#[ and everyone else seems so established ]
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merlin au where merlin keeps excalibur and returns to camelot to serve under gwen as court sorcerer after she repeals the ban. merlin remains for years, unaging, even as gwen dons wrinkle after wrinkle and spouts grey hair after grey hair. eventually, gwen passes without an heir and since merlin holds arthur’s sigil, he ascends the throne and leads camelot for years. eventually invaders come and slaughter the people and burn the fields etc etc and merlin goes out to fight. he fights like a demon, which is what they call him with his unnatural abilities and golden eyes, and merlin chases them from his kingdom - only, they slaughtered everyone within the citadel. there is no camelot, not anymore, not without her people. merlin should’ve seen this coming as her one true ruler has been and will always be arthur. he waves a hand and puts out the fires and restores the buildings to their once gleaming glory then takes excalibur into the center and drives it into the stone. with the force and power behind it, merlin raises the earth around the kingdom and buries it away from further invasions.
he leaves the kingdom hidden beneath the earth and travels up to the surface to explore just how far the continent spreads. then theres new continents across the ocean and he explores those as well. he watches as the world expands and grows and learns and advances but humans go too far and begin to destroy the world and create weapons of mass destruction and threaten each other with war. merlin assumes arthur will come back considering the destruction of practically everything but he doesn’t. tensions rise and snap and in the blink of an eye, humanity is chased back to their caves. with the loss of technology and modern ideas, humans revert back to their roots and connect with the elements which means they reconnect with magic. it takes another few thousand years for these humans to achieve the level of civilization merlin grew up in his first few decades of life.
different tribes are settled across the land but, thats the thing, over the course of the last few millennia (lets pretend land moves super quick plsplsplsplspls) the separate continents have collided with one another and practically the entire mass could be considered albion. he’s not even sure where the original land resides now. sooo he’s not even sure where camelot resides now. he really should’ve set up some beacon so he could remember but its been thousands upon thousands of years. sue him for his memory being a little foggy. he wanders from tribe to tribe and learns from their new magic while acting as a physician which a lot of them consider him some sort of miracle healer considering his advanced medical knowledge. it’s a win-win tho, he learns new magic and they don’t die. everyone is happy.
then during one such visits to a tribe, he finds a man of twenty summers with a head of golden hair like a crown and sunkissed skin from working outside all day and bright blue eyes that look like the very sky was captured in his gaze. merlin stands for a while and watches him dig around in the dirt, sweat gleaming on his brow, and his muscles rippling as he works. merlin can feel the countless years falling from his shoulders, he feels lighter on his feet, and pure happiness bubbles in him. a grin wide enough to split his face pulls at his lips.
he can’t help himself from stumbling over toward his long lost best friend, his body awkward and gangly with excitement and when he calls out to arthur his voice seems younger than it has in millennia and he vaguely notices that his appearance of wizened old healer melted away to his twenty year old body. arthur looks up with a polite yet confused smile and greets him followed by a question and merlin is faced with the realization that arthur doesn’t know him, doesn’t remember him. merlin manages to keep a thin smile on his face as he reaches out with magic and finds an injury in his knee from years ago that must’ve been bothering him and excuses his use of arthur’s name as someone sending him to find him and help heal the injury.
anyways merlin and arthur become friends and set off on an adventure of gathering the knights of the round table from various tribes/villages and they eventually stumble upon gleaming white stone that merlin belatedly realizes camelot was built with. the knights all take turns tugging at the sword but it doesn’t budge, not until arthur reaches out and tugs as if expecting it to be y’know stuck in stone only it slides out like butter and he knocks the hilt on his forehead and knocks himself out it out. with the sword tugged from the earth, it rumbles and cracks and splits and a hidden kingdom arises from the dirt, gleaming white and shining in the sun. they stare in amazement and awe for a moment before they grow confused and distracted. then arthur turns to merlin and says his name in an all too familiar way and merlin starts sobbing bc arthur is finally back
#group hug and merlin finally has his friends back#btw gwen and morgana grew up in the same village/tribe as arthur and are with them on their adventures#i just didnt know how to pull that in lol#ik pangea proxima would take like 250 million years to form but lets overlook that#unless you want extra angst of merlin being alone for millions of years#but that seems a bit much even for me lol#arthur is crowned king and since there was no purge there was no hatred or fear of magic users#AND since camelot was the first kingdom as everyone else was still in their tribe/village stage#camelot just became like world capital :)#hey if alien planets can have one government so can earth#bbc merlin#merlin emrys#arthur pendragon#knights of the round table#morgana le fay#morgana pendragon#gwen#guinevere#i also left it vague for any ship to be established#but in my heart merthur are finally together just as mergwencelot are together#fanfiction#fanfic#fic idea#prompt
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WWWOOOPS FORGOT I MADE THIS. drew this back at around when the hyperbolic time chamber training arc was just starting. remember that? huh? remember the hamspter??? ohhhhhhhh youll remember the haspter!!!! oh my god yknow what else i remember. williams overwhelming love for christmas. oh my god. spooky zombie boy loves the christmas.. literally the best possible thing for him...
#jrwi fanart#jrwi show#jrwi prime defenders#jrwi pd spoilers#VYNCENT SSOOOOOLLLL I STILL DONT KNOW HOW TO DRAW YOUUUUU AND YKNIOW WHY?? YKNOW WHYYY???? BC WHEN I FIRST DREW EVERYONE:#I DIDNT LOOK AT ANY REFS. DREW EM STRAIGHT FROM OFF THE TOP O MY HEAD. AND WELL. IN MY HEAD SOMETIMES#I PICTURE THE CHARACTERS LOOKING SIMILAR TO THE PLAYERS IN SOME WAY. NOT THE BEST THING TO DO REALLY. BUT YOU SEE.#VYNCENT CAME OFF AS A VERY SOFT AND SWEET CHARACTER. BUT SEEMED TO CARRY ALOT OF STRENGTH. HES LIKE A BEAUTIFUL AND POWERFUL BULL TO ME.#SO I DRAW THE GUY REAL DENSE! BUT THEN YAKNOOOWW THE OFFICIAL ART CROSSES MY EYES N IM LIKE FFFYUUUUUCKKK HE DOESNT LOOK LIKE THAT!!!!!!#IM LIKE AAUGUHGH IM DRAWIN HIM WRONG!!! BUT THEN IM ALSO CRAAAZY STUBBORN N I AAALREADY ESTABLISHED THIS DESIGN FOR HIM AND I DONT WANNT#I DONT WANNA GO N JUS CHANGE IT AAAALL UP NOW!!CMAHHHNNN BUT I STILL GOTTA DO SOOOMETHIN!!#LEST HE BECOMES SO FAR REMOVED FROM THE SOURCE MATERIAL HE FAILS TO BE RECOGNIZED!! ANYONE ELSE GO THRU THIS? GIMME UR TIPS#anyway AHH THE DEMON THAT DESPISES ART FROM MONTHS AGO!! just means im improving so so fastly and cool-like. tbh im so proud o my recents#bUT HEY THOUGH I FIGURED OUT THE QUEUEUE THING AHAHAH NOW I CAN GET ALL MY THOUGHTS N DRAWINS OUT IN A DAAAYYYY#CONSISTENT POSTING FOR A MONTH HERE I COME. DAILY UPLOADS FOR A WEEK. YEAAHH BABY!!! PREPARE FOR SHOTGGUN BLASDT!!!!!!#ALRIGHT ALright one more thing before i go im. SO IN LOVE WITH MY SHAPES HONESLY... they are not just one shape but so so many put together#fucked up innit??? im seeing soo many problems in this piece though but i rest easy knowing i captured my feelings in the moment.
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i'm for sure not finishing veilguard. i set it down a while and tried again and ahh i'm just not enjoying it. the characters dont have a depth im looking for.. the insertion of a writer's white guilt onto the elves that are based on real life indigenous people and have been in-games enslaved and treated horrifically and are the ones who don't have "real" gods that are actually just blighted tyrants. everything with taash and the qunari. the gameplay was fun for a while but then it made my hand so numb i couldnt do anything for a week. the last straw was taash's gender talk that suddenly turned into picking a cultural identity for them to align with out of nowhere and then soon after learning that Another antagonist is of course an elf. starting to feel like their implying that all elves become evil when given power jfc. i think i'm actually done with it it started making me feel gross and bored. i don't care if you enjoy it or not, everyone's got a different threshold it just crossed mine.
#i wish i'd told my brother to not get it for me but he was so excited to get me a gift. i would have rather pirated it#i wanted to be hopeful they'd have made more strides since dai since it had seemed to be getting better ish.#but the bioware team clearly don't think mulicultural people are 'true to themselves' or that arab people are well. People.#or that anyone could enjoy and align with the religion that is heavily modeled after islam. ofc it's just stifling and constraining right.#everyone who follows it is evil and awful and the fucking. blighted qunari turning into literal giant monsters when nobody else is affected#like that. what the Fuck.#how did it get More racist than dragon age 2.#anyway. long chatter short i think my final personal onion is that i do not like the game and i kind of wish it didnt exist. thumbs up#there's cool concepts in there but.. the racism got Worse. the established lore was tossed out the window. the music is forgettable.#the pacing is off. the therapy talk gets annoying after a while. my favorite things are: davrin and assan. davrin is so funny also his bo#also neve. i love neve i wish her story was more..... More. i like that she got upset at her city being destroyed even though she didnt#want to blame my character she couldnt help herself from blaming him. mixed feelings on how gender is incorporated. could be better but it'#good for a triple a game. wish they used the established in-universe terms for being trans but eh.#i wish the world wasn't so sanititized down. it feels like a desire for everything to be 'good' and perfect but it makes it feel hollow#and like a kind of immature unwillingness to tackle hard subjects but well. that's a running theme of the lead writer of this game lmao
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Rewatched the great gatsby for the first time in over a decade and god you couldn't convince 14 y/o me nick wasn't in love with gatsby and you sure can't convince 25 y/o me he wasn't. He just didn't understand it in the moment. "They’re a rotten crowd… you’re worth the whole damn bunch put together.” I just. Come on. And tobey maguire didn't even try to convince us otherwise
#that was My Favorite English Class Book. it & the movie exploded my little 9th grade brain and i hadn't watched it since#and i did this a couple weeks ago. and I can't stop thinking abt it#rewatching it while much closer to the ages of the characters really kinda... pulls back the veil of grandeur around everyone#gatsby's just a stubborn & kinda immature man who's unable to see that the woman he loved had an established life she couldn't just leave#like near the end gatsby just seems... childlike in his stubbornness and optimism. and oh daisy....... sweet gentle daisy ........#she didn't deserve any of that 😭 she was just emotionally tormented for so much of it#she's caught between a huge man with a hair-trigger temper who's supposed to love her but loves someone else#and a man too stubborn to see she has a life she can't just leave (and can't fathom that she's ever loved anyone else)#and gatsby KNOWS she still loves him. he uses it against her in a way that's far more cruel than he thinks it is#& nick is 100% in love with gatsby the whole time and just. has no idea. like i think if you explained Gay People to him it'd blow his mind#the great gatsby
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#instead of “everyone in the peloton can tell that tadejonas are pining for each other”#i propose the concept of: tadejonas who are *already together* like full-on established relationship living together part of the time etc#but somehow. no one else in the peloton has figured it out?#and like they didn't MEAN to hide it from people okay it wasn't on purpose#it just started out that way because when they realized they wanted to try it they ALSO realized that sooo much could go wrong#so they were like “we'll keep it pretty quiet until we're sure that whatever this is between us is real and will work out”#and obviously it does work out but when they try to tell people it somehow never seems to go according to plan#like somehow everyone leaves those conversations having completely missed the part where they say they're dating#and instead landed somewhere in the ballpark of “tadejonas are massively crushing on each other we have to help them”#so everyone is CONVINCED that they're pining away for each other and they keep trying to set them up in increasingly wild schemes#and tadejonas are just like. how do we explain to these people who we know and love that we are already in a committed relationship#random ass riders from like. every team tripping over themselves to help out the cause in the NAME OF LOVE and tadejonas are just like 🧍♂️#and like they feel kind of bad about it but also its kind of a game now to see how obvious they can be before someone catches on#random rider: jonas i promise tadej is totally into you okay he like. wouldn't shut up about you at XYZ race okay he definitely likes you#jonas (adjusting his scarf to hide the hickeys tadej left and jingling the keys of the house he shares with tadej): if you say so#what if i wrote something
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(Out of nowhere, you are approached by a familiar lightbulb-headed Cog.)
Ah, it's you, cat. Thinking you're oh-so-slick. Muttering and whispering under those raggedy whiskers of yours... Thinking I am unable to hear it all...
Well, you've simply underestimated my fantastic hearing. You probably want to know the reason why I'm here, taking a 'break' from my incredibly important scientific breakthroughs? It's quite simple, really!
(She gets close, and squints her eyes.)
I know what you are.
Farewell, now!
(She then leaves the way she came from.)
(Spam giggles immensely, covering her face... it always seems like she's giggling, isn't she? This lasts... at least thirty seconds. Longer than usual.)
And I know what I am too, Sparky! You broke through something, that's for sure. Really, broke through...
(She looks down, continuing to laugh nervously.)
You know, I find it odd you Havent tried to bulb blast me into the stratosphere by now. I mean knowing how you acted with Frostbite. Is there something peculiar about me that you perhaps can't quite track? Something about me that you... don't know what I am?
I know, I know, I'm talking to nobody again. But you were there when I had a moment today with the one the only Frostbite The Bravecog. You may be remaining. Lurking in the shadows. Knowing about these thoughts that I'm thinking.
(The giggling resumes, lasting far shorter this time.)
Your brother's a piece of fucking barp, by the way
(She braces for impact for a few seconds, wincing while smiling, before comically looking around to realize nobody's there. She sighs.)
Wow, okay maybe toony superhero show logic doesn't apply in this situation. Cool.
WAIT I JUST FUCKING REALIZED WHAT SHE MEANT but like. Dude if she meant that then what's the point I mean the whole ahh sellbot department barping knows unless you're Really low on the ladder. Heheh... maybe she did mean what I thought she meant.
Oh i'm so fucking screwed. What kind of bitch gets filament fever
#bright spark#<- for finding this again later. haha i called her sparky#the way she talks fucking tickles my brain so much im so . ohguohguohoghog SHE#SORRY THAT THIS TOOK SO LONG you see i was in the mindset that i would do this one little thing and then i would do my work which uh.#that leads to so so SO much procrastination. including on fun things! oh so fun things.#today was an event.#i also spent quite a bit of time ruminating i “would she really say that” is worse when shes literally you#to clarify. she is spam's aunt by like. building standards. not really in her found family. so its fucked up but as i said in discord this#is like. a “your mom's kinda hot” level crush. you know. also sorry i really wanted to say filament fever its been eating at me okay#nothing SERIOUS the way my f/os (and spam's f/os (plural now?? i guess?? if today was a canon event)) are#honestly mark still feels like the only real one with her to me but damn it. if spam's reflecting My Changes then she's Reflecting My Chang#spam in toontown unlike my other sonas is the most “its just you again” out of all of them and thats partially because her main#cog connection... is frostbite. they bounce off each other like we literally bounce off each other and damn it shes been so stagnant on her#own because of it. mark happened and she mirrored that because i kept fucking talking about him while we were in character and ideally#i should TRY to fix her. but also man because i'm not doing Serious lore stuff with her i dont. even know if i want to.#i kinda brushed it over the rug by saying that she relies on her constant entertainment so readily because she herself still doesnt feel#like she has a place outside of cogs only. sure she's in high roller backstage sure she's in allan's family now but shes not Doing anything#with herself the way that her friends are. mole's a ranger. frostbite cohosts. wishes... has chip. and something she doesn't have--#living and fully growing as a toon. rather than being haphazardly slapped into a world. and in some respects she's envious of frostbite#finding themselves so quickly because she distracts herself because she's still kinda struggling with it. despite everything. yes she lives#happy and carefree a lot of the time but she keeps buying those dumb phones because when she's truly alone... her mind starts to wander.#that's what mark is for. so that spam can dream of a world where she has a purpose. even if its fake and fragile and just nothing compared#to the great friends that she already has. where she feels like its worth it doing something when she doesn't have anyone. and in that#respect. with the goons ma allan parallels in sonboy the spam cathal parallels shine. seeking tv (and to a lesser extent games) as a#method of escapism. even when one's life is already pretty good. because there's nothing else worth doing without friends or family.#the internet isn't just cool. it gives her something to be when it seems like everyone is something but her. and maybe thats a lazy#excuse for why it seems like she doesnt HAVE anything to call her own but that but damn it i'm trying my best to twist it around.#spam has such a HISTORY yknow? even if it feels like i havent established her much.#spam is the hearts to frostbite's spades not just because they're the duo of all time but because spam's fake stupid love keeps her going#sorry i just started rambling in the tags of this post about spam it. happens. she loves her friends so much i need to reiterate that okay
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🐑 🍦 updates below.
