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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 9 hours ago

Text

Punish me.

Pairing: Boss!Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: +18, NSFW, MDNI Words count: 5853

Summary: What happens when your boss punishes you but you like it too much? You look for more. And more. Tags/Warnings: POV second person, no use of Y/N, legal unspecified age gap, power imbalance, dom!Joel / sub!reader, degradation, oral (m receiving), spanking, unprotected p in v (reader is on the pill but still, do better irl), initially dub-con but reader is very into it, risk of being caught, a little chocking if you squint, cream pie, squirting, reader has no description other than the clothes she is wearing, manipulation, slurs, pet names, reader calls Joel "Sir". This Joel is low-key inspired by Don Draper from Mad Men and the whole thing was also low-key inspired by Secretary (2002). Let me know if I forgot something important, I will add it right away. A/N: Written for Never Have I Ever challenge hosted by the lovely @yxtkiwiyxt , this was my prompt and I had so much fun working on it! Thanks for giving me the opportunity to join! 🥰 Thanks to @aurorawritestoescape for being the most precious beta and @joelmillerisapunk for being the best support I could ask for and for letting me yap about it for a month and half lol I love you so much 🥹❤️ English is not my first language, every single mistake is still on me, I deeply apologize if you find any. Thanks to anyone who will read! masterlist | Joel Miller masterlist

“Mr Miller wants to see you in his office at 3” When Pam called you to say that a shiver ran down your spine.

Your last client was the owner of a large brewing company, a self-centered rich asshole that you couldn’t stomach in any way.

He had been pressing you for weeks for you to come up with the most sexist and stupidest ad campaign ever, all while you were trying to present him with new ideas that didn't necessarily include 10 women in bikinis at the feet of one man or other such things that had been done 200 times already .

You hated the guy with every fiber of your being and you told him exactly what you were thinking about him when he called you a prude and argued that he could show you what a real man was.

Seeing his sleezy smile as he winked at you and told you that you needed to fuck more was your last straw.

You were glad to be rid of him but you knew well that your boss would not have the same opinion.

Right out of college what you wanted was to learn the profession as soon as possible, and you wanted to learn it from the best in the business.

Joel Miller owned the most famous advertising agency in town, so you did everything to get an internship there.

You understood why he was so successful from day one.

__________________________________

Pam was sitting at her desk as usual when you walked in.

Her desk was a few feet from the door of Mr. Miller's office.

A large, black, solid wooden door with a fine frame, one of those that seemed to lead to the rooms forbidden to poor commoners.

She just looked up from the computer screen to tell you to come in, Mr. Miller was waiting for you, and then she was back to work.

Pam was a woman in her 60s, blond hair perpetually pulled back in an elegant bun, a pearl necklace around her neck, cachemire sweaters in all pastel colors, silk blouses and matching skirts.

She looked very neat, austere, you could swear you never saw her smile but heck, she was really good at her job and had been managing Mr. Miller's impossible schedule for many years.

You knocked on the door feeling your heart in your throat, thinking you were one step away from being fired.

Joel's voice bounced through the door, heavy and raspy, "come in.”

You entered trying to maintain a composure.

“Good morning, Mr Miller, you wanted to see me?”

He put down the papers he was perusing on the desk and looked up at you.

“Oh, it's you,” he said in a very calm voice. “The one who made me lose a lot of money.”

“I...I'm sorry but the guy was too much of an asshole for me to take it,” you spat out.

You knew Joel appreciated people who were standing their ground.

“Excuse me, should I care? You just made a thousand dollar check disappear.”

The silence that enveloped the room was unreal.

You stood in front of his stately mahogany desk, trying to keep your back straight and your shoulders high.

Of course, he didn’t care, he was an asshole too.

________________________________

He had conducted the interviews personally, without delegating it to his subordinates.

He hired you himself, without missing the opportunity to intimidate you in the meantime.

The first day you had come in you were shy, awkward, afraid of your own shadow.

How did you think you could deliver a presentation in front of a client if you looked like a frightened little bird that had just fallen out of the nest?

Joel said he took a risk hiring you, the least you could do was to show him how much you really wanted the job.

Eventually you learned to fight.

It hadn't been pleasant or even easy, Joel wouldn't let you get away with anything, criticized your every idea, sometimes blatantly mocked you.

He had pushed you to work harder than you would have imagined and you were eager to let him know that you were worth something, that you were not just an honors graduate but could translate your knowledge into the practical field.

You also owed it to yourself.

Your parents supported you but had always told you that you were not the type to work in advertising.

Too kind, too quiet, too sweet.

“Honey, are you sure? Wouldn't you rather do some other job?” your mother always asked you.

No, you didn't want to do anything else. And you were going to prove it to everybody.

You became a sucker for Joel’s attention in no time.

Whatever type he wanted to give to you.

As you progressed and learned, he became gentler, too much so at times.

Grazing your knee under the table at meetings, touching your waist way too much as you walked down the hallways talking about some projects, playfully slapping your ass once, after successfully signing your first contract with a client.

It was becoming a relationship that other colleagues didn't have to notice.

He was your mentor, your inspiration, the person who had taken you under his wing and taught you to fly.

Along with the desire to do well, however, something else grew in you over time.

Arousal, desire, need.

It lingered in the air while you were trying to flap your wings and stay aloft.

_______________________________

“Furthermore…” his voice dropped and deepened, “we don’t tolerate this kind of language here.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the clear change in his voice.

You knew what he was doing.

And you liked it.

“Well, I’m sorry but there’s no other appropriate word to describe that person” you chirped.

You didn’t drop the asshole just to have this, you really hated the man with all you had, this was just a pleasant collateral damage.

Joel being angry at you.

Joel who wanted to punish you.

He ran a hand over his mustache, looking at you as if he wanted to devour you.

You felt your clit throb in anticipation.

He stood up from his chair, he was imposing, broad shoulders and awe-inspiring piercing eyes.

“Let me explain it to you properly. I don't care if he didn't meet your moral dictates, I don't give a damn if he was so obnoxious that he made you sick to your stomach, okay?” his voice was a thin, cold, steady blade.

“Yes, Mr. Miller” you swallowed, without breaking eye contact. “You acted like a whiny child,” he stated. “ And you made me lose a ton of money”

His heavy step creaked faintly on the fine parquet floor. He was towering over you.

“Yeah, you said that already,” you rolled your eyes.

You would have sworn you were hearing Joel’s blood simmering in his veins and that was exactly what you wanted.

“Do you think criminal lawyers like to defend murderers? Do you think they like their clients?”

��No,” you muttered

“Yeah, they don’t like them but they do it anyway because it's their job.”

That was a little extreme example but he did make a point.

You were torn.

Disappointing your mentor was the last thing you wanted but seeing him like that, ready to give you a lesson was making you horny like nothing else.

You craved it.

“Do you know what they used to do to wayward children like you?”

You could feel the warmth of his body with how close he had gotten.

“Yeah.”

His eyes looked like onyx stones.

“Say it.” “They spanked them,” you finally let out.

“Yeah. You’re goddamn right, darling. They spanked them.” His words were a sheet of ice on which you couldn't wait to slide.

“Bend over the desk.”

“No,” you tried to argue.

“I. Said. Bend.” He ordered, punctuating every word.

You raised an eyebrow, glaring at him, but finally gave in.

You approached the desk, rested your elbows on it and jostled your ass out, poised on your heels.

He positioned himself behind you, you turned to look at him, and he immediately hissed,

"Eyes to the wall, missy."

You huffed, returning your gaze to the large painting hanging behind the desk.

His hands slid down your legs.

It was the first time he touched you, the first time you felt his strong grip on your body, the first time his warmth penetrated your flesh.

“You really disappointed me today.” His voice was calm, low, but full of disgruntlement.

“I'm sorry,” you whispered.

“It's not enough,”

His hands had reached the hem of your skirt, raising it dangerously, pulling it up, exposing the edge of your thigh-high stockings and your panties.

“Do you still think you deserve a place in this agency?”

Panic welled up inside you, you felt your cheeks on fire and your hands trembling on the wood of the desk.

You didn't want to lose everything you had worked for.

Joel wouldn't sign any reference letters for you, you wouldn't get a job at any other agency, and your career would be over before it even started.

You remained stubbornly silent, trying not to be seen as weak, until he blurted out,

“answer me.”

“Yes. I made a mistake.”

“You’re goddamn right, honey,” he replied wryly.”How will you fix this?”

That honey sounded like a mockery. Like you were still too soft to do the job and be successful at it.

You hated it and it made your pussy throb at the same time.

“I will find a way, Mr. Miller.”

“We’ll see” he retorted “But you still deserve punishment, don't you think?”

“Yes,” you breathed reluctantly.

You didn’t like to admit that but you couldn’t stop yourself.

You wanted it too much.

You wanted him too much.

You didn’t hear him fumbling with his pants, no zippers coming undone, no buttons slipping through the buttonhole.

You just felt his breath fanning over your back and his hand gripping at your hips.

You felt his gaze seeping into your flesh.

You would have liked to turn around, tell him to get it over with and fuck you, but you didn’t.

You stood still in your turn, feeling the tension bubbling in your chest while he seemed so calm and collected.

He was taking his time with you.

You sighed, just before you felt the air shift behind you and his hand landed deafly on your ass.

You gasped.

Another slap had hit you.

Harder than before.

Pain spread all over your butt, tingling, until it turned into a destabilizing pleasure.

You had never done anything like that before and as disconcerting as it was to admit it, you liked it.

You liked it like crazy.

You felt a slick of arousal wetting your panties while you moaned.

“Do you want some more?”

You nodded eagerly.

“Oh. You gotta use your word, I feel like I taught you that, right?” He tutted.

“Yes.” You whispered “please”

Instead of continuing, he walked over to the bar cabinet, poured himself a couple of fingers of whiskey into a glass, sat back down on his leather chair and looked you in the eyes.

“Get out of here.”

You stood there watching him, hunched over his desk, wood still pressing on your clothed tits, feeling like you were in a fever dream.

Had it really happened?

The heat still throbbing on your ass cheek told you it had.

You stood up, straightened your skirt, your darting gaze metaphorically stabbing him.

He had humiliated you.

How had you let this happen? And most of all, why did you want more?

You left without looking back.

Pam wasn't at the desk when you left, you slipped out as quickly as possible, with one fixed thought in mind.

______________

The next few days he ignored you. He started following another girl who had just arrived and he was behaving the way he had with you.

Jealousy had never been a vice of yours. Never. But seeing him chuckle at her jokes, praise her for her efforts, smile at her, start calling her by her name like he had done with you made you furious.

It squeezed your chest in a cruel fist.

You had worked on the presentation for a market-leading make-up client, and fortunately for you, the CEO had been enthusiastic about your ideas.

You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of letting him know how much he was hurting you but despite the persistence with which you tried, you grew so hungry for him that all you were thinking about was finding a way to make him furious again.

To get punished again. You hated having fallen for his game, but by now you were a fish seeking oxygen in the mesh of the fishing net.

You were trying to get his attention in every way without success.

At the peak of your desperation, you had passed an embarrassing number of times in front of his office in the hope that he would come out.

You kept meeting only Pam bringing coffee, folders or Joel's personal correspondence.

After a week she no longer seemed surprised to find you there, there was a kind of understanding in her gaze, a muted feminine solidarity, an ill-concealed displeasure.

“Honey, why do you do this to yourself?” she seemed to say.

You didn’t care. Your pussy didn’t care either.

______________

One day, when you saw Pam pass in the hallways during the lunch break, you decided to do something.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

You had gotten up deliberately exclaiming, “Oh, I really need a coffee!” And you had pretended to head for the common room. At last you had turned the opposite corner and snuck into the hallway that led to Joel's office. You had to hurry.

You slipped inside in an instant and found yourself in front of the imposing door that led to the office of the object of your desires.

He was talking to someone on the phone, you could clearly hear his voice but none in response.

When he finished, you opened the door and entered, full of doubts and fears but the same moved by a disruptive urge you couldn't say no to.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Joel's rough voice greeted you. “I came to see my mentor,” you whispered. ”And to tell him that tomorrow we will sign the contract with the make-up company.”

You smiled, waiting for his reaction.

He demolished you immediately in response,

“So? What do you want, a golden star? A kiss on the forehead?”

He raised an eyebrow mockingly staring at you.

“No, I just wanted to let you know,” you countered in a voice far too resentful for your taste.

You were turning on your heels to leave when you heard his voice say,

“What is the real reason you are here?”

You turned again and looked at him.

Elbows rested on the desk, the sleeves of the white shirt he wore rolled up to leave his muscular forearms exposed, rolling the platinum ring he wore on his middle finger around, his straight shoulders wrapped in the fabric that seemed to contain his broadness with difficulty, the first few buttons left open giving you a glimpse of a few freckles on his bronze chest.

The posture of the boss judging you, sitting comfortably in his leather chair, a smirk plastered on his face, a defiant expression in his eyes.

