#i know that men can have wide chests because broad shoulders?

[aparticularbandit]

Okay, but whoever did the body measurements for DR2 I think does not understand how chest measurements for women actually functions.

Either that or I don't.

[risuola]

ENTRY #12 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // In a room full of other people, blindly I'd find you.

contents: arranged marriage!au, jealousy (duh!) — wc. 1463

a/n: little experiment, let's see how it goes. please let me know what do you think of this chapter! also, we're getting closer to the nsfw entry, i hope you guys are as excited as i am!!

series masterlist

“You are breathtaking. I did not deserve an honor of your presence.”

Satoru hates it.

“The pleasure is mine,” you reply, a sweet smile adorning your face in a way that makes your husband narrow his eyes. A hand dances along your spine, caressing the bare skin that you decided to expose in a dress with a low cut on the back. You are breathtaking. You are a sight that should cost money to be looked at, you are stealing the show, like a magnet attracting both men and women around the wide ballroom.

He hates it so much.

You seem polite, overly so and accepting too — a little too much for Gojo’s liking. You move along the man — not him — with grace, with fluidity and the long layer of smooth fabric dances around your legs. The dress you wear makes him salivate, it makes him think thoughts that are ungodly, that are unallowed. Silk that wraps around your body in an expensive, luxurious embrace causes Satoru to curse himself for buying that very dress for you few days before. It is beautiful, tailored to your shapes and edges. It’s soft, but with enough body to flow gracefully along your movements. It hugs your chest and loosens up below your hips, it’s a dream, you are a dream.

But you are dancing with someone else.

It’s a job unlike the others. An order from higher ups required you and him to attend a ball — an event as fancy as it can get because there has been a rumor that said the circles of people, filthy and rich, were contracting curse users for entertainment, causing chaos and harm. It would be easy to just get all of them, interrogate, torture, but this time the means are different. This time, it’s you who plays the main role, swiftly engaging with influential men and pulling their tongues until they slip.

It was easy.

Men there were dogs and a sight of a woman — as beautiful as you — laced with a silent promise is enough to make them spill their secrets. They were eating from your hands, wrapping themselves around your pinkie, voluntarily telling you more than you asked. Easy.

But Satoru hates it.

He’s there with you, your plus one, your partner and an entry card for a party as luxurious as it is. You didn’t know how he got the invitation, but the sight of it didn’t surprise you. He is rich, he is Gojo, you are Gojo.

And you are annoyed.

You don’t like the job. You got what you wanted, it was a child’s play but then, you hate how good your husband looks. You hate how other women are looking at him, ogling him, undressing him, eating him alive. The lady that clings to him — onto him — seems too old, too eager. Her greedy hands cannot settle for one place, wandering over Satoru’s broad shoulders, his chest hidden beneath a crisp, white shirt, his sides. The obnoxiously manicured fingers are dragging themselves across his body, examining, exploring, consuming. They are underneath his suit jacket; they are in his hair and near his face and you wish to break them one by one.

Satoru is smiling, working his features into a sight of an angel, using his eyes to hypnotize, whispering sweet little nothings and promising more than he’s willing to give, just to get what he wants in exchange. He has it easy, you think. Your husband is blessed with not only strength but also looks, unfairly, but god do seem to have favorites.

He catches you looking. You catch him looking. A silent communication that makes it through the distance of the ballroom, and then you’re focused on the man beside you again. Suddenly aware of hands that roam your curves, of traces of unwanted heat that his fingertips are leaving at their wake, a breath against your neck. An invitation that whispered right to your ear causes you to flinch involuntarily and a shiver that runs down your spine makes you take a step back.

“Excuse me,” you smile, a fake gesture wrapped in fake politeness. Your hands press against his chest and his own slip over the silk of your dress. He lets go of you, nearly, and you’re close to leaving when you feel his fingers digging into the soft flesh above your hipbones. The entire front of your torso hits the hard chest, knocking the air of your lungs for a split of a second.

“Don’t leave me yet, darling,” he murmurs, his mouth brushing against your earlobe. There’s a shift in his tone, the sweet and flirty undertones are suddenly much darker, greedier. His grip grows harsh against your skin, forcefully intimate.

“Oh, it’s time for me,” you say, a smirk tugging at your lips. With a corner of your eye, you notice Satoru getting closer, but you have no intention of waiting for him to save you like you’re a damsel in distress. “Let go,” you warn, sneaking one of your hands underneath the suit jacket of the man. Swiftly you move it to the top of his shoulder, a little more to his back and you squeeze, digging your fingers harshly into the one, very sensitive spot right above his shoulder blade. The vulnerable muscle tense underneath your assault and the man winces, cursing under his breath and calling you names that are far from elegant. “Hands off. Or you’ll say goodbye to your right hand and I bet you need it.”

He growls, like an animal under attack, hisses almost and you smile in victory when his hold on you falters, allowing you to step back. You smooth your dress, fix the straps on your shoulders, and blow a strand of hair from your eyes before Satoru reaches you, effectively cutting short any attempts of biting back that the man could have had.

“Anything you wish to say?” He asks, narrowing his eyes, lowering his tone. It’s cold enough to make you shiver, scary almost, and inside it makes you giddy. He is so very jealous it’s written all over his face and yet, you’re certain, he would never admit it even if burned and tortured. “No? I thought so.” He closes the conversation before it begins, cuts the discussion short and turns to you.

“Hello, handsome,” you greet him, suddenly possessive and it surprises you as much as it does surprise him, because a short oh slips through his lips when you reach up to lock your fingers together at the nape of his neck.

“Hello to you too, beautiful,” he replies, the words foreign on his tongue but feeling so right and then, his hands follow the curves of your hips and waist until he finds the spot to rest one of them — the other moves further, circling behind you and planting itself on your bare back. The touch burns your skin, sending waves and waves of heat throughout your entire system and to your face.

You feel the eyes on you, much more threatening than before. The stares of women present around you are drilling holes in your body and if they could kill, you’d lay cold already.

“I’ve never seen you jealous,” Satoru purrs against your lips right after you pull him down, pressing a kiss to his mouth — possessive, proving, claiming.

“Goes both ways,” you tease and he rolls his eyes, but drops his head lower, sucking a spot on the side of your neck. A mark to show everyone that you belong to him, a signature etched onto your delicate skin, a bite of nothing but unspoken love.

“I’m not jealous,” he protests, just for the sake of it because he knows it’s false just as well as you know it. His voice vibrates against your flesh and his breath tickles you, his eyelashes do too.

Satoru inhales, filling his lungs with the subtle scent of your skin and perfume, the one with sweet vanilla undertone that he likes so much on you. It suits you, makes you seem delicious, makes him want to taste you. It calms him — your presence — it makes him relax underneath the sturdy hold of your hands. It teases him. The way your thumbs are brushing against the very sensitive spots on his nape, it makes him want to whimper and so, he pulls you closer, flush to himself, hungry for your touch and presence.

“We should leave this place,” you murmur quietly, running the tips of your fingernails across his scalp, sending shivers that run down his spine.

“Yeah,” he inhales again, bracing himself to leave the comfortable spot in the between your shoulder and neck, and before you know it, he’s pulling your hand, pulling you somewhere only he knows.

taglist: @kinny-away @anan-baban @lotomber @netflix-imagines @kawliflo @nishloves @ghostfacefricker6969 @thejujvtsupost @yozora7154 @cherrycolabarbedwirebedpost @stuckinmoilalaland @ae-mius @ropickle @chokesonspit @lansy-4 @mo0sin @just-pure-trash @foliea @bakarinnie @big-booty-joe @fortunatelyfurrygiver @lolita-h

[teaboot]

What are "transmasc" and "genderqueer"?

I just woke up so bear with me, but like

Western society has invented this idea of "man" and "woman", right? And we SAY it's actually real, and based on tangible things like sex characteristics- primary, like dicks n' hoo-has- and secondary, like tiddies an facial hair an cellulite.

Well, it turns out that those things ain't divided "correctly" into the man and woman categories all the time.

People with dicks sometimes get tiddies, people without dicks sometimes grow beards and chest hair, beauty standards like "woman thin and hairless and short with small nose and tiny feet" and "man tall and muscular with a beard and broad shoulders" aren't appearing in nature the way we say they should.

(These gendered standards also change over time, but that's a different post.)

What's more, some people have multiple primary characteristics, and it's not even super rare! (Again, worth a different post, and not one I'm really in a position to make.)

So, we say that we didn't just "invent" two exclusive boxes to sort a wide variety and spectrum of characteristics into by pure brute force, but evidence says otherwise. So do we change the rules of our society to fit that evidence?

No, we pick something else to support our beliefs.

Learning about genes and DNA and chromosomes came much later in the game, so most people's grasp of it is this: Men have XY chromosomes, women have XX chromosomes, and no matter what your body is shaped like, that determines which box you go in. Whatever you look like should be padded or amputated or shaved away until you fit in your box.

Except.... we now know that people who outwardly appear to be the perfect ideal poster children of "man" and "woman" are living full, natural, healthy and unbothered lives totally unaware that they have the "wrong" chromosomes. No visibly "mixed" characteristics at all. So there goes that idea out the window.

Unless we say that no, our invention which is fact still holds up- there's just a few mutants and freaks and dysfunctional anomalies that just sort of happen sometimes, like factory flaws that wouldn't exist if things were running as they should.

So what do we do with factory flaws? We "fix" them. Or pressure them to fix themselves. Or, if they can "pass" one way or another, shove them into that box and tell them to shut up about it. Don't fit into either? Then pick one, and make yourself fit.

But... then, if we can pick... if hairy women with flat chests and small hips can shave themselves down and throw on some padding and powder her face to be accepted.... why can't anyone else?

Or, if that same "woman" went, fuck it, cut his hair short and embraced all the "man" characteristics, went by different pronouns and stepped into the "man" box... wouldn't that be okay, too?

And, he'll, what if they changed nothing about themselves and decided to opt out? We've proven that these "universal facts" don't *actually* exist and exceptions are everywhere, so fuck it, right? "Man" and "woman" don't really mean anything tangible anyways, so why not do what makes you happy?

And since, again, evidence shows that "man" and "women" aren't perfect binary boxes with perfect binary traits- why bother living up to those traits at all? Why can't someone assigned to the "woman" box live in the "man" box with long hair and heels on? If I makes him happy, what's the harm?

We don't like this, though, because when you build two boxes that contain the whole world, and people start escaping, or slipping out to live in the one they like more, or switching, or building their own, people begin to wonder why they're living in boxes at all. If we even need boxes.

And the people who maintain the boxes tell us, it's because the boxes are safe, and the boxes are natural, and the boxes have been here exactly as they are since the beginning of time anyways, and NO, they aren't just terrified of life outside the shelter of the box, you're the weird one.

Meanwhile, if we really looked into it, I imagine we'd find more people who don't fit their box criteria, or don't even like their box, at least as often as we find people who do.

Transgender means "someone who isn't in their assigned box".

Genderqueer means, "someone who isn't in their assigned box", but in a the same broad way that "transgender" is- Maybe a him, maybe a her, maybe both, maybe a they, perhaps a xey, and sometimes some of us move around.

I say I'm genderqueer, 'cause that fits me, but "Transmasc" to me personally means, "I know I'm not a woman, and I'm closer to the "man" box, but I'm happier wandering outside the "man" box than I am stepping fully inside. (Dysphoria is part of that, but again, in my opinion it's not vital to the experience.)

And I'm not one for destroying those two boxes entirely- they bring joy to a lot of people.

Just, you know. Maybe making more, different boxes. And maybe little camps out between them. And not treating people who roam the wilderness instead like rabid animals. Is the thing.

Long answer

[justagalwhowrites]

I saw this video and I feel like something like this would be fun to read! I have to ask would you ever consider writing a kidnapper!Joel fic?

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8Dfp6Na/

Hi Bestie!

So.... Yes :)

Not quite the vibe of the linked video but I hope you enjoy it!

Run Rabbit: Part One

It was just over a year after the world ended that you were captured by Joel and Tommy Miller. They're harsh, they're cold and they're killers. But, as a nurse, you're a valuable person to have around and they're not the worst thing wandering the wasteland that was the United States. And there might be more to these men than meets the eye.

PLEASE READ ALL WARNINGS. Written as part of the @romana-after-dark Dead Dove December event (but posted late because it's impossible for me to make a deadline at the moment apparently.) This will be in two parts.

Relationship: Joel Miller x Female Reader X Tommy Miller

Warnings WHOLE FIC: DUBCON (reader is a captive, participation might be enthusiastic but consent is dubious under the circumstances.) Raider!Joel; Raider!Tommy; Captive reader; Canon-typical violence; graphic depictions of violence; graphic depictions of injury; attempted SA (not by Joel or Tommy); Dom/Sub dynamic but not an established relationship; Dom-ish Joel; Brat tamer-ish Joel; Sub-ish reader; DDDNE; M/F/M threesome; unprotected P in V sex; Anal sex; Oral sex; No use of Y/N; Minors DNI 18+ Only

Length: 8k

PLEASE NOTE: part one does not get smutty ❤️

Part 2

November, 2004

“You can have whatever you want, please!” 

Your hand was clamped over your mouth as you tried to keep quiet from your place below the floorboards. Your boyfriend, Zach, had tucked you into the crawl space when he ran in from hunting with three men on his tail. 

“They don’t know about you,” he’d said, breathless. “Stay quiet, I’ll get us out of this.” 

But even a year into the apocalypse, Zach wasn’t a great shot. It wasn’t long before he was out matched and the men were breaking down the door to the cabin you’d been holed up in for a few days. 

“Seemed awful keen to protect whatever it is you got,” one of the men said. “How do we know you’re not gonna just come and try to take it back?” 

“Should just kill ‘em,” another man said. “Don’t gotta worry about it then.” 

“No, no, I swear I won’t,” Zach pleaded. 

“Prove it,” the final man spoke for the first time. “Got no reason to trust you now, why should we leave you alive?”

You kept your hands tight over your mouth, trying not to cry, trying to stay quiet, hoping they’d leave Zach alive. 

“Because I have something better than supplies!” He yelled it, his words flowing together as he stumbled over them. 

“Like?” The third man said. 

“My girlfriend,” Zach panted. Your breath caught. “She was a nurse before, in an ER, she can keep you alive, you can have her, please…” 

“And where is this girlfriend?” The first man said. “You seem awful alone here…” 

You hoped Zach was just buying time, that he wouldn’t actually tell these animals where you were. 

You were wrong. 

“In the closet,” he said. “There’s a crawl space there, I told her to hide there while I took care of things here. Please, she’s worth a lot, she’s good at patching you up, she’s real pretty, you can have her, you can have her…” 

The sound of his begging almost covered the thud of boots as you heard the closet door creak open and the floor over your head disappeared. 

“Well, would you look at that,” a large man with shaggy curls and a patchy beard - the first one who has spoken, you thought - smirked down at you. “He’s not full of shit.”

“No,” you shook your head, eyes wide. “No, please…” 

The man ignored you, grabbing a fistful of fabric at your chest and hefting you up from the crawl space with a grunt. He dropped you on the ground and you tried to scramble away only to have another man grab your shoulder and throw you down. You landed on your backside, a different tall, broad man with dark curls looming over you. 

“Where you think you’re running to, little rabbit?” He smirked, the second man who had spoken. You pulled yourself back from him, looking for a way out. The third man, blond and pale and the youngest of them, stood over Zach, a gun pointed at his head. He started humming Run, Rabbit, Run as he smiled at your boyfriend, glancing your way, prowling toward Zach. A predator enjoying his prey. 

“So,” the first man dropped your pack that had been in the crawl space next to you at your side with a thud, making you jump. “You really a nurse?” 

“She is,” Zach answered for you. “She is and you can have her, please…” 

“Zach!” Tears tightened your throat. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” he said, not looking at you. “I’m sorry, but I can’t…” 

The man who pulled you from the crawl space sighed, pulling a handgun from his side, going up behind Zach and pressing the barrel to his head before pulling the trigger. Your scream hung in the air longer than the crack of the gun, the salty, metallic taste of Zach’s blood on your tongue as his body slumped to the ground. 

��Hey,” the man who shot Zach dropped to one knee in front of you, grabbing your face roughly, gripping your cheeks in his large hand. There was blood on him, too. “You really think that piece of shit is worth screamin’ and cryin’ over? He was sellin’ you, girl, he ain’t worth any grief of yours.” 

He released you and looked over his shoulder to the other dark haired man. 

