#problematic athletes

[deathbysports]

Politics in Sports: Where do we draw the line?

(PT: Politics in Sports: Where do we draw the line? End PT) I promised myself I'd stay out of this part of sports discourse, but honestly? Somebody needs to talk about it. As many of you know, NASCAR recently invited Riley Gaines, a swimmer infamous for her transphobia/transmisogyny, to do their pre-race invocations. During the prayer, she thanked Donald Trump. I was as shocked as many of you were. NASCAR had been supposedly trying to become more inclusive, even banning flying Confederate flags in 2020 (a decision that should've been done much earlier, but that's a conversation for another time). And to see NASCAR go two steps back and invite a transphobe is sickening to me as a queer NASCAR fan. Unfortunately, it's another example of a worrying rising trend. NASCAR invited Trump to the Daytona 500. Trump was at the Super Bowl. Many athletes outed themselves to be MAGA (unfortunately this included a hockey player I had admired prior to that point). And I don't think I need to explain the shitshow that was the 4-Nations. And yes, politics have always been a part of sports. Sports and politics have had a unique relationship, both good and bad. Ping-Pong Diplomacy. The Miracle on Ice. Heck, NASCAR (and stock car racing in general) has political origins overall (Thanks, Prohibition). But why doesn't it feel like that?

Simple. You only see the political aspect once, during the national anthems. Although you could argue that international tournaments have always had political connotations,but even then you didn't always think too much of it. Of course, it's probably different for everyone. I mean, this is me, a white American, talking. Maybe I'm just privileged? Who knows! And presidents being at sporting events isn't new. You have MLB teams inviting presidents and other political figures to do the first pitch (Also, interesting fact I thought was worth mentioning: Before he was governor and eventually president, George W. Bush owned the Texas Rangers!) . Presidents were going to NFL games long before Trump. So, why is it a problem now? Why am I complaining now all of a sudden? Simple: Trump himself. Donald Trump needs no introduction. You all know who he is. But he's a wannabe dictator (is 'wannabe' even the right word anymore?). He's 'joked' about annexing Canada and Greenland. He's called for mass deportations. And to say he hates women and queer people is an *understatement*. And yes, every US president (and most political figures overall) has blood on their hands, both Democrat and Republican. There's no denying that. And they've still been invited to sporting events. But here's the thing. I don't ever recall a president getting so much attention or praise during sporting events. I don't ever recall a president getting interviewed during sporting events. I don't recall the U.S national anthem (or any anthem for that matter) getting booed so much at sporting events. And I sure as hell don't remember many professional athletes singing their praises for any politician, especially not as someone so pro-imperialist or fascist as Trump. (Perhaps not since during the 1930s or 1940s, anyway). Something I hear a lot from sports fans (which I myself have also repeated) is "your favorite athlete is most likely conservative or a trump voter". A statement that's unfortunately almost always true, especially when it comes to hockey and NASCAR. However, I'm also tired of that phrase myself. Why? Because it feels like we're just... brushing it off and accepting that. Why? Why should we accept the fact that our favorite likely voted for (or would've voted for) a fascist? Why should we normalize that? Why shouldn't we demand that our favorite teams and players and organizations to actually do better instead of letting them support horrible politicians? Maybe instead of simply accepting the fact that a player we like supported a fascist, or that organizations like NASCAR and the NHL are promoting said fascist, how about we start actually doing something? How abut we start sending a fucking message? Start pushing for them to do better?

Now, I'm not going to judge anyone who continues to enjoy watching players like Matthew Tkachuk or Jack Eichel (I'll admit, I like Alex Ovechkin as a player!). But at the same time, don't let them (or yourself) forget that they openly praised and supported individuals who want to take away our rights (Especially Tkachuk, who openly supported pride causes and inclusion and *still* praised a person who wants queer people eliminated). As much as I love Ovechkin and as much as I want him to break Gretzky's goal record, you won't catch me buying his jersey because that's not a person I want to give my money to. Don't normalize pro-fascism, and stop letting pro-fascist opinions slide. Stop excusing it because sports are political or that most athletes voted for it. I don't necessarily think these athletes are bad people, but they're definitely not sending a good message by openly praising a politician who wants to take away human rights. I do genuinely hope they learn, but I'll admit, I'm not fully holding my breath.

As for the organizations themselves, I've seen people say they won't be watching any NASCAR races this season (a decision I fully support!). And I've seen people stop watching the NHL entirely. I'll admit, I actually briefly considered giving up hockey as a whole after the 4-Nations spectacle because I was asking myself, why should I waste my time and energy on a group of athletes that most likely want me dead? Why should I spend my time on a league that thinks the existence of queer folks and folks of color are a "distraction"? I even started distrusting the players that seemed 'progressive', because how was I supposed to know they didn't vote for Trump too? But honestly? Me turning away from hockey won't change the NHL's lack of diversity. Me not liking the Capitals alone won't make them get rid of Ovechkin. And me not liking hockey sure as hell won't make Trump go away.

Besides, many other queer folks (and marginalized groups overall) are still sticking around, might as well too. But needless to say, I won't be giving any of my money to the NHL for a while. And I'll actually try to take the time to focus on PWHL too (even though they have their own issues; looking at you, Britta Curl). The same can be said for NASCAR. I still love motorsports overall, but I most likely won't be attending a race this year. And I'm not forcing other people to cancel their season tickets or stop going to games. I will however encourage yall to sneak in signs protesting NASCAR's decision to go backwards and the NHL's continued promotion of hateful ideology (and I say 'sneak' because some venues won't allow such signs). Boo the anthem. Boo the MAGAt players (and this is coming from me, someone who's usually against booing athletes!). Whatever. However I will completely understand if you cancel or refund tickets (because I'll be honest I would've done the same!) I will, however, highly encourage yall to not buy any official merch directly and instead direct support to fanmade merch instead (besides, most official merchandise... is kinda trash anyway). Obviously it won't make a huge difference right away. But it will send a message. Heck, the booing of the anthem is starting to bother some players and has gotten media attention. So it is fucking worth making an effort. Of course, all that being said, I do look forward to the day where we *shouldn't* have to do that. I look forward to returning to the day where instead of booing the anthem we can sing each other's anthems again. I look forward to the day we can finally go back to simply muting the anthems instead of worrying about Trump attending sporting events. I look forward to returning to the time where I don't have to google the political views of every American athlete. I look forward to going back to politics in sports being a *good* thing instead of another thing preventing us from enjoying the sports we love. But sadly, that probably won't happen until Trump's gone. So instead, we'll do what we can to push back against the normalization of fascism, especially in sports.

Lastly, because I don't want to end this on an entirely gloomy note, I'll leave you all with some interesting wikipedia pages and news articles.

A story about Dale Earnhardt and the Confederate flag. Wikipedia page on the Joe Louis vs. Max Schmeling fights Wikipedia page on ping-pong diplomacy. How Prohibition Gave Birth to NASCAR An article on Jesse Owens and Luz Long.

[shadow-redferne]

this is gonna piss a lot of folks off, but you guys are going to have to accept that there is no such thing as "unproblematic" people or media. every TV show, every movie, every book, every music band, every athlete, hell every person in the world, is "problematic" or has done "problematic" things one way or another. If you stop supporting a TV show or a movie or toyline because the creators are "problematic", then you should probably stop supporting every single film, show, book, etc because guess what? the creators behind it have probably done problematic shit. and if we tried to get rid of every "problematic" creator, artist, etc out there, we'd have nobody left. No, I'm not saying you shouldn't boycott or protest such bad things. And I'm not saying you should draw or make content that's genuinely illegal (good lord please do not do that lmfao). Quite the opposite, really. I'm saying that no matter how "unproblematic" your favorite show or celebrity is, you still need to be critical when they *do* eventually mess up (Besides, there's a difference between financially supporting 'problematic' creators and well... just being a fan!).

[lonewolflink]

he's right and he should say it louder

[mikkomacko]

Just saw a TikTok edit call out nhl players that are problematic but op was in the comments saying P*trick K*ne is okay

[itscooltoskate]

Lionel Messi 🤝 Timo Boll

Wonder child

Lefty

Can effortlessly switch hands/feet and still make incredible shots

Stayed in one club for nearly all his career

Is/was the mvp of said club

Loved by everyone

A true players’ player

Has won pretty much every trophy there is

Has been no 1 with 36 +-1 years old

True sportsmanship

Humble

Introverted

Can't separate him from his respective mate/coffee

Really cares about and takes time for his fans

Just a guy™ with some massive talent and a hobby

No drama, unproblematic king

Married to childhood sweetheart

Been a pro athlete for way longer than normal people

Getting retirement questions in interviews and answering them with “I’ll play for as along as I enjoy it and haven’t thought of that yet”

Most importantly: adorable af

I rest my case.

[mundifinis]

jason grace art that depicts him like an actual 16 year old TEENAGER and not a 20 something year old >>>>>>

[temptresstitania]

if it doesn't sound fetishistic to say you're attracted to people with long hair or freckles or wide hips or dark brown eyes that look almost black, then it shouldn't sound fetishistic to say you're attracted to fat people. If it's not inherently a fetish to say you like people with sculpted backs or toned arms or six packs or small breasts or a coke bottle figure, then why would it be fetishistic to like a soft face with a double chin, or a round stomach, or big legs rippling with cellulite or stretch marks on rolls. you can find a fat person attractive. you can love the way their cheeks press up to meet the corners of their eyes, or the way their arms look, or the way their love handles spill out of their clothes. you can just. like fat people. you can say you like fat people. do you ever think how strange it is? how someone may think you're some sort of "perverse" weirdo for just...liking a body? how strange it is to put these precursory disclaimers of "not to be weird, but", "I don't mean it in that way, but", "I'm not a chubby chaser, but", or "I know it's kind of problematic, but..." could you imagine if it was any other body?

"not to sound like a muscle gain fetishist, but I love women with athletic bodies. It might sound weird, but I love short kings. I don't mean it in a weird way, but I love girls with hip dips."

It would seem strange. unnecessary. one may even assume there is some sort of guilt or fear you're hiding because it's normal to have things you like. it's normal to find certain things cute, hot, sexy.

you can sexually desire fat people and enjoy that they are fat. you can do that.

also, if you genuinely have a fetish (or deep sexual attraction if u for whatever reason are uncomfortable with the word fetish) for something that is found on larger bodies (bellies, fupas, thighs, underarms with fat/breast tissue in them, sagging breasts, big arms with skin that wobbles, cankles), or for a bigger body in and of itself (because I know some of y'all still want to sever yourselves from this), there is nothing wrong with that. people have fetishes for hands and teeth and earlobes and kneecaps and butts and shoulders and calves. what makes their thing any more acceptable than yours? there is nothing wrong with being aroused by bigger bodies.

please do not add tags and reblog this with "except when such and such is involved". I am not bringing those situations up for a reason. do not attempt to pivot this post into a thinkpiece on the objectification and/or abuse of fat bodies, ESPECIALLY if you yourself are not fat.

this is coming from the perspective of a Black person. Namely, a Black Nigerian-American person. Where I come from, there is a cultural, pre-colonial practice of gaining weight (and yes, particularly getting fat) to accentuate beauty. my body was handed down to me lovingly by my ancestors. i love my fat.

and if you love it too, that's okay. ♡

[smileysuh]

double trouble

🌙 starring. Mingyu & Wonwoo x afab!Reader 

🔮 preview. Despite your tense relationship with Seungcheol, you’ve done your best to support him as a sister, and you know his teammates by sight alone. Jeon Wonwoo and Kim Mingyu, two Olympians… two sexy, athletic, very fuckable Olympians. You’ve watched Too Hot to Handle and Love Island, you’ve watched Singles Inferno, and you’re not on any of those shows. No, you’re in Thailand for your brother’s wedding, staring at his work besties like they’re your next meal. You know how problematic this is, but you’re yet undecided on just how far you want to go with this. All you know, is you’re alone at a bar, there’s two gorgeous men, and you’re feeling just lonely enough to go talk to them. 

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, threesome, pussy eating, blow job, fingering, masturbation, spit roasting, double penetration, doggy style, missionary, multiple sex positions, multiple reader orgasms, pain kink, spanking, spitting, choking, dom!Wonwoo, eager!Mingyu, overstimulation, breast worship, dirty talk, praise, dry humping/grinding, undertones of therapy/childhood sibling rivalry/bad family dynamics, etc… I pet names: (hers) gorgeous, baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 10.9k

🍭 aus. Surfer Meanie au, Destination-Wedding au, my friend’s sister is hot au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I want to start this off by saying, I don’t know much about surfing or the Olympics, but fuck it, this is fanfic, and surfer Meanie is too hot to pass up. 

Prologue:

“And in an astonishing turn of events, Choi Seungcheol, representing South Korea in surfing, wins silver at this year's Olympics! I think we were all shocked when South Korea qualified for not two, but three contenders this year, and what contenders these men have been. We can see Jeon Wonwoo and Kim Mingyu watching from the beach, clapping for their teammate… and what’s this? Choi Seungcheol is not approaching his team, no! He’s going for his longtime girlfriend! Love is definitely in the air here today at the Olympics- and… no, is he getting down on one knee? I can not believe my eyes! Choi Seungcheol of team South Korea, who has just won a silver in surfing, is proposing to his girlfriend right here on the beach! What an end to the day for team South Korea!” 

One (Day) 

Wonwoo’s never been a fan of weddings, and he loves destination weddings even less, but he supposes Thailand isn’t the worst place for this sort of event. The waves are good, the climate is perfect, and with the entire wedding party scattered among the massive resort, Wonwoo is confident he’ll be able to slip away and have alone time if need be.

Sure, he’s excited for Seungcheol. They’re teammates, and while the new silver medalist has always kept his work and private life separate, Wonwoo knows supporting his friend at the start of the next chapter of his life is the right thing to do.

Besides, as Wonwoo walks through the resort an hour after arriving, he’s got Mingyu by his side, and they’re both eager to see what the waves here look like. It’s a week-long destination wedding, but Wonwoo’s pretty sure only two of those seven days will be really hard-core in terms of his obligations to the groom.

The resort has a number of amenities, one of which is an entire rack of surfboards, and as the two men approach it, Wonwoo notices you on the beach.

You’re under a shade umbrella, relaxing on a lounge. Unlike many people here, you’re not on your phone or reading a book, you’re simply looking out at the ocean.

It’s as if you must sense his gaze, because your head turns, and your eyes meet.

Wonwoo swallows the lump in his throat, turning his attention back to the boards. 

He’s never been one for one-night stands and is even less enthusiastic about hooking up with some random at a resort in Thailand while he’s there for his friend’s wedding. No, this week is all going to be training, relaxing in his off hours, and supporting Seungcheol, no matter how hot you might be.

One (Night) 

You’ve never been super close with your older brother Seungcheol. You suppose it boils down in part to him being the golden child. He was the athletics prodigy, and now, - surprise, surprise - he’s an Olympic-level silver medalist. Growing up in an environment where your sibling was overtly favored over yourself was difficult, and you spent the majority of your teen years being upset about it.

Through your anger, you found art, and now, you’re a successful entrepreneur. You work for yourself, you work doing what you want and when you want it. You have freedom, and maybe your childhood was a blessing in disguise.

Having gone through years of therapy to unpack this dysfunctional family system, you don’t hold very much anger anymore, and you’re actually kind of happy to be in Thailand to support Seungcheol, who really had no fault in your upbringing. 

However, even with admitting all of this to yourself, you also know you don’t want to spend the entire week attached to your overbearing and judgemental mother’s hip, so here you are, in the late evening after the dinner rush, enjoying a meal all by yourself in the hotel restaurant. 

It’s as you’re finishing your meal that you recognize two men entering the bar. 

Despite your tense relationship with Seungcheol, you’ve done your best to support him as a sister, and you know his teammates by sight alone.

Jeon Wonwoo and Kim Mingyu, two Olympians… two sexy, athletic, very fuckable Olympians. 

You’ve watched Too Hot to Handle and Love Island, you’ve watched Singles Inferno, and you’re not on any of those shows. No, you’re in Thailand for your brother’s wedding, staring at his work besties like they’re your next meal. You know how problematic this is, but you’re yet undecided on just how far you want to go with this. All you know, is you’re alone at a bar, there’s two gorgeous men, and you’re feeling just lonely enough to go talk to them. 

Finishing your drink, you stand up, wobbling slightly in your high heels as you set off to join the Olympians at the bar.

You settle next to the larger of the two, Kim Mingyu, taking a seat while his eyes turn to you.

“Hi.” You smile.

“Hi.” He grins back at you, all handsome and puppy-like.

“So you two are the infamous surfers,” you muse. “I’m Seungcheol’s sister, y/n.”

You suppose there’s no use glossing over the fact that you’re related to their friend, after all, they’re going to find out sooner or later.

Honesty has always been the best policy, and as recognition flashes over Mingyu’s features, you realize your brother must have mentioned you to them at least once or twice.

“Wait, you’re Seungcheol’s sister?” Mingyu asks in shock.

