#last minute all inclusive

[thetwobosses]

Hearing about Volition's abrupt shuttering has left me in a weird empty, mourning mood tonight.

When I first started playing Saints Row: The Third almost exactly ten years ago, little would I know how much it'd end up changing my life. I found my best friends through Saints Row's Tumblr community, friends I keep up with daily even though all of us have since moved on to different fandoms. I got to know many other amazing people in the community, through all the shared art and headcanons and roleplays. And I got deeply invested in the creation and development of my OCs, these silly and badass and tragic imaginary people who shared my headspace almost every waking moment of my life for several years.

All this I got from a game series its studio had clearly poured their hearts and souls into, even through all the constant corporate meddling in the development processes over what must have been the last fifteen years, and now finally, a sudden death knell. Volition the studio is no more, its staff laid off without warning or fanfare. And it's just so unfair to everyone who'd worked on the games, and I hate that it's yet more proof (as if we didn't have enough already) that the current system of giant game publisher oligopolies gobbling up everyone they can get their hands on and then taking them behind the shed to be shot when they don't immediately return a double of their investment just shouldn't. fucking. exist.

It sucks. I don't have much more to say except that I hope the now ex-Volition game developers all end up finding new and maybe even better employers soon. And just maybe there'll be some new studio rising from the core of the Volition creative team. We'll see.

#saints row #the state of game development is bleak indeed #like what was the POINT of buying up Volition from if they were just gonna shut them down #Gearbox/Embracer didn't even get the Saints Row license; that's still with Deep Silver apparently #not that DS also didn't suck as a publisher #as did THQ before them... #pretty much the majority of the big flaws of the SR games throughout the series can be blamed on corporate meddling #endless rewrites and forced content inclusion and last minute content cuts etc #Volition didn't fucking deserve this treatment. Not back then and especially not now #At least we'll all have the memories...

[mars-ipan]

oh it’s never fucking easy is it

#my room selection timeslot opened so i got in abt 40 minutes ago #i go to pick my room. 'no rooms are available' #i check the room availability website. as of 9 this morning several halls had full availability. #my timeslot opened at 7 tonight and room selection is available well into tomorrow so i doubt they all ran out that quick #though it's not impossible they're all gone apparently there were a lot of freshmen last year #so now i'm writing an email the housing team to figure out what i'm meant to do #(as instructed by the selection portal) #NEVER easy. never fucking easy #i wonder if it's bc i opted in to gender-inclusive housing. i'm not saying i'm being discriminated against i'm just wondering if #the gender-inclusive stuff is gone n it's worried to give me anything else #ANYWHO i gotta send an email and bc it's almost 9 pm they probably won't be back to me until tomorrow #but it's not my fault my timeslot opened at 7 so by the time i got there they probably would have been heading home anywho #(btw i didn't procrastinate i was just eating) #sighhhhhhhhh. i'm booboo the fool here for thinking anything about this would be simple #oh right my tag system. uhhhhhh #marzivents #not the biggest deal but i am venting frustration so idk. i don't give a shit if u rb this one but idk why you would

[odkryjwakacje]

Ile trwa lot na Maltę? 🇲🇹 Zobacz ile leci się na Maltę

W tym artykule sprawdzisz ile leci się na Maltę. Na tą piękną i malowniczą wyspę można dostać się lecąc samolotem z kilku większych lotnisk w Polsce. Zobacz ile leci się na Maltę samolotem. [...] https://odkryjwakacje.pl/blog/ile-trwa-lot-na-malte-zobacz-ile-leci-sie-na-malte/

#ile leci się na maltę #wakacje na malcie #malta na wakacje #malta all inclusive #malta last minute

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

≡;-꒰ 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 & 𝑫𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒔: 𝑬𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑶𝒖𝒕

── mdni sexual content. l&ds boys and how they eat you out. inclusive of: oral (f. receiving), slight pet name usage, praise, cursing.

⁺₊ / an: your wish is my command anonie! 🥰

rafayel, out of all the boys, would arguably be the most eager, and arguably the most skilled. because first and foremost, he simply loves being there between your thighs. he loves love your smell, and your taste, altogether—so much so that he could definitely stay there for hours.

but he's also anything but nice about it. because the minute you give him permission, he'll be swirling his tongue, lapping at your juices, practically moaning against you with how good you taste...

... and rafayel knows how to use his tongue. he's so damn good at using it, never failing to bring you to your high; never stopping, either. the hours he can spend eating you out aren't soft and gentle, he'll keep up his pace in an almost desperate manner to drink you up. he doesn't mean to overstimulate you, really! it's not intentional, he just can't get enough of you!

"mmhfffuck— taste so damn good—"

xavier would be slow with his movements, just little easygoing, languid licks up your cunt, softly lapping at your entrance. he's also someone who would gladly go at this for house on end, but this is because he finds the process relaxing. comforting. so he prolongs it—he takes his time. he'll focus on the taste, wanting to savor every last drop, as much as possible... all with absolutely no rush, ao it allows you to feel, more accurately, all of what he's doing to you. and boy, would it feel good.

but. the downside of this is that he doesn't necessarily intend on making you cum. sure, he likes your taste, and he'll try to get as much of it as he can—much like rafayel, he won't stop until he's tired and satisfied! but the build-up to your release will definitely be slow. it's almost like teasing, unintentionally... not that he would edge you, or overstimulate you, but he won't actively try to bring you to an orgasm as quickly as possible, either!

"hm? s'okay, angel... you'll get there eventually..."

zayne would eat you out with purpose. he's precise, and very much intentionally wants you to cum. in fact, it's not just a want for him—it's a need. every swirl of his tongue and every suck on your clit is made with the drive to bring you to your high. he knows—he's memorized—all the spots that have your bck arching into his face, allowing the tip of his nose to brush against your clit so perfectly, it has you absolutely reeling.

and he knows exactly how to get you all worked up even more. because the entire time he's eating you out, he will be maintaining eye-contact with you. bright, piercing eyes gazing straight into yours, a hint of mirth in them as his tongue plunges into you.

you're not allowed to look away. you wouldn't dare.

"mm... look at me, sweetheart. need to see you."

caleb would be very much of a tease. he's also someone who knows exactly how you like to be eaten out, and arguably, he'd have impeccable technique—but he won't give you that. he knows how easily you cum from his tongue, that he would rather give all his attention to every other part of your body... before he'd dare to start licking your cunt.

you'd be begging, writhing, aching to have his tongue between your folds... but you simply have to wait. this is one of the only times caleb gets to have his fun in teasing you to no end, and he will, by all means, enjoy it.

"fuck, baby, you're drenched. all this for me?"

jeremiah would start out incredibly, incredibly shy at first. his hands placed tentatively over your thigh, starting with testing little licks because he isn't quite sure of what he's doing... he'd even have you guide his head, anything to ensure he's doing things the way you want him to—because he wants, needs, to make you feel good. he'll even look up at you every now and then with innocent little "was that okay?"s and "did that feel good?"s, always searching for affirmations from you.

and his eyes would be so genuine and sincere despite the act the both of you are participating in, that it's almost adorable, like a breath of fresh air. he'll eat you out with the most considerate prioritization of your pleasure, learning as he goes, until he can undeniably bring you to cum all over his tongue.

"oh... it looks like you liked that? should i do it again? like... this?"

⁺₊ / an: have you noticed i updated my character list for lnds..... LMAKDJSJFJHSHF

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

#love and deepspace smut #love & deepspace smut #l&ds smut #love and deepspace #love & deepspace #l&ds #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace jeremiah #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace xavier #love and deepspace zayne #love & deepspace zayne #love & deepspace xavier #love & deepspace rafayel #love & deepspace caleb #love & deepspace jeremiah #jeremiah x reader #jeremiah smut #caleb x reader #caleb smut #rafayel x reader #rafayel smut #xavier x reader #xavier smut #zayne x reader #zayne smut #divider by saradika #ʚɞ*.ﾟ. lnds #❀˖°. roxiecanon #*ੈ♡. rose garden

[cutesilyo]

the thing i really like about just for once in nerdy prudes must die is that it's best iteration of the musical within a musical trope that has become characteristic of the hatchetfield musicals

like both show-stopping number and deck the halls (of northville high) are catchy songs from in-universe musicals that were very much written to have plots that suck

and show-stopping number was so well-beloved because it is, frankly, a hilarious scene that robert manion put 100% into

but i argue that only just for once is thematically relevant to its musical and fully emblematic of the wants and desires of the character singing it

because what is just for once, as a scene? it's ruth singing a song because she thinks she's got a chance of doing it better. it's ruth singing a song about a character who looks back on the mundane miseries of her lonely life and — at the last second — remembering who she used to be before the pain set in. it's ruth singing her version of cooler than i think i am and reflecting on how she is perceived and wondering what it takes to break away from it. it's ruth singing right after she says, "in my dreams, i'm the star of the show."

of all the losers that max jagerman victimizes, only ruth says who she'd like to become beyond that. where pete can't even admit to liking steph at gunpoint and richie doesn't ever get the chance to verbalize what he wants, ruth gets on the stage in the few minutes of break time and just for once, the spotlight is on her.

and the really crazy thing about just for once is — it has the "i'm not a loser" motif. possibly the most iconic and important motif of the whole musical, it's the motif that starts the opening number. and here it is, in the silly musical within a musical by the silly character who has — until this song — always served as comic relief.

in the climax of the song, just for once is no longer the song of a character from the barbecue monologues. it's ruth's. in those few seconds, it's her lamentation of the life that max jagerman forced on her.

but that's the thing about the "i'm not a loser" motif. the way it functions in the musical is as a harbinger for max's violence. the police at the beginning ask, "what the hell happened here?" and its the motif that answers. pete is the first character that sings the line and is immediately beaten up by max in the next scene. then richie sings it and max kills him in the same song. when ruth has the motif running as the crescendo to just for once, it sounds absolutely incredible... and it should come as no surprise when max appears shortly after.

(as a quick note: you can also hear the motif after max makes the car crash, then max appears two scenes later. you then hear the motif in the cooler than i think i am reprise and max also appears right after the song. it's like max is instantly summoned by any instance of the losers trying to shake off the role he placed on them — of trying to defy him.)

tl;dr: the inclusion of the "i'm not a loser" motif in just for once makes it the big lipped alligator moment that wasn't. like yeah, it accomplishes its goal in being the funny musical within a musical trope! the character acting makes it a funny song, and its a funny character performing it! but it also furthers our understanding of ruth AND of what the "i'm not a loser" really is: it's the characters trying to develop past being nerdy prudes and max doing everything in his power to prevent that.

and it does all that while being a banging musical tribute to stephen sondheim and, especially, his song the ladies who lunch. which in itself is a massive flex on jeff blim's part. what a brilliant song in a brilliant musical.

#npmd #nerdy prudes must die #starkid #hatchetfield #mine #i just love this song okay???? #anyway i just want to say #nerdy prudes must die is on youtube!!! go watch it!!!!

[gimmeurtmi]

no nut november — han (loser #1)

pairing: han jisung x fem!reader

tags: no nut november mini series, established relationship, ot8 inclusive, smut!!!🔞

warnings: swearing, open conversations about sex as an impulse/need, insecure reader for a bit, fingering, oral ( f + m receiving), slight dirty talk, unprotected sex, no nut november as a bet, needy!jisung,

inspo: kaili’s brain <33

notes: @sluttywonwoo and i are finally collabing after like five years :’). i’m so so hyped for this one!!! make sure to tell us what you think and place your bets on the winner🥰 😉

banner by @sluttywonwoo

{ wc: 5246 }

jisung and his friends were close. very close. they saw each other practically every day and would share everything with each other. it was something he cherished deeply, and he loved just how jisung he could be around them.

they never made him feel like he was too much—unlike most of the people he grew up with, and they even indulged him when he’d start talking about his niche interests or when he shared a new song he wrote. they were always supportive.

maybe to a fault.

“so, even though we can’t grow facial hair,” chan concluded, “i think it would be nice if we could at least make a donation to the charity.”

“what charity?” seungmin asked.

“weren’t you listening?” changbin yelled.

“no,” the younger said easily.

“hyung was explaining to us about movember,” felix recaps. seungmin just shrugs.

“i could grow facial hair if i tried,” he challenges.

“that’s not the point!” chan shakes his head. “will you guys make a donation with me or not?”

they all mumbled their affirmations.

“why is it in november?” jeongin quips.

chan just shrugs. “every months has things attached to it, i suppose.”

“november has another thing,” minho says, plainly.

“there’s national cappuccino day,” seungmin agrees with a nod.

“and fried chicken day!” changbin adds.

“yeah, and there’s a challenge to write a whole novel in the month of november,” hyunjin says softly.

“yeah,” jisung says, tone serious as he leans forward, “you’re forgetting the most important one. no nut november.”

minho smirks at him as the pair of friends exchange a look that says ‘you read my mind’.

“yeah, right,” chan chuckles, “the other ones sound like real things though.”

“it’s a real thing!” jisung defends.

“no, it’s not,” chan just shakes his head.

“it is!”

“do you know anyone who actually does it rather than posting stupid memes about it?”

“me,” jisung shrugs confidently.

the room fills with a chorus of laughter so loud, jisung sits there with a shocked face at the reaction he just got.

well, fine, he doesn’t do it. he’s never done it. he’s never even thought about it. but chan doesn’t need to know that, does he?

“why?” jisung said once the laughter calmed down, a few minutes after he last spoke.

“you’re trying to say you’re not going to have sex or do anything for a whole month?” seungmin tried to clarify.

“yeah, why?”

“it’s just…” he holds back his laughter, “…i don’t think you’re capable of that.”

“hey!” jisung exclaims. “i’m not an animal, i can go a month without sex.”

“oh, we all know that,” hyunjin laughs, “we’ve seen you go through a year long dry spell before you found y/n. but you got off every fucking day.”

“uh—i don’t—why do you know that?” jisung could feel himself blushing.

“we share a wall.”

the boys laugh harder. jisung can’t stop himself from cringing.

“hyunjin, please never say that again,” he tries to brush off.

“maybe you can not have sex for a whole month,” minho chuckles, “but you can’t go that long with nothing.”

“it’s not that hard!” jisung insists, unable to accept the fact his friends think so little of him and his self control.

“it is!” chan adds, “we’re used to doing stuff like that all the time, we can’t just stop.”

“yeah,” changbin agrees, leaning forward to give jisung the kind of look he gives him when he’s trying to encourage him. “none of us could do that.”

“hey!” felix quips up, just as seungmin puts his hand up.

“speak for yourself!” the younger adds.

“yeah!” jeongin nods firmly.

“you guys think you could go a whole month?” chan raises an eyebrow at his friends.

“i could, too,” hyunjin shrugs plainly.

“first of all, this isn’t fair,” minho leans closer, as if evaluating the situation. “innie is single. he’s used to not getting any,”

“—hey!—“

“—and most of you have girlfriends so you can’t just decide to do this without telling them.”

“most of us?” changbin quotes back at minho, “like you don’t have a girlfriend?”

“she’s just as competitive as i am, so she’ll do it just to show you guys we’re the best.”

“the best at not getting any?” jisung quips with a raise of his brow. the boys snicker.

“yah!” minho exclaims. “don’t start with me!”

“maybe minho is so confident because she never lets him get it anyway,” seungmin laughs.

“you think i can’t get some?” minho squares up, acting as if he’s about to take out his phone and prove his friends wrong.

“uh,” chan tries, hands up, “i think we’re getting off track here?”

“let’s put money on it,” jisung offers. he’s joking, well, kinda.

now that the boys have all doubted him, while simultaneously agreeing they’d be better than him at something, he has to prove them wrong. even if it is only trivial and honestly pretty stupid. jisung is never not the best.

“how much?” felix rubs his hands together.

“enough for the winner to get a nice weekend away with his partner,” hyunjin suggests, “minho’s got a point. they’ll have to go through it too so might as well treat them.”

“and what does innie get?” seungmin can’t help but ask.

“i’m single, too,” changbin croaks.

“you’re not,” chan rolls his eyes. “being too scared to establish the relationship doesn’t make you single.”

changbin smiles sheepishly at the raised brows around him, trying to ignore the pointed looks his friends are giving him.

“yeah, when are you going to just ask her to be your girlfriend? we’ve all met her already and we love her,” felix encourages with a soft smile.

“why is this about me?” he yells back. “tell jeongin to get his shit together and ask his crush out!”

“that can be his prize. a getaway that’s the perfect excuse to ask her out,” chan offers with a smile.

“so, agreed? no sex for a month and winner gets a weekend away with their lover, undefined partner, or unrequited crush, as a prize,” minho concludes.

“it’s not just sex,” felix points out, “no, uh, fireworks at all.”

“it’s called orgasms, yongbok,” seungmin says bluntly.

“fine,” he rolls his eyes, his cheeks dusted pink, “no orgasms.”

“we should exclude jisung from this,” hyunjin smirks, “since he was gonna do it anyway.”

“poor y/n,” seungmin tsks, “at least our girlfriends will get something nice for this torture.”

“hey hey hey!” jisung lets out quickly, barely breathing as he goes on, “if anything as your inspiration and true role model i should be part of this bet, too. and i’ll have you know i take amazing care of my girlfriend whether i sleep with her or not and no, sleeping with me is not it’s own kind of torture,” he says quickly, before seungmin and minho can say what’s so clearly on their minds.

they both let out a disappointed grunt at his words—confirming jisung knows them far too well.

“but we have to tell them we’re doing this,” chan confirms, “i don’t keep stuff from her and like minho said, it’s just cruel not to tell them.”

they all agree.

jeongin curls in on himself ever so slightly, before he says, “maybe just hyungs should do this, then. i don’t have a girlfriend so it’s an unfair advantage.”

“as the youngest your hormones are most active, so if anything it’ll be harder for you,” hyunjin says, comforting his friend.

what a weird way to comfort someone, jisung thinks. and then he says it out loud.