“Tommy, got something we can hold her with?” The other man - Tommy, apparently - started going through his bag. He looked toward the blond next. “Vince, gather what you can, we’re heading out in 10. Made a lot of noise here, don’t want to wait and find out what that attracts.” 

“Are you going to kill me too?” You asked quietly. 

The man who seemed to be in charge cocked his head at you. 

“Now why would we go and do a thing like that?” He asked. “Your boyfriend might have been scum but he was right, you’re valuable cargo. You’re gonna be a good girl for us, right?” 

You weren’t really sure what to say to that, your heart beating so hard and fast you were sure this man could see your pulse in your throat. 

“Don’t really matter either way, does it?” He said as Tommy handed him some rope. “You either cooperate or you’re more trouble than you’re worth and we just kill you. Don’t make much difference to us. Hands out, wrists together.” 

You just looked at him and he sighed, pulling his sidearm out again and putting it below your chin. The muzzle was warm and wet from where he’d just killed Zach and, for a moment, you thought you were going to vomit. 

“Didn’t I just say I’d kill you if you got to be more trouble than you’re worth?” He said. “You’re already a lot of trouble by bein’ and extra mouth to feed so I recommend cooperating before my temper runs out. So. Hands out, wrists together.” 

You obeyed and the man wrapped your wrists in rope tight enough that you had no hope of wriggling out but not so tight that it was painful, just uncomfortable. He wrapped his large hand around the cluster of rope between your wrists and yanked you to your feet. 

“Got anything on you I should be worried about?” He asked. “Be a lot easier on you if you tell me now than later.” 

“Knife,” you said, voice shaky. “Right pocket.” 

“Good girl.” 

He reached into your pocket and pulled the weapon free, opening and examining the blade. 

“Know how to use this?” He asked, brows raised. 

“I’ve used it,” you replied. He nodded and closed it, putting it in his pocket. 

“Be a good enough girl for a long enough time and maybe you can get it back,” he said before turning to Tommy. “I’m gettin’ a head start with this one, heading north west, back to site. You know the way.” 

“I know it,” he said. “We’ll clear out quick, catch up soon.” 

The man who had you grabbed your pack from the floor and slung it over his shoulder before bringing his rifle around to his front, nudging you forward with the muzzle. 

“Let’s go,” he said. “Try and take off and I’ll shoot ya. And I don’t miss.” 

The man kept close to you, nudging you along in front of him and you tried not to trip on roots and overgrown brush but you’d only been walking about 20 minutes when you failed, falling with a pained grunt. The man sighed and grabbed you by the collar, pulling you to your feet. 

“You OK?” He asked, gun pointed at the ground and not at you. 

“Yes,” you said, even though your hands were scraped up and your knees hurt and you had your boyfriend’s blood on your skin and your throat hurt from screaming.

“Keep movin’,” he ordered. 

You kept looking back over your shoulder at him. He reminded you of a guy you dated once who was in the army. He never looked in one place too long, head constantly turning, looking, searching. There were threats, he knew that. He also knew how to see them coming. The gun was tilted toward the ground but close and ready. You were waiting for him to change his mind about you, to shoot you, too. Part of you wondered if this was part of a game for him, if he was going to walk with you just long enough to lull you into a false sense of security before shooting you. Maybe he liked the fear, the surprise. Maybe he’d given too much away by killing Zach and now he couldn’t get what he wanted from you. 

Maybe that was better than the alternative.

You were only walking about an hour when the other men, Tommy and Vince, caught up to you. The man you were with turned and pointed the gun, noticing their approach before you did. You froze, only realizing that it was probably a good time to run now that his attention was elsewhere once it was too late. 

“Just us, Joel,” Tommy called as they climbed up the hill you’d just made it up yourselves. “No trouble behind us.” 

The man - Joel, apparently - lowered the rifle and the men joined you. They had four packs between the two of them, two you didn’t recognize and two backpacking bags that you recognized as yours and Zach’s. Your stomach turned. 

“Not a terrible haul,” Tommy said. “These two had decent gear and must have just taken somethin’ good. A lot of jerky, good stock of ammo, some medical shit.” 

Joel looked down at you, his eyebrows raised. 

“You know how to use the shit in those bags?” He asked. You just looked back at him. He sighed and grabbed a fist full of your hair, jerking you close to him, making you squeak in shock. “Don’t play dumb, girl, you know how to use that shit?” 

“No,” you said sarcastically, not sure where the guts for that came from. “I enjoy hauling around shit I can’t do anything with.” 

Joel’s jaw tensed and you weren’t sure if he was about to yell or laugh. 

“Not gonna get far with an attitude like that, little rabbit,” Tommy said, but he was smirking a little. “Lot better for you if you just answer the questions when we ask ‘em.” 

You looked between the two men closest to you for a moment. You wondered if they were related. Their eyes were the same, same hair, too. They would have been handsome in another context, one where you weren’t afraid they were about to kill you. 

“It’s mine,” you said after a moment. “We were backpacking when the outbreak happened, we didn’t even know for a day or two, we were in the middle of the mountains and there weren’t other people around. I know how to use it all.” 

Joel released you. 

“Good to know you ain’t completely useless,” he said. 

“You mean outside the fact that I can save your life?” You bit out. Again, you weren’t sure why. 

He snorted. 

“Outside of that. Keep movin’.” 

With the other men there, Tommy took the lead and you followed, Vince and Joel behind you. You could feel Vince’s eyes on you, the cold, lecherous feeling of his gaze making your stomach churn. 

Night was starting to fall by the time you reached a cabin that showed greater signs of people than you’d seen in what felt like forever. There was a stack of wood on the front porch, a line between the house and a tree that looked like it was meant for drying clothes, barrels placed to gather rain water. You stopped, staring at the small structure. 

“Inside,” Joel said after a moment. 

“I have to pee.” 

He sighed. 

“Vince,” he said. “Take her to piss. Don’t fuckin’ touch her unless she tries to run, got it?” 

Vince groaned but nudged you off to the side of the house with the muzzle of his gun. You looked around, trying to get a lay of the land, see what a good route out might be. There was a small path that looked like it would take you deeper into the woods, eventually up into the Smokies. That was fine. If you could get your pack, you could survive out there for at least a week or two on your own, maybe find a settlement or something. You’d never had to survive on your own, you’d never hunted or shot a human being. Zach had handled that. You weren’t sure how long you could really make it on your own but you’d rather give that a shot than leave yourself to whatever these men had in store for you. 

“Here’s good,” Vince said after two minutes of walking. You held out your wrists and he raised his eyebrows. “You think I’m a fucking idiot?” 

“I can’t really pull my pants down like this,” you said. “I’m not a man, I can’t just whip my dick out…” 

He stomped over to you and unbutton and unzipped your jeans before yanking them down to your knees, ignoring your surprised sound before going back to your hips. His fingers trailed over your skin, sinking into the meat of your ass and making your stomach churn, before he pulled your panties down, too. You could feel his eyes on you, lingering on you, before he stood up. 

“There,” he said. “Happy?” 

He walked a few steps away and turned back to look at you. 

“I can’t go with you watching.” 

He shrugged. 

“Not my problem. You have to go bad enough, you’ll go.” 

You glared at him and held his gaze before squatting and peeing, missing toilet paper and privacy more than you had since the damn outbreak started. You straightened up when you were done and stood there, still looking at him. 

“Afraid you’ll have to come pull up my pants, too,” you said. “Since your boss apparently wants you to wait on me hand and foot.” 

A muscle in the man’s neck twitched but he stalked over and yanked your clothes back up, harshly buttoning and zipping your jeans before shoving you back toward the cabin hard enough that you stumbled. 

Inside, Joel and Tommy were sitting at a rustic table, a fire going in the nearby fireplace. There were two Nalgene bottles of water on the table and a bag of jerky between them. The jerky you recognized. You and Zach had made it just a few days earlier. 

You tried not to think about it. 

“He behave himself?” Joel asked, stretched out with his legs far in front of him. 

“You’re really gonna take this little cunt’s word over mine?” Vince asked. 

Joel just kept looking at you, ignoring him entirely. 

“Asked you a question girl,” he said. “He keep his hands to himself?” 

You glanced at Vince who was staring down Joel, his blue eyes hot and angry. You looked back to Joel. 

“He was fine,” you said. 

“Good,” Joel said, getting up, grabbing a bottle of water and going over to you. He put one of his huge hands on your shoulder, guiding you to the nearby couch and nudging you down onto it. 

You obeyed his unspoken command, lowering yourself slowly down but not relaxing into the cushion, staying on the edge of it. 

“Open,” he ordered. 

Your eyes narrowed. He glared back. 

“Open your mouth,” he said when you didn’t obey. 

“You put your dick in my mouth I’ll bite it clean off.”

Joel squared his jaw and held up the bottle of water. 

“Don’t got a smaller bottle right now and you can’t hold this with your hands tied. Don’t want you droppin’ dead from dehydration after we went through all the trouble to get you here so open your goddamn mouth.” 

You ground your teeth for a moment before you obeyed. He unscrewed the top and poured the water on your tongue, crisp and cool and making you aware of just how thirsty you’d become in the few hours you’d been with him. 

“Good girl,” he said. “Was that so hard?” 

Eventually, he stopped and you closed your mouth, wiping your lips on the back of your tied hands as he closed the bottle. 

“Don’t gotta worry about that shit from us,” he said. “Prefer when a woman begs for it, not about to take it from one who ain’t.” 

“Because I can trust what a group of murderers says,” you snapped. 

“Murderers,” Joel shrugged. “Not rapists. Hungry?” 

“Why?” You asked, tongue still sharp. “Going to be kind enough to give me scraps of the food you stole from me?” 

“Something like that,” Joel said. “If you’re gonna try to starve yourself to death, just let me know. Save you the trouble and put you down quick instead.” 

You watched him for a moment. For some reason, you trusted what he was saying to you. That he wasn’t going to hurt you - at least, not like that. That he was intending to keep you alive. 

“Not hungry,” you said eventually. 

Joel shrugged. 

“If you change your mind.” 

You sat on the edge of the couch cushion as the men took inventory of what they stole from you, what they killed Zach to take. You tried not to cry. 

It’s not like you’d been especially close to Zach when the outbreak happened. You hadn’t said “I love you” yet, you’d been dating for a month and a half and fucking for just a few weeks of that. 

The backpacking trip had been a spur of the moment thing for both of you. You had some vacation time to burn before the end of the quarter, his job was flexible and you’d bonded over a shared love of the outdoors. You’d ignored the words of caution from your girlfriends when he wanted to take you hiking for a second date, the two of you ending up exhausted but proud as you came to the end of the seven mile trail he’d selected. He kissed you there for the first time, his lips salty with trail mix and sweat and a view of a valley swelling with shades of green spread out below you. 

You were somewhere in the mountains when the world collapsed. You didn’t even know it had happened until you returned to where you’d parked your car to find the windows smashed and the inside looted, a body missing a chunk of its skull not far away. You’d ran to it on instinct, dropping to your knees beside them to check their pulse even though it was clear that there was no way they would be alive. Their skin was cold and there were fibrous, vine-like tendrils swarming in their brain. 

It had been you and Zach from there. He was more of a survivalist than you. He knew how to hunt and trap, taught you how to skin a rabbit and process a deer. You weren’t sure if you’d truly come to love him or not, if the feeling you had for him was just what happened when you went about surviving the end of the world with another person and became dependent on them for your very life. 

But you were certain that he hadn’t loved you. Not really. If he had, he never would have given you over to these men. 

You’d never have done that to him.

Maybe you did love him. You weren’t sure you’d ever know. 

“Sleep here,” Joel ordered as the day fully shifted to night and Tommy and Vince started readying for bed. “I’m keepin’ watch for now. We were gone long enough, some dumbasses might think they can move in. Don’t try anything.” 

He went onto the porch and you stretched out on the couch, the other men going into what you expected were bedrooms at the back of the cabin. Your hands were still bound. You stared at the dying embers of the fire, the orange glow, and cried. 

***

Joel needed Vince to stop acting like a shit head. 

The man didn’t seem to understand the position he was in. He was the least valuable person here. He was young, he was dumb and he was disposable. 

He just didn’t seem to realize it. If he kept looking at you like you were something he could take, he’d find out just how disposable he was.

Joel came in from his watch about 5 a.m. to find you whimpering quietly on the couch. He sighed. 

“You really still crying over that jackass you were with?” He asked as you sniffled quietly. 

“Shut up,” your voice was thick and wet. 

“He ain’t worth it,” he said gently, sitting in the armchair that was near where your head was. He wasn’t sure why he was bothering. But then, he’d never really taken a captive before. He usually just killed people or turned them loose. You were valuable enough to keep and sending you out into the wilderness alone seemed crueler than holding onto you. He just had no idea what the fuck he was supposed to do with you now. “He didn’t know who the fuck we were or what the fuck we’d do with you - lot worse out there than us, little girl - and he handed you over on a silver fuckin’ platter. More than happy to trade your pain for his sorry life.” 

“He’s the only person left that I knew,” you said softly. It was the first truly genuine thing Joel had heard you say. Except, maybe, when you asked if he was going to kill you. “I’m alone now.” 

“Not alone, little girl,” he said. He wasn’t sure why he was reassuring you. He shouldn’t care. “You’re better off.” 

“Why do you call me that?” You asked, lifting your head ever so slightly from the arm of the couch to look at him. “I’m not a little girl…” 

“Little compared to me,” he said. 

You scoffed and sniffed at the same time. 

“You’re a giant,” you said. “Everyone is little compared to you. Don’t see you calling Vinny there little boy…” 

Joel laughed a bit. 

“Maybe I should. And you’re a girl.” 

“I’m a woman,” you said, a spark of defiance in your tone. “I don’t think I’m much younger than you, if I am at all.” 

Joel frowned a bit at that. 

“How old are you?” He asked after a moment. 

You thought for a second, like you were doing the math. Which was fair. It’s not like he’d celebrated his last birthday, either, his stomach twisting at the thought. He had to think about it, too. 

“I’m 33,” you said. “How old are you?” 

He was surprised. Not that you looked terribly young, now that he thought about it. More that human faces lacked much definition to him anymore. Anyone older than a teenager looked about the same until they started going gray. You just seemed younger. 

“I’m 37,” he said. 

“Yeah, I’m not a girl,” you said, putting your head back down. 

“You could tell me your name,” he said. 

You scoffed. 

“Then I’m not sure what I’m supposed to call you, little girl,” he said. He could feel you glare at him. 

“I had a whole life before,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to Joel. “I had a house and a job and friends and I used to go to dinner and to concerts and buy the people I loved presents. I had a life before.” 

He realized then why he’d thought you were younger. You were, possibly, the most human person he’d come across in a year. Some small spark of divine mortality - the juxtaposition of life and a kind of death that was still possible - there in your eyes that didn’t exist in others. It seemed naive, in a way. Made you seem younger than you were. But he wasn’t sure that was it. Maybe you weren’t naive. Maybe part of you was just clinging to your humanity harder than anyone else left. 

“We all did,” he said, voice harsher than he’d really meant it to be. There was part of him that wanted to snap that tie in you. It was unfair that you got to keep it when he didn’t. But it was a kindness, too. You’d survive better without it. “You move on. Go to sleep.” 

He went to the room he shared with Tommy who was unconscious, sprawled out on the bed and snoring. Joel took the sleeping bag on the floor and stared at the ceiling, trying to make himself not listen for the sound of you crying in the next room. 

Things were surprisingly smooth with you for the next two days. Vince was a fucking idiot and got a nasty cut on his arm that you tended to, giving him stitches while he leered at you and Joel ground his teeth. 

He felt better with you tied. Your wrists, at the very least, but during the day when the men were coming and going, Joel bound you to a chair at the table. 

“Comfortable?” He asked the first time he did it. 

“No,” you spat, face scrunched in anger that was so fierce it was almost cute. If Joel even found things cute anymore. “I’m not.” 

“You gonna lose a hand from me cuttin’ off your circulation?” He asked instead. You just glared at him. “Good. Stay put, like a good girl.” 

“I hate you,” you seethed at him. 

Joel shrugged. 

“That’s fine,” he said. “Don’t gotta like me to keep me alive, do ya?” 

He went outside to gather wood. 

By the third night, you were yawning and looked barely conscious before the sun had even set. Joel frowned. 

“I keep telling you to sleep,” he said. “You ignoring me for fun or you think exhausting yourself is good for your health?” 

“I’d love to sleep,” you snapped. “But something about having my wrists bound keeps me up at night. Maybe it’s the discomfort, maybe it’s the looming threat of death, who can say?” 