“In the flesh,” you laugh, motioning at the bartender for another drink. “What did he say about me?”

“He said you’re some artist,” Wonwoo chimes in, leaning over the bar top to get a better look at you. 

“Some artist,” you scoff. “I sell five-figure art, but if I’m just some artist, then fine.”

“Five figures?” Mingyu turns to exchange a look with Wonwoo. 

“Anything we would know? Are you in galleries?” the more inquisitive of the two asks.

“I’ve actually got an exhibition coming up,” you admit. “Celebrating the new generation of female artists in South Korea.”

“That sounds huge!” Mingyu gasps. 

“In the art scene, it’s a pretty big deal,” you laugh.

“Guess you’re just a family of overachievers,” Wonwoo muses with a smile, waving the bartender over as he gives you your second drink.

“Some fields are more recognized than others,” you sigh, fiddling with your straw.

“I always thought artists were super cool!” Mingyu tells you. “I draw a little, but I’m nowhere near your level, and Wonwoo, well, he can’t even draw a straight line.”

“Hey!” Wonwoo objects, turning his narrow gaze on his friend. 

You watch the two of them fuss together, and you try your best to figure out which one is more attractive, but it’s simply impossible.

They’re both stunning in their own right. Mingyu has those puppy-like, boyish good looks. He’s big and handsome and you can tell he knows it. Wonwoo, in contrast, is quieter, but he’s regal in a way you can’t quite put your finger on. He’s smaller than Mingyu, shorter, but he’s still larger than the average male, and his shoulders aren’t something to complain about either.

“So how did you get into art?” Mingyu asks, turning to look at you again.

“Uh… I think I was left to my own devices a lot as a kid. Seungcheol always had a soccer practice or a football game, and then it was going to the beach all the time- so I had to learn to find something to do with all my time waiting for him to finish up his sports.” You frown a little. Although you’ve learned through therapy to find the silver lining, it can still be hard at times to think back on your upbringing and all the times you were in a state of neglect. “Anyways, how about you guys? Surfing isn’t usually the first Olympic sport people decide to give a go.”

“I lived in Hawaii for a bit when I was a kid,” Mingyu tells you. “Surfing is religion there, and I was lucky to have a lot of mentors who helped me get started.”

“That sounds nice,” you smile. 

“And Wonwoo, well, he was a swimmer first,” Mingyu explains, speaking for his quiet friend.

“I tried surfing one day and never looked back,” Wonwoo finishes. “Nothing spectacular.”

“You can say that, but here we all are, at the top of our game, in Thailand to celebrate an Olympic silver medalist,” you muse, lifting your drink. “I’d say we’re all doing pretty spectacularly.”

“I like the way you think,” Mingyu grins, raising his glass.

Wonwoo says nothing, but he joins you in your cheers, and you all drink together.

“So…” Mingyu takes a deep breath and puts his empty glass down, “how did a guy like Seungcheol get a hot sister like you?”

“Guess all the pretty genes went to me,” you tease, skin heating with pleasure at the compliment.

“I wonder if this is why Seungcheol doesn’t talk about you often,” Wonwoo says quietly.

“What do you mean?” You cock your head to the side.

“I think he’s just saying, like…” Mingyu searches for the right words, “If Seungcheol ever showed his work friends your picture, we’d all… you know, think you’re hot.”

“You two are just trying to butter me up,” you laugh, heart beginning to thump faster in your chest.

Wonwoo leans forward. “Is it working?”

Two (Day) 

It might be his wedding week, but Seungcheol will be damned if he doesn’t spend even a bit of time enjoying Thailand’s ocean.

He’s up early, with Wonwoo and Mingyu beside him as they float on their surfboards after a couple of really good waves. Seungcheol really appreciates his work friends, they’re not as invested in his personal life, so when he’s with them, he can just forget about all the chaos and wedding jitters.

“So… Olympics 2028,” Seungcheol breathes. 

“Los Angeles,” Mingyu agrees with a nod.

Seungcheol looks at his friends. “How are we feeling?” 

“We’re feeling like you should retire and give us a chance,” Wonwoo jokes, flashing one of his rare smiles.

“We’re also feeling like LA waves are going to be insane… and they have sharks,” Mingyu points out.

Seungcheol laughs at his friends. Of course, Wonwoo would be thinking of medals, and Mingyu would be more focused on what could eat him while trying to win big.

“I’m sure they’ll have shark watch or something,” Seungcheol points out.

“Yeah, but Great Whites can attack from below!” Mingyu exclaims. “They’re designed to blend in with water, they’ve got grey coloring on the tops of their bodies so they’re harder to see!”

“Can we not talk about sharks while we’re in the ocean on surfboards?” Wonwoo sighs.

“If it makes you feel better, the only really bad shark in Thailand is the bull shark, no Great Whites,” Seungcheol offers, having done research on the subject before booking the resort for his wedding.

“Bull sharks are still a top three-man eater,” Mingyu frowns, looking down at the water.

“Don’t bull sharks usually attack in shallows?” Wonwoo asks. “Besides, you lived in Hawaii for a while, you’re still terrified of sharks?”

Seungcheol drowns out what his friends are talking about at this point, his gaze shifting to the beach. His eyes land on you, walking on the sand in search of a lounger. 

You must notice he’s seen you because you lift your hand to give him a wave, which Seungcheol returns.

That’s when he notices that his friends have gone quiet. 

“Are you guys done your shark talk?” Seungcheol sighs. “Ready to actually catch some waves?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Mingyu sighs. “So uh… that’s your sister, huh?”

“Yup. Little miss artsy fartsy herself.”

Wonwoo chuckles a little, and Seungcheol doesn’t miss the look he exchanges with Mingyu.

“We met her last night at the bar,” Mingyu explains. “She seems nice.”

“Yeah, she is what she is,” Seungcheol sighs. He doesn’t like to think too hard about family history, about the way he felt like he had to compete with you growing up. Somewhere, deep down in Seungcheol’s soul, he’s always been a winner, and when he was a kid, he hadn’t really realized that winning meant making a loser out of his sibling. There’s regret there, but Seungcheol’s not about to put in the hours that you have with a therapist to unpack all of it.

“There’s not much resemblance between the two of you,” Wonwoo muses.

“Yeah, I got the gene for good looks,” Seungcheol says, trying to make a joke out of it.

Wonwoo laughs. “Debatable.”

A sigh escapes Seungcheol before he can stop it. “Fuck this, let's get some waves. And just so we’re all clear, my sister is off limits.” 

Two (Night) 

Mingyu loves night swimming, and the resort has so many wonderful pools for him to be alone in while he does laps.

He’s sort of falling in love with Thailand. The sounds of animals in all the luscious trees, the warm temperature even now that the sun has gone down- God, he could get used to this.

He finishes up his swim, switching to a relaxed breaststroke to cool down, and that’s when he notices you sitting by the pool. You’re drinking a beer, and you’ve got a second bottle on the ground next to your lounger.

“Hi,” you smile.

“Hi,” he laughs. “Are you waiting for me?” 

“Yeah. I saw you swimming, figured I’d get us some beers.” 

Mingyu comes to the side of the pool, grabbing at the ledge and letting out a breath as you hold the second bottle out for him.

“I don’t usually drink after a workout,” he chuckles.

“Well, it would be a shame for me to drink alone,” you tease.

Mingyu can only nod at the statement, lifting the beer to his lips. 

“How was your day?” you ask.

“Pretty good. It started off with your brother, and then we caught some waves. Wonwoo and I went to look at a monastery or something in town today. It was nice.”

“Definitely sounds like a good day in Thailand,” you muse.

“How about you? Up to anything fun?”

“Not really.” You release a deep breath, and Mingyu gets the suspicion that this whole thing isn’t as much of a vacation for you as it is for them. “I’m supposed to be taking the week off, having just finished a whole bunch of work these past few months, but I don’t know, this place is so beautiful, I really wish I had some paint and canvas with me.”

“I’m sure we could find an art supply store or something?” Mingyu offers.

You wave your hand. “It’s okay. Like I said, I’m supposed to be taking the week off.”

“We’re all supposed to be taking the week off,” Mingyu tells you, “but Seungcheol, Wonwoo and I were all catching waves this morning, and I’m sure other people are taking work calls- it’s easy to say we’re here on vacation so we should just put out real lives to the side, but it’s another thing to actually do that, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” You let out a laugh. “Capitalism is a bitch.”

Mingyu considers your words. “I guess capitalism is part of it, but… we all have things we’re good at, things we love to do. I think capitalism sometimes takes the joy out of our hobbies if we’re making money off those hobbies in the real world. We’re surfing to keep our skill level up, but we’re also doing it for ourselves. I’m sure if you got a drawing journal or something and drew for yourself, it wouldn’t be hurting anyone.”

“And here I thought you were just another pretty face,” you muse with a grin, sipping your beer.

“You don’t know me that well yet.”

“We can change that,” you suggest. “Tell me more about you. I’m not stepping on any girlfriend’s toes by chatting with you right now, am I?”

“Nah, I’m single,” Mingyu laughs. 

“And how is an Olympic athlete like you single?”

“Good question.” Mingyu thinks about it for a moment. “I guess… Wonwoo and I are homebodies. We’ve been renting together since university, and we both just… like to stay home.”

“I didn’t know the two of you were roommates.”

“Yeah, it’s not something we talk about too often,” Mingyu chuckles. “Two Olympians living together isn’t the most endearing thing.”

“I think it’s pretty endearing.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s clear the two of you are super close.”

“We are.”

“So… I asked about stepping on any girlfriend’s toes… should I have asked about stepping on a boyfriend’s turf?”

Mingyu’s heart leaps in his chest. “No!” he blurts out. “Wonwoo and I aren’t- I mean… no, we’re not together or anything. We’re super close, but no.”

“You’re saying the word no, but I’m hearing there’s more to the story,” you point out.

“I mean…” Mingyu can’t even meet your eyes. “He and I are both into girls, it’s just- sometimes we’re into the same girl? So, yes, I’ve seen his dick, but we’re also just athletes so that’s part of the gig-”

“Mingyu,” you interrupt him. “Take a breath.”

“Fuck.” Mingyu takes a breath as well as a sip of beer. “You think I’m super weird now.”

“Not at all. You’re not the first athletes to admit to sharing girls. I hear it’s a pretty common thing actually.”

“It is?” Mingyu asks in shock.

“Apparently,” you shrug. “Look up puck bunny confessionals and all sorts of girls will tell you that they’ve been tag-teamed at hockey events, and that’s just hockey.” 

Mingyu’s too shy to ask for more details, and he doesn’t even know what a ‘puck bunny’ is, so he decides to switch topics as fast as he can. “Do you uh… have plans for tomorrow?” 

You lean back in the lounger. “Was considering going on a snorkeling thing in the morning. The resort offers tours. But… I didn’t really want to go alone. Fancy a snorkeling adventure with me tomorrow?” 

“As long as we don’t talk about puck rabbits and double trouble athlete tag teams,” Mingyu chuckles nervously.

You grin. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Three (Day) 

Wonwoo hadn’t been super excited when Mingyu convinced him to go snorkeling with you, but now that you’re all on the boat, he realizes it’s not the worst thing in the world.

“This alcove is well known for its whale sharks,” the tour guide says. “I know what you’re all thinking, sharks! Oh no! But rest assured, whale sharks are completely harmless to humans. I got a tip from one of my fishing friends that there’s a whale shark here today, how do we feel about getting in the water?”

Wonwoo looks at Mingyu immediately, and the larger Olympian doesn’t seem very enthusiastic about the prospect of diving with sharks.

“Let’s do it!” you say, surprising both men as you stand up.

The guide is as enthusiastic about it as you are, and soon the two of you are getting into the water while Mingyu and Wonwoo wait on the boat.

“She’s quite adventurous, isn’t she?” the captain of the small vessel asks.

“It would appear that way,” Wonwoo sighs.

“She a friend of yours?”

“We’re friends with her brother, he’s here for his wedding, at the resort,” Mingyu explains.

“Ah, I see. You’re both being good friends making sure his sister is okay while he gets ready for his wedding,” the captain nods.

“We’re not taking very good care of her from here,” Wonwoo frowns.

The captain looks out at the water, letting out a breath. “I assure you, whale sharks are perfectly safe.”

“Fuck it.” Wonwoo strips his shirt off, grabbing a snorkel and some goggles.

“Seriously?” Mingyu asks in shock.

“They’re harmless,” Wonwoo points out. “We’ll regret it if we don’t go in.”

Mingyu sighs, but he nods, agreeing with Wonwoo.

They both get ready, and then, they slowly lower themselves into the warm water.

For someone who spends so much time on the water, Wonwoo doesn’t spend a lot of time looking in the water. He’s immediately taken by the beauty of everything, the fish, the reefs- and he can see you and the guide in the distance next to a massive shape.

Giving a nod to Mingyu, the two of them begin to swim over to you. Wonwoo can feel his heart beginning to thump wildly in his chest at the sight of the whale shark.

He keeps telling himself that the shark is harmless, but it’s hard to keep even breathing when you’re next to such a massive animal.

Taking his eyes off the whale shark, Wonwoo turns his attention to you.

You look so happy, and fearless. It’s as if this is the first time Wonwoo’s seeing you in your element. Your walls aren’t up, it’s not all family politics and saving face- no, you’re being completely yourself, and it’s a beautiful sight.

The three of you all surface, and Mingyu immediately starts gushing to you about how amazing this whole thing is.

The both of you are like two peas in a pod, and Wonwoo, who has a harder time joining conversations, decides to stay out of it.

He simply watches, noting how good you and Mingyu look together… which kind of sucks, since Mingyu always gets the girls.

Wonwoo wants someone too, he wants someone fun, someone who brings out the wild side in himself- but he knows his greatest failing is being shy.

He was the odd kid in high school, a nerd- but at the same time, he was an athlete who no one would guess to be athletic just by looking at him. 

Wonwoo still finds himself stuck in this limbo place at times. He knows who he is inside. He knows he’s a good person, with values. He knows he’s good at his sport. But he just can’t find it within himself to be the most social person, and sometimes, like now, that fact comes back to bite him in the ass.

Three (Night) 

You hadn’t expected Seungcheol to ask you to come get post-dinner drinks with him, and you reluctantly walk up to the bar to meet your brother. “Hey, Cheol.”

“Hey. Didn’t see you all day.” 

“I went snorkeling, saw a whale shark, it was super cool,” you smile.

“Didn’t see Mingyu or Wonwoo all day either.”

“They came with me,” you sigh. “I didn’t want to go alone.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Seungcheol looks down at his drink. “So… you trying to steal my friends now?”

“What?”

“They’re my friends, and you also can’t have both of them.”

You can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. “Cheol, we’re on vacation-”

“Yeah, but when I go home, these aren’t just some randoms. These are my friends, the guys I see all the time. This isn’t some innocent ‘hey I’m flirting with two guys at a resort, sort of thing,’ and we both know it.”

“Even if I was flirting with both of them, which I won’t admit to, it’s the twenty-first century, I’m pretty sure people are allowed to date more than one person.”

“You won’t admit to it, but you think it’s okay to date both of them,” your brother counters.

“Look, I thought you invited me for a drink, not an interrogation.”

“I’m just trying to look out for you,” Seungcheol defends himself. “We’re here in Thailand, I’m getting married- and you’re considering dating two of my friends. What if you want to get married one day, what then?” 

“Then I get married?”

Seungcheol lets out a groan. “But if you’re dating two guys-”

“Like I said, I’m on vacation.”

“So you’re not thinking long-term with Wonwoo or Mingyu?”

“I just met them!” 

“Okay, so we’re in agreement, no dating Wonwoo or Mingyu.”

“Seungcheol.” You shake your head, already exhausted with this conversation. 

“What?”

“I’m so tired.”

“Hitting on two men will do that to you.”

“I’m going back to my room,” you decide. “And just so you know, I’m an artist. I’m not exactly a traditionalist the way you are, and what I choose to do with my love life is my business.” 

Four (Day) 

Today isn’t going exactly the way Seungcheol had planned. He’d woken up with this sinking feeling after his discussion with you last night, and he’d decided then and there to get Mingyu and Wonwoo away from the resort for the day.

So here he is, clambering up a mountain on a hiking trail with his workmates, and Seungcheol can’t find the words to converse with the two men who have seemingly been hitting on you.

Wonwoo and Mingyu always find a way to chat though, and Seungcheol listens to them behind him as he forges the way up the mountain.

“Oh, Seungcheol! Did we mention we went snorkeling with your sister yesterday?” Mingyu asks.

“I heard about that,” Seungcheol sighs.

“Did you talk to y/n?” Mingyu questions.

“Yeah, she told me there was a whale shark or something?”

“It was the coolest thing ever!” the puppylike surfer exclaims. “It was the biggest animal I’ve ever seen!”

“We couldn’t let your sister go off on some boat with strangers alone,” Wonwoo says bluntly. “And we knew you were busy with wedding stuff, so we figured we’d tag along with her.” 

Seungcheol doesn’t even know what to say.