“it was actually very comforting, thank you,” jeongin glared at jisung, “but it’s fine. i don’t have to be part of the bet. i’d have no one to take to the getaway either.”

“don’t worry,” minho says quickly, “you’re playing. we’re not letting you sit this out just because you haven’t had the chance to make a move on that girl.”

“but—“

“—the more of us play, the harder it is. more people you need to outlive.”

“outlive?” jisung repeats with a gulp. minho simply nods at him, his face expressionless.

“right, shake on it!” chan announces, and all eight of the boys put their hands in the middle of the circle, each grabbing at one or two people’s fingers.

november 2nd

why did jisung ever agree to this? why did he even bring it up?

this was stupid. this was so so stupid. you haven’t had the chance to come over since the month started, and well, jisung got too distracted and engulfed by your presence that he didn’t have a chance to bring the bet up just yet. he didn’t know how to say it, either.

“i bet a romantic getaway with my friends on us not having sex for a month,” felt like a stupid thing to say. well, it was stupid. stupid!

it felt borderline ridiculous when you snuggled up closer to him on the couch, back flush to his chest as you played the next movie on your scary marathon list. halloween was over, but both you and jisung agreed there were far too many good ones to just stop once the holiday was over, so jisung was happy to let you keep working through the list the pair of you curated on your letterbox account.

“you’re so warm,” you said happily, moving in closer to his embrace. jisung planted a small kiss on the back of your neck, squeezing you tighter as you sighed.

“i love being like this with you,” you mumbled, moving your head to the side enough to plant a soft kiss on his equally soft cheeks.

“squeezed to your death?” jisung teased, squeezing at your stomach and your hips, where his hands were casually wrapped around you.

you let out a dramatic huff before you giggled at him, curling a hand underneath his bicep to push his arms away from you. he only let his grip loosen, but didn’t dare move away too much. you kept your fingers around his bicep, slowly pressing into the muscle.

“ji, all the time you spend away from me at the gym really paid off,” you mumbled, leaning down to kiss at his bicep softly.

jisung smiled timidly.

“uh, thanks,” he cleared his throat.

“i feel so safe in your strong arms,” you added.

“why do scary movies always make you horny?” jisung asked.

“what?” you chuckled, “i’m not horny?”

“you are feeling me up,” he pointed out, his chin gesturing at your fingers and the way they wrapped around his muscles.

“i can’t admire the artwork?” you huffed.

“there’s admiring, and there’s drooling,” he said, eyebrows raised.

“since when are you so cocky,” you sighed.

“does that turn you on, too?” jisung smirked. he was moving into dangerous territory, but he couldn’t help it when it was you. there was something so enticing about flirting with you, especially when you were sat so snuggly in between his legs.

“for the record, everything you do is a turn on.”

jisung swallowed. it didn’t go unnoticed to him that your thighs spread ever so slightly since this exchange started, or that you were much closer to his chest than you were a few moments ago. he had to keep it clean. “focus on your film, honey.”

you two still exchanged kisses, you still fed jisung snacks in between jump scares, you still laughed at all the kills together. so, it was just like any other movie night.

except it wasn’t—for the very reason you were pointing out now.

“jisung,” you began, tilting your head to the side slightly as he sat back down on the bed. he cleaned his room from the snacks and came back quickly, but it was enough time to for you to realise what happened.

“jisung? who the fuck is jisung?” he knitted his eyebrows together. “what’s wrong?”

“are you upset with me?”

his face reminded you of a surprised cartoon character, his mouth a perfect circle as his eyebrows met his hair.

“what? no, no. why? why?”

“it’s just,” you blushed, causing jisung to grab both your hands and trail his thumbs against your wrist soothingly. “we’ve never ever had a movie night without your hands down my pants.”

jisung laughed.

“stop,” you groaned. “i’m being serious.”

“my baby! my sweet sweet baby,” he teased, getting closer and closer to your face with his signature shit eating grin.

“it’s like an instinct you have, jisung. we watch a movie and you touch me. it was really weird that you didn’t.”

“stop calling me jisung,” he scoffed, “i’m not your friend.”

“you are now, since friends usually have normal, non-pussy-touching movie nights together all the time!”

“so you didn’t get touched for one movie and i’ve been bumped back down to friend status?” jisung gasped.

“i don’t know, have i?” you counter.

jisung notices the way you don’t quite let him hold your hands, the way that gorgeous glint in your eyes isn’t there. he isn’t too sure you’re just joking about this.

“hey,” he says softly, “are you being serious?”

you nod softly. “did i do something wrong?”

“why would you think that?” jisung exclaimed, pulling you closer to him. “where is this coming from?”

“is it because i didn’t put perfume on today? i know i’ve been getting more comfortable around you, i’m sorry i haven’t put a lot of effort in today i just thought we were gonna have a chill night so i didn’t wear my best clothes and—“

“—hey! hey! stop that now,” jisung shakes his head quickly. “i love that you’re comfortable around me.”

“it’s just, i don’t know, jisung. you’re always—“

“—can you not call me that—“

“—you’re always touching me in some sort of way and then i don’t see you for a week and you’re just not anymore?”

“why are you insecure? you know i love you,” jisung emphasised with all his might, his figure slumping until he met your gaze. you wouldn’t look in his eyes.

“it’s okay if you just weren’t in the mood,” you say quickly, realising your insecurities were indeed leading your train of thought. you owed it to jisung to be understanding—even if his behaviour was painfully uncharacteristic. “i just never see you not in the mood.”

“you’re making me out to be some sort of pervert,” jisung jokes, trying to get you to laugh. or at least let him hold your hand.

“but you’re my pervert,” you pout at him, causing his insides to crunch at the sight.

you always made him weak—and he was holding everything inside him not to tease you during the movie like he always did. but it was only his first try, he couldn’t lose already. and if he touched you, jisung knew he wouldn’t wanna stop until you were both spent and satisfied. he thought so hard about that, he didn’t stop to consider how you might see it. or the fact he never fucking told you.

“i made a bet with the boys,” jisung said quickly.

“huh?”

“we’re doing no nut november so i tried not to touch you because i don’t wanna lose on the second day,” he said in one big breath.

“that was too fast, rapper boy,” you pointed out, unable to catch half the words he said.

jisung repeated himself, slowly, feeling the blush creep up his neck as he spoke clearly and carefully.

“what did you bet on?”

he felt his eyes gap again. that was your first question?

“a romantic getaway for the couple that wins.”

“and where will changbin go for his getaway, do you think?”

“what?” he gasped. “i’m taking you on a romantic getaway.”

“no, you’re not,” you laughed, amused at his incredulous face.

“what does that mean?”

“ji,” you giggled, lacing your fingers together, “i have never met anyone as insatiable as you. even if you can somehow hold off sex for a month, you really think your impatient dick will be able to stay calm for that long?”

jisung felt heat rushing all over his body, coursing through him then all the way down to his crotch.

“i’m sorry i made you feel insecure,” he tries to change the subject, ignoring just how dry his mouth felt all of a sudden, “please never doubt how much i’m obsessed with you.”

you smiled at his words, nodding in acceptance.

you lean forward, capturing his lips in a soft kiss.

jisung wanted to make it up to you, he wanted to make sure you had no doubt at all about how crazy he was about you—he wanted you to know this was just about the bet.

so he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled your body closer to him, deepening the kiss as you sighed contently.

he ran a hand down your back, slowly, cupping your ass softly as he felt you smiling against his lips.

“so obsessed with you,” he mumbles into the kiss, “so obsessed.”

“i’m obsessed with you too,” you sigh, unable to quite finish your sentence before jisung slips his tongue past your lips.

the kiss is still soft, jisung’s tongue moving slowly against yours, but his movements are more urgent as he grabs your hips and pulls you onto his lap.

“my perfect, perfect girlfriend,” he sighs, kissing down your jaw.

jisung wants you. he wants you really bad. and he can have you. why not? the rule is, as felix put it, no fireworks. jisung is not the kind of man that can only have sex if he cums. he can just focus on you. he’ll just take care of you. that’s allowed.

“can i make it up to you?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as he moves your hair away from your face.

“how?” you cock your head to the side.

“i’ll touch you now, give you what you so clearly missed out on,” he chuckled.

you nodded instantly, biting your lip.

“you sure you can?” you ask, no hint of teasing in your words. you know how competitive jisung is, and you also know he really doesn’t have much self control. you wouldn’t want him to lose just because you were feeling a little insecure lately.

“yeah,” he nods. confidently.

you lean down to kiss him again.

jisung doesn’t waste any time pulling your sweats down your legs and helping you shimmy out of them. he slowly presses you down onto your back, pushing at each knee to keep your legs open for him.

he trailed his finger up your thighs, slowly, smirking at the way your eyes fluttered at his action. he’s still jisung, so he’s still a fucking tease, and he circled your lips once and twice, bringing his finger in between your folds casually.

before you think to protest, he dips the tip of his finger inside you, his eyes gleaming at the squelching noise. it’s only the tip of his index finger, but it’s enough to make you want more—so you buck your hips up in a silent request.

jisung leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your hipbone.

“don’t get needy,” he warned, “you know we shouldn’t be going crazy.”

you nod, taking in a deep breath as you focus on the feeling your boyfriend is giving you right now. you know you shouldn’t be greedy.

jisung is spread out in front of you, his whole body on the bed—face in front of your exposed pussy.

he leans his head against your thigh, kissing at the soft skin as his eyes fixate on his fingers—slowly, shallowly, going in and out.

“faster,” you dare.

jisung obeyed instantly, the tip of his finger tapping in and out of your entrance in quick shallow motions.

“ji, fuck baby,” you start chanting, breathing fast as the pleasure starts to consume you.

“more?” jisung raises his eyebrows at you, his smile big and cheeky as a sense of pride follows his movements.

“please, please more,” you pleaded.

jisung climbed up your body as he kissed around your collarbone, planting kiss after kiss after kiss before he pulled your shirt down enough to expose your bare chest.

“no bra?” he gasps.

“i said i was more comfortable around you,” you shrugged.

“fuck, baby,” he chuckled, “be as comfortable as you want.”

he grabbed your tit, kneading the skin before he rolled your nipple in between his fingers—a loud moan escaping you. jisung leaned down, sucking the sensitive bud as you grabbed onto his soft hair.

“ji,” you moaned, “fuck, please. please.”

“what?” he asked, almost genuinely. he knew you quite well at this point and he was doing everything you taught him you liked. what was he missing?

“want you,” you sighed.

“i’m here,” he smirked up at you, kissing your lips softly before turning his attention back to your nipples—tongue moving fast against it.

“can you, uh, would it be okay if you—“ you stuttered, unsure exactly how to ask for what you wanted. usually you just told jisung to fuck you, but you didn’t want to ask that now. still, you weren’t quite sure how to word your next request.

“what is it, baby?”

“can you use your mouth?” you blushed. but jisung didn’t even stop to tease you about it—and instead buried his face in between your thighs without a second to spare.

you squealed at the coolness of his tongue, taken aback by just how fast he was going from the start.

jisung was good at a lot of things—but you didn’t think anyone could possibly be so good at giving head. he proved just how good he was at it every chance he got, and now, he was determined to prove that point one more time.

your fingers carded in his hair, pulling at the strands as he placed his tongue flat against your clit—moving it in a pulsing pattern against the sensitive bud.

you’ve never been with anyone who ate pussy like him.

you weren’t even sure what you were saying, too lost in the feeling to realise you were chanting your boyfriend’s name like a prayer, mixed in with a few swear words and some questionable noises.

but it was driving jisung insane.

he loved knowing he was making you feel good, he loved the compliments that tumbled out of your mouth without you even realising it, he loved how you always said how good he was when he made you cum.

he couldn’t remember the last time you were this loud for him.

as you tugged on his hair again, pulling him even closer to your cunt, jisung grunted. he was rolling his hips into the mattress.

“fuck baby,” he pulled away slightly, catching his breath for a moment, “i’m gonna lose my fucking mind soon.”

he kept rutting into the mattress as he sucked on your clit, moaning against your body and causing another set of swear words to leave your lips.

“such a filthy fucking mouth,” he let out, his eyes hooded slightly as he looked up at you, his hips still rolling against the mattress. “how does someone so pretty sound so dirty?”

“ji,” you whimpered, “ji, your mouth is so good.”

“yeah,” he sighed before getting back to his task.

after a few moments, both of you rolling your hips in search of more friction, you started to whine.

“i’m close, i’m so close,” you said softly.

jisung knew you needed more to be able to cum, and although he could’ve just used his fingers—he was desperate for more, too.

so he climbed up your body and rolled his sweats down his thighs.

“what are you doing?” you asked quickly.

“just let me feel how warm you are,” he all but sobbed, “just for a little bit.”

“are you sure?” you checked, glancing down at his dick. he was swollen, hard, and the tip glistened with precum. you weren’t sure he would stop after a little bit, especially considering he was practically humping the bed until now.

“wanna feel how warm you are baby,” he repeated, kissing your neck, “please. i’ll stop if i get too close.”

you nodded at him. it was all you wanted too, to feel the stretch of his cock inside you, but you could tell jisung wasn’t thinking clearly as soon as you noticed just how blown his pupils were.

either way—how could you care about the stupid bet he made with his friends when the prettiest boy in the world was begging to put his cock inside you?

jisung lined himself up easily, his strong hands on either side of your shoulders before he pushed himself all the way inside you.

the pair of you groaned in unison.

“so fucking tight,” he sighed, “so wet.”

“it’s from how good you are at eating me out,” you moaned, grabbing onto his shoulders as you pulled him closer.

“can i move?” he asked, his nose bumping against your chin before he kissed you sloppily.

“it’s up to you, baby,” you nodded.

jisung thrust up into you. hard.

you yelped.

“more,” you couldn’t help but ask.

jisung repeated his actions, once and then twice, and then he was rubbing your clit fast.

“oh my god,” you moaned, “don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

jisung wouldn’t dream of stopping, not when you looked so good underneath him, moaning and grunting and biting your lip in pleasure.

he was focusing as best he could on thinking about literally anything else to push his own high as far away as he could.

he could do it. he could make you cum on his cock without losing. he knew he could do it.

and soon, your moans were getting high pitched and longer and then—

“i’m cumming!” you announced breathily, and jisung shut his eyes. it was one thing feeling you clench and pulse around him while keeping his focus, but he couldn’t possibly look at your blissed out face right now. he needed to focus.

once he felt you calm down, heard that little sigh you let out as soon as you relax, he knew it was safe to open his eyes.

“ji,” you chuckled, “that was fucking amazing.”

you kiss him, hand cradling his cheeks as you pepper more kisses around his face.

“happy to be of service,” he smirked at you. pride coated his shoulders as he kissed your cheek.

he actually fucking did it.

he took a moment to appreciate your expression, the sweat on your forehead, the way you were still taking in big breaths, your messy hair.

“fuck, i’m so lucky,” he let out. you chuckled in response.

“can i—would you be okay if i did the thing?” you asked, shyly.

only recently did the pair of you discover you both loved tasting your own release on each other. jisung would eat you out almost every time he came inside you, and you loved sucking him off after he fucked you. it wasn’t like you had to do it—but since this discovery, your aftercare reached a new level of hot.

“sure,” jisung nodded, laying down on the bed beside you after he slowly pulled out.

“tell me if i need to stop,” you said before kissing his lips.

“don’t worry, honey,” he smiled, “i got this.”

you nodded before sliding down his body.

you licked his tip softly, testing the waters, and hummed at the taste. the saltiness and your own taste combined together as you took more and more of his dick into your mouth.

you licked the shiny part of his thighs where a bit got away, sucking a small bruise into the skin. and then you licked his balls, and then you took all of him inside you.

jisung was quiet the whole time, his face scrunched in concentration. he wouldn’t even look at you.

“baby, you’re okay?” you asked, rubbing his thigh soothingly as you licked his tip slowly—still tasting yourself on his warm dick.

“yeah, baby, all good,” he grunted as he shut his eyes.

you took that as a sign you could keep going, and tried your hardest not to tease him too much. you just wanted to clean him off.

“there we go, my love,” you hummed, “all done.”

jisung opened his eyes with a smile, bringing a hand into your hair.

“thanks, baby,” he smiled, visibly relaxing in front of you.

“you did so well, ji,” you smiled, “so patient and calm for me. you’re gonna win this for us.”

you gleamed up at him, a big smile on your lips, and instinctively you found yourself bringing your hand around him as you stroked him twice.

“wait, wait, wait,” he said frantically—waving his hands at you.

but before you could question that kind of reaction, or even respond, his thighs had contracted in front of you as cum shot onto his stomach.

it was too late now, so you made sure he at least enjoyed it, stroking him in a pace you knew he liked as you watched the pleasure sink into his body.

“fuck!” he let out as he came down his high. “two fucking days?”

“i don’t understand what just happened,” you chuckled, sitting up. “was it something i said?”

“i shouldn’t have looked at you,” jisung groaned, bringing his hands up to rub his face. “your stupid cute smile.”

“really?” you giggled, “you could fuck me through an orgasm but me smiling at you was the last straw?”

“you know what,” jisung chuckled, grabbing the pillow next to him and launching it at you, “i wish you would bump me down to friend status.”

“you don’t mean that, jisung,” you smirked, reaching over to his bedside table for some tissues. you helped him clean up his now ruined shirt as the pair of you laughed.

jisung leaned up to kiss you, pulling you closer by the back of your neck.

“don’t call me that,” he whined as you pulled away.

“so like, i’m not allowed to call you by your legal name, i can’t smile at you, anything else?”

jisung rolled his eyes at you with a grin, leaning up to kiss you—tasting everything you cleaned up on your lips.

“two fucking days,” he mumbled again as he pulled away.