Joel pulled Tommy and Vince aside after dinner, the men standing in the dirt outside the cabin, snow starting to drift down. 

“She hasn’t tried to hurt anyone yet,” Tommy shrugged. “Don’t think she’s gonna go far if she gets away and doesn’t seem like the kind to kill us in our sleep.” 

“Don’t like it,” Vince said, glaring at the cabin for a moment before looking back at Joel. “Can’t trust her as far as we can throw her…” 

“No one said shit about trust,” Joel cut him off. “But we can’t keep ‘er tied up forever.” 

“Fine,” Vince shrugged. “We can put her to use then kill her. Won’t need to tie her up then.” 

Joel could hear the blood in his ears. 

“Suggest that one more time, little boy, and see how long you last,” he straightened up as he said it, the full six inches he had on the younger man all the more apparent then. “You want to do that kind of shit, find someone else to run with.” 

“Fuck, sorry,” he raised his arms in a moment of surrender before crossing them again. “Just don’t come crying to me when she slits your fucking throat.” 

“Can’t cry if she kills me, can I?” Joel said, stomping back toward the house, pushing past Vince on the way. 

You were still bound to the chair. He wordlessly unwound the rope and you relaxed your elbows, stretching your arms as best you could with your wrists still tied. 

“Hands up,” he said. You frowned, just looking at him. “You heard me, you want me to untie you or not? Hands up.” 

You practically flung your wrists at him and he tried not to laugh at you as he loosened the knot and pulled the rope from your wrists. 

The second you were free, you rolled your shoulders and closed your eyes, groaning at the feeling of it. 

“God that’s good,” you moaned before you started flexing your fingers and rotating your wrists before you glared up at him again. “What? You try being tied up for days, see how you deal with it.” 

“Rather not,” Joel said, winding up the rope. “Better be a good girl, don’t try anything stupid.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you said as you spread your arms wide and sighed. Joel found himself smiling a little for the first time in he didn’t know how long. He stopped himself. 

“Actually get some sleep,” he said, voice gruff. “No good to us exhausted.” 

He left you alone, taking the bed in he and Tommy’s room that night and Tommy taking the floor. It took effort to not listen for you moving in the front room as he drifted off. 

He wasn’t sure how long he was asleep when Tommy shook him awake. 

“Joel,” he said urgently. “She’s gone.” 

***

Absolutely none of this was ideal. 

You were exhausted, the only thing keeping you upright the adrenaline that ran through your whole body. You didn’t have supplies, your pack and all its valuable contents in the bedrooms of the men. You were stuck running through snow, leaving a clear path to follow until the woods got dense enough that the snow hadn’t piled up much. 

But you had to go, you had to go now, now, now, right now. You couldn’t spend another night there like that, not when you had the option to get away, not when you had the use of your arms back. 

Your body wouldn’t let you sleep, even for an hour or two, even just for a night to try to make a break for it tomorrow. The second Joel had freed your hands it was like you could feel every part of your body in sharp, acute detail. Every frayed nerve, every thrumming vein, every peaked hair was stark and clear. You couldn’t relax enough to sleep. You had an opening, a chance. You had to take it, you had to. 

You didn’t even have your knife. 

But you had your body and you knew how to push yourself over long distances in the mountains. You’d been good at it before, too. You’d hiked most of your life, knowing how to get yourself to make it to the top of the next ridge even when your calves were burning and your lungs felt on the verge of collapse you knew you could make it. 

All you had to do was do that now, through all the exhaustion and all the panic, and put as much distance between yourself and those men as possible. 

You’d find some way to keep yourself alive eventually. There’d be supplies or a settlement. Something. You were sure of that. 

Mostly. 

Your breath rose in a cloud in front of you and you broke away from the trail into the brush of the woods, thankful that the moon was bright enough that you could have some sense of where you were going. 

You were just starting to relax a little when you heard it behind you. A sharp, shrill whistle. You froze. 

“Come on out, little rabbit,” Tommy called. “Not gonna hurt you…” 

“Shit,” you whispered as you panted for breath. They sounded pretty far away but they’d catch up eventually. 

You scrambled through the forest until you reached a cluster of ferns that was thick and full and you ducked into it. If you stayed quiet and still, they’d walk right past you. You could stay put for a while and then find your way from there. Simple. 

You tried to not shake from cold and fear as you heard the signs of the men getting close. There was the crunch of sticks, the rustle of leaves and the eerie sound of Vince humming Run, Rabbit, Run. The glare of a flashlight trickled between the ferns and you held your breath, the humming getting louder. 

For a second, a glorious second, you thought you were in the clear. Vince had passed your hiding spot, poking through the brush closest to the trail with his rifle but you were just far enough off the trail that he missed you, and you relaxed. 

Then you heard the snap of a twig. 

“Found you.” 

You spun, Vince turning the flashlight on and shining it in your face, all but blinding you. You threw up a hand instinctively to protect your eyes and he grabbed your wrist, yanking you out of your hiding spot and almost pulling your arm out of its socket in the process. 

You yelped in pain, you couldn’t help it, and he all but threw you onto the trail. Your eyes were still adjusting to the light but it took you a moment to realize that he had his gun trained on you. 

“Knew you’d take off on us,” he said, panting a little. You put your hands up and looked for a way out. “Knew you’d be more trouble than you’re worth…” 

You backed away from him, more on instinct than anything else, not able to watch where you were going and you shrieked as you tripped and fell back, landing hard and barely catching yourself before your head smacked into the rock of the path. You rose up on your hands quickly, scrambling back from him as best you could but he was standing, could see where he was going. You didn’t have a hope. 

“Please,” you whispered. “Please just… just let me go, you already have my supplies and…” 

“Can’t let you go with you knowing where we are,” he replied. “And you were already more trouble than you’re worth in my opinion…” 

“I stitched up your arm,” you said, tears stinging at your eyes. “I helped you…” 

“And those two idiots won’t even let me fuck you,” he cut you off. “What good is pussy you can’t fuck, hm?” 

“Please,” you said again. 

“That’s not an answer,” he prowled closer, the muzzle of his rifle so close you could almost touch it. Your heart was in your throat. “Think I’ll just kill you, bet that pretty head of yours would make all kinds of nice colors when I blow it off…” 

“Hey!” Tommy snapped, his gun up and pointed at Vince. “Know you’re not threatenin’ to kill her, not when we all agreed to keep her alive.” 

“You agreed,” Vince snapped. “You and your asshole brother, not me.” 

“That asshole has been keepin’ your sorry ass alive,” Joel growled from behind you. Your head whipped around to see him there, looming large over you. His gun was up, too, pointed at Vince. “You need us a whole hell of a lot more than we need you. You can do what I fuckin’ say or you can move on. But you keep pointing that gun at her and you ain’t gonna have much to move on with.” 

The three of them stood there for a moment, Vince aiming at you, Joel and Tommy aiming at him. Your heart felt like it was going to break your ribs it was beating so hard. 

Vince lowered his gun. Tommy did the same but Joel left his up. 

“Joel,” Vince said but Joel cut him off. 

“Don’t like men who don’t listen,” he said. “Not worth shit to me if you can’t take orders. Said you could join me and my brother if you did what you were told.” 

“I told you she’d run!” Vince snapped. 

“Don’t give a shit,” Joel said. “You think nurses pop up every five fuckin’ feet? She’s valuable. To us and to people we come across. Worth a little trouble. Worth a whole hell of a lot more trouble than you. Know your goddamn place.” 

He lowered his gun and looked down to you. 

“You alright, little girl?” 

You were too shaken to fight the nickname. Instead, you just nodded. 

“Good.” 

He slung his rifle on his back and reached down, yanking you sharply to your feet, the movement so rough it shocked you. Once you were on your feet, he grabbed you by your chin, his callused fingers harsh on your cheeks, and pulled your face close, so close that you’d expect him to kiss you if he were your lover. 

But he wasn’t that. He was your captor. 

“Thought I told you not to try anything stupid,” he asked, his face almost eerily calm but his tone on the edge of anger. “You seem smart enough to know better, give you an inch and you decide to take a mile. Several, in fact. Maybe Vince is right, maybe we should kill you…” 

“Joel,” Tommy said cautiously but Joel threw him a glare and he quieted. 

“You really think you can do better than us out there? Hm?” He demanded. “You think you can survive all on your lonesome?” 

“No,” you said, fighting to not cry. You hated that you reacted this way, that when you were scared or mad your first instinct was to cry. “But I could find…” 

“Find what?” He cut you off. “Find someone else who’s willin’ to stick their necks out for you? Willing to feed you, shelter you without takin’ more from you?” 

He released your chin and you slumped back from him, massaging your face and working your jaw, trying to right it. 

“You’re damn lucky to be with us, little girl,” he snapped. “Real damn lucky. Better start actin’ like it instead of running off like some scared little rabbit. Hands out.” 

“But…” 

“No,” he shook his head firmly. “You lost the privilege of using your fuckin’ hands without my permission. Hands. Out.” 

You obeyed, arms trembling, and he bound your wrists together, the ropes finding the same indentations they’d made on your skin before. He dropped your wrists once they were bound and you looked at him as you still fought to not cry. His eyes met yours, sharp and cold. 

“You’re mine now,” he said harshly. “Sooner you figure that out, the easier this gets for you. Move.” 

The walk back to the cabin felt long and, when you got there, you went to lay on the couch but Joel stopped you. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asked, shrugging out of his coat. 

You frowned. 

“Going to sleep…”

“Not there you’re not,” he said. “You’re sleepin’ with me, you don’t get to be unsupervised anymore.” 

Your eyes went wide and you shook your head. 

“No, no, please, you said you weren’t…” 

“Wasn’t offerin’ to fuck you, girl,” he cut you off. “You’re sleeping where I can fucking see you so get in my bed.” 

Your whole body shook as he nudged you to one of the back rooms. You hadn’t been in one of these before. You had no idea how to try to escape if you needed to. It was stupid of you, you realized now, to trust Joel when he said they might be murderers but they weren’t rapists. Just because they hadn’t forced themselves on you yet didn’t mean they wouldn’t now. 

The room wasn’t huge, a queen sized bed in the middle and a sleeping bag on the floor. There was a door - to a closet, you assumed - and a dresser with some picture frames on top. 

“Shoes off,” Joel said. 

“Please,” you said softly. “Please don’t do this, I…” 

“Didn’t I say I wasn’t offering to fuck you?” He asked, sounding exasperated. “I don’t want you tracking dirt into the goddamn bed. Shoes off, get in on that side, one by the dresser. I’ll keep my hands to myself if you will.”

You obeyed and curled as tightly in on yourself as you could, facing away from him. You felt the bed dip as he climbed in, the heat of his body close to yours. But he didn’t touch you. 

“Actually sleep,” Joel muttered after a moment. 

You glanced over your shoulder at him. He was flat on his back, eyes closed, arms crossed over his chest. The opposite of someone who looked like they were about to grope you the second you passed out. 

Still, you rolled to face him, curled tightly on yourself, and watched him until his body loosened and his breaths evened. Tommy snored lightly from the sleeping bag on the floor. You weren’t sure if their unconscious state made it feel safe enough to rest or your body gave out from exhaustion but, the next thing you knew, it was morning and you were alone. 

You sat up slowly, hands still bound, an unfamiliar blanket draped over you that hadn’t been the night before. 

You made your way slowly, cautiously, to the main part of the small house. The men were talking in low voices around the kitchen table and you hovered for a moment, not sure if you wanted them to notice you or not. 

But Tommy was the first to see you there, a slow smile spreading over his face. 

“Well hey there little rabbit,” he took a sip from a mug. “You look rested.” 

“Probably wore herself out taking off,” Vince muttered. 

“Gonna be just you and me today,” Tommy said, ignoring Vince’s comments. “Those two are headin’ out to do some business.” 

“Business?” You asked, brows raised. “Is that code for murder?” 

“Our business is none of yours, little girl,” Joel said, drinking from a mug of his own. “You stay here, behave yourself, and maybe we’ll bring you something back.” 

“Rather not get anything that comes from killing,” you said. “Thanks though.” 

Joel just rolled his eyes and shoved back from the table. 

“You’ll take what I give you and you’ll like it,” he said, coming to stand in front of you. He put two fingers below your chin and tilted it, forcing you too look him in the eye. “Gonna take off on me again? Or do I need to tie your legs up, too?” 

You gritted your teeth. 

“No.”

“Good girl.” 

Tommy helped you use the bathroom and you sat on the couch with jerky and sore wrists and resentment as you watched Joel and Vince get ready to head out to do… whatever it was they were about to go and do. 

You weren’t sure what you were supposed to do to pass the time. You’d had some books in your bags but you weren’t about to risk pissing off the men for a little entertainment. 

But Tommy didn’t let you sit in silence for too long, flopping down next to you on the couch as you tried to find patterns in the peeling paint of he wall. You looked at him, cagey. He smiled. 

“You’re cute when you sleep.” 

You frowned. 

“What?” 

“You’re cute when you sleep,” he said again. “All curled up and shit, just like a little rabbit.” 

You shrank back from him and he put his hands up. 

“Not gonna touch you,” he said. “Unless you wanted me to.” 

“Well… I don’t.”

He shrugged. 

“Didn’t expect you would,” he said. 

He was quiet again for a few minutes before he spoke again, a gleam in his eye when he did. 

“Wouldn’t happen to play poker, would you?”

You didn’t but he seemed happy enough to teach you. But you couldn’t hold the cards well with your wrists bound and, after a few minutes of struggling, Tommy glanced toward the door like he was half expecting Joel to walk through it. 

“Gimme those,” he said, holding his hands out. You thrust your wrists at him faster than you were proud of and he laughed a little, taking hold of you gently. He paused before starting at the rope. “You’re not gonna take off on me, right, little rabbit?” 

“Not at the moment,” you said. 

“Good,” he replied, untying you. “Not a fan of keepin’ you all tied up anyway…” 

You turned your wrists, the bones popping as you luxuriated in the movement. 

“Thank you,” you said, massaging one wrist and then the other. 

He shrugged. 

“The game is Texas Hold ‘Em,” he said, dealing. “We’ll play a few hands open and then see how you do…” 

It was oddly easy to forget that you were being held captive when playing cards with Tommy. He was lighter than the other men, more like people you remembered from before, making easy going conversation about things that hadn’t mattered in more than a year. 

“I’m still mad that I didn’t get to see the second Matrix,” you said, watching as Tommy put the flop on the table. 

“That, darlin’, was a blessing,” he replied. “Wasn’t nearly as good as the first.” 

“I heard that, but still,” you said, looking at the seven of clubs, three of hearts and king of clubs on the table and trying not to smile at the seven of spades and king of hearts in your hand. “I think it might have been better than I heard. And maybe it would have made more sense when the third one came out…” 

“Maybe,” Tommy said, putting the turn on the table. Ace of diamonds, no good for you. “But I dunno, you seem too smart to like something that shitty.” 

“Bold assumption,” you smiled a little and he smiled back. 

“Before I put the river card out,” he said. “How about we make this interesting?” 

“Interesting,” you frowned. “Interesting how?” 

“I win, you tell me something about yourself,” he said. “You win, I’ll give you something you want. Can’t be a weapon but something else.” 

You looked at him, brows raised. 

“C’mon, little rabbit,” he gave you a cocky smirk. “Let’s have some fun.” 

You looked at your hand again. 

“Alright,” you smiled a little. “Let’s do it.” 

The river was the king of spades and you tried not to smile too wide. 

“Alright,” he said, looking like he was holding back a grin himself. “I’ll show you mine then you show me yours.” 

You shrugged and he smiled as he put the king of diamonds and the three of spades on the table. 

“Full house,” he said. “Kings over threes.” 

“Damn,” you sighed. “I just have the kings…” you lowered the card, looking disappointed and enjoyed Tommy’s excited expression for half a second before you put the second card on the table. “Oh, and the sevens. Sevens are higher than threes, right? I mean, I only went to nursing school, I can’t be sure…” 

“You little shit,” Tommy laughed. “You’ve got a damn fine poker face on you! Alright, what is it you want?” 

“My books,” you said immediately. “I had two, I think, in my pack. I’d like them. Please.” 

“I can get you the books,” he smiled. “You sit tight.” 

He brought you the books and you played another hand with the same stakes. And another. And another. And more after that.

You got some hair ties and clean socks out of the deal. Tommy got to know your favorite food and what you liked to watch on TV back when there was TV. 

