#fic: warm me up

[tightjeansjavi]

warm me up

A/N: the voices won this round! @strang3lov3 & @speckledemerald also, this was my first time writing game!joel 👀 this could also be show!joel if that's what you're into! This fic really got away from me today and I didn't think it would be nearly as long as I planned it to be..but that's just sometimes how things work out 😉 huge thank u to Bug for making me this cute lil mood board and I LOVE the deers!!🤍

~word count: 3.3k~

Summary: while on patrol, you and Joel find yourselves caught in a treacherous snowstorm.

Pairing I game!joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: smut (explicit & implicit) enemies to lovers, implied age gap (non-specific) consent, cock warming, one sleeping bag trope, close proximity, using one's body warmth for survival, denial of feelings, mean!joel, grumpy!joel, reader is a spitfire and gets under Joel's skin easily, joel has a big cock! He is a big big man! teasing, banter, sexual tension, fluff, foul language, pet names: (darlin, sweetheart, and princess) reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED ANYTHING!

Joel is freezing, shaking like a goddamn leaf. It’s ironic, given his disposition. You should have tried to retrace your steps back to Jackson hours ago, but the winter was unforgiving, and the two of you have found yourselves in a real pickle; a frozen one.

“I told you that we were going to end up getting lost out here, Joel.” You grumble alongside him with your arms crossed over your chest. Your teeth are chattering, and it’s grinding his gears.

“We ain’t fuckin’ lost, sweetheart.” He gruffs back and adjusts his rifle strap along his shoulder. “I know where I’m goin.’”

You scoff at this because if he did know where he was going, you wouldn’t be fucking lost in a fucking blizzard right now!

“Right. I’m sure you do know where you’re going, Joel.” You mutter sarcastically under your breath.

He whips around to face you, cheeks speckled in red from the cold and even in the lowlight, you can see individual snowflakes sticking to his lashes.

“Alright, miss ‘I know everything.’ Which way do you think we should go?” He awaits your answer with a cocked brow and his lips pursed together. They’re severely cracked and on the verge of bleeding from the bitter cold.

“Not the direction we’re currently headed, that’s for damn sure! Let’s just fucking turn around and retrace our steps.” You bite back and watch the way that his jaw ticks from your tone. God, you’re a real thorn in this man’s side.

“Retrace our steps?” He laughs, shaking his head to the side and sucks in a harsh cold breath of air into his lungs. “The snow has covered up our tracks, you idiot.” He’s so fucking condescending, and you’ve just about had enough with his shit attitude for one day. Your blood is positively boiling under your thick layer of clothes, and you’d much rather succumb to Mother Nature and her wrath than spend another minute with this insufferable, annoying, mean, and painfully handsome man.

“Fuck you, Joel. I’m retracing my steps whether you have a say in it or not!” You snap and turn on your heel before you feel a rough, gloved-clad hand grasp your upper arm and yank you back towards a hard and very solid presence at your back.

“Quit your fuckin’ yappin!’” He barks against the shell of your ear. His voice is rasped, crackling like a roaring fire. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere without me, you got that?!” His grip around your arm only tightens when you tried to shove him away, but he’s built like a fucking steel fridge, and you’re no match for him.

“Then stop being a fucking asshole, Joel! I’d rather freeze to death out here than spend another minute with you!”

You mean every word. Well, you think that you do.

He sneers at your attempt to wound him with your words, as if a man with a heart made out of pure concrete can possibly be affected by the means of your figurative little daggers. They ricochet off his body and fall to the snow, disappearing under a sheet of white. “I wouldn’t have to be an asshole if you would just fuckin’ listen for once in your life! God, when we get back, and we will, I’m tellin’ Tommy that I ain’t ever goin’ on patrol with your ass again.”

His steel-like grip loosens when you don’t immediately bite back like he expects you too. He wants you to fight back, to call him names and send his own blood boiling because at least then he feels alive.

“Fine. We’ll do it your way.” You nearly whisper and bite down on the inside of your cheek, tasting harsh copper on your tongue.

“Fine.” He agrees and finally releases your arm. “We’re gonna wait out this damn storm for the night, and then tomorrow we’ll retrace our steps home. Who knows, sweetheart. Tommy might have already sent out a search party for us.”

“Let’s fucking hope that’s the case. The sooner this storm lets up, the better.” You think you’re going to cry, but you push your tears down as far as you possibly can. You have to conserve your energy, after all. Besides, Joel Miller isn’t worth your precious tears. Not even close.

He begins to survey the surrounding area. The woods offered some reliable cover with the thick evergreens acting as a shield from the treacherous wind. The snow is still falling in large flakes, but he might be able to get a fire going if he’s lucky.

“We should..probably y’know, share a sleepin’ bag for extra heat.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, feeling kinda silly in the moment because what did he have to be nervous for? His reasoning for sharing warmth was logical. It was just his survival instincts kicking in, right?

You, on the other hand, were unfazed by his request. Sure, it made perfect sense to share body heat with this man. Why the hell did he look so distraught over it - weirdo.

“Did Bear Grylls teach you that, Miller?” You look at him with a smirk playing on your lips. “If that’s the case, then we should probably sleep naked.”

That feeling that had laid dormant for so long, was beginning to reawaken and defrost at the thought of your warm, pliant, soft body being tucked up around him in close proximity. You were annoying, sure, and he could hardly tolerate your presence, but he couldn’t deny that you were a thing of beauty, and neither could his cock.

“No. Some reality TV star didn’t teach me the survival skills that I know, sweetheart. I’m jus’ that good.” He sounds cocky, full of himself and perhaps there’s a bit of eagerness detected in his tone? Maybe the dead giveaway is the way his cheeks flush, and this time it isn’t because of the cold.

You shrug and drop your pack and sleeping bag at your boots. “Whatever you say, Joel.”

He clears his throat and drops his hand from where it was resting against the back of his neck. He stares at you for a second longer than he would have liked to, and then announces that he’s going to go find some wood for a fire, and for you to stay put.

You wave him off and unroll your sleeping bag with a huff and begin to mentally question how the hell is this grizzly of a man going to fit inside of your sleeping bag? Oh well! Time to defy all the odds that have been stacked against you.

When Joel returns, he finds you already tucked away under the sleeping bag with your clothes neatly folded on top of your backpack. He managed to find a few fallen tree branches that would make good kindling, and some thicker logs for the base of the fire.

He avoids making direct eye contact with you as he crouches down and constructs a fire that he hopes to god will keep the two of you warm throughout the cold night ahead.

You already have taken notice of his suddenly quiet and almost docile demeanor with just your head visible and peeking out of the sleeping bag

“Are you sure that fire is going to last the night, Joel?”

His shoulders and back immediately tense from your question and you can already picture him clenching his jaw and muttering under his breath.

“Ain’t no tellin’ if it will last the night, sweetheart.” He stokes at the ember glowing logs with the end of a spare stick before looking over his shoulder at you. “Y’comfy in there?” His voice rasps, dipping down an octave and sounding much, much, lower.

