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#WHAT is that last shot.
maremote · 2 years
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totally normally ways to look at your best friend
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idliketobeatree · 28 days
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The lighting in the S1 1941 flashback is so painfully dark I was rewatching it on a 150% brightness and perhaps I am five years late, but how come I've never noticed that this
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is how Aziraphale gazes at Crowley before the "little demonic miracle of my own"???
This is him before the love realisation, just after Aziraphale miracled them both safe from the bomb exploding on the church with the Nazis. No heartwarming acts of service yet — best to his knowledge, Crowley was only there for moral support, because he "didn't want him to get embarassed". And his gaze is— I don't know what to say. Like it would kill him to look away. So fond, so immersed, "oh God, there you are", like hundreds of years have passed, not decades since they saw each other last. Books? What books? What air raid, what war?
Arguably the best part of the scene happens literal seconds after. If you pay close attention to the whole shot, you'll spot the brown satchel on the side. Which Aziraphale would notice earlier too, if he could focus on anything other than Crowley.
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polaroidpascal · 2 months
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lunch box || joel miller
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AO3 || MASTERLIST
pairing : joel miller x f!reader
summary : joel’s stubbornness has him working at ungodly hours on your saturday morning. you decide to do something nice for him, but of course he would realize your absence in bed, especially so early when you’re supposed to be off…
tags : M-18+, no use of y/n, reader briefly gets picked up and carried, no outbreak, domestic life with joel, sarah and ellie briefly mentioned, joel is mid-to-late-30s, oral (f!receiving), unprotected p in v sex (practice safe ofc!!), joel being big slightly mentioned once, lots of talking and praise (my man cannot shut up), creampie, cum eating (reader teasing joel lol), general sweetness from them both <3
WC : 2.7k
a/n : this is the first fic i've ever written and posted so enjoy !! :)
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Ever since you met, you knew that Joel was the one. Talking with him is easy, like your souls have known each other in every lifetime. Being in his presence is safe and comforting. He feels like home. On top of that, after you had been seeing each other for a while and he let you meet Ellie and Sarah, they made you feel so welcome in their family. Life just makes sense with them.
Joel has been a contractor all his life. Even though he can set his own hours, he prefers to start working early so he can be home with his daughters when they finish school. Today — a Saturday — was weird, though. The project he had been working on needed to be rescheduled because of weather, but Joel decided to keep his hours the same. You could tell he didn’t really want to get up so early on a Saturday, but his stubbornness forbade him from changing that. Last night as you drifted to sleep in his arms, knowing he would probably not have time to get lunch tomorrow, you decided you would do something nice for him. 
Sarah and Ellie spent their Friday night away at a friend’s house (which you and Joel definitely took advantage of the night before), and the house is eerily quiet when you stir awake in the wee hours of your Saturday morning. You can feel Joel’s sturdy arms draped over your sides, his entire body pressed against your back as if he’s scared you’ll float away if he doesn’t keep you close. You hear his slow, sleepy breathing in your ear and you know he’s still dead asleep. Carefully, you lift his heavy arms from you and slip out of his grip, kindly replacing yourself with a pillow, and resting his arm back down. 
He stirs to adjust a bit and settles once again. Success.
You head to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, Joel's life support in a cup, and pull out the things you need to make his lunch. After, you head back to the bedroom to grab a comfy change of clothes. You wait out the brewing with a quick shower hoping it’s less noisy than you think it might be. 
While you shower, Joel stirs awake a little before his alarm. He shuts it off to avoid the noise and turns back over seeking your figure — but you’re gone. Confused and still groggy, he gets up searching for you. He hears the shower running and…
Is that… singing?
He puts his ear up to the door and hears you faintly singing the songs he plays on his guitar for you, trying to be as quiet as you can. His heart swells at your beautiful sound and he almost opens the door to join you, but then the smell of coffee begins to fill his nose. He walks into the kitchen to see the last drips fall into the pot and the ingredients for a hearty sandwich sitting on the counter. Putting two and two together, he nearly tears up realizing your plans and decides to sit to the side and wait for you, not wanting to ruin your surprise.
You throw on your comfy silk pajama shorts and one of Joel’s old band t-shirts that swallow you up and return to the kitchen.
You don’t notice Joel at all.
He watches silently from the dark living room as you pour a glass of coffee for him into his favorite owl mug and glide around the kitchen putting his lunch together. He admires your freshly washed hair, already air drying a little bit, the way his t-shirt, oversized on you, drapes over your curves perfectly, and how you continue quietly humming his songs. A small fire ignites deep inside of him, and as you turn around to pack his food, he rises from his chair.
He silently saunters over stealing two big sips of the coffee you poured for him. You hear the cup clink lightly on the counter and turn around just as his big hands glide over your hips, embracing you from behind. “And here I was thinking I was surprising you,” you tease as his face buries into your neck, his naked torso pressed completely against you.
He chuckles. “You did, angel. I just saw it before you were ready, ‘s all.” He kisses and nips your earlobe and you mewl at the sensation. He trails down to your neck while his hands gently guide your hips back into his, feeling him start to grow through his plaid pajama pants.
“Joel…”, you whisper as you turn around in his embrace to kiss him. You find his hungry lips waiting to invite you in. He tastes deliciously like the coffee you made for him and you hum contentedly at it. Your hands trace his bare sides and chest all the way up to his hair, and you run your fingers through his messy locks.
As if he’s not stiff from sleeping, he hoists you up from the floor carrying you as you straddle him, hands still dancing through his hair, and brings you to the couch. Without breaking your kiss for even just a second, he puts you down laying on top of you as you descend, a comfortable weight that he knows you love to feel. His kiss melts into yours and your lips feel like they become one. He breaks away despite your protesting whine and quietly teases, “You know you didn’t have to get up so early on your day off just ‘cause of me, right? I’d probably have time later to pick somethin’ up,” and his lips fall back to yours, one of his hands coming up to tease your breast.