“get over it, ji,” you chuckled.

jisung huffed at himself, running a hand through his hair before he pulled his shirt off, letting you cuddle into him as the pair of you sighed into each other’s embrace.

his phone buzzed at that—pulling you away from your momentary post sex bliss as jisung read over the text.

minho: so how is movie night going? 😌

jisung: fuck you

“don’t worry, baby,” you said as you giggled at the texts on his screen, “the boys will never find out it was only two days.”

jisung grumbled at that.

“minho is a dick. and we all know he’s gonna win it, too.”

“sure, sure,” you patted his chest, thinking did it really matter that much? “i’m sure whoever wins will use their gift wisely.”

“oh wait, shit,” he exclaimed. you looked up at him curiously. “we were all busy the week of his birthday so chan said i need to plan a party for next week. will you help me?”

“of course, jisung,” you pressed a kiss to his lips.

“stop calling me that!” he chuckled, eyes wide as he shook you around by your shoulders.

you decided kissing him would calm him down, and it did—the pair of you kissing until you were both too tired to go on.

#skz x reader #skz x y/n #skz x yn #stray kids fics #stray kids x reader #han jisung smut #han x yn #han jisung x reader #han x reader #jisung #jisung x yn #jisung smut #han smut #skz smut #nnn #nnn skz #no nut november #all.works

[moonknightsonata]

Acts of Service

pairing: moon system x reader, marc x reader centered

summary: You learn Steven and Jake’s love languages quickly, Marc’s takes a little longer to realize but it doesn’t surprise you.

cw: not many, a brief non-explicit mention of sex, Marc getting anxious about your relationship

wc: 1199

a/n: Happy new year! This is not beta read, my first time writing for the moon boys and also my first time posting and sharing a fic in probably like 5+ years. Please let me know if I’ve missed any warnings, and let me know what you think! I tried keeping the reader as inclusive as I could, but please let me know if I slipped up with anything.

—

When you first started seeing the system, they all showed affection in similar ways. Holding hands, chaste kisses, flowers at the start of dates and walking you home at the end of them. They each had their own ways of going about it, but at the start all 3 of them were stereotypical in their affection.

Now, months later, you could easily tell each of the boy’s love languages.

Steven fluttered between quality time and words of affirmation. He was a romantic at heart, so in reality, he would do anything you asked of him, really. But you could tell he was happiest just being near you, telling you how much he loved you, and hearing the words in return.

Date night with Steven would be art galleries, museum tours, site seeing, or just walking around the markets hand in hand. Cafe’s and bookshops for rainy days, which there were plenty of in London, filled weekends with him where you could just sit in each other’s company and read besides one another.

Jake was the master of physical touch. You think it’s because he didn’t have as much time fronting as the other two, and his only physical touch with humans up until the three started getting along was when he took over the body in emergencies like in Cairo. When Jake was fronting, his hands were always on you.

Jake always had his arm on you when in public. Around your shoulder, or on your waist, he didn’t have a preference as long as he had you in his arm in some way. You liked to compare him to a livestock dog. Not like sheepdogs who herded them, but like a pyrenees that would fight a wolf off a lamb.

He was also the most handsy in the bedroom.

Marc took the longest to pinpoint his love language. Mostly due to the fact that he was the last to open up to a relationship with you.

You had met Steven first, dated Steven first, and then met Jake and Marc along the way. The relationship with Jake blossomed easily, but Marc still had walls he had built standing steady, that he wasn’t ready to break down yet. For a while even, you weren’t sure he liked you. After anxieties about it were aired out, Marc reassured you he did like you, he was “just shit at showing it” as he had put it. He hadn’t wanted to get close, mess things up with you and risk everything Steven and Jake had with you. That was the turning point for you and Marc’s relationship.

You thought it was behind you, until you noticed Marc’s odd behavior one day.

“Marc, baby, are you alright?” You asked him, leaning against the kitchen counter as he washed dishes.

“Hm?” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, nodding as he kept his attention mostly on the pan he was scrubbing. “Yea, fine, why’d you ask?”

“Because you’ve been scrubbing that pan for about 10 minutes now. I think it’s clean.” You smiled softly, as his brow scrunched when he realized.

“Fine… yeah. I just… you know I love you?” He finished his sentence more like a question.

“Of course I know. I love you too.” You moved closer to him, putting a hand on his cheek to look him in the eyes. “What brought this about?”

“I don’t… I don’t say it enough. When we met you weren’t even sure I liked you, and now I don’t even say I love you as often as Jake or Steven do. So I just…” Marc lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand to his hair, pushing his curls out of his face as he steps away from you. You give him his space, you know when he needs it. To work out emotions without feeling suffocated or closed in.

“Just thought maybe you weren’t sure again.”

Marc avoids looking directly at your face as you look at his. You understand him, more than you probably know, which scares Marc. Not in a bad way, but scares him in a way he can’t believe there was someone out there who could.

Which is why what you say shouldn’t surprise him, but it does anyway.

“You don’t have to say it in the same way Steven or Jake do for me to know.” You start softly. “You have a different way of showing it, than they do.”

Marc’s eyebrows furrow, even more than the wrinkled brow he usually has.

He can only describe the look on your face that you give him as adoring, as you continue.

“The days that you front, you’re always up before me. Whether you’re an early riser or you never really fell asleep that night - you know exactly how to make my coffee in the morning and I always wake up to a cup made the way I like sitting on the counter waiting for me.

“I also know that it isn’t Jake who had my car’s oil changed, or the tires rotated a couple weeks ago.”

Marc shrugs at that one, mumbles something that you think is “That’s not a big deal.”

As you tell him all this, you can’t believe it took you this long to realize that Marc’s love language was acts of service. Because of course it was. Marc, the giver. Marc, who always felt he needed to prove his worth and make up for sins of his past, by any means necessary. Your Marc, who did so much for you without expecting a ‘thank you’ because that was how he showed he cared.

You kept going with more examples.

“Last week I forgot my umbrella and my lunch in the apartment and you came all the way to my job to drop them off for me.” You wrap your arms around Marc’s waist at this, resting your head against him in a hug.

“Or, when it’s cold, you always turn my heated blanket on the bed while I’m doing my night time routine, so that the bed is nice and warm by the time I climb in. And when -“ You could keep going, listing the things you notice Marc does for you, but he stops you with flushed cheeks.

“Okay, okay, I get it. I do a lot for you.” He chuckles, rolling his eyes playfully as he wraps his arms around you to return the hug. “I like taking care of you.”

“You take care of me because you love me.”

Marc nods, kissing your forehead. “Yeah, I do. I’m just sorry I don’t say it more.”

“I don’t need you to. It’s nice to hear, but I still know it. You show me every day.” You smile, leaning in to give him a kiss, which Marc gratefully returns.

“And I’ll continue to show you every day, until you get tired of me.”

“I’d never get tired of you, baby. You, Jake and Steven are all stuck with me.”

Marc laughs. “Stuck with you? Making it sound like that’s a bad thing. Honey, I think you’re the one ‘stuck’ with the three of us.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

#marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockely x reader #moon knight system x reader #moonknight x reader

[ladykailitha]

Staking My Claim Part 1

Hello! Because of my flu, I've been working on low stakes stuff to help with my foggy head. I promise this week to be back on to the WIPs I have going to be build up my backlog again.

This started off as a silly "let the boys be goofy" and turned into a "found family with ONE goofy moment in it". Sorry about that. I blame the cough medicine honestly.

***

Eddie and his friends were enjoying a rare night where they didn’t have to play at Cora’s Den in Indy when it happened.

Now, Cora’s Den wasn’t gay bar per se, but as it was one of the most inclusive places in Indy, the normies considered it one.

So when he came back from going to the bathroom he leaned into the center of their table so he could whisper. “Tell me that’s not Steve Harrington at the bar in a crop top and cutoffs.”

All three of his friends turned to the bar as one.

Gareth smacked his lips. “As much as I would love to, man, no can do.”

“And is he really flirting with that dude?” Eddie asked with a wince.

Jeff raised an eyebrow. “I’m seriously doubting that. Looks like Stevie could use a rescue.”

Eddie turned and looked over. Sure enough the guy that had been flirting with Steve had been replaced by a new guy. And one that didn’t look like he was getting the hint to fuck off.

“Go on,” Brian said. “You know you want to. He’s clearly got a thing for the guys and you might even get laid for the first time in months.”

Eddie nodded curtly and slapped the table. “Right.”

*

Steve was having a good time until this guy came along. He just wouldn’t take no for answer. He wasn’t looking to go home with anyone. His parents had just blown out of town again and Steve was looking for a way to blow off some steam. Relax after the last week of sheer exhaustion of dealing with them and their judgments. He usually went with Robin so that people would leave them alone. Only she had the late shift tonight and the early shift in the morning.

He was going to wait until the weekend when they could both go and have fun, but Robin insisted that he go, otherwise he’d be moping around Family Video all week. So he came out tonight, not really out to get drunk, or laid, just to have a good time.

This was not that.

Suddenly an unopened bottle of his favorite beer was being pressed into his hand as a warm arm wrapped around his waist.

“There you are, baby,” a soft voice cooed. “Sorry I’m late, work was a nightmare.”

Steve let himself relax into the man’s side. “I’m just glad you made it, Eds.”

Eddie grinned at him. “I swear old man Thacher is getting worse in his old age.”

Steve laughed. “I know, right? I went in for an oil change and he berated me for twenty minutes on why couldn’t I just do it myself.”

Eddie frowned. “Don’t you have a BMW that requires a special oil?”

Steve pursed his lips and nodded. “Yup!”

Eddie turned to look at the guy who was standing there with his mouth open. “Are you still here?”

The guy bristled. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I was here first.”

“He’s my boyfriend,” Steve said, straightening up, but still remained plastered to Eddie’s side. “Eddie Munson. Lead singer and guitarist for Corroded Coffin. You know, the band that plays here every weekend?”

“Yup,” Eddie lied easily. “So where’s Birdie tonight? Working the late shift?”

“Ha!” the man snapped. “That’s not his friend’s name. His friend’s name is Robin! I knew you were a fake.”

Eddie blinked at him as if the man had grown three heads. “Robin Buckley. Robin is a bird. Bird plus Buckley, ergo Birdie. I have nicknames like that for all my friends. And any friend of Stevie’s is a friend of mine.”

Steve rubbed his nose along Eddie’s jaw affectionately. “And how did you know what her name was?” he asked, not even looking at the guy. “I don’t think I recall seeing you around before.”

The man’s face paled and he turned on his heel, storming off in a huff.

“Thanks for that,” he murmured into Eddie’s ear. “I’m usually pretty good at getting assholes to lay off, but he wouldn’t take no for answer.”

“Your inner mean girl couldn’t make him go away?” Eddie whistled. “That is persistent.”

Steve giggled. Then he blushed and looked down. That was when he remembered the drink in his hand. “So what’s with the unopened beer?”

“I didn’t want you to think I was another creep by bringing you an open bottle.”

Steve looked up at him and blinked a couple of times. “Wow, you really are my knight in leather armor tonight.”

Eddie took the bottle and popped it open with his bulky ring on his middle finger. “There you go.”

“That was so hot,” Steve said stupidly.

Eddie threw back his head and laughed. “Duly noted.”

*

Steve was invited back to their table and had an absolute blast.

He was coming back from the bar with a couple of drinks in his hands when someone bumped into him, almost making him spill the drinks.

“Hey, watch it!” he hissed.

Immediately Eddie was at his side in an instant.

“You okay?” he asked taking a couple of the drinks from him.

“Yeah,” Steve groused. “Just some asshole not watching where he was going. I didn’t even get a drop on my shoes.”

Eddie snickered. “Yeah, okay. You and your jock reflexes.”

Steve leaned over and whispered, “I’m also very flexible in bed.”

“As in top or bottom or are we talking positions?” Eddie asked, running his tongue over his bottom lip slowly.

“Both.”

Eddie threw back his head and laughed. “No need to go so hard, baby. I was already wanting to take you home with me tonight.”

“What about your friends?” Steve asked grinning back. “It sounded like you all share the apartment.”

“We have a signal for if we bring anyone back,” Eddie assured him. “Also we know to keep it down because the apartment walls are thin and not just inside the apartment.”

Steve’s mouth formed an O. “I got you.”

He knew there were pros and cons to living in an apartment. Having your neighbors that close were definitely a con.

“You still living at home?” Eddie asked as they made their way through the crowd.

Steve nodded. “Yeah. It’s not like my parents are ever there. Though it would just be my luck that they’d come home while I’m out the queerest bar in Indy.”

“Not a fan of queers?” he asked once they reached the table.

“They’re fans of Reagan,” Steve said with a grimace. “I’m pretty sure that automatically puts them on the opposing team.”

The entire table recoiled in sympathy.

“Fuck, that’s harsh!” Jeff said. “Thankfully my parents aren’t Reagan supporters, though they have raised many an eyebrow at Eddie here.”

Eddie face turned into a feral grin.

Brian shrugged. “My parents don’t care as long Eddie doesn’t shove it down their throats.”

Steve rolled his eyes. That old nugget. Walking down the street holding hands with someone of the same gender was shoving it down their throats as far as they were concerned.

Gareth looked at his friends wide eyed. “Um...sucks to be you guys I guess, but my parents adore Eddie, don’t mind him or I being gay and threatened to sue the school over the devil worshiping allegations about our D&D club. So...”

“Three cheers for the Hughes family!” Eddie said.

They all cheered and clanked their glasses together. They downed their drinks and roared with unrestrained joy.

Steve could feel a rush of blood around his ears. The room faded in and out and it sounded like Eddie and his friends were under water. He staggered off his stool and nearly stumbled to the floor.

Then the world went black.

***

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Also I'm not sure if this post canon or no monster AU. I can't decide, but it's ambiguous either way.

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#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #tw drugging #corroded coffin

[cypr24]

Ile kosztuje All Inclusive last minute na Cyprze?

#wczasy All inclusive last minute na Cyprze? Ile coś takiego kosztuje? Przykładowe ceny na:

Jeżeli właśnie przed chwilą dowiedziałeś się, że dostałeś urlop i zaczynasz poszukiwanie wczasów na Cyprze – ten tekst jest właśnie dla Ciebie. All Inclusive – czyli wszystko wliczone (lub prawie wszystko), last minute – czyli w ostatniej chwili – takie właśnie określenia można spotkać podczas poszukiwania ofert wypoczynku. Postanowiliśmy więc przeszukać oferty różnych firm i znaleźć te, które…

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#all inclusive #last minute

[astroboots]

EVERY YOU EVERY ME #9

COLLABORATED WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You get a new mysterious co-worker.

Word count: 8,100

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August 1st

Nearly pancaked by grand piano falling from the 8th floor outside of favorite cafe. No casualties (except the piano).

August 5th

Freak blizzard out of nowhere during lunch. Nearly crushed by large icicle dropping directly outside the exit of the Chrysler building. No other known casualty.

August 6th

An escaped hippopotamus from the Bronx zoo ran 11.3 miles, nearly got stampeded when exiting hotel for work. No casualties.

August 12th

Tornado appeared inside the Guggenheim museum, nearly squashed by large falling statue. Nobody nearby was seriously injured.

It's already mid-August now. You've used up more than a month of your allotted three. It means you don't have much more time to waste, but that knowledge does nothing to help you in figuring things out. 

You’ve compiled a comprehensive list of the Universe's ongoing murder attempts, determined to keep track of them all. All in all, there are 37 incidents and counting that you’re aware of… and they’re all different. 

They differ in severity. They differ in scale and they differ in frequency. Sometimes it can take weeks, sometimes days, sometimes within hours of each other. If there’s any sort of pattern to them—anything that might help you predict what will happen next or how to stop it—you can’t see it.  There’s nothing that gives you any hint or clue as to where you can start to make progress with solving this mystery.

The one thing you have been able to observe from cataloging these incidents is that Miguel was right about what he told you that day at Starbucks: the universe is ramping up. Each attempt is becoming more and more bizarre, defying the very laws of physics and nature in its attempts to snuff you out. Before this, in all of your years in New York, you’ve never heard of a blizzard in July or a tornado indoors. 

With the escalating dangers, Miguel is more on guard than ever. Sticking close to you at all times like a particularly insistent herding dog that’s always a few inches from nipping at your heels. Even when he’s seemingly preoccupied by something else—reading a book, folding clothes, eating a crate of kit kats in one sitting—you can always tell that he’s keenly aware of and attuned to your every minute move. 

Practically, the only time he lets you out of his sight is for bathroom visits. 

Work is still a point of contention between you two. He hates that he can't enter the building to monitor you at work and make sure you're safe, and after that incident when you caught a co-worker trying to take a surreptitious selfie with Spiderman while Miguel was loitering around in the windows, you’d banned him from climbing and scuttering around the exterior of the building like some deranged squirrel. 

It’s made him even less pleased about your whole work situation, something he’s not shy about sharing with you. Every morning when you are about to leave for work, Miguel will stand by the door with that ever present frown and ask you: 

“Why are you still going into a job you hate when there’s only two months left?”

This morning, you sigh as you reach for your jacket and messenger bag. 

Part of you completely understands and even agrees with his logic. If the end of the world is only two months away, why go back to that shithole everyday? You could go to Disneyland. Eat fancy croissants in Paris for breakfast. Have Lyla fake a reservation at an all-inclusive yoga retreat in Bali. You could be living your life like every moment is your last. 

The thing is though, as delusional as it may be, you’re not ready to bet on the world ending just yet. 

“Miguel, I fully intend for the universe to still be around in two months. And I don’t want to be unemployed when that day comes. I’m not some trust fund baby. Once we figure this thing out, you’re gonna be free to go, and if you take Lyla with you, then what am I supposed to do? Live on the streets? Rent in the city is ridiculous, and my rent-controlled apartment got blown into a million pieces.”

For once Miguel doesn’t seem to have anything smart to say back. He tilts his head, quietly studying your face. Then after a long pause, he gives you a curt nod, as if something clicked into place. 

