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osaemu · 5 months

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GOJO SATORU: KISS & MAKE UP

✩ ‧ ˚. streamer!au: after the breakup, you two decide to make up in the traditional way—by having sex! NSFW

contents: fem!reader. oral (f. recieving), p –> v, teasing, praise, hair pulling (m. recieving), missionary, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, use of pet names (too many to list here). not proofread bc you couldn't pay me to read all this again. 2.5k words. read this fic beforehand for better understanding of the context, but you don't have to.

author's note: tumblr hates me and that's why the banner quality's trash. if u wanna see the details, click here. anyways the streamer!gojo smut has finally arrived, tagging @satorena @screampied @cultrise, enjoyyy ;)

“did you tell them we’re back together?”

satoru nods in response to your question, plopping down on the couch next to you. he's spent the last hour chatting with his stream, and eventually he broke the news that you and him were back together after the breakup.

“yeah, i did,” he confirms, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your neck. your hands automatically move to his hair and you thread your fingers through the soft white strands, pausing after a couple seconds to give him a quick kiss on the forehead.

a week ago, you and satoru had an admittedly messy breakup—not messy in the sense that it got toxic or dramatic, but messy in the way that it could’ve easily been avoided. it wasn’t that big of a deal, but thankfully, you and satoru resolved your misunderstanding within a relatively short time.

since then, things have been a little different—satoru’s been taking a break from streaming, which gave him move time to spend with you and away from his thousands of fans. it was his suggestion, and not surprisingly, it worked. but all good things have to come to an end, and your “honeymoon” away from satoru’s stream seems to be coming to a close.

“something smells good,” satoru notes, lifting his head and glancing at the kitchen. “wait, is that ramen?” your boyfriend gasps, eyes rounding as he looks at you hopefully.

“yeah, you said you were craving it, so i made some,” you reply with a smile, untangling yourself from his arms and walking over to the kitchen. satoru blows you a flurry of kisses that you see out of the corner of your eye as you check on the ramen, which looks pretty much done.

“y’know, i still haven’t forgiven you for the shit you pulled last week,” you say dryly, turning off the stove and draining the water from the ramen into your sink. the steam rises up as the boiling water slips down into the drain, clouding your face for a moment before it dissipates into thin air.

“...does that mean i don’t get to eat that ramen?” satoru asks tentatively, a nervous smile on his lips as you empty a packet of flavored powder into the ramen. you shoot him a look and raise an eyebrow, turning back to the stove to hide your smile.

“maybe, maybe not,” you reply coyly, not wanting to give in too soon.

“boo, you whore.”

you roll your eyes and divide the ramen into two bowls, one for you and one for your boyfriend. “you’re lucky i’m too nice to let you starve, regina,” you say pointedly, walking back over to the couch and handing one of the bowls to him, which satoru takes with both hands—a habit from his childhood that never went away. “otherwise you’d be—”

satoru cuts you off by poking your lips with his chopsticks, steaming hot ramen wrapped around them. you reluctantly open your mouth and let him feed you, smiling when he seals the bite with a kiss.

“best girlfriend ever,” satoru proclaims when he pulls away, a lazy smile playing on his lips. his soft blue eyes study your own, observing your unusually guarded expression and frowning.

“how many times do i gotta apologize for my bullshit before you stop making that face at me?” he grumbles, twirling his chopsticks in his bowl and taking a bite of the ramen. it’s cute how satoru’s face lights up at the taste, and it’s even cuter how his eyes round at you in awe when he takes another bite. “i didn’t know instant ramen could be this good,” he muses, licking any lingering flavor off of his lips.

“very funny, satoru,” you laugh, swirling your chopsticks around the broth and watching the rest of the steam rise from your bowl. “and to answer your question, i don’t really know.”

satoru tilts his head and takes a sip of his water, ice clinking against the side of the glass. when you respond to his question, he pauses and tilts his head in confusion. “...wait, what does that mean?”

you think for a second, choosing your words carefully. “i’m not sure how long it’ll take until we’re back to… normal,” you say cautiously. in all honesty, you weren’t that pissed off at him—you never were. but the fact that satoru was so ready to throw your relationship away over something as small as that was upsetting, to say the least. and you weren’t entirely sure it wouldn’t happen again.

satoru looks at you thoughtfully, more serious than you’ve seen him in a while. you can almost see the gears turning in his head before he replies. “any idea how i can make it up to you?”

you shrug, swallowing another bite of ramen before you meet his eyes. “you tell me. actions speak louder than words.”

your boyfriend drops his chopsticks, letting them clatter around in the bowl before he stands up. he extends a hand to you, a determined glint in his eye. “then lemme prove it to you.”

“satoru, you can’t bribe me with sex.”

“that’s not all i’ll be doing, sweetheart. trust me.”

and that’s how you ended up in his room, hands tangled in satoru’s soft white hair as he eats you out. his tongue laps at your cunt with quick, kitten-like strokes, and he presses a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh. “feels s’good, satoru,” you breathe, involuntarily tugging on his hair and dragging out a groan from his lips. “sorry—”

“don’t apologize,” satoru mumbles in reply, nose brushing against your dripping thighs as his tongue slips past your folds and goes in deeper. he looks up and locks eyes with you, unable to resist smiling at the way your legs tremble around him. “aw, you’re so fuckin’ cute,” he murmurs, flicking his tongue in and out of your cunt with a grin. “and i’m the one who should be—fuck, you’re gorgeous—apologizing.”

this isn’t the first time satoru’s eaten you out, but it feels like it every single time—somehow, his tongue has a talent of rendering you unable to focus on anything else but him. you grind your hips against satoru’s face, eyes squinted shut as your boyfriend flattens his tongue before lapping your slick up with cloudy eyes. “shit, i don’t know what i’d be without you,” he murmurs, voice low and steady—and something about his tone makes you certain he’s being completely honest with you.

“you’re so—fuck, satoru, i’m gonna cum,” you breathe, back automatically arching when satoru’s tongue reaches that spot inside you. he laughs, and the vibration of the soft sound against your puffy, sensitive cunt almost makes your legs give out—but thankfully, satoru’s hands are secured around your thighs, holding you in place. “‘toru, i can’t—”

“yeah, y’can, just relax that pretty pussy for me,” he cooes, licking up the slick dripping down his chin. “c’mon, you’re doing so good f’me, keep going, baby.” and just like that, his tongue slips out of your cunt and he lets you cum—the sheer force of your orgasm hits you like a truck, and your hips roll against satoru’s face in a choppy rhythm as you desperately ride it out, hands gripping and accidentally yanking his hair.

you stutter out his name a couple more times, unable to focus on anything but the feeling of satoru’s mouth on your sensitive, gushing pussy. your boyfriend praises you the whole way, gently murmuring soft words about how sweet you are for letting him taste you, even while your relationship was rocky. when your voice steadies enough for satoru to make out what you’re begging him to do, he’s not at all surprised to hear you plea for him to fuck you—so stands up and tugs you down onto his bed, hand intertwined with yours as he pulls the sheets over your bodies.

you squeeze satoru’s hand and lean in to kiss him, chest still heaving from your earlier orgasm. naturally, you miss his lips and end up kissing the side of his face, which is flushed bright red from the way his body reacts to the taste of your pussy. “don’t ever leave me like that again,” you whisper, tears pricking at your eyes for some reason—maybe it’s the lovesick way satoru looks at you, or maybe it’s the way he’s holding onto you like there’s no place he’d rather be.

“i won’t,” satoru promises, pressing an affectionate kiss to your forehead and pulling your head into his chest. his lips touch the top of your head as he murmurs, “and if i do, shoot me.” it sounds like a joke, but you both know that he’s dead serious.

“good thing i won’t have to do that,” you say with a soft giggle. your smile is heart-achingly familiar to satoru, and it feels like home—and that’s the realization that has him stripping off what little clothing the two of you still have on before he climbs on top of you.

satoru touches the tip of his dick to your pussy, waiting for your nod to allow him to go in all the way. after a second, you dip your chin and trail your fingers down satoru’s jaw, grabbing his chin and pulling him down into another kiss. his lips linger for a couple seconds, still-minty breath tickling your face, before he pulls away. satoru slowly lowers his hips and nudges his dick inside of your desperate cunt, hands resting on either side of you.

even though it’s only been a little over a week since you last had sex with satoru, it feels like it’s been forever—your boyfriend curses when he feels how tight you are, mumbling something about missing you “so fucking much” as he goes in deeper and deeper. it hurts a little at first, but you quickly get used to the feeling of him inside of you.

“fuckin’ hell, i’m never gonna get tired of this,” satoru breathes, dipping his head and kissing your collarbone. a single drop of sweat drips down the side of his face as he watches you squirm, eyes soft and endearing as you do so. he starts rolling his hips back and forth against you to loosen you up a little, dragging out soft moans from you as he does so.

“yeah, you better not,” you mutter, tilting your head back and drawing in a long breath of air. you can’t remember the last time you felt this good—maybe it was the last time satoru fucked you. “satoru, y’re going so slow—”

your boyfriend cuts you off with a particularly harsh thrust, making your body jolt against his mattress. satoru lifts his head and looks you in the eye, a breathy laugh slipping out of him when he sees the pout on your lips. “the fuck you mean, i’m going slow? you want me to tear you apart? silly girl,” he tuts, back to his usual cocky self. he shakes his head and goes deep enough in you to force you to arch your back, starting to grin at the way you paw at his chest. “always so selfish, aren’t you?” he cooes, dipping his head and giving you a sloppy kiss on the forehead. “but you’re always—so—fuckin’—sweet,” satoru whispers, punctuating each word with a thrust hard enough for you to moan out his name more times than you can count.

“you’re the selfish one,” you mumble, lips trembling enough to muffle your voice. satoru huffs out a sigh and kisses your mouth, teeth gently brushing against your bottom lip. “you broke up with me for no reason,” you continue, tears pricking at your eyes again. “you think i’m gonna forgive you this fast?”

satoru shakes his head again and caresses the side of your face. “will you?” he asks, slowing his pace enough for you to notice. you mutter something about him edging you on purpose, to which satoru shushes you and repeats his question.

“maybe.”

“you gotta stop giving me maybe’s, baby—y’re drivin’ me crazy here.”

in the past week, satoru’s done so much for you, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed. on the day after your breakup, he picked you up from your house and took you for a picnic entirely curated by him. on the second day, he made you breakfast, lunch and dinner—it wasn’t the best food you ever had, but it was definitely the most memorable (in more ways than one). on the third day, he took you out to your favorite amusement park and did everything he could to make you smile—by then, you had pretty much forgiven him, and the giant teddy bear he dropped in your bedroom only made you love him more. the rest of the days were filled with longing glances and little gifts left around your house, which only helped him earn more and more of you back.

so, you figure that satoru deserves what comes next.

“okay,” you whisper.

satoru’s eyes widen and he hesitates before he tentatively asks, “does this mean—”

you don’t let him finish his question, instead grabbing his face and tugging him down into a full kiss. he lets out a soft hm? in surprise, but kisses you back more than gratefully. “c’mon, make me cum,” you breathe when he finally pulls away. satoru nods dazedly and mouths “i love you” before he goes back in you, pace faster than before.

one of his hands snakes down to your waist, holding it in pace while the other caresses your face. you gaze up at him with a soft smile, eyes fluttering open and closed every time his dick hits your sweet spot—which is more times than your body can handle, but you welcome the feeling of him deep inside of you. after barely a couple thrusts, a coil forms in your stomach, growing tighter and tighter with each movement of satoru’s hips.

satoru laughs, chest heaving as he grins down at you cheekily. “i knew you’d forgive me,” he murmurs, pinching your cheek affectionately. “m’ so sorry—”

“shut up and fuck me,” you interrupt, tongue starting to loll out of your mouth as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to cumming all over satoru’s dick.

“as you wish, princess.”

satoru’s breathing slowly changes, becoming more choppy and uneven the closer you watch him get to his high—it’s so, so close for both of you, and when it comes, it takes over both of your minds like a drug. satoru curses and groans out your name, thrusts growing sloppy as he desperately rides out his orgasm. cum shoots out from his dick and coats the inside of your cunt white, dripping out once you physically can’t take any more.

you run your hands all over satoru’s body, clawing and gripping at every inch of skin you can latch onto—satoru’s always been your anchor, and you hope that he always will be. one of his hands leaves the side of your face and tangles with your fingers, holding it down against the mattress as he promises to never screw you over like that again, and you’re only too welcoming to him and his words as you squirt all over his dick. “fuck, satoru—”

he lifts his eyes and meets your own, and unlike you, his vision is clearer than ever. “shoot me if i ever leave you again, baby. i’m serious.”

you raise a shaky hand and touch the side of his face, eyes fluttering shut as you murmur, “i know i won’t have to.”

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drchucktingle · 7 months

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From Chuck Tingle, author of the USA Today bestselling Camp Damascus, comes a new heart-pounding story about what it takes to succeed in a world that wants you dead. Misha is a jaded scriptwriter who has been working in Hollywood for years, and has just been nominated for his first Oscar. But when he's pressured by his producers to kill off a gay character in the upcoming season finale―"for the algorithm"―Misha discovers that it's not that simple. As he is haunted by his past, and past mistakes, Misha must risk everything to find a way to do what's right―before it's too late.