Logically, it makes sense that Wonwoo and Mingyu would go with you to make sure you were safe- but Seungcheol can’t help this sinking feeling that they’re the men he should be worried about you being around.

Not that Wonwoo or Mingyu would ever do anything bad to you- perhaps Seungcheol worries about your man-eating ways.

Mingyu had been terrified of ‘man-eating sharks,’ but he’s ignoring the clearest danger; you. 

Seungcheol has seen the way you date. Flings here and there. You capture men with your mysterious artist allure, and they fall head over heels for you, only for you to leave them on the curb with a new muse for your canvas. 

He doesn't want Mingyu and Wonwoo to be just another inspiration for emotional painting in your next art installation. 

But how does he even say that to them? How does he tell Mingyu and Wonwoo that you’re practically a love witch, who has very little care for the men you toy with?

Seungcheol bites his tongue. Maybe this is just a lesson they have to learn. But fuck, at what cost?

Four (Night) 

“So…” Mingyu sighs, sitting on his bed as he stares at Wonwoo on his own mattress. “Cheol is onto us.”

“Huh?” Wonwoo looks up from his phone. 

“Seungcheol was being so weird today on that hike, and he was even weirder when we talked about his sister. I think he’s onto us.”

“Onto us about what?”

Mingyu lets out another deep breath. “About us both being into y/n.”

“Hmm?”

“Come on, it’s the elephant in the room.” Mingyu rolls his eyes with exasperation. “We haven’t talked about it, but we both know what’s happening. It’s not the first time.” 

“It’s the first time the girl we’re into has been a friend’s sister,” Wonwoo points out. “Of course, Seungcheol is weird about it.”

Mingyu lays down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. “I really like her.”

“You really like every girl who’s cute, a little artsy, and up for adventure.”

“As if you’re not into the same thing,” Mingyu scoffs.

“Never said I wasn’t.”

Mingyu turns to look at Wonwoo, who is back to staring at his phone. It looks as if he’s given up on this whole thing, and Mingyu’s not quite sure what to make of it. “So… are you like… not going to try anything because she’s Seungcheol’s sister, or…?”

“It’s probably best if we keep her off limits.”

“Where’s the fun in that!? We wouldn’t be the first sports friends to tag team a girl!” Mingyu points out, thinking back to the discussion the two of you had about puck bunnies, which he has since looked up.

“We’re not going to tag team Seungcheol’s sister,” Wonwoo states, but he doesn’t sound too convinced, and neither is Mingyu.

Five (Day) 

The close wedding party is doing a wedding rehearsal today, and Mingyu’s kind of shocked to run into you at the pool bar before dinner. He hadn’t expected to see any of the Chois today, and it’s a welcome surprise as he comes to sit with you.

“Hey,” he smiles.

“Hey yourself,” you grin, turning in your seat to get a better look at him. 

“How's the rehearsal going?”

You take a deep breath. “As you’d expect it to. Lots and lots of details.”

“And you’re here… having a drink.”

“I don’t have a speech, so it’s not like I needed guiding on anything for this hour of the rehearsal,” you muse.

“No speech?” Mingyu can’t hide his surprise. “But you’re the sister of the groom! And you’re an artist!”

“I'm guessing Seungcheol doesn’t want me taking any… artistic liberties if you know what I mean,” you laugh. 

“Artistic liberties like…?”

“You know,” you flip your hair over your shoulder, “talking about the time he used a straw to spit boba pearls in my hair when I was seven and told me they were fish eyes, and how he used to be so immature, now he’s a man, and slightly more adult. That I’m so happy his wife found him because he’s always needed a Mommy’s approval and that’s exactly what she gives him. That sort of thing.”

“Ouch,” Mingyu lets out a whistle. “Definitely wouldn’t want that in a speech at my wedding.”

“Exactly, which is why I’m here, getting my… third drink in the past hour? Just want this whole night to be over.”

“Are you happy for Seungcheol at least?”

“Of course, I’m happy for him, he found a woman to put up with his bullshit.” You shake your head, releasing another sigh. “I am happy for him, I am. Just… family events make me a little neurotic.” 

“I guess that’s understandable.”

“It doesn’t help that the one meaningful conversation I’ve had with Cheol since I got here was him warning me not to be a whore who sleeps around with his friends.”

“Huh?” Mingyu freezes.

“He didn’t use those exact words, per se, but, the general connotation was he’ll think I’m a whore if I’m interested in two people at once. I think he forgets about the time in high school when he was stringing along two girls at the same time. At the start of relationships, there’s often overlap, and I think he’s been with his fiancee so long that he forgets about that.” 

“It’s also… you know, the twenty-first century.”

“That’s what I said!” you laugh, reaching out to push Mingyu’s shoulder. “It’s the time of sexual liberation, of threesomes and polyamory and whole planned orgy events in speakeasies.” 

“I don’t know what a speakeasy is.”

“That’s okay, hot shot,” you grin. “I could always take you to one sometime.”

“Yeah?”

“If Seungcheol doesn’t forbid me completely from being interested in you, I’d love to maybe go out once we’re all back in the city.”

“What about Wonwoo?”

“He can come too,” you say lazily, waving your hand, and it’s clear at that moment that you’re a little tipsy. 

“So… you’re interested in two guys.”

“And you both seem to be okay with it,” you point out.

“We are,” Mingyu states, deciding to speak for Wonwoo. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I knew it!” 

Five (Night) 

The rehearsal is finally done, and you can’t get Mingyu out of your head. You find yourself stumbling to his room, and it’s only when you knock and Wonwoo answers, that you remember the two of them are shacking up together.

“Oh,” you blink at the tall, stoic man.

“Hi.”

“I’m uh… looking for Mingyu.”

“He’s probably doing laps at the pool,” Wonwoo tells you, leaning against the door frame. “I could walk you down there, or you could wait here till he comes back.”

“I…” You swallow thickly, too drunk to make decisions.

“Looks like you need some water,” Wonwoo muses, looking you up and down. “Come in.”

He pushes the door wider for you, and you stumble into the room, collapsing onto one of the sofa chairs. Wonwoo grabs a bottle of water for you from the small mini fridge, handing it over.

“Looks like the rehearsal was a shit show,” he chuckles.

“All family events are shit shows,” you sigh, taking a huge gulp of water. 

“So… you and Mingyu.”

“What about me and Mingyu?” You narrow your eyes at the pretty man.

Wonwoo shrugs, laughing to himself. “I guess I’m just not surprised.”

“Is he usually the one who gets the girls?” 

You can tell from the way Wonwoo sighs and leans back that you’ve hit the nail on the head.

“He’s just more of an extrovert,” Wonwoo says diplomatically. “Girls are into that.”

“Quiet types can be hot,” you point out. “I don’t have a preference one way or the other.”

Wonwoo meets your gaze, and you can feel him trying to assess you, to assess this situation that you’ve brought to his door.

You’re horny when you’re drunk, and you didn’t bring any sex toys on vacation, so it’s safe to say you’re wound up. 

“Mingyu told me that Seungcheol had a chat with you about the two of us.”

“He did?” you ask in shock.

“There’s not much Mingyu doesn’t tell me.” 

“And this is why I thought maybe the two of you were a couple!”

Wonwoo shakes his head at you, but there’s a smile brewing on the corners of his lips. “Have some more water.”

You roll your eyes at him but you do as you’re told. “So… Mingyu told me you’d be okay with me liking both of you, was he right?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Wonwoo sighs.

“That’s what Mingyu said!” you bellow. “We’re all on the exact same page!”

“It would look that way.”

“So…” you swallow thickly. “Threesome in Thailand?”

Wonwoo laughs, and you love the way he looks when he’s smiling. He’s so pretty, and the entire mysterious, stoic facade falls away.

“Not when you’re drunk.”

“Give me like… half an hour and this whole bottle of water and I’ll be good, I promise!” you insist.

“Not tonight,” Wonwoo says again. “In fact, I think I should probably walk you back to your room right about now.”

“Boring!” you whine. 

“Boring, but the right thing to do.”

Wonwoo stands up, and he holds out a hand to you. You accept his offer, allowing him to pull you to your feet. You continue to whine as he escorts you across the resort to your own room, and when you get there, you pout out your lower lip.

“This is going to happen,” you tell him. 

“Sure it is,” Wonwoo laughs, using your keycard to open your room. “Goodnight.”

“Do I not get a little kiss?”

Wonwoo sighs, and then he leans in… only for his lips to brush past your cheek. “Get some sleep,” he tells you. “And tomorrow, after the wedding, we’ll all sort this out.” 

Six (Day) 

Wonwoo can’t stop staring at you. He’d thought you’d been pretty last night, but today, in your full wedding outfit, you’re an absolute vision.

He can’t get you out of his head, can’t get the thought of you asking for a kiss off of his mind.

He’d done the right thing by denying you, he knows that, but fuck- he’s wishing he wasn’t so good of a man.

You’re stunning, even prettier than the bride by Wonwoo’s account. 

Despite the differences between you and your brother, you’re awfully good at acting as if everything is alright, as if you weren’t drunk last night. You look like the perfect sister, the Choi family a vision of greatness. 

It’s obvious to Wonwoo, as it’s obvious to Mingyu, that sometime soon, you’ll be bedding them both.

It’s been a while since Wonwoo and Mingyu shared anyone, but Wonwoo’s sure the two of them will work the dynamic out.

The only thing he’s unsure about is what comes after.

You’re Seungcheol’s sister, which means, you’re going to be in similar circles for as long as Seungcheol is still in the sport- maybe even after.

Is one night of fun worth the tension on his relationship with Seungcheol?

If Wonwoo cops out, letting Mingyu get all the fun - because Mingyu is very unlikely to back out of this supposed arrangement - will Wonwoo regret it?

Is there a future here with you? Does Wonwoo know you well enough to take the chance?

He’s very distracted for the entire wedding, but Wonwoo can’t help himself.

You’re a risk, and Wonwoo’s never been one to dabble with those- but, something deep inside of him, is telling him you might just be worth it. 

Six (Night) 

It’s supposed to be the happiest day of Seungcheol’s life, but he can’t help the annoyance that fills him as he watches you and Mingyu dance together at the reception.

Seungcheol is tapping his fingers, considering intervening- when a soft hand places itself on his own.

“Cheol?” his new wife, Sumi, says, drawing his attention. 

“Yes?”

“Stop staring.”

Seungcheol had brought the situation up with Sumi a number of times this trip, and it’s clear she’s aware of what’s making him so irate. 

“Can they be any more obvious?” Seungcheol groans.

“They’re just having fun.”

“Too much fun.”

Now it’s Sumi’s turn to sigh. “Seungcheol. Is this really going to be our first argument as man and wife?”

Seungcheol pauses.

“This is your sister we’re talking about. I understand you being protective, of her and your friends, but we know how y/n is. This isn’t going to be anything serious. Let her have her fun, and try not to think about it too deeply.” 

“How am I supposed to train with these guys knowing they slept with my sister?” Seungcheol counters. 

“If you don’t ask for confirmation that it happened, you never have to know,” Sumi says simply. “Just, don’t think about it.”

Seungcheol releases a deep breath. He’s not about to argue with his wife, but the whole situation is still very frustrating. 

“For all we know, nothing will happen,” Sumi continues. “Just think about that.”

Seven (Day) 

Wonwoo is at his breaking point. Lounging by the pool with Mingyu, watching you swim- watching the water glitter along your body as you move fluidly through the water-

“Fuck me,” Mingyu groans, sipping his beer. “I think I’m going to have to sit here for a while.”

“Huh?”

That’s when Wonwoo turns to realize Mingyu is stiff as a rock in his shorts, using a lounger pillow to cover himself awkwardly. 

Wonwoo can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “Really dude?”

“I’m pent up!” Mingyu defends himself. 

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” Wonwoo points out. “Maybe it’s best for everyone if we behave.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes. “Okay mister half-cocked.” 

Wonwoo looks down immediately, realizing he’s now also sporting a half-chub. 

“Fuck.” Wonwoo grabs a pillow from the lounger beside him, placing it on his lap like Mingyu. 

“You know, it’s not even just about her being hot,” Mingyu says. “She’s an interesting person. She’s fun and artsy, and there’s emotional depth to her too.”

“I’ve never heard you say the words ‘emotional’ and ‘depth’ together in a sentence,” Wonwoo chuckles.

“Yeah, well, y/n has me thinking about big things.”

Seven (Night) 

You head to the bar after dinner with one goal in mind; getting the two hot Olympians into your bed. You’d seen them ogling you at the pool earlier, and after toying with the notion of not sleeping with Mingyu and Wonwoo, you’ve decided the opportunity is too good to pass up.

Mingyu and Wonwoo aren’t hard to find, they’re seated at the bar, thick as thieves. All it takes is approaching them to get their attention.

“Hey, y/n,” Mingyu smiles, looking you up and down. 

“Hey yourself, big guy,” you grin.

“Want to join us for a drink?” Wonwoo asks, already waving down the bartender for you.

“Actually, I was thinking maybe you two would want to get three bottles of beer and come to my room to check out my view.”

Mingyu swallows a noticeable lump in his throat. “Your view?”

“You know, my room is west-facing, and the sunset is gorgeous there, but you guys better hurry to decide or we might miss it.” You love teasing with them, and you love the way they both stumble quickly from their chairs even more.

Wonwoo says something to the bartender, and in five seconds flat, he’s holding three beers, intent to follow you to your room.

The walk is quiet, with tensions running high, but you think this is all part of the foreplay.

You have the power, and it’s absolutely dizzying.

The moment the door to your room closes behind the two men, you know you have them, completely, and it’s a wonderful thought.

“Here,” Wonwoo says, holding out a beer for you.

“Thank you.” You walk forward, toward your deck, sliding open the glass door to look out at the setting sun as it traces beautiful reds and purples along the ocean. “Told you the view was amazing.”

“It is,” Mingyu breathes, and when you turn, you find him staring at you.

“So…” You put your beer down on the outside table. “Are we doing this, or what?”

Wonwoo exchanges a look with Mingyu, and although you’re certain they’ve made up their minds, you’re also pretty sure it’s Wonwoo who has the most reservations about this whole thing.

“Look, what happens in Thailand stays in Thailand,” you muse. “Seungcheol never has to know.”

“I won’t say anything if you don’t,” Mingyu notes, looking at his friend.

Wonwoo lets out a sigh. “Fuck it.”

“Fuck it,” you repeat with a grin, joining the men in your room while shutting the door to the deck behind you. “Look, as artsy as I am, I’ve never had a threesome,” you explain. “So… I think I want you both to take the lead.”

“We can do that,” Mingyu nods, setting his beer down. 

“And if anything feels wrong, just say something,” Wonwoo agrees, also discarding his drink.

“Okay.”

You look between the men, and shockingly, it’s Wonwoo who moves first. He steps close to you, his hands reaching for your hips. “So… what do you like?”

“What do I like?” you ask.

“Yeah.” He leans closer, his lips ghosting past your throat, sending a shiver through your form as his mouth moves to your ear. “What do you like?” 

“Um…” You swallow thickly, already feeling as if you’re in a daze. “I guess, I’m good with rough.”

“Rough?” He nips at your ear lobe and it takes everything in you not to moan from the sensation. 

“Like… spanking, choking, manhandling-” You feel like you’re rambling already. 

“What else?”

“Clit stuff? I can’t cum without someone rubbing my clit, so, that’s pretty important.”

“Most girls can’t cum without clit stuff,” Wonwoo tells you. “So don’t worry too much about that.”

“What do you not like?” Mingyu asks.

“Well, I’ve never tried anal, and I’m not going to try it today,” you blurt out, causing both men to chuckle.

“Neither of us expected that,” Wonwoo muses. 

“Okay, good.” You feel like a weight has been lifted, part of you had been worried anal would be a natural stepping stone for a threesome, but these Olympians seem very devoted to making the experience a good one for you, something new but familiar, still within your area of interest.

“Come on.” Wonwoo pulls away from your throat, grabbing your hand to guide you to the bed. “Mingyu has zero patience, he was hard today just watching you in the pool, so you probably shouldn’t tease him for much longer.”

“I wasn’t the only one who was hard,” Mingyu snaps, and you look between the men. They’d really been hard just from watching you today? You’d had no idea how deep their interest in you has truly run, and it makes confidence flow through you. 

Mingyu takes a seat on the bed, and Wonwoo guides you between his friend's open knees.

Your hands find the larger man’s shoulders, and he looks up at you adoringly. He grabs the back of your thighs, pulling you closer. 

It only feels natural to get on top of Mingyu, straddling him as your lips meet for the first time.

He lets you control the pace at first, kissing you gently as one hand cups your cheek, his other pressing to the small of your back to help you get seated on him.

Soon, however, Mingyu is getting more and more eager, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip as he moans. 

You can feel yourself getting hotter by the second, and you allow the man entry to your mouth, grinding down against him as you make out.

He’s already hard in his board shorts, and that knowledge prompts you to hurry with undressing him. You start with his button-up shirt, working your way to open it up before you can push it from his shoulders.

Mingyu groans louder, allowing you to strip his torso, and then your hands begin to explore his muscular body.