You moan softly, “Well, with your luck, today would be the one day you wouldn’t find time. Besides, I felt like surprising you.” You smile coyly at him and watch as his pupils grow somehow even bigger at you.
He stares for a second trying to figure out how he got so lucky finding you, and a smile threatens to erupt at the corners of his mouth. “You’re so sweet, you might give me a cavity.”
Your chuckle is cut off by a small gasp as he kisses a line down your neck, his beard ghosting your collarbone. Once he reaches the collar of your — well, his — shirt, he descends lower, sticking his whole head under the shirt that engulfs you. He kisses up your stomach until he reaches your chest, taking one nipple into his mouth and you gasp again. His tongue moves firmly over the growing bud at a quickening pace. “Yes, Joel…” you whimper, then suddenly whine as he bites you, quickly soothing the mark with his tongue.
His free hand rises up to replace his mouth as he moves over to give your other side the same treatment. You pant from both movements happening simultaneously, him drawing out more whimpers and moans from you. You squirm underneath him accidentally grazing his own growing member and he groans, already painfully hard for you. His sounds send a sudden rush of heat straight to your core. He continues at your nipple, one bite in particular causing you to cry out and you could swear you feel his cock twitch against you as he moans in reply, another rush of arousal already flooding within you again.
He kisses a line down your chest, down your stomach, until his hands find the hem of your shorts. Your legs spread making room for his broad frame as he drags your panties and shorts down, seamlessly replacing them with soft yet hungry kisses where they once sat. He tosses them to the side, licking and kissing his way back up your thighs, nipping at the sensitive inner skin.
Joel’s eyes practically look pitch black, his pupils so blown out with lust, when you see him eyeing your throbbing core and he groans.
“Good lord, sweetheart,” is all he can manage as he admires you glistening for him. His eyes trail up your body. He could come just from the sight of you: legs spread eagerly, eyelids heavy, pupils just as blown as his own, desire written on your face in big bold letters…
And you see how desperate he looks for you, but a sly smirk quickly spreads across his face, “Bet you taste even sweeter than you act.”
Unable to control his hunger any longer, he fiercely licks one broad, flattened stroke up your middle, tasting the fruits of his labor. He moans at your taste, sending vibrations over your clit. You let out a cry of pleasure and his hips subconsciously rut into the couch, desperately seeking some relief for himself. His tongue glides through your folds, broad strokes accompanied by tight circles around your clit and the occasional dip inside…
“Fuck, Joel!” you cry as he focuses at your hole, his thumb replacing his tongue at your clit drawing tight, fast circles as his tongue dips in and out of you. “Oh my god… yes, please… feels so…”
He can only moan in response, sending lightning through your body with every sound he makes. “Please… oh, my g-… don’t stop, Joel… I’m so close…”
He can feel your impending release and between gasps for air, he practically begs, “Let it go, angel… that’s it… come all over my face… doin’ so good for me…”
His words send you hurdling over the edge as you come — hard. Your hips drive up into his face, head dipped back, crying out in pleasure. Joel refuses to let one drop go to waste, lapping up your slick like an animal. He licks you through your orgasm until the aftershocks and twitching die down some. Then he rises back up to your face. “Taste so good for me…” he says as he kisses you deep, lips and beard soaked. You moan from his taste; like coffee but with a sweet hint of you mixed in, and he swallows every little sound.
He breaks from your lips, your foreheads touching and lips barely ghosting over each other. “I’m gonna fill you up so good, darling,” he whispers as he reaches down to free his cock from his pajama pants.
“Please…” you beg, eyes lazily gazing into his own. “Fuck me, please.”
He looks deep into your eyes as he rubs up and down your heat, coating himself and he slides in without any problem, going slow when you gasp so your body can adjust to his size. But your body seems to draw him in, swallowing him whole and pulling him into you deeper and deeper. “My god…” he gasps as he feels the lingering spasms of your soft walls choking his cock.
You can only manage to whine in response, your eyes silently begging him to move, and he obeys. He begins slowly moving in and out, already embarrassingly close to his own climax, but he desperately wants to feel you unravel on him. Gradually, he finds his pace, bottoming out inside of you over and over and over. Refusing to break eye contact with you, his free hand dips down seeking your clit as he furiously traces tight, swift, calculated circles round and round.
Your eyes bolt shut at the feeling of him filling you up and teasing your clit. You’re well past the point of forming full sentences, and he can tell. Breathlessly, he tries to coax more from you, “Look so pretty taking my cock, angel… so good… fuck, you feel so good… ‘m not gonna last, sweetheart…” His pace is unpredictable, plowing into you for a few thrusts and then slowing down to a near stop to avoid finishing too early. “Need you — oh, fuck… god, almighty… n-need you to come for me, darling… please…”
As he begs for your release and his hips begin to falter, he finds that spot that only he has ever been able to find within you, rapidly sending you over the edge again. Your walls constrict suffocating his cock. You writhe and whine, almost unable to even make a sound.
He works you through your orgasm, his own rapidly approaching as he watches your eyes roll back from pure bliss. “Yeah, just like that, gorgeous… shit, you’re soaking me… fuck me, dripping everywhere… fuck… Oh my god, I’m—”
He cuts himself off with his own grunting and groaning as he begins to paint your walls with his come. He whines and gasps, bottoming out with every wave of his orgasm until his cock twitches for the last time. He collapses over you, crushing you in the best way with his weight as he tucks his face into your neck. You’re both panting, your chests crashing into each other as you come down from your highs and try to recover.
Joel finally softens enough to pull away without completely overstimulating himself, grunting as he rolls off of you and brings you to your side, spooning you and leaving small, tender kisses on your neck. His hand rests over your waist just as it did when you awoke this morning, and you lay there for a little while your heartbeats return to a normal pace.