"Fine."

You stop mid-way through zipping up one of your boots to eye him suspiciously. 

Okay, that’s… different.

In all the mornings you’ve repeated this argument, this is the first time he’s simply accepted your explanation without sassing you back. He just gazes right back, apparently unperturbed, and holds the door of your hotel room open for you, ready to walk you to work. 

There is definitely something going on inside his head, because this stubborn dummy never lets anything go without a fight. You just don’t know what it is yet. 

By mid-morning, you've forgotten all about your suspicions, too busy dealing with the aftermath of your coworker's incompetence. You're not entirely sure how they managed to corrupt the Excel formula you’d painstakingly inserted to make sure all the numbers add up correctly, but two hours later, you're still trying to get the data to compute properly. 

It’s the kind of mind numbing task that lets your mind wander, and you spend most of that morning wondering what Miguel is up to. He’s probably lingering near the building, eating mini donuts by the dozens from that food truck that is always parked around the corner. 

There’s a pointed series of knocks on your cubicle wall. The noise is grating, and it makes the whole of your back seize up because you recognize that signature knock from sound alone. It’s your boss, probably here to ask if you have capacity to take on more case evaluations. 

And sure enough, as you reluctantly turn to look, you see her, toothy smile and all, looking down at you in that hammy and strained way of hers. 

“Are you busy?” she asks. “I just wanted to introduce you to the newest member of the team.” 

She gestures to the person standing beside her. Your gaze goes up over their insanely long legs, up and over the narrow and tapered waist and torso, up over the wide chest and broad, broad shoulders, and even before you get to the familiar face, you already know who you are looking at, because no one else is that tall.

Your mouth gapes open wide in shock.

This stupid motherf-

“This is Mickey O’Hara,” your boss introduces, simpering up at him. (You didn’t even know she knew how to simper.) 

Has Miguel gone insane?

What is he playing at?!

He didn’t even bother to change his name properly!

And the man looks unfairly good in office casual! He’s dressed in a white, well-fitted button down shirt and dress pants. Wearing ridiculous thick-rimmed glasses that would belong on Gregory Peck. Riotous curls are as messy and wild as ever, not having even bothered to comb it back. You don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling, the subdued get-up only makes him stick out like a sore thumb.

“Mickey is our newest hire,” your boss continues, batting her eyes at him. “He's interning with our team as a junior insurance claims adjuster and will be shadowing you for the next two months.”

After that, Miguel truly is with you everywhere you go. 

He spends most of each workday sitting on a spare chair in your small cubicle, the two of you squeezed into 6'x6', shoulder touching shoulder in that tiny, cramped space.

A superhero he may be, but Miguel is a terrible office worker. He seems completely bamboozled by the copier, and you quickly learn not to ask him to do any copying or scanning or even pick your printouts from the printer, because he always manages to mangle the process, coming back with crumpled up prints or half-shredded paper that looks like budget confetti.

Before the week is over, he’s gained a reputation with the rest of the team as the handsome-but-useless junior that can’t even make coffee for shit.

Most of the time, he doesn't even make an effort to look like he’s doing any actual work, just sits right next to you, and reads books all day long. When you scold him and ask him to at least pretend like he's doing busy work, or he'll get fired, Miguel will just shrug and quietly hum back at you, engrossed in whatever latest sci-fi book his nose is buried in. 

"If they fire me, I'll just have Lyla hack into their HR system and rehire me."

Then there’s the way his sleeves are always rolled up halfway up his arm, hugging tight around the firm muscles of his forearm. The peep show of gorgeously tanned skin that is always on display for all to see. It's obscene. 

He’s maddening and distracting. 

Still, you can’t be too mad about his presence. The office is a much more treacherous place than you’d initially thought. It’s a danger zone of death traps. 

One morning when you’re in the supply room, getting a new pad of post-its from one of the massive industrial shelves—the ones that are supposed to be bolted to the wall for safety—suddenly crumpled, taking half the wall with it and nearly flattening you. That was almost game over for you. Squashed like a bug and entombed under a pile of archived TPS reports. 

Then there’s that time with the runaway elevator when the supposedly secure and unbreakable industrial cables snaps, with you in it, falling through 40 floors. And you still shudder everytime you walk past the copy machine because of that time it tried to electrocute you. If Miguel hadn’t been there for all of these incidents, you’d be a goner. 

Another upside is that it’s also nice to have a cubicle buddy. On slow days, the two of you kill time watching YouTube origami tutorials and practicing with post-its stolen from the temporarily-relocated office supplies. 

Despite having hands the size of a giant, Miguel is surprisingly good at it. Delicately folding paper cranes, butterflies and flowers that sit in the place of pride atop of your computer screen, compared to your questionable attempts that usually wind up in a crumpled ball in the trash. 

With Miguel there, your days at the office are never boring or predictable in the way they used to be. It no longer feels like you are just going through motions. It's almost… fun. 

If there wasn’t a cosmic executioner’s ax looming over your neck, you don’t think you would mind spending every day with him like this.

You take it back. You do mind spending days with him like this. Miguel is the worst. 

You've been doing data entry all morning, and the man will not shut up about how primitive Excel is. 

“Malo! I don’t understand how your company relies on this software. There are so many data consistency issues! It completely lacks data validation and integrity checks, and it’s too prone to human error when entering crucial data, which results in–” 

You take deep calming breaths as you continue to type, trying to pretend his rant is white noise.  

The previous day's near death experience—an electrical surge from the printer, trying to finish what the copy machine started—also wiped out one of the file servers, and now you and half your department are stuck manually re-entering three years worth of data.  

Two hours in, your fingers are aching, and you're about ready to start banging your head on the keyboard out of frustration. (Or banging the keyboard on Miguel’s head if he doesn’t shut up.)

Like he can hear your thoughts, the man in question obligingly stops talking, and there’s a moment of blessed silence before your chair glides smoothly and suddenly to the left as Miguel rolls you out from in front of your computer. Your first instinct is to wonder what new danger he’s saving you from, but no… He’s just moving you out of the way to make space for him to drag his own chair in front of the screen. “Enough,” he says firmly, already typing out some unintelligibly complex code at a speed that far outstrips your own personal best of 67 words per minute, “I can’t watch you keep doing this when it’s so simple to automate.”

You sometimes forget just how smart Miguel is. 

True, he can’t seem to work the office printer, but he’s a genius scientist who single-handedly built an A.I. sophisticated enough to hack into financial institutions and topple governments. He successfully invented a machine that travels between dimensions. Every other sentence coming out of his mouth sounds like something that would confound Stephen Hawking. You don’t know why you’re surprised he’s able to automate Excel spreadsheets. 

It doesn’t take him very long at all. 

Within minutes, he’s finished, hitting enter one final time, and then you can see all of the cells rectify themselves one by one. Errors disappear and new corrected information appears, data populating blank cells and aligning itself in tidy rows. 

You lean in closer to get a better look. Your elbow snags the edge of your coffee cup and the cup topples over, splashing runaway hot coffee across your hand.

Before you have a chance to react, there’s a strong pull backwards. Miguel is already grabbing you and pulling you sideways into his lap and out of the firing range.

The cup clatters off the edge of the desk and onto the floor. The rest of the burning liquid never had the time to land on you. 

Then you’re sitting on top of him, confined in the much too small seat of the office chair that can barely fit him and his broad backside, and much less the both of you. But if it’s uncomfortable, Miguel doesn’t show it. He takes your hand in his to inspect it carefully.

The patch of skin burns and stings, but you can’t tell if it’s from the coffee or his burning touch that makes you feel like there’s liquid fire simmering in your veins. 

“You okay?” he says, his voice right in your ear.

He is so close. Surrounding you. Broad arms locked around your waist and the firm muscles of his thick thighs under yours.

“Yeah,” you manage, nodding slowly. Your tongue feels heavy and dry in your mouth.

He quietly drags your hand closer to his face, then blows on the back of your burnt knuckles to soothe the sting. 

“Better?” 

Those stunning eyes are staring into yours from inches away, cut cheeks right there, nose barely brushing against yours, and – god, is he close. Too close. 

Miguel is always in close proximity to you these days. Never more than a couple yards away, but save for life or death situations, the two of you do not find yourself like this. He only ever holds you when you’re crashing through the skies or about to collide with a runaway vehicle. This is different somehow. 

Your heart feels like a trapped bird in your chest, fluttering so fast and panicky it might burst from inside out at the proximity. 

“I– um– ah…” You’re not saying any words, just making strange noises in your throat like a squawking bird. 

Your eyes flicker away from his face avoidantly and from the corner of your eye, you spot Matt from accounting spying on you from the cubicle across. 

Oh god. This probably doesn’t look great, does it?

You’re sitting on a co-worker’s lap in the middle of an open plan office. Compromising does not even begin to describe the position you two are in.

Jumping off his lap, you quickly stand up and turn away, trying to ignore the flustered heat in your cheeks. 

You walk back over to your chair, about to sit yourself back down, but there’s spilled coffee everywhere. The dark brown liquid quickly sinking into the already stained fabric of the seat.  You need to clean this up or else your chair is going to smell like expired coffee for the rest of time. Grabbing for your bag, you start digging for some tissues so you don't have to walk up to the supply closet.

You pull out item after item. Tampons. Sunglasses. A half-eaten chocolate bar. More tampons. New wallet with new ID, (expedited, all courtesy of Lyla). A handful of pennies. A random pamphlet. Still no tissues though, so you upend your bag onto your desk, wincing at the clatter. 

How on Earth have you accumulated this much stuff in the few short weeks since your apartment was destroyed?  And how on Earth do you not have any kleenex or napkins or anything in your handbag?? 

You paw through the mess, hoping for something useful, then swear as some of it spills over onto the floor. Ducking down, you crawl half under your desk, collecting wayward tampons and receipts, until your eyes pause on the pamphlet.

Not just any pamphlet. It’s yellow and bright with Whoopie Goldberg's face in the corner. It's the map you received from the fortune teller lady. One of your many misfires.

Now that you look closely at it, there are faint lines that seem to glow faintly in the dimness under your desk that weren't there when you were looking at it in plain daylight.

You pick it up and unfold it, laying it out on the floor. It looks like it’s been written on with some kind of a glow-in-the-dark marker, but it’s not dark enough for you to see clearly. You need to get somewhere darker to test your theory.

Backing out from under your desk, you get to your feet and head briskly off down the hall. You barely make it three steps before Miguel’s on your tail, his towering height blocking out the bright LED lamps above as he follows after you like the world’s biggest duckling. 

“Cielo, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you murmur curtly under your breath. The heat from before is still riding persistently on your face, and you quicken your steps, hoping it doesn’t show. 

You half run to the end of the hall until you reach the small supply closet. When you open the door to step inside, Miguel is right behind you, apparently trying to squeeze himself in after you. 

"We won't both fit in here!" you scold as you close the door after you.  His unhappy expression is the last thing you see as darkness envelops you in the pitch black.

There’s a niggling feeling of guilt that wiggles down into your skin. But you remind yourself that you can always steal cupcakes meant for clients from the conference room to make it up to him. All will be forgiven if you appease his sweet tooth. 

Ducking your head to stare down at the map clutched in your hands, you squint your eyes in the dark to study it closely. There's a small star glowing bright in the middle of the map.

It's a literal star map.

She gave you a location.

You're standing in front of an old stone building at 177A Bleecker Street, smack in the middle of Greenwich village with its picturesque ivy covered old brownstone houses. 

Then there's this monstrosity: Sanctum Sanctorum. The infamous residence of Dr. Strange.

The mansion is built in a mix of a Victorian and Gothic style as if the architect couldn't make up their mind and just decided 'why not both?' Throughout the rooftop, there are ornate carvings and intricate stonework that you suspect was meant to lend it a mysterious air, but instead the place reminds you of Disney’s Haunted Mansion ride attraction. 

You bring up your hand to the old knocker, gripping it firmly. Your lungs tighten, breath constricting in your chest as you hesitate, unable to bring yourself to pull the brass down to make contact with the wooden front door. Instead you’re holding it still in the air. 

Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all. How are you going to explain this? 

‘The universe is out to get me, please send Avengers to help.’

Isn’t he just going to think you’re nuts? One of those delusional Supes-fan with munchausen syndrome?

"We can still leave," Miguel says. 

The man's been protesting every step of the way here, buzzing in your head about how much of a bad idea this is.

You frown, turning around to him. "I want to do this,” you answer. 

His continued opposition is the final push you need. You bring down the knocker against the front door and tap it repeatedly. 

There's no answer.

Part of you has to fight the urge to turn your feet and flee, saving yourself the embarrassment. But before you do, there’s a loud creak and a heavy scraping noise against the entrance as the double door swings inwards and slowly opens. 

No one greets you by the door. The entryway before you is empty, revealing a grand imperial staircase leading to the second floor, curving upward into a majestic spiral on each side of the room. 

It looks deserted. It’d be impolite to just step inside without someone to greet you and explicitly invite you in. But the doors did open to let you in. 

You look at Miguel, unsure of what to do, but the man does not have the same compunction for politeness that you do, he’s already walked in, shoes and all, straight into the main hall. 

“Can we just get this over with without you making your usual stupid grand dramatic entrance?” Miguel says into the empty room seemingly to no one in particular and you don’t know who he thinks he’s talking to. 

A ring of ember and fire sparks into existence out of nothingness in the center of the room. The ring grows wider, and you can see hints of another room inside of the circle: one decorated in a different decoration style than the current room you’re in: moroccan seats and plush cushions with oriental wooden carved furniture. 

A man steps out from within that room to stand in front of you both. The ring of light closes behind him once he’s made it through. Clad in a rich purple tunic and dark robes that is monk-like in appearance. Miguel steps in front of you, tucking you safely behind him. 

"You're not Strange," Miguel sneers, and you want to smack him. Why does he always have to be this rude?

"Oh, I'm quite strange. But I am not the Doctor. I am Wong. I’m the Sorcerer Supreme and guardian of this place." The man’s voice is calm and formal, and he holds himself with a stately manner as he speaks. 

You pop out your head from behind Miguel’s side. "We’re here to see Doctor Strange." 

At the repeated mention of Strange, the man’s formality seems to fall away, an expression of irritation bleeding into his features. 

"Let me know when you find him. Because he is not here."

"Where is he?" Miguel asks, and there’s that contempt rumbling in his voice again. 

"I do not know. Probably playing hooky again. The man comes and goes as he likes." Wong makes a muttering noise under his breath as he continues. "Treats this sacred place like a summer gig at McDonalds."

Your chest deflates. How are you supposed to get Dr. Strange to help you if he’s not even here?

"I need help,” you plead with Mr. Wong. Maybe he can help you if Dr Strange can’t, he is the Sorcerer Supreme after all, supreme is the highest level, right? This might even be an upgrade from Strange. “I know this sounds crazy, but I think the universe is out to get me." 

Wong just looks at you, expression unchanging, and okay, yeah, that was maybe not the best place to start. You take a deep breath, trying to figure out how to make yourself sound less paranoid.

"I've almost died 40 times since the beginning of the summer. I just want to know why this keeps happening and how to make it stop."

You dig into your bag, pulling out the folded map. 

"We talked to a fortune teller in Chinatown, and she gave me this map. It led us here, and I'm really, really hoping you can help me."

Wong dips his head down to the map, "This is a celebrity home star map," he says, with a straight face and a neutral voice that only slightly betrays that he thinks you're batshit crazy.

“I know it sounds crazy, but-”

“Sanctum Sanctorum opened its doors for you, which means it wanted me to meet with you. I believe what you’re telling me.”

Oh thank god.

You tell him everything, rambling on as you try to explain what’s been happening and what little you know about it as best you can. The near death experiences, Miguel being a Spiderman from another dimension, the destruction of your apartment,  the unnatural phenomena and the universe’s escalating attempts on your life. 

Wong is quiet throughout, studying your face with grave concentration as you speak. 

When you’re finally done, he sighs with deep weariness that emanates from the core of his soul. He looks down on his feet, tapping them in deep consideration.

"I have an idea,” Wong says cautiously, “I could perform a Multiversal Divination on you, that might give us a clearer idea of what we’re dealing with,” 

“What does that mean?” Miguel asks, anger vibrating off his skin and boiling in his tone.  

This man needs to calm down. You clearly need to take him to anger management, because since the moment he’s stepped into this place he’s been on the edge (even more so than usual).

“What does a ‘Multiversal Divination’ entail?” he continues, “Is that some magical mumbo jumbo that’s going to hurt her? Because if so we’re not–”

“I’ll do it,” you say, interrupting his objections, and you sidestep Miguel who is scowling, mouth already parted in yet another protest, to stand in front of Wong. 

Wong looks to you and then Miguel, then back at you again, caught in the awkward stalemate, before you interrupt. 

“Please, I need answers. Whatever it is, if it might help, I want to do it.”

Wong nods, stepping closer to you. "This will feel a little bit strange," he warns with the bedside manner of a patient doctor.

His hand comes to your collarbone and he places his palm there with a gentle push. There is barely any effort put into it, but you feel the force of it as if you had been slammed with the full force of a six ton truck. Your body wants to leap out of its skin. It is the sensation of being dumped in cold water from head to toe. A shock runs through your entire nervous system.

Images flash before your eyes, flickering by too fast for you to process. They’re vivid and bright. Glimpses of a scene: your apartment, your work, your commute home. Each of them expiring in a fraction of a moment before you have a chance to latch on and make sense of any of them individually.

You see yourself in picture after picture. Except slightly different in each. Short hair. Long locks. Curly.

In some you're wearing glasses instead of the contact lenses that you usually use. In others, you’re sporting the piercing you wanted to get at 16 but never did. Sometimes you have tattoos, sometimes not; occasionally you’re covered in them. Dyed hair, in every color of the spectrum: pink, blue, purple. A myriad of versions of you, of every variation of the decisions you could have possibly taken in your life. 

