#this is what the people will see when they enter the fandom

[abysful]

Come to my city

Contains: Plot, strangers to one night stand, smut (eating pussy, fingering, p in v, bit of overstimulation)

Summary: You once watched the Sturniolo triplets religiously back in 2022, but college, work, and real life started to take up most of your time. Now in 2025, your younger cousin still being a fan, asks you to be her chaperone to their new tour in your city. An unexpected encounter with Matt after the show, gives you an entirely new reason to love them again.

Word count: 4.5k

For most of your high school career, you worked overtime, taking as many night school courses, summer school courses, and extra credit projects as you could. This resulted in you graduating high school a year before your peers in 2021, but rather than spending your extra year without obligatory schooling on internships and working, you rewarded yourself by spending your gap year completely recreationally.

On the first week after graduation, you were perusing the YouTube homepage when a video by the “Sturniolo Triplets” appeared in the catalogue of video options.

Curious, you clicked it and to your surprise, you were laughing. It wasn’t often that a piece of media made you laugh whether it was a movie, show, or YouTube video— but the triplets brought you both comfort and amusement.In a matter of a month, you went from a casual viewer to a full blown fan. You set alarms at 5:30 on Wednesdays and Fridays, followed them on all their socials, and actually bought merch which was another first for you.

You spent nearly all of what was left of 2021 and entered 2022 immersed in the Sturniolo fandom, other hobbies of yours taking a secondary position. Looking back from where you are now, 17 year old you was a little embarrassing but happy nonetheless.

Your unchecked free time a came to a close when September arrived sooner than expected and responsibilities bombarded their way back into your life. First it was college enrolment, then a job, volunteering, and tutoring for extra money on the side, you couldn’t recall the last time you hung out with a friend, let alone sat down and watched an entire YouTube video.

By the time you reached midterms, the merch began to collect dust in the furthest parts of your closet and your YouTube account was forgotten. Even when you finally learned how to manage your time, you chose to spend the moments you had with nothing on your to-do list by reconnecting with the people in your real life that missed you.

During the summer of 2024, you were spending your well earned vacation at your family home when a few cousins decided to sleep over for the weekend. You were close with all of your family no matter how distant so of course you were excited to reunite with a few of your younger relatives, your favourite in particular was your 14 year old cousin, Andie.

After the usual “how’s school?” conversations with your Aunts, you took Andie up to your room to catch up on life.

The best thing about having younger cousins was knowing that you were somebody they looked up to, at a time in your life when all you did was compare yourself to your better accomplished peers, it felt nice to hang out with someone who thought you were the coolest person ever.

It took no longer than 5 minutes before you were gossiping as if you you were also 14 years old, you brought out your big girl nail polish and did her nails as you both talked about any and everything.

Eventually she made a comment that peaked your interest.

“and me and my friend were sending edits of these YouTubers we like and she said she wanted to start editing and I was like ‘do it’ but she was like ‘no what if I’m bad’ and I kept trying to tell her to just try” she rambled. “You guys are so cute, you’re a really good friend,kid.” you complimented before looking up at her with a smile slowly creeping on your face.

“What” she asked, extending the ‘a’, “So can I see the edits?” you teased.

“Oh my god no” she laughed, cheeks beginning to blush out of embarrassment.

“No please come on, no judgment I swear” you pried, wanting to know more about what your favourite little cousin likes to do for fun.

She paused for a moment before speaking again, “Have you heard of the Sturniolo triplets?” she said so quietly you were lucky that you even heard her.

“Uh of course I have? I watched them like everyday a few years ago” you admitted to make her feel more comfortable to share.

“Don’t lie” she joked, “Andie I’m being so serious, I think I still have their merch somewhere in the deepest darkest parts of my closet.”.

With a shocked look on her face she exclaimed “Merch? Can I please have it if you aren’t wearing it? Please I’ll do anything, when was it from?” she began her tangent.

You spent the rest of the night bonding, sharing your favourite videos as she caught you up to speed on what the triplets have been up to since you stopped watching them.



Now, it’s a year later, April 2025— two months since the triplets announced their 3rd tour.

You didn’t understand why they toured to begin with but since your cousin didn’t get the chance to go to the first two, and nobody else she knew was willing to take her to the newest one, she was texting your phone day after day, begging you to take her.

It’s not that you don’t want to take her, it’s that even after Andie shared her interest with you, you still feel like you’ve outgrown them a bit.

That mixed with knowing that there is a guaranteed chance that not one soul over the age of 16 will be in that venue, is enough to tell her to kick rocks regardless of how much you love her.

As you walk back to your dorm, you receive a text. Looking down at your phone it reads.

“Y/n plz just drive me. my friend saved up her allowance and bought us both tickets we justttttt need somebody to drive us there and home pleaseeeeeee”.

You look down at your phone and smile to yourself, this was an idea you can get behind, you didn’t have to go inside and deal with everything that come with that nor did you need to feel embarrassed being the only adult there.

“Done” you sent the message swiftly before resuming your podcast and walking the rest of the way back to your dorm.

The show was in a week and you were feeling nothing in particular, the only thoughts you had were how happy you were that your mini-me got to have a good time and you paid zero dollars.

Between studying, working and a few nights of drinking here and there, the show day was here before you knew it.

Looking into your closet, an almost laughable thought crossed your mind, back during your Sturniolo phase, you would’ve put on your best outfit if you had the chance to go to one of their tours— mostly for Matt if you were being honest. In your year of loving the triplets, they all made you laugh but Matt’s humour was effortless, combine that with his charm and the fact that, to you, he was the most attractive triplet, it was safe to say Matt was your favourite for more than a few reasons.

So when picking out the outfit you’d be wearing to sit in your car for two and a half hours, you figured it would be stupid to wear a semi-sexy cute outfit, so that’s exactly what you did.

Trying not to do too much as your little cousin is who your really there for, you wore oversized dark wash jeans low on your waist, shoelace as a belt, boxer briefs peeking out for fashion purposes of course, and a tight white cropped tank with the hem sitting right below your rib cage, short enough for your belly ring to shimmer when the light hits it.

Finally throwing on timberland regardless of the season, you make your way down to your care before navigating towards Andie’s house.

The drive from her house to the venue, located downtown in your city, the drive was over half an hour. Music and lighthearted conversation with the two now fifteen year olds, made you feel like a young teenager again, a feeling you didn’t mind every once in a while.

The girls had gone in two hours ago, you’re playlist was getting boring, and your ass was numb, so your best solution was to drive to the nearest food joint and grab something to eat before returning to your parking spot.

You had only been gone for 15 minutes but as you pulled into the driveway of the venue, you seen flashing blue and red lights following the siren sounds of an ambulance.

You park and step out of your vehicle to get a better view of what was going on, standing on your tip-toes, you catch a glimpse of your cousin and her friends standing, visibly in good health, by the ambulance talking to someone positioned behind the large vehicle at a spot where you couldn’t see. You run towards the girls.

“What’s going on? Are you safe? Im so sorry I went to get a bite to eat, I thought the show ended in twenty minutes” you’re frantically examining Andie’s body for any injuries, your judgment clouded by the unknowing of the situation.

“We’re fine” her friend snaps, looking ahead embarrassed, you turn your head with her to see who it was the girls were speaking to and you nearly flinch at the sight.

All three triplets were in front of you awkwardly, before you could ask any questions, Nick fills you in.

“These girls called out for help when somebody in the crowd fainted, we’re just thanking them, they’re really sweet girls” Nick states.

You look between the triplets and back up at the young girls “but you guys are okay right?” you ask once more, in the corner of your eye you see Matt exchanging looks between one of his brothers raising his hand over his chest, communicating how cute he found the interaction.

The small gesture stood out to you, it brought back memories of watching Matt and relating to his soft and tenderness, part of the reason you found him so cute way back when.

You and up straight and thank the triplets for staying close to the people you were supposed to be responsible for, but as you are about to lead your walking stresses towards the car, Andie calls out “Wait, we had merch we wanted you to sign” as she waves down the triplets.

Matt was the first to turn around and begin walking back, only then did Chris and Nick notice the change in course.

“Wait here!” she exclaims as she grabs her friends hand and skips towards the car, you and the triplets slowly make your way to join the girls while engaging in some small talk.

“So I’m guessing the shows over?” you ask the obvious in a shy attempt at a joke.

“Yeah, we closed it off really fast before everyone started to leave” Chris explains, taking the lead in the conversation.

You nodded, silently accepting that the conversation wasn’t going to be very fruitful. The four of you were now a standing a few feet from the car, watching the two girls rummage through the trunk looking for the two hoodies they wanted signed.

You were standing a step or two ahead of the boys when the girls turned around, panicked, “We can’t find the hoodies we brought” Andie cries, you can hear a lump forming in her throat.

“I told you guys to bring them before you left, are you sure you had them with you when you walked to the car” you ask, trying to de-escalate the situation.

Nick butts in your conversation after noticing that both girls looked like they’re about to cry “It’s okay, if you guys didn’t bring them, you can swing by the hotel and we’ll sign it then, we leave at like 8 tomorrow morning” you turn around, slowly blinking and smiling at Nick in gratitude.

The girls thank the triplets, you all say a polite goodbye and head back home.

When you dropped the girls off, your aunt was very clear that they were in for the night and it was way too late for them to tag along so you took it upon yourself to drive back on your own to get the hoodies signed.

The long drive right back in the direction finally concluded and you were stood inside the triplets hotel lobby, when exchanging information, Matt was the first to offer up his number for you to text when you found your way to the location.

“I’m here” you message, expecting one or all of them to run down to sign the articles of clothing and quickly depart, “2205” he replied within less than ten seconds of your message being sent.

From the perspective of someone who only knew the triplets personalities from 20 minute weekly videos in a car, it seemed out of character for Matt to invite a stranger up to their room but your mind didn’t falter from the goal of getting the hoodies signed, walking into the elevator your finger hits the 22nd button, the ascent upwards feeling slower than it was.

A large part of you was excited to privately meet the YouTubers that an older version of yourself would have killed to even exchange eye contact with, you arrived at the door and knocked.

It took longer for the door to open than it did for your text to be answered but as the wooden barrier creaked open, Matt was standing in front of you with a warm smile, the view of his entire room visible from just glancing over his shoulder— you notice that nobody else is in the room with him.

“Hi” you chirp, breaking the thick silence surrounding the both of you.

You look down at your arm wrapped in medium sized pink and leopard print hoodies for a moment before you resume eye contact, feeling slightly awkward at your lack of knowing what to do.

“Uhh” he drags, “My brothers are in their own rooms” he turns his upper body and head around to look back at his room.

“You can just wait here while I get them to sign these and then I’ll come back and give them to you” he suggested as more of a statement than an offer.

“Sounds good” you keep the verbal interaction short and sweet, paranoid that you’d embarrass yourself if you spoke for too long.

He steps aside to let you walk in before walking out, your legs moving on autopilot, you find yourself sat on the corner of the bed that had yet to be used, the corners still neatly tucked and sealed away.

Looking at the sofa, a charger and half drank bottle of apple juice displayed on the arm rest, it didn’t take a genious to gather that Matt had only just checked in, you started to feel like a burden but reassured yourself that you weren’t putting them through that much trouble.

Matt returns with the hoodies now folded in a pile he held in his arms, you stand up immediately but instead of handing you the clothes, he places them on a nearby dresser.

“Today was definitely on of the more eventful shows of our career” he smiles, eyes looking directly into yours.

This wasn’t the shy, anxious, and reserved Matt you remember every time you think back to your time as a fan.

“I know, I bet you’re tired, I’m so sorry again, for keeping you up just to sign the hoodies” everything you said seemed like you didn’t want to keep talking but in reality, you were unnerved by the proximity to a guy you stopped watching but never stopped finding attractive.

“Honestly I can’t sleep, my brothers though” he pauses to let out an airy chuckle before starting again “they’re out like lights, I had to wake them up to sign it” you’re about to apologize again before he stops you mid-thought.

“It’s not your fault at all, this kinda made my day a little better” his eyes never left yours.

“I don’t think I’m following” you state with a lighthearted tone, your best attempt at seeming less nervous and more friendly.

“Seeing the way you talked to your little cousin made my day. I know how it feels to be panicked and anxious and you handled it well” .

You smile at his compliment, “glad I could help make your day” you reply.

Matt didn’t waste a second before starting another sentence, not wanting the conversation to conclude, this was the most effort Matt has ever put into talking to a stranger but he realized almost immediately after meeting you that he needed you in ways he couldn’t say straight up.

He suggested you stay for a bit, there wasn’t much for him to do and he’d been having insomnia most of the tour up to this point.

You didn’t hesitate to accept the offer and two hours later, you had no intentions of leaving yet. Matt sat on the edge of the bed while you sat on the sofa facing him.

“Your cousin was telling us how you used to be a fan” he emphasizes the ‘used to’.

“I definitely was, but life gets in the way of stuff and I didn’t have the time, nothing personal” you finish your sentence but your mouth stays open, implying you have more to say, you do.

“You were my favourite y’know” you finally get out, now looking at the floor.

“Yeah?” Matt waits for you to confirm before making any further comments, his eyes glued to your face while you averted your gaze.

Once you look back up and nod he speaks once more, “What about me” he now has a cocky smile plastered on his face.

“Hmm, looking back, I couldn’t tell ya” you joke before back tracking “No, but I don’t know. It was probably how gentle you seemed, I felt the most comforted by you” .

He looks at you with an expression you can’t make sense of, no signal of intending to speak, you add onto your last sentence “Plus you’re the hottest” you had no idea what washed over you but in that moment, you felt like anything was better than silence.

“Stand up for a sec” he says bluntly, possibly looking like an idiot, you abide by what he says.

He jerks his chin to signal for you to walk towards him, once more, you listen and walk up to where you’re standing between his spread legs as he’s sat on the corner of the mattress.

“I can be gentle, I don’t always have to be” he says in a near whisper.