His own hands begin to massage you, both of them moving to your ass, teasing you through your dress. Then, his fingers slip under the fabric, moving up in an effort to get you undressed as well.

Before you know it, you’re both halfway to nudity, with you in only a bikini, and Mingyu in his board shorts. 

Then, Mingyu is rolling you onto your back, his kisses descending to your throat, then your breasts-

You can only moan and writhe against the sheets, loving the way his mouth toys over your pussy, his tongue licking at you through your bikini bottoms.

“Take them off,” you tell him, lifting your hips to aid Mingyu.

The bed dips next to you, and you turn to see Wonwoo. “Can I take off your bikini top too?” he asks.

“Yes, please.” You swallow thickly as the two men get you fully naked for them, and it feels amazing to be bare for them both.

Mingyu immediately grabs your thighs, pressing his mouth to your core while Wonwoo begins to massage your breasts, his thumb grazing past your nipple deliciously.

You haven’t had someone eat you out in a while, and the feeling of a tongue lapping at your clit has you crying out. Your hand flies to Wonwoo’s thigh, squeezing him while he chuckles down at you.

“That good, huh?”

“So good,” you whimper. 

He pinches your nipple, and you cry out louder.

“Is this the type of pain you like?” he asks.

“Mmmm,” you moan, nodding. “Feels amazing.”

Wonwoo leans down over you, letting go of your breast to grasp your jaw.

You can’t help yourself, you lift your head a little, eager for his lips.

He gives you what you want, pressing his mouth to yours for the first time.

He’s a lot more calculated than Mingyu had been, controlled even. There’s something so sexy about a man who knows how to keep an even pace, and it has you moaning against his lips while Mingyu continues to eat you out as if his life depends on it.

It’s Wonwoo who decides when to deepen the kiss, and you grab at his shoulders, threading your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. 

This feels amazing- two mouths on you at once, worshipping your body.

Wonwoo’s hand slips down to your breast, pinching your nipple and making you cry out even more, your thighs quaking around Mingyu’s head-

Then, Wonwoo breaks the kiss, sitting up again to look down at you.

“Can I touch you?” you ask, noticing the tent in his pants. “Please?”

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

Wonwoo shifts a little, pulling his shorts down just enough for you to wrap your hand around his cock.

He’s big, bigger than you’d expected-

“Needs lube,” Wonwoo tells you, pulling your hand away from him. “Your spit or mine?”

“Yours,” you breathe.

Wonwoo chuckles, then he leans over you again, grabbing your jaw and prompting you to open your mouth.

When you stick out your tongue, he spits into your mouth. 

“Now, onto your hand,” he instructs.

Fuck. There’s something so dirty about what he just did- spitting into your mouth, getting you to spit into your hand-

You’ve never been one for spitting, but if Wonwoo’s the one doing it? Fuck it, your mouth is wide open.

You spit onto your palm, bringing it to his cock.

The lubrication makes stroking him easier, and you do your best to focus on both men.

It’s a repetitive motion with Wonwoo’s cock, and it makes it easy for you to lose yourself in the feeling of Mingyu, who suddenly pushes two digits into your wet hole, making you moan even louder.

“Looks like he wants you to cum,” Wonwoo muses.

“I can do that,” you nod, whimpering again when Mingyu sucks roughly on your clit.

He’s pumping his fingers expertly, hitting your G-spot while your pussy loudly squelches around him, betraying how wet and turned on you are. 

“Come on, gorgeous,” Wonwoo encourages you, pinching your nipple again and making you moan louder. “Mingyu’s been good for you, hasn’t he?”

“So good,” you whimper, closing your eyes and giving in to the sensations.

“Then cum for us,” Wonwoo tells you, tweaking your nipple again-

The pleasurable pain is enough to send you over the edge, your core clamping down tight on Mingyu’s fingers, your thighs trying to close around his head while he continues to suck roughly on your pulsating clit-

The ecstasy of your orgasm is flooding through you like a tidal wave, taking over every inch of your body and making you delirious. 

You’re a gasping mess, but two sets of hands keep you steady, working you through your orgasm until you feel a tear in your eye from oversensitivity.

“Okay, Gyu,” Wonwoo sighs. “I think she’s had enough of your mouth.”

Mingyu lets out an audible whine, but he pulls away from your pussy. You can practically hear him lick his lips, then his fingers. 

“You tasted like magic, baby,” Mingyu tells you, and you open your eyes to see him standing up, pushing his board shorts down to reveal an even bigger cock than Wonwoo’s.

“Do we need condoms?” Wonwoo asks.

“No, I’m protected, unless you guys-”

“We’re clean,” Mingyu tells you, looking down at your pussy. 

“You sure about this?” Wonwoo questions, stopping your hand on his cock so you can give him your full attention.

“Yeah, want you guys to cum inside of me,” you whimper.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Mingyu laughs, dragging you to the edge of the bed. He rubs the tip of his length up and down your slit. “Ready, baby?”

“Yeah, fuck me,” you nod, picking up where you left off with Wonwoo’s cock, which you begin to stroke even faster.

Mingyu pushes an inch into you, letting your body adjust to his girth. You groan loudly, turning your head and looking at Wonwoo.

“Can I suck you off while he fucks me?” you ask. 

“Are you sure you can manage both of us at once?” 

“I’ll do my best,” you promise.

Your honesty must be amusing to Wonwoo because he laughs. “Okay, gorgeous. But I’m not going to have you lying down like this, we’re going to do this right and spit roast you.”

“Spit roast?” You blink.

“Just trust us,” Wonwo says, pulling away from you to stand up. You watch him get undressed, and Mingyu takes the opportunity to sink even deeper into your core, making you both groan.

“Do we have to spitroast?” Mingyu asks.

“It’s the only way that makes sense for her,” Wonwoo explains.

“Yeah but, I’d have to pull out, and flip her onto her hands and knees, and I don’t want to be out of this perfect pussy for even a second.” Gosh, Mingyu’s so whiney, it’s kind of adorable.

“Well, power through, champ,” Wonwoo chuckles, shaking his head at his friend.

“Fuck, fine.”

In one quick motion, Mingyu pulls out of your core and flips you over. His hands grasp your hips, pulling you up into doggy before guiding his cock back into your wet hole.

It seriously only took a second, and you’re groaning from the sensation of being filled again.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Wonwoo asks.

“It almost killed me,” Mingyu says dramatically.

Wonwoo gets onto the bed in front of you, and you push up onto your hands, looking up at him.

Wonwoo strokes your hair. “Sure you’re ready for this?” 

“Why do a threesome if you’re not going to try double penetration of some kind?” you counter.

“Little miss overachiever here,” Wonwoo chuckles affectionately.

“This pussy feels so good,” Mingyu groans behind you, landing a gentle smack to your ass that has you whimpering loudly.

“Let's see how your mouth feels.”

Wonwoo grabs the base of his cock, holding his length up for you. You eagerly move forward, wrapping your mouth around the tip.

It’s hard to move forward and get more of him in your mouth with Mingyu fucking you gently, but as his pace increases, his thrusts getting rougher, it gives you more leeway to sink onto Wonwoo’s cock.

You suck him eagerly, closing your eyes and enjoying the double-stuffed feeling.

“You’re definitely an overachiever,” Wonwoo groans, beginning to move his hips a little to meet your motions, making it easier for you. “Sucking me so good.” 

You groan around him, loving the praise.

Wonwoo had struck you as so shy when you met him- but it’s always the quiet types who are the dirtiest fucks with the most sinful mouths.

You love having both of them. Mingyu, who’s so enraptured by you that all he can manage are moans and whimpers, and Wonwoo, who’s controlled enough to praise you and keep a handle on the entire situation.

They balance each other out very well, and this whole thing feels like heaven. 

Mingyu is fucking you roughly now, and there’s something so oddly sexy about the force of his balls against your clit with each thrust- these men have you cock drunk, have you thinking about shit that’s never even crossed your mind before.

Another gentle smack against your ass has you moaning lewdly around Wonwoo’s cock, and pain blossoms across your skin deliciously.

“You get so tight when I spank you,” Mingyu groans.

“Then keep spanking her,” Wonwoo suggests.

“I don’t want to hurt her.”

“She said she likes it rough, I doubt it will be an issue.”

God, you love a man who listens, a man who takes note of your kinks. With your mouth full, you can’t exactly advocate for yourself, but you don’t have to, Wonwoo will do it for you. 

Another smack has your eyes rolling into the back of your head, your pussy clenching tightly around the large intrusion.

“Fuck,” Mingyu groans, landing another smack.

The man behind you has slowed his thrusts now, too focused on spanking you to be cohesive, but Wonwoo takes the opportunity to fuck your face harder.

If he’d tried this when Mingyu was going wild, he would have risked making you choke on his cock, but now, he’s in control, and you love the way he dominates your mouth. 

You do your best to suck Wonwoo well, and the groans that begin to tumble from his lips are affirmation enough that you’re doing your job.

Mingyu’s finished with the spanking, and one of his hands slips around your body, fingers finding your clit.

“Want you to cum on my cock,” Mingyu tells you.

You moan a confirmation sound, and Mingyu begins to slowly fuck you again, rubbing your still sensitive clit harshly.

Wonwoo abruptly pulls out of your mouth, and you look up at him in confusion. “Want to watch you come undone for us,” Wonwoo tells you, his fist now wrapped around his length.

You watch him pump his cock, and fuck- it looks so good.

There’s a lump in your throat, and you swallow it thickly, overwhelmed by everything in the best possible way.

“Fuck,” you whimper, closing your eyes-

“Look at me,” Wonwoo instructs. 

It’s hard to do as he commands, but you do as you’re told, gazing up at him.

He continues to pump his cock, one hand in your hair to keep your neck arched so your eyes are on him.

Mingyu’s beginning to groan behind you again and the sounds turn you on even more.

You can feel the coil building in the pit of your stomach, and the whimpers escaping you are notice enough that you’re getting close.

“That’s it, gorgeous,” Wonwoo groans. “Cum for him, then you get to cum for me.”

God, his words are perfection, and the tension builds even more-

Mingyu rubs your clit harder, and you whimper loudly, hands beginning to shake as you hold yourself up.

“Fuck her harder,” Wonwoo instructs. “She’s close.”

Mingyu does as he’s told, and the roughness is all you need, a moment later, you’re gasping loudly, your core clamping down on Mingyu’s cock, clit throbbing deliciously.

“Fuck!” Mingyu groans, his thrusts becoming erratic as he begins to fill you up with his cum. 

His hands are rough on your hips, but you love it, love the way you can feel his cock pulsing as he shoots deep inside of you. 

When Mingyu finally finishes, you can feel his breath against your shoulders, and there’s something erotic about that too.

“Still ready for more?” Wonwoo asks, stroking your cheek.

“Yeah, want your cum too,” you tell him.

Mingyu chuckles, pulling out of you with a grunt.

He gets off the bed, moving to the bathroom, and leaving you alone with Wonwoo.

“Do you want to be on top?” Wonwoo questions.

“I’m tired,” you whine.

The man above you laughs. “Then I’ll do all the work, get onto your back.”

You do as you’re told, releasing a sigh of relief as you lay down on the bed. Wonwoo gets between your thighs. “Mingyu always makes such a mess,” he tuts. “We’ll have to clean you up after this.”

As much as he’s made a remark about Mingyu’s cum, the substance doesn’t seem to bother Wonwoo, who immediately drags the tip of his cock across your pussy lips, pushing in gently.

You groan, reaching up to grab Wonwoo’s shoulders. You tug him down on top of you, threading your fingers through his hair as you press your lips to his own.

Wonwoo kisses you back, beginning to thrust as he does so.

Mingyu is girthier, but Wonwoo is longer, and the tip of his cock hits deep inside of you, making you moan immediately.

Now that he’s inside of you, it’s clear Wonwoo’s not as much of a talker. He gives you his entire focus, his lips not leaving yours as he works you open, finding the perfect pace.

You know he wants you to cum with him, and you’d bet that he’s close after the blow job you gave him, so you sneak your hand between your bodies, gently rubbing your clit.

You’re super sensitive after two orgasms, and you can feel your pussy clench desperately from the stimulus. 

Wonwoo groans against your lips, adjusting so he can wrap one hand around your throat. He doesn’t apply a lot of pressure, just enough to make your body tingle with delight.

There’s something so erotic about knowing this man is stronger than you, knowing he could easily hurt you- but he won’t. He’s giving in to your desires, your kinks, in an effort to make this sex as good as possible for you.

A little more pressure has you whining, and Wonwoo breaks the kiss to look down at you. “Good?”

You whimper, nodding. “Good!”

His lips attack yours again, but there’s more ferocity this time, and as you rub your clit as roughly as you can stand, you know you won’t be able to hold out very long like this. 

The bed dips next to you and you know Mingyu has returned, but Wonwoo doesn’t break the kiss to allow you to give his friend any attention.

Mingyu’s hand glides up your arm, and he’s able to push it between your chest and Wonwoo’s, fingers pinching at your nipples.

You whine even louder, overcome by the pleasure that’s beginning to surge through you again.

Wonwoo’s fucking you roughly now, his hand still on your throat as he kisses your breath away, Mingyu’s playing with your sensitive nipples, and you’re rubbing your clit- this is definitely heaven, and you give yourself over to the feeling of it. 

God, to be worshipped by two people- how can you ever go back to regular one-on-one sex after this?

You can feel your pussy clenching, getting closer and closer to the edge-

Wonwoo breaks the kiss, his lips seeking out your throat. “I can feel that you’re almost there, gorgeous,” he groans.

“Yes!” you whimper.

“So do it, cum for us.”

He tightens his grip on your throat and your entire body fizzles with hot erotic energy.

You clench your eyes shut, focusing on the pressure in your abdomen-

One more tweak of your nipples has you gasping, exploding around Wonwoo, who groans lewdly in your ear, fucking you even harder in an effort to reach his high with you.

A moment later you can feel him filling you up too, and it feels so good to be this full. 

Mingyu relents on your nipples, and you pull your hand away from your clit in favor of wrapping your arms around Wonwoo, holding him close and panting while you both enjoy the last seconds of your highs.

When it’s all said and done, you can hardly open your eyes, can hardly move as Wonwoo gets off of you.

A minute later, someone is washing your inner thighs, and then, Mingyu is lifting you off the bed. You find yourself in the bathroom, held up by two strong men as they wash your body, pressing gentle kisses here and there.

“Think we fucked her stupid,” Mingyu chuckles.

“Three orgasms can be a lot all at once,” Wonwoo muses. 

“I don’t know about you, but if what happens in Thailand stays in Thailand, and this is the only night we get with her, I plan on giving her more than just three.”

“Let her rest a little, we’ll get her some water, and we’ll see how she feels,” Wonwoo reminds his overeager friend.

You can’t muster the energy to speak just yet, but fuck it, you’re not going to miss this opportunity, you’re aware of how fleeting it may be.

Epilogue

Everyone is at the airport, and Seungcheol can’t take his gaze off you, Wonwoo, and Mingyu. 

To the untrained eye, you might all just look like travel buddies, sitting together and chatting. But to Seungcheol, he can see right through it.

“They totally fucked,” Seungcheol says through gritted teeth, crossing his arms over his chest as he waits next to his wife for their flight out of Thailand.

“You’re overthinking things again,” Sumi reminds him, flipping through her fashion magazine.

“I’m not overthinking anything,” Seungcheol snaps, but then he takes a second to calm himself. “It’s not going to last.”

Sumi lets out a sigh. “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

Seungcheol can’t exactly explain the emotions he’s feeling, there are too many of them, jumbled together and amplified. 

But as he watches you laugh with his friends, he realizes it’s the first time he’s really seen you smile in years.

It’s a thoughtless smile, a smile that’s not forced or trained to keep up with the family image. It’s a smile that says you’re completely at ease with the situation, and upon seeing it, something inside Seungcheol softens. 

Your entire relationship as siblings has been competition, and Seungcheol thinks maybe part of this whole issue has been the feeling that he’s competing with you for his friends’ attention. Maybe he shouldn’t be viewing it that way, after all, you deserve to be happy too.

Seungcheol’s pretty sure this love affair between the three of you won’t last, and when it’s over, he can have his friends back. He can pretend none of this ever happened.

But, Seungcheol supposes, as your brother, the best thing he can do is let this all go, and try to just be happy for you.

With one last sight, Seungcheol places his hand over Sumi’s, leaning in to give her cheek a kiss. “You’re my rock.”

“I know.”

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! I haven't written meanie in forever and I'm glad I was able to spend time with them in this fic this month.

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🔮 preview.  To celebrate a year or so of being together, you, Mingyu, and Wonwoo are back in Thailand. It feels fitting to be celebrating a relationship that started here, and it’s with newfound appreciation that you enjoy the resort Seungcheol got married at thirteen months ago.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, threesome, double penetration, anal, fingering, pussy eating, spanking, groping, manhandling, fullness kink, praise, dirty talk, squirting, overstimulation, etc…   I petnames. (hers). Gorgeous, baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.3 I teaser wc. 90

🌙 starring. Seungcheol & Mingyu x afab!Reader

bonus

When you’d returned to the city, you’d invited Mingyu and Wonwoo to your art showing. The two of them had come through for you, making the night even more wonderful than it had promised to be.