----

BURY YOUR GAYS cover has been released today and theres something TRULY INCREDIBLE about it, something that bends timelines and melts away the edges of the void and brings tears to my eyes. can you see it? let me explain in a thread as you PREORDER NOW...

for nearly ten years i have been publishing my stories despite pushback that they are too odd. us buckaroos are the outsiders, but this community has kicked open the door for art that is sincere and strange and beautifully unique. that is my trot and that is OUR trot as buds

we came out of nowhere and made CAMP DAMASCUS a usa today bestseller. every step of the way that book overperformed. buds were CONFUSED that a book from ‘silly meme erotica author’ could take flight. but us buckaroos knew it was inevitable because we know the power of love

i still recall the question ‘are you SURE you do not want a new horror pen name?’ HECK NO i am proud of the tingleverse. i am not ashamed of these queer erotic stories i drag up from bottom of my heart and spill with raw sincerity across irony poisoned timelines

i have been mocked my whole life as author that is ‘ridiculous no-content meme’ by those who have never read it. that my work is ‘not real’. i have been mocked for my autism and queerness and told THIS WOULD NEVER WORK. which brings me back to cover of my new book BURY YOUR GAYS

looks like the name chuck tingle is NOT a liability for the mainstream. all devils who doubted can gaze upon this cover and see bold CHUCK TINGLE staring back at them PROUDLY from the shelf in all its queer autistic glory... HOVERING ABOVE THE TITLE AND JUST AS BIG AND PROUD

thank you nightfire and chucks manager and chucks agent for believing in me. these buds have always had my back. thanks to BUCKAROO COMMUNITY who have always supported my way, this next step in our trot is not just about me IT IS ABOUT US. we kick open these doors together

so heres to making this world a little more unique and strange for those of us who are, ourselves, unique and strange. heres to bending timelines to us, instead of us bending to them. heres to name CHUCK TINGLE big and bold ABOVE the title on a big five traditional published book

and remember the best way to support an author, especially someone on outside pushing their way in, is to PREORDER THEIR BOOK. because of publishing business model it is SO IMPORTANT so if you would like to support chuck then PREORDER BURY YOUR GAYS NOW

#bury your gays #tingleverse #chuck tingle #love is real #queer #horror #lgbtqia #actually autistic #misha #buckaroo lifestyle #lets trot #queer horror

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jpf-sydney · 1 year

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Kumihimo wire jewelry

Book review:

A practical guide to the creation of metal work using traditional kumihimo braiding techniques and equipment.

Examples of braided and woven goods can be found across cultures and the practice is recognisable even from thousands of years ago. Kumihimo, meaning intersected or gathered threads, is the traditional Japanese form of braidmaking. It utilises a number of tools and templates to produce textured, patterned cords and textiles. The output has been closely associated with samurai armour fastenings where they had the advantages of being strong, flexible and aesthetically impressive.

The book introduces five different stands although the projects only require one of them; the maru dai. A "stand" is the frame or loom-like device that is used in combination with a pattern template in order to produce a particular braid. The 20 designs are organised according to which of two types of template they use (the round disk or the square plate) and by the difficulty rating (beginner, intermediate, advanced). Besides instructions, details on materials, tools, setting up weights etc each design is accompanied by full page showcase photography. The author, Giovanna Imperia, features her own works as well as examples from other crafters.

Anime fans may recognise kumihimo due to its presence in 2016's Your Name. In one scene, Mitsuha's arch traditional grandmother, Hitoha, was operating a complex taka dai while her grandaughters used the simpler maru dai. In a story that heavily emphasised relationships and links, as well as tangible string products, it must have been especially satisfying for practitioners to see their craft spotlighted. The translated novelisation and the theatrical animated film of Your Name are both available to loan from our library.

Shelf: 594.4 IMP Kumihimo wire jewelry : essential techniques + 20 jewelry projects for the Japanese art of brading. by Giovanna Imperia.

New York : Potter Craft, 2011. ISBN: 9780823085514

144 pages : colour illustrations ; 28 cm. Includes bibliographical references (pages 142-143) and index. Text in English.

#review #review 2023 03 #new 2023 03 #kimihimo #craft #jewellry #traditional #artisan #thread #braid #plait #rope #textile #fabric #metalwork #wire #kimi no na wa #your name #jcentral

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morovozanya · 1 year

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❝ i have only ever known you to be a woman who ensures she gets what she wants. ❞ on any other tongue, this would come as derision. yet from the vampire’s mouth, it is nearly fond. even, perhaps, in some ways proud. but the roll of ivory eyes accompanies the punchline, ❝ even at the expense of my very old, very delicate artifacts. ❞ despite dragon’s gentle deposit, anya comes ‘round to brush her own fingers to her things, a delicate cataloging. it is not personal, it is not intentionally insulting; if there is one thing that the vampire is severely protective over, it is this little sanctuary with its old old collection and its old old collector. ❝ do not coddle me, змея. ❞ hunched as she is, anya remains a long line of elegance, the thin of her arms outstretched to straighten delicate riffles of papyrus. she lifts one that zoya may inspect its ancient writings. ❝ a superstition, which was originally lost. this one had always been assumed to be an oral history only. i am trying to determine if this more recent or if this will change what we know about this story. do you recognize this language? ❞

` — from here with @zmeydeva!

#zmeydeva #` & . verse 000 // ‹ it’s in the blood and this is tradition ›#forgive the break in thread this new editor is driving me up the WALL it's so UGLY......#anyway anya is like ugh don't touch my things #also anya: look at these......

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stone-stars · 10 months

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Full thread from Sam on the SAG strike and Dropout!

[ID: A thread from Sam on twitter, as follows: "A thread about the strike and Dropout production: 👇✊. I stand in complete and utter solidarity with our striking performers. I myself am SAG-AFTRA, as are others on our executive team, having come from the world of working actors. I am nothing but sympathetic to their cause and outraged by the mafia-like behavior of the major streamers and AMPTP. It is harder than ever to make a living in this industry, and that goes even for the lucky few of us who get to work on meaningful projects.

In the meanwhile… 🤑 Uber-rich CEOs and shareholders are cashing in like never before 💸 Major streamers are gambling millions on dubious projects and business models 🍾 Hollywood is hiding profits and playing the victim while drinking champagne aboard their superyachts

Dropout production is right now on hold. Because we aren't associated with the AMPTP, it's possible we may be able to reach an interim agreement with SAG that allows us to continue to produce content during the strike.

But we'll only do that, obviously, if we get the blessing of the union and the buy-in of our performers. If not, we have enough content in the can to last us a little past the end of the year.

I pride myself in that Dropout has always paid above SAG minimums. As the years go on and the company is healthier, we will strive to do even better, and then even better still. Without the talent of our performers, we are zilch. Zero. Nothing."

Attached is an instagram post from an actor reading: "The Netflix show in question is shorter than a traditional half hour. But @ collegehumor and @ dropouttv paid me MORE than that for one of their scripted series. Dropout was a brand new online platform at the time and they still managed to pay their actors more than NETFLIX for scripted short form content."

Thread continues: "Public companies don't do this for the very simple reason that they feel more indebted to their executives and shareholders than they do their workforce. It's why corporations are so often exploitative. Our industry, because our jobs are so desirable, is especially vulnerable to exploitation. Hollywood takes advantage of that by making us feel generally commoditized, cheap, and replaceable …which is ironic given just how personal our work so often is. That's why unions - and the power of collective bargaining - is so important: because public companies often won't pay their workforce any more than they're forced to.

As for me, I intend to honor my union's position that I not promote SAG productions as a performer -- even if they are produced by me. That means that I won't personally be promoting any of our shows for the time being.

Attached is a screenshot of Sam on Discord responding to the question "given the strike… what picket line chant will you be rockin'?" with "i'm a talent / CEO! me says me has got to go!"

Thread continues: "This year, instead of running a FYC campaign for Game Changer, we donated $10k to the Entertainment Community Fund in solidarity with the WGA. Today, in solidarity with SAG-AFTRA, I'm personally matching that donation with another $10,000. If you have any disposable income, I encourage you to donate as well: https://entertainmentcommunity.org. And as soon as I test negative for COVID, I'll see you on the picket line. ✊"]

#dropout #dimension 20

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attapullman · 6 months

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Robert From Next Door | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: You've lucked out with the perfect neighbor, a kind and overly helpful WSO. He puts up Christmas lights, lends his lawn mower, and grabs your morning paper. But what happens when he's out of peppermint tea one night?

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings & Notes: Robert "Bob" Floyd x gn!reader, extremely fluffy, food mentions, heavy making out, shirtless Bob, only referred to as Robert for the series, unrealistic expectations of next door neighbors, 18+ as always. This idea hit me like a bus while walking the dog (where I almost was hit by a bus) and has been fully unable to leave my brain since then. Cozy, sweet, overly helpful Neighbor!Bob is literally all I want for Christmas. And he's my holiday present to all of you!

robert from next door | if only the neighbors knew

“I have a ladder you can borrow.” You look up from the box of Christmas lights you’re detangling in the garage to see your neighbor standing in the opening to the street. Coffee mug in hand as he watches you loop out another knot. He’d noticed your garage open that morning, too early for a Saturday, and came to investigate or possibly offer assistance. If there is one thing Robert Floyd does best, it’s help his neighbors.

You had moved into the tidy bungalow just under a year ago, placing a potted fern on the doorstep and painting over the dated beige walls. It was finally starting to feel like a home. Now with the holidays approaching (as reminded by the entirely too jolly Santas everywhere in town) you were excited to start new traditions in your humble home. And it started with putting twinkling lights on the house, lights currently tangled in the cardboard box you haphazardly threw them in twelve months ago.

Threading out another knot, you give him a playful smile. “How do you know I don’t have a ladder?”

“Lucky guess?” He’s not going to admit he’s scanned and memorized nearly every inch of your garage.

The day after the moving truck came and went, you were thrilled when your first new neighbor rang your doorbell. While you had expected some middle aged woman with a plate of brownies and a plea for babysitting, you were pleasantly surprised at the man in a flight suit (Lt. Robert Floyd according to the stitching) with the striking blue eyes who stood there instead. He didn’t have brownies, but he happily gave you the lowdown on the neighborhood as you sat amongst moving boxes drinking lemonade out of paper cups.

As the months passed, an easy friendship had developed amongst neighbors. In the morning before making his way to base, Robert would scoop up your morning paper and walk it up the seven steps to your porch. The paper boy always threw it short. And despite numerous pleas to leave it be - you didn’t mind the short walk - every morning when you went for the paper, there it sat neatly on your mat along with any misdelivered mail.

And when he wasn’t saving kittens from trees in his free time, Robert was a shining example of a great neighbor. Driving his truck for a trip to get plants at the nursery, lending his mower when yours broke in the heat of July, cleaning your gutters when the leaves fell…you shouldn’t be surprised he’s now offering up his ladder so you can enjoy your Christmas lights. Looking down at the tangled mess, you hadn’t even thought about how you were going to get them actually on the house. Nails? Did you even own nails?

Not even an hour later you’re standing on the sidewalk facing your home with a hot cup of coffee in your chilly hands. Propped up on a ladder with detangled lights in one hand - and a tool belt around his waist like your personal Mr. Fix It - Robert hums to himself as he hammers nails into the trim before wrapping the first strand of lights in place.

You had accepted his ladder graciously, but mentioned you needed to hit the hardware store first for nails. With a nod of his head he left your garage and you continued on the lights. It was a tedious project, but rewarding once the final strand lay flat against the concrete floor. You were digging around in boxes for tools when your neighbor reappeared. He had a ladder and his tool belt, a full box of nails clutched in his large hand. Cheeks warm, you assured him you would buy your own. He let out a playful pfft.

“Nonsense. It’s Saturday, the hardware store will be packed. Consider them an early Christmas gift.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Let me at least trade you for them? A cup of coffee?”

“Do you still have those Kona beans?” His ocean blue eyes are hopeful.

Your smile widened as you nodded. The overpriced beans you had expensively shipped every month were a favourite of the weapons systems officer. Last month you had hosted the homeowners association meeting (for the first and hopefully only time) and Robert had raved about the coffee you served. He was used to the basic stuff they made on base, his own home brewing not much better. Your coffee was the best.

When you came back to the garage after whipping up a carafe - hot mug in hand - you shouldn’t have been surprised to see your neighbor already up the ladder, deep into the project.

You holler up to him. “Robert, get down! You don’t need to do that!”

But he waves you off, insisting that he had already started and might as well finish the job. He would just drink your delicious coffee once he was done. And so you were relegated to the sidewalk to make sure everything looked straight from the street.

From this distance you could admire him innocently. The military-issue wire frames that catch the morning sun. Broad shoulders under the neat canvas barn coat he recently replaced when the corduroy collar ripped. His strong hands shielded from the chilled wind under his workman’s gloves. Because someone like Robert Floyd follows safety precautions and owns workman’s gloves.

At this angle you can see the slight smile on his lips as he strings lights along your porch. For the next hour you watch him put up lights, him occasionally turning back and asking you how they look.

“Are you sure they’re straight?” You promise him they are, but he meticulously checks his work anyway. He wants your house to look perfect.

The wind has tinged both your cheeks a deep pink and the cold is starting to seep through boots. Robert has nailed the last of your lights to the trim and deemed them faultless. He comes down the ladder and walks to stand beside you to admire his handiwork. Hands on hips - with that damn tool belt still astride his waist - he turns to you beaming at a job well done. It’s impossible not to beam back, thinking how long it would have taken you to do even a job half as good.

“Thank you for putting up the lights. You didn’t have to, but I appreciate it.” He isn’t sure whether your cheeks are red from the cold or something else. “I’m so lucky to have you as a neighbor.”