There are pictures of memories you have had and not had. They rush in and flee before you're able to grab hold of one.

Captured moments of lifetimes you have never lived.

It's overwhelming. You don't understand what you're seeing. There’s pandemonium inside your head.

Then everything slows to a crawl.

The scene unfolding before you is one that you immediately recognize. An image that you'll never forget.

Window after window after window flashing you by. You know this view. Have seen it twice before. The same view of the Chrysler building as you were falling. But it's different this time. 

The sky isn’t blue, nor is it gray. It’s a pink and an abnormal purple, a color you’ve never seen on it before and it looks both beautiful and completely wrong. There’s an angry tear in the sky, cracking at the edges with static. The whole of the sky looks like it is going to cleave in two and bring the whole world with it. Is this the future? Is it the past?

There's no pain, but somehow tears run down your cheeks uncontrollably.

In the distance you hear Miguel's voice, muted even though you know from that tone that he's furious and must be bellowing loud enough that it echoes through the walls. It sounds like you are underwater, and you have to strain to make out what he is saying.

"Why is she crying?" He's definitely shouting, voice raw and growling. Is this part of your memory or is it happening in the now? "You're hurting her."

The ground approaches. 

"Stop! Stop!" Miguel's voice is shouting, but there's no way to stop this. Everything is going too fast this time around.

Miguel is here, tearing through the sky towards you. But you know it's too late. He's too far away. He can't save you this time.

Then everything does stop. 

No images in your head. No noise in your ears.

Everything goes black, like the ending of a movie.

Then you hear a thud.

It's loud and close and real.

You snap yourself out of your fugue state, to see Miguel towering over Wong's body where the Sorcerer Supreme lies, limp and lifeless on the ground.

“What did you do!? Are you out of your mind?" you shout, running up to them.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Wong isn’t moving, not even blinking!

"He was hurting you!" Miguel roars. 

"He wasn't hurting me, you big doofus!" you shout back, and it’s only then that the fury in Miguel’s eyes seem to abate. 

"What's wrong with him?” you ask, bending down Wong’s limp body on the ground. “Is he dead!? Did you kill him?” There's a rising panic pushing inside your throat.

"He's just paralyzed."

"He’s para– What do you mean paralyzed? What did you do to him?"

"I just... I bit him," he uses a finger to part his lips slightly, pushing the upper one up just enough to reveal the sharp edges of his fangs. "There's toxins in them that can have a paralyzing effect."

You glance back at Wong. He’s still worryingly still. 

“Is there some kind of way to un-paralyze him!?"

"It was just a small bite," Miguel says, ducking his head down sheepishly to stare at the floor, like a scolded boy. "I didn’t use that much venom... It’ll wear off. He shouldn't be out long. Maybe half an hour or so."

“I’m sorry. So, so sorry,” you tell Wong fervently, hovering over him. You can see his eyes tracking yours and the rise and fall of his chest, and you breathe a sigh of relief at the proof that he’s still alive. “Do you, um… Do you want me to help you up?”

“He’s not gonna want to move for a few more minutes,” Miguel interjects from behind you. “Moving will be incredibly painful until the venom wears off the rest of the way”. 

What the actual fuck!?

You throw a glare at Miguel, as you loop an arm under Wong’s waist, “Well help me move him so he can be more comfortable.” 

At your command, Miguel helps you prop the man up against the wall in what is (hopefully) a more comfortable position, and then you sit next to each other and wait.

"I can't believe you bit the Sorcerer Supreme," you mutter under your breath. “Miguel, you can’t just–” you cut yourself off, too frustrated to find the proper words. 

"I'm sorry,” he says, grimacing at your scolding, looking regretful for once as he ducks down his gaze. “You looked like you were in pain".

Your anger subsides, if only slightly at his repentance. 

“It still doesn’t make it okay. You can’t just attack someone like that! He was trying to help us.”

He doesn’t say anything more to that, just stares down at his feet in contrition. 

The two of you sit in the silence. 

Your mind goes back to the surreal experience you just had. The myriad of thousands if not millions of images that were flashing through your mind at the speed of light.

The warped shape of your world, the jarring images of it distorted and wrong, as it started to collapse. 

Miguel had said that didn’t he? That the universe was going to ramp up its game and if it didn’t succeed, it would eventually self-destruct in its mission to get you.

It takes 26 minutes. The first sign that the toxins are wearing off is that Wong is able to wiggle his toes. His recovery accelerates after that, he's able to move his fingers, then the muscles in his face until he's able to form a grimace. He doesn't look happy, and you don't blame him.

After another five minutes or so, he's able to speak again. 

"Strange way of expressing gratitude, literally biting the hand that helps you."

You get up on your feet to help Wong, and Miguel moves next to you. 

“No, you stay there! Don’t move,” you order, and even though he scowls, Miguel complies. 

You hunch over next to Wong, and help him sit fully upright. He stays seated, but dusts his robe off from the caked soot and fine layers of dirt. 

“This has happened in other dimensions,” Wong tells you. “And if we don’t stop it, our universe will be destroyed.”

“How do we stop it?” you ask. 

“The universe wants you dead. It won’t stop until it achieves its goal.”

Your stomach drops. 

“So in order for this to stop… I need to die?”

There’s a look of barely contained fury burning in Miguel’s red eyes that seems to vibrate out of his skin and pounce. But he doesn't, this time he remains in place, visibly restraining himself, still following your orders. 

“There is that option, or you will need to find the reason for why it wants to kill you. And you need to find it soon, because you don’t have a lot of time left. You will have even less time once the people of this world realize the threat you present to the continued integrity of this universe.” 

“Are you threatening her!?” Miguel demands, and somehow even though you didn’t hear him move, he’s right behind you, red eyes glowing, shoulders rising, looming over Wong, ready to cut him down at any further hints that the man might be a threat to your safety. 

Wong doesn't seem deterred in the slightest. 

You have to give it to the Sorcerer Supreme. He's a brave one. It took you weeks before you stopped being intimidated by the man, and Miguel’s never bitten you. 

“I am only telling you what the universe tells me. And it tells me that you do not belong here at all. The universe thinks neither of you belong here.”

You think back on fortune teller's drawing of the poorly drawn circle and stickfigure of you that’s speared with arrows.

"What if we went… somewhere else?" Miguel asks.

For the first time since he entered this house, his tone is no longer dripping with anger. “What if we left this universe and dimension?”

The image of white blankness enters your mind at his words. You shudder at the reminder. The cold numbness of the void and the sensation of nothingness. Dread fills your veins. A cold clammy sweat flashes hot and cold against your skin at the memory.

Wong tilts his head up in deep consideration. “That might work. This universe would slowly return to equilibrium with her gone. But… This will just start again in any new Universe. Most likely she wouldn’t be able to stay. She might have to leave every dimension she's in for the rest of her natural lifespan. A life spent always on the run.” 

Wong pauses as he glances over to you with sympathy and concern in his gaze. “Is that something you would want?” 

What is the alternative here? To lie down and die?

“Yes.”

“One month’s time, you need to find a way to leave this dimension before then.”

Back at your hotel that evening, you wake up to the sound of distress. Muffled whimpers and quiet moans. 

By habit, your eyes roam the room, seeking out Miguel in the dark. He’s lying on the sofa from across the room and even in this distance you can make out that his body is writhing beneath the covers. But you’re groggy and too sleep-drunk to make sense of what you’re hearing or seeing. 

There’s murmured noises from him, and it takes you far too long to understand what’s going on. 

He’s having a nightmare. 

Tugging off the blanket on top of you, you get up and scoot over to the end of the bed over to him. Miguel looks like he’s in pain. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead as he tosses and turns, face pinched in pain and distress. Now that you’re closer, you can make out words in the sounds he’s making. 

“Quiero quedarme contigo. No te vayas, no te vayas,” he keeps murmuring. 

He looks exhausted. Which, of course he is. He's been on constant alert trying to protect you. Fighting off supernatural weather phenomena, blocking hazardous furniture and fighting off charging hippos out of nowhere. Of course he's worn out.

“Shhhh, It’s alright.” you whisper to him, reaching out to gently stroke his arm, attempting to soothe him. “It’s okay.”

He groans unhappily in his sleep, burying his head into the cushion.

“Quiero quedarme conti–”

"Hey, hey, Miguel,” you tap insistently at his shoulder now. If you can’t soothe the nightmare away, then maybe you can at least wake him up out of it, “It's okay. Wake up."

This time his eyes slam open, wide with adrenaline and shock, and he shoots upright, head whipping from side to side as he scans the room. Every inch of him prepared to leap into a fight.  

“What’s wrong? What’s–”

“You were having a nightmare,” you explain to him. 

He stiffens at that, dropping his eyes to stare down at his lap unhappily. 

“Shit, did I wake you?” he runs a hand over his face, then lays back down, “Sorry.” 

Silence blankets the two of you, and you don’t know what else to say to him. Except just that you want him to be able to rest–truly rest–after the day, week and month you’ve both had. You don’t want him to have to go back to snatching moments of troubled, uncomfortable sleep on that stupid, too-small couch.

“You could come sleep on the bed with me,” you offer, “That couch is nowhere near big enough for you.”

"It's fine," he mutters, "It's been fine the last month, and it's fine now."

"It's not though. You're clearly not sleeping well.  I should have asked you before.  I'm surprised your back isn't already killing you—that sleeping position looked painful."

His head darts down, eyeing his own spread legs that are sticking out into the empty air from the bottom of the couch. But he doesn't concede the point.

"Please?" you try again, "It will make me feel better."

Apparently all you needed to do was ask, because Miguel immediately complies like your request was a decree. He gets up, pulling the quilt with him, his mop of curls in adorable disarray as he drags his feet over to the other side of the bed and flops down with a loud thump that makes the whole mattress bounce underneath you.

You can feel the pull of the sheets where his legs threaten to brush up against your bent knees, and you're beginning to realize you didn't think this through. Even in the big bed, there's only so much space, and he seems to be taking up most of it.  

He's close, and you can't seem to peel your eyes away from the strong line of his throat. Can't help the way your body reacts. Your pulse starts to race, heart kicking up hard and fast against your ribs.

Miguel turns around to observe you with narrowed eyes. “You okay?” 

Shit! Did he hear you? That timing was too on the nose. You nod at him a little bit too frantically and you sound high-pitched and skittish even to your own ears. 

 “Yes of course, why wouldn’t I be?”  

“Your heart is beating really fast.”

Fuck. He could hear you. Of course he can, he has super hearing powers doesn’t he? 

“I’m just tired,” you stammer out, wrapping the blanket close to your chest for layers as a shield from his super hearing. 

Miguel doesn’t push it. He turns back around, letting his head drop down the pillow. 

The distance between you has been growing smaller and smaller with each passing day together and you think you have been crossing an invisible line that you shouldn’t be crossing as of late. 

You think of the closeness of him in the office, the weight of his arms on your waist as he held you in his lap. His eyes on you. The bare skin of his broad back casually revealed to you when he was changing. The same back that you find yourself staring up at in this moment. 

“Go to sleep,” Miguel rasps from your side, and you nearly jump out of your skin in surprise. 

You close your eyes, but somehow in the dark you become even more keenly aware of his presence in the bed with you. Your heart seems to skip a little bit faster as the seconds pass, each beat a little bit harder. 

There's a quiet sigh, then a much louder exhale, as he turns back towards you in bed. 

"What's wrong?" His voice is still gruff with sleep.

"I can’t fall asleep,” you say, staring up at the ceiling in the dark. “Can you talk? It might help me sleep."

He snorts with a laugh. The sound of it makes something pleasant skitter up the length of your spine. He's got a nice laugh. It's a shame he doesn't laugh often.

"What's so funny?"

"No, nothing. Just... some things never change." Even in the dim of the unlit room, you can see the smile on his lips.

"What do you want me to talk to you about?" he asks.

You tilt your head, considering it. Miguel rarely gives you a carte blanche to ask him for information. Logically, you should use this moment to seize a tactical advantage and ask him for all the salacious details that you know he’s been keeping from you. But as you wrack your brain for questions, the only ones that come to mind are disappointingly ordinary. You just want to know more about him. Small, silly, personal details, the way he seems to know everything about you. 

"Tell me about where you're from," you request, "Your dimension. Your hometown." 

He shifts on the bed, lying flat on his back until he’s staring up at the ceiling with you as he reminisces. 

"It's called Nueva York. It's significantly more technologically advanced than this dimension. Definitely cleaner. People aren't as big of assholes as they are here. Public hygiene is way better, everything doesn’t reek of piss. Oh, and there’s not a rat epidemic in the public transportation system there." 

His head turns to his side to look at your face, and he gives you a small mischievous grin as he continues. "Food is healthier. You don't get junk food there."

The words should be complimentary, but from his tone of voice and what you know of his eating habits, you think it’s probably a win for your dirty, rat-infested dimension.

"Lots of skyscrapers and neon-lights everywhere. It's colorful."

He pauses, as if he's struggling to find anything more to say about the place. Then his head tips to the side, meeting your eyes, and his gaze is soft. 

“I'll take you there," he promises, voice quiet and warm and it makes something sweet and honeyed trickle inside your veins pleasantly. 

“How?” you wonder.

His smile drops, replaced by an unhappy frown. “Not sure yet, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Can’t we just open up a portal like last time?”

He shakes his head. 

"The last time I took you through the portal, it was meant to take us back to my dimension.  But I built the parallel universe traversal device to transport me—and only me—through the multiverse."

He reaches out to you, fingers wrapping gently around your wrist. The contact makes your skin tingle, but you don’t pull away. 

"I wasn't thinking last time. We can’t take the risk of winding up back in the void.” 

He’s mumbling now, nearly asleep. His eyes half-shut as he blinks slowly, struggling to keep them open as he slowly blinks.

"Someone that disappears in the void, they'll be erased from existence and out of every timeline. No one will ever remember you or know you existed. It's as if you've never existed at all."

You eye the watch on your wrist. The slight sheen of the bed light reflecting against the shiny glass.

"Can we modify the watch?"

"Firstly, not a watch", he reminds you by rote as he fluffs up his pillow with his arm. 

"And second..." he pauses, eyes drifting up to study the ceiling before he shakes his head, "I've tried. It doesn’t work. The power source isn’t powerful and your world is not technically advanced enough for me to build an upgraded self-sustaining fusion power source that would be needed. It’s how we ended up in the void.” 

Worry burrows into your chest, and your gaze drops down from his face. It always feels like you’re taking one step forward and ending up two steps back. Futile and hopeless but that’s what you get for trying to fight against the will of the universe. 

"Go to sleep," he says again, his hand coming to rest gently on top of your head, "I'll figure it out, don't worry.”

You smile, warmed by the comforting gesture and his reassurance. 

“I won't let you get hurt this time."

…‘this time.’

The promise cuts through you like glass. Sharp and jagged and clawing its way into your chest until it hurts you to breathe.

Miguel is talking to you, but you don’t think it’s you he’s thinking of when he says the words.

He attacked Wong without a second of hesitation when he thought you were hurt. He's exhausting himself half to death to protect you. But you know that he’s not really doing any of this for you. 

It’s not your comfort he was thinking of when he cradled your burnt hand and gently blew on your fingers. It’s not your love of egg tarts that makes him save the flaky pastries for you when the two of  you go out for dinner. It’s not you—has never been you—that he’s seeing whenever his eyes linger on your face when he thinks you’re not paying attention. 

You're riding on the emotional coattails of the other you. The unwavering loyalty that he had for her has transferred to you now that she's gone.

He must have really loved her. 

There’s a sharp fissure in your chest, and you try to swallow down the thistle of needles that’s found its way into your throat, only to discover that your saliva tastes sour and bitter. 

Closing your eyes, you can see an image of yourself smiling with him, laughing with him, holding his hand. Except it’s not you. 

It’s her. 

Other-you, with the wedding band and the happy life and– And somehow better hair too, the lucky bitch!

Except… she wasn't lucky, was she? She's dead.

She’s dead, and you still resent her for what she had with Miguel. It's such an ugly feeling. 

You squeeze your eyes shut as hard as you can, but the image doesn’t go away. Nor does that acrid taste in your mouth. You can't help it. This irrational and childish madness is eating into the edges of your mind. You're envious of your other self. 

God that’s fucked up. 

Does someone like you even deserve to be saved at all?

~ Next Issue

Credits & Dedications: To @thirstworldproblemss for all the rubberducking we do together on this silly little story. Thank you so much for sitting with me and making this fun! I love you 234238472938492374923 x infinity and back again.

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse #oscar isaac #across the spiderverse #marvel #spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you #marvel mcu

[kitkatscabinet]

Running home to your sweet nothings

John "Soap" Mactavish x F! Riley! reader

Summary: Simon’s older sister is his entire world, the last person he has left, and someone he's fiercely overprotective of. This is too bad for Soap, who falls head over heels at first sight.

Word count: 4.8k

A/N: No mention of if reader is adopted/step/half/full siblings for inclusivity. NSFW content.

It was raining the first time he met you, a grizzly downpour that seemed even gloomier than the usual shit Hereford weather. Maybe he’d simply forgotten how miserable the country could be after extended time in South America, but Soap could have sworn mother nature had decided to fuck with him specifically. 

The rain is one of the only things he remembers from that day, exhaustion heavy set in his bones, other than you that is. He remembers because just as he’d been about to head off into the downpour, a car had come screeching into the base and promptly scared the sleep from his body. 

Squinting, Soap barely managed to make out the sight of the car door being thrown open. The booming, thick Mancunian accent that bellowed over the rain was not as hard to distinguish, “Simon, hurry the fuck up!”

Soap nearly choked at the audacity of the stranger, his jaw actually dropping when the Lt. simply grumbled softly, turning to murmur something to their captain. He was still stuck in the emotional rollercoaster when there was suddenly a dripping wet but beaming woman in his vicinity. 

