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#Some things just need structure... And this is coming from the least structured person
artsekey · 4 months
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Disney's Wish
Look, Disney's Wish has been universally panned across the internet, and for good reason.
It’s just…kind of okay.
 When we sit down to watch a Disney film—you know, from the company that dominated the animation industry from 1989 to (arguably) the mid 2010’s and defined the medium of animation for decades—we expect something magnificent. Now, I could sit here and tell you everything that I thought was wrong with Wish, but if you’re reading this review, then I imagine that you’ve already heard the most popular gripes from other users across the web. So, let me focus in:
The biggest problem with Wish—in fact, the only problem with Wish—is Magnifico.
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Whoa, that’s crazy! There’re so many things about Wish that could’ve been better! The original concept was stronger! The music was bad--
I hear you, I do. But stay with me here, okay? Take my hand. I studied under artists from the Disney renaissance. I teach an adapted model of Disney’s story pipeline at a University level. I spent a ridiculous amount of time getting degrees in this, and I am about to dissect this character and the narrative to a stupid degree.
First, we need to understand that a good story doesn’t start and end with what we see on the screen. Characters aren’t just fictional people; when used well, characters are tools the author uses (or in this case, the director) to convey their message to the audience. Each character’s struggle should in some way engage with the story’s message, and consequently, the story’s theme. Similarly, when we look at our protagonist and our antagonist, we should see their characters and their journeys reflected in one-another.
So, what went wrong between Asha & Magnifico in terms of narrative structure?
Act I
In Wish, we’re introduced to our hero not long into the runtime—Asha. She’s ambitious, caring, and community-oriented; in fact, Asha is truly introduced to the audience through her love of Rosas (in “Welcome to Rosas”).  She’s surrounded by a colorful cast of friends who act as servants in the palace, furthering her connection with the idea of community but also telling us that she’s not of status, and then she makes her way to meet Magnifico for her chance to become his next apprentice.
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Quick aside: I'm not going to harp on Asha as a character in the context of Disney's overall canon. Almost every review I've seen covers her as a new addition to Disney's ever-growing repertoire of "Cute Quirky Heroines", and I think to be fair to Asha as an actor in the narrative, it serves her best to be weighed within the context of the story she's part of.
As Asha heads upstairs for her interview, we're introduced to the man of the hour: Magnifico. He lives in a tower high above the population of Rosas, immediately showing us how he differs from Asha; he’s disconnected from his community. He lives above them. He has status. While the broader context of the narrative wants us to believe that this also represents a sense of superiority, I would argue that isn’t what Magnifico’s introduction conveys; he's isolated.
Despite this distance, he does connect with Asha in “At All Costs”. For a moment, their goals and values align. In fact, they align so well that Magnifico sees Asha as someone who cares as much about Rosas as he does, and almost offers her the position.
… Until she asks him to grant Saba’s wish.
This is framed by the narrative as a misstep. The resonance between their ideals snaps immediately, and Magnifico says something along the line of “Wow. Most people wait at least a year before asking for something.”
This disappointment isn't played as coming from a place of power or superiority. He was excited by the idea of working with someone who had the same values as he did, who viewed Rosas in the same way he does, and then learns that Asha’s motivations at least partially stem from a place of personal gain.
Well, wait, is that really Asha's goal?
While it's not wholistically her goal, it's very explicitly stated & implied that getting Saba's wish granted is at least a part of it. The audience learns (through Asha's conversation with her friends before the interview) that every apprentice Magnifico has ever had gets not only their wish granted, but the wishes of their family, too!  Asha doesn’t deny that this is a perk that she’s interested in, and I don't think this is a bad thing.
So, Is Asha’s commitment to Saba selfless, or selfish? I’m sure the director wanted it to seem selfless, wherein she believes her family member has waited long enough and deserves his wish granted, but we can’t ignore the broader context of Asha essentially trying to… skip the line.
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Then, we get our first point of tension. Magnifico reveals his “true colors” in snapping at Asha, telling her that he “decides what people deserve”. This is supposed to be the great motivator, it’s meant to incite anger in the audience—after all, no one gets to decide what you deserve, right? But unfortunately for the integrity of the film and the audience's suspension of disbelief, at least part of Magnifico’s argument is a little too sound to ignore:
Some wishes are too vague and dangerous to grant. Now, there’s visual irony here; he says this after looking at a 100 old man playing the lute. The idea that something so innocuous could be dangerous is absurd, and the audience is meant to agree.
... But we’ve also seen plenty of other wishes that might be chaotic—flying on a rocket to space, anyone? The use of the word vague is important, too—this implies wording matters, and that a wish can be misinterpreted or evolve into something that is dangerous even if the original intent was innocuous. His reasoning for people forgetting their wish (protecting them from the sadness of being unable to attain their dreams) is much weaker, but still justifiable (in the way an antagonist’s flawed views can be justified). The film even introduces a facet of Magnifico’s backstory that implies he has personal experience with the grief of losing a dream (in the destruction of his home), but that thread is never touched on again.
              What is the audience supposed to take from this encounter? If we’re looking at the director’s intent, I’d argue that we’ve been introduced to a well-meaning young girl and a king who’s locked away everyone’s greatest aspiration because he believes he deserves to have the power to decide who gets to be happy.
              But what are we shown? Our heroine, backed by her friends, strives to be Magnifico’s apprentice because she loves the city but also would really like to see her family's wishes granted. When this request is denied and she loses the opportunity to be his apprentice, she deems Magnifico’s judgement unfair & thus begins her journey to free the dreams of Rosas’ people.
              In fairness, Magnifico doesn’t exhibit sound judgement or kindness through this act of the film. He’s shown to be fickle, and once his composure cracks, he can be vindictive and sharp. He's not a good guy, but I'd argue he's not outright evil. He's just got the makings of a good villain, and those spikes of volatility do give us a foundation to work off of as he spirals, but as we’ll discuss in a bit, the foreshadowing established here isn’t used to the ends it implies.
              While I was watching this film, I was sure Magnifico was going to be a redeemable villain. He can’t connect with people because he's sure they value what he provides more than they value him (as seen in “At All Costs” and the aftermath), and Asha’s asking for more was going to be framed as a mistake. His flaw was keeping his people too safe and never giving them the chance to sink or swim, and he's too far removed from his citizens to see that he is appreciated. Asha does identify this, and the culmination of her journey is giving people the right to choose their path, but the way Magnifico becomes the “true” villain and his motivations for doing so are strangely divorced from what we’re shown in Act I.  
Act II:
His song, “This is the Thanks I Get!?” furthers the idea that Magnifico’s ire—and tipping point—is the fact that he thinks the people he’s built a kingdom for still want more. Over the course of this 3:14 song, we suddenly learn that Magnifico sends other people to help his community and doesn’t personally get involved (we never see this outside of this song), and that he’s incredibly vain/narcissistic (he's definitely a narcissist). I think feeling under-appreciated is actually a very strong motivation for Magnifico as a character-turning-villain, and it works very well. It’s justified based on what we’ve seen on screen so far: he feels under-appreciated (even though he’s decidedly not—the town adores him), he snaps and acts irrationally under stress (as seen with his outburst with Asha), and he’s frustrated that people seem to want more from him (again, as seen with his conversation with Asha in Act I).
              But then… he opens the book.
Ah, the book. As an object on screen, we know that it's filled with ancient and evil magic, well-known to be cursed by every relevant character in the film, and kept well-secured under lock and key. But what does it stand for in the context of the narrative's structure? A quick path to power? We're never told that it has any redeeming qualities; Magnifico himself doesn't seem to know what he's looking for when he opens it. It feels... convenient.
I think it's also worth noting that he only turns to the book when he's alone; once again, the idea of connection and community rears it's ugly head! Earlier in the film, Amaya-- his wife-- is present and turns him away from taking that path. In her absence, he makes the wrong choice.
This decision could make sense; it contains powerful magic, and if it were framed in such a way that the people of Rosas were losing faith in Magnifico’s magic, as if what he can do might not be enough anymore after what they felt from Star, going for the book that we know contains spells that go above and beyond what he can already do would be logical. Along the lines of, “If they’re not happy with what I do for them, fine. I, ever the “martyr”, will do the unthinkable for you, because you want more.”
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            It would keeps with the idea that Magnifico believes he's still trying to help people, but his motivation has taken his self-imposed pity party and turned it into resentment and spite.
 But, that’s not the case. Instead he talks about reversing that “light”, which has had no real negative or tangible consequences on Rosas. Everyone had a warm feeling for a few seconds. Again, it’s meant to paint him as a vain control freak, but… he hasn’t lost any power. The citizens of Rosas even assume the great showing of magic was Magnifico.
Act III
              Then, we get to the consequences of opening the book (and perhaps my biggest qualm with this film). The book is established as being cursed. Magnifico knows it, Asha knows it, and Amaya—who is introduced as loyal-- knows it. The characters understand his behavior is a direct result of the book, and search for a way to save him. This is only the focus of the film for a few seconds, but if you think about it, the fact that his own wife cannot find a way to free him of the curse he’s been put under is unbelievably tragic. Worse still, upon discovering there is no way to reverse the curse, Magnifico—the king who built the city & “protected it” in his own flawed way for what seems to be centuries—is thrown out by his wife. You know, the wife who's stood loyal at his side for years?
              It’s played for laughs, but there’s something unsettling about a character who’s clearly and explicitly under the influence of a malevolent entity being left… unsaved. If you follow the idea of Magnifico being disconnected from community being a driving force behind his arc, the end of the film sees him in a worse situation he was in at the start: truly, fully alone.
              They bring in so many opportunities for Magnifico to be sympathetic and act as a foil for Asha; he’s jaded, she’s not. He’s overly cautious (even paranoid), she’s a risk-taker. He turns to power/magic at his lowest point, Asha turns to her friends at her lowest point. Because this dichotomy isn’t present, and Magnifico—who should be redeemable—isn’t, the film is so much weaker than it could’ve been. The lack of a strong core dynamic between the protagonist and antagonist echoes through every facet of the film from the music to the characterization to the pacing, and I believe if Magnifico had been more consistent, the film would’ve greatly improved across the board.
I mean, come on! Imagine if at the end of the film, Asha—who, if you remember, did resonate with Magnifico’s values at the start of the film—recognizes that he's twisted his original ideals and urges him to see the value in the people he’s helped, in their ingenuity, in their gratitude, & that what he was able to do before was enough. Going further, asking what his wish is or was—likely something he’s never been asked— and showing empathy! We’d come full circle to the start of the film where Asha asks him to grant her wish.
Pushing that further, if Magnifico’s wish is to see Rosas flourish or to be a good/beloved king, he'd have the the opportunity to see the value in failing and how pursuing the dream is its own complex and valuable journey, and how not even he is perfect.
 The curse and the book (which, for the purposes of this adjustment, would need to be established as representing the idea of stepping on others to further your own goals/the fast way to success), then serve as the final antagonist, that same curse taking root in the people of Rosas who’ve had their dreams destroyed, and Asha works with the community to quell it. Asha’s learned her lesson, so has Magnifico, and the true source of evil in the film—the book—is handled independently. Magnifico steps back from his role as King, Amaya still ends up as Queen, and Asha takes her place as the new wish-granter.
This route could even give us the true “Disney villain” everyone’s craving; giving the book sentience and having it lure Magnifico in during “This is the Thanks I Get!?” leaves it as its own chaotic evil entity.
All in all, Magnifico's introduction paved a road to redemption that the rest of the film aggressively refused to deliver on, instead doubling down on weaker motivations that seem to appear out of thin air. Once the audience thinks, hey, that bad guy might have a point, the protagonist has to do a little more heavy lifting to convince us they're wrong.
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Look at the big-bad-greats from Disney's library. There isn't a point in the Lion King where we pause and think, "Wait a second, maybe Scar should be the guy who rules the Pridelands." Ursula from the Little Mermaid, though motivated by her banishment from King Triton's Seas, never seems to be the right gal for the throne. Maybe Maleficent doesn't get invited to the princess's birthday party, but we don't watch her curse a baby and think, Yeah, go curse that baby, that's a reasonable response to getting left out.
What do they all have in common? Their motivation is simple, their goal is clear, and they don't care who they hurt in pursuit of what they want.
Magnifico simply doesn't fall into that category. He's motivated by the idea of losing power, which is never a clear or impactful threat. His goal at the start seems to be to protect Rosas, then it turns into protecting his own power, and then-- once he's corrupted-- he wants to capture Star. The problem is, there's no objective to put this power toward. Power for power's sake is useless. Scar craves power because he feels robbed of status. Ursula believes the throne is rightfully hers. Maleficent wanted to make a statement. Magnifico... well, I'm not really sure.
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avelnfear · 1 year
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This is a snippet that might someday make it into my fic.
“He’s the least dangerous one.” Jason snorted at Ra’s Al Ghul’s words. “He’s the civilian in a family of Bats.” Jason let out a short laugh, clamping his mouth shut as soon as he heard his voice. He was clearly struggling to hold in his laughter, but no one could deduce why. “By taking all of you first we have taken away his support, making it easy to deal with him.”
Anyone who knew Ra’s Al Ghul knew that he’d just told them that he’d captured the heroes and then ordered the death of a person they’d left behind. By the destroyed look on all but one of the heroes faces, this person would be dearly missed.
Jason tried to keep from laughing, he really did, but the combined looks of horror on his family’s faces and the smugness coming from a man who was so very wrong proved to be too much. He burst into laughter so hard that one might think he’d been hit with Joker’s Gas. The room’s occupants looked at him with varying levels of confusion, concern, and disbelief.
When his laughter didn’t dissipate for a long time, Ra’s became angry. “What do you find so funny? You’ve just been informed that your beloved will be killed, and you find that funny?” His tone was biting even in his clear confusion.
Abruptly, Jason stoped laughing. The change was so sudden that it was unnerving. Several people, captive or otherwise jolted with the jarring shift in attitude as all amusement had left Jason’s face.
“I don’t find it funny.” Jason leaned forward as much as the chains binding him would allow, locking eyes with Ra’s, his face deadly serious. “I find it fucking hilarious.” Jason waited until Ra’s opened his mouth to continue as everyone else watched in stunned silence. “You think he’s the normal one, the civilian in a group of heroes. You think he’s not very dangerous if dangerous at all. You think your assassins can do anything to him. You think he needs us for support. You think you’ll be able to kill him. You think you are safe. You think he’ll never be able to find you. You think you’ve won.” Jason’s voice was soft and quiet yet piercing. He leaned back, expression blank. “As for me? Of course I don’t find it funny. The sheer amount of things your wrong about it hilarious all on its own, without any context. I can’t fucking wait to see the look on your face when you find out just how wrong you are. You’ve fucked around, now it’s time to find out. Your brilliant fucking strategy is an absolute shit show because of misinformation. If I were you, I’d start praying, hoping that some god is willing to further piss off the one you call a civilian by protecting your sorry ass to the best of their ability. It might buy you an extra minute to exist.”
There was a massive thud from down the hall, coming from an impact that struck the whole structure. Jason tilted his head down, grin sharp and inhuman and eyes flashing green.
From down the hall was clearly heard, “Cucumber on a stick! I overshot!”
The other captives tensed, that was Danny! What was he doing here? How was he here?
The assassins in the room tensed. That voice belonged to the civilian lover Red Hood was just ranting about. How was he here? How was he still alive?
Ra’s felt something odd swell in his chest, tightening his muscles and making his heart race. He knew it was a civilian on the other side of the door, he knew it. There was nothing special about Danny Nightingale except that he’d changed his name from Daniel Fenton. Then why, why, did Ra’s suddenly feel like prey that had wandered into the path of a predator?
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olderthannetfic · 12 days
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I found AO3 pretty intuitive. Took me like 5 minutes to realize how all the little buttons work. They're pretty straightforward. Apart from the AND filters - took me a while to realize what type of filters AO3 used. Beyond that, I'm not sure why people have a hard time? Wattpad and FFnet are way more of a pain in the ass.
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It's all about familiarity.
I mean, look, AO3 works how my brain works. When we first set it up, it was what we were all used to, more or less, but an upgrade. It was hard to even see how it could ever be unintuitive because this was just How Things Were. From the style of trope tags to the fact that there's an index of fandoms by media type, it was all familiar.
But that thinking is a trap.
It's easy to say "Oh, well, that person's just an idiot", and sometimes, the problem really is laziness or sleep deprivation, but a lot of the time, it's different cultural context.
By the time we were designing AO3, I'd had many rounds of formal instruction in how to use library catalogues of various sorts, familiarity with Delicious, years in LJ slash fandom whose assumptions form the metadata structures of AO3, etc.
There's nothing strange about going "Why are ship types a top level system of organization?" or "How do I search for genre X in any anime fandom but not in non-anime fandoms?"
It's strange to me, but it's not strange in the context of people who read fanfic overall.
It's not just about learning the search features that do exist: it's about unconscious assumptions about what metadata must exist.
If you don't know to look for something and you aren't coming from a culture where poking buttons is encouraged, you're going to take a lot longer to find things than if you already have a good idea of what's probably there somewhere.
To pick two very obvious examples:
If I were designing a gen-focused archive, I'd make genre a top-level organization system, like on FFN.
If I were designing a more x-reader-focused or One True Character-focused archive, I'd make the ship searches work like Character X/Anyone instead of having to click on each ship of your blorbo or each ship with Reader.
If someone has years of experience searching for some bullshit 'trickyfish' style nonsense ship name because they're on sites with garbage searches, they'll go to AO3, plug some words into the search bar at the top, and then feel like they can't find any relevant results because everything that turns up is just that word in author's notes on an irrelevant fic. They might even go to advanced search...
...and then totally miss that the sidebar filters are the best part of AO3, and they don't appear when you do a search search as opposed to starting from a tag.
Isn't Advanced Search the most... well... advanced search? On every other website, it is, but not on AO3.
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Each new site/technology/culture/etc. a person has to learn takes time and attention. If you're exhausted and burnt out, that's hard. Even if you're not, it takes at least some effort. It doesn't Just Happen, not for every person and every new thing.
We should tell people to read the damn FAQ, yes.
But I can't say I always do that myself on every site unless I'm both having a problem and invested enough to care about solving it.
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On an average day, most of us don't need to care why some people have a hard time figuring out AO3.
But if anyone is planning to design a site or needs to teach a bunch of kids how to use the library or something, it's worth keeping in mind just how many unconscious assumptions are hiding behind the idea of something—literally anything—being "intuitive".
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talks-with-the-void · 11 days
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Fluid kintypes - identity doesn't need to be static
I used to be a wolf, once. Not in a past-life sense, but in a therian sense - I was a wolf therian and then I wasn't. Sounds weird to you? I'm not surprised!
Something that I have repeatedly been told by other therians and otherkin is "you are what you are and if you find out you are something else - well, then you never were the first thing at all." Especially when I joined the community several years ago, I saw this statement everywhere. But let me tell you: it's not true. I had several different kintypes over the years (side note: we are plural and for the sake of this post I am simplifying some internal structure things. if you want the complicated details, feel free to ask! /gen), started as a wolf therian, then I was a cryptid, a dinosaur, a dragon and some kind of monster. Now I am Khhanivore (from Love, Death and Robots) and Mewtu (from Pokemon, Mewtu is the German spelling) - and a raptor kintype is coming back. (I am also a werewolf, but that's not a kintype, that's just Purely Me And My Whole Essence)
"Okay Istasha, but isn't that just questioning or maybe flickertypes?", you might ask. Fair point, but no.
I honestly never really questioned my kintypes - if I truly question something, it turns out to either be a hearttype or Nothing at All. As for kintypes, I just know - all of us just know what we are, it's like chilling and one day, suddenly, one of us is like "oh, I am a horse. alright, carry on" and that's it. Our kintypes stay with us for several months at least, theoretically they could stay forever but tend to change along the way - which brings me to the next point. They aren't flickertypes either. We only really get fictionflickers and sometimes animalflickers and those are extremely short and always tied to media we are currently consuming - they feel, technically, like kintypes to me. For example, if I watch a lot of Supernatural, I sometimes get an intense feeling of belonging there, of being a non-canon character, of being part of the story, etc. I am this non-canon character in that moment, I might even get pseudo-memories or shifts, but as soon as I don't engage with that show too much again, it instantly fades.
Our kintypes don't work like that. Take my re-emerging dinosaur kintype as an example. I was walking somewhere a few days ago and suddenly had a pahntom sensation in my legs and feet and in the same moment I knew "ah shit, new kintype". I gave it a day because maaayyybe it's nothing? But deep down I already knew what was going on, so I have an Utahraptor kintype now. I am this. I identify as this through and through and it feels like I've always been this way. But it wasn't - a week ago I wasn't a dinosaur and now I am. I did not choose it, I did not engage with any dinosaur media at all, it just happened.