He was both sultry and irritating.

You wanted to slap him but also take off your panties and sit on his cock.

To be honest, you wanted to do both at the same time.

“You walked in here without asking Pam,” he noted amusedly, looking at you as if he could read your mind “What were you trying to do?” “Nothing,” you lied, fidgeting with a button on your shirt. “Just my job”

“I think you were trying to get on my nerves,” he suggested

You scoffed “You think you’re the center of my universe?”

“You’re the one in my office right now. Say what you want. Or leave. But I think you want to stay, am I right? Your pussy wants it.”

You were speechless, totally caught off guard.

“What do you need, darling?” He urged you, walking towards you.

He raised a hand reaching for your cheek, brushing it with his thumb.

His voice softened slightly, the knot in your stomach tightened.

It felt manipulative.

But also arousing when he gently pulled your lower lip open and grazed it with the pads of his fingers.

He grabbed your chin and tilted your head to face him.

His gaze was authoritative, demanding but also sweet, like he was trying to get you convinced that he was a good guy, just eager to give you something you wanted so much that you showed up uninvited to his office.

“Punish me,” you breathed as he was sliding his fingers down your neck.

“See? It wasn’t so difficult. This was all I needed to know,” he chuckled softly, right after grabbing you by the waist, gentleness instantly out of the menu, pulling up your skirt to expose your ass.

“You want me to spank you again, am I right?”

Your voice came out husky and broken, you only managed to mumble a “yes”, the most desperate yes you’ve ever said in your life.

“That's what I was thinking,” he groaned

His hands were roaming your thighs “Hold-ups. Of course. You’re the target for that Agent Provocateur campaign we launched last month, aren't you?”

You would have laughed if you could but you felt his fingers graze the wet, sticky stain spreading across your panties and you gasped instead.

And then his hand crushed on your ass cheek, his ring marked your skin, pain spreading across your skin, immediately replaced by an unbearable heat.

It made you feel alive.

You had his attention again.

One, two, three spanks burned your flesh, you could clearly feel a trickle of pleasure flowing out of you.

“How dare you come into my office just to provoke me? Don’t you know who I am? Huh, little slut?”

“Yes,” you muttered. “yes Mr Miller but…”

You had started this, you would have liked to say.

You were the one flirting first.

You were the one leading me to want you, this, always.

Another slap hit you and you said nothing instead. You just moaned.

A knock on the door stopped Joel in his tracks.

He froze with his hand high up in the air.

“Who is it?” He asked nervously.

He still held you tightly by the waist, you tried to wriggle free from his grip without success.

“It’s Pam,” her voice came muffled from outside the door.

“Fuck” you whispered, you instantly looked around in panic for a place to hide.

Not the bookcase, or the bar cabinet or the nice leather couch and armchair that were placed in front of it.

There was only one option.

“Get off of me,” you hissed “now!”

Joel let go of you and you quickly cowered under the desk.

He sat down and spread his legs just enough to give you room as he moved his chair as close to the edge as he could.

“Come in” he ordered, trying to regain his composure.

Pam cracked the door open and entered the office.

You couldn’t see her but you could hear her light footsteps approaching the desk and her voice saying “I brought Mrs. Jones’ presentation that you wanted to review, Mr. Miller”

“Oh. Thanks Pam”

You could clearly hear the underlying nervousness in Joel’s voice and it was starting to make you laugh.

You decided that since he was playing dirty you would do the same.

Your hand slowly moved up his pants, grazing his ankle, then his shin, up his thigh, until it reached his crotch.

Joel was desperately trying to hide his squirming as he examined the work of his new protégé. The one he was trying to replace you with.

It was delicious to feel him like that, helpless, harmless for once, totally at your mercy as you moved your hand up and down over his clothed cock that was desperately straining against the zipper.

Pam didn't move, waiting for him to finish evaluating the project, only her regular breathing told you of her presence.

You liked the risk, the thrill of being discovered that ran under your skin.

You could do more.

Slowly, your fingers closed on the metal tag of Joel’s zipper.

You pulled it down, while Joel tried to hide the noise with a cough.

You pushed aside the flaps of his pants, pulling down his boxers to free his cock. He was hard in front of you.

Thick, pink and darker at the tip, pulsing veins ran along the shaft that was slightly curved to the right.

Little drops of pre cum dripped onto his skin, making your mouth water.

It was perfect and you had to have it. Right there and then.

You kitten-licked the underside where a white pearly bead was sliding, catching it with your tongue.

Joel squirmed visibly on his chair, you couldn’t see it but you imagined his eyebrows shutting up and his lips twisting.

You smiled in the heavy and heated air under the desk.

You hoped Pam would go away, but at the same time you were intrigued by putting Joel through the wringer without him being able to make any fumbling movements to stop you.

You held his cock in your hand, it throbbed in your palm, and a musky smell filled your nostrils. The smell of sex.

You didn’t resist and licked again, more greedily, its flavor spread over your tongue.

It was driving you crazy.

You felt his whole body stiffen as he sent his secretary away

“That's all for now Pam, thank you. Tell the team to refine the graphics and report to Ms. Jones that the idea may work but the slogan is a bit weak, I want more ideas for next week ”

He had tried to maintain a professional tone, but his voice cracked mid-sentence, and you could only be mischievously proud of that.

As soon as Pam came out he yanked up his pants and wrapped a hand around your wrist dragging you out of your hiding place.

“You dirty slut, what were you trying to do?" he rattled off.

He had you standing up and trapped you against his chest, his half-dressed erection pressing hard against your ass.

His hand closed on your wrist hurt but you didn't care, you liked being manhandled like that.

You weren’t even intimidated anymore, just feral.

Unhinged, eager, completely drunk on him.

“I thought you liked some action under the desk, Mr Miller” you replied, sneering without shame.

“Oh you’re so thoughtful, aren’t you?” He barked, shoving you on the desk again.

“Yes I am.” You have never been so cheeky before, you were quite surprised and proud of yourself.

“No, you aren’t, darling”

With that, he pushed you onto the desk, your breasts pressed against the perfectly polished wood and his hands running to your skirt to hastily tug it down.

It was like Deja vu.

The best type of.

He moved to lock the door.

“Hands on the desk, darling. And you better not take them out of there”

He took off his tie, placed it on the desk and walked over.

His authoritative voice sent a rush of arousal straight to your pussy.

He pulled down your panties, making you walk out of them and throwing them on the floor.

His hand grazed your folds, lightly at first and then he covered your whole sex and squeezed, sending a rush of adrenaline into your system

“First time doing it? Getting fucked by your boss? Mh?”

“Yes” you breathed “I’ve never done anything like this before”

”You think you earned it?”

“Yes”

He had withdrawn his hand from your pussy and placed both of them on your thighs.

“Bold of you. And I've already told you, you have to learn to speak properly. Yes, what?” His hands were gripping on your flesh so hard you were sure you'd end up with bruises.

“Yes, please” you whispered. “You think you deserve me giving attention to your pussy, huh?”

His voice was low and raspy, almost like a subdued roar.

“Yes, please. Sir.” You added, emphasizing this last word.

“That's the way I like it, you're starting to learn. Turn around” You got up from the desk and he pushed you to sit on the edge, your bare pussy leaking on the surface.

He slipped his hands down your thighs, over your bottom, up your back, stopping at the sides of your breasts. His thumbs rubbed your nipples through your shirt and lacy bra while he held you trapped between his body and the desk, standing between your open legs.

Your naked pussy throbbed against his pants, you could feel it dripping over the fabric, making a mess. He slipped his hand between the two of you, touching your folds with the pads of his fingers, up and down gathering more and more of your arousal and spreading it all over on your lips and clit. You tried hard to stifle your moans but a low husky one escaped your lips as you were rocking your hips against his hand.

“Look what I’m doing to your pussy.” He ordered while he started flicking your bundle of nerves. You looked down at his hand moving obscenely over your pussy, two of his thick fingers sliding inside you, his ring right out that was getting wet with you. You gasped loudly at the sensation when he curled them up just right, reaching for your special spot. “Be quiet” he had warned you off “either that or I’ll stop immediately” “No!” You wailed. “No, what?” He barked grasping your neck with his free hand

You looked at yourself in his pitch black eyes, losing yourself in that deep darkness.

A taunting smile curved his lips. “No, please” you were quick to correct yourself “That’s right” his hand lightly squeezed your pulse point. “Undo my shirt, now” Your fingers were moving awkwardly over the buttons, trying to unfasten them while he continued to move his fingers inside you.

His skin, unveiled before your eyes, was almost too much to bear: golden and dotted with freckles that you wanted to lick one by one.

He smelled like whiskey and mint and a distinctive something that was only his, filling your nostrils, awakening every molecule of that secret part of you that was a slave for him.

Once you reached the last one you were so worked up you were almost on your brink, Joel noticed that right away and stopped, taking away his hand from your pussy. You whined in disappointment and he retorted

“You don’t get to complain, darling” accompanying his words with a slap on your right tit “we clear?” “Yes, sir. I’m sorry” you breathed, feeling the pain spread all over your chest.

A rush of adrenaline made you quiver against his hot body.

He put his wet fingers in your mouth. “Clean them up, darling” And you did, you thoroughly swirled your tongue all over them, licking till the last drop, going feral for the taste of you and the way he pushed them through your lips, up to his knuckles.

“Good job”

He took off his shirt and dropped it on the floor. He shifted, moving you in front of him.

“Kneel. Show me how sorry you are for complaining” You kneeled right away, moving your hand over his pants, stroking the underline of his cock. “What do you want?” “Your cock” you purred “Ask nicely” he told you, totally unfazed by your attempt to bribe him

“Can I please pull your cock out, sir?” You would have looked up to anyone, but the power it exerted over you at that point was unmanageable and devoured you.

His onyx eyes were fixed on you, pinning you down to the ground, like he was holding your entire being in his fist.

You couldn’t ask for anything more.

“Go ahead”

You hastily pulled down his pants and boxers, he stepped out of them and kicked them away.

You took his shaft back into your hand, licking the tip first, coating it in your saliva, until it was glistening and pulsing right before your eyes again.

You slid it in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, savoring his musky flavor, licking him like a lollipop, like the most delicious ice cream you’ve ever had.

“That’s what a good girl does,” he praised you “she fills her pretty mouth with a nice cock, just like that” You relaxed your jaw to take all that you could of him in your mouth.

His fingers reached for the back of your head, holding you possessively

“Go on, miss, I know you want it, don’t you? You would like my cum on your tongue, huh?” You hummed against his shaft, even more eager for him.

You tried to brush your fingers on your clit, searching for some relief from the throbbing heated mess you felt between your thighs but he scolded you

“Nuh huh, girl, don’t you dare. You don’t get to come until I say it” You whined, reluctantly moving your hand away.

You kept sucking on his cock, devouring every inch of him with purpose, messy and sloppy, thin trades of your saliva running onto his length to his balls.

You swirled on the tip before sliding down to them and taking one in your mouth, greedily sucking on it.

He was granite that crumbled slightly at your every touch, trying to hold back the grunts that vibrated in his throat, trying not to close his eyes so as not to get lost in every lap of your tongue. He tried not to give you any satisfaction but at the same time his body betrayed him, letting slip how much he wanted all of that. And you.

At his brink, he stopped you, manhandling you back on the desk, tearing away your shirt making every single button pop out and yanking at your bra to expose your nipples.

His lips closed on one of your hard rock buds and sucked it avidly. You were a whimpering mess, whining under your breath “please sir, fuck me”

He grazed your nipple with his teeth, running a finger through your folds.

“Look at you, darling, so hungry for my cock your pussy is weeping, your body is shaking…”

With one hand he yanked the papers off the desk, a shower of paper clips followed the sheets to the floor along with a stapler and the golden tag with his name engraved on it.

“Lie down” he hissed

You lay on the desk, obscenely open and throbbing for him, a raw uncontrollable heat flowing through your body.

“Please” you cried.

He grabbed your legs and placed them on his shoulders, holding you tightly by your ankles.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this” he said tapping his cock on your folds and sliding it through them, before starting to enter you agonizingly slow.

“Mmm feel how good she’s stretching, darling, your tight little pussy’s all full of me”

“Yes, sir”

“Say: thank you, sir”

“Thank you, sir”

It was all inside you and your pussy was swallowing it hungrily.

He started thrusting into a steady rhythm, slowly at first, like tidal waves hitting you, ripples on a blank shore caressing your special spot, and then stronger, faster, like thunderstorm on the ocean, high dangerous waves making you see stars.

His huge cock shifting and brushing against your drenched walls, sinking into you again and again.

Your moans bounced around the room like an echo, mixing with squelching sounds of his dick slamming into you, making you his.

“Yes, baby, you’re doing so good for me” he whispered “come here”.

He grabbed you and held you close to his chest, making your legs parting some more, reaching for another angle that made you feel him even deeper.

