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rileyslibrary · 10 months

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Penny for your thoughts

Synopsis: You’ve recently been transferred to a UK base and struggle with British currency. Your lieutenant is mortified—and rightfully so.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1,286 (approx. 5-6 mins reading time)

Notes:

I thought it was funny when I wrote it, okay? It’s a crackfic. There’s some teasing and playful banter in there, but I can’t label it as fluff.

Warnings: Profanity. Lots of it.

More A/N at the end.

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You’ve been trying to escape the lieutenant’s grip for the past two hours.

The upcoming mission requires close combat skills, he said. You’ll need to infiltrate a facility with minimum weapons and immobilise—but not kill—the targets for interrogation.

You admitted to him that you hadn’t practised in a long time and your combat skills were a little rusty. But Ghost assured you this wouldn’t be a problem and offered a refresher course in ground fighting and submission techniques.

You never imagined this would be an issue when you agreed to it. On the contrary, your lieutenant was an expert in combat, and training with him could be considered a masterclass.

Looking at it now, with your cheek pressed against the floor and your body twisted like a nautical knot, you wish you could take it back.

The mats have become your second skin. Ghost relentlessly pins you to the ground and immobilises your limbs while explaining the mechanics behind each hold. Sometimes you wonder why he gets into so much detail since you can’t hear shit and are practically knocked out.

Yet, he doesn’t give up on you. He advises you to feel the weight shift, urging you to exploit the slightest openings, encouraging you to break free. Whenever he sees you’re struggling or senses you’re uncertain, he taps your hand or leg, giving you clues to help you.

He immobilises you once more, but he pats your back this time.

“Alright,” he says, standing up, “that’s enough for today.”

He walks to the bench, picks up his towel, and pats his neck. You roll on your back and spread your arms.

“I feel like a pretzel.” You whisper.

“Yup,” he confirms, “that’s Jiu-Jitsu for ya.”

Drenched in sweat, you push yourself off the ground and slowly walk to your bag. You extract your towel and begin rummaging through your wallet to find spare coins for a water bottle. You manage to find one pound, but unfortunately, you fall short.

“Lt.?” You call out.

He turns halfway to give you his attention while tugging the velcro straps from his gloves.

“Do you have fifty pennises?”

He stops midway and lets go of the velcro strap. It can wait. His eyes have formed two thin lines, and his eyebrows almost touch each other.

“Do I have fifty what, soldier?”

“I need fifty pennises.” You reply, this time louder, “Do you have fifty pennises?”

His eyes have changed. They’re not squinting anymore. They are bulging. He frantically looks left and right, bringing his index finger to his mouth.

“Shhhh!” He whispers and runs towards you, waving his other hand in front of your face. “Shut your mouth!”

He closes the distance between you and looks behind him.

“What is wrong with you?” He whispers.

You raise your eyebrows and blink rapidly.

“No,” you reply, “what is wrong with you?”

He lets out a sigh and looks at his surroundings once again. He scratches the side of his chin and clasps his hands in prayer.

“Tell me exactly what you want,” he requests more calmly this time, almost begging you, “Make a sentence out of it.”

“I’m thirsty.” You explain.

“Obviously.”

He’s starting to get on your nerves. You open your palm and raise it to his eye level.

“Look,” you order and point at the coin, “I have one pound.”

“I can see that.” He replies and puts his hand on yours, pushing it down so he can look at you.

“The vending machine needs one pound and a half.”

“Say it.” He commands and swallows hard, “The vending machine needs one pound and fifty...”

You clench your jaw and look at him dead in the eyes.

“Pennises.”

He lets out a snort and clasps his hand at the bridge of his nose. He turns his back to you and takes a few steps away. His shoulders move up and down.

“Ah, soldier,” he replies, still looking the other way. “that’s a lot of pennises.”

You run a hand through your hair and sigh.

“I know my pronunciation is probably wrong,” you state and shut your eyes, “but I need them.”

“Don’t say that,” he says between gasps, “you don’t need that many.”

With your eyes still closed, you start babbling about how wrong he is and how you wish you had a million of them so you could escape this hellhole and retire on an island. He squats to the ground and covers his masked face with his hands.

He sounds like he’s whimpering. You might have assumed he was sobbing if you hadn’t known the cause of his stance. But you knew why he was half crying, half laughing. It sounded hideous. It was hideous. You just can’t remember the word.

What’s it called, what’s it called...

You open your eyes. Ghost is walking towards you, wiping away tears from his eyes. He retrieves a fist of coins from his pocket and, muttering something under his breath, chooses two. He pinches a silver hexagonal-shaped coin with his fingers and shows it to you.

“This,” he says, “is fifty pence, or 50p.”

“Pence or p.” You repeat.

“That’s right.” He confirms and pinches a smaller coin with his other hand. “Now, this little one is a penny. Fifty of these are called fifty pennies.”

“Pennies,” you echo and slap your thighs, “See? Was it that hard to explain?”

“Oh yes,” he replies and nods slowly, “yes, it was that fucking hard.”

You lift your palm. “Can I have the big one?” You ask.

“Say it first.” He commands you.

You roll your eyes. “Can I have the 50p, Lt.?”

“Of course, you may have the 50p.” He says and places the coin in your hand, “What you absolutely may not have is fifty….” He stops and lets a repressed chuckle out.

You press your lips together and bite your cheek to not respond to his teasing. But you can’t.

“…pennises, I presume?” You sneer.

“Yeah, no.” He says and vigorously shakes his head, “You don’t want that.”

You wince and rub the back of your neck. Ghost tries to comfort you, telling you it’s ok and you shouldn’t feel bad, but he doesn’t believe it himself. He’s smiling beneath that mask; you can tell by how the grimace alters his voice. You thank him for the coin and walk to the vending machine.

“Soldier,” he calls out, “how many times have you said that word since you came to the UK?”

You tilt your head and try to recall.

“I can’t remember.” You conclude.

“You can’t remember if you ever said it, or there were so many occasions that you can’t count them?” He asks with a trembling voice.

“No, Lt.,” you reply, defeated, “I don’t remember asking another person for that.”

He looks relieved. He lets out a long exhale and rubs his masked face with his palms.

“I never thought I’d ever say this,” he says, “but I’m glad I was the first one.”

———————————————————————

A/N: I wrote this in March, along with this story (yes, they’re very similar). Although I liked the idea and thought it was funny, I initially discarded it because it felt stupid, and chose to post the other one (not like the other one is pure genius). It remains as such, but as I said, it’s a crackfic. I’m not researching how to improve human welfare.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley fic #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #ghost cod #ghost cod mw2 #cod ghost #ghost cod mwii #ghost call of duty

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lehguru · 5 months

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MUSCLE MUSCLE! + ONE PIECE MEN

one piece men having a muscular fem!s/o feat. monkey d. luffy, roronoa zoro, trafalgar d. water law, sanji, donquixote rosinante, buggy the clown

info: again FEM!READER , this is so self indulgent its embarrassing; not proofread

luffy wouldn't mind you having muscles. he thinks that's something normal – just like some women can be skinny or chubby, others can be muscular. he would love to compare his biceps to yours if you love to flex, he takes it as a fun playful thing. he would adore to train with you, it gives him a big motivation; not only because it's someone as strong as him training, but also because he would adore to share earbuds with you and do silly dances to make you laugh between your sets.

zoro thinks the way you managed to build up your muscles is amazing. he often talks to you about your training techniques and diet; you're also one of the few – three – people he invites to workout with him. if you spot him during bench presses, he always puts a higher weight than he would while alone – that's his way to show that he trusts you and your strength. he will often stare at your body at the gym, but it's never in a creepy way, he just wants to make sure you're okay while doing your exercises (and he secretly enjoys to see your muscles working).

law is constantly wanting to rip his hair off with worry for you. he thinks your psyche is nice and he have no problem with it, his fears lie on your diet and your bones/joints. he fears that you might get an injury and you're not keeping a healthy fat percentage; even if you reassure him and say everything is fine, he always show up with food at your place. if he's not in that worried state, he loves to feel your muscles while you hug him (he has a skinnier build, so he enjoys the contrast). his favorite thing ever is to feel your arms around his head while he lays on your stomach.

sanji would love your body no matter what, but there's something about you being able to lift him up – and even throw him around if you want to – that drives him insane. if you post a picture with any of your muscles flexed, you will get a dozen of comments from him. if you take him to the gym to train with you, he will praise you and won't even train so he can "appreciate and help a goddess like you". he begged you for a long time to give him a headlock so he could take a picture and make it his profile picture in every single social media he have (and the background on his phone).

corazón always get shy whenever he looks at any of your muscles – you often notice it, because his cheeks become a nice shade of pink. at first you thought he didn't like you being muscular, but quite the opposite. unlike his brother, he doesn't build up muscles that easily (they have the same genetics, but he always says he was born to be the skinny brother), so you, the love of his life, being muscular? he is over the moon. if he gets your consent to do it, his hands will be all over you. if you need a massage, he's there. if it's just resting on your thigh or your back during a cuddle session, he's happy. he loves your muscles a lot, not more than he loves you.

buggy thinks you're one of the coolest people because of your muscles. he always wanted to be bigger and scarier, but his muscles always seemed to grow on his legs and stomach only, so if you are well-balanced on all your body, he is smitten. he loves to lay on any part of your body, giggling to himself if he thinks about doing that when you two are apart. he is constantly praising you, but, unlike sanji, they come in a more "if you were the queen, i wouldn't mind being the jester" way. he wouldn't mind tagging along with you to the gym, but he would spend more time glaring at any other men that looks your way than actually training.

2023 © content belongs to lehguru, but the characters used in them belong to their respective creators!!

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itadorey · 8 months

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[4:35 pm]

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

angst, ~700 words

gojo satoru does not fall in love.

or at least, that's what he tries to tell himself every time he sees you.

the very concept of love is not one that the white-haired sorcerer is intrinsically familiar with, especially not with his upbringing and his role in the jujutsu world. but whenever he's around you, he finds himself wondering if the skip in his heartbeat can be attributed to that very emotion.

you had transferred to the tokyo metropolitan curse technical college at the start of his second year, having left the kyoto campus behind when your parents decided to move to the city. it had taken months for you to come out of your shell, and shoko had even reached out to utahime to see if there was anything they could do to make you feel more at ease around them. (when gojo had reached out to utahime for the same reason, his attempts has been ignored.)

you had eventually given in, befriending shoko first, then geto, and finally gojo.

the friendship between you and gojo had started off rocky, the two of you always at odds due to his constant teasing. it wasn't until he saw your cursed technique in action that he finally stopped, and from then on he had taken an interest in you. your days were full of gojo trailing after you, bugging you at any given moment and asking about you and your cursed technique in an attempt to sate his curiosity. one-sided conversations eventually became weekend hangouts, with geto often joining you and gojo on your snack runs. shoko always chose to stay behind, reminding the three of you to swipe a packet of cigarettes for her every time you went out.

there was something about you that seemed to bring a sense of normalcy to gojo's life, as ironic as it was considering you were both jujutsu sorcerers. maybe it was the way you seemed to smile so easily, or the way you never failed to shoot back a witty remark when he teased you. gojo wasn't sure, but what he did know that somewhere along the line, he had fallen for you.

and he had to let you know as soon as possible.

"where are they?" gojo asks, panting lightly as he sprinted in front of shoko. she raised an eyebrow, tucking her cigarette packet back into her pocket before putting a hand on her hip.

"who?"

"don't play dumb," gojo scoffs, bouncing in place as he pokes shoko's shoulder. "you know who."

a sigh escapes shoko's lips, and she swats gojo's hand away before responding. "they're probably in the courtyard."

"thanks!" gojo calls out, already taking a step away. he was quickly stopped, shoko's hand grasping onto his jacket as she pulled him back.

"why are you in such a rush?"

"i need to tell them something important," gojo admits, his smile growing when shoko gives him a skeptical look. "i might be in love with them."

shoko's eyes widen at gojo's words, and a nervous look overcomes her features as her grip tightens even more. "gojo, wait. they're with geto."