“Yep.” You chirp. “Nice and cozy in here, Joel. Did I mention it’s very, very warm?”

He snorts under his breath, tearing his gaze away from you and focuses back on the fire. “Yeah. I bet it is.”

What you really want to say is: and it would be even warmer if you were here with me. But you refrain, and instead bury your face further into the contained warmth emitting from the sleeping bag.

Joel is hesitating, and that part couldn’t be anymore obvious based on his tense stature. Maybe he could just accept losing feeling in his fingers and toes instead of crossing that boundary with you. Or, he could man up and deal with the immediate feelings that would come as soon as his hands would inevitably touch your warm skin.

“Joel?”

Your voice tears him away from his thoughts briefly. “Hm?”

“Aren’t you..cold?”

Freezing. My cock and balls are about to fuckin’ fall off.

“M’fine.” He insists.

“So goddamn stubborn.” He hears you mutter under your breath followed by the sound of the sleeping bag zipper being pulled down. “Get in here before you freeze to death. I’m serious, Joel.”

“Fuck off. I said m’fine.” He grumbles and turns over his shoulder to look at you once more. His eyes catch a sliver of skin, a nipple peeking out from under the fabric as you were sitting up. His head whips around so fast he swears that his brain just got rattled around in his skull.

“Would you just be a fucking man and take your clothes off and get in here?”

So impatient, he thinks.

“You jus’ wanna see me naked.” He quips back.

“For fuck sakes, Joel. I just don’t want you to freeze out here. Is that so hard to believe?”

Yes.

“Jus’..don’t peek. Alright?” He slowly stands up from his place alongside the fire as he starts to shuck his heavy coat off his shoulders.

“Fine. I won’t peek, okay? Scouts honor.” You promise him and bring your hand over your eyes to cover them.

He’s grumbling to himself the whole time as he begins to undress. He bitches about the cold, his cock, and his nearly frozen toes as you listen quietly to the sound of his belt buckle being undone. He does not fold his clothes neatly like you did and instead they are left in a pile near the fire. He dashes for your sleeping bag, yanking the zipper down in a fury and climbs inside.

It’s a tight fit indeed with barely any room for him to squeeze in but he makes it work.

“Fuck!” His yell is muffled as he struggles to make himself comfortable in what little space he has. “Fuckin’ cannot believe I actually listened to you.” He rubs his hands together, blowing hot air between them.

“Oh, shut up, you big baby.” You stifle a laugh which earns you a displeased glare. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if you just would have—”

“Do not start with me, sweetheart. Don’t you fuckin’ dare.” His brows furrow and his jaw is clenched so tightly, you’re shocked that it hasn’t shattered.

“You’re all bark and no bite, Joel.” You mutter back and roll over onto your side so your back is facing him. You close your eyes and fully intend to get some much needed and deserved sleep, but the man beside you is squirming and making a big fuss.

“Darlin’ I know you ain’t want anythin’ to do with a man like me, but it was your idea for us to get naked under here..so all I’m askin’ is—”

“Just do whatever it is you need to do, Joel. Can you just be quiet about it? All I want to do right now is sleep, and your fussing about is making that really fucking difficult for me to achieve.” You snap.

“Are you givin’ me permission, sweetheart? Cus’ the last thing I want is for you to bite my damn fingers off if I touch you. So as long as it’s alright with you..” he trails off and you take matters into your own hands by reaching behind you and finding his cold hands and yanking them around your body. You couldn’t help but yelp from the stark difference of temperature from your body heat to his hands.

“You’re fucking freezing, Joel.” You state the obvious and he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. I didn’t exactly have time to warm them up, sweetheart. My apologies that my hands aren’t at the right temperature for ya.” You think you hear him snicker under his breath, but maybe it’s just his close proximity that makes you hear things.

“Whatever. It’s fine.” You reassure him.

His hands are big, huge, and the skin on his palms and fingers are rough. The feeling overall is quite pleasant, and soon enough his hands don’t feel like an ice block - quite the opposite actually.

He grunts softly as attempts to make himself comfortable without pressing himself into your back. It’s proving to be a challenge as it is, and he has this feeling deep in the pit of his stomach, that this challenge is going to get the best of him.

“What’s wrong now, Joel?” You try to ignore the way his thumbs are gently stroking the space between the curve of your breasts and under your rib cage, and how his touch on your skin is beginning to light a fire in your belly, and between your thighs. His touch is gentle and it’s making your head spin with need and desire.

“I jus’—I don’t wanna make y’feel uncomfortable s’all.” He admits, voice rasping deeply. “I’m fuckin’ freezin’, darlin’ but I don’t wanna—”

“Just shut up and stick your dick in me, Joel. You’ll be warmer then.” You surprise both yourself and him.

His meaty palms squeeze you gently, fingertips kneading the flesh as he inhales a shaky, yet audible breath. The tight confines of your shared sleeping bag suddenly feel ten times tighter, and hotter. It’s suffocating in a delicious sense that you and Joel are stuck here together in this rather..unfortunate situation. You hate him, and he hates you, yet the thought of his thick cock nestling between your thighs sounds like absolute heaven on a plate right now.

Joel thinks he’s on the verge of passing out from your vulgar statement. It’s been god knows how long since he’s felt the warmth of a woman’s body around his cock. It’s been too goddamn long, he thinks.

“..well, if you’re askin.’” He whispers as his hands maneuver your body to press back against him. One strong arm anchors itself around your waist, engaging you in a warm hold when you feel his hard, broad chest pressing against your back. You haven’t even seen his cock, yet you already can tell that he’s big. The word big might not even be able to describe the massive size that is Joel Miller.

“This doesn’t mean anything. Right, Joel?” You ask through the thick growing tension that coils itself around you and the burly man beside you like a snake.

“Doesn’t mean nothin’ at all, sweetheart. Jus’ sharin’ body heat for survival, like you said.” He rasps and blows a hot puff of air against the back of your neck as his strong thighs wrap around your own. Even this man’s feet are fucking huge in every sense.

Y’know what they say about big feet? An even bigger—heart. I was going to say heart.

“Okay.” You squeak out as you relax further into his hold around you.

“Can you jus’ let me know if you’re uncomfortable at any point? Cus’ if that’s the case, I’ll slip right out. No questions asked, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his apparent nervousness. It was sweet, in a Joel-like fashion. Hell must have frozen over right then and there because the Joel you had grown so accustomed to, was anything but sweet.

“Wow. You sure know how to romance a lady up, Miller. Did Tommy teach you how to do that?” You couldn’t help but wiggle your ass back against him. The thought of reaching down between your thighs and touching yourself crossed your mind, but you refrained.

He laughed, and it sent a wave of arousal gushing like a river because his laugh was beautiful. It was music to your fucking ears.

“Shut the fuck up.” His teeth grazed at the spot where your neck meets your jaw. He bit down, drawing blood to the surface of his indentation in your skin. “I taught Tommy everythin’ he needs to know on romancin’ a woman. Don’t get it twisted, sweetheart.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say, big boy.” You nearly purred. Your back arched towards him, a suppressed moan desperate to be set free when his teeth marked you.