Rather than responding with your words, you understood what was being insinuated, so you lifted your arms from your side to rest your forearms over his shoulders, letting your hands rake his back.

His body responds to your touch, hairs on the back of his neck now upright, he let it a slow but heavy inhale while his eyes danced up and down your body.

“Can I touch you” he says in a whisper, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue before his eyes found their way back up to yours.

Just as he looked at you, you’re gaze now exploring the new perspective, his lower lip glistened in the dim lighting, the stubble sculpting his cheekbones and jawline, his hands gripping the edge of the bed as if he was fighting every joint , muscle, and artery, to not grab hold of you and do with you what he wanted.

Your eyes trailed from his long fingers to the prominent veins lacing the back of his hands, finally looking back into his stare that never broke free from yours, from where you were standing, his once blue eyes looked black from the dilation in his pupils.

“Mhm” you finally mumble, you too, now in need of him.

His hands slid off the bed and find the sides of your knees, slowly winding and sliding up your legs, wrists rotating so his fingers teeter between the outer and inner parts of your thighs.

Once his palms reach the top of your hips and his slender fingers are brushing against your waist, his thumbs move the fabric of your shirt up to your bra, as he begins placing kisses where your top stops and your skin starts.

The kisses were slow pecks at first, but as his mouth moves lower, he lets his tongue escape his mouth more and more with every kiss.

Once he reaches the waist band of your underwear peaking out from your jeans, he looks into your eyes while unbuttoning your pants, the sight floods your mind and pussy.

Your hands retreat from his back to squeeze his shoulders in a massage motion as you throw your head back, Matt pulls down your jeans to which you respond with stepping out of them and kicking them to an unknown and unregarded corner, Matt let’s out a chuckle before getting back to business.

He stands, hands gripping your hips harder to steer you to lay on his bed, with your legs draping off the side and him standing where you just were.

Your back arches, his hold on your hips travels to your abdomen to push you back down on the bed. Matt lowered himself onto his knees in front of you, head leaning over your lower half, he takes hold of the band of your underwear with his teeth and starts to drag them down with his bite.

“Matt” you breathlessly plead, you back curving as you strain your neck to look above your head while you lie there, you were scared if you looked down at Matt and watched what he was doing, you’d cum before either of you got the chance to get to what you were there for.

He stops mid-pull for a few seconds, now, you have to look down, you see him smiling with your underwear between his teeth, just about to come over your clit and finally reveal your juice filled clit.

Once he knew you were looking again, he pulls them down all the way, jaw falling slack at the sight of your wet cunt reflecting the glow from the lighting around.

Matt didn’t want a second wasted, he placed one solid kiss over your clit before lifting his neck to get one last look, then letting your pussy connect with his mouth.

His tongue and lips focused in on your clit, alternating between circling your pulsating pearl with his tongue, and sucking you with both his tongue and lips, now closer to red that before from the blood rushing to them as he used them to make your world spin.

You didn’t try to hold back the sounds of satisfaction, every time you moaned louder than the rest, you could feel him grin against your pussy for a moment before he resumed.

One of his hands left your hips to circle your entrance, the other finding your ass, squeezing it like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded, his tongue found a way to lick every inch of your heat before two of his fingers slowly slid into your pulsing hole. The pace in which they fuck you, picks up the louder your moans get.

The hand that was placed on your hip, releases its grip and slithers down the bed and you hear the sound of his belt unbuckle.

You can hear Matt begin moaning with you, you look down to see him touching himself with the now free hand while the other remained dedicated to pleasuring you.

You feel your orgasm bubbling up, bucking your hips up to get as much pleasure from his mouth and hands as possible, noticing this, Matt’s tongue laps your clit faster until your climax boiled over.

He doesn’t stop even after you cum, continuing his motions as you squirm under his mouth, eventually he unlatches from your pussy with a ‘pop’ sound.

Matt stands up and leans over to his side table to pull out a condom and hands it to you to let you slide it over his cock. After it’s on, you crawl to the centre of the bed but Matt stops you.

“No sweetheart, stand up” he asserts.

Standing up off the bed, he gently but firmly takes you by the arm in front of the floor to ceiling window, turning you by your shoulders so you’re standing there watching over the bright city lights, from behind, Matt speaks into your ear. “You can take your top off now ”.

You did just as he said, tossing your shirt to the side and looking over your shoulder, you feel Matt’s fully erect dick graze your back.

He pulls your lowered half back as he slides his dick in your slippery cunt, his other hand pushes your tits against the glass. He started off slowly, but the sounds of your sopping wet core, was too much for him to keep the ‘gentle guy’ act.

His arm reached around your waist, bear hugging our front as his hand held on your ribs, his other arm reaching over his head joining your tits in being pressed onto the plexiglass. The more you moaned the harder he went, jabbing your cervix, blurring the line between pleasure and pain.

Your moans went from loud to near screaming when his hand travelled from your ribs down to your swollen and pulsing clit, you let out a scream and he whispers “tell me how it feels”.

You try to formulate a comprehensible sentence but have to pause between thrusts “s-so good, too g-good Matt”, he trails kisses along you shoulder as his fingers work magic over your sensitive clit.

“I can’t h-hold it Matt” you manage to get out. He takes more than a second or two to respond, through choppy breathing he tells you to cum for him, the both of you hitting intense climaxes, grunts and moans bouncing off the thin walls.

You both stand there for a few moments before he pulls out of you, you remove your forehead off of the now fogged up mirror, drippings from the condensation of your breaths. You turn around expecting him to do the same, but instead he stays facing you, grabbing your jaw and tonguing you, only letting you go after he’s satisfied.

The night ended not long after that, your body being just what he needed to fix his insomnia.

Matt came out of the washroom to see you putting your shoes on and grabbing your pile of signed merchandise.

“Don’t lose my number pretty, I think I’ll be visiting this city a lot after tour, I like the people and stuff y’know” he says to the back of your head while you walk towards the door.

As you place one step out of the door, you turn around to look at his face “Wasn’t planning on it”

You swiftly close to door, wanting to get the last word. As you sit back in your car, you pull out your phone and watch their most recent YouTube video in the silence of the empty vehicle.

An hour later you were laid back in your bed, feeling a bit of insomnia, you figured it was only right to touch yourself to the memory of the last few hours.

Authors note: so I tried to do less chunky paragraphs and break it up more, here’s a little smth for valentines from me to you ;)

[bangtanhoesthings]

Long ask.

Forgive me, this will be all over the place.

I have noticed that over the past few years the hate for the boys has been escalating particularly for Jimin, Jungkook and Joonie.

For Joonie, among other things, because as a leader, if they break him, they might break BTS. (Gosh look at him😭. Has me my man, my man, my man-ning all over the place like a dog in heat, it's embarrassing and a little concerning). Sorry, I digressed but look at him 😭😭😭, y'all don't thirst over this man enough. Woof! 🫦

Anyways, moving on.

For Jungkook, among a plethora of other reasons, because of the unrivaled, unmitigated global success he has had and continues to have (am so proud of my funky lil popstar ✨).

He came, he saw, he conquered. Kicked ass and took names. Ate and left no crumbs. Had them by the neck. Pulled up and shut it down (Somebody stop me 😭)

The way some army attribute his success to the 🛴 guy boils my blood, and that rage is for another day.

This post is towards Jimin.

Jimin's hate is both from outside and inside the fandom ( am not talking about solos, toxic shippers, mantis and the like) but people who claim to be 0T7.

I know that Jimin has had haters for years but the shady tweets I saw during the FACE and MUSE era from so called "ARMY" said a lot. Am not here to debate who is or isn't ARMY. That's for another time.

My question is, why does Jimin's success seem to be a sore spot for some 0T7s? The one reason I have been able to come up with is that Jimin sort of messed up the hierarchy system.

Let me explain and see if I make sense. For a long time, when people thought of the maknae line, no matter the order in which they ranked Tae and Kookie, Jimin was always the third one. Too many posts relegating him to the role of cheerleader and not much else. I saw posts before solo works commenced dismissing the idea that Jimin would ever release an album but would instead fully support the others. Well, he not only released two solo albums, but was also a composer, lyricist among other things, so they can take their opinion and smoke it.

When the solo era started, people had different expectations for what every maknae members would achieve but no matter the expectations, those for Jimin were that he would be third. Bronze medalist if you will.

FACE was released, Like Crazy got to number 1 and I logged off twitter. We were in hell particularly when it went from 1 to 45 after Billboard deleted over 100k sales and changed the rules (thank you Travis Scott for freeing Jimin and finally taking that number 1 spot). The hate from outside was expected, it was when it came from within the fandom that it hurt.

Fast forward to MUSE and it got worse. Sprinkle in a dash of Are You Sure and we have

Here I have a list of things I have noticed

1. An increase in the number of people talking about how they hate PJMs and how they are making them turn against Jimin. Honey, if a solo can make you dislike one member, you aren't sh*t anyway.

2. Dislike for Jimin disguised as dislike for his solos. If you haven't seen it, consider yourself lucky.

3. How sometimes ARMY came in droves when a member didn't achieve something but Jimin did. For example Spotify US. When a new song failed to enter but Jimin's songs increased ( during both LC and Who era).

4. His long run on the hot 100 has really revealed people's true colours. It's not his fault. Blame the fandom for their clear bias.

5. The number of ARMY accounts on X low key calling AYS fanservice.

6. Discourse on Jimin's ability to sing. I don't argue with stupid people.

I could go on and on but what I am trying to say is that in a perfect world, it would be wonderful if all the members had the same support from ARMY. The discrepancy needs to be addressed (caused by a multitude of reasons) but making it a member's fault and not the fandom is asinine.

I used to be a 1D fan and my favourite member to date is the least favourite and successful, Louis Tomlinson but that doesn't mean I hate on Harry, Zayn or Niall for their success. I wouldn't even know where to begin.

What prompted this you may ask? I saw a post talking about Jimin being the company and fandom fave and having special support. Like huh?

All in all what I am trying to say is that Jimin really shook things up and some people resent him for it. That one post (article?) about Jimin bringing out either admiration or envy keeps getting proven right.

Keep supporting this angel for a long and happy life.

What do you think are some other reasons for the increase in the 0T6 agenda against Jimin?

[maxdibert]

They butchered all female characters and it's true, but people can simply don't like Sansa's chapters or don't enjoy her character because she's classist. She thinks bastards are beneath her in earlier chapters and in Alyanne. She's disgusted by Arya spending time with Butcher boy and other peasants because they're beneath her.

I'm not saying she's s bad person or the worst one or that we should blame her for being passive while being hostage. She's a kid, she's s victim, she can still have a positive change. but I'm reminding that saying people are misogynist because they don't like her is a reach. And it's not that people hate her, they just point out things she did or thought about in canon and her fans scream "you hate her! You hate women!" No. It's okay to not like a character, you can point out their flaws, it doesn't make you a mysoginist.

Oh, trust me, the issue isn’t that people simply don’t like Sansa—it’s why they don’t like her and the patterns that emerge when you look at how traditionally feminine female characters are treated in fandom discourse.

See, I don’t care if someone criticizes Sansa for her classism. That’s a valid discussion. I don’t care if someone dislikes her personality. Not every character is for everyone. But let’s not pretend that the dominant criticism Sansa gets in fandom spaces has ever been about her early prejudices. No one’s out here writing essays about how Sansa Stark needs to deconstruct her internalized feudal biases. What do we see instead?

“Sansa is useless.” “She’s weak.” “She’s stupid.” “She just stands there and does nothing while other people suffer.” “She should have done something.”

And that’s where misogyny enters the chat.

Because when you actually break these takes down, what they boil down to is that people resent Sansa for not being proactive in the way that they think a strong female character should be. She’s written as a character whose resilience is passive rather than active, who survives through adaptability rather than aggression, and fandom hates that. This is a known trend in media reception.

Feminist film and literature studies have examined this bias for decades. De Beauvoir discusses how femininity is traditionally coded as passive, and because of that, it is devalued in comparison to traditionally masculine-coded traits like physical strength, direct confrontation, and assertiveness. Susan Faludi discusses how women who embody traditional femininity often face more ridicule than those who adopt “strong” or “unconventional” roles. And the male gaze, as theorized by Laura Mulvey, conditions audiences to respond more favorably to female characters who are active participants in traditionally masculine-coded spaces—combat, strategy, direct rebellion—while dismissing those who navigate systems through softer, less immediately visible means.

Sansa fits this mold perfectly. She does not fight with a sword, she does not make grand speeches, she does not take direct violent action, so fandom deems her “useless.” But here’s the catch—this standard is not applied equally.

Think about how Tyrion is treated for his ability to navigate the political landscape through words rather than force. Is he called “useless” for not picking up a sword and charging into battle? No—because intellect and political maneuvering, even when nonviolent, are still considered active and thus valuable in a way that Sansa’s more passive survival is not.

Now, compare Sansa’s treatment to Arya’s. Arya is beloved in fandom spaces, and yes, she has her own set of haters, but notice how different the tone of that criticism is. Arya is rarely called “useless.” She is rarely ridiculed for being afraid. She is allowed to be traumatized, to make mistakes, to be messy and complicated in ways that Sansa is not—because Arya performs a more masculine-coded form of resilience. She fights, she kills, she runs, she rebels.

And just to be clear, none of this means that Arya’s arc is bad or that her popularity is undeserved. The problem isn’t that Arya is liked—it’s that traditionally feminine resilience is not. The issue is that Sansa is not disliked because of her flaws in isolation, but because those flaws reinforce her femininity, and femininity is what people are actually responding negatively to.

This is why calling Sansa hate misogynistic is not a reach. It’s not about saying that everyone has to like her. It’s about looking at the larger pattern of why she is dismissed, why she is mocked, and why so many people cannot accept a female character whose form of strength does not align with masculine-coded ideals.

So no, I’m not saying that every single person who dislikes Sansa is a raging misogynist. But I am saying that if your criticism boils down to “she’s useless, she’s weak, she’s stupid,” you should probably examine why those specific critiques keep coming up for female characters who embody traditional femininity. Because it’s not a coincidence.