His moustache brushed along your jawline, lowering on your neck, his lips sucking on your pulse point.

“Look at you, dripping on my desk,” he muttered softly, his voice reverberating on your skin.

The impossible pace became too much to bear when his hand moved from your hips to your clit, his thumb brushing on it.

He looked you in the eyes, feral and assertively “you want to come, huh? Make a mess all over my cock?”

“Yes.” You cried, seeing the wreck that you were reflecting in his deep brown eyes “yes, please sir I need it”

“Then come, baby” he said, increasing the pressure on your clit and pushing into you like it was a matter of life or death.

That was all you needed to hear.

You broke the dams that still kept you anchored to reality and flooded his cock, squirting all over his desk, a complete and utter disaster disheveled and exhausted.

The fine wood of his desk was probably ruined forever but he didn't seem to care in the slightest, he pumped into you, grabbing your neck and hair until he spurted all of him into your cunt.

You felt it warm and sticky, painting your walls, making you full like you’ve never been before.

He slipped out a moment later, caressing your cheeks and praising you.

You got up from his desk and clung to his neck, pulling him into a long, deep kiss, tilting your head as you felt his tongue play with yours.

“Thank you” you murmured against his lips, smiling softly “And by the way, I’m on the pill”

“I know. I saw you take it the other day in the conference room before the meeting started” he said, while adjusting his trousers and taking a clean shirt from a desk drawer.

“Get out of here, naughty girl”

“Well, you destroyed my blouse…” you said, picking up the garment from the floor.

“Here, take mine”

You put on his shirt, too big for you, trying to tuck it under your skirt so it was less noticeable how long it was. He helped you by rolling up your sleeves, barely touching your skin, but enough to make you feel a shiver down your spine.

“mmm sexy,” he said when he stopped to look at you.

“Let’s try not to make this a habit” he smirked, giving you another playful slap on your ass cheek “We can't do this 24 hours a day, seven days a week.”

“Why not?” You winked right before going out the door.

You could smell him on you and it drove you crazy. You already knew that you would use his shirt to sleep that very night and for many nights to come.

Once outside the door, Pam looked at you over her glasses, raised an eyebrow, and for the first time you saw a little smile curve her lips.

tag list for this one: @baronessvonglitter @milla-frenchy @thundermartini @probablyreadinsmut @almostempty @gothcsz @harriedandharassed

archive tag: @pedrostories Let me know if you want to be added or removed, I'll do it right away.

#nhie2025 #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x female reader

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bbrainr0t · 3 days ago

Text

For when you flower II

Masterlist

Pairing: Emperor Caracalla x Greek!woman/reader x Emperor Geta

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, hints of PTSD/bad mental health, imbalance in the relationship (sexism, oppression, etc.), toxic, mentions of violence, blood, death, and slavery

Tags: Enemies to lovers (?), triangle drama/love (but no incest!!), unhealthy/toxic dynamics, slave x masters, no use of y/n, 1st person narrative

Summary: She wakes in another unknown place. Healed and alone, she ponders and dares to explore - but the peace is only sweet for a short while. Suddenly, images flashes before her eyes, and while she feels all hope is lost once more, a man holds her. A man unknown or is he?

Word count: 2.2K

A/N: Thank you guys so much for the love and support on the first chapter. It's gotten me all riled up and so inspired that you guys got me writing every night :,))) It really means a lot to me. Happy valentines! I hope whatever plans you have turn out to be enjoyable. I am sitting alone with wine, pizza, and Catullus (a roman poet) that I have to translate :pppp My ideal night honestly. (i'll probably also write... tihi)

Dictionary for this chapter:

Chiton = a form of tunic worn by men and women of ancient greek Agora = the central place of a city state, where people would tend their businesses and politics. Everything important happened here. Hellas = The ancient greek name for greece

It was not long after my arrival at the marble house that I was in the hands of a medic. A flute was playing off in the far distance and chatter were daring to make its way past the curtains, which kept me safe.

I had felt exposed when I woke up. I was dressed in a finer material, but I did not feel like any hands had touched me. I felt clean. The medic had tended to me and poured a liquid down my throat that no longer scratches. My head feels clearer.

I woke up in a bed of straws covered in silk – a material I didn’t think I ever would get to feel again. The smoothest of all and the softest to touch. Although it made me feel at ease at first, an eerie feeling now replaces it and creeps through the cracks of the walls. Stone walls filled with words and greetings. Words, I cannot read, but still, I understand.

This room does not look to resemble the marble room in which I fainted. Here I feel a peace, a quiet before the storm, but it doesn’t cover its intentions – they are spelt out all over. It’s me, my bed, a side table and a little window at the top. By the looks of it, there is no light outside, so it must be night.

With a deep inhale I dare myself to feel the engravings. My fingers stumbling over each dent, each scratch filled with history. A kind feeling of doom invites itself inside my heart. I’m not the first to be here. A smile hitches and pushes my cheeks aside. I do not know why this agony from past slaves is giving me such cheer. It feels a waste to mourn the dead.

Whatever they’ve given me, I think to myself, I would like an ocean of that.

There is no chaos other than outside the curtains, and even there it has seemed to calm down. The only other life nearby seems to be the flame dancing in the dark beside the bed. I let my fingers wander down my drapes as I pull myself up to sit. It’s a chiton in a pale white with subtle embroidery of gold. It echoes the few moments in the marble room, almost like a reflection of the endearing pillars.

Our pillars.

My jaw tenses. No slave bears these drapes that I am sure of. But I am not sure if I want to admit to it. Had my destiny shifted once more? There is no blur now to confuse, so it must be true. What are these drapes supposed tell me about their intentions with me?

The silk beneath me suddenly gets a whole new meaning, it’s almost like an apology. But who is it from? The effect of the mystery liquid is wearing out. The ache is coming back but it’s starting to feel wrong. Am I to feel gratitude?

The emperors had not touched me, not that I would’ve felt it, but no matter how hard I search I see no filth.

I had only gotten a glimpse of them. An idea of who they really were. In Hellas they were known as the worst of mankind, especially after the attack, but that voice of … Caracalla were no man. It was a tormented soul. And, I suppose, Geta were no tyrant. He sounded as common as a sparrow. It was the riches that alienates them in my head. The blood of my people around their necks. My brothers and sisters’ nooses twinkling on their chest - as I only can imagine. I never got a real look at them. I do not know how they look.

Are they nearby? How was I to know.

I push my feet over the bedside and let my bare feet meet the cold floor. The chiton following swiftly and rhythmically. Slowly, I make my way towards the curtain and try to ease my curiosity by softly pulling it aside. I only dare to do so because the only noise that can be heard is one merely echoing like a word under water. I find myself looking at another wall which stretches to both the right and the left. It’s small and narrow like a tunnel. I must be underground. I wait a second before stepping outside, carefully tiptoeing to make no sound. There is no one, and if there truly is no one, I have a chance at escape. My first in months.

There is a light to my right, which seemingly is leading upstairs. It’s a chance to be taken.

Horrors return to my head. Images. Blood. Screams. Voices.

I grab a hold of my head, squint my eyes close. I must make it stop. But the images never stop. They feel so real. I see them so clearly.

Wasted bodies on the shore, by the agora. No politics, only war flooded the streets.

“Quiet!” Is the clearest thing I hear.

The images keep changing. I see my brother on the beach. His head is underwater. His body on shore. His clothes unraveled. There’s laughter and humiliation. The soldiers, they grab the body.

I lean to my right up against the engravements, hoping that history will hold me one last time.

“Shh! Quiet!” It’s an intruder to my nightmare.

Suddenly I feel myself wheezing, struggling to pull air in my lungs. I become strangely aware of my body beneath the fabric. It feels as if a hand grabs at my waist. Tears start to stream, unfortunately they have returned, but somehow, they make the wall seem less coarse. A hand between me and the wall.

The weight of my body disappears as my feet fall beneath me, but I do not hit the floor.

“Stop… stop… I do not know how to make this stop.” The voice becomes clearer. It feels too real and too foreign to be in my head. I continue to puff. My lungs crumbling beneath my rib cage.

There’s a pain placed not in my heart but on my cheek. It stings. Senses rush back and I hear sobbing, not only of my own but also of somebody else. A mutual in this pain. I force my eyes open, slowly not to blind myself.

It’s a man. Snot running down over his rosa lips and unshaved chin. His cheekbones spotted with small faults and scratches. His hair messy and slightly curled, the color a shade of pure but dirty gold, almost a shade of orange. His eyes red and irritated, filled with tears, showing pure distress. They are glassy, reflecting every feeling within me. “Please stop.” His voice, so coarse like he has been screaming.

There is a sound of boots beating the ground, armor clashing against itself. The man is quick pull me back behind my protective curtain, where I probably should’ve stayed. I trip and so does he, but he is quick to try and save me from hitting the floor rather than himself. I gasp, feeling his hand on my back – the other covering my mouth. He sits us down on the ground. My knees and his slightly scratched by this movement. Fear is raging in the depths of his eyes. He clenches his hand against my mouth, lightly scratching my skin. I quiver without sound.

The boots pass by, and the man lets go, but only for a second. His thumbs remove my tears eagerly and then cupping my jaw. Usually I would be afraid, because no man holds a woman in such way without it being with dirty intention – but this is different. He’s holding me like he had lost me. A touch so rough and selfish yet so caring. I am frozen in his touch.

There is a calm.

He does not dare to break the silence. He’s busy removing every sign of ache that might’ve trailed my face. I just remain still and watch his every move.

He’s wearing a white toga, which barely covers up his body as intended, revealing a hairy chest. His arm is slightly toned but as his cheeks, there is a layer of fat bulging more than muscle. This is a man of status but not far up. Perhaps only a slave, on the run. Perhaps he is just like me.

“Who are you…?” I whisper in Latin, cautiously, examining his face, waiting for a reaction. I dare not to think that this is another one of my hallucinations. This feels too real. Too raw.

He seems slightly surprised by my question at the same time as his eyes somewhat clears up. He sniffs. “Who am I?” His jaw moves astray like he is holding back. Like I should know.

I nod hesitantly. By the looks of it, he is not in his right mind. But neither am I, so I dare not trust every thought popping in my head. I hold tight onto the feeling of gratitude towards this stranger as it keeps me at bay. He’s still shaking, and so am I.

“That… that doesn’t matter.” He sniffs. His voice seems so fragile that I could imagine it would break if the tiniest of winds would try to puff it off balance.

“…Okay.” I softly respond and look into his eyes. His blue, naked eyes.

He is looking from one eye to the other. No other words are needed. The contact is all we both need to calm. I notice he too has stopped crying. I can only wonder what has caused him pain. I reach out tentatively to dry his tears in the same manner, but before I reach his face, he grabs my wrists. He’s still on guard.

“It’s… it’s okay.” Is my only try at reassuring him.

His only response is a single nod as he slowly lets go, dropping his hands to his lap. And so, I tend to his distress as a return of his kindness. His face softening for every tear I remove. I grab the silk off the bed to dry his nose, patting it carefully to not disturb the calm breathing.

“I will keep you safe.” He proclaims and sounds if he is promising it more to himself than me. “I will remember you tomorrow and claim you as mine.”

The words rush through my bloodstream like burning iron, daring to turn cold and keep my body in shape, frozen in movement. The words “claim you as mine” echo.

His eyes seem quick to worry, grabbing a hold of my wrists once more, but this time to pull me in to hold me at his chest. His arms are clamming my body close. An act so compassionate, a feeling so claustrophobic. Merely four words and all hope are lost. Reality hitting, the imbalance revealing itself. His voice returning in my head, not as how he just spoke but as a reminiscence from earlier. The burdened.

It's the emperor.

Questions arise. What is he doing here? Why is he being chased? What has he done? Why is he holding me so close, so dear? I am not his friend; I am his enemy. Does he not know?

“I know how you feel.” The burdened sniffs. “I know how you feel right now. I knew it from the moment I saw you. You and I are the same.” His hand goes to grasp my head once more, squeezing me closer, choking me lightly. Or maybe I’m just holding my breath.

He knows not of my pain.

“That man was so cruel. He knows nothing of health. Nothing!” His fingers turn to pierce my scalp, but inventively as he is quick to stop again. “Oh- I’m so sorry – so sorry, meus flos.”

He speaks of words I do not know. I try to suppress the panic, not to alarm him. I am afraid of a reaction. I place my hand against his toga, pushing myself slightly away, and he softens his touch, letting me go. Scared, I let my eyes land on him again. I try to take every bit of him in. One of the men responsible of my lands abuse.

I should’ve known it was him. I should’ve stood on guard. He is nothing like me. Not at all. He is of wealth, obtained from plunder of the poor, of me.

But why is he showing me mercy? Is this a cruel joke played by the Gods? Oh, how they mock me.

“I do not wish to hurt you.” He shakes his head childlike. The personality from earlier taking shape right before me.