#𝙴𝚈𝙴𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚅𝙴𝙽 ༝ ⌖˛ ࿐ ( ooc )#[ Hi hi hi ! I apologize for pretty much making this blog then going MIA immediately after. ]#[ I use to be on tumblr for years... Left for a long time#[ then when I came back I felt really discouraged ]#[ my graphics are self made and I didn't/don't have any friends ]#[ and everyone else seems so established ]#[ but I wanna slowly work on a revamping ]#[ so in the meantime while y'all wait for me to pretty up the blog and post a carrd... ]#[ please bare with me thank you#[ i will be here writing! i'm still very shy ]#[ so if you feel like you want to-- please reach out for plotting and writing things! ]#[ i'd love to establish friendships with other writers ]#[ and hopefully new dynamics for chrissy!! ]#[ i'm very big on plotting and long term dynamics. ]
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I think the thing that primarily bugs me about the whole He Wouldn't Fucking Say That is that the people these posts seem(???) to be targeting are of the Willful Media Illiteracy kind. In the sense of "refusing to, in any way, meet the work where it's at and superimpose their own preferences on everything while claiming that was the unambiguous intention of the original work." And uh. Well.
The thing about that. Is that those people are. Well they think that they're right. They're gonna see those posts and they're not going to realize that it's talking about them. They will never be aware of what they are doing. So like. All this does is make people who ARE going, "Well maybe this wasn't the intention, but What If" or "Idc if this isn't canon, it makes me feel better and I think it's neat" or just...people who think deeply about a work and want to translate their findings into fanworks and/or want to figure out what an idea would look like if depicted in-canon all feel really self-conscious about creating. You're not going to shame the people you ACTUALLY have beef with out of their behavior; you'll only shame unrelated people out of doing unrelated, harmless things.
Like. Trust me. I'm just as frustrated as the next person over fandom willfully twisting the text to paint every woman or character of color in the worst light possible. I'm just as annoyed with the string of "feel bad for the worst white man alive because trust me, we know deep down he's actually just a helpless sad boy, and one (1) hug would fix him forever, this is why we should make everything about him." I, too, question why there seems to be this obsessive need to pretend flawed media isn't flawed as some sort of moral purity test, or to insist that there's a Secret Progressive Reading of every single piece of questionable media (or, similarly, that volatile/destructive/toxic/disconcerting/etc. relationships are actually Super Unproblematic and Healthy Guys, I Promise). I'm just as close to going postal as anyone else over the insistence that we sanitize works and genres of uncomfortable themes or topics or over the continued asinine claim that depiction equals endorsement. But. I don't think going "He Would Not Fucking Say That" actually addresses any of those problems or does anything helpful. Yes, it's a meme. Yes, it spawned as a direct result of one of the behaviors I mentioned in this paragraph. But it has. Long since lost any meaningful value, I feel like. It doesn't seem like a meme anymore. It just seems kind of mean-spirited toward anyone who...idk wants to write a self-indulgent reader-insert fic or something.
#idk y'all!! sometimes it really is just as follows:#find a character you Imprint On™ -> want to work through feelings -> put them on the character. not because it's necessarily a one-to-one#translation of your experience or because it makes sense with the established narrative. but simply because you have feelings you need to#get out and you are thinking about this character all the time because you like them -> behold. a fic.#fandom has a LOOOOOOT of problems. but I feel like the particular phenomenon I just mentioned in these tags is. not that deep.#(also. related but more of a sidebar: TRULY I have felt insane interpreting this fictional relationship in this specific way. I can point#to every single thing in canon that led me to interpret it that way. but the thing *I* took away from canon does not seem to be#the thing most people took away from canon. and that lack of commonality has made me feel like I'm losing my mind.#because how did I end up SO FAR AWAY from EVERYONE else??!!??!?!?)
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Knock You Down a Peg or Two
Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Summary: Someone learns the hard way that it's a bad idea to upset Bucky's wife.
Word Count: Over 1.5k
Warnings: Established relationship, violent threats (not against the reader), protective vibes, implied sexy times, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: I'm in a mood, lovelies. We can consider this in the same universe as Mr. and Mrs. Barnes and Handsome and Beautiful. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
Bucky was no longer the Winter Soldier. He told himself every day he wasn't a cold killer anymore. He did his best to make amends and worked hard to clear his name. From time to time though, people pushed his buttons and got under his skin. You helped him brush it off. Their opinions didn't matter at the end of the day, only yours.
You mattered to him more than anything else. So, if someone bothers him, yeah, he could let it go. Someone upsetting you? He wouldn't stand for it.
Bucky's eyes narrowed as he spotted the little weasel sitting at the table in the break room alone. A few hours ago, you called him to vent about how this guy repeatedly tried to make you look bad in front of your superior during a meeting. It wasn’t the first time either. Your tears of frustration were obvious by your tone on the other end, though you tried to hide them. You worked hard, harder than anyone else he knew, and you took your job seriously.
He saw red when he heard you sniffle and it was the only color he had seen since then.
“Give me his name.”
“Bucky, no,” you had argued. “The guy’s a prick and I just needed to vent, so you don’t-”
“Please, baby,” he whispered, knowing full well you could handle yourself, but you were his wife and someone took joy out of your day. Not just that, they made you cry. He took this personally and he wanted to defend you. “Just give me his name so I can take care of it.”
You softly gave him the name, and he made it a priority to find the asshole. It didn’t take him long. No one even questioned why he was asking. It must’ve been his “murder strut” and glare. You once said it could break even the strongest of people.
He headed toward the empty chair beside the agent, careful not to make a sound. His stealth assisted with that. Once he reached the chair though, he made it a point to scrap the chair across the floor to get the prick's attention. The annoyance in his eyes quickly shifted to fear when he realized who he was looking at.
Good. He hoped he pissed his pants.
He made a show of slipping off his leather jacket before taking a seat, making sure the agent got a good look at his metal arm. He also made a show of getting one of his knives out, one you gifted him. “I think we can skip the introductions since you know who I am and I really don't give a shit who you are,” he began, his voice low as he twirled the knife between his fingers. “But I understand you know my wife and, well, she’s the reason I’m here.”
The guy blinked when Bucky made eye contact, the blade still expertly weaving in his hand. “S-Sure. Everyone knows your wife.”
Bucky smiled softly, taking a second to glance at his wedding band. “I’m usually not one to brag, but I can’t help it when it comes to her. She works hard and deserves all the praise she gets, but she’s still humble. Appreciative. Loyal,” he boasted, still smiling before he glared again. “She’d never throw anyone under the bus, especially in front of a superior.”
The little weasel cleared his throat, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. He seemed to notice for the first time that they were the only two people there. “Look, I don’t know what your wife said, but-”
Bucky pointed the blade at him. “I would think very carefully about what comes out of your mouth next,” he snarled, his eyes as cold as ice.
There was a beat of silence as the guy squirmed in his seat and averted his gaze. Bucky wished you were there to see it. And Steve and Sam. “I may have run my mouth a bit. I just wanted to knock her down a peg or two, you know? She keeps getting promoted and…” he swallowed when Bucky’s eyes narrowed to slits. If this fucker even thought about implying that you slept your way to get where you were today, he may actually cut his throat. “Please, don't kill me.”
The silence after that statement may have been uncomfortable for some, but Bucky didn’t break a sweat. No, he was just thinking of all the different ways he could put him in the hospital for even thinking he had a right to put you down. Putting the knife away, he slowly got to his feet. “Get up,” he said quietly, flexing his hands in intimidation.
“Fuck.” The man nearly knocked his chair over as he stood. “Listen, I’m sorry,” he blurted out, putting his hands out in front of him. “I’ll apologize to her first thing tomorrow, I swear.”
“You think that makes up for it? And are you sorry for trying to make her look bad or are you sorry that you’re under my radar now?” Bucky’s stare remained steady as he knocked his chair out of the way, the piece of furniture nearly splintering when it hit the wall. “Everyone knows what I'm capable of, but do you know what happens to people who upset. My. Wife?”
Bucky refused to say that you cried. The asshole might take that as a sign of victory and he wouldn’t give him any sort of win. He didn’t deserve it. He didn't deserve to be in the same space as you.
The guy’s mouth parted as he took a few steps back on shaky legs. “I-It won’t happen again! I swear!”
“No, it won't, but how about I cut your tongue out so you can’t run your mouth again? Maybe pull out your teeth, too?” Bucky knocked the table away next as he advanced. “Or how about your eyes so you won’t look at her either. Hell, I’ll settle for taking your arm. We’ll match.”
The man let out what sounded like a whimper, his teeth nearly chattering from his fear. Scaring people had given him nightmares, haunted him, but it fueled his fire when he terrified anyone in your honor. “I won’t bother her ever again! I’ll tell my boss she deserves another promotion! I'll transfer! You have my word! I’m sorry!”
Bucky laughed after a moment, a bitter, chilling sound before he held up a hand. “I’m just fucking with you.”
His eyes were still wide with fear. “W… What?”
“I was just trying to scare you a little. You should see the look on your face,” Bucky chuckled again, lightly smacking the guy’s cheek. “Listen, you don’t have to transfer and I’m not going to torture you. Just apologize to my girl and we’re good, okay?”
“Okay.” He let out a breath and chuckled, too. “You really won’t torture me?”
“No, I won’t,” he grinned, grabbing his shoulders. “But I will knock you down a peg or two.”
The prick didn’t see the headbutt coming, but he felt it before he hit the ground. Bucky knew he’d feel it in the morning, too. He got off lucky.
“You know, after you apologize to my wife, I hope you do stay so you can see her continue to thrive,” Bucky toed the guy’s body with his boot. “And speaking of, I need to go buy her some flowers, chocolate, and wine. She deserves it.”
Grabbing his jacket from the broken chair across the room and brushing it off, he whistled as he left the room. He waited until he was a good distance away to call. You picked up on the second ring.
“Hey.” You sounded much better than you did earlier. “So, what’s the damage?”
“Hey, baby,” he smiled. “I headbutted the prick. And before you ask, my head feels great.”
The former assassin may get suspended for that and damaging the table and chair, but he doubted the asshole would have the balls to speak up about what happened.
“Bucky…” you sighed. You were probably pinching the bridge of your nose. “What am I gonna do with you?”
“You’re gonna let me eat you for dessert when I get home,” he smirked. Not that he needed an excuse to dive between your legs, but he'd take any chance he had. “Figure I'll give you at least two orgasms before dinner.”
“Is that right, Mr. Barnes?”
“That is right, Mrs. Barnes.”
The sound of your giggle spread warmth through his chest. Your happiness was his happiness. “Better not keep me waiting,” you teased, pausing for a beat. “Thank you.”
“Nothing to thank me for,” he said. You always stuck up for him without question.
“Love you.”
His heart swelled more. “Love you, too.”
He’d have some more explaining to do once he got home and would probably have to pay for the damage he caused. He was also sure that you were plotting the demise of the man’s career and would tell him that he didn’t need to do anything, but he wanted to. He was no longer the Winter Soldier.
But he was your husband and he’d defend you with his life, no matter what.
Violence isn't the answer, but this is fanfiction and we all deserve a loving Bucky. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️
Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi
#navybrat writes#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x f!reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes imagine#james buchanan barnes#sebastian stan#james bucky barnes#the winter soldier#husband!bucky barnes#sebastian stan x reader#bucky x reader#bucky x female reader#bucky fanfic#bucky imagine#x reader#james bucky buchanan barnes#mr. and mrs. barnes#winter soldier#winter soldier x reader#bucky fic#bucky x you
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I miss portugal so much its almost disgusting sometimes
#and no one understands#aside from ania everyone else was glad to return to poland or spain or whatever#but i have nothing to return to#i feel like i almost felt happy in portugal tbh#i miss everything about it#mostly my friends#or even our daily basis that we established for ourselves there#i miss being close to the ocean#i know going to barcelona wont fix it and it certainly wont be the same#but i just need to feel something experience something#im stagnating here#it was difficult studying in english but we always managed in the end#our uni was like 20 mins away from lisbon by a train whixh was so perfect#we got to live in a calm and peaceful and quiet town while still being close to the capital#we ve seen so much together#i dont think i would have ever seem madeira france and barcelona had i i not gone to portugal#so grateful for this opportunity#sometimes im wondering what the fuck am i even doing here studying transport here#but i dont regret shit#this uni madr it possible for me to go to portugal and meet the peple that i met#cant believe i almost didnt go#the only thing keeping me alive rn is the possibility of experiencing smth similar in barcelona#i just really need to go somewhere anywhere
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I used to really love the first romance scene with Astarion (and I still do) but it hits so much harder after you know why he's doing it. That he's purposefully seducing you for protection and blood, that he's forcing himself to sleep with you, and this is a mask he's wearing.
It's a sexy scene and really feeds into the vampy (pun intended) jump-your-bones version of him you get at the start of the game. The whole thing starts out with him being so confident and suave, saying that he's wanted you ever since he set eyes on you and how you want to be known and tasted. It's like everyone's perfect vampire romance novel.
He's laying out the bait that's worked thousands of times over and luring you in. And you can just get right to the kissing if you want.
But, you can also stop and ask him, "And what do you want?"
And for just a moment the mask drops. This is not the same cocky seductive face we've had up until now. This is vulnerability showing. When has anyone asked him what he wants? When has anyone cared? Does he even know the answer to that question?
So he pivots. The mask snaps back into place immediately. He turns back into the master seducer and feeds you a line about shared ecstasy to get you back on track.
And then comes what is, to me, the pivotal moment. He asks you "That's what you want, isn't it? To lose yourself in me?"
Looking at his body language he seems unsure at first, maybe questioning his previous tactics. Then he slightly cowers back, lowering himself as he asks the question. The total opposite of his confidence from earlier where he's standing with his arms out wide.
He's not sure what you want anymore. You're not playing by the rules he knows. Why haven't you taken the bait yet? Why haven't you thrown yourself at him?
And when you finally Nod in agreement, confirming you're here for sex?
This. This is the face he gives you. He just looks so damn sad. To me, it hearkens back to "Of course it'll turn me into a monster. What else did I expect?"
Whatever momentary blip made him question why you're there with him, he's just been reassured about both of your roles in this situation.
He sounds so quietly resigned when he answers: "I thought so."
And then the scene transitions into the actual act. I do like to think Astarion enjoyed himself as I'm sure the PC did, but it's hard for me to watch this scene now that I know his story and history without being uncomfortable.
Just that line "lose yourself in me" is so difficult to hear. Because on paper it's so sensual. Who wouldn't want a lover to feel that way about them? But knowing the context of what Astarion expects and believes in this moment is just... oof.
