#hunting grounds film | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rookthorne · 7 months

Text

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐁𝐢𝐠 𝐁𝐚𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐟

Little Red Riding Hood never stood a chance against the Big Bad Wolf, not when the wolf was a honed predator with skills he’d perfected over the centuries.

A little game of chase would bring out the beast in your Incubus, and you just had to hope he’d kept some semblance of his charming self.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ☽☾ Incubus!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ☽☾ 3.4k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ☽☾ The Filthiest Filth. ჻჻჻ SMUT: Monsterfucking, unprotected, possesive, rough piv, primal, breath play, multiple orgasms, use of appendages, tail fucking, double penetration in same hole, so much dirty talk (that I need to go to church) ჻჻჻ KINKS: Daddy, chase, praise, degredation, dacryphilia, slight blood

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ☽☾ I have nothing to say in my defence, except that I am so sorry for the filthiest thing I have ever written.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔 ☽☾ Where Is Your God Now by Rok Nardin ☽☾ Supermassive Black Hole by Muse ☽☾ Carrion Flowers by Chelsea Wolfe ☽☾ Easy by Sun Lux, Lorde

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒂 ☽☾ @smutconnoisseur — chaos kittens, I almost killed SC off, if that gives you any implication of just how much this fic is.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ☽☾ @rookthorne's Fright Night — Masterlist

𝐃𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 ��𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Are you sure about this?”

Bucky looked at you, eyes narrowed and a slight tilt to his head. There was a glint of something you couldn’t place in his eyes that had become black depths, reflecting only the light of the moon. “Honey,” he purred, and his tongue, long and slick, ran over his lips and then his fangs. “All you have to do is run.”

“But what if I get lost?” The words weren’t quite enough to cover the entirety of your hesitance, if you were honest, but it was what you had. “It’s dark, and all I have is this cape,” you said, holding out the thick, soft material of your cape – coloured crimson with golden hems.

“You won’t get lost, sweetheart,” Bucky said simply. His wings that had been furled against his back shuddered and stretched out, the tips brushing the ground as he shivered through the feeling. You could see his tail wrap around his calf and then sway and twitch.

“But-”

“We’re jus’ playin’ a little game of Red Ridin’ Hood–aren’t we? You’re the poor little girl, lost in the woods and runnin’ from the big,” Bucky paused, stepping closer, “bad,” another pause, and you sensed the tension that the words carried – it made your skin prickle with electricity. He kissed you full on the mouth, forcing his tongue past your lips to run coaxingly along your own, when finally, he pulled back. “Wolf.”

He grinned and his fangs shone in the light of the moon, and he tilted his head again. “Can’t be that dumb for me yet, Angel, c’mon.” He stepped back and you bit down the quiet whine in your throat. “Go on. Daddy wants to toy with his prey.”

“But-” You tried again, reaching for him.

A shadow replaced the moon, a dark film of red and black. It was Bucky’s wings – twitching in the eagerness to take flight. “I said run.”

The dust cloud from the flap of Bucky’s wings made your cloak ripple around your body, exposing the thin dress you wore beneath the cover of red. With your final warning uttered, you took off to the tree line, darting between the pines and holding your dress up off the ground – branches and thickets of thorns cut and tore at your shins and hands, but you pushed on.

Darkness covered the entirety of the forest – shadows danced on your path. They gave the illusion of a pursuer, but you knew for sure the only creature hunting you was airborne, more than likely watching you from a perch in the trees.

Paths wove and twisted between the trees, and you trusted your instincts. Well before you had agreed to play this game, Bucky had assured you that you would be alone with no chance of a lone predator or bystander to encounter, and that had been the truth – there was not a single sign of life in this forest aside from the pounding of your heart in your ears and of your feet over the forest floor.

A sense of foreboding settled over you then – since you were truly alone, with an Incubus after you, what would stop something else, another demon perhaps, deciding to join the game you were playing? Was that even a possibility?

You grimaced and ran off in another direction, sticking to the trails as your cloak whipped behind you. There was a fork amongst a small clearing just ahead, and you slowed to walk, then a standstill; just to catch your breath.

To the right was the way to the darker side of the forest where the canopy was so thick with branches no light pierced through. To the left lay the way to the streams and rivulets that trickled through the forest to the lake on the opposite side.

Moonlight flooded the clearing as you panicked and fumbled with your decision.

The heavy beat of wings in the distance made you flinch and cower, you had stood still too long. “Dammit,” you muttered, observing your surroundings for a place to hide. A tree trunk, wide and covered in creeping moss, stood rooted to your right, and those wing beats were nearing faster than you could outrun. “Shit, shit–here.”

Your feet slipped over roots and vines in your scramble, and it was not a moment too late. A loud thump sounded a few feet from where you had been standing, and you peered around the trunk of the tree.

Bucky was standing there, head tilted up to watch the skies. His horns reflected the moonlight, but it was nothing compared to the voids of his eyes – inky blackness swallowed all light that would bounce off what used to be his icy irises, and he was breathing heavily, as though scenting the air.

“Oh, Angel! I know you’re here, sugar!” he boomed, and his voice – it had transformed into something guttural, primal with the rasp and tone. It called to your baser instincts and you struggled to not let a whimper fall from your lips, instead, your body twisted the arousal and pooled it in your cunt, making it throb.

Your breath left you in a sharp exhale as Bucky turned so his back was now facing you. The skin around his wings was mottled red and blood trickled down from the weeping wounds, and as you watched, the muscles and sinewed skin of the wings themselves twitched and jumped. Black tendrils of something curved down his spine and followed the contours of his back and waist, before they stopped at the very top of his tail – the tip of which swished with eagerness, a playful action that was offset by the entirety of his body language.

It was a haunting sight. Never before had you seen Bucky in his full form. He looked twice as large, as though the very transformation of uncloaking his monstrous form had made him grow a few feet both in height and brawn.

Oh, God, you thought, clenching your thighs.

“Where is your God now, Angel?” he asked, deceptively calm. “Don’t think I can’t sense His name being invoked at the sight of me, which means…” The moonlight shadowed his form as he turned again, this time, he was facing you – but it seemed he hadn’t caught you staring. “That means, honey, that you are so fuckin’ close, and you’ll be screamin’ to the Heavens, soon enough.”

You shuddered and gulped, and then, those deep, black eyes were on you. Bucky had shifted slightly to the side in your daze, and he was staring straight at you. His wings raised up slightly as he grinned, all teeth and tongue, and his tail thrashed side to side, as if it could no longer restrain itself.

“Oh, no,” you breathed, blinking once, twice, and then you turned to run. The sight of Bucky had kickstarted the instinctual fear that had laid dormant. “No!”

Branches whipped against your cheeks and arms this time as you took off, deeper into the forest without a care for where you were running, only that you put as much distance between the two of you.

A loud howl tore through the night and you came to a halt, completely against your will. You panted and tried to force your legs to move, but nothing worked as it should – you were rooted to the forest floor just as the trees around you.

Footsteps crunched over the leaves and twigs behind you, followed by the sound of something being dragged along. “Well, well, well,” a deep voice drawled. You couldn’t turn to face the source – instinctually, you knew it was Bucky, in whatever form he was in. “Who knew the sweet, little Angel could run so damn fast, huh?”

The clawed edge of a wing was the first thing you saw in your peripheral vision, then a horn, then Bucky’s face. He looked smug, a wide smirk pulled at the corner of his lips and his eyes glinted with mischief. You were unable to open your mouth, so you just stared at him, eyes wide as he neared.