After a while, he looked at the books that you’d set aside on the table. He picked up the top one, Slaughterhouse Five. 

“Think this was on my reading list in high school,” he said, looking over the back of it. “Never actually read it though.” 

“It’s good,” you said. “You missed out.” 

“Read it to me,” he said, holding it out to you. 

“Read it to you?” You asked, brows raised. “What are you, five?” 

“Never much enjoyed reading,” he shrugged, still holding the book out. “But I like listening. Like listening to you well enough. C’mon, little rabbit. Tell me a story.” 

You considered him for a moment. You felt oddly safe with Tommy. You weren’t sure if it was because he was showing you kindness and one of the only three people left in the world you knew now or if he was actually safe. You weren’t sure you could trust anything you were thinking and feeling. 

But reading to him didn’t sound bad. 

“Can we move to the couch?” You asked. 

He laughed. 

“Think we can manage it.” 

You settled on the couch, you folded into a corner and Tommy stretched out. He watched you closely as you opened the book. 

“All this happened, more or less…” 

You fell asleep on the couch before Joel and Vince made it back but you woke up in he bed, Tommy snoring next to you. 

Part 2

A/N: Hey yeah so... this was supposed to be a one shot but it got away from me. So now it's two parts. Part two up sometime within the next week or so ❤️

[inoreuct]

would you agree that we all need more Sanji getting nosebleeds over Zoro in this fandom?

YES *pelting down a hill waving the proposal for this in my hand like a madman* YESSSSSS

the first time sanji gets a nosebleed over zoro is his clue-in that oh. i’m not straight, am i. the swordsman’s doing a bench press (shirtless, as always) as sanji walks by (and sanji sneaks a look, as always, because who wouldn’t?) and when he glances over the plates he has to do a double take because what the fuck. zoro’s pressing more than twice his body weight. zoro’s repping more than twice his body weight. he’s just registered that maybe he’s stared for a bit too long when he feels something warm and wet on his upper lip, iron dripping over his mouth, and he books it for the galley.

he slams the door shut and presses his back against it before he slides to the ground and screams into his knees because what. the fuck. it’s not even that he’s getting hot and bothered over a guy; it’s just that the guy’s zoro. he’s not supposed to get nosebleeds over zoro.

but he does.

and it gets worse.

zoro walking around shirtless on deck? nosebleed. zoro re-tying the sails and just hanging on with his legs around the mast? nosebleed. zoro strutting out of the shower door, damp with steam and hair dripping wet and a towel around his waist? nosebleed. zoro tsking irritably and grabbing all of sanji’s food and packages from him to haul the whole lot over his shoulder? NOSEBLEED.

and not even that. he starts getting breathless around zoro and his chest hurts. he kicks zoro back while they’re sparring one day and the swordsman grins, feral and unrestrained and all challenge and teeth, and sanji’s heart spasms so hard that he actually wonders if he’s about to go into cardiac arrest. he’s barely twenty, he isn’t ready to die— much less because of some stupid marimo. chiselled abs and a nice set of biceps are only worth so much of sanji’s dignity. he twists and smashes the sole of his shoe right into zoro’s pretty face.

still, it gets so, so bad that he’s elected to just. avoid zoro completely. he’s sneaking around corners and running across open expanses ducked low like some kind of goofy thief and he knows it’s so fucking stupid but he doesn’t. he doesn’t know if zoro likes— no. he doesn’t even think about it. there’s no way, and if he gives himself false hope he’ll just break his own heart. he doesn’t know if zoro likes men, or anyone, much less him; nobody in their right mind would, not really. he's nice to have but not to keep and he's come to terms with it.

…until zoro corners him in the galley and demands to know what the fuck’s going on.

sanji stays facing away, slowly washing the dishes even as his heart pounds so hard it hurts. he is painfully aware of the way zoro’s seething like an over-boiled kettle in one of the chairs behind him, arms crossed over his stupidly broad chest and stock-still because he never, ever shakes his leg even though sanji knows he wants to.

his sponge squeaks across ceramic. the water’s warm against his fingertips, and his eyes flick up to meet his own reflection in the porthole window; he looks… well, he doesn’t know. scared, maybe. nervous. his mouth is thin, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, a shudder running its fingers down his spine even as his heartbeat thumps between his ribs and god, fuck, it aches. and he knows. he looks himself in the eyes and he knows that somewhere along the line nosebleeds had turned into falling in love and he was the stupid idiot who had just let it happen because he was too weak to pry zoro out of his thoughts.

his gaze flicks down sharply when he hears the sudden scrape of the chair, and zoro spits, “look, i can’t fix whatever i did wrong if you don’t tell me what it is.”

sanji’s heart throbs. “what?”

he can hear zoro’s scowl. “what, what? i obviously did something. you’ve been avoiding me like the plague.”

the cook almost laughs. he bites it down and swallows his words, salty-sweet at the back of his throat. guilt nips at him; zoro’s his rival and and his personal annoyance and a blockhead but he might also, maybe, just maybe, be sanji’s best friend. and sanji hasn’t been very fair to him lately.

he swallows again, clears his throat silently. “you didn’t do anything, marimo,” he murmurs to the plate in his hands, trying for airy and getting more somewhat vaguely strangled. he coughs. “just forget about it. sorry i’ve been weird.”

sanji will deal. he will, somehow; he’d been careless and careless is dangerous and for perhaps the first time in his life, he has too much to lose. he’ll squash his heart into a box and lock it down tight like he always has and it’ll hurt, but when does it ever not? he mentally declares the matter done and dusted as he shakes off the plate and gently sets it on the drying rack.

his lungs hitch as a callused hand cups his elbow.

zoro pulls him around. he’s too weak to resist. the edge of the sink digs into his hip as stormy grey eyes scan his face and zoro looks tense, his jaw set in the way it only is when he faces off with a particularly vexing foe.

“did i not look happy enough at dinner?" he asks, and it could be mockery but it isn't, not with that edge to his voice; not desperation, but damn near. like filter paper burning its way to ash. "was it my clothes on the floor? my boots on the bed? what?”

sanji can't stand it anymore. he looks away, tries to twist out of the invisible bonds zoro has him trapped in, but fingers looped around his wrist are all it takes to make him stay and fuck, fuck, he's so fucked.

"sanji, what did i do?” zoro breathes, brow furrowed, voice too near and too damn earnest, and sanji's throat bobs as he digs the heel of his palm into his eye.

this isn't how it's supposed to go. zoro isn't supposed to care. zoro isn't supposed to be standing here in the galley saying his name in that tone of voice. a hand carefully pulls his own away from his face, and zoro doesn't fucking let go, and sanji feels too much like he's been stripped down to the bone.

"i know," zoro continues, gruff like he doesn't know how to be anything else, "that i upset you. so would you please tell me what i did so i can fix it?" he bends lower still, ducking to try and catch sanji’s line of sight but sanji just can't look at him. "i'll fix it, i—"

"you can't fix this." the words are out and in the air before he can stop them, and a bittersweet smile curves his mouth. "there's nothing to fix, so you can't fix it. just let it go, alright?"

zoro wants to argue. sanji can tell. but the swordsman lets out a measured exhale after a long moment and pulls back, face carefully neutral. "at least tell me what's going on, cook."

sanji looks down at his feet. "...i can't."

"like hell you can't," zoro replies immediately, and it's such an abrupt reminder of their normal banter that it wrenches a rough noise from sanji's chest. "i was the one who held your hair back after you had, like, seven margaritas too many. don't think you could tell me anything worse than the experience of trying to stop you from falling into your own puke."

"oh, jesus fuck," sanji swears on instinct, then laughs. it's unfortunately hollow. "that was one time, asshole."

"one time too many," zoro hums, raising an eyebrow. "so you gonna tell me what's going on, or do i have to make it a captain's order?"

sanji grits his teeth.

"i will drag luffy in here, i don't care—"

"fucking—" he holds his breath, flipping around to white-knuckle the edge of the sink and letting it out slow. "fine. you ever loved someone, marimo?"

"sure." zoro shrugs easily, crossing his arms as he looks out the window. "kuina, but i think i learned to love her memory more than anything else. luffy, nami—" a near-unnoticeable flutter of thick lashes. "you."

sanji exhales through his nose as he rocks back on his heels. squeezes out air till it hurts. "you know that's not what i meant."

"what did you mean, then?"

he turns to look at where zoro has settled lazily against the counter, the moon turning his eyes to silver. "I mean the kind of love that makes your blood race. that makes you want more even when you know you'll never take more than you're allowed. the kind that makes your heart hurt so badly you feel empty without it."

the swordsman's face is unreadable as he tilts his head slowly. "i did say i love you."

it hits sanji like a bullet. he sucks in a sharp breath, and his throat burns as he turns away and tries to stop his shoulders from heaving up. "don't fuck with me, zoro. not about this."

it feels rather like a cruel cosmic joke. he's so near yet so far, just one step away with a gauzy curtain between but he can't touch it. he won't. he's got too many things on the line and yet he can't even name one of them.

"hey."

he squeezes his eyes shut against the burn of salt that shouldn't even be there, and look at that. little sanji's gone and broken his own heart again.

"hey," zoro tries again, more insistent, one hand hovering in the space between them and sanji feels the pull of it like a magnet.

he doesn't turn away as it cups his cheek. doesn't run as fingers slide through the short hairs at his nape, a thumb behind his jaw. his lashes are damp. it is everything he wants and everything he cannot have and he can't—

"look at me."

"i can't," he breathes, lungs rising fast and shallow. he's afraid to open his eyes. he's afraid of what he'll see.

"yes, you can." zoro shifts closer and another hand joins the first. it's big and rough and warm and he holds sanji's face like he's the moon herself. "look at me, curly."

he can't.

he does.

zoro's gaze is almost painful to meet straight-on with how intense it is. he seems to realise, face softening as he leans closer, closer, posture loose enough that it would be no problem for sanji to shove him away. "you love me," he breathes. "yes or no?"

sanji's heart stops. his tongue is clumsy in his mouth, his brain a mess of yesnoyesyesnoiwon'tican’tido—

"don't think." zoro's voice cuts through the haze as he shakes his head slowly; a sword through smoke, silver-bright, singing in the air and leaving silence. "don't think. you love me, yes or no."

the galley swims around sanji as his vision blurs. he feels his tears spill hot down his cheek, knows the way zoro aches to brush them away and yet stays still. he opens his mouth and it feels like stepping out of the only shelter he's ever known; he is an open fucking wound and he's raw and everything hurts, everything but zoro. zoro. zoro. "yes."

just one word, three simple letters, and still it feels like damnation; if he'd never said it he could deny it but now it's real. the swordsman relaxes, shoulders dropping enough that his forehead brushes sanji's, and sanji tracks the way his throat bobs. the way steel-grey eyes flicker over his face, molten in the light of the electric lamps and the moonlight spilling through the window, gilding zoro like something out of a dream. a fairytale sanji read as a child until the edges of the pages fitted familiar to his thumbs as his little hands reached for a happy ending that was never meant to be his.

he shakes, now, as zoro reaches up to run tentative fingers through straw-pale hair. "let me love you. yes or no."

"i—" the sound that twists from his mouth is cracked jagged down the middle, unpolished as a common pebble picked up off the damn street. "you don't—"

"yes or no."

"i'm not what you want," he gasps, his face wet.

"yes or no."

sanji wants to break apart. because zoro sounds like he's begging, and he cannot fathom anybody possibly wanting him that much. he wants to scream and cry and claw at the walls until his nails break. he wants to shatter into pieces all over the floor without having to worry about putting himself back together. he wants. he wants, and zoro's looking at him with the closest thing to reverence he's seen in his life, and even that isn't enough for him to believe it. "i'm not what you want."

he can barely look at zoro. he can barely look at himself. the shame is clawing a pit into his stomach, and he lets it, feels every inch of it, because what kind of person doesn't know how to be loved? his breath catches wetly as zoro cups his jaw in both hands, tilting his face up, and once again sanji is too weak to pull away.

"you are everything i want."

the words are so fierce, so sure, and sanji is cracking apart at the seams. the stitches pulled tight by his own hand are unravelling and he can't stop it—

"yes or no."

zoro's breath ghosts warm across his mouth, fingertips in his hair, just far away enough for sanji to see the way his eyes are blazing and yet he waits. his thumb on sanji's cheek is the gentlest thing sanji has ever known.

"you'll get tired of me," he tries weakly, one last time for good measure, and zoro just shakes his head. the resolve in his expression does not waver even once.

sanji breaks.

"yes." the word scrapes itself out of his throat seconds before arms are going around him, and he sobs. lets the swordsman bring them both to the kitchen floor as he curls up in zoro's lap, fingers clawing into his white shirt, numb with how hard he cries because nobody, nobody has ever stayed. not without him getting hurt in the process. he pushes them away when he gets scared and they let him and then it becomes his fault when it all blows up in his face, but zoro's not leaving, and it's so foreign to him that he's shaking so badly and he can't stop.

a warm, heavy palm smooths over his spine and he lets himself be shifted closer, settles sideways as zoro wraps an arm over his shins and rocks them until his breathing evens out. the embarrassment hits like a gut punch; he knows he looks like a mess, face blotchy and hair everywhere and eyes puffy as hell, but zoro cards his bangs out of his eyes and looks at him like he doesn't care, and sanji turns away.

he feels... fragile. like he's made of tinted glass and spun sugar, like he'll cave in at the slightest touch. there is something melting in his chest and it drips down over his ribs; pools fresh as a river in spring, offset by the grounding presence of zoro's hands on his skin. "don't say i didn't warn you," he mumbles, masking his very real fear behind a layer of watery bravado as he hides his face in zoro's shoulder, and of course, of course zoro sees right through him.

the swordsman's thumb traces the swirl of his eyebrow before zoro rests his chin on top of sanji's head. "i don’t listen. you know that."

you know me, is what goes unsaid, and sanji doesn't deign to reply. he buries his face into zoro's chest and breathes in the smell of steel and sword oil and— he sits up slightly, eyes narrowing. "you've been stealing my deodorant, yes or no." the way zoro stills momentarily is a dead giveaway, and he yelps when the swordsman flicks his forehead.

"would you rather i be stinky?" zoro scoffs, rolling his eyes gently as sanji settles back down with a huff.

"you still are stinky. if we're gonna be together i'm expecting you to shower at least once every two days—" zoro groans, and he powers through, raising his voice, "—and if you aren't fussy i'll let you shower with me."

the way zoro instantly stops complaining cracks a laugh out of him. it's weak and watered-down, but it's a start. zoro's hands slide back into his hair and he hums as he lets his eyes fall shut.

the moon's full tonight. their ship rocks gently, and sanji gets comfortable; zoro's warm and solid and happens to make a perfectly respectable pillow. the thought that he can have this now sends a thrill through him.

he's not a fool. he's not optimistic when it comes to this. when it comes to love.

but with zoro's thumb rubbing mindless circles against the side of his thigh and a kiss pressed to the top of his head, he's got a pretty good feeling about this time around.

[myseungsunglove]

As We Are | Ksm

Pairing: Seungmin x Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Seungmin lays it all on the line, risking years of friendship, but he doesn’t want friendship anymore. He wants so much more and he wants you to know.

A/n: I’m tired. Just blame the kdrama filled, sleep deprived brain if you don’t like it. No beta. We die like men.

「©October 14, 2024 by myseungsunglove」

“Seung, you’re gonna be great,” you assure him as his stands next to you nervously, the member before him still performing on stage.

He’s next to go on for his solo performance, and you have never seen him so nervous. And what’s worse, he hadn’t shared this song with you like he had the last one. He kept this one a secret.

“Even if I couldn’t give it my stamp of approval before, I know it’s gonna be amazing,” you tease, bumping your shoulder with his.

He chuckles lightly then, dipping his head shyly before meeting your eyes.

“Promise you’ll listen well?” Seungmin asks, his big brown eyes wide as boba. “Please,” he pleads, his eyes glistening with emotion.

“Of course,” you tell him. “Seung, I’ll always be here listening to you. You’re not getting rid of me. You’re the best friend of ever had,” you admit, pulling him into a hug.

His face rests against your neck for a moment and you can feel his breathing, rapid but steady.

“It’s for you,” he whispers against your ear. “Just know it’s for you. Everything is for you,” he says as the music ends and he is ushered away, handed a guitar and ascends a staircase.