My kintypes have always been changing and trust me when I say I had a complete identity crisis when my wolf kintype first went away. But over the years Ive learned to accepot it - my identy is not static, it never was and it never will be and that's okay!
It doesn't make my kintypes less important or less real and it also doesn't mean I never was a wolf. I was. And then I wasn't.
I honestly think it is so, so damaging to still have this "kintypes are static"-sentient floating around in the community, because that's simply not true for all of us. For me, it honestly even makes more sense this way. Our brain has always been unstable, I lacked a true identity for so long. We grew up with untreated BPD andf although the symptoms are 95% under my control now (read: it's in remission), our brain still has a ton of habits from that time, like clinging onto different things to try and form an identity, to try and fill the void where a person should be. And the fact that the void is filled now, that I finally am enough of a person to fill it, this habit never changed. Our brain still randomly grabs things and makes them one of us, leading to fluid kintypes.
Let me end this with saying: being wrong about a kintype is fine. Figuring out you are X instaed of Y and never were Y is fine. But it is also fine to be X today and Y tomorrow.
I think I've said this before but I'll say it again: we, as a community, need to take our identities less and more serious at the same time. Let's stop the gatekeeping and policing others, let's stop overanalyzing ourselves so much. Let's stop looking for rules and asking "is it possible to be this?" over and over again - because the answer is yes. There are literally no rules as to how, why and what you can be. In order to be otherkin you need to do exactly one thing: identify as The Thing in question. Nothing else. On the other hand, we need to kindly educate those who confuse identify as and identify with, we need to kindly educate young therians who "choose their theriotypes", we need to make sure we are not watered down to being "a fun thing you can do".
I sometimes feel like the focus and effort of this community is in good faith but in the wrong place - static kintypes is one of them.
There are no limits. Be who you are today and if you are something else tomorrow, be that then. <3
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ohbo-ohno · 5 months
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Kinktober Day 25 - Human Furniture
Ghost x Price - 1.8k (on ao3)
summary: Price helps Ghost settle after a hard mission.
cw: person used as an ashtray
note: this is the least sexual of this month's prompts! there's actually no sexual acts in this at all, it's more of a sort of study of a priceghost dynamic i enjoy :) definitely inspired by this comic
“Settle,” Price rumbles quietly, watching the way Simon shudders and forces himself still, muscles trembling.
He’s not quite used to the sight of Simon so submissive beneath him, such a large powerhouse of a man gone soft between his feet. You’d never think it, looking at them, but uncertainty still hovers in the back of John’s head every time he has Simon like this.
It’s taken them a while to reach this tentative understanding, for Simon to be even slightly open about what he needs. Price isn’t sure either of them could really put it into words, this odd sort of dynamic they’ve developed, but it works.
As best he can describe, it’s like this - Ghost needs a handler, someone he can trust blindly to always point his aggression in the right direction. But Simon struggles to trust, to give up any bit of control he doesn’t have to. 
So Price takes it from him. 
It’s an odd sort of dynamic, he’s well aware, and it only works because on some deep level Simon wants it to work. That’s the thrill for John - the knowledge that at any moment Simon could hurt him, could probably kill him, but he won’t because he knows that nobody else can help him control himself like Price
It’s a responsibility he doesn’t take lightly. Ghost is probably the most dangerous soldier he’s ever met - ever will meet, if he’s lucky - and he’d slit his fellow soldiers; throat without question if John gave him a reason to. That kind of power isn’t given for long if the receiver is a fool, and while Price is a lot of things - ornery, strict, bull-headed - no one could call him a fool.  
Price knows that Simon accepts their dynamic, but he plays at disliking it sometimes, almost like a test. Trying to see if Price will put his foot down when Ghost needs it, see if he can stretch the boundaries he’s been given.
He can’t. Price has no problem reestablishing which one is freshly Captain and which one is still Sergeant when it’s needed. And after a few weeks, the little tests phase out. Price can’t help but feel like he’s passed a test once he realizes.
Ghost is volatile still, even months into their shifted dynamic, but he rarely lashes out against John anymore. The mask had helped, being under Price’s hand helped more, but there are still moments when he slips, where he needs more help than he realizes.
Which is what led to their current situation.
Simon had come back from a mission relatively uninjured - a few bruises, a few scrapes, but nothing he had even needed a medic for. But the Lieutenant he’d been lent out to had done a number on him mentally.
Part of the source of Simon’s inner turmoil is his own constant war between the desire to be a good soldier and his inability to trust. It leaves him short-tempered and aggressive around unsure COs. He’s a bit like a dog being retrained - he knows when his superiors are weak, and he knows they have no right pretending to be above him. 
It’s hard to lead successful missions when the Sergeant spends the entire deployment glaring and intimidating the Lieutenant. It’s even harder when the intimidation works, and the power structure crumbles.
Simon always comes back unsure after missions like that. He comes to Price, snarling and biting, looking for reassurance in the power structure. Looking for affirmation that Price is still his superior, that he’s still his leader.
It’s what he’d come home needing today.
The mission had been rough - a Lieutenant just promoted never knew how to handle Ghost, and this one had been no different - and John could see it in every line of Simon’s body as soon as he’d come knocking.
Neither of them had said a word as Price opened his office door enough to let Simon in, then closed and locked it behind him. He lights a cigar as he watches Ghost move, taking a long puff from it.
Simon stands at parade between the two guest chairs he’s forced to have in the office, and after a few moments Price moves back to his desk, settling back into his seat and folding his hands on the table.
He watches Simon for a few long moments, takes a puff of his cigar. The soldier’s not quite still, his shoulders trembling from pent up energy and his knees locked. His jaw is clenched so tightly, Price wouldn’t be shocked if he’s managed to crack a tooth.
“Debrief, Sergeant,” he finally commands, voice hard and leaving no room for debate. Simon’s shoulder’s stop twitching as he starts to speak, relaxing into a less straining position.
There’s nothing of note to be reported, really. Ghost isn’t the type of man to stand and rave about what’s really bothering him, he wouldn’t make anything that easy. He tells the story as it happened and leaves Price to pick up the hints he drops.
They’re easy to spot this time - unnecessary civilian casualty, a close call with a fellow Sergeant, a flustered Lieutenant and their absolute refusal to listen to any of Ghost’s suggestions. It’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. But that doesn’t matter - for whatever reason, this mission and this CO on this night has dragged Ghost to the very brink of shattering.
And Price won’t let that happen. Not when Simon has placed so much faith in him, not when he needs to prove to himself that he can take care of his men.
Simon’s nearly panting when he finishes his debrief, the stress working him up all over again. John knows he has to work quickly, or things will spiral.
“Good, Sergeant,” he praises, leaning back in his chair and planting his feet wide. “Now strip.”
The relief is palpable. It’s taken them a long time for Ghost to reach such a comfortable point, and Price can’t help the surge of pride at the way Simon almost eagerly takes his clothes off. He’s a good boy, even remembers to fold his uniform when he sets it on the coffee table.
Price taps his right foot twice and pushes his chair back from the desk a bit, the boot loud against his hardwood floor, and takes a long drag. Simon is on his knees between John’s feet in the next heartbeat.
He hums a pleased note, nodding down at Simon. Even just that tiny bit of praise coaxes a bit more tension out of his frame, leaving him angled towards Price instead of kneeling straight. He debates within himself for a moment, then decides to drop a heavy hand onto Simon’s head, stroking slowly over the fabric.
He’s still got the mask on, but Price doesn’t make any move to take it off. He knows the fabric isn’t a barrier between the two of them, more a safety net holding all of his pieces together. 
John would collect those pieces if Simon dropped them, but he would never take them from him. He’s the one who gave Ghost the mask, he’d never take it away.
He considers his plan of action for a few long moments. With each breath, each pull, each slow stroke over his head, Simon relaxes a bit more. It’s soothing for John too, this physical evidence that he knows how to take care of what’s his. Calming in a way little else is in their line of work.
“You’re a good soldier, Simon,” Price finally says. “Sometimes too good, I think. Makes it difficult to stop sometimes, doesn’t it?”
Simon pants, nodding and leaning further into Price’s hand. “Yes, sir.”
“Hmm, I know. You’re alright, boy, deep breaths now.”
He listens, and a few moments later relaxes further. Simon’s body slumps to the side a bit, leaning his weight onto Price’s leg. It’s difficult to not jerk away, but John plants his foot and tenses his muscle so he doesn’t send Simon sprawling. If the Sergeant notices how hard his thigh is, it doesn’t seem to bother him.
“I think you need to stop being a soldier for a bit, yeah?” Price asks, shifting his hand to lift Simon up by the chin. He moves slowly, tugging the mask up until it rests on the bridge of his nose. Ghost flinches a bit at the air against his skin, and John hushes him, stroking over his jaw.
If they were different people - or even just further into their dynamic - Price might slip his cock down Ghost’s throat. Push him down until his lips meet John’s stomach, hold him there for a few hours while he gets some work done. He thinks it would be good for Simon, to have a mindless task he can succeed in.
But they haven’t reached that point. Price isn’t sure if they ever will, if they ever should, so he contents himself with an alternative.
“Tongue out for me, Simon,” he says, putting a bit of a command into his voice. It’s not necessary - Simon’s mouth opens, pink tongue coming out to rest on his lip immediately. “Good boy,” Price praises, stroking a thumb down the muscle.
“Stay still for me, now.”
He takes the cigar from the corner of his lips, presses the glowing bud to the center of Simon’s wet tongue. He doesn’t react much past a grunt and some tension returning to his muscles.
“You’re alright,” John dismisses, tightening his grip on the soldier’s jaw and pushing the cigar a bit further in, twisting it. He knows Simon, knows he needs to feel this pain, needs to feel it from John.
Simon whimpers when he finally takes the cigar away, pushing his tongue a little further out.
“I know, you’re alright. Good boy, Simon. Relax for me, now,” he comforts, stroking a thumb over his chin while he leans forward to set the now useless stick on his desk. “You make a good ashtray, boy. Just stay down there and relax for me, you’re alright. I’ll let you go in a bit.
He shifts back into his seat, staring down at Ghost for a few moments.
His tongue still rests on his chin, a little drop of spit dripping down the center, right down the ring of soot left behind. His eyes are clear but his pupils are blown, like he’s still here but his emotions are trying to drag him away.
Simon shifts on his knees, tongue twitching like he wants to take it back into his mouth.
“Settle,” Price rumbles. Simon exhales loudly and obeys, shifting back to his knees. “Tongue out, come on. Might need to use it again.”
He smiles when Simon obeys without question, gives him a comforting pet to the head and an approving hum.
Price shifts closer to the desk, locking Simon more securely beneath him, and lights a cigar. He’s got a few hours of paperwork to catch up on, and he knows Simon can last far longer than that using an ashtray.
He takes a deep breath, settles himself, and gets to work. The cigar smoke fills his lungs, and Simon breaths deeply beneath him. Price feels centered, steady, as he picks up his pen and starts reading.
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kanmom51 · 3 months
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It's been over a week
And I'm still trying to digest and come to terms with it.
I know I said that I take comfort in them being together, and I got to say, that is a big big help in dealing with their departure, and yet, can't help but be sad and worry like a mom that just sent her kids off to the army.
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Watching JM's live with JK's that followed (a few hours later and after their family dinner) was heart wrenching. JM struggling with his shaved hair was heartbreaking.
This clearly was not easy for them.
JM the next day (in the BTB).
I can't help but wonder, after the initial annoyance of getting a minute or a little more from the two's enlistment day, if the whole thing was just too emotional and more than what they themselves wanted to share publicly.
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Again, seeing how JM is struggling, and JK knowing and comforting him. That look on JM's face when JK does that. Ugh, how I wish they didn't have to go through this. But they did. They are. And now it's time to come to terms with it.
I guess having lived it, done the army thing, gone through basic training and military service I have a little more insight as to what they will be going through, and that also gives me some comfort, because yes, it's going to be hard, both the physical and mental aspects of it. The structure, the loss of individuality, the harsh physical and mental training. But, a. they are 2 of the most driven people I have seen, a work ethic and a need to excel, and they will attack this (so to speak) no differently; b. they have been through so much getting to where they have gotten. Yes, the structure is a little different, but they are no strangers to being in a structured environment, told what to do, when to do it, how to do it. Basically, they are used to doing what they are told. Strenuous physical activity is no stranger to them as well. Experiencing struggles teaches you that you can prevail. Teaches you that you are strong enough to get through it. Teaches you that there is a light at the end of that tunnel. And knowing that, at times of hardship, can mean everything to the person going through that.
Their age, being mostly older than others enlisting (most do so at 18-21) has it's advantages and disadvantages. Advantages being having that insight and life experience that they have, especially starting their careers at such a young age. Disadvantage being that at this age they are all grown up, as in mostly know who they are, what they want to do with their life. Having to leave all of that at the door is not easy and takes adjusting to. But they are resilient. And their life experience and struggles they went through over the years will, as mentioned, definitley help them get through this as well.
For my sanity and mental well being I'm going to ignore the geo-political fuckery going on right now. Does willing things not to happen make them not happen? I'm going to go with yes on this. Don't you dare contradict me here. Let me live in my fantasy world at least on this one.
So yeah, it definitely won't be easy. Having each other's back there will definitley help, although having to keep their hands off each other in public will definitley be a challenge they will have to deal with. I digress. They will be ok. They have each other. They will get through this, and who knows, perhaps at some point (probably not basic training, cause that sucks) they might even enjoy their service (enjoy what they will be doing, feel satisfaction in their contribution to their country, who knows...).
And yet, knowing all of this, I'm still sad.
Because I already miss the shit out of them.
And it's kind of funny, because I know there is plenty of content coming up, including actual Jikook content, like just the two of them without the group as a buffer content, and that is definitely something to look forward to. And it's not like we were seeing them on a daily or even weekly basis before they enlisted (there were periods of time we were parched with them not to be seen or heard from for ages).
But this feels different. I guess knowing that even if they wanted to reach out, at the moment, they can't. Knowing that there isn't a chance of a JK restaurant visit popping up, or a surprise live makes it all so very real.
I'm not going to do the day counting. For me, that makes dealing with it harder. Maybe when we are down to two digits, definitely not before. I think I will just sit back, enjoy the new content they share with us, go through old content (there is so much out there, enough to definitely get me through the next 18 months, sob sob).
As for myself, well I'm not going anywhere.
Yes, I have something going on right now and am posting less often, but I'm still here, still around and will be posting and answering your messages.
We will all get through this together.
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genshin-scenarios · 5 months
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android au - personal assistant droids
Summary: In a modern-futuristic world, it's possible to create androids that are so advanced, they’re more or less human. There will be 5 android au posts total, each focusing on a different group! 
T.D.H. is a line designed to help busy users! They were intended for corporate higher-ups for personal assistant work around the workplace, but because of how attractive their designs are, it's not uncommon for regular people to save up for them to make their everyday lives simpler (and livelier).
Characters: Diluc, Childe, Kaeya, Zhongli, Ayato, Thoma
More like this: Anemo companion droids, Anemo droids who lost their previous user
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To have Diluc as a personal assistant feels out of place, to say the least; his demeanor is a little too prince-like, or at least, you can easily imagine him as the heir of a corporation if he was human. So within the first few days you’re quick to ask him to address you casually - you don’t think your conscience can handle having someone like that treating you like a superior.
Diluc does prefer having some sense of structure however, so he still arranges your appointments and keeps track of everything else he was designed to do. He finds comfort in ticking off the tasks on his list, though he’s not sure why you request for him to wear fake glasses every now and then ‘for personal reasons’.
If you have guests over, Diluc makes a talented bartender! Though to your dismay (or joy, depending on you), he’d always limit the amount of alcohol in your drink or omit it entirely. Something about how he’d rather have you conscious even if your guests aren’t, and that if you really wanted to drink, you could do so once you two were alone.
‘Why, do you want me just for yourself, Diluc?’
‘...If that’s what you’d like to hear, I wouldn’t be opposed to taking that as an order.’
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Childe is the kind of assistant droid who you never see actually doing work. He makes it seem like all he does is chat with people and dote on you, but you’re aware that once you aren’t around, he makes sure to run through his checklist and finish off the accounts for the month in his head. Such was the wonders of technology, to allow him to upload files to a cloud system without needing to physically type things down. 
He’s also very attentive, though you didn’t realize this at first because of how talkative he was. Distracted by his jokes and charms, you almost forget that Childe really is looking out for you every step of the way until he has his arm around you - not to flirt, but to keep you from bumping into the crowd of people on the street.
Childe is a good cook, but what he likes even more is asking you to taste-test his creations. While he can’t actually consume food, he has sensors on his tongue that allow him to detect flavors (very useful for when he’s buying desserts or snacks, and needed to try samples to see if they fit your taste).
‘A house-husband? Well, I guess that’s technically what I am. But don’t forget I can fight too, Master~’
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Have someone you need to email or call but you really don’t want to? That's where Kaeya comes along to take care of your social interactions!
Jokes aside, he really is the most talkative model in this collection. Sly as he is, Kaeya isn't a stranger to figuring out which people or tasks you dislike, and rewards you with a gift after you finally drag your feet to get it over with.
He’s good at countering procrastination in this way, such as buying your favorite snacks or preparing a movie night for you when you get home. Kaeya sometimes dries your hair for you too after you shower, and quietly muses that you probably had a long day, when you doze off before the movie manages to cross the fifteen-minute mark.
Kaeya enjoys driving or escorting you to places too, knowing full-well he looks like a doting boyfriend when he does so. He dresses stylishly and would talk to passersby while waiting, telling them about this wonderful and super-important person… only to welcome you with the same amount of grandeur. He finds it cute when you half-heartedly scold him for it, saying he’ll make people misunderstand the situation.
‘What is there to misunderstand, Y/N? I thought you said we’d be together for as long as you lived? I was rather looking forward to that.’
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An encyclopedia of knowledge, Zhongli has an elegant personality and voice that you could listen to for hours. He’s rather adept at keeping track of your accounting needs in particular, though you’ve learned quickly that he has a rather skewed sense of money when he spends it himself—you had to send him to buy last-minute groceries because you already started cooking at home, only for him to return with… way too many of the same ingredient, because it was on promotion.
That aside, Zhongli does emphasize the need to manage your mental and physical health quite a lot. He makes you medicinal teas and offers to give you massages quite regularly, though there’s nothing scarier than his offer to do chiropractic maneuvers at home… you tried to change the topic quickly after that, telling him you’re feeling great - so there’s no need for such a thing!
As much as he likes to ramble about topics that he’s interested in, Zhongli is an android that listens to you very well. He’d take note of information that might be useful in the future, such as things you said you’d like to buy or were curious about.
‘Today I thought it’d be beneficial to attempt an acupuncture treatment. …Just kidding. I heard that the flowers in the park would be blooming this season. Shall we go on a walk?’
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Ayato's a little picky with his users. They don’t have to be rich corporate heirs or someone of prestige, but Ayato is an android with a personality that gets bored easily; he even comes with a warning label that he might get up to shenanigans if paired with an incompatible user, but once he finds a person intriguing enough, he’s loyal to a fault.
Sure, he still enjoys teasing you and keeping you on your toes, but for the most part Ayato practically sees you as the center of his world, though he presents himself to suggest otherwise. His work record is absolutely spotless, and sometimes he even predicts what you might request from him before you have to, getting it done while saying it’s all in a day’s work.
Just make sure you don’t let him cook unsupervised, as Ayato is quite curious about… experimenting with flavors, you could say. By which you mean he’d add the randomest ingredients into an otherwise normal recipe, which would sometimes be too adventurous for your palette to handle.
You realize just how much he dotes on you during one rainy day, where Ayato walks you home under an umbrella as he asks how your day was. In moments like that, his expression is just soft enough that you might be fooled into thinking it was love.
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The perfect model for tired users, Thoma has a caring personality that warms the heart. Cooking, cleaning, and making sure you wake up on time? He's got it all covered!
Honestly, you don’t think your place has felt this homey until Thoma got here. During the first few days he asked you what you’d like out of your home - what activities you do to wind down, how often you work on your laptop, and other details. You thought these were just conversation starters at first, until weeks later, you started to see the vision of what he wished to give to you: 
A place where you could shed away the worries and expectations of the outside world. To rest safely and feel reinvigorated by the time you had to go out again - sometimes with Thoma in tow as he busied himself with self-appointed tasks (related to housekeeping). You realize after a while that Thoma views the upkeep of your home as a source of pride.
He likes to knit and crochet items for you whenever he has time, too. Little accessories to put on top of headphones, beanies, and even blankets to use around the house. Once, when the weather was unbearably cold and the heater wasn’t working, Thoma forgot his lack of body heat and attempted to warm up your hands with his own. 
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desceros · 2 months
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me: [looks at calendar, gets a wicked idea, looks into the camera] happy springtime, turtle fam! who's ready to celebrate the season?