"that's okay!" gojo replies, prying shoko's hands away from him as he starts walking again. "i can just pull them aside."

"no, wait!" shoko yells, trailing after gojo and stopping as he got further and further away. "you don't get it—"

she trails off, a groan leaving her lips as she rubs her temples. she sprints after her friend, catching up to him just as he reaches the entrance to the courtyard. she crashes into his back, rubbing her nose as she peeks out from behind him to see why he had stopped so abruptly.

there, sitting comfortably on a bench, is you. geto's head is in your lap, his eyes crinkled shut as he smiles up at you. you lean down to press a soft kiss to his lips, brushing his bangs away from his face before kissing his forehead as well.

"oh," gojo whispers, tilting his head down to look at shoko before turning to face her. "they're with geto."

"gojo, wait—"

shoko's words go ignored as gojo shoulders past her, inhaling sharply as he makes his way back towards the dorms.

gojo satoru does not fall in love, and now he remembers why.

reblogs are appreciated <3 ty for reading!!

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sgstories123 · 9 months

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Mr Koh's Stretching Exercises

Faith’s left leg slipped and went much further forward than she intended to. She yelled in pain as she felt her muscles stretched and she stumbled over as she lost her balance.

Mr Koh cursed under his breath as he watched his student collapsed on the track. That will be another incident report to write. Why did the principal of the school asked him to take on the Athletics CCA. He was not interested in athletics nor had any knowledge of it. He was just smoking his way through by googling and asking the team to do training based on what he found on the internet. He was quite sure that none of them is useful and that none of the students are going to win medals for the school. It was just a bloody waste of time with no additional salary. At most, he can write something during performance appraisal that he contributed to school activities. He would rather read a book than coach the athletics team. He was after all a Literature teacher.

“Faith! Are you okay?” Mr Koh asked as he walked over to the student. The other students were already gather around her, helping her up to her feet.

“I think I sprained myself. My left leg is hurting.” Faith replied, her eyes red with tears.

For a moment, Mr Koh’s heart missed a beat. Faith was actually quite pretty with large eyes and oval-shaped face. She looks something like an anime character. With her eyes glistening in tears, Mr Koh felt a sudden urge to take her into his arms and protect her.

“Right. I got some ice packs in the PE room. That will help.” Mr Koh then addressed the rest of the students. “It is almost 5 pm. Let’s call it a day for today’s session. Remember to train hard. The school is expecting you to do well in the coming competition.” Mr Koh grimaced at the insincerity of the words emanating from his mouth.

As the students left the field, Mr Koh put Faith’s hands over his shoulders while he helped her to the staff room at the end of the field. He could feel her warm breath on his face. Her breasts pressed slightly against his chest as she clung closer to him for support. He looked at her sweat-drenched t-shirt, her pale blue sports bra beneath was just barely visible. He could make out the cleavage. As both of them were wearing running shorts, their bare legs were touching and rubbing each other as they made their way across the field. Mr Koh was fervently hoping that he does not get an erection as it would be too obvious in his running shorts.

“Right. Take a seat on the bench.” Mr Koh instructed Faith as they reached the PE room. He took the ice packs out from the small freezer and sat down on the floor in front of Faith. He started rubbing the ice pack on her legs, hoping that that is the correct way to treat a sports injury.

As he moved the ice packs higher up her thighs, Mr Koh admired her smooth complexion. The ice pack slid easily across her skin, leaving a trail of glistening liquid. Faith’s legs were open and her matching pale blue panties were visible from within her FBT shorts. His cock was hard now and he tried to adjust his shorts without attracting too much attention to himself.

“Right. You know, Faith. This would not have happened if you have done the warm-up exercises. I always remind all of you to do proper warm-up. Now you know what happens when you don’t listen to me and how important stretching is to an athlete.” Mr Koh rambled on, relying on his usual training instructions to focus on something other than how aroused he was from giving Faith a sports massage. “There are very useful stretching techniques that can not only prevent you from getting injured but help you perform better. When you stretch, you cover more distance with each stride and that can help you win competitions.”

“Cher, how about you teach me some stretching exercises now?” Faith asked.

Mr Koh was caught in a bind. He did not really know any stretching exercises. He was just talking nonsense and smoking his way through.

“Er, well. For example, we can start with you opening up your legs as wide as you can.” Mr Koh suggested.

Faith responded by doing exactly that. Mr Koh’s cock became even harder as more of Faith’s panties were revealed through her shorts.

“Maybe you sit down on the floor. Might be better.” Mr Koh suggested.

Faith got on the floor and sat down on the floor exercise mats with her legs outstretched. “Is this okay, Cher?”

“Right. I now help you with some of the stretching exercises, okay?” Mr Koh’s lust took over. He got behind Faith and pressed her body forwards, his body enjoying the warmth and close contact with the young body. He caressed her thighs, pretending to stretch them out further, but his real intent was to move further up her inner thighs, towards the final pleasure. Faith let out a sigh of pleasure. Mr Koh took that as a sign that her defences were down. He pressed himself harder against her, his hard cock rubbing her back. His hands went around her stomach, pulling her closer to him.

“Cher, is this part of the stretching exercise?” Faith asked innocently. “Yes. I am trying to warm your stomach up so that it is ready for the next exercise.” Mr Koh replied.

His hand now reached into her panties, brushing lightly against the thin, sparse pubic hair of the young girl. His other hand reached underneath her shirt and pushed her sports bra upwards, releasing her breasts. He groped them tight. What beautiful breasts. Soft and just large enough to fill his hands completely.

“Cher, this does not feel right. You are doing something that only my boyfriend does?” Faith sounded confused. “I told you to listen to me right? Or you are going to get injured again. I am just massaging you. Now keep quiet and enjoy.“ Mr Koh was a little angry, partly because Faith mentioned that her boyfriend had been enjoying this wonderful piece of meat.

Mr Koh pushed Faith down onto the exercise mats and pulled off her shorts and panties. “Wait, Cher. What are you doing?” Faith was now frightened. “”I said listen to me and keep quiet. Your shorts are in the way. You can’t do a proper stretch with them on. This is good for you or you will keep on getting hurt.” Mr Koh raised his voice and Faith was subdued into silence.

Mr Koh pulled Faith’s legs wide open and saw his prize. It was a beautiful pussy with slightly swollen pinkish lips and crowned with a small crop of pubic hair. “See, I am also taking off my shorts so that I can stretch better.” Mr Koh continued before taking off his shorts, his hard cock pointing towards the ceiling.

“Now, I am going to give you a special stretching exercise. Your vagina needs to be loosened or it will hinder your legs from spreading out. I will help you with that now.” Mr Koh positioned his hard cock at the entrance of Faith’s vagina, spitting on it to provide lubrication. He then pushed it slowly in. It was tight and provided immense pleasure.

“Cher. This is wrong. You are fucking me.” Faith cried. “I am not fucking you. I am stretching your vagina.” Mr Koh grunted, as his cock inched deeper into her. “This is a stretching exercise, not a fuck.”

“Look. I am stretching your legs, right. It is all part of the exercise.” Mr Koh grunted as he stretch Faith’s legs wider apart, hoping that it will allow his cock to enter her more easily. As he plunged his last inch into her, he groaned in satisfaction. He then lifted Faith’s legs over his shoulders, pushing himself even deeper into her. “More stretching, Faith. Not fucking.”

As Mr Koh started fucking Faith, pounding into her at an increasing pace, Faith had stopped complaining but was instead moaning softly in pleasure.

“Are you feeling it, Faith? Do you feel your muscles relaxing now that it has been stretched?” Mr Koh grunted in between his pounding.

“Yes, Cher. This feels so good. Fuck me harder.” Faith whimpered.

“Not fucking you, Faith. Just doing stretching exercises. Remember that.” Mr Koh responded. “Now, let’s stretch another set of muscles.”

Mr Koh pulled Faith up from the exercise mats and pushed her against the wall. He entered her from behind, lifting one of her legs upwards. Faith moaned in pleasure as Mr Koh’s hard cock ravished her hole from a different angle. He pressed her against the wall as he fucked her, slamming his body hard against her. He quickened his pace, drawing greater pleasure as he neared his limit. With a large groan and a final deep thrust, he ejaculated into Faith, drowning her womb with his seed. He held onto her, as Faith shuddered in pleasure, as she too reached her climax. He slowly released her, letting her lie down on the exercise mats as he watched his semen slowly exiting her vagina and onto the mats.

He would need to clean the mats later, he thought to himself. Additional work, again. But at least it was worth it. Maybe being an athletics coach is not so bad after all. It might even be better than reading a book. There were after all a couple of pretty students in the team. Mae, Jasmine and even Jenn.

“Cher.” Faith broke his chain of fantasy. “Can we do some more stretching exercise again?”

“Well. I was thinking we should not be selfish. Maybe we can involve Mae, Jasmine and Jenn next time. I think all of you should undergo special training and compete for the 4 x 100 event.” Mr Koh smiled to himself as a whole new world suddenly opened up to him.

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waheelawhisperer · 7 months

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Bottom 5 workout spotters in Rhodes island?

I can't pick just 5 with this one

Minimalist: Pathetically fucking weak

Kal'tsit: Will talk at you the entire fucking time. Also probably has nerdy noodle arms and will make Mon3tr spot you instead. Mon3tr doesn't have hands. This will not end well.

Gnosis: Pathetically weak. Also, good luck getting him to go to the gym.

Lappland: Will drop the bar on you on purpose.

Sora: Pathetically weak.

Swire: Refuses to spot you because she might chip a nail

Rhine Labs nerds: Pathetically fucking weak.

Jessica: Just fucking pathetic. Also, she will cry the whole time and her tears will both soak you and lubricate the weights, making them hard to hold. This is a recipe for disaster.

Chongyue: Does a great job spotting you but won't shut the fuck up.

Mostima; Will fucking leave in the middle of your set because she's allergic to commitment

Nightingale: In a wheelchair.

Specter: Will spot you just fine, you will never be in any danger, but she will spend the entire time making fun of you for being weak.

W: See Lappland, except the bar will also explode.

Ceobe: Will get distracted by food.

Whislash: She has a bad arm

Gravel: May start humping you mid-set. This does not generally help with technique or concentration.

Ch'en: See Lappland.

SilverAsh: See Gravel

Mlynar: Cares more about his newspaper than your safety. Spotting you properly would require giving a shit about something.

Skadi: Do not let her spot you on the bench press. Her facewarmers will be right above your head and you will get distracted.

Pallas: Drunk.

Warfarin: see Gravel

Aak: Oh God no

Ling: Drunk.

Dorothy: Will turn the gym and everyone in it into some kind of unholy abomination.

Platinum: Can't even use a fucking ab roller. How the hell is she supposed to spot you?

#arknights #ask game

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jakescakeislateforourdate · 20 days

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omg that don fic was amazing!!!! could you write another smutty one please? 🥹🫶🏻

your wish is my command so I present to you nothing but Don and his lovely hands

Piano Man

Jack's Don Hume x reader

wc: 4,000

⚠️ WARNINGS ⚠️: fingering, oral, riding Don, Don trying to be bossy, minors do not interact lest I have to water board you

Enjoy this garbage!

Don Hume always had gorgeous hands. They had elegant curves and dignified bones and moved so forcefully yet gracefully. And he was downright intentional in his every use of them.

He always had immaculate technique when rowing, perfectly executing every twist and pull of the oar. He was a most excellent pianist and could play almost any piece he wanted. He had beautiful handwriting. If there was anything that had to do with hands, Don could do it. Better than most.

You know this to be true.

Mostly because you felt them on you.

It happened the night of their first win. The boys dragged poor Don on stage and made him play. The simple then was too humble for him but he was nervous. Once it was over and he was allowed to leave the stage, he made a point of sitting on the same bench you were. By himself. Just a few feet away.

“Congratulations on your big win, Don.” You scoot closer so he can hear you. His face drains of color. He’d always thought you pretty but that’s exactly what made him shy. Too shy to ever really make a move or even talk to you outside of your shared classes.