[thenaphantoms]

Today is Valentine's Day, but it also marks one year since Miraculous Ladybug re-entered my life!

I discovered the show a bit before the English dub released back in 2015, watching it mainly in Korean with subtitles. It was so exciting seeing more and more people talk about this obscure little french cartoon once the dub came out!

But with increasing popularity came...other things. Art theft, harassment, young kids not really understanding how to behave in fandom spaces, and then Astruc himself replied sarcastically to a comment I'd made under one of his tweets (though in retrospect what he said was actually pretty funny). Then I had to end a really big friendship with someone I'd met because of the show, and I found myself in a weird position. Keep watching the show I loved, even though doing so made me uncomfortable due to those negative associations, or drop it entirely?

So I dropped it entirely. I put all the dolls and action figures somewhere I wouldn't be able to see them. Started a new account where I could engage with other fandoms. I stopped writing and reading Miraculous fanfic, stopped making Miraculous fanart, and forced myself to fixate on other things.

Years passed, and eventually, the thought of the show stopped making me feel so uncomfortable. I still couldn't bring myself to watch it, but I started a rewrite project, trying to fix the things I remembered not enjoying about the first two seasons of the show (which was all I'd seen at the time). I bought a couple of the new Miraculous dolls, super jealous that Kids These Days are getting so much better merch than I had when I was a fan of the show. Got some of the kwami blind bag kwami figures too, and I developed a habit of keeping one with me in my bag when I went to work.

That rewrite project never went very far, since I was hoping to do my own take on the episodes, and most of the episodes had become a distant memory by that point. In fairness, it had been like 6 years. I'd have to rewatch the show, and I still wasn't ready for that.

Then, on this day last year, something happened. I was staying at my parents house after an especially stressful work week, and I was browsing Netflix. And what would be on the front page, but Miraculous Ladybug: The Movie.

I had vivid memories of binging the show on Valentine's Day as a kid. I used to really associate the day with Marinette and Adrien, so Valentine's Day felt a bit like a nice opportunity to appreciate a ship that made me so happy.

So I watched the movie, justifying to myself that it wasn't like I was watching the show, it was just one movie and it would probably suck anyway.

But it didn't suck. It very much didn't suck. In fact, I LOVED it. It brought back so many memories, the love square was so sweet, the kwamis were such a cool idea, Hawkmoth was so fun, the akumas were so creative, Marinette and Adrien were so cute! It reminded of all the things I used to legitimately love about the show, rather than the stuff I didn't. When I was watching the movie, I wasn't thinking about that friendship that ended, or the art that got stolen. I was thinking about these kids, how much I loved them, and how much I loved their story. And I realised something that, in retrospect, should have been obvious.

It wasn't the SHOW that made me uncomfortable. It was my negative associations related to it. The show did nothing wrong, it was always fun and always made me happy. It was my bad experiences themselves that tainted it.

So I thought it over, and decided to continue the show from where I left off, even if the thought of doing so made me feel kind of sick and uncomfortable.

And I liked it. No, I didn't just like it-- I LOVED it. It was so fun?? And interesting??? And--wait oh my god is that PLOT?! Wait wait wait Marinette is overwhelmed???? I've felt like that!!! And--oh!!! Who is this Félix guy?? He's a reference to the pilot!! And he's so fun!! And Kagami? I remembered her being a boyfriend stealer but she's actually not at all and she's actually really sweet??? And Alya!!! Ride or die bestie Alya!!!

Needless to say, I couldn't stop watching after that. I binged seasons 3 and 4 in the span of I think two days, then immediately moved on to season 5, and I had a wonderful time. I was also a lot happier in general. It felt like I'd regained a part of myself that I'd lost, or rather, willingly left behind.

I know there's a lot of discourse online about whether or not the show is good, about if its even worth watching, but to me, that stuff sincerely doesn't matter. Miraculous Ladybug makes me very happy, which is why you'll never see me engage in Miraculous Ladybug salt discussions. I can critique it sometimes, but I've spent enough time looking down on this show. I'd rather love it for what it is and appreciate the joy it's always brought me.

So yes, today isn't just Valentine's Day. It's the anniversary of the day Miraculous Ladybug came back into my life, and the day I regained a piece of myself I'd long forgotten.

I loved the movie so much, I started binging Miraculous Ladybug for the first time in a long time, and I'm having a blast, so I wanted to draw something! It's actually based on a piece I drew in 2016 and then redrew in 2017. I think I've come a long way as an artist, and I'm so proud of the improvement!

Bug out!🐞

[riorsonxaden]

We used to be fandoms. We use to be a community

[toriliashine]

[roblox, regretevator] [i know i know..]

ok but playing this silly elevator mini game collection and finding out the silly and cute wood guy and stone guy are divorced and the stone/cement guy is the problem but has managed to spin the maddest smear campaign on his ex-husband after he became addicted to wet cement and caused the divorce is so-

PLUS! i have been in the grey cement fuckers house! bro is not put together, he's just tall and talks mannerly, bro is BROKE!!! and poob's house is a great comparison to know that the npcs there have actual lived in apartments. Wallters house that he hopped off has NOTHING in it but tons of empty cans of grey stuff/wet cement and a single unopened loaf of wonderbread while his exhusband who was 'totally the problem' is an honest working guy with people that look up to him and a broken heart and who has been banned from n establishment for crying over his ex-husband who got addicted to wet cement and is pretending HE is the problem im-

on the exhusband/woodguy. he is so sweet and just wants people to appreciate his work and his hat and him he gets so down when he realises fleshcousin doesnt actually care about his specially made hat and etc like. he needs eternal love and freedom from this smear campaign!

anyways that wall guy is broke addicted and, according to talks with spud, spends his nights drinking even more greystuff/wet cement??? brooo

----- stuff i need to find myself ---

apparently folly noted that his brain is crumbling into cement?? and he claims he is fine?? bro he must've been able to tell will he drown in his delusions to the end

-------------

when will this endd and i also hope it doesnt bc this might be tragic. so is it better to watch wallter being in a state of addiction forever?

also they look like this

[vellichorom]

all these horrible tumblr updates, but WHEN are we going to get an update that allows us to look at public tags in chronological order huh. i want there to be an acknowledgement & archive of media & blogs & such from the WAY back. i want to be able to see the VERY FIRST FEW SURVIVING POSTS of any given media ( TSP for one ) without having to dig around through old obscure blogs for it ( if so i can FIND THEM ), as fun as that is

[onepiece-polls]

I love your polls and it’s great you try to be on both sides to give fair chance to everyone, but the way you talked about shanks/buggy is crazy They’re fine together but in canon they’re brothers and your shipping googles got so tight you actually sounded like you could believe they’re anywhere close to canon which is u know stupid af

lmao, okay, this came out of nowhere 😂 Like... I talked about that months ago. But okay.

Anyway, Shuggy is canon. They're making out behind you right now.

[kingquentin]

insane how quickly something small can tank my mood

[orcelito]

Honestly hate how hard it is to start writing again when you've gone too long without it. Like for fuck's sake man Why's shit gotta be like this

[feedthefandomfest]

Comment Bingo: Old Fic Edition

Very simple rules: connect 5 squares in a line by commenting on fics that suit the task in each square

Very simple goals: encourage readers to comment on older fics; encourage fandom writers to KEEP WRITING

STEPS:

Download Bingo Card HERE (png) or HERE (jpg) or HERE (pdf)

Complete the tasks on the card, marking off each as you go, until you've completed 5 in a line (vertical, horizontal, or diagonal; NO double-dipping; center ♥️ is a free space)

POST your winning card (or list your filled squares) and tag @feedthefandomfest! Glory in your victory.

SEARCH TIPS:

This card requires some familiarity with AO3's search filters. Once you've narrowed your results according to fandom/ship/additional tags, certain squares require you to sort the results by Date Updated, which is the default. Other squares require you to search for fics posted within a certain range of years, which you can do by scrolling on the search menu to More Options:

Note that to enter a date range, you must format the date as shown.

REWARD:

✨ victory badges ✨

New badge for this card, but here are examples from previous cards:

Tag me when you earn a bingo (or double, triple, quadruple... FULL CARD bingo) and I'll reblog a shiny badge with your name on it to commemorate the win.

FAQ:

Can I comment on tumblr or only on AO3?

Either one is great! This card especially is more designed with AO3 in mind, but some can be adjusted to suit tumblr as well, so I say go for it. Tumblr fics deserve love, too.

Can one comment count toward multiple squares if the fic fits more than one category?

Since the goal is for as many fics to receive comments as possible, try to comment on a different fic for each square.

Is there a time limit?

Nope! Take your time or set your own deadline, whatever works for you. This blog is still in its early experimental stage, so feedback welcome. Play around and let me know what you like and what might be added/changed—including ideas for squares on future cards!

Do I have to record progress on the actual card?

Nope! If it’s easier to keep track in a different way, that’s fine. This is all very honor system, so if you say you earned a Bingo, we’ll call it a win 🎉

Some people have been tracking not just completed tasks, but the fics they read along the way, so that when they post a bingo, they can also promote the fics/authors in a little rec list. Not required, but definitely cool to see!

Can I adjust the task in a particular square to suit my comfort level?

Of course! If you deliver something in the spirit of the task, then it’s all good. Use your best judgement in constructing a comment that will make the author smile, and you can consider it a job well done.

In general, so long as each square has produced at least one comment, you’re golden and I salute you 🫡

Happy commenting!!

[lokischocolatefountain]

Warning || Men Like Me

Masterlist

Fandom: The Last of Us Pairing: Joel Miller x Virgin!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: girth age gap, virgin!reader, eventual loss of virginity (not in this chapter), gratuitous descriptions of Joel Miller's body, somewhat creepy!Joel, fetishization of youth, dom!Joel, breaking and entering, playboy magazine, objectification, fingering, sexual discoveries. Word count: 6.2k Summary: Joel's warnings about what men like him would do to girls like you only makes you want him more. A/N: Back in the depths of hell again, you guys. Now this isn't the most depraved thing I've written by any means but it's up there. Come say hi in my chat or inbox, I'd love to talk. Keep a look out for follow up parts and pleeeeease give me comments. I am very very desperate.

Joel Miller was a bad man. That much he knew. 

Even as he fixed taps and renovated houses that were falling apart, he could see the blood on his hands. The very hands that packed lunches for Ellie snapped necks, pistol whipped men, stole from a starving child so he could feed his grown brother. But there were lows even he didn’t stoop down to. 

Not that he didn’t have the opportunity. Men always did. And in this world, opportunities had only tripled. Even the Boston QZ, as strict as it was, had an underground brothel. He knew Tess to frequent it and never asked questions. Sometimes she needed to bury her face between a good pair of thighs and wrap her lips around a pretty pussy, and this wasn’t something he could give her. There was a lot he couldn’t give her.

Being in Jackson should’ve civilized him. It did in many ways. He’d reverted to the southern gentleman with table manners. ‘Yes, Ma’am’ spilled out of his lips effortlessly when he spoke to women. He held the door for anyone walking in after him. He even went to Church– sorry, the multifaith house of worship–to help renovate. 

That was where his troubles began. 

There was no point in him going where people prayed. Being back in civilization did not erase his decades of disbelief in a cruel God who would take his baby and keep him on this accursed Earth. But he did because he was back to being a contractor and Tommy asked him to go fix up the pews instead of him. He didn’t have much time, being a new dad and all.

He was on his knees checking out the rotting wood and evaluating how much wood he’d need for building new ones when he was confronted by a pair of legs and a sweet voice. Yours. 

“Lemonade, Mister Miller?” 

He looked up, his eyes traveling up your legs, bare until he got to your knees where the hem of your flowery skirt sat. Pure, unblemished knees, never taken a fall, didn’t fucking creak, and never knelt before anyone but God. You looked down sweetly, eyes wide and innocent like a newborn cow. Everyone had a kind of darkness about them in this world. Everyone except the kids who didn’t know a world outside the insular walls of Jackson. And you, it turned out, even though you weren’t a kid.

He wiped his sweat off with the greasy rag he carried and looked up at you once again. You had a pitcher and an empty glass in your hands. A sweet smile on your lips and hair falling down your shoulders and reaching your breasts. A yellow ribbon sat in a bow where your neckline dipped between your breasts, adding to the innocence of your look.

“Yes please, Ma’am. Thank you,” he said, giving you a nod. Your pretty plush lips curled up, a giggle escaping them as you poured him a glass of lemonade. 

His hand brushed against yours as he accepted the glass, his hand too large to curl around it without making contact with you. You giggled again before retracting your hand and occupying it with adjusting your hair. 

“I’m younger than you, you know? Don’t have to call me Ma’am.” 

“Just being polite. Ma’am.” He took the glass to his lips, mindful to take only a small sip instead of downing it in desperation. Another adjustment to make when food was no longer a scarcity. Sweet, sour, and salty danced on his tongue before it glided down his throat. Just a sip refreshed him. And the sight of a nice girl didn’t hurt the cause either. 

It’d been so long since he had a nice refreshing glass of lemonade. Summers meant worse infestations of infected, not the barbecues, lemonades, and swimming of past. When surviving each hour was under threat, small luxuries like this became out of reach of even one’s dreams.

“Well, guess I should call you Sir then,” you said, leaning against the wall. You held the pitcher up to your chest and the tails of the ribbon on your chest dipped into it, the soft shiny yellow turning dark, tainted.

His mouth watered and fucking hell, it wasn’t the lemonade you just gave him. He took a sip of the drink and licked his lips, imagining how you’d taste if he wrapped his large hand around your neck and pressed his chapped lips to your plush ones. Better yet, if he held your legs apart and devoured you other pair of lips until you were leaking down his mouth. Would you call him Sir then? His cock twitched in his jeans as he pictured you bent over one of these pews, your skirt pushed up and his hand in your hair as he slid his cock in your hole. 

Jesus fucking Christ! What the fuck was wrong with him? 