His smile is permanently stuck at your compliment. He opens his mouth to make a joking comment about the coffee you owe him - anything for more time together - when he feels the telltale buzz in his pocket. Pulling it reluctantly out after shedding a glove, he sees it’s Phoenix and is only semi-annoyed. They have lunch plans, which he’s running late for. And while he’s sure his front seater would approve of him blowing her off for the neighbor he can’t stop talking about, he’s a better friend than that.

Turning back to you, where you’re enjoying your freshly strung twinkling lights, Robert rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I have to head out…lunch plans. Rain check on that coffee?”

Nodding through your disappointment, you help him gather up his ladder and assure him that coffee is his whenever he wants.

The following morning you pad toward your front door, eyes bleary from a deep sleep. The house was cold and you pull your robe tighter around you. Through the glass panel in the door you can see your paper on the mat, as always, ready for you to consume over coffee and toast. As you open the oak door and scurry to shut it with the paper secured, something - or rather someone - catches your eye.

Robert stands in the doorway of his own bungalow, calmly watching the neighborhood. The thick fair isle sweater covering his wide shoulders looks incredibly cozy, and he nurses a mug between both hands. He exists in that moment without worry, and you’re envious.

His placid expression is broken when he feels your eyes, turning his head to see you, bedhead and newspaper clutched in your fist. His lips turn in a warm smile and he raises one hand in a slow, friendly wave. Your heart flutters, utterly taken away with how surely he carries himself, how sweetly he treats others. An emotion quickly squashed when you realize you are still standing in a bathrobe and knobby socks, flying back inside and shutting the door with heated cheeks.

As you go about working on your Sunday chores, you keep picturing Robert’s face, that small happy smile you can’t get out of your head.

Later that night, after hours of tossing and turning in the sheets unable to find peace, you finally trudge down the hall into the living room, settling under blankets on the plush couch with a cup of chamomile. You’ve lost details of the plot of the movie you started, brain racing as your fingers fidget with the mug.

The faint trill of your phone on the coffee table breaks you from your thoughts.

“Hello?”

“Hi. It’s Bo-Robert…from next door?” You yawn a hello while checking the clock. It was nearly one in the morning. “I just wanted to check if everything was alright? Noticed your lights were on.”

A warm feeling spreads through your chest at his concern. Picturing him peering out his kitchen window with the striped cotton curtains, filling up his own kettle, distressed that your house lights were on so late. You’d like to think he wore tartan pajamas, neatly buttoned. Those would suit him.

You settle back into the cushions as you reply. “Everything’s fine. Just couldn’t sleep.”

His thoughtful nod can practically be heard through the phone.

“Better question is, what are you doing up so late?”

The whistle and clink of boiling water and china crash over the line. A sigh pulled from his lips before responding. “I was going to make myself a cup of tea while I finished some reports, but appears that I am out.”

You glance down at your own mug of tea. It’s late, but not that late.

“What kind of tea do you like?” He muses on about his lack of preference - an equal opportunity tea lover - before admitting he was looking forward to a cup of peppermint. You make your way to the kitchen, phone pressed to your ear as you both open your cupboards. Your voice feels small as you offer, “I think I might have some.”

A silence lingers on the line. An unspoken late night implication that neither of you knows what to make of it. Your fingers flip through boxes of tea that take up too much cupboard space. Pomegranate, green, oolong. You don’t even drink tea that often. But right as you think you have too many white teas, you see the striped box of peppermint tea, one lone bag waiting for its turn.

You empty the box and walk to the window in your kitchen, where you can see the faint light on through his curtains. You clear your throat. “Look out your kitchen window.”

To your disappointment, Robert does not wear tartan pajamas to sleep. Although you are delighted to see his shirtless chest, defined from years of Navy training. He waves at you through your respective kitchen windows, holding up his mug of hot water. You lift up the tea bag, and his face splits into a toothy smile.

Before you can offer to bring it to him, he’s already turning toward his front door, speaking into the phone, “I’ll be over, just a minute. Need to find my coat.”

By the time there’s a soft knock on the door, you’ve turned on the kettle and gotten a fresh mug for him. You open the door, greeted by the tip of his nose and ears a merry red, the cold kissing his features. He’s been outside all of a minute. You usher your neighbor in, watching him observe how you’ve put up garlands and festive knickknacks in the entry since his last visit.

He slips off his boots, bare feet settling on the cold hardwood, and fingers the collar of his canvas barn coat. In his rush to come over he’d thrown his coat on forgetting his bare chest. It feels obnoxious to be half naked in your home, so he keeps his coat on and follows you to the kitchen.

“Peppermint still good?” You tease, the packet of tea leaves in your hand. He nods, slightly distracted by how cozy you look in your soft loungewear and the robe from this morning. Dunking the bag into the hot water, you search for a topic to pass the steeping time. But when you turn to talk to him, words catch in your throat because he’s right there.

Eyes so blue the sky is jealous. Shy smile so friendly it warms the room. Your thoughts dirtily flit to the tool belt around his waist on the ladder, fingers adeptly wielding a hammer. Fingers that brush yours in the proximity. He’s so close and your brain blanks as bodies simultaneously take action.

Your mouths find each other effortlessly, bodies pressing together as if they know the moves the two of you were just figuring out. The low-lying tension building for the past year breaking the surface as the dark of the house gives you both the bravery needed. His hands are cold as they find your waist, your hands too warm on his chilled jaw.

His mouth is all soft lips and hard pressure, the faint hint of toothpaste in his taste. It’s exactly as you imagined, but better.

Lips become more desperate the longer you connect, your back suddenly against the counter as he presses into you. This moment has been building since he’d watched you first walk up the front steps with that too big moving box. A hand slips into his sun-bleached locks he always has so perfectly combed. He moans into your mouth, a sinful noise in the quiet kitchen.

Before sense can interrupt, you’re reaching for the zipper of his coat, revealing every inch of his toned pale chest as the zipper slowly comes down. You slide a hand over the skin, a low gasp slipping out at the strong muscle. You’ve been attracted to his mind for so long, it feels unfair his body should be attractive too.

He shrugs out of the barn coat and follows you to the lowly lit living room, where the couch is softer on your back than the counter edge. Sitting side by side, knees knocking, he’s more hesitant to touch you in this context. Despite his body screaming to explore every inch of his pretty neighbor’s mind and body, he knows he’s basically barged into your home and immediately stuck his tongue in your sweet mouth. You get to set the pace.

“This okay?” His hand encompasses your knee, thumb rubbing smoothly through the fabric. You nod, tilting your head toward him to continue kissing. He’s warmed up now, your home and body bringing him to temperature. Robert smiles into your kiss. You can’t get enough of him, wanting to consume him fully. He’s delicate with you in the most delicious of ways; gentle kisses pressed to your soft lips before sliding his tongue across to politely ask for access.

Your mouth can’t open fast enough.

You place you hand on his hip, enjoying the warm skin and lean muscle beneath your fingertips. Groaning lightly into your mouth, he blindly reaches for your hips to bring you into his lap. His tongue takes its time to taste you, learn every intricacy of your flavor. Administration so thorough your eyes roll back in your head. The sounds escaping you music in the darkened room.

Fingers dance across skin, finding purchase on thighs, shoulders, chests. You can’t get close enough to him, resting one hand on the back of his neck as your swollen lips press harder to his. Robert loves the way your thighs straddle him as he leans against the couch cushions, his warm, large hands along your back bringing you closer to him. Your sharp inhale as one hand toys with the waistband of your lounge pants.

When his lips trail down your neck, praising the delicate skin, you can’t hold back your declaration any longer. “I…I’ve wanted this for a while.”

His lips pause, brow furrowed. “This?”

“You.”

That gratified smile will forever be imprinted along your neck. “I’ve wanted you since the day you moved in.”

The whimpers that rip through you when he nips the thin skin behind your ear have him grabbing your chin and swallowing your sounds. Reveling in the shared passion you’ve both had simmering beneath the surface. Can’t help his hips rutting up into yours, glorious friction he’s been craving satisfied. You giggle through a moan against his lips.

“So, we could have been doing this all year long? What a shame, lieutenant.”

You ground down in his lap, running your own tongue along his lips and savoring his taste. Thoughts of what he tastes like after his peppermint tea have you wrapping your arms tighter around his bare shoulders. Behind his head, outside the window, the faint glow of the Christmas lights he strung up shines in the winter night. How did you find this perfect man, and how is he your neighbor?

You express your gratitude for him with your mouth along his jaw, licking along the skin while he deliciously whimpers in your ear.You can only take so much before you’re sealing your lips over his again, inhaling his every breath.

As lips finally reach exhaustion - brains well past tired as the clock strikes a new hour - Robert and you pull apart with content smiles. Already cold without his warmth, you immediately lean back into him. He’s practically a furnace now under your ministrations. Unspoken words pass between as you invite him to sleep on your couch with you. A throw blanket produced from the nearby chair as the two of you tangle your limbs. There’s something comforting in the way he rests your head upon his arm, your knee upon his thigh. Again, it’s like your bodies know the actions like they’ve been waiting for you to finally figure them out.

You’ve just settled your head upon his warm chest when a thought strikes you, prompting you to lean up to look at those sleepy cerulean eyes. The small curious smile he gives you melting your heart.

“Did you still want your tea?”

He shakes his head with a chuckle, using the last of his energy to tuck the blanket tighter around your body. “It’s okay. I got what I really wanted.”

Your heart feels two sizes too big as he presses a kiss to your temple before sleep takes you both.

When the winter sunrise streams through your curtains the next morning, you refuse to get up. Perfectly warm wrapped up in the thin throw and your neighbor’s arms, you are purely too content. When Robert blinks open his eyes and gazes at your face, he sees the same placid smile he wore the morning before. The same one he’s had since you moved in next door.

Despite both being all too happy to remain entangled on the couch, sharing small kisses on any skin within reach, the responsibilities of Monday morning dawn and you must get up. Reluctantly you release him, watching him fold the throw neatly upon the sofa arm before helping you stand. Warmth blossoms down your spine the more you’re in Robert’s presence, the little things he does meaning so much to you. Especially as he strides through your home shirtless, musing about the whereabouts of his coat on the kitchen floor.

Your eyes flit to the cold mug of abandoned peppermint tea as you offer him coffee. But he’s intent on getting home for his flight suit, the drive to base longer than he’d like. Of course, he would ideally spend the morning drinking your expensive delicious coffee and listen to you go on about the neighbors down the street with the atrocious holiday decorations. If you’d let him, he would spend every morning like that for the rest of time. But his admiral would put him in drills all week if he was any later.

You walk him to the door, robe pulled tight across your chest to keep out the cold. He’s pulled on his boots for the short walk and wraps his arms around you in an intimate embrace, disappointed this perfect night must come to an end. You bury your nose in his jacket-covered chest to enjoy the last of his herbal and citrus scent, hands reluctantly slipping from his middle. He turns to leave and both your hearts pang.

When Robert reaches the end of your path, he bends down and picks up the paper, thrown too short as always. He turns around and retraces his steps, walking back up the steps and straight up to where you reside in the doorway still. Fingers brush as he hands you the newspaper, saving you the walk as he always does. Only this morning he tips his head to press a kiss to your lips.

You’re already adding peppermint tea to your shopping list as you walk back into the house. Just for him.

see what antics happen at the next HOA meeting

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honeyedmiller · 6 months

Text

Traditions | Joel Miller

pairing: husband!joel x wife!reader

rating: explicit. 18+ only.

warnings: husband!joel, joel is handsy af in this, no outbreak!joel, au where joel doesn’t have kids, mentions of christmas, tooth-rotting fluff bc joel and reader are just so in love, smut (body worship, unprotected piv, m oral receiving, riding, reader praises the fuck out of joel bc he deserves it, breeding kink), brief talk of having kids, no use of y/n.

a/n: sorry this was kinda poorly written. this wasn't revised, so apologies for any mistakes. hope you enjoy ~

word count: 4k

synopsis: you and joel make holiday traditions in your new home.

divider by the incredibly talented @saradika 🤎

The early December sun bled through the cream curtains of your bedroom, stirring you awake. You softly groaned at the world’s way of waking you up, pleading just five more minutes in your thoughts. Your eyes slowly peeled open as you took a deep breath, stretching your limbs to try and wake your tired body up. A couple of bones popped in the process, loosening up your post-sleep stiffness.

An arm weighed heavy across your waist, and you turned your head to find your husband snoring lightly, still deep in his slumber. You smile softly as your eyes run over his features. He looked so peaceful while he slept, not a worry in the world etched within the lines of his face.

You turned on your side so you were facing him, bringing your hand up to softly trace the features on his face. The alarm clock on his nightstand that you could barely see over his broad shoulders read 8:20. Normally, you two loved to sleep in at least one day during the weekend. You wish you could stay in this blissful little cocoon of warmth and sleepiness and content, all while being held by your husband.

But, to your misfortune (and truthfully, to Joel’s too), you had errands you needed to run today–one of which included getting Christmas decorations for your house. You and Joel had moved into this new house during the summertime, so you needed to re-up on decorations as Christmas was nearing the corner.

“Joel, honey, it’s time to wake up.” Your voice was soft, not wanting to startle him awake. His eyebrows quickly twitched as they threaded together. He groaned softly, refusing to open his eyes.

“What time is it?” He mumbles, turning his head to kiss the palm of your hand that now rested on his cheek.

“Almost eight thirty, baby. We have to get up. We have errands to run today.” You reminded him, and he groaned again as he shook his head.