“Th-thanks.” He stutters and jams two fingers between his throat and his collar, trying to swallow down the lump of nerves choking him.

“I had no idea you played the piano.”

“Oh yeah, I uh…”

You keep talking to him, and he keeps responding. The people on the dance floor become a blur in his peripheral and the music is a jumble of white noise. He doesn’t even notice the boys pointing and shouting excitedly at seeing Don talking. They would come looking for him eventually, thinking he was dancing with you in a secluded corner, but by that time Don would be long gone.

Walking you home had turned into a kiss on the cheek to the full enclosure of lips. He was so dizzy. So unable to comprehend the earnestness in the kiss until you grabbed the lapels of his suit coat and pressed him to the door. “Maybe you should come inside?” Your whisper against his lips makes his vision spin. He’s half worried he’ll pass out on you but that doesn’t stop his eager nod.

Your hand closes around the brass doorknob and you twist. Don is met with the sensation of falling. But he’s weightless; he hardly feels the stumble and scuff of his shoes. The door closes and locks and it’s just you and Don away from prying eyes. Something happens that Don cannot explain. His initial shyness dissipates; and he finds himself tugging you onto his lap when you collapse onto the bed.

Your dress skirt, soft as silk over his rough knuckles, sweeps up your thighs as he wanders. He distracts you with kisses as his fingertips brush the hem of your tights. They trail over and find the seam, tracing downwards towards the gusset. One of Don’s tentative fingers rubs over the gusset. There’s a slight dampness over the puffy labia and his fingertip lingers. Gentle swipes of the digit tease your slit; his touch is just light enough to map out the ridges and valleys of your core. He graduates to two fingers pushing through the growing wet patch. He enjoys the huffs and gasps against his lips, drinking them down to fuel his newfound confidence.

You’re busy too. You undo his tie and fling it onto the nightstand. The buttons of his halfheartedly ironed shirt come next, exposing the scape of his alabaster skin. When your hands touch his bare chest, he flushes all the way down to his clavicles. Your touch is so cloud-light he’d miss it if he wasn’t so intensely absorbed in the moment. You break apart just so you can look down while you explore him.

He thinks it’s the first time he’s ever been touched like this, by someone who has more care than greed. It’s not hasty or ravaging, the way some others had been before you. Where theirs was trying to get in and out of his pants, yours is trying breach something deeper than just his body. Don had never felt this before. This tingling in his muscles and nervous that resonated from the places your skin meets. How his heart hammers and blood rushes in his ears. He’s tempted to let you strip him down and take him apart like he’s done so many other nights. But he can’t. Tonight, cannot be those other nights because you are not those other women.

Don bunches up your dress in his fist and yanks it over your head. He takes note of the goosebumps rising on your skin from the kiss of the cold air and he brings you in closer. Hot breaths puff over your cheeks as he rubs over the gusset more seriously, fervently.

“Don—”

His name passing through lips is like the call of a beloved memory, of a favorite song over the radio coming to life on a piano’s keys. He remembers hearing you say it for the first time when you met up in the library for a group project. “You’re Don, right?” That melodic “aw” was beautiful in your mouth. It became ingrained in the folds of his brain as he heard it again and again until that sound could pluck his heartstring when it rattled his ears.

And you had no fucking idea just how deep it ran.

You’re pushing at his shirt now, wanting it off him so you could know more of him. He allows you this because it’s only fair. And also, because he’s addicted to the zap of connection. He calls your name back as he applies more pressure through his fingers. You’re dripping now and shifting uncomfortably in those tights. Time to get you out of them.

Don slips his arms around you, bundling you up as he swaps your places and gracefully lays you down. He fixes a kiss to your lips as he works the tights down your thighs, over your knees, and off your ankles. His kiss slides from your lips to the underside of your jaw and begins to travel down your throat. He moves to slide a finger through your folds only to find a paper-thin strip of lace keeping him from you.

He pulls away and stares down in shock. He hadn’t even noticed them. How had he not noticed them? They’re frilly and black and coordinate with your bra; you’ve put on a matching set just for him. You’d planned on bedding him long before he’d gotten the balls to kiss you.

“Everything okay?” You ask, hips canting upwards.

“Yeah, yeah—” he’s just speechless. The longer he thinks about it, he realizes he’s always been the one to initiate things. He had never considered that someone would want him back enough to actually plan ahead. He’s never actually seen lingerie before, and he feels stupid and inexperienced for it. He should say something so that the silence doesn’t stretch for too long. “You might just be too pretty for—”

“Oh, don’t even start with that.” Your legs settle around his waist, “You don’t hear half the things people say about you, women in particular.”

“They talk about me?”

“All the time. Usually about how cute you are. Or how strong you look. And sometimes, about these beautiful hands of yours.” You lift his hand and suck two of his fingers into your mouth.

Don gapes at you. As you suckle at his digits, he absentmindedly makes a pass over your clit with his free hand. You gasp as he slips one fingertip under the lace and drags it through the sticky slick. As your mouth opens wider, he pushes his fingers further across the velvety expanse of your tongue, pressing down on at the back of your throat.

You don’t choke.

Good hell, you don’t even gag. His fingers are sunk to the third knuckles, and you hardly react save for your fluttering eyelids and belabored breaths. He’s hypnotized by the sucking sensation and flow of saliva and the scrubbing of tastebuds. He dreams of stuffing his painfully hard cock into your mouth and prays you’d be able to deep throat him even further.

Shit, if he keeps going on like this in his head he’s going to cum in his pants.

Don musters up enough sense of mind to tug his fingers free of your drooling mouth. He takes your jaw into his wet grip and lays a vigorous kiss on your lips. Meanwhile, his other fingers trace your clenching entrance and tease the gushing hole. In that bleak, dead quietness of night he can hear it; he can hear the faint squelch of his finger pushing in and stretching you out. You whimper against his lips. Your sweaty palms ball up along the rise of his spine.

After he’s done bruising your lips, he strips your drenched panties off and shuffles off the foot of your bed. He drags you down until your feet hang off the edge and your cunt is set before him.

A real delicacy you are.

Slick strings across your folds and clinging to your most pleasurable spots. One careful stroke parts your folds so he can put it in again, carving along your walls. Each careful push and pull of his finger ricochets from nerve to nerve like wildfire and leaves your chest heaving. He begins to meticulously unravel your stroke by stroke.

Patient, he needs to be patient. He remembers spending hours and hours practicing the piano as a child and into his teen years. How that progress took so much time and patience. Sometimes he’d felt so frustrated he’d wanted to rip the pages out of his piano books, but he knew that wouldn’t make him a better player.

Similarly, rushing this night just to get an unsatisfying but instantly gratifying high won’t make him a better lover. At least, not the kind he wants to be. He recognizes that keeping you means showing you a good enough time that you want it from him again. That you need to be just as hooked on his every breath as he is on yours.

“Want another—”

Your airy cry rips him from his stupor. He registers the arousal dripping down the back of his hand from your pussy. His middle finger unfolds as his index finger withdraws. Two blunt fingertips greet your hole this time, wriggling past the initial tightness of your entrance and resuming his ginger pace. This is about building up, he reminds himself, his foreplay has to fulfill you but leave you desperate at the same time.

While his fingers find a steady rhythm and pattern of thrusts, his tongue wanders out of his mouth and the very tip curiously tastes the wetness on your swollen clit.

You choke, “Sh—it! DON!” feet scraping over the sheets as your knees come up. He’s sure he’s not giving you enough to cum but the way you react to each circle of his tongue around your clit makes him wonder if he underestimated your sensitivity.

“Feel good?”

“So fucking good!”

This makes him grin, tongue retracting so he can place a loving kiss to your folds, “I’m glad but try to keep it down. I’d prefer to be the only one hearing you like this.” Then his tongue is back at its nagging swipes. You’re burning to the touch, pulsing against his splayed mouth, and glistening like a crystalized renaissance painting. You talk of his hands like they’re something magical and he wonders if they might just be with what they’re doing to you. It makes him proud.

Don slows the thrust of his fingers to a maddening caress that grazes your walls like the edge of a feather. “What do you need?” Don mutters between licks. He’d tell you to beg because that’s what he really wants but he doesn’t know how far he can push you and he’d rather play it safe than sorry. Patience, care, and tact, he tells himself. Tonight must be handled delicately.

“Wan’ you.”

In a moment of ego Don breaks away with a wet pop, “I know, sweetheart, but you’re going to have to do a little better than that.”

You whine and nudge him with your ankle, but Don doesn’t budge. He simply returns to his shallow thrusts and slow, sloppy kisses. He figures you’ll give in and, “You said to be quiet.” You complain.

“Bullshi-that’s not what I meant!” In a way you’re not wrong but he did not expect attitude, “and complaining won’t get you anywhere.” He withdraws his fingers entirely, leaving his only his lips to soothe your burning skin.

You chuff unhappily and thread your fingers through his hair, “Want you in me, Don, ‘ve been wanting it for a while.”

Finally.

“Why didn’t you say so?”

You’d love to get smart with him and slap the smirk off his lips but he’s undeniable cute in his smugness. It doesn’t help that you find his secretly darndest behavior very much attractive. You would have never guessed this about him; that he would be so authoritative when intimate when his mellow demeanor had blindsided you.

Don dusts kisses up your tummy and breasts as he moves the both of you back up the bed. His knees dig into the mattress as he kneels, pulling you up to straddle him. Chest to chest, you wrap your arms around each other in a sweaty embrace. The bedframe rattles slightly and you can see the midnight sky out of your window now. You wonder when the dance ends and pray that it’s not soon so you can take your time with him. Or more likely, so he can take his sweet time with you.

“We can stop if you want?” You must have been staring out the window for a moment too long because when you look back at Don, there’s concern filling his shadowed eyes. Nighttime is just as pretty on him as afternoon sun on his shoulders as he rows or the warm stage lights as he plays. He probably thought he overstepped.

“You’re gorgeous, Don.”

Even in the dim moonlight you can see his blush. The red blooms swallowing up his freckles and erasing his nervousness. “Where do you find the gall to be so blatant?” It’s a genuine question, he’s never been able to be so flatly open about what he thinks. He’s always marveled at the people who can

At some point he must have shed his pants because you realize that he’s bare beneath. A happy trail of dark downy hair winds down his navel. Then there’s his erection, where the rest of his body is pale as porcelain, his leaking cock is ruby red and glistening with a rivulet of precum streaming down the underside.

He guides himself to your entrance and replaces his arm around your waist. “Tell me if you need a moment.” He his head tilts forward, forehead pressing against yours, eyes sweeping over your face. He pushes his throbbing tip into your entrance and sucks in a huge breath. You both clutch each other tighter, fighting off moans as he works himself in. His eyes have fluttered closed and his jaw his clenched painfully.

He bottoms out, thighs flush with yours, and sighs mightily as you relax around him. You cup his face to keep your foreheads together. He resolves that you must like this proximity then. That you like it enough kiss him hard and drain away his composure. Before he can lose too much, Don’s arms flex, his abbs tensing as he drags you up his cock and then drops you back onto it. Two strained cries echo off each other. He does it again, again, bouncing you on his lap. You grip his shoulders for better support; your nails digging into his sun-bitten skin. “Don, baby—”

“Holy f-fuck!” His voice breaks into your mouth as he slots your lips together. Earlier he’d been drunk on the pulse of your cunt against his tongue but now that it’s surrounding him, he feels helpless. A ringing fills his ears, he squeezes his eyes shut, and his entire body clenches up as he slams you down harder. His hands splay over your waist and are probably bruising you but both of you are too absorbed. At some point you’re done kissing, but your lips stay brushing each other, open mouthed and utterly consumed in a mind-melting pleasure.