And to me, this is what makes this scene brilliant. The writing, voice acting, and the mocap/animation are all just SO GOOD. It's so delicately done and Astarion the character is so good at playing a role that you can completely gloss over the deeper stuff. But once the mask is eventually stripped away you can't help but see what was there the whole time.
And as we've established, being seen is a whole aspect of Astarion's romance arc.
I originally romanced Astarion for the same reasons I'm sure most did: he's a hot, sexy vampire elf (i.e. everything that's on the surface). But, I keep coming back to him over and over again for the person I know is waiting for me underneath the mask.
#astarion#baldur's gate 3 astarion#astarion spoilers#astarion romance#baldur's gate 3#baulders gate 3 spoilers#bg3
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i'm empty without you, so come grow within me
AO3 Link | main masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist
rating: explicit (18+)
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
word count: 9K
summary: with winter approaching, joel takes stock of what he wants and what he has in his life. he wants you, but he's not quite sure he has you, not in a way that only a life in Jackson can afford. joel's an old-fashioned guy, so he's looking for an old-fashioned love . . . if he can only remember how to do it right.
inspired by the songs 'why don't we just dance' by Josh Turner and 'the kind of love we make' by Luke Combs, this fulfills a request from @handsomehelmet for my 1k celebration (creativity struck and now i'm going to make it everyone's problem)
warnings: the nastiest thing i can possibly imagine which is romance and sincerity, some willie nelson lyrics, established situationship, no age of reader specified, body insecurity, feelings of unworthiness/shame, survivor's guilt, blatant disregard for old man knees by eating pussy on the floor, unprotected piv, a teenager bullying fully grown adult to quit being stupid.
a/n: i know everyone gets into a tizzy when Joel doesn’t name what Tess is to him in front of Bill and while there probably was a heaping amount of guilt that accompanied that omission, i wonder if it might be a bit more complicated: he simply couldn’t name one thing because she was all things to him. A friend, a lover, a guide, a support system, a protector, a partner. So he says it the best way he can: “she’s mine.”
come see what else we've done to celebrate 1K followers
By the fourth bag, all you can think about is a warm shower.
A chance to scrub away the dirt smeared on your arms, your neck, probably your face. You’d brought your own work gloves to bag fresh dirt for the greenhouse, but the longer you work, more sprinkles of dirt find their way down the lip of your gloves. You can feel it against your palms, under your nails. The cold winter air lurks beneath the crack of the door, stifled from invading by the artificial heat provided by the generator just outside, and it stifles you too with its oppressive weight. You’re fairly sure the dirt on your forehead has turned to mud, sweat and damp earth encrusted on your dry skin.
By the sixth, you doubt your shoulders will ever move again without popping.
You know Joel’s already do.
Never a particularly chatty man even in his best moods, the greenhouse had become stuffy with heat and silence, both you and Joel too lost in the work to find the energy to even fake idle chatter. But, knowing this about Joel and a certain degree yourself, silences with him were never a bad thing. That was one of the things you enjoyed most about being with him; you two could do your own things together. Many snowy days were spent with him stretched out on the couch, reading, and you working on writing your sheet music on the floor, his knee hovering over your shoulder with your back to the cushions – spent in total silence, and they are some of the fondest memories you had since coming to Jackson and falling into the third and final piece of the Miller-Williams household.
Like with the end of the world, you weren’t sure how you got there until everything had fallen into place around you; Joel and his adoptive daughter had been just another group who were taken in by the town of Jackson . . . until they weren’t. Ellie was just another foul-mouthed kid who had seen too much and had too much taken from her . . . until she wasn’t. Joel was your occasional patrol partner and a fellow Willie Nelson fan. . . until he wasn’t.
Until that unmistakable line, one that seemed to be lost on a global scale beneath the blood and the gore and the grief, had been crossed when he asked you out for drinks and the both of you knew the evening wasn’t going to end in a nightcap.
And then you were partners, even outside of patrol. Partners in re-enforcing a weakened part of Jackson’s outer walls. Partners in cooking, attempting to recreate an enchilada recipe Joel only vaguely remembered from a Tex-Mex hole-in-the-wall fifteen minutes from where he used to live in Austin. Partners when it’s snowing heavily outside and there’s not much to do except to read and, well . . . Joel was a fantastic partner in that.
Joel Miller was a great partner for a lot of things. He worked diligently, quickly and, unless the conversation was started by someone else, silently.
He, in short, was not someone who was easily distracted.
Which, in combination with your own exhaustion and a desire to scrub the first layer of your skin off with a loofah, is why you feel a flare of annoyance when you look up and see him staring off into the distance. His fingers loosely grip the handle of the shovel, his palm resting over the curved point, Joel’s expression is nearly unreadable, except for the small crevice between his eyebrows. He stands, fixated on the greenhouse wall, as if watching the blurry Christmas lights from the town square, suddenly oblivious to the work you two have been doing for the past hour and a half.
“Joel.” Nothing. “Joel!”
You raise your hand to smack him on the leg when, without looking down, he asks:
“When was the last time I took you out?”
“What?”
His weight shifts, holds the shovel by one hand now. You catch a sliver of frustration in those deep brown eyes as he looks at you. He wears what you and Ellie secretly refer to as his “pouty-mouth”, a classic expression when he isn’t getting his way about something but won’t draw attention to the fact that it annoys him.
“Tell me about the last date I took you on.”
You huff, standing up with a pop in your hips. Your knees are aching from kneeling on the cold winter ground and your skin fluxes between overheating under your jacket and stiffly frozen on your extremities.
“Joel, c’mon, be serious. We’ve got three more –,”
“I am being serious.” Dumb-founded, you watch as he digs the tip of the shovel into the ground with a hollow chunk. Crosses his arms and continues to frown at you like you just suggested doing away with the Christmas holiday entirely. “We’ll get to this, but I want you to tell me right now what we did on our last date.”
You roll your eyes, humoring him. “Fine, I don’t know what crawled up your ass, but okay. On our last date, we . . . we did . . . you took me to . . .”
It’s your turn to frown. He raises a petulant eyebrow and it’s eerie how many times you’ve seen that exact expression on Ellie.
“Okay, fine, so it’s been a while. We’ve been busy – we’ve all been busy with the winter season coming. All of Jackson has been out battening down the hatches. What does it matter if we’ve let things slide a bit?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, quiet in his Joel way. He glances out through the blurred greenhouse glass and maybe he was actually staring at the string lights hung over Jackson’s square. Normally, you didn’t mind being unable to dissect his every expression, every sigh, every carefully wielded silence, but when it came to you and his feelings about you – feelings that were always implied in those silences – you wished you had a little window, some hint, as to what rumbled on behind those earth-dark eyes.
Joel drums his fingers on the handle of the shovel, unease rolling through his body as he shifts his weight.
“Matters some,” he tells the ground. “With the holidays comin’ around . . . matters for Ellie – her first winter here in Jackson. Matters for Tommy, with that new baby of his . . .”
“Your nephew,” you supply as much as prod. Sometimes the only way to get an honest answer out of him was when he was just a bit pissed off and less guarded. Instead he just nods, gloved hand on his hip, thick jacket widening his already confounding broadness.
“It matters because it’s important. To me. It’s important to me.”
He meets your gaze and you’re struck full force again with that feeling like you drank too much of the Tipsy Bison’s shitty whiskey too fast. Same feeling that couldn’t be drowned even with the Tipsy Bison’s shitty whiskey when you shared a drink with him for the first time. When you managed to laugh when he bet you a whole day of stable cleaning duties that Willie Nelson and Chris Stapleton survived the apocalypse somewhere in a shack in Tennessee. Joel Miller was disarmingly funny when he wanted to be.
And even worse, disarmingly sincere.
You take his gloved hand in yours. You feel the sensation of his fingers threading through yours but not the heat you’ve grown so accustomed to.
“Alright, then. What do you want to do about it?” You ask quietly, to the upturned collar around his neck, his green flannel peeking out from behind the zipper of his jacket. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but there’s a lot of snow on the ground so that makes our options for date night kinda limited.” You scrunch your nose at him because you like to see the light in his eyes bloom when you do.
He chuckles, a rumbling sound, and he drops his forehead against yours, fingers tightening their grip around yours. Suddenly in your throat, your heart pounds. He’s never this affectionate in public. Maybe it’s those miraculously blurred greenhouse glass walls.
His breath smells like that peppermint toothpaste that came in last week, infused with the warming-coil smell from the greenhouse.
“Dunno yet.” He admits. “I’ll think of somethin’.”
“No ideas yet?” You raise your eyebrows against his forehead and he grins, shaking his head.
“Not yet.”
“Then can I make a suggestion?”
“‘Course.”
“We finish bagging this dirt, then head home for a shower. In a really sexy way, obviously.”
He huffs, smothering a laugh, and quick as lightning he kisses you on the cheek. But in the same movement, steps away and grabs the shovel again. You don’t have time to react to the fact he just kissed you for the first time outside of the four walls of his house before he’s scooping up dirt. You drop to your knees to pick up the bag again, your legs already weak.
“We both know you’re going to pass out on the couch the second we’re home.”
Your voice is steadier than you feel, as you look up at him. His face is flushed and that worry line between his eyes is gone.
“You got me pegged, Miller. You got me pegged.”
Two days later, he stands in the middle of his living room, hands on his hips, surveying his handiwork. All of the furniture has been pushed to the far ends of the room, up against the walls or against the staircase out in the hallway. He’s kept the overhead lights off and put the standing lamps in the corners, bathing the room in a despondent glow. He thinks, after a quarter of a century never even entertaining something like this, it might be interpreted as romantic. He hopes you’ll see it that way at least.
He hears it now, in his head, even though she’s out in the disconnected garage, snug and warm as he could have possibly made it – you worry too much, old man.
Ellie knows there’s something going on between you two. Hell, the entire town has cottoned onto whatever this is; you’re often seen leaving his house early in the morning, and he’s been seen on occasion strolling up to your house with flowers. It’s not new, it’s not a secret, but it is . . . it just is and that’s about as far as he’s gotten.
He hasn’t had you over for dinner with Ellie in that very specific way that very much needs to happen, as it often does when there is a new presence added to an established dynamic – as Maria often reminds him. But that almost feels like presenting your head on a silver plate to Ellie to either sniff with disinterest or tear into – both terrifying scenarios, even though they seem unlikely. Ellie does in fact seem to like you very much, as her riding teacher and occasional greenhouse buddy. But would she continue to like you in the context of you being one half of “You and Him” as a pair? Together. As a couple . . . of people who are seeing each other, whatever that means in a world filled with the most aggressive form of fungus imaginable.
This life in Jackson, this fragile second chance to remember and rekindle his own natural instincts, is too precious to bet on a question like that.
So he doesn’t ask it. At least not out loud.
That’s one of the things he likes so much about you: his silences aren’t entirely indecipherable and often are encouraged by your own. Except this silence about this particular thing doesn’t feel like one of your shared, comfortable moments and instead it’s encroaching rapidly into avoidance.
Standing in that greenhouse and seeing the string lights over the town square reminded him of a long ago Christmas, dancing with his favorite person under a Christmas tree, and how good it made him feel. How special it made him feel. All these years later, safe in a way his body has almost forgotten, there’s an urge he has to share that feeling, to recreate it under entirely different circumstances, with someone new. Someone else. To not try and fight the smile that constantly threatens to buoy up every time he’s around you.
It’s foreign, that feeling in his chest, but it’s not entirely alien, at least not of late.
He knows he’s white-knuckling it because he knows firsthand how painfully quick it can all be gone. Taken away. Left and buried by a black river while the world burns.
But he’s worried he’ll crush it with how tightly he holds on. How hard he begs a silent universe for it to last just a little bit longer.
His knees ache, his left shoulder goes tight when it rains, his body is not what it once was, but his mind is still there, still clear, and he remembers how romance used to feel, where it used to reside in his younger body, and as he stares out at the cleared room, listening to your footsteps overhead as you attempt to follow his vague instructions to “make yourself feel pretty” (because you already were to him, even covered in dirt and sawdust), he thinks this feels like the old world. An old world romance. It’s foreign, that feeling, but for the first time in a long time he doesn’t want to hold it at arm’s length.
“Joel?” You call from the top of the stairs, your voice tentative and cautious. But not cautious like you peeking around a corner to look for clickers. But cautious as in unsure, doubtful. You are a woman made up of a lot of things, with foundations unlike he’d ever seen before, but doubt is not a part of you. You never doubt him.
“Yeah, baby?” Your nerves make him nervous and he futzes with a lampshade while waiting for you.
“Are you done down there?”
He has to breathe slowly through the fluttering beneath his breastbone before he can answer. “Yeah, baby, all finished. You can come down now.”
“Okay . . . but you can’t laugh.” Him, laugh at you? There’s the instinct to smother the faint grin that spreads out across his mouth, but he told himself he wasn’t going to fight whatever came across his face tonight. If you see it, then you see it and he’s come to accept that.
(Maybe even want that.)
He shakes his head, his only pair of nice boots (a thank you from a former rancher when Joel fixed his family’s heater) clicking on the hardwood floor as he stands at the bottom of the stairs. You must be hiding behind the wall because he can’t see you.
“I’m not gonna laugh, sweetheart. Why d’ya think I’d laugh?”
Silence faces him at the top of the stairs, and then:
“Because quite frankly I forgot my tits could look like this and I don’t know how to feel about it.”
The snort that comes out of him is a poor attempt to muffle the chuckle. He thumbs the wood finial at the top of the bannister.
“Can’t remember ever having any complaints before and I don’t think I’ll have ‘em now, no matter how they look.”
“Whatever, Miller, you’re just a horn dog.”
He rolls his eyes, fingers rubbing anxiously together at his side, as if he could tug the fluttering out of his chest. He leans on the other foot, the one with the bad knee, to adjust the slightly uncomfortable tightness in his jeans. A dark swirl in the second step of the stairs has become wildly interesting.
“Baby, just come down here. I’m not gonna laugh. Promise.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that,” you grumble, still out of sight. “I know where you keep your feral child and I will not hesitate to let her loose on you.”
Joel nods, grinning faintly, still focused resolutely on the whorl in the floor. “That’s a real big threat from someone who –,”
The words die in his throat.
In fact, he’s quite sure he won’t be capable of speech for a very long time.
That foreign feeling – that feeling he’s worked for twenty years to suppress – is ignited in his chest.
You walk, no, maybe you float down the stairs in the most stunning red dress he’s ever seen. It’s definitely not yours – he knows every inch of your closet because he had inspected it studiously when you offered to keep some of his clothes at your place and he was trying very hard to delay putting a handful of his belongings beside a woman’s things in a move that felt heart-stoppingly domestic.
No, he has never, ever seen you in this dress.
Come to think of it, he’s never seen you in any dress and you were entirely correct that your tits look wildly different. Fantastically different, but –
“Maria didn’t have any heels that fit me to go with the dress,” you announce airily, your chin up. But your eyes dart over his face as if looking for something you need to find. “But it’s fourteen degrees outside, Joel, and I’m not doing whatever this is in just socks because that’s ridiculous so you’re just going to have to deal with the boots.”
The Boots. The ones you wear while crushing clicker skulls and tending the stables. They still bear damp spots from where you tried to clean the blood and dirt from the leather.
It’s rather incapacitating how arousing he finds this particular combination.
So much so, he doesn’t realize he hasn’t said anything in a full minute until you bark at him, a cold tinge of panic in your voice.
“Joel!” His eyes snap to yours. Of course, you’re fucking beautiful – your eyes seem bigger, cheeks pinker, mouth wet – fucking Christ, where did you get make up?
“Say something!” Those rosy lips drop down and to his horror, you’re upset. “Please!”