“Five more minutes.” You softly chuckled at his response. You and him really were two peas in a pod.

“Uh, uh, c’mon cowboy. Up n’ at ‘em.” Your hand travels down to his chest, patting it twice as you try to pull yourself away from him.

Joel tugs you back and pulls you closer to him so your chest is flush against his, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck. You card your fingers through his hair gradually, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“I want to stay in bed as much as you do, but the sooner we get these errands done the sooner we can come back and relax.” You try to reason with him, and he lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Fine. I guess I’ll get up.”

“I’ll make breakfast after I shower so we won’t leave on empty stomachs.” You reassure him, knowing that your breakfast was the one thing he usually looked forward to on Saturday mornings.

“Why make breakfast when I have a delicious meal riiight,” He pauses, flipping you on your back so he's hovering over you. He leans down and his lips brush your ear, the coarse hair of his mustache and stubble tickling your soft skin. “Here.” He whispers, kissing your neck as his hand travels down the curves of your body, dangerously close to the place you were most desperate for him.

A whimper bubbled in your throat, but you shook your head and playfully smacked his arm.

“Joel Miller, you’re a naughty man.” You laugh, and his face hovers above yours once more.

“And you’re a naughtier woman,” He smirks, kissing you once. “Naughtiness deserves a punishment, hm?”

“If naughtiness deserves punishment, does that mean I get to smack your cute ass too?” Mischief was written all over your features, but Joel’s brows turned downward.

“Don’t even think about it, sweet girl, or I’ll deny you.”

You quirk your brow at him. “Deny me of what, exactly?”

“Me. My cock that you seem to fuckin’ love so much.” He shrugs, as if any part of this conversation was nonchalant.

You decided to tease him further, seeing how far you’d get. “I hate to inform you, Mr. Miller, I do have some handy dandy trustee ‘ol vibrators stashed away that can do the job just fine.”

He clenched his jaw at your words, rolling his eyes. “Ever the smart fuckin’ mouth on you, eh?” He chuckles, knowing you’d immediately fold for him and let him take care of you much better than your pink and purple toys can.

“Isn’t that why you married me?” You can’t wipe the stupid grin off of your face as he buries his head into your neck.

“Mm, one of the reasons,” He moves his hands up to your breasts underneath the shirt you were wearing, squeezing the soft flesh generously. “‘S okay darlin’. I know you only married me for my skills in the bedroom.”

“Ah, ya got me there.” You throw your hands up in surrender, and Joel lets out a hearty laugh. He moves his hands from underneath your shirt up to your wrists, pinning them down to the bed as he leans down to kiss you.

“You sure we can’t just stay in bed and y’know, let me put my amazing bedroom skills to use?” Joel juts his bottom lip out and pouts, and you can’t help but laugh at how persistent he was.

“No, my love. We really do have to run these errands.” You run your hand through his brown curls, pushing yourself up to kiss him before wiggling out from under him. He collapses onto the bed with a groan, slowly making his way out from the array of your fluffy comforter, blankets, and pillows.

He stands in front of you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he kisses your forehead.

“Last person to reach the shower has to make a pot of coffee!” You giggle as you run to your master bathroom, Joel right on your heels.

“I don’t think so, missy.” He wraps his arms around your waist and picks you up, moving you behind him so he can reach the shower first.

“Asshole!” You laugh, eyes squinted as you swat his arm.

“Yeah, but you love me.” Joel winks at you and you roll your eyes, quirking a brow at him as he turns on the shower to a temperature comfortable for you both.

“That I do, Mr. Miller. That I do.”

Joel ended up making the pot of coffee anyhow after you both showered and got ready for the day. You gratefully thanked your loving husband as he poured both yours and his serving into two thermoses before you set out for the day.

You had a game plan in your mind, because the quicker you got these errands done, the quicker you’d be able to change into sweats and watch a Christmas movie. First stop was getting gas. You offered Joel for you to pump the gas, but he refused and begrudgingly reminded you that as long as you were with him, you wouldn’t ever be touching a gas pump again.

Next stop was the local bakery. You needed a restock on the fresh bread they baked, and every holiday season, they made pastries that were absolutely delectable.

After you left the bakery, you needed to go to Target to get the majority of your Christmas decorations. You drove in a comfortable silence, Joel’s hand securely on your thigh as he drove. A soft country song was playing over the radio, and you looked out of the window to see many stores and houses already decorated for the holidays. You smiled at the sight, loving this time of year more than anything.

“What’s on your mind, pretty girl?” Joel breaks the silence as he looks over at you when you reach a red light. You look at him, admiring his handsome features before leaning over the center console to kiss him.

“Nothing in particular, baby. Can’t wait to decorate our house.” You smile at him, and he gives your thigh a soft squeeze.

When you arrived at Target, it took everything in you to not run to the Christmas section to scour for the perfect decorations. Joel could sense your excitement, and he chuckled as he got a cart to give to you. Joel had to take bigger strides to keep up with how fast you were moving, but he couldn’t help but adore the excitement that overtook you.

There were so many options for decorations, you didn’t even know where to start. You were examining some ornaments when Joel wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“See any you like?” He asks, turning his head to kiss your cheek.

“Should we stick with the classic red ornaments? I think they’re so pretty, but multicolored ornaments would go good with our tree since we have the white lights around it.”

Truthfully, Joel had no idea decorating for Christmas would be full of so many options. Before you moved into your house, you and Joel lived in an apartment that barely had room for a four foot tree. Now you had more than plenty of room for various decorations that were going to stay with you both for years and years to come, encapsulating new traditions within the four walls of your home.

“Let’s do classic red. We can get multicolored ones next year.” Joel kisses your shoulder before standing up behind you, rubbing circles into your soft, sweater-covered waist.

You nod in agreement, putting the ornaments in the cart. You pick up a few other things including an ornament that has two wedding rings interlinked with a ‘forever yours’ engraved at the bottom, Joel insisting it needs to be put up on the front of the tree.

“So do I get to unwrap you as my present this year?” Joel’s lips brushed your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

You laugh at his joke, rolling your eyes. “Such a cheeseball, I swear.” You huff, and he holds his hands up.

“What, I can’t admire my beautiful wife in some sexy lingerie then gladly take it off of her?”

“I’ll let you if you buy it for me. Last time I bought a pretty set, you literally ripped it off of me. You’re a menace, Mr. Miller.” You give him a fake stern glare, reencountering your husband’s inability to be patient and take the pretty pink set you liked so much off of you.

“Fine. Fair point. Maybe I’ll get you some for Christmas.”

Joel slots his hand in yours and gives it a squeeze, and a soft smile curls onto your lips.

“C’mon, let’s look at the trees.”

“A little to the left.” You tell Joel as he hangs up some garland you found on your trip. He does as told, moving to the left before you stop him and tell him it’s perfect. He steps off the stepstool he was on, wrapping his arm around your waist as he observes his handiwork.

It was five in the evening now, and Joel had just finished putting up the last of the decorations. Your living room basked in a soft yellow light, complimentary of the Christmas tree and the fireplace.

You were in awe that your living room looked so festive and warm. Owning your own home with the love of your life was something you’ve always dreamed of, and decorating it for one of your favorite holidays had your heart feeling all fuzzy and warm. It was cliché and you knew it, but you couldn’t help yourself.

You looked up at Joel with a proud smile. His dark eyes reflected the soft lights and the fire as he stared back at you, eyebrows creasing together.

“What?” He chuckles, pulling you in closer. You grin as you rest your hands onto his solid chest, sliding them up until they intertwine at the back of his neck.

“Just grateful I have such a hardworking, loving man.” You kiss him briefly, and his hands slide from your waist and down to your ass before you have a chance to pull away. He hums against your lips as he squeezes your pillowy flesh, causing you to gasp. He took that as the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, softly groaning as his hands started to roam furiously. A giggle bubbled in your throat, and he nearly whined when you pulled away from him.

“So needy, Mr. Miller.”

“You still owe me a chance to show you my neat bedroom skills, Mrs. Miller.” He retorts, recalling the conversation you had with him this morning.

“Mm, that I do,” Your eyes glance down to the fireplace, tilting your head in curiosity. “Can we try a new location?” Your pleading eyes look into his as you bat your lashes, knowing Joel always gave in when you gave him that look.

“And where would that place be?”

You nod your head down next to the fireplace. “I think it’ll be romantic.” You shrug, and Joel laughs.

“It does, baby, but you know my knees and back ain’t what they used to be.”

“Who said you’d be doing the work?” You quirk a brow up at him, a sly smile curling onto your lips. Joel’s cock throbbed at the thought of his pretty little wife taking care of him.

“Darlin’, are you sure? You don’t have to.” He shakes his head, knowing he gets off just on pleasuring you alone.

“Can’t your wife show you how much she appreciates her hardworking man?” You take his hand and tug on it, grabbing two pillows from your couch before tossing them on the carpet near the fireplace.

“Fuck, baby. ‘M so goddamn lucky.” Joel groans, kissing your temple. You pull him in for a kiss as you begin to unbutton his favorite flannel, sliding the worn material off of his broad shoulders. His skin was warm beneath your touch, so inviting and full of life. Home.

Your nails lightly scratched down his soft torso. He was slightly insecure about his tummy, but you loved it. More of him for you to love.

You begin to trail your kisses down his neck, nipping at his collarbone and chest as you fumble with his belt buckle. You get it undone, sliding the leather through the loops in his jeans and tossing it on the floor before undoing his button and zipper. He takes the liberty of shucking his jeans off himself, standing before you in nothing but his boxers.

Your eyes roamed his body hungrily, licking your lips as you trailed your gaze back up to his. Joel’s breathing began to slightly quicken, getting too turned on for his own good just by your lustful stare.

“So handsome,” You whisper. “Lay down for me, baby.” And he does. He situates himself so his head is propped up on a pillow, staring at you.

“No fair that I’m nearly naked and you’re still fully dressed.” He playfully pouts, and you laugh. You easily discard your warm sweater over your head and let it pool to the floor with the rest of Joel’s clothes. Your pants follow suit so you’re just left in your bra and panties, and Joel’s dark eyes admire the sight before him.

“C’mere baby.” He says, holding a hand out to you. Your hand slots in his and he tugs you down so you’re level with him. He grabs your hips and maneuvers you until you’re straddling his hips.

The flames illuminate his face, softening his features in a way that makes you fall in love with him even more.

Your gaze moves down to his plush lips before moving back up to his eyes, smiling in the slightest before moving down to kiss him again. One of his hands moves to cup the back of your neck, pushing you further into him to deepen the kiss. You moan softly and can’t help yourself when you slowly start to grind your hips into his, clothed clit catching his bulge just right.

The whole thing is cathartic, wanting to prove to him how much you appreciate him and everything he does for you, though he already knows it.

“I love you.” You mumble against his lips, and separate yourself from him to nose at his scruffy jawline to litter soft kisses among his jaw. You move down to his neck, licking a long stripe up a spot that drives him absolutely crazy. His hands grip your hips tighter, the cool metal of his wedding band pressing into your hot skin.

“I love you–too, fuck, love you too, baby.” He can’t control the noises that fall from his throat as you suck onto his collarbone and chest in the slightest, tongue soothing over the areas you’ve bitten.

You make your way down his torso, making sure to kiss his stomach a few times before looking up at him.

“You’re so handsome, my love.”

Your lips are back on his skin and Joel’s heart fucking flutters. You’re the only woman in the world that can make him feel so adored, so appreciated, so loved. Your praise always gets to him. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever find the right words to tell you what your words do to him.

Your lips find purchase near his happy trail, poking your tongue out to lick his skin just before the waistline of his boxers. You grab the elastic band, tapping his hips gently. He lifts his hips for you and you easily slide the underwear off his body. He cradles your cheek for a few seconds, admiring how pretty you look.

You look down at his weeping cock, pre cum bedaubed on his tip. You take his length gently in your hand, giving it a couple of tugs before moving your head down to kiss his thighs. It was rare when you had opportunities to worship Joel’s body like this, so you were going to take advantage of it.

He only ever got to be soft and slow with your body, never giving himself the grace to allow you to do the same for him. He always made sure your pleasure came first, but tonight, and many more if the stubborn man would let you, his pleasure came first. You wanted to make him feel just as good as he makes you feel.

You drag your lips up to the apex of his thigh, kissing his hot skin until you get to the base of his cock. You moved your lips to his tip, kissing it once before licking the pre cum off of him. He groaned softly, eyes falling closed. He tossed an arm over his eyes, trying his hardest not to cum just from your lips touching his throbbing cock.

You gave him a few more slow tugs before licking the underside of his length, humming against him. You finally decided to stop being a little tease and took him into your mouth, inching down slowly until your nose met the tuft, dark curls at the base of his cock.

He was heavy in your mouth, throbbing at the feeling of your lips wrapped around him. He cradled the back of your head with his other hand, signaling for you to move. You slid your mouth up his shaft, hollowing your cheeks as you worked your way to the top. His silky flesh slid easily against the flat of your tongue, working its way up and down his length to create a steady rhythm.

You moan around him as you taste the salt of him on your tongue. You move one hand to brace his thigh and the other to gently toy with his balls, knowing that’s what drove him crazy.

Throaty moans were elicited from your husband, hand tightening on the back of your head in the slightest.

“Fuck fuck fuck, yeah, just like that mama. Right there.” You whine against his cock when he calls you that, something purely primal licking a flame into your core and up your spine.