Sweat trickles down Don’s face. His hair is a mess from your fingers raking through it and he’s flushed from the tip of his nose to his belly. While he’s on the border of knocking himself out, you find it in you to slip your hands off his shoulders, trusting his strength, and bring your uncoordinated fingers to his chest. Don practically screams when your fingertips graze his pert nipples. His back bows into you, pushing his chest into your hands. He nearly loses his balance. You pinch them, hard, and Don has no choice but to drop one hand to the mattress and lean away from you. In this position, you’ve got enough leverage to ride him yourself, bringing your hips down to meet his thrusts. And no matter how Don seems to squirm, he can’t escape your mean fingers. Then you’re bending down, and your lips wrap around the sensitive bud.

Don is beside himself. What is he supposed to do? You drooling pussy is swallowing him every heartbeat and your tongue and lips are ravaging his chest. He feels a low pulsing deep in his stomach and knows he has to stop this now. The remaining hand on your waist travels up your spine and tangles in the roots of your hair. He pulls. Your lips pop off his chest and you peel away from him. He must not let tonight go like those other nights. He reminds himself.

“If I remember right, I’m supposed to be treating the lady.” Don sits back up which forces you to slow your pace, your balance off kilter now.

“You were.”

“Turn around.” There’s newfound resolve in Don’s eyes and you want to test it, but you can sense his restraint. He’s been playing nice for most of the night probably. “I’d rather not ask again.” You listen to the bite in his words and climb off him. Once you’re on your hands and knees, Don takes your hips in his hands. You feel his tip at your entrance again. He bottoms out in a single thrust this time and decides to show you a bit of the endurance he’s been able to pick up.

You were right about him holding back earlier because now he’s truly fucking you. And he’s doing it just right, hard enough that your walls spasm and clench but not so hard that it hurts. He’s managing to tiptoe the border of pain and pleasure. His chest (still wet with your saliva) presses to your back as he adjusts himself. A hand has returned to your hair, guiding your head up and back so he has access to your throat. Briefly you wonder if all those girls who talked about his body and hands knew anything at all about his mouth. Maybe you’d keep it as a coveted secret.

The sound of it all is absolutely ludicrous. His hips bruising your ass creating a sharp smacking sound. Occasionally the sound of his lips sucking at your neck. But worst of all are those moans he’d told you to keep to just his ears. You can’t help it. He’s efficiently fucked himself into your head well enough to keep you hooked on his every move and careless to the outside world.

“All you wanna do is talk about how pretty I am but you forget yourself.”

Don’s voice has picked up a rasp. He may have incredible stamina, but his care is costing him. Each squeeze of your walls is bringing him closer to an edge he’s not ready for. He needs you to cum first which is why he had to abandon the softer sex because he’s too prone to the intimacy. He’d have been finished minutes ago if he hadn’t pulled you off him.

“You’ve got no idea how badly I’ve been wanting to do this. How many times Bobby’s had to curse me out for letting me mind out of that boat, or how many times I miss lecture notes because I can’t take my eyes off you, or many damn times I fall asleep to thoughts of you and wake with cum in my pants. Fuck you! Fuck you for making me like this! What the hell!”

Then comes that victorious moment when he feels your whole body tense up.

“You gonna cum? Gonna fuckin’ cum for me? That’s right! C’mon, let go. I’ve got you.”

Don let’s go of your hair and cradles you to his chest as he holds his pace steady. A shudder racks your body and you let out a strangled moan as the blinding hot heat washes over you. You go silent, drool pooling on your bedsheets, cum gushing as you squeeze the life out of him. Your head spins, body becoming light, it shocks you to the core.

“Baby! Baby!” Don pleads into your ear. He’s gonna cum, he swears it’s taking his everything not to. “Sweetheart!”

You vaguely register him begging you for something, reaching a shaky hand to clutch his forearm.

“Where do you want me?” He sounds like he’s going to cry.

“Please!”

“—please!”

He doesn’t know what to do. He should probably pull out but then what. He doesn’t have enough time to think too hard. He jerks away and falls back on the bed. His rough hand, much less favorable to your gummy soft walls, strokes rapidly over his cock. He wails and grips himself too tight but then he’s cumming, hot spurts of white seed splattering on his torso.

Both of you stay frozen in place, shaking from your orgasms. Don recovers enough to reach a now clumsy hand for your waist and roll you over. Your eyes a shut tight and you’re breathing hard. Your thighs quiver and close as the cold night air chills your body. He knows it’s probably time to leave. The party should be ending soon, and your roommates will be back.

He soothes a hand over your thigh before getting up to open the windows. He cleans his cum off his stomach the best he can and then scoops you up into his arms. “Donny.” You curl into him, and it breaks Don’s heart. He really just wants to stay right here but he can’t.

“I know,” He strokes your hair and kisses your forehead. For the first time he feels truly satisfied. He feels loved and like this is how it’s meant to be. And it’s only reaffirmed when straighten up and kiss his balmy cheek.

“Promise me we’ll do this again.”

“Swear on my stroke seat.” Don murmurs, sharing a tender kiss with you. He feels you smile and congratulates himself on the accomplishing his goal. “You need to get cleaned up. Your friends will probably be back soon.”

You sigh and slowly extract yourself from his arms. You open your wardrobe as Don redresses himself. “You really mean you’ll come back.”

“Truthfully, I wasn’t intent on leaving at all, but these dorms—” he trails off. It’s a curse for everyone he supposes. Once he looks suitable for going out, Don hugs you one last time. His forehead rests on yours, a position he must like, and he gives you another soft kiss. “See you tomorrow in geology?” He asks, sweeping the hair out of your face.

“Only if I can walk to class.”

“C’mon now, you said you’d tell me if I went too hard.”

“It wasn’t too hard. It was perfect. You’re perfect. Now get out before anyone sees you.”

“By the way, I’ve got about an hour between geology and English, we should you know—”

“Out, Don.”

…

Masterlist

#boys in the boat #don hume #don hume x reader #smut #mdni

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samodivaa · 3 months

Text

Voodoo Doll

Your ability to wield the Asset, a puppet on an invisible string without Hydra suspecting―time to flood the earth with their blood, starting with your husband. But why do we become what we hate?

Warnings - dark, angst, jealous guard dog vibes, smut, violence, blood Words - 3k

Part 1 - Training Techniques (smut)

It is an early November morning, fog pressing against the windows like an excluded ghost. You sit on the metal bench, waiting for Soldat to come back from his mission. Sleeping being your only lover, it has forgotten you for years—but you are drawn with pedantic composure, loneliness is such a familiar thing as the Asset you have been assigned to work with today. And although they reported him misbehaving, they don’t know that it’s part of your plan—an excuse to have alone time with him. His soul is irreparably damaged by the brainwashing and tribulations of Hydra. He is what he is because of it, but a voodoo queen is what it takes to make him obedient, you manage to balance his inner calmness, radiating from his cold centre. Fate has played a cruel trick and turned you both into nothingness, but you are masterful at twisting the situation and working the rules to get what you want from him. You are not his Handler, you are his latest trainer—making sure that he is not out of line and stays in shape on the field. You are not in control of your own lives, someone else is pulling the strings—but you are doing the same to him for the greater good, when the time is right—you will flood the earth with Hydra's blood.

Soldat is the perfect balance of danger and charm, possessing such strength of character that he is dismaying—you helped in shaping like that, a beautiful mess of contradiction, a display of perfection when it comes to you, because the quality of his life is determined by how obedient he is to you. Temporary bliss. Highs and lows. Withdrawal and manipulation. You know how to move him. “I’m here” he says, up against the wall, speaking carefully, as though to avoid slurring. Eye contact. Soldat is gazing mysteriously at you, as if he is questioning you. The naughtiness emanates from your eyes—you look at him. You have curiously thoughtful and attentive eyes, eyes that are very pretty and very nice, he loves when you turn to stare at his soulless orbits, too exercised to show emotions—but he is romanticizing this moment. He wouldn't bother unbuttoning your blouse further; instead burying his face in your cleavage and kissing the top of your breasts, chasing his lips across your collarbone as his hands gently stroke down your arms. —he can’t, he is not allowed to. He just strings back, intimidating as if he is analyzing the best way to take you down in a fight—his delicate arc of his lids, blinking so innocently—you are not entirely sure what he actually wants to do or say, but you would rather remain silent, with your unsatisfied indignation. “I don’t want to wear the mask anymore, it’s annoying” His words, muffled, you know that his mind is sinking in iniquity. His dread spirit, the spirit of self‐destruction and non‐existence, his life is a contradiction of human nature, sometimes trying to disobey—even you. At that moment, he can’t control his hurt, he can’t control himself and there is a certain uneasiness in his gaze, but it is rapidly changing almost into anger. “I can’t do anything about it” you explain, though you feel almost dismayed, so greatly that you are impressed by his bold statement. “Pierce might get suspicious” “You are right, but I hate it” He says, as though in delirium, dropping his eyes affectedly, setting his right foot forward, and playing with the tip of his boot. Your eyes narrow slightly as you process the words. Such divine orbs—not just one shade of color, but... many, with a hint of regret glimmering, you see it. But then, his eyes obediently close as he waits for your instructions. The reason why he resists letting his anger out, letting more words, is because he has been conditioned to do as he's demonstrated by you for years. Rigid obedience. Full denial of life. Excellent. You get up and you are keenly aware of every movement, every breath you take as you near him and it is then that Soldat has become aware of you invading his personal space.

“I killed the family as my Handler ordered” Soldat says with a trembling, timid tone, but with the air of a man absolutely sure of the truth of his words. He continues to stay still in his place, looking at you with a strange, bewildered expression, as though he is trying to collect his thoughts, and can’t. “Do I have a family?” Soldat feels something like a touch of ice on his heart, like a recollection or, more exactly, a reminder, of something agonizing and revolting that is in that room, at that moment—who was that man, was he someone in his past? Long ago, maybe he conquered his dreams and passions? Before the vicious circle of death?

“Don’t ask me such questions” you say, breathless with agitation and impatience. “I do my best to keep you out of cryo, away from the brainwashing, all the pain, but don’t make me put you back into that cycle” You possess the psychological techniques needed to obtain maximum obedience which would guarantee the success of your own plan. There is no expression for it, but for the first time you feel scared—how is that possible that he is even thinking of that? At that very moment, you are thinking of reporting this to the others, but it will betray his trust for you and you don’t want to question his power of passion for you. In the end, loyalty begets loyalty.

“Sorry” Soldat concentrates in one rapturous gaze of ecstasy. He can’t take his eyes off you, he is waiting for you to do whatever you decide. His measured coldness is nowhere to be found. Those eyes are full of fire, staring directly into your soul as he tries to calm himself, take hold of things. His stomach lurches—his heart pounds; his chest hurts from deep, rags breaths as he desperately gulps air, trying to remain stoic.

“You are so tense, what’s on your mind?” you remark, with a tone of ingenuous surprise. You raise your hands to his chest harness, carefully playing with it. It is very seldom that anything like that happens and he doesn't want to break the harmony of your work, of course, so he stays silent, your fingers moving, securing his attention. Without taking his eyes off your fingers even for a moment; but his expression is very strange; he gazes at you as though you are an object a couple of miles distant, or as though he is looking at your portrait and not at your real self at all, with a look of weariness, focusing on his lungs, on his ability to take deep breaths, to soothe with oxygen as he wants words to rolls off his tongue. He is hopelessly enslaved by something—lust, his soul is full of confusion and dread. This purgatory of the spirit, arousal is something that makes him sweat. The animal thirst for control, having you alone with him, defenseless, is awful, and arouses something in him. “You” he whispers, a hint of exasperation and affront in his tone. You almost laugh, guilt twines with the realization that you are taking away a man's freedom of choice, even his freedom to make the wrong choice, manipulating him as though he is a puppet and not a person.