He reaches his hand to hold my jaw once more, but I move away instinctively. And oh, how it seems to hurt him, but only for a short while.

“You’re right. We need rest.” I am unsure wherever he is imagining that I told him off. “GUARDS!”

The sudden yell startles me, and fear grabs me once more. What is he going to do??

As quick as a water droplet hits the surface, guards dressed in armor, wearing purple come maraging in. I have no time to react.

“My emperor-“

“Enough! Escort me and meus flos to my bedroom. And bring her a separate bed.”

The guards look shocked, speechless even.

“QUICKLY!”

Apollo, what are you doing to me?

Next chapter

Taglist: @syraxnyra, @omg-hellgirl, @t6gse370, @duckyhowls, @littlemissholy

#emperor geta x reader #emperor caracalla x reader #emperor geta #emperor caracalla #joseph quinn #fred hechinger #gladiator fanfiction #fanfiction #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #gladiator #for when you flower

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cowboyschumi · 2 days ago

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MY KINK IS YOUR KARMA

Summary: The culture of hooking up was never your thing, but it was Franco's fascination, something you didn't realize until rumors started spreading. His life quickly turned miserable, and, to your surprise, you quite enjoyed it. Inspired by Chappell Roan's song.

Author’s note: My first fic, woohoo. English is not my first language, neither Italian, sorry for any typos etc. Support and requests are always appreciated. Much love and enjoy the reading!

Warnings: Angst, maybe? Reader being kinda cruel/hater.

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Boys are all straight out of fairy tales when you first meet them, including Franco. That boy had the most magnetic charm you’d ever seen, and he knew it. He loved having a certain allure and using it to his advantage, with everyone wrapped around his finger. But he liked to play pretend, acting as if he didn’t do those specific things that had people falling for him.

You were invested long before all that, long before the world knew him as a formal F1 driver. You gatekept him as your little secret.

He had lived in an Italian car factory since he was thirteen, not knowing a single word of the language. Of course, some sort of miracle had to rescue him—and that was you. Without even realizing it, you started spending entire days by his side. You were just kids, making the most of every beautiful corner in Italy. Something began to bloom inside you when you noticed that your "teaching Italian" had faded into the background. You completely forgot your original purpose because you two simply enjoyed each other's company too much.

"Ti amo tantissimo." His brows furrowed, unsure about his pronunciation. Surprisingly, the Argentinian accent was similar to the Italian one—melodically, at least. You tried not to burst into laughter after hearing those words. He was just practicing; he didn’t really mean it. But your stomach turned upside down anyway.

"Not so bad. You're improving." Your tone was strict, almost like a teacher correcting her student. He couldn't help but chuckle at it. It was adorable how much you cared about him getting it right.

"Ti amo is used in a romantic way, and ti voglio is for family and friends."

Franco was the yapper in your dynamic. Sometimes, the roles reversed, and you were the one talking while he listened. It was the way your eyes sparkled, the way your hands moved with your words, so passionate about your interests, and the boy loved that.

"Which one suits us better?" Franco asked with a mix of curiosity and confidence, avoiding direct eye contact. He was weak around you—his Achilles’ heel.

He had never struggled with self-esteem or second-guessed himself, but when things started getting serious in your friendship, for the first time, he hesitated.

That’s how everything started, some Italian words, late summer nights together, and a bunch of innocent flirting, which led to everything, yet nothing at all. Because men always have an obsession with saying the most endearing, heartfelt sweet nothings before leaving you.

He did it too. Of course, he would.

We, as women—overthinkers—already know everything months in advance. Female intuition never fails.

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He moved to Spain shortly after things got serious between you. You couldn’t blame him, dreams came first, and you were more than proud of him for achieving his. All the "Promise we'll keep in contact and text each other" ran down the drain.

No one is really that busy; they just don’t want to text you. You repeated it to yourself like a mantra after realizing he had ghosted you.

It was exactly what you expected from him when he got caught on a dinner date by some paparazzi. What happened to the simple, casual boy you met at thirteen?

What was so endearing and fancy, about one-night stands and then forgetting it all, that you were not catching? Committing was now overrated.

Surprisingly, you forgot about his existence—or at least, you thought you did—until some interviews of his went viral on the internet. He was not PR-trained at all, and it was noticeable by his sense of humor, jokes, and playful comments. The Twitter community started dragging him, titling him an authentic womanizer. You deleted all media after seeing that, unable to bear any sight of him.

Winter break came, and so did the end of the F1 season. His name kept being a hot topic, always on everyone’s lips. You couldn’t just erase him from your life that easily.

His start was solid for a rookie. After Logan’s performances, team principals were stunned by him keeping the car on track.

But what went wrong? He was slowly ruining his career and you liked it?

You couldn’t care less about his new girlfriend, him rebuilding his life, or even forgetting all the memories you had together. What goes around eventually comes back, and it was burning him in the most unpleasant ways.

Franco was losing his mind, and you were feasting on it.

Life moved on, and so did you. You had some me-time over the winter time, taking care of yourself and enjoying the weeks without the pressure of studying or working your ass off.

The town was a bit crowded, considering most tourists usually arrived during the summer holidays. People seemed happier than usual, which felt a bit off. Winter depression was a real thing.

Christmas was near, and that was your answer for everything being so full and non-walkable, kids and parents walking around with shopping bags. You should’ve been doing the same, buying presents, but you liked leaving your duties to the last minute. Procrastination, your guilty pleasure.

People were lining up outside Castore's sportswear store, and that was one of the many reasons you hated this time of year: consumption and capitalism at its peak. You stood on your tiptoes, trying to see what the big deal was inside the store.

The odds were slim, but there he was, signing Alpine t-shirts. You felt your ears starting to warm up, your fists clenching. And, of course, he saw you, the only female and familiar face among the group of little boys and girls waiting for an autograph. You wanted to disappear right there.

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"Came to see me?" Again, you two were on your classic bench, but everything had changed—everything about him.

You scoffed at his comment, almost feeling disgusted by his cocky attitude after all this time. You sat on the other side of the long wooden chair, keeping your distance from his personal space. The brown-haired boy’s eyes widened at your non-verbal response. It felt like a punch to his ego.

"I would invite you to dinner, but I’m dry... I mean, you saw me there, signing shirts." Fame came with its costs, and he wasn’t ready for it yet, just stepping into that world.

A soft laugh escaped your lips as you remembered one of the many memes you’d seen about him, specifically the one where people joked that he was poor. He didn't understand what you were laughing at but played along with it.

"I’ve got things to do, Fran." You knew very well he loved that nickname—it was like poking a finger into an open wound. And you did it on cue, because right after your words, you stood up from your bench. Y/N and Franco’s bench. You had every intention of leaving, just like he left you.

"Will we see each other again?" There was a hint of hope in his voice, even though the spark in his eyes was gone. His figure seemed as though it had been sucked in by a vacuum cleaner, drained and tired.

You couldn’t help but smile, not because of his question or his need to see you. You were happy because you were witnessing his downfall. As you leaned toward him, you left a quick kiss on his cheek—a way of saying goodbye without words.

Getting back to him was not an option, not because you didn’t want to. Of course, you wanted him back. But having him wouldn’t satisfy your kink of watching karma do its thing.

Your intuition told you that your paths would cross again, it was meant to. For now, you enjoyed observing with careful distance.

#franco colapinto #franco colapinto x reader #f1 #f1 drivers #franco colapinto fluff #franco colapinto angst #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 imagines #fc43 #fc43 x reader

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wosov · 13 hours ago

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A chaotic call up

A call up wouldn't be a call up for our kid without some chaos!

Your call up came on a random Thursday evening. You had had a productive and entertaining day at training which ended with you nutmegging Beth Mead and promptly running away whilst she yelled a phrase you knew you were not allowed to repeat at home around Leah. Oh yeah, did I forget to mention…

I live with Leah Williamson. It wasn’t planned at all though. You had received word from your agent that Arsenal wanted you for their first team. It was a no brainer for you as you currently played for a team that hadn’t ever qualified for the WSL yet. The only problem being your age. Well that and your father. He was your biggest supporter, don’t get it wrong but he was also in the Royal Air Force and in preparing for the move down to London for your playing career, he received a letter that he was to be posted somewhere in New Zealand. So, you ended up under the care of Leah Williamson which turned out to be a lot different than what you were anticipating. You had visions of being able to tag along to cool events as a plus one and perhaps stealing some very cool clothes from her wardrobe. Ok maybe you were reaching a little with your expectations, but what you hadn’t expected was for her to be stricter than your father. Granted it wasn’t that hard for anyone to be stricter than your father as in his eyes, as long as you didn’t get in trouble with the law (like your older brother, but we don’t talk about that) he didn’t mind giving you freedom to live your life. After all, all you really did was go to and from training and maybe cause some chaos along the way.

Ok, that’s enough of a back story. Your call up, which by the way did come at a very inconvenient time as you were attempting to master a very complicated FIFA skill move in your bedroom surrounded by mountains of clothes yet to be folded and put away and unopened textbooks that were living vicariously stacked on top of your desk. You groaned at first, from your cocoon in your bed. A bed that you hadn’t moved from since you and Leah had gotten in from training. At first you were content to let it ring out (never being a fan of talking on the phone) but a shout from downstairs snapped you out of your bed rot as it were.

“Kid, I swear answer your damn phone now!” Leah yelled from the kitchen with a smirk on her face, knowing just what was coming your way after a conversation with Sarina regarding her own call up and captain duties on how to deal with the newer players - you.

You groaned in annoyance, not knowing why Le was so adamant on you answering your phone. It’s not like anyone important rang anyway, the only other important person in your life who you don’t live near was your father. And you only received letters from him anyway, something about national security you guessed. But you rolled over to grab the shrieking electronic object buried in your duvet cover and answered it with a funny one line you had seen on tiktok.

“Kiddos mortuary and taco stand, where yesterday's grief is today's beef. What can I get started for you?” You proudly stated whilst trying not to laugh. Although, what you weren’t expecting to happen was for Sarina Wiegman to answer the phone.

“Hello? Is this Y/F/N, this is Sarina Wiegman calling on behalf of the England women’s senior national team. Is now an ok time to talk?”

That quickly took the proud smile off your face as you swallowed hard and attempted to be as professional as possible - which still isn’t that professional really.

“Miss Wiegman, I mean Sarina, I mean Ma’am, wait Boss um…” you stammered out and quickly took the phone away from your ear to take a deep breath whilst formulating a plan to regain some dignity. “Sarina, so lovely to hear from you! I think we may have had some interference on the line but I think that’s all fixed now?” You hoped it was a good enough lie to cover you, and to either your luck or her professionalism (probably the latter) she spoke no more of it.

Hello Y/F/N, as I said before, I am ringing on behalf of the England women’s national senior team and would like for you to join us at our training camp in preparation for the Euro’s.

At this point, you could’ve sworn your stomach fell out of your body but by the way you were still breathing, that seemed unlikely.

“Hello? Hello, are you still there, Y/F/N.”

You didn’t ignore her, you really didn’t but you couldn’t find your voice to respond to her which is why Leah appeared in your bedroom. If you weren’t so consumed with trying to regain some kind of dignity and composure, you probably would have questioned how she knew to come into your room and how she got there so quickly from seemingly being in the kitchen. But you were too relieved to care.

“Hey Sarina, yeah it’s me. No no, the kid is just a little” she took one glance at you in a stunned state before carrying on with her sentence “preoccupied right now. Yep I will be able to explain everything about camp beforehand, that’s not a problem. Alright that’s all sorted, we will see you then! Bye Sarina, lovely to talk to you again.” Leah spoke with such a fluid composure in contrast to you who had somehow, in your panicked state, managed to dodge your ‘floordrobe’ (as you put it) and ended up in the foetal position under your desk. Leah quickly hung up your phone and moved over to you in a controlled manner, careful not to spook you and crouched down slowly.

“Hey kid, you all good under there?” Leah spoke as she moved her arms out to try and ground you.

“Did uh, what I mean I uh umm” you stuttered out not realising you were missing vital parts of your sentences.

Leah responded with a chuckle “What was that kiddo, you're missing out a few words there”

“Sarina she she she” you managed to stutter out “England me I” you were currently deep breathing trying to get your heart back to a sane rhythm. “Me play, England play football, Euros me play” you spluttered out whilst Leah just looked amused at your current state.

“Really kid, I cannot believe that” she spoke with some amused sarcasm lacing her voice whilst you just looked like you were having some sort of existential crisis.

Several minutes later, your face had regained some colour and your heart had reverted back to your normal rhythm. And you were still in disbelief, questioning Leah at every opportunity still believing you were a part of some well planned out joke.

“So England wants me? Like me me??” you questioned Leah as you sat on the sofa.

“Kiddo for the hundredth time, yes! Sarina called you up didn’t she?” she spoke whilst cleaning up the kitchen in preparation for some of your future teammates to join for a takeaway/game night.