“You like when I call you that?” Joel chuckles, uncovering his eyes with his arm. He looks down at you as desire has completely taken over your expression, zeroed in on one thing only: making your husband cum.

You furrow your brows as you look up at him, and he moves his hand from the back of your head to cradle under your jaw. He lifted your mouth off of him slowly, drool spilling from your bottom lip as it was still connected to his swollen tip.

“Answer me, darlin’.” He tilts his head at you, and you shyly nod.

“Yes.” You’re breathless, moving your mouth back down to his cock before he stops you.

“Wanna fill you up. Ride me, baby.”

Your thighs clench at his words, the flame in your core burning hotter each second that passes.

You discard your panties and straddle him once more, the heat from the fire keeping your body a comfortable temperature.

Joel’s hands slide up your body and up your spine, goosebumps forming onto your skin at his expert touch. He easily unclasps your bra and tosses it to the side, moving his hands to the front to grab the pillowy flesh.

You slide his tip against your dripping cunt a couple of times before slowly sinking down onto him, the fullness setting your body aflame.

You moan as you toss your head back, and the feeling of Joel rolling your sensitive nipples between his thumb and index fingers have you keening for release.

You start to grind your hips back and forth, building sweet friction before you settle your hands on his chest to move up and down. Joel’s hands move down to the curve of your ass, giving it a playful smack as he admires you bouncing on him.

“Fuck, Joel, feel so good.” You cry, eyes screwing shut at the burning pleasure becoming harder to ward off.

“Takin’ such good care of me, mama. ‘M gettin’ close.” He says, hands moving to settle onto your hips. You whine in response, moving down so your body is flush with his as you give him another searing, passionate kiss.

“You deserve to be taken care of too, Joel. So grateful for you, my honey.” Your lips are next to his ear now, whispering praises to him like it was the last thing you’d ever do on this earth.

“Fuckin’ love you. Everythin’ about you.” Joel’s voice is strained now, a tell that he was about to come undone. One of Joel’s hands moves down to rub at your clit furiously, desperate to send you over the edge.

“I love you too—oh, fuck.” You cry, the internal flame finally engulfing your body as a whole. Your orgasm triggered Joel’s as your tight cunt squeezed him, and he held your hips steady to release everything he had into you. Your body convulsed a few times before finally settling down, laying on top of Joel. He wrapped one arm around the small of your back as the other hand traced patterns on your warm skin, kissing your head a few times before a deep chuckle rumbles within his throat.

You lift your head to look at him. “What?” Your voice is timid again, too fucked out to be any octaves louder than the crackling flames of the fire.

“One of these days ‘m gonna fuck a baby into you, Mrs. Miller. Then I’ll get to call you mama for real.”

You tucked your face into his neck at his words, laughing softly. You and Joel have talked about kids before, but both agreed you’d want to buy a house first with a possibility of owning a dog too before having any.

You kissed Joel’s neck once more before hovering your face over his, smiling down at him. “Until then, Mr. Miller, we’ll need to start our own traditions… just us two for now. Starting with fucking by the fireplace more often.” You laugh, and Joel shakes his head with a hearty chuckle as he flips you over so you’re underneath him.

“That I can do, darlin’,” Joel looks at you with a knowing smirk. “Round two?”

tags: @ilovepedro ; @party-hearses ; @nostalxgic ; @tinygarbage ; @bastardmandennis

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller imagines #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal imagine #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfiction #joel the last of us

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jessicalprice · 1 year

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culture isn’t modular

I did a thread (actually several) on Twitter a few years ago about Christianity’s attempts to paint itself as modular, and I’ve been seeing them referenced here in the cultural christianity Discourse, and a few people have DMed me asking me to post it here, so here’s a rehash of several of those threads:

A big part of why Christian atheists have trouble seeing how culturally Christian they still are is that Christianity advertises itself as being modular, which is not how belief systems have worked for most of human history.

A selling point of Christianity has always been the idea that it's plug-and-play: you don't have to stop being Irish or Korean or Nigerian to be Christian, you don't have to learn a new language, you keep your culture.

And you’re just also Christian.

(You can see, then, why so many Christian atheists struggle with the idea that they’re still Christian--to them, Christianity is this modular belief in God and Jesus and a few other tenets, and everything else is... everything else. Which is, not to get ahead of myself, very compatible with some tacit white supremacy: the “everything else” is goes unexamined for its cultural specificity. It’s just Normal. Default. Neutral.)

Evangelicals in particular love to contrast this to Islam, to the idea that you have to learn Arabic and adopt elements of Arab culture to be Muslim, which helps fuel the image of Islam as a Foreign Ideology that's taking over the West.

The rest of us don’t have that particular jack

Meanwhile, Christians position Christianity as a modular component of your life. Keep your culture, your traditions, your language and just swap out your Other Religion Module for a Christianity Module.

The end game is, in theory, a rainbow of diverse people and cultures that are all one big happy family in Christ. We're going to come back to how Christianity isn't actually modular, but for the moment, let's talk about it as if it had succeeded in that design goal.

Even if Christianity were successfully modular, if it were something that you could just plug in to the Belief System Receptor in a culture and leave the rest of it undisturbed, the problem is most cultures don't have a modular Belief System Receptor. Spirituality has, for the entirety of human history, not been something that's modular. It's deeply interwoven with the rest of culture and society. You can't just pull it out and plug something else in and have the culture remain stable.

(And to be clear, even using the term “spirituality” here is a sop to Christianity. What cultures have are worldviews that deal with humanity’s place in the universe/reality; people’s relationships to other people; the idea of individual, societal, or human purpose; how the culture defines membership; etc. These may or may not deal with the supernatural or “spiritual.”)

And so OF COURSE attempting to pull out a culture's indigenous belief system and replace it with Christianity has almost always had destructive effects on that culture.

Not only is Christianity not representative of "religion" full stop, it's actually arguably *anomalous* in its attempt to be modular (and thus universal to all cultures) rather than inextricable from culture.

Now, of course, it hasn't actually succeeded in that--the US is a thoroughly Christian culture--but it does lead to the idea that one can somehow parse out which pieces of culture are "religious" versus which are "secular". That framing is antithetical to most cultures. E.g. you can't separate the development of a lot of cultural practices around what people eat and how they get it from elements of their worldview that Christians would probably label "religious." But that entire *framing* of religious vs. secular is a Christian one.

Is Passover a religious holiday or a secular one? The answer isn't one or the other, or neither, or both. It's that the framing of this question is wrong.

And Christianity isn’t a plugin, however much it wants to be

Moreover, Christianity isn't actually culture-neutral or modular.

It's easy for this to get obscured by seeing Christianity as a tool of particular cultures' colonialism (e.g. the British using Christianity to spread British culture) or of whiteness in general, and not seeing how Christianity itself is colonial. This helps protect the idea that “true” Christianity is good and innocent, and if priests or missionaries are converting people at swordpoint or claiming land for European powers or destroying indigenous cultures, that must be a misuse of Christianity, a “fake” or “corrupted” Christianity.

Never mind that for every other culture, that culture is what its members do. Christianity, uniquely, must be judged on what it says its ideals are, not what it actually is.

Mistaking the engine for the exhaust

But it’s not just an otherwise innocent tool of colonialism: it’s a driver of it.

At the end of the day, it’s really hard to construct a version of the Great Commission that isn’t inherently colonial. The end-goal of a world in which everyone is Christian is a world without non-Christian cultures. (As is the end goal of a world in which everyone is atheist by Christian definitions.)

Yet we focus on the way Christianity came with British or Spanish culture when they colonized a place--the churches are here because the Spaniards who conquered this area were Catholic--and miss how Christianity actually has its own cultural tropes that it brings with it. It's more subtle, of course, when Christianity didn't come in explicitly as the result of military conquest.

Or put another way, those cultures didn't just shape the Christianity they brought to places they colonized--they were shaped by it. How much of the commonality between European cultures is because of Christianity?

It’s not all a competition

A lot of Christians (cultural and practicing), if you push them, will eventually paint you a picture of a very Hobbesian world in which all religions, red in tooth and claw, are trying to take over the world. It's the "natural order" to attempt to eliminate all cultures but your own.

If you point out to them that belief and worldview are deeply personal, and proselytizing is objectifying, because you're basically telling the person you're proselytizing to that who they are is wrong, you often get some version of "that's how everyone is, though."

Like we all go through life seeing other humans as incomplete and fundamentally flawed and the only way to "fix" them is to get them to believe what we believe. And, like, that is not how everyone relates to others?

But it's definitely how both practicing Christians and Christian antitheists relate to others. If, for Christians, your lack of Jesus is a fundamental flaw in you that needs to be fixed, for New Atheists, your “religion” (that is, your non-Christian culture) is a fundamental flaw in you that needs to be fixed. Neither Christians nor New Atheists are able to relate to anyone else as fine as they are. It's all a Hobbesian zero-sum game. It's all a game of conversion with only win and loss conditions. You are, essentially, only an NPC worth points.

The idea of being any other way is not only wrong, but impossible to them. If you claim to exist in any other way, you are either deluded or lying.

So, we get Christian atheists claiming that if you identify as Jewish, you can’t really be an atheist. Or sometimes they’ll make an exception for someone who’s “only ethnically Jewish.” If the only way you relate to your Jewishness is as ancestry, then you can be an atheist. Otherwise, you’re lying.

Or, if you’re not lying, you’re deluded. You just don’t understand that there’s no need for you to keep any dietary practices or continue to engage in any form of ritual or celebrate any of those “religious” Jewish holidays, and by golly, this here “ex”-Christian atheist is here to separate out for you which parts of your culture are “religious” and which ones are “secular.”

Religious/secular is a Christian distinction

A lot of atheists from Christian backgrounds (whether or not they were raised explicitly Christian) have trouble seeing how Christian they are because they've accepted the Christian idea that “religion” is modular. (If we define “religion” the way Christians (whether practicing or cultural) define it, Christianity might be the only religion that actually exists. Maybe Islam?)

When people from non-Christian cultures talk about the hegemonically Christian and white supremacist nature of a lot of atheism, it reflects how outside of Christianity, spirituality/worldview isn't something you can just pull out of a culture.

Christian atheists tend to see the cultural practices of non-Christians as "religious" and think that they should give them up (talk to Jewish atheists who keep kosher about Christian atheist reactions to that). But because Christianity positions itself as modular, people from Christian backgrounds tend not to see how Christian the culture they imagine as "neutral" or "normal" actually is. In their minds, you just pull out the Christianity module and are left with a neutral, secular society.

So, if people from non-Christian backgrounds would just give up their superstitions, they'd look the same as Christian atheists.

Your secularism is specifically post-Christian

Of course, that culture with the Christianity module pulled out ISN'T neutral. So the idea that that's what "secular society" should look like ends up following the same pattern as Christian colonialism throughout history: the promise that you can keep your culture and just plug in a different belief system (or, purportedly, a lack of a belief system), which has always, always been a lie. The secular, "enlightened" life that most Christian atheists envision is one that's still built on white, western Christianity, and the idea that people should conform to it is still attempting to homogenize society to a white Christian ideal.

For people from cultures that don't see spirituality as modular, this is pretty obvious. It's obvious to a lot of people from non-white Christian cultures that have syncretized Christianity in a way that doesn't truck with the modularity illusion.

I also think, even though they're not conceptualizing it in these terms, that it's actually obvious to a lot of evangelicals. (The difference being that white evangelical Christianity enthusiastically embraces white supremacy, so they see the destruction of non-Christian culture as good.) But I think it's invisible to a lot of mainline non-evangelical Christians, and it's definitely invisible to a lot of people who leave Christianity.

And that inability to see culture outside a Christian framing means that American secularism is still shaped like Christianity. It's basically the same text with a few sentences deleted and some terms replaced.

Which, again, is by design. The idea that you can deconvert to (Christian) atheism and not have to change much besides your opinions about God is the mirror of how easy it’s supposed to be to convert to Christianity.

Human societies don’t follow evolutionary biology

The Victorian Christian framing underlying current Western ideas of enlightened secularism, that religious practice (and human culture in general) is subject to the same sort of unilateral, simple evolution toward a superior state to which they, at the time, largely reduced biological evolution, is deeply white supremacist.

It posits religious evolution as a constantly self-refining process from "primitive" animism and polytheism to monotheism to white European/American Christianity. For Christians, that's the height of human culture. For ex-Christians, the next step is Christian-derived secularism.

Maybe you’ve seen this comic?

The thing is, animism isn’t more “primitive” than polytheism, and polytheism isn’t more “primitive” than monotheism. Older doesn’t mean less advanced/sophisticated/complex. Hinduism isn’t more “primitive” than Judaism just because it’s polytheistic and Judaism is monotheistic.

Human cultures continue to change and adapt. (Arguably, older religions are more sophisticated than newer ones because they’ve had a lot more time to refine their practices and ideologies instead of having to define them.) Also, not all cultures are part of the same family tree. Christianity and Islam may be derived from Judaism, but Judaism and Hinduism have no real relationship to one another.

But in this worldview, Christianity is "normal" religion, which is still more primitive than enlightened secularism, but more advanced than all those other primitive, superstitious, irrational beliefs.

Just like Christians, when Christian atheists do try to make room for cultures that aren't white and European-derived, the tacit demand is "okay, but you have to separate out the parts of your culture that the Christian sacred-secular divide would deem 'religious.'"

Either way, people from non-Christian cultures, if they’re to be equals, are supposed to get with the program and assimilate.

You’re not qualified to be a universal arbiter of what culture is good

Christian atheists usually want everyone to unplug that Religion module!