He looks at your hand with the marriage ring on it and his thoughts go back to your plan when it was in its incipient stage. Both of you have waited for a long time for the culmination and have suffered so much, but you shall reach the goal soon enough. He found a constant person, you, for worship, one to deliver his conscience up to—and even though he experiences jealousy, he never doubts your decisions. “I don’t have a choice, Soldat” you say, with a note of profound sadness in your voice. “Don’t talk to me about not having a choice” “Don’t let those emotions compromise you now” having risen your voice, proving to him his own weakness, his face only again, becomes timid and obedient “Pierce will call you later, he will tell you to come to our house tonight” But the foolish man needs to learn that rebelling against your marriage with Pierce, he is in no position to maintain the spirit of mutiny for any length of time, because it is a waste of time. He is wasting the little time he has with you in mindless arguments.

“You want me to kill him, Snow White?” he enquiries, casting his eyes downward. “I want to do it myself"

Pierce rises from his seat and walks around the kitchen island, perusing your body as he comes to stand in front of you and you use that moment to wind your arms around his neck. He lowers his head toward you, so you can feel his breath warm against your skin, mouths only inches apart.

“How is he behaving? Any issues?” He draws back, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “You are so good at controlling him, love” His voice is replete with danger, with menace as he shakes his head in exasperation. Your gaze skims over his eyes, over the bump in his nose, to his mouth. “His entire life is obeying orders. I just added fear and manipulation”

He draws back, curiosity sparking in his eyes. Swallowing hard, you force your gaze away from him.

“That’s what I lacked in my life, a truly evil woman” he whispers, his tone shifting. Voice is warm and low. Intimate. “The Asset is coming later and I want to have some fun with you”

That realization takes about a nanosecond to register in your brain before the real important information comes to the forefront—he wants sex. When he gestures to you to follow him into the bedroom, you can only smile lovingly and think about starting your own religion based on how much you hate him. Hate can be a deeply stimulating emotion, it is something you can use. Sculpt. Wield. It's hard, or soft, however you need it. Hatred cradles you—there is not any love for him in your heart despite trying to at least tolerate his presence—you can’t wait to shoot him in the head. You hate him, but here you are—naked on the bed, his cock nudging around your sleek mound until he gasps as he guides his sticky cockhead glides through your delicate folds. He doesn’t say anything as he slips inside you, burying himself to the hilt. You make the prettiest fake noises when he shoves in deep only to pull out and slam himself back inside, you've got the prettiest expression as he grips your legs and folds them up to fuck his dick into you even harder than before. Nothing else wounds you so deeply and irreparably than having sex with this man. His eyes are open, watching your flushed face, ragging breathing, tears—not from pleasure, but from disgust. There is no beauty in sadness. No honor in suffering. No growth in fear. No relief in hate. It’s just a waste of perfectly good happiness. Time passes in its allotted course as you try to distract yourself, while space curves slightly to accommodate the birth of something somewhat unexpected until now—a silhouette—you are completely perplexed and stop breathing for a few moments. Never before has silence seemed to have its own sound. Like a buzzing hive of bees, it settles on your mind with ferocity, making you forget that you have to pretend. Things are blurry for a second, and at first you don’t believe that what you think is just a few steps from you is real. But then its image sharpens, and the face of it, without a mask over its' pale skin —how long has he been standing there?

And in perplexity you scan Soldat, behind Pierce’s body, simply staring back at you, moving towards the bed as he watches. It is a slow, considered movement, a slow-motion hunt so gradual that the Prey doesn’t even realize it is being pursued. You can’t whine, you can’t say anything. You are frightened, but silent. It's easy to forget that when you're indoors, protected by solid walls, lights and guards—that he is dangerous, unstoppable. Hopelessness clamps into your soul like the claws of a tiger into its prey—Soldat’s eyes, an unconscious but still a great interpreter, the anger in them it’s like a mirror of your own soul. The madness of his eyes is the lure of the abyss, It is decided already, he is looking at Pierce’s back as if that kill belongs to him. From the moment he detects the victim in his mind, it is too late. He has come too early, why is he here? Those were not his orders. Your eyes meet again for a second before returning back to your husband’s and with one look, you relay the most intimate message. “Don’t do it” Your connection was made long ago, words cease to exist. Soldat knows exactly what you want from him.

You don't know what you are supposed to say, but you know that Pierce can tell with one glance, one look, one simple instant. It is your eyes—fear. He stops fucking you, gazing intently, but timidly, for a few seconds. You are so still that he might have thought you were hypnotized. Your breath is hurried. Suddenly, as though bereft of his senses, he turns his head back. Soldat smiles venomously and mutters to himself “Hail Hydra” before pressing the trigger. Blood stains your beautiful features, streaks down your breast and stomach, painting the white sheets in dazzling red from the loss of life as you push the fresh corpse to the side of the bed. Soldat doesn’t dare look at your eyes, but he is conscious, to the very tips of his fingers, that you are gazing at him, perhaps arrogantly, and that you have probably flushed up with a look of fiery scornfulness in your eyes. He decides to look up at you, and he holds his breath, waiting for you to snap. To murder him. Hurt him. Do something. It is too dark to read whatever is in your gaze. He is the one who looks away first. You return to the pupils of your dead husband, a wave emerging from their unblinking state towards you, deep and dark, threatening to envelop you, drawing you in and swallowing you up—you hate murderously. You laugh. You can’t stop laughing.

All these years of planning, suffering, living with this man—building Hydra’s trust, is finally paying off. Here you are, letting out the harbored pulsating lump of hatred in your stomach that has only gotten hotter and hotter in the years you have been robbed, working for them. What was not part of the plan, was the Asset being so obedient towards you. For the first time, Soldat sees you in such an inhuman light. Nothing can describe the writhing horror of this. He feels lost, sick at heart before such unmasked emotions, it shows your true self and intentions. There is some kind of insanity that you cannot hide now, even from him.

“Are you okay-” “Yes, yes, I am” you interrupt, laughing. “We have so much more work, Soldat” you add in a stern and dignified voice, hardly able to keep from laughing. “You are not freeing me? You said-” There was such a longing for freedom in his lost soul. He thinks that this is a poor pitiful life, not foreseeing that for him too, maybe, sometime the mournful hour may strike, when for one day of that pitiful life he would give all his years of fantasy, and would give them not only for joy and for happiness, but without caring to make distinctions in his life of sadness, remorse and grief. You promised him that— “Fuck what I said, I need to do this, I need to kill them all and I need you to help me” Hatred will never be erased, you know that. The only thing you can do... is erase the ones you hate, but your words terrify him. It is so new, he can't take his eyes from your face. But so far that threat of promised freedom has not arrived—he desires nothing, because he is superior to all desire, because you are the owner of his life and that is all he knows, all that you have been teaching him for the past decade. It runs too deep in his brain to disobey you, a silent promise of complicity unto death.

Have you forgotten that? Your desire for revenge goes a long, long way. It grows and grows. And it’s hungry now. You are finally feeding it, you want more, you want this so much. You are not satisfied. And pretty soon it squeezes all the morals, promises of your heart and all you’ll have left is a hateful heart—inflicting him with more unnecessary hurt and pain.

“I will tell them that you killed Pierce”

Soldat knows he can never go back, that much is certain. He looks down and sees that he is holding a smoking gun, sense of fear, of furtive unrest, struggling at length to blind the panic inside—everything mercifully stills in his mind when he hears the words. You see something that might have been just a flash of panic go across his expression, but then he steadies again.

“I can’t lose their trust, not now. You need to shoot me…non lethal”

“I-I can’t do that” he whispers, confusion paralyzing him.

#winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x you #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #Alexander Pierce (oh no)#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky imagine #winter soldier

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nakachuchu · 6 months

Text

CHAPTER ONE: THEM

Black Swan series

SYNOPSIS: Being a teenager surrounded by others who could see Curses made you feel safe.

WORDS: 1k

WRITTEN: 10/22/2023

Born from a non-sorcerer family in the country, moving to Tokyo to a school specifically made for teenagers with Cursed energy felt like a fantasy.

Your family loved you, despite being frightened of the things you could see. They simply thought you could see ghosts, but when Yaga turned up at their doorstep when you were sixteen, they learned that what you saw was far worse.

Your parents were extremely supportive, wanting you to be able to learn about this power you had since birth.

You were torn to leave your parents, holding nothing but love for them. They were the only people who defended and loved you in a small town that bullied and harassed you for being able to see spirits.

But upon seeing the supportive yet sad expression on your mother's face, you left for Tokyo to start a new life alone.

That was where you encountered the three students who would be your best friends at Jujutsu Tech.

"You guys are so gay."

Shoko choked on the smoke, her cigarette tumbling out from her fingers as she cackled at your sudden statement.

"I'm just saying," you added.

Satoru and Suguru looked at you with the most incredulous expression as they rounded on you, backing you up against a wall.

"You hate gay people or what?" Satoru questioned with a pointed finger.

"We're not all gay, just bisexual," Suguru corrected.

You shrugged. "Potato, po-tah-to," you said before flicking Satoru on the forehead and ducking from under Suguru's arms to return to Shoko.

You picked up her cigarette and returned it to her lips before sitting on top of the table and lighting it for her.

"Hey, that looks gay too!" Satoru shouted outrageously.

"I'm just lighting her cigarette!"

"I saw that horny look in your eyes!" he retorted.

"Are you crazy? You're just making up things!"

Shoko blew out a puff of smoke from the corner of her mouth before leaning down to press her cheek against your thigh, pushing up your skirt slightly.

"If I wanna be gay with Y/N, then isn't that my business?" she questioned.

Everyone was silent for a moment until you gently hit her head with your fist.

"Don't queerbait, Shoko," you softly reprimanded. "You're straight, remember?"

"Can't a girl experiment?"

"I'm straight," you deadpanned.

Shoko shrugged. "If you say so."

You laughed. "Don't try to change my mind."

Suguru chuckled as he approached the bench and sat down, urging Satoru to sit down in the process.

The Six Eyes user grumbled, but followed his boyfriend and sat down next to him. The two shared a look as you reprimanded Shoko with a smile on your face for queerbaiting.

It had been almost a year since your admission to Jujutsu Tech. You were a valuable student to the school, but you didn't have enough strength to go on missions alone.

You would be paired up with Suguru, Satoru, Haibara, or Nanami, as your abilities aided their abilities.

Your technique "What Makes You Special?" allowed you to see into the very soul of anyone and see what made them unique. You were able to see their stats and techniques. There was no hiding from you.

When you first met Satoru, he complained like a child that he didn't need anyone else to aid him, but you eventually got through to him by being mean to him.

Only Suguru truly knew what type of person Satoru was — he got off on you being a complete bitch to him.

He would never forget the time you spoke to him on your first mission together. "Shut your mouth, you pathetic boy. Have you no manners? Can't you see my head hurts?"

That was why Satoru was the first to gravitate to you and beg for your attention, just so you could tell him off for being annoying.

Satoru and Suguru weren't looking for a third person in their relationship, but after meeting you, it was all they wanted.

While Satoru had more sexual reasons for wanting you in his life, Suguru enjoyed having conversations with you that ranged from the meaning of life to the rating of a new superhero movie.

But, he especially loved seeing you utterly confident in your technique and seeing you stand with no fear or anxiety in the face of powerful Curses.

"Satoru, Suguru," Yaga called out.

The two teenagers glanced at each other before walking toward their teacher, who led them away from wandering ears.

Your eyes trailed after them until they disappeared.

"I wonder if Yaga knows we'll eventually know everything anyways?" you asked.

"I think he does know," Shoko answered.

You hummed and turned back to her with a light smile. "It's crazy how fast things spread."

"Like diseases," she added.

"Like diseases," you repeated. “If one person knows, the whole world knows,” you said as you looked over your shoulder to read the words coming out from Yaga’s lips.

Because of your ability, you saw the world in statistics or captions. You could see the stats of a person, and in this case, read the words Yaga was saying.

“How special is this mission?” Shoko asked.

“I'd say pretty damn special if Tengen is getting involved.”

Yaga turned around and you whipped your head back to Shoko.

“Y/N, stop acting like you don't know what I said. Now, come on.”

Yaga always acted like this with you. He knew you'd eavesdrop on every conversation he had, so he never bothered telling you when you would actually be on a mission too.