“I just, why me Le” you sighed out. “I’m not even that good to be on the under 18s let alone the actual fucking senior team!” you spoke out with frustration seeping out.

“Woah woah kiddo, some big words coming from you hm. I will forgo the swearing consequence this time as I believe we have bigger things to talk about right now yeah?” she spoke firmly as she moved across to the sofa to sit opposite you on the coffee table, taking your hands into hers. “First of all, you deserve the call up ok, you are such a hard worker and such an amazing talent. You put in the graft and you are getting the recognition. Sarina doesn’t just call up anyone and she called you up which obviously means you do deserve it and I will not hear any different! I can guarantee that if you asked any of the Arsenal girls or any of your future teammates for England, they will tell you the same thing.” Leah spoke with such caring conviction as she wiped a rogue tear from your cheek.

“Now c'mon, we have tidying to complete before chaos arrives” she said with a smile which massively contrasted your groan in response to her statement, wondering how she could sound so upbeat at the prospect of tidying.

based on a request I got for our chaotic kids call up

please please send in requests or anything you wanna see!! it gives me so much encouragement to write

#woso x reader #arsenal wfc #woso imagine #woso community #woso #leah williamson #england women #lionesses #sarina wiegman

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dunndunie · 2 years ago

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Why are radfems like 10x more misogynistic and lesbophobic than the so called "TRAs" that they're up against

#bear noises #the other day i was going through a disturbing radtwit rabbithole #and jesus christ most of the women there were deranged #like VERY deranged #i saw someone say that straight and bi women should die just because they're attracted to men and im just like ☠️#what ever happened to supporting other women #and also there were an influx of gold star lesbians #why do you care if lesbians used to id as bi or straight in the past??#what are you?? the lesbian power rangers ☠️☠️#anyways #radfems fucking suck

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revverencie · 4 months ago

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i am so genuinely sick and tired of the way bisexual women are being treated in queer spaces nowadays.

statistically, bisexual women are at a higher danger of things like rape, sexual assault, intimate partner violence, stalking, etc. than anyone else when grouped by sexuality. yes this includes heterosexual women, yes this includes lesbians, yes this includes gay men. but the rest of the community as a whole seems to delight in stereotyping them as predators, accomplices to predators or undeserving of support just because of their identity. because people care more about the strawman of "bisexual woman with a boyfriend" than giving real people who are at a statistic vulnerability to actual violence a support network.

#bisexual #bisexuality #biphobia #i can talk for hours about how the stereotypes about bisexual women (promiscious cheaters etc.) actively contribute to both the #victimization of bisexual women as a whole (because predators feel more entitled to their bodies because they think bisexual = promiscious)#and also the ostracisation from the overall queer community that a lot of bi women face (bc of the cheating bi stereotype among others)#and how THAT in itself also contributes to bi women being more vulnerable to violence because they are seen as unwelcome in what would #otherwise be a support network from them. but despite wanting more community nobody who isn't bisexual ever fucking brings this up #and instead focuses on ''oh this bi women made a bad take'' ''bi women with boyfriends are definitely actually straight guys''#and it just pisses me the fuck OFF #this doesn't even begin to dig into what happens when biphobia is mixed with other forms of prejudice like racism and transphobia #tldr y'all should be protecting bi women not driving them out of queer spaces and dogpiling on the cringe bi woman of the week

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slocumjoe · 2 years ago

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hey uhhh i went thru ur oc post history and u said gus set himself on fire?? pls context

I love this character because whenever someone asks about him I always have to take a deep breath and get comfortable and suck a breath in through my teeth. I treat him so poorly

More Gus lore, because that specific event is actually tied to the very first event that would fuck him up forever, so I can't really talk about it without going in depth.

This is explaining the core tenent of Augustijn's story, which is guilt and its dangers. Basically, where that constant guilt came from, and how it...turned out for him...

It turns out okay. Just...takes 200+ years, an apocalypse, a divorce, and his son dying! 🥳Yay🥳

Tw; Religious trauma, child abuse, suicide, drug use, cannibalism, mental illnesses, and yet another suicide attempt.

So, some background, Gus's mom, Emma, was a fanatic catholic and generally Bat Shit about religion. As you might imagine, this is the Direct Source of both Gus' questionable worldviews, traumas, and his biological inclination to uuuhhh bad Head Times.

Emma was raised mildly religious, but she...took to it too hard? Her family was not the cause of her obsession, Gus's grandparents and uncles/aunts over there actually cut her off at one point, because she was starting to worry them but reaching out led to her lashing out. So, they just...backed off. Emma herself was a simple, homebody woman, who wanted to be at home raising her kids, and tending her garden. She would have been this way even without the religious thing.

But Emma and her side of the family were prone to addiction, see? And religion became her point of fixation and obsession. This could have still been okay, if not for the church she went into. A catholic church in the Hague that was known by all for being kind of fucking out there, even by other hardcore Catholics. This was one she went into, and even her grandchild 240+ years later would feel the ripple of this decision.

Emma goes into church and gets gnarly ideas about how life works. Its a woman's duty to have kids and raise them, to be good to her husband and her house, to listen and obey her men. Sin is inevitable and everyone does it, only those that admit and accept punishment can get another chance at Paradise. God knows every action you take and he does not care for the context, he only cares about the action. There is no "well, but" under the Lord.

Emma has mental illness, some kind of depression and anxiety, so this Big Brother Watching And Judging fucked her up. Especially since her church, in particular, was physically abusive if you did not confess to anything during confession. They thought if you had nothing to confess, you were lying.

At this point, she's met and engaged to Theodore Reinier, a rich heir to a European manufacturing company. He's pretty, a gentleman, and best of all, rich, so she can have as big and luxurious a garden as she wants. She likes him. She does not love him. She's in her twenties and unmarried with no kids, and her poor family needs to be taken care of. So she marries him. Theodore is smart enough to see this for what it is, and kind enough to allow it. He lets his wife do her own thing and treats her as a friend, rather than a lover. She hates this, she wants to be a wife (she doesnt). She wants kids, he gives her one. Augustijn. This birth goes rough, and she's told no more children.

Theodore makes one rule; August goes to a different church, or he does not go at all. Theo really didn't like Emma's church and he certainly wasn't exposing his kid to that shit.

Emma pretends to agree and takes Gus to That Church. Theo doesn't attend, so he doesn't know this is happening until much later. Gus gets all the same nasty shit Emma does. Theo learns of this when he sees Gus covered in bruises from confession beatings. This puts a huge rift between him and Emma, and he pulls all the strings he can to have her church shut down.

Emma grows to resent and hate Theo and Augustijn for not being the perfect husband and child she deserves as a good, God fearing house wife. Augustijn is left to his nannies, Emma hides away in her private garden, fuming. Theodore tries to bond with his son, but Emma's poisoned that well.

Emma tells Augustijn about demons, to fear them. She specifically tells him about church grims, demons that hunt around churches in the form of a dog to drag sinners to hell. She says this as she's admiring her new obsidian dog statues for her garden.

Eventually, Emma goes yellow wallpaper and loses her mind, and is sent to therapy and put on medications. Augustijn loathes his father for his mother's state. Theodore just wants his friend and son okay. But Emma, as she's out in town, coming back from therapy, she stops at a friend's house while the friend isn't there, and hooks up with the woman's husband. Friend's husband was stern, strict with his wife, God fearing, and generally an obnoxious 50s ideal shithead husband. Everything Emma wanted. This wasn't out of nowhere, it was brewing in the background. She knew both of them from her old church.

Emma goes home, and finally having a reason for the guilt that's always plagued her, elects to acknowledge her sin. She drowns herself in the pond of her garden, stared down by three dark, ruby-eyed dogs, overseeing her passage into the afterlife. Her young son comes into the garden to meet his mother, after she's been gone all day, only to find her in a red pool. He looks up into the eyes of the dogs. He remembers nothing of this incident, blocking it out and having been too young to understand.

Years pass, and Augustijn turns to drugs as well, though his come from the darkest parts of the Hague, rather than a doctor. He turns to sex, to crime, to anything he thinks will either corrupt him so much he doesn't care, or will finally make his guilt feel justified. He wears his mother's cross necklace through it all, and sees her beloved dog with every sin.

Augustijn goes to America for college, to Harvard, studying to become a pastor himself. (This is maybe the most terrifying part of him, the fact that he almost got it). But he doesn't feel satisfied with it, has a moment of clarity and realizes he isn't fit to preach anything. The grim certainly doesn't think so. He instead follows his only friend, Isadora, into the military. The US government allowing their soldiers to do chems means his failed drug tests don't matter.

Augustijn becomes a sniper. He has always hurt people, excelled in it, but taking life frightens him, because he knows he has no right to decide who lives or dies, not like this. But he's in China, and he's told to kill. He does, and he's very good at it. His teammates marvel at just how scrappy and determined he is, like a weed, a mold.

The Biandukou Pass Incident occurs. He eats his entire team, trapped in a Chinese mountain range during a blizzard.

Delirious from almost two months of surviving on nothing but psycho and human flesh, Augustijn is let loose back into Boston, honorably discharged. His lingering hallucinations from his Daytripper addiction, mixed with psycho withdrawal, trauma, guilt, shame, the fear of God—everything culminates. He looks up and sees the figure that has haunted him since that one, awful day; the church grim, staring expectantly.

His mother drowned herself, so he thought it fitting if he set himself ablaze.

#ss; alter #I hate to put a word to his specific illness because you always get people like 'this isnt what i think this is like so pls die'#but i imagine he'd be diagnosed with hppd #hallucinogen persisting perception disorder. basically lingering effects of hallucinogenics after use #the point of emma is that she did not ever see past the shit #Augustijn gradually learns how to reject his guilt and view himself objectively #and comes to see how he was hurt and how he hurt others. and accepts that he has a right to feel hurt but an obligation to be better #emma doesnt. she never would have even if she survived her attempt #its like. you only feel guilt because its a concept put into you #and emma taught him guilt. always feel dirty and shameful.#but. she didnt feel guilty. not really. she was confident in all of her actions and never once hesistated #she thought it was guilt just because she knew how it would look to other people. thats not guilt thats awareness.#she wasnt guilty she feared repercussions.#meanwhile her son grew up always ashamed and horrified at himself and was desperate for any kind of comeuppance #not to make it okay because he knew it wouldn't. but because he deserved it #accountability and justice are also big concepts in gus' character. the idea that someone becoming better and earnestly doing it #is better and more worthwhile than them suffering for their actions. this comes up with the Institute and Isadora #anyway if any of you come at me bitching about portaying a woman as abusive im biting #'joe no one does fhat' they literally do. its happened to me before. yall say you support womens wrongs until theyre abusive moms #anyway. fun fact; being beaten during confessions is why gus cant admit when hes done wrong for like 30 years. its a trauma/trigger #gus really is just. 'how do i process what happened to me without losing my mind'#and he lost his mind. but he does everything he can to find it again. because he doesnt want to feel this way anymore

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livvyofthelake · 3 months ago

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i do wish storygraph's filtered content system was more refined but i guess it's hardly the end of the world. gives "that one friend that's too woke" in many ways. sorry

#i have one thing in there that i put in because i wanted to know if i ever read a book with that one thing in it #but i keep reading books that have the warning thing pop up on it and i start the book and it's fucking fine and i check how many people #even used that content tag and it's always just one overcautious person. it's never been more than 3 i'm serious...#storygraph i utilized this feature because i don't want to read a book that contains a violent exploitative rape scene #and you keep warning me about a character drinking too much and hooking up with someone #which i agree is not great stuff i'm not trying to say that's not weird dubious consent. but that's NOT what i asked to be warned about...#i was watching how i met your mother reruns after school in fifth grade i can handle weird shit like that you don't have to warn me #they keep scaring me with that damn caution sign on every fucking book i read jesus christ #ok 'every' is a gross exaggeration. also i used to have three things filtered until just a few weeks ago when i trimmed it down #because then it was REALLY every damn book. so i cut back to the only one that really mattered and that stupid caution sign is still there #freaking me out every time i go to put in a book and i have to spend fifteen minutes combing through all the damn warnings to check #i am aware this is not a real problem and it's only a small inconvenience to my life and probably really helpful to other people who are #not me.... but is this not the aimless bitching website. support women when they're annoyed about spending five minutes looking at random #people's book reviews she doesn't care about on the crappy book reviews website #no offense to storygraph. but it's user interface does not support good reviews no one is looking to it for that #anyway. i also started young sheldon. have not yet formed an opinion on it. will let you know as soon as that happens

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woovalin · 6 months ago

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i’m in such disbelief right now and beyond disgusted.

i really hope y’all are choosing your morals over kpop; because we do not know these men at all. i will never side with or defend a predator and a criminal, even with little to no proof. even if there is the smallest chance he may be innocent, i will always believe the victim first.

some of you, as fans of the boys for years and him in general, i know you must be feeling disappointed and betrayed. you’re not dumb for previously supporting him, as we couldn’t have possibly known. but now is the time for a reality check and it’s time to wake up and take a step back. this just goes to show that we know absolutely nothing about them.

for sm to just outright put out a statement on their own before any rumors even surfaced and immediately kick him out? this has to be insanely serious and i’m terrified of what he could’ve done. the crazy thing is with everything currently happening in korea with the telegram situation, and korean women constantly being in danger in general because of the men there, i’m not at all surprised that celebrities are being exposed. sm has protected criminals before, and held onto lucas when his scandal came out as well as other artists who have been exposed for similar crimes. i can’t even imagine the severity of the current situation. we’ve seen what happened with the burning sun, and these men are not immune to being misogynistic, vile human beings.

members have already unfollowed him and deleted posts with him in them; his best friend of 17yrs has unfollowed him. the company taking the initiative and him getting kicked out of the group in less than a second before anything even came out, no denying the claims or even trying to defend him. that should be enough to tell you and understand how serious this actually is. i am beyond disgusted with him and this whole situation.

i sincerely hope the victim is doing okay and praying for them to heal and get the justice they deserve. and remember that your love for these celebrities should always be conditional, because we do not know them. it’s their job to put on a show and show you their public persona, but behind closed doors? we don’t know what they’re actually like. we put them on a pedestal and yet we don’t know what they’re really capable of. they are still men after all. i hope the police are taking this seriously. there needs to be consequences and these women need to be protected.

let this be a lesson to all of us. they don’t know us, and we don’t know them, not really, not at all.