You’d all gone home after the showing together, spending hours fucking and talking- and things had just continued that way.

No relationship in your life has ever been this easy, and you realize, after almost a year of seeing the two men, that this isn’t a dynamic you ever want to give up.

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[keravnous]

diet mountain dew; john wick/fem!reader (smut, 18+)

dating john wick - the playlist

The Boogeyman is out to get you. Little does he know, that you too are willing to do quite a bunch of things just to stay alive.

warnings: blood, guns, knives, injuries, physical violence/fighting, assassination attempt; dub-con, rough sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), choking, dirty talk, spanking, a lot of manhandling bc for the love of god he doesn't know how to be soft anymore, gun kink, knife kink, size kink, strength kink, squirting, body worship if you blink, is this hate-fucking? idk; john has a horse cock change my mind; john is in his 50s, the reader is in her 20s; set somewhere after the series i guess? (I refuse to accept he's dead); problematic family relationship as a plot device; let's all collectively ignore the fact that he would actually never touch another woman or even dare to catch the smallest of feelings again; john gets off on the violence

word count: 10,6 k

thank you mel for a) listening to my ramblings and b) reading a good chunk of the first third of this dumpster fire and still going nuts about it, kissies and thank you v for listening to my keanu ramblings without losing faith in me

You wonder, if praying will help you. Probably not.

The sound of carnage, screams and gunshots in the hallway abruptly stops. You hear the assailant's heavy footsteps echoing off the floorboards outside of your hotel room mere seconds before the door bursts open, flies out of its hinges and rattles to the ground, wood creaking and breaking, splinters flying everywhere.

There had been a hit out on you for two days and every single soldier in your father's militia was ready to defend your life with their own.

Literally. You can tell by the man entering your suite.

You can tell by just how much he is covered in blood. You can tell by the way it drips down his forehead and how it soaks his white shirt - even the soles of his shoes creak with it. You can tell by the way he is totally and utterly drenched in red red red, and because you are certain it is not his.

They literally gave their life for you. The thought hits you like a blow to the head. People have died because of you. Fathers, brothers, sons. You recall your last conversation with your own father. They want us dead, they put out a contract on us - you had never seen him so nervous, so disheveled. What does that mean - his anxiety had been washing over you in seeping hot waves, sending cold shivers down your spine. It means, I need you out of the house - now.

Nausea bubbles in your stomach as the man now approaches you, casually strolls into the suite with his finger on the trigger of the gun dangling from his hand and you stare back at him - a deer in the headlights, frozen by fear in the eyes of its deadly predator. One of your father's men jumps from his cover, fires a shot and gets hit back with one straight between his eyes. It happens so quickly, that you can't turn your head away. You see the bullet piercing his forehead, blood splattering as soon as it exits the skull on the other side. His head flies back a little, and then his body goes limp, slack, as he falls to the ground with a heavy thud.

You want to scream. You want to vomit. You want to run. But there is nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide from him.

There's only one soldier left with you in the suite now and he is hiding around the corner, near the bathroom. The stranger - the assassin, the killer - does not lower the gun again, and does not let his eyes stray from you as he carefully enters the room. You feel terribly exposed, dressed only in your negligée, not daring to move.

Now, that the dim light of the suite's living room strikes his face, you can finally see him, see the man who has come to end you. He is older than you, maybe nearly twice your age, with dark hair and even darker eyes, matching his black suit. Lean and athletic, chest heaving slightly with physical exhaustion. The Boogeyman.

You do not know who or what you had expected, what cruel and dreadful images your brain had conjured up in the past 48 hours - 48 frightful hours of being moved around from hideout to hideout by your father's men, not staying in one place longer than necessary - but it certainly was not that. Not him. He is a lot more handsome than his reputation has led on. Seeing him on the subway around rush hour you would have never suspected him to be in this business. He looks nice. And that is exactly what makes him dangerous.

You have heard his name before. Echoing from the walls. Baba Yaga. Whispered with both: fear and respect. The Boogeyman. Blurted out: like a curse or like a blessing. Mister Wick: like redemption, like damnation. Jonathan, the king's son walking the earth as the devil.

John. The sound of his name is oddly human - disturbingly human - for someone looking as calm and collected, focused and concentrated as he does right now, while being drenched in blood and pointing a gun at you.

You must have said his name out loud, because his eyebrows twitch irritatedly, a movement so quick you barely missed it - must've sound desperate too, then.

Vision zeroing in on the barrel of his gun, your hands clutch the sofa's edge. There is so much adrenaline pumping through your veins right now that it freezes your limbs, has your ears ringing. The only thing responding to your brain fully are your eyes, and they snap away from the gun and over to the remaining soldier. It's a quick look, not even a second, but the hitman seems to recognize it and - with near inhumane speed - flicks his gun, and fires two shots. Blood splatters against the white door as the shots pin the soldier's body against it, and is it finally drops to the ground heavily it leaves a nasty trail, all wet and sticky and red.

Could be you.

You want to scream, but your body does not belong to you anymore, does not respond to your commands. It is a desperate, cruel sound that leaves your throat instead as you flinch with the sound of the gun being fired.

"Let's make this quick" his voice is gravelly and rough, like he has seen a thousand grim things and the pain of it has etched its way into his throat, left a nasty mark on every tone that ever dared to cross after.

That is when your fight or flight suddenly kicks in. Well, more specifically, it kicks in while he is speaking, as he starts to swap the empty clip of his gun.

He underestimates you. Everyone does. Your father, your brother. The countless men lying dead littered across the hotel's 25th floor. It will be his mistake.

You latch forward, grabbing the vase from the coffee table in front of you. The weight of it in your hand drags you down.

With all the strength you can muster, which is quite a lot considering the massive amounts of adrenaline that are currently amping up your body - you throw it at him. It connects with his forehead sharply; a deep, irritated noise bursting from his throat as it crashes, splinters and falls to the floor.

You are braver, braver than you should be as your assault does not end there, your body pushing you forward, leaping over the table and crashing into his broad shoulders.

I will not die today

Body ramming into his, he stumbles, as your fist connects with his chin. You have only been partially trained in hand-to-hand combat, after pleading your brother for months until he eventually gave in. Sadly, he wasn't nearly as thorough and honest with it as he was training his drug dealer and gun runners. But now, it is the only thing you can rely on.

There is nothing else; no one else left alive in that building who might be able to help you. It is up to you. So, you might as well try.

And Oh, does desperation fire up your blood.

I will not die today

The diversion does not last long and he - John John John only human only human only human - grabs you by you waist hard, fingers digging into your flesh and into the expensive silk, before he slams your body into the ground. All air leaves your lungs with a dull sound erupting from your chest, just as pain blooms around your ribs.

You cough and he looks down at you, confusion making his brows twitch, before cold-hearted determination takes over once more. John aims his gun at you once more, pulls back the hammer and you do not even think about it, your leg rising as you kick against his hand. The shot misses, buries itself deep into the expensive carpet a few inches next to your skull. You have no time to do either: panic or sigh in relief; instead, you deliver him a kick to his stomach, fighting yourself back onto your feet, punching him straight in the face.

John grunts and grabs your wrist, but you see it coming and throw yourself into his wide frame, wrapping your other arm around his back and thus hooking it underneath his right shoulder, dislocating his arm and preventing him from aiming his gun at you. You claw onto him as he twists your arm close to his stomach, while you wrap your legs around him, making it harder for John to shake you off.

I will not die today

You kick and dig the heel of your foot into his thighs and the back of his knees and he grunts and buckles a little, but turns wild and relentless quicker than you can blink, throws the two of you into the next wall. You gasp sharply as your back connects with the large mirror, splinters digging into your back - not deep enough to actually cut skin, but it stings nonetheless, the impact making you dizzy.

Sharp pain shoots through your back and your neck, but you are not willing to give up yet, as raw energy and rage and desperation surges through your body - one of your legs coming loose and your knee hitting his stomach repeatedly, making John grunt in pain and you use your momentum to dig your hand deep into his back, holding onto him and then swirling out of the deadlock he has got you in, jumping his back like a monkey.

His gun clatters to the ground and for a split second, the room falls silent. Then, roaring like an animal gone wild, he grabs your calves and slams his back into the nearest wall, has you screaming with the impact. You can feel blood pouring from your nose, feel it trickling down your lips.

I will not die today

John is stronger than you are, so so much stronger - the apex predator: all muscle, unbreakable focus and the sheer will to kill. But you are not only a little quicker; you also really want to stay alive. It is a force he rarely encounters. And quite frankly, it irritates him.

He may be older than you, taller than you and stronger than you but you have something he does not have: you actually still got something to lose.

And you fight like it, too. All scratches and sharp yells, as you punch and scrabble at his shoulders and tear at his tie, trying to strangle him with it. John is struggling against it, gasping for air and winding beneath your assault and then his grip around your claves grows hard like iron, seconds before he pulls - throws you over his head like you weigh nothing. You land on the expensive carpet with a heavy thud - groaning as you crash onto your side with sharp pain shooting through your shoulder, down your ribcage.

I will not die today

John sputters and stumbles forward, looking for his gun but you are quicker, kicking it away with your foot. It clatters back onto and slides over the wooden floorboards.

For a second you consider your choices, fighting yourself back onto your feet but John - a practiced and seasoned fighter - beats you to it and lands a blow to your upper back, sends you back down with him - a mess of sputtering saliva and painful groans. His body topples onto yours and he quickly rolls the two of you over the floor.

John is heavy and warm on top of you, as he keeps you in a tight headlock, your chest pressed to the floor and neck bend in a painful angle. He presses his strong forearm down onto your windpipe and you choke and cough, feet kicking, hands dragging across the wood, clawing at it feebly.

You can feel his breath on your cheek, hot and damp. You can feel his torso pressing against your back as he kneels behind you.

I will not die today

Mustering all your remaining strength, you trash against him, ramming your backside into his stomach. He grunts and for a split second, his grip loosens. It is all you need. Throwing your elbow back, you hit him in the chest and he caves in.

You cough, crawling forward and then scrambling back onto your feet, one of your negligée’s straps falling down your shoulder in the process. You hastily pull it back up, seconds before John launches a cascade of punches onto you.

A few of them hit you as you try to block them; dull pain igniting in your body, blooming in your face and arms. Your breath goes heavy as you stumble backwards. You cannot do this. There is no way. You just physically can't.

He is stronger. Taller. Heavier. Deadlier. Your body and every single muscle, bone, nerve in it aches and you wheeze but he is already onto you again, half-tackles you and grabs your waist, ready to smash you back onto the ground.

You cling onto him with all your remaining strength, struggling against his huge frame, wrapping your hands around his neck in an attempt to get him to stumble.

His hair tingles on your naked arms. Oh wait --

Tearing at his hair - which has him grunting in both, pain, and irritation at the unusual attempt - you clumsily pull yourself up onto his shoulders, cutting his face right above his eyebrow with your nails in the process until you finally wrap one leg around his throat and close it around there tightly, choking him. John tries to pull you off him and succeeds after quite the tussle, only to find your frame clinging to him, legs and arms wrapping around his body, hands scratching and feet kicking.

I will not fucking die today

In an attempt to either get rid of each other or submit the last blow, to finally kill the other, you two swirl through the room - a deadly dance of torn skin, smashed glass panes and mirrors, bruises and cuts. Somewhere in between kicks and punches, he managed to pick up his gun - and right now, you are mustering all of your exhausted strength to prevent the barrel from pressing against your skull.

Eventually, John crashes your bodies through a large wooden door, and is not quick enough - unable to stop his own oxe-like strength - to stop himself from stumbling into the room. The two of you only come a halt as his knees hit something soft and ironically that is what finally topples both of you over, landing onto the mattress of your bedroom with a soft thud and deep, exhausted grunts.

Your ears ring, and you are ready to lash out at him again despite the physical exhaustion, to strike him square across the face, as --

There is something hard pressing against your crotch.

The world falls silent.

No. No, there's no fucking way. It's got to bea hidden weapon. Must be.

But clearly, it is not. There, between your spread legs, his hard cock presses snugly against your panty-clad pussy.

And he just feels so huge - mouth-watering huge - that your body responds in its own way, hips snapping up, stuttering against the hard bulge. John lets go off a shaky, ragged breath, hand still clutching his gun. And you know, that this is your window.

Feeling the warmth that his body and his hard dick are radiating through his expensive suit, you roll your hips once - a languid, slow motion, rubbing your pussy over his bulge.

And he groans. A deep, primal sound that sounds a little coarse. John is looking at you, starring you down, but there is a shadow dancing over his eyes, turning his brown eyes into deep and dark, black pits that gives him away.

He is horny. The Boogeyman is fucking horny. You would laugh, if the realization wasn't knocking all air straight from your lungs. Because it just another reminder, proof of what he actually is: human.

And what a sight he is to see - eyes turning darker every second, his chest heaving with every breath and making it seem like his shirt is going to pop a button or two any second now, his cock prodding against its restraints and your clothed cunt.

It makes you want him. The thought leaves you dizzy, makes you gasp.

Apparently, that is all he needs to roll his hips back into yours. And that - that is just unfair. It's playing dirty. It's, it's -- His dick feels huge as it trails along your folds, has the muscles in your abdomen clenching.

"Fuck", you breathe, a little overwhelmed with and helpless at the sudden surge of lust that ignites your body, the wetness pooling between your legs.

John is not saying anything, just stares you down while he continues to slooowly roll his hips into yours, grinds his cock against your cunt. Your pelvis twitches upward as you start to meet his movements, and then you can hear it. He let's go of a deep breath, and it sounds like the faintest moan.

You need to hear more of that. You need more of him, your cunt aching and hole clenching around nothing already.

"John", and this time you say his name - consciously - it sounds a different way of desperate: your voice reduced to a small whisper, torn at the edges by a wanton whimper ripping from your throat.

If it throws him off-guard he does not show it, does not let you see it. Instead, he grabs your chin hard, gaze locking with yours. Dark pupils blown wide, swallowing the honey-brown of his eyes, and your breath hitches.

"Yeah?", he rasps, and it does not take more than one long look from you for him to lean in, to press his lips onto yours.

The kiss tastes of blood and adrenaline and doom, and you relish in it. Relishing the way his lips move against yours and his beard tickles a little, relishing how his tongue presses into your mouth. It feels like he is eating you whole, licking into your mouth, one hand dancing over your waist - featherlight, like he doesn't know how to touch a body without hurting someone, destroying someone.

I will not die today, motherfucker

Your whole body now sings with it, the security of an impending victory, as you roll your hips into his once more, your tongue now licking back into his mouth. For a second you think about how to strike again, now that he is seemingly distracted, but all will to fight leaves your body as one of his hands brushes over your knee, wanders further and eventually rests on your thigh.

The touch is electrifying and then his hand grows braver, his movements more certain, as he grabs your thigh, feels you up. It happens so suddenly, that you gasp into the kiss.

John parts from you, his lips a little plush already. "Oh God", you whisper as you stare Death Turned Human straight in the face, not a single thought remaining in your skull despite your lust.

He doesn't speak, as he gently let’s go off your leg and straightens back up and for a second you think he is going to hurt you, with the way his brows are furrowed - but he doesn't.

Instead, he moves in, right over your comparably tiny frame - a mountain of a man. John kneels above you, his weight pinning you down while he straddles your thighs and Jesus fucking Christ - what a sight he is to see.

Dark locks falling into his forehead, a little sticky with sweat and the bits of blood from the cut your nails gave him moments ago - right above his left eyebrow, still lazily trickling down into his lashes. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, as he hastily gets rid of his jacket, carelessly drops it to the ground. His black button-down clings to his muscular body underneath his waistcoat and his equally as muscular thighs pin you down to the bed, black fabric nearly tearing at the seams. And then there is his hard cock.

It looks as huge as it felt, with the way it bulges his pants, the outline of it clearly visible as it buckles proudly against its restraints. You are certain, you will not be able to close your hand around it fully - not a chance.

One of his hands - the one lacking a finger, which you only now notice and what sends shivers down your spine - wanders over your body, pulling your negligée down in the process, right tit spilling out of the soft silk. He immediately grabs it, cups it with his large hand and squeezes. You mewl, marveling at just how big his hand is, just as his whole body is in comparison to you. His fucked-up finger digs into the flesh, sending shivers down your spine.

John's hand gropes your tit, before he impatiently pulls the neckline down roughly. You sigh, arousal shooting down your spine and tingling in your lower belly, as two of his fingers nudge your nipple, pinch it.

He watches your face intently, as he continues to grope you, rolls your nipple between his fingers. You mewl, breath accelerating a little but it is just not enough and you buck your hips upwards. John grunts in, what you assume is an approving manner, and let's go off your tit, reaches to his belt at his loins.

Quickly pulling a knife from God-knows-where exactly, a sharp blade enters your vision.