Stunning didn’t even begin to describe you, even as strands of hair stuck to your cheeks, a hand hastily coming up to wipe them away as you made it to the undercroft. You’d grinned at the team, all teeth and sparkly eyes even as Ghost seemed like he’d be more enthused if someone told him his dog died. 

His hulking Lieutenant said something Soap couldn’t even begin to decipher, too entranced by the stranger in front of him when you spoke again. “You must be Soap! Simon’s been trying to keep me away from his team for some reason, So I decided not to give him a choice.”

You threw your friend? Cousin? Brother? Lover? A playful glare before you laughed. It was the best sound he’d ever heard, and one he had instantly vowed to make sure he heard again. 

Soap really hoped you were single. 

“John.” Soap’s heart stopped at the melodic sound of his name coming from your mouth, cheeks flushing in mild embarrassment as he realised you weren’t addressing him but Captain Price. The Captain nodded and smiled back at you, clapping a friendly hand on your shoulder in a way that breathed familiarity. 

It’s only when Soap finally manages to get his tongue to start working again that he swaggers over, elbowing Simon jokingly in the side as he wiggles his eyebrows “Who’s this then? Been holdin’ out on us Lt?” Simon doesn’t answer, throwing him that signature soulless stare of his as you roll your eyes. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised, but I can’t say it hurts a little. Don’t wanna brag about me to your teammates baby brother?” You pouted, leaning against your sibling only to be immediately pushed away by the face as Simon grunted.  

Older sister. Soap was both simultaneously relieved and even more horrified by the revelation. 

You weren’t dating Simon, which meant he had more of a chance! It also meant he’d have to get Simon’s approval, and given the harsh glare he was on the receiving end of, Soap didn’t rate his chances. 

“John Mactavish, at your service lass” he introduced himself, laying on the charm, shaking your hand and marvelling at the feel of your skin against his as you relayed your name. He only spends a few minutes mentally cussing out the Lt for being there, staring into his soul and preventing him from planting a kiss against your knuckles. 

Soap’s forced to let go far too soon for his liking when Simon huffs, tugging you back to your car as you chastise him for being rude, waving a hasty goodbye to the 141 before getting back behind the wheel. Leaving him to pine from afar, internally cursing when he realises he’s got no way to contact you. 

The car has long since peeled out of the lot and is far from sight when a hand clasps on Soap’s shoulder, startling him from his daydreams, “Not a chance son.” Garrick laughs in the background as Soap pouts at the betrayal. 

The second time you meet, the sun is shining, enhancing your radiance as the gentle rays caress your skin. He thinks you’re much better suited to this kind of weather, it allows your smile to really gleam. 

It’s a complete coincidence that you run into each other only a few weeks after your initial and far too abrupt meeting and Soap chooses to take it as the universe’s divine blessing. As much as he’d tried to banish the images of you from his mind, aware of your status as “forbidden fruit”, Soap doubted he’d ever truly be able to. 

He’s calling your name before he can stop and think, one hand raised and frozen in the air as you steal the breath from his lungs once more. Rapid beeping in the background alerts Soap that the crossing light he’d been waiting for has turned green but he pays it no mind, errands forgotten in the prospect of speaking to you. 

You blink in surprise before gracing him with a beaming smile as you jogged to close the gap between you, “Oh, Soap Hello.”

“Call me Johnny,” the words are breathed out with very little thought. He hates people calling him that, but when you utter it he swears he’s never heard a better sound. 

“Enjoying a day off?” You inquire, falling into step beside him as the two of you start to walk again with you following his lead. 

“Aye, been putting off the grocery run for too long.” You nodded in understanding, listening intently as he started to ramble, only cutting himself off in embarrassment a few minutes later when he realised you’d been silent the entire time. Nervously, he scratches his flushed cheek with an apology, “Sorry for gettin' a bit carried away lass, you’ve probably got better things tae do than listen to little ol’ me carrying on like a twat.”

Your pretty lips slip downwards and your brows furrow adorably as you shake your head, “why are you apologising? I’ve enjoyed listening to you.” Soap’s heart skips a beat at your completely earnest expression, fuck. He was so screwed. 

The ding of his phone alerting him to a text from you sends Soap practically flying across the room, leaping onto his bed as he scrambles to respond. Johnny’s not been able to see you in person since that fateful day in the sun, you've been texting nearly non-stop but it’s not nearly enough for him.

Perhaps that’s why he’d so quickly responded with a very enthusiastic yes without fully thinking through the situation's implications. Johnny stares in stunned shock at his phone for a few seconds as it sinks in what he’s just agreed to. A few more seconds and his body kicks into gear, clothes flying as he strips himself to jump into the shower. He nearly slips several times in the rush and ends up squirting shampoo into his eyes, causing him to cuss and then inevitably get it in his mouth. 

The next obstacle is his clothes. He needs to impress you but it is like every piece of clothing he owns is suddenly inadequate. Too casual, far too formal, stained, dirty, gym wear, uniform, nothing is working and by the time he settles on some jeans and a semi-nice shirt he’s worked himself into a sweat again. 

Checking the time, he decides he has enough left to quickly rinse off once more, nearly scrubbing his skin raw in the rush. Outfit on it isn’t until he’s on the street that he realises he’s left his wallet inside. The wallet he needed to buy you the flowers you deserved. 

By the time he finally makes it to your door, wiping sweaty palms on his jeans as he shifts his weight anxiously he’s only got a few minutes to spare. Triple-checking he’s got the right address (after he’d checked multiple times before), he knocks on your door, brain whirring as he tries to figure out his opening line. 

As the door swings open the words die abruptly on his tongue, mouth drying like the Sahara as the lumbering figure of his lieutenant answers instead of you. The silence is damning and John wishes for the first time in his life for the Earth to open up and swallow him whole as all the blood drains from his face. 

“Johnny?” The gruff voice is flat and unimpressed, the gaze that struck fear into the hearts of enemies boring into his soul. Staring up into those cold brown eyes, John realises with horror that Simon is somehow even scarier without the mask. 

“Johnny!” The second call of his name is far lovelier and filled with excitement and Soap dies a little more on the inside as he watches the liuetenants scowl deepens even further. Yet the second he catches a glimpse of the beaming smile on your face as you catch sight of him and the flowers makes it all worth it in Soap’s mind, “for me?” you gasp before giddily taking the bouquet. 

He watches you flit around with the sunflowers as you look for a vase, proudly displaying them on your coffee table and the pulling him for a hug. It’s almost enough for him to ignore the menacing figure that is Simon Riley looming in the background like a wraith, almost. 

The food is divine, most things are to him compared to the food he consumes on deployment and his own cooking, and he makes sure to complement you endlessly. He watches how receptive you are to his flirtations and lays it on a little thicker, he’s willing to risk that his lieutenant won’t actually beat the shit out of him for it. 

Simon’s washing the dishes when Soap finally gets some time alone with you, sitting on the couch next to you close enough that your knee brushes his. “Thank ye for inviting me lass, ‘s been lovely. Though maybe next time I could take ye out, just the two of us?” Your breath hitches a little and you nod eagerly, 

“I’d like that a lot Johnny.” The moment is once again cut short, this time by an aggressive cough, and Johnny and you turn simultaneously to catch Simon standing behind the couch with crossed arms. Like a child caught sneaking a cookie before dinner, Soap feels oddly guilty. Before he can move, you’re placing a comforting hand on his knee, responding to your brother even as the man inquisition glares at said hand. “Done with the dishes already?”

A terse nod is the only response and Johnny gets the feeling that Simon is attempting to blow him up with his mind. Yet the feel of your thumb rubbing comforting circles against his knee makes it all worth it in Soap’s mind. 

The hours pass as drinks and conversation flow, all the while with Simon brooded in the corner like an angsty toddler. You don’t seem to be too bothered by the hulking man’s behaviour and Johnny’s so enamored by you that he can’t find himself to care about the silent threat. 

It’s not until you glance up at the clock on the wall and gasp that Soap realises how late it’s become. “Ah I should probably be heading out,” he reluctantly voices, only to watch as your face becomes aghast. 

“Absolutely not, it’s far too late. You’ll sleep here,” you admonished, flitting about to gather blankets and pillows. It’s the first instance of the night where he’s left alone with Simon and as the man continues to stare Soap silently begs for your swift return. 

Suddenly Ghost is standing right next to him, the height difference abundantly clear, and not for the first time that night Soap feels small. “I don’t know what you think you’re up to Mactavish, but it stops now,” the man’s voice seems even gruffer than usual, a dangerous whisper just for John’s ears.   

Whether it’s from having the silent warning finally voiced or the part of him that is ruffled from being told what to do with his personal life, Johnny’s hackles raise, “and what would that be Lt? Gettin’ tae know a pretty lass that wants to know me too?”

Brown eyes narrow in furious warning, the ‘watch it Mactacish’ abundantly clear. But Soap has never been one to back down, especially not when a potential relationship with you is on the line. 

“She’s too old for you,” Simon huffed when it became clear that the younger man wasn’t backing down and Soap’s blood boiled even further, refusing to admit how much the words shook hims confidence.

“Think tha’s up to her mate.” Unfortunately, his voice wavers slightly and Simon notices, evidently deciding to capitalise on it. 

“You’re just a child to her, someone to look after and mother.” The sound of your footsteps pacing back down the hallway stops the arguments in its tracks. When you stumble back into the room, arms full of more pillows that anyone could possibly use, it’s to an incredibly tense silence. Though Soap’s heart swells at the sight of the various pillows and blankets obstructing your form. 

Finally, Simon exits the room, with one last silent warning as you fuss over Soap, practically tucking him into the couch you’ve fashioned into a bed. 

Try as he might, Soap can’t fall asleep, too wired simply by the fact that he’s still in your living space. That you are sleeping not 100m away from him, never mind your imposing younger brother. The ticking of the clock on the wall is minute and on any other occasion he likely wouldn’t have even heard it but it was like hi senses had been dialled to the max. 

Groaning in irritation he ground his palms into his eyes before he swung his legs around and wandered through the darkness into the kitchen. He’s wary of waking you as he rifles as quietly through your cupboards for a glass as possible, holding back a pained curse as his shin harshly hits the kitchen bench. 

Despite his best efforts he must not have been quiet enough as a few moments later a soft, sleepy voice has him whirling around. “S’everything alright?” You stood before him, rubbing one of your eyes with a yawn and dressed in an oversized shirt. The ensemble was overwhelmingly adorable and it took all his self restraint not to coo at the sight. 

“Fine lass, did I wake ye?” He frowned, voice tinged with guilt as he watched you step closer into his space, acutely aware of how close you’d gotten. You shake your head no as you lean on the counter next to him, your arm lightly brushing against his. 

“Couldn’t sleep… not when I kept thinking about you out here on the couch.” Hesitantly you allowed yourself to look into his wide blue eyes only to find him already staring at you with blazing intensity. 

“Think about me a lot darlin?” His words are a husky whisper, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his gaze darted down to yours. 

“No more than you do about me I’d wager,” you managed to reply over the pounding of your heart. You’re not entirely sure who moves first but the light clatter of the glass Johnny had been holding against the counter is quickly drowned out as large, warm hands gently cup your face as lips lined with stubble are on yours. 

It’s short and sweet and when you pull back your eyes are wide where Jonny’s are half lidded and dazed. Barely three seconds pass before you’re pulling him back against your lips, hands curling in the hair on the base of his neck as one of your thighs pressed between his legs. You swallow the guttral groan he lets out with a smirk, pushing him further against the counter until the sound of a glass tipping over had you darting apart. 

Fighting to regain your breath and composure you reluctantly step back to create a respectful distance even as Johnny’s hands absentmindedly trail after you as if to pull you back against him. When more than thirty seconds pass and there’s no indication that your little brother has awoken, you allow yourself to relax once more.

Johnny’s hands are suddenly on your hips again and he pulls you against him so eagerly your forced to brace your hands on his muscled chest. His lips meet the skin of your neck with a satisfied hum and it takes all your strength to pull away, especially when he whines in dissatisfaction. 

“Not tonight Johnny,” you hummed, placing a soft kiss on his cheek before pulling away and forcing yourself to walk back to your room before you dropped to your knees and took him in your mouth righ there in the kitchen as your brother slept in the next room over. 

Not tonight Johnny. Your words echoed in his mind, repeating over and over as the implications settled in. Not tonight. But not never, just not now. Throwing his head back Soap exhaled heavily, trying to calm himself down over the thrum of his blood. Shuffling back to the couch he tries valiantly to ignore his throbbing dick, an impossible task when he can still feel your lips against his and the soft squish of your hips beneath his palms. 

It’s a long and torturous night.

The next 36 hours are spent with the visage of your kiss swollen lips at the forefront of his mind, the ghost of his name whispered hoarsely from your lips featuring consistently in his fantasies. He’s a lovesick fool reminiscent of a teenage boy but he can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed, especially not when you show up at his front door three days post kiss and drag him off to a local aquarium. 

The sight of you getting excited over the various fish and marine wildlife as you eagerly tugged on his hand only served to further his infatuation. Your first date ends with yet another breath taking kiss and Soap falls asleep that night filled with certainty that there will never be another person after you. 

You don’t even make it to the third date. Soap opens his door only to freeze at your outfit, dinner long forgotten as he pulls you inside and presses you against the door. You’re quick to reciprocate, moaning against his lips as clothes were thrown and you were finally bared to him. Your body was better than anything Johnny could have ever imagined and he eagerly dropped to his knees, burying his face in your cunt with the voracity of a man starved. 

He’s made you cum thrice on his tongue and fingers before you’re harshly tugging on his mohawk and mashing your lips together in a sloppy kiss, walking him backwards until he hits the couch and you're straddling his throbbing length. You’ve already tugged his shirt off, but don’t bother with his pants beyond freeing his cock. He barely gets to appreciate the feel of your soft hand grasping him before its replaced by the silky heat of your cunt. 

Soap’s forehead drops to rest on your collarbone as you both groaned, taking a few seconds to adjust to the sensation. It didn’t take long before you were rocking your hips against his, Johnny’s hands gripping your hips to the point of bruising as he lavished your tits with bites and kisses. He’s so pent up from weeks of fucking his own fist and waking up achingly hard from increasingly risque dreams that it hardly takes any time before he’s practically fighting his orgasm. “Need you to slow down darlin, ‘m not gonna last,” he grunted, trying to get you to cooperate a little.

“Then cum baby,” you nonchalantly commanded, continuing to ride him with vigour and Soap’s ears filled with white noise, all he could see, hear, feel was you.

“Where-” He managed to choke out through gritted teeth, only half heartedly trying to pull you off of him. 

“Inside” you panted, and that was all it took before his hips stuttered and he climaxed, whining a little as you kept riding him until you clenched down on his already softening cock, reaching your own orgasm. The two of you stayed locked together, your head tucked into his sweaty chest placing lazy kisses as you caught your breath. 

By the time you finally rolled out of Johnny’s bed and made your way home the following afternoon you had over twenty texts from your brother and more than a few missed calls that left you cringing. The attempt you make to sneak back into your own residence! Is immediately thwarted by your perpetually overprotective and nosy brother. 

The laser focused glare that settles on your bruised neck has you wilting like a scolded child. You manage to play it off as a one night stand, having picked up a random woman from a bar, asking him is sex was suddenly made illegal when you weren’t aware. 

As you clamber into the shower to rinse off the stench of sex, a shiver runs down your spine as you mentally vow that Simon can never figure out who the culprit of your mauled neck is. 

You’re only granted three weeks of bliss with Johnny before everything came crashing down violently. Until then you’d been vigilant at only sleeping at his and going on dates far away from where you knew Simon would be.

You’d gotten complacent, too comfortable in the belief that Simon wouldn’t find out, that you’d get to enjoy the relationship for a little longer before you were forced to share with your little brother. Simon wasn’t supposed to be home, Johnny had spent the night at yours and it had been so wonderful to wake up in his arms in your own bed. 

Johnny had woken you by peppering kisses along your face and neck as you giggled and tried to push him off, complaining about his prickly stubble. He used his training and bulk to weigh you down, the playful nips turning more sensual as he kissed his way down your stomach, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder. 

Your hands tangle in his mess of a mohawk as you writhe beneath him, whining in protest when he uses his hands to hold your hips down to keep you still. “Johnny,” you choke out a moan of his name at the same instance your bedroom door swings open and there’s a thunderous roar of fury as Simon screams at your boyfriend. 

A shriek leaves your lips as you kick Johnny in the shoulder so hard he flies off the edge of your bed, simultaneously pulling the blanket up and curling in a ball to hide your naked body. Chaos couldn’t even begin to describe the following seconds as your still horny brain tried to cotton on to what was happening. 

The mortification of your little brother not only seeing you naked but witnessing you mid fuck quickly fades when he stalks into your room towards the still prone and processing Johnny, and morphs into an immense sense of terror. “Simon!” You clamber to place yourself between the two men, unsure as to whether things are about to descend into violence, as Johnny finally manages to orient himself.

“Out. Now.” Your brother addresses the sergeant, cold fury tinging his words as the muscles in his jaw clench. You scoff at that, reaching back to grab Johnny’s bicep to keep him there. 

“No. He stays.” Simon completely ignores your presence, glaring past you as if you weren’t even there.

“Johnny,” the warning is clear and you’re familiar enough with Simon’s tells to know how close he is to blowing up, or rather as close to as he ever gets to blowing up. 

“Simon enough! I’m not a child, I’m a grown ass woman and I will fuck whoever I wanna fuck.” You're starting to reach the end of your own tether and it’s only Johnny’s presence, his warm chest pressed to your back that’s grounding you.

“Not him,” he denies stubbornly, arm crossed as he continues to glower at the two of you. 

“Why not? He makes me happy. Don’t you want me to be happy?” It takes everything in you not to burst into tears at how poorly this is going. You would have thought that of all the men in the world Simon wouldn’t have minded you falling in love with one that he already knew and trusted. 