ALWAYS choose morals over these strangers you idolize. and as women, we should be standing with the victims.

maybe not all men, but enough of them. and maybe not all men, but somehow always a man. and going forward, i will continue to support nct as a whole with the remaining members. however, keeping the situation in mind, i will be supporting from afar for a little while. if the situation escalates and other members are investigated and new information comes to light about the rest of them either knowing or possibly being involved, it would be best to step away for good. i will do my best to stay updated. but i do hope the rest of the members are doing okay, and hopefully no other members were involved; but this, just shows that they can always surprise us. you never think it’ll be your fave, until it is.

let’s hope this causes a domino effect and more of these people are exposed and charged for the crimes they’re committing.

sending love to anyone who has ever experienced sexual violence or has been targeted and been in a similar situation. it is not your fault and it never was!

love you all and my dms are always open if you need to vent. <3

❗️EDIT: also i wanna add that we need to not praise the rest of the members or any other celebrity for simply unfollowing him on social media. that is the least of anyone’s worries.

we don’t know if they were aware, we don’t know if they knew and were protecting him or turning a blind eye. it could be them trying to save themselves and clear their guilty conscience. maybe they didn’t know and are just as shocked as we are, we don’t know that either.

we blindly trust these people and believe they have good intentions but look at where that can lead to. fans being upset is valid, yes; but remember people with money and power will do whatever it takes to sweep things under the rug and make it go away in order to save face and keep their image and reputation.

follow-up post here.

#nct #nct 127 #taeil #moon taeil #kpop #sm entertainment

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lycandrophile · 5 months ago

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i clicked on the original tweet just to see if anyone else felt as weird about it as i did because at this point i’m just tired of seeing people going on and on about trans men dating cishet men who try to convince them not to transition as if it’s a funny joke about a trans man doing something silly and not a manipulative and generally very unhealthy relationship dynamic that can hurt the trans man involved really deeply (as forcing someone back into the closet tends to do.)

did i find anyone else feeling that way? no. there were a few people pointing out that it was weird in general, and plenty saying it’s a weird thing to say about a cis woman, but nothing expressing any sort of concern about the tired stereotype it’s perpetuating.

but you know what i did find? replies like the one in the second screenshot, using the tweet as their chance to tell the world how much they hate trans men and how repulsive they find the idea of ever being compared to us. and replies like the third one, shaming trans men in relationships like that as if the fact that they’ve found themselves in an unhealthy relationship makes them deserving of public shaming, as if their relationship is hurting anyone other than them.

stereotypes like this just feel like yet another way of indirectly calling us stupid little girls who don’t know what’s good for us, and the fact that a picture of a woman is being used (even jokingly!) as an example of what trans men “like that” look like should make the implications of rhetoric like this all the more obvious.

it’s relationships like these that keep us miserable in the closet for so long and drive up our sexual assault rates even more. they’re not funny and if anyone is going to be making jokes about them, it certainly shouldn’t be people who have never been in that situation. if you actually cared about us you’d be looking for ways to support the trans men you know who are in relationships like that instead of hopping on twitter to joke about how stupid they must be.

i don’t care if it’s a joke. if it victim blames trans men for the transphobia we face in our personal relationships, adds to the common idea that we can’t be trusted to make decisions about our own lives, and invites even more blatant transphobia against us by people who unabashedly admit they see all trans men as “disgusting and phony”, it’s not fucking funny.

(i also want to note that the people making these jokes never like to mention that this also happens to trans men in relationships with queer women. they also hate those trans men, of course, and are happy to express that when they get into fights about trans men who date lesbians, but they’ll never talk about it in the context of this particular stereotype. it’s always a man being manipulative in a relationship and pressuring trans men to not transition, as if a woman would never be capable of such a thing.

they also like to conveniently ignore the existence of older trans men who transitioned after already being in a committed relationship with a cishet man and were able to make that relationship work despite their transition, because acknowledging that would require recognizing that trans men can be in seemingly contradictory relationships and genuinely be happy with their partner. who needs nuance when you can simply choose to judge all trans men for our relationships regardless of what they’re actually like?)

do you think they also would call me “a trans man being purposefully misgendered” with this kind of vitriol because i’m still living with parents who don’t recognize my gender instead of moving out before i’m ready to be financially independent? at this point, i’m starting to feel like they might, with the way every decision a trans man ever makes is the subject of a public debate and people have decided that trans men are secretly using being misgendered as a weapon to somehow hurt other trans people.

as a general rule, i’d say the only people who should be making “X looks like a trans man” jokes about literally anyone/anything are trans men, and posts like this show exactly why those jokes being made by anyone else (even by other trans people) just isn’t a good idea.

#just got home from work and cannot be bothered to proofread all of this well so. enjoy my Raw Thoughts #cue someone saying ‘it’s not that deep’ as if i didn’t just spend many paragraphs explain why it bothers me so much #examples of transandrophobia #transandrophobia #transandromisia #transmisandry #virilmisia #virilphobia #anti transmasculinity #transmascphobia

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oblique-lane · 4 months ago

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Spy tf2 and his identity

Character analysis (or at least my vision on him, if you believe my reasoning)

What do we know about Spy? He's a disguise mastermind. He can pretend to be anyone in order to infiltrate into the scene to do his job - quite literally, stab people on the back. But when he's not in the battle, what is he to his teammates? A suave Frenchman, a gentleman with taste, somewhat a leader.

At least, that's the persona he prefers to show. But is he really..?

What if I tell you that this person never drops his disguise?

For a man who always wears a mask and who's identity being secret is a sacred part of his role in this job, isn't this persona too much to show if it is real? Frenchman, rich, ladykiller... Wouldn't it be too easy to decipher his identity with so much clues provided? Wouldn't it be dangerous?

While Miss Pauling and the Administrator definitely know Spy's real identity, hiding it is a major thing for whatever reason. One could assume it might be because of Scout (obvious guess) but I doubt he's a sole reason. Spy very much enjoys being the Spy all by himself. Do what's the deal?

Let's start from the beginning.

Why did Spy join Mann Co. in the first place?

Let's take this assumption as a fact: people come here out of desperation. They are professionals in their field, yet in their past/casual life there is a pattern of them having difficulties that push them into joining this service. I don't see why Spy would be an exception.

The reason for joining is usually money. Some people question why Spy, a wealthy man from higher society, would join Mann Co. if he has it all already.

Well, probably because he really does not.

Have you ever met an aristocrat? Wealthy people don't get so protective about their expensive suits, they can afford cleaning or a new one. Regardless, rich people don't usually get stingy about material goods, especially if they're mass produced.

At least, not those who were born into wealth.

Spy's defensiveness about his "wealthy stuff", his pomp-ness, disgust and arrogance towards "plebs" gives off a man who knows what it means to live in poverty and who doesn't want to be associated with it ever again.

(Not even talking about his own filthy habits such as not washing his mask and pissing on walls? Jesus Christ)

Dare I even guess that he might be not French at all? His French is so broken. (Although, so is Medic's German, but at least he uses his language much more frequently and in more complex sentences, while Spy only uses French to say some basic expressions, occasionally confusing them with other languages). Definitely not a native.

If anything, he's not giving "rich man" at all, he's giving con man. And that fits my picture perfectly.

So, poor upbringing. How old is Spy? If he's Scout's father (and he was young when he was conceived), I'd say he's no less than 20 years older than him. I'd give him a few more years actually. So, approximately Spy is around 50 at the events of the game (1968-1972). Let's assume he was born somewhere in the 1910s.

Even if he's not French, I still agree that he's probably European. Hmm, what was happening in Europe at the time Spy was a kid?

Oh yeah. The Great Depression.

See my picture: imagine, a child from a lower class family during the Great Depression, his parents were most likely to not take good care about him (both because of the economical situation AND as an echo to Spy's struggles with his own fatherhood). He has to run away from home early and start to make money. Any way possible.

Unavoidably, it leads to crime.

Petty theft, blackmail, scams. Changing identities. Selling low quality products and services. Changing identities again. When older, seducing rich women to stay at their homes overnight, be fed and supported. Running away from the police. Walking into a trap of the mafia, and then joining them as their goon.

In this nightmare of a life he just had to keep pretending to be someone else, someone better and stronger, in order to his ego to not completely shutter. He had to imagine he was an invincible mastermind trickster of some sort, not just a poor boo-hoo victim of poverty who has never knew normal life and care.

And if you pretend for long enough, you become your role eventually... Right?

His true self was long lost forgotten under many layers of new identities. Worse, his true self was never known. And he didn't want it to be known in its ugly and disgusting vulnerability. Narcissism became his lifeline.

It's so much better to be Spy. To be rich and elegant and respected. His ego rebuilt.

#tf2 spy #spy tf2 #tf2 #team fortress 2 #artists on tumblr #my art #team fortress #tf2 theory #tf2 character analysis #character analysis #tf2 headcanons #npd queen we stan #tf2 fanart

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notjustjavierpena · 9 months ago

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(Mid)summer Loving

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Yes, based on that new picture. I’ll call this my first contribution to getting railed in a sundress season.

Summary: The last two years of being with Joel has transformed the both of you. Mostly him. For the better.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, joel’s kink is being loved and appreciated, long haired joel!!!, healthy joel, established relationship, piv sex, size kink (it's big), rough, loud and desperate sex, dirty talk, praise kink, creampie, railed in a sundress season contribution, they are so soft for each other, bit of aftercare.

Word count: 3.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55988128

(Mid)summer Loving

It happens when you hear him through the crowd of people in the community center. Your head whips in his direction, your eyes settling on the crinkles around his eyes as he laughs at something Tommy has said to him. He swirls the whiskey in his glass and downs it with slight difficulty because he is still smiling.

You are only a table away, sitting with some of the women from your patrol group who gossip about potential suitors in the room, especially amongst the newcomers. However, you don’t really pay attention to what is being said because the love of your life sits across from you. It makes you able to admire him, struck by his transformation since he first came to Jackson and barged into your life. Your heart is so soft for him.

The most obvious change is the hair. It’s gotten longer, the ends curling slightly in a way that softens his otherwise rugged appearance of big leather boots and tripled layered clothing. He used to have it shorter, and while you loved its fluffy bounce on top of his head whenever it was caught in the wind, it doesn’t compare to how it now frames his face by just brushing his collar in the back. It may be a subtle shift to others but to you, it means that Joel is more at ease with who and where he is, and that he has allowed change to find him.

His beard, too, has filled out. It is now thick and even, not at all the patchy scruff that you noticed the first time he talked to you by the rag pile in the trading center. He’d searched for fabric that could be used for shining the creations that he makes when seeking respite in wood carving. You had noticed the patch that resembled a heart first, your own heart skipping a beat as you forced yourself not to point it out to him immediately. That patch is gone but you’ll spend no time mourning it when the result is Joel looking healthier than ever, almost as if his body has responded to happiness with you by filling in all the gaps that heartbreak had left.

Then there’s his face. It glows, despite his age, with a newfound youth, the signs of weariness and stress of years lived too hard it once bore completely wiped away. When you first met him, your heart had ached for his tired eyes, bags underneath them revealing all the sleepless nights and the burdens that he carried. The way they shine when they look into yours has your heart at ease and you can only hope he feels the same.

Around you, the women keep chatting, talking animatedly and giggling while you sip your drink and stay silent until they are nothing but a low hum in the background.

You only snap out of it when your name is said out loud. You furrow your brow, “Sorry?”

