him different, though, especially as you start bouncing faster on his cock, feeling it hit that fucking sweet spot each time you come down on him.

Jake is panting too now, and he has to hold the cig between his fingers again to stop it from dropping on you. “Ya feel so good squeezin’ me like that, cariño… Fuck this cunt is magical–.” He still has a grip on your hip, and uses it as leverage so that he can start bucking his hips into your wet heat.

Needless to say, you aren't going to last much longer.

“J-ake! Honey… Fuck I'm so close–agh!-.” Your walls clench around him while your hand slips between your legs to circle your clit, eyes opening briefly to get a glimpse at the sight you'd been waiting to see for what felt like weeks.

That's it, that's all you needed as you sink down on him and grind your cunt against your hand, panting and moaning with your head thrown back. Waves of pleasure rush over you and soak through your bones entirely, your toes clenching like your walls.

You release the grip you had on his shoulders, not that he seemed to mind, that is, before leaning forward to kiss him. You don't care about the smokey taste on his tongue because all you want is him, his taste.

“Mmnnn… We ain't done yet, darlin’,” Jake pulls from the kiss and gestures to the half burnt cigarette as he places it back between his lips.

He gropes your waist and pulls you off of his cock with a soft yelp from you, instead pressing you down into the couch, face turned outwards so he can lean down and look at your face. This position always makes you whine, always makes your legs shake as you try to keep yourself up, and Jake never goes easy on you. He likes seeing the way your ass and thighs bounce as he brings you back on him, and loves hearing the filthy noises that are produced in the process.

The feeling of him splitting you open again has you biting on the cushion, your thoughts from before being true as he ruthlessly fucks into you, loud growls and grunts rumbling in his chest and ringing in your ears.

It's hard to ignore how good it makes you feel when he uses you like this. Sure you love the soft and tender moments you get with the three of them, but once you'd felt what they can really do to you, there was no going back.

You're surprised you haven't ripped the cushion cover from how hard you're gripping it, dumb, cock drunk whines and whimpers falling from your lips as the man fucks you closer and closer to another orgasm.

He leans over you, cigarette barely staying between his lips as he watches your eyes screw shut and random gibberish fall from your mouth.

“Ay, my pretty little fucktoy. Ya love it when I'm rough with ya, don't ya?” He pants and strokes his hand down your chest, running all the way down your tummy till he reaches your swollen clit. “Love it when I… when I use ya.”

His strong and composed facade is faltering, just as it usually does when he's getting close, sitting up again to throw his head back and take puffs of his almost completely gone cigarette.

You can see colours dancing behind your eyelids with how tightly they're screwed shut, the way his fingers are rubbing your clit being almost unbearable as you let out cries and pleas to come again.

“Yeah cariño, that's it, cum all over my cock, lemme feel ya twitch.”

An even stronger wave than before crashes over you and wracks your whole body. Your moans get stuck in your throat as you milk Jake of all he has, his own orgasm having hit him after you'd shrieked his name.

Thankfully, he's quick to remove his fingers from your throbbing clit, knowing it gets a little too sensitive after two mind-blowing orgasms.

”AH FUCK-”

Your post-nut bliss is interrupted by a pained yelp from the man, making you crane your neck to look back at him frantically pulling the cigarette butt from his lips and putting it out in the ashtray.

You laugh, albeit sleepily, and watch his dopey gaze drift to yours as he chuckles lowly. “Fuckin’ cigarettes… maybe next time I should get some of those fake ones.” He jokes as he pulls out of you and touches his sore lips.

You giggle and sit up wobbly, turning to wrap your arms around his neck. “I did think when we started that it was a little dangerous.”

“Ay, ya live and ya learn.”

You both laugh and Jake presses his face into your neck, placing soft kisses as he falls back against the couch with a thump, taking you with him.

...........................................................................

Tags 🖤: @boredzillenial @cowboymarcs @chichimisaki @faretheeoscar @fanofstuffidk @minigirl87 @marisferasiop @red-hydra @summonthesoups @steven-grants-world @queerponcho @ominoose @mynamesstevenwithav @rinverse

#moon knight #moon knight system #moon boys #jake lockley #moon knight smut #jake lockley smut #jake lockley x reader #oscar isaac characters

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