“B-baby, you look . . .” He doesn’t mean to grab your entire ass in one hand; he just wants to feel as much of that velvet on your skin as possible. You stumble into his arms, another something that is so unlike you, as he tugs you forward. Bends his lips to your ear to discover how fast you’re breathing. How fast your pulse races in your neck. The shudder that breaks the rigidity of your body when he brushes his mouth, the short bristles of his beard, against your skin is no surprise; you told him exactly what that sensation does to you in no uncertain terms the first night he ate you out on the table of your kitchen. “You look incredible.”
Your fingers bite into his biceps. Push back out of his arms, despite the obvious warmth in your cheeks. You level his arousal in a single glare. “Joel, I asked you not to tease.”
Tommy once told him he was a pain in the ass to be around sometimes because he displays every negative emotion as anger and so it’s damn near impossible to figure out whatever it was he was so bent out of shape about.
Sadness as anger.
Shame as anger.
Guilt as anger.
Fear as anger.
With your fingers balled up, it's the tremor in your fists that gives you away.
He had genuinely intended this to be a quiet night away from the cafeteria, away from the Tipsy Bison, away from anyone else. He wanted you all to himself and in his greed, he didn’t see it until he saw it in your eyes.
How vulnerable being pretty made you. How vulnerable privacy made you.
How being vulnerable made you so deeply, deeply afraid.
Almost as afraid as he was.
Without a word, he turns to the record player, strategically hidden behind the couch and puts on the carefully selected record. The silent scratches for a moment before –
Your eyes widen as Nelson begins to sing his most beautiful love song (in Joel’s humble opinion). Your shoulders slacken, hands lose their grip, you blink up at him in total bewilderment. You aren’t an indecisive person, you’re quick as a whip, rarely confused – so this befuddled look on your face is kinda cute.
Tucking that rare look on your face away for another time, Joel wanders to the center of the room, in the heat of the light from the fireplace, his good boots clicking over the wood. He opens his arms, hand out to you.
“Let’s try something new tonight.”
I'll always be with you for as long as you please
For I am the forest but you are the trees
The decision you make is a visible one.
Your palm is warm, weighted as it slides over his. This time his hand respectably settles on your waist, then on your low back when (to his surprise) you come closer. He’s delighted to watch you smile at him, distantly aware of the stretch of his own on his face.
Willie strums on his guitar, crooning softly, the sound warm and deep. With the weight of you against his chest, that feeling crackles like the flames over the wood logs in the fireplace. You drop your head, turn your cheek, and just before you come to rest on his shoulder, he sees your smile slide into a smirk.
“New, huh? What’s new look like for a sixty-five-year-old man at the end of the world?” Even with teasing, your voice is soft and sweet, the soft powder of cinnamon. Slowly, as if not to startle either one of you, he leans his chin against your forehead.
“You n’ I’ve been burning both ends, keepin’ the lights on. New to us is having a goddamn break.” His voice is low, meant only for you, and in the tremble of his deep bass, the words elongate in his mouth. He brings your intertwined hands just under his chin and when that goes well, he tightens his grip around your back, drawing you flush against him. It reduces the dancing to more of a sway but Joel can’t find a single thing to complain about. You gently tap the pad of your middle finger in the hollow of his collarbone to the beat of the song.
I'm empty without you so come grow within me
For I am the forest and you are the trees
And the heavens need romance so love never dies
“‘N ‘m only fifty-six, jackass.”
You grin, twisting in his grasp, rub your nose on his chest to wrap your arms around his neck. He clutches to your back like a key finding its lock.
You'll be the stars dear and I'll be the sky
And should any of this find us let them all be forewarned
That you are the thunder and I am the storm
“This is nice, Joel,” you murmur in his ear. The backs of his arms are growing warm by the fire. He presses his lips to your exposed shoulder, unsure of what to say, or what not to say, only nodding. He closes his eyes, trying to hold this moment forever in his memory. The soft flare of your waist, the winged-spread of your ribs, beneath his hands brings him back into your arms.
"Yeah?" Quiet, into your skin as if to muffle the question entirely, to muffle the unsure wobble in his voice. "It's good?"
He feels you nod beneath his chin, the smell of fresh soap escaping from the back of your neck, and the clamp around his throat loosens. He breathes, unimpeded for the first time all night, a low exhale taking the tension from his body as the air leaves his lungs.
Relief. A sinking down into the moment, into your arms.
You chuckle with your cheek against his chest and he feels the vibrations down to his stomach.
"Yeah, Joel, you did good. Really good." With the hand he holds in the air, you rub your thumb over the knuckle of his thumb, soothing. It used to bother him you could read the lines of his emotions as well as you read a book, as well as you write your own name, effortlessly, as if you had been given a guide no one ever thought to show him. But now, now that you understand how much this means to him, that you know he needs to be told he made you happy, it's more than relief. It's an unburying – a resuscitation of pieces of himself (seed-like bone fragments) that he thought had long since died in the soil of his ribs. "Thank you. I needed this."
He wants you to see the whole of him. Lift up an antiquated silver plate and show you the dents and scratches in his reflection. When you kiss his cheek gently, the hope floating in his chest flares, a solar explosion with tendrils that reach into the blackness of space and it asks him, what would you do to keep her?
Everything. Anything.
He shuffles closer, feels the warmth of your body lined up against his, the clean scent beneath the edge of your jaw blooming in his nose and throat. The hope hums, pitches dark like the forest floor in the rain, and grows teeth. His want for you digs into his skin and evolves into a needy, unsatisfied thing.
“Where’d you get this dress, hm?” He asks, lips half an inch from your shoulder. It falls and rises, never catching on your skin as he plays with the fabric. He runs his palm up your spine, the velvet coming with him, and watches as the swell of your thighs and the tease of your ass is revealed. Dirty old man. “‘N who do I have to kill to get you to keep it?”
You laugh into his neck. He wonders if you’re intentionally twisting his curls at the base of his neck to send sparks of arousal down his spine or if you are completely unaware of the cause of his insanity. Your hands are littered with scars and calluses and every time you touch him, he could melt through the floorboards.
“They found it in some strip mall and were actually going to strip it down for material. But Aaron at the sewing center owed me a favor and you said wear something nice, so . . .” You thumb the lip of his collar, your fingertips brushing the knot of his spine every time you drag your fingers back and forth.
And I'll always be with you for as long as you please
For I am the forest and you are the trees
He knows you well enough to know that something lingers in your mind, but even after all this time, even after what he’s seen with you, been through with you, the things he’s done to you – he isn’t quite sure if he has the right to ask.
Instead, he squeezes you. He means to do it just with his hands, but ends up swallowing you in his arms.
Your mouth is pressed up against his chest when you finally go on.
“It just seems silly to keep, Joel.”
The high he’s been riding on all night falters, since you first walked down those stairs to him. Your eyes are wet when he pulls back and cups you by your cheek. He stops swaying with you.
“Why’s that?”
There it is, that all too familiar flicker of fear. You can’t look at him, despite his every touch, his every glance pulling you into him, to be near him.
“Because other people should have it. They should have a chance to . . .”
You withdraw your head from his hands, his thumb brushing your jaw as you retreat. He might actually lose a piece of himself if you let go now, but instead you clasp his wrists in your fingers. You stare at your hands and his between you, as if this whole thing between you could solidify at your feet, finally real.
Willie has stopped singing, only that musky drone on an empty track.
“Someone else should have a chance to feel pretty, to feel this way, because it shouldn’t be wasted and I’m afraid – I wonder if –,”
He knows he’s being a bit too rough when he takes your jaw and straightens your gaze to him, but his heart might fly out of his chest before he has a chance to say anything. His stomach turns, not knowing he’s not at the peak of a roller coaster drop, that he’s standing on solid ground, even if it swims under his feet.
“What you feel is not wasted.” A murmur, stern, as steadily and as serious as he possibly can be.
That feeling aches in his chest and you haven’t even gone anywhere. You haven’t left . . . yet. “What this is, is not wasted time. I spent twenty years wasting time, looking for something that wasn’t there, and with you . . . I can’t say I’ve found it –,”
“Why? Why can’t you say you’ve found it?” Your grip around his wrists tightens, eyes hard. “Why can’t you name it, Joel?”
“Can you?” He pulls his hands out of your grip and you let him go. “How can you ask for what you want when you can’t even ask to keep this dress?”
“Because I don’t deserve it!” It’s not silence that follows; it’s emptiness. You face away from him, pressing the heel of your hand into your brow bone, teeth slightly bared. Your arm bars across your stomach like you are literally holding in your guts. Finally, you lift your head, the few scant tears on your face sparkling in the firelight. “I don’t deserve you, Joel. I don’t deserve any of this. Ellie, the way she . . . I’m here, warm and happy, acting like the fucking world hasn’t ended. Playing house, playing pretend. Pretending like I’m your –,”
You swallow the words caught in your throat, gaze leaping away from him. At your side, your hand trembles again.
Oh, honey, the shit I’ve done . . .
With wide, wet eyes, you watch him approach. He doesn’t look at you, instead seeing exactly where he’d like to put his lips on your stomach beneath the fabric.
“Then what do you want, hm?” There’s a fold in the front of the dress and he runs his fingers along the edge of it. “We can’t fix it. Can’t go back ‘cause there’s nothin' to go back to. I don’t care what you had to do to get here, right here, with me because I’m so fuckin’ glad you are. I’m not pretending, not wasting my time, never was. ‘Cause you’re right.”
Your hand over his stills his endless roving and then it stays, scarred hand over scarred hand. Your gesture says something to him, something so meaningful he has no idea how to put it into words. He swallows his attempt and instead, slowly, drags both hands over your hips, where they stay. Heavy against the velvet.
You rest your own against his forearms, neither pulling him in or pushing him back.
“I was right about what?”
His eyes flick to yours and maybe it’s presumptuous, maybe he really is an old man afraid of his feelings, or maybe living this long – despite everything that ever tried to make it otherwise – living this long has granted him the privilege of knowing with perfect clarity what you’re thinking when you look at him like that. How he wants to whisper it back to you and he decides he will the next time your skin is warm and tacky, body helpless beneath his.
Your eyes shamelessly track the brush of his tongue against his bottom lip.
“That you’re mine. Just like I’m yours.”
The hands at his forearms glide up to his chest. The rims of your irises have gone a bit blurred, a bit unstable, and you can’t decide whether to look at his mouth or his eyes.
“Joel?” Suddenly breathy, all begging, pleading.
“Hm?”
“Get me out of this fucking dress.”
When your lips crash into his, his entire world narrows down to where on his body, yours touches:
your rough hand cradling his cheek, the other fisting the collar of his shirt. His fingers digging into your skirt, the heat from your thigh nearly driving him to tear straight through the fabric to get to you. Your sweet, perfect mouth smeared against his, lips puffed pink, nose to your cheek.
That warm, wet cunt he thinks he can feel through his boxers, jeans, the dress and your underwear.
It’s not enough.
The cry you let out is some mangled mix of a moan and his name when he licks the soft supple skin behind your ear and nips your earlobe.
“Baby, please – please – bedroom, we have to–,”
He grunts his disapproval at your words, overwhelmed by the scent that makes his mouth water as he stains the column of your throat with wet, humid kisses.
“Joel, c’mon, honey, just upstairs –,”
The last flickering tiny speckle of logic in his brain fights with itself; take your right here or haul you over his shoulder – which isn’t great for his back and, quite frankly, he intends to spend most of the night on his knees.
First option it is.
You mumble in confusion, eyes shut, chin brushing the thread of gray curls on the top of his head as he purposefully sucks a bright hickey into your collarbone, one hand cupping your breast, the other pushing you backwards. You go willingly, of course.
Until the backs of your legs hit the couch and there’s nowhere else to go. In the stumble, your dress rides up even higher and those thighs he’s actually lost sleep over appear to him. He drops to his knees, hands like meat hooks as they squeeze your waist, pulling that warm cunt even closer to him over the edge of the couch. You groan when he pushes the skirt up even higher, practically to your tits, as he explores your outer, then inner thighs with soft strokes of the back of his hands. He presses his nose to the crevice between your thigh and hip and inhales.
“B-baby, the windows,” you swallow thickly, slurring like you’re drunk, grabbing at his shoulders like you’re trying to steady yourself, or turn him towards the windows. “I mean – the curtains, baby, the curtains are –,”
“It’s a fucking blizzard outside,” he explains tersely with his eyes still closed, as if irritated to have a conversation instead of focusing every ounce of concentration he has to the heat and smell beneath your black panties. He drags his teeth over the elastic band around your hips and makes you whine his name for an entirely different reason.
You don’t make him stop or wait when he tugs those panties down your hips. In fact, you help, lifting your hips, the irises of your eyes so wide and black, you look halfway out of your mind.
Good.
He gathers the skirt he was once so fond of and stuffs it into the cushions behind you. You watch him as he moves, eyes half-lidded, finger scraping your bottom lip. Around his ribs, your knees dip back and forth, moving targets, like he’s forgotten why he’s here and needs reminding.
His big paw, the size of which makes you feel indescribably small, catches your knee and stills it, gaze dark and heavy. Do not test me right now. You try not to moan.
“Can’t believe I’m going to let you fuck me with my boots on,” you whisper airly, watching with delirious fascination as he puts one of your slender legs over his shoulder. His mouth is actually watering at the sight of your damp curls.
“Not gonna fuck you. Just gonna eat your pussy. You’ll know the difference.”
“Semantically, it’s the sa-a-me thi-ng, Jo-e – ah, Joel!”
His tongue up inside you turns you into a whiny, high-pitched, feminine mess. He eats like he does everything else: diligently, quickly, and silently.
Until you bury your fingers in his ash-flecked curls and tug.
That first deep, loud moan ripples through his body, rolling him up just off his heels, his crotch seeking some kind – any kind – of friction.
The feel of his mouth humming against your cunt has your eyes rolling back in your head. “Please, oh fuck, please –”
You are a grown woman. You should not be making these noises.
You also shouldn’t be using a man’s face to get off . . . but you do it anyway.
“Tha’s it, baby,” he mutters when your hips grind against his face. His nose catches your clit and around him, your thighs wobble. “Use me, fuckin’ use me.”
His grip around your calf over his shoulder turns rough and he knows he’ll bruise you, but fuck, the thought of you walking around town with a mark in the shape of his hand where everyone can see —
He briefly lifts his grip from your thigh to adjust his iron-hot cock in his jeans. From his view over your cunt, it doesn't seem like you noticed, or even saw him leave your skin. He watches you writhe, try to capture your breath, eyes crammed shut as your hips rock almost without your control. He takes a chance to lick the musky dampness from his upper lip when your cunt rolls back from his face a fraction of an inch — and then he sinks in again.
Call it age or the fact that you both are here at the end of the world, but the first night he ate you out, you told him exactly how and where you like it, unabashed and in control and honestly it’s the hottest thing he can think of in recent memory.
He would have written it down on the backs of his eyelids if he could.
He follows it to the letter.
“Joel – Joel, baby, please don’t stop –,” You buck and moan beneath him as he spells out your instructions with his tongue along your cunt. He dots the i’s with a tap of his tongue or a lick on your clit. Just inches above his head, your chest heaves, your fingers locked into his curls, gently pushing him closer to your puffy pussy as if he’d ever waste a drop of what leaks out of you.
With a flat-tongued brush against your suffering clit, you arch off the couch, your sighs now verging on desperate, high and whinging, because it’s just not fair how good he makes you feel. He can feel your foot curl against the planes of his back, the rubber heel heavy, your mouth open and wet, with your eyes locked on the ceiling as you try to ride out your humming orgasm with a semblance of control.
“Look at me.”
No other man has ever been able to make you come with just his mouth, you told him once.
And no other man ever will.
It’s sweet, the way your eyes soften briefly when you lock eyes with him, crouched between your thighs — before your head tips back, lips wrenched apart in a silent scream, and you come, as hard as he has worked for the flush of slick down his chin.