You blink, panic seeping through your lust and your legs twitch a little with fear. If John notices it, he neither shows it nor does he say anything, just moves the knife closer to your body.

The blade shines in the dim light as it dances over your exposed thighs carefully, the metal cooly pressing against your skin, before he flicks it and cuts your negligée open. The thin, soft fabric cleanly cut in half it now lazily slides from your aching body, falls to its sides. Your chest heaves, shivers running down your arms and back.

It happens so quickly that you can only blink. As your brain finally catches up with your eyes, you come to realize that he is holding a real fucking tactical knife. You have thrown one once - they are sharp as hell and deadlier than a bullet. The sound of fabric tearing easily, like paper, proves your point.

And John's movements with the blade are so fast that your breath hitches, a little afraid he might cut you. But he does not, instead, he quickly pulls the torn silk off you and away from under you, carelessly tosses it into the dark of the room.

The edge of the blade dances over your skin and you do not dare to breathe, as he trails it up and down your curves, gently nudges your nipples. "I could kill you", he says calmly and then, in lightning speed, presses the blade into the crook of your neck. Your head sinks back into the mattress, in an instinct to flee the sharp edge.

All it does is to expose your neck further and something gleams in John's eyes, as he presses the sharp tip down slowly, carefully nudging your skin with it. The metal is cold and hard and sharp and your breath hitches. Just a little bit more and it might burst your skin, draw blood.

But, to your own confusion, you do not feel threatened anymore. Oddly enough, your nerves tingle with excitement. You blame it on the already high levels of adrenaline that still pump through your veins, rushing back and forth from your brain and your lungs, but a small voice inside of your head whisper gently, deviously, that you know That's not it. And he knows it, too.

It's in his eyes as well, the sheer excitement of it all, the fucked-up pleasure it evokes in the both of you lays heavy in the air.

It turns you fucking on. It turns you on, that the man who - minutes ago - tried you kill you and did hurt you very fucking badly in the process of it, now decides to let you live.

It turns you on, that you are at his mercy.

It turns you on, that he decided to spare you - just for now.

It turns you on, that these large and strong hands holding the knife have that sort of power over you. And thus, as the blade nudges your head back further, you moan.

"I could cut your throat", John's voice is heavy and thick with arousal and you can feel your heartbeat picking up, breath accelerating. His gaze drops down, watches the rapid rising and falling of your breasts hungrily, while another soft moan escapes from your lips.

"Don't", you breathe softly.

The knife practically burns on your skin, and you can feel arousal flooding your clothed pussy, rubbing your thighs together for any sort of friction. John can feel your squirming underneath him, but he can also see your eyes turning watery and dark with lust, pupils blown and a pretty pink spreading on your cheeks, your breath growing shallow. And he just really needs to fucking taste you right now.

As quickly as it appeared, the blade vanishes from your throat before he twirls the knife like the ruthless, reckless professional that he is, and buries it deep to the hilt in the mattress next to you. The sharp sound as it pierces the thick fabric has the hairs on your body standing up, goosebumps rolling over your skin.

"I'll do it later", he rumbles - casually, like he is talking about doing chores or picking up groceries - before hunching over you, grabbing your chin with his fucked-up hand, and kissing you again. His tongue immediately pushes into your mouth, like he is starving to taste you.

John eats you whole, with the way his lips move against yours. His hand cups your face, tongue licking into your mouth, toying with yours. His kiss steals your breath and you start to get dizzy with it, hips bucking. You can feel his lips curling up and then he parts from you, leaving you a gasping mess, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

"Let me touch you, John", you whisper, voice a little small because you do not know why you feel that way, and if he will even allow it. But you just need to feel him.

For a long moment his gaze dances over your face and something shifts behind his eyes, like a shadow gets lifted and then very quickly returns. Ultimately, he gives a court nod, so small you nearly miss it and gives you a little more room while straightening back up.

Carefully, as if not to spook him, you dart one hand out, place it on his chest. The muscle is firm underneath his suit and you run your hand along the lapel of his jacket, down and then back up, before it slips beneath it.

John's body radiates warmth under the black fabric of his shirt and your other hand comes up, before you shove the jacket off his shoulders and onto the floor next to the bed.

Your breath hitches.

He is wearing a holster, a reminder of his deadliness, of the gun laying somewhere next to you. Maybe, he sees the fear returning in your eyes, but he is quick to shrug the holster off, throws it into the dark where it clatters onto the wooden floor boards. What is left in front of you are broad shoulders and a muscular chest, the fabric nearly tearing at his movements.

As you run your hands over it, you cannot help yourself - you need to fucking feel him for real.

Quickly making work of his waistcoat and tie you toss both to the side carelessly, before your hands roam his broad chest. His button-down clings snugly against his upper body and you can feel the muscles work beneath the black fabric as your hands brush over them. You tug at the shirt, pulling its tails from his pants before hastily opening the first few buttons. The skin underneath is pale, littered by blue - red - black bruises, birthmarks scattered in between like stars. You pop open the rest of the buttons, greedy to touch him. And as the shirt falls to the sides your hands are already onto his chest, roaming over and admiring the muscular, defined canvas of strength, that violence has painted a pretty picture on.

John is watching you intently as you undress him and then explore his body, your pupils blown wide and dark, mouth agape a little. He is a little taken aback by it - by someone not seeing his body as the ultimate tool of death that it is, but as something else, that he cannot really pinpoint because he can't even look in the mirror without seeing destruction and decay. But the way your gaze wanders over his body, the way you touch him, is different from that and he has not felt anything like it in years.

And John wants. Carnal desire tugs at his brain, shoots arousal between his legs, makes his cock twitch and a low growl escaping his throat.

The sound gets you going: pushing yourself up with one hand, the other wrapping around his strong neck for leverage as you sit up, mouth immediately clutching to his throat. He tastes of sweat and after-shave - sharp and musky - and you run your tongue over his skin greedily, licking and sucking at the skin while your naked body presses against his.

It disarms him. The gentle touch that you put his body up to, while everything still aches from plowing through the better half of your father's militia and beating the hell out of you, confuses him. Your touch, your lips on his skin are soft and not aiming to hurt - instead, they grow more and more needy, wanton and hasty, as you lick over his bruised skin, tasting his sweat. Your hands over his abdomen caress his defined muscles, in awe of his utter strength, thumbs brushing through the soft and dark trail of hair leading beneath the waistband of his trousers. And all John can do, is watch, his gaze locking with yours as goosebumps erupt on his skin.

And you - oh you; your head swims with the way you turn this animal into a human again, unlock a different set of animalistic needs within him and hearing John's breath growing heavy really fucking does it for you, feeling his scarred and beaten-up skin underneath your hands, wrapping them around the deadly machine that is his body. It makes you want more.

Shedding his blood-stained shirt off of his shoulders, your hands roam over his upper back - feeling the scars there: of knives, larger and small ones and round ones of bullets that once pierced his skin. There is something else, a burn scar, in the shape of a cross and he hisses as your fingers brush over it, nails digging into the stunted skin.

It pulls John out of his stasis, reminds him of who he is and you can feel the air swinging with it seconds before he moves. His large hands wrap around your shoulders and then he pulls you off him, throws you back onto the mattress. You yelp, eyes growing wide as you watch his face as it turns from lightly dazed back to stern, wild, with his brows furrowed.

"That's enough", he says, voice coarse and it still feels like a small victory, even though he spreads your legs roughly, hands digging deep into your thighs - hard enough to bruise - before he kneels between them. He yanks your body forward at the back of your knees, watches your tits bounce and then leans in, his lips immediately attacking your throat, your neck.

His lips are surprisingly soft against your skin, his beard tickling a little as it brushes over your tits, your stomach, your thighs while his tongue licks fat stripes over your nipples and down down down your upper body, right to your navel. One of his hands creeps up your body once more and roughly cups your tit, squeezes, and gropes it, rolls your hardened nipple between his index and middle finger. His stunted ring-finger digs deep into your tit and you gasp, hips bucking. John's lips suck and nibble at your skin, before eventually ghosting over your pubic bone, teasing you before assaulting your thighs again, teeth biting down gently into the soft flesh. You gasp and moan while he gropes your body, inhales your scent - as you watch how his lips, tongue, and teeth dance over your thighs, moving closer to your cunt.

John finally, finally, puts his mouth onto your pussy, peppers open-mouthed kisses around your clit, before clothing his lips around it and sucking on it hard through your panties. Your hips buck as a high-pitched moan erupts from your throat, hands flying into his greying locks.

"Fuck", you whine, feeling fresh wetness flooding your folds, dampening the thin fabric further. John can see the outlines of your wet pussy pressing against your panties and parts from your clit momentarily, only to lick a fat stripe over your clothed cunt, watching it twitch.

"That's fucking pretty", he rasps, gaze locking with yours and you feel all air leaving your lungs. His eyes are so fucking dark, like gleaming black pits swallowing you whole, his breath a little flat with arousal.

You want him to fuck you. Really fuck you. To plow you open, rail you until you cannot sit nor walk. He is already so so close to you, but too far away at the same time. "Please", is all you manage to utter out. And it seems to be sufficient enough for him; seems to get across what you want, what you need.

John's fingers wrap around the front of your lace slip, tugging at the fabric - that rubs along your cunt at the sudden motion and has you gasping quietly - and then he pulls. The lace tears easily as he rips it apart, and cool air hits your wet and hot pussy, as he practically peels you out of your underwear, throws it to the side. The look on his face is wild and you can hear him taking a deep breath, smelling your arousal, before he spreads your folds apart with his thumbs, gaze wandering over your plump and flushed cunt.

Teasingly brushing over your clit with his thumb, John watches your reaction intently. And fuck, you do not disappoint. Throwing your head back, you moan, drawing in a deep breath through your opened mouth that heaves your chest, your eyelids fluttering.

You are dying for him to touch you and as he does, it feels like your body catches fire - lust washing away the dull pain in your limbs and near your ribs.

"Oh God", you breathe out as his thumb draws another wide and slow circle over your clit, your hands darting out and grabbing the sheets "Please."

And John complies, his thumb rubbing over your clit in a slow but steady rhythm.

Gasping, your hands clutch the sheets, knees darting away from each other, giving him more space. John accepts the invitation, grabs one thigh hard, fucked up ring-finger digging deep into your skin. His fingers move further, abandons your clit and dance over your folds, down to your hole. It flutters as two of his digits tease it, gently circling around it.

"Please", you whine once more, lifting your hips a little, a desperate noise leaving your throat. John smirks to himself, before pushing two of his fingers into you.

The stretch is sudden and bigger than expected and you moan coarsely, as he pushes his digits along your walls deeply and nestles them into your seeping hot cunt up to his knuckles. And Jesus, you feel so full already; your head swimming as you consider how big his cock must feel, then.

Your breath goes quick and shallowly as he starts to move them, and then he leans in. Nudges your clit with the tip of his tongue, licks over it.

You feel like combusting on the spot: your nerves tingling with arousal, your whole body still aching from the beating you gave each other earlier - the pain in your back blooming as you stretch it with your hips desperately shoving themselves near his touch - your pussy squeezing his fingers.

John pumps his thick fingers in and out of you, his tongue rubbing and circling your clit and soft, needy moans fall from your lips. Obscene, wet sounds fill the air, mingle with your moans and heavy breathing. His lips close in around your clit, sucking at it while his fingers rub along your spongy walls and your cunt squeezes them hard as fresh wetness floods your folds, your squirt wetting his beard and dripping down on the sheets below.

You can hear - feel - John humming against your pussy, peppering the wet skin with open mouthed kisses, licking over it, and tasting your slick.

You feel so fucking good - lust pulsating through your veins, loins on fire - and your head falls to the side, body rocking with sharp gasps and your mouth agape, eyelids fluttering as --

There's the gun. And the knife.

You could easily grab either one or the other next to you, pull the blade out of the matress or the hammer back; put a bullet right between his eyes or plow the blade deep deep into his skull. Killing the Boogeyman. Killing Baba Yaga.

That would do wonders to your family's business. It would emancipate you from it, you would be free. Free to rule.

"Thinking 'bout killing me?", John rumbles, tongue licking a fat stripe over your cunt, nudging your clit. Your gaze flickers back to him: hair a mess, eyes gleaming darkly, hands on your thighs to keep your legs spread. He does not look surprised. Neither does he look worried.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head: he is toying with you. Has been the whole fucking time. The wolf hunting the deer, running a few rounds through the woods to weaken it; its breath whistling with exhaustion, long legs buckling before it collapses - an easy kill. An easy kill for an old wolf, one, that can't quite handle a real hunt anymore.

But maybe, just maybe - judging from the look in his eyes - he got lost in his own game. Its reins slipped from his bloody hands, the wolf tumbling to the ground.

Looking back at him, your lips curl into a sweet smile. "Not anymore", your hand darts out, brushing the loose strands of dark hair from his face - the soft gesture leaving him visibly confused -, "John."

Two can play this game. And maybe, just maybe, the deer can tire the wolf out first.

Something gleams in John's eyes, dances over them like a shadow and he seems to accept the challenge - readying to tire you out - tongue licking over your clit once more, making you shiver and mewl, as he pulls his fingers out of your dripping hole. You feel empty and --

"Do you really think, you could kill me?", he rumbles, voice deep and rough around the edges, "Stupid slut."

And then, quicker than your brain can process it, his hand comes down on your dripping wet pussy.

Your breath hitches, topples over and leaves your throat as a raw, needy moan. Softly stinging pain blooms between your folds and sets your nerves on fire. Blame it on the bruises, blame it on the pain you both inflicted on each other moments ago, but: it riles you up. Mingles with your aching bones and aching cunt, has you arching your back.

"Y'really think you could kill me", he doesn't sound offended, not even amused - voice plain, like he is inquiring if you really believed the earth to be flat. Like you really are stupid.

And you start to feel stupid, too. There was never a chance. You never had a chance. Your death was sealed, determined the second John stepped into the hotel.

You were stupid to believe you could outrun or beat him. You are stupid. And John has every right to show you, teach you, punish you for it.

Giving your cunt another firm slap, John watches your hips twitch, hears your pussy squelching and soft moans falling from your lips. "Shit", you sigh and he slaps your wet pussy once more, feels your slick folds wetting the palm of his hand.

"D'you like that, girl?", and as your only response are wanton gasps falling from your mouth John chuckles deeply, gives your pulsating cunt another two firm slaps. Seeing how he is pulling you apart, how good he makes you feel really seems to do it for him, gets him quite talkative.

"Uh-huh", you make dumbly, quite illiterate, watching him stroking your flushed, hot cunt with two of his fingers. Shivers run down your spine.

And then he leans back in, licks a fat stripe over your sensitive, flushed cunt, from the hole up to the clit.

You squirm, mewl as his beard brushes over your overstimulated skin, leaving a slight burn that mingles deliciously with a fresh wave of arousal that floods your body scalp to toes.

The muscles in your abdomen clench as two of his fingers circle your fluttering hole and then push in, rubbing along your plush walls agonizingly slowly and you can feel yourself tightening around it. Your juices squelch from your cunt as you squirt against his tongue and your slick runs down your folds, wets his fingers and palm while his tongue laps at your pussy, tasting your sweetness.

John pushes is fingers deeper as you moan and sigh, hands fisting his hair and hips moving against his tongue, his digits thrusting into you.

"Oh god", you huff as his lips close in around your clit, sucking on it and the tip of his tongue flicking against it occasionally.

Another wave of fresh wetness floods your cunt as you squirt once more, wetting the sheets below, your slick running down John's wrist.

John parts from your clit, nudges it with his tongue, his beard glistening with your juices.

"Yeah, that's fucking it", another one of his thick fingers pumps itself into your tight little hole and his other hand - also slick with your juices - grabs your thigh, "That's a good girl."

You feel so full, your spine feels like it's on fire and your brain tingles with it, sends wave of pleasure down down down your body; muscles in your loins clenching, chest heaving. It becomes all too much as he leans back in, rubs his tongue over your clit, lips sucking and teasing your folds.

The slight burn of John's beard tickling your plush, hot cunt. His fingers working your open and stretching your tight little hole open far and wide, obscene squelching sounds filling the air as he works you open, brushing against your g-spot occasionally and making you see stars.

But it's too little. It's just not enough.

"Fuck", you whine as John's thick fingers brush over your g-spot with quite some force, tongue lapping at your seeping cunt, "Shit, please. Please, just fuck me, please!"

You can feel him grinning against your wet cunt, beard a little sticky with your juices, letting go of your pussy with an obscene pop. "Yeah", he licks his lips, tastes you on his tongue, "D'you want my cock?"

And that - that might be what makes you lose your mind. Because yes. Yes, you do.

You have been craving to touch it, to feel it since it had pressed against your clothed pussy earlier. Thus, all dignity leaves your body with one, clean whine that breaks free from your throat.