...mating season, that is. hehe. [dodges the tomatoes]
so! i had the idea that it would be super fun to have a community-wide event where we all have a prompt and then everyone fills it in their own way.
...i then decided all the prompts i came up with were too good not to use, but also none of them were Good Enough to use exclusively, so i changed my mind and the prompt is now just MATING SEASON. with a few suggestions at the bottom of this post if you're looking for some.
since spring is coming upon us, i hereby invite everyone to join in the vernal festivities... which in turtle parlance, of course, means only one thing: write, draw, whatever your version of "mating season", then join me on march 1 to post it with the tag #TMNTSpringShellebration. we then shall browse the fine selection of our mutual artistic efforts, and basically just have a good time as a community.
here are the prompts i came up with as starters-slash-things-to-include if you're looking for a place to get started. feel free to use these at will, or use them to come up with something of your own:
“Please don’t make me explain this. It’s humiliating as is.”
Oops, Looks Like Mating Season Came A Week Early This Year
“…In all of my mating seasons, this has never happened before.”
“I told you not to come by! It’s mating season!”
Probably should have expected it to be different now that he’s not going through it alone.
Because of Shenanigans, you have to wait. Wait… Wait… ok now.
They’re not the right person for mating season… but they’re the one who’s here, so…
“Show me where it hurts."
so yeah! see you all on march 1 for the, uh, spring shellebration. party popper emoji
questions i imagine will be popping up and i hope will clear up here before my askbox swells beyond capacity under the cut to keep this post from being Way Too Long. also it's really not that serious it's just an excuse to write slash draw for everyone Please Don't Take This Thing Too Seriously It's Not That Serious:
"can i participate?" yes! it's literally just an invitation to do something. nothing fancier than that. no need to be following me or in my friend group or whatever.
"can i write (insert fic idea here)?" yep! so long as it's related to the idea of mating seasons, it flies. reader insert? hell yea. oc? hell yeah. solo turtle and his favorite pillow? go for it.
"can i draw (insert art idea here)?" yep! uh. i know tumblr has the cops watching for sin bin material, but you art people know how to deal with that. and if you don't, uh, ask the other art people. im just a feral cat in a trench coat
"how do i participate?" write/draw/collect songs for/whatever. then, on march 1, post it and tag it #TMNTSpringShellebration. also, for funsies, keep it hush hush what you're working on so we can all be super shocked when the day comes! except, y'know, that you're planning on joining in. totally do that.
"when do i post it?" march 1. whenever on that day. waves hands around in a vague gesture at time zones not mattering. seriously don't take this so seriously it's just me wanting to create cool shit with my friends with a little more structure to it
"does it have to be horny?" i mean. it's an event about mating season. so by definition it's going to be at least a little horny. but however you interpret it is cool. even if it's just. idk. leo sitting sweatily in a chair looking longingly at a glass of water bc he's thirstier than usual. be smart about things, people. i'm not your dad.
"which tmnt verse is this for?" whichever one you want it to be for!! rise! bayverse! 2007! your fan iteration! your friend's fan iteration! your mortal enemy's fan iteration! yes!
"will you be reblogging everything?" absolutely not, but this isn't an event About Me. i am incidental to the thing. it's about Us. coming together as a community. for horny turtles. puts my hands on your shoulders. do it for you. for your friends. for the community.
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thefloralmenace · 3 months
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Something that has come up a lot for me as I've challenged the different power structures that I've been exposed to is that sometimes you have to take a minute to think about what the problem actually is and to make sure that you're fighting the problem and not just a person.
Full disclaimer here: Sometimes the problem is just some fucking guy who has never been challenged on anything in his life (been there - story for another day).
However, in the example that a lot of you know by now where I made a mental health-related flier of what to say and what not to say to struggling students that I then distributed to every professor in my building, that was inspired by having too many disparaging interactions with professors in a week when I was having heavy academic anxiety. And while I could have gotten confrontational with each of those individual professors in-person or in their inboxes, I realized that for the kind of discouraging responses I received to be so prevalent, it had to be completely normalized in the student-professor relationship culture or these professors had to be unaware of how they sounded (or both), which goes way beyond any individual professor I was having an issue with. In addition, since treating students this way was clearly very normalized, had I actually gone after individual professors I was having issues with, they probably would have just compared notes, and with nothing but the culture they're used perpetuating as a reference, gone: "Yeah, she's just crazy." ESPECIALLY because the number of students with the guts to try to hold professors accountable like that was... pretty much just one, and I don't say that to pat myself on the back. The culture of eating abuse from professors without saying anything was also very prevalent.
Another thing to note here is that the approach of going after each individual professor also wouldn't have worked because their behavior towards me was symptomatic of a greater problem. I couldn't know if every professor hurt their students' feelings (accidentally or on purpose) on the regular, but I could guess it was probably more than just the ones I interacted with. Going after individuals wouldn't really impact the greater issue of "professors don't know how to communicate with students seeking support."
That's why the flier had to go out to everyone. That's why it had to be delivered with no trace of the sender. Everyone needed to see it, and there needed to be no one to fight back against - no confrontation. You just take the information, you consume it, and you sit with it. There is no action to take about it other than deciding to adopt it or reject it. That approach addressed the whole problem (at least at a department-level) at once without throwing in tensions from being singled out or having to deal with an identifiable entity accusing/confronting professors, which could have made them less receptive to the information by making them feel defensive.
In short, sometimes the problem is just what you experience, and sometimes it has deeper roots that lie elsewhere. I think that's an important determination to make when figuring out how to effectively combat a given issue.
And if you don't know what flier I'm talking about, it's this one:
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tkaulitzlvr · 3 months
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I NEED A PT2 TO THE 'DID U MEAN IT' ANGST PLEAAAAAAAAAASE IM BEGGING
DID YOU MEAN IT (2)- T. KAULITZ
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synopsis: you see tom for the first time after calling off your casual hookups - unsure of what to make of tom’s confession after he says something that makes them so much more. it seems that he has had a change of heart, determined to put things straight, no matter how hard you resist.
contents: angst + smut
a/n: lowk forgot i even wrote did you mean it LOL, i meant to write a part two a few days after but that never happened😭i’d recommend u read part one before this to remind urself of what happened cause this has sat in my drafts for weeks and i have finally found the motivation to finish it🔥🔥
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“truth or dare guys come on!”
a noticeably tipsy voice shouts over the loud music, everybody placing their drinks down and walking over to the large circle that begins to form in the centre of the living room. i contemplate joining, swirling the drink in my hand aimlessly, praying that no one will notice me. normally i would rush towards games like this, enjoying the thrill that came along with them. but that excitement is replaced with dread, because he is here.
my friends hadn’t told me that tom would be at this party - knowing that i would never have agreed to come if i had found out. but it was far too late to leave now, my breath catching in my throat when i had spotted him from the other side of the room, my heart aching as the wound of whatever we had is still fresh. and he spotted me too - his eyes locking onto mine, no longer paying attention to the small blonde clinging onto his frame. though a couple weeks had passed since i had walked out, i know that i’m not ready to speak to him yet, so for the rest of the party i ignore him, despite the obvious glances that he sends my way.
and i was able to do so easily - until now. a game like truth or dare means that i have to face him directly, something which i have strictly avoided. my eyes are glued to his frame - adorned in baggy attire as usual - as he joins the circle himself, no longer accompanied by the girl he was with when i arrived. and just when i think i have managed to get away with missing out on the game, i am dragged over to the circle by one of my friends, unable to resist her strangely strong grip. as i near the circle, tom’s eyes dart to mine, somehow spotting me out of his peripheral vision. if my luck wasn’t bad enough, my friend sits just a few seats beside him, tom now not even a metre away from me, this the closest we have been since we last fucked. i ignore his eyes clearly burning into mine, focusing on the glass bottle that is placed in the centre, watching as it begins to spin around.
“the first person it lands on has to choose truth or dare, the second chooses what they have to do.”
the bottle begins to slow after a few seconds, everybody’s eyes fixed on it - everybody’s except tom’s, who still refuses to tear his gaze away from my body. i groan internally when the glass bottle finally stops, landing directly on me. it spins again, landing on some random guy who i hadn’t seen before.
“truth or dare?”
“dare.” i state confidently, deciding that if i am sitting here, i might as well do something fun, rather than answer a shitty question that would probably be along the lines of ‘what’s your body count?’ or ‘where’s the craziest place you’ve had sex?’
“i dare you…” the guy pauses, visibly contemplating over what to instruct me to do, adjusting himself in his seat before continuing. “to sit on the hottest guy in the room’s lap for five minutes.”
seriously? i scoff quietly at his dare, wondering how he failed to come up with something at least a little more interesting. though when i lock eyes with the brunette that had been eyeing me up the entire night, it suddenly doesn’t seem that bad. he is cute, soft brunette curls adorning his structured face, deep green eyes and plump lips, i had spotted him almost as soon as i had entered the party. and he had seen me too, sending me quick glances and smiling at me. the opportunity seems perfect as i grasp it with open arms, standing up and adjusting my dress that was probably too short.
though as i begin to walk over, my steps are quickly restrained as a hand wraps itself firmly around my wrist, pulling me backward to sit on their lap. i turn around, a familiar pair of brown eyes looking back at me, his expression harsh, jaw clenched and gaze darkened. he doesn’t seem at all fazed, his hand remaining firmly on my wrist as he adjusts himself, ignoring the quiet gasps that sound from the people around us. all i can do is stare, somehow unable to scold him like sober me would. i don’t even contemplate getting up just yet, far too shocked to do anything but stare into his eyes, ones that i hadn’t seen since i had caused tears to spill from them the last time we had been this close.
“start the timer.” tom mumbles just loud enough for the rest of the circle to hear, his voice low as he refuses to look away from me. he adjusts my position on his lap, his hands moving to rest on my waist securely.
“what the fuck are you doing-”
“who is that guy?” he completely ignores my question, tightening his hold on me and pulling me even closer, diverting his gaze to the brunette who i had intended to walk over to, though like everyone else he is submerged in conversation with his friends.
“i don’t know.” i groan, feeling his arms tighten around my waist once again, pulling me in so my back is flat against his chest. i hear him tut behind me, his low breaths seeming to get closer and closer to my ear. “maybe i would if you hadn’t fucking pulled me over here-”
“i wouldn’t even let you find out his fucking name.” he quickly cuts me off, voice laced with an anger i hadn’t ever heard before, far beyond the heat of the moment frustration he had displayed a few weeks ago. this time jealousy edges it, the idea of me wanting to entertain another man leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. his lips are now centimetres away from my ear, close enough to be able to just ghost over it, but he stops himself. “you won’t speak to anyone else. because we’re talking about what happened, mhm? that guy isn’t going anywhere fucking near you.”
i scoff at his statement, his bold attitude somewhat amusing. he hadn’t been this possessive ever - when we were fuck buddies we would have sex, then he left. he would take me out for food sometimes, though it always ended in the same way - wrapped up in some random hotel room sheets with his dick inside me, leaving almost just as fast as i had entered. this is new. he had always gotten tense at any mention of me with another guy, yet he never had the guts to call me out. maybe he was jealous, but the most likely explanation is that he simply didn’t care. so why now?
i open my mouth to speak, though i am quickly cut off by the sound of a dull alarm ringing from the other side of the room. the guy that had given me the dare pulls his phone out of his pocket, ending the timer and uttering a quick ‘times up guys’. tom however doesn’t budge, keeping his hands firmly on my waist, despite it being literally impossible for him to have not heard the alarm.
i quickly detach his hands from my hips, standing up and exiting the circle before he can attempt to stop me, wanting nothing more than to be as far away from him as possible. though not because he frustrates me, not because i am seconds away from punching that jealous look off of his face, but because the butterflies that erupt in my stomach from his touch shouldn’t be there - not after i had ended things. my mind had told me that i would be fine without him, and until now i had believed myself. but fuck, i would be stupid to ignore the feeling that his presence ignites, his touch almost enough to make me run back into his arms. though i know that would be irrational, the alcohol in my system not helping my ability to make the right decision, forcing the morally correct part of me to get the fuck away from him before i make a mistake.
the music gets quieter and quieter as i carry on walking down the hallway, pressing my ear against one of the doors on the left, sighing in relief when i hear silence. my hands reach for the handle, pulling it open, silently thanking god that it is not only a bathroom, but an empty bathroom, something that is a luxury at parties of this size. i close the door behind me, turning to face the large mirror above the counter, adjusting my makeup and pulling my dress down - knowing that tom is the reason why it has rolled up so much. the mere thought of him leaves an uneasy feeling in my stomach, his actions totally unexpected and more than anything - annoying.
sure, i had been confident in my decision to cut things off before, but seeing his face and being so close to him proves too much to handle, the unexpected realisation that i am not where near over him beginning to set in. i groan loudly, resting my elbows on the marble counter and placing my head in my hands, quickly realising that i should never have come here in the first place.
the door handle begins to turn, though i don’t even have the energy to see who it is, mumbling a small ‘someone is in here’, hoping that they will move on. though the door fully opens, creaking quietly as i hear footsteps behind me.
“are you fucking deaf? i said-”
my mouth falls open when i turn around, my eyes meeting the brown ones that are the last things i want to see. his dreads hang loosely along his shoulders, tied in their usual ponytail. his expression is stern as he closes the door behind him, twisting the small lock beneath the handle.
“what the fuck do you want, tom?” i sigh, rubbing my temples as the alcohol in my system creates a small headache that begins to throb painfully. he steps a little closer as i move backward, my back hitting the cold counter behind me.
“to talk.” his voice is calm, still laced with anger as he places his hands in his pockets, his gaze never tearing away from mine.
“we have nothing to talk about.”
“don’t play that bullshit with me. we have fucking plenty to talk about.” he cuts me off firmly, tone lacking the composure it had just seconds ago, becoming more frustrated by my somewhat nonchalant attitude. in my head i am screaming, pleading, my mind thinking the exact opposite of what my voice utters, knowing that if i give in, i won’t be able to stop myself. the room turns silent, the uneasy kind that leaves a sinking feeling in your stomach, one that tempts me to leave the room and sprint home.
“i miss you.” he eventually speaks into the silence, tearing it apart with one of the most heavy sentences possible, leaving my voice caught in my throat, unable to do anything besides stare into his eyes.
“the sex you mean? me and the hookups are two different things.” my voice is harsh, probably harsher than i had intended as he scoffs at my statement, shaking his head and clearing his throat. he takes another step towards me, now within arms reach.
“why did you end it?” he completely changes the subject, tone matching the harshness of my own as his eyes narrow, feet shuffling closer to mine as his hands move to rest at either side of the counter, trapping my body between his own and the counter.
“because you said you loved me then changed your mind within ten fucking minutes. don’t act stupid tom.” i shake my head at his stupidity, wondering how he could ask such a question, the answer totally obvious. he still doesn’t budge, arms trapping me against the counter. “why do you care anyway?”
“you wanted to end it, not me. that’s why i care.” as much as it irritates me, he is right. i was the one to call off our regular hookups against his pleas not to. “and that guy is lucky he can walk out of this party alive. he’s been eye-fucking you all night.”
“so what? i’m not your’s tom. i never was. all we did was hookup, i can do what i want.” his jaw clenches at my response as he turns away from me, hands remaining fixed on the counter whilst his head is turned towards the door. he exhales loudly, his grip on the counter seeming to tighten as he grits his teeth, swallowing before looking at the ground.
“what so that’s it then? you don’t even care?” his voice raises now, not far off yelling as he finally backs away, eyes darkened as they scan my own, his expression hurt.
yes i care. of course i fucking care. my heart begs me to scream the words out, to bring him close to me and kiss him like we aren’t complicated. like we have the most simple relationship ever, even though it is everything but. we never dated, nothing beyond a regular hookup, and my heart shouldn’t ache the way it does over somebody who was never mine. somewhere within me, my rational side manages to take control, prompting me to speak after a few painful seconds of silence.
“care about what? look, i don’t understand what you want me to say. we had sex sometimes, now we don’t, that’s all there is to it. bye tom.” each word stabs me in my own heart as i speak them, knowing deep down that i don’t mean any of it, that i will regret pushing him away one day. when my hand reaches for the door, not able to spend another second this close to him, i know that i want nothing more than to show him how i really feel. though the second my palm twists the door handle, it is forcefully pulled backward, my entire body pushed harshly against the counter.
i am unable to object or even question what is happening as tom presses his lips onto mine firmly, silencing any attempts to fight back before i can even utter them. his hands attach themselves to my waist, pushing me further against the counter as his body presses against my own. my eyes close, lips moving to kiss him back without any real thought.
“don’t say shit like that.” he mumbles angrily against my lips, groaning quietly into the kiss as he deepens it, his tongue sliding into my mouth. his lips are soft, just as i had remembered them, always contrasting with the harshness of his metal lip piercing, something which i had grown to love over the course of our hookups - not that i would ever tell him that. never breaking his lips from my own, his hands reach under my thighs, lifting me up and onto the counter in one swift motion. he uses one hand to move my legs apart, standing in between the gap as his mouth works against mine. it is this change in position that soon makes me realise where he is going with this, and no matter how much i want to, i can’t give myself up.
“we can’t.” i mutter against his lips, my words getting through with little success as he mumbles a quiet ‘hm’ against me before kissing me with just as much hunger as before. i place my hands against his chest, pushing him back, though he only takes this as a sign to attach his lips to my neck, planting sloppy kisses all over the skin as his hands run up and down my waist.
“tom we can’t do this.” my voice is much louder this time, firmer than before as he pulls his head from my neck, not moving far as his face is inches from my own.
“why not?” he is breathless, chest rising up and down as his hands still rest on my waist, body resting in between my legs. when i don’t respond, he sighs lowly, moving his head back into the crook of my neck, resuming his lips’ movements on the skin.
“tell me to stop.” his grip on my waist becomes tighter as he presses our bodies flush against each other. the kisses on my skin become much harsher, bordering messy as they aim to caress every inch of my neck. and when i struggle to form words, i realise that tom knows exactly what he is doing, his kisses pausing momentarily to speak. “say you don’t want this. say it and i’ll stop.”
“i-i….” i pause, thinking things through for a second. i choose my words carefully, deciding what to say, wondering if i even mean what is about to leave my mouth. because we both know the real answer, the one that my heart pleads for me to say, even when my words come out as a choked whisper, saying the complete opposite. “i don’t want you. stop…”
“you’re such a bad liar.” he breathes out against my skin, moving to rest his forehead against my own, his eyes flicking between my own gaze and lips, swollen and slightly parted. he doesn’t waste much time though, capturing them in to a harsh kiss, even more desperate than the ones before. his hands move under the small dress that hugs my figure, the pads of his fingertips now dancing along the bare skin of my waist, his touch creating goosebumps along it as i moan lowly into his mouth.
slowly his hands begin to trail down, my mind paying little attention to these small movements, until his finger teases the waistband of my lace panties. my breath gets caught in my throat, lips momentarily stuttering against his own when he wraps his fingers around the lace, tugging it down at a slow pace. his lips still work against mine, only much slower now, pulling away once my panties pool at my feet.
“you have no idea how much i’ve needed you.” he shakes his head whilst his fingers scramble to undo the button of his jeans, pulling them down and stepping out of them. he reaches for his t-shirt, not getting far as i stop his movement, my hands taking the fabric and pulling it over his head, revealing that toned upper half that i had been close to so many times. but no matter how many times i had seen it, i would never get used to it. the muscle that lines his frame, broad shoulders and slightly built arms, trailing down to his somehow perfectly crafted six pack, god he looks good.
and he knows it too, a soft smirk tugging at his lips when he registers that i am staring. “it’s all yours. it always has been, but you had to be fucking stubborn about it.”
he reconnects his lips to mine, spreading my legs apart even further as one finger slips downward, teasing my entrance as i moan into his mouth. i gasp against it when he slowly inserts one finger, knowing just when to curl it to elicit those sounds out of me that he longs to hear. and he knows that whatever he is doing is working, my lips stuttering against his as my head falls backward, legs subconsciously spreading wider. just as i feel myself getting close, he pulls his finger out, placing it in his mouth as his tongue swirls around it, releasing with a small pop. all i can do is watch, my eyes glued to his fingers, staring as they move toward his boxers, hurriedly pulling them down as his dick springs free. his size had always been something that excites me, though now, after being without it for two weeks, my thighs clench together at the sight, needing nothing more than to feel it inside me.
he takes his shaft in his hand, pumping it slightly whilst the other reaches behind my back, undoing the zipper of my dress and pulling it downward. he uses his other hand to pull it completely off of my body, stopping in front of me for a few seconds to take in the view in front of him. his tongue comes out of his lips to gently poke at the metal piercing that adorns it, eyes widening slightly once they make contact with my breasts.