Having you by my side made it possible to hold on through those times

We could achieve it without feeling lonely through the long journey

This is us from that day

Gazing at each other with the brightest smile in the world

The song comes to an end and the light fades, and Seungmin’s soft face fades from view. There are tears in your eyes which you hurry to swipe away. You were constantly reminding Seungmin that you were his biggest fan and supporter and that you weren’t going anywhere. He in turn had always done the same for you. Both of you had worked hard for your budding music careers. And here you were now, so damn proud of him. And he had written a song for you. And sang it in front of thousands of people.

And it was then that you knew. You loved Kim Seungmin. You had for a long time.

“Where is y/n?” You heard from somewhere in the dark beside you.

You turn to the voice and immediately are swept up into Seungmin’s arms, wrapping your own around his broad shoulders as he hugs you tight.

“You know I love you, right?” he breathes against your ear, and your heart stutters in your chest, sure he couldn’t haven’t said what you think you just heard.

“I love you, y/n,” he says again, pulling away from your embrace to look into your eyes.

You crying fully now, but thankfully your body is working better than your brain. Your hands cup his soft cheeks and pull his lips to yours. When they meet, his lips are firm and sure, as if he was the one who initiated the kiss. His arms slide around your waist and he pulls you closer as he deepens the kiss, and low sound emitting from him as your tongue slips in against his.

“You’ve got to change Seungmin,” one of the boys calls from behind you. “Sorry,” he says when he realizes what he’s walked in on and you realize then that it’s Han.

You pull away reluctantly and Seungmin chases after your lips.

“Wait for me,” he breathes against your lips.

“I always do, Minnie. And I’m sure as hell not going anywhere now.”

He chuckles heartily, and kisses you quick before pulling away.

“Good,” he smiles at you and he looks happier than you’ve ever seen him. Because of you. Your heart stutters again at the knowledge.

“I’ll be waiting,” you tell him as he walks away. He looks back at you, smiles bright and shakes his head before walking away into the darkness.

You’re left standing there, lips tingling, the ghost of Seungmin’s kiss still lingering as you contemplate the possibilities of a future with Kim Seungmin. It excites you beyond words and you can’t help but giggle and twirl around in excitement.

So this is love, you wonder to yourself. God it is a beautiful thing.

[kingofthe-egirls]

CURIOUS: MONSTER TRIO x OC

fox tales

(cw: threesome, est relationship, zoro walks in, cunnilingus, blowjob, fingering, handjob, kissing lol)

(a/n: yes i know i double songs in my fics but it's what i'm listening to lol)

Songs: "Ain't It Fun" by Paramore

words: 2.1k

“Holy fuck,” you breathe, curling forward with your hands in Luffy’s hair. He’s licking at your clit with abandon, two fingers pistoning in and out of you at a breakneck speed. Your third orgasm for the night crests over you like a wave, and you shudder in his hands.

“Atta girl,” he says, grinning wide with your slick shining across his face. “Cum for me again?” He kisses the inside of your thigh, crooking his fingers up inside you. You gasp.

“Y-yes sir…,” you manage out, sweat pouring down your temples. Your body is twitchy, blissed out, and warm where it presses into the kitchen counter. Sanji was somewhere off to the side, cleaning up after his own turn eating you out.

Luffy wanted you all to himself, now.

But apparently the world had other plans, because the door swings open with a bang.

“Sanji—!” You gasp out, covering your chest, “I thought you locked the door!!!”

“Mon cherie—,” Sanji starts, whirling from where he’d been standing at the sink with his sleeves pushed up over muscular forearms. Then all three of you freeze.

“So that’s where you’ve all been disappearing off to.” A deadpan voice speaks from the doorway.

You peak over Luffy’s head, who’s gone terribly still from between your legs. Zoro is standing framed by light with his arms folded over his chest. Your thighs shake where they’re draped over your captain’s shoulders. He presses a kiss to your clit, and you shiver.

“Luffy?” You peek down at him, and he’s regarding you with deadly calm. You swallow, skin shivering with a light sheen of sweat. Your tails are pressed against your back.

“Did ya want him ta watch?” Luffy asks you, voice coarse. He pumps his fingers in and out of you, experimentally. “I don’t mind, kitty cat.”

“Um—,” you squeak, hiding your head in your hands. Breath is coming in short bursts, your veins are popping with firecrackers, and you can’t think with the sound of Sanji and Zoro bickering over you, plus the sliding of Luffy’s fingers is all just too much—

“STOP!”

You shout, fists banging against the wall behind you. The tile is cool as you hit it with a dull thud. You breathe, ragged and sharp. The three men all stare at you, silent.

“You can stay if you want,” you regard Zoro over the top of Luffy’s head, your hand still buried in the raven locks. “But you can’t keep arguing,” you shoot a glare over at Sanji, who starts babbling out apologies. You ignore him, waving him off with a huff.

Zoro is staring at you with steel in his eye.

“Why did you barge in here?” You ask him, unraveling your legs from Luffy’s neck. You’re naked, completely on display for the swordsman. Zoro clears his throat.

“Curious,” is all he says.

You flick an eyebrow. “C’mere, then.”

Slowly, steadily, he stalks toward you. Like a tiger in the rushes, ready to pounce. Luffy stands, hovering at your side with fidgety hands.

“H-he’s really nice, Vasya!” He stammers, skimming his knuckles up your thighs. He places a kiss to the underside of your jaw. He whispers in your ear, “I won’t let him do anything you don’t wanna do.”

“I know,” you murmur, kissing Luffy’s temple while maintaining eye contact with Zoro. Neither of you have broken it yet, and neither of you have even blinked. You haven’t gotten to know the swordsman quite yet, wary of his broad shoulders and glinting blades. But you feel how he protects the crew, especially Luffy, and Luffy is special to you.

Zoro stands an inch away from your skin, hovering just in front of your knees. Sitting on the counter means you’re at eye level with him. His jaw clenches.

You cock your chin at him. “Kiss me?” You ask, voice betraying the tremor you feel in your gut. You’ve already cum like, four times in the last hour. Both Luffy and Sanji now were hanging at either side of you, with Zoro in the middle.

You want to be in the middle.

Zoro delicately traces his calloused fingertips along your cheekbone. Tingles follow in their wake. He breaks eye contact to look at Luffy.

“S’alright, captain?”

Luffy is looking at you, so you nod in answer. Luffy nods too. He squeezes your hand where it rests on your thigh. Sanji strokes your hair.

The kitchen light sways slightly, as the ship rocks in the waves. Zoro traces your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, and leans in.

He tastes like sea salt.

“Mmph,” you hum, as he suddenly deepens the kiss. The hand that isn’t held by Luffy goes to stroke through Zoro’s green hair, feeling it damp with sweat.

“Been working out?” You tease against his lips. He only grunts in response, wrapping a strong hand around your waist. It easily spans half the width of your torso. “Fuck…,” you whisper, and he smirks into the kiss.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, tracing his thumb along your ribs. You want him to touch higher, harder. Hotter.

“Kitty?” Luffy tugs on a lock of your hair, and you break away from Zoro’s heated gaze long enough to look at Luffy instead. He’s pouting. “Me next?”

You flush, and lean forward to lick your way past his lips. He hums in appreciation, and not-so-subtly moves Zoro out of the way. He wants to press into your heat, feel your skin beneath his hands.

“Is this the way it usually is?” Zoro quietly asks the cook. His fingers dance along your scabby knees. You shiver under his touch, and hear the cook giggle from somewhere to the left. His hands have moved from your hair to your neck, where they hold you still for Luffy to kiss. He tastes immaculate under your tongue.

“More or less,” Sanji admits. “Captain doesn’t like sharing what’s his.”

“Hmph.” Zoro grunts in response, and you can’t help but grin. Being wanted by three of these monstrous men?

How much better could it get?

“Luuuffyyy,” you hum against his lips. Your boyfriend moans, not wanting to give up his turn just yet. He bites at your bottom lip.

“Want him ta make ya cum?” He asks, hoarse, his forehead pressed to yours. His warmth radiates through you, making your toes curl. You run your fingers through his silky hair.

“Mhmm,” you nod, still focused only on Luffy. He needs your attention right now, and you’re more than happy to give it to him. You tilt an eyebrow. “If he can.”

Luffy snickers.

“Your turn,” he says to Zoro, after stepping aside. Luffy turns to hop up on the counter next to you, and kicks a heel into the cabinets below. His other leg is bent up on the counter, arm thrown haphazard over his knee.

His other arm snakes around your hips, holding you close as he leans his warm weight into your side. Zoro stands between your legs.

“Well,” Luffy says, leveling a heavy gaze at his first mate, “Kneel.”

Zoro obeys.

****

Which is how you ended up with three men’s mouths happily pleasuring you all at once.

Sanji is buried between your tits, going from sucking hard on your nipples to playing with them roughly with his slender fingertips. Luffy is taking all of your attention for himself, having grabbed your face in both hands for a kiss and hasn’t let go since. He moans, and mutters sweet praises into your lips that you greedily swallow like honey in your tea.

And Zoro.

Zoro.

He is still kneeling on the kitchen tile, head buried between your thighs. His jaw is apparently just as strong as the rest of him (but that doesn’t surprise you, three-sword-style and all), because he keeps lapping at your clit with the same, ferocious pace as what he started with.

He laves his soft, wide tongue across the entrance of your pussy, and tentatively pokes in. You start, gasping with your legs clenched, and then Zoro is fucking you with his tongue. His hand comes up to rub greedy circles at your clit, using the pads of his third and fourth fingers. The friction electrifies you, completely.

“F-fuck, Zo—,” you gasp out, breaking the kiss with Luffy, who whines. He leans in to start nipping at your chin, leaving love bites all the way down your neck. Tomorrow you’re sure it’ll be decorated with lovely, toothy blotches that bloom violet against your skin. Luffy noses at your jaw.

“Is he doin’ good?” He asks, voice ragged and hazy. You nod, biting your bottom lip.

“Mhmm,” you manage out.

“Good girl,” he praises you, before diving back in to shove his tongue down your throat. You take him, gladly. Luffy is moaning into your mouth with abandon, his hands frisking in your hair like there’s no tomorrow. Zoro laps at your clit, opting to move his fingers down to play with your pussy again. You groan.

“Luuffyyyyy,” you whine, and he knocks his forehead against yours, “Feels good…want more of you.” You pout up at him with bitten lips, and heat flashes in his eyes. He stands on the counter, unbuttoning his shorts with his pelvis now level with your face.

Sanji gasps against your neck, where he’d started licking up and down as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear. “M-me too, mon cherie,” he says as he fumbles with his belt. You dive your hand beneath his trousers, bypassing his boxers to close your fist around his dick. Sanji is long and thick, with a rosy head that feels so good pulsing against your hand. You start pumping him in time with Zoro’s rhythm. He grins between your legs.

“Cock hungry, aren’t ya?”

“How could I not be?” You laugh, face flushed. “Look at you three.”

Luffy giggles, having stripped off his shorts and is now eagerly awaiting your velvet mouth. “Like what you see?” He cocks an eyebrow as he starts pumping his own cock, inches from your face.

You stick your tongue out, sweeping up the underside of his shaft only to lick at the glistening precum gathered at his tip. Luffy’s cock is solid, thicker than Sanji’s with a bronzed head that makes your mouth water. You lick up his shaft again.

“Love it,” you confess, and start bucking your hips into Zoro’s face. He lets you grind against him, pushing up the flat of his tongue against your heat.

Sanji moans against your neck, palming at your breasts with shaky hands. His cheeks are blushing so sweetly, like the strawberry soda he poured for you earlier. You can still taste it on his lips.

“Good boy, Sanji,” you croon, kissing the top of his head. He gets so whiny, when he’s like this. Not that you mind. His beautiful, boyish features blushed and pleasured just from your touch alone is enough to light a fire beneath your ego. You feel it inflate like a hot air balloon, but you can’t do anything besides take it for a ride.

Zoro’s getting you there soon, anyway.

You pant against Sanji’s head, his hair glinting soft under your cheek. You press a kiss to his head again. “Come for me?” You pant, reaching up with your other hand to palm Luffy’s cock. You couldn’t take him down your throat right now; you needed to breathe.

Luffy wraps his hands around yours, and starts fucking your fist with pistoning hips. You moan, letting a wave of pleasure swell up inside you. You were gonna—

“Fuck!” You scream, curling forward with your hands full of cock, and your pussy full of Zoro’s tongue. He grins from where he’s fucking you through your orgasm, tracing careful circles on your clit as you cum. He slows down, eventually, as your breathing evens out. Flustered and high, you turn your attention back to the boys at your sides.

“F-faster,” Luffy moans, as Sanji messily licks against your collarbone. Luffy speed-demons his way to orgasm, hips slamming against your fist until he’s spurting hot, white cum all over your face and hand. He shoves it into your mouth, making you take his length as he spasms and gasps his way through ecstasy.

You gasp, choked, and muffle out a moan as Sanji squeezes a delicate hand around your throat. Luffy grunts something unintelligible and feral as he feels the pressure tighten.

“Ganna—,” he stutters, “Cum again,” and shudders down your throat.

You take it, hot and delicious, as Sanji pulses his grasp on your throat. Stars dance behind your eyes as Zoro slowly stands up, regarding you with such emerald ferocity you don’t know what to do.

You glance down to see a hot, shining cock in the swordsman’s deft hand, brown tip disappearing in and out of his cum-covered fist. His head tips back as strokes it, grunting in pleasure after bringing himself over the edge with you. You all pant, lost in the bubbles of afterglow as you all recover.

“Fuck,” Zoro finally says. “That was fun.”

****

[pubbybutch]

Towers Built, and Towers Falling Down - 2

MEDIEVAL AU KNIGHT! ABBY X CHUBBY! PRINCESS! READER

CW: Bath Sex, AFAB Reader, Princess-Y Nicknames, Sweet and Caring Abby, No Explicit Aftercare, Sneaking Around.

Word Count : 2K

(This is a part two to this fic here)

MINORS MEN AND GENERAL CUNTS DNI

Steam fills the air in the stone walled chamber as jug after jug of hot water is poured into the large wooden basin, the servants file in and out of the door as the broad shoulders of Abby keep the door propped open while you sit watching idly from the small cushioned stool in the corner of the washroom. The various tapestries adorning the walls give an air of comfort, a needed distraction as you wait for the preparations to finish, the cold air from the open window causing your skin to goosebump whilst sitting in nothing but a light linen shift. One of the chambermaids proceeds to pour a sweet smelling oil into the warm water, as she dips a hand into the bath you break your silence, “What is that? The oil, I mean.”

She turns to you, curtseying. “Rose, my lady. As far as I am aware.” Lifting the jug, she bows again and leaves. The quiet that now falls across the chamber is comfortable as Abby steps inside, the door closing behind her as she does so. Turning from you to face the door you watch the muscles in her back and across her shoulders ripple as she slides the heavy iron latch down, locking the door and protecting you from any intrusion. Stepping behind the willow branch screen, you strip off the final layer of your shift and lay it across the stool you’d previously been sitting on. As you step out from behind the screen you watch Abby as she catches sight of your nude state and rolls up the sleeves on the tight grey peasant shirt she has on, “Well princess, the water isn’t going to get any warmer.” She speaks with a deep smirk and playfulness in her eyes as she holds out a hand for you to climb into the washbasin.

“Abby. Won’t you get in with me?”

She folds her arms and shakes her head, “I can’t.”

You wrap your arms around her waist, pressing naked curves against her clothed torso. “Please Abby?” Your eyes meet hers, wide and filled with a faux innocence that never failed to cause a pink tint to flood the knight’s neck and cheeks. “Princess. You and I both know that we shouldn’t.

“Just because we shouldn’t doesn’t mean we can’t.”

She huffs a sigh, but steps back from your embrace immediately missing the warmth of your thick arms and proceeds to tug the soft cloth of her shirt over her head leaving her in her thin chest bindings and linen trousers. 

“Get in and I’ll finish getting undressed, princess.”

You nod in the negative, blatantly refusing to follow her instructions. With a lifted eyebrow and a smirk, Abby corners you against the basin and her body. “Wanna try that again?” You repeat your previous action, shaking your head but this time with far less vigor and conviction.

 “One more time. Get in.”

A final refusal and suddenly you’re flying. Strong arms have wrapped around your thighs, large warm hands gripping under the curve of your ass and you’re thrown over her shoulder. Leaving you fully exposed. The water splashes around you with some spilling out of the tub as Abby unceremoniously plops you into the warm bath water.

“HOW DARE YOU?!” You gasp, feigning anger as you move so that a soft hand covers your heart. Abby takes your other hand into hers as she kneels down on the stone floor, she places a small peck to your knuckle before looking you dead in the eyes. “If my lady can find it in her heart to forgive me, I would be most obliged. Or pardon me, actually.”