“I said that you don’t have to worry about things like this,” one of them chirps happily, “You already got your man.”

“Guess not, guess you’re right,” you chuckle softly and start to feel shy. You have never been one to be glaringly obvious in your happiness to the point where you display it at every opportunity but then Joel came along. He may worry about the gap of years between the two of you, often feeling undeserving of your love and attention but you only wish that he could see himself from your point of view. To you, he is everything. He doesn’t see how his presence calms and grounds you, how he makes you feel safe even in a world beyond repair. In his embrace, you feel even the biggest of anxieties and the worst of your challenges shrink into nothing. All he has to do is put his gentle, calloused hands on you and talk to you in that familiar southern drawl, and then your mind quiets down instantaneously.

However, if not his hands or his voice, his loving gaze also seems to do the trick. He suddenly turns his head in your direction, catching your eyes, and the sound of the lively conversations from each table mutes to nothing. He smiles at you and mouths a ‘you okay?’ at you.

‘Save me’ you decide to mouth back at him, making a face to see him smile with amusement. He slaps his brother’s back before putting both hands on the table to push himself to stand. You didn’t think he would take it seriously but just the sight of seeing him approach you makes you want to go home with him.

“Ready to go, honey?” He asks when he reaches your table, placing a hand on your shoulder and gently squeezing.

“Hi Joel,” your friend group says in unison.

“Ladies,” he nods and they giggle like schoolgirls, “Gotta get this one home.”

You shake your head with a little smile at their reaction. Then you swing your legs over the side of the chair. Joel helps you up and a moment after having said your goodnights, you leave together like you’ve done for a few years now.

Outside, people are scattered across the town square where a huge bonfire has been erected in the spot where the Christmas tree usually stands. Today is the annual midsummer celebration. Jackson is decorated with bundles of flowers that have replaced the painted eggs that tell people it is Easter. You smile at the memory of Ellie having been forced to join in on getting people in the spirit of Easter which had resulted in you trying to guess which of the eggs hanging from the sky had been crafted by the angry teen. You had decided that it might’ve been the one painted completely black.

Now, bright colors from nature hover above your head instead as you make your way down the main road. Joel holds your hand all the way home. He strokes the back of it with his thumb, feeling no pressure to fill up the silence between you as it has reached a point where it is comfortable.

When you reach your shared house, Joel stops you by the front door instead of opening it for you in the gentlemanly way he always does. He stands in front of you, the porch light softening his features as he gazes at you.

“You seemed a bit distracted with your friends tonight,” he notes, “Is everythin’ alright?”

“Just thinking about how lucky I am,” you answer with a smile, your voice sincere, “To have you.”

“I’m the lucky one, baby,” Joel huffs out a little laugh of disbelief, trying to brush off how flattered he always feels each time you say things like this. He gathers your hand in both of his, lifting it to kiss the back of it a few times, “Best fuckin’ thing that ever happened after the world ended.”

“Don’t let Ellie hear that,” you tease gently. In your chest, your heart hammers against your ribs from being loved by him.

“I’d never dream of it,” he steps closer with his eyes burning to get closer to you. You see them darken slightly as desire fills them and your heart jumps into your throat at the realization of what he wants.

You.

He wants you.

That’s the one thing that has also changed since you met him; he has become much more untameable when he has you around. Who knew that his stamina was so impressive? Who knew that Joel Miller getting a confession of love - whether it consisted of the actual words or simply was said in your actions - would have him dragging you to somewhere private as soon as possible?

“I love you, Joel Miller,” you say dreamily, pulling the trigger, “To the day that I die.”

And then suddenly Joel rips the door open so roughly that you’re afraid it might come off its hinges, pulls you inside along with him and slams it shut behind the both of you afterward. He locks it without hesitation, not about to be interrupted by any of your neighbors even if it’s most likely that everyone is out and about the town to be social.

You are pressed up against the door next, his broad hands resting on your hips as he holds you against it. He bunches up the skirt of your sundress, groping your sides on top of the fabric, and you sling an arm around his back. Your other arm reaches up so you can cup the back of his head, your fingers sliding into the hair there. He has the perfect length for pulling these days - you should know - but you’ll wait for the right moment.

His lips nearly bruise yours with how hard he kisses you, beard scratching your skin as he practically eats at your mouth to the point where your head swims and your belly swirls with hours of suppressed desire. You need him now, already soaked through your underwear and ready for him to be inside of you.

“Fuck me,” you whine against his lips, heart beating rapidly in your chest. So much that your breathing is already uneven, “Please, Joel, please.”

“S’alright, baby, I know whatcha need,” he rasps as his lips messily start descending on your chin, all the way across your jaw until his mouth attaches to your throat. You let your head bump against the door with a breathy moan, giving him access to bruise your neck too. He creates a purple mark that you will try to hide tomorrow during patrol to avoid interrogation on how Joel Miller is in bed. Only you can know.

Your skirt falls down the slight amount it has been pulled up when Joel goes to unbuckle his leather belt. The noise of the metal sends a shiver through you, anticipation rising to your cheeks by heating them up underneath no touch. You look down to see the belt hanging open, him shoving the denim down around his thighs afterward and following up with his briefs too.

The sight of his cock makes your mouth water. He is fully hard already, standing into the air at full attention and threatening to smear your pretty dress with his precome by poking into your belly if he dares get closer. You moan pathetically and he shushes you gently.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he soothes you like he would a child that has scraped their knee. He curls his fingers in the fabric of your dress once more before hiking it up along your thighs until he can stuff the bottom of the skirt into the top of your dress, effectively holding it up so it doesn’t fall down over your soaked panties again.

You grab at the sides of your underwear to shimmy out of them but Joel doesn’t exercise enough patience to wait for you to step out of them, so he hooks his fingers into the front. He finds your eyes when he feels how wet the cotton fabric is, doesn’t directly say anything about it but just shows you how full-blown his pupils are at the realization. Without warning, he yanks your panties to the side.

Satisfied with his work, he makes you gasp as he bends his knees to reach down and splay his strong hands on the back of your thighs. He lifts you off the ground and wraps you around him, pressing his knee into the door to hold you up while guiding his throbbing cock into you. You moan desperately at the initial sting, brows furrowing with slight pain as he sheaths himself inside of you to the hilt.

“Oh my God,” you whimper, letting his name fall from your lips in a helpless chant as he pulses from how your walls choke him as you strain to take him like you always do in the beginning. He might just split you open right here in the hallway when he starts fucking you.

“Shh, you can take it,” he whispers with the most brutally gentle peck on your zipped lips, “It’s okay. She knows it’s big, baby, but she can take it. I always fuck ya real good, don’t I?”

You nod helplessly, and fuck you, he does. It’s fast and hard and dirty. The poor wooden door rattles alongside the jingle of his belt buckle with each slam of his hips, the doorknob painfully gnawing into your lower back, and you fear the fabric of your underwear will snap from the strain that is put on it as it sits to the side. Sometimes you think you might even cut a hole in some of your pairs with how often Joel, still two years later, rushes to get his cock into you. There’s something oddly satisfying and offensive about just being able to bend over and let him see that all he has to do is push in.

“That’s it, look at me, baby, such a good girl f’me,” he praises to get you back to him, not here to lose your attention to the way his cock feels inside of your tight heat. Your eyes settle on him again, your mouth hanging open to elicit pathetic gasps each time he knocks the wind out of you by driving his hips up into you and effectively pounding your g-spot. His face is so close to you; you can feel his breath and share it with him, can study every little imperfection in the form of tiny scars and dark lines that you hadn’t been able to see earlier from your seat a few tables over.

“Joel,” you pant, digging your heels into the small of his back, clinging on desperately and angling your hips as he has his way with you. The slight adjustment has him going deeper, touching something inside of you that ignites the first sparks of an orgasm. Your nails claw, dig and scratch at his back in ways that would have been enough to draw blood if he wasn’t wearing a shirt, “Fuck, baby! Don’t— ngh, don’t stop.”

“You feel so good,” he replies with a groan, most likely powering through the exhaustion and strain on his body to make you feel even better. He is everywhere on you, his hands on your thighs, gripping and squeezing. He is everywhere in you too, his cock twitching inside of you each time you cry his name.

“I’m—“ you sob.

“Let go, baby, I can feel ya,” he growls when you dance around the edge of your orgasm because your fingers on both hands tangle into his beautifully chocolate hair, yanking harshly as impending pleasure knocks the breath out of your lungs. Your skin burns, your whole system halts and goes into overdrive at the same time until all you can do is shout silently at the ceiling. Your walls clench in mind-altering ecstasy then and your quietness is over, replaced by a relieved whine as you come on his dick. It is intense from how fast you’ve gotten there since he entered you, your body writhing as it is held against the wall. He fucks you through it, has you wailing as he chases his own high.

You cradle his head during his last few thrusts, feeling his damp breath against your shoulder as he buries himself inside of your spent cunt and comes hard. It feels so good when he groans as he fills you up, the sound vibrating through his entire body. You whimper at the ceiling with the way he pulses deliciously with each breathy moan until he has no more to give you.

He leans all his weight into you as he comes down again, holding you in place with his chest against yours to make sure that you won’t fall down and drag him with you. He gives you a moment and places a string of lazy kisses on your lips until he slips out of you with a soft sound.

Carefully, he places you back down on the floor and eyes you as he does it to be certain you won’t collapse. He moves off of you when it feels safe to do so.

“I say it back?” He asks as he leans against the door with you. Automatically, you tilt your head towards him. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, turning his head a second later to fully look at your disheveled state. You have a hand on your chest to calm your breathing but it still matches your fluttering heartbeat. He still aches between your legs.

You look back at him, awaiting his words with short breaths, “Say what?”

He makes a gesture to the both of you, “Before what we just did happened. I tell ya that I love you too?”

“No?” Your reply is almost a question.

“Shame on me,” he smiles and turns his whole body so that he faces you completely, shoulder against the door. His eyes soften as he reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. The warmth of his touch is nice when the sweat has started to cool you down, and you lean into his palm, feeling the roughness of his calloused skin against you.

“Shame on me, indeed,” he murmurs, eyes on your slightly open mouth, “Because I do love ya. More than I can understand sometimes.”

“You don’t have to say it back every time, Joel. I know,” you try to brush off how much your body and mind buzz at the same time.

He shakes his head slightly, his eyes never leaving your mouth, “No, I do needa say it. You deserve to hear it. I love you.”

You nod and reach to hold his wrist when he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your open mouth. Just a few minutes ago, the now-careful hands had been rough on your skin and his words had dripped with sin.

“Now, how ‘bout I take you to bed?” He asks and pulls your dress’ skirt out of the top, watching it tumble down and fall back into place around your knees.

While you wait for him to get dressed again, fatigue seems to finally have caught up with you because you feel like you might collapse in your hallway at that suggestion. When it’s safe to do so, you let yourself fall into his arms and he catches you without hesitation.

He scoops you up, goes upstairs with you in his arms, undresses you, washes you down with a warm flannel, and gets you into bed. You curl up on your side and after a while, after hearing his boots come off and the shuffling of clothes, the bed dips from his weight.

The warmth of his body against your back lulls you to sleep. Oh, how simply he loves you. Forever doesn’t seem like a lot to ask for.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

#pedro pascal characters #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us #my writing #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller the last of us

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sunderwight · 8 months ago

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Thinking about how lucky it is that Shen Qingqiu (SY version) never gave Luo Binghe the wrong impression that he wanted a harem.

Like imagine they've having a conversation and Shen Qingqiu makes some offhanded comment about a harem is all well and good, but he thinks it should definitely be of a manageable size, hint hint, with individuals who get along harmoniously and support their primary spouse, hint hint, and marrying almost everyone you hook up with is just bad form because it's inevitably going to cause friction and it'd be nearly impossible to properly look after that many extra spouses, hint hint.

Luo Binghe picks up on the hints but draws the entirely incorrect conclusions. Combined with his previous inquiries into what kinds of women his shizun likes (SQQ, not wanting to ever be seen as LBH's potential romantic rival and eager to free himself of the original's lecherous reputation: I have no interest in any women whatsoever!) and some subtle inquiries about when a person should settle down (SQQ, with unexamined anxiety at the prospect of his dear disciple heading out into the world: not too soon! a man should establish himself well and figure out what he likes first, and take his time!), Luo Binghe concludes that his master has been biding his time and is building up to constructing a reasonably-sized harem of malewives.

Because apparently, Shizun believes that a man in a position of significant power should inevitably want such things. And disciple Binghe isn't thinking of "a position of significant power" as "effective god-emperor of the whole world", his current ideas of such things are more along the lines of "peak lord" really. Also why should Shen Qingqiu make so many comments about how Luo Binghe must surely be anxious to start taking lovers or daydreaming about having a billion wives unless he just thinks that's the standard for everyone? Because that's what he wants?