“I’m impressed, sweetheart,” he cooed, and his hand cupped the side of your face while the other traced lines over your neck with a sharp claw. “What’d you think of that new trick? Got you pretty good.”

A finger snap sounded, and you could move. You gasped for air and slumped where you stood. “What the hell!”

Bucky grinned. “Don’t sound so shocked, sugar,” he purred, tilting his head. “Daddy would do anythin’ to make sure his Angel does as she’s told, right?”

It was either an irrationally foolish surge of bravery, or pure spite that fuelled your next move, and as you looked back in hindsight, it would be the moment that changed the game.

You rose to your full height and defiantly set your jaw, looking at Bucky through narrowed eyes. “Fuck you, and fuck your game of cat and mouse.” And you bolted off, panting from the adrenaline.

There was a peel of harsh laughter behind you, but you didn’t slow down, not even when you heard heavy footsteps trailing after you. Your feet pounded over the floor as you ran as fast as you could manage, and before long, you were in another clearing. It was much like the last one, only the canopies of the trees were sparser and allowed moonlight to wash over the dewy grass.

“You can’t run for long, Angel!” Bucky called behind you, and to your horror, you realised he was far too close for comfort. “Daddy’ll get what he’s owed–shut that pretty mouth so you can’t insult ‘im no more.”

For the first time that night, terror flooded you. Bucky would catch you, and while you had previously discussed what he could and could not do, it didn’t stop the instinctual fear of being prey to an angry demon – one that could overpower you with brute strength and magic. “Fuck,” you cursed, heaving for breath. “No, no, you wo-”

The air was slammed from your lungs as a much larger body collided with yours, and you grunted with the pain of being pressed against someone’s chest with such force. Your back was slammed up against the trunk of a tree, and you blinked several times as needles and twigs fell from above, landing at your feet that dangled off the ground.

Your eyes finally focused on the face in front of you, and you gasped sharply. Bucky was smirking, and his eyes held an aura of danger that made your stomach flip in fear and arousal. “Got you, little bunny. Did you really think you could run from me?”

“No,” you squeaked. “No, no–I didn’t, daddy-”

His hand moved to cup your throat, squeezing the sides enough to make you lightheaded. “You have a real fuckin’ funny way of showin’ it, honey. What was all that?”

The pressure of his hand around your throat sent the very last of the thoughts in your mind southwards, leaving you struggling to even form a sentence. “I-”

Bucky clicked his tongue and sneered. “I think this costume needs to go–best believe you’re keepin’ that cape on, though.” His claws flashed in the light and then the thin fabric that kept you modesty vanished with a swipe of his hand. “Tha’s better, baby, isn’t it?” He inhaled sharply, letting his nostrils flare, before he looked down at your thighs. “Seems runnin’ has made my Angel all hot an’ bothered.”

You whined and gripped his wrist with one hand, while the other scrambled over the bark of the tree. “Daddy- Please, please, I need you.”

“How cute, my sweet lil’ Angel beggin’ for her daddy to fuck her,” he purred, and his mouth trailled up and down your throat, licking and biting hard enough to draw blood. “Now, tha’s somethin’ I can oblige. Force you to take my cock while you squirm and cry–fuck, I wanna see you cry for me, honey.”

Unable to speak, you just nodded vehemently, staring into Bucky’s face. The ache in your cunt throbbed and pulsed, the pain of it unbearable and it left you feeling open and wanting. “Please–I need you, daddy, just-” You hiccuped and swallowed at the feral expression that pulled Bucky’s face taut. “Just fuck me, make me yours.”

“Oh, baby.” Something in his tone made your eyes become unfocused, and you moaned as his face came so close to yours that you could feel his breath over your lips. “I’ll do so much more than that. I’m gonna fuck you ‘till you cry for nothin’ but for who you belong to–and even then,” he whispered, and your hooded eyes stared into the dark abyss that were his eyes. “Daddy won’t stop. You’re mine to fuck, mine to use, and you’re fuckin’ mine to keep.”

“Yes,” you moaned loudly, tipping your head back. “Give it to me, daddy.” The grin that Bucky flashed you with made some semblance of thought swirl in your mind, and you cried out, “Wait! Wait, I-”

Bucky froze, but his hands remained where they were, securing you against the tree. “What is it?” he asked softly. “What’s wrong, honey?”

You shook your head, and stared at his mouth. “Oh, what sharp teeth you have.” The words came out as a breathy whisper, carrying an intention that made Bucky’s expression darken even further.

“Oh, all the better for markin’ you up, sugar,” he growled, nipping at your bottom lip. "Gonna use ‘em to claim you as mine–force the lower demons from the rings a’hell to bow before my queen."

It was your turn to grin, and you did so dazedly as another throb went through your whole core. “Oh, and what a beautiful tail, mister wolf,” you teased, watching through half lidded eyes as it moved and curled in the air.

“All the fuckin’ better for keepin’ your pussy on display, baby,” he purred, moving the appendage until the very tip of it brushed your inner thigh. “These gorgeous thighs jus’ wanna keep my pretty girl hidden, ain’t that right? Need somethin’ to keep them open.”

You shuddered and moaned as Bucky pressed forward, hunching in on himself to suck at your pulse point. His knee came to rest against your heat and you ground down against the tight muscles of his thigh until you whimpered. “Wait, wait, mister wolf,” you breathed, and Bucky pulled back to look into your face.

“Yeah?”

“What a gorgeous cock you have,” you whispered.

A deep, guttural growl rumbled through Bucky’s chest, and you felt him force his cock into your cunt to the hilt with a single thrust. You cried out as he grit through his teeth, “All the fuckin’ better for fillin’ this perfect pussy with, Angel. Hold on while daddy takes what he’s owed, baby.”

The rhythm Bucky set was punishing beyond belief. Every stroke of his cock over your walls made you whine and moan for more, desperate for the first climax that was cresting so fast you could barely warn him.

“Can feel you squeezin’ me,” Bucky growled into your ear, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “I only jus’ fuckin’ started and you’re gonna cum for me? Are you that fuckin’ desperate for daddy?”

“Yes! Yes–need t’a cum daddy,” you begged, clawing his shoulders and shaking with the force of his thrusts. “Please!”

“Good fuckin’ girl–tha’s my girl, go on,” he grunted, “give it to daddy. Let go–’m not done with this tight cunt yet, baby.”

Your first climax hit you with the force of a devastating earthquake – it tore through your core with such ferocity and heat you could have sworn you were burning from the inside out as your thighs clamped tightly around Bucky’s hips. The deep, harsh thrusts he fucked you with drew out the pleasure until you were keening.

“Tha’s it, honey, tha’s it. Good girl. Good girl, let it out–need to make room for daddy, don’t you?” Bucky coaxed, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “Fuck, you’re so pretty. Wan’ you to cum again, need you so bad.”

“I ca- Oh! Bu- Daddy!” You cried, throwing your head back. In your haze from your first orgasm, Bucky had moved his tail from your inner thigh up to your clit, where it thrummed so fast over the bundle nerves that it blurred. “Fuck! Fuck, feels s’good, daddy!”

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” Bucky cooed, rocking his hips faster. “But you’re not cryin’, and you for sure as shit still able to speak.”

You whined and choked on air as his cock started to fill you again, it felt as though it had gotten bigger while inside you and the barbs were threatening to expand and latch on – Bucky was close, for all his talk, he couldn’t resist. “Daddy, daddy–yes, need more,” you begged, and he groaned.

“You want more, honey?” Bucky asked suddenly, and his wings shuddered as they expanded out again. The clawed tips dug into the earth and the bones that lined the top of the sinew stiffened just as Bucky snarled, “Then fuckin’ take it.”