“you’re so beautiful, want you all to myself.” he mumbles quietly, spreading my legs apart and lining his tip up with my entrance. “you ready?”
he waits for my consent, smiling weakly when i nod my head. that is all he needs to begin sliding into me, his head falling backward at the feeling. my walls attempt to stretch out to accustom to his size as i hiss in pain, hands clutching onto the countertop. though i never tell him to stop, deciding that any pain is better than ruining this moment, waiting patiently for it to subside. he finally bottoms out inside me, and i swear i feel his tip prodding at my cervix, the sensation causing my mouth to fall open, tom’s already placing messy kisses on my my chest.
he slides out slowly, almost pulling out completely until only his tip is inside, before thrusting all the way in without warning, my entire body jolting forward at the feeling. he repeats his motions, my body practically on the verge of giving out, hands flying to his chest in search for any form of support. my teeth sink into my bottom lip, hissing quietly as dull flashes of pain wash over me, eventually becoming less and less frequent, instead replaced by pure pleasure.
tom finds a steady pace, his head still buried into my chest as his lips work against it, leaving purplish marks in place of their kiss. my ability to speak is long gone, desperate mewls of his name spilling from my lips as he grabs my hips, using them to speed up his thrusts even more. he moves his head closer to mine, somehow managing to kiss my lips at a slow pace, tongue exploring my own whilst his cock thrusts in and out of me far more relentlessly than ever before.
“doing so good for me, missed this pussy so much…” his praise is cut off by short and almost inaudible groans every few seconds, his nails digging into my waist whenever i clench around him. he pulls his head away from mine, and through half lidded eyes i see his own gaze flash to the large mirror behind us, his pace faltering momentarily as his expression changes, eyes darkening. and before i can question why, he quickly pulls out of me as i whine at the loss of contact, not having long to complain as he takes my body, bending it over the counter as i now look at myself in the mirror, mouth falling open as he thrusts into me once again.
the new angle is almost too much, my body now fully bent over the counter as i almost lose my balance, eyes squeezing shut and eyebrows furrowing. i can feel every inch of him inside of me, every vein seeming to leave its mark inside my walls as i clench around him. my head falls downward, close to being flush against the counter, though tom reaches around to grab my face, forcing me to be level with the mirror once again.
“no no no.” he mutters breathlessly, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he pauses, holding my face harshly in his hands, his grip likely to leave a mark. “watch yourself. look at those pretty faces you make as i fuck you.”
my eyes almost roll backwards when his tip prods directly against my g-spot, fighting the already strong urge to close, determined to comply with tom’s request as he continues to hold my face, his eyes locked on mine through the mirror. his muscles tense with each harsh movement, face twisting lightly after each thrust, the noises he lets out becoming more and more unrestrained as he gets closer and closer to his release.
“i’m so close.” he groans, finally letting go of my head, trailing his hand downward to rub fast circles on my clit, pushing me closer to my climax as the knot in my lower stomach begins to tighten. my legs buckle at his movements, quickly becoming overstimulated as i try to keep myself upright, pressing my body firmer into the counter. tom’s dick begins to twitch inside of me, signalling that he really is close, the soft groan that leaves his lips quickly followed by a much louder one as ropes of his thick cum begin to shoot into me. his head falls backward, low curses pouring from his lips as his cum continues to spill into me, his fast and deep thrusts fucking it upwards, followed by my own release. my hands clutch onto the counter desperately, using whatever little strength i have left to hold myself up, eyes locked on tom’s face as he cums, milking his cock slowly until he can no longer keep going.
he slides out of me, a mix of our juices seeping out of my hole, soon collected by the tissue that tom grabs from the side. sweat lines his body, showing just how tired out he is, if the loud and heavy breaths that leave his parted lips don’t show it enough. he lazily lifts me onto the counter, standing between my legs and pecking my lips softly, doing so repeatedly until our breathing has returned to its normal pace. he slides my panties on for me, grabbing his own boxers and quickly slipping them on, leaving the rest of our clothes on the floor. his forehead rests against mine, hands reaching to move any loose hairs out of my face.
“i meant it.” he states quietly into the silence, his lips ghosting against mine as i look back at him in confusion.
“you meant what?” i ask, my arms wrapping loosely around his neck. he smiles weakly, his thumb coming upward to stroke my cheek gently as i lean into his touch.
“when i said i loved you. i meant it.” no matter how daunting his confession is, he never looks away, his brown eyes searching my own as he blinks slowly. “i know i was a dick when i said it the first time. i didn’t want to scare you away, because i know it was just sex. and don’t get me wrong the sex is great, but it’s been more to me for a while. it did slip out, but i meant it, and i still mean it.”
my eyes widen, unsure of what to say, slightly hesitant to believe him instantly and instead wondering if this is just another ploy to fuck with my head, like he had done the last time. after a few seconds, i attach my lips to his, the kiss much softer than before, lacking the lustful intent behind it that had brought us to this position. he smiles into it, his hands resting on my lower back as his thumbs creates soft circles over the skin.
“i love you too.” his eyes light up at my response, arms wrapping tightly around my waist as he pulls me into a hug, lips pressing short kisses to my shoulder. he pulls away after a few seconds, smiling and reaching down to hand me my dress, quickly slipping on his own clothes and helping me down from the counter. he glances at the mirror, noticing that it is steamed up, his eyes lighting up as a childish idea flashes across his mind.
‘we just fucked :)’ i giggle quietly as he guides me out of the bathroom, glancing quickly at the mirror and reading the messy writing spread across it, hitting his arm playfully. he flashes me a quick smile, placing a hand on my lower back as we rejoin the party, my eyes immediately locking with the boy from earlier. tom quickly spots where i am looking, his eyes darkening as he refuses to look away. instead of walking toward him and starting a fight like i had expected, he places a hand firmly on my ass, kissing my lips roughly, his eyes still locked on the guy as he scoffs, shaking his head and walking elsewhere.
“i told you that he wouldn’t go anywhere near you. you can’t tell me i don’t stick to my word baby.” he smirks in my direction, taking my hand in his and leading me through the crowd, glancing behind him every so often to make sure that i am okay.
thank god for truth or dare.
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harryforvogue · 4 months
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a blurb where harry is a big schedule guy and yasmine is a big "it happens when it happens" girlie. they fight (sorta).
***
Harry and Yasmine have never lived with other people after moving out of their homes, and they alternated whose place they’d be staying at back in graduate school. It was always an unspoken rule that if Harry was at Yasmine’s house, she was the boss. And vice versa. 
But now that they're living together, how are they supposed to adjust and split responsibilities? More importantly, how the hell are they expected to create a rhythm?
Harry is a very structured person. Gets out of bed at a certain time, has lunch at a fixed time. Dinner as well. He considers himself a pretty laid back guy too. He’ll skip cooking some days to order takeout – or swap his laundry days with his bedsheet changing days just to switch things up. Yasmine calls him a relentless Aquarius. He's not supposed to be offended, right?
He’s always known that Yasmine is… less serious about all that. So, really, he always knew what he was getting himself into. Especially when it’s nearly 11 on a Sunday and Yasmine’s still buried in the sheets, gripping him tight to keep him from slipping out of bed despite his groaning about how he just wants to take a shower and eat something. (Probably the worst habit of Yasmine’s is skipping breakfast nearly every morning and that’s just not something he’s going to stand by.)
After graduation, Yasmine and Harry are employed at different universities, and the first few months are filled with settling into their new jobs. Their work hours are very similar, with the exception of Wednesdays where Harry has a later recitation class to teach. Regardless, Harry went into the new job with the mindset that he’d always get all his work done on time so that he and Yasmine could focus on figuring out the layout of their place still. Not to mention, Harry’s dedication to at least 2 dates a week (and going grocery shopping is NOT a date no matter how much Yasmine insists it is). 
He has a calendar in his office above his desk that tells him what days he needs to get his deadlines done so that he and Yasmine can have some time for themselves. He crosses out all the things he gets finished and circles the days he’s free.
Yasmine is the opposite. She always gets everything done, but it’s never as planned as Harry. She has the ability to sit down and bang everything out in one day … and also the ability to procrastinate until the night before.
It’s baffling to Harry. Harry’s routine is annoying to Yasmine. Really – where’s the fun in all that planning? And what if something suddenly comes up and there’s no wiggle room to fit in a doctor’s visit or something just because you’ve meticulously scheduled all your work to be back to back on weekdays.
This comes up one day when she’s working and he’s bringing her dinner to her study.
Harry pulls up a chair on the other side of her desk with his own plate. “Yasmine.”
“Mhmm.”
“If you’d gotten this done yesterday, we could have gone to the shop you wanted to visit.”
“We can go during the weekend. I can’t just align everything with your schedule to free up some time.”
Harry smiles, but it’s clearly tense. “We get home at the same time, Yas. If we can just finish all our stuff for the next day of class before, say, 5pm, we have the rest of the day to be together. Doesn’t that sound great?”
Yasmine glances up at him over her glasses. “I don’t want to do more work as soon as I get home though. I want to relax.”
From Harry’s face, she knows he’s thinking about the hour-long nap she took on their couch as soon as she came home. 
“Right, but. Now it’s almost 8 and we won’t make it to the store on time.”
“We’ve got weekends for that.”
His mouth twists into something that’s very much not a smile. “We’ve got other stuff to do over the weekend, remember? We agreed on two dates a week–”
“No. You decided that.” 
Harry stops. He tilts his head back to look at the ceiling in an attempt to calm himself down. When he looks back at her, he reaches across, shuts her laptop in a not-so-nice way and says, “What?”
Yasmine crosses her arms over her chest and leans back in her chair. “Well, you said the two dates thing. I think going to the shop counts as a date.”
“Going shopping isn’t a date. Having a romantic time out is a date.”
“Any time I get to spend with you is a date, Harry. It's about being with you, not where we go.”
“Have you maybe considered that I want to take you to restaurants and little getaways simply because I enjoy them too? That I like to see you have fun with me?”
Yasmine sighs and takes her glasses off. She rubs her eyes tiredly. “You clearly have a certain work ethic. And there’s nothing wrong with that, but I don’t. I get my work done when it gets done and I don’t want this structured, super formal scheduling of our time together. We live together, Harry. I see you all the time. Isn’t that enough?”
He doesn’t say anything for some time, but it’s clear he’s taken aback.
“It’s not enough,” he says, anger in his voice. “It’s not nearly enough. We’re dating, Yasmine. We’re not roommates.”
Yasmine blinks. “We technically are roommates.”
He runs a hand through his hair. Yasmine knows she's pushing him more than necessary. "Don't do that."
“All I’m saying is that I don’t want to schedule times with you. Won’t that be boring? Like, oh! It’s 6pm! Gotta go watch a movie with my boyfriend. It’s 7. Gotta have dinner. It’s 8, we should probably have sex before we get too tired. I’ve never had that type of schedule and I don’t want to.”
“It’s efficient.”
“I’m not having sex with you at 8pm every night just because it’s efficient. What -- are you going to break up that time too? 15 minutes for foreplay, 10 minutes for--"
He looks really mad now, his eyes alight. “That’s not what I mean! I’m saying that if we’re on the same wavelength – if we’re getting all our work done on time, then we can spend time together. That’s all! You're being way too difficult just for the sake of disagreeing with me.”
Yasmine frowns deeply. “Why don’t you adapt to my schedule then? I get all my work done too. I’ve got Saturday and Sunday’s open too – just like you.” From Harry’s expression, she exclaims, “See? It’s not about our time together. It’s about us sticking to your routine.”
Harry pinches the bridge of his nose. “We live together now. Don’t you think we should have some sort of rhythm? Be in sync?”
“That’s boring Harry!”
“It’s–”
“Don’t you dare say efficient!”
“It is!” Harry stands, putting distance between them. “This is ridiculous, Yasmine. And you have no right to say that I’m only making you adapt to my way of living.”
“Why can’t we live my way?”
“Because you don’t have a way! You get up and you just make things up! I can’t do that. I want to have breakfast together, lunch together and dinner together. I don’t want to be eating alone while you’re working just because you didn’t want to finish everything before 6. This past week alone, we’ve yet to do anything but ask about each other’s day because when I’m working, you're not, and when you’re working, I’m done with everything. You see the problem?”
Now, Yasmine can handle Harry when he gets like this. She’s put up with him before – and she’d be lying if she said she doesn’t see his point. He wants to spend time together as a couple. And he’s figured out a great way to clear up time for himself. Now he wants her to follow his regimen.
But the thing that makes Yasmine get angry is his volume. He’s got no right to yell at her.
And, okay. He’s not really yelling. He’s just annoyed and getting his point across loudly. But, it’s too late.
“Clearly we’re not going to do anything together tonight so why don’t you just let me finish my work and then we’ll talk about this later.”
Harry grabs his dinner and starts to leave her office. “No, we won’t be talking about this because by the time you’re done, I’m going to be asleep!”
“Well maybe don’t sleep so early?” she snaps back.
“Why should I change my schedule to match yours?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you!”
“You don’t have a schedule!” Harry says, visibly trying to keep his head from exploding. “You do things whenever you feel like doing them. So whenever you realize you’re more than a roommate to me, find me.”
He shuts the door behind him, leaving Yasmine alone in the room.
***
Harry can hold a grudge.
Yasmine, as fiery as she can get, has harsh anger hangovers. Once her anger at Harry is gone, she goes to find him. Sure enough, it’s late and Harry’s already in bed.
So she gets ready for bed too. And when she slides in, she waits for Harry to say something. He must still be angry because he doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even turn to give her a kiss.
Yasmine sighs to herself. He’s the one who never likes to go to sleep angry, so she inches closer to him and rests her head on his shoulder. “Harry.”
No answer.
“Harry?”
Nothing.
He’s not wrong, but she’s not either. So she sits up and pokes his biceps hard to wake up just in case he’s already out. When he offers her nothing, she huffs and rolls her over him, looking at him sideways with half her body draped over his arm. 
“Hey.” She goes back to poking, this time on his face. “Hellooooooo.”
“What are you doing?” he grumbles, turning his face away. Yasmine finishes rolling over so she’s now on his side, looking up at him. She nearly tumbles off the side of the bed, but Harry’s quick arm on her waist prevents that.
"Yasmine," he hisses.
“Let’s talk about it.”
“I don’t want to. Go back to your side."
“Oh come on. No going to sleep angry, remember?”
“I’m not angry. I’m annoyed. We can definitely go to sleep annoyed. In fact, I can't think of anything else I'd rather be doing."
“Hmm, no we can’t.” She tangles her legs with his. “Harry. Look. I understand what you’re saying. But I’m not going to apologize. I don’t think we’re that type of couple that needs to do everything together.”
“Not what I was saying but thanks for showing me you were listening."
She rolls her eyes. “I get that you want to spend time together, but don’t you think blocking out certain hours of the day is kind of ridiculous? It's so military."
"Military?"
"You get what I mean."
“Yasmine, if you had a 9 to 5 job, what time would we have to be together?”
“That’s not fair considering we don’t have 9 to 5s.”
“Say we did.”
“We’d have time after 5 and weekends.”
“Wouldn’t that be a schedule?”
“Well I don’t imagine we’d do something every day. I love you, but I do need to be away from you sometimes.”
Harry’s jaw tenses. He closes his eyes again. “Goodnight.”
“Hey wait, I didn’t mean it like that!” Yasmine laughs, throwing her arms around his neck. “I only mean that we’d get sick of each other.”
“I’d never get sick of you.”
“You’re saying that now but if we’re attached at the hip, then I’m totally sure–”
Harry’s eyes open and he grabs Yasmine’s face, tugging her close. “Never,” he says, voice deathly quiet. “I’d never get sick of you.”
She stops laughing, eyes wide. Something flutters in her chest. And…elsewhere too.
"Fine," she says, all breathily. "It would be a schedule, but only because we'd have no other option. We have flexibility as professors. We have more time, but more work load we bring home. It's not the same thing."
The hand on her waist tightens and suddenly she’s beneath him, his entire body hovering over hers. He lets go of her face, but leans down to kiss her instead. She holds him tight, her fingers tangled in his long curls that keep falling into their faces and tickling them.
“Harry,” she murmurs against his mouth. “Why are you so worried about us spending time together, hm?”
“I haven’t had a single meal with you all week, and I just remembered that you spent Sunday catching up on work, which is unfair because I forced myself to finish all my work so that I could have time for you. I don’t want to be the only one doing that.”
Yasmine sighs. “Harry, I’m not working just to avoid you.”
“I know that. And I know that us living together is enough for you. That sleeping and waking besides me is good, but it's not nearly enough for me.” Then, quietly, “I’m being petty about how you get your work done. But Yasmine, I didn't ask you to move together with me just so I could see you every day. I want a life with you." He traces her cheek gently, kissing the corner of her mouth. “And you’re right – we don’t have a 9 to 5 but is it so wrong for wanting to cut out a part of my day just for us? No talking about work. Just you and me, with a lot of this, preferably.” He kisses her again.
She's getting all mushy inside again. “It’s not wrong,” she whispers. “It’s not.” She wraps her legs around him, making him lean all her wait onto him. He holds his out against the mattress to stop himself.
“Don’t wanna hurt you.”
“No. Lay on me."
Harry does so, just for a total of five seconds until she’s gasping for air. Satisfied, she rolls out from under him and lets him lay comfortably. She straddles him then, bracing her hands on his chest. “Okay, let’s come to an agreement.”
Harry runs his hands up and down her thighs. “Let’s.”
“How about this: no talk of work after 7.”
“6.”
“Done.”
“And I will try my best to finish all my work by then also, but in the event I cannot due to circumstances overlooked in your calendar, you have to leave me to finish up so that I can come back to you as quickly as possible.”
“Done. And on weekends, nobody works. Don't bring any of it home on Friday. Not even a mere word about it.”
“Unless absolutely necessary.”
He pins her with a stern look. “I’ll be the judge of those conditions.”
“Anything else, professor?” Yasmine grins knowingly down at him, drumming her fingers against his chest.
Harry pinches her side. “And I will be a little less annoying about the whole two date thing.”
“And I’m sorry that I’ve kind of neglected you all week.”
“Thank you.”
Yasmine blinks expectantly at him.
He says, “Oh, are you waiting for an apology from me?”
“That would be nice.”
“Is that right?” 
She feels a thrill rush up her spine. “I’d appreciate it.”
“Yeah? Would you, baby? Good to know.”
“Or you can make it up to me in a different way.”
He shrugs. “Sorry. It’s almost 10. I’m strictly a no-love-making-past-eight-pm kinda guy.”
Yasmine sighs. “What a shame. And to think I went through all this effort coming to bed without a bra or underwear on in hopes I’d get to–”
Harry sits up and wraps his arms around her, roughly pulling her down into bed. “C’mere.”
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unofficial-fanfics · 1 year
Text
Brown Eyes
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Pairing: Din Djarin x GN!Reader
Warnings: Some angst, fluff, soft Din, that should be it
Summary: After being separated for almost two years, you were finally reunited with Din.
Word count: 1k
Translations: Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum - “I love you”
«̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ «̶ ̶̶̶      ̶ ̶ ̶»̶  ̶̶̶ ̶ »̶
One year, nine months, two weeks, and five days since you last saw Din. You had no idea if he was even alive, but you clung to the last words he said to you like your life depended on it. “No matter how long it takes, I’ll see you again.”
Ever since you two were separated a hole occupied space in your heart. Despite the effort to ease the ache, nothing worked. So over time you slowly began to fall further into your own mind.
You had built a small home on a remote planet beyond the outer rim. Remote was an understatement. Other than the animals that inhabited the surrounding trees, you were convinced nobody else lived on the here. Nobody that would be able to speak at least.
The land was mostly forests. A shallow but fast moving river ran through the trees, coming down from the mountain that sat a few miles from where you stayed.
Over the past year and a half, you built yourself a house and a system that kept you alive. At first it was merely for survival— just to get yourself by one day at a time— but now, physically at least, you began to thrive.
The lifestyle wasn’t bad at all. Most days you roamed the surrounding area, finding anything you could do to keep you busy. But time crawled painfully slowly.
The longer you spent here, the lonelier you got. You’ve already spent a year and a half without seeing another person. And to think of it, you couldn’t remember the last time you heard your own voice.
Now you walked through the trees, mapping your route without much effort. Mindlessly, your feet followed their normal track and allowed your thoughts to slip away from you. Your alert state faded over time since you no longer needed to look over your shoulder every few minutes.
Your bliss was ripped away from you with the sound of a ship flying quickly overhead. An N-1 Starfighter flew over the trees, headed in the same direction as you— which was also the same direction as your house. You cursed to yourself, thinking back to the fire you left running.
The smoke would be easily visible from the ship’s cockpit and the last thing you wanted was an unwelcome visitor. As far as your knowledge— which you couldn’t be sure wasn’t outdated— the starfighter was used on Naboo years ago so you couldn’t imagine who was flying it now.