“I think someone is a bit too eager over this whole arrangement that we have found ourselves in.” He comments in a low rasp and his hand drifts down from your hip and nudges your thighs apart with a practiced ease. His heavy cock pressed firmly against your lower back as he let out another praising grunt from between his lips.

“Stop playing with me, Joel. I don’t want to be played with.” You hiss under your breath when you feel the backside of his knuckles slowly drag through the seam of your cunt.

“Y’sure about that, sweetheart? If you don’t wanna be played with, then what do you want?”

Frankly, he’s taking too long for your liking and you decided then and there to take matters into your own hands; literally. You reach between your bodies before he even has a chance to protest as you blindly search for his cock. Your warm palm barely fits around the girth of him.

“I want you to take your cock and stretch me open, Joel. Think you can handle that? Best not keep a lady waiting. It’s awfully rude.” You tsk under your breath.

He growls as his hips buck upwards into your hand like he’s never felt the touch of a woman’s palm before in his life.

“Fine. I like a woman that knows exactly what she wants, anyway. Won’t keep ya waitin’ any longer, princess.”

Joel Miller is a man of his word and just when you think he’s bluffing, you feel the thick press of the head of his cock sliding through your slick folds and notching at your entrance.

He groans against your ear, jaw clenching, and teeth grinding because you’re tight and hugging him like a fucking fist.

“Jesus fuck. That’s a tight cunt if I’ve ever felt one.” He rasps as you slowly pull him in further at the rate that he pushes his hips. Soon, he’s bottomed out with his hips firmly pressed into your ass. His legs stay tangled through yours as his arms come to wrap you up in his hold once more.

“Fuck.” You breathe, lashes fluttering as he stretches you open. He fits snuggly, almost as if your pussy was making a home for his cock to stay there awhile, all cozy and warm with you. “See? Was that so fucking difficult?”

He shakes his head and you swear you can feel him grinning against your skin. “Nope. It wasn’t difficult at all, sweetheart. In fact, I think I’ll stay here awhile.” Yeah, he’s definitely enjoying this.

You smile at this, burying your face into the solid muscle of his bicep, pressing the lightest kiss there. Maybe you even nibbled on it, and maybe he chuckled and pulled you in even closer.

“Stay as long as you’d please, Joel.” You whisper softly.

Come morning the embers from the fire had long since died out, and the storm had since passed. You and Joel were still a bunch of tangled limbs and connected warmth by the time Tommy and the rest of patrol had found you.

Joel had since grown soft with his cock still buried deep within your warmth and his face was buried in your neck with peaceful snores slipping past his plush lips. His eyes barely peeked open when he heard familiar voices muffled, yet nearby. Tommy had just brushed a bit of snow off the top of the sleeping bag and pulled the zipper down when he was met with a sight that he wasn’t expecting.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He chuckled and shot his big brother a cheeky wink.

Banners made by the lovely @saradika 🤍

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[cashmoneyyysstuff]

“zukuu, you have to stop making faces at him.”

insulted, izuku splutters. breaking eye contact to gasp at you.

“ i wasn’t making a face ! was i..?” he trails off, you giggle, you turn your back to your boyfriend once again to continue wiping down the last of the dishes.

“he’ll pout harder if you keep making that scary face.”

“i-i wasn’t trying to scare him !” your boyfriend exclaims, looking at your baby cousin again and slumping when he sees the pout still fixed onto his face, visibly dimming “i don’t understand what i did wrong..”

“zuku, i already told you. kuma always looks like that. you’ll get used to it.” you reassure, a teasing smile on your face. your boyfriend seems undeterred by your explanation and hides his face behind his hands again, peeking through his fingers hoping to see even the minuscule crack of a smile on your younger cousin’s face.

your aunt had asked you to babysit your younger cousin takuma after suddenly being called in for work and having no one to watch over him for the day. you were free, and agreed to help her out, takuma was a sweet little boy and you didn’t get to see him super often. so the more you could the better ! unfortunately this fell on the same day as when your boyfriend was meant to come over to your house, but ever the loving, helpful boyfriend he is, izuku insisted on wanting to come over to help you out. he gets to spend time with you and get along with a cute baby, that sounded like a great time to him. and not to brag, but kids always seemed to love him.

every kid except for takuma apparently. the little boy’s face seemed permanently stuck with a frown. his eyebrows stood furrowed and his chubby pinch-able little cheeks puffed out, obviously unhappy with izuku’s presence.

you’d tried to tell izuku that this was just takuma’s resting face. that he looked at everyone this way and that it always surprised strangers. but as loving and doting as he is, your boyfriend could aslo be endearingly stubborn. he was determined to get takuma to smile at him at least once today. and now it looked like he was trying peekaboo. you couldn’t help but snort at your boyfriend’s laughable attempts at making your little cousin’s poker face crumble. “aw man, that one usually always works..” you hear him mumble. you put the final plate into your cupboard and turn with a sigh.

“izuku.”

“no no, i got it.” without realizing it, izuku’s brows furrowed in concentration, which your baby cousin unfortunately mistook for a challenge, furrowing his eyebrows even harder and even huffing at him. the nail in the coffin it looks like, izuku gasps, looking at your cousin with a betrayed expression “ ah ! what’d i do ?!”

“you were glaring at him !” you giggle, your boyfriend throws his head back, exasperated. you pull out a chair and sit next to him, giggling and pulling on takuma's pudgy cheek. said little boy does not break eye contact with izuku. you can admit he's acting kind of strange. was he actually going out of his way to challenge him ? the thought makes you giggle again. you turn to look at your boyfriend's pouty face looking at the exchange between you and your cousin.

"i didn't mean to glare at him.." he whines, leaning into your touch when you put your hand in his hair.

"i know."

"i felt like we were making progress."

"i..kinda doubt that," you snort, scratching at his green locks. desperately, he looks back at you wide eyed "but we were i swear ! it felt like he was starting to like me !"

"mhm ?" you break into a fit of laughter, and soon after izuku joins you, laughing softly to himself and shaking his head. takuma blinks at you both in confusion, and it makes you smile harder. seeing you laugh so hard makes izuku smile harder too, cheeks glowing a cute pink.

"i..sound crazy don't i ?" he asks, grinning at you. you pretend to think it over to tease him, and he huffs affectionately.

"hmmm, a little." izuku shakes his head, dropping it in shame as he stares at his lap. he heaves a heavy sigh and it makes you giggle a little bit more.

"i really don't know what i'm doing wrong, babies usually like me.."

"but i told you you're not doing anything wrong, izu." you reach to pinch his cheeks next, he yelps a little. "kuma's only lookin' at you 'cus you're new. he'll get used to you in no time, kay ?" you smile. a beat passes and izuku nods, smiling back at you.

"but i don't know, he kinda looks like he has it out for me.." he whispers, you assume so takuma doesn't hear. how thoughtful.