There’s goosebumps on your thighs, he notes. He rubs his thumb against your raised skin and you shudder, head rolling against the back of the couch.
He’s already feeling a slight twinge of shame at the noise his knees will inevitably make when he stands, but for now he’s content watching you glide down from your high, his head against your knee, shoulders still stretching your legs open wide.
To his delight, you manage to laugh, your hand draping over your eyes. You can see the shine of the dull light all across his lips, his chin, his nose and you have to close your eyes. He should make you lick it off him, but not tonight.
“Top marks, Miller, as usual,” you mumble, “but the threat of voyeurism really deserves the extra credit.”
He grins. Still waiting for your breath to slow, he wipes his mouth with his palm and slides the leg over his shoulder down in between his own thighs. Propped up on one knee, he begins to unlace your boot. He holds your calf like it’s delicate as he gently drags the boot over your heel.
He’s just as reverent with the other side.
And then your boots, the pair, sit at the end of his couch, like they were always meant to be there.
His heart, easing down from its own thunderous beat, squeezes and that feeling, that strange-not-so-strange feeling, the one that dictates practically every action with you, dribbles into his veins.
You open one eye. A flutter of lashes, coy and playful, the curve of your mouth guarding a hoard of secrets.
“Now, Joel Miller . . . will you take me to bed?”
It’s a question. A request. Your eyes, as dark as ever, on his warm his chest, all the way down his spine. You’re asking, politely, for a thing you both know he would never, ever deny you.
He cannot lose you, he just can’t.
He stands and, yes, his knees crack and pop, but he regains stability when he toes off his only good pair of cowboy boots. He nods, grinning, and offers you his hand.
The walk, half-run up to his bedroom is something his brain designates as not important enough to store away.
Instead, it languishes in the way you stretch out on his mattress before him, ass in the air, knees spread over his blankets and arms sliding through crumpled sheets towards the headboard.
The room is dark, the only light fighting its way through the downpour of snow comes from the lamp posts that dot the street outside. But the veil of snow warps the light and everything in the half-darkness is doused in blue.
The shadowy, blurred curve of your shoulder, blue.
The spread of your fingers on his mattress, blue.
The swollen bottom of lip of your mouth —
“Joel.”
The snow falls so fast and hard, it patters against the windows and the sides of the house. It’s the only thing he can hear over the pounding of his heart and the short breath in his lungs. He stares at you, soaking his blankets in your scent and slick, and you stare right back in utter and total silence.
You sit in the center of his bed, bare for him beneath the velvet dress that is red like blood, your patchy white socks at complete odds with your smeared make up and the fucked-out look in your eyes. But there’s something else there too.
Something softer. Gentler.
You reach out a hand to him and he goes to you, like always. The instant your skin touches his the instinct to fuck you hard until you’re bruised and crying evaporates. He doesn’t think you want that anymore either.
No, you need —
“Joel, please come here. I need you.”
You need him.
The mattress squeaks when he settles one knee and then the other on top of it, his fingers stroking your ear, brushing the tips of your hair, while he kisses you with an ache that is not physically manifested. Instead, it resides —
“I love you,” you whisper.
You pull back infinitesimally, just enough that your eyes are all he sees.
A patient silence hangs from the ceiling. The sound of snow falling. Of baited breath. The scratch of your fingers against at his beard —
“I love you too.” You smile and his body is no longer big enough to contain his heart. “I feel like I’ve always loved you. Is that strange?”
Your gaze traces the same path your fingers take when you think he’s sleeping; it runs over his nose, his forehead, his eyebrows, the plush curve of his lips. Like you can’t believe he’s there with you. Like you can’t believe he’s real.
That feeling — that feeling he had been fighting because it always was the only thing that would ever really do him in — is love. He loves you.
He loves you.
And you love him.
Didn’t think they told stories like this anymore, not in a world like this. So maybe, for once, Joel Miller just got lucky.
“No. It’s not. Just be sure you mean it.”
He can't tell if the glow in your eyes comes from within you or it beams out of him. “Every word.”
Eventually, he sheds you of his favorite dress of yours, your only dress, and he lays you back, fully bare in the nest of his blankets. In the corner of his bedroom, the heater hisses like the wind from a purple storm, the static crackle of warmth hovering in the air. You watch, with eyes that shine like stars, as he pops apart the pearl-snaps holding his shirt together.
And then his white undershirt goes next. He used to worry what he looked like, until he found someone else who had done exactly what was necessary to survive.
When he goes to unzip his pants, you sit up, hair mussed and the hickey he gave you earlier throbbing like a dream.
“I wanna do it.”
He lets you unbutton his jeans, slide the zipper down, at the edge of the bed, but your hands are shaking, your breath stunted.
“I’m fumbling like a teenager,” you huff, a small, flustered smile on your face. “It’s like I’m nervous, but what is there to be nervous about —,”
His mouth pressed up against yours creates the most beautiful silence of all.
How do you want me, you ask him and he thinks, all the time. But he takes you both under the covers and settles in next to you. He positions one leg over his hip and immediately you know exactly what he’s asking for. Quick as a whip, you are.
There’s a rustle of covers, the bed slats squeaking, and then he’s nearly nose-to-nose with you. You kiss him again, maybe nervous still.
He disconnects, when you slip between his legs and take his thick, leaking cock in your hand.
“Baby, wait, do you need — I know it’s a lot — I’m a lot –,”
He can’t fathom why he’s so nervous either. But you chuckle, shake your head, smile at him.
“Don’t need anything but you.”
Your leg wraps tighter over his hip, knee up to his ribs, as he sinks inside you. The palm wrapped around the back of your knee grips roughly only once.
This is true silence. The instant where the world goes muted, everything distant and muffled, when he’s first buried deep in your heat.
Your fingers thread through his curls and suddenly all sound is cranked up to an eleven. Your rapid, stilted breathing, the groan of the bed, your soft smothered moans, or are those his? —
“Fuck me, Joel.”
Eyes never leaving yours, he does.
Your fingers dig into his skull, nails biting, hand wrapped around his neck to hold yourself steady as he thrusts up into you. He thumbs your stiff nipple, half of his hand still grasping your ribs.
You meet him thrust for thrust, a slow steady pace that draws sweat to his hairline and endless gasps from his mouth. But your gaze stays strong, never falters. Your hand slips to his shoulder, to stabilize just a bit more, but then it's on his chest, twisting his chest hair and he thinks he feels that sparkle of sanity, of rationality, any restraint to hold back crack and shatter between the clench of his teeth.
“Goddamn–,”
He rolls, taking you under him and demanding a faster pace. You push your hand against the headboard, the bed knocking against the wall in rhythmic, hypnotic thuds.
He thinks you hiss his name before you bite down his shoulder.
The sharp shock of pain lights up his brain, channeling the sudden awareness that he liked that so fucking much all the way down his spinal cord where it presses hot against his groin.
He lifts up onto one elbow, skin sweat hot and sticky as it splits from yours.
“Tell me what you need to come,” he pants.
You whine again, your throat dripping sweat, but that’s not an answer. Knowing he has about a half-a-dozen to a dozen good grinds before it puts too much strain on his back, he uses every single one of them to drag you to the knife’s edge.
“What–,” grind, “do you need –,” grind, “to come?”
The wail you let out nearly makes him come on the spot. Your eyes have that same, out-of-this-world, off-this-planet unfocused gaze, any sort of language impossible. You plead with him in the silence. A silence loaded with damp moans, grit teeth, and skin against skin against skin against skin against skin. Best sound in the world, as far as he was concerned.
You arch until he lifts above you and, taking the hand that was by your head, tuck it down between your legs. You let him grasp around with spread fingers where you are wet, where his cock rocks into your body, watch as that pulls him apart faster with dark eyes, before pressing his thumb against your clit.
There, you say without words. There is where I need you.
Once, twice, he circles – he can feel the tightness in his back already settling in, his jaw fixed and locked, his body battling the two overwhelming sensations of dull pain and fierce, wild pleasure – and you hit your release and you soak him in it.
He falls then too, falls just as hard and as fast as you, the chronic pain he holds in his shoulders, his neck, his back, his knee fleetingly gone in the rush of heat that branches out of his body from his groin and it feels divine.
When he lies on top of you, face buried in the curve of your neck, the heat from your humid skin warming up the breath in his lungs, the throb of your body matching his, his mind wiped clean, the thought occurs to him:
It’s not silence he’s found with you, it’s quiet.
It’s peace.
Eventually, some awareness seeps back into his trembling body and he rolls off of you, but takes the curve of your jaw in his hand as he goes. He can’t settle into the pillows because he can’t stop kissing you, love bites occasionally against your lip, as if where his body fails, he proves his love for you won’t end so easily.
Eventually, you press your fingers into the base of his skull and, like a reset button, he groans and drops onto his back.
Eventually, the quiet returns. Only soft noises, murmurs of existence outside of this perfect little room, fill the space.
Eventually, he falls asleep with you curled up next to him.
He knows you love waking up in bed together, but he also knows you love fresh coffee even more.
Which is where Ellie finds him the next morning.
He nearly adds too much ground coffee to the pot because he’s distracted, lost in thought about the way your curves looked in the bright morning light, when the back door slams open and a little creature made of entirely scarves, mittens, and an oversized purple jacket stomps into his kitchen and clomps its snowy shoes on the rug.
“Joel, we gotta go!” She’s a little breathless, red-cheeked too as she unwinds the scarf around her head and her face is revealed. “We don’t wanna miss it!”
“Miss what?” Joel asks, this time carefully measuring how much water the pot needs.
His question is not met with her usually buzzy chatter. Instead, she’s stopped undoing her scarf and just stares at him like he’s been beamed down from another planet.
He realizes all too late that he’s still in PJs at 9AM (basically a sign of another apocalypse), he’s making more coffee than just for himself, and he’s smiling.
Shit.
“Ellie, um, I –,”
She rolls her eyes. Her scarf is flung off her neck and she starts yanking off her gloves, her plucky attitude back, if not a bit smug.
“Get your girlfriend up too. They’re lighting the big tree in town square in an hour. I know she’d be pissed if she missed it.”
So definitely caught. Time to be “The Adult” here and put it out on the table.
“Don’t call her that.” Joel eyes her. Coffee percolating, he grabs a slice of bread and Ellie’s favorite jam. “Makes it sound like we’re fourteen.”
She frowns at him, classic “pouty-mouth”.
“I’m fourteen — rude. But seriously, and I say this because I care, get over yourself. Call a spade a spade. You’re dating her, fucking her–,”
“Ellie!”
"– and you make gross ga-ga eyes at each other when you think I’m not looking."
She slides into the seat at the island in front of him as he pushes the toasted bread with jam across the marble to her. She takes a bite, chews with her mouth open, and shrugs. “That’s a girlfriend, dude.”
Joel turns back to the eggs that might be burning, his shoulders hunched and fist tight around the spatula. Hate it when the kid is right.
He salvages what he can of the eggs, plates them along with two strips of bacon on two plates, and balances a mug of coffee on each. He tries to salvage some of his dignity with a glare.
“When you’re older, you’ll see some things just don’t need labels.”
At that, she rolls her eyes again and snatches up the last strip of bacon from the folded, greasy napkins. “Whatever, you dork.”
Argument soundly lost, he gathers up the plates and heads back up stairs. She’s still mumbling to herself as he goes.
“'Girlfriend', pfft . . . much better than fuck bunny!” She yells to no one in particular.
You hear the entire conversation from bed, the door cracked open enough for the sound to travel. Muffling a giggle, you snag his white shirt from the floor and draw it over your head. You should probably be more embarrassed that Joel got caught in his Walk of Shame, even if it was to his own kitchen to make breakfast. But . . . you’re just not.
The smile is still on your face when his footfalls approach the door and he sticks his head into the room.
“Sounds like we’re busted,” you smirk.
Joel almost chuckles. “'Bout as busted as you can be.” He hands you one plate and sits on the end of the bed with his own. He takes a low, slow sip of coffee and you follow him. The eggs are nibbled at and the bacon is perfectly crunchy.
“So . . . girlfriend?”
He rolls his eyes. “Not you too.”
“I mean," you slip the plate and coffee onto the bedside table, then hug the sheets around your knees, "I agree with you on the bit about labels. It seems silly. And not wasteful silly. Just . . .”
“Silly.” Joel’s eyes are as dark as his coffee, warmer than it too. “Doesn’t really capture the whole thing, does it?”
An apocalypse and a half later, and a boy’s sweet eyes on you can still make your stomach swoop.
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Then what do you wanna say, if people start askin’?”
You bite your lip, eyes up in faux-thought. “Truth be told, I'm kinda partial to fuck bunny. Cute like with a little tail and ears —,"
The groan from Joel and subsequent head shake makes you laugh enough for you to take pity on the old guy. You crawl closer and his eyes slip from your face to where the sheet tucks under your knees. But a hand on his cheek returns his gaze.
"I like what you said last night." Your smile is soft, pleased. "That I’m yours. Like you’re mine.”
Joel’s warmth bleeds from his whole frame as he leans in close to put his mug on the bedside table, then leans in closer still to you. He drags his nose over your bare, exposed shoulder, in a way that is sweet and sensual all at once. He stops with a kiss on the hinge of your jaw.
“I like that too. I like saying that you’re mine.”
Ignoring the shiver that rockets up your spine at the low hum of his voice, the flutter of his lips barely against your cheek, you tuck an errant curl around his ear and it immediately springs back up again. You smile and he smiles back, a youthful shine in his eyes.
“Wherever you are, I am too.”
Listen to: I am the forest by Willie Nelson
#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller x female reader#joel x reader#joel miller series#joel miller x you#joel miller au#joel miller imagine#tlou fanfiction#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us hbo#joel miller tlou#tlou fic#joel the last of us#the last of us fanfic#tlou hbo#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller the last of us#joel miller fluff#joel miller fic#1k followers#1k celebration
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Lose My Breath
Pairing: han jisung x reader x lee know
Word count: 5,5k
Summary: for their youtube series where they look for new hobbies, Jisung and Minho come to your studio for a lesson in pole dancing. neither of them expected to find more than a new hobby..
Tags: youtubers!minsung, pole dancer!reader, established minsung, fluff, smut, nsfw, 18+, fingering, oral (f), a bit of m/m kissing, threesome, nipple play, vaginal sex, mirror sex, creampie, pet names -sorry if i forgot anything!-
a/n: happy birthday to the lovely @staylovesmiley this one is for you! <3
‘Good morning lovely people,’ Jisung grins into the vlogging camera he’s holding. ‘Today Minho and I are going to try out a new activity in our quest to find a new hobby.’
You watch in silence as the gorgeous man who walked into your studio about fifteen minutes ago, explains to their audience what they’re about to do. He’s dressed in some loose grey sweatpants and a black tank top that shows off his broad shoulders. His black hair is tousled and he’s wearing black eyeliner that’s making his eyes pop.
‘He’s a stunning little creature, isn’t he?’ a voice whispers next to you and you jump in surprise, bringing up your hand to cover your chest where your heart is beating so fast you can feel it thump against your palm.
‘You scared me,’ you laugh softly, not wanting to interrupt Jisung who’s still babbling to the camera and showing everyone the room.
‘Sorry,’ Minho grins, bumping his shoulder against yours. ‘I have very quiet feet and you were pretty distracted by my man doing what he loves.’
You feel your cheeks heat at being caught staring at someone else’s boyfriend. Jisung and Minho are a very popular Youtube couple and you’ve been following them for years, silently crushing on both men as they made their way through life with their own camera’s following their every move.
‘Oh, look who finally decided to join us!’ Jisung says then, turning the camera to you and Minho. ‘Say hi, baby.’
‘Hi,’ Minho says, waving a peace sign next to his face as his lips turn up in a small smile.