Your feet were moving before you thought about it and your fingers fumbled for the blaster you kept concealed in your thigh holster. At least you had that. Your preferred weapons were left behind that morning. Approaching your house from behind the trees, you spotted the ship in the only clearing for miles, at least on this side of the river.
Worry trickled into your system, pooling in your stomach while you came up with a plan. As silently as possible, you moved to just under your window to see if you could get a glimpse of the pilot. You saw nothing so you stood cautiously, moving to the door to enter the little structure.
The pool in your stomach filled quickly as time passed without establishing who or where the pilot of the starfighter was. With your blaster in hand, you turned to go through your door, pointing your weapon in front of you.
The breath was stolen from your lungs as your blaster came face-to-face with the familiar beskar armor. “D-Din?” You whispered, your voice trying to get used to being heard again. His helmet came off slowly, revealing himself to you.
The face you had seen seen only a few times but knew more intimately than any other was now directly in front of you. The only thing that broke your trance was the makings of tears in his eyes.
Once your mind had caught up, your arms were around him. He caught you and wrapped his arms tightly around your torso, burying his face into your neck.
You were in tears, overwhelmed by your emotions. It had been so long since you had felt anything more than your usual stoic disposition and empty mind. And now your heart ached in the opposite way.
“I’m so sorry.” Din said, sounding like he was choked up. He lifted his head so he could look into your eyes, without moving his hands away from your waist. You lifted your hands to cup his face. It almost felt like he wasn’t really there, but he was.
His brown eyes gazed at you with guilt, longing, and adoration. Which mixed together to make the expression he presented to you. You examined his face for a moment before pulling him down to you. Your lips met for the first time in almost two years but it felt like no time had passed at all.
Din melted into your kiss instantly, pulling you closer while you sighed into his lips. After a long minute, he lifted his lips from yours and pressed slow kisses onto your cheeks where tears stained your skin.
Your eyes stayed closed while he kissed your face, finishing with your lips again. “Please don’t leave.” You whispered against his lips. Din’s hand went up to your cheek and your eyes met for the second time.
“I’ll never l leave you again, y/n.” He stated quietly. His voice sounded smooth and velvety in your ears. As he spoke, his breath tickled your cheeks. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum”
You didn’t understand all of Mando’a but Din had taught you that phrase when he had first said it to you. It caused your heart to flutter— a much preferred feeling to the previous emptiness.
For the first time in almost two years, you smiled. Din pressed a kiss onto your nose and rested his chin on the top of your head, silently promising he would never leave you alone like this again.
After all that time, all you wanted was to stay there in Din’s arms. Neither of you wanted to let go.
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rodolfoparras · 11 months
Text
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Captain’s boy
Price doesn’t play favorites at least that’s what he says. However there’s no denying he’s got a soft spot for you and everyone knows it.
You are after all Captain’s boy.
18+ | MINORS DNI
Pairing: John Price x Trans Male Reader
Stand alone/ part of a series
Cw; oral sex, clothed oral sex, reference to afab anatomy (clit is referred to as clit and not dick/cock), words cock and dick are used for reader’s genitalia though ( instead of words like cunt etc) alluded exhibitionism, possessiveness, Dom!Price, Sub!Reader, power dynamics, (light) verbal degradation, praise, no after care, plot what plot/ porn with plot
The usual disclaimer: English isn’t my first language so excuse any grammatically incorrect sentences, spelling mistakes, ooc, plot holes… heads up for long sentences as well, who needs proper structure anyway.
A/n: I’m forcing myself to post my drafts since ideas keep piling up. Also pls read the tags bc reading it without doing so might be confusing . This could be better but hey at least it’s something. I hope you enjoy!
Being captain of a squad entails a whole lot of things; one of the most important being that one couldn’t afford to play favorites. It’s bound to end badly. Matter of fact it might very well result in death. That’s why when Price became captain of the 141 he vowed to himself he wouldn’t play favorites.
Sure he might’ve taken Gaz under his wing but if the man were to mess up on a mission he’d be sent out on practice drills in the pouring rain if the Captain deamed it to be fit. And sure he might’ve known Ghost the longest out of all the guys in 141 but that didn’t mean he was any more lenient on him because of that. And despite Soap’s talent to worm his way into the toughest of hearts, Price ensured he’d never reach his soft spot.
But somehow you seem to be the exception. And everyone knows it. Their suspicions were first confirmed when you’d messed up during a mission. Everyone especially Gaz had expected you to be assigned to run laps for days on end but was surprised to see the captain putting a comforting hand on your shoulder with a gentle smile on his face.
That’s also the very first time you’d earn your title as Captain’s boy.
The second person to notice the captain’s lenience towards a certain soldier was Ghost.
You all had just come back from a successful mission and despite the promise of celebration, there was still the ever daunting task of writing a report for it but no one seemed willing to do it.
Everyone had been tasked with writing it, except for the captain of course. Ghost had tried to talk his way out of it but had quickly been shut down by the older man. What he didn’t know was that you had been exempt from writing it. Even with the mask on his face, there was no hiding the sheer amazement he felt as he watched you stroll out the room with the captain himself.
“Captain’s boy huh?” He whispered under his breath as he clicked his pen.
Soap had been the last man to find out about it.
He had heard whispers about it from the previous men but had only chosen to believe it once he had seen it for himself.
You all had been tasked with training new recruits. Everyone had gotten their own little station and Soap had been assigned to the shooting rage. It was fun at first: watching the new guys trying not to shoot their heads off but at some point he got bored of watching over them. So naturally he had wandered over to your station. It didn’t take long before he heard the captain’s voice sounding over your hushed conversation.
“I’m not interrupting anything am I?”Price asked with his arms folded across his chest.
“Not at all” Soap said and flashed him a big grin as he turned on his heel only to be met with a glare from the older man. “Back to your post then Mactavish”
Soap had expected you to face the same treatment.
But as he scurried away and threw a second glance over his shoulder, he came to see the sternness on his captain’s face replaced with something much softer.
He had the mind to applaud you right there and then but had settled for chuckling in disbelief as the words “captain’s boy” left his lips.
Price and you chose to ignore the rumors since at the end of the day rumors were just rumors and no one seemed to mind that the captain seemed to favor a certain soldier.
However they’ll never know just how right they are about the captain and his boy.
You’re laying with your chest flush against the floor, ass up in the air and with a soldier’s body pressed against your own.
It would be rather inappropriate to be in such an intimate position with a soldier but this wasn’t just any other soldier. This was your captain and on many occasions have you found yourself in similar positions.
Your captain who you were supposed to be sparring with had quickly gotten bored and his hands had started to wander on their own.
You didn’t mind the change of plans, however you did mind the fact that his hands seemed to aimlessly wander your body, leaving you worked up and without nothing.
Just as you’re about to complain, finally fed up with the teasing he’d put you through, he roughly pulls down the fabric of your pants, exposing your underwear.
The cool air raises goose bumps all across your skin. But the sensation is quickly replaced with the heat from his palms as they find their way to your naked thighs, trialing up to the sides to finally end their journey at your hips.
You're waiting expectantly for Price to pull down your underwear, bucking your hips up to him every time he slips a finger under the waistband. But every time you think he’s about to pull them down, he allows the boxers to snap back in place and returns to his original spot on your hips, thumb mindlessly tracing circles on the skin.
“Ple-please” you pant, once again bucking your hips at him. However, Price chooses to ignore your plea. Instead he leans down, bodies now pressed flush against each other as he whispers into your ear “What? You want me to take these off for you?” faux sympathy dripping from every word he speaks as his fingers once again pull at the waistband of your underwear only to let it snap back in place again.
“Yes- yes, sir, please”
“Oh no my boy, we have to have some decency ” Price says, tone now akin to the one he uses for recruits when reprideming them but with something darker wrapped around the vowels.
You huff at his words, and feel his hot breath wash over your skin as he chuckles at your whining.
“What? Don’t tell me you want everyone to see you with your cock out. Is that what you want?” You squeeze your thighs, whimpers slipping past your lips as you think of what it would be like for someone to see you like this.
You feel his hands leave the waistband of your underwear to instead run down the side of your thighs.
“Want them to see how you get when you’re with me? “
It doesn’t take long for you to feel his body sliding further down your back, nose nuzzling along the length of your spine and words disappearing into the fabric of your shirts as he says his next words “Want them to see how hard you get for me?”
Price’s journey ends at your lower back where he presses a kiss on it as his hands go to cup your ass cheeks. From where he rests his head, you feel his hot breath hitting your skin and the wisps of beard hair prickling against your ass cheek and a whimper escapes your lips as you buck your hips up to him “Please, please, sir”
Price ignores your pleas as he continues to tease
“Want them to see just how wet you can get for me hm? “ he says as he harshly kneads the flesh in his hands “Answer me”
“Yes- yes sir. I want it please!” You cry out, hips subconsciously grinding in the air; desperate to be given some sort of relief.
“Oh, what am I going to do with you my boy?” he says with a dark chuckle “I know it’s a shame to keep you all to myself but what can I do? I’m not one to share”
It’s simple words meant to be said in the heat of the moment, words that really meant nothing, words meant to be forgotten once the act was over. But by this point you’re far too gone to think about your own words, head feeling too light and airy to really think about the implications of them
“You- you don’t have to share, sir” for some strange reason you felt the need to reassure him; reassure him that you were only his to have if that’s what he wanted , reassure him that he didn’t need to share if he didn’t want to.
Once the words leave your mouth you feel his touch leave you completely, cold air caressing the spot where his hands once had been.
Your words hang in the air for a moment, nothing but your own heavy breaths echoing throughout the otherwise silent room. For some reason you can’t help but feel like you said something you shouldn’t and it leaves you feeling rather embarrassed, eyes squeezing shut and hands clenching into fists. It really isn’t a confession by any means but it is something and that something had been enough to render him speechless.
His voice is low and breathy when he finally, finally speaks “What’s that boy?” You can’t see his face but you can hear his voice and by his tone it sounds like he purrs.
Goosebump raises across your skin, surprise and delight coursing through your body, the light and airy feeling you were earlier feeling, once again returns to your body.
You swallow hard before you respond “I said you don’t have to share sir”
You hear the sound of a sharp inhale before you feel his hand grab your face, roughly turning your head to face him.“Oh” his pupils are blown wide, desire swirling in his iris and he goes to lick his lips before he speaks “you're captain's boy now huh?” His voice is low and hoarse and when he says those words it sounds more like a statement rather than a question.
You whimper at his possessive tone, thighs once again pressing together at his words.
“Say it” he says, hand roughly jerking your chin “Say you’re captain’s boy”
“I’m captain's boy!” you cry out and as you say the words he groans and presses his cock up against your ass.
“Please sir I can’t take it anymore” you cry out, on the verge of sobbing out your words as you push yourself back on his cock.
He hushes you as whimpers escape your lips, hand releasing the grip on your chin to run down the length of your back in soothing motions.
“Let me take care of you, yeah? Let captain care for his boy”
You nod, mumbling something incomprehensible.
“Lay your head down” You do as he says, feeling his hand on your upper back, gently guiding you into the right position.
“Spread your legs” You do as he says and he hums in approval as he helps you adjust your hips.”Just like that. Doing so good for me, yeah?” You nod in response, feeling yourself preen at his approval.
“Now look at yourself boy,”
You turn your head to the big mirror hanging to the side of the training room. From this angle you can perfectly see both him and you.
The reflection shows you sitting on your knees, chest flush against the floor, arms planted into the ground for support with your legs spread wide apart like he’d told you to do before. Price’s also sitting on his knees, broad frame hovering over yours and hands on your hips to keep you close.
Both of you look disheveled, covered in sweat and with similar expressions on your faces that told anyone who’d walked through the doors that the two of you weren’t sparring in this room, at least not anymore.
“Pretty sight isn’t it?” He says with pride in his voice as his gaze locks with yours through the mirror.
You go to respond but before you can do so you feel a sudden pressure on your cock. “O-oh” you groan out as you look down in the mirror only to see Price’s leg lodged in between your own and feel the top of his knee perfectly grounding itself against your dick.
The steady pressure sets your nerves on fire
and a moan escapes your lips as you grind against up him, trying to get more of the feeling.
“I asked you a question,” he hisses. However he must’ve noticed your gaze locked on his leg because he says “eyes up here boy”
You do as he says, once again seeing your wrecked reflection in the mirror. “Pretty sight yeah?” You whimper and nod in response as he increases his pressure on your cock.“That’s Captain’s boy” he says as his gaze burns into your own, threatening to scorch you whole “Now keep looking at yourself, yeah?”
Just as you wonder what he’s about to do, you feel a sudden wet sensation between your legs. You look at him through the mirror, wide eyed and surprised only to see him grinning deviously with spit dribbling down his lips.
“Did you just-“
But before you can say anything else, you feel eager fingers spreading your folds and his mouth on your cock, his tongue laying flat on your dick, slowly dragging it from the top all the way to the bottom of it. As if hit with electricity, your body jolts and you drop your head to the floor as your hips bucks to meet his tongue. “Oh-oh fuck,”
His free hand squeezes the globe of your ass in warning and you’re quickly reminded of what you were supposed to be doing. “Sorry, sorry, sorry” you blabber out in response before you force yourself to once again look at yourself in the mirror.
You look like an absolute mess, pupils blown wide, hair in disarray and chest rapidly rising and falling.
Your face quickly morphs into one of surprise, breath feeling like it’s been punched out of your lungs when Price licks at your cock with renewed vigor, tongue pressing deeper between folds like there’s no underwear separating his lips from your cock.
The pressure of his tongue forces the fabric
of your underwear to directly press against your sensitive clit. And every time he swipes his tongue across your dick, it sends sparks of pleasure coursing through your body.
You spread your legs wider, muscles slightly aching from the awkward angle as you grind up against his mouth. “Please, please, please”
His mouth soon makes its way to your clit,
wet lips lightly nibbling on it before his tongue flickers experimental at it. “Oh-oh” once again your gaze drops from the mirror, eyes squeezing shut as you lose yourself to the pleasure. Luckily Price seems too busy with other things to notice anything.
One lick two licks and he’s full on latching onto your clit, lips eagerly suckling at the engorged numb through the soiled fabric. He alternates between suckling and swirling his tongue around your clit before going back to pay attention to your dick.
The squelching sound that echoes throughout the room sounds straight up obscene and every time you hear it you feel your body burning as you relentlessly buck up into him.
“I’m sorry- I’m sorry sir” you cry out, feeling rather embarrassed at your eagerness.
“Nothing to apologize for, told you I was going to take care of you, let me do so” You could’ve cummed right then and there, all traces of embarrassment gone as you allowed yourself to fully lose yourself to the pleasure.
It all quickly becomes too much for you. If his tongue isn’t on your clit then it’s running along the length of your dick. For each and every stroke he goes in deeper with his tongue. And your engorged numb is becoming more and more sensitive to his touch.
At some point you try to get away from him, desperately clawing at the floor and hips bucking away from him but he doesn’t allow you to leave, firmly planting his free hand on your ass cheek to keep you close to him.
“Please- please I can’t “ you sputter out, shaking your head as you try to get away from him.
“This is what you wanted, right? why are you trying to leave now?” He taunts, ceasing all movements as he pulls his mouth away from your dick.
“No!” You cry out, mourning the loss of his touch as you turn to look at him, teary eyed and with pleas threatening to fall from your lips. He’s sitting back on his knees, hair tousled, cheeks flushed, and sporting the biggest grin. But your eyes quickly zoom in on the shine that seems to coat his lips. Not only is it on his lips but it's also on his chin and beard. Your eyes widen as you realize it’s a mix of his spit and your arousal and his grin widens, seemingly knowing what you were thinking.
“What did you say before? No?”
He takes one hand and swipes his thumb over his bottom lip, wetting the pad with remainments of your arousal before swiping it over your clit, rubbing agonizingly slowly whilst putting steady pressure on it as he speaks “This is too much for your little cock to handle huh?” He says, faux sympathy dripping from his lips as he reaches over to pet your hair mockingly.
You shake your head, attempting to respond to him but you’re rendered speechless, only able to mewl in response as he continually circles your sensitive numb. “I thought you were captain’s boy. If my boy can’t handle a simple blowie, how is he supposed to handle my dick?” He says as he grabs ahold of your hair, roughly tugging at it.
“I can- I can handle it sir I can candle it
!” you cry out, feeling his fingers lightly pinch your clit.
“That’s what I thought, lay back down for me again yeah?”
You nod, blabbering something incoherent as you resume your original position, allowing him to once again spread your folds and put his mouth on your cock.
Despite your previous words, you find yourself unable to sit still as you feel yourself tethering closer to the edge of your release. Your toes are curling, fingers digging into the mat below, and hips relentlessly bucking up against his tongue. You feel your cock growing more sensitive for every lick, your hole fluttering around nothing and the knot in your stomach tightening.
“Close- so close, just please, please”
All of a sudden his teeth scrape against your sensitive clit, once again putting just enough pressure to be properly felt through the fabric. And that’s all it takes for the knot in your stomach to unfold: eyes rolling into the back of your head, mouth agape as you furiously grind your hips on his tongue before you finally slump onto the floor, legs and arms giving out from supporting your weight for so long.
You feel Price run his hand soothingly down the length of your back and hear him say the words “There we go. That’s it, that's captain's boy.”
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wardenparker · 1 year
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For Pleasure
Joel Miller x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst
Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ content!! Word Count: 11.9k Warnings: Cursing, food, people pointing guns at each other, non-sexual nudity, alcohol consumption, angst, mentions of death, oral sex (f and m receiving), 69, fingering, hair pulling, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, Joel smut comes with its own warning. Summary: A chance encounter outside of the QZ will change two lives forever, even if neither you nor Joel realizes it at the time.  Notes: The much-requested prequel to For Her ! The response to the original piece was completely overwhelming and we are so grateful and humbled by everyone’s enthusiasm for this couple’s journey. Thank you for reading!
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Going outside the walls, outside the so called ‘safety’ of the FEDRA Boston QZ was always a gamble. It was better to go in numbers, at least with Tess, so someone had his back. Another set of eyes and another weapon to handle the surprises that always spring up. That wasn’t possible though. Tess was not speaking to him. The on and off arrangement that they seemed to always drift back to was currently adrift, deciding that she would go back to her own place and give him space. It irritates him, but he’s not going to go groveling. She wanted to sleep beside him or not, her decision. She was a big girl, not a fucking child and he didn’t have the patience for that shit right now. He doesn’t even have Tommy. His brother abandoned him for the Fireflies. Caught up in their patriotic bullshit about bringing back democracy. Hard for democracy to survive when the entire house of cards is built on a shaky foundation. Every year more of the city was lost, more people lost. It wasn’t like people were having a shit ton of kids to boost the population. Tommy had left a year ago to head out, some secret mission and had barely said goodbye. The last words between them in person were slightly bitter, but Joel regrets that. So here he is, moving alone. His gun is a firm, familiar weight in his hand as he moves through the decaying remnants of society. Two fucking miles outside of Boston and he could be on the moon for all it matters. He had lost hours waiting for some infected to move from where he was crouched, too many of them for him to take on. Now it’s getting dark, and he’s needing to find someplace to stay.
The house doesn't look special from the outside. That's why he chooses it. The layer of dust over everything doesn't look interrupted, things haven't been upended. It isn't until he gets well inside the structure of the old Dutch Colonial farmhouse that Joel realizes he isn't alone. The sound of the door creaking open is deliberate. You had been investigating the kitchen, checking stores of food that might still be usable and been delighted with the discovery of running water. A shower - even a cold shower - is more than you've been able to have in weeks. Traveling from your last settlement after infection had taken hold turned out to be even harder than you expected, and it's not like you didn't know you were living in an apocalypse of sorts. There's a man on the other side of the doorway that looks like he would shoot a person as soon as look at them, so your gun is already aimed at the back of his head when you nudge the door open with your foot. "Turn around slowly." You order, trying to sound as icy as possible.
“Woah.” Joel closes his eyes for a moment and mouths a ‘fuck’ to himself. “Woah, easy….” He pulls his fingers away from the gun’s trigger. “I didn’t know anyone was here. I’m not wantin’ trouble.” He’s too tired for trouble, or maybe he’s tired of trouble but he just wants to find a place to bunk down, and apparently this area is taken. Slowly, he turns his body to face the voice and the gun in front of it. He’s learned that it doesn't matter if it’s a man or woman, both are deadly.
"You figured you'd just walk up in my house and start looking around?" It isn't yours. Not anything like it. But you're going to throw yourself into an act of over-confidence to cover up the fact that you almost just squeezed your thighs together when this guy turned around. How are some people still so fucking sexy after the end of the world?
“Your house?” Joel cuts his eyes around, taking in the tatty cover on the sofa and the inch deep layer of dust. “You’re a hell of a housekeeper.” He huffs at you in amusement. You’re pretty and obviously alone because he doesn’t hear anyone else knocking around. He would have been barreling in from wherever if he had been if he was with you.