So, for example, you have ex-Christian atheists who are down with pluralism trying to get ex-Christian atheists who aren't to leave Jews alone by pointing out that you can be atheist and Jewish.

But some of us aren’t atheist. (I’m agnostic by Christian standards.) And the idea that Jews shouldn’t be targets for harassment because they can be atheists and therefore possibly have some common sense is still demanding that people from other cultures conform to one culture’s standard of what being “rational” is.

Which, like, is kind of galling when y’all don’t even understand what “belief in G-d” means to Jews, and people from a culture that took until the 1800s to figure out that washing their hands was good are setting themselves up as the Universal Arbiters of Rationality.

(BTW, most of this also holds true for non-white Christianity, too. I guarantee you most white Christian atheists don’t have a good sense of what role church plays in the lives of Black communities, so maybe shut up about it.)

In any case, reducing Christianity--a massive, ambient phenomenon inextricable from Western culture--to the specific manifestation of Christian practice that you grew up with is, frankly, absurd.

And you can’t be any help in deconstructing hegemony when you refuse to perceive it and understand that it isn’t something you can take off like a garment, and you probably won’t ever recognize and uproot all the ways in which it affects you, especially when you are continuing to live within it.

What hegemony doesn’t want you to know

One of the ways hegemony sustains and perpetuates itself is by reinforcing the idea not so much that other ways of being and knowing are evil (although that’s usually a stage in an ideology becoming hegemonic), but that they’re impossible. That they don’t actually exist.

See, again, the idea that anyone claiming to live differently is either lying or deluded.

There are few clearer examples of how pervasive Christian hegemony is than Christian atheists being certain every religion works like Christianity. Hegemonic Christianity wants you to think that all cultures work like Christianity because it wants their belief systems to be modular so you can just ...swap them. And it wants to pretend that culture/worldview is a free market where it can just outcompete other cultures.

But that’s... not how anything works.

And the truth of the matter is that white nationalist Christians shoot at synagogues and Sikh temples and mosques because those other ways of being can’t be allowed to exist.

They don’t shoot at atheist conventions because there’s room in hegemonic Christianity for Christian atheists precisely because Christian atheists are still culturally Christian. Their atheism is Christian-shaped.

They may not like you. They’re definitely going to try to convert you. They may not want you to be able to hold public office or teach their kids.

But the only challenge you’re providing is that of The Existence of Disbelief. And that’s fine. That makes you a really safe Other to have around. You can See The Light and not have to change much.

What you’re not doing is providing an example of a whole other way of being and knowing that (often) predates Christianity and is completely separate from it and has managed to survive it and continue to live and thrive (there’s a reason Christians like to speak of Jews and Judaism in the past tense, and it’s similar to the reason white people like to speak of indigenous peoples of the Americas in the past tense).

That’s not a criticism--it’s fine to just... be post-Christian. There’s not actually anything wrong with being culturally Christian. The problems come in when you start denying that it’s a thing, or insisting that you, unique among humankind, are above Having A Culture.

But it does mean that you don’t pose the same sort of threat to Christianity that other cultures do, and hence, less violence.

#cultural christianity #christian hegemony #christian atheists

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officialspec · 2 months

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can you pleeeeease post your dm sexuality/gender hcs on here.... 🥺 i don't have a twitter but i wanna know. it's like a pandora's box to me now i'm like scratching at the door. let me in

heres the link 2 the thread (mild spoilers btw) ill post a transcript under the cut for ppl who dont have twitter

first off i think laios relationship to sex is super removed for like 50 reasons without even getting into his actual sexuality

he grew up in a place with very repressed ideas about sex and has a lot of fear about asserting his presence in situations

his special interest takes precedent over any social interactions he has and the level of closeness he feels towards people

he has a hard time figuring out his feelings towards other people both bc hes autistic and bc he has freaky deviantart fetishes that make sex in his mind a very abstract concept <- this one is me projecting mostly

that aside, i feel like gender-wise hes attracted to ppl so infrequently it may as well be entirely case-by-case

the idea of him being gay appeals to me from the 'raised with traditional values he Does Not fit into/hasnt begun to question it yet' perspective, i lauve characters who put a lot of stock into performing a role thats expected of them and fail miserably for unknown (gay) reasons

from his perspective tho i dont think he would ever really label himself anything. hes going to pride parades in the shirt+shorts Ally Fit to clap for his friends

hes also 'cis by indifference' imo... i love tmasc laios hcs it just doesnt mesh w his personal history to me. i do think hes got some kind of therian gender thing going on (not trans or nb but a secret third thing) but i cant see him changing anything abt his appearance/pronouns to accommodate that post-canon. hes just doin his thang

falin is in a similar boat for gender. i LOOVE tfem falin but the village repression thing has been bugging at me so i dont think i subscribe to it anymore (canon purist sorry) BUT if u hold that hc i am clapping and cheering regardless

instead i was propagandised to a while back and i LOVEEE the idea that being fused w a male dragon and the residual traits she has after being revived have given her a type of gender euphoria she didnt realise she was missing. a little boygirl swagger if u will

sexuality-wise i also dont think she would care to label herself, shes a lesbian by virtue of only being interested in One woman and zero other people. without marcille i do think shes still exclusively attracted to women, and i like to imagine she might experiment around a bit during her travels post-canon (pre-relationship). hearing abt it might put marcille on the news though

marcille is very simple That is a transfem lesbian. she cant get pregnant, shes obsessed w being femme and all that combined w her half-tallman struggles to be seen as 'properly feminine' by elf standards reads very transfeminine to Me. also her bookboy crush REEKS of comphet its not subtle

i think a more comfortable marcy might have the space to experiment w being elf butch like her manga boys but thats mainly self indulgence for me. utena could have saved her

senshi is gay his whole thing is abt not being able to perform dwarven masculinity to a proper standard (soft hearted, not as strong or rugged as his peers) which is like gaycoding 101. also hes a bear. homosexuality be damned by boy can work a grill

adding onto this i rly think senshi got some type of euphoria from being an elf in the changeling chapters. he was feeling himself so much i think he was using it as an outlet to have fun being a little fem and fruity without needing to justify it. do u understand

i dont have any particular opinions abt him gender-wise beyond that. his bulge is an essential part of his character design but i also saw a transmasc senshi a couple days ago that made me nod my head thoughtfully so i could go either way

chilchuck is cis and bisexual this is just canon. not even just his old man crush on senshi altho i do think thats very funny but they put his ass on a cover themed like hes in a dating sim with all the men and women in the cast and then slapped it in front of a chapter called "bicorn". i simply cant pass up that kind of overt signaling. its so fucking funny what else is there to say truly

izu to ME is a transmasc aroace lesbian (this one has the least basis in canon i just know it to be true) shes a little genderfluid with it nd uses he/she i think. i like to imagine she consistently uses masculine personal pronouns to refer to herself either way tho (boku, ore)

i think izutsumis gender/sexuality is entirely secondary in priorities to her body dysphoria. she has a lot of learning and acceptance 2 do before that kind of self discovery is on the docket and in my mind eschewing gender on some level is part of that. get sillay

shuro is cishet but at least he feels bad about it. next

kabru is a transmasc bisexual this is also practically text. his whole thing of being treated like a doll by milsiril to put in pretty dresses, plus i think it would be pretty easy for him to stealth in the west since tallmen are seen as inherently more masculine than elves

(i also think changing genders is just more common for elves. theyre androgynous enough that it wouldnt be hard and like who in their right miiiiind would be the same gender for 500 years. dwarves too)

i think he started presenting as male socially in the west but didnt need to consider medical transition until he moved to a more mixed culture where other races might see him as a woman

i dont have to explain the bisexual part. have u seen him

namari is a butch bisexual this is just canon straight up. shes not transmasc but i think the default settings for dwarven women is like 4 years of T regardless. shes a hit at all the local cruising spots despite her renfaire nerdisms i know this

and just bc im thinking abt em kiki and kaka are identical and kiki is tfem :} theyre both attracted to women but kaka is a sub so i forgive him

THATS ALL 4 NOW theres a lot of characters so i cant have thoughts abt all of them at once but i hope this was good. im right about everything forever as per usual

#ask #headcanons #passes out. my Mind #dunmesh

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cherienymphe · 9 months

Text

Basic Training XIV (Peter Parker x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, MURDER, violence, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | divider by @whimsicalrogers

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

You woke up to chaos.

The empty space beside you where Peter normally slept wasn’t even something you noticed at first, too preoccupied with the ache in your body. Memories of the previous night were only filled with Peter’s lips on yours and his hands on your frame. You’d felt halfway delirious with how many times you begged Peter to make you come and how many times he’d appeased you.

You remembered threading your fingers through his dark strands, trying so hard to distract yourself from your own thoughts.

…and when you remembered why, you sat up with a gasp.

You were the only one in the room, and light shone inside from the rising sun. It was a whole new day, and thoughts of the previous night reminded you of bright red hair and the shining moonlight. You blinked, trying to think if you’d made the whole thing up. After all, it had been the middle of the night and there was no telling what your mind had conjured up.

However, the noise coming from downstairs told you otherwise.

It was a wonder that you hadn’t noticed it before.

There was so much commotion…and yelling. There was lots of yelling. Slowing sliding out of bed, you made your way to the door, and the closer you got, the louder it got. You could hear a baby crying, it sounded like a little girl, and you surmised that it was little Sarah. So many voices were mingling together at once, but when you cracked the door open, one voice stood out above the rest.

“There’s no telling how far she’s gotten, Steve,” you heard Bucky sneer, and the venom in his tone had you stepping back a bit. “She’s not like the rest! She’s from here, she grew up here, and she knows this town just as well as we do.”

You thought you heard him hit something, and the sound of breaking glass only a few seconds later confirmed that. You pressed one hand to the doorjamb, struggling to swallow. The memory of watching Nat disappear into the night was burned in your brain, and you ignored the heavy feeling in your chest.

“Sam’s coming down shortly,” you heard Steve respond, and the anger in his voice wasn’t hard to miss. “We’ll leave then. Search the woods, the town, anywhere she could be. She couldn’t have gotten far, not on foot.”

Disgust stirred in your gut at the way the blond reassured the other man, and you blinked, pushing back tears. Softly closing the door, you stumbled back and sat on the edge of the bed. You couldn’t quite make out how you were feeling, and you wrapped your arms around yourself.

On the one hand, you wanted Nat to make it out of this hellhole and to help. Of course, you wanted her to escape, even if she was the only one who managed to get out of here. This was no place for anyone to be, and you’d feel a whole lot better if even just one of you made it out.

On the other hand…

Nat getting help and exposing every man here for the rapists they were would separate you from Peter forever. You knew that’s what you should want. Peter had a hand in the death of your friends, and he was your very own captor and rapist. More than anything, you should want Peter arrested and put behind bars for the rest of his life, but there was a part of you—and that part was so much bigger than you wanted to accept—that would be devastated to see him go.

Your friends were long gone, and while there was some doubt that she ever would, there was a chance your mom was already mourning you, already accepting that you were lost to her forever. With Peter gone, what did you possibly have to return to? A voice in your head whispered to you that you would at least have a life and freedom…but what did that mean for you at this point?

You completely lost all rhyme or reason at the mere sight of blood, and those first few months here—and the complete lack of control you had over your body—were fresh in your mind. You were so far gone, so beyond broken, and who besides Peter would even put up with that? Who…who would even want you?

You leaned over, pressing your face into your hands as you fought back tears.

It was then that the door opened, and they spilled over just as you looked up. Peter’s hard gaze softened at the sight of you, and you watched his shoulders sag before making his way to you. He was quick to take you into his arms, holding you tight and pressing his lips into your hair. You didn’t quite understand why at first until he spoke.

“I just…I had to hold you,” Peter whispered. “I had to make sure you’re here.”

Slowly, you wrapped your arms around him too.

“Nat’s gone,” he finally whispered. “Snuck out some time last night or…this morning before day… I don’t know.”

Peter sounded exhausted and worried and angry all in one.

“Now, we have to find her,” he spat, pulling away.

You eyed him, eyed the anger on his face, and you looked down.

“I heard Bucky yelling,” you quietly said. “That’s what it sounded like, but I’d hoped…”

The rest of your words died in the air, stomach twisting as you fought to lie.

“After all this time…why would she do this now?” he said, moving by you to get to the closet. “I mean, you’re still adjusting…and Jane is pregnant.”

He disappeared into the closet, and you could hear him putting on clothes. You stared at the wall as he huffed, never having really witnessed Peter’s anger like that before. You didn’t know how to feel about it, and especially since it was due to a determined woman only wanting her freedom.

“She couldn’t have picked a worst time.”

You wanted to tell Peter that there was no such thing as a bad time when it came to someone simply wanting to escape the equivalent of a prison. You watched him exit the closet, and you wanted to talk to him, maybe make him understand Nat’s point of view. You hated how angry they were at her over something they had no right to be angry about. It made you think of what would happen to her if they caught her, and more tears spilled over.

Peter noticed.

“Hey, hey,” he cooed, hurrying towards you and taking your face into his hands. “We’re going to find her.”

He held your gaze as he said this, sending you a reassuring smile, and you started to shake your head.

“She couldn’t have gotten far, and I’m one of the best trackers in the house…”

You stilled at that.

“With me, Steve, Bucky and Clint all tagging along…she doesn’t stand a chance.”

His words were meant to reassure you, settle your worries, but they only made you want to throw up. The way Peter talked about her…like she wasn’t even human…but instead some animal they had to drag back and lock in a cage.