His thrusts, while powerful before, breached the line of what was possible as his wings tensed and he fucked up into your cunt with such force it pushed you up the tree, tearing your cloak on the ragged bark. “Yes! Oh my- Yes! Don’t stop, don’t stop-”

“I won’t, don’t you worry,” Bucky panted, and he made his tail push into your cunt as he dragged himself out. “You’re gonna be fuckin’ gaping when ‘m done with you, Angel–you feel so fuckin’ good on my cock, gonna be even better with my tail.”

The foreign pressure of his tail snaking itself in with his cock made you cry out and sob, but it moved in a hooked gesture and started to thrum against that spot, and in time with the thrusts of his hips, you were sure you were going to pass out in his arms. “I’m gonna cum! Daddy–Daddy! Please!”

Bucky growled as his hand slammed against the tree, and his claws scraped roughly against the bark. “Cum for daddy, baby–give it to me, now,” he groaned, and just as your orgasm crested, Bucky shouted into your neck. “Fuck! Oh, Angel–’m close.”

Your mind had melted from your ears as your climax took your breath away, and with a shaky breath, you felt tears run down your cheeks as you stared into Bucky’s eyes. “Daddy,” you rasped, cupping his jaw tenderly in your hand. “Cum for me–fill me, make me yours.”

The way Bucky’s breath hitched in his throat made you smile softly, and you watched, entranced, as his climax took its roots. His eyes, black as ebony, flashed in the light from the moon and his lips upturned into a snarl. Pleasure was sparking through your core at his continued thrusts that grew harsh and bruising, but you kept your eyes on his face as a ragged gasp choked him.

“Oh, fuckin’ hell, yes–yes, you feel s’good, baby,” he praised, making you moan and preen. “Gonna fill this perfect pussy up–make her leak me so everyone knows you’re mine. You are mine.”

“Yours,” you breathed, and you gasped sharply at the feeling of the barbs swelling, latching into place and forcing Bucky to thrust hard into your cunt to keep himself there. “Give it to me, daddy, wan’ it so bad.”

Bucky whined and forced himself forward, pushing his barbed dick into the hilt when a warmth bloomed in your cunt. “Fuck! Fuck, baby, ‘m cumming, please-” Bucky rasped against your lips. To tease and prolong his release, you squeezed him rhythmically with your walls. His breath hitched and the hand that had slammed against the trunk of the tree seized.

A loud crunching sound came from beside your head, and you glanced over to see Bucky’s fist tearing the bark from the wood with his grip.

Moans and praises fell from his lips like sweetened honey, and you kissed him as his climax tapered off. “That’s it, daddy, good boy.”

“Fuck,” he murmured. You couldn’t help but giggle at his blank expression.

“I think you fucked yourself dumb, Buck,” you said quietly, and he narrowed his eyes at you, displeased with the insinuation.

“Who said I was done yet, huh?” His hands grabbed your thighs and he hefted you close to his chest. You squealed and gripped hard onto his shoulders. “Still have’ta take you home–fuck you on every surface. I did say you won’t be able to fuckin’ speak when I was done with you.”

you still with me? good — good girl.

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #rookthorne's works

411 notes · View notes

absolutebl · 1 month

Text

Top 10 Great BLs That Are REALLY hard to find (but worth tracking down)

But you may want to go hunting anyway!

Seven Days

Seven Days: Monday-Thursday

Seven Days: Friday-Sunday

Japan 2015

Never doubt my ability to recommend this show. One of the best live action yaois ever made, with perfectly structured angst, fantastic characters and acting, and no problematic tropes (rare in Japanese BL). The leads have excellent chemistry although it’s low heat there’s still some really cute mutual kisses.

Cherry Magic AKA 30-sai made Dotei Da to Mahotsukai ni Nareru rashii

Japan 2020

The sweetest fluffiest magical realism BL, packaged as a pinning office romance, very low heat (practically chaste) but the cutest. It’s truly great.

Cherry Magic Thailand

Thai 2024

A soft charming warm hug of a show about crushes and mind reading and self worth, with no-fuss execution from a consummate team and an OG lead pair proving why they remain eternal and deserve to grow up. Look, here’s the thing, Cherry Magic is a great Thai BL in its own right not comparing it to any other iteration. But even when I do compare (and I've seen all the Cherries and read the manga) it still stands. I personally like it slightly better than the Japanese live action, but I think that’s because I just really like Thai BL and I LOVE TayNew. Also all the kissing was both present and better than any other iteration. As it should be from Thailand.

I Feel You Linger in the Air

Thai 2023

IFYLITA is an exquisite BL, from filming techniques to narrative framework (much like Until We Meet Again). Steeped in history and family drama it edges into lakorn (but no as much as To Sir With Love and with way less scenery chewing). This is an elegant and classy BL... from Thailand which normally doesn't even try for classy. The main couple (both as a pair and individuals) were excellent, particularly Bright (Yai) whose eye-work acting style is a personal favorite of mine. Pity about the ending. Oh it wasn’t that sad but it wasn’t good either. This show could easily have earned a 10/10 from me except that it fumbled the… erm… balls in the final quarter. Argh. Whatever.

All about the ecstasy and the agony here.

Restart After Come Back Home AKA Risutato wa tadaima no ato de

Japan 2020

Atmospheric study in rural Japan meets complex family dynamics built on a romance framework of city boy meets country boy, grumpy/sunshine. It’s beautiful and icy sweet. Slow moving in places but ultimately worth the patience, low heat, low angst, and stunning.

Given

Japan 2021

Boy joins band, falls in love with other boy. The singing is terrible, fast forward through that but with the possible exception of the hair styles, this BL could have been made in 2015 and no one would be surprised. As such, it wasn’t ground breaking, but it didn’t disappoint either.

Make a Wish

Thai 2023

A doctor who can see the dead strikes a bargain with a wish-granting irreverent tree angel - naturally they fall in love (from Sammon: Manner of Death & Triage). Stars Fluke Natouch opposite not Ohm, but who cares because Fluke has chemistry with everybody. Once again the Thai afterlife is incredibly bureaucratic but I enjoyed the premise and the unfolding of the story (it’s not predictable but still satisfying and with nice little twist). I like that the doctor is just gay AF - fag hag bestie and all the swagger. The cast is excellent but the comedic stylings are a bit overblown and tonally off. It had sad parts and did make me cry but is ultimately happy with a great sex scene, good smiley kisses, and all the agency.

2 Moons The Ambassador AKA 2 Moons 3

Thai 2022

A Thai pulp that felt like it came out 5 yrs ago with many of the flaws inherent to that time and studio system, including manufactured angst and convoluted plot, but an ultimately sweet main couple that (as a pairing) feels a bit more modern and satisfying to watch than they started out. This will probably go down in history as one of the few BLs where I genuinely didn’t care about any of the side couples. All that said I find this show oddly appealing and rewatchable and I have no excuses for that.

I Want to See Only You AKA Kimi no Koto Dake Mite Itai

Japan 2022

This is a beautiful, well acted piece of cinema, about two boys who are opposite personalities and grew up together. Gifted and serious Sakura pines after outgoing eccentric manic pixie dream boy, Yuma. It is very pretty and this is the kind of atmospheric elegantly performed BL that only really comes from Japan (complete with dead fish kisses - what you though Korea invented them? oh no).