"yeah i did think it was kinda strange how he hasn't stopped looking at you.."

he drops his head back at your words "i thought so..!"

"but that doesn't mean he doesn't like you, per se..maybe he's just weary of you !" izuku leans back, placing a hand over his chest like he's actually been struck. he looks over at takuma still sitting proudly in his high chair like a king.

"what's there to be weary of ? i'm really nice, i promise !" takuma's only answer is a blink "that's really intense.." you're boyfriend sweat drops, "i don't think i've had anyone look at me like that before."

"shouldn't you be used to being glared at by now since you've known bakugou since you were kids ?"

"i don't even think kacchan was this bad." you scoff, slapping at his sturdy arm. "don't say that, you liar !" your boyfriend laughs to himself. struggling to hold your laughter back as you play fight. you're interrupted by takuma's whine. his poker face finally somewhat melting as he pouts, big eyes going glossy as he reaches out for you with chubby little fingers. you immediately zoom over to the child's side.

"aaww babyy," you coo "you wanna be wif me, yeah ? cuutieeee," your voice rises up an octave. izuku blushes at how cute you look and he hates himself for feeling a smidge jealous your cousin had managed to grab your attention. he shakes his head to rid himself of those childish thoughts.

you hop the baby up in your arms to readjust him, tickling his little tummy which earns you a giggle, izuku feels his jaw drop to the floor so hard if he were in a cartoon it'd make a comically loud clang sound, now he's a bit jealous of you.

"i think he's a little hungry, i'll be right back izu." you press a quick kiss to his cheek before bounding off to go get the toddlers bag that your aunt had entrusted to you in your room. the little contact alone makes heat blossom all the way to izuku's neck and he can't fix his lips to say anything, nodding dumbly.

the last thing he sees before you leave the room is takuma's gaze fixed to him. izuku sends him a determined smile and a wave. he'll win him over soon enough.

[blighted-lights]

@holographic-mars has me thinking about them,,, agh.

[shirozora-draws]

I really, really, really wanted a winter vibes doodle, and also I needed to warm up for the next round of fic illustrations. I see this as a win-win scenario.

And then I kept letting the brain talk me into an entire scenario around the doodle. Whoops.

In conclusion, happy holidays, have a human kid!Grogu riding a long-tailed reindeer.

[angelsfuzzyslippers]

Some fan art for the fanfic "At the End of Extinction" (by The_Bad_Samaritan (98tuffluv))! It's a zombie apocalypse human AU that I absolutely adore! Husk and Angel whisking a little Charlie across a post-apocalyptic US to reunite her with her parents - with threats lurking around every corner >:3 (I know the designs I went with don't align with the author doodles in the most recent chapter shhhhhhhhh I don't have time to redraw this)

[sleepy-steve]

🧠🪱 Wiggly Wednesday Thursday 🧠 🪱

thank you for tagging me @stervrucht 🖤

no pressure tags: @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe @stevesbipanic and of course anyone else that would like to ♡

thinking about Steve and Eddie who, after going through rounds of physical therapy after everything, continue to work out together because Steve obviously loves it and loves having a friend to work out with. and Eddie notices the difference in his stamina when he gets back to performing on stage. (and if Eddie likes to watch Steve work out a little bit, and likes Steve coming over to help his form more than a little bit, well that’s his business.) but Steve takes a dance class and shakes up his usual warmup, leaving Eddie with some… thoughts.

***

“Okay, Munson,” Steve says, pulling his arm across his body for a shoulder stretch. “You ready?”

“Ready to be tortured? Always,” Eddie jokes. It was their thing. Eddie acts like he hates being there, but he still shows up every other day to their local gym in Indianapolis. And he won’t ever deny the benefits he’s noticed since starting their exercise regime. He's faster on stage, doesn't get winded near as easily, holding those screaming notes without feeling like his lungs will explode. Little did he know that today his joke would come to be true.

Steve liked most kinds of exercise. He was a sporty guy. He liked the pull and stretch of his muscles, the feeling of accomplishment after achieving a new goal, that delicious soreness the day after a really good workout. But mostly he loved trying new things. He’d give anything half a chance if he thought it might be fun. Which is how he ended up at a dance-aerobics class the week prior, finding himself having a lot of fun, blushing furiously when the women in the class complimented how quickly he picks up the steps.

He went back three more times that week. Part of his enjoyment came from the new warmup he was taught in the class. Steve’s usual warmup consisted of basic stretches and a light jog, covering all bases to ensure he didn’t get injured, but not very exciting.

This, however, was far more enjoyable. Steve found himself sinking deep into stretches he didn't know he had flexibility for, and moving his hips to a beat, ultimately just having way more fun with the warmup. And it was about to become a huge problem for Eddie.

Steve pops his headphones over his ears, the tape deck tucked securely in his shorts pocket. He bends over, inhaling deeply as the song starts, rising up with his hands overhead, exhaling as he rolls his wrists, hips moving side to side with the beat. His already short cropped t-shirt rises, showing off a good amount of his chest. He lets his arms come down, bending over again, feeling the pull in his hamstrings. Gripping his elbows, he lets the top half of his body hang, swinging from side to side, his hamstrings fully stretched out.

Eddie looks up from his own basic stretching, shocked to see Steve fully bent over, because hey, since when was he so flexible? With Metallica blaring through his own headphones, Eddie just stares, completely forgetting where he was at in his warmup.

Steve lets his hands drop, moving to one foot, back to the centre, then the other foot. Ass just up in the air, his shorts way too tight. Eddie swallows. He’d been denying his crush for months at this point, and good god this was not helping.

Rolling his shoulders as he stands up, Steve lets his hands travel down his bare thighs, sinking into a squat with his back arched and head tilted back. Eddie's eyes are wide as he watches those tight little shorts with the little cut-ins on the sides ride up, showing far more of Steve's glorious hairy thighs than Eddie can handle. Steve drops his head forward, hunching his shoulders as he moves back to standing. He repeats the motions, and Eddie wishes he had the strength to pull his stare away from Steve's ass.

Seeing Steve's head tilted back and his back arched is sending Eddie insane. Like, he geninely thinks he might evaporate on the spot if he keeps watching. But he just can't look away.

Turning himself sideways, Steve has one foot stepped out in front of the other, legs perfectly straightened into a triangle shape, bent over his front leg. Just when Eddie thinks he’s about to get up and end his suffering, Steve lowers himself down into a lunge. His little shorts definitely way too small and tight for the movement, Steve lunges back and forth, fingertips resting on the ground on either side of his front foot. Eddie watches as the t-shirt rides up with each lunge, the desire to get his lips and tongue all over Steve's chest overwhelming him.

Shaking himself, Eddie tries to remember which shoulder stretch he was up to. He attempts something close to a stretch, but he can’t be sure he's doing it right, because Steve has lowered himself to the ground, front leg bent and back leg perfectly straight, and is fucking thrusting into the ground. If he were to ask Steve, he’d find out this was a hip flexor stretch. But Eddie’s forgotten how to form words entirely, suddenly imagining nineteen different ways he wants to get dicked down by the man before him.