“Actually,” you pause to bat your eyelashes at her, “my knight. I don’t think I can forgive you.”

“Oh, and may I ask why, my lady?” The smirk in Abby’s voice causes heat to crawl up your neck as she teases you in a similar way to how you’d teased her. It was revenge. And Abby was extremely good at revenge.

“Well- I- it’s because…”

“Because?” She prompts through her smirk.

“You haven’t earned my forgiveness! And certainly not a pardon.”

At this exclamation, Abby rises from her kneeling as she gets up with a stretch, with a few long strides she positions herself behind you. You try to turn to face her in this new arrangement, but are met with the sound of water spilling out over the rim of your wooden prison and onto the stone below. With a warm hand on your shoulder, Abby guides you back to face the wall as you had been previously.

Now with only your hearing to give you any indication of the blonde’s position behind you, you close your eyes in an attempt to focus in on the microscopic sounds she was making. ‘Rustling… maybe her trousers? No, she still had her belt on…’

As Abby gets undressed as quietly as possible knowing the in’s and out’s of your mind, how it works and how you’re most likely trying to figure out every move she’s making. Sliding the linen down her thighs and to the ground, she doesn’t let it fall but instead sets it gently onto the floor, the soft brown leather of her belt going with it, the small knife that was normally sheathed in it having been set to the side before you’d even gotten into the bath. Her chest bindings follow and she rubs the little red creases the material has left on her skin. As she finishes undressing, she bends to peek over your shoulder to see your eyes still tightly closed, the creases that line your face as it scrunches in concentration. The sight causes a light puff of air to escape her lungs, a quiet laugh.

The proximity of the noise causes you to jump, how she had managed to get as close as she had is beyond you and you tilt your head, eyes now open wide, and are met with the visage of an extremely naked mountain of a woman. “I- uh…” You trail off as you take in every inch of her skin, the freckles you wished that you could see every hour of the day, each little curve of her muscle causing heat to flood your whole body.

“Come on, princess. You have to shift up.”

You scooch forward and pull your legs in together as Abby steps over the rim and into the bath, as she sits down her body displaces a large amount of water. Thick muscled calves slide past the plush of your hips and thighs, long legs rub against your comparatively shorter ones as her hands move against the rolls of your sides and down to rest on the curve of your stomach. You lean into the warmth of her broad chest and she leans into your back, lips meet the nape of your neck and shoulders as she peppers chaste sweet kisses across the skin. 

Taking in deep breaths, the warm, damp air fills your lungs as Abby continues her show of affection. Her hands that had remained stationary on your stomach begin to trail lower down the little shelf above your folds, she narrowly avoids touching your core as her nails dig little dents and raise the skin of your upper thighs. This elicits a high pitched whine to slip from your lips and the sound is met with a slight pinch to the flesh of your inner thigh, “Now princess, is that an appropriate sound-”

“No! But…”

“But what, your highness?” Her breath is hot on the shell of your ear. When you don’t say anything, she continues to prompt you, “Tell me what you want.” 

As you wriggle further against the blonde sat behind you, her hands slide into place. One with the fingers spread wide to encompass the underside of your breast, rough skin squeezing the soft flesh. Occasionally a finger rubs up against your nipple, the water from her digits wetting the pebbled buds. Soft whimpers fall from your mouth as Abby’s mouth runs kisses and nibbles as she spreads your lips under the water.

Fingers running through the course tight curls of hair, one hand reaches round keeping you spread open as a single thick finger tip runs circles around your clit. Teasing. Circles, round and round but never applying full pressure or coming into full contact with the little nub. She occasionally slips a straight line across your clit, a chuckle falls from her mouth as you push against her hand - desperation becoming even more evident.

“Abby please-!” You whine.

“Words, princess.”

“Fuck me. Please. Fuck m-,” you’re cut off by your own body betraying you, a moan rattles out of your body as slides two thick fingers inside and gives into you, applying straight pressure to your desperate clit with the flat of her thumb.

In and out, she plunges her fingers deep inside of you, stretching. Your breathing is heavy. She continues at a steady pace, constant and smooth fluid movements help to build a tight pressure in your lower stomach. As she continues, the pressure builds and builds and builds. You writhe in her grasp, strong biceps wrap lovingly around you squishing the soft flesh slightly as she attempts to hold you in place as she continues to fuck your weeping cunt.

“You feel so warm around me, Princess.” The blonde whispers into one of your ears, before moving her mouth to leave a warning nip at the lobe of the ear at the other side, “keep your voice down, if you want to finish at any point soon.”

As you feel yourself getting closer and closer, your thighs close on impulse but Abby’s thick wrist doesn’t stop and her fingers don't rest. Not even for one second. You whip around, moaning as water seeps and splashes onto the floor with your movements.

A knock on the door causes you to freeze but Abby keeps going, seemingly not caring.

A muffled voice asks through the door, “Are you alright?” And as you struggle to catch your breath, you squeak out a quick but satisfactory ‘Yes! I’m fine.’

Abigail is relentless and her fingers keep edging you closer and closer. As you two hear the attendant leaves, you cum. One of her hands covers your mouth and you bite into the flesh while she barely winces, too busy keeping you quiet and whispering sweet comforts into your ear.

She bends you forward by your waist and slides out from behind you, you watch her firm muscled ass grab walk away and grab a bathrobe from a stool in the corner, her feet leaving a trail of wet foot prints to where she now stands with her arms outstretched holding the robe out for you to slide on. She watches with dark, needy eyes as you emerge from the water, she watches as droplets fall down your body and gathers in the folds of skin, gods does she want to fuck you again… but she settles for running her hands along the soft plush of your sides.

“I am slightly disappointed I didn’t get to return the favour, Abigail.” 

“Oh really? How’s about you meet me in the stable tomorrow morning?” She quips as she gets redressed, you’re left to marvel at how only the very ends of her hair got wet, and you’re left nodding before fully processing what she’s said. 

She presses a chaste kiss to your lips and leaves but not before peeking her head back in, “see you then, princess.”

If you liked this please reblog, thicc reblogs save writer lives.

[bougiebutchbinch]

God I'm such a sucker for dom/sub edizzy where Ed enjoys domming because he gets to come up with endless fun 'fuckeries' (or.... scenes), and Izzy enjoys subbing because he's fucking gaga for Ed in all his Whacky Weirdness (affectionate), and god DAMN, this stressed-out little chihuahua-man needs to turn his mind off and just exist.

But it gets stale, eventually.

Ed is the flavour of neurodivergent that needs endless variety, whereas Izzy is the flavour of neurodivergent where everything needs to be the same forever, please, or I will have a nervous breakdown. Plus, neither of them have any idea how to manage each other's emotional needs!

Ed topdrops HARD. He requires a lot more aftercare than Izzy, but Izzy is kinda awkward and embarrassed about giving it, and is definitely awkward and embarrassed about needing it himself.

It's like, the 1700s. Neither of them have read 'the new bottoming/topping book'.

So, obviously, things crumble.

To the point where one time, they're setting up a scene, just going through The Familiar Motions (which to Izzy are such a source of comfort, and to Ed a source of growing torment) when Ed reaches his emotional broiling point. He crumples to the floor in tears, tugging at his hair, tearfully confessing to Izzy that he can't do this, he can't, he can't -

Cue Izzy panicking, tied to the bed, halfway to subspace already, now jolted out of it and adrift in a tidal wave of brain chemicals, his only thought what the fuck did I do wrong? Is it me? Is he tired of me?

(because deep down, he's been afraid of that for some time)

But his captain obviously needs something. And Izzy's gonna try his best to give it.

He's tied up to all four bed posts. He can't move, can't fucking get to Ed to stroke his hair and kiss him and do all that other soft shit he should hate a whole lot more than he does. But he can flop back on the pillows, staring at the ceiling. Coralling his spiralling thoughts.

He has to hold it together, for his captain. Has to do this, for him.

"C'mere, Eddie," he says, but his voice is all broken and scratchy and weak, so he clears his throat, tries again. "Eddie. Here."

And Eddie, snivelling, underlip trembling, comes. All dressed up in his leathers, beard big, shoulders broad, looking the very part of Blackbeard. Except for his tear-filled brown eyes - which are looking at Izzy so fucking warily, like Ed expects him to give him a fucking scolding.

And - yeah, maybe if this had been in the middle of a firefight, Izzy would've. But it's not. it's just the two of them, together, and right now, hurting Eddie is the furthest thing from his mind.

"What d'you need?" he asks, all gruff. Tugging at the ropes, rough hemp chewing on the tender insides of his wrists.

Ed gives a petulant little shrug. Fucker. Izzy's not a mind reader; he can't just intuit...

But... maybe he can. Ed's shoulders are shrunken, his spine stooped. He looks like a wet fucking cat. Pathetic. Useless. All the things the great Blackbeard should never be.

But Blackbeard is a myth. Eddie's a man. And Izzy knows better than most, how men can act as one thing and deep down, be another.

He thinks of the moments when he feels so fucking small and useless and broken. How Ed makes him feel good... And, glancing at the persistent bulge in Eddie's tight leather pants - how neither of them have said the word they agreed on, that'd bring this whole farce to a close - Izzy knows just what to do.

He licks his dry lips. Either this works, or Blackbeard snaps and kills him. Luckily, Izzy's always liked the thought of dying at his captain's hand.

"Wanna be mine tonight, Eddie?" he asks.

Ed's eyes go wide. Then narrow. Whole fucking face journey, mashed into a couple seconds: surprise, anger, fear, relief. Izzy waits patiently for him to settle, gripping the ropes that hold him spread-eagled for his captain's attention. Heart fluttering in his chest like he's staring down an oncoming enemy battalion: outgunned, outmanned, but still hungry for the fight.

"C'mon then," he says, nodding to where, despite it all, he's still half-erect too, bare cock plump against his scarred thigh. "Up here, there's a good b-boy."

His voice almost breaks on the last word, every instinct screaming at him not to demean his captain in the way he likes to be demeaned. Ed's so much better than him, brighter and sharper and fucking brilliant; he's not so weak as to need this. Or at least, he shouldn't be. Right?

But it's hard to focus on that when Ed crawls over him, danger in every movement, sleek and lithe as a jaguar. Fucking beautiful.

Then he ducks his head to bury in Izzy's neck, over his swallow tattoo, and nods.

"Good boy, telling daddy what you want," Izzy whispers into his hair - the same words Ed was supposed to say to him, when all this was over. He feels his captain sigh against his swallow and go deliciously slack.

It ain't what Izzy likes, as a rule, but for Ed... for Ed, he'll do damn near anything.

...Then Izzy gives Ed a healing dommy sloppytoppy, all while still tied to the bed, Ed crying while he rides him into the mattress. They hug after and hold each other, but not for nearly as long as they should. And everything hurts like an infected wound, but they can't stop picking at this thing they call a relationship until it scars.

[according2thelore]

36 y/o sam makes for a FORTY y/o dean. can you imagine.

in my head the dean fight is just them both accusing each other of being bad brothers to their respective sams.... just a furious mix of possessiveness and self-hating. i-can-be-a-better-big-brother-off. like a bake off! but insane.

i think old sam and dean would also bask in the admiration of their younger brothers. 36 y/o sam casually lifting weights and doing yoga in the freaking library like haha.... look at how wide my biceps are dean.... meanwhile 40 y/o dean is baking for 22 y/o sam while flexing every other second. extremely embarrassing middle aged men.

GRAHHHHH

a 22 y/o ES!Sam, a 26 y/o ES!Dean, a 36 y/o LS!Sam, and a 40 y/o LS!Dean?????

"embarrassing old men" is so REAL!!!!!!!

LS!Sam tries to find excuses to lift heavy things like 'hey have y'all seen my keys?' *lifts the armchair above his head* ES!Dean is panting and sweating and so hard that he almost passes out and ES!Sam has buried his face in his hands bc oh my god he's so transparent this is so fucking mortifying

LS!Dean keeps trying to feed ES!Sam because oh my god? this kid is so skinny? he makes him burgers and pancakes and grilled cheeses and slaps ES!Dean's hand--hard--when he tries to grab one off the plate because these are not for you, little shit.

while LS!Sam and ES!Dean are off gazing lovingly into each other's eyes or whatever, LS!Dean and ES!Sam are so uncomfortable-sticky-sick with jealousy that they end up migrating to the kitchen, where they spend hours at a time, sometimes talking sometimes not.

dean will make him lunch or snacks or crack him a beer ('if you're even old enough to drink, how old are you anyway, squirt?' 'squirt, god, what is this, 1950? i'm 22, jerk.') and ES!Sam tries to gently sneak info about the future out of dean.

dean has almost twenty years on this kid. he can't stop looking at sam's wet little mouth and feels like an old perv for it, but what else can he do about it? he thinks it's mostly unrequited lust (feeling sam's bicep and being able to wrap an entire hand around it, looking up into his little brother's eyes and sam can't even look down at him without looking away shyly, god), but when he's pulling a pizza out of the oven, he catches ES!Sam looking away sharply, blush crawling up his neck and holy shit--

that little skeeze! he was totally checking out dean's ass! everything dean makes now has to be baked, or the pans mysteriously move to the bottom cabinets and he has to bend over to get them out. he wears his best jeans and his most worn shirts or wifebeaters and takes sammy out to the garage so they can talk there while he eats food dean made and dean can really make a show of it--flexing and hauling things and bending over the engine. and who can blame sam if he has to lean over and touch? who can say dean's wrong if sam's sitting in the chair in the kitchen and his hair is mussed from sleep and his eyes are dazed and he has a smear of maple syrup at the corner of his mouth from pancakes dean made for him, and dean has to wipe it away with his thumb and suck it into his own mouth?

or reverse, ES!Dean pretending that he needs lore help so LS!Sam leans over him in the library chair, his broad chest to Dean's back, his breath on Dean's ear, his hair tickling his neck. ES!Sam asking LS!Dean questions about the armory so he can see his eyes light up, so he can watch his shoulders as he hauls something heavy, deadly and purposeful and graceful.

and oof. a dean fight would be brutal. both verbally and physically. LS!Dean would be blaming all of his past mistakes on ES!Dean (maybe if you'd loved him right, he would've stayed. maybe if you weren't such a needy piece of shit, you could've stopped him. maybe if you were stronger, you could stop what's coming. sam needs someone better than you, someone who won't fuck up.) whereas ES!Dean sees all the pockmarks in LS!Sam and knows somehow it must be LS!Dean's fault (who did that to him? who let that happen? you're talking about being strong, but you're weak. pathetic. talk about being a big man but you're just as fucking broken. i would've never let that happen, i would've never let anyone get in fifty fucking miles of him--our job is to protect sammy, all costs. i would've rather died). they keep trying to prove how much better they are, how much more they can provide.

but any way you cut it, they just soak up each other's attention and anger because it's so reassuring to know that all versions of sam's big brother love him, will do anything for him; that sam chooses dean--any dean, every dean, in every form. that all versions of your brother is your version, he will always belong to you.

but god, the jealousy!!!! he's mine!!!! petulant and childish and grown and desperate and everything in between!!!!!

you get it anon, oh lovely anon <3 they are everything to each other at all times, and time travel would just make it more twisted and possessive and frantic. <3

-lizzy

[saucyjothoughts]

Could you write something about having a threesome with your boyfriend Bojan and his friend Kris? THANK YOU LOVE YOUR PAGE!!🫶

Yes.

(nsfw under the cut)

Kris knows he's a lucky man. He's always been a little jealous ever since you came into his best friend's life, but has tried not to let it show. He thought it was just physical at first (of course Bojan found himself someone cute as hell) but you actually turned out to be a nice person, and intellectually and creatively interesting. Dammit.

Bojan has been sending him pictures and short videos of you together for a while now. He doesn't know the details but is aware that Kris has a certain interest in you. Bojan wants to show you off and the flattery of it is good for your ego and how can Kris possibly say no? A few pictures of you in your new lingerie in nice lighting. Bojan's POV of his cock in your mouth. A two-second loop of your tits bouncing while he's fucking you.

Yes, he's a very lucky man.

It started when you first suggested involving a third person in some of your bedroom activities. Bojan had seemed (understandably) very eager about the idea and asked if you had anyone in mind.

"Because I bet Kris would be down," he told you, not even having to think about it.

"I meant a girl."

"Oh."

A moment of awkward silence between you before you eased the tension.

"But another guy would work too, if you're sure you wouldn't mind."