“With Saturu and Suguru?” you asked, turning back around.

The two were strong enough on their own, so you had never been paired up with them together before.

“I said the same thing,” he muttered.

You hopped off the table and walked to the trio, giving Satoru’s arm a slap when his hand inched toward your ass.

He pouted and clutched his arm as if you would have been able to inflict such damage on him. You rolled your eyes as you followed after Yaga.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #suguru getou x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x reader

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sad-endings-suck · 29 days

Text

Mizu’s Period

I’m getting kind of sick of the weirdly agreed upon headcanon within the fandom that stipulates Mizu simply must not menstruate very much if at all, solely because Mizu is often injured, possesses a slender build as well as an athletic lifestyle, and in many ways is androgynous in appearance (but that last point is always unspoken ofc).

There also seems to be an odd obsession with using fanon theories that are not directly disproved nor proved in the canon, such as “Mizu never eats enough” as evidence for the Mizu’s Uterus Is Not Like Other Girls Reproductive Organs™️ headcanon, that presumes Mizu is just so special she’ll bleed from everywhere except her pussy.

Like… is it perfectly possible that Mizu does not often get her period due to her extremely active and dangerous lifestyle? Yes, of course! Does Mizu’s slender and athletic frame make this seem like more of a possibility? It could, but her physique in of itself is not “evidence” per say, especially since Mizu’s body looked exactly the same when she was living a much easier and more comfortable lifestyle on the farm with Mikio, and they clearly had plenty of food. Mizu also wasn’t training intensely if at all for the 8-12 months she was married to Mikio. Yet her build remained the same. So it’s perfectly probable that Mizu’s physique is most greatly impacted by her genetics and thus not greatly affected by physical activity.

And for everyone that’s about to shout “but women athletes that compete at the highest levels often loose their periods for a while!” yes absolutely, some of them do. They also work out for 2-6+ hours a day six to seven days a week, use treadmills, bench press, and eat ridiculously curated diets that specifically target certain macronutrients and involve carefully curated portions that must be eaten at the right times on the right days. The fuck makes you think Mizu is doing all that?? My girl inhales whatever food in put in front of her as long as she has good reason to believe it is safe (i.e not poisoned). Do you really think modern day Olympic power lifters, track and field runners, artistic gymnasts and rhythmic gymnasts are all slurping down full servings of soba or dumbplings just whenever? Fuck no. Also, the current top women athletes in the world from the aforementioned Olympic sports I just mentioned, all have vastly different body types. As well as extremely different dietary needs, training routines, workouts, and just plain genetics that would have naturally given them certain bodies regardless of sport.

as evidenced by the above photos of various female olympic athletes: power lifter (top left), track and field runner (top right), artistic gymnast (bottom left), and rhythmic gymnast (bottom right).

Mizu is not a power lifter, or a sprinter, or an archer, or anything of the sort. Mizu does not train to be incredible at one thing, nor does she base what she eats or how she trains on when she will be preforming at a specific event (such as Olympians do). She is a swordsman, a blacksmith, and an all around athletic person that needs to stay in a state of constant readiness for any physical activity. Such as climbing, swimming, horseback riding, using acrobatic techniques, performing martial arts, working on a farm, and so much more. All of which is presented in as such in canon. Not to mention Mizu lives as a lower-class individual in Japan during the 1600s. What ever gave you the idea that she was dieting and training like a modern athlete? Mizu is not a sportsman, she’s a killer.

So can we just stop, please? Plenty of people menstruate. Its perfectly normal and natural. And as someone who has been at a much lower weight at different points in my life with less than desirable health conditions (to say the least), menstruation does not magically halt just because you (stranger on the internet) thinks it “logically” should under such circumstances. That’s not how it works. Bodies are weird, and everyone’s body works a bit differently. And if Mizu actually was as sick and muscular and thin as everyone seems to have headcanoned her as, then how the fuck is she mopping everyone she fights? If Mizu is “so active and low weight that she can’t be getting her period” then how do you explain the fact that she is able to preform at peak physical level while being so active? Make it make sense.

And for the love of god, please stop acting like menstruation is “special” or “other” or “weird”. It’s not. Get educated, and get over yourself.

#some of you make the strangest jumps in logic for the iffiest reasons #blue eye samurai #mizu #blue eye samurai meta #mizu blue eye samurai #bes mizu #mizu bes #bes netflix #bes headcanons #blue eye samurai analysis #blue eye samurai headcanons #blue eye samurai theory #blue eye samurai fandom #female characters #afab character #writing women #media literacy #reader bias

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bigification · 4 months

Text

Inside Out - Elijah

"Fuck bro! I've been grindin forever and still can't break 220." Elijah said exhausted as he shared a cigar with buddy Mo.

"Have you tried bulkin, that's how you get the ladies." Mo responds

"Bro I bulked so hard this winter that I looked like a fatass and still couldn't get 220. And I gotta look good for summer, man. I can't be soft in front of the ladies."

"You should try this new thing they're callin inside out."

"Nah, I want to be all natural. Nothin but protein powder and hard work." Elijah said confidently while flexing his arms.

"I'm not talkin steroids, it's an app, just try it you won't regret it." Mo said as he put out his cigar and walked away.

Elijah spent the night thinking about what Mo had said, and finally gave in before going to sleep. He downloaded the app on his phone and booted it up.

"Welcome to Inside Out, where you can become your most authentic you!" Displayed across his screen. He pressed continue and felt a faint chill run down his spine. Though nothing happened, so he just shut off his phone and went to bed.

He woke the next day, intent on heading to the gym. Although he felt groggy, that wasn't going to stop him from his weight goal. He rolled out of bed and threw on his shorts, struggling a bit when pulling them around his ass. He put on his usual gym shirt, though it didn't seem as long as it used to. It used to be able to reach below his crotch and hid his morning wood, but now it barely reached the top of his crotch. It wasn't a big deal for him though because his bulge didn't seem as obvious as it usually did through his shorts.

He went through his normal morning routine, brushing his teeth, making a protein shake, and two eggs. Though two eggs didn't satisfy him like it usually did, so he ate 4, actually he ate 6. He then made another large protein shake before leaving. He thought it was weird how hungry he felt, but the thought of reaching 220 in the back of his mind told him it was okay to eat a bit more than usual.

He arrived at the gym and confidently strutted in with his chest puffed out, not noticing that the bottom of his belly poked out below his shirt. He went through his usual sets, ending up at the squat rack. He faced the mirror and began his squats, taking notice of how tight his shorts hugged his thighs. "Finally I'm starting to build muscle" Elijah thought, though it very obviously wasn't muscle that was filling out his shorts. He continued his squats until he noticed in the mirror, a couple guys looking at him. He thought it might be because of his impeccable technique, until they laughed and walked away. He quickly ended his set before realizing that his ass was showing above his shorts during the squat. He pulled up his shorts, struggling to get them past his crack.

He began walking to the bench press when he came across a girl doing squats. "Hey baby, I'll be done around here at 9 if ya need a warm bed to sleep in." Elijah called over. Though she just gave a disgusted look and ignored him, which was far from the blush and smile he usually got from his flirting. "Bitch." He whispered to himself as he walked away.

He reached the bench press, but there was already a guy there. He approached the guy and began to spot for him while he waited. Though Elijah didn't seem to notice that all the guy could see was the underside of his hairy belly as his shirt couldn't contain it anymore.

The guy finished his set and as he was about to leave, Elijah went in for a hand shake. "Good job bro!" Elijah said to the other man. In response, the man leaned in and whispered into his ear, "Thanks man, but maybe you should stick to the cardio section if you want that shirt to actually fit you." The man gave a condescending wink and left.

"Asshole!" Elijah said under his breath. He turned to sit on the bench but caught a glimpse of his image in the mirror. He froze as he analyzed the warped copy of himself that stared back at him from the other side of the mirror. The double chin peaking below his shirt beard. The soft pecs that were pressing against his tiny looking shirt. The hairy belly that hung out under his shirt. The plump limbs that were nearly ripping through his clothes. He saw the full extent of his fatass body.

In embarrassment, he ran to the men's change room. He tried holding his fat in place as he did so because he could feel his pecs and his gut bouncing with every step. He got into the change room and threw off his clothes, finally feeling free from their constraint. He looked at his naked body in the mirror as it continued to grow. He was covered in sweat just from the short run to the change room. The sweat soaked the thick pelt of hair that covered his body. He flexed his massive arms in the mirror, watching the fat droop below his biceps. He cupped his man tits in his thick hands and rubbed his large sensitive nipples. He let out a moan at the intense pleasure that courses through his body. He played around with his massive gut, picking it up and letting drop and bounce. He turned sideways and looked at the s shape his gut and fat ass made. He felt a poking feeling in the bottom of his belly and reached around his gut to investigate. He felt his hard dick poking into his gut, though something wasn't right. He was fully hard but his dick was only 3 inches long, a far cry from the monster he sported before. It only made it worse the pad of fat that developed in his crotch had swallowed half of his dick, making it look even shorter. Though the thought of that only made him hornier.

He grabbed a towel and attempted to wrap it around his hulking body, though it was far from large enough to do so. He simply held the towel over his crotch and walked into the sauna.

He sat beside a middle aged man. A man that sat completely naked, making no effort to cover his round gut and sagging man tits. He also made no effort to hide his dick as it shot up the moment Elijah sat beside him. Elijah himself was desperately trying to hide his hard-on, though he couldn't tell whether that was from his own body, the man's body, or both.

A few silent moments after he sat down, he felt the warm feeling of the man's thigh pressing against his own. Soon the man's hand had wondered it's away over to Elijah and laid softly on his thigh. He shivered at the man's soft hands rubbing his thigh, feeling the man's ring drag along his sensitive skin. Soon enough, the man's hand made its way under Elijah's towel and wrapped around his dick.

"I've seen you 'round here before. How does a young fit man such as yourself end up here, like this?" The man breaks the silence.

Elijah glances over, distracted by the pleasure coursing through his body. He looks down at the man's bloated gut and soft tits, then looks back up at the man's face.

"I'm a dad, it's kind of our thing." The man says glancing at his gut. "That's my excuse, what's yours?"

"I love the feeling of the fat engulfing my body." Elijah responds in between heavy breaths. It seemed to have gotten a reaction out of the man as his hand tightened its grip on Elijah's dick.

The man starts jerking himself off at the same time. They both started to moan as Elijah began to rub one hand over the man's body, and one hand over his own. It didn't take long for the man to shoot his load all over the floor of the sauna, and for Elijah to shoot his load all over his towel.

After a moment of silence between the two, Elijah spoke up. "You got any spare clothes I could wear home, mine.. ugh.." "Don't fit." The man responded, seeming to understand the situation. "Boy, my clothes stopped fitting you 100 pounds ago." The man said while slapping Elijah's belly. Elijah didn't understand for a moment, as the man was clearly fatter than he was. Though it didn't take long for it to click when Elijah looked down and saw a body fat more obese than the one he had walked into the sauna with. "Good luck boy, you might want to get out of here before you're too big to leave the sauna." The man said as he tossed his robe over to Elijah and left.

Elijah threw on the robe, unable to fully cover his crotch and far from being able to cover his gut. He strutted out of the sauna with his chest puffed out and fully away if the fact that his front side is completely naked. He grabbed a cigar from his bag and walked out to the outdoor pool. Confidently standing over all of the tiny men that sat around the pool. Imagine being under 350, he thought to himself.

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mncxbe · 10 months

Note

could i request something with the superstition of “if you can tie a cherry’s stem, that means you’re a good kisser” and dazai? i feel like he’s the type of loser who’d believe that sentiment

This may be the cutest request I got and YES he would definitely fall for that and would struggle to master the technique. I hope you like it anon♡

Cheri Cheri lady🍒

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

Was a kiss all it took to earn a date with you?

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: fluff♡

It was the end of March and the cherry trees were almost in full bloom in Yokohama. The sweet, honey like scent of the flowers and the rosy petals, blown by a gentle breeze, were enough to make you feel like you were in another world.