Eddie suffers in silence, heart racing in his chest, watching as Steve repeats the movements on his other side. He prays that the torture ends soon, that they can just get to the workout, and Eddie can go back to pretending he doesn't want to ride Steve until his thighs give out. But Eddie gets no such luck.

Steve has moved into some kind of triangle position, hands on the ground, legs straight, and of fucking course, his ass in the air. Eddie marvels at how straight the shape is, only for a moment, because then Steve is lifting his heels up and down in turn, and jesus christ those tiny little shorts are just riding up, and Eddie can see a hint of Steve's ass peeking out. His jaw drops. He may actually explode.

Just when Eddie's thinking he can't take much more of this, Steve lowers himself down, knees spread wide, arms stretched out in front of him and head tucked down. A wild and rushed series of thoughts fly across Eddie's mind, all centred around Steve kneeling down in front of him. Eddie needs to get it together quickly.

As Steve brings himself back up to the triangle position, walking his feet to meet his hands and rolling his spine up, shoulders and head rolling back last, he sees Eddie taking off for his warmup jog. Assuming that he probably just took too long with his new warmup, Steve shrugs it off and starts his jog shortly after.

Eddie hits his personal best in several weights that day, desperately trying to expend his excess energy in some way. He barely registers the wins, mind still stuck on Steve and his perfect ass in all those new positions. He almost dissolves on the spot when Steve claps him on the shoulder in congratuations.

At the end of their session, Eddie takes a freezing cold shower and prays for the sweet release of death.

[dootznbootz]

Odysseus is the type of guy who oozes rizz and can and will say the sweetest shit to Penelope and revels in her being happy with it ("You're beautiful in red" when she blushes. THAT type of cheesy bullshit. Have you READ the shit he says to her in the Odyssey?) but if she gives it back, he just freezes and Odysseus.exe stops working. Especially since he was the one doing all the flirting in the beginning until she finally chills out and "allows" herself to have a crush.

Penelope: ...You know, I don't really know if your name fits you. Odysseus: Oh? You don't think "Pain in the ass" is a good fit? Penelope: It definitely is...But...I don't know. Maybe it's because when I think of you, I don't think of pain, I think of joy... Yeah, instead of "pain giver", you're a giver of joy."Joy Giver" perhaps? Odysseus:

Penelope: ...Are you okay? Odysseus: *completely red and continues to make a high-pitched squeaking sound like air being let out of a balloon*

He gets more used to it as they get further along in their marriage but in the beginning, this guy was screaming into his pillows and kicking his feet and twirling his hair and being stupid :D

[billdenbrough]

@naturecalls111 prompted me kevaaron + massage when i needed a warmup prompt bc she is the best. waves hands this is a vague au and heads up for some suggestive content ahead but it's just prelude vibes lmao

The thing is. The thing is that Aaron’s hands, while smaller than Kevin’s, are firm. It was a fuck of a thing, coming onto this team after two years of Volshan’s huge, bone-cracking hands, and being told this small blond with sharp eyes and a clever, pretty mouth would be the one helping Kevin with keeping his body well-tuned.

He certainly feels like an instrument right now, strung too tight. Everything is taut. He’s only halfway sure it’s his muscles. The rest of it might just be him, here, right now, in this moment. 

“God, what have you been doing to yourself?” Aaron mutters. He digs his thumb in deep, and Kevin can’t help the low, guttural groan that rings through the air. Aaron pauses. Kevin buries his face in the bed.

“Well, clearly that needed some working out,” Aaron says. He resumes his motions, pausing only to re-lotion his hands, and it’s just - Kevin is just -

Kevin is a fucking professional, okay? You don’t get onto as many teams as he has—let alone at the international level—without going through the team PT’s hands a time or twenty. But it’s just.

Aaron’s kinda funny, see. He's got this dry, quiet humour, usually pretty cutting, and these blunt remarks that make Kevin snort even when the recipient of such a remark sends him an injured look. The breakdown in relations with his teammates is worth it when Aaron sends him that little smile. And Aaron is smart. Obviously, medical professional, but he likes trivia and has opinions on the best way to hide a body (“My something-in-law,” he says once, in the world’s vaguest lore drop. “He’s got a variety of skills.” Which, like, ominous? If Jean were here, he’d be telling Kevin that the fact that Aaron clearly being related to some sort of serial killer isn’t flagging his boner at all means Kevin truly has taken too many Exy balls to the head. It might be true. Doesn’t change the fact that his boner remains undaunted and his neck prickles whenever he hears Aaron enter a room, so aware of him) and confiscates Kevin’s Exy racquet when he catches him at the court too late, but doesn’t make him go home. 

Which is how they end up here, actually.

Aaron says, you’re going to injure yourself, don’t be a fucking idiot. Kevin says, I need to get better. Aaron says, you’re already the best person on that court, you perfectionistic fuck. Kevin grins at him, quick and fierce, then remembers himself, and says, I can always get better. Aaron arches an eyebrow and says, not if you blow out your knee trying to conquer the world. Kevin wants to argue, but Aaron reaches over and tugs his Exy racquet free, placing one hand on Kevin’s bicep as he does so. Kevin is so struck by it that he lets him. 

Aaron says, you don’t have to leave if you don’t want to go back home. Kevin doesn’t ask how he guessed or what he’s implying. Kevin asks, what are you doing here? And Aaron says, checking the office. Thought I could get some paperwork done.

And Kevin asks, do you want company? And Aaron looks at him, expression a little unreadable, then says, yeah, okay. Come on, Kevin Day.

And he goes. And Kevin follows. 

And now here’s Kevin, getting an impromptu massage because Aaron narrowed his eyes at the way he was moving his left leg. And now Aaron’s fingers are moving up the back of his thigh, digging in, and all Kevin can think about is how badly he wants those fingers to be digging in because he’s holding on. Because he’s pulling Kevin down on him, clutching at him because he doesn’t want to let go. Or because he’s clinging to Kevin’s shoulders for dear life while Kevin proves to him that all his chat about the stamina of champions isn’t just chat. Kevin’s not picky. He’s just losing his mind a little, maybe, with how it all feels right now.

“Did you want me to do the front?” Aaron asks. “I can check your knee.”

Kevin shakes his head quickly. “It’s fine,” he says, but Aaron is frowning at him. He moves around the bed to face Kevin, and Kevin can’t escape his gaze, lying down as he is.

“Are you sure?” he asks. He presses the back of his hand against Kevin’s forehead—if he thinks Kevin has a fever and benches him, Kevin is going to be absolutely insufferable, especially because he’s fine, he’s just horny. Then he does something so completely unforgivable, and flips his hand absentmindedly, cupping Kevin's jaw. 

Kevin lets out a low whine.

Aaron steps back, and Kevin goes, “Shit, sorry, it’s—Keegan bruised me there earlier.”