“Made the lemonade yourself?” He asked,  groaning as he managed to get himself back up on his feet. His knees creaked like the floorboards of the houses he renovated, but ultimately supported him as he stood. He towered over you, making you appear smaller, more fragile. 

“Depends. Do you like it?” 

“It’s wonderful, of course. Hot summer day like this…I really needed it,” he said, raising the glass up a little before taking another sip. 

“Well then yes, I did make it.”

He chuckled, feeling himself pulled in by your easy charisma. It was nice to have normal conversations like this once again. No agenda, no need for establishing himself as someone who wouldn’t hesitate to beat someone up if even mildly threatened. It was just…normal. 

“It’s very sweet, Ma’am. Like you I assume,” he added, mentally dusting off the part of his brain where he stored skills for conversing with pretty girls.

You laughed, holding your free hand up to your mouth to cover your lips that widened and revealed your teeth. 

“Is that the southern charm that I hear our townspeople talk about?” 

“They talk about my charm? I didn’t hear.” 

“Oh yes, they do… Joel Miller, charming pants off of everyone in town.”

“Pants? Well that’s disappointing. I was hoping I’d charmed some pretty skirts off.” 

“Lots of experience with that, Mister Miller?” you asked, sliding your hand over the soft fabric of the skirt of your dress. Such delicate fabric. He could fist the hem and give it one tug and it’d rip right off.

“More ‘n what you got for sure,” he said, loath to hint at how infrequent his encounters had become in the recent past. Tess died, he did a cross country hike with an annoying kid, he needed to maintain a good reputation in his new town. One buried after the other. Enough to leave a man with nothing but his fist and his imagination. He would kill for a fucking Playboy magazine. Literally. He’d killed for less.

“What do you know about how experienced I am?” 

“Been experiencing longer than you’ve been alive, Ma’am.” 

“Oh well. Nothing I can’t learn.” 

He laughed nervously and stuck his hand in his jeans pocket. Surely you couldn’t be flirting… Why would a young thing like this flirt with him? He was in his late fifties looking like mid sixties and you were… He didn’t know. Young.

“If you could teach me, Mister Miller. Give a girl some experience?”

“I’m sure you can find someone else.” 

“Oh. Not your type, am I?” you asked, and he deluded himself thinking you sounded disappointed. No chance. 

He didn’t have a type. Long time since he thought of frivolous shit like that. But you shouldn’t be his type. 

“There’s much more eligible men in town is what I’m saying,” he said, suddenly hesitant to lie. Lying had never been an issue for him. The right thing was to lie, say you weren’t his type so he wouldn’t cross lines. It’d been a long time since he did the right thing.

“I’ll be the decider of that,” you said with a shrug of your shoulder before taking the empty glass from him. “Have a good rest of the work day, Mister Miller.”

Later that night, he wrapped his fist around his cock in the privacy of his room. His mind flooded with images of you spread out for him, sweet lips and a sweeter pussy milking him. He couldn’t even recall the last time he was with a woman. It was Tess, of course. Sometime before she got thrown in FEDRA jail for the last time. Too fucking long ago.

Surely it was only because it’d been a long time since he got his dick wet. He’d never, in his entire life, pictured a woman so much younger spreading her legs for him. Sucking his cock. Crying out his name. How old was she even? Not past mid twenties for sure.

It was wrong, he knew, as white hot spend spurted out of his cock and covered his hand. A sour tang took over his mouth as the fog of unadulterated lust cleared up to reveal the ugliness in his head. He shuddered, feeling like something had crawled under his flesh. He hadn’t felt guilt like this in so long. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong. 

You weren’t even as old as his kid would be had she been alive. 

He’d known men like that back in the day. Grays in their hair and skin like old leather, but pretty young things old enough to be their daughter hanging off their arm. It was obvious that none of them kept these girls around for love or for their personality. It was always sex and the feeling of self-importance when a sweet young thing paid attention to balding heads, beer bellies and limp dicks that needed a blue pill to get up. 

Fucking disgusting. 

He began avoiding you whenever you happened to be in the same space. At the house of worship, the town clinic where you interned, trading days when people exchanged what they had for what they wanted. His eyes never met yours and he always quickly looked away when they stared too long at your uh…feminine features– pretty legs, cute ass, round tits. Where the fuck did you get sundresses anyway? Who kept that shit around in this world? 

He didn’t know that when he avoided you, you took note of him. When he took glances of your features, you memorized his for later in the night when you buried your head in your pillow and pushed your fingers inside your pussy to simulate what it must be like to be with a man. 

He was older. That much you knew from his grey hair, sun-damaged skin, and gait that exuded bone-deep weariness. You knew Tommy had just turned fifty. Hard to miss occasions that meant a free slice of cake from the canteen. Joel had to be in his mid-fifties at the very least. At first glance, he wasn’t what you’d consider handsome. There were younger men in town. Fit and muscular. Didn’t groan and scrunch up their faces when they got up. Didn’t have lines on their foreheads. No bags under their eyes. 

Yet there was something about Joel that was more entrancing. 

After your first meeting when you offered him lemonade, you made sure to visit under the guise of worship. You didn’t know much about religion and were conflicted about embracing a god. The only faith you had rested in your medical instruments and the medicines the town’s chemist concocted. But it was a nice place to meet people, to check on healing patients.

The visits were worth it for a glimpse of Joel’s large hands wrapped around his carpentry tools. When the sun was the hottest, he sometimes stripped down to his tank top, giving you a show better than any film played in the community theater. His broad back looked masculine enough in his flannel shirts. But you didn’t know desire like the first time you saw him in a white tank, showing off his muscular arms as sweat dripped down his tan skin.

When you pleasured yourself in your room, it took time, imagination, your fingers, and a lot of effort to make slick pool in your pussy. That day, all it took was the sight of Joel Miller working. You sat with your thighs pressed together, rubbing them against each other in the most inconspicuous little movements. 

Could it be blasphemy if the God who was supposedly orchestrating everything made this man take his shirt off in front of you?

It made no fucking sense. Joel was old. He looked like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed every goddamn day. He had been chewed up and spat out by whatever the fuck was outside Jackson these days. Hardened expressions, graying patchy beard, hands calloused from carpentry and decades of using weaponry. Features that only indicated a long life lived, not attractiveness.

You were supposed to be attracted to the soft, sweet ones like the guys in the worn out copies of romance stories that the previous inhabitant of your house stashed in the basement. Even his little brother would be a more reasonable target for your lust. Younger, taller, softer, head full of dark, silky hair with few grays. But you wanted Joel Miller with his rough graying beard that would prick your skin were you to cup his cheek like the women on the novel covers. 

Something about him just screamed Man. Something that none of the other guys in town had. There was nothing wrong with any of the other Jackson men, but none of them made you want to take the plunge and lose your virginity. It wasn’t the lack of offers, per se. You’d gotten looks from many eligible Jackson bachelors. You had drinks with a few of them. Dinner with fewer and shared a kiss with more than one. Alright, two. But anything beyond that had you trembling in anxiety. 

It wasn’t anything precious to you, virginity. But you’d waited so long. Focused so long only on survival and then helping to build this town and now training to become a doctor. Whatever passed for doctor these days. With all your life dedicated to everything but your love life, you simply had no experience. What if you messed up and they laughed? You knew anatomy, but that didn’t translate to practical stuff. What if you couldn’t make them feel good? You’d have to see the guy all the damn time in the small town. There would be no escaping the awkwardness.

Sure it was counterintuitive to keep pushing away sexual encounters because you had no experience. But you didn’t know what else to do. You were too old already to not have done anything. But each day that passed with you rejecting perfectly nice men meant you were getting even older for your first time. 

You didn’t know where Joel fit into your need for exploring your sexuality, but it didn’t hurt to stare. God knew everyone else in Jackson did. 

So you stared. Work with his carpentry tools. Riding on horseback into Jackson after patrol. Helping with the fucking sheep. Walking around with Tommy. Carrying his nephew around town. It should be inappropriate to be fantasizing about a man when he was doing something as innocent as carrying a baby. But seeing his large hand cradling the baby’s little head made you want to scream into your pillow and kick your legs. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” 

Your heart fluttered and you let out a nervous laugh at being caught. You smoothed out the wrinkles on your clothes just to make it look like you were alright. Unfortunately you were wearing a pair of fucking jeans. You didn’t even want to know how awkward you looked. 

“‘m alright, Mister Miller.” 

“Joel’s fine,” he said, rocking his nephew in his arms.

Oh fuck, his fucking arms!

“Oh I don’t know,” you said, fidgeting with a belt loop on your jeans. “Wouldn’t want to be impolite addressing you by your first name like that.”

He smiled, recalling your conversation from the house of worship when you called him Sir and had him fucking himself in the shower to the memory. “Ah. ‘cause I’m an old man,” he said, more as a reminder to himself to fucking behave. 

“You’re not that old…” you trailed, looking him over in a way that set fire to every inch of skin that you laid eyes on.

Behave, Miller. You’re out with your nephew. 

“That so?” he asked, eyebrow raised. 

“Mhmm. You don’t look a day over seventy.” 

He snorted, making Miles stir in his arms just a little. That stung a little. It shouldn’t. Your estimation of his age, whether you were serious or not, was reminder enough that he was too old to be lusting after you.

“Thanks. I’m actually eighty-two.” 

You giggled your pretty little giggle, lowering your gaze to the ground and looking back up only when it had turned into a wide grin. “How old are you actually?”

“Old. Fifty six.” 

“Fifty-six isn’t that old…” you trailed as you brought a hand up to his bicep. Joel gulped, praying to the non-existent God that you would stop before praying to the same God that you would keep your hand right there. God answered his second prayer. You squeezed, licked your lips and looked up at him with your doe eyes.

“Checking if the hardware is still working, Doctor?” 

“I’m not a doctor yet.” 

“When do you become one then? Ain’t no Harvard handing out medical degrees in this town.”

“Howard?” you asked, squinting at him. Ah, of course you didn’t know. Harvard didn’t mean the same thing to you. Now it was just like every other building in Boston. Run over by infected. These ones were just the nerdy kind with glasses on.

“That was a thing, too. But I said Harvard. They were big universities back then.”

“Ah. Did you go there?” You asked, with no malice or bite. Oh, bless your heart. No one expected a dummy like him to have gone to university at all, much less Harvard. No one in his family had gone. Sarah was meant to be the first.

“Yeah. Traded some oxy and threw molotovs at clickers in the campus.” 

You rewarded him with a giggle and that was incentive enough for him to keep going. “Guys like me didn’t get into Harvard. Or Howard. Didn’t even go to community college. I finished high school and got a job in construction.” 

“You didn’t go to uh…construction college?” You asked, cocking your head and raising an eyebrow as though testing out the term.

“No such thing. Well, there were civil engineering programs, but I just learned on the job.” 

“Like me.” 

“Guess so. I see you reading from all those fat medical books. But there’s no need to study any books in construction. ‘cept if you wanna be an engineer or architect or something, which I’m not.” 

“Maybe you should write one. We could all do with some knowledge from before. It’s important to document it, pass it on to Ellie and little Miles over there.” 

“I ain’t writing books, sweetheart. Don’t think I even remember how to write much. I’ll just keep to fixing things up in this town. So, if you need some help with your place…I’m happy to help.” It was the least he could do. Maybe as some kind of penance for having impure thoughts about you. Or as a fucked up trade for starring in the mental images he conjured to jack off in the shower.

“There is something, actually. But I don’t have anything to trade for, so I’ll wait until I do,” you said, clasping your hands behind your back and swaying in place in an endearing manner.

“Nonsense. You patched me up just last week. You’ve done enough for the town’s health to not have to trade for anything ever again.” 

“Well, no. That’s not how it should be… It’s people’s health. Can’t put a price on that.”

“Believe it or not, health had a steep price back in the day. Cost four thousand something just to give birth. Double that if they had to cut you open.” And that was just how much it cost when Sarah was born. He was sure it had only gone up by 2003. If he hadn’t worked his ass off, there was no way he could’ve escaped debt. It helped that his Ma and his then wife’s parents helped with childcare. Would’ve been even more expensive without that.

“Damn. I don’t know how much that is, since…y’know we don’t have money now. But that sounds like a big number. It shouldn’t cost anything just to be born.” 

“Tell me about it,” he said, shaking his head. “But listen. Anything you want fixed, I’ll help out. You can give me something later if you’re worried. I know Ellie’s always on the look for new books to read and you seem to have a lot of them.” 

“Nothing Ellie would like. Not like the special limited edition of Savage Starlight or anything. Just medical textbooks and romance novels.” 

“We could trade for the lemonade from that afternoon,” he insisted, desperate to do something for you. Take care of you as you took care of everyone who walked into the clinic be it papercuts or a fucking knife in their abdomen. 

“Alright. Trade for the lemonade it is then,” you said, giving in to his pressure.

“Now tell me. What d’ya need fixed?” 

⌘⌘⌘

It had been a few days since Joel promised to fix your shower for you. Each time he came by and rang your doorbell, you hid somewhere away from your windows. When he caught sight of you in public, you quickly walked away or engaged in conversation with someone else. You didn’t need shit fixed. Everything in your house was perfectly alright. Tommy and his guys had given the place a complete makeover just a couple months before Joel and Ellie arrived. 

You were no paragon of honesty, but you didn’t make lying a habit. There were a few white lies here and there and this was meant to be one of them. It just didn’t fucking hit you that if you lied to a contractor that your shower was broken, he would eventually come over to fucking fix it. All your desperate sex starved brain wanted that day was for Joel Miller to come use his tools in your room and flex those muscles while at it.

So invested were you in that particular fantasy that as you unwound after a long shift at the clinic, it was with Joel’s beefy arms in mind. You stood in front of your mirror, taking in your reflection. One of the magazines you’d found in a box under your bed laid open on the dressing table. Playboy. Entertainment for Men. Each had a scantily clad woman on the cover. And many more inside. 

You made comparisons to yourself and the woman in the center page of the issue.