Seeing the blossoms was all you could think about all day at work. Dazai noticed your aloof, almost nostalgic mood but didn't bring it up until the two of you left the office.

"Is everything alright? You seemed distant today"

"Yea, perfect actually. I was just really excited to see the cherry trees. Wanna join me?" you replied in a cheerful tone

The man could barely hide the look of surprise on his face. "Sure, I'd love to"

The two of you walked along the crowded streets of Yokohama until you reached Yamashita park. The trees bore a foliage of brilliant green and the air was fresh; it smelt like spring. As you strolled around the park Dazai noticed that pink and white petals covered the ground from place to place.

The cherry trees lined the wide alley next to the river.

"I used to come here with my parents when I was a kid" you began talking "We would sit next to the railing and look at the trees. My dad would often buy us cherries from a shop nearby and I remember they had this slightly sour taste, but nevertheless I loved them and~ oh sorry I'm kinda oversharing now"

"There's no need to aplogize. I like listening to you talk" replied your colleague. You took a seat on a bench under one of the blossomed trees and remained silent as you admired the scenery.

Dazai on the other hand only had eyes for you. He took in your features and couldn't help but marvel at how pretty, how serene you looked. You had a certain glimmer in your eyes, a longing of some sort but he couldn't quite place it. Occasional gusts of wind would blow the pink flowers off the branches; the petals delicately falling on your dark hair. He wanted to brush them off, to tuck a strand of your silky hair behind your ear and caress your face but he resisted the urge.

Instead, a caravan nearby caught is attention. The man was selling cherries. He swiftly got up and made his way to the merchant, buying a bag of cherries.

"Look what I just found" he said with a mischievous grin on his face as he dangled the bag in front of you.

"Thanks. I'm surprised they still sell them here." you replied, popping one of the fruits in your mouth. They had the same sour taste you so fondly remembered...

Half an hour later the sun began to set, painting the ink blue water of the river in a hue of red and orange.

"You know, Osamu. People say that if you can tie a cherry's stem with your tongue that means you're a good kisser."

"To tie? Really? How does it even work?"

He took one of the stems that had been discarded next to you and put it in his mouth. A smile rose to your lips as you watched the man next to you struggle to form the knot. After a few tries he finally got it.

"See, there's nothing I can't do. I'm a great kisser."

"I don't know about that. It's just a saying, it doesn't prove anything" you mocked playfully.

"Well then, how about I do something else to convince you"

His fingers slightly bruhed your cheek on their way to the nape of your neck and he pulled you closer to him, pressing his lips against yours. You softened in his embrace as his other arm went to the small of your back. The kiss was gentle and warm at first, but his tongue eventually slid past your lips earning a soft moan from you.

You felt Dazai smile. Being satisfied with your reaction he quickly pulled away, leaving you gasping for air.

"So, what do you think? I'm quite a good kisser, aren't I?"

You nodded slightly; your cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink. Dazai ate one more cherry before leaning in again, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

"There's other things I can do with my tongue too, bella."

"Osamu!" you snapped at him, playfully slapping his arm. "Don't say that here"

He only laughed, eyes locked with yours. When the sun was almost down you got up and, grabbing the empty bag of cherries, motioned him to get up.

"We gotta go now"

"Why? The trees are beautiful under the moonlight too. We should stay a bit longer."

"That would ruin tomorrow's date, wouldn't it?" you said with a wink.

"A date? Was a kiss all it took to earn a date with you?" he teased but got up and followed you.

"What can I say, Osamu. You're a great kisser."

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd fluff #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #dazai bsd #dazai x reader #dazai x you #osamu dazai

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zbase1 · 9 months

Note

smth spicy w the legal line pls literally anything LOL

i felt that LMAO also i wrote about random scenarios/headcanons for the hyung line, i really hope you like it !!

warnings: MINORS DNI. not smut, but highly suggestive. implied sex in all of them. jiwoong is a teacher, matthew is drunk, angst in taerae's part, there is swearing as always

jiwoong

— okay so i can definitely see jiwoong being a graduate ta (teacher's assisstant) for college

— grad ta!jiwoong gives you several concerned looks from the front of the room (literally 6 ft away from where you were)

— today was a bad day to sit in the front row of the classroom, because you were all hot and bothered

— behind the desk, your legs pressed together, trying to supress any unwanted, inappropriate thoughts about your hot teacher while he talked about the sternocleidomastoid muscle

— you definitely weren't supposed to be thinking about getting railed in your 9am anatomy recitation, yet here you were

— unfortunately for you, it didn't go unnoticed by jiwoong

— after he ended the class, you knew you had to get out of there as soon as possible

— as you're gathering up your supplies and getting ready to go to your next class, you see jiwoong approach you, crossing his arms across his chest

— "are you okay, y/n? you seemed a bit distracted today"

— his eyes show some concern, but mostly a teasing glance

— he KNOWS what he's doing to you

— "um yeah i'm okay, i was just a bit distracted by y- i mean by the temperature in the room i mean it's so hot in here today?? wait i mean-"

— before you could help it, you started rambling on and revealing more than you should

— an amused smile appears on his stupidly handsome face

— "y/n, why don't you stay a bit longer today? i can help you review for the test next week"

— all signs of flusteredness leaves your body at the tantilizing offer

— "well shit okay jiwoong. i'm a hands-on learner by the way" 😳

zhang hao

— you were in the music building of your college campus, fingers flying away on the piano in front of you in the practice room

— being a music major was not an easy task, but it was so rewarding to see your hard work pay off after a performance, and you loved every part about it

— the music department had decided to randomly pair the music students other for the first performance of the year

— out of all the people you could've been paired with, you happened to get assigned to zhang hao. your literal crush.

— it was pretty well-known around the music department that you and zhang hao had the hots for each other, but both of you were too preoccupied with your studies to make a move

— so you and fellow music major!zhang hao had been practicing for hours for the past week, trying to perfect the dynamics and details of the piece you guys were working on

— it was a bit embarrassing at times, since you specialized in the piano only, but zhang hao (who is undoubtedly a professional violinist but also somehow an exceptional pianist as well) would correct your techniques and skills

— you felt a bit belittled, but deep down you know zhang hao was genuinely kind-hearted and didn't have any bad intentions by trying to help you

— it also really didn't help that you had a huge crush on him, because it made you even more flustered and prone to making mistakes

— after working on a section for 20 minutes with no improvement, zhang hao sets his violin down and sits next to you on the piano bench, his body lightly brushing against yours

— as zhang hao places his hands on the piano keys to demonstrate, you try not to think about how pretty his hands are and how long his fingers are, and what they would feel like inside you

— "what did you just say y/n?"

— oh fuck. did you really just say your lewd thoughts out loud?

— you turn around to see a blushing zhang hao, his eyes not meeting yours and his hand awkwardly touching the back of his neck while chuckling

— "i'm really sorry if i made you umcomfortable hao i didn't mean-"

— zhang hao eventually holds a finger to your lips, effectively shutting you up

— he leans in closer until you feel his hot breath against your ear

— "you know, y/n, i can show you a different kind of fingering technique, if you know what i mean"

hanbin

— you and your boyfriend!hanbin had only been dating for three weeks

— it was still very early in your relationship, so when he invited you over to his place for the night, you were ecstatic

— understandably, since it was a milestone in the relationship

— hanbin is such a considerate and thoughtful guy

— he would keep asking you if you were comfortable staying over

— when you arrive at his door, he excitedly greets you and grabs your hand to pull you inside

— "y/n you're here ! i wanna show you everything !!"

— you return a smile and follow hanbin around

— he was so cute when he got excited, eyes sparkling and everything

— he gives you a full tour of the small but cozy apartment

— after the tour, homemade dinner, and cuddling while watching a movie on the sofa, it gets late

— "i dont know about you hanbin but i'm eepy"

— hanbin laughs and agrees, pulling you in for a kiss on the top of your head

— "oh hanbin, where do you want me to sleep?"

— "you can sleep in my bed y/n. we are dating after all."

— he must've seen the gears turning in your head

— "y/n, we don't have to do anything at all, please don't feel pressured to. i won't do anything until you're 100% ready, i promise. you can sleep on the sofa if that makes you feel more comfortable i can get you extra blankets-"

— "hanbin, what if i want to... do something?"

— he stops his sentence and smiles, reaching out to hold both of your hands

— "are you sure y/n?"

— "yes hanbin i want to."

— "you know.... my roommate matthew won't be home until tomorrow morning"

matthew

— frat boy!matthew was five and a half drinks in and starting to feel the alcohol kick in

— maybe it was the vodka cran coursing through his veins, but matthew was feeling bold tonight

— matthew didn't usually do hook ups with strangers, but you were an exception he knew he couldn't pass up on

— his best friend hanbin from besides him, notices how matthew kept looking at you from across the room

— "dude, go talk to them"

— sober matthew would have never even thought about it, but this wasn't sober matthew right now

— you were only two drinks in, fully aware of your surroundings and decisions, and felt your heart rate pick up as you saw the cute boy approach you with a charming smile on his face

— matthew shamelessly eyes you up and down the whole time you guys were talking

— the next thing you know, you're up against a wall in a corner of the frat house's upstairs, secluded from the rest of the drunk, sweaty college students

— matthew has you pinned up against the wall, his hands tangled in your hair while the two of you make out, eventually stumbling into a nearby bedroom

taerae

— having a special relationship with fwb!taerae had its perks but also its limits

— one of the limits being, you couldn't wear his clothes like you would if you had a real, committed s/o

— you know it was silly thing to be sad about, since this was what you signed up for, but it still hurt your heart whenever you think about how real couples share clothes

— it's 6:30am when you wake up in taerae's bed, naked, groggy, and disoriented

— you look over to see taerae soundly asleep, his hair messy and a serene expression on his face

— you knew you probably shouldn't stay any longer, so you quietly get out of bed, pick up your discarded clothes on the floor, and dress yourself

— for some reason you found your shorts and shirt, but couldn't find where your underwear went

— you think about grabbing a thin, white long-sleeved button-up out of taerae's closet to cover yourself up more, but decide against it since you know it was wrong to take something without asking

— "y/n, wait"

— looks like he already woke up

— although his hair is disheleved, he looks as cute as ever

— "i wanna give you something"

— you feel a rush of excitement at his words

— was he gonna give you one of his shirts???

— to your dismay, he hands you your crumpled up underwear from last night, mumbling a half-assed sorry

— "you don't want to keep it, taerae?"

— "no, it's fine y/n. also you don't need to wear underwear next time."

— your face heats up at his words and you nod your head in agreement

— there would for sure be a next time for a night of fun, but he'll never see you as someone he can be in a committed relationship with

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brewed-pangolin · 1 year

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Got a headcanon request, since it's Super Soap Sunday:

What is Soap like when he's your spotter in the weight room? Does he keep things professional, or does the situation evolve into something...more riveting?

*clears throat*

A million apologies for this being so late. This started as a headcanon, then turned into a drabble and now is a full blown fic. It's definitely not perfect, but whatever. Thank you @deadbranch for all your love and feedback on this. Hope y'all enjoy it, whatever this thing is. 💛

Slippery Soap

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Fem Reader

18+MDNI I can't resist gym rat Soap. Lots of teasing, tons of innuendos, pissed off Dom Soap, p in v, rough sex at the end. My typical filth, per se.

Word Count: 2.7k

It all started with a simple innocent request. You wanted to up your gym routine a bit and add some weight training to your repertoire. And who better than to ask than the buffed out Scotsman himself.

“Hey Soap. You hittin the gym today? Thinkin about adding some weight training to my routine. Wanna be my spotter?”

First of all, the moment you ask him to be your spotter, he’s beaming. No matter where you are, his face is full blown flushed. Eyes glistening and those crystal baby blues are shining like diamonds. He’s a kid in a candy store and you just gave him the battered Mars bar mountain.

But once you make it into the gym, it’s all cool, calm and professional. At least, that's how it starts…

"So, ya want me t'spot for ya eh, lass? A'right. But we gotta go o'er some ground rules first. Don't need ya blowin ya back out on me first go around, yeah."