It was chaotic enough when just one of these guys was bracing himself for the inevitable harem-building, but if Binghe also expected he was going to have to supply Shen Qingqiu with a stable of other men, hoo boy. Binghe telling himself that he's fine with it. As long as he's first wife, Shizun can have others. Getting particularly vicious towards new guys Shen Qingqiu meets, like okay he's resigned himself to Liu Qingge, and probably maybe also Yue Qingyuan, and in those cases definitely having to fight them tooth and nail for primary spouse position (his plan is to become the undisputed master of the domestic sphere and thereby outrank them on that front, even if he can't beat their peak lord credentials), but anyone else is someone he can potentially chase off and Shizun will still have his reasonably-sized harem. If Gongyi Xiao wants into the harem he's going to have to earn it, and he's getting bottom of the pecking order!

Binghe, after they finally get together, trying to have frank discussions about the inevitable harem. Shen Qingqiu putting on a brave face because he, of course, thinks Binghe's talking about his own harem. Getting confused as to why Liu Qingge is suddenly factoring into the conversation. Then reaching entirely the wrong conclusion because oh right, Binghe is gay now and Liu Qingge is extremely pretty. Makes sense! Definitely not what Binghe means but it makes sense!

Actually this would be a hilarious way for bingliushen OT3 to happen. Just a complete comedy of errors where bingqiu are both trying to secure Liu Qingge for each other without ever concretely establishing that either of them wants him, even though they think they have.

#svsss #scum villain's self saving system #scum villain #bingqiu #bingliushen

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ferrarifinnick · 21 days ago

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CHAIN OF ARMOUR | DAE-HO (PLAYER 388)

pairing: gentle!dae-ho x reader

summary: with lights out approaching, there's a heavy feeling in your stomach. but dae-ho's right there to comfort you, and so is jung-bae and the rest of your group. warnings: angsty fluff, established relationship, allusion to sexual harassment, protector!dae-ho, fear, comfort, alliance (young-il, gi-hun, jung-bae), fatherly figure, jung-bae/dae-ho military roleplay.

2.3k words

an: this might be my favourite piece i’ve written for some time. it’s lengthier, so sweet it’ll melt your heart (it melted mine!), and say hello to the other characters for me would you? feedback and requests are always welcomed. enjoy! <3

“players, please prepare for bed. you have ten minutes until lights out.”

there was something in the air. something ugly and perverse, and you saw it every time you glanced to the other side of the hall. every time you made eye contact with a man. the hunger in their gaze wasn’t for food, but for you. maybe to the other women around you, too, but with the amount of eyes settling on you, it felt personal. targeted.

the longer you sat silent in the company of your group, the more you seemed to focus on the unease growing in your stomach. the more you seemed to catch the occasional word from the other side of the room. pretty girl, they said without enough worry about being discreet. so little, they whispered.

it’s only when you caught parts of their plans for you that the heat drained from your body, along with any semblance of confidence that you’d had earlier of surviving the night.

but maybe survival isn’t what you wanted if they did get ahold of you. maybe death is what you were really after. the guards, always eager to pull the triggers of their big black guns, but would they grant you that mercy? would they interfere with games? with the immorality threatening you from what felt like every corner?

the call of your name was gentle.

you glanced up and caught dae-ho’s soft eyes. the warmth returned so quickly to your body, you wondered if the sun had been made obsolete.

he sat opposite you on the benches your group settled around, lunch trays strewn messily over the floor as you finished up your supper.

“yes?” you replied, but the shakiness of your voice was evident even through one word.

dae-ho glanced down at your hand and you followed his gaze. your carton of milk a crumpled mess, squished to the point that milk oozed out the hole your straw poked through. you gasped at the milk trickling down your wrist, and quickly wiped your skin with the sleeve of your jacket.

he watched you with a frown, concern knitting his brows together. “are you alright?” he asked, the softness of his words tinged with the worry bubbling in his chest.

you nodded, too quickly to quash his suspicion, and the squeak of your “yes!” was the icing on the cake.

dae-ho sighed and pushed himself to his feet, crossing the small distance between you to settle at your side. he wordlessly used the sleeve of his own jacket to wipe up droplets of milk you hadn’t even realised had dropped onto the thighs of your sweatpants.

“you don’t need to worry,” he said quietly, close enough for only you to hear. he lifted the edge of his jacket to your face and tilted your head to wipe up a little trickle of milk from you neck. “how hard were you squeezing?” he gasped quietly, brushing one final drop from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

you sheepishly lowered your head. he pressed his thigh against yours, a silent show of support, and his way of encouraging you to meet his gaze once more. you did, and nearly flinched at the worry that brought out the tiny fine lines in his forehead.

“i mean it,” he repeated. “i won’t let anything happen to you. not now, not ever.”

you wanted to believe him. you wanted to believe he could fight off all those men, all those who wished you harm. but he was only one man, and no matter how mighty and brave, no matter how hard he would fight for you, you knew he wasn’t a superhero. he couldn’t beat impossible odds, no matter how hard he would try to.

suddenly that feeling gnawed at your stomach again. you wanted to leap into dae-ho’s arms, let him shield you from the dark, scary world. the monsters you feared would get bold in the dark. but you couldn’t. you could only glance back across the hall, at the hungry gazes stuck on you like an angry, unrelenting wasp.

dae-ho called your name again, but this time you couldn’t look up. he repeated it, his hand lifting to catch you cheek, trying to block your view of the men. trying to refocus your attention to him, to the man who would stretch and tear himself into three, five, seven, however many bodies he needed to become your hero.

but it was jung-bae who got through to you. the short and stout man who warmly took you under his wing, who accepted you as a little chick in his bird nest, and who gave you a father figure in a place that felt far from home.

“you’re trembling like a leaf!” he gasped, his own hands plucking up yours, before leaning in closer to examine your face. he caught your chin in his fingers. “what is it, chicken? what’s bringing you such fright?”

his comfort drew you closer, and you shifted closer until your head fell against his shoulder. “i’m worried… about tonight,” you said, sneaking a nervous glance to the other side of the room.

the o’s. although they matched the numbers on your side, their presence was twice as ominous, and it would only be worse under the veil of darkness fast approaching. the tension slowly spread through your muscles, and suddenly it was no longer just your hands shaking. legs, arms, anything that could contract, trembling as you pictured the men across the room as only silhouettes. your thigh bumped into dae-ho’s, and he caught it with one of his big hands, holding it flush against his. he traced patterns over the cotton of your sweatpants.

but you were only growing more tense.

jung-bae gasped, pulling his hands from yours. “ow!” he cried, rubbing soothing circles into the palms of his hands, looking to you with surprise. “such strength in such a little girl!” he said, and you caught a glimmer of playfulness in his wide eyes.

your head sank sheepishly. “sorry, sir,” you apologised.

“and yet, the manners of a princess!” he exclaimed, approval rife in taking your hand to squeeze. he lifted it, shaking it along as he said, “a princess has no reason to fear with her noble guards around to protect her.”

you held his gaze and tried to smile, tried to believe him, tried not to think about the hungry gazes harassing you from the other side of the room. you couldn’t help look up, see the danger targeted right at you in the lick of lips, in the sly grins, and suddenly the shaking in your hands vibrated through jung-bae’s body.

“young-il!” suddenly your hand was swept in the direction of your newest ally, and jung-bae shook it as he said, “strong, clever, fierce.”

young-il nodded firmly, a confident smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he held your gaze, but you were quickly locking eyes with gi-hun as jung-bae warmly said, “gi-hun! loyal, determined, kind.”

the warmth of his eyes was all the convincing you needed, but gi-hun still reached out to squeeze your shoulder reassuringly. that’s the kind of man he was.

“jung-bae,” jung-bae said of himself, slapping your hand into his chest this time. “marine,” he said, lifting his other arm into a flex of his bicep, and while you saw no activation in the muscle, somehow it didn’t matter. it was the pride in his eyes, the conviction in his tone as he said, “wise as time,“ and you believed him. “and handsome as brad pitt.”

the widening of your eyes preceded your surprised giggle, but you couldn’t cover you mouth in time to suppress it.

jung-bae’s eyes blew wide again. “she laughs!” he accuses in mock disbelief, glancing between the other men in your group, before settling back on you. “many women say jung-bae is the one that got away!” he insists, but only grins wider as you stifle more of your little giggles.

your hand still in his thrown around again as he pretends to take offence, but he soon eases into calmness again, before leaning in closer.

“don’t forget, there are two marines here,” he said quietly, and you barely caught the flash of mischief in his eyes before he suddenly straightened his back, snapping his other hand into a click as he commanded “dae-ho!” with such authority that he jumped immediately to attention.

“yes, sir!” he shouted back, unflinching as his chopsticks crashed and clanged on the hard floor under his feet.

jung-bae’s chest swelled with approval. “are you afraid?!” he commanded.

“no, sir!”

“of men?”

“no, sir!”

“of the dark?”

“no, sir!”

you caught the sly smirk jung-bae shot you, before asking, “of jung-bae?”

“no, sir!”

his face dropped into a scowl, and he swatted a hand to the side of dae-ho’s shoulder, landing a blow right against the ink of his marine tattoo. dae-ho didn’t even flinch, back still straight and standing tall, his eyes fixed ahead with determination.

jung-bae asked one final question of him. “what of the men, the oh’s, behind you?”

a beat is not skipped when dae-ho sharply insisted, “no, sir!”

jung-bae slowly turned back to face you, a warm confidence as he said, “the dark is frightening. it’s where monsters live, where evil lurks. but what can defeat the dark?” he asked, leaning back ever so slightly to let you ponder, inviting you to look at the three other men in your alliance. each one stared back warm, kind, determined, and when jung-bae leant back in, you understood him when all he gently said is “light.”

you couldn’t seem to look away as dae-ho held your gaze, the quiet confidence radiating from his kind eyes, and suddenly the tension in your muscles faded away. the trembling of your hands subsided, and you weren’t gripping onto jung-bae’s hand so tightly.

dae-ho offered you sincerity when he promised, “they’ll have to get past us to get to you,” he said. “through me.”

he offered his hand out, and jung-bae lifted your hand to meet dae-ho’s. you took it, fingers interlocking as he gently but effortlessly pulled you up from the bench. he rested your entwined hands against his chest, leaning down to press a kiss to your skin. he gazed down into your eyes.

“i would set all the money in the world on fire to keep you safe,” he said so gently, you swore your knees would give out. “let me be your light,” he referenced jung-bae, nodding a head toward the cluster of your bunks. “stay with me tonight, in my bunk.”

you didn’t need to think about it. “please,” you whispered, holding onto his hands tighter.

the corners of his lips stretched into a smile softer than his breath on your knuckles as he kissed your hands again.

he climbed up the benches towards the bunks, stopping patiently after each step to turn and help you up. your legs were shorter than his, and he didn’t want to risk you catching your knee on a sharp corner and getting a bruise. but when you got to the ladder of his bunk, he dropped your hand to take purchase on your hips, lifting you with ease up the first few rungs.

he followed after you, glancing up and holding a hand out just in case you lost your footing.

“careful,” he warned as you approached the shelf of his bunk, rushing up the last few steps just to reach out and cover the sharp corner of the bunk above. you ducked your head under it, and his hand dropped to your lower back to help guide you in.

he joined you on the thin mattress after you settled down.

“are you cold?” he asked, fingers catching the zip of his jacket, waiting for your command.

“a little,” you admitted, but stopped him from declothing himself by placing a hand over the zipper on his chest. you lifted your eyes to find his. “can you lay with me? please.”

dae-ho’s gaze softened. “yeah,” he breathed gently, and you wondered where his voice had gone. he slowly lowered himself onto his back, one arm spreading out for you to curl up to his side. when you did, he closed his arm around your body and secured you in place. to him.

you nuzzled into his side. everything about him was so safe, and you wondered if it was the lingering scent of his shampoo or his gentle breathing that made your eyes heavy.

he held you, gentle but firm, while the others in your group climbed and settled into the surrounding bunks. the presence was suffocating in the best way. all around you, a friendly face, a willingness to shield you from danger, and for once in your life, a selection of men you could count on.

it dawned on you, like this, that jung-bae was right. the ease in your chest came down to the shield around you, the men willing to protect you for no reward, for no recognition. everything to gain by letting you get eliminated in the dark of night, and everything to lose by letting you live. but yet, they chose the latter. they chose to guard you. their princess.

and even as the lights turned out, when the shadows played tricks on your eyes, your hands didn’t tremble. they laced with dae-ho’s, who pulled you in closer, lips pressing against yours in a silent promise.

“i’ll see you in the morning,” he whispered.

as the heaviness in your eyelids became too much to fight off any longer, you took one last moment to savour the warmth radiating from his body. only then, with your head in his chest, the chill leaving your body, did you realise that yes, so long as dae-ho was here, the sun was obsolete.

i could sleep easy in dae-ho’s arms. please like, comment, reblog. love <3

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