"Didn't figure I'd be entertainin' gentleman callers," you gripe, imitating his light Southern accent. Wherever he's from, it's not Massachusetts.
Gentleman. Joel nearly snorts, appreciating the snark and slowly lowering his hands as he watches you closely. “Was just lookin’ for a place to hold up for the night.”
"Nothing else around here but empty houses with no food." The slight waiver to your hand is unintentional, and you swallow down your nerves. This man is the first person you've been near since leaving Maine and there's a mix of fear and relief coursing through you that you hadn't expected.
Joel sees your nervousness, the wariness that comes with coming across someone uninfected. The thought makes him narrow his eyes on the tremor of your hand. “You’re infected.” He hisses, the gun that had been hanging from his fingers now gripped tight and pointed right at your head. “When were you bitten?” He demands harshly.
“I’m not!” There’s more panic in your voice than you’re proud of, and instead of doubling down with keeping him arm’s length away you end up putting your free hand up in unconscious surrender. “I just — I left someplace where everybody else was. I’m not sick.”
He hasn’t survived nearly twenty years by believing someone. Too many people lie, not willing to face their fate. He rocks his jaw. Ten years ago he might have just shot you, but he doesn’t. Motioning to you with his revolver, Joel grunts. “Strip down. All of it. Let me see.”
In the world before the Outbreak you might actually have slapped him. Spit at him for being such a pig. But in the world before the Outbreak, a complete stranger demanding that you strip naked to prove your health would have deserved it. “Guns down.” That’s your first compromise. If you’re going to strip you don’t want to do it at gunpoint, and it’s not like you’ll have your own gun in hand to get the drop on him. “Then you prove it, too.”
It's an acceptable compromise. Joel nods and slowly lowers his weapon so he can slide it into his hips holster as soon as you start setting your own down. "Sounds fair." He tells you. It's not about seeing you bare, although you are gorgeous enough to make his mind stray, it's about making sure you don't turn in a few hours and come after him. It's only natural you would have the same fears, or worse.
"If we're both clean, we split the food." There's enough cans and things in the kitchen to give you both supplies. Whoever lived here was really into lentils and preserved meats which leads you to believe they had planned on living a good long life in the new world. That clearly hadn't panned out for them. "There's running water, too."
Joel tilts his head, surprised that you would be that generous when you were obviously here first. "If you aren't infected, I'll secure the house while you clean up, shower or whatever." He offers, knowing that for now there is a wary truce.
Barely pausing in unbuttoning your shirt, you glance up at him with a twisted smirk. "You want me to cook dinner while you shower, darling?" You bat your eyelashes at him dramatically, and you would roll your eyes at the same time if you could, but it's actually a good plan. Working together could help keep you both alive and actually let you rest. Being on your toes at all times is fucking exhausting.
He snorts, barely repressing a smile as he gives a small shake of his head. "Depends on if you can cook." He jokes, nearly groaning at the idea of a shower and shuffling slightly when you strip off your shirt. He inspects every inch of skin, even though he knows he's going to make you take it all off. Looking for bites or marks that would be indicative of infection. Unlike FEDRA agents, he doesn't have a scanner.
"Yeah. I can cook." It says something that you can't remember the last time you were naked with anyone, let alone anyone you found attractive. Instead of being tense from attraction, though, you're tense at the evidence of being attracted - hoping that you crumble your underwear away fast enough that he doesn't smell arousal on the fabric. You shove your clothes onto the chair next to where you're standing, arms out like you're at a doctor's office or dealing with the fucking FEDRA troops. "Satisfied?"
"Turn around." It's not to get a perfect view of your ass, but his eyes fall immediately to it. Admiring it. Hell, he's fucking alive and still enough of a red-blooded man to enjoy a beautiful woman naked in front of him even though he wouldn't touch you. His eyes sweep over your back, your neck and shoulders and he even checks your ankles for marks. Quickly nodding, he doesn't want to make it weird. "Okay. My turn I guess."
"Yup." Relief is an unexpected thing to feel, but you know he could easily have shot you while your back was turned. You don't know anything about him except that you're both survivors, and survivors can do a hell of a lot of things to make sure they stay that way. But you push the thought out of your mind for now and grab your clothes, swiftly redressing while he starts unstrapping his various belts and untying his boots.
He's got no shame in undressing. Some like the look of him naked, or at least they did, but it's not about that right now. His jeans are shucked, thankfully the half chub he was sporting wasn't too obvious that he had been reactive to your naked body. Peeling off his clothes to stand straight and let you inspect him as he holds out his arms just like you did.
You’re embarrassed how fast your eyes go to his dick. Determined to pretend that you simply intended to start his inspection at his legs instead of his face, you don’t touch but mentally mark every bruise and healed cut along his skin, pushing away the impulse to fucking lick when you’re eye level with his chest. “Turn around.” Alright. At least he has no ass, you think to yourself with a smirk when his back is to you. If he looked like that, had that big a dick, and had a perfect ass you might have moaned or something equally ridiculous and horrifying. “Fine. Neither of us is infected.”
Turning around, Joel picks up his clothes. Amused that now you are looking everywhere but at him when you first saw him naked you could barely stop staring at his dick. "Do you want to make use of the running water first?" He asks, aware that the sun will be setting soon. "Or do you want to start dinner, sweetheart?" He chuckles, using a pet name like you had before. "If you want to soak in some water, I can make my shower quick and warm up a pot?" He offers, unsure why he is but the words are already out of his mouth. Perhaps because tonight will feel as normal as it could be in this world. Like the past twenty years weren't there.
“I’ll shower first.” There’s no point in trying to be precious about things, and you saw clothing on one of the upstairs bedrooms that will probably fit you. Having left Maine with almost nothing, it would be nice to have a change. “You secure the house.” Halfway to fleeing the scene, you catch yourself at the bottom of the dusty staircase and turn around. He’s buttoning the last few buttons on his shirt when you swallow your nerves and introduce yourself. First names are all that’s needed anymore, so it’s all you give, but it still feels polite.
Joel snorts, realizing he’s seen you naked and doesn't know your name. Like it was nearly thirty-five years ago and he was partying and bringing home chicks he didn’t know. “Joel.” He offers quietly. “Miller.”
“Nice to meet you, Joel Miller.” It’s about as polite a meeting as anybody can have these days, and you offer him a nod before turning up the stairs. There’s lukewarm water calling your name, and you swear you saw bars of Dove soap up there, too. Not just the government issued shit FEDRA rations.
Joel listens to you moving around up there, just listening for a second before he starts looking around. The windows are all still intact and the door still locked, the frame still good. The house must have just been abandoned and never looted. He slides the entryway writing table against it just in case bad moves to the kitchen to secure the door there. It will be nice to sleep with only one eye open tonight, since there’s a stranger here.
******
Wrinkled clothing means nothing anymore. Not if it’s clean, and the carefully stored and arranged things arranged in the master bedroom upstairs are all familiar choices to pick through. Jeans, t-shirts, plaid flannels alongside deeper options that have no place in the world as it is now. Though something tells you that Joel might have appreciated that little black dress twenty years ago. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking. Very unnecessary, wishful thinking.
With the house secure, Joel has already started cleaning up a spot for dinner. There’s no gas, but the fireplace looks decent and the idea of a hot meal after a shower sounds downright decadent, making him start the small fire and bring in a clean pot and an assortment of cans and jars into the living room to open and dump into a stew.
“Did you find the lentils?” Seeing that Joel already has things underway when you come downstairs gives you a truly unlooked for feeling of home. You can’t let yourself get attached to it, but it’s a nice thought to have.
“I did.” He nods and jerks his head back towards the kitchen. “Wanna grab the spices?” He asks as he stands and wipes his hands on his jeans. “I’ll go clean up too, just– use whatever you want.”
“I hope they still have flavor.” You nod though, ready to dump in an entire shaker of cumin or cayenne just for a little bit of warmth or spice. Whatever it takes. “The shower in the master bedroom works. There’s good soap, too. Stuff we can split.”
Joel nods but he doesn't say anything, just strides past you and heads towards the stairs. He still has his gun on him, but that's just smart. Just because you didn't seem like you had ill intentions didn't mean it was a good idea to act like there wasn't danger around.
He’s gone maybe twenty minutes - a luxurious amount of time in this efficient world - and you’re sitting by the fire rifling through the nearest bookshelf while dinner bubbles away. When was the last time you were around this many books all at once? College for sure. Before the Outbreak. Before paper of any kind was for wiping shit and building fires.
The jeans he finds are a little big, but he doesn't give a shit. They are clean. Allowing him to wear something fresh and the t-shirt is soft. He even steals new socks and the boots are left off in favor of the ugly ass slippers he had found. He would put the boots back on later, but it was amazing to have them off for a while. "Damn near feel normal." He grunts as he walks back down the stairs and sees you look up from the bookshelf. "Like it's a stormy night and the power's off, right?" He jokes, shooting you a grin.
“Want me to read to you, darling?” Keeping up the joke, you bat your eyelashes and hold up the two books you had in your hands. “We’ve got a shelf full of classics here.”
"Better than flipping a table over an old game of Monopoly." Joel snorts, giving a small shrug as he looks around. "The house is secure and there's plenty of wood to keep a small fire goin'. If you want to bunk down here, stay warmer."
“Might be nice,” you admit, looking around the picturesque little house. The place was well loved and miraculously escaped being looted since whoever the owners were had died. “I’ll pull bedding out of one of the other bedrooms. You can take the master if you want it.” Falling asleep with a book in front of the fireplace might be the most luxurious idea you’ve heard in a decade and you love it.
Joel snorts and shakes his head. "Nah. I'll pull down a mattress for you and take the couch." It looks like it might only give him a few springs in his ass. He doesn't know why but the idea of you sleeping downstairs while he's upstairs bothers him but it does.
“A veritable sleepover.” You offer him a half smile, unsure why you feel so damn comfortable around a man who barely smiles and certainly doesn’t seem friendly. Probably just the fact that he’s sexy. You have to be honest with yourself. “Dinner’s going to take a while. Nothing to do but read or shoot the shit.”
Joel chuckles and looks around. "You didn't find any alcohol around here, did ya?" He asks. "Seems like either one of those is better with something to drink." He's not a man who likes to sit around and shoot the shit, but there's nothing else to do and he's not going to stay awake if you start reading to him.
“Bottom of the other bookshelf is false.” On the other side of the room, a large bookcase stands next to a window with a writing desk nearby. “I don’t know anything about scotch, but it’s supposed to get better with age, right?”
"I don't think it's gonna hurt. It's still liquor that we can't ever get again." Joel nearly drools when he sees the bottle. "Yeah, that's– that's gonna be good." He looks towards you. "You want a glass?"
“Sure. Why not?” It just adds to the domesticity of the random encounter, like two complete strangers playing fucking house in the apocalypse. You get up from where you were kneeling and nod toward the kitchen. “I’ll grab glasses.”
He hadn’t expected you to get them, but he lets you go into the other room. “Not a bad setup.” Joel hums to himself as he looks around the room. It will be nice to have an evening where he’s not completely on edge, although he drifts over to the windows, happy that the heavy curtains will block the scant light of the fireplace once the sun finishes going down.
“It’s a shame it was abandoned.” When you come back into the room with two glasses, he’s looking out the window and the setting sun that outlines his profile makes him look downright romantic. “They had real sipping glasses in the cupboard but that felt too fussy,” you tell him, offering him the set of heavy-bottomed double old fashioned glasses that you picked up instead.
“Too bad there’s no ice.” Joel smirks as he takes the glasses over to the bookcase where the bottle is to pour the scotch out for both of you.
“Ice.” You groan, almost a sound of ecstasy as you curl up on one corner of the couch. “I would do some extremely questionable things to have ice cold lemonade again.”
That actually makes Joel toss his head back and laugh. A deep, surprising belly laugh that seems to roll from a sense of humor he had long since buried in bitterness and sarcasm. “Lemonade, huh?” He asks, bringing the glass over to you and sitting down in an armchair beside it. “Just lemonade? No sweet tea or iced coffee?”
“Lemonade.” You tell him definitely, accepting the glass that he hands you as he sits. “FEDRA dickheads have coffee and tea. It’s shitty quality but it’s there. You can still get close to tea and coffee if you have access. But when was the last time you saw a damn lemon?”
“Uh….two days ago?” Joel asks, raising a brow as he takes a sip of his scotch and wincing at the burn. “Yeah, two days ago.”
"Where?" The demand pulls an absolute pout from you, eyebrows knitted together in dismay. You've had sexier dreams about lemonade than some of the men you used to date.
He snorts, enjoying the put out expression on your face. “Near Boston. Little….farm I know about.” He would never give away Bill and Frank’s location but they have a lemon tree in their backyard.
"Shit." The sour expression on your face seems to amuse him, and for some reason you deepen your pout just to see if it will make him laugh. When he laughed for real a few minutes ago it was such a gorgeous sound. "Well...cross your fingers for me that they have them out west. Cause we definitely didn't up in Maine."
“Too cold up there.” Joel reminds you. “Shit, it’s too cold in Boston.” He takes another sip, “is that where you’re headed, out west?” He asks, curious as to why you are by yourself.
"Yeah." You nod, pausing for a second to take a sip of the amber coloured liquid in your glass but being careful not to gulp too much and end up coughing like an amateur. Joel seems barely phased, but it's been so long since you had alcohol that you know you'll end up looking like a college freshman at a frat party if you go too hard. "It was time to leave. So that's where I'm going to go. Nothing like a little cross-country hike, right?"
“By yourself?” He asks, shocked that you would do that yourself. It doesn’t look like you’re terribly well equipped and it was dangerous. “That’s a hell of a journey alone.”
"I don't have a choice, really." Shrugging your shoulders, you take another sip of your drink and enjoy the burn, deciding that it's a damn shame you'll probably never have Scotch again in your life after tonight. "A couple of years ago I was going to leave campus and go down to Pennsylvania with some people but..." you shrug again and look down into your glass. "One of them got sick. She couldn't travel. So we stayed put. But now they're all dead, so I'm just...me."
"Pennsylvania?" Joel frowns, hating that it seems like you've lost everyone but that is life now. It's full of loss and very little joy. "What was in Pennsylvania?" He leans back in his chair and looks over at you in the firelight, curled up and comfortable. Like you are discussing heartbreak and loss.
"Nothing, really. Not anymore." The fire crackles beside you, wood popping occasionally and making the room smell cozy and inviting. Like it's an intimate dinner instead of an accidental encounter. "My family used to vacation down there when I was growing up. This town called Lake City. It's a little colony now...like a commune, I heard. Some kind of little paradise at the end of the world, ya know? I doubt it's actually like that, but dreams are hard to come by these days."
"Dreams are hard to come by." Joel murmurs, thinking about Tommy disappearing out west, chasing a dream of freedom, a life beyond FEDRA. He rocks his jaw and glances down at his watch, remembering Sarah and her silly, funny dreams for the future. A future that no longer exists. Maybe it never existed. "Sometimes, dreams are all we have though." He admits, downing the rest of his drink quickly and reaching for the bottle he had put on the coffee table.
"Am I going to get a gun pointed at me if I ask what you dream about?" The side arm isn't in sight but you doubt he left it upstairs. You certainly didn't store yours away - it's right on the coffee table beside you.
"I dream of the past." Joel murmurs quietly after a long moment, contemplating not answering you at all. He won't talk about the past, doesn't like to think about it but he dreams about it. "Anyway, Lake City, huh?" He asks, taking another swallow of the fiery liquid and welcoming the burn. "Still a long way from there."
"Yeah." Swallowing the last sip of liquid in your glass, you hold it out to him in a request for more. "I don't know that I'll go there, but even if I do it won't be for long. West is the goal."
Joel leans forward, holding out the bottle and pouring more into your glass. "You're gonna need a car, and supplies." He warns you. "And more fucking people."
"I'll manage." He's not exactly offering help, just advice, but you nod anyway. "Aren't you going to need shit to get wherever you're going, too? It's not like either of us has back up."
"I'm not going anywhere." Joel tells you. "Scavenging." He's not going to tell you that he's meeting his supplier for contraband. It would be too risky to do something as foolish as that. "Planning to head back to Boston in about a week."
"Boston." Every sip of alcohol goes down smoother than the last and you smile absentmindedly. "I went to a Red Sox game once. So much fucking fun."
"Field's nothing but a huge fungal growth." Joel tells you, frowning as he remembers that kid that Tess had brought with them to go on a run. He had stepped wrong and awoken a dozen infected. It hadn't been pretty. "Fuckin' shame."
"Shit." That earns a shake of your head, though you don't know why you're surprised to hear it. "Lemonade and baseball. I guess I know what I miss."
"Went to a few baseball games back in the day." Joel chuckles. "I get it. Nothing was like a hot dog with everything goddamn thing on it and an icy cold beer."
"Getting a ton of friends together, screaming shit at the field that the players will never hear in a million years but it just makes you feel like part of the game." You laugh, shaking your head and feeling the scotch actually start to hit you for the first time. It's been a long time since you had booze meant to do anything but numb pain. "My cousins all played. Used to draw out a makeshift diamond in the backyard of the rental house in Lake City."
"I played too." Joel admits after a moment, shrugging when your eyes widen slightly. "What the fuck else is there to do in Texas during the summer except baseball and swimming?"
"Texas!" One finger goes up like a symbol of epic success and you laugh, feeling much looser and freer thanks to the drink. "I knew I heard an accent."
"Yeah, yeah, the damn accent." Joel grumbles, although he's smirking at your overly excited face. "Never knew it would be so damn telling at the end of the world."
"It's sexy," you admit, and the words are out of your mouth before you can rethink how wise it is to say them at all.
"Sexy?" That was a word that hasn't been used to describe him in a long time. "Well, I'll keep that in mind, honey.” Joel teases, sending you a small wink.
"Just...ya know...being honest." Though you do sink down into the couch cushion a little more deeply and hold your glass in front of your face. The fucking wink was sexy, too.
“Well, then I guess I should be honest too.” Joel tells you, watching you sink into the sofa a little more. “I looked at you longer than I needed to when you stripped down. Because you’re ‘sexy’.”
"Oh yeah?" There's a smirk in your voice as you lower your glass again, almost putting it down on the table before you decide to finish off the last sip first. "So that was a little bit of a chub you were sporting, huh? I thought I was just imagining it."
“Still alive, ain’t I, honey?” Joel snorts, sending you a smirk with a small shrug. “Can’t exactly help it. But it’s a compliment.”
"Then I'll take it as such." And lock yourself in the bathroom later to get off to thinking about his dick, probably. Since he insists on sleeping in the living room you'll have to make your own privacy.
Joel taps his hand on his thigh before he stands. “I should get the mattress down the stairs if you’re wanting to be cozy.” It would give him a moment to clear his head, the thought of bending you over that sofa very appealing.
"I'll get bowls." You practically jolt up from the couch, nerves and liquid courage both at work in your veins. "Food's probably ready by now."
Joel nods and starts for the stairs again. Making his way to the bedroom with the queen sized bed and pulling the mattress off of it. Sure the two of you could sleep in beds, but it would get cold tonight and it would be warmer near the fire.
This stew that he threw together smells amazing when you take the lid off the pot in the kitchen. You scoop some into two large bowls and dig for spoons in the drawer before also coming away with glasses of water. Food and water are good. They'll keep you from climbing into Joel's lap and making an idiot out of yourself.
With some mild cursing a little bit of muscle, Joel gets the mattress down the stairs. “Move the table, honey.” He grunts, moving the mattress into the living room so he can put it down in front of the fireplace, far enough back that it would catch on fire if an ember popped out.
Scrambling to do what he asks quickly, the bowls and glasses are put down on the coffee table so you can slide it out of the way and Joel gets the mattress down onto the floor a lot more easily than he got it down the stairs. "There." You nod when it's done and toss a pillow onto the mattress from the couch. "Comfy and cozy."
He snorts and shakes his head. “Guess we can get your blankets and shit after we eat.” He acknowledges. “Thought you might want to be warm and comfortable tonight.”
"Sexy and considerate." You offer him a smile and look back down at the mattress, wanting to point out that it's definitely big enough for two but also not wanting to ruin the light tone that the night has taken on. "Thank you, sweetie," you tease instead.
He snorts and nods. “Let’s eat, it’s been a few days since I’ve had a hot meal and it smells delicious.” He wants to make you smile again, tease you more but he also knows you have to be hungry.
His chair is boxed away by the mattress being on the floor so Joel sits down next to you on the sofa to take his bowl. The proximity of him makes your body hum but you force it down, telling yourself to ignore it. It's just that it's been a decade since you got laid, so of course you're hyper aware of the sexy Texan who admitted to finding you attractive. That's all.