Triage

Thai 2022

BL does Groundhog Day featuring a doctor stuck in a time loop who must save a poor little rich boy from death by seducing the stuffing out of him, then PLOT TWIST, poor little rich boy must do the same for doctor! Unfortunately... stuffing keeps leaking. I thought the plot was engaging if a little redundant and occasionally exhausting. The pairs were all well done, low heat but with decent chemistry and the support characters were likeable (or unlikeable, as required). If anything, the romance arc detracted and distracted from the main plot, but that doesn't stop this from being a genuinely good show.

HONORABLE MENTION

Great Men Academy

Thai 2019

Bodyswap involving unicorns making a teenage girl into a boy makes this questionable as a BL (because, ya know, gender). But the fact remains that James is killer in the lead, and I (who do not like bodyswap) loved this damn show. Look, there is actual plot, hotties at boarding school, "bully the one you love" trope, some weird VR shit, very bad CGI, and yes, the boys end up together... whether they boys or not, so to speak.

Some of these shows may appear on a smaller streaming service, like WeTV, or they may be on a legal platform in your territory. I hope it goes without saying you should check there first.

(source)

This list updated Spring 2024, not responsible for cool stuff that went missing (or was added to a platform) after that date.

It's it last in a series the rest of which are:

224 notes · View notes

wondernus · 1 year

Text

˗ˋˏ a winter interlude ˎˊ˗

synopsis: maybe this is meant to be an interlude – an unforeseen passing moment in each other’s timelines. but with the stroke of a conductor’s baton, the symphony lands on the fermata hovering above the note. do we allow this interlude to become something longer than a short period in our lives, or do we end it after all of it is over?

pairing: wonwoo x coworker!reader

genre: romance, drama, light angst

tags: children's book illustrator wonwoo, publisher reader, enemies to lovers, fake marriage, food/drinks, work husband jeonghan cameo, small town dynamics, snowed in, scene where reader almost gets physically injured

wc: 11.3k

message from nu: waaaa first fic of the year. special special special thank you to my beloved madi (@heartkyeom) for being my beta reader well after midnight. I also wanna thank mars (@onlymingyus) for being mars c: I remember a while ago I answered an ask with a possible wonwoo work husband spinoff. this is it. this is wonwoo's work husband spinoff. this can be read as a standalone fic. happy winter and happy new year to all of you. I hope you all enjoy this svthub snowventeen collab fic - nu ♡

wondernus's masterlist / snowventeen collab 18+

one

“Don’t forget to wear you layers because it’s about to be chillier as the week passes by. For those trekking into the mountains, make sure you look out for weather updates from the signal tower and stay indoors because a large snowstorm is about to paint the mountains white. Stay safe, and have a great day. Now, onto Yoon Jeonghan with the traffic.”

“‘Trekking?’ What are you? A protein bar wrapper? Anyway, thank you Joshu-"

Never really understanding why other people say they often find themselves turning down the music while driving to see better, you find yourself doing the same – driving in silence as if the silence could create such a frictionless surface that would shoot and propel your car to your destination. A couple of hours late to your annual winter work retreat, a clear understatement defined by the speed at which you are driving, what was supposed to be a carpool event turned into you sitting in a pool of cars while stuck in traffic.

The Sun shines lightly, a gentle kiss against your skin, but not enough to hug everything it touches in warmth. With the heater on high, you sit in your front seat sweating and dreading the moment when you have to get out of your car, thighs peeling off the leather seats and leaving a pool of sweat where you were sitting. Perhaps it is not the Sun and the heater’s heat that causes you to sweat, but a psychological factor – an amalgamation of stress and anxiety that stemmed from the moment you realized you were late.

No longer can you allow yourself to forgive him that easily, yet you really did not want t blame him for giving you incorrect meeting minutes. But when the retreat itinerary clearly stated to meet in the morning at seven in front of the publishing house, you should have known better than to wholly trust your ditzy new intern to attend your office meeting while you traveled out of town to hunt down your author for her overdue speculative fiction novel draft. Instead of writing the correct time to meet, he incorrectly noted the arrival time.

This unprecedented-precedented blip is the catalyst for a series of chain reactions that would metaphorically send you pummeling down the steep side of a mountain in a snowy avalanche that you could have avoided. But you do not know it, nor do you know how it, whatever “it” is, ends.

Dark circles under your eyes and a forgotten paper-thin pimple patch a jolt over a speedbump away from falling off your oily skin, you keep telling yourself that everything will be okay once you get to the camping grounds. Hopefully, this sort of denial could make up for the fact that you spent all of last night kicking your feet under your covers while binge-watching the reality show that your favorite boy group filmed rather than packing for your trip. But there is only so much your heater turned on high can do for someone wearing an old flimsy university tee with a couple of cat teeth-made holes who forgot to put their contacts in last night. You are better off skipping the winter retreat, but you are already nearing the mountains. There is no turning back – especially on winding roads.

And the embarrassment. This feeling of creeping anxiety seemingly washed away the moment it stepped foot into your head even though you are utterly unprepared and inappropriate for being late to the paid work retreat. Because this sudden realization hits you mid-drive: the only person who you would be embarrassed to meet in your current situation is excused for the retreat. Reasons unknown. And not that you would let any man define you, but at your core, you are simply a person with an embarrassingly big fat crush on your co-worker (and seemingly everybody else you work with). This crush is so bad that if HR made every team create their own set of photocards, you would put his in a protective cover with tiny holographic hearts, and then in a sturdy toploader decorated with overpriced stickers. One glance at him would put you in a trance, daydreaming about what it would be like to wake up in his arms on a sunny day with birds chirping outside your window, and him with a soft smile on his face.

Except for one thing – he hates your guts, so you decided to hate his too.

They always say “try, try again,” but how many tries would it take before the attempts turn Sisyphean? Sure, Hades enchanted Sisyphus’s boulder so that it would roll away before Sisyphus reached the top, but what about you? Car tires struggling against the icy roads, you drive carefully so your car does not turn into a giant hockey puck or a curling stone on (what is essentially) a giant ice rink. But being careful does not help the fact that you are unprepared. And being unprepared means your car has absolutely no way for you to drive over any sized slopes, no matter how many times you try.

You only realize any further attempt of going over the slope or taking any other route is fruitless when your tires spin in place after digging themselves well enough into the road. And you slump against your steering wheel like an exasperated character in a movie – pounding your head against 12 o’clock a few times for good measure. So much for a fifteen-minute-saving de-tour through a small town you have never seen before. And so much for you trying to drive over a slope you could easily walk over. Trying sucks.

Still, the only thing that keeps you from abandoning your hand-me-down car to trek forty-five minutes to the campsite is the fact that it is freezing outside, and your cellphone Wi-Fi gets especially spotty when you are in areas of high altitudes. With one final sigh, you push yourself away from your steering wheel to sit upright, leaning the back of your head against your headrest. There is not much to do except to put your car in neutral and try to push your car out of the little hole it dug itself in.

The thing is, the texture of real snow is a lot different from the snow that giant portable snow machines shoot out of their gigantic cylindrical nozzles to cover the courtyard in front of the city hall whenever the local city has its annual winter festival. Real snow is also incomparable to the “snow” a child creates along the perimeter of an ice skating rink, hands holding onto the rails for support while they repeatedly scrape the inside of one of their blades towards the inside of their other shoe, creating soft ribbons of shaved ice before the navy blue Zamboni can create a clean slate before private lessons start.