You took a shuddering breath, vision blurry.

“What…what will you do to her if you find her?” you struggled to ask him, fearing the worst.

The way Peter’s face fell had your heart sinking, and he pressed his lips together, looking over your face before sighing.

“That’s not really up to me.”

There was a lot about his response that unnerved you. He spoke as if he had no inkling of what awaited her, but the drop in his expression told you differently. There was an apologetic look in his gaze that told you he knew exactly what she was in for, but most worrisome of all was that it was out of his hands.

It was in Bucky’s.

“What will Bucky do?” you murmured, and Peter looked away.

He swiped his tongue between his lips before taking a deep breath.

“There’s no telling…”

You struggled to breathe, throat tightening. All sorts of scenarios ran through your mind, but above all, all you could see was Margaret tied to that tree. All you could think about was one of the first days you’d been here and the full extent of Steve’s ire that Peter had made you privy to. Only this time, instead of Steve and Margaret…

It was Bucky and Nat.

The thought made you lightheaded, and you stumbled, collapsing on the edge of the bed. Peter reached for you, and you couldn’t stop crying. Maybe you should’ve stopped her somehow, ran after her maybe? Maybe they would’ve been nicer on her if they saw she changed her mind? Or maybe you should’ve told Peter? Peter wasn’t like Bucky or Steve…maybe Peter wouldn’t have punished her at all as he brought her back. Maybe you could’ve convinced him to let her off easy.

You suddenly reached out to him, pressing your fingers into his arms as you fixed him with a pleading gaze.

“You won’t hurt her, will you? If you find her…?”

Peter seemed to hesitate, and you let out a sob.

“Please, Peter, please, she-you don’t get it. You don’t understand,” you pleaded with him. “Please, don’t hurt her.”

Peter knelt before you, and your eyes followed him as he stared back at you with conflicting emotions flitting over his features.

“I have to bring her back…by any means necessary.”

You squeezed your eyes shut at that, and you felt Peter’s hands on your face, thumb’s brushing away your tears. You felt so exhausted all of a sudden, and you took a deep shuddering breath. You tiredly peeled your eyes open, begging Peter.

“Please, Peter…she’s my friend…and I don’t have many of those anymore,” you choked out, watching Peter sigh. “Promise me that you’ll try…and you’ll get them to try too.”

You watched him look away, deep in thought, chest rising and falling with another sigh. When he looked at you again, there was something in his eyes that looked…defeated. He gave you a small nod before leaning in and gently pressing his lips to yours. He then kissed your nose and forehead in that order as he stood.

“I promise,” he told you, lips pressed against your hair. “We’ll bring her back…and she’ll be safe.”

His hand lingered on your face before he finally turned to leave. You only looked away from the door when it closed completely, and conflicted with what you’d done, you turned over and pressed your face into the sheets.

“What was she thinking?”

Margaret’s worried tone reached your ears as you stirred the soup. Sarah was asleep on her hip, courtesy of Margaret’s nervous rocking. The woman hadn’t been still since you first saw her, and truthfully, you couldn’t fully blame her. Despite the obvious sentiment that it was perfectly understandable if things didn’t carry on as normal, almost none of you could force yourselves to remain still.

Margaret had been holding Sarah for hours, Christine had repotted every single plant in the whole house, and this was the fourth batch of soup you’d made. Of course, everyone else’s nervous ticks were not done for the same reason as yours, but it’s not like you could say that.

“I mean…it’s been years since she’s been here. What? Was she just…just biding her time?” Margaret wondered, breathless. “I thought…I thought she’d made peace with everything, I thought she was…happy.”

You could feel her eyes on you at that, and you slowly looked up. You could count the number of times on one hand that you’d seen Margaret something even akin to worried. With a husband like Steve, she just simply wasn’t allotted the same natural human emotions as everyone else. Steve wanted the happy picture-perfect family all the time.

Now, however, Margaret looked more worried than any of you.

“She seemed happy, didn’t she? Did she seem happy to you?”

There was some desperation in Margaret’s voice and gaze that made it easy to understand. After Margaret, Nat had been taken next, and when combined with how close Steve and Bucky seemed to be in comparison to all the rest, it had been easy to see that the two women had struck up a friendship and bond that had aged beyond all the others.

“Sometimes…yeah,” you eventually told her, and she frowned at that. “I mean, how happy could she really be…?”

Margaret didn’t reply right away at that, nodding in thought.

“…but…unhappy enough to run? She knows what they’ll do to her. She’s the only one to ever make it this far-they…”

Margaret tearfully looked away.

“They’re going to make an example out of her, and there’s nothing I can do.”

“If they find her,” you reminded her, and Margaret scoffed.

“They are going to catch her,” she sternly told you, holding your gaze. “Believe you me.”

The way she said it made it sound true, and even you felt your own doubts dwindling. Bucky’s angry voice from the morning was still burned into your brain, and even Peter looked far more upset than you were used to seeing him. Nat had made them all angry and determined, and such a combination was dangerous.

“I wish that she’d talked to me…told me…”

You looked up at her quiet voice, watching as she stared at the refrigerator.

“Does she not trust me…?”

You pushed away the memory of Nat disappearing into the night.

“I’m sure she just didn’t want to involve you…put you at risk too,” you assured her, and she looked at you. “I don’t doubt that she trusts you, but trusting you with something like this would be selfish, no?”

Margaret looked down.

“Think of the guilt, the worry, the way it would be eating away at you.”

You felt like you were speaking to yourself more than Margaret.

“Nat just wanted to risk herself.”

You ignored the fact that Nat thought she was pregnant before she left. While part of you wondered if the reveal of Bucky’s role in the death of your friends pushed her over the edge, part of you also wondered if that had anything to do with that. What if Nat confirmed she was pregnant somehow, and the thought of raising a child with him and in this place was just too much?

She’d said to you that she’d made peace with who Bucky was only for an even darker part of him to be revealed. It was very possible that Nat just couldn’t stomach raising a family with a killer, and who could blame her? It wasn’t something you wanted to mention for obvious reasons, but also because Margaret was raising a family with a killer too. Sharon as well. You didn’t want to point that out and bring up things Margaret was probably still working on making peace with.

You admired Nat, but you were nothing like her, and if Margaret had been like Nat some time in the past, that version of her was long gone. She still smiled at Steve and fussed over him and loved him all the while knowing what he did, and you were sure it was because she thought like you did. What choice did she have? She had a baby to look after and protect in addition to herself. Like you, she’d made her peace with the fact that she was never getting out of here.

That was much harder to reconcile with than it seemed, and you had no desire to make it harder on her.

The both of you fell into a comfortable silence as you finished cooking while she leaned against the counter with Sarah in her arms. Both Steve and Peter had been gone most of the day, and you’d started to ask her how this normally goes, if they come back for a break or if they only return once one of you has been caught, when you reminded yourself that this was not the norm.

Margaret had said that no one had ever gotten as far as Nat.

…and that because of that, they’d also make an example out of her.

You shuddered to think of what that all entailed, and again, you hoped they didn’t find her while that part of you hoped for the opposite. Even hours later, you still found yourself at war with yourself, unable to decide on what you wanted more despite what you knew you should want.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. They’ll find her,” the familiar voice said from next to you as you stared out of the living room window. “I know you two have gotten rather close lately. They’ll bring her back.”

You didn’t know how to respond to Stephen, unable to voice your true thoughts on the matter. Yes, it was true that you and Nat had grown closer, a different understanding between you, but you’d happily sacrifice that comradery if it meant that Nat had her freedom.

When bedtime came, you were reluctant to go. You knew that you’d have trouble sleeping and not just because Peter wasn’t there. The night before, when you’d decided to keep quiet about what you saw, it was easy to categorize it as a problem for tomorrow, but tomorrow was here and the hypothetical chaos that would ensue was already upon you.

You were in bed and staring at the window when you heard your door open, and you sat up in surprise.

Peter’s tired face greeted you when you rushed to turn on the lamp, and you blinked at him. Exhaustion aside, Peter looked horrible. Shallow grime and cuts littered his skin, and you found it hard to imagine that he’d been in the woods searching for Nat all day. So much effort and for what? To bring back someone who wasn’t Bucky’s to keep to begin with? You shuddered to think of the effort Peter would have put it if you had ever found the strength to run away.

“You’re back…?”

“For the night,” Peter said, reaching behind his head and pulling his shirt off. “Steve knows you can’t sleep without me…let me come back, and if they don’t find her tonight, I’ll be rejoining them in the morning.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself, watching him get undressed while wrestling with your thoughts.

“I’ll be out in a little bit,” he softly told you, leaning over and touching your chin before disappearing into the bathroom.

You stared after him with your arms around your knees, wondering once again if you even wanted them to find her. Peter was such a permanent fixture in your everyday life now that you couldn’t see a future without him. As messed up as it was, it was true, and you knew without a doubt that you wouldn’t even be able to function without him.

You were fighting back tears when he finally emerged from the bathroom, freshly clean.

“Peter…”

He looked at you, expression inquiring.

“What’s going to happen if you don’t find her?”

His face changed almost immediately, and you almost regretted asking him that question. You watched him heave a heavy sigh, bare chest and shoulders rising and falling. He slowly sat down next to you, staring ahead before finally shaking his head.

“We will-.”

“…but what if you don’t?”

“We will!”

You jumped as his voice rang around the room, eyes wide and focused on Peter as he pinched the bridge of his nose. You could see then how stressful this was for him, and you wondered if he’d thought the same as you, if he’d been trying to ignore such thoughts only for you to bring them to his attention again.

“Don’t say that,” he slowly said. “We will find her.”

“…but Peter-.”

“Y/N.”

“If you don’t…what’s going to happen to you? Us.”

He gave you his full attention at that, a slight furrow between his brows as he studied you.

“I mean she’ll…she’ll find help, won’t she? She’ll come back with people who’ll arrest you?”

Peter thought for a short while before nodding.

“More than likely. Nat isn’t the type to only look out for herself,” he admitted.

You blinked back tears, fighting with yourself as your gaze fell to the sheets.

“What if we run…?” you slowly asked him.

You could feel his eyes on you, and the silence was loud, and you pulled your lip between your teeth,

“I mean, if it starts to look like you won’t find her…what if we run?” you looked at him now. “What if you and I just took off? Go into hiding somewhere and they never find you?”

You couldn’t describe how Peter was looking at you, and you didn’t know if you liked it. He stared at you for what felt like too long before exhaling through his nose before gently taking your arms. His dark hair was damp, a few droplets crawling down his face.

“I won’t abandon my brothers,” he firmly told you. “Do you understand me?”

You licked your lips, tears spilling over.

“…but what about me…?”

“Y/N-.”

“I can’t function without you,” you tearfully admitted. “I’m a mess, and you know it. Everyone in this house knows it.”

Peter’s jaw ticked as he listened to you.

“I’m the crazy one,” you cried.

“Don’t say that,” he argued, moving closer.

“I fly off the handle at a little bit of blood,” you spat. “I cry all the time, I…I pee on myself, Peter. They don’t even let me around the kids!”

Peter took your face into his hands, and you frantically shook your head.

“I’m the basket case,” you whispered. “I am…the way I am…because of you.”

You frowned at him.

“…and you’re telling me…that you won’t even choose me over them?”

Peter shook his head, making a noise of disagreement.

“It’s not that simple,” he told you. “We are a family. All of us. We don’t abandon one another-.”

“Who are they to me?” you screamed. “Why should I care about them?”

“…because they’re your family too! This affects all of us-.”

“No, this affects Bucky,” you sneered, and Peter froze. “Nat is his wife, right? Not yours, not mine, and this is a Bucky problem. You don’t have to make it yours…or mine. Peter, we can leave.”

You reached for him.

“It’ll just be us. You don’t have to go down with them, with him. You don’t, and especially not because he lost someone who was never his to begin with. Who cares if Nat ran away?” you cried.

Peter stared at you, eyes stricken and lips pressed together.

“He took her! What right does he have to drag ger back-?”

You swallowed the rest of your words when Peter’s fingers pinched into your jaw. His hand was tight on your face, and you winced in pain at the ache that began to stir in your bone. You reached up, grabbing his wrist, and Peter’s brown eyes appeared so much darker, so much colder as he regarded you. You realized that you’d said too much, revealed too much of your thought process as of late, and your lips trembled.

Peter blinked at you.

“Do not say that ever again.”

His other hand gripped your upper arm, and you winced.

“Do you understand?” he spat, shaking your head slightly. “Don’t you ever repeat that.”

“Peter-.”

“He has every right just as I have every right,” he lowly told you. “If you ever ran away, I would stop at nothing to have you in my arms again…and that is my right.”

A few tears skipped down your cheeks, and Peter took a calming breath.

“Do you understand?” he repeated.

You licked your lips, frantically blinking.

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Do you know what would happen if anybody else heard you say that? That…that Bucky has no right to bring her back? That Nat was basically right to run away?”

You couldn’t stop your tears, and when he let your face go, your head dropped.

“You’ve been here long enough to know that isn’t a welcome thought,” he coldly told you. “I thought you were further along than that. That’s disappointing.”

You jerked your head up at that, eyes wide as you looked at him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry, I… I’m just so confused.”

That couldn’t be any truer, and if only Peter knew just how confused you were. After all, if Peter and the rest of them thought you all were a family, that Nat’s transgression was a transgression against the whole family, that Bucky had all the rights in the world to drag her back… What did that mean for your own transgression? What did that mean for you if it ever came out that you saw her leave…and said nothing?