The look Aaron gives him is unconvinced, but he nods. “Okay,” he says. “I'll just do a warm down then, if you’re sure.”

Kevin swallows, nods.

But then Aaron's hands are back on him. Gentler this time, for the most part, but digging into softer flesh, more tender spaces, and then—

Kevin makes a kind of gasping noise as Aaron’s hand slips a little, a little too slick from the lotion. Aaron’s apology is swallowed up by the gasp, but then cut off completely as his hand brushes against Kevin’s hard dick.

“Oh,” Aaron says, and then, “Is this why you were being so—Kevin, it’s fine. This is really normal. I promise I've seen it before.”

Appallingly, Kevin’s first instinct is to indignantly ask “Who?!”; however, cooler heads prevail and he says, “Uh huh.”

“No, I promise,” Aaron says. His voice is a little strange, but there’s sincerity in it, Kevin can tell that much. “I know it’s just a reaction, it doesn’t mean anything, it’s natural.”

Kevin blames Jeremy, who is the least honest but most sincere person he knows, for what comes out of his mouth next. Jeremy, who never tells anyone shit but is always so encouraging for people to be open with their feelings. It’s his fault, Kevin decides, because Kevin’s stupid fucking mouth decides to say, “I wouldn’t say anything.”

Aaron goes really still for a moment. Kevin is still not looking at him, so he only knows this from the sudden lack of breathing. Then, finally, “What?”

Kevin huffs, then turns over. No point hiding it now that they both know he’s hard as a rock.

It's embarrassing, but he’s said it now. He can’t unfuck that. So he stands his ground instead. “I wouldn't say it’s entirely meaningless.”

Aaron’s looking at him. Mostly his face, but he glances down at his dick, and Kevin feels it stir with interest beneath the attention. He's about to feel embarrassed, but then Aaron tilts his head, and his eyes darken just a shade, and Kevin thinks—oh. Kevin thinks, maybe this isn’t such a lost cause after all.

[meguwumibear]

Can you write an nsfw for Togame coaching his s/o on giving him head for the first time?

"Atta girl. Just like that," Togame moans, carding his fingers gently through your hair. "Yeah, use your tongue for me. Get it nice and wet."

You do as you're told, sticking out your tongue to slowly lick down the underside of his veiny cock. Togame's legs shake at the sensation, already overwhelmed despite the fact you've only just gotten your mouth on him.

"Balls too," he instructs, mindful of his grip on you. It's meant to be coaching, coaxing, not punishing.

He holds his cock upright while you lave along his sack, taking his left nut into your mouth without another word from him. You experimentally swirl the ball around in your mouth, and he groans in encouragement. It might be your first time sucking dick, but damn you're a fucking natural.

"That's it, sweetheart," he coos, languidly stroking himself as you graduate from his left nut to the right, giving the appendage the same treatment as its counterpart. "Fuck, you're so good to me."

Emboldened by his words, you sink lower, licking a firm stripe down his taint, groaning against him as you savor the taste of his musk. Your nose rubs deliciously against his sack as you suck on his taint, and Togame has to squeeze the base of his cock to prevent himself from busting on the spot like some two pump chump.

"C'mere," he pants, tugging you away from his taint back towards his leaking tip. "Need you to wrap those pretty little lips of yours around my cock again, yeah? Hollow your cheeks as you suck it for me. Atta girl, fuck."

It takes every ounce of his willpower not to buck into your warm, wet mouth as you resume your suckling. His dick is a lot for your untrained throat to handle. You won't be able to take all of him tonight which is a shame because the image of your precious tear stained face pressed against his dark pubic hair nearly sends him spiraling over the edge again. He takes a few deep breaths to steady himself. In and out. In and out.

"Use your hand to fist what you can't fit in your mouth," the words are meant to sound instructional but come out like a plea instead.

It takes a few tries for you to find your rhythm, to pump his cock in time with your sucking, but once you do it's over for Togame. He feels the tell-tale signs of his orgasm encroaching on him, one shiver and shudder at a time.

"Baby," he warns, pulling at your hair, "I'm gonna-"

You push yourself even further down his length, choking around his cock as he cums violently down your throat. His cum is sticky and thick but not unpleasant. There's a salty aftertaste that he licks out of your mouth with deep sloppy kisses.

"Alright," he slurs into your mouth as his fingers travel down the length of your navel. "Your turn."

[cringefail-clown]

i think my favourite tidbit ive written so far for cam cafe au is the Hal's Real Name debacle, bc in it hal is a name he got for himself when he first watched 2001 space odyssey at 13. jake first catches a wind of it when dave calls hal "dee", but hals like nah im not telling you it requires lvl 69 friendship and youre at best on lvl 3 so get fucked noob. everyone at the cafe and all jake and hals friends know but everyone decides to fuck with jake and not tell him. its a constant subplot through the story until its finally revealed at the end and i can tell you, yall aint ready for what the name is

[lewmagoo]

if you ever get a chance or would like to, do you think you could possibly write a little something based off of the post below with rhett? you write him so well and since you reblogged it earlier, i haven’t been able to stop thinking about it 🤭 (you can totally ignore this if you’d rather not)

ask and ye shall receive!

you couldn't believe he'd let you do this. oh, how far he'd come, from being too proud to admit he liked when you took the reins, to now. thighs spread wide, ankles tied to the legs of the chair, wrists tied the handles. you'd used the roping techniques he'd taught you to bind him to the chair. and you had to admit, he looked so pretty all trussed up for you. entirely naked. cock hard and heavy, resting against his thigh.

he was looking at you, eyes wide, chest heaving. you'd just put on a show of stripping for him, teasing him to no end as you rid yourself of each article of clothing. one thing about rhett was, he loved touching you, so being tied down and forced to watch you show off your beautiful body was torture for him. "just look at you," you mused, as you sauntered toward him. his gaze never left you, not once. "where'd my big, bad cowboy go, hm? earlier you were spittin' mad and running your mouth. but the second i tie you down you turn into a demure little kitten."

you didn't miss the way his cheeks burned red. it was a sight to behold. the shift in his demeanor was clear. gone were his narrowed eyes and tightened jaw, replaced by a wide gaze and a slack mouth. "m-maybe i wanted y' to tie me down," he admitted, throat bobbing as he swallowed. you couldn't help the grin that spread across your face. it was too easy. of course he would misbehave on purpose. he craved being put in his place. surrendering the weight of responsibility, if only for a little while, was always what he needed to get his head back on straight.

"yeah? needed me to take control for a little bit?" you cooed, leaning down to kiss him. it was languid and erotic, and he eagerly parted his mouth to let your tongue onside. as you kissed him, you trailed your hand down his chest, across his abdomen, and finally, you settled with it hovering just over his twitching, aching, leaking cock. he gasped against your mouth as he felt the heat of your palm just barely touching him. deciding to tease him further, you resisted touching him fully, waiting to see how he'd react. he grunted low in his chest and tried to push his hips up, chasing your hand.