Real snow is relentless toward anybody who does not come prepared to interact with it. So, no matter how much you try to dig and twist your sneaker sole into the snow, that tactile grip that you wish to create that supports your feet while you are pushing against the back of your car can seldom be created. You slump against your car’s bumper in defeat. The Sun still shining on your skin, a little bit stronger now, leaves you with the same warmth you felt against your skin, a bit tingly and upsetting, when you knew your skin would still burn no matter how nice the cordiality of the Sun felt on that one Spring day in the past.

Plus, there is a little more time to observe your surroundings when you have given up completely.

In the grassy median strip that denotes the entrance into the small town is a wooden welcome sign with the name in loopy golden lettering against a beautiful pine green: “Welcome to Interlude.” A few feet ahead of you, the mountainous road marries smooth concrete, and the sidewalks pave in a festival town-esque brick lining. And you conclude you must be on the outskirts of the town. Leftover snow fills the grooves between each brick and covers the dark-colored awnings in front of each shop along the town strip. Where flashy LED shop signs and brightly colored bulbs decorate sidewalk trees drawing visitors in from around the world, is surprisingly a lack of people. And you frown while thinking about how you would be able to push your car to the side of the road if another vehicle wants to enter the town.

Not a few moments later, a navy blue truck slowly climbs up the road, and you feel the littlest bit of hope surge into your body. Forcing yourself to stand up, you move out of the way and wave at the incoming car. But as your day could not have gotten any more unfortunate, your car starts rolling backwards towards the pickup truck. And you cannot help but see your entire life flash in front of you – a person dressed too lightly for the snow and the used car passing by like a celebrity on a parade float, all in a moment.

What is scarier than the fact that your car is now bumper-less and the pickup truck remains unscathed is the man who hops out of his truck. Looking like a snow-stage boss from a video game, the man who is large and menacingly looking enough to make his shiny dark green car look like a minivan next to him stalks over to you with his finger pointed directly at your face. The only thing missing from the scene is the army of ice ogres that are supposed to follow closely behind him.

However, the only thing you can register is the fact that he is yelling at you – face glowing bright red and spit flying out of his mouth. Your body is frozen in fear. There is a lack of capacity for you to be able to stand up for yourself while you are shocked and unable to recognize your surroundings while terrible words spill out of the man's mouth. And you cannot do anything except take in his expletives while teardrops well up, ready to spill out of your tear ducts.

But they do not. A figure puts himself between the man and you, and your view is too obstructed to see the other side.

“I called the insurance company. Give me your information and I’ll handle it,” the mysterious person says.

“And who are you?” You hear from the other side.

“I’m their husband.” He fishes for his wallet in his back pocket and takes out a business card, handing it to the man between two fingers. “Call me. Email me. Your choice. I’ll get it sorted. Sorry about the whole thing, I didn’t have time to drive my partner. Bad husband right?... So, I heard you’re the new fishing shop owner? I’ll drop by sometime.” He tries to switch subjects to lessen the tension while slipping his wallet back into his pocket.

The thing is, it works. The presence of the man who uses his body to shield you calms the angry pickup truck driver almost exponentially. And the man who yelled at you seemed to forget he was yelling at you just because he realized your marital status. The man calms down, and even falters in his speech.

“Ahh…I’m not a fishing shop owner. I guess it’s fine now that you’re here, but you know men. There aren’t bad husbands, only ba-”

“I’ll be at Town Hall if you need more information from me.” The man who calls himself your husband purposely and curtly cuts the other man off, knowing very well that he would be even more upset if he heard the man finish his sentence.

The man does not turn back to address you until he is done taking photos of both cars and waving the other man goodbye. And your piece of junk car stays in the same spot, bumper-less and bruised, while the pickup truck, clearly without any injury, smoothly makes its way into Interlude, disappearing from your sight.

“You’re just going to dumbly let that man say those things to you? About you? Do you have no respect for yourself?” He lectures you, his deep voice muffled by the black wool scarf wrapped around his neck and mouth.

You see him clearly this time, how his black locks fall in front of his face in neat curtain bangs, set in a defined “C” shape. The oversized fleece-lined collar jacket falls to the middle of his thighs, leaving little room for his cream-colored sweater to peep into view. And his stance, focusing his weight on his right heel while his left foot slightly protrudes forward, allows him to tap his foot against the snow while he waits for you to answer him.

But what is shocking to you is not the code-switching he uses when speaking to the driver versus when speaking to you. What is shocking, you realize, are the thin silver-framed glasses that sit on the bridge of the man’s nose and the familiar deep woody scent that clings onto him, touched with a hint of peach.

It couldn’t be.

A cold chill leaves your tongue dry and squeezes your stomach.

“Are you dumb? Did you not hear about the snowstorm coming?” He asks you, a voice without concern, all while pulling out his phone from one of his pockets.

He tugs his manicured thumbs out of his gloves to wake his phone and proceeds to reveal his face from under his scarf to unlock his phone. After a few loud keyboard taps, you hear your phone’s notification sound from your car. But all you can do is stare back at the man, stomach gurgling and queasy.

“Yn,” your co-worker sighs, clearly annoyed by your lack of response. “Why are you here?”

two

A backpack-wearing piglet who happily crosses the street. A fashionably dressed lumpy toad who rows across the pond in a wooden paddle boat. A shrew who picnics with a chipmunk in a grassy city park. Tiny children who sit between each of a stegosaurus’s scutes. An angry and scruffy-looking Siamese cat who wears a cone too big for it to see. The backside of each illustration states:

Jeon Wonwoo ILLUSTRATOR Same Dream Publishing House Work Email | Work Number | Personal Website

Nicely squared recycled textured card stock printed with soy ink, Jeon Wonwoo’s business cards can very well double as collector cards. And the owner of these cards himself, in your eyes, is the most beautiful man you have ever laid your eyes on. No fantasy writer, no Renaissance artist could ever truly depict how you see this man. Yet it makes you feel terrible, so entirely rotten on the inside, knowing that he would rather crawl up several flights of stairs made of tiny plastic building blocks than take a fifteen-second elevator ride with you.

If you could pinpoint the exact day Jeon Wonwoo started hating you, it would be the Monday after coming back from a previous work trip to the vacation home of a poet the two of you were assigned. The two of you were amicable with each other, even more so – close friends. A power couple in the children’s books and short stories field – a force to be reckoned with. And the hotel rooms adjacent to each other where the two of you decided to sit on opposite sides of your shared door and talk to each other with both your backs against the door. You remember the sound of his hair brushing against the wood and his soft chuckle when you accidentally bump your head against the door. The goodbye after the trip lingered for a little too long while the first hello back never came. And you can only watch from the back of the crowd during meet and greets and panels, sometimes only catching the tip of his tiny flyaway from far away.

It would hurt your feelings a lot less if he turned away whenever you walked near him, but he chooses to frown instead. Unfortunately, it doesn’t make you like him any less. But you do not know what you are holding onto (or if there is anything to hold onto at this point).

Even now, there is a blatant emotional and physical distance between the two of you. He briskly walks at least a meter in front of you, never turning his head back to see if he left you behind or if you were following closely behind.

The thick uncomfortable shoulder strap keeps slipping from your shoulder, unable to find any traction against the smooth nylon of the puffer you put on earlier. And it is just a walk, a measly ten-minute walk to the police station where you can report the accident, but it is hard to walk while looking ahead when you are so close to crying. No matter how much you try to adjust your shoulder strap so it doesn’t stop falling, it finds a way to slip from your sore shoulder or frozen grip. Overwhelming emotions usurp any will to continue onwards and leave you feeling so annoyed, so dejected, and so frustrated with everything that happened today. And when your bag’s strap slips again, you let it slip from your shoulder, sending your entire duffle bag crumpling against the wet and icy brick pavement.