He didn't mind at all. And some of the best sex you've ever had with him has involved dirty talking about what you'd be doing to Kris if he were there with you as well.

And now it's late, you and Kris have been over at Bojan's place for movies and only when the credits are rolling do you notice that Kris has fallen asleep on the couch.

Your boyfriend gives you a look and you lean over to wake his friend up. He's breathing softly, eyes flickering behind their lids, and you press your lips ever so lightly against his.

"Hey."

He doesn't move aside from his eyes blinking open.

"Hey."

"We're going to bed," you tell him. "Do you want to come?"

A few minutes later, your mouth tastes of toothpaste and you're stripping down to your underwear to climb into Bojan's bed just like any other night. Except tonight, Kris is here too. There's just about enough room for the three of you to lie comfortably, Bojan hugging your back and Kris facing you. It's warm.

You haven't spoken about how much you want to do (if anything at all) but the company is easy, soft. It begins with Bojan kissing at the back of your neck and kneading at your bare chest under the covers. Kris is watching, wetting his lips with his tongue, but he doesn't dare make the first movie, waiting for you to pull him in for a kiss. His skin is smooth and warm, his shoulders broad, taller than your boyfriend, and the two men are making pleasurable little grunts on either side of you as they explore your body. Your hand is just about to venture over Kris's boxers when your attention is taken by Bojan's hand slipping inside your underwear and touching you there, spreading your wetness over your lips in the way that you've taught him you like.

And Kris pulls the covers down to watch.

He looks ravenous, his body giving away his arousal, as Bojan circles a finger over your clit, making your body twitch with anticipation. It's late and dark and this is a private secret and you want to get fucked. By both of them.

When Bojan pulls away, he gives his fingers to Kris to suckle on. Kris moans at the taste and Bojan moans at the feeling and you can feel his erection push against your butt as you grind against him.

"Better in person, right?" He taunts, fucking into you slowly while Kris stares at what's happening between your legs, his mouth hanging open.

"Oh my god," Kris blasphemes as Bojan lines himself up, pulling your underwear to one side and slipping his cock between your folds, pushing inside you to make you gasp. He's incredibly hard, stretching you wide, so turned on by fucking you in front of his friend.

He shuffles down the bed for a better look.

"Can I touch?" he asks, and you and Bojan both answer at the same time, your voices breathy through your pleasure.

"Whatever you want."

What he wants is to taste.

But he's hesitant, his hand on your hip at first, feeling how Bojan's thrusts are pushing you around. Then up across your belly, the dip of your waist. Then your thighs, down the outside and up the inside, and finally he's rubbing your clit for you while Bojan continues to fuck you. He has a different style of touch to Bojan, his fingers rougher. It's good. But he doesn't stay there long and a moment after he removes his touch from your skin, Bojan jumps behind you, swearing against your ear. Kris is touching him from between your legs, kneading at his balls and tickling at the skin behind them while he watches you getting fucked in high definition, your boyfriend's cock glistening with your juices and the noises between you obscenely wet.

Bojan's arms are around you, his body hot and beginning to sweat, while Kris's face is between your legs, swapping his mouth between your clit and your boyfriend's balls.

When he comes up for air, he's antsy. You know he needs more. Bojan senses it too and doesn't even complain when you roll away from his touch, his cock slipping out of you, and push Kris onto his back.

"Is this okay?" you ask him, and he doesn't manage a real answer, just nods while Bojan watches hungrily, touching himself while you climb aboard, straddling Kris's hips and pulling his hard cock out of his boxers. Again, he's different to Bojan. He feels different in your hand, different when you slip the head between your lips and different when you sink down onto him, forcing his full length inside you, while he stares up at you whimpering as though he's just seen God.

You're folded down close, on top of him, surprisingly intimate, while he pushes up inside you in time to the rocking of your hips. He's smoothing his palms over your ass, over the curve of your back, and you're kissing at his lips, at his jawline, until Bojan steals away your attentions.

He leans to make out with you, deep and passionate, when Kris starts begging you to let him come, the sight of both of you making him force up into you hard so that you're moaning into Bojan's mouth. Instead of a real answer, however, Bojan's lips leave yours and find Kris's. Kissing into euphoric grunts and writhing bodies, Bojan jerking himself and Kris deep inside you, you finally feel Kris's core tighten beneath you and all at once your pussy is impossibly slippery as he floods you with cum, while at the same time Bojan is spilling himself over your thigh.

You're not done but your sense of relief is real, between your two boys as hands are gripping and hips are bucking and breath is shuddering, moaning with them as you ride Kris through the high you've gifted him tonight.

The clarity washes over them. It's clear on their red-flushed faces as they catch their breath. But they only stare at each other for a few moments, between awkward smiles and coy glances, before turning their attentions back to you.

"Where are you going?" Bojan asks Kris when he climbs out of bed. You've stopped panting now, your boys having held you close between them, kissing and touching you all over after helping you reach your peak between Kris's hand and Bojan's mouth.

"To sleep on the couch," he says, as though it was obvious. "Give you guys some space."

But that isn't how you want this to work.

"No you're not. Get the fuck back here."

Kris knows he's a lucky man.

[defilerwyrm]

I feel so stupid to say this but I'm a trans man, but I have a lot of learning disabilities so I'm trying to understand things better. I was born AFAB but I'm trying to understand how "bio sex" works and if it is even real. I've heard a lot of people say it isn't but that makes me feel sorta as if my transness isn't valid then. I do not agree w trans meds at all, they're terf lites and their "male/female brain" stuff is so wrong. But I'm curious since the brain isn't gendered, what makes us the bio sex we are? I get gender is different and it is WHO we are and how we think and present etc but can you explain bio sex please? :) I also really want phallo and top surgery and it makes me curious how gender which is a social construct has an urge to match up with biology somehow? Like how come my dysphoria feels so bad that I lack a dick..how does my gender want that?

Hoo boy. Biological sex is actually really complex. It’s made up of your sex chromosomes, sex hormones, primary sex characteristics developed as a fetus, secondary sex characteristics developed in puberty, and I think a few other factors I’m forgetting. All of these elements are not binary (meaning there are only two options), but instead bimodal (meaning there are two options that are the most common, but there are others).

So using myself as an example, my chromosomes are unknown because I’ve never been karyotyped (tested for sex chromosomes); my endocrine system is almost completely testosterone-based; I have zero “female” reproductive organs and most of the “male” ones (minus testes); and I have a few “female” sex characteristics (undeveloped hyoid (Adam’s apple), wide hips, narrow shoulders, smallish hands & feet) and many “male” ones (deep voice, broad jaw, flat chest, vascular hands, body hair, facial hair, male pattern alopecia, male fat distribution, lower body temperature, high sex drive). So without knowing what my chromosomes are, by all accounts I’m male.

The whole male brain/female brain thing has been pretty well debunked. There are only subtle differences between the brains of cis men and cis women at the population level, and those physical differences that do exist are most likely caused by differences in socialization for certain skillsets. In other words, if you teach boys and girls that they’re supposed to be good at different things as they’re growing up, their brains will develop to be better at those things that they practice from an early age—be that fine motor skills, or telling colors apart, or interpreting other people’s tone and moods, or being empathetic, etc. Obviously there are disabilities that can stand in the way or complicate matters, but there’s something called the Pygmalion effect where if you consistently tell a child that they’re good at a certain thing, they will BECOME good at it—and if you consistently tell a child they’re bad at a thing, they will do poorly at it.

Something I find really interesting, talking about the link between biological sex and gender identity, is the prevalence of PCOS (poly-cystic ovarian syndrome) in trans men. The rates shown by studies varies a lot, but taking average rates, about 5% (1 in 20) AFAB people have PCOS, but about 60% (3 in 5) trans men have it. PCOS is an endocrine condition (and, arguably, an intersex condition) that has a slew of effects, and one of those is relatively high levels of androgens like testosterone. The REALLY interesting part is that PCOS medications that decrease testosterone and increase estrogen result in MORE gender dysphoria for trans men and LESS in cis women! I remember before I even figure out I’m trans, my mom told me I needed to get on metformin to decrease testosterone and boost estrogen, and the very thought of it made me nauseous and angry!

A possible interpretation of that is that there is an intrinsic link between our gender identity and our physical sex that opposes our primary sex characteristics. In other words, we’re MEANT to be men and our bodies know it.

(Now, things like this on the trans woman side, I will admit I don’t know offhand; you’d have to ask a trans woman who follows medical science. I would point you to my sister because she fits the bill, but we have an unspoken agreement to keep our online lives separate for privacy. That is to say, I don’t remember her blog name lmao sorry sis)

But yeah. The thing about top and bottom dysphoria is that it isn’t like social dysphoria where it depends on how you’re seen by others. It’s an internal knowledge—a gnosis, if you will—that something is WRONG regardless of what others think, say, or do. Speaking for myself again, sure you can be a man without a dick, fine, whatever, but I, personally, was supposed to have one. It wasn’t the social construction of what masculinity is supposed to entail that made me hate my tits and cooch, it was the fact that they felt horrible and wrong and I knew I was meant to have a flat chest, dick, and balls instead. And that feeling of wrongness started at a very young age, if I’m honest; I just didn’t have the vocabulary and knowledge to identify it until my mid-20s.

How does this relate to my PCOS? We don’t actually know. But don’t you think it’s interesting that the signs that I was trans were there long before my first puberty awakened the PCOS in the first place?

Gender roles are a fluid social construct. What’s considered masculine and feminine change with culture and time. But gender identity is, as far as medical science can figure, hardwired in the brain. For most people, by happy coincidence of sex and gender being bimodal, their physical sex (as complex as it is!) and gender identity more or less align, and they never really have to think about it. For others, there is a natural misalignment between the two—and it can take quite some time to figure it all out, because our cultures try very to force a bimodal spectrum into a binary box.

I think I’ve rambled enough, hey? Let’s see if my dogshit wifi will let me post this without losing everything.

[bonezone44]

Unperfect (one shot)

Summary: Sub!Reader with past trauma struggles in their relationship with Dom!Joel. Joel talks them through it.

Word count: ~1k

Tags: this is just sweet. No smut.

Story Masterlist - Main Masterlist

======

"Submitting means you don't get your way, okay?" His body is close and warm. His broad hands gliding up and down your arms while you sit on top the kitchen counter. 

Your kitchen counter.

"I know," you whisper. "But I still have boundaries."

"I know you do. Everybody does." He's watching you, but your eyes are wandering, only meeting his gaze when you have the strength to do so. "But you're fighting me left and right. Putting walls up all over the place." 

"I'm–I'm–" You want to get the words out but your lips start to tremble.

"You're scared," he says, matter-of-factly. 

You nod. "I'm gonna fuck up and embarrass myself," you stutter out. "And you're not gonna want me anymore." The tears are pouring. 

"Darlin," he says. He cradles your face and finally, you're able to hold eye contact.

Because you need to know, need to see every minute muscle movement in his face to trust him. To trust whatever he's about to say. You squeeze your hand between your bodies and wipe the tears from your eyes.

"You would have to do some crazy shit to make me not want you anymore, okay?"  He nods with a little smirk. "What do you think's gonna happen?" His smirk growing wider. "You're gonna get on your knees and suddenly start setting houses on fire or somethin?" 

"No," your lips continue to tremor, but the tears subside. "What if… what if I'm ugly? What if I … what if it's not… perfect?" What if the fantasy fails? What if I fail?

Joel sighs. He shakes his head with a shrug and a smile. "You're not gonna be perfect. Perfect ain't real. 'S all in your head, okay?" His eyes are sparkling as he looks at you. His hands move to your shoulders. "'S why you're here. With me." He pauses. "To practice bein unperfect." He tries to guide your hand and you pull it back. 

"But if I give in, if I do what you say…" Your breaths are shorter now, rising high in your chest. "Then… then they all win." The last word comes out with a squeak.

"Who?" He asks, searching your gaze as you turn your head to avoid him. "Who wins?"

"M-Men. Everywhere. All their voices in my head." You're sobbing now into your hand. Joel’s grip moves to your arms. "Like.. like… like all my fightin was for nothin. Like they all knew I was gonna lose, so what was the point of even tryin?"

"I am the only one here." His words are firm. Confident. A warmth swells in your chest. "I am the only one who matters. I am the only one who knows that you're doin any o' this." He seeks your gaze again. "Okay?" 

You can see the seriousness of his expression through your fingers, through your blur of tears. You want to believe him, but they're still there–the voices. The pieces of memories playing on repeat in your mind. "They're all gonna laugh at me. Like I'm a fucking joke."

He takes in a sharp breath. He rubs his hands up and down your arms again. He cradles your face and kisses your forehead. "Look at me," he says gently. "Look at me," he says sternly when you don't respond. 

You wipe your eyes and get a glimpse of his face before he is once again dissolved behind your tears. 

"You are not a joke." His eyes are wide and serious. "You have never been a joke. And anyone who thinks you're a joke is a piece o' shit, anyway." 

You sigh. Yeah, the voices in your head are pieces of shit, but hearing him say that doesn't really help. It doesn't dissuade them from crowding your thoughts and tormenting your peace.

"Do you know the courage it takes?" Joel asks sincerely with his hand on his chest. "Do you know the strength it takes to do this?" His brows are high and the lines in his forehead are deep. "This ain't easy." He shakes his head. "If it was, everybody'd be doin it. Out in the open." He waves his hand. "All over the place." Splays his fingers. "This is hard," he says with his brows pulled tight and his hand in a fist between your bodies. "This takes trust." His words sink into your bones. "And you are brave for trustin me with this, okay?" He huffs. "I mean it." He looks you up and down. "I-I could … I could really hurt you, darlin." His eyes go wide. "Bad." He shakes his head slowly side-to-side. "And you trust me. Every time." He sucks in a breath through his nostrils and huffs it out. "And that is special to me." His brows tense. "It is so special to me that I'm the only man you trust with this." 

His words wrap tight around you.

"I don't take any of this lightly." His thumb slides back and forth on your cheek. "If I've done somethin to make you think different, then tell me., okay?" He nods. "So I can fix it."

You nod. You're not sure when you stopped crying but your breaths are slow and even and your body feels calm and comfortable. "I just… I get so in my own head."

"I know. I do, too." A smile returns to his lips. "That's why we do this." He brings his body closer. "To remember that there's someone else out there." He grabs your hand and puts it on his chest. "There's someone else out there that we can trust." He rubs your hand, pressed to his chest, with his palm back and forth. "Someone–just one person–that we can be with. All alone. In the scariest moments. And we can come out the other side okay." 

You nod, sniffling. You don't stop nodding. You lean your head into him, into his sturdiness and conviction and comfort. Into his warmth and his assuredness. 

"I gotchu, okay?" He wraps his arms around you, kissing your crown. "That's what that means when I say that." He pulls back and so do you. You're meeting him, stronger now, face-to-face. "It means that no matter what, I'm gonna make sure you're okay." 

You take a deep breath.

"Okay?"

You nod. There's quiet in your mind again and you're easy, relaxed. "Okay." 

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Chapter 1 Spoilers

Not 100% accurate. This is not a full translation.

Standing in front of me, blocking the men’s way and protecting me was一

???: “Mai.”

Mai: “Ah!”

Hideyoshi: “You can relax now.”

Mai: “Hideyoshi!”

I blinked my eyes in the blinding light, and Hideyoshi, covering me with his broad back, smiled over his shoulder.

(Maybe I shouldn’t be thinking about this, but I’m glad he’s okay.)

I felt a heat rising in my chest, seeing Hideyoshi’s figure in front of me.

Hideyoshi: “Mai, are you hurt?”

Mai: “I’m fine. You came right away.”

Hideyoshi: “I see. I’m glad I got here in time.”

He drew his sword from its scabbard as his gentle voice trailed off.

Hideyoshi: “I will destroy everything that threatens you.”

Hideyoshi: “No one, not even a single person, will touch my precious treasure.”

Hideyoshi: “Are you guys ready?”

Man 1: “You bastard, you’re gonna keep that woman all to yourself?”

Man 2: “Asshole, let’s cut him down.”

Even in the face of over ten bandits, he doesn’t flinch a bit.

Hideyoshi: “Mai, don’t leave my side.”

Mai: “Okay, got it.”

Man 3: “Tch. You flirt.”

The large man who said these words raised his sword and ran towards Hideyoshi, but一

Hideyoshi: “Ha!”

He parried the blade and punched the man’s throat.

Man 3: “Guh!”

As the man collapsed, foaming in the mouth, the surrounding bandits’ eyes widened in surprise.