“Right now maybe. What happens when he breaks your heart? When I have to have his back in the field after you’ve spent days crying over him huh? What happens if he doesn’t come home and I have to watch you shatter into pieces all over again like after Tommy?” You fall silent at that, swallowing harshly at the reminder of your deceased brother. Simon’s words hit you like a slap in the face and you actually stumble backwards a little as Johnny catches you.

“Simon mate I get ye wanting to protect yer family but yer being a little controlling dontcha think?” Johnny tries to speak up in defense of your relationship but from the way your brother’s breathing deepens you can tell the words have the opposite effect. 

There’s a few seconds of tense silence before Simon huffed, “fine, do what you want,” before he stormed from your room. It’s not until you hear the front door slam closed that you fully allow yourself to collapse, tears streaming down your face in earnest as Johnny cradled you. 

He does his best to console you, whispering reassurances into your ears that you don’t really process as Johnny manoeuvres you back into bed, bundling you up in his arms and the blankets. You spend the rest of the day crying in bed, obsessively checking your phone for news from Simon and waiting to hear the front door open.

“I’m so sorry lass, never intended to come between ye and Simon,” there’s genuine self loathing in your boyfriends voice and it’s enough to finally pull you from your own spiral.

“Don’t you dare apologise for him Johnny” you hissed, taking his face in your hands, “you have done nothing but bring me happiness. Simon will just have to get over it because I don’t intend on giving you up… unless that’s something you want?”

“Never. I’m afraid yer stuck with me forever now bonnie” he stated with such certainty that you’ve no choice but to believe him.

“Forever?” you breathed out. 

“Forever.” He confirmed with a goofy grin, planting a comforting kiss on your forehead. “Simon will come around. He loves ya too much to brood forever.” With that he finally manages to coax you to sleep, promising to stay awake and keep an ear out for your wayward brother.

Simon makes his way home a few days later, slinking up to the porch where you sat smoking a cigarette to help relieve the stress like a cat that had run away only to decide the outside sucked. You don’t ask where he’s been and he doesn’t tell, simply slumping down next to you before stealing your smoke. 

“Filthy habit, thought you quit,” he grunted, putting it out beneath his boot. 

“I did, but it’s been a stressful few days, my little brother decided to go MIA, left me worried shitless,” you huffed, throwing him a blatant side eye as you can’t bring yourself to look at him directly. 

There’s silence for a few seconds before you make out the soft rumble of, “He sounds like a right bellend.”  You hummed in response, exhaling harshly from your nose. The two of you continue to sit in silence, both unsure how to proceed. 

You’re saved from having to say anything when there’s a bang, causing you and Simon to swivel in alarm to watch as the front door was violently swung open to reveal a grinning Johnny dressed in an apron. He pauses upon seeing your brother but takes the man’s appearance in stride, grin never fading as he proclaimed, “eggs are ready,” before disappearing back inside. 

Wiping your hands on the cotton material of your pants you stand, take a deep breath and then step back inside, pausing at the threshold to finally look at Simon, tilting your head as if to ask, ‘you coming?’

Simon doesn’t move, sighing in exasperation, “He’s staying then?”

“Looks like it.” To your surprise he simply nods, lumbering up the small steps and following you inside to the warmth of your home, stopping only to kick off his boots, exposing the frog socks you’d bought for him only a few months back. 

Things were still far from ok, you weren’t willing to completely forgive Simon for blowing up and promptly worrying you sick with the disappearing act, but the sight of those ridiculous socks was enough to reassure you that they would be soon.

Tags: @innercollectivecomputer @cooliofango @pertinentpostmortem @ghostslillady @domaniquessidehoe2 @ilovehyperfixating @pauphs @skotchi @bunnyreaper @Tokusho @ohworm-writes @jack-crow-lantern @marvellover-12 @skylarf0rest @ghostfkr @bookobsessedram @Frogtowne @dumb-fawkin-bitch @juvenillia

#x reader #cod mw x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap #soap call of duty #john soap mactavish #john mactavish

[blogtodayys]

DUGUNREHBERİM - GOLD (2)

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[stsgluver]

summary. instead of spending two weeks in a hot country, you're stuck in a cramped hotel with your boyfriend.

wc. 1.3k

tags. richly!gojo au, fluff, slightly suggestive themes but not really you've got to squint hard, swearing once

series masterlist

“i’m literally dying,” gojo whined, falling back dramatically onto the double bed in the room.

you shot him a glare from where you sat on the floor, searching through your suitcase for ibuprofen which you had grabbed in the airport’s pharmacy to help with the searing headache you had. despite his tendency to have migraines that could leave him bedridden for days, gojo had decided not to bring any painkillers just in case and that was just one of many reasons you might be killing him before the fortnight is over. “if you complain one more time you will be dead.”

you were meant to be going on a two week, all inclusive holiday with your darling boyfriend and his mega rich family in a hot foreign country, the worries of college pushed far to the back of your mind for fourteen days of pure bliss. 

but fate clearly didn’t think you’d earnt such restbite as upon arrival and taking the mandatory test, both you and gojo had tested positive for covid-19. the light sniffles he had put down to hayfever and the headache you’d assumed was just what came with having gojo satoru as a boyfriend, were in fact symptoms of the illness you both had.

so now here you were: isolating in a small hotel room until your isolation period was up, or you both tested negative. it was sparsely decorated – a double bed in the centre of the room and a television opposite. there was a small open wardrobe where gojo had dumped his suitcase and an ensuite that would just about fit your lanky boyfriend. although not the best, there was some air conditioning as well which made the stifling heat just a little bit more bearable.

the staff had given you a specific number to call if either of your symptoms got worse and food would be brought to you at specific times everyday (not like the usual room service gojo was used to where he’d order banquets of food at stupid times in the morning). there were also the morning tests that you now had to do daily which left you pathetically sneezing afterwards. all in all, nothing that you had expected for your get away.

after finally finding the medication, you quickly swallowed two pills down with a sip of water. the sooner they could kick in and actually do something to help ease your discomfort, the better.

crawling onto the double bed, gojo welcomed you with open arms and you gratefully curled into his side, throwing one of your legs over him. yes, it was boiling and yes, you were mildly irritated with your boyfriend, but you were also in pain and, for all his flaws (which he denied having any), nothing could top being held close by him. the two of you were clingy with each other at the best of times – being ill and feeling sorry for yourselves only made you both worse.

“pass me the remote,” you patted the space next to gojo blindly, too lazy to lift your head to actually search for it. it had now been almost an hour of you two cuddled up on the bed, and for the last thirty minutes gojo had been rewatching the same show over and over. whilst you headache had marginally subsided, listening to the same crappy show was only driving you insane.

“no, i like this show,” gojo whined, swatting your hand away.

“satoru,” you dragged out, muffled as you pressed your face further into his top, “you’ve watched this episode three times, you don’t need to watch it again.”

gojo hummed thoughtfully, running his hands through your hair. it was enough to make you fall asleep if you weren’t careful. “yes i do.”

“why?” you rested your chin on his chest, meeting the gaze of his bright blue eyes that sparkled as they looked down at you.

“because i’m ill.” he coughed twice for affect, sounding as pathetic as ever as he ‘checked’ himself for a fever too. 

you narrowed your eyes at him before pinching his side, causing him to let out a small yelp. “who’s fault is that?”

“covid’s.”

“no. yours,” you said pointedly, a little more alert as you relayed all the reasons why it was in fact gojo’s fault that you both had contracted this illness. “i said don’t go to geto’s party, we’re about to go on a very expensive holiday. you said but baby please please please-” you huffed, rolling back onto your back next to him defiantly. “so i gave in, as per, and now we’re–”

gojo brought his other hand to messily pat the top of your head, coaxing you to turn to face him. “i love it when you’re mad,” he was wearing a shit-eating grin that only widened when you blankly stared back at him – your annoyance radiating off of you in waves more powerful than the ones you could’ve been enjoying on the sun-ridden beach. “you’re so sexy.”

“you’re corny. and annoying,” you sat yourself up as you held out your hand, lifting a finger with each complaint, “and stupidly tall, and a pain in my ass… and i feel like you’re not even listening.” 

gojo crossed his arms behind his head as he condescendingly nodded along, gazing up at you with a lopsided smile. his top had risen up ever so slightly to expose a sliver of his abs and you hated how attractive he looked when all you wanted to do was throttle him for his childish behaviour.

“oh i’m listening baby,” he encouraged with a teasing tone, tracing small patterns on the exposed skin of your leg. “go on.” there was a fire in his wake, one that no hot weather could ever compare to, not even covid had this much of an affect on you.

“i don’t think i want to anymore,” you mumbled arms crossed as you slowly lay back down and avoided his eyes, trying not to give him any indication that you were a complete fool for his touch (like your sudden bashfulness wasn’t completely giving you away).

gojo was slow with his movements, thoughtful as he dragged his hand up along your thigh, grazing your hips, giving your waist a light squeeze as he traced the outline of your body. your breath was caught in your throat as you allowed him to do as he pleased, all previous grievances forgiven as you watched entranced. gradually, he closed the gap that you had created, shifting his body until he straddled you, holding his body up by resting on his forearms either side of your head.

gojo dipped his head down, lips milimetres from your own that you would barely even need to lift your head from the pillow to touch. his voice was an octave deeper as he spoke. “shame, i was just starting to–” 

and then he fell into a fit of very loud and very barky and very not sexy coughs. he didn’t even give you the decency of trying to limit the spread of his germs and buried his head into the crook of your neck once his coughs were over.

“mood fucking ruined,” you hit his shoulder lightly and he babbled something that was completely muffled and only tickled as his lips brushed your skin. “please let me at least change the channel so i die from this illness and not insanity.” 

gojo lifted his head up ever so slightly, just enough so that he could peck the corner of your lips and point to the spot next to you. “i slipped the remote under my pillow. tv’s all yours baby.”

a/n. I think this is like the first thing ive posted in almost a month. I MISS YOU GUYS xxx

taglist. @jar-03 @animeflower26 @hyori2

#— toru!! #satoru #gojo drabbles #gojo x reader #gojo #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x you #gojo fluff #gojou satoru #rich boy!gojo

[larkingame]

hello all! been a moment since we last discussed some things, so I'm coming online to discuss the progress of Larkin's development and make a few announcements :)

over the last ten months, larkin has gone through a lot of changes, some of which I've documented here--but most of it I've kept pretty private. I realized that over the few short years I've been developing the game, I sort of grew an unhealthy dependence on my presence within the 'interactive fiction' community that I really, really needed to take a step back from and break, all in order to ensure that I could enjoy working on what originally started out as a passion project for me.

since july of last year, I've completely reshaped and rewritten how larkin exists as a project, shifted it's genre and started collaborating with a few others to ensure it can be of the highest quality it can possibly be. uptop, i'd like to mention @tapeworrmart who's taken on the immense task of putting together most of the game art for me, @khiita and @ann1a-1 who have both taken on the roles of my editors (and also sounding boards for when I am being absolutely insane) and my production manager phillip, who without his assistance, larkin would barely exist. with that, let's do a progress report. the intended demo of larkin, or what i've taken to calling 'episode one' (yes, i said, 'episode,' more on that in a minute) has stretched to just over 200k words worth of content. it stretches all the way from the earliest versions of larkin's original prologue, to the end of the original chapter two. so far, we've completed 3 out of the intended 20 character portraits, as well as some more art that's slowly been in development.

now, on to the announcements. probably the biggest, and the one I am most ashamed of is--due to the fact that I've been slammed with graduate school work and some other external factors, Larkin as it currently exists is not the best that I think it can be. I'm deeply sorry for this, but I want to ensure that you all are getting the highest quality game you could get from me--and right now, I know it's just not that. Which is why I am unfortunately, pushing the release of the demo back until Friday, June 14th, 2024. Patrons will be granted access to the most recent edit of the demo two weeks earlier on Friday, May 31st 2024. In the meantime, I will be working day and night (quite literally) to get what I'm dropping on you up to par and something that I'm happy with.

To make up for this disappointment, I'm planning on repopulating the blog with a lot of content over the coming months, rewriting new versions of old asks, posting art and short stories.

Next on the agenda and also an equally important announcement. I'm changing the rating of Larkin to Mature or 18+ As I've been writing these past few months, working through a lot of themes and figuring out the story I want to tell, I've found that I think the change in rating is entirely necessary. While I don't think I've ever had that big of a minor fanbase--I think that this is just what I am most comfortable doing. There has consistently grown a little bit more of gore, and trauma exploration, which is the main reason for this change in rating, but, this does allow for the inclusion of something that I've been toying with since the intial release of the game. There is going to be explicit sex scenes in this new version of Larkin--all of which, you the player are able to opt out of, or completely avoid if that's something you want--but I just thought a little announcement would be warranted. This does not mean however, I am comfortable with answering thoroughly explicit asks or getting unsolicited sexual messages. The goal is to keep this game blog mainly tame.

Please respect this boundary of mine.

Third thing to be announced. I've also changed the format in which Larkin will be released. Rather than around the twenty-five chapters in one of a series of 'Books'/'Games', Larkin will be released episodically over four 'seasons' with eight-ten episodes of around 200k-250k words each (though, this is just an early estimate--they could grow longer, as I'm basing this purely off the demo/Episode One)

Finally and a little bit of a fun note: there are now twelve romance options throughout larkin, five male, three female, one non-binary and three gender-selectable. With those upcoming asks, you'll hear more about each in the coming days :)

With all that being said, I wanted to lastly thank all of you for supporting me over the years and putting faith and your interest in this project. truly, the support of all of you means the world to me and I can't wait to share more of larkin with you all.

thank you 💖

#larkin game #larkin if #larkin #announcement #game announcement #blog update #interactive fiction #if #cyoa #cyoa game #twine interactive fiction #twine #twine game #sugarcube twine

[moonystoes]

The way people are reacting to what happened to LJ and Millie Turner is exactly what I was expecting. People claim football is inclusive, and everyone gets the chance to feel respected and be able to play safely. But you only defend and protect the people that fit into your standards. They will only defend the people they like or share traits with. White supremacists aren't even trying to cover up their disgusting ideologies.

Turner posted a picture of James 'headlocking' her in the game. It didn't happen, LJ wanted the ball so she came from behind, Millie bent down which made it look like LJ was headlocking her. Not only did she post that knowing the amount of racial abuse and criticism LJ gets for simply breathing, she also commented and liked comments about it being a 'proper headlock'... no it wasn't. And she knows that.

Yet I hadn't seen many speaking about this here, do you guys suddenly not care about players being mistreated and racially abused because they're not white? What happened to all those fans harassing Korbin for excluding and disrespecting the queer community? Is football truly inclusive and for everyone like how you guys claimed it to be? Or is it suddenly not harmful or serious because it doesn't fit into YOUR beliefs?

Claiming LJ is aggressive with actual proof of fouls she committed is understandable, but posting pictures with no context and making it seem like she was trying to harm you is DISGUSTING. Those random Arsenal fans that love McCabe so much always bring the fact 'ohh but Katie never injured a player'... okay? And did LJ do that? Because last time I checked, when she does commit a foul, the player is hurt for a few minutes but continues playing like normal with no minor or serious injuries. You guys can't even find the right excuses to defend your racist thoughts lol. And if you're a McCabe fan, don't bother coming here and explaining why you hate LJ. I'm not listening to your ass. I truly respect McCabe, but I don't like her fans that HATE LJ (if you're a McCabe fan and you don't actively harass LJ... then this isn't for you).

Players from her OWN English squad liking and commenting is absolutely disgusting too. They can see the racial abuse their own teammate is experiencing but they're white ass don't care because again... what was I expecting from them? Of course they wouldn't. And Now that Turner is getting a lot of blacklash, she didn't delete the post. She kept that photo but turned off the comments.

I will always defend LJ, and I will always stand with football being for everyone. But some of you guys are hypocrites.

#barclays wsl #wsl #women's super league #chelsea fc #chelsea women #chelsea women fc #woso #woso community #manchester united #millie turner #lj #lauren james #man utd #man united #Manchester united women

[lemonlover1110]

𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄

Satoru Gojo

Pairing: designer!Satoru Gojo x model!Reader

Summary: Even though Satoru was bored of dating models, you've caught his eye. He finds himself infatuated with you... And he tends to be a bit extreme

Warnings: Obsessive!Gojo (Sort of Yanderish), Smut, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Spanking, Praising, Creampie, Stalking, Mentions of Gojo stealing dirty laundry, A glimpse of Toji

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Happy to co-host Gojo NSFW Week 2023! Come join us on Twitter!

Satoru Gojo has worked as a fashion designer for nearly a decade. He’s come across many beautiful women, so many that at one point he’s come to stop caring. He isn’t in awe when a woman resembling a goddess steps into the studio. That excitement and that blushing went away a year into the industry. Now that he’s established himself, and his name is distinguished in the industry, the models are the last thing to surprise him.

He’s gone on a couple of dates with the models, as unprofessional as it sounds. There’s undeniable attraction at times and he can’t argue with it. He just goes with what feels right. And it feels right when the only thought in his mind is physical attraction. But he’s come to realize that looks aren’t everything. It actually makes up very little in a relationship. When he finds himself bored out of his mind ten minutes into a date, he discovers that there has to be more than just physical attraction. He pays for dinner, takes them to a hotel to do them, and then swears after the most mediocre sex of his life that he won’t ask someone out again solely based on looks. Yet, he seems to forget once in a while when a drop-dead gorgeous woman steps into the room.

Although everyone in the dating pool seems tedious nowadays. He can’t complain though. He’s let many great women get away, simply because they didn’t meet the beauty standard. He finds himself regretting it everyday, until he lays his eyes on the most beautiful woman before one of his runway shows.