You feel his come slowly leak out with his absence but you don’t even care. Being in his embrace washes away any other thought from your brain. All you can care to think about is the strong man clinging to you as he comes back down to Earth, holding you close and never letting go. You’re listening to his breath trying to fill his lungs once more and feeling his raging heartbeat through his chest and against your back. This is your personal heaven. Wishing you could live in this moment forever, you close your eyes and savor the feeling in all its glory.
You feel your body threatening to drift back asleep, but one particularly deep and content sigh from Joel reminds you that he is, in fact, supposed to be leaving for work. Glancing at the clock, you gently remind him of the time, your smile audible as you say, “You have just enough time to clean up and put on your clothes. Good thing your lunch is already packed.”
He gives a breathy chuckle and hesitantly gets up with that classic dad groan he always gives. Even though all he would really like to do is spend the rest of eternity lying right here on this couch in this moment with you, duty calls. He glances between your legs and sees the mess he made. You catch a glimpse of his look, his ferocious blushing visible even in the dimly lit room as he stares quite obviously at your middle. 
Feeling particularly mischievous, you reach down to collect what you can, scooping it up as it coats your fingers. Joel’s mouth drops open in a stupor, watching in disbelief as you bring your fingers up to your mouth and lick your digits clean. You unmistakingly see his breath hitch at the sight and know that if time weren’t the major issue right now, he would pounce on the opportunity for round two.
“Goddamn, angel…” he says shakily, still in utter disbelief. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy. You’re lucky I have a job to go do,” he tells you with a dazed, fucked-out look and tone as he retreats to the bedroom to attempt to get ready for work. You get up and slip into the bathroom to clean yourself up some more before returning to the couch exactly the way he had left you. 
Emerging from your bedroom dressed with lunch in hand, he spots you drifting off back to sleep and walks over to plant a soft kiss on your cheek. Before you completely succumb to the drowsiness, you manage a soft and sweet, “I love you.”
He smiles and bends back down to plant another, longer kiss right to your lips and whispers back, “I love you more.”
He sees you smile at that before he turns for the door and quietly leaves for work, already counting down the minutes of his shift left before he can come back home to you.
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haliibugg · 1 year
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just had to draw him after watching the movie, he was so scary and cool!!
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silliebones · 11 months
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IDK if somebodys already done this Oh well
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almea · 1 year
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"But what if she isn't Ruby anymore when she comes back out?" "Maybe... that's not for us to decide."
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tubbytarchia · 28 days
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gg buddy am I right (ethubs doodle that I don't know what to do with)
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tlouobsessed · 21 days
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#I am not excited for the edits that will happen when season 2 comes out. Even the hand placement is similar.
edit: #look at the body and hand movement, even that looks similar. This is straight up evil.
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imdamagecontrol · 3 months
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stripper baby au. 2,904 words. nsfw.
parts: one, two, three, four. this was meant to be part of the microfic prompts, but it got away from me (oops), and i decided to let it exist on its own. it's the last part that will see tumblr, so i hope you enjoy. it's definitely a bigger snippet, but i won't apologize anymore lol. all five parts will be combined into a 'coming soon' surprise. enjoy <3
The club is packed, but that’s no surprise. It’s a Saturday night, just after eleven, and for the next few hours at least, there will be a nonstop rotation of men at the bar, on the couches, in private rooms. Regulus leans his elbows on the bartop behind him, a glass dangling from his fingers. He’s on break, shouldn’t be drinking, but it pays to be the bartender’s best friend.
He won’t admit he’s waiting for James. He knows better than to get his hopes up. It’s his first night working since their dates. He’s been dancing on and off for two hours, and there’s a part of him that can’t help but wonder if, now that James has him, he’ll stop showing up at the club.
Regulus isn’t sure if he’s relieved or disappointed.
With a sigh, he twists around to set his now empty glass on the bar. “One more,” he calls to Evan.
“You’re lucky Riddle isn’t here tonight to be on my ass.” Evan snatches Regulus’ glass and a bottle of vodka from under the counter. “You know you’re not supposed to drink on the clock.”
“Blah, blah, blah.” When Evan slides the finished cocktail across the counter, Regulus adds in a sing-song, “Tha-a-ank you.”
Evan rolls his eyes and heads to the opposite end of the bar, his attention on a man waving bank notes in the air with the vigor of someone who’s experiencing a strip club for the first time. They’re easy to spot: wide-eyed, flushed, a little nervous. The I shouldn’t be here, but here I am types. Regulus watches this one, lips wrapped around a thin black straw and teeth clenched tight to slow the flow of his cocktail as he drinks.
This one’s young. Younger than Regulus, even. In his early twenties with disheveled hair and a bit of a dopey look to him. When he catches Regulus watching him from across the bar, he blushes clear to the tips of his ears. They jut out, a sign he might’ve played rugby for most of his youth.
Regulus lets his gaze linger as the man risks a second glance. His cheeks go ruddy when Regulus opts for a sultry, crooked grin, the straw still held between his teeth. It’s obvious he’s not a customer—the black silk slip tied around his waist might cover the skin underneath, but his legs are long and slender, entirely bare tonight. Even with the Docs on his feet, laces loose and undone, it’s clear this is not a place he visits casually.
He’ll give this one credit—he squares his shoulders, grabs his drink, and heads right for where Regulus leans on the bar. His drink is half-finished, a pleasant combination of bitter and sweet. He should savor it; Evan won’t give him another, and he still has five minutes left of his break.
“Hi,” says Mr. Rugby, setting his drink on the bar and sidling up beside Regulus. He’s tall and broad, all shoulders and no waist. “What’s your name?”
“Lame. Try again.” Regulus crosses his ankles, knocks the toe of his boot against his heel. “Don’t make eyes from across the bar if that’s going to be your opener.”
Mr. Rugby blinks a few times, clearly taken aback. “I—Okay. Can I start over?”
“You can. But you only have until I finish my drink.”