"please," he gritted out, tugging at his restraints. "don't fuckin' tease me. 'm so hard, i..." he trailed off, tongue loose in his mouth, words slurred. when he got like this, all needy and desperate, that confident swagger left him. he was putty in your hands. you could ask him to do anything, and he'd do it. if only everyone could see him now. big, gruff rhett abbott. begging you to touch his cock. to make him come.

you simply smiled at his begging, ducking down to kiss his forehead. "poor thing." you trailed your fingertip along the underside of that thick shaft, touch featherlight, barely there. he let out a strangled grunt. "you're such a needy little slut." mouth open, he nodded, eyes locked on your hand, silently pleading with you to wrap it around him. with your free hand, you threaded your fingers through his curls and tugged his head back so he was looking at you. "admit it. say what you are."

his mouth opened and closed a few times. his flush had creeped up to his ears now, ruby red. but once again, he'd do anything you asked. "i-i'm your..." his eyes squeezed shut, and he finished off his statement in a whisper. "needy little slut." but that wasn't good enough. you yanked sharply on his hair, and he gasped, jolting against the chair.

if you looked down, you'd see how badly his cock was leaking. "say it louder, so i can hear you," came your command. you took your hand away, and the pathetic whine he let out sent a rush of heat through you. when you noticed his bottom lip quiver, you bit back a victorious smile.

"i'm your needy little slut." he said it loud and clear that time. afraid you'd deny him pleasure if he didn't. he was so painfully hard, and he just needed relief. he knew you weren't above making him get off by himself, or worse, denying him permission to come at all. he was determined to be your good boy so you would give him the release he needed.

"there you go, such a good boy," came your praise. you wrapped your hand fully around that gorgeous cock of his, and he let out a broken moan, his head lolling back and his lashes fluttering. you looked down, biting your lip as you swirled your thumb around his tip, gathering the slick trail of pre-cum that glistened there. "you're so wet. just leaking all over the place," you mused.

"c-can't help it," he grunted, hips rolling up. the squelch of his own arousal was an obscene sound. he might've been embarrassed about it if he wasn't so fucked out already. and then he watched you kneel before him, and he swore he'd lose his mind entirely. you held eye contact with him as you opened your mouth and swirled your tongue around him. when you began to inch down, he gripped at the arms of the chair, bracing himself. being enveloped in your warm, wet mouth was otherworldly.

"since you did what i asked, i'm gonna make you feel so good, honey," you cooed, once you'd pulled off of him, nuzzling your cheek against his dick. "gonna drain these heavy balls and make this pretty cock come down my thoat." good lord, his brain was short-circuiting already. he nearly blacked out when you took him in your mouth again, this time to the back of your throat. his moan was strangled, and he nearly lost himself right then and there. however, he knew better than to do so without asking permission first. and by the looks of it, you were not going to give him permission anytime soon. in fact, you were going to draw this out until he was sobbing, begging, pleading. then, and only then, would you let him come. after all, you loved to make your cowboy work for it.

[junipum]

be delusional with me for a second and let’s pretend house didn’t air mid 2000’s. imagine a finale where house takes his vicodin, realizes yet again that he’d rather have wilson in his life more than anything, and they look in each other’s eyes as he carefully leans forward, kisses wilson so softly, and drops the last pill into his mouth. they’re disgusting, disheveled, in pain. wilson smells like sweat and vomit, house is shaking from holding himself together and beginning to detox. but he’s real. he feels real, wilson feels real, a weight in his arms, and he tries to imagine a life without wilson in it. he can’t. so he does what he can, holds wilsons hand as he squeezes with all the pressure he can muster, house whispering “i can’t let you go. i need you. you need me.” as he rests his forehead against wilson’s.

they don’t kiss later. they don’t even hold hands outside of this, and the show ends exactly the same way. but now wilson hears how needed he is, out loud, spoken honestly, and he knows he can die happy as he spends the rest of his time with the love of his life.

[joyfuladorable]

Turtle Titan in Terrible Trouble

[moobloom-mention]

Oh, Woe Is the King (of Losing Board Games) [Warm-Up]

Summary: Macaque decides to join the MK gang for game night, only to find out that even after centuries of life, Wukong is still terrible at board games and even worse at losing.

Content Warning(s): N/A

Word Count: 1150

----------

If there was a genre of story Macaque tended to find himself comparing his demise to the most, it was the one that detailed the thrilling cycle of betrayal.

A story as old as time, no doubt: a character gets betrayed, plots their revenge, enacts said revenge.

In its own irony of Macaque's misfortune, his plotting phase had surprisingly come easier than the betrayal portion. He'd reasoned that any fool could be spiteful, but to die in a scenic display of childhood betrayal? Now that took effort and vaguely alluded to plot twists.

What didn't was rotting away in Diyu with nothing to do. When time was all he had, it was easy to let his frustrations and anger fester, to create plans for when he eventually made his debut back to the mortal plane.

Between grit teeth and pitch black walls he'd sworn that Wukong would one day know what it'd been like to have his world torn from him. To feel the seething bite of rage and heartbreak collide in some twisted mockery of a tale.

He just didn't think his revenge would end up like this. Unplanned and strangely reminiscent of a fonder life.

Because even after several millennia of living, Wukong is just as shit at board games as Macaque remembers him to be.

And as he places his final Scrabble tile onto the board, the king's face twisting into one of unadulterated rage, he grins beneath the realization that Wukong's also still the worst loser in all three Realms.

With a harsh squeal of wood against metal the king's chair flies backward, his auburn hands slamming against the table. His expression is one Macaque almost wishes he could take a picture of, eyebrows knit and jaw set tight as he bites words through his teeth.

The Great Sage looks just about ready to throw the table- and Macaque knows he isn't above it. Still, Wukong's reaction remains thinly leashed if only by the presence of MK and his companions.

It's enough of a safety net that the shadow lets himself bask beneath the heat of Wukong's seething, the urge to thank MK for inviting him and fan the fire further a salivating thought on his tongue. He's almost giddy enough to acknowledge the twinge of guilt for having thought the kid's "game night" was nothing more than some poor attempt for bonding time.

Now it seems more like the kid had been hoping for someone to finally kick his mentor off his high horse.

With a pleasant hum Macaque leans back into his chair, a spitting image of relaxation as he relishes in Wukong's yells of frustration.

"That's not even a word!"

The outburst is enough to earn a glance between the other two at the table, MK and Tang's gazes fleeing toward the kitchen in search of where the pig and dragon girl had disappeared.

It's only when no help erupts that Tang's eyebrows pinch. "...obstinate?"

"Monkey King," MK begins, his voice pulled taut with long-overdue exasperation. It's about as close to a "warning" as the kid would ever offer, especially to his own mentor. "We've been playing for an hour, just give him the win."

"Nope," the king dismisses, popping the 'p'. "Macaque's not winning on some cheap attempt to fake a word. Where'd ya' put the dictionary, bud?"

"Is that an official challenge?" Macaque asks innocently, his chest leaning slightly into the table. "You're gonna lose the game and your turn, Your Majesty."