Man 4: “How dare you harm our comrade!”

Hideyoshi: “Shut up. I asked you if you were ready for this.”

Hideyoshi: “I won’t give you any slack or mercy.”

The voice was so chilling that it frightened everyone.

Man 4: “Damn it!”

Hideyoshi grabbed the spear of the guy who attacked him and took it from him by force.

Men: “Gghhh...!”

He swung the spear vigorously, knocking down several men.

The bandits, with bloodshot eyes, raise their swords, but Hideyoshi mercilessly subdued them one by one.

(Wow.)

(I know he’s strong, but this fighting style...)

The memory of when he went to rescue the captured Nobunaga flashed through my mind.

The way he defeated his enemies with his fierce swordsmanship and twisted them with overwhelming power reminded me of a demon god.

Man: “Damn it. Treasure, you say? It’s just a woman.”

Hideyoshi: “Just a woman, huh?”

Hideyoshi raised his blade, looking down at the grunting man.

(Stop.)

Mai: “Wait, Hideyoshi!”

Hideyoshi: “...........”

I yelled, and the tip of his blade stopped just before it reached the man.

Mai: “Enough...I think that’s enough.”

Hideyoshi: “You’re right.”

Hideyoshi sighed and swung his sword, flicking away the blood.

Hideyoshi: “Mai.”

Hideyoshi turned to me with a grim expression on his face.

Hideyoshi: “Are you really not injured? Are you unharmed?”

Mai: “Yeah, not even a scratch. What about you?”

Hideyoshi: “Yeah, I’m fine too.”

His eyes narrowed in relief.

(I finally reached Hideyoshi.)

The dazzling smile on his face captivated me.

Hideyoshi: “Come here, Mai.”

Mai: “Okay!”

As I nodded, he spread his arms wide open.

Wanting and yearning for his touch, I stepped closer to him.

Hideyoshi: “Sorry.”

Mai: “Huh?”

For some reason, his expression stiffened.

Hideyoshi: “My hands are covered in blood. If I hug you, I’ll stain you.”

(Oh, I see. Because you faced those bandits.)

Hideyoshi: "It's unfortunate, but I'll have to wait until we get back to hold you in my arms."

Hideyoshi: "Well, saving the fun for later isn't a bad idea either."

Mai: "Hideyoshi..."

My heart felt heavy hearing him mumble these words like he was ashamed of himself.

Mai: "Please don't say those lonely things."

Hideyoshi: “What?”

(There’s no need to feel ashamed.)

As he tried to take another step and turn his back on me, I embraced him tightly, refusing to let go.

Hideyoshi: “No, you’ll get dirty.”

Mai: “It’s okay! I’m fine.”

Hideyoshi writhed out of my embrace, but I tightened my arms around him.

I could tell from his breathing that he was confused.

(Don’t worry about it.)

Mai: “Thank you for protecting me. You were so dependable and cool.”

Hideyoshi: “Mai.”

Mai: “You once said you didn’t want me to see your beastly nature, but I love that side of yours.”

Hideyoshi: “...........”

Mai: “I mean it.”

Hideyoshi: “Yeah, I know.”

Hideyoshi: “You always remind me of that. I can never match up to you.”

That night.

I was invited to the hall for a war council of the Oda army.

Mai: "Excuse me, it's Mai."

As I stepped into the hall, I saw Nobunaga seated in the front, with Hideyoshi and Mitsuhide on either side.

Masamune and Ieyasu were also present, sitting in the back, while Mitsunari was next to someone I didn't know.

(Who the heck is that guy?)

(Anyway, this one's an impressive gathering. I feel so out of place.)

Mai: "Um, is it okay for me to be here?"

Nobunaga: "It's fine. You deserve to be here since you've done us a great service in the last war."

Mitsuhide: "I'm surprised that a carefree lass like you could stop the Oda-Uesugi-Takeda conflict orchestrated by Kennyo."

Mai: "Is that a compliment?"

Masamune: "Mai, long time no see. I see you came back today."

Ieyasu: "Hideyoshi was so anxious about your return that he couldn't relax."

Mai: "Huh? Really?"

Mitsunari: "He's right. Lord Hideyoshi was going back and forth in the hallway so many times I was afraid he'd get dizzy!"

(I see. He's been waiting for me.)

Hideyoshi: "Hey, guys, don't say unnecessary things."

Hideyoshi: "Ah, Mai, sit down. Let's start the war council."

Masamune: "No need to be embarrassed now, Hideyoshi."

Mitsuhide: "We don't mind if you two share a passionate embrace."

Hideyoshi: "There's no way I would do that in public."

(I'm so relieved to see everyone safe and sound in person like this.)

Mai: "Have a safe trip, Hideyoshi."

Hideyoshi: "Yeah, I'm off."

He patted my head and lightly kissed my lips, but一

(Huh?)

I heard a faint sound.

Hideyoshi: "What?"

Mai: "What's wrong?"

For some reason, he was holding his lips.

Hideyoshi: "For a moment, I feel like I'm being pushed away."

(Being pushed away? I didn't feel anything like that.)

Mai: "Maybe it was static electricity."

Hideyoshi: "Static electricity?"

Mai: "It's a phenomenon that tends to occur in dry seasons. More importantly, are you okay?"

I stood on tiptoe to get a better look at his lips, and he gave me a gentle smile.

Hideyoshi: "If nothing happened to you, it's fine."

Hideyoshi: "Maybe it's just my imagination. Well, I'm off this time."

Hideyoshi waved his hand as if nothing had happened and left.

As I watched him walk away, I tilted my head in confusion.

(I guess it was static electricity, after all.)

(Okay, it's done!)

Mai: "Sorry to keep you both waiting. It's done."

Mitsunari: "Thank you so much, Lady Mai."

Mai: "I think I got the stitches right, but could you please check?"

Ieyasu: "No need. I trust your skills."

When Ieyasu took the kimono I held out to him一

Ieyasu: "!"

(Ieyasu?)

Ieyasu furrowed his eyebrows and dropped the kimono the moment my fingertips touched his.

Ieyasu: "What was that?"

Mai: "What was what?"

Ieyasu: "You were fine?"

(What is he talking about?)

Confused, I reached to pick up the fallen kimono at Ieyasu's feet.

Mitsunari: "Lady Mai, let me pick it up."

Mitsunari also reached out his hand to pick up the kimono and as our fingertips touched一

Mitsunari: "----!"

Startled, Mitsunari quickly withdrew his hand, surprised by something.

(Mitsunari too?)

Mai: "Um, what in the world is going on?"

Mitsunari: "You didn't feel anything?"

Mitsunari: "I felt a tingling sensation at the tips of my fingers."

Ieyasu: "You too?"

(So, Ieyasu is the same.)

Mai: "Don't tell me there's still a needle left in it."

I hurriedly spread out the kimono again and thoroughly checked every corner.

Ieyasu: "Did you find anything?"

Mai: "Nothing."

I looked again and found nothing that looked like it.

Ieyasu: "Forget it. If there's nothing there, then it's fine."

Ieyasu: "Maybe I was just a little tired."

Mitsunari: "Maybe it's the same for me."

(I suppose so.)

Both of them didn't seem to feel anything this time when they picked up their kimonos.

Ieyasu: "See you later. I'll come back when my kimono gets torn again."

Mitsunari: "Lady Mai, I'll leave you then."

Mai: "Okay. Take care, guys."

As I watched Ieyasu and Mitsunari leave, I suddenly remembered a similar feeling.

(I think the same thing happened a while ago.)

Mai: "Yeah, I can't remember."

➟ Chapter 2 Spoilers

[youremyheaven]

RM/Namjoon: Kibbe Analysis

Namjoon will be the first man I'll do a Kibbe analysis for😌bc I adore him and is so far the only man who has never let me down lmao

Anywaayss, Namjoon is often typed in online Kibbe communities as a Flamboyant Natural/FN but today I'm making a case for him being an SD/Soft Dramatic.

Pretty much everybody gets typed as some type of Natural online but this is wrong most of the time. Also bear in mind that SD is one of the most common Kibbe types along with Naturals.

Namjoon does like to wear a lot of denim and somehow denim= Natural according to a lot of people but here's my take on it.

FN men are described as having broad, blunt shoulders and broader chests, along with long limbs and height. They have broadness in some parts of their bodies, and wider bones (wider hands and feet, sharp jaw-lines, larger noses). When they pack on muscle, their body becomes a T-shape. Their upper bodies are kind of massive and they have a long vertical line.

Verified FN celebs include Clint Eastwood, Dick Van Dyke, and Hugh Jackman.

Namjoon is 5'11 or 181 cm

He has broad shoulders and long limbs. However, he's not broad and blunt all throughout. He has some softness to him.

The main difference between FN men and SD men are in their faces and their silhouette

L to R

Hugh Jackman and Clint Eastwood (both verified FN)

its easy to see how they both have long limbs, visibly appear very tall and have a very straight broad, blunt body structure. They're very "long looking" for the lack of a better word.

Namjoon has a softer, fleshier body type (sorry about the picture quality tho 😔) and he visibly has a small waist 😉which means he does not have a "straight" frame like the Naturals. The difference may seem subtle among male body types but Namjoon is not as blunt or broad as Clint or Hugh.

He has a more angular body with some softness to him.

Soft Dramatic men have an angular frame, slender bones, and long vertical line, with some Romantic softness to them. They are strong and manly looking with long features, angular noses, etc, but they have some softness to their flesh, sometimes to their lips and cheeks. Their bodies can look very bulky when they gain muscle 👀

(L to R)

Clark Gable and Matthew McConaughey (both verified SD)

Bottom row: Namjoon

All SD men have a prominent waist whereas Natural men have a wide, straight, broad frame. From the above pictures its obvious that Namjoon also has a smaller waist.

(L to R)

John Travolta, Dean Martin

Matthew McConaughey, Clark Gable

Christian Bale and Namjoon

all the other men are verified Soft Dramatic

look at how almost all of them have dimpled smiles 😍and a similar oval-ish face shape, along with long angular noses and sharp jawlines. Their faces have a combination of sharp and soft features.

Namjoon has Romantic & Dramatic essence and looks best in outfits that honours both of these.

He's so sexy and powerful and has the aura of a leader or a CEO. He just looks so at home in these outfits; they truly make him shine and bring out that sexy tsundere charm of his<3

Compare the above looks to these looks. He loves to dress like a boho hippie plant dad which is very endearing but not the most flattering on him imo

I know he's mostly dressing for comfort in these airport pics but I'm just trying to show that these are all outfits that would flatter a Natural type but it does not flatter him because he's a Soft Dramatic.

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

please consdider: moobs and double chins. I have recently become obsessed with moobs

Moobs.

and.

Double Chins.

I love them for,, reasons 😳🥴 and I immediately had visions of Bucky being the fatty [affectionate] with big, big moobs and a double chin.

Unbeta'd stucky belly kink ahead. Warnings for stuffing, weight gain, body worship, etc.

Steve feels bad about it. Honestly, he does. He feels no better than a fuck boy ogling at some girl he desperately wants to dick down with how often he finds his eyes falling from Bucky's face to his chest. But he can't help it if he isn't looking Bucky in the eyes that often, these days. He really can't. There's so much else to look at! C'mon!

Instead -

He's looking at his chin. He's always had a little bit of puppy fat around his face. Softness that never seemed to go away, no matter how lean he was. As he's grown over the past few years - popping buttons and tearing seams as a result of stuffing his face, indulging gluttonously and uncontrollably - that the softness has only increased.

His chin has a full twin now.

Wide and soft.

Steve's mouth embarrassingly waters looks at that puffy chin. There's something about the pale, fatty flesh that Steve wants to bite. He wants to suck love bites into it. Marking Bucky up with red, purple bruises. He wouldn't hurt him! Not a lot anyway...

He just wants a nibble. A taste. Bucky has to taste so sweet with his habit of eating so much candy and dessert. Pure sugar. Fattening and so, so sweet.

When he's not spacing out, staring at Bucky's chin, Steve's staring at Bucky's neck. It's fat, too. And more and more indistinguishable from his chin with each pound of blubber he piles on. His neck blends into his chin, thick, fat, and beginning to crease. Piled up with softness.

God.

It's so attractive.

He's so attractive. Every fat part of him.

The softness of his neck flows seamlessly into his chubby, sloped shoulders, and ballooned upper arms. Gone are Bucky's broad-with-muscle shoulders, gone are Bucky's solid, hard biceps; they've been replaced with broader, wider, fat shoulders and pillowy, butter-soft arms.

Whenever possible, Steve can't help but sink his fingers into the soft fat piled on him. He holds on tight to those shoulders and arms when fucking Bucky, when hauling Bucky up from his thick ass, sitting and eating and doing nothing else, and whenever he fucking wants to. He grabs him. He's so grabbable. So plush. So thick. Bucky ends up with lots of fingerprint bruises and indents from Steve's blunt nails. Poor baby.

Steve doesn't look at Bucky's face as often as he should because he also gets caught up around the base of Bucky's neck, the very, very top of his chest, squinting, searching for where Bucky's collarbones are... he knows they're under that fat somewhere! He bites and licks at his bottom lip, thinking. He can remember when Bucky had prominent collarbones that Steve would mouth at and bite until he was marked up. Steve doesn't miss that time. He much prefers to sink his teeth into the warm, soft jiggly layer of fat that's settled over Bucky now.

He lives for how Bucky's bigger, fatter chest heaves as he gasps and mewls and moans. He's so much more sensitive now. As if getting heavier, softer has legitimately made him softer. Sweeter. More sensitive.

Fuck.

It makes Steve want to do even more to him. Feed him. Fuck him. Fatten him.

If not shamefully focused on his double chin, fat neck, puffy shoulders, pillowy upper arms, or on his fat-hidden collarbones, Steve is staring at Bucky's moobs. And they really are moobs now. They're not pecs. They haven't been pecs for pounds and pounds and pounds. Pecs are for men who aren't round balls of fat and chub and blubber. Well insulated. Gluttonous. Moobs are for men like Bucky. Fat men. Men that are thick and heavy and marked with jagged lines that show just how fast they've gotten out of control - so fast that their skin is bursting at the seams.

Nah, they're not pecs. They're plush, fat, stretch marked MOOBS that crown his outrageously massive belly.

How could Steve keep his eyes off of them?

When Bucky's really stuffed, his belly taut, red, and rounder than anything, his moobs are pushed up even higher by the size of his gut, shoved up almost all the way to his double chin. Bucky complains about it sometimes. It apparently feels like he's choking on his own moobs; they're so close to his face and so heavy and jiggly that it's hard to breathe. But if Bucky's choking at feel it, then Steve's suffocating at the sight of it.

Everything about him is so erotic now. It's like his appeal has grown with his weight. The size of him. Steve's desire for him matches. Huge. He can't contain himself around Bucky the way Bucky can't contain himself around food. He's a glutton for Bucky.

His moobs are heavy and stretched, and his nipples are so pretty pink, stretched big too, thin and delicate tissue that's always so, so hard...

God!

That might be where Steve wants to put his mouth the most. On those gorgeous, huge nipples capping his gorgoeus, huge moobs.

Bucky's eyes roll back into his head when Steve touches them. He always moans. Even when he's stuffing his face, he moans through his mouthful of food and lets his eyes roll back, blissful. It makes Steve want to touch them more and more and more.

He wants to lick and bite and savor those fucking plush nipples. And he wants to do it until they're swollen, red, and Bucky is crying from how good it feels. So much pleasure pulsing through his chest, curling up his spine, and whiting out his mind.

So good.

So fat.

"Steve?" Bucky's voice is amused and not at all surprised.

"Huh?" Steve's eyes shoot up to look at Bucky. Eye-to-eye. He's blushing red. Hot red.

Bucky just lazily smirks at him, his chubby, round cheeks dimpling cutely desight the undertone of trouble. "What're you looking at, honey? Did I spill something on myself?" He obnoxiously shifts in his seat, the sofa groaning underneath him, and totally intentionally pressing his moobs together. His cleavage is pale pink, deep, monumentous, and -

Steve gets lost in it. His eyes might cross. He'll never tell. He's just -

He's maybe just drooling over how plump Bucky is. He's so deliciously round. Fat. Always eating. Always growing. Always so, so hot.

Bucky rubs circles on the flushed surface of his gut. He slaps it a few times, making his moobs jiggle entisingly.

Steve groans, "Buck."

"Yeah, honey?"

"Buck."

He has the worst shit eating grin on his face now.

"You gonna do something or just sit there and drool?"

Steve growls.