“Shit. Okay. My name is Jeff. I, uh, I saw you from across the bar and you’re… Well, you’re fucking stunning, I won’t lie.” Mr. Rugby—Jeff—rubs at the back of his neck. “You work here, right? Kinda got that vibe…”
“Better. Less fumbling next time, though.” Regulus sets his glass on the counter. There’s a little left, but he has time. Jeff—God, the name is too close for his liking—seems the type to cough up his whole paycheck if Regulus plays his cards right. “It truly pains me to say this, but my real name is a secret.”
“Is there something else I can call you?”
Regulus ducks his chin. Looks up from underneath his lashes. “Ophidian.”
“Oh. That’s unique.”
With practiced shyness, he shifts the hem of the black silk slip to expose the snake winding round and round his left thigh. He could laugh when the man’s eyes drop right to it, gaze gone hungry in less time than even he anticipated. “Of and resembling serpents,” he offers, dropping the slip back into place.
“How much?”
The question sours Regulus’ mood immediately. Even though it’s his job, even though it’s the entire reason he made eyes at Mr. Rugby in the first place, the lack of tact, the audacity and bluntness of the question, make it difficult to hide the way his lip longs to curl with distaste. Have a little respect, he wants to snap. I’m not an object on a shelf for you to purchase.
Except he is.
Regulus reaches for his drink. Opens his mouth to say, I’m not for sale—yet, but the words shrivel on his tongue when another voice offers from behind him, “Sorry, mate, but I don’t think you can afford him.”
Not his fault you pay thousands for thirty minutes, Regulus wants to volley back. He reaches for his drink instead. James is dangerously close. Close enough his fingers can dance their way under the hem of Regulus’ slip; they’re featherlight touches on the outside of his right thigh. Hidden touches.
Mr. Rugby frowns. “I’ve got enough. They said a private dance is—”
“Price change, unfortunately. I think the going rate is… What is it now, love?”
“Five thousand,” Regulus deadpans, tossing the straw over the bar and knocking back the rest of his drink in one swallow.
“Five th—The fuck?”
“Bummer, innit?” James’ tone is anything but empathetic. “I’d recommend you try the main floor. You’ll have better luck there.”
For a moment, Mr. Rugby seems tempted to argue. But a glance at the floor, at the field of less expensive options available to him, sends him scurrying down the short staircase nearby.
Regulus leans over the bar to set his glass on the counter. At the feel of James’ hand on the back of his now exposed thigh, he spins and hisses, “No touching. You’ll get me in trouble. You know the rules.”
“Sorry, sorry.” James grins down at him, both hands held up in surrender. “I just missed you. And I have questions about what you’ve got on underneath this.” He tugs at the hem of Regulus’ sleeve. It falls to his elbows, loose and billowing at the ends. “Are you off break?”
“Maybe.”
“Love, don’t play. I saw leather straps. Are you working?”
Regulus rolls his eyes. “Follow me.”
“Anywhere.”
James lets Regulus lead him through the packed club. They slip around couches and stages, heading for the back room. Regulus catches sight of Barty, who’s sizing up Mr. Rugby with a modicum of interest. It’s a misconception, he’s found, amongst most customers: strippers aren’t desperate. Not here, anyway. They’re shopping as much as their clients. Big fish are better—less time on the floor, more money in their pockets.
It’s the reason so many dancers threw themselves at James. Expensive pours off of him in waves. There’s a different energy, a confidence that comes from a life of lavishness. Of black tie events and annual galas and charity balls. Of ending requests with periods, not question marks.
The private rooms are even darker than the low-lit club. Regulus toes off his boots once they’re inside and sets them near the door. “Sit,” he tells James, nodding to the curved, plush couch that wraps around half of the small room. In front of it is a thick metal pole on a half-stage, but it’s irrelevant. Regulus knows what James prefers when they’re alone.
James collapses on the couch, arms stretched over the back and legs crossed. “How’s your night?”
“Boring. I’m working until two.”
“Not a long one, then.”
Regulus shakes his head. He fiddles with the stereo system, scrolling through songs. Longer is better; something he can loop so it feels endless. “Started at nine. There are a lot of us tonight and it’s busy. I’ll make enough to take the week off.”
“Classes start up this week don’t they?”
He hates that James remembers. Hates that James knows him enough to make small talk. To check in on his life like this. You’re meant to be a client, he wants to say. My fucking sugar daddy, for hell’s sake. He can all but see James blurring the lines with the toe of his fine Oxfords. “Yeah. On Monday.”
“If you need anything, you’ll tell me, right?” James’ foot bounces, restless. “I mean it, Regulus. Don’t overwork yourself if you’re worried about money. Just ask.”
“I’m fine. I make enough.”
“That’s not what I said.”
Regulus inhales a steadying breath. “I’ll tell you.” He finds a song, presses play. It’s a slow, steady thrum. Something soft until the true beat begins. He can feel James’ eyes boring into his back. He thinks of the thrill of a win, of dangling what he knows James wants most right in front of him.
He drops his head back, eyes closed, a small smile on his lips. The music washes over him, beats a rhythm in his veins until his blood seems to settle with it. He’s good at his job for a reason. With steady fingers, he tugs at the knot around his waist. His back is still to James, so he lets the slip fall from one shoulder, then the other. There’s a tattoo down his spine: the sun, then a line of planets and stars.
“You’re teasing, love.”
Regulus turns to watch James over his shoulder. “Am I?”
“What’s underneath? I swear I saw leather.” James uncrosses his legs. Leans forward, elbows on his knees and fingers steepled under his chin. “It’s new, isn’t it?”
“Maybe.”
James’ grin is as mischievous as Regulus’. “Come here, baby. I’ve missed you.”
Regulus keeps the slip wrapped around his lower half. “No talking. No touching. You know the rules, James.”
The press of lips tight together, a finger drawn across, pantomime of a key turning in a lock. James drops back against the couch with his arms and legs spread, an open invitation. When they’re alone, he prefers Regulus on him, not in front of him. Doesn’t care for what he can do on a pole when he’d rather see him up close.