She stood in front of a dressing table too, but much different from how you stood. Her legs were on either side of her dressing table chair and her hands on the top of it. Between her arms were breasts, big and round and with smooth skin. They didn’t have any marks on them like yours. No moles, no stretch marks. Just plain. And she just stood there, soft brown hair down, tickling the top of her breasts and her lips parted as she gazed at you. No, at the men she was meant to entertain in this men’s entertainment magazine. All she had on was panties that went high up to her flat belly that connected to high transparent socks.

You reached behind your back and unclasped your bra, wishing that you had something nicer like the woman on the cover of another one of the magazines. Bright red and showing off her breasts wonderfully, but pulled down to reveal almost everything. What was the point of a bra then if it didn’t cover or support anything? Entertainment, you decided. Men seemed to be very entertained by breasts. 

Many a man had stared at yours even though you had them behind layers of fabric unlike the naked women of the magazines. Many had conversations with them instead of your face. Some brushed up against them ‘accidentally’. Joel thought he was being covert, but you felt his brown eyes rove all over them. You thought maybe that he too would brush up against it sometime, but he never did. Maybe entertainment stopped at just looking, as in the magazines. 

You wondered if Joel sought out men’s entertainment magazines like this. He was from before everything went to shit, so it was very possible that he did. Did he like the women in these pages, sticking their asses out and looking through the pages at him? Would he be entertained if he saw you like this? 

You didn’t know that if you turned your head to your bedroom door, you would have your answer. Joel’s cock strained against his already tight jeans as he stood awestruck by your figure. He swallowed as you held on to the top of the chair and lifted your knees, one after the other and placed them on the plush seat. You arched your back, a little too much at first before reducing the curve. Your ass stuck out enticingly and he didn’t know whether to grab, squeeze, slap, or spread your cheeks apart and fuck your ass. 

He should leave. 

It was stupid of him to walk into your house with a box of plumbing tools to fix your shower when you hadn’t yet given him a date or time for it. Plus you were avoiding him. Running away with your little friends and picking up stuff to hide your face from his view. He was plenty sure that when he’d rung your doorbell, you weren’t always away from home. 

He should leave. 

Fixing the shower could wait. He could confront you some other day. 

But you were putting on such a pretty little show in nothing but your panties and he was only a man. A bad one. 

His boots stayed put on your hardwood floors as you enjoyed yourself in front of the mirror. You spread your knees and let your fingers between your thighs, eyes closed, lips parted and low whines escaping your lips in just a few minutes. He palmed his growing erection over his jeans, consequences of being caught be damned. He was a foul beast already. What bad was another sin on the list? Besides, you were the one who’d left the fucking door open. 

Your soft whimpers grew into moans as you brought yourself closer and he forced his feet to stay put despite their urge to walk up to you and give you something to really moan about. 

“Fuu– mmm Joel, pleeease.”

He let out a gasp, all his restraint flying out the window as soon as he heard his name from your lips. You couldn’t actually be doing this… There had to be another Joel in town. Younger, better looking, smarter.

Your voice grew needy and the pitch higher as you kept at it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Gimme it, Sir.” 

No, it couldn’t be anyone else. 

Joel toed his boots off and took quiet steps towards you, emboldened by the filth that spilled from your lips. If this old man was what you wanted, he wouldn’t stop himself from reaping the benefits. He wasn’t a goddamn saint. Never was. 

He stopped in front of you, surprised you still hadn’t sensed his presence. As though the universe heard his thoughts, it had you open your eyes. You gasped as soon as you saw him and buckled off the chair, but Joel caught you. You shuddered, unable to cope with the sudden touch. 

“J-Joel?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said, touching your cheek with the back of his hand. You whined, your body molding itself against his chest. You brought a hand to his arm, feeling the rock hard muscles underneath his sleeves and your other hand worked between your legs.  

Your fingers no longer felt adequate as you felt his large fingers on your cheek. “Want you, please,” you whined, desperate to return to the edge where you had been right before you saw him. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me…” he spoke dangerously, soft brown eyes clouded with a kind of desire you had longed to see in him for weeks. 

“Want you…want you to be with me,” you repeated stupidly, your desperation clouding your senses too much for you to say anything else. While in the past you only wanted to get rid of your virginity, your goals had become more specific with his arrival. You wanted him. You wanted his big hands and broad shoulders, to hold on to them as you rode him. To watch his grumpy expressions turn to ecstasy under you. 

“Tell me not to touch you,” he said, his tone low and almost threatening. Any other threat from him, you would’ve heeded. But not this one. 

“Touch me!” 

It was as though something in him snapped at your words. While darkness only loomed over him before, it now completely took over.The hand that previously only caressed your cheek now wrapped itself around your neck. Before you could completely process the move, his other hand slapped yours away. He replaced two of your puny fingers with his middle finger, eliciting a strained moan from you. 

“Touching yourself to a Playboy magazine, huh?” 

You only nodded, unable to form words now that a fantasy of yours had finally come to life.

“Dirty little thing…Thought you were a nice girl and all. Helpin’ out at the clinic, head buried in books all the time. Turns out you actually got your head in dirty magazines.” 

You whined, your pussy clenching and gushing around his finger at the way he was speaking to you. The same man who insisted on calling you Ma’am despite your protests was calling you a dirty girl now. The veil of respectability seemed to have floated away at the sight of you naked and pleasuring yourself. Had you known that this was all you needed to get Joel Miller to touch you, you would’ve done it much sooner.

He added another finger, the girth of him enough to stretch you more than you had done for yourself. You brought a hand up to his shoulder and fisted his shirt, needing something to anchor yourself to. 

“You ever been taken by a man, sweetheart?” He asked, his tone too cool and casual for what he was doing to you. You shuddered, partly from his phrasing– taken, he said. Taken. Like you were a thing. Like the women in the magazines positioned so uncomfortably just so their breasts could look a certain way for the picture. Printed on the cover page with the words Entertainment for Men written on top. You shook your head, feeling small as you confessed it for the first time. 

“Any man?” 

“N-no,” you managed to breathe out, whimpering at the way the bulge beneath his jeans twitched at your simple answer. He took a step to position himself behind you, letting you lean your back against his chest. The angle at which he touched your pussy changed, opening your world up to a wonderful new kind of pleasure. 

“A virgin. Pretty young things like you ain’t for men like me,” he whispered in your neck, making you shiver. His thumb roamed between your legs as far as they could reach, caressed you gently, his softness with you contradicting his warning about men like him. The hand around your neck slithered down your torso, cold air forcing you to face your new desire of having your breath kept hostage. 

He took your left breast in hand, squeezing the flesh like someone starved would hold on to a piece of bread. It felt more like a punctuation to the warning he issued than a part of sex. Just then, his thumb between your legs stopped its search, stopping a little above the fingers inside you.

A moan you didn’t recognize as yours at first filled the room and you buckled forward. Blunt nails sunk into the flesh of your breast as he saved you before you could fall. He hauled you back up, making you collide against his chest. 

You gasped and quickly grabbed the hand between your legs, the sensation too intense for you to know what to do with. His thumb kept on, rolling over something there that set your person on fire. 

“Fuuuck! Joel– I– I– hnnng–”

“I know, sweetheart,” he crooned, keeping at whatever the hell he was doing to make you feel this way. 

“Please… I don’t– what was that?” 

You felt his chest rumble before you heard his laughter. Heat rose to your face and your throat felt strained though there was no hand around it anymore. 

“Never touched your clit? Do you even know what that is?” He mocked, the cruelty somehow not repelling you from him. He forced you to look up at him. Your heart lurched at how close you were to his face. You could see every gray hair, every minute blemish and line.

“Don’t know your own fucking body but you want a man? You don’t know what you’re handing me on a silver platter. I ain’t like the other guys in town. I walked across the fucking country and lemme tell ya, there’s no pretty things like you out there. I’m starved.” 

“Take me, then,” you begged, using his own words from earlier. “Please. Whatever you– a-aaah!” 

He ramped up the pressure on that spot– your clit– and with it, took your ability to speak coherently. It was as though he’d done it on purpose. You hated it. To be so bereft of control. To be a puppet in someone’s hand. For someone to acquaint themselves with parts of you that you didn’t know of. But it was too much to fight, so you let go. Let him play with you. Take you. Like a thing.

You renounced control of your lips too, his name slipping out effortlessly like it did when he caught you. Then you renounced what was left of your dignity and began begging relentlessly. For what, you didn’t know. In his hand, you’d gone from woman to pupper, your strings pulled by a man, your voice now his. Sounds that would be indiscernible from that of a wounded animal emanated from somewhere deep within you. 

Perhaps none of this was real. Why else did your own voice grow so distant from you? Why did your vision become blurry? Your thighs shook uncontrollably and your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. Your eyes clenched shut, depriving you of your blurred vision. Your toes curled. You wanted to shrink into yourself, shrink away from all this goodness. You went higher and higher, soaring like a bird. Every nerve ending in your body felt electrified, awoken like one switch turned on every light on last winter’s Christmas tree. 

You let out a loud cry, the soaring bird in you reaching its peak before beginning its fall to the ground. You could hear your breaths again, labored but doing everything to stabilize itself. Your thighs still shook. Your chest rose and fell. A hand caressed your hand. Behind you, something strong supported your back. Kept you from falling backward. 

“Joel…” 

“I know, I know…” he whispered into your head. You opened your eyes and looked up at him, surprised to see a softer visage. He picked you up off the chair like you’d seen him lift giant logs before. With ease. You didn’t protest as he carried you. Didn’t protest when he laid you out on your bed. 

He bent down and picked something up. No questions, no instructions. He simply spread your leg away from the other. Cold air touched the gushing mess dripping out of you and you shivered, feeling a sudden need to cover yourself but unable to defy him. His hand was on your pussy again. His hardened, calloused fingers behind a soft fabric this time. He wiped upwards, collecting the mess he made out of you. When he lifted the fabric up, you realized it was your panties. 

He tucked it into the pocket of his jeans and then looked back at your face, the intensity of his gaze making you want to run. Problem was your weak legs wouldn’t take you anywhere. You didn’t screw your eyes shut. You didn’t pull your blanket to conceal yourself. You looked back at him, defiant. Like you were trying to prove something. I can handle a man like you. 

“Be a good girl from now.” 

That and a condescending pat on your pussy and he was gone.

⌘

Part 2

[moonxknightx]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : A SECOND CHANCE : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Hwang In-ho x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: Squid Game

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: Nothing major! mentions of [Y/N] (sorry), let’s pretend that for the storyline sake’s, everyone in the fanfic is speaking Korean

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: A story where In-ho falls in love with a girl who makes him feel alive again after he had sworn to himself to never love again.

Next part

IN-HO WAS IN LOVE. It felt strange, almost absurd. Love had been a foreign concept to him for so long, buried under years of bitterness and regret. After everything that happened with his wife, he had promised himself he would never feel that way again. Not for anyone. Love, he decided, was a weakness, a fissure in the armor he had painstakingly built around himself.

When his wife died, it shattered more than just his faith in relationships. It destroyed his faith in humanity as a whole. The games had only made his belief stronger that people were selfish creatures at their core, willing to do anything, betray anyone for survival. He had seen it all firsthand. desperation turning to violence, trust changing into treachery, and the raw, primal instincts that stripped people of their masks. He’d grown numb to it, the horror no longer shocking him, the blood no longer making him flinch. If love once held the power to warm him, it now only served as a warning tale, a reminder of how deeply pain could cut when you let someone in.

So he threw himself fully into the games, immersing himself in their structure and chaos, their cruel order. He told himself he had no room for anything else, no capacity for emotions beyond the cold logic of running the games. It was easier that way, easier to stay distant, detached, and invulnerable. Love was a distraction, and distractions were dangerous in his world.

That was until you entered his life.

Every wall he had built around himself crumbled the moment he laid his eyes on you and he hated it. He hated every little second of it. But what could he do? You were so kind and sweet.

It all started when In-ho returned to Seoul after the 33rd edition of the games was over. First he dropped Seong Gi-hun off somewhere on a sidewalk before he ordered the guard who was driving to drop him off at his apartment.

He was actually dreading to go back home. If he could even call it a ‘home’. He’d much rather stay on the island, but he was forced to go back to Seoul by his boss, Oh Il-nam.

The moment he stepped into his apartment, his heart ached. He tried his best to stay calm as he wandered around the small living space. After his wife died, he moved to a much smaller apartment, not seeing the need of having a bigger place for just himself.

When he walked into the kitchen, he realized that he needed to go grocery shopping as everything he had in his kitchen, had turned bad.

With a sigh he walked back to the front door. He checked if he had his wallet and keys before leaving the apartment.

While heading towards the store In-ho felt empty. He actually felt like he wasn’t alive. Nothing mattered to him anymore. Especially now he was away from the island.

He decided to go to a convenience store nearby as it was already well past midnight. In-ho groaned when he was met with the bright lights of the store as he walked towards the food section.

“Oh come on!”

In-ho looked up. He scanned his surroundings until his eyes fell on a woman trying to reach for something on the highest shelf. It was you.

“Why do i have to be so damn short!” You groaned to yourself while standing on your tippy toes. You were already standing on an empty crate, but you still couldn’t reach the top.

In-ho wanted to look away, but something about you pulled him in. Until he realized that you were staring at him.

“Hey sir? Would you mind helping me?” You asked while trying one more time to reach those instant noodles you so desperately craved.

You watched how the man quickly looked down. He tried to look busy, scanning some products with his eyes before grabbing a lollipop. You could see how the man internally cursed himself for grabbing such a random object.

“I know you heard me.” You said softly, not sounding at all angry. The man sighed to himself before making eye contact again.

“I’m really sorry for bothering you, but I really want those noodles and I can’t reach them. Would you be so kind to help me?” You asked with a slight smile.

In-ho wanted to walk away. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He cleared his throat, placed the lollipop back and walked towards you. “Which one do you want?” He asked while looking at the top shelf.