“Come here, pretty girl,” Peter whispered, and you slid closer, fitting into his awaiting arms.

He pressed his lips to yours, and you reluctantly kissed him back. One of his hands rested on the back of your neck, the other snaking around your waist as he held you to him. The kiss was gentle at first, and you relaxed, but it wasn’t long before his hands tightened on you, and he bit your lip…hard.

You jerked away from him, the taste of blood on your tongue when you licked your lips.

Peter’s face was the most serious you’d ever seen, and you watched him reach up to roughly swipe his thumb along your lip. It hurt a bit, and Peter harshly rested his hand on the side of your face.

“Those words will never come out of your mouth again. Okay?”

“…okay,” you whispered.

He didn’t look pleased, but he did look satisfied for the time being, and he leaned in to gently kiss the corner of your lips.

“Let’s get some rest,” he softly told you. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

Peter laid down, pulling you with him, and you fought to ignore the possibility of a tumultuous future for you as he wrapped his arm around you, holding you against him.

You were repolishing a vase when Nat returned.

You hadn’t slept the best for multiple reasons, and you were kind of thankful that much wasn’t expected of you because you found yourself cleaning the same tables or same decorations two maybe even three times in a row. This whole ordeal was sickening, and several times now you’d had to fight the urge to vomit everywhere.

Either outcome was enough to send you into a spiral, but it wasn’t until Nat was walked through the door did you realize what outcome you’d really hoped for above the other. You were in the living room, so you were the first to realize they’d finally found her. You hadn’t thought much when the door opened, but the sounds of several pairs of footsteps had you looking up.

You almost dropped your vase at the sight of her.

Nat had looked better, that was for sure, but that wasn’t what you cared about. The relief that filled you almost knocked you over, and you hated yourself for feeling that way. Nat wasn’t fighting, but the even defiance on her face spoke volumes. Bucky had one arm while Steve had the other, and the malice you saw in her husband’s blue eyes had you shuddering.

It was then that her eyes met yours as she walked by, and they softened ever so slightly. If you hadn’t been familiar with her expressions by now, you probably never would’ve noticed. She held your gaze for a few seconds, and when she looked away, you felt tears kiss your eyes.

You mourned the brief bout of freedom that Nat had claimed, and you mourned the lifetime of freedom that was robbed from her yet again. You mourned your own possibility of a different future…but in the same breath…you were so relieved. The relief made your knees weak, and God did you hate yourself for it. Sure, there was some part of you that was sort of happy to have your friend back, but mostly…

You were just happy you wouldn’t be separated from Peter.

…and that did make you cry…because that was awful.

You slowly stumbled after them, peeking around Sam’s shoulder as Steve and Bucky led her down the hall. With a start, you realized they were taking her to the basement, and it took everything to swallow down your gasp. You pressed your hand to the wall, the other squeezing the polishing rag so tight it was a wonder it didn’t rip.

You jumped when a familiar hand touched your lower back, and you slowly glanced at Peter. His brown eyes were as kind as they normally were, no remnants of last night lingering, and he gently rubbed your back.

“She’s gonna be okay,” he whispered.

You looked down the hall again just as Bucky closed and locked the basement door. It looked like he struggled to do so, and you didn’t know if it was because of his anger or because of the supposed love he felt for her. He said something to Steve, and all three of them walked back down the hall. You avoided all of their eyes, only lifting your gaze to the basement door again when they were behind you.

You could feel Peter tenderly pulling on your dress, and you wiped your face.

You couldn’t stop staring at that door, wondering how long they planned to keep her down there, wondering just what they had in store for her. The urge to try and get her out was strong. After all, what had Nat done other than seek her own freedom? Why was that so wrong? Why was that befitting of a punishment?

“What?” you heard Buckly harshly ask. “You wanna join her?”

You turned around just as Peter spoke.

“Bucky,” Peter gruffly snapped at him, pulling you closer.

The two brunettes stared at one another, and you looked between them.

“I’m sorry,” the older of the two reluctantly relented. “I’m just… You don’t even understand how angry I am.”

His blue eyes met yours then.

“Don’t weep for her,” he told you. “She made her bed.”

You blinked when Bucky turned away, and you moved closer to Peter. It was hard to settle your heart, and Peter took your hand, trying to pull you along. Your eyes met Steve’s, and you didn’t like the way they narrowed at you. You were forced to look away when Peter touched your face, his gaze sympathetic.

“She’s gonna be okay…okay…?”

You gave him a slow reluctant nod, allowing him to lead you away. You could still feel Steve’s gaze on you, and you didn’t know what would be more suspicious: meeting it head on or avoiding it altogether. As Peter pulled you upstairs, you realized that the hardest part of this whole ordeal had only just begun…

…and it wasn’t just reserved for Nat.

#peter parker x reader #dark!peter parker x reader #dark!peter parker #dark peter parker #peter parker imagine #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #peter parker fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

navybrat817 · 5 months

Note

Navy. We got to cuddle with our florist. Are we also going to cuddle with our tattoo artist? 🥺

Of course, nonnie.

Traditions and Innovation

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky wants to kiss you under the mistletoe, but it doesn't happen in the traditional sense.

Word Count: Over 1.7k

Warnings: Kissing, humor, tension, teasing, inner monologue, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

Previous Part of AU: Rules and Chaos

A/N: Sorry, lovelies. I'm only capable of ficlets lately, but enjoy some Hottie and Sugar. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics and Bucky edit by the amazing @nixakimbo .Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

“My poor, shivering Sugar. Don’t worry. I’ll warm you up in no time,” Bucky said as he curled a hand around your hip, feeling him smile when he brushed a kiss against your temple. “It’s a tough job, but I’ll do it.”

An icy breeze crept into your bones through your coat when you rushed over to the tattoo parlor minutes ago, earning a sympathetic gaze from Jake when you walked through the door. It was one of the coldest days you could remember and you couldn’t get rid of the chill until Bucky offered to cuddle with you on the couch in the break room. You weren’t about to turn down his generous offer.

Especially since the guys made the room bright and cozy for the holidays with twinkling lights.

“Yeah, I really had to twist your arm to snuggle with me,” you teased, your heart thudding as you tilted your head back and let his lips skim along the column of your neck. It was almost criminal how soft his kisses were. “And I have no doubt in your abilities, Hottie.”

The man was built like a furnace, his firm body seeping warmth into yours as he held you in his embrace. Heat continued to pulse through your veins as he chuckled low and deep. “If you ever doubt my abilities in anything, I won’t hesitate to tie you to my bed and prove you wrong,” he promised, his voice even lower as it slipped into something more intimate.

You shivered for an entirely different reason now, threading your fingers through his hair and gripping them before his mouth could reach your chest. It earned you a throaty groan in response, one that nearly had you crawling in his lap. Somehow you managed to stop yourself.

“We can’t get too carried away,” you said, as much as you wanted to. You had to get back to your shop and he had a client coming in for a touch-up shortly. “Don’t give me that look,” you half begged, trying to ignore how your insides clenched when he lifted his head and gave you a glimpse of his darkened eyes.

How could you ever feel cold under that heated stare?

“But I want some sugar, Sugar,” he purred, one hand coming up to gently grasp your chin. Warm breath ghosted across your lips as he leaned in. “Just a little taste.”

Oh, how I want him to properly taste me. Make me see stars. Make me cry his name.

It was almost chaste in the beginning, his lips gently brushing against yours before he pulled back and leaned back in. Your lips parted first, silently begging for him to deepen the kiss. He still had his hand on your chin as he took his time, as if he truly wanted to taste what your mouth had to offer.

“You’re so fucking sweet,” he murmured when he pulled back, his gaze dropping to your lips as you caught your breath. That look alone made your toes curl. “I should put mistletoe everywhere just to find more excuses to kiss you.”

“That would be a first for me,” you said before you could stop yourself.

“What would be a first?”

“Being kissed under mistletoe. I’ve never done that,” you admitted with heated cheeks though there was no need to feel embarrassed.

Bucky pulled back a bit further as his eyebrows shot up, taking some of the warmth with him. “No one has kissed you under mistletoe? How is that possible?”

“I guess I haven’t had the opportunity,” you answered carefully.

A lump formed in your throat when he continued to stare and you weren’t quite sure why. Maybe it was because he treated you as if the sun, moon, and stars hung in the sky because of you. Not everyone saw you as anything special the way he did.

No one ever loved or cared enough about you before to try.

He slowly shook his head as if he refused to believe you. “Well, I’m fixing that right now,” he said more to himself than you before he gently put his hands over your ears. “Jensen!”

You smiled at his muffled shout before he put his arms back around you. His voice carried when he wanted it to. “Yeah?” Jake yelled back before he rushed to the break room and stuck his head in through the doorway. “What’s up?”

“Do we have any mistletoe around here?” Bucky asked.

“Bucky, what are you doing?” You whispered.

“Finding mistletoe before you go back to the shop. And, no, I’m not letting you leave until we find some,” he whispered back, waiting for Jake to give him an answer.

“I don’t think we do. Steve mentioned buying some,” he said, fiddling with his glasses before his eyes widened. “Wait! I think Hal has something that should work.”

“Of fucking course, he does,” your boyfriend mumbled affectionately as Jake went to get him.

“You really don’t have to do anything, Bucky,” you told him, turning his face back toward you. It shouldn’t have surprised you that he wanted to. He was a romantic at heart and you secretly enjoyed that he wanted to find some. “I appreciate it, but we don’t need something hanging over our heads for us to kiss.”

“I know we don’t, but maybe I want to give you that opportunity to have that kind of kiss,” he said. Your mouth went dry at his heart stopping smile. “If you’ll indulge me.”

You felt the weight of his tender gaze as you smiled, your eyes burning slightly from unshed tears. Thinking back on dating jerks like Richard, you were thankful for the experience because it showed you how guys should treat you and that you wouldn’t settle for less than what you deserved. It began with loving yourself.

“There’s no one else I’d rather kiss,” you said, resting your hand on his chest before Hal strolled into the room.

“Well, well, well,” he smiled, bringing attention to his hair as he ran a hand through it. As if he didn't turn enough heads on a normal day, he decided to dye his hair red and half green for the holiday season. “I heard you were looking for some mistletoe.”

“Yeah, you have any?” Bucky asked impatiently.

Hal chuckled and lifted his shirt slightly, giving you both a quick flash of his abs. “As a matter of fact…”

“Oh, my god,” you giggled, covering your mouth as Hal gestured to his belt. The hand painted buckle had mistletoe painted on it with “KISS ME” written underneath. “That’s…”

You stole a glance at Bucky and you swore you saw his left eye twitch. He likely had a sweet plan in his mind and got this instead. “What the fuck is that?”

“It’s mistletoe. Just like you asked for. I mean, it’s a form of mistletoe. I have a date tonight with Angel,” Hal explained, pointing at it again. You wanted to wish him good luck with his date, but you couldn’t stop giggling. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get over here, get on your knees, and start kissing. Or should I go over there?”

There was no mistaking your boyfriend’s eye twitch this time as your laughter died down. “I’m not kissing my girlfriend by your crotch. I’d sooner choke you with that belt.”

Hal seemed to consider it before he quickly shook his head. “Nah. I tried the choking thing once. Not really for me,” he said, smirking mischievously as he looked between the two of you. “But if she’s into that-”

Well...

You grabbed Bucky’s arm before he could launch himself at his employee and friend, who held his hands up in surrender. “Here’s a thought. Why don’t you take the belt off and hold it over our heads,” You suggested, hoping to appease your boyfriend as Hal unbuckled his belt with a shrug and removed it from the loops. “It still counts.”

“Not exactly traditional,” Bucky muttered under his breath before you brushed a finger along his chiseled jaw.

“We’ll call this innovative,” you said with a sweet and sincere smile. One you knew he couldn't resist.

“Innovative, huh?” Bucky asked, pulling you close as Hal waltzed over with an amused smile and dangled the belt above your heads.

“Yes,” you smiled as he framed your face. “So kiss me, please.”

Bucky held your cheeks with such care that it sent your heart soaring. This kiss was softer than before, yet full of promise and hunger, deep and thorough. He stole the breath from your lungs until you were left dizzy and wanting more.

It was the kind of kiss that warmed you up all over, like a flame no one could ever put out.

He pulled away first, slowly, but he seemed just as affected as you felt since he let out a shuddering breath and didn't let you go. “Fuck,” he whispered, bringing a smile to your face.

You had to close your eyes again to center yourself, still smiling. “Yeah. Fuck,” you whispered back before Hal cleared his throat.

“I really do adore you two lovebirds,” he began, stepping back to put his belt back on as you opened your eyes. Bucky didn't bother to look his way, only gazing at you. “But before you round the next base, Andy’s still talking about replacing the couch from the last time.”

He'll change his tune if he ever fools around in here with Sunny.

“Thank you, Hal,” you said, bringing a hand to Bucky’s cheek before he could grumble. Your touch was enough to soften his demeanor. “And thank you for my mistletoe kiss. I'll never forget it.”

Just like your first date that didn't go as planned, it made it all the more special.

Bucky smiled before he helped you both get to your feet. You had to get back to work. “I'm glad you liked it, but I’m getting us some actual mistletoe later and putting it all over our apartments. Bedrooms included.”

“Is that innovative?”

“Yeah, it is,” he smiled, sneaking in one more tender kiss before you had to go.

As long as Bucky would be the one to kiss you, he could put up mistletoe wherever he wanted.

These two. 🥰 Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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