And so you crumple with it, sinking to your knees and wallowing in your unhappiness.

The winter boots that clop in front of you never stop. Jeon Wonwoo would never stop for you, never walk backwards to pick up your heavy duffle and offer you a hand. So it wracks your head trying to understand why he would help you out in the first place, leaving you in the snow once everything was settled, and threatening an IOU coupon for the future. Why he would be in this town in the first place.

The shop window lights of the tiny electronics store to the side of you flicker on. On display and pressed flat against the glass are a bunch of old television sets stacked on top of each other, creating a large screen if not separated by the thick plastic television frames. Golden tempera paint in a modern Serif font exhibits the store’s logo across the glass: “Stay For A While,” in a wide downward pointing arc.

Every single television screen livestreams the local news. According to the subtitles, a giant snowstorm is about to hit the local area. Residents are advised to seek shelter and stay home. The sunny weather is only a farce.

But you don’t notice the news. To you, the only thing in front of you is a lachrymose shadow of a blob trapped in a foreign town with nowhere to go. And your heart follows closely behind the man as if dragged by him on a leash – blindly bouncing, cobbling, and getting scratched by the various pebbles and dirt on the pavement.

The man never looks behind to check on the organ. He doesn’t even know it’s there.

“What do you mean you’re cat sitting? Jeonghan, you never volunteer to do things willingly…Oh, for the friends who are high school teachers? Then road trip with their cat and save your cousin who is stranded in the mountains.” You adjust your grip on your phone while mindlessly browsing through the several knickknacks for sale in the souvenir shop in the town’s only lodge.

Passing the wall of graphic tees and sweaters and passing through a shelf of souvenir mugs, you stop at a shelf of tiny woodcarvings. Your eye lands on a figurine of a whittled cat, hand-painted orange with a white belly. On the other end of your phone call, your cousin complains about the weather, but you don’t listen – clearly too entranced by the tiny cat.

“Of course I listened to the radio this morning,” you mutter while running the tip of your pointer finger against the cat’s ear, feeling the smooth sanded wood under your touch. “Okay, you got me. It was for background noise. Look, I’m not asking you to pick me up today. I somehow ended up booking a room after finding out cab services are down today. But if you’re not going to pick me up then I’m going to hang up and solve this myself. But if you don’t hear from me in three days, then call a search party. Okay?”

Except he hangs up before you can say goodbye, grumbling about how you never listen to him. Still, you’re unbothered by his action. The tiny cat, now in the palm of your hand, looks so content with life, unbothered by what goes on around it. Your mind wonders about its artist, how long they must have spent carving the cat from a single block of wood, the hours it must have taken to create something so tiny yet so fulfilling to own. And you wonder about the artist’s emotions, if they ever felt sadness after parting with their cat. If the cat was the artist’s friend, even for the brief moment, that juncture, in their individual timelines.

It would be best if you left the cat on the shelf, you think. Just in case the artist ever changes their mind about selling the cat. And the cat looks happier sitting on the shelf with its other animal friends, happier than what its painted lazy smile suggests.

And for the first time today, you feel a tiny bit of happiness – a halcyon moment surrounded by forest-themed trinkets and flashing keychains with generic names and soft 2010s pop music playing from the store speakers. That is until you see a familiar figure being escorted to the lobby of the lodge. Curiosity causes you to leave your spot in the souvenir store, edging closer to the creation of a new scene.

“I have a room.” You hear him try to reason with the security guard. “It’s not called loitering if I am a guest.”

You can’t hear the security guard, but it seems like Wonwoo’s bluntness is not a strong enough source of logos for the guard. And the guard stands in front of the illustrator, fully unconvinced that the man wearing a suit and holding his work briefcase would be any other out-of-town guest. And one look of pure panic on Jeon Wonwoo’s stupidly handsome-looking face sends you on autopilot, making your way to his side for no good reason.

“Babe.” You lie through your forced smile while looping your arm around his right arm. “Where were you?”

His arm jerks in the tiniest bit before it relaxes as if he hesitated for a moment before making his decision. Of course, another explanation could simply be because he experienced a negative bodily reaction to your mere presence. Flabbergasted, he would mutter. The nadir of today’s excitement. And you would hate him even more for using vocabulary without incorporating any malapropisms. He is as pretentious as the outfit he wears.

“Baby,” he grits through his teeth. “This gentleman seems to think I’m stalking the halls like some animal out to hunt its prey.”

“Sorry, Sir.” You pout at the security guard, hoping your natural pathos could appeal to the man. “My husband has a tendency to walk around whenever he’s bored. It’s been a while since we went on vacation, and he clearly has too many thoughts in his head. You see his outfit? It’s a bad habit.”

The security guard strokes his chin and nods, eying Wonwoo’s ineffable outfit. He wonders why the man in front of him would pack a business suit for a vacation in the mountains, but he doesn’t want to be the one too quick to judge. Rather, he agrees with the fact that the suit actually fits the man very well. If the man wasn’t stalking the hallways just a few moments ago, he would’ve asked him about which tailor he sees. “If he’s so bored, why don’t the two of you join couples night tonight? Winners get a free bedroom upgrade. And between you and me, I heard there’s a famous author who’s staying with us,” he whispers the last portion, a quick cheeky wink.

You don’t realize that you are still grabbing onto his arm until you dragged him into your room. And he shrugs you off, taking the extra step to smooth out his suit fabric while looking through your vanity mirror before turning to you.

“You have the grip of a snapping turtle,” he scoffs while looking around your room.

It is a standard room with a single queen-sized bed at the center of the room. If it were not for the carpeted floors, the entire room would look like a wooden box from its Western Red Cedar planks that make up the four walls to the wooden paneling that covers the ceiling, giant circular wooden beams that keep the ceiling steady by design. The rooms in this lodge are a termite’s dream feast and an art deco enthusiast’s nightmare. Even the bedframe is made of logs, cylindrical in every piece, and the bedsheets are of deep burgundy red bordered with silhouettes of black bears as if it came straight from the video game your cousin was so obsessed with a few Summers ago.

What catches his eye is not the fact that your duffle bag is thrown across your bed, nor the fact that the lamps in your rooms may as well be oil lamps. Rather, he stares at the door to the right of your mounted television, the divider between your room and your neighbor’s. And you can’t help but wonder what is going on in that head of his.

“You are insufferable, you know that?”

“How long did it take for you to think of that comeback?” His attention is drawn away from the door and aimed toward you. “Just because I compared you to a turtle didn’t mean you had to act like one.”

Your jaw drops and becomes your turn to scoff at him, loudly. You cannot believe what you are hearing, and your breathing becomes shallower as you glare at him. “Are you kidding me? Me helping you literally saved you from being pathetically kicked out by the security guard. You should be happy I didn’t record it and post it online.”

“Like you would have enough followers for it to go viral,” he sneers while taking a step toward you. “And I never asked you for help.”

“Loitering in the hallways? Wearing a business suit when you’re supposed to be at the retreat?” Now there is almost no space between the two of you. And you reach over to his chest, grabbing the plastic nametag that dangles from his neck, and holding it up to his face. The item feels as cold as the person who wears it. “Wearing your work badge? Fine, I’ll admit I have no idea why you’re here. But if you thought that walking around and waiting for some author to come out of their room and have some preplanned accidental meet cute could work, then you’re so wrong. And I’m not going to let you defame our company just because you have no social skills whatsoever.” You let go of the item you’re holding, letting it drop against his chest.