Soap is the absolute epitome of safety in the weight room. It doesn't matter if you're a full blown gym rat or complete novice, he's going to start you with proper body mechanics. And he won't be shy about it. He'll have his body flush against your back, hands pressing down in a delicate yet forceful manner to get you into the right starting position.

"Posture, bonnie. Most important rule 'ere. Ya go down wrong ya ain't gettin back up."

It’s subtle, He starts it that way. But you pick up on those innuendos instantly. You know this game all too well. And this is where the ball comes into your court. You can either let him continue with those sly comments and not react. Or you can counter him, hit back just as hard as he does. Just be prepared for what comes of it. You poke the Scottish bear, he’ll poke right back. Hard.

He'll start you on the free weights. Good way to get your body warmed up and ready for the heavier lifting down the line. And Soap will watch you like a hawk; circling, hovering, visually critiquing your technique and giving any pointers he deems necessary to correct your form.

This is where an opportunity presents itself, and you can’t help but pounce on it like a cat to a mouse.

"Am I the only one that's gonna be workin here? Or are you gonna give me a sneak peak to the Soap Gun Show?"

Poke #1. He knows full well what you’re up to. Those blue eyes darken, and the smirk on his face may as well be chiseled into Roman marble.

"Not bad hen, not bad. Ya gettin a front row seat, yeah. C'mere."

He'll motion you to the spare bench while he adds more weight to the bar. And he won't low ball this. Training lesson or not, he'll show off like a testosterone fueled peacock. Once he positions himself flat on the bench, he'll go over his posture and advise on the proper way to handle a bench press.

"Feet flat, an' legs parallel to the floor. That's yer counter weight. Naw, on to tha' gun show a yers."

You're taking his advice seriously, but you can't stop as your legs squeeze together to quell that oh so familiar ache within your core to his first press. And Soap's well aware of the effect he has on you, and is now fully engrossed in this back and forth game. He knows exactly how to hit back with weaponized remark. So he ups the ante a bit.

He grunts. And they're not just any grunts. He uses those low, growling vocals that reverberate over your flesh, goosebumps rise in waves over your skin and form a maelstrom of heat in your belly. And you take it all in. His taut skin, the rippling of his muscular arms, the veins popping under his flesh. Your eyes follow the sweat as they traverse the curves of his biceps and land in the divots of his deltoid. After ten reps he places the bar back in its hooked placement and rears himself into a sitting position.

Skin flushed, sweaty mohawk, skin glistening and breathless; gym rat Soap truly is a sight to behold.

"Yer turn, lass. Take a seat."

You don't hesitate. Even as the remnants of his exertion pool into the leather of the bench, you quickly line yourself up to the head, and following his advice position yourself just as he had instructed. Once he removed enough weights to be more fitting for your abilities he stood at the head, hands under the bars and motioned you to take them within your grasp. And as your eyes met he had to add his own quarrel just for good measure.

"Ya likin the view, bonnie? Grab the bar 'ere."

Oohh he's having way too much fun with this. Lightly he tapped on the metal and you fastened a strong grip around the cold steel. And as you brought it down to rest on your chest you again countered him with your own jestering quip.

"C'mon now Johnny, y'know I always love looking up to you."

Soap's chest flared up as he broadened his stance, a vibrating moan emanating from his throat as his feet cemented into the floor and displayed a completely assertive posture. You were slowly breaking away at his control of this situation, and he didn't fully comprehend how to handle it. He couldn't very well bend you over, you were in a public place after all.

You took his wavering control into your hands, and as you began your presses you locked eyes with him. Not even bothering to count. And the flirtatious curling of your lips must have hit a nerve, accompanied by the view of you straining with a light glistening of perspiration over your skin. Soap was going down. Fast.

Instantly, his hands laced into the hem of his sweatpants to readjust himself; clearly you were having a profound effect on him. You had barely done ten reps before Soap grabbed the bar from your hands, forcefully putting it back into its hooked resting place.

"Enough a'this. Up ya get. On to tha deadlifts."

The rumble in his voice didn't go unnoticed. You were more than appreciative that the weight room was deserted, but there were still patrons in the gym area, who thankfully were too engrossed in their own business to bother themselves with the flustering banter going on between you two.

As you made your way towards the dumbbells you noticed Soap kept himself unusually close to you, and stood at an almost full perpendicular position once you had found the correct weight. The sight of him red faced and frustrated had you swimming in victorious energy. Soap was never one to lose his cool in public situations, but this was new territory for the both of you. And somehow you ended up with the upper hand, a circumstance that most definitely didn’t go unnoticed. And most certainly wouldn’t go unanswered.

You cocked your head towards him as he stood beside you, eyeing him up and noticing just the slightest tent within the fabric of his sweatpants. And you couldn’t help yourself.

“Ya alright there, Johnny? Looking a bit flustered.”

Poke #2. Your whispered coo nearly sent him over the edge. His eyes bore into you, like a darkened stormfront barreling towards you. The muscles of his jaw clenched and you swore the veins in his forehead were on the verge of bursting.

“Grab the weight, bonnie. Ya workin my last nerve.”

It was barely audible, but the gravely tone in his voice was electrifying. You obliged him for his own sake, and did a full set of ten reps without a single word or act of defiance. You could feel the energy soften around him, whatever loss of control he had he was beginning to regain. Standing straight you eyed him again, silently requesting any pointers or advice on your technique.

“Good form, hen. Now, let’s move on to..."

“I think I’ll do one more rep.”

Your abrupt interjection caught him off guard. And unfortunately for his sake, this was the last of the control he would have in this flirtatious quarrel. Quickly you turned and pressed your back into him, the suddenness of your movements not giving him any time to react. Slowly you bent down and as your hands wrapped around the ring of the dumbbell you cocked your head towards him. With the best ‘fuck around and find out’ expression you could muster, you returned that coy banter that put this whole scheme into play.

“Ya likin the view there, Johnny?”

Poke #3. Immediately his hands grasped into the curve of your hips, firmly pressing your ass against his pelvis and feeling that delectable bulge in the fabric of his pants. Even through the barrier you could feel the throb of his cock on your flesh. Soap had folded in the game he put before you, and fortunately for you, he was a sore loser.

“Drop it.”

The bark in his voice sent a bolt of pleasure through you, adding to the death grip his hands had on your hips and the pulsing of him between your ass you were already teetering on overstimulation. Yet you pressed on regardless.

“The weight, or the attitude?”

“The weight, smartass. Gonnae deal wit tha’ attitude later. C’mere.”

Standing up straight against him, he pulled your hips in closer letting you feel him hardening in the crevice of your ass. His lips ghosted the flesh of your ear and his hot breath fell over the curve of your neck.

“Ya testin my patience, bonnie. And ya a’ready got me workin a full stauner ‘ere.”

The flesh of his lips was warm, soft. At complete odds with the cold stone frustration that wrapped around his words. He began to rock his hips into yours, desperate to feel any friction against him, wanting nothing more than to bury himself deep within your cunt. You had only now noticed how wet you were, so focused on the game at play you all but ignored your own arousal. But you weren’t quite finished with this cat and mouse match just yet.

“Its your own fault, Johnny. I just wanted a simple lesson, you had to turn it into whatever this is.”

As you spoke your hands reached around to his hips, and at the trailing of your words you wrapped your hands around his hardening cock. The feeling of him throb through the fabric made your pussy clench, ache for him to fill you to the brim.

Soap’s breath hitched at the slightest touch of your fingers around him. Instinctively his hips thrust into your grip, eliciting a guttural moan escaping from his lips.

“Yer a fuckin minx, y’know that.”

There was something so endearing when he used nicknames for you, but minx was one you cherished more than most. You knew you had bested him at his own game. You would flaunt your victory in front of him for days to come, but you knew all too well you’d have to survive the onslaught of poor sore loser Soap first. And with that thought in mind, you decided ‘what the hell, go big or go home.’

“Is that gonna be it for it today Soap, or are you planning on giving me a real workout at some point?”

Ultimate Poke. All that playful beaming faded from his face, and those bright blue orbs turned as dark as the deep ocean. He knew he lost the battle, but that last quip threw him over the defeated edge. Quickly he dragged you over to the wall and pressed your back against the cold mirrored glass. His arms outstretched on either side, thick frame caging you in, denying any escape from his sorely beaten fury.

“Yer askin for it, aren’t ya. Meet me outside hen, an’ I’ll give ya a real workout.”

With that, he left you against the wall. Heart nearly pounding out of your chest and body electrified in victorious conquest. You had bested your Scot at his own game. So many times he had won you over, making you crumble to his feet in utter defeat. You relished in this, bathed in the energy that still filled the room. And as you peeled yourself from the cold glass you looked around and reminisced on those silent victories littered throughout the room. You left quietly, your feet floating on the high your mind had manifested. And as you turned the corner to go down the back hall, with your head held high and a proud step in your gate you marched towards door and openly invited whatever defeated torment Soap would throw at you.

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

The taste and smell of leather rushed over your senses like a barreling riptide, a constant push pull motion not too dissimilar to the movements your bodies were making now. It was the only thing keeping you held down to reality as you felt him piston his cock deep within your hole. You had won the battle in the weight room, but Soap would win the war in here; a spare equipment room where the stench of sweat and blood hung to the walls like ancient moss.

“Steamin fuckin’ Jesus, bonnie. Got me runnin fire hot ‘ere.”

Even now he couldn’t help but run his mouth. One hand with a firm grip on your hip keeping you still, the other held down in the crook of your neck forcing your face into the fabric of the overwarn bench. The earlier comment about “not blowing your back out” rang between your ears, and the memory of the events only minutes before played through your mind like a sultry viewmaster.

You were basking in the torturous pace he had on your cunt when he unexpectedly repositioned himself and the head of his cock hit that bundle of nerves deep within your pussy. Your walls clenched around him, and a husky drawn out moan escaped your sweat covered lips.

“No more sass mouthin eh, lass. Aye, know how to shut that fuckin mouth a yers.”

The growl in his voice went straight to your core, and that familiar pulsing ache began to build deep within your lower belly. Soap was right; your grasp on speech had all but left you. Words were foreign or nonexistent all together. As always, he knew just how and when to make you fall apart around him. Soap’s pace began to falter, his hold on your flesh tightening to an all out death grip. A telltale sign that he was close.

Desperate for your own release, your hand traveled down and found the burning nerves of your clit and began to swiftly rub at its pulsing flesh.

“That’s it. Cum for me, bonnie. Cum on my cock.”

You were helpless against him. The walls of your cunt convulsed around him as your fingers continued to frantically rub at the flesh of your clit. The waves of your orgasm washed over your skin, goosebumps rippling over your overstimulated flesh. With one final thrust Soap buried himself deep inside you, both hands now gripping into the flesh of your hips as he pulsed his seed deep within your hole. Everything around you fell away; the walls, the stench,the feel of the cold leather against your flesh. All you felt was him.

As you slowly came down from your orgasmic high he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and brought your body flush against his own. The sweat between your bodies melded with the fluids dripping from your cunt, still lightly pulsing around the flesh of his softening cock. Soap latched his lips into the crook of your neck, his tongue tasting the salty essence of his defeated wrath against you. As reality began to come into view once more, your mind finally regained the will for speech, and as usual you had to give him your signature ‘sass mouthin.’

“Shit, Soap. Is every workout session gonna end like this?”

He moaned into the flesh of your neck. No doubt there was going to be a bruised hickey left in his wake.

“Nah bonnie, ‘his is only for rewards members.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his remark, and as you turned your head to meet his lips you left him with one last playful quip before taking his mouth.

“Then sign me up.”

And he followed suit, in proper Soap fashion.

“Yes ma’am.”

#slippery soap #dont poke the Scottish bear #cant resist gym rat soap #deadbranch your faith in this brought it here #soap squad #soap squad 🧼#super soap sunday #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap mactavish #soap smut #call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod smut

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