“That one please.” You pointed at the noodles you wanted and In-ho nodded, grabbed them and handed them to you. “Here you go.” In-ho tried to avoid making eye contact, but he failed when he accidentally looked into your eyes to see you giggling.

“You are really bad at this aren’t you?” You smiled as In-ho awkwardly stood in front of you. “At what?” He asked gruffly. “At being around other people, let alone helping them.” You said softly.

In-ho scoffed and looked away. You tried to hold back your smile as you jumped down the crate you were standing on. In-ho didn’t want to look, but he did. Even when you were standing on the crate, you were still a good amount shorter than him, but now that you were just standing on the floor, the difference only got bigger.

“Well thank you sir for helping me.” You gave In-ho one last smile before heading towards the cashier. In-ho blinked a few times before shrugging it off. He quickly grabbed the items he wanted before following after you.

Why did he feel the need to follow you?

When it was his turn to pay, you were already outside. You were trying to light a cigarette but your lighter wouldn’t work.

A small smile crept onto In-ho’s face as he looked at you and he hated every second of it.

Nonetheless, he was quick with paying for his groceries before walking out of the store. In-ho carefully took a few steps towards you, reaching in his pocket to pull out his own lighter.

“Here.” He said as he held the lighter in front of him. You quickly looked up to see the man again. You looked at his face and then at his hand.

“Thank you.” You said as you grabbed the lighter to light up your cigarette. “It’s nothing.” In-ho mumbled as he grabbed a pack of cigarettes out of his other pocket.

You handed the lighter back and watched how he used it to light his own cigarette before putting the lighter back in his pocket.

It was quiet for a moment. Both not really knowing what to say until you cleared your throat.

“My name is [Y/N].”

In-ho’s eyebrows shot up as he looked at you. Why would she introduce herself to me?

Suddenly he realized that you were staring at him, waiting for him to introduce himself as well.

“My name is In-ho.” He said awkwardly while scratching the back of his neck. “Well nice to meet you In-ho.” You smiled as you took a drag from your cigarette.

As In-ho looked at you for a moment, he suddenly realized that he didn’t feel so empty anymore. Was it you that did that? It had to be, what other reason did he have?

“You seem to be deep in thought.” You giggled. In-ho glanced at you which made you smile even more.

“God I thought that I was awkward!” You laughed. In-ho shot you a glare but when he saw you laughing he couldn’t help but crack a slight smile. And you noticed.

“Wow you can smile!” You joked making In-ho roll his eyes. He watched how you threw your cigarette on the ground and stood on it.

“Well I guess I wil see you around, In-ho.” You said softly as you started to head home. “Wait!” In-ho internally cringed at himself for saying something.

You turned around and looked at him. In-ho sighed before speaking. “It’s dangerous to walk alone this late.” He commented, causing you to smile. “Don’t worry, i’ve done it before.”

Why does she have to be so stubborn? In-ho thought to himself. “Let me walk with you.” You seemed surprised by his words and so did he. Why did i say that? “I was going to head that way anyway.” A lie. If In-ho wanted to go home, he actually needed to go in the opposite direction you were heading for. But you didn’t have to know that.

“If that’s true, then sure why not.” You said with a slight shrug and smile. In-ho threw his cigarette away as well and followed after you.

“You didn’t grow up here did you?” In-ho suddenly asked. You looked at your feet and smiled.

“Is it that noticeable?” You asked softly. In-ho lifted his shoulders and let out a deep breath. “You have a slight accent when you speak Korean.”

“Oh…” You said quietly, not sure of what to say now. In-ho quickly tried to think of something to say, not wanting you to feel uncomfortable. So without thinking he said,

“I think it’s rather cute.”

Fuck. Thought In-ho the moment those words left his mouth. Your head shot up at his remark and In-ho quickly looked away.

“I mean…” In-ho stopped talking when he heard you laughing. He slowly turned his face towards you. “You are really, really bad at this.”

In-ho tried his best not to smile, why would he? He had not one reason in his life to smile right now. But somehow he just couldn’t help the way his lips moved on it’s on into a small smile. For a second time! What was happening to him?

“Here this way.” You said as you tugged on In-ho’s sleeve, pulling him into a small alleyway that led to your apartment building.

In-ho let himself be pulled by you and soon enough the two of you had arrived at your apartment.

“Can I have your phone?” You asked suddenly. In-ho raised his eyebrows while giving you a questioning look.

“Please.” You smiled. In-ho didn’t want to give his phone to you. So he had no idea how it ended up in your hands. Did I really just gave her my phone?

You held his phone in front of his face to unlock it and immediately went to his contacts. In-ho watched how you clicked on ‘add a new contact.’ He saw how you wrote down your number and added your name at the top.

Then he watched with wide eyes how you handed him his phone back. “Give me a call sometime.” You smiled at him. In-ho said nothing.

“Thank you for walking me home, In-Ho.” Was all you said before entering your apartment complex, leaving In-ho outside at a loss for words.

“What the...” He mumbled as he suddenly came to his senses and looked down at his phone, staring at your number.

He wasn’t going to call you. He didn’t want to. What would even be the point? He didn’t want friends and he sure as hell didn’t want to fall in love. He had sworn that to himself.

But then why the hell did he call you the next day?

(A/N): I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS FANFIC!! I FEEL LIKE TUMBLR NEEDS WAY MORE SOFT IN-HO CONTENT, SO WHY NOT DO IT MYSELF?

I’M ACTUALLY PRETTY EXCITED ABOUT THIS FANFIC SO I MIGHT MAKE A PART TWO

WHAT DO YOU ALL THINK?

[aegis-noctua]

Allow me to finally break and enter this fandom with my humble offering!

I just wanted to do something with them all being good friends. Love, love, love their group dynamic! Also I have like 20+ pages worth of silly little dialogs that I want to turn into equally silly little comics, so hopefully I'll be sticking around.

Aaand a lot of rambling under the cut.

I'm an avid reader, you see. I generally don't watch things (sometimes not in literal years), it's just not something I do. So when at the beginning of fall tumblr exploded with outrage over the Dead Boy Detectives cancellation, my first thought genuinely was "what a stupid f*cking name" and then immediately "people are overreacting, it's just a series, nothing is worth that much of a fuss". But after observing for some time from a safe distance I eventually grew curious. I thought I knew what I was getting into.

(I had no bloody idea)

Well. Here I am now, almost four months of obsession later, eating my words with shards of glass and no sign of reaching the bottom of this cursed rabbit hole. I've been drawing more than ever and for the first time seriously thinking about honing my artistic skills. I have some drafts for at least two stories, and even though I'm a little hesitant to write (not being a native and all), I'm pretty determined to give it a go anyway. I tend to avoid social media and digital public spaces in general, but #SaveDeadBoyDetectives campaign changed that as well. To my great regret, there is not much I can do or participate in, so I settled for trying to be supportive of all the lovely people who created probably the safest and most comfortable online space I've ever encountered. I'm not as good as Charles at keeping spirits up, but damn I wanna try.

It honestly feels like if I had something like dbda growing up, I'd turn out at least 40% less traumatized as a person. It grew to mean so much so quickly. It's like some moments were plucked right out of my life and then embedded in the show. I felt (and still feel) so seen, and understood, and reassured, and safe, and hopeful, and accepted when watching (pretty much everybody's but especially) Edwin's side of the story. It's so much more than "just a series", and these Dead Boys deserve every good word that's being said about them.

Okay, I'm wrapping it up now, and the only thing left to say is thank you to all the people who put their effort into keeping this wonderful story alive and making the fandom so friendly and welcoming.

(right now I'm working on a big Christmas comic that I definitely won't be able to finish in time, but it will appear here at some point)

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: Simon is struggling, he can't get off and he doesn't know what to do. As his sergeant you are one of the closest to him and can see something is up. An impromptu visit late one night might just be what he needs... And the way you are suddenly making him bow to your authority and turning his brain off might actually make him come.

Word Count: 6.2 k

Warnings:

Part 2 - Read Here

Lt. Simon Riley is frustrated out of his mind and he’s no longer able to hide it. 

Something inside the stoic officer is causing him problems as a recent development makes him unable to reach the finish line when he’s touching himself, a secret that is causing a mental roadblock to his release… and he knows it’s making him a nightmare to be around. 

Being his sergeant, the second in command and one of the few people closest to him, you are the first to notice the shift in his personality. Simon Riley has always been a man of very few words, but lately he’s been even more silent when it comes to everyone else, except for you. Every time you two speak he is short and harsh and blunt as if you are getting on his last nerve. It strikes you as strange since you’re not doing anything out of the ordinary from how you’ve interacted before.

Then there is his temper which seems to be on a shorter and shorter fuse these days as a week turns into a week and a half of no change in his attitude. Mix that with the visible tension he is carrying in his shoulders whenever you are near and it’s hard to ignore how drastic things have shifted.

Something is up, though exactly what it is you aren’t sure, but you are curious to find out and nip this shit in the bud so things can go back to the way they were before: you two being able to interact in a friendly manner. 

It is the weekend of the nearly third full week this has been going on when you finally decide that enough is enough. The last couple of days he’s avoided you almost exclusively and that is it; whatever it is that has gotten between you is going to be hashed out here and now. Determinedly, under the cover of darkness at this late hour, you make your way to his room with the intention of staying until this entire thing has been fixed.

Simon sits alone in his quarters with his hand shoved into the waistband of his sweats, his hand palming around his cock, stroking up and down in hopes that this will finally be the time his body does what it’s supposed to. Things are progressing fine…that is until he is abruptly interrupted out of nowhere. 

There is a knock on his door and it rings through the room; who the hell could be so bold as to bother him at this time of night just when he is about to give this thing another try? Releasing himself, he straightens up his clothing and grabs his mask, putting it on as he stalks over to the door ready to lay into whoever is standing on the other side. He savagely flings it open and immediately he can feel his blood rushing until he can hear his pulse pounding in his ears at who he comes face to face with.

“Do’ya know what fuckin’ time it is?” he questions agitatedly as he stares back into your unwavering gaze.

Nodding in acknowledgement, you try to let his bad attitude slide; your mission isn’t going to be deterred just cause he wants to instantly get pissy. “Are you going to let me in or not?” you throw your own question back at him with a huff. 

He weighs his options in silence as you stand in the shadow of his door waiting for him to react and after a few seconds he reluctantly decides that he can’t just keep you waiting outside; he isn’t foolish enough to think that if he just shuts the door that you will go away. There are too many prying eyes that could see something if he doesn’t act and he doesn’t need any of the bullshit that could come from someone catching anything. Stepping aside, he allows you to enter into the room. 

“Shut the door,” he barks and you make sure it is secure before turning back to face him. You may have been permitted to enter, but the space right in front of the door is about as far as you can go as his body blocks you from moving in further, keeping you stuck between him and the exit.

“What the hell are ya doin’ ‘ere?” he asks. 

Staring back up into his eyes, you survey the curious look through his agitated glare. There is something there sparking in their depths, an unspoken need of something that he is longing for, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. “You’ve been in a mood lately towards me and people are starting to notice,” you admit after a moment. “What’s going on, hmm?”

Simon diverts his gaze from your scrutinizing one. “ ‘is nothin’,” he says hastily, not ready to confess to you the cause of his frustration. It’s not exactly something he wants to go revealing to everyone…especially not to the source of the problem. 

Just from his reaction you know it’s definitely not nothing and his lie falls flat without gaining any traction. 

“Well something has gotten into your craw,” you say as you lean your back against the door with your arms crossed across your stomach; you can’t move so you might as well get comfortable as you hash this out. “Whatever it is that you think I’ve done that’s gotten you in a foul mood at me, if you’ll just tell me, we can figure this out cause we can’t go on like this; it’s going to affect our work.”

All he wants to do is listen to your words, but his attention is being drawn somewhere else besides your face and it is getting hard to pull his eyes away. Why the fuck did you have to wear that god damn tank top? Christ it’s so tight he can make out the contours of your body without even having to try and at his height all he has to do is look down to have the perfect view of the top of those juicy tits popping out of the top. Not to mention your jeans which look to be painted on to your every curve. There is a stirring in his pants, the first signs of life between his legs. It’s getting harder to tell you that you should go.

“Not exactly somethin’ I wanna talk ‘bout,” he says hesitantly as he adjusts his stance so that the fabric of the long, gray sweatpants he has on won’t reveal anything.

“Come on,” you say, trying to appeal to the small bond you had before all this, “you know you can trust me. All I want to do is figure out what I’ve done so we can move on.”

This isn’t your fault and Simon knows it isn’t fair to put this on you as if it is. As much as he doesn’t want to admit anything, he knows that it will only make things fester more if he doesn’t say something, and all he has right now is the truth.  “Ya haven’t done anything,” he denies your culpability in his actions. 

“Then what?” You wait patiently for his reply.

He clears his throat. “Look, I’ve jus’ been havin’ a fuckin’ time… Christ… tryin’ to … uh… get off lately,” he grumbles as he begrudgingly admits to his predicament. “Some god damn mental block that’s got me…unable to…”

The sentence trails off with a displeased sigh of defeat, but in all honesty he doesn’t have to keep going; just from that tiny bit of information you can glean what’s going on, why he’s been so on edge, and what he is going to need to fix it. 

Simon needs to come.  

“Seems like something I could help with,” you say as the corner of your lip upturns slightly at the thought. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I would have come over; it’s not like… you know… we haven’t done things before.”

There is a pause. “Thought we agreed that those were just to let off a little steam and we were just gonna leave it be,” he says in that low, gravely tone that instantly has goosebumps prickling over your skin. 

Simon has you there; a couple quick, adrenaline-fueled rounds behind the mess hall after a few high stress missions doesn’t make you two actual lovers, but that also doesn’t mean those meetings meant nothing…or that you would deny any chance you could get to have him again.  You just can’t ever say no to him. 

Besides, he should know that this is something you would be doing for the greater good, right? A distracted lieutenant could mean trouble for the entire team, not just you. So, if getting him off will keep him from being distracted it is worth it; that’s a good enough reason for you to remedy this.