Regulus stands between James’ knees and lets the slip fall to the floor in a pool of black silk.
“Oh, fuck,” James breathes, his grin positively feral. “That is—”
“What did I say about talking?”
James groans with all the finesse of a toddler who’s just been told to get his hands out of the cookie jar. Menace, he mouths, still smiling.
It’s a showstopper akin to a harness-like garter belt, with criss-crossing pieces around his waist brought together by gold metal hoops. It’s like pieces of a collar strung together in a complex pattern; its removal will take focused deciphering, but it’s worth it for the look James wears. The ensemble is complete with double straps around his thighs, more gold hoops, and long straps to connect the pieces. Underneath, the G-string is black lace but opaque, and it’s a damn feat to keep himself steady with the way James watches him.
“Je-e-esus Christ,” he murmurs when Regulus straddles him, hands sliding up his chest to tug at his tie. “Yeah, guy at the bar didn’t deserve this for a second.”
“You’re talking, James.”
“You—I—” He huffs a strangled laugh. “Baby, I can’t help it. This is—You look incredible.”
It doesn’t take long for Regulus to find his rhythm. He sets a pace that follows the beat but allows him to change his moves, keep it interesting. He watches James watch him, black pupils swallowing hazel irises until there’s nothing but a thin ring around the edges. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees James’ fingers twitch. His hands fist, unfurl, fist again.
Got you, Regulus thinks, careful to hide his grin when he leans forward to mouth at the curve of James’ ear.
He miscalculated the other day when they were in the limo. He hadn’t considered that James is used to him in his lap. This has been their routine long enough that a fully-clothed Regulus wouldn’t tip the scales.
But now?
Regulus shifts in James’ lap to straddle one thigh. It’s solid underneath him, exactly as he’s imagined a hundred times the last few days. He lets himself imagine it all now—thoughts of James’ hands, his mouth, his tongue, the considerable length and girth of him. Thoughts he’s supressed since his shift started in case he found himself half-hard in the middle of a lap dance with a customer.
James’ eyes narrow slightly, but he stays quiet. Watches with one brow raised when Regulus’ hand wraps around his throat just under his jaw. “Love,” he says, a low warning. “What are you—?”
The drag of his rapidly filling cock against James’ trousers, the lace fabric—it’s a lot, considering he’s kept it all locked away for the last few hours. Regulus whimpers; he can’t help it. The fingers around James’ throat tighten, a subtle squeeze, and he feels the vibration of James’ moan against his palm. With a look that says careful, Regulus takes James’ hand and sets it on his thigh.
James’ eyes widen at this; Regulus has never let him touch with his hands during a private dance. He opens his mouth, but Regulus shakes his head. Wordlessly, he wraps James’ fingers around the leather straps of the garter. All the while, the dance continues—or at least, some semblance of it.
He shivers when James uses his grip on the straps to tug Regulus closer, to make it so each roll of his hips makes good use of James’ thigh. He thinks of the limo, of you can use me, if you want, and watches James’ gaze slip into a sort of hunger that’s insatiable. It can’t be satisfied with what Regulus is giving him.
Which is one hell of a show, but not the whole package.
He bears down, grinding his cock over James’ thigh. Moans low and filthy in James’ ear, breath blowing hot through the strands of his hair. Hears a strangled fucking hell said on a blown out breath. James’ fingers tighten around the straps, coaxing Regulus into a faster rhythm. But he’s determined to stay with the music, to ride James’ thigh on his terms this time.
He’s aching, a damp spot forming where the head of his cock threatens to peek out from the G-string’s elastic band. They’re hardly much as it is; they’re not meant to survive this. Not when he feels the warmth in abdomen, that telltale unfurling of pleasure. He hears James tell him, Come, baby, and with his head thrown back, he lets himself break like a wave cresting on a shore.
It’s all white noise, a burn in his veins, and Regulus thinks, This win is fucking mine.
“Holy shit,” James groans, his attention zeroed in on where thick strips of white drip down Regulus’ thigh. His tongue runs over his lower lip before his teeth bite down on it. “Love, you—I need—Fuck, you’re incredible.”
“What do you need? Tell me,” Regulus purrs, using the hand on James’ throat to tilt his head back. He’s still a little high but coming down slowly. James’ eyes are wide as dinner plates, watching Regulus move from out of the corners. They grow impossibly rounder when Regulus runs two fingers through the strips on his leg.
“I need to fuck you. That is what I need.”
“Do you really need to?” Regulus shifts his knee to press it against the bulge in James’ trousers. “Huh. I guess you do.” James’ lashes flutter behind his glasses, eyes drooping closed when Regulus presses harder against him. “I don’t even think you can afford it. Open up.”
James does as he’s told, pliant where he sits under Regulus. He jolts when Regulus sets coated fingers on his tongue, but it’s only a second of surprise before he’s sucking them clean. The music still plays its steady beat; Regulus isn’t sure how many times the song has looped.
“Fucking Christ.” James’ eyes open, pupils blown out, and he looks at Regulus like he’s hung the moon. “Can we—Can I fuck you here? Is that—”
“I win.”
Regulus pushes off of James and gets to his feet. He snatches the slip off the floor, throws it back on, and ties it. He’s hot all over but he’s smug, too. He wants but won’t let himself have, if only to rob James of it. It’s a thrill when he sees understanding dawn on James’ features—the moment his lust-filled haze clears, and he comes to realize what’s happened.
“Oh, you little—”
“You said five thousand. Wire it.”
Regulus crosses the room to stop the music. He shoots James a demure smile over his shoulder, something professional and almost innocent. Even gives him a small parting wave before slipping out the door. His skin buzzes, and his thigh is uncomfortably sticky.
The last thing he sees before the door shuts is James with a hand pressed against the straining bulge between his thighs, his jaw hanging and a wild, awestruck grin on his face.