“Okay, I’ll be the bigger man and admit that I was waiting for the author my team wants to work with to show up. But talking about defaming the company? You want me to care about what you say when all of that was coming from someone who would rather let some random man verbally degrade their worth than to stand up for themselves? You’re all bite and no tongue. Just like a snapping turtle,” he says, his face entirely without emotion.

“SNAPPING TURTLES HAVE TONGUES. DUMBASS,” you snap at him.

“That’s exactly what a snapping turtle would say,” he challenges you.

The thing is, Jeon Wonwoo likes to keep things short even though he is not as quick-tempered as you are. He prefers to relay everything he wants to say at once, saving anybody from asking for clarification. Yet, you can feel that Wonwoo only seeks to maim you with his words. Even at your most imperturbable composure with your intern, you cannot stand being alone in a room with Wonwoo once he starts opening his mouth to speak. And stupidly and repeatedly you let his elementary quips affect you like rubbing salt on an open wound. The laceration in your heart.

“You’re so rude Jeon Wonwoo. No wonder I hate you more and more every single day. You’re the single-most worst person in the entire world, and I hate how I once considered us friends.”

He looks like he has something to say to you but mentally drops the notion. Instead, he sighs and makes his way to the door beside your television, unlocking the knob and opening the door. He doesn’t make some offhanded comment about being your neighbor and only quietly closes the door behind him, making sure it’s locked with a tiny click.

three

It is a tiny office breakroom, the kind with a beige refrigerator whose motor is a little too loud, a low-watt microwave, and light green walls decorated with random pen marks from the lodge workers signing up for holiday potlucks. The late afternoon sunlight shines in an ethereal orange glow through the window, casting what could be the day’s last warm ray across the round wooden table in the middle of the room. Central heating runs throughout the building, and the lodge manager sits in the hot seat, his hands folded in front of him while he stares at you and your “husband.”

“Darling?” A nice elderly receptionist on break holds up a bag of mini marshmallows, the tri-colored kinds you can only find in baking stores, and points to it with her manicured finger. “Marshmallow?” she asks you from her place near the kitchen cabinets.

“No thank you,” you reply, your hands wrapped around a warm disposable cup filled with generic brand instant hot chocolate. Gratis, courtesy of the elderly receptionist before the manager arrived to talk to the two of you.

You bring the sugary drink to your lips, blowing softly and watching the steam disappear into the air. The drink itself, velvet chocolate that coats your tongue, is a warm invitation to this little town in the middle of nowhere. However, you cannot help but feel the only thing – or person – that unwelcomes you is the man who tries to angle his body away from you and the manager if the two of you ever cause trouble for your neighbors. Again.

“Look, we’re not going to kick you out. It would be inhumane to kick someone out during a snowstorm. And also we’re all kinda snowed in…actually, we’re super snowed in so nobody is coming in or out at this point. Funny how it was sunny earlier, right? Anyway, word has it that the two of you are married. So why don’t you two take some time to work things out, yeah? I’m no relationship counselor, but this is a small lodge in a small town so word gets out fast. So, seeing how far the two of you are sitting apart from each other, maybe channel that pent up anger into some competitive spirit during couple’s night because we can’t have you two being loud and arguing elsewhere. And I hate to be the bad guy here, but no more calls from your neighbors complaining about the two of you arguing or else we will contact authorities. Alright? Just keep it down and work it out, would ya?”

The manager’s lengthy spiel is immediately followed by silence, although not awkward, but one that provokes thought. And when you sense Wonwoo, being the smartass he is, open his mouth to counter his marriage status, and you immediately kick him in the shin with the heel of your tennis shoe. And he folds like his latest pop-up book, glaring at you while trying not to wheeze in pain. A fake smile and a solemn pledge to not bother the other patrons for the rest of the night are enough for the two of you to be excused from the conversation with the manager.

But not from each other.

How you ended up blindfolded and dizzy with a bat in your hands while Wonwoo angrily yells at you from the sidelines is beyond you. For the time being is what the two of you agreed with, albeit this one is far from Ruth Ozeki’s version. It’s a small promise to try to prove the two of you are more than amicable: attend a few games and activities together with the other couples, attempt to act like a married couple, and dip after an hour.

After twelve elephant spins with your forehead against the baseball bat, you and the other blindfolded contestants try to cross to the other side of the banquet hall in order to smash one of the many squashes on the large blue-colored plastic tarp laid across the floor. And Wonwoo, along with the other separated pairs, barks into the open air in the direction he wants you to move.

The funny thing is, you would expect to hear him call your actual name out of all of the pet names being thrown around, but Wonwoo cannot yell for the life of him, so much to shout your name in public. So even though you hear a bunch of people getting confused with the various forms of “honey” and “baby” being called out, you struggle to find his voice amidst the cacophony of shouts. Once the physical dizziness from spinning around evaporated, you feel a new kind of dizziness from being agitated as an aftereffect of trying to find Wonwoo’s voice in the middle of the crowd. By the time you decide on giving up, the shrill sound of a whistle signaling the end of the game fills the air. Shrugging the blindfold off your face, you look around to see the aftermath. While the other pairs are on the other side of the room surrounded by broken pieces of squash, there is only one man standing in front of you alone and separated from the others.

Your breathing hitches when you realize he’s walking towards you – long, even strides like the romantic lead in a movie. By the time he places himself in front of you, your baseball bat is in his hand while your cheek is in his other.

“It was hard, wasn’t it?” he whispers while looking into your eye.

Except you can’t help but train your eyes elsewhere, unable to look him in his eyes while it feels like your heart is beating erratically. And even though you know very well how he is faking everything, you can’t help but regress to the same you, the same you who is so helplessly in love with the man you hate. The same you who spends every day wondering how did the two of you end up that way.

“You only took the bat from me because you’re scared I might whack you with it. And not going to lie, I was contemplating it,” you mumble.

“It’s okay babe.” He tries to cheer you up, a slight undertone of insincerity in his voice. He continues to ignore your statement. “You did your best. Snapping turtles are slow, but they still manage to survive.”

Ignoring the fact that Wonwoo’s hand is warm because he has warm packs in each of his loungewear jacket pockets (and the fact that he refused to share one with you), someone catches your eye in the distance. Where workers are cleaning up the aftermath of the squash game, a familiar-looking man stands to the side where some lodge patrons flock around him with rectangular objects in their hands. Once you see him turn his head your way, your entire body freezes – Wonwoo’s touch suddenly begins to feel cold against your skin. And Wonwoo, who was expecting you to get mad at him for calling you a turtle, can’t help but notice your state of panic. And he not so subtly turns around to see who could be causing you so much fear.

“Oh my,” he mutters, coming to his realization.

“I can’t believe –” you begin before Wonwoo interrupts your train of thought.

“I hope he rots in hell before he can get his next book deal,” he almost spits at the man from several feet away. He drops his hand from your cheek and takes a tiny step back before taking a deep breath as if he is about to ask you something that he would regret, “Do you mind staying a little longer? I want to make sure chauvinists never win book upgrades.”

“Room upgrade,” you correct him while glaring at the other man from afar.

“What?”

“You misspoke.” You guide your attention back to the man who is, for what you think is the first time, looking at you attentively and without malice. And the fact that he is looking at you amicably makes your brain go haywire, but you subdue your thoughts and continue the conversation. “It’s the ‘room’ upgrade that we’re trying to stop him from winning.”

“Book upgrade or room upgrade, it’s the same thing.” He frowns while tapping the end of the bat against the ground. “It turns out your pickup truck man is the author my team is after. But I’d rather be jobless than to work with someone like him.”