But how? 

There are several things you know about your superior officer and one of them that stands out among the rest in this situation is that he always has to be in control of everything in all aspects of his life. What if you took away some of that power? He says he feels like there is a mental block keeping him from climaxing, what if you just shut off his brain for a bit? Make the dominant become the dominated.

Simon was the one to turn your brain off those times past, perhaps it is time to return the favor. Mental blocks won’t be a problem if he is an overstimulated mess.

With a small thrust you push off the door and stand up to take a few steps closer towards him, drawing the distance between your bodies down to just a few inches. “Don’t you want to feel good, Simon?”

“Don’t know if this is a good idea, luv...” he still tries to deny himself even as he catches a whiff of your scent, that natural musk mixed with your perfume that drove him to lose his head those other times, and the fragrance conjures memories of the past that only make his pulse race more heatedly through his veins. He wants to come and he can’t deny that he wants it with you, but if he gives in and allows you to do this it may only make things worse.

You smirk and shake your head as you reach out to grab playfully at the drawstring hanging down the front of his gray sweatpants, lightly tugging on it so that the fabric puckers up. “That isn’t what I asked, Simon. Good idea or bad, that doesn’t matter right now. Do you want to feel good?”

Fuck, how pent up he’s been and with you standing here enthusiastically pushing to help get him off, how in the hell is he supposed to turn you away when now all he can think about is wanting to fuck you until neither of you can move? He knows this is a bad idea, but is unable to stop himself as gives in to your question with a short bob of his head up and down. 

“Jus’ somethin’ ta take the edge off,” he says with a hint of desperation. 

“Then let me fix that…my way,” you say as you shove him backwards towards the small sofa you see he has sitting up against the wall a few feet from the door. 

Large, greedy hands begin to fill themself with your body before he’s even sat down, but that won’t do. That is still giving him too much authority. Simon is bigger than you and if you want to be the one to dominate this hulk of a man you are going to have to cut off his ability to use his body to his advantage.

“Hands off,” you bark as you take a step away. 

You can see the immediate shift in your superior. Simon has seen you work with the new recruits and he knows the way you lead and how it demands respect, but being on the other end of it catches him unprepared on how to react and he stops dead in his tracks. 

Giving him a second to calm down you step back in towards him. “This is no longer in your hands as doing it your way hasn’t seemed to work this far. What I think you need is for someone to turn that serious fucking brain of yours off for a bit and that’s what I plan to do. So, here’s how this is gonna go: you are going to keep your hands to yourself and use your words while I play for a bit or I’ll just call it a night and leave and you’ll be back to square one. Understood?”

Simon remains silent, unsure of where his voice has gone as he can suddenly hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. What is happening? In an instant the tables have fucking turned and everything he has known is flipped on its head. He isn’t used to giving away any bit of his control to anyone, especially not like this, but god damn does he have to admit that the visceral reaction he has to the way you are standing firm on giving him orders has his cock twitching as it stiffens. 

He doesn’t know exactly what is happening inside him, but he wants you to keep going.

Standing there lost in the assault on his sanity, he isn’t aware you’ve moved until you have your hands under the edge of his mask and holding tight you pull it up off his stark features, discarding it to the floor before grabbing his chin and bringing his head down to make him focus on you again. Suddenly he can’t seem to intake enough air.  

“I said, is that understood?” you ask again, with more firmness this time. “I’m gonna need you to say it - out loud.”

He swallows to coat the dryness scratching his throat. “Yes, understood,” he confirms.

You smirk. “Good. Now, take a seat Simon.”

Maybe this is something he needs after all; you’ve barely done anything and yet he’s chomping at the bit to have more. He desperately wants you to stay and he will do whatever it is to make that happen. Taking his seat on the sofa he places his hands on either side of his thighs against the cushion before looking back up at you with those warm, golden eyes expectantly.

“See, I knew you’d be good at this. You’re already doing so well for me just like the good little soldier you are, following my orders perfectly,” you approve and his stomach flutters at your praise.    

Those dilated pupils track your form as you step up to the edge of the sofa and grab onto his knees, pushing them apart as you lower yourself down between them. Your eyes look straight ahead to the place you want to start at, that broad area just beneath his shirt. 

“I think this needs a bit of attention, don’t you?” you ask as you pull your hands off his knees and bring them up without waiting for a reply.

Your hands splay open-fingered and wide across his chest, palms flush with his muscles as you drag them slowly down the rigid peaks and valleys of his abdomen over the soft fabric of his thin sleeveless undershirt until you can feel his pulse quickening under your fingertips. Reaching the hem along the bottom, you lift it up to reveal the broad girth of his torso: those beefy muscles lightly decorated with a thin layer of hair that travels down into the waistband of his sweatpants, a guiding path straight down to the final object of your mission. 

You lean in as you lower your head down and he inhales sharply before holding his breath as soft contact is made from just your mouth with all that toasty, smooth flesh just below his belly button, caressing your lips against him repeatedly until his skin tingles. He jerks under the connection as you stick out your tongue and place the pad against him to run it around the indention right in the middle of his lower abdomen. 

And suddenly he is vibrating under your lips as if he has been touched with a live wire. Every single embrace of your mouth leaves him reeling in the heat of pleasure until he feels like a puddle in your capable hands.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he groans with a hiss as he looks down to maintain eye contact as you move up the length of his trunk with your licking and kissing and biting at his sensitive body, leaving a trail of heat everywhere your mouth touches. He knows you can feel his cock stabbing against your chest as you lean further over his body to get at his sides, but there is nothing to help it now.

Sharp teeth trail deliciously painful across his meaty hips like a razor blade over all that beautiful skin and old scars that are still a little numb and add an entirely new sensation to the mix. His abdominals clench under your bite as he takes in quick, short breaths until he is panting as your yearning mouth latches onto the thick of his hip as you suck in the muscles and bite down. Small grunts echo from his lips as you tease and tease his body until Simon can’t help writhing under you as he gets lost in the way you make him feel.  

One of his large hands leaves the cushions involuntarily and palms the back of your head, fingers gathering the strands of your hair in the spaces between them to guide you as you move up his body, but unfortunately for him you are going to have to stop; he’s broken your rule by touching and you aren’t going to continue until he’s been reprimanded. 

“What did I say about those hands?” you scold with your lips still against him before you pull away, the immediate lack of pressure making him antsy for you to come back.

Jerking his shirt off his torso to get the damned thing out of your way, your eyes dart around the room in search of something you can use to prevent him from disobeying again and it doesn’t take long for them to land on his leather belt just a few feet away. Reaching and scooping it up, you turn back and immediately hold your hand out to him. 

“Sit forward and give them to me. Now.” you demand and Simon is compelled to follow your every word as if he has been placed under a trance, more and more eager to see where this leads. 

Quickly you gather his wrists together behind his back and wrap the belt around them, slipping it through the buckle and pulling taut so they are bound together, but not too tight. You set the strap under him so he is forced to sit on the tail to keep him from being able to free himself. Satisfied with his restraints you rise to your feet and move yourself over him, kneeling into the cushion so that you are straddling his lap and sitting on top of his wide thighs, his cock resting between your knees. 

“No touching,” you reiterate and he repeats the phrase, desperate to not have you stop again.

“No touching.”

“Good boy,” you say the moniker and hear the second he stops breathing as his eyes glaze over.

Never has anyone ever called him that before so it isn't until this moment that he knows what it's like and it triggers some innate part of his brain that now craves your praise as if he has always been starved for it. If his cock was tenting his pants before, it is nothing compared to now. Keep this up and he may come before he ever gets inside you.

Oh he likes that, does he? you think as you watch him completely fall apart at two silly little words. Best make sure to keep that in your back pocket to use again. 

Everywhere you place kisses begins to burn until it feels like he’s on fire by the time you reach his chest and latch your hand around the back of his head, your fingers making the short hair tingle across his scalp. Brown eyes flit down to your lips as if willing them towards his face; he desperately needs to taste them, press his lips tight against them over and over until they are raw.

Yet you won’t give in to his soundless pleas. Denial is making him overwhelmed with the nature of his desire and soon his mouth is aching for you to break and give him what he wants. Instead, you tilt his head away from you so that your lips can connect with the feverish skin of his neck. 

The sensation of his pulse racing violently against the skin of your mouth is intoxicating. Knowing that you are the one causing nerve ends to spark to life makes you feel powerful; that strong, stoic man is falling apart at the simplest touch. This must be what it’s like to be at the top and you cannot get enough. Never did you think you would have it in you, but now that you are here you can’t get over the euphoria of it all.

His neck is a mess by the time you’ve finished your work and you release him from under your teeth to lean back and admire how pretty he looks with your marks covering him to the sound of his heavy, ragged breathing. As your sight is drawn back to his eyes, you can see the depth of his desperate need swimming there as his slightly parted lips beckon you towards them.  

Leaning against his chest, you bring your mouth closer until the space between your lips is only enough to force you to share air. His cock twitches against your leg as your lips ghost over his, but not giving in yet. 

“What do you want?” you ask barely above a whisper.

Simon can feel the warmth of your breath on his lips as you speak and it is driving him insane. The ghost of your kiss can be felt across his mouth until the skin there is burning for you to break the tension.  “Fuckin’ kiss me,” he says, his voice husky and dry with a slight rasp at the end. 

You catch his gaze and smile with your eyes. “How bad do you need it, Lieutenant Riley? I want to hear the ache in your voice as you tell me just how much you want me.”

Biting his lip, he takes a calming breath that does nothing to the heavy pulsating beat of his heart. “I’m fuckin’ burnin’ alive,” he admits, a tremble in the start of his sentence. “Achin’ something’ fierce to taste ya again just like the last time. God damn ya tasted so fuckin’ good, sweatheart. Fuck, I need ta feel your lips on mine ‘fore I pass out.”

God, he wishes he could break his restraints and get at your lips, but with your combined body weight securing the strap beneath you both there’s no way he can pull it out; he’s been trying, struggling with the leather and getting nowhere.

Your lips are so close he can almost taste you and yet still so far that it physically hurts that they are not on him. He leans in closer, but you are quick to pull back so that he cannot even brush against them. His body squirms under the overwhelming tension of it all as you keep your mouth just out of reach.

“Tell me, because I’m curious,” you ask in a breathy whisper, “do you ever think about us fucking? Have you ever touched yourself to the memory of it?”

Cocky looks beautiful on you and Simon hardly knows what to do with himself. He bites the inside of his mouth in hopes that the pain will force him back from the brink of insanity, but he is no longer sane enough to even register anything other than the hazy euphoria course through his body like wildfire. You could ask him anything at this moment and he is so strung out that the only thing he can do is answer honestly just so you will give him what he needs. 

“I…t-think ‘bout ya all the fuckin’ time,” he stammers out. “Don’t even know how many fuckin’ times I’ve stroked to the thought… I could even still remember the way ya feel wrapped around me for a while after, but lately the memory’s faded. That’s why…”

His hesitation drives you to believe that this is something significant. “Keep going,” you demand as your thumb strokes over the corner of his mouth over the remnants of a faded scar that leads down his jaw. 

A strong throb through his cock, a product of his pounding heart, makes him choke on his words. “T-that’s why I can’t get off alone anymore,” he grunts through his heavy breaths. “And it has me fuckin’ outta my mind. Thought I’d not get another chance to feel ya again… and so I’ve been strugglin’.”

Now it all makes sense why all his aggression was directed solely at you: he had to be near the one thing he desperately wanted, but he thought he wouldn’t get to have anytime soon. It was eating him alive and he couldn’t relieve any of the pressure from it. Something about the way his needy voice hits your ears causes a stirring between your legs as your clit pulses.

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” you praise. “Now, how about we fix that, yeah? Give you a taste of what you’ve been missing.” 

The building anticipation is more than enough to kill as you finally break the tension and collapse your lips together with so much passion that his eyes are rolling back in his head as stars sparkle behind his closed lids. You taste a sweet as he remembers and he cannot get enough. Time doesn’t exist anymore as the moist warm air from your breath mixes in his mouth, the urgent connection of your lips making them sting from the friction, the heat between your bodies making him pant.

That mouth of his is insatiable, stealing all the sloppy, frantic kisses that you allow him to have until your lips are burning from the abrasion. He barely remembers his own name by the time you finally pull back from him; all he knows is that you’ve stopped and it has left him feeling so fucking empty. 

His eyes beg you to come back to his lips, but you have something planned that might take his mind off the absence of your mouth for just a moment. “Lean forward,” you instruct, “I need to get these pants off of me and I want you to be the one to undo them… with your teeth.”

There is not a moment of hesitation or a word that needs to be said as Simon dutifully complies with eager movements as he leans to rest his forehead against your lower abdomen, his teeth heading straight for the button on the waistband of your jeans. Grabbing onto the fabric, he pulls it into his mouth and secures it with his teeth as he tugs and uses his tongue to unhook the metal before he catches the zipper and pulls the tab all the way down. 

You aren’t going to be able to keep this up much longer, not with how you can already feel that familiar warmth growing in the pit of your stomach as a damp heat gathers between your legs. Even in a position of submission he still makes your clit ache and as much as you are edging him, the denial is working on you as well.

Placing your hand on the center of his chest you shove him back down into the sofa so you can  remove your jeans painstakingly slow off your legs, doing the same to his sweats before climbing back on top of his lap to again straddle over him so that only a few thin fibers keep you apart. Your panty-covered pussy pushes down against the swollen tip of his cock straining against his boxers and you can feel the precum coating the tip soaking through the fabric as you press even harder over it. 

Those thick limbs of Simon’s tense with an overwhelming need to touch, to feel your soft skin under his rough, coarse hands, to cling to all those deliciously full curves and every minute that passes only makes that need grow in intensity. There are no more thoughts, only sensations that overwhelm his consciousness now. You’ve edged him to the brink of insanity; his cock is so hard that he swears he is going to shred through his boxers if you don’t stop. He has to get at you.