‘And this is y/n, she will be teaching us today,’ Jisung introduces you and you too wave at the camera.
Jisung turns the camera to himself again. ‘Wish us luck,’ he grins and then he lowers his arm and shuts off the camera. ‘Okay I’m all ready now.’
‘Did you bring any shorts like I requested in the email?’ you ask them, eyeing the sweats they’re both wearing. They may look ridiculously good in them, but wearing pants like that did not go well together with pole dancing.
‘Oh yes, we’re wearing some underneath,’ Minho says and then he promptly pushes down his sweatpants, revealing black athletic shorts.
You blink and Jisung giggles.
‘Min, baby, you can’t just start undressing in front of y/n,’ Jisung says, reaching over to help his boyfriend pull his pants over his shoes.
‘I’m wearing shorts? It’s not like I’m naked,’ Minho mumbles, but his ears turn red.
‘It’s fine,’ you smile at them. ‘I’ve seen it all after six years of dancing and teaching.’
Jisung makes a face as he too gets rid of his sweatpants, leaning heavily on Minho as he pushes them off his feet. ‘I can’t even imagine how some people probably show up to pole dance.’
‘Yeah, you don’t want to know,’ you laugh, not missing the curious glint in either of their eyes.
You put on some soft music and start warming up, instructing the man what movements are best to prep their muscles and they easily fall into your warm up routine.
‘Very good,’ you praise them when you’re done. ‘Do you want me to show you the whole routine I’ll be teaching you first or would you rather I’ll take you through it step by step?’
‘Routine,’ Minho says at the same time as Jisung goes; ‘Step by step.’
They look at each other and for a moment they seem to have a whole conversation with just their eyes until Minho raises his eyebrows and licks his lips, causing Jisung to let out a little whine, sagging his shoulders as his cheeks turn red.
‘Routine first,’ Jisung agrees and you let your eyes wander between the two of them.
Sexual tension seemed to roll off of them and you’re pretty sure that if both you and the camera weren’t here, Minho would have had Jisung pressed up against one of the mirrors in a heartbeat.
‘What just happened there,’ you ask with a chuckle as you try to ignore what their interaction just did to you. It shouldn’t have been hot, but it was.
‘Nothing,’ Minho smiles. ‘Please show us the routine.’
Pushing away your feelings, you nod and get in position, winking at Jisung who’s still blushing. You start with the pole in front of you and grab onto the cold metal with one hand, easily maneuvering your body around it until your back is against the pole. You move your hips in a sensual way and reach up with your arms before arching your back as you move to lower your body and spread your legs. It’s a pretty sexy, but easy routine and you let your muscles move on auto pilot.
When you end with your back against the pole again, only slightly out of breath, you can’t help but notice how both men have moved closer. Jisung his mouth is open in a little ‘o’ while Minho has his hands in his pockets, watching you with his head cocked as if he’s trying to figure out how you just did that.
‘You want us to do that?’ Jisung asks. ‘That was–’ he clears his throat. ‘Very sexy.’
‘Agreed,’ Minho nods.
‘Thank you,’ you smile. ‘And yes I will teach you how to do this.’
Jisung frowns, but when Minho pats his butt, he slowly walks towards one of the poles and stands before it like you had.
‘Put all your fingers together, like this,’ you show them your hand. ‘And place it at forehead level on the pole. ‘Then you go ahead and sink under your arms,’ you instruct, moving your body to get in front of the pole with a sexy sway in your hips.
When you look back at Jisung and Minho, they are nodding to themselves and get in position, placing their fingers against the metal. Both men follow your instructions and move smoothly to the front of the pole, just like you showed them.
‘Very good!’ you grin at them, clapping your hands.
You show them the next move and once again they execute it perfectly.
Jisung beams at you with sparkling eyes and you can’t help but compliment them again. ‘You have great form! I told you, you could do it!’
Jisung giggles and moves on the ball of his feet in excitement. ‘Show us the next move!’
You go through the next few moves with them, correcting their postures here and there, but overall they take to the routine like a duck to water.
‘There you go, very nice!’ you compliment the both of them with a little cheer when they finish going through the entire routine for the first time.
You give them a few more pointers and at Jisung’s request you join them for the entire routine one more time before he goes to the camera’s to shut them off.
‘That was way more fun than I thought it would be, easier as well,’ Minho admits, sitting down next to you on the floor as you start your cool down stretches.
‘I haven’t heard someone say it was easier than expected in a long time,’ you chuckle, leaning forward to touch your toes.
‘Oh,’ Minho frowns. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’
You sit up and shake your head with a smile. ‘You didn’t, don’t worry. It’s also been a while since I’ve seen someone take to it so easily, but I guess it makes sense with your dance background.’
‘Did I just hear you say we’re naturals?’ Jisung pipes up, letting his body fall to the floor on Minho’s other side, his head resting on his boyfriend's thigh.
‘Yes,’ you laugh. ‘You have lots to learn, but if you commit to it, I am very sure you’ll be upside down in that pole and spinning around in no time.’
‘I’d rather focus on the fact that you know I have dance experience. You watch our videos?’ Minho asks, watching you carefully.
‘I do,’ you nod, your cheeks heating up until you’re sure you’re as red as a beet. ‘I’ve been following you guys pretty much since the beginning.’
'Awww, really?' Jisung coos, sitting up again to also start stretching. ‘That’s so sweet.’
‘Why didn’t you say so sooner?’ Minho asks.
You shrug and lift your arms above your head to stretch your back and shoulders. ‘You didn’t ask and I was being professional I guess.’
They both smile at you and the three of you chat about their channel for a while as you lead them through a cool down.
‘Do you have any more lessons after this?’ Jisung asks when the three of you get up again and you offer them a bottle of water from your mini fridge.
You look at your watch. ‘I do, but not for a few hours.’
Jisung shares a look with Minho. ‘Would you want to join us for lunch?’
‘Oh, uhm sure,’ you nod. ‘Why not!’
*******
In the next few weeks Minho and Jisung come back about twice a week for more lessons from you. Sometimes they film, sometimes they don’t and you love watching them grow each week, picking up on the movements quicker than any of your other students. They often bring you coffee or homemade treats that Minho made and you can comfortably say that the three of you have developed a bit of a friendship.
There’s lingering touches sometimes and heated gazes when they watch you do your thing on the pole, but not once have they been inappropriate. They make you feel seen, sexy and safe.
‘I have a question,’ Jisung says on a Thursday evening when you’ve just finished your lesson.
‘Mhm,’ you hum, moving into your stretch.
‘What do you think about us? I mean, how do you feel about us?’
‘What do you mean?’ you ask, sitting up so you can look at him. ‘Are you asking if I like you? Because of course I do. I’m very happy the two of you came into my life and I’d like to think we’re friends.’
‘Friends,’ Jisung mumbles and his brows furrow. ‘Right.’
You tilt your head in question. ‘Was that not what you wanted to hear? You don’t think we’re friends?’
Jisung’s eyes widen and he crawls closer to you, already having finished his stretches. ‘No, no I didn’t mean it like that! I love that you consider us friends, I just..’ he bites his lip nervously and glances at his boyfriend.
Minho chuckles from your other side. ‘What he was meant to ask was, are you attracted to us?’
You nearly choke on your own spit at the unexpected question and you start coughing violently. Minho gently pats your back and Jisung hands you a bottle of water, his cheeks are red, but his eyes are hopeful.
‘Sorry,’ you mumble when you finally feel like you can breathe again. ‘Did you just ask me if I think you’re hot?’
Minho lets out a laugh and Jisung giggles.
‘Basically,’ Minho nods.
‘Wow, okay,’ you mumble, taking another sip of water. ‘I mean, how can I not? Have you seen yourselves?’
The two of them share another look and Jisung scoots even closer to you until his knee touches your thigh.
‘So you are attracted to us?’ Jisung repeats Minho’s question.
Nervous butterflies swirl in your stomach and you suddenly feel hot all over by the way they both stare at you with the same heated gaze you’ve seen before.
‘I- yes,’ you admit, licking your lips. ‘I am.’
Jisung smiles and beams at Minho, causing the older to chuckle at his boyfriend and lean closer to you to reach out and pinch Jisung his chin. ‘Patience, baby.’
‘I’m not patient and you know it,’ Jisung pouts and both Minho and you laugh at his sad face.
Minho lets go of Jisung and places his hand on your thigh. His touch immediately heats up your entire leg and when you look down to see his long fingers against your bare leg, you nearly groan out loud.
‘We have a question for you, pretty,’ Minho says, his voice sounds lower than usual and it makes you shiver. ‘And I need you to answer honestly, can you do that?’
You nod and look up at him, meeting his eyes. ‘I can.’
‘Good,’ he smiles. ‘If you say no, I promise there will be no hard feelings between us and we can still be friends.’
Your mouth suddenly feels dry and you wish you were still holding onto that bottle of water, but you nod again anyway.
‘You see,’ Jisung starts, placing his hand on your other thigh. ‘We’ve had this fantasy for a while now, but never found the right person.’
‘But now we did,’ Minho continues. ‘You fit with us perfectly and we both like you very much.’
Jisung nods enthusiastically, his fingers tightening on your thigh a bit. ‘We’re kind of hoping that you feel the same way about us.’
You blink at them, your head moving left to right to look at them both. ‘I’m flattered, but I’m not sure what you’re asking of me? Is it sex? A one night stand? A relationship?’
‘For now it’s sex,’ Minho grins. ‘But we’re open to more if it leads to that.’
‘Alright,’ you say, nodding slowly, your thoughts racing about as loud as your heartbeat. ‘And you want it now?’
Jisung lets out a little whine and leans in to press a sweet kiss to your shoulder. ‘We wanted it yesterday, last week, hell the day we met actually, but now works.’
You laugh at his ridiculous babbling and place your hand on top of his own. ‘Now works for me as well, but one of you will have to get up to lock the door.’
You’ve barely finished the sentence when Jisung jumps up and jogs towards the little hallway where the entrance for your studio is. You giggle at his eagerness before turning towards Minho who’s already looking at you.
‘You’re sure?’ he asks.
You nod and feeling bold, you move and crawl into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. ‘Oh, I’m sure.’
Minho’s hands immediately clasp your hips to pull you even closer, pressing your clothed chores against each other. You bite your lip when you feel how hard he is already and without a second thought you crash your mouth against his. He responds right away, one of his arms wrapping around your waist to keep you in place against his body while the other moves so he can grab onto the back of your neck.
‘Hey, you started without me,’ you hear Jisung’s voice say faintly behind you before you feel a strong warmth pressing against your back.
A hand moves your hair to the side, freeing your neck and a heartbeat later lips are pressed against your skin. Minho slips his tongue inside your mouth when you gasp and a moan escapes your throat as he tangles it with yours while Jisung leaves open mouthed kisses on your neck.
‘Hmm if I'd known you wanted this, I would have asked earlier,’ Jisung says against your skin while gliding his hands from your sides to your bare thighs and then back upward towards your breasts.
You can only moan again in response, too busy kissing Minho, which he is obviously very good at. It’s messy, wet and hot and you love every second of it.
‘Hmm you make such pretty noises,’ Jisung whispers against your neck, his fingers slipping underneath the sports bra you’re wearing. ‘I can’t wait to make you scream when I eat you out.’
You arch your back for as far as you’re able to and a violent shiver goes through your body when Jisung teases your nipples, twirling his fingers around the sensitive buds. Minho breaks the kiss and leans back a little so he can look down at where Jisung’s hands disappear underneath your sports bra.
‘Take it off,’ he says to his boyfriend.
Jisung does as he says and frees your breasts in one quick motion, slipping the top over your head and throwing it behind him on the floor.
‘Hmm beautiful,’ Minho mutters, moving his hands to caress your stomach and up towards the underside of your breasts before cupping them. ‘So perfect.’
You claw at Minho’s shirt, trying to take it off and make it even. He chuckles at your efforts and leans in to capture your lips again, successfully distracting you from your task. Behind you, you hear the rustling of clothes and when Minho lets go of your lips again, he turns you around and basically drops you in Jisungs lap.
‘Hello baby,’ Jisung grins, eying your naked breasts that heave with every pant that leaves your mouth.
He has taken off everything but his boxers and you take a moment to appreciate his lean form, smooth skin and the tattoos that cover his chest. He’s absolutely mouthwatering.
‘Hi yourself,’ you purr, reaching out to trace the large tattoo on his side. ‘I like your tattoos.’
Jisung preens under the compliment and pulls you closer. ‘How much?’
Giggling you lean forward to press your lips against the black compass on the left side of his chest. Your tongue sneaks out to trail a wet line all over the ink and Jisung lets out a surprised grunt at the feeling. He grabs onto your neck and pulls you up to kiss you.
His lips are even softer than Minho’s and you melt into him, moving your hands to his strong shoulders and then to his hair to tangle your fingers in the soft black strands.
It should surprise you how fast you adapted to this situation with the two men you only met a few weeks ago, but seeing as you’ve been crushing on them for years, it probably wasn’t that hard for your brain to accept.
A naked chest presses against your back then and hands move from your hips to the front of your black yoga shorts, cupping your clothed pussy. Liquid heat spreads through your entire body and you let out an embarrassing whine against Jisung’s lips when Minho pulls his hand away again to tug at the waistband.
‘Can I take it off?’ he asks, pressing a small kiss on your shoulder.
You pull back from Jisung’s mouth and giggle when he pouts at you. His lips are swollen and red and his pupils are elated, he looks even prettier than usual like this.
‘Stand up, baby,’ Minho says and you’re not sure if it's to you or Jisung, but the both of you get up with his help. ‘Good, now take it off.’
Minho smirks as once again, both you and Jisung follow his demand. Jisung pulls off his boxers, his dick springing free against his toned stomach, a drop of pre cum already drips down his length and your mouth waters at the sight. You quickly follow his lead and take off your shorts, shedding your underwear as well.
‘Look at that, I’ve got two lovely stunning creatures now,’ Minho hums, licking his lips as his eyes devour every inch of naked skin in front of him. ‘Ji, baby, why don’t you get on your knees for y/n.’
Jisung drops to his knees right away, his hot breath tickling against your pelvis bone as he scoots closer to you. The sight of his mouth only inches away from your pussy makes your legs feel weak and you look at Minho with pleading eyes, hoping he’ll understand you’ll need his support if his boyfriend is going to make a meal out of you.
Minho grins, drops his own boxers to the floor and strides over to you with three big steps. He pulls you against his chest, his arm hooking around your waist underneath your breast to hold you steady.
‘Feast away, baby,’ he tells Jisung.
One of your legs is placed over Jisung’s shoulder and then he licks a fat stripe between your already slick lips, all the way from your hole to your clit. If it wasn't for Minho’s hold on you, you would have collapsed.
‘Fuccckk,’ you moan, your head falling back against Minho’s shoulder.
Jisung hums and dives in again, this time putting even more pressure with his tongue. Your hips buck on their own accord and Jisung reaches up to hold you in place against Minho.
‘Hmm you taste delicious, baby,’ he murmurs against your folds, nipping at them with his teeth.
‘Unnghh,’ is all you are able to let out, your brain feeling hazy with lust and pleasure.
Minho starts placing wet open mouthed kisses against your neck as his free hand plays with your nipple, while Jisung keeps lapping at your clit with his skillful tongue. Heat curls in your stomach and when he adds a finger and curls it just right, you cry out so loud that it startles you a bit. You’ve never been this loud before. The thought immediately leaves your brain when another finger is added to your heat and your legs are starting to shake.
‘Please, Sungie,’ you moan, trying to buck your hips again.
Jisung picks up the pace, moving his tongue and his finger in tandem.
‘That’s it, kitten, let go for us,’ Minho whispers in your ear as his fingers twist and pull your already sensitive nipple.
‘So close,’ you whine, the coil in your belly getting tighter and tighter.