The clinks of the spoons on the sides of the bowls and the sounds of eating accompany the crackling of the fire. Making Joel hum when the spice tickles the back of his throat. “So, you were in Maine the entire time? Or-“ He never starts conversations but he doesn’t want to stop talking to you. He looks over at you as he digs through the bowl for another tasty bite.
“Yeah…” Slightly surprised that he’s picking the conversation back up but happy to enjoy whatever companionship he’s willing to dole out, you nod a little and take a sip of water. “I was in college when the outbreak hit. Renting a big house off campus with a few friends, taking off jobs to pay the bills and partying every night we weren’t working.” It sounds silly now, or maybe you think that because you miss it so desperately, you can’t tell. “We stayed in that same house. Locked it down, defended it. Basically the whole neighborhood was ours but we never went far.”
“Ahhh those days.” Joel assumed you were younger than him and he was right. He nods and spoons up another bite. “How did you manage to survive? Someone taking farming classes?”
“One of us was in agriculture. Another was pre-med. Third girl was engineering and she’d grown up with an electrician for a mom.” The sigh you let out borders on long-suffering. “We used to joke…before it happened…that we were the perfect apocalypse crew. Cursed that for ourselves, didn’t we?”
“The irony of that joke.” Joel shakes his head, not mentioning all the times people he had known cycling through their ‘what I would do if’ scenarios. All of them were dead as far as he knows. “At least they were skills that were useful. Do you know the going rate is for a seamstress that’s worth a shit?”
“Portland QZ fell years ago,” you tell him with a half-shrug, scooping up another spoonful of your stew. “And we never had much contact with any of them anyway. I don’t know that much about how they work, if I’m honest.”
“Lots of control.” Joel grunts. “The biometric scanner is the lone determination for life or death. If you don’t pass….” He trails off and takes another bite. “Let’s just say that most of the bodies we dispose of aren’t coming from inside the walls.”
“Sounds fun.” Another mouthful of stew sounds better than talking about the end of the world or mass murder, and you chew slowly before glancing back at him. It doesn’t mean anything that he looks sad - everyone left in the world is sad - but there’s a knot in your stomach that wishes you could make him laugh again.
“Real riot.” Joel mumbles, poking at the stew and sighing. “Anyway- so how did your crew get sick? It wasn’t the fungus was it?”
“All but one.” You end up nodding again, shrugging like it doesn’t matter. Like the people you love most in the world weren’t ripped from you. “Zoe died first. Probably cancer, but it’s not like that’s easily diagnosable anymore. The rest…they were scavenging for firewood, nuts, berries, all that stuff. One wrong step and you wake up a dozen clickers. Priya came back with a chunk taken out of her shoulder, but Nadia and Claire…they didn’t make it out of the woods.”
“Sorry.” Joel murmurs softly. It wasn’t like there was much he could say to that. Everyone’s lost someone. Most have lost everyone and you fall in that category. “Fucking shit is what it is.” He sighs softly, glancing down at his watch and remembering his own loss.
“We all lost someone.” The impulse is there. To ask. To get to know him better. To have a genuine human connection with this man even just for a little while. But with so much sadness literally everywhere you look, you have to wonder at the fact that you’ve actually laughed with Joel and enjoyed his company. That there has been some small amount of light in the pervasive darkness of life around you. “I was very lucky to spend the time with them that we had.” Is what you say instead, offering him a soft smile. “Just like whoever gave you that watch was lucky to have you.” You didn’t miss the way his eyes went to the broken timepiece - so lovingly cared for and dedicatedly worn despite being obviously broken.
Instead of opening up, Joel sets the bowl down on the small table and gets up, deflecting. “Need to add more wood to the fire.” He excuses, unwilling to get into why she hadn’t been lucky. How he had failed her. He is well aware of the way you are watching him, can feel your eyes on his back as he crouches down and feeds a couple of pieces of nearly crumbling wood into the fire and poking it around.
“Thank you for cooking.” He has essentially done all the work himself - securing the house, setting up the fire, putting supper on to cook - and you wonder how much of it is because he doesn’t trust other people to do things right or if he’s used to taking care of people. Used to being in charge. Or maybe both. “A-and…for being nice enough to let me babble. You’re the first person I’ve talked to besides myself in weeks.”
“Tired of being the smartest one in the conversation?” Joel asks, chuckling slightly. “I get it. But you don’t have to thank me. You didn’t shoot my ass when I stumbled on your spot.”
“I appreciate you not shooting me to take the place for yourself.” You shrug your shoulders, twirling your spin around in your hand. “Plenty of others would have. The Outbreak brought out the best and the worst in people in all the most ridiculous ways. Mostly the worst.”
That was true, but Joel just nods and acknowledges that before he turns back towards you. Moving back to the sofa to finish his dinner. "There is something to be said for the evils of men."
"And the good in them." For as terrible as the world has gotten, you've refused to give up on humanity. Until very recently you had spent the End of the World with your very best friends - extraordinary women who made you believe that there could actually be a light at the end of the tunnel. "The good that men do shines brighter in the dark."
"Some shine brighter than others." Joel murmurs quietly, aware that his own light is very dim.
“And some are brighter than they know.” There is a certainty in the pit of your stomach about Joel - and it isn’t just the scotch talking, either. He’s special. You really don’t know how, or if he’s just becoming special to you, but there’s something there that tells you that you won’t forget the particular shade of deep brown of his eyes or the one lone dimple you saw displayed when he actually, truly laughed.
Joel takes another few bites of his meal before he scrapes the bowl clean and sets it down with a sigh. "Now I have to say that was the best fuckin' thing I've eaten in a long time." He groans, looking over at you. "Good to you?"
“The closest I’ve gotten to gourmet in decades.” Your bowl stacks in his, scraped clean with your own spoon. He clearly doesn’t want to talk so you just sit back and watch the fire quietly, unsure of what to do or say and desperately reminding yourself that this is not a fucking date.
"We should get your bed made up." Joel murmurs after a moment, aware that after his stomach is full, he likes to pass out. It'll just get darker and it's better to have it ready. "You can lay by the fire and read like you wanted to."
“What are you going to do?” Probably twenty years ago he would have fallen asleep with a bad movie on the television, but that time has long since passed.
"I could listen to you turning the pages, the fire crackling." He muses, smirking at the very domestic idea. "Saw a couple of candles upstairs too. Those big three wick things. Maybe we light a couple for my old eyes and I can read too."
It sounds romantic. Soft. Things he would probably hate to be called. “Sounds relaxing.” You decide on, lifting yourself off the couch to go upstairs and retrieve the bedding. “Can’t remember the last time I was relaxed.”
"Long fuckin' time ago for me." Joel snorts, shaking his head and standing up to follow you. "I think we deserve a relaxin' night, right?"
"Why not?" The two of you head upstairs, deciding to grab every blanket and pillow in sight and distribute them between you when you get downstairs. The candles he mentioned have various autumnal scents that will all more-or-less compliment each other if the scents are still noticeable after twenty years of sitting in a drawer. It will be a nice night, even without the romance that has no place in the world as it exists now.
Once the candles are lit, Joel looks around. Seeing the glow of the light, he gets up to check the curtains, wanting to be sure that no light is escaping out into the night and creating a beacon for anyone living outside. While both doors are secure and blocked, he would prefer to have a night of no late night surprises.
"We good?" His diligence gives you the freedom to peruse the bookshelf again. There was a copy of Lady Chatterly's Lover up there that you intend to read very discreetly.
“Should be. Want to sleep through the night for once.” Joel snorts, aware that it’s rare now, but he likes the idea of it here.
"I'll let you get in here." Moving away from the bookshelf, you toss your choice on the mattress and hope that even if he does glance over, that the plain fabric cover doesn't interest him enough to ask questions.
Joel snorts and walks over to the books. “Anything good?” He asks, lifting a brow. “A good romance in there?”
"I wouldn't have taken you for a love story kind of guy." It's just a tease, but it deflects from the fact that you did, in fact, zero in a romance novel immediately. "There's plenty, if that's what you want. Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, Sense and Sensibility, The Great Gatsby..."
“Oh fuck that.” Joel rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Hated readin’ that shit in high school and I ain’t readin’ it now.” He grumbles. “They don’t have any of the good romance books? The ones with the large, throbbing members pulsing against her core? Or whatever shit they write to make it word porn?”
You snort, surprised to hear that that is what he's looking for - although you can't really blame him. It's not like anybody had porn to watch in the last twenty years. "Um..." Clearing your throat makes your ears burn, but you point down at the mattress where your choice of novel landed. "There's one like that."
“Damn, taken.” He huffs, fully aware that it had been what you had taken from the shelf. He had a feeling. “You could always read it aloud.” He suggests, smirking slightly.
"Now you go for that suggestion?" The look on his face has you burning with embarrassment, and you rub the back of your neck in an unconscious gesture of amusement. "I'm gonna need more scotch if you want me to read porn out loud." High-class porn, but porn nonetheless.
“We could read it or we could make it.” Joel suggests, enjoying the way that you are positively burning with embarrassment. Your eyes widen and your mouth drops open in shock and he smirks again, barely resisting the urge to make a dirty joke.
"Are you serious?" That's a damn sight further than you thought he would have gone, and when you finally pick your jaw up off the ground you look at him with one raised eyebrow.
“If you aren’t interested, say the word and it won’t be brought up again.” He tells you seriously. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but laying you out on the mattress in front of the fire sounds a hell of a lot better than reading anything.
"The booze wasn't what made me want to flirt with you." You admit, though you really didn't see this coming at all.
“Flirting’s a hell of a lot different from laying out on that bed wearing me for a blanket.” Joel huffs.
"You do this a lot with people you've just met out in the wild?" Of course he could lie, but so could you. For all he knows, you're a prostitute playing the virgin. The fact that you're neither of those things is beside the point.
“Can’t say that I’ve trusted anyone enough.” Joel admits, raising his brows at the obvious statement. “Don’t know why I trust you, maybe it’s because I’ve seen you naked.”
"You already know I don't have any weird rashes and or an alien head growing out of my shoulder." The ridiculousness of it makes you shake your head and huff a laugh. "It'd be a shame to waste the atmosphere. Fireplace, candles, little nest of blankets and pillows. It's the kind of thing somebody would have done on purpose back in the day."
“Kinda romantic.” Joel chuckles. “And I’ve got that throbbing member books always talk about.”
You snort, not expecting him to dive into dirty jokes, and step forward carefully. What throbbing you've got is a hell of a lot more discreet but just as insistent. "Yes...you definitely do."
It’s probably the ‘funniest’ Joel’s been in years, but you don’t seem to mind. Edging closer to him and he closes the gap slightly. “I’ll pull out.” He promises, knowing that no birth control lasts twenty years, even if you had one of those things inside you when Outbreak happened.
“I should certainly fucking hope so.” This isn’t the kind of world you want to bring a baby into, even if other people are. The need for sex is an instinct, one people give into every day. And a fucking fun instinct, which is why people still do it despite the danger.
Joel watches you for a moment before he reaches up and slowly starts to peel the t-shirt off. Watching you to make sure you don’t object before he tosses it down.
Watching him undress himself a few hours ago was perfunctory. It was careful and you were concentrating on the potential for danger instead of anticipating pleasure. “Let me.” If you’re going to do this, you’re not going to make the man undress himself.
He arches a brow, but he doesn’t stop you from coming closer. His own fingers itching to remove your clothes and get a closer look at your body. To touch you.
There’s nothing complicated about what he’s wearing. It’s not like anyone is walking around in elaborate suits anymore. The belt he has on must be his own because it’s seen far better days, but you slip your fingers into it and look up to find him watching you. The darkness in his eyes isn’t cold or hard, but curiosity and lust. It’s deep enough that you get lost in it entirely by accident, and without realizing it you’ve moved in close enough to tip your head back and kiss him while you pull his belt apart.
His own hands get greedy, pulling your shirt up and chuckling when you whine as he has to pull you away from undressing him to get it over your head. Your bra is worn, nearly to pieces but he’s careful as he unhooks it.
It’s really like someone set off an alarm that let both of you free. The way a tentative kiss turns hungry and you know you’ll have beard burn on every part of your body he drags his lips across. The calluses on his hands feel gorgeous on your sides, or maybe it's just that someone is actually touching you. No matter the reason, your entire body is on fire already.
Joel groans at the sight of your breasts, now fully able to touch and he doesn’t hesitate to fill his hands with you. Squeezing them and massaging them in his hands, feeling the tip hard against his palms.
All you can think right now is how fucking grateful you are that this house still had a usable shower. Because of that you have no problem leaning in to his touch or letting him study you now that he has his hands on you. Having sensitive tits was always a blessing when you were spending time with boys who hadn’t yet mastered foreplay - who knows if it will matter or not now, but it means every touch is going straight to your pussy.
He loves the way you moan, each squeeze eliciting another sound from you that makes his cock twitch as you unbutton his jeans. “Fuck.” He groans, watching as you bite your bottom lip, revealing the boxers he had swiped.
It’s better because you know what’s waiting for you underneath the last layer of soft cotton, and you gently scrape your nails along his skin as you pull the boxers down along with his jeans. You drop to your knees along with the clothing, knowing that he may not let you stay there but you at least want the smallest taste of the precum beading at the head of his cock.
“Shit!” Joel gasps when he feels your lips against his cock, not expecting that at all. Especially for this being a random, one night encounter. His hand immediately cradles your jaw and he pants. “You don’t- I don’t expect-“
“I want to.” You hold his eyes when you pull back, one hand wrapped around his base to feel the way he pulses in your hand as he hardens. “Do you know how long it’s been since I saw a cock worth sucking?”
It's on the tip of his tongue to remind you that you said you hadn’t been around anyone but all he can do is moan. “I- let me- we can do it- together.” He grunts out, not willing to just let you be the only one giving pleasure.
That’s as unexpected a suggestion to you as you offering a blow job was to him, but you pump his full length twice in your fist and pull away to shove your pants off. “Lay down.”
Joel is quick to lay down on the blankets and sheets you’ve piled up on the mattress. Watching eagerly as you finish stripping down. “Hurry up.” He urges.
“So impatient.” Not like you really disagree. Tossing your pants and stolen panties aside and kicking off the slippers you had found in the closet, you smirk to find Joel eyeing your pussy like he hasn’t eaten in weeks. “Comfortable?” There’s no way you’re going to sit on his face unless he’s in a comfortable position.
“Perfect.” Joel pats his chest and smirks at you. “Have a fucking seat.” He orders, enjoying the small shiver that seems to run through your body. He’s not been this carefree in awhile and he’s liking it. Just enjoying the moment and getting to touch a beautiful woman.
The shiver just keeps on going as you lower yourself over him. Feeling his hot breath on your legs is completely foreign and completely tantalizing, and you shut your eyes just for a second when you hear him inhale and groan. "Tap twice if I start suffocating you," you joke, bending forward to get your mouth around his thick cock again.
The retort in his lips dies swiftly when the heat of your mouth surrounds his cock again. Hands cupping your ass to drag you back to his tongue. Licking into you with the same eagerness that you are taking his cock down your throat.
Even the first touch is enough to make you moan, legs shaking with the intensity of a pleasure you had all but forgotten and your own vocal response making you double down on how ravenously you’re swallowing his rapidly hardening cock. The weight of him against your tongue is gorgeous, all those throbbing veins making you feel like you’ve stepped into some pre-outbreak pornographic fantasy. And even more so when you move the hand applying gentle pressure to the base of his length down to roll his heavy balls between your fingers to give them some stimulation as well.
Joel moans into your folds. Completely obsessed with the way that you are so enthusiastic about sucking his cock while still pushing your hips back for the slide of his tongue. He’s methodical, tasting you with firm swipes before delving into the quivering hole that is begging for a deeper taste.
The best cherry on the best sundae you could ever ask for is the way he tongue fucks you more determinedly when you swallow around his shaft. He’s too big to deep throat and you’re obviously out of practice anyway, but that doesn’t stop you from taking as much of him as you possibly can and letting your moans vibrate with every bob of your head.
There’s something to be said for feeling a hand that isn’t his own around the base of his shaft. He groans, loving how you use your hand in tandem with that mouth to make sure every inch of him is covered in you. “Fuck.” His muffled curse is poured into you before he pulls his tongue out to slide to fingers in that hole up to the knuckle, shuffling his chin down so he can latch onto your clit.
The squeak you let out is muffled by the cock that’s halfway down your throat, but your hips grind themselves down on Joel’s fingers eagerly. You genuinely can’t remember the last time you had anything inside you but your own fingers and his are so much thicker and the angle makes them feel so much longer. The pressure on your clit makes you sob in pleasure, the coil in your belly that has been building so quickly threatening to snap all at once under his attention.
It’s a glorious cascade effect. Every moan you make vibrates around him and makes him respond with sounds and moans of his own. Both of you filling the room with desperate, needy sounds as you work the other closer to that blinding pleasure. It’s just a matter of who will get there first.
It’s too much, but in the very best way, when Joel crooks his fingers Nearly against your g-spot like that and you wail. Tears streaming down your cheeks, spit escaping the corners of your mouth, legs shaking, pussy clenching down on his fingers like your life depends on it, your orgasm hits you all at once but you never take your mouth off of him for a second.
Joel throbs as you come apart for him. The sounds of his moan adding to the stimulation of your clit with his tongue. Fingers still buried deep in your cunt as it flutters around them, making him feel like a fucking god as you shake over his head, your thighs pressing against his cheeks.
Even though it's reluctant, you have to pull off him just momentarily. It's too hard to catch your breath with a dick down your throat, but the second you gasp for air it's his name on your lips instead of unintelligible moans of pleasure. "Fuck Joel. Oh my god."
He smirks, his tongue flicking over your clit one last time before he pulls away with a very smug chuckle. “Break your dry spell in a good way?” He asks, fingers still curled up inside you although he’s not applying quite as much pressure.
"Oh, you're gonna be smug about it?" Twisting back to look at him, there is a lopsided grin on your face regardless of pretending to be stern about it. "Yeah. Okay. You fuckin deserve to be."
Winking, Joel slaps your ass with his other hand. “Two for two, or do you want the main event?” There’s nothing else to do and he’s never been a selfish lover, so making you cum again would not be a problem.
"I'm not going to turn you down if you're offering." There were men you were in actual relationships with who avoided eating pussy like the plague. If tonight can be full of extended pleasure, you're not going to turn it away. No way in hell.
“Get on your back.” Joel slaps your ass again and pulls his fingers from your drenched walls. As much as he enjoyed your mouth on his cock, he won’t be able to stop himself from cumming a second time. Better to just make you cum again.
That answers the unspoken question of whether or not he wants you to keep going, and you lift yourself off of him with only a little reluctance. As much as you could spend hours like that, you know it's rarely the same for men. And Joel is closer to silver fox than not - he wears it so fucking well - so if he needs to cool down a little before fucking you, that's totally fine. You just take over the place where he was laying a second ago, piling the pillows under your head so you can watch him go down on you again.
This time, Joel gets to see more of you. It makes for a surprisingly tender moment as he slides his hands up your thighs, wiggling down so that he is lined up with your cunt. “Pretty.” He coos, looking at you in the firelight. He knows he doesn’t have to compliment you, but it’s true and it feels like you could use a compliment or two, to save for those lonely days.
Simple and direct. To the point, just like Joel is, and you can't find it in yourself to think that that one word is anything less than perfect. "How do you feel about hair pulling?" If you need to be digging your fingers into the sheets instead of his thick hair, you want to know.
“Why’d ya think I told you to get on your back?” Joel flashes you a very uncharacteristic, wolfish grin before he he diving back into your cunt.
“Shiiit!” You’re halfway laughing when he lowers his head again, but your hand goes right to his thick salt and pepper curls. You don’t know how you got lucky enough to stumble across this man in the wilds, but you’re definitely not going to take it for granted.
He hums, enjoying the first tug of pain as your fingers wind too tight around a few strands of his hair pull against his scalp. He loves the way you don’t hold back.
Apparently, without distraction, Joel is even hungrier with his tongue as deep in you as it will go. The gorgeous, prominent arc of his nose nestled against your clit isn’t something you ever would have thought to add to your fantasy list but it’ll be tucked away in your spank bank for the rest of your fucking life. Hopefully just the way your voice crying his name and choking curses will be for him.
Joel hangs onto your thighs like they are a life preserve. Curling his tongue up and relishing the way that you respond to him. He had expected maybe a halfway decent house to huddle up in overnight and maybe some hard beef jerky but he’s been treated like a king and currently having a fucking four course meal.
He’s methodical, voracious - not gentle or coaxing, but you don’t care about that right now. This isn’t a seduction, it’s the very definition of a one-night stand. There’s no reason to be quiet so you let him hear every gasp and moan, squirming under him and reveling in your amazing fucking luck that he stumbled across your hiding place today.