You start to roll your hips over him in rhythmic waves, stimulating your clit off his tip until you are both a mess, and he jerks against the leather of the belt keeping him secure as if trying to break free. It’s time; he’s ready to be set loose. 

Again you capture his chin in your grip and bring his face in close. “I can see you are trying to break free. What do you want?” you breathe the fierce words onto his lips. “Say it.”

“L-let me touch ya,” he pleads with what little dignity he has left, still struggling against his restraints.

You grind your pussy harder onto the stiff peak tenting his underwear and Simon grunts deep in his throat as his hips desperately rut against you to produce as much friction as he can. “But your groans are so pretty,” you moan as you roll your hips over him again and again. “Maybe I just want to keep you making good music for longer.” 

Simon lets his head fall back as his eyes flutter closed; he cannot hold back those deep, guttural sounds that want to escape, summoned from the way you are grinding against him. “Christ baby, I need ta fuck ya,” he groans loudly into the silence with his mouth hanging agape. 

Your pathetic little lieutenant, he does look amazing as a whimpering mess.

“You’ve done so good for me, Si,” you smirk, “I think you’ve earned your freedom.”

You get up on your knees and he lifts himself enough that you can wrench the belt out from under him and loosen the strap and he quickly pulls his hands out. They’ve barely been free for more than a few seconds before he is wrapping them around the sides of your face to aggressively drag it in so that he can overwhelm your mouth completely with his, taking the entirety of your lips and pressing his face against yours so hard that it hurts. 

“God dammit, I’m gonna fuckin’ fill ya until ya can’t take anotha god damn inch,” he growls as he drives his fingertips into the bulk of your hips as he picks you up, carries you the few feet to his bed, and flips your onto your back to pin your smaller body down to the mattress with his as he crawls over top of you. 

Wasting no time he reaches between your thighs and laces his fingers through the seam of your damp panties and rips them to the side out of his way as he shimmies his down just under the curve of his ass so that he can get his cock out. 

“Can ya feel how fuckin’ hard I am?” he snarls as he aligns the head of his phallus with your entrance. “Ya see what you’ve done ta me? I’m a god damn mess. Now you’re gonna take it.”

“Yes, give it to me,” you beg, letting your tough facade fall away as you let him take the reins. “Make me take it, all of it.”

He prods against the tight opening as he readies to strike through and with a strong thrust he is inside you down to the base of his cock, the taut stretch around him that molds your walls to his shape nearly making him come just from the pressure alone. His eyes stay locked onto the point where he disappears inside your body as he waits to be able to watch it slide in and out.

“That’s it, baby. Fill me,” you cry out in adulation as that thick, veiny muscle stretches you out wide and fast, the pressure forcing your thighs to clench hard around his hips. Your fingers grip into his shoulder blades as you hold on for dear life, nails digging into his flesh as your body harshly adjusts to accommodate his girth.

Simon is trembling, struggling to regain some composure through the ragged breaths he takes. “God, I missed this so fuckin’ much,” he groans breathlessly and with such need that it gnaws away at your stability. “So tight, so wet, fuckin’ hell…”

It isn’t until he has calmed enough to start thrusting again that he realizes your hands are clinging to his back and now that he is in control again he rips them off and brings them up to keep your wrists restrained above your head, taking the opportunity to violently kiss your mouth and steal your breath away. 

“My turn… no touching,” he snarls into your open mouth in mockery of your demands earlier. Two can play at this game and fuck does he want to return the favor. 

His rough, hard thrusts shudder through the length of your body, shaking the bed along with you as his hips slam into yours while he punctuates each one with a loud grunt. He thrusts so hard it shoves his cock so deep into you he is nearly hitting the back of your cervix.

“God, ya feel so fuckin’ good,” his voice quavers as the pressure welling deep inside at the base of his spine radiates out through his limbs and threatens to burst at any moment. 

It is a glorious mess that he becomes the longer he thrusts, drooling over your body as he can hardly function, going blind and delirious at the feeling of those tight, silky walls sucking him and fluttering around him. Those rough thrusts become more sloppy as his abdominals contract, his full body clenching as he grapples with holding on for as long as possible. The gauntlet of edging you put him through earlier leaves him in agony now.

“Keep your pace and come for me, baby,” you coax him through it. “Be a fucking good boy and come for me. I need to know I’m the one that can make you fall apart.”

Your mind is all static now, so lost on Simon’s cock that you cannot stand it. You are close, so close that it won’t take much more for you to come if he keeps this up and what better way to end this than to make him orgasm from the feeling of your walls clenching around him?  

You focus everything on letting go and keeping silent so that the moment it happens he is taken by surprise and he will not be able to brace for it. Thrust after thrust he is trying to hold on to make sure you get yours, but he is losing it fast. Then out of nowhere your body shudders as you cry out and suddenly your body is squeezing him so tight that he can’t stop violently falling over the edge.

A roar is released from within his chest, his body writhing as he holds on to your waist for dear life while he hurriedly pries his cock out of you just as he burst his warm load all over your thighs, coating them in the sticky, milky white fluid. You grab onto his cock to stroke everything out as he trembles and grunts like a wild animal until he is dry and spent and only then do you let him go.

You melt like a puddle into the mattress as he finally pulls himself out from between your legs and falls down beside you, exhaustion flooding his body. Weeks of buildup have finally come to an end with an explosion. He turns to you, vision hazy as he relishes in the ecstasy of his high, and strokes your delicate cheek carefully with his rough fingers.

“Better than your hand, yeah?” you laugh, out of breath and dizzy from the flood of adrenaline and he chuckles along with you.

Simon’s body is still vibrating through the drunken stupor making his mind numb as he leans up onto his elbow as he pulls you against his chest so that he can connect your mouths again in a kiss that feels a lot like a thank you. With his mouth barely broken free of yours, you hear his whisper against your lips.

“I’m gonna need ya to do that again. ‘Cept next time, I wantcha ta fuckin’ make me really beg for it.”

Oh, I think you can definitely do that.

[averagewriter-inthedark]

SFW Alphabet (A-N) - MCU!Johnny Storm 🔥| Marvel Headcanon

The teaser literally just dropped this morning 💀 but I've loved the FF and JS since 2005, and the FF fandom has been starved. This is for y'all 💌 Happy Fantastic (February) Four Day!!

Marvel Masterlist 💌 O-Z for Johnny here

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Johnny is very affectionate to the point it is almost suffocating but endearing. He enjoys showing you off and making it known he's in a committed relationship--especially after garnering a reputation that said otherwise. He'll shower you with compliments, wink at you when you enter a room to make you blush. When you have to present something to the Fantastic Four Johnny is openly checking you out unapologetically that'll have you using every muscle to not stumble over your words.

He shows it in actions that make your heart race. Proving that Johnny listens when you tell him something even if it does not seem important at the time. You'll find flowers on your nightstand, but you'll see that your favorite snacks and drinks have been stocked when they run low and you haven't had time to go shopping. If you leave a basket of clean laundry on the bed but then had to run to the lab for an emergency, you'll come back to find it folded and put away in its respected places. Small touches as he passes by you. Either letting his hand drift across your lower back or hooking his pinkie finger with yours.

B = Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Johnny is that best friend where people are surprised you are, but it somehow just works. Besides the constant bickering and threatening to throw each other off Baxter Building, you and Johnny know you'd run in the line of bullets for each other. There are jokes between you that the rest of the Four don't understand--which can be annoying when debriefing or in the middle of a presentation. But again, he's your ride or die and you're his.

The friendship would start when you were employed at Baxter Building. You were visibly annoyed during a meeting in which the Four and the department you worked for were present and the head of your department kept undermining the data you gathered that was crucial for a project the teams were working on. Johnny saw this and stood up for you, telling the department head that without the data they'd be at a loss, and he needed to make sure everything was consistent. Afterwards he introduced himself and you two went over the files and before you knew it you were friends with the flying, fire wielding man.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Say the word cuddle and Johnny is throwing you over his shoulder to haul you either to the couch or bed, whichever is closer, and taking you prisoner in his arms. This man loves a good cuddle and thrives on the feeling of your skin against his. Once his body hits the bed/couch and he's comfy do not expect him to leave for hours. And if you need to pee you'll just have to wait or physically pry yourself from him to which you'd receive groans of discontent.

Johnny prefers holding you as the big spoon but dabbles in being the little spoon from time to time. That usually takes place after a long day or a mission gone array where Johnny is still feeling the effects of nearly losing his life or the people he cares about. You'll hold him close; his head pressed against your chest and lull him asleep with the gentle beat of your heart. "I got you, baby, I've got you. You're safe now."

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?) 

He definitely sees himself settling down in the near future. Probably when the Fantastic Four have reached a period where they can relax and be able to settle without the fears of it backfiring. but make no mistake, this man sees and needs you in his future. He wants the whole shebang and if that means leaving the Four then he'll do it.

This man can cook and he knows how to clean up after himself. You'll wake up to him making breakfast or coming back from the lab to find the most gourmet looking meal prepared. "What's all this for, hotshot? Don't tell me I forgot an important date?" "There does need to be an occasion for me to cook for my lover. Now bring your sweet ass over here before it gets cold." And you never have to worry about a dirty apartment. Johnny makes sure it is in pristine condition. Of course you do your part and if you happen to have the day off and he's working then you tidy the place. But it's nice to live with someone who values a clean home just as much as you.

E = Ending (if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Johnny breaking up with you would likely because you were in danger. A villain they were dealing with had discovered you, threatened your life, and Johnny could not live with himself if something happened to you. So he did the only thing he could and that was to break both of your hearts by ending things. There'd be tears, yelling, and you'd fight with him on it. Insisting that you'd be better off with him than without."

"I don't understand, Johnny--you said you love me!" "I do love you! So much that I'm doing this so you can live without the fear of being killed because I made enemies with the wrong person." "All this does is make me vulnerable. You want me safe? Then stay by my side because they are just waiting for us to be apart to actually do something."

F = Fiancé(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

He's already got the ring picked out 💀 Expect to be proposed within the first year of dating because Johnny WILL put a ring on it.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Surprisingly Johnny is very gentle with you. His touch is light, his words are soft. He'll sit and listen when you vent to him about work and people in your life who've pissed you off. He'll tend to you on days you're sick and encourage you to do the things you love.

On your bad days, where you feel like the world is out to get you, Johnny will run you a bubble bath and cook your favorite meal. He'll sit on the edge of the tub to wash your hair, hold you while you cry, and dress you before carrying you to the bed for some cuddles until sleep overtakes you. Despite the powers that make him rival the sun, Johnny is a teddy bear who will put you first above all else.

H = Hugs (do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Of course he likes hugs, in fact he craves them. You'll be at your desk working, in the lab, or making food when Johnny will come up behind and wrap his arms around you. Perching his chin on your shoulder while you work simply because he wants to hold you.

I = I love you (how fast do they say the L-word?)

Look, this man is a simp and when he's in love he makes it known. So he probably thought it within the first month of dating, but did not say it until you made it to three for fear of saying it too fast and causing everything to crumble. But once you both say it is like a weight lifted off his shoulder and Johnny is shouting it from the terrace of Baxter Building.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He'll never outright admit but he gets jealous. Who could blame him when he has a catch like you and everywhere you go there are people trying to flirt with you and get under his skin. When this happens he'll usually go quiet and glare at the person, but his frustration is never at you. He knows better than that and understands jealousy is something he needs to work on. Honestly it flatters you, and you can't help but tease him, bringing his mouth to yours in a possessive, passionate kiss. "Take that frown off your face, hotshot. You know I only have eyes for guys made of fire.'

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Kisses with Johnny take your breath away. They are soft and tender. Sometimes rough and sloppy when tensions rise and the fire in his veins mixed with the love for you consumes him. He'll pull you close, leaving no room for you to escape, cupping the back of your head while cradling you as he kisses you until you have to break for air.

Johnny's favorite places to kiss you, besides your lips, is your jaw and neck. He'll trail his mouth along every bit of skin it can find and nibble when he's feeling frisky causing you to erupt in a heap of giggles. You on the other hand, bring Johnny to his knees when you kiss his temple. It's so soft, makes him all fuzzy inside where he's practically begging for you to do it again. He doesn't know what it is about the way you do it but your lips to his temple and forehead have him in a chokehold.

L = Little ones (how are they around children?)

Johnny is a pro around children. He adores them and the sight of Johnny in his suit around kids makes your heart flutter. Even if he does not see having his own children in his future, Johnny knows how to deal with kids whenever the moment calls for it.

Plus he's had to risk his life on more than one occasion to save them when an enemy decides to use them as collateral.

M = Morning (how are mornings spent with them?)

Expect to be up bright and early every morning because Johnny has places to be, people to save, and things to do. Whether it is training, missions, or running errands. He is up on his feet the moment the sun touches the sky to drag you out of bed so that he can get it all done in record time and have the rest of the day to sit on his ass and relax.

Now on the rare occasions that he gets a day off or a super villain decides to not cause chaos, Johnny is catching up on all the sleep he can. You'll wake up past noon to him half on top of you, face tucked in the crook of your neck and pretty much in a puddle of sweat thanks to the godly levels of heat radiating off this man. He'll moan and grumble when you decide it's time to be productive--going as far to lay a love tap to his ass and bribe him with coffee and breakfast...or threaten to tattle tell.

"Get your hot ass up before I tell Sue you stole the last Coca-Cola from the fridge." "You wouldn't dare!"

N = Night (how are nights spent with them?)

Let's be real, nights are long and rarely quiet. Johnny is exhausted. Dragging himself to the bathroom to shower off the days work. You'll either join him if he's in the mood or set up the television to watch your favorite film. After he's done you'll cuddle up on the couch before one of you falls asleep first to ultimately drag the other to bed, or you'll both knock out right there since it's too comfortable to move.

Despite his reputation Johnny is a romantic. When there's a night where he can properly take you out on a date he is going all out. Reserving a table at the best restaurant, catching a movie at the theater, whatever it is, expect to have the best night of your life.