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elloras · 5 months
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First Close Up // Last Close Up
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finngualart · 1 year
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this is like that how to draw an owl meme, tlou edition: step 1. draw a triangle; step 2. draw the fucking rest of ellie and joel
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luvrxbunny · 14 days
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homecoming ─ ★ joel miller x f! reader
a/n: i wrote this at like 3:30am 🦢
wc: 1.6k
warnings: 18+ MNDI, really light choking, dry humping, piv, some praise, oh and some hair pulling but i feel like joel miller smut = some hair pulling.. with me at least cus like.. THE CURLS (not proofread and much longer than intended)
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okay so Joel coming back from a trip, maybe it wasn’t even super long, a week or so but nothing you guys haven’t weathered before.
but for some reason; maybe it’s been a long time since he was away from you for even a day.. Joel all but loses his mind without you.
it’s like he goes into heat or something. like his body knows that he can’t have you and suddenly its craving you 10x its usual amount.
he comes back late at night, near midnight. all the guys wanted to take shelter for the night, arrive at the community in the morning but Joel hadn’t mentally prepared himself for another night without you. he refused to go another night without you.
you’re snug in bed when he crawls in. you’re pulled from your sleep by the dip in the bed but you instantly recognize the broad chest pressing against your back.
you gasp and bury your hand in his hair as quickly as possible. you reach over his face as he gives your neck a kiss and presses closer to you, poking you in the back with a feeling you’ve missed.
“is this okay? i’ve missed you so much, love.” you only hum in response, arching your back so he can grind against the plush of your ass, an opportunity he graciously accepts. he groans low and rough into the back of your neck as he starts humping you. “we can stop if you’re sleepy, baby.. shit.” his arm comes to wrap around you.
his forearm stretches diagonally across your torso as he cups your blood with his palm, using you for leverage to grind himself more forcefully into your ass. “could- oh god.. mmm we could w-wait for— until the—”
“baby, shut up.” is all you mumble before twisting to finally devour his lips in a kiss that he whines into. whines
his frantic humping turns into purposeful grinding as you pull away. his breathing is more erratic than you’ve ever heard it. his eyes are shut as tightly as his hand is gripping your hip, surely leaving dents in your skin.
you turn back around to bury your face in the pillow in front of you, too uncomfortable with your body twisted but leaving your hand to play with his hair. “needed me this bad, baby?”
you try to sound teasing, dominant but instead the question comes out high and breathy, sounds as desperate as he’s acting.
all you get in response is a growl from Joel before his hand leaves your boob to flip your body around, letting you face him, letting you— for the first time— really take in his disheveled state.
his hair is mussed— definitely your doing, but his lips are red and bitten, presumably from holding in his sounds to not disturb the silence of the night. his eyes are blown wide, glinting with a crazed look as he grinds into you gently.
he has his hand on your thigh, your leg pulled over his hip do he can grind right into your core, sending convulsions throughout your body.
after taking him in you meet his eyes again and he crumbles. whimpering a loose form of your name before burying his face in your neck and inhaling your scent as his hand coming to your lower back to press your body into his.
“i’ve needed you more that air, dove. been craving your soft body, your- fuck- your sweet sounds.” his voice gets high near the end of the sentence, only reminding you of his need. “swear i’ve been seeing you in the stars at night. m’losin my goddamn mind over ya’.”
his desperation is leaking into your veins now, the same way you’ve started to seep into your underwear, growing tired and teased with Joel’s incessant movements against you.
you stay silent, let him release wet moans into your skin as you take matters into your own hands.
you grab his waist band and pull the buttons apart so roughly you may have broken them. you keep up your urgent demeanor as you free his cock from its confines.
his hips don’t stop moving as you fumble with his pants, he grinds against the air, your hands and your wrists, anything he can reach.
he moans your name when you wrap your hand around him but his breath is stolen as you quickly pull your panties aside and shove him in.
he’s surrounded in your wet warmth before he can take another breath. the same heat he’s been dreaming of, craving, fiending for over the course of the past week.
his head is finally pulled from your neck as he sits up a bit with his hand on your throat, his index finger and thumb holding your jaw in place as he forces you to look him in the eye.
his brows are furrowed and there’s a look of confusion and a softness that feels like begging in his eyes. you’re waiting for him to scold you, remind you who’s in charge, that you don’t do anything without his permission first. but instead he just pants against you, incapable of taking even breaths as his hips twitch softly and against his will into you.
you hold his eye contact as your hands come to the base of his spine, pressing down and curving his hips into you, guiding his slow and gentle thrusts.
his face crumples in pleasure, all his features scrunching in as he tries not to moan into your face. his hand twitches on your throat before tightening again as he leans down to press you against his forehead before resting his cheek on yours as he finally releases all the sounds he’s been holding in.
first you get a guttural groan, something that sounds like it came from the depths of his chest; low and rumbling. as his hips begin to move on their own accord, his moans change. they become more urgent, short and cut off as he tries to catch his breath. every now and then it sounds like the first syllable of your name but he’s never able to get the full thing out. “there you go, sweetheart. just like that.”
you try and stay composed as you guide him but he’s ramming into your g-spot like he’s been searching for it for weeks. your brain is turning to mush, melting out of your ears. when Joel pulls his face away from yours, wanting to examine your state, he can tell. he can tell that you’re not all there, that you’re holding on by a thread for him. it fills his chest with pride.
you watch a lazy smirk slide over his face as his hooded eyes meet yours. “it’s okay, baby.. m’here now.”