"Yes, fuck - oh god, John", you brabble, legs falling apart further, inviting him in, his digits sinking deeper into your soaking wet hole, "Shit, please fuck me, John - please, please, please --"

Pleas are still falling from your lips like a chant, as a surprising noise breaks the silence, so strangely beautiful that it has you nearly shuddering: John is laughing. It's a nice baritone sound, and the fine lines around his eyes crinkle with it - it's so beautiful, that it drowns the world out. You watch him in awe, as he shakes his head, avoids your gaze.

"Jesus. Look at you", he huffs, voice dripping thickly with amusement, "If you need it that badly--"

Straightening back up and kneeling between your legs, John slips his fingers from your cunt and makes quick work of his belt, trousers, and boxers. The second he frees is cock, you start to drool like a fucking pavlovian-dog.

His dick is so fucking huge. It is nicely curved and cut, the bulbous pink head glistening with pre-cum and a thick, pumping vein at the bottom that rakes from the base to the tip, as it rests between trimmed, dark pubic hair. His cock bobs against his abdomen as it bounces free, smears the pre-cum along the pale skin, twitches at the sudden contact. And Jesus fucking Christ, you just want to fucking touch it, feel its velvety skin in your palm. But you just know that you won't even be able to wrap your hand around its base fully, it's impossible, it--

"I-it won't fit", you whisper, a little taken aback by his sheer size.

"Oh, I'll make it fit, baby."

John takes his cock in one hand, thumb right beneath its head, and rubs it against your slit. And Jesus fucking Christ. Your hips snap up, meet his movements, and he grunts while he spreads his pre-cum along your cunt, gathers your slick. The thick head of his dick prods against your entrance and you take a deep breath, looking down between your legs. You watch how he slooowly pushes in and you gasp at the sudden intrusion, the delicious stretch making you moan.

His cock feels so fucking big, hot, and heavy, as he nestles the tip in, your hole clenching around it. John's brows furrow, and he doesn't wait long until he pushes his cock in further.

The thick base starts to stretch your slim rings of muscles, a sharp pain shooting through it. He can feel your hole protesting, can see you wincing. "Breathe, baby", he hums, "Let me do the rest."

His coarse voice mingles with his words and the waves of pleasure shooting through your body despite the dull pain, conjures up a pretty pretty image that floods your brain - there's sunlight everywhere, orange rays of it hitting a bed covered in white sheets, sweaty bodies on top of it; limbs entangled, hands intertwined with their golden rings shining brightly in the warm light, heavy breathing and sloppy kisses, and lazy thrusts as his cock fucks you awake. The thought makes you dizzy, your legs falling apart and hole fluttering open, inviting him in.

The slight burn leaves you a gasping, whimpering mess as he pushes himself in deep, nestles his huge cock in between your aching, hot, and tight walls.

And John feels like he is going to pass out. No blow to the head, no bullet to the chest, no knife to the stomach could ever make him feel as dizzy as the feeling of your hot cunt squeezing him does right now. His whole body is vibrating with want and lust and he just really hopes that you don't notice that he has gotten a little rusty. The thought quickly gets drowned-out as he looks down, where his thick cock practically splits you open, vanishes in your hole.

"Shit", he huffs out, places one large hand on your stomach and thrusts. Feeling himself moving inside of you has him moaning, gaze shooting up to you, meeting your eyes, as his hand presses down. "You feel me right here, baby?", he rasps and you nod, mouth agape by the sheer force of his thrust, tip of his cock prodding your cervix.

John can see his cock moving inside of you, the way your stomach bulges a little. He gets a little dizzy with, and then his eyes make the mistake of moving up to your face. And it takes a whole lot of fucking will-power of him to not just thrust and thrust and thrust and fuck you until you cry, bleed.

You are so fucking pretty. Mouth agape you watch how his cock vanishes between your legs, splits your cunt open, with his eyes heavy-lidded and cheeks flushed. Your lips are plush and red from his assault.

Your hands grip the sheets and your breasts heave with your deep breaths, that grow a little more flaccid. Next to you lays his gun, knife still buried into the mattress. His eyes drop to the weapons and his breath hitches. And for a split second, like a flash of light, he wonders what in God's name he's doing here. He is a professional. The Ballerina works like that. He doesn't.

A sweet, sweet noise rips him out of his thoughts. "J-john", you mewl, eyes still trained on his massive dick splitting you open, "I-it, it's --"

"Yeah?", he breathes, the sound all soft and careful around the edges.

"Heavy", you breathe.

"Does it hurt?", he kind of wants it to. Make you pay for what you did to him. He kind of doesn't want it to. Make you enjoy what he's got to give.

John realizes he is fucked.

You nod, head flying back into the cushions, while your brows dart together.

John's free hand flies to your clit, nudges it gently, before slowly rubbing wide circles over it. You gasp, as you feel fresh wetness flooding your cunt and dripping down your folds to where his cock splits your hole open, pools around it. He carefully pulls out a little and then pushes back in, assisted by your slick. The way you moan spurs him on and the circles on your clit grow faster and smaller.

Aching your back, you lean into the touch. "That's a good girl", he whispers, voice raw and coarse, dripping with lust and the exhaustion of holding back. John bottoms out, while continuing to rub your clit and he can feel your walls growing plush, your hole fluttering around his dick, relaxing with your hot, seeping cunt inviting him in. "Feels good?"

"Yeah, fuck", you feel like you are being split open, with his thick cock filling you to the brim and rubbing along your walls with every little movement, the thick head prodding gently against your cervix, "Shit, John."

It feels so fucking good, all thoughts being washed away from your brain as he starts to move carefully, thrusts into you once, twice. You moan, lips slightly parted, before your gaze flies to him.

And Fuck. John's chest is flushed a little, muscles of his abdomen flexing with every thrust while his gaze is trained down to where his cock fucks into you, brows darted together a little and his breathing audible.

"John?", you whisper, and his gaze immediately shoots up to you as your comparably tiny hand wraps around the wrist of his hand that is still rubbing your clit.

"Yeah?"

"Fuck me."

For a long moment, he just looks at you and you think - no, you are convinced - that you can see a glimpse of the human being he once was. Caring, sweet and gentle; as he seems to really take it into consideration if you are ready yet, if you know what you are begging for.

Apparently, he does deem you prepared enough, and the soft gaze gets replaced by a dark gleam as all gentleness vanishes from his face once more. Without a warning, John rolls his hips back only to thrust into you again, deep, and hard, immediately picking up a quick rhythm.

It comes as a genuine surprise to you and you gasp, mewling but it quickly feels just so fucking good, practically lights your body up and leaves every nerve-ending on fire, each thrust has you moaning loudly.

It spurs him on, makes him grunt and for a while, you both just watch him gliding in and out of your tight hole, with him feeling your muscles squeezing him and you feeling his cock stretching your open further and further. Your lips as slightly parted and his brows are furrowed as he rolls his hips into yours and you feel time getting lost on you, the only thing of importance remaining is the feeling of him filling you up. John's hands roam your body, wandering over your thighs and your stomach, your hips before angling your leg, pushing the heel of your foot on his shoulder, and grabbing your ankle with one hand, his dick slips into you even further, balls slapping against your ass heavily with each thrust.

You can tell that John has not fucked in a long, long time. It's not the way he does it - all fluid, languid thrust of his hips, muscles dancing under the soft skin. It's mostly the way he pants and grunts - sounds just as desperate as you feel. And still, he has the stamina of a racehorse.

You can feel that he wants to prove it, too, as his free hand grabs your thigh and hoists your other leg over his hip bone, practically pulling your lower half off the bed in the process. Your pelvis now clings to his, obscene sounds of his cock fucking into your wet pussy filling the air while he huffs with his thrusts, yet does not slow down.

The grip on both, your ankle and your thigh are hard, and you are certain his hands will leave a bruise but you just cannot bring yourself to care. Deep down you know, that someone will see them: your maids, your friends, your family.

But all thoughts, all worries get swapped from your brain as your gaze wanders up from where John's dick hammers into you steadily, rakes over his defined stomach and chest and finally, finally lands on his face.

He looks downright, utterly, and breathtakingly -- pornographic.

John's dark pupils blown wide gleaming with arousal, his cheeks are slightly blushed and a thin layer of sweat makes him glow in the dim light of the living room falling onto the bed. It surrounds him like a halo, a Saint of Death and Decay, with his dark hair falling into his forehead and onto his shoulders. He brushes it out of the way with his stunted hand, a ragged breath making his chest heave. There is still some of your slick wetting his beard.

You can't help your mind from going there, from wondering how different things could have been. What it would be like if you had met me in a bar instead of him entering your suite, leaving the hallway behind him looking like a slaughterhouse. Maybe he would have laughed at your jokes, in the dim light of your favorite bar in the city. Maybe he would have liked the same music as you do. Maybe, just maybe, he would have brought you home only to stay the night and fuck you until you would have lost your goddamn mind.

Your hand wanders down your body, strokes your waist and hip in the process, before it languidly drops between your spread legs, two fingers darting out and rubbing circles over your sensitive clit.

John moves quickly, his usual deadly precision shattering your peaceful fantasy, his hand ditching your thigh and closing in around your waist. "Don't you fuckin' touch yourself", he growls, and it's the first time you hear real, actual emotion dwelling in his throat - not his toneless, cold and mechanical rumble. He sounds pissed. Offended.

And the best part is: it seems to get him fucking going.

John leans in, your calf still resting on his shoulder and the slight pain of the stretch is delicious as he nearly folds your body in half. You can feel his dick sliding in even deeper into your hole and you gasp and whine, one hand coming up to dig into his biceps to just hold on. Hold on, while he pounds into you with perfectly angled, deep and strong thrusts, hitting your g-spot with every single one of them.

You know that the suite's door is in shambles, that anyone could walk in here and see you having your brains fucked out by the man who is here to kill you - but you don't care. Part of it is, because the gun is still resting next to your head on the sheets. You could just grab it and shoot anyone dead in heartbeat, whoever is trying to disturb the pleasure that shoots through your body.

But it is also him.

It's the way John is towering over you, back hunched, looking all wide and powerful and deadly, with the way he shields your body from view and harm as he thrusts into you. As he pushes all his rage, adrenaline, and strength into your tight hole, groans, and pants into your ear.

There is nothing you can do, despite holding onto him, nails digging into his back, clutching his broad shoulders, fingers running over his tattoos desperately. He is fucking the living daylight out of you, your body moving like a ragdoll underneath the mountain of muscles and strength. Your cunt is being split open by his cock, as you feel him hammering into you and you feel like you are going to lose your mind, panting and moaning with each of his thrusts.

"John, fuck", you moan sweetly, eyes rolling into your skull as he pounds into you, "You feel so fucking good, shit --"

"Yeah", he huffs, his forehead slowly sinking onto yours, "You too, baby."

You can see his eyelids fluttering, feel his upper body heaving beneath your hands, smell the blood on his skin, mingling with his musky scent. Blaming it on the sickening cocktail of hormones that is flooding both - your brain and your body - you lean in, your lips desperately smacking against his.

And Jesus Fucking Christ. Does John kiss you.

Kisses you like he is starving for it, licking back into your mouth - his body pressing yours into the mattress with his whole weight and muscle, while still thrusting into you.

Your hands tangle into his hair, tugging at it. John moans against your lips and your stomach flutters at the sound, and you want more. One hand moves to lay at the crook of his neck and your tongue presses against his, licking back into his mouth. Adding some force to his neck you invite John deeper into the kiss, and he follows suite, steals you the last bit of air your lungs were holding. Panting you part from him, thumb brushing over the crook of his neck.

Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself. You feel so alive and you want him to wreck you, to leave something behind that you will remember for every day your heart continues to beat. Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself but to whisper: "Harder."

John blinks, hips stuttering. And then, he grunts. His hand digs into your waist as he grabs you there, hold you in place will his hips rut into you. Picking up a near brutal rhythm, obscene sounds of your slick being pushed in and out and in out of your hole as he jackhammers into your g-spot, the bedframe rattling as John's thrusts pound it into the wall - leaving you a gasping and moaning mess. His belt clinks with his thrusts and you cling onto him, sharp whines escaping your throat.

"John John John", his name leaves your mouth like a mantra, sharp and high-pitched. His head falls forward, dark locks brushing over your cheek as his temple rests against yours and then you hear it.

John moans.

It's a deep, carnal sound. Your stomach flutters and lust shoots through your body at the noise, your tight cunt squeezing his thick cock as you squirt around his cock like a broken fucking hose, wetting his pubic hair. You can feel it rubbing along your wet folds, the sensation making you mewl, leaves your hips shuddering.

"Shit", you breathe, hands cradling his muscular back and then you can feel his dick twitching inside of you, accompanied by yet another one of his sweet, sweet moans, "Fuck, John--"

He raises his head and your gazes connect, before he leans in, presses his lips onto yours once more. The kiss is surprisingly soft and in stark contrast to the way he ruts and pounds into you and then he hits the spot once more and -

Everything goes white as your muscles clench and unclench suddenly, as you nearly scream against his lips; your hole practically milking his cock as you cum, pussy gushing and squirting around him like a broken hose.

John continues to fuck you through your orgasm and his heavy breathing reaches your ears through the cotton candy, that slowly wraps you in as everything turns light and bright. He moans deeply against your cheek as he comes, too - shoots hot ropes of cum into you and paints your walls with it.

His movements still as he buries himself deep into you, cock twitching with each thick rope of his cum and you can feel him fill you up, as his massive frame slowly sinks down onto you.

Your legs grow heavy and the stretch of your left leg is turning painful and you - a little clumsily - pull it away from his shoulder, stretch it out. Your limbs start to shake and you close your eyes, drawing in deep breaths through your nose.

The room is silent, the air heavy with the musky scent of sex.

Your chest still heaves with the remains of your orgasm, bliss still spreading in your brain and your veins, making you feel like you are flying. Your heart is still racing, as you feel him moving again.

Blinking up at him, you can see him grabbing the gun.

"Don't", you say softly, voice coarse from screaming your lungs out in pleasure just moments ago, "Please, don't." You are not ready to scream yet again. Not ready to scream in pain, instead of pleasure.

John does not reply. He pulls the hammer back, checks the chamber - all with one hand.

"Kill him instead, please."

He freezes, eyes locking with yours. "Who?", he sounds just as exhausted as you. The wolf, tired out. The deer, bleeding, limping.

Call it Post Nut Clarity, call it Finally Taking Your Future In Your Own Hands, call it Emancipating Yourself. Call it Having Wrapped A Deadly Assassin Around Your Pinky.

You were not safer here. You never were. Just more isolated. Easier to locate.

Easier to kill.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head, your vision swimming.

See? I will not die today.

"My father. Kill him."

[eggsforkillie]

What is this blog?

So, back in March 2025, @elodieunderglass ran a little event where, if you completed a creative project of some description by the end of the month, Killie would get one whole egg!

This surpassed all expectations, and Killie ended up getting over one hundred and fifty eggs by the time March ended, and we got some very good artwork indeed, and also spent a not-insignificant amount of time considering how Killie would use that many eggs.

So, now, it's back, in the form of a dedicated blog, so that Elodie's followers don't get bombarded by eggs. It's not ran by @elodieunderglass, but, it is done with official permission, and even with official art for the profile picture and banner!

So far, we have given Killie seventeen eggs, and counting!

Who is Killie?

Killie is @elodieunderglass's original character.

He's an angry little racehorse jockey with an unfortunate psychic connection to his rancid racehorse frenemy (O Holy Thunder), a redemption-arc relationship with his nice nerdy boyfriend (Derek), an elusive twin brother (Charlie) and a messy, rambling family of horse-obsessed weirdos who are overly-invested in the fascinating, complex, dirty, problematic and unhinged world of horse racing.

He is a short athletic ginger jock like an angry little wet cat, who is always getting injured, and we love him for this.

How do I get Killie an egg?

You send an ask, containing a description of the creative work you are embarking on. If you're on anon, you must also include your url, so we can make sure you see it when your ask is posted.

That ask then gets to replied to, thirty days later, and you reblog that with the results of your creative project, which we in turn reblog!

What counts for Killie to get an egg?

Strictly speaking, art, however, we make no attempt to define what "art" actually is, drawing, painting, writing, music, calligraphy, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Basically, anything goes.

Why should I do any of this?

For two reasons, first, accountability, some people work better with a deadline, and, if you are one of those people, want said deadline to be exactly thirty days, and also themed around a fictional jockey getting an egg, then, you've come to the right place.

Second, recognition, no matter what, you know that your art is seen by, at the very least, me, and also some portion of this blog's followers.

Anything else I should know?

Tags, we have two common ones, #egg reminder, which is responding to asks, and, #egg result!, which is reblogging the finished works.

Mod Posts, these come around now and then, under the #modpost tag.

Hall of Fame, the very very very best works people have done in order to get Killie another egg, and are under the #parade ring tag.

Timezone, this blog runs off UK time, so, if you need to be precise, make sure to take that into account.