His head tips toward the scoresheet in front of Tang, the man already halfway through marking down an additional zero at Wukong's column. It's almost funny as he runs through the other three columns all marked with double digit numbers alike.

And yet Wukong's remains a steady line of zeroes. Not for a lack of trying, Macaque might add. The king just couldn't help himself with challenging any word above a fifth grade reading level.

His eyes roll back toward Wukong's own, the kings' narrowed and gaze challenging in a way that would usually set Macaque's nerves ablaze.

"So be it."

"Tang, the book."

"On it," comes the reply, the mortal's face already smothered in some dictionary Macaque couldn't be bothered to name. It's difficult to focus on something so insignificant when he's about to win the game and a staring contest.

"Get that thing away from him," the pig- Pigsy suddenly scolds from the kitchen. "He's just lookin' for words to use next round! Tang, give the damn book to Macaque."

"And let Macaque find it?" Wukong and Tang shriek in unison.

"Oh-kay!" MK claps. "I'll look through it, gimme the book."

Macaque only smiles sweetly as the kid's handed the dictionary, ears twitching at the pig's mutter of "-bunch of toddlers-" before the sound of broth stirring smooths it over.

"I think I found it. 'Obstinate: refusing to change your opinions when others try to persuade you to'. See, now we can-"

"Oh-ho, would ya' look at that?" Macaque croons, tilting his chin up. "Still wanna be 'obstinate', Monkey King?"

He nearly flinches as a frantic thud fills the room. A blink proves Wukong to still stand at the opposite end of the table and seconds later the dragon girl- Mei flails herself into the corner of his vision.

His ears twitch at her quiet chant of "-fight, fight, fight-", the sound grating.

Mei's voice only quiets as Pigsy takes a step into the living space, tone disapproving as he waves his spoon toward the shack's door. "Take it outside."

"Pigsy," MK complains from the table. "We agreed we wouldn't let them fight."

"Uh, duh they're gonna fight," Mei laughs. "That's kinda their thing."

But Wukong doesn't move, resolute in his position despite the clench of his fists and familiar glimmers of fury in his eyes. It's enough for fear and dread to sink their fangs into Macaque's stomach, throat suddenly dry of taunts.

He knows this isn't born of fear over being beaten to a pulp, nor can he blame his anxiety on the idea of being dragged to Diyu once more. It's something much worse.

Wukong could easily take the moral high ground, claim himself to be better than some petty squabble over a game. It'd be humiliating, sure, but it'd paint the king in a far better light in front of MK.

Macaque just needed to be a little more enticing.

There's a gentle thrum of magic as shadows slink up his arm, the black tendrils thickening at his hand until they form a suitable staff to wield. He barely makes it to the shack's doorway before he glances back, head lolling until he can see Wukong.

"You coming, Monkey King?"

Like a dog Wukong's head lifts to attention, his hands already pulling his own staff from his ear.

"Yeah, yeah. But only so MK can learn how to wipe the floor with you."

[jennycalendar]

'show me how much you missed me'

Jaheira and Khalid

bg3 jaheira meets alt her-age khalid. don't think toooo hard about it. (nsfw under the cut!)

She does not know how to hold herself. She is so acutely aware of her age, her lined face, her brittle body. She jokes about it because jokes take the bite from the words, and she is in well enough shape to keep up with the Harpers, but she is not the strong, beautiful young woman she was when she was married to him.

Is married to him. She never truly stopped being married to him. Yet there was a woman whose beauty knocked Khalid sideways, and she has not been that woman for a century. How can she know that he will want--that the man of her dreams, for dreams are all he has been, will even be stirred to anything by--

Khalid says, "Jaheira. Look at me?"

She keeps her eyes on the floor, heart pounding.

Khalid says, again, gently instructive, "Jaheira, look at me."

Their fingers are twined together. If her eyes are away from him, she must have some reminder of him physically here, else she will be certain that this is another dream, that she will lose him again. His hands are still so sturdy and strong. The age on them only makes her heart soar, thinking of him living a full, rich life, never cut brutally short. Her life has been bitter and cold. She cannot imagine him enjoying the visible reminders of that.

Khalid's hand tilts her face up to his. He presses his forehead to hers. At that simple touch, all of Jaheira's anxieties fall away, that old love blossoming within her like a long-lost friend.

He whispers, "There she is. I missed you, dearest."

The easy, sharp-tongued rebuttals do not come as easily as they did a century ago. She stutters--and he is the one man in the world who will never laugh at the High Harper this shaken, this afraid.

"Sh-show me," she whispers. Her heart hammers in her chest. "Show me. How much you missed me."

Khalid smiles, slow and sweet, like he has only been waiting for her to ask. He draws her into a kiss that knocks all thought from her.

She stills, softens, under his hands. Safe, for the first time in a hundred years. He will not let anything happen to her. He will not laugh if she falters; he could never think less of her, for any reason. His touch is just as she remembers. How is that possible? She has worried for so long that the real man could never live up to the halfway-mythic figure she remembers. To learn that he is what she grieved, has always been worth that space she held--

Oh, it aches, but wonderfully. She always knew herself right to love him this much. To miss him as she has.

Khalid's fingers do not falter as he unbuttons her blouse. She remembers him much more tremulous in their youth, and this change in him makes her heart soar with love and pride. He has done this a thousand times before. He does not doubt her love for him. She wonders how long it took them to reach that point together.

The noises she makes as his fingers brush her skin! Every touch sends a jolt of terrified longing through her; she presses herself closer, and he never laughs, never draws back from the ceaseless pit of need that she is, just touches her more often. More firmly. He kisses her neck, her throat, guides her to lie back against the pillows and kisses with slow, wonderful purpose down her body.

As he moves lower, no longer above her, her breath hitches and she tries to pull him back up, into her arms, holding him there so she is certain of his safety. He raises his eyes to hers and breathes, "Easy, my love. I'm here. Let me take care of you."

Just those words are enough to render Jaheira helpless. She falls back into the pillows as his kisses trail lower still.

The noise she makes when his mouth is on her--oh, a good thing indeed that they are tucked away from the rest of the world, because it is simply impossible for her to hold her tongue and cage her heart in a moment like this. She sobs, her fingers curling hard in his hair, pressing him against her, and he does not object, never objects, loves her so much she feels it like lightning in her veins. This, too, is just as good as she remembers. Better. He knows her body. She does not have to tell him what she likes.

He kisses her, strokes her, a slow pleasure that lacks all of the urgency her body has demanded in the century without him. There is no one else in this world she can imagine slowing down for. Slow gets you killed. Caring got him killed. But he is here now. They are here together.

He reaches up with his free hand, grips her thigh. She reaches down and twines their fingers tight, holding him fast.

[13eyond13]

love it when a character that's hard to read intuitively for you has like a dedicated fandom interpreter who can just glance at their blank face in a panel and then give you a 3k word essay on their innermost thoughts & desires & fears and neatly tie it back into the themes & whatnot as if it's the most obvious thing in the world