When it snaps your eyes roll back and you moan Jisung’s name. Your legs give out, but Minho’s hold keeps you up as Jisungs keeps moving his fingers until he’s sure you’ve ridden out your orgasm.
‘Hmm so sexy,’ he says against the inside of your thigh, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your skin there.
Your legs shake and Minho gently lowers himself and therefore you to the floor. He sits you down in his lap and moves your limbs around like you're a doll.
‘Look at that,’ he hums, leaning his chin on your shoulder.
‘Hmm?’ you hum, still a bit hazy from your release.
‘Look in the mirror,’ Jisung says, moving to sit behind Minho.
You do as he says and gasp at the sight that greets you. You barely recognize yourself, naked, flushed skin, big eyes and wild hair. Your feet are on either side of Minho’s thighs, causing your legs to stay open and displaying your glistering pussy for all of you to see in the mirror.
Minho moves his hands from your breasts towards your core and when his finger gently dips into your soaking folds, you shiver.
‘Mhhgh, sensitive,’ you mutter, but you don’t slap his hand away.
‘You can take it,’ Minho whispers, biting the skin between your shoulder and neck.
Jisung moves to your side and lays down onto his stomach, his chin resting on your thigh as he stares at your pussy with big hungry eyes like he hadn’t just eaten you out already. His tongue is peeking out of his lips and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was drunk or at least a little tipsy.
‘Can I go again?’ he asks, looking up at Minho.
‘No,’ Minho growls. ‘It’s my turn to play.’
Jisung huffs, but stays where he is, pressing a soft kiss on your thigh. You reach out to pat his hair and he smiles up at you.
‘You ready, kitten?’ Minho asks, his free hand coming up to circle your throat lightly. ‘I want you to keep looking in the mirror the entire time, okay?’
All you can do is nod, your gaze connecting with his through the mirror.
‘Good girl, now watch how easily you’ll take my finger.’
Minho slips his finger inside and your mouth falls open at the sensation. It’s only one finger, but it still feels so unbelievably good. Your head falls back against Minho’s shoulder, but you make sure to keep your eyes on the mirror, watching as he starts pumping his finger in and out of you. Wet slopping sounds fill the studio and soon your moans echo off the walls as well.
‘More, Minho, please,’ you beg, the sensitivity from before completely gone.
Minho’s fingers leave your throat to play with one of your nipples again, pinching the bud between his thumb and forefinger. Jisung sits up beside you and takes the other nipple in his mouth, sucking and twirling his tongue around it until you’re a shivering mess. A second finger is added to your core and your eyes fall close as the pleasure nearly overwhelms you.
‘Eyes open,’ Minho growls in your ear, pinching your nipple so hard a yelp leaves your mouth.
It’s a good type of pain and when your eyes lock with Minho’s once more and his thumb brushes over your swollen clit, you fall over the edge for the second time. Your legs are shaking violently and it takes everything in you to keep your eyes from rolling back inside your head.
‘Such a good girl,’ Minho murmurs, kissing your neck as he fingers you through your orgasm. ‘So tight and responsive.’
‘She’s perfect,’ Jisung says, his mouth still attached to your breast.
‘God,’ you groan, coming down from your high. ‘You guys are.. fuck.’
Jisung laughs and pulls back to look at you, his hand coming up to push a sweaty piece of hair behind your ear. ‘We’re just Minsung, baby.’
You smile at hearing their nickname and reach out to touch his chest. ‘That’s enough for me.’
‘Good, because we’re not done with you yet,’ Jisung smirks. ‘How’d you feel about riding my di–’
You don’t let him finish and push yourself up against Minho’s thighs to basically launch yourself against him. Your legs still feel like jelly, but Minho’s hands on your hips help you straddle Jisung who laughs in pleasant surprise at your attack.
‘I guess that’s one way to answer,’ he grins. ‘You’re that desperate for me, huh?’
‘Oh shut up,’ you laugh, lining yourself up with Minho’s help.
‘You can just say you want to be fu–’ Jisung’s mouth falls open when you sink down, your walls clenching around him. ‘Fuck, fuck fuck,’ he groans, throwing his head back and exposing his long neck.
You waste no time to lick a fat stripe from his collarbone all the way to just behind his ear and he shivers beneath you. Minho moves to sit beside you and grabs onto the back of Jisung’s neck, pulling his head back up.
‘How does she feel, Jagi?’ he asks Jisung when you roll your hips forward before bouncing up and down.
‘So good,’ Jisung whines. ‘So tight and warm.’
Minho groans and leans forward to catch Jisungs lips with his own, kissing him feverishly. The sight of their tongues tangling is breathtaking and you can’t help but slow your movements to enjoy the view.
Jisung moans and grabs onto your hips, his tongue still battling Minho’s, but the instruction is clear and you slowly increase your speed again before leaning in to press open mouthed kisses against Jisung’s neck.
When Minho pulls back and Jisung whines at the loss, you tilt your head up and press your lips against his instead. The kiss is messy and wet and your rhythm fails again as you’re too focused on both the kiss and the noises Jisung makes.
‘Such pretty noises, right?’ Minho murmurs, burying his face into your neck and biting down on your skin again.
You hum against Jisung’s lips and arch your back when Minho’s fingers twirl around your hard and abused nipples. They're so sensitive that it sends a shock through your body and you moan into Jisungs mouth, your hips faltering. Both their hands find their way to your hips and help you move.
The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room and the feeling of being sandwiched between two hot bodies makes the coil in your stomach tighten once more, heat spreading through your veins as your third orgasm approaches.
Jisung comes first, his hips rutting up with little shocks as he moans into your mouth. Minho quickly moves his hand down to your folds to circle and pinch your clit. You’re a withering mess in seconds and when he bites down on your shoulder you actually come with a scream this time.
Your body sags against Jisung and for a moment the three of you just sit there, hugging each other and catching your breath.
‘Do you think you’d have one more in you?’ Minho asks when the sweat on your skin is starting to cool down enough for you to shiver in their arms.
Never in your life have you come more than three times in a row, but the thought of saying no doesn’t even cross your mind, especially when you feel his cock twitch against your ass.
‘Only if you take me against the mirror,’ you tease, looking over your shoulder to wink at him.
You’re only partly joking, but Minho just grins at you and stands up. He gently pulls you off of Jisung, chuckling softly when the both of you shiver when his softening cock slides out of you, before he easily hauls you up in his arms and wraps your legs around his waist.
‘I’ve had a dream about this,’ Minho mumbles as he approaches the mirrored wall and presses your naked back against the cold glass.
‘I’ve thought about this too,’ you admit, blushing. ‘But it was actually you fucking Jisung against the mirror.’
‘I want that!’ Jisung squeals behind you.
Minho laughs and repositions you in his arms so his cock is teasing your soaking entrance. ‘I’m sure we can make that fantasy come through as well.’
Your eyes widen and that’s when he sinks home, pushing all the way into you with one smooth movement.
‘Oh, fuck,’ you moan, his cock stretching you deliciously.
‘How are you still so tight,’ Minho pants, his hands squeezing your ass. ‘Fuck.’ A droplet of sweat drips down from his hairline to his chin and you follow it with hazy eyes before focussing on his lips where his teeth are biting into his bottom lip.
‘She feels amazing, doesn’t she?’ Jisung has gotten up from the floor and is now pressed up against Minho’s back, his chin leaning on his shoulder.
‘So good,’ Minho agrees, squeezing his eyes shut as he ruts his hip upwards.
‘Mhmh,’ you moan, pleasure is already building in your belly again and your eyes flutter shut as your head falls back against the mirror.
This time Minho doesn’t scold you to keep your eyes open, he just buries his face in your neck and attacks your skin with his tongue and teeth. If there’s one thing you’ve learned about him today, it’s that he likes to bite and leave marks.
The sensation of his cock pounding into you, the cold mirror at your back and the warmth of his tongue against your neck is almost too much. Your muscles tremble and when Jisung reaches around Minho to let his hands travel all over your body, you start to feel dizzy.
‘Please,’ you murmur, clenching your walls around Minho. ‘Please, Minho.’
You’re not sure if you’re begging for him to come or to go faster, you just know that it’s all getting too much. Tears start to leak from your eyes as your body doesn’t know what to do with the overload of sensations.
‘I’m close, Jagi,’ Minho murmurs against your neck, nipping at your collarbone. ‘Let go for me, yeah?’
You sob and dig your fingers into his shoulders as the strongest orgasm you’ve ever had takes over your body. Your mouth opens in a silent scream, your limbs are spasming and your vision turns black for a second or two.
A grunt leaves Minho’s throat as he comes inside you, his hands holding you close as he presses soft kisses all over your shoulders, neck and face while Jisung runs his fingers through your hair and whispers sweet praises in your ear.
When your body goes lax in Minho’s arms he sinks to the floor and cuddles you close. Jisung curls his body around your back and once more the three of you just sit there and cuddle into each other's warmth for a while.
‘Next time we’re doing this, we need to pick a more comfortable place than the floor of your studio or against the mirror,’ Jisung says, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. ‘As hot as it is.’
‘But the mirrors,’ Minho pouts.
You and Jisung both giggle and you reach out to tap his bottom lip with your finger. ‘So you want to do this again?’ you ask, smiling up at him.
Minho raises his eyebrows at you and tightens his arms around your waist. ‘Don’t you?’
Oh fuck yes.
a/n: i'm still pretty new to writing smut so uhm I hope that was good lmao. (it was a lot of fun to write hehe) If you enjoyed reading, please consider leaving a comment and/or reblog <3
shoutout to @staybabblingbaby for helping me brainstorm, u rock <3
general taglist: @jaeminie-cricket @jeonginsbaee @staylovesmiley @newbbystay @cashtonsbetch @mariahxrrera @kaleigh-2002 @silencionyx @smileykiddie08 @my-neurodivergent-world @yaorzu-blog @yoongiismylove2018 @staytinyluv @bookswillfindyouaway @queen-thiccness @notastraykid @ateez-atiny380 @estella-novella @furfoxsake22 @hyunjinhoexxx @insomnjen @girl-in-love-with-kpop @vivilovesuu @velvetmoonlght @skz8love @corgilover20 @littlelostdemonofthelight @stephanieeeyang @zulie-and-cats @chanshugsaretherapy @pizzalove5000 @dazzlingjade @milie-com @thequibbie @channiesrightasscheek @strawbrriz @delulustardust
#stray kids fanfic#stray kids x reader#minsung x reader#jisung x reader#lee know x reader#skz smut#skz fluff#stray kids smut#minsung smut#stray kids scenarios#stray kids imagines#skz x y/n#skz x you#lee know smut#han jisung smut#chancloud8 writes
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So like, transandrophobia.
To start this out, I am a trans woman, been around in the queer community for a while. I'm also bisexuality, polyamorous, disabled, and aromantic, and I think these other parts of my identity and the crap I've caught over the years for them heavily informs how I analyze something like transandrophobia. My wife is also asexual, so that plays a part in it too.
So every group of marginalized people has their own unique experiences and problems. It's more of a rule than something we've mathematically demonstrated, but as far as these things go it's ridiculously well established, and personally every time I've done even a basic dive into the issues faced by a marginalized group it's been self evident. I could easily list a dozen groups ranging from racial minorities to different kinds of disabled people to different queer identities and analyze their social issues but let's be real, this is pretty well established theory, anyone who needs me to do that is not really interacting with good faith. This is one of the big reasons we talk to people about their own experiences and groups, we cannot reasonably extrapolate the experiences of others from our own.
So like trans men and trans mascs and anyone else that falls under that umbrella has their unique experiences. The idea that we would even question this is weird to me? Like I can't even imagine the kind of evidence someone would need to present to me to change my mind, and given the pattern of the queer community to be shitty in exactly this way to people in our community, yeah that is not happening.
Therefore, we are taking it for granted that the trans men/masc/related umbrella has their own things going on like everyone else ever, and I don't understand how someone acting in good faith can try to claim otherwise unless they are young or otherwise very inexperienced with such things.
The next point of contention seems to be the name, and I gotta be real I don't care and I don't understand why other people do. I've read all sorts of arguments against the word transandrophobia and the majority of them seem to be rooted in a misunderstanding of intersectionality, and even then it's like there is such a thing where people get so mired in theory that they miss the forest for the trees.
Perhaps more important to me, getting overly worked up about something as unimportant as the precise term is... weird. Like exclusionists hating on bi and ace people weird. I remember what it was like a decade ago when exclusionists were trying to police the words of bi women, and five years ago when ace and aro people were under constant attack under the pretense that our language was harmful for some reason or other. You are going to have to work very, very, very hard to convince me that any bickering over language as it relates to transandrophobia is not just more of the same.
Next, "transandrobros hate trans femmes" and similar stuff. I've seen the callout posts and found them completely unconvincing. Again, they read a lot like the old "ace people hate lesbians!" posts I used to see. I'm not convinced that the individuals involved were a problem, I am certainly not able to extrapolate a problem to the rest of the group.
Finally, there is this idea that "maleness is not a vector for oppression" and this invalidates something about the whole transandrophobia thing, ranging from the entire concept of trans men experiencing prejudice to something about language being imprecise all the way to "This is fascist shit, omg these people are basically nazis" depending on who says it. I'm not going to touch any of that and just look at the underlying logic.
This is based off a misunderstanding of intersectionality theory. Many people think of intersectionality as defining intersecting prejudice, like a ven diagram, such that transmisogyny is the intersection of transphobia and misogyny. This is incorrect. Intersectionality defines unique prejudice experienced by people with intersecting identities. Instead of a transmisogyny as the overlap of transphobia and misogyny, imagine adding a third circle that overlaps both but also has its own areas covered by neither.
Applied to transandrophobia, even if we assume maleness is not a vector for oppression, there is no reason to assume that the intersection of maleness with a marginalized identity doesn't result in new issues. Imagine that 3 circle venn diagram that represents misogyny, transphobia, and transmisogyny. Even if you remove the misogyny circle there is still plenty of ground covered by the transmisogyny circle.
This just isn't a valid criticism. It is a pure theory approach based on a flawed reading of theory.
So in summary:
Everyone has their unique shit going on and I've seen no convincing evidence that trans men, mascs, etc. Are the exception.
I not seen any convincing argument that the word itself is bad.
I've not seen any convincing evidence that there is some epidemic of transandrophobia truthers hating and harassing trans femmes on scales higher than normal background queer infighting.
The most coherent objection to transandrophobia I've seen is categorically incorrect and based on a fundamental misunderstanding of intersectionality theory.
I would like to remind everyone at this point I am a trans woman, part of the group that is supposedly a problem for and I've just not see it at all, to the point where it is kind of weird how intensely some people are pushing this.
I'm not trying to be mean or whatever, I'm sure the distress on display here comes from a real place and real trauma, but I've yet to see anything that makes me think there is substance to the objections to transandrophobia as a concept. It feels and reads like the latest round of queer intracommunity exclusionism, and the fact that this time around I'm not one of the target identities doesn't change that for me.
#I was tired of this shit 8 years ago when lesbians were telling me I was evil for calling myself a bisexual femme#You are going to have to do a lot better than this to convince me that trans dudes using a word is some crisis
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I hate to do asks but like just imagine this! At hogwarts there is a group that’s kinda like a polyamorous relationship but just for s*x and it’s like slytherin and gryffindor students and they decided they wanted someone from like a year younger so they start to slowly talk to innocent reader to get them comfortable around them before starting to get touchy with her (maybe she is a hufflepuff? That’s my house)
i’m a hufflepuff too 🫶🏻 thanks for feeling comfy enough to send me this ask if you don’t usually like doing that!
a proposition | poly!marauders
#1
pairing: poly!marauders x fem!reader (james, remus, and sirius, featuring alecto, dorcas, evan, lily, and mary)
warnings: none!
a/n: i don’t even realize my sirius favoritism until i proofread a poly story and i’m like damn okay then WHORE
a proposition: masterlist
────── ☾ ──────
Everyone knew about it.