[deathbysports]

Hey Hockey fans! I wanna do a bit of research for an infopost I'm considering making. So here's a genuine question because I've been thinking about it for a while: When a player, especially one you've admired for a while, is revealed to be someone problematic (bigoted, abusive, or just a questionable history in general), how do you approach that (Especially when it comes to fanart, fanfic and just... generally posting about them?). Approaches can range from anything from ceasing about posting them (outside of occasional reblogs) or continuing to post them but adding a disclaimer. Additionally, what advice would you give to new hockey fans regarding such players? Hell, I'm actually interested in some advice as well, considering my own habit of posting problematic players (something I admittedly feel slightly conflicted about, especially as a young hockey fan who's still learning about the sport and it's culture).

Tagging for reach: @catboygretzky @hard4softthings @saucerfulofsins @sergeifyodorov @tapejob

[elodieunderglass]

FAQ May 2025

(wtf is #eggs for killie, etc)

Killie / Throw Your Heart Over

okay, so I apologise, because KILLIE is A LOT OF THIS TUMBLR at the moment. but also I don't.

Killie is an original character. he's an angry little racehorse jockey with an unfortunate psychic connection to his rancid racehorse frenemy (O Holy Thunder), a redemption-arc relationship with his nice nerdy boyfriend (Derek), an elusive twin brother (Charlie) and a messy, rambling family of horse-obsessed weirdos who are overly-invested in the fascinating, complex, dirty, problematic and unhinged world of horse racing. he is a short athletic ginger jock like an angry little wet cat, who is always getting injured, and we love him for this. at some point his book (Throw Your Heart Over) will get written (probably). but as I wasn't actually expecting to do this in real life, at the moment, we write comics and AUs and fanfiction about him. yes I know this is backwards, shut up, WE ARE HAVING FUN, and maybe it's actually FORWARDS. (by the way - does anyone know how to write a book?)

@aqueenvictorious kindly and brilliantly did this roundup.

Eggs for Killie

I will have to be UNPRECEDENTLY brave and work VERY hard to write a book about Killie. so I said that if everyone else was very brave with me, and attacked a similarly scary creative project by the end of March, Killie could have an egg (eggs are a treat for him). The intention was to leverage each other's courage and momentum to all make progress together, with accountability and a deadline. to add urgency, Killie was trying to stay fit to (metaphorically) ride in the Grand National, a large UK steeplechase, on April 5th.

I thought we’d have 5 eggs to chase up. There were over 150 eggs for Killie by the time I had to close the inbox. It was an incredible outpouring of vitality that I’m still astonished and impressed by.

With incredible kindness and intelligence and bravery and truth, @patheticprogrammingperson took on the task of making the Eggs for Killie tumblr, where you can submit your intention of finishing a creative project/WIP in 30 days. The blog will accept your ask and assign you a 30-day check in, to which you can reply with your progress and receive one egg 🥚 to throw at Killie’s head. Go ahead and try it!

The Leucism Channel (open to other colour morphs)

I have had this tag for over 10 years! I collect leucistic animals, but I am also interested in other colour morphs. Rather than trying to run separate channels, I am now putting non-leucistic animals in this tag.

Horrible things with legs

Apparently this tag is only 8 years old, but I genuinely think that's a mistake on tumblr's part. I think I've been running it since the Palaeozoic era.

what do you like, do?

this is such a good question. here's how I tried to answer it.

Works In Progress

His Delicious Materials - chapters 10/12, IN PROGRESS

Dungeon Meshi x His Dark Materials fusion. Tumblr tag https://www.tumblr.com/elodieunderglass/tagged/his%20delicious%20materials

A Weasel Heart in Defiance - chapters 12/20, IN PROGRESS

Dungeon Meshi x His Dark Materials fusion. Tumblr tag https://www.tumblr.com/elodieunderglass/tagged/weasel%20heart%20in%20defiance

Swan Comics for the Palestine Children's Relief Fund.

general swan comics.

I am sousverre on AO3 and I have a bluesky.

Sorry, I don't do fundraisers as asks. my fundraiser policy for the past 10 years has been that I'll signal boost for mutuals.

thanks for your time and attention. goodbye.

[somepsychopomp]

contemplating a particularly evil AU where, after Odysseus escapes from Poseidon the first time, our favorite problematic god decides to set his sights upon Ithaca in order to get his revenge.

He doesn't raise the tides to drown all the inhabitants or cause earthquakes to break the island apart, no. Poseidon directly seeks out sweet little 10 y/old Telemachus...

and befriends him.

(Ody really shouldn't have doxxed himself with this one)

It starts with Poseidon disguising himself as a mortal man and infiltrating the palace, knowing that Odysseus was blown across the sea and is still struggling to get home. He claims to be a wise man taught in Athens, and is willing to offer his tutelage to Ithaca's prince. Though it irks him a bit to pose as a scholar from the city he lost to his niece, Poseidon convinces Penelope to let him take over the position of her son's tutor in all necessary subjects: reading, oratory, history (which will be easy, seeing as Poseidon lived through all of it himself), etc.

Telemachus is shy at first, but warms up to his new tutor quite quickly. [insert Poseidon's fake name] is not like the stuffy old men that Penelope first assigned to Telemachus' education. He's patient, doesn't reprimand the young prince when he falters, and rewards him for doing well with sweet treats and fantastical stories about faraway lands and monsters.

After earning the lad's trust, Poseidon approaches Penelope and says it's not right that such a bright boy like Telemachus isn't also taught in other aspects of manhood. He asks to take Telemachus out for his first hunt, to which she reluctantly agrees. (Penelope knows that her husband slew an adult boar when he was Telemachus' age so yeah)

Telemachus is both excited and nervous to be outside the palace without any guards or his mother. He asks how Poseidon knows to hunt and he laughs, saying that just because he's a scholar, doesn't mean he isn't also an athlete and a warrior.

Telemachus takes the bait, asking what competitions Poseidon won, who he beat, etc. He's regaled with entirely false tales of wrestling matches, chariot races, and spear throwing contests, as well as stories of successful hunts for bears and wolves.

It's truly the perfect opportunity to strike. The two of them are alone in the woods with no one else around, no one who would hear the prince scream as he was torn asunder. No one to find his bones...

"Do it," Poseidon says quickly, "Strike now."

At the behest of his teacher, Telemachus draws his bow and fires at the young deer upwind from them. The arrow hits the creature in the flank and it darts into the foliage. No time to praise the prince for his aim, Poseidon leads him uphill, showing the boy how to track injured prey. He's armed with a bow he never intended on using and a spear designed for hunting, as similar of a weapon to his trident as he can get.

Poseidon catches a glimpse of movement through the trees and throws his spear. It strikes the deer in the neck, felling it instantly. That night under the stars, the two of them feast on roasted venison over a roaring campfire. Poseidon insists that he couldn't have done it without his pupil, that Telemachus injuring the deer was what brought about its downfall.

Telemachus is beaming with joy, so excited to have gotten his first kill, when he suddenly turns withdrawn and shy. Poseidon asks what's wrong.

"It's just that... I always hoped I would go on my first hunt with my father..."

Poseidon pulls the boy against his side as Telemachus sniffles and tries to suppress his tears. Poseidon hushes him and says that while he can't speak for the king, he's certainly proud of his pupil!

"But do you think he'll be back soon?" Telemachus asks. Poseidon smiles and says only the gods would know. But for now, Telemachus should be proud of himself.

Penelope is pleased to find her son in one piece when he returns. He shows her the pelt from his first hunt and she assures him she's very impressed. What really matters to her is that Telemachus is safe and growing as a boy should- learning the useful skills he'll need as a man and a future king.

From then on, Poseidon has much more leeway with how he spends his time with the prince. They go to the beach so Telemachus learns how to swim, fish, and sail. He learns how to tame a horse and gain its trust, etc.

It's a nice way to pass the time, waiting.

Eventually, news turns up that every fleet from Troy arrived home, except for Odysseus'. No other king knows where he and his 600-person army vanished to. No one knows where he is, or when he'll return.

Penelope is saddened by this revelation, but knows her husband well and refuses to believe that Odysseus of Ithaca perished in something as simple as a rogue storm. Telemachus is heartbroken, though. He's just a boy and after having heard that nearby kingdoms received their men after ten long years, he got all his hopes up that he'd finally get to meet his father.

His mother tries to console him, to tell Telemachus not to give up hope. Odysseus is out there, somewhere. But her son is inconsolable until Poseidon gently asks Penelope if he can speak to him.

Poseidon tells Telemachus that sometimes things happen for a reason. Was this the will of some god, perhaps?

Telemachus doesn't know how to respond, but sniffles and asks if he did something wrong. If it's his fault his father isn't home. Poseidon hugs him tight and says it's not his fault at all! No, if anything, perhaps Odysseus' silver tongue got him in trouble, or that this delay in his' return is only a temporary misfortune. Perhaps it'll lead to greater things down the line. Telemachus doesn't really understand, but he begins to calm down after hearing both his mother & tutor tell him that things will be alright.

In the meantime, Telemachus wants to become someone that his father would be proud of. He asks Poseidon to train him even harder and help him grow into a great warrior.

Poseidon accepts and the two of them grow even closer.

Not long after, the first of the suitors arrive. They're the sons of local noblemen or other prominent families in Ithaca. For a while, the queen offers them hospitality without suspecting much, thinking that the gifts the men offer are condolences for her husband's late arrival. Then they start trying to woo her.

The suitors start harassing Telemachus, too. They see him as an obvious threat to the power they could steal for themselves. Odysseus was crowned the king at the age of 13 and the same could happen to Telemachus if Penelope declines to remarry. All of a sudden as more and more suitors invade his palace, Telemachus finds himself unwelcome in his own home. The suitors do not let him eat near them- they'll go as far as to snatch his food. They leer at him, call him small, and taunt him by saying he'll never be king.

Telemachus thinks there's nothing he can do to fight back, but then Poseidon steps in and tells the suitors to cease their unruly behavior. They gang up on Poseidon, who they perceive as an unimpressive middle aged man, before getting their asses handed to them by a middled aged man who knows how to wield a spear as though he was born for it.

Telemachus has never seen something so amazing before. His teacher defeated a dozen men alone! How is that even possible?

Poseidon doesn't answer him directly, only saying he's gotten into his own fair share of fights before. When news of the brawl reaches Penelope, she decides that Poseidon should be promoted to Telemachus' guardian until Odysseus returns, fulling both the role of tutor & protector. She won't have her only child be bullied and menaced by grown men, not in her halls.

It is at this point that Poseidon pulls out his greatest trick yet. And that is to tell the truth. For months now, he's been posing as a kindly old teacher. But in secret, he reveals himself to Telemachus as the god of the sea!

Poseidon claims he heard the boy pray for his father's return and came to him in disguise. (Poseidon didn't even know who Telemachus was until Ody pissed him off, but he was willing to bet that such a naive child would certainly pray for his absent daddy to return. And he was right.)

Poseidon warns that Odysseus is not who Telemachus thinks he is. He might have been a kind and gentle man before, but he turned into a merciless, vain monster who allowed over 500 of his men to perish because he was arrogant enough to think he could lead them through a terrible storm.

Telemachus can hardly believe it- he doesn't want to. He won't! His mother always told him that his father was the most clever man of all, trained by Athena herself.

"Ah," Poseidon says, his voice full of sympathy, "And what does Athena know of love? Of mercy? No, no, my poor boy. You've been misled. Your father is not the man you think he is, for he blinded my own son just so he could steal some livestock!"

Telemachus’ mind is racing. He doesn’t know what to think. Who is his father, really?

Trembling from head to toe in fear, he asks if Poseidon will punish him as vengeance for his own son.

And the earthshaker will smile at him, oh so softly.

“My poor child, why would I do that? You father has flung himself to the farthest reaches of the sea, but I am here for you. I’ve come to answer your prayers, to set things right between your house and mine.”

Poseidon cups Telemachus’ face and leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to the boy’s head. “And should your father ever arrive on this isle, I will keep you safe from him.”

(And so Telemachus will grow up unsure of the man his father really is, all while struggling to see Poseidon as anything but)

[dazeddoodles]

I saw an artwork about masc luz that receives different qrts on twitter. one side, masc luz is supported because the representation of gnc or masc bisexual girls is scarce in media. dana also confirms that she meant to design luz as a tomboy. on the other hand, a few hate masc luz because they think it's racist. it's the stereotype that dark-skinned women are seen more masculine. may i ask your opinion about this?

This is a difficult question to answer but as someone who's both brown and queer, I'll try to give my perspective.

First off I've never seen Dana call Luz a tomboy, in the interview I watched she said almost the opposite. She describes Luz as gender non-conforming, and how Disney tried to pressure her into either making Luz more feminine or just straight up a tomboy because Luz being gnc "would confuse the children".

And Luz's design always looked gnc to me, not masc or fem, at least in season 1 (IMO Luz's epilogue design is more masc-leaning). She even wore a suit and dress combo to Grom. But you have both sides either drawing her more feminine or more masculine.

Hopefully, it's already obvious why drawing her super feminine could be seen as problematic. The implication is that the artist doesn't see her as pretty enough with how she already looks.

As for drawing her masc. In principle, there's nothing wrong with it, like you said it gives representation to masc bisexual girls that is scarce in media. However, many only view it from a queer lens and don't bother looking at it from a racial point of view.

The problem is that Luz is the ONLY brown girl in the main cast. Every other primary female character is either white or light-skinned (Willow), and unlike Luz, they are all feminine presenting. Even Eda who has stereotypically "masculine" personality traits still dresses feminine.

There's also Camila and Vee but they're not as prominent until the last season, and both of them are also not very feminine presenting, like Luz they're also just kinda gnc. If you don't believe me compare how Camila dresses to how Eda or Lilith dress. Or compare how Vee dresses to how Amity and Willow dress.

So the fact is only choosing Luz to draw masc makes it seem like the artist associates brown skin with masculinity. After all, many who do masculinize Luz will keep Amity feminine, hell they draw her even more feminine than she is in canon.

The common answer I often hear is that Luz is more masc in canon so it makes sense to only draw her as "the masculine one". But as I already went over she's gnc not just masculine (at least before the epilogue). And not only that but often times people will take it a step further and make Luz a giant compared to Amity, despite them being about the same height (though Amity does wear short heels). Or make her super muscular when in canon Luz in weaker and Amity is the more athletic one.

This is something often done with wlw ships where one of them is brown-skinned. You'll see fans say stuff like they love couples with height differences, and then only ever make the brown one huge.

To give an example I recently saw the same discussion in the Wicked fandom of Gelphie shippers often drawing movie Elphaba and ONLY Elphaba more masculine despite being feminine in canon (yes she's green but she's played by a black woman and is half black in canon, look at her mom).

If the intent is representation, it must be asked why is it ONLY the brown girl given this treatment when she isn't completely like that in canon? It feels more like fans think one of the girls in a gay couple has to be "the man" and always choose the brown girl because they see them as less feminine.

My stance is that I don't think drawing Luz masc is inherently bad but how is she being portrayed compared to the other, lighter-skinned, characters?

[chuuzmii]

Jacob Anderson is so fucking real. Like we see eye to eye frfr. That quote where he's like "Let's be monsters and enjoy it. Let's be problematic. Give us the space to be a problem." Like ooooh... Hes so real. Im so tired of people being scared of writing black villains because of The Implications™. There is a genuine lack of black people in horror and when we are included we are just the sassy best friend, the athlete, the one who dies first, or the magical negro. Hardly ever have I seen a horror with a black momster. Even outside of horror black people are hardly ever villains and it's just so unfair man. Black people LONG for good black villains I know they do. We deserve to be evil we deserve to be petty we deserve to hurt. Jacob I understand...

[antspaul]

People are so worried about what WAGS are doing and never bring the same energy for the drivers or any other men around them, frankly.

"This WAG has a problematic friend," yeah and half of the grid is friendly with Alexander Zverev and no one has any problem with that.

"This WAG liked blah blah on Twitter as a teenager." Don't look into what some of the drivers liked as ADULTS. Or what Helmut Marko says in his interviews.

"This WAG has a problematic dad." This sport welcomes Jos Verstappen week in and week out.

"This WAG cheated on her ex." If cheating is a dealbreaker, don't look into like... any of these drivers.

I've seen more hate for a certain gf in the last two days than I ever see for Christian Horner and Flavio Briatore and Helmut Marko and Jos Verstappen and MBS, etc etc etc. And that's all I need to know.

It's given misogyny.

& all that without any acknowledgment that the men in these women’s lives have substantial more social power and influence than they ever will. it’s genuinely infuriating to see so many “feminists” regurgitate misogynistic talking points over and over again under the guise of social justice. or something. lmfao

all of these men do things we would consider morally reprehensible if done by someone we knew. all of them!!!!!! even your fave. even the one you think is too “boring” to do something bad. frankly, if they haven’t, they’re either complicit or they haven’t been in it long enough (doubtful).

simply put: these men exist in a different context than you or me. and in that context, shit that would curdle our stomachs is normalized to the point that not taking part would result in their exclusion from that space. it is not a matter of bad apples poisoning the culture; it’s that this is the natural outcome of celebrity male athletes existing at all. it’s a feature, not a bug.

if you can’t stomach that as part of your fandom, i do understand! but perhaps sports rpf is not the place to be.