Satoru’s brand in runaway shows is being all-inclusive. Meaning all types of models could walk, as long as they had a convincing enough walk. Yet he’s never thought he’d be personally benefited by it until now. He’s supposed to make sure the show-stopper is perfect on Yukari, the celebrity guest, yet he wants to talk to this new model. At least he’s sure she’s new. He would’ve noticed someone so beautiful before. He walks up to her, a smile on his face.

“Hi.” Satoru greets you, and you smile at him. The makeup artist works on your eyes, so you have them closed. You have no idea who you’re talking to. For all you know it’s the assistant that casted you into the show. Although his voice sounds quite different. “Have you walked for me before?”

“No… This is my first runway show.” You answer. Now you wonder who you’re talking to, and you’re getting nervous at the thought. It must be the designer. And you’re waiting for tips. You weren’t given any instructions on how to walk other than a typical runway walk. So you wait for it patiently, but when you open your eyes, it’s just you and the makeup artist.

“Suguru… What’s her name?” Satoru questions, subtly pointing at you. Suguru doesn’t notice, too focused on making sure Yukari looks perfect since Satoru isn’t doing the proper job. Suguru doesn’t even bother looking around either.

“Stop crushing over some irrelevant model. We have a job to do.” Suguru says. Satoru is about to argue with it, but he knows better. Plus Suguru isn’t exactly wrong. In ten minutes the show starts. “We both know what’ll happen. You’ll ask her out, go on a boring date, then she’s fired. Doubt that this time it’ll be any different.”

“You’re such a bummer.” Satoru answers before he decides to actually focus on his job. As beautiful as you are, you aren’t the reason for his success and wealth. But he’ll get back to you in due time.

After the show you got the best offer in your life. An actual job instead of just a gig. The assistant to the designer went up to you and offered you to become an official model for the brand– An opportunity you couldn’t turn down. You’re doing better than what you expected.

You were asked to go to the studio early in the morning to help the designer. Although it isn’t what you expected from the job, you’re very glad for it. You walk into the studio, looking around. It seems so empty that you wonder if you’re in the right place. Until you spot a man with white hair, who you’re pretty sure is the designer and owner of this place.

“Excuse me…” Your voice comes off as weak as you walk over to him. He smiles, putting his hands in his pockets while he watches you walk over to him. You’re almost a hundred percent sure that he’s Satoru Gojo. “Am I in the right place?”

“You are.” He nods. He says your name, “That’s you, right?”

“Yes.” You smile. You look around at an empty studio. “Will there be any more models coming?”

“I’m working with just you today.” He answers. He thinks of a quick lie so it doesn’t come off as him having a crush and for you to not get uncomfortable, “I do this with our models.”

“Okay… Mr. Gojo… What would you like me to do?” You question.

“First I need you to put on this dress…” Satoru begins to look for this beautiful dress that he had begun only thinking of the beautiful model he had seen. Something that perfectly matches her skin as well as her body shape. “You can start undressing.”

“Oh… Okay…” You answer, feeling awkward and a bit uncomfortable. But this must be common in the modeling industry, so you should get used to it. You begin with your shoes, then your shirt, and then your pants. The place is rather cold, especially when you’re just in your underwear. Satoru finally walks back with the most beautiful dress you’ve seen.

“I think you’re going to have to take off your bra for this too.” He tells you, and you feel your face get warm, but end up reaching behind to unhook your bra. It makes sense since it’s a strapless dress, however, it still feels weird. You unclasp your bra and slide it off.

Satoru stares, even though he shouldn’t. He can’t raise any suspicions, but he’s not doing a great job at that. You begin to put on the dress, and your breasts are once again covered up which he finds shameful. You hold on to the dress, not wanting to pull the zipper up without instructions. He says, “Turn around.”

You do as he says, and he pulls up the zipper of the dress. He orders you to turn around once again, which you do. He looks you up and down, and he holds back from smirking. If this weren’t his first actual conversation with you, he’d have you bent over. He begins to pinch the cloth and put pins through it. “You have similar measurements to a big client of ours.”

“Oh? That’s good to know…” You awkwardly answer. No wonder you were offered a job. Satoru accidentally pinches your skin while he tries to grab the cloth which earns a cry from you. He looks at your face, finally focusing on something other than the dress.

“I’m sorry, gorgeous. Didn’t mean to do that.” He apologizes, rubbing the spot as if to give you comfort. You aren’t sure what to do as you just stand there. You want to talk but he’s so focused and you wouldn’t want to break that concentration. But luckily for you he’s the one that speaks again, “Also the fact that you’re stunning and a new face means we can have you model our clothes all year round. Don’t think we’re just using you to perfect measurements.”

“Aw, thank you.” You smile. Your face feels warm as you take in the compliment. Hearing those words from a handsome man definitely boosts your ego even more. As if it wasn’t big enough before.

Satoru stops. He grabs your hand, and pulls you so you’re forced to walk. He guides you to a platform, and you walk up to it, somewhat knowing what to do. You feel as his eyes stare at your breasts.

“What size are they?” He questions, and you tell him. You innocently think that it’s to adjust any measurements for the client. He focuses on the dress again. All his attention goes to it.

“It’s a beautiful dress.” You comment, and he smirks. You don’t notice it since you look straight ahead. Of course it’s a beautiful dress, you were the inspiration for it.

“It is.”

Work goes well. You don’t have to go very often but you’re still greatly compensated for your time. You don’t see Satoru as often, but when you do, he treats you very well. It makes you feel as if you’re some sort of star. You as well have other gigs which are paying you mediocre money, but slowly you’re saving up your money. And soon enough you might be able to move out of the shoe-box sized apartment you currently reside in.

Also, very early in the morning there’s a knock on your door. You open it and always receive a bouquet of your favorite flowers. You’ve received so many that flowers that haven’t withered yet are thrown out. You don’t have enough space in your apartment for so many flowers. The question of who’s the one sending these flowers has lingered on your mind ever since the first morning you received them. 

At first you thought it was your new work-friend. You mentioned what your favorite flowers were to her, and thought maybe she sent them to be nice. But there’s no way she has so much money to send this many flowers.

“Who even sends these anyway?” You ask the delivery man this morning. You inspect the flowers as if they aren’t the same as the dozen others that have been sent. He shrugs. He knows but the person chooses to remain anonymous. “Please– Doesn’t have to be a first name or anything. Like do you know what they look like? Are they tall? Short? Do they have any piercings?”

There’s no answer, very unlucky for you, so you end up slamming the old door of your apartment. You put the flowers down on the counter and walk back to your room. At this point you doubt these are friendship flowers. You want to know who this person is so you can form some sort of relationship with them– Platonic or romantic. They’ve spent this much money on you, so the least they deserve is a friendship.

It strikes you. It must be a neighbor since no one at work knows where you live. You think of all of your neighbors, and immediately know who it is. It must be that Toji guy that lives a couple of doors down. You smile, and decide that you’ll be asking him out. He’s very handsome.

Satoru waits in his car, outside of your apartment complex. Mustering up the courage to go inside and ask you out. It’s weird, but he doesn’t feel as if it’s professional to ask you out at work. He’s done it a million other times with other models, but he feels that for this it’s more appropriate to ask you in a different place. As weird as it is just walking to your apartment with no invitation whatsoever. Asking you out at work is definitely more professional, and way less creepy.

He’s about to exit his car but he sees you walk out. You don’t walk out alone either, you’re with someone else. Someone else that doesn’t bring a smile to Satoru’s face. A tall muscular man with black hair. Satoru’s hands ball up into fists, and there’s this sinking feeling in his stomach. He can’t be jealous…  

He exits the car and begins to follow you around, discreetly, when he sees that you aren’t getting in any vehicle. He makes sure to stay a safe distance so if you were to turn around, you wouldn’t see your boss following you. Satoru feels weird for doing this, but he’s lost all common sense. He likes you. He’s infatuated, dare he say. He’s liked many models before but he’s never gone so far as to follow them while they’re out on a date.

Maybe it’s not a date, he tries to think. Maybe the man you’re with is a really great friend of yours. Satoru tries to think that what he’s doing is not so bad with every step he takes. He’s looking out for his model’s wellbeing, that’s all.

You walk into a cheap restaurant with the man, and Satoru takes a deep breath to control himself. Satoru has known you for a month, he can’t be acting so irrational over you. You’re nothing but co-workers. Although that thought makes Satoru boil up inside.

He doesn’t know whether to leave or to stay. He’s frankly seen enough. And he can’t have you spot him in that place. You’d surely quit. Satoru would never go to a place like that. He decides to walk back, as pissed off as he is. He’ll deal with the matter later.

Satoru is usually very sweet with you, but today he seems rather mad. This week has been pretty great with you, and you don’t really need your boss to ruin the week. He’s paying a lot of attention to the other employees… Which is fine, but usually when you’re together he acts as if you’re the only woman around. Which you like.

“Try this on, I finished it.” Satoru says, nearly throwing the dress at you. You’re about to get undressed, but he points to the bathroom. You didn’t even know that was there. You go to the bathroom and get undressed.

You wonder what’s up with him. You’ve seen him mad, at least that’s what you think. He doesn’t usually treat his employees like this, at least not you. You put on the dress that fits just perfectly. It’s seriously the perfect dress for you. Length, size, style and color wise.

You walk out of the bathroom and go to Satoru, who stares at his phone disinterested. He looks up when you’re in front of him, mainly at the dress. You twirl to show him the dress. He looks at it and feels as if there’s a couple finishing touches that are missing. “Stop moving. I need to concentrate.”

So you stop moving while he stares you down. You chew on the inside of your cheek, holding back on asking the question. It kills you inside to not ask. You’re able to keep silent for a couple of minutes before asking, “Mr. Gojo, why are you mad at me?”

“Mad at you?” He questions. It’s not like he’ll openly admit it. He’s not mad at you. He does feel a bit betrayed… But you’re not actually at fault for that because he can’t expect you to stay single all of your life while he musters up the courage to ask you out on a date. But that doesn’t really change his current feelings. “Why do you say I’m mad at you?”

“You’ve been acting weird…” You respond, avoiding eye contact with the man. He looks around the studio for a moment. There’s barely any people around, and they’re focused on their own thing. He just has to get you out of sight…

“You know… I’ve been stressed.” He lies, although could it really be considered a lie if it’s somewhat the truth? He’s been stressed because of you. Not because of work. You feel as he caresses your cheek with the back of his hand. “I could never be mad at someone so gorgeous.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gojo…” You answer, tilting your head to give in to his touch. You feel so much better knowing that he’s not mad at you.

“Help me pick out some fabric for a gift. My apology to you.” He says, and you nod. He grabs your hand and begins to walk to the room that’s full of shelves with fabric. Satoru is so nice to you, you can’t help but smile at that. You wonder how many models he does this to. You step into the room with fabrics and he tells you, “Pick out your favorite. I’ll make you a beautiful dress.”

You begin to look at the fabrics, unsure of what to pick. After your first date with Toji, you’re confident all will go well so you’re thinking of something that you can wear to impress the man. A color similar to this one. “Actually, come here for a second.”

You walk back to the man, and he begins to smooth out the dress that you’re wearing. His hands get to the end of the dress, and you don’t watch as his hands rip the end of the dress. You hear as the dress rips and your eyes widen. 

“Shit… I have to fix that.” Satoru says. You wonder how that suddenly happened. More than anything you wonder how that happened. “Take off the dress.”

You reach behind to unzip the dress and take it off. You let it slide down to the floor before giving it to Satoru. You stare at the beautiful dress that’s now in Satoru’s hands, “I’m so sorry, I don’t know how that happened.”

“Don’t worry about it, beautiful. I’ll fix it.” He says, tossing the dress over his shoulder. You stare at him, unsure of what to do or say. He stares at you as well, but more at your body than anything, “I like that set of underwear. It’s cute.”

“Thank you…” You shyly respond. It feels weird to hear your boss saying that, but at the same time you don’t mind. He’s very handsome.

“Did you pick that out for me?” He begins, and you feel your cheeks get warm. He did infiltrate your mind when you picked it out. You don’t respond quick enough and he grows impatient, “I’d be very flattered if you said yes… But I doubt it, they might be for a boyfriend or something.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You share, and he fights back a smirk. You feel his cold hands land on your waist, while his lips go to your ear. 

“How’s a beautiful woman like you single?” He questions, his hands going to your back. You feel as his hands go up to your bra. “Are other men not convincing enough?”

“No…” You answer, the lewd thoughts that run through your mind getting the best of you. A future with your neighbor or the fact that sleeping with your boss could get you fired, are the last thoughts in your mind. Satoru’s lips suddenly land on yours, his lips feeling so soft against yours.

You’re at work, but why does that matter when he’s practically the boss? Your hands go behind his neck, while his tongue enters your mouth. He unclasps your bra and throws it aside, since it’s strapless. His fingers begin to play with your nipples while his tongue presses against yours.

“Satoru…” You whimper when he pulls away from the kiss, his head beginning to leave kisses all over your neck. One hand goes down your torso and into your panties. Your soft moans begin to fill up the room as he begins to play with your clit. He sucks on your neck as well.

He should make this fast before someone needs fabric and walks into the place, but he doesn’t want to. He’s wanted this for over a month, and for a person that doesn’t like to wait, that’s a long time for him. Two fingers run through your folds, getting them wet enough with your slick before he pushes them into your cunt.

“Shit-” You mutter, feeling his long fingers inside of you. You’ve watched him work with his fingers so many times now, but you’ve never thought about how great they’d feel inside of you. He curves them just right as he moves them in and out of you.

“You have to pay some way for the dress you ruined.” Satoru comments when his lips detach themselves from your neck. As if he wasn’t the one who ripped it. His lips land on yours again, muffling out the soft moans that leave your lips while he fingers you.

He manages to hit your sweet spot, and your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head. He’s making you feel so good, and this is his first time with you. He’s gotten his fair share of experience so of course he’s somewhat skilled at this. He pulls away from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips. You’re now moaning much louder as an orgasm builds up.

“It’s so- Good-” You’re almost out of breath. The sound of his fingers moving in and out of your pussy much louder as juices leak. He stares at your face since you have that look. The one he’s been fantasizing about ever since he laid his eyes on you. He could come right in his pants. “Fuck- Fuck–”

You’re slightly moving your hips as your orgasm approaches. It comes in at full force, a loud moan leaving your lips as you come all over his fingers. Your legs feel like jello, but luckily Satoru supports you. He takes his fingers out and brings them up to his lips. He shoves them into his mouth, tasting the sweetness(which is not so sweet) that he had been dreaming about.

“Do you want more… Sir?” You ask him, batting your eyelashes. He takes his fingers out of his mouth, and pushes you against a shelf. Your back hits the shelf and he wonders what he should do. Turn you around or watch your pretty face as you take his dick.

He ends up turning you around, and slightly bending you over while he pulls down his zipper. He pushes your panties to the side and finally gets a good look at your pussy. He bites his bottom lip as he gets his cock out and begins to stroke it. “Do you want more, gorgeous?” 

“Yes.” You answer and he smacks your ass. You feel as the tip of his cock runs through your folds. He gets it wet with your juices before he pushes his cock into your cunt. He does it slowly, hoping like this you’ll accommodate faster to the length. He does so with good reason because it’s big. Bigger than what you expected. You’re a moaning mess and he’s not even fully inside of you.

“You’re doing so great, gorgeous.” He praises you. When he’s fully buried inside of you he gives you a couple of seconds to adjust before slowly moving. Satoru is gifted at many things that you knew, but you never thought this would be one. You’ve never thought about Satoru like this because he just seemed… Unattainable. 

His cock fills you up so well and it hits every right spot. Your eyes are once again rolling to the back of your head. You feel as his palm strikes your ass and he tells you, “For ruining a perfect dress.” Yet, your mind is not processing it. 

He hasn’t fucked you for long enough for you to be turned into a mindless woman. But he’s just doing such a good job. Even the praises that want to leave your lips go unsaid since your brain can’t register any words. You just stick your tongue out as he fucks you.

His thrusts pick up more and more speed. His fingers bury into your hips for support, unintentionally digging his nails into your skin. He’s lost himself in pleasure, finding out that your cunt is way better than what he expected. He sure has thought of this scenario many times, but he never thought it’d be this good. 

Your moans are like music to his ears, encouraging him to go faster. You feel as your orgasm approaches, not being able to handle so much at once. His fingers were long, and his dick even longer… Which you aren’t complaining about. Even if you were, the way you’re creaming on his cock would tell on you.

“So fucking good- What a good little pussy.” Satoru praises while ramming into your cunt. He feels you tighten around him while you near your orgasm, and he hisses at the great feeling. He smacks your ass again, and it adds more to your pleasure. 

“Oh- I’m gonna-” You begin and before you can even finish the sentence, your second orgasm takes over you. He praises you for doing so well,

“Doing so good, beautiful. You’re taking my cock so well.” He’s so close to finishing as well. His thrusts get slower and get more unregulated. He’s making sure he lasts long just in case this is his last time doing this with you… Which he doubts. 

He ends up moaning your name before he cums inside of you. He stays buried deep inside of you until he makes sure every drop ends up inside of you. When he pulls out his cock, he watches his cum drip out for a couple of seconds before he adjusts your panties. He begins to fix himself up.

“Don’t worry about the dress.” He tells you, while you catch your breath. He grabs your bra and tosses it to you. He can’t have you walk out wearing just your underwear… That’s a sight for only him to see. “Pick out the fabric for your new dress while I get you your clothes.”

You can’t do anything other than agree in response. He walks out of the fabric room, fighting back the biggest smirk.

Sneaking into your apartment when you weren’t home, stealing your dirty laundry, getting to know your interests such as the books you read and the movies you watch; trivial stuff such as the shampoo and conditioner you use. He’s done so much in so little time. He’s infatuated. Next thing he has to do is get rid of that bum that you went on a date with then ask you out on a date…

Although asking you out might have to wait. He still fears rejection, and he doesn’t want his perfect muse to leave him.

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