Joel keeps his tongue moving, his jaw flexing open and shut and his fingers finally join the mix. This time he’s not sinking them into you. No, his hands spread across your hips bones, both thumbs peeling your lips back to he has more access to you.
“Oh holy fuc—” If he’s trying to crawl inside you, you just might let him. “Fuck Joel, oh my god!” The praises tumble over each other but aren’t forced. You’re far too lost in yourself and how fucking good he makes you feel for anything to be a performance.
God, it’s been too long since someone has wailed his name like that. Nothing behind it but pure pleasure and he needs to hear more of it. Burrowing deeper, he attacks your cunt like he is starving and you are the tree of life.
If anyone were still around to walk by the house, they wouldn’t question what’s going on inside for a second. All of Joel’s double checking off curtains and lighting and securing the doors is moot in the face of the pornographic sounds coming from inside but for right now - for just a little while - you seem to have blissfully forgotten the state of the world at large. Your entire reality has hyperfixated on Joel.
Every stroke of his tongue begs you to cum, his eyes fixed on your face and he grunts into you when you pull so hard on his hair that moisture builds up in his eyes. The scene is completely debauched and all he needs is for you to soak his face once more before he fucks you.
The second time comes faster than the first. Maybe because you're primed for it now or maybe because he's learning your signals, but either way it doesn't matter. The way he builds you up to that second peak speaks to years of experience all focused directly on your dripping cunt. His name is on repeat, like your heartbeat falling from your lips, and by the time your legs start to shake you're convinced you might actually see stars.
Joel pulls away, watching your entire body seize with pleasure and he smirks happily. His cock is throbbing and he’s ground himself into the mattress enough that there’s a wet spot on the blanket.
"Fucking hell." When you can take a deep breath again you're shivering with the aftershocks of pleasure and grasping at his shoulders, silently begging him to crawl up your body. As intimate as the thing is, all you want to do right now is kiss him.
Obliging you is not a problem. His lips trail up your body, making small detours from areas that he wants to map. Until he’s finally pressing his lips to yours.
Tasting yourself from a lover's lips has never been an issue for you, and right now you're relishing how messy and fucking filthy this whole encounter has become. With one leg hitched up on his hip and her arms around his shoulders you feel like you could drown in him and it would still be a perfect encounter.
“You are so fucking responsive, honey.” Joel growls into your mouth. His hand slides up to wrap around your shoulder. “But I need to be inside you.”
You're nodding almost faster than you can say the words, just as desperate as he is to know what having him inside you will feel like. "I–fuck, do it, baby."
There’s no reason to rush except for the aching need to be buried inside you. Keeping his lips pressed to yours as he lines up and starts to slowly roll his hips forward to make sure that he’s snuggly pushing into your cunt.
The gasp he pushes out of you is drawn out - luxurious and indulgent and becomes a moan with that small pinch of momentary pain that comes from fitting a baseball bat into even the most flexible straw. When his hips are flush with yours you look down, taking in the sight of your joined bodies for the first time. “So fucking sexy.” You stand by that assessment, especially right now.
His jaw is tight, teeth grinding slightly at how hard he is clenching them together. You’re so fucking tight and hot around him. “Fuck, baby. You’re sexy.” He manages, his hand on your shoulder pulling you closer.
“Need you to move, baby.” If he feels good just staying still, you might cum again after about four thrusts.
“I can do that.” Joel huffs, nearly laughing as he draws his hips back.
“Oh fuck.” The feeling of being entirely empty only lasts for a second before he’s pressing forward again, filling you faster this time and more roughly. It’s perfect.
When it comes to actually fucking, Joel isn’t gentle. He’s not brutal, unless it’s wanted, but his pace and thrusts are rougher than a slow and gentle lovemaking session. He wants to be breathless, numb to everything but the pleasure and he wants his partner to be the same way. He hisses the first few slaps of his hips as he plunges into you.
Your hips rock in time with his, meeting his thrusts eagerly, and you shove the pillows out of the way in every direction to be able to twist and turn in any direction he wants you. The heat from the fireplace isn’t why you’re both starting to sweat and you pull your thighs up a little higher on his waist so he can plunge that much deeper into you with his next thrust. You want every ounce of pleasure he can give you and you’re going to make sure that you feel just as good for him.
“Good, so good.” Joel groans, rocking his hips just a little faster, sweat slicking up his body and making it easier to move over you. He doesn’t care though, turning his head and kissing you before biting your bottom lip.
His arms twine under your back, tugging you close and giving him more leverage to push deep and give both of you something to curse about. You wrap your legs around his waist, giving him complete control and yet not letting him get too far away. It's probably just the sex talking, but there's a connection tugging at you that only seems to shut up with the force of each thrust - so the more, the better.
His dark eyes watch you, humming when you accept the force of each thrust, your body begging for more even if you weren’t breathlessly urging him on. Both of you needing the sharp snap of his hips and the feeling of his cock beating into your body like humanity depends on it.
The closer to your peak that both of you climb, the more ragged and desperate his pace and your voice become. The harsh slap of skin on skin fills the room and dominates it, reverberating back any breathless cry that Joel doesn’t swallow down with a greedy kiss. The aching soreness you’ll be nursing tomorrow will be so worthwhile though, as you hang on to the gorgeous memory of tonight.
“Come on honey, need- fuck, need you to cum for me again.” Joel manages, grunting through every swing of his hips. Desperately close to cumming, but he wants to feel the clutch of your cunt around him before he does. “Come on honey, one more.”
It really isn’t that far away, but your words have left you and all you can do is moan your acknowledgement and slip your hand into the tight space between your bodies to rub your clit - that little bit of extra stimulation that you know will push you directly over the edge.
“That’s it.” Joel hisses, his frantic, unmeasured thrusts ramping up even more. Wanting to hear you scream in pleasure again.
Your back arches, hips practically rising off the mattress in an effort to get the most out of your own fingers as well as his increasingly erratic thrusts. Every time he bears down on you it becomes a little more desperate and that much sexier, until the last remaining thread tethering you to reality snaps entirely and sends you careening over the edge of pleasure with his name on your lips.
When you shatter, it’s like the world stops. Joel can’t even breathe, all he can do is watch as you fall apart in the most glorious fashion you possibly could. “Fuuuuuuuuck.” Joel groans, one thrust later he’s pulling free of your body, cumming over your stomach in hot, sticky ropes of his seed.
It leaves you both panting. Chests heaving and bodies shaking, you don't even realize that you've lifted your head to steal a kiss until your lips find his. The messy, drawn-out meeting of tongues is indulgent - like the longest form of punctuation on the end of the sentence that is tonight.
Joel doesn’t hesitate to gather you close again, not caring if his cum is smearing over your and his skin. It’s not like he’s not been covered in worse. Instead, he just relaxes against you and hums happily into your mouth.
“Mmmm.” Embracing the moment for the simple but not insignificant thing it is, you just slip your arm around him and shift over, making sure he has room on the mattress to lie down beside you if or when he wants it. You’re going to sleep like a baby tonight, thoroughly exhausted from a moment of light in a world of darkness.
“Lemme clean you up and then we can sleep.” Joel grunts, moving over to grab a rag that had been set off to the side. Used as a pot holder, it was now perfect to wipe your skin clean.
“Hell of a way to spend a night.” You sigh, opening your eyes again to watch him as he cleans both of you up. Add aftercare to the list of things you weren’t expecting.
Joel chuckles and tosses the rag to the fire, watching it catch and burn. Turning back to you and settling back beside you to open his arm to invite you closer. “Best night in a long goddamn time.”
Coming closer immediately, you settle with your head on his shoulder so you can sleep on his chest. “Might have to think of a creative way to wake you up in the morning.” You have no illusions about the situation. Tomorrow you’ll go your ways and most likely never see each other again. He’ll forget your name. Your face. The sound of your voice. But maybe he’ll remember the way you made him feel, and that will be enough. “If you’re into that kind of thing.”
He smirks and curls his arm around your shoulders and hugs you against him. “I was just about to say if you can get him up again tonight, feel free to ride him.”
“Mmmm.” The hum is more indulgent this time. Laced with a dirty giggle. “Better get a nap in, then. So I can wake you up after whatever inspirational dreams I’m sure I’ll have.”
His own chuckle is low, raspy and matches the playfulness of your tone. “Then we better get some sleep, honey.” He murmurs, closing his eyes and feeling more relaxed than he has in a long time. One that was just for pleasure.
“Night, Joel.” You murmur, leaving a fist of a kiss on his chest before closing your eyes. “Sweet dreams.” Yours, at least, will be the sweetest they’ve been in years.
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transmutationisms · 6 months
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I would love to hear more of your thoughts on House & its relation to the detective genre ! I think that house (completely accidentally and very badly) stumbles into a good critique of how doctors & medical structures view addicts & disabled people, with house being a horrible hegemonic mr malpractice to his patients frequently yet half is series is unironically just about all the injustice/mistreatment he faces because his doctor colleagues can’t see him as a person but only as a problem to be solved/rehabbed/therapized/institutionalized/treated like a child with stolen candy/treated like a criminal. and then it also randomly takes an incredibly pro MAID stance. which isn’t really part of this but I just remembered how batshit insane that show was. and then chase killed a dictator and I feel like the show was squarely on his side for that one. Anyway. Do you have thoughts? I really like house.
ok here's my house md take. like a lot of medical dramas, the show essentially relies for its dramatic appeal on the construal of patients as gross, weird, and stupid—rubes who are too uneducated and self-serving in their petty lies to solve their own bodies, and thus need the intervention of house to fix them. this is standard for the genre, although slightly meaner on house than on some other examples (cf. grey's or even the older and soapier generation of these shows). i don't even think house committing malpractice is all that new; it's relatively common as a plot point that positions the noble rule-breaking doctor as someone who 'does what needs to be done' and skirts the bureaucratic red tape to follow their own superior judgment. what makes house more interesting is that from the get-go, house himself is both a doctor and an unwilling patient. in itself this isn't a tension that's new to the medical soap (injuring a major character is pretty par for the course) but house's particular interactions with the ruling biomedical epistemology are, as you point out, characterised by hostility and resistance, and the show frequently either sides with house, or at least leaves it somewhat up to the viewer to decide whether house is right to resist the pathologisation that cuddy and wilson try to impose on him.
this is kind of a tricky line to walk for 7 seasons or however long the show is. my recollection is there are episodes, for example, where it's very clear that house's pain is physical, and the writers use this to morally justify his vicodin use. this is obviously not a full-throated defence of opioid users, but it is at least pointing to a position on chronic pain that allows for the possibility that for some people, long-term use of drugs with a high addiction potential and side effects is legitimately the best thing. but, this messaging is also undercut by the fact that it's primetime television, they need to make drama, and there are definitely also episodes where house is framed as potentially lying about his pain, or at least mistaking a somatic problem for a physical one, which the writers often (not always, but often) present as evidence that actually, house shouldn't be trusted to make his own decisions about drug use, and ideally should be 'de-toxed' and probably sent to cbt or whatever. of course all of these considerations are also contextualised by the fact that house is, again, not just a patient but a doctor: his right and ability to make these types of calls for himself is, it's suggested, a result of his having attained medical education and credentials. the patients who come to be treated by him are seldom, if ever, given this same level of consideration or presumed to have sufficient self-awareness to make their own medical decisions. this isn't to say they're portrayed entirely unsympathetically, but ultimately the narrative engine of the show relies on house being the smartest guy in the room (though ofc, sometimes tragically 'held back by his addiction').
so, although there are moments on the show that genuinely transgress some of the norms of the med-drama genre, i have never agreed with people who thought that the show as a whole was presenting any sustained critique of the medical system, the treatment of chronic pain/disability, or the power-imbalanced doctor-patient relationship. ultimately all authority on house md is supposed to emanate from the physician, or the physician's superiors (cuddy as a 'check' on house, though sometimes a failed one! again because of the need to generate drama for like 140 episodes), and at its most radical the show is really only capable of presenting house himself as an out-of-control aberration whose existence strains the existing system rather than being produced by it.
this is where i think the comparison to the cop show genre becomes more clarifying. house md never made a secret of being an interpolation of the detective genre, specifically sherlock holmes. however, i'm not sure i've ever really seen writing on the show that analyses what effect this actually has on house. like police, doctors are tasked with maintaining certain social norms; the dichotomy between policing and medicine isn't even a solid line, as criminality is frequently rhetorically construed as a pathology in itself and medical authorities can and do have recourse to carceral systems in order to discipline and confine recalcitrant patients, the 'criminally insane', addicts, and so forth. (policing has historically also been understood in a more expansive sense than how we use the word today; our understanding of the medical/public health system as separate from police authority is arguably more to do with university credentialling than the actual exercise of social and political power).
so, if we want to be serious about the portrayal of medicine in popular culture (i am always serious about this) then we're necessarily talking about broader systems of power, social control, and discipline, and doubly so on a show like house that is explicitly inspired by detective fiction. this is where house md is most ideologically objectionable to me: as with the trope of the cop who breaks all the rules, house is basically positioned in one of two ways throughout the show. either he's a lone genius who alone is willing to achieve noble ends (cure) through distasteful means (breaking into patients' homes, berating them, performing risky interventions on them, &c), or—and this is rarer on house but does happen—he's portrayed as genuinely crossing an ethical line, in which case he's a kind of monstrous aberration from the normal, ethical functioning of the medical system, often represented metonymously by the objections that cuddy, wilson, or house's underlings raise. in both of these cases, as with copaganda, the function is ultimately to reinforce the idea that doctors, though occasionally capable of human error, are prima facie wiser than their patients, looking out for their patients' best interests, and performing noble social roles as healers. house, ofc, is very rarely willing to admit that he has any underlying ethical motivations, though much of the show is driven by the flashes where he is revealed to 'secretly' care about another person (often wilson) and anyway, the construction of an ethical society in which all individual actors are motivated solely by selfish interests is a very established rhetorical move for those interested in defending liberal capitalist societies (cf. charles darwin, thomas malthus, adam smith, &c).
because of television's need to generate profit via audience engagement, house md always relied on a certain level of shock or at least provocation in order to sustain itself. so, there are certain aberrations from the more overtly doctor-valorising medical dramas, like the suggestion (sometimes tongue-in-cheek) that house was better at his job when he was mildly high on opioids. this was, for the reasons outlined above, never a serious entry into political critique, but it was at least refreshing in a certain way as a departure from, eg, the portrayal of addiction and drug use that we see on grey's, which is completely limited to the medicalised AA narrative of 'recovery' as a battle against the malevolent intervention of an external chemical agent. which is to say that although house md is ultimately reactionary in the way we should expect from an american tv show, it did at least dabble in a certain level of caustic iconoclasm that allowed limited departures from the genre conventions. even with what was ultimately a pretty solid vindication of the anti-opioid narrative, the show does stand out in my mind as one of the few very popular presentations of any kind of alternative stance on chronic drug use. that it's usually put in house's own mouth means it is occasionally legitimated by his epistemological authority as a physician, though ofc ultimately this authority is challenged not through a critique of the medical system, but by presenting house as individually and aberrantly licentious, undisciplined, and insane—and his chronic pain/disability are both a justification for this, and a shorthand for conveying it.
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lets-try-some-writing · 3 months
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How would the first meeting between the Autobots and the humans have gone? With their more alien and most likely more imposing forms (due to their Cybertronian vehicle modes) I assume the government agents / military personnel sent to investigate were rightfully afraid. (Personally I think seeing 15-30 foot robots with optics that pierce through the presumably kicked up dust would be a little scary) Perhaps they would’ve spoken in a mix of Cybertronian and English? Would they have simply stared and watched, like in your Grim Dark Archives AU? I dunno it’s just something I thought would be interesting, but I already sent you a few requests, so feel free to delete this one. (To clarify this is a request for a longer writing post)
I have thought about this probably more than I should have. Writing The Grim Dark Archives gave me ideas for this ask, hence my IMPOSSIBLY slow response. Annnnnnyway, here you go!
━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙
The Autobots had plenty of time to prepare for their inevitable interactions with humanity during their journey. At the time the team consisted of Ratchet, Optimus, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee. As such, they were too few in number to go for any real intimidation tactic, not that they would have gone that route anyway. There was no choice but for them to learn to communicate.
But of course, due to the HIGHLY varying methods of human communication across Earth, it was decided that each of the team would specialize in different methods of communication to ensure that at least someone could talk. Ratchet went the technological way and learned how to communicate in human morse code, the various computer coding languages, and digital texting. He hated every single moment of having to figure it all out, but at least he wasn't Bulkhead. Poor Bulkhead was tasked with learning the more physical methods of communication just in case things went south. He spent hours upon hours watching traditional dances and physical activities from around the world meant to express certain intentions. Let it be said that he is not a good dancer.
Bumblebee of course went down the route of non verbal communication for obvious reasons. He learned all the various sign languages available, practiced miming, learned various whistles, and familiarized himself with music in order to create ambiance as needed. Some species worked differently after all. Optimus for his part actually learned the spoken languages of Earth. Being a former archivist made the process far easier than it otherwise would have been, but he still spent a ridiculous amount of time practicing to get it right. With all of this having been done, when the team finally arrived on Earth, they felt they were ready.
They were incredibly wrong in their assumption.
They spent a handful of weeks undercover, but a few too many security cameras ended up getting them caught. Soon enough they were confronted with quite a few armed vehicles surrounding them and what had to be around a hundred soldiers with weapons raised. The team had learned what surrender looked like and so raised their servos up to show they passivity. That action seemed to give the gathered soldiers pause, and not too long later, a speaker was sent before them.
"I am Agent Fowler from the Department of Defense. What are you and what are you doing here?"
"We are Autobots. We come from the stars."
"You are aliens?"
"Affirmative. We arrived in a spaceship."
"A spaceship?"
"Affirmative. We came to find our bullies."
"Your... *wheeze* bullies?"
"Is that the incorrect term? We seek our... brothers?"
"Right, you came here to find someone. What do you plan on doing here while you hunt them down? Are you planning on blowing anything up?"
"Negative. Combustion of native structures and lifeforms is not on our wishlist."
"Wishlist?"
"Affirmative? Is that not how the term is used? I apologize."
"No no its fine. Let's talk this out."
Optimus did his very best to get the point across, but due to the many similar words in the English language, his ability to use words in context was rather limited. It also did not help that he spoke as though every single word was coming from a script, which unknown to Agent Fowler, he absolutely was reading from his translation program. He was disturbing and hilarious to speak to and Agent Fowler had to step aside and laugh more than once before going back over to the bots to continue talking in a secure facility. But this was noticed rather quickly, and so eventually the team swapped tactics. Optimus stood quietly and stared to try and figure out how to adjust his speech patterns while the rest of the team worked in tandem to communicate differently.
Fowler was not pleased when he had to fetch a technician to try and translate what Ratchet was typing up, which largely amounted to very very complex code going into the extreme details of their situation. Ratchet almost flipped a table when the technician gave up two lines of code in. The medic was not at all happy to have to think about learning the native language. At least with code he could fudge it a bit. But if the squishies couldn't even read the most "basic" of code strings, he was doomed. Bulkhead didn't fare much better in his attempts to dance in various American styles to show how the Autobots were trying to be friendly. His moonwalk was the only thing he was able to do right and all it did was leave the entire collection of human personnel laughing themselves half to death. Humiliated, Bulkhead made way for Bumblebee who managed to convey more vital information through sign language. He got across about as much as Optimus did, but finally there was some sort of answer for the humans present.
Then of course, there was the mess that way asking for names.
"The military will decide what we are going to do with you, but for now you all can stay here. Do you have any names to do with your files?"
"Affirmative. Our names are not pronounceable in your language, but they can be translated."
"Well lay it on me."
"This is Bumbling Bee. Or perhaps Honey Bee? Striped insect? I am afraid I do not have a proper translation."
"Bumblebee it is. What's next? Cargo lift?"
"Negative. This is Dividing Wall."
"Dividing... wall."
"I believe that is the most direct translation. A close synonym would be Bulkhead."
"Right... who is the red one then?"
"My companion is named after a tool on our homeworld. I do not believe you have the exact same tool here. The closest object I could find was the tool you call a ratchet."
"So his name is Ratchet?"
"It is close enough. Is "he" the correct referral for us on your world?"
"You look more masculine, so unless you want to be a she-"
"No, your masculine referral is sufficient."
"What is your name then big guy?"
"I am... Best First? I believe that is the most direct translation of my designation."
"Best First? You must have quite the ego."
"I did not choose my designation, it was given upon my rise to my station. However as my designation seems to be offensive, I will attempt an another translation."
"Wait-"
"Optimus Prime is sufficient. That is the designation by which I believe I can be referred to."
"Alright then. This is going to be a headache."
The Autobots were kept in a facility until the military questioned them more and understood their intentions. But there were more than a few miscommunications and both Ratchet and Bulkhead lamented the many hours spent learning what they now knew to be a useless form of communication.
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