Joel lifts one of your legs, gripping your thigh and pushing it to meet your chest. “you don’t gotta be all tough anymore.” it feels as though he’s opened up a new channel inside your pussy, like he’s reaching places that weren’t accessible before. like he’s reached heaven, inside you. “you can let go, darlin’.”
you explode.
its that godforsaken southern drawl of his. whenever he talks to you in his low, smooth voice, like pouring warm honey right into your ear, filling your brain with sweetness. you have no choice but to fall apart. you hadn’t even been aware of how badly you’d been craving him.
you knew you missed him of course, but you thought you’d be satisfying yourself decently in his absence.
you obviously had forgotten when your orgasms feel like when they belong to Joel.
it feels like your body falls completely apart. you don’t feel attached your limbs anymore. all you can feel is the warmth blossoming violently in your abdomen. your thighs shake, and Joel tightens his grip, wanting to feel the rippling muscles under his palm.
he watches your brows furrow as your eyes roll back. you go limp in his arms, your entire body relaxed as your soak his cock in your juices.
Joel fucks into you at a leisurely pace, forgetting his desperation in favor of watching you melt into the bed. but as he thrusts he watches you slowly coat his cock, giving him a milky sheen, an award for his actions and a reminder of your own craving for him.
it’s more than a punch in the gut, it’s like he’s been completely winded, like someone has punctured his lungs and crushed his heart inside his chest.
he gasps once and sees your eyes snap open to his, waiting and watching as his body folds in on itself to fill you with its seed.
Joel almost falls on top of you, his arm catching him before he lowers himself into your lips. he’s too busy moaning your name and praises to kiss you properly. he rests his lips against yours as his mind clears, blank and thoughtless, finally satiated after a week of driving him crazy.
his body weight slowly increases as he blankets you, his cock pulsing inside you gently, gently pumping pent up ropes of cum into you despite the small amount already leaking onto your thighs.
“love you s’much.” Joel mumbles groggily into your ear. his hand comes up to stroke your head, soothing you as he notices your rapid heartbeat. “you’re my perfect girl, y’know that? everything i dream of, everything pure.” you feel that terrifying warmth spread through your chest, that intense, buzzing love that blooms in your chest whenever he opens his mouth.
“i know, joey.” your hand slides out of his hair and down his back, scratching gently and relishing in the way you feel his chest rumble with a contented hum. “i love you so much more, y’know that?”
he chuckles softly before biting you semi-gently. “no way.” he sighs against your skin. “ain’t possible.” he licks over his teeth marks before kissing them.
his lips just barely ghost over the area as he falls asleep, his cock warm and soaked inside you.
a horrid surprise for Tommy when he tries to welcome his brother home with a “gourmet” breakfast in bed service.
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try-set-me-on-fire · 9 months
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Ok well i had the brief thought “what about an ER nurse Eddie au?” and then this popped fully formed into existence so fuck it Friday pt 2.. warnings for smoking and vague references to critically injured kids
“That doesn’t seem very healthy.”
Smoke curls up from the cigarette held loosely in Eddie’s hand. “It’s not, particularly.”
Buck’s hands are in his pockets as he strolls away from the glass doors out into the ambulance bay where Eddie is doing the mature, professional equivalent of playing hide and seek. He comes to a stop barely a foot or two away from where Eddie leans against grimy concrete. “Didn’t know you were a smoker.”
“I’m not,” Eddie sighs, “Particularly.” He looks over Buck’s face as he takes a drag, cataloging bruises and cuts. He hadn’t been the one to look him over before he was discharged, probably because he was out here avoiding having to do so. “Only when it’s- only after the bad shifts.” And only once a month, even if the bad shifts come again and again. He bought this pack in January, it’s stale as shit.
Buck’s eyes follow the smoke as it drifts skyward. “Rough one today?”
Eddie thinks he probably doesn’t have to explain to Buck that it’s sometimes better when a kid is dead on arrival so he doesn’t have to try his best to administer care he knows will be useless. He doesn’t have to explain a day where nothing goes right and he loses more people than he can save and he still has to walk away from someone’s parent or wife or sister, left behind forever in a waiting room on the worst day of their life, and go on to lose the next person too. Doesn’t have to explain why he’s out here, and not in there. “Mm. We’ve got this repeat customer, always hate to have him back.”
Buck’s eyes flick to his face before they settle somewhere around his elbow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. He seems like a nice guy. I worry about him. He’s here too often.”
Buck doesn’t look up. “What was he in for this time?”
“Minor concussion. Bruising. Lacerations.” Eddie sucks cancer into his lungs. “Heard a house fell on him.” Exhales it into the night.
Buck does look up this time, eyes a darker blue out here in the shadows. “Part of a house. Just a staircase and the- like, the balcony, really.”
“Maybe he should stay away from those.”
“From houses?” Buck asks, half his mouth twitching into a smile.
Eddie rests his head on the wall behind him. “Guess that’s not really practical.”
“No.” Buck is quiet for a moment, one hand slipping out of his pocket and running through his hair. Eddie wonders what he looks like, when he’s not here. He’s more styled, sometimes, when things aren’t very bad. He wonders if he’s usually all gelled up and neat. Eddie kind of likes the loose curls. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Making your day worse.” Buck looks genuinely apologetic, and Eddie shakes his head.
“The guy made it out okay this time.” Buck is just close enough that Eddie can kick at his boot with his sensible orthopedic sneaker. “You didn’t even need stitches.”
“That’s good.” Eddie’s left foot is pressed along the inside of Buck’s right, and Buck is staring down at them. “His favorite nurse was on break. I would have missed you if someone else had to do them.”
Eddie laughs, just a few bursts of soundless oxygen. “You gotta find new ways to see me before something happens that I can’t fix.”
Buck moves, taking the few steps necessary to lean against the wall beside him. Carefully, he takes the cigarette from Eddie’s hand, holds it between two of his own fingers, and takes a drag. Eddie watches it happen like he’s monitoring somebody’s pulse ox, and when Buck coughs he laughs again, louder this time. “Fuck,” Buck says, laughing too. “Thought that would be cooler than it was.”
“Smoking isn’t cool, firefighter Buckley,” Eddie says, taking the cigarette back and pulling from it again between smiling lips.
“Hm,” Buck says, grinning out into the night. Then he sighs, and rolls his head along the concrete to look at Eddie. “I think there’s nothing you can’t fix.”