Even though it wasn’t spoken of in the presence of the students not involved, everyone knew about it.
It wasn’t exactly a polyamorous relationship, because a relationship implies more than just physicality, which is what it was. It was purely for sex.
It was started, of course, by Sirius Black. He had a casanova reputation, and after a while, he started looking to the same group of girls when he was in the mood. His best friend, Remus, unknowingly slept with quite a few of the same girls, and a lot of those girls slept with each other.
James didn’t have as much sex as his two best friends, but he quickly became involved. After a while, a group was established.
All of the students involved knew one another well, and were all somewhat close friends that had not romantic desires toward one another, but unashamed lust. It was a sex positive group, and was essentially just a group of students who fucked each other whenever.
Despite the unofficial, non-relationship standing, they all agreed to only have sex with each other. If they wanted to add someone into the group, they all had to agree to it. So, in a way, it was a relationship, but, in a way, it wasn’t. There wasn’t really a label on what it was, but it worked for them.
Everyone in the group was in the same year at Hogwarts, so they all related to each other well.
However, a few of them began to crave something new- someone not so in line with everyone.
Everyone sat in the Gryffindor common room at an hour late enough that most others were asleep. James sat on the floor, his back resting between Dorcas’s legs as she played with his hair, tying small braids from the curly strands.
“We wanna bring something up,” James said.
“We’re doing we’s now?” Sirius scolded, taking a drag of his cigarette.
“I just mean, there’s something Dorcas and I talked about, and now I’m talking about it with all of you,” James clarified.
“Fair enough, what’s up?” Mary asked.
“I’m wondering how everyone here would feel about inviting someone new into the group.”
Everyone looked around the room at one another, attempting to gage the energy of everyone else before speaking their own opinions.
“I vote we should bring in someone younger,” Evan added.
“Younger like what? Like wouldn’t that be weird?” Remus asked.
“No, idiot, like a year under us,” Evan retorted.
“Where the fuck are we gonna find someone a year younger than us who would be down to do this?” Mary questioned.
Sirius flicked a spark off of his cigarette, clearing his throat and sitting forward a bit. “I have someone in mind.”
“Has everyone been trying to scope out prospects? Am I the only one who hasn’t thought about inviting in anyone new?” Alecto asked.
There was another shared look, and everyone shrugged. They had all thought about a change.
“Who’d you have in mind, Sirius?” Dorcas brought the attention back to his statement.
“There’s this hufflepuff a year below us, seems super innocent though,” Sirius said, taking a quick hit of smoke, “blushes every time I look at her.”
“Is she hot?” Remus asked.
“No, I’m proposing we all fuck her because she’s not hot,” Sirius snapped, his voice laced with evident sarcasm.
Sirius told them your name, and a few of them already knew who you were.
“She’s super cute!” Dorcas exclaimed, “I’m super down for that. Anyone disagree?”
Everybody was on board with the idea.
────── ☾ ──────
“Go on, then.”
James turned to Sirius and Remus, saying, “why does it have to be me? You go do it.”
“Fine,” Sirius replied, “Remus, go talk to her.”
Remus threw his hands up. “What happened to being set on making James do it?”
Sirius shrugged his shoulders. “She’s not gonna be sitting at that table forever. You nervous or somethin’?”
“No,” Remus quickly replied, “this is just, I don’t know, weird.”
“How’s it weird?”
“Because I’m about to go interrupt the poor girl in order to talk to her with the intention of later asking her to fuck me and all my friends,” Remus explained, “I don’t know, it’s just a weird thing to do.”
“Fuckin’ hell, I can’t stand you two,” Sirius said, flicking a spark off of his cigarette and walking over to you. He sat down across the table from you, watching you intently as you scribbled notes off a textbook.
You didn’t look up because you didn’t even consider that he was sitting near you for a reason.
“Hey.”
You looked up, and Sirius was looking directly at you. The familiar tint of red crept into your cheeks. “Hi.”
He took a drag of his cigarette, kicking his feet up onto the table. “Seen you around quite a bit.”
You couldn’t help but stare at his lips as they wrapped around the cigarette.
“We do go to the same school,” you quipped, smiling to show it was lighthearted.
Sirius smirked, happy you were responding well to him. “I usually don’t get on with anyone that isn’t in my year.”
“Why talk to me then?” you asked.
“Don’t know,” Sirius said, swinging his feet off the table and leaning his torso over the table a bit, “guess somethin’ just caught my eye.”
He knew his flirtations would make you blush, and they did just that. You smiled as you tilted your head back down, pretending to look over your notes in an attempt to calm yourself.
Sirius’s smile only widened watching you squirm under his gaze. “Whatcha studying?”
“Fwoopers,” you responded, “but understanding seems to evade me sometimes.”
“You know who’s super smart? My friend James.”
“Wh-“ before you could even stop him, Sirius signaled over James, who approached you with Remus in tow.
“This is James, James, say hi.”
James sighed. “I’m not a dog, Sirius, unlike some people.”
“Funny,” Sirius retorted, “do you think you could help my new friend with some Care of Magical Creatures work?”
“Oh, I don’t- I’m all good, I-“
“Course,” James lit up, sitting down directly next to you, “lemme see.”
He pulled the textbook toward him, familiarizing himself with what you were reading as Remus took a seat next to Sirius.
You watched a few girls walk past your table, shooting you dirty looks when they noticed that the boys were otherwise occupied with you. Sirius, Remus, and James has grown to be quite popular, and them speaking with a random, younger Hufflepuff was odd. Remus noticed your shift in energy.
“You alright?” he asked.
“Yeah, I just- I’m a year under you, I can’t do your schoolwork for you or anything.”
Sirius furrowed his brows in confusion. “Why would we want you to do our schoolwork?”
“I don’t know, is that not why you’re all talking to me?”
James diverted his attention from your textbook, looking at you in understanding. He felt a pant of guilt for springing everyone on you at once, and a pang of sadness for the fact you didn’t think they would actually want to talk to you just because.
“You forget James is top of his class,” Sirius said, but James didn’t think the mood called for quips. He shot Sirius a look, taking over the conversation.
“We’re sorry if we came off a little strong,” he started, “we all just wanted to say hey. We see you around a lot and think you’re cute, it’s as simple as that.”
“Oh,” you said, suddenly turning weak.
Sirius was smiling and relaxing back into the chair, amused to high hell with how innocent and blushy you were from such a small little compliment. He was so happy he suggested you.
────── ☾ ──────
The following day, Remus and Lily caught you walking down a corridor during your free period.
“Shouldn’t you be in class?” you asked, directing the question toward Remus as they caught up to you.
“Didn’t feel like going,” Remus said, nonchalant.
“You can’t just not go,” you laughed, assuming he wasn’t serious.
“Be careful with this one,” Lily said to you, gesturing to Remus, “he’s a horrible influence. You wouldn’t have caught me dead skipping a lecture last year. He can be very persuasive.”
Something about the way she said it made you swallow hard, suddenly extremely aware of your presence and appearance.
“I’m Lily,” she finally introduced herself, throwing a piece of hair behind her shoulder. She was beautiful, and you became self conscious in her vicinity.
You didn’t respond, just smiled, so she took the opportunity to continue. “My friends and I are all headed to Hogsmeade later. You’re welcome to join if you want!”
“You’d want me to join?” you questioned.
“Don’t be silly, why not? Remus will be there too, and a ton of other really cool people.”
You contemplated your options. You had no reason to believe that Remus and Lily were not genuine in their invitation, and you were excited at the prospect of new friends. “Sure,” you responded.
Lily squealed and gave you a small hug. “I’ll go tell everyone you’re coming!”
“Why would you need-“
“Bye!”
Lily scrambled off down the hallway, leaving you alone with Remus.
“She tends to get excited,” Remus explained, “she’s the friendliest people-person I know. Can get quite annoying, actually.”
You giggled at his statement, and he took the opportunity to brush his hand against yours. You took it as an accident, so you didn’t even react, but then he intertwined his fingers with your own.
You didn’t retract your hand, but instead looked to where yours met his, and then looked at him. He continued looking forward, walking alongside you and not acknowledging what he did. He wanted to see if you would pull away on your own, but you didn’t. It felt comfortable.
You got ready for your trip with your new friends alone, since all of them were in Gryffindor or Slytherin and stuck to their respective common rooms. You caught Lily and Mary outside of their common room, and you walked with them down to Hogsmeade.
Now that you were outside of the castle walls, you noticed a shift in how everyone acted with one another. They were all very touchy, making sexual innuendos at each other and allowing themselves to have fun without restriction.
You followed as they immediately went to Honeydukes. Alecto informed you that Sirius had a serious sweet tooth, and always made everyone go there as the very first stop on their trips. No one complained, though, because they all wanted to anyway.
As you all exited the shop, Dorcas made a show of sucking her lollipop, staring Evan in the eyes as she did so. You felt your cheeks go hot, almost feeling like you saw something you shouldn’t have.
The next stop was the Three Broomsticks, and James saw your confusion as you reached the entrance.
“You okay?” he asked you.
“Yeah, just- didn’t you all just get a whole bunch of sweets?”
James laughed, “and?”
You smiled toward him. “Fair enough.”
“We don’t like to shy away from the pleasure of life, darling,” Dorcas said, imitating a very english accent. Everyone laughed in unison at her impression.
You all crowded around a table, and you remained silent, your hands in your lap for fear of obstructing the space Sirius had to your left and Mary had to your right.
You listened intently as everyone joked and talked about their current courses and professors, when suddenly a question was directed at you.
“So tell me, which professor do you like the least? I just know it’s Professor Bins. I mean, you’re crazy if you don’t say Bins,” Lily said.
“If I had to pick, sure,” you said.
“He’s never done anything to drive you crazy?”
“I mean, there was this one time he assigned so much work over the holiday that someone threw a desk out the window,” you started.
“Wait what? What exactly happened?” Lily asked, enthusiastic that you were finally opening up.
“It was just all textbook readings and analysis, especially about the Ministry and MACUSA and all that, and he said it had to be done by the time we came back from holiday. A few students protested, and he just got more and more angry until someone stood up, picked up a desk, and chucked it out the window. It happened so fast I don’t think anyone had the time to levitate it before it hit the ground.”
Everyone chuckled at the story, and you felt at ease now that you were becoming more and more comfortable with the group.
“And did he…”
“Faint from sheer stress? Oh absolutely,” you added, smiling as you spoke, your posture adjusting to mimic your growing comfort.
You didn’t catch it, but Sirius and Remus exchanged a look, nodding their heads upward at one another as Sirius gently placed his hand on your thigh.
Your body jolted a slight bit as you flinched, startled by the unfamiliar feeling. Sirius immediately pulled his hand away, but you turned to him, and spoke low enough that only he could hear. “It’s okay, you can leave it there.”
Sirius put his hand back, resting it low on your thigh. As time went on, and you continued talking, he began to rub his thumb on your leg. It felt unfamiliar, but soothing and intimate.
Of course you were attracted to the people at the table: they were all insanely attractive and kind to you, but you hadn’t felt this feeling before. Someone was touching you, and so intimately, and it was doing something to you.
Sirius began to slowly creep his hand upward, rubbing your inner thigh under your skirt, only a few inches away from your most sensitive area.
You shuddered and your breathing hitched in your throat, but you didn’t stop him.
You were suddenly snapped back to reality when you noticed everyone watching you. You looked around the table, slightly embarrassed and slightly confused.
“We have a proposition for you,” James said.
#marauders#marauders era#poly!marauders#harry potter#poly!marauders x y/n#poly!marauders fluff#poly!marauders fanfic#poly!marauders smut#poly!marauders imagine#poly!marauders x reader#sirius black#sirius black x y/n#sirius black fluff#sirius black x reader#sirius black imagines#sirius black smut#sirius black fanfic#james potter#james potter x y/n#james potter x reader#james potter imagines#james potter smut#james potter fanfic#remus lupin#remus lupin x y/n#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin imagines#remus lupin smut#remus lupin fanfic#asks
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JUST HAD A THOUGHT !
König as a rising underground boxer, with his cute little nurse that comes with him whenever he goes. He lets no one else look after him and all his bandages have cute symbols on it.
Media is all over him and he just can’t help but brag about his cutie patootie nurse that only cares for him, and no other boxer has eye candy like he does.😵💫
boxer!könig × nurse!reader
warnings: +18, smut, sex!
you needed money urgently and you were in your last year of nursing. that's when you met könig, who was a friend of a friend of yours and who needed your services in exchange for good pay.
your first meeting with him was in the basement of a bar far from the city, late at night. könig showed up in the locker room, shirtless and wearing boxer shorts. his face and entire body had bruises and scars that seemed to have healed not very well. that's when you knew you were going to have a very hard job there.
in his following fights, könig managed to win and take first place in the standings. After each fight, both received a good amount of money that you shared equally. you spent hours with him in the locker room, cleaning his bloody face and placing bandages on his bruised knuckles. sometimes you got so late that könig invited you to his small apartment, where you took care of him until you inevitably fell asleep in his bed. könig took advantage and pulled you towards him, letting you sleep on his chest.
soon König gained recognition and was invited to fight in the best competitions in the city. both became a team and had to show yourselves as such. now you were wearing a matching shirt and skirt with the inscription "property of könig" on the back, so everyone would know that you were HIS nurse. könig dressed to match you, choosing the same colors of shorts that you choose for your little skirts.
the media began to take an interest in both, calling you "the little nurse" and praising the good chemistry you both had. noticing how your face became worried every time könig received a hit or how you jumped with excitement every time he won, without caring that your panties were visible under your skirt.
you also caught the attention of the other boxers who did not miss the opportunity to look up your skirt or try to talk to you. unfortunately for them, könig was always next to you, hugging you around the waist and growling almost like a dog when any of those sons of bitches tried to get close to you.
everyone understood that it was in vain to try to separate you, you were both there for each other. könig wore a chain around his neck along with a sign with your name on it that he always kissed before entering the ring because, according to him, it gave him luck. and every time he won, he would run up to you to hug and kiss you, not caring that he was dripping with blood and sweat.
dor your part, you massaged his muscles before each fight and even sucked his cock to make him more "relaxed." könig just let you do whatever you want with him just by feeling your skin on his and not going too far away.
today könig had fought the final against another guy, for a lot, a lot of money. in a fight straight out of a movie, könig had managed to establish himself as the supreme winner. the photos of you two hugging and kissing didn't take long, as did the glasses of champagne to celebrate. once the celebrations had calmed down, you took könig to the locker room, you had to clean his bleeding nose and a large open scar on his right cheekbone. but, he had other plans.
"that's it, keep it up.. c'mon.."
könig moaned, lying on a bench, while you rode his thick, sweaty cock. in your hand you still had the gauze with which you were trying to clean his wounds but it was difficult for you to stop in the face of so much pleasure.
at your waist you wore the könig winner's belt and several bills clutched in your short skirt. you couldn't stop releasing on him, feeling how your moisture fell down the length of his cock and wet his sweaty balls. the tip of his cock kissed your cervix with each thrust while your clits slapped against his happy trail.
"keep jumping, fuck you, fuck... my little nurse, always taking care of me, huh?"
könig brought his big hands to your breasts, breaking the buttons on your shirt and moving your bra, leaving your breasts in the air. you moaned at the change in temperature and your warm walls squeezed könig's throbbing cock. the breaths and moans of both of you echoed in the locker room as did the sound of your skin colliding.
"come on, make me cum, i know you can..."
he asked, now bringing his hands to your hips, helping you continue bouncing his cock. könig couldn't resist and raised his hips, fucking you hard and finishing inside you.
that night you returned home with the prize and with even more energy to fuck until the next morning.
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