They’re very close. “There’s lots I can’t fix.”
Buck shrugs like he disagrees. “I also think I’d like to find other ways to see you.”
Buck’s eyes are even more in shadow at this angle, and they’re the color of the lake back in El Paso that he and a bunch of kids went to after graduation, drunk off beer somebody’s cousin got for them, skinny dipping with breathless terrified delight under bright constellations. “Then ask me.”
Buck inhales as Eddie exhales. “What time’s your shift end?”
“5:30 AM. So, probably 6:15.”
Buck traces the two fingers he’d used to hold the cigarette down Eddie’s arm. “You wanna get breakfast with me?”
“Yes. I would.”
Buck smiles, and Eddie snubs out the cigarette on the wall between them. “I’ll meet you here?”
“Alright.” He takes a step forward, then a step to the right so he’s standing in front of Buck. “Two hours.”
“Uh huh.”
He should really get back inside. They’re understaffed, as always, and there are too many patients, as always, and not enough beds, as always. “See you then.” He doesn’t make any move to leave.
“See you then,” Buck almost whispers. He leans forward, and Eddie still doesn’t move, so he presses a tiny kiss to the corner of his mouth for just a moment. His lips are warm. Eddie hadn’t noticed it was cold outside.
Buck pulls back and leans against the wall again. Eddie smiles, puts a hand in his pocket, and walks back toward the doors.
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drawthething · 1 year
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Me, yesterday at 3 am: hey what if I gave the bb movie opening a tiny comic spin but with slightly darker tones
I know that overdue letter makes no sense ("hey who the hell pins up their financial issues on public spots like that"), but it adds to the panel so just let it be ~
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sandovers · 7 months
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— Zaffar Kunial, “Foxglove Country,” from England’s Green, reprinted & discussed here at the Guardian
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talaok · 1 day
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Okay, so I have a cute idea. Pedro and reader go to a bar and accidentally drink a little more than they wanted to, and now they are walking home together, leaning on one another and giggling the whole way. Maybe they have their first kiss or something. idk, im giving you creative freedom on the last part.
Pairing: Pedro Pascal x reader
a/n: cutest request award
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that last glass of wine had had its effect
Your brain felt lighter, like the crimson liquid had relieved some of the effort from your head
Your vision was fuzzier, unfocused in that familiar way as a soft buzz flowed into your ear
The pavement ahead was still damp with rain, and some water had gotten into your shoes, but you didn't care, you didn't care as you leaned onto Pedro, onto his strong, warm arm, as you looked up at his own glossy eyes, veiled by that sheer cloak of alcohol flowing through his veins
He was still laughing at something you'd said, and you didn't even realize that you were doing the same,
You couldn't even remember what the joke was. Something about... rain or... something
"We're gonna regret this tomorrow" he said, amusement still spilling from his lips
"I'm sure you will, old man" you snorted, hiding your face into his arm to shield from his reaction
"Old man huh?" he chuckled "Is that the way to talk to your elderly?"
"oh please" you snorted, smiling up at him as he feigned offense "I'm sorry sir, that was very rude of me, please forgive me"
The corners of his mouth twitched into a soft grin
"With that smile, I don't think anyone could ever not forgive you, sweetheart"
He did that sometimes, said something sweet that made you forget all about what your lungs were made for
Once again, you shielded your heating face from him by nestling impossibly close to him, feeling his warmth seep into you
He had a body that made hell seem cold
"You're a douchba-"
but before you could speak the very kind words you were about to speak, you had taken a step and found yourself ankle-deep into something that upon closer inspection, was indeed a puddle
You had stepped into a puddle.
Your feet were drenched
You-
You burst out laughing
"oh my god- sugar" Pedro was gripping your arm, bringing you back to dry land as he stifled the need to laugh too
"I-"
You were pretty sure you were about to pee yourself from how hard you were laughing, your eyes were shut close, you had one hand on your face and one on Pedro and then-
and then your feet stopped touching the ground
"Wha-" 
He had picked you up, bridal style, and all you could do was swing your arms around his neck as a reflex "what are you doing?"
"it's clear you're in no condition to walk, so I'm taking matters into my own hands"
And he said it so calmly too, like it was the most obvious thing in the word
"you're taking matters into your own hands?" you mocked, cocking a brow as you bit your bottom lip to try not to laugh
"I am" he nodded,
"You're gonna carry me all the way to the hotel?" you couldn't help but smile now,
smile with amusement and joy and drunkness and... and something else
"What, you think I'm too old for that too?"
You snorted now, your head falling to his chest 
"maybe" you mumbled, your mouth on his steel pecs as you looked up at him
And there was something in that, in all this- not in the fact that he was carrying you like a damsel in distress, not the fact that you were dizzy, not in any of that- there was something in the intimacy of this moment, of the lightness that came with it, how natural it all felt, how... perfect it felt
And he felt it too, you could see in his eyes, that he too had felt time stop, the entire world stop to let you have this moment, this precious instant
"y/n-"
But your lips were already on his, your lips were already on his and nothing mattered anymore as he gripped your shoulder to push you incredibly closer to him, wishing he could engulf you and never let you go, praying for this moment to never end
finally
the only word inside both your heads
finally
He was such a good kisser, his mouth, his beard, his lips, his everything just-
The problem was that he thought the same about you, and maybe if you'd been less of a good kisser, or if only he hadn't spent the last six months fantasizing about this... then maybe he wouldn't have dropped you
"shit-"
Well not really dropped you, he just... forgot to hold your legs, that's all
Only of course, he was there to rescue you as your feet hit the ground, making sure you didn't fall
A soft, honest laugh rumbled from your chest as you dropped your forehead to his
"I'm sorry" he murmured, his hands on your waist "I- I got- distracted"
Again, you could only laugh, this time as he joined
"you got distracted?"
"Yeah" he chuckled
"wanna get distracted again?" you smirked, watching his eyes pan to your lips
"please"
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