So he works with you, absolutely demolishing the competition during the Dinner and Paint section and loudly cheering for you while you stacked plastic cups. And the way he smiles at you, lovingly and with the glimmer reflected from the ceiling lights contrasted against the cocky attitude he surrounds himself with when one of you wins a game – it almost makes you forget that you’re supposed to hate him. How easily he wraps his arms around you, hugging you tightly against his embrace so much that his cologne lingers on your clothes, leaves you feeling hopeless. Because the only time Jeon Wonwoo could ever approach you without visibly withering in repulsion is when he acts like he is in love with you.

Outside the cozy lodge, the Sun sets its rays on the heavy layers of snow. While the Earth turns to face the other way, the rays wash the pillowy white crystals in a warm and deep burgundy orange – a warm embrace, a promise to return, before parting for the night. As you clean Wonwoo’s smudged glasses with the hem of your shirt, he sneaks his right arm around your waist while he leans further into his seat as the Couple’s Night host announces the next game. You feel something warm enter the pocket of your jacket and look down to see Wonwoo’s hand back on your waist. The untouched hand warmer gradually feels hotter in your pocket when you gently place your fake husband’s glasses back on the bridge of his nose. He whispers a small “thank you,” and you can only smile back at him with a heaviness in your heart that only you can carry.

The hand warmer feels like it would burn through your clothes at any second.

four

“Team Snowball, what did your partner answer for the question: ‘What is your partner picky about eating?’” The emcee points at the woman sitting next to you who gladly flips her sketchbook around for the other half of the room to see. She squints her eyes, trying to read the woman’s squiggly writing, and smiles when she realizes it’s a match. “Soft grapes? It’s a match. Point to Team Snowball.”

Despite everything going around you, you can’t help but fidget in your seat, the sketchbook’s pages starting to feel damp in your sweaty palms. Wonwoo sits with the separated pairs across from you. He crosses his legs, and his sketchbook lays comfortably across his lap so he can twirl his black marker in his hand. Even when you know you wrote the correct answer to Wonwoo’s food preferences, the two of you are still several points behind the other teams. Your stomach cannot help but feel queasy every time you embarrassingly flip your sketchbook for others to see. Because every single wrong answer about your “husband” whom you love very much feels like a punch in your gut every time you hear snickers from the others around you.

Seafood is your answer; you’re the last to answer this round’s question. You earn a small cheer from the woman reading your answer and a small smile from Wonwoo. He sneaks you a tiny thumbs up, the tip of his thumb poking out of his sweater.

“Next question,” dictates the emcee. “When did you know they were the one?”

It’s an abstract question – one that doesn’t necessarily need matching answers from both sides. Still, you look across to look at Wonwoo, uncertain whether or not he would put much thought into an answer he would have to pull out of thin air. Uncapping his marker with his mouth, he pulls the sketchbook closer to him to scribble down whatever comes to his mind. The action leaves your mouth feeling dry: one, obviously, because he uncapped the marker with his mouth; and two, he was the first to start writing.

Some answers are simple. Some answers are meaningful. Some answers are like yours – “love at first sight.”

Corny, overused, and unusual, your answer is the safest route you knew you could take. And despite how clichéd your answer is – its timelessness, its Hallmark-ability – still garners a series of awws from everybody around you. Technically, there is some truth to your answer. You developed a tiny crush the first time you saw him at the office. Who wouldn’t? He surrounds himself with illustrations of anthropomorphic animals and has a laugh that bellows and fills any room with joy. He made your days brighter by simply existing.

Now, the brightness struggles to navigate its way through the thick fog. And you’re left alone in the cold, the fog’s misty droplets clinging onto your skin.

It’s weird how in this life, time moves linearly, but moments and experiences with others exist in intervals – interludes that we can relive over and over again through memories. Sometimes we experience interludes of happiness, interludes of pain, and interludes where it only seems like there are only two people in this world. But nobody can determine how long these interludes can last and for how long you can try to hold on to these moments before letting go.

“Let’s see if Team Turtle can earn a point. Please show us your answer.”

“I’m kind of embarrassed,” he softly chuckles, voice more sonorous than ever, while standing his sketchbook on his knee.

9 pm is his answer. You, and the rest of the people sitting beside you, cannot help but gaze at his answer in confusion.

It is only when he sees you staring at him he finally clarifies, “When we were sitting in my car eating donuts while the waves crash on the shores in front of us. You smiled at me with pieces of maple donut glaze stuck to your upper lip.”

You. He speaks in the second person and looks directly at you with a soft gaze. It couldn’t be, you think. But it is true, you recognize his diction as true. He’s speaking to you.

And you remember that shared moment in the front seats of his car, the night of the work trip. The donuts were for the poet, but the two of you had the door slammed in your faces before being able to hold a full conversation with the poet. And after an entire day of confusion and apologies, the two of you were finally able to fulfill your portions for the work trip. Who knew that the tiny suggestion of walking along the pier after dinner would turn out disastrous – frigid ocean winds strong enough to blow people away? The clothes the two of you packed were not meant to sustain harsh winds but harsh sunlight – after all, the work trip’s destination is a beach town. So the two of you sat in his car, eating donuts, people-watching, and sharing anecdotes to get to know each other better. It was the type of conversation that you would do anything to prolong its duration, the type of conversation with the right type of person.

“You were so happy,” he finishes.

You were so happy, it echoes in your head.

Are you happy now?

“How about you?” The emcee turns to you for clarification. “Your partner gave us such a beautiful explanation. So, you have to explain your ‘love at first sight.’ Tell us about it.”

“Ohh,” Wonwoo begins awkwardly while giving an equally awkward chuckle. “You don’t have to if you do-”

“I was having a really bad morning.” You smile into your lap and look up at your supposed husband. You don’t know why or how the full day with unease bubbling inside of you dispersed so quickly after Wonwoo’s particular answer. But you launch into your story, letting the words flow out of your mouth like melted snow on a grassy hill under the bright Sun. “A really bad morning. I ended up working overtime and accidentally missed my morning alarm. I had to chase the bus while my hot coffee poured out of its opening and onto my skin. My entire day at the office was a mess because I kept messing up. I felt awful and exhausted. So I worked overtime for the second day in a row to clean up my errors. Someone places hot green tea in front of me, the free ones at the office. There is a doodle of a stingray with the dumbest-looking smile on its face. It looked so pathetic that it made me feel a little better about myself. He says that he accidentally boiled too much hot water and thought to make a cup for me. And then he holds his own up in front of his face. There’s a picture of a cat wearing glasses. ‘You can do it,’ he tells me in a squeaky voice. And he leaves. We don’t meet again for about a month, but his kind gesture pieced me back together. And I held onto his kindness for days.”

He stares at you, a few strands of his hair out of place and in front of his eyes. He doesn’t care to move them back in place. There’s that smile on his face, the exact one you imagined to be on his face that time he sat on the other side of your shared door. Soft coral lips relaxed, but the cupid’s bow is slightly perked as the corners of the lips turn upward. He tries to hide the fact that he is smiling, keeping his happiness hidden and only to himself.

So you smile at him. An honest, genuine smile where the cheeks kiss the lower lashes. And his lips stretch thinly so that his brilliant white teeth shyly make their way into the open. He smiles back at you.

Musicians know that an interlude, in music, is an interrupting or intervening passage that connects different parts of a song. An interlude can also be a song in an album. In other words, there are different ways for musical interludes as well as temporal interludes to exist. Now, there is a new interlude in your timeline, this shared moment where two timelines from two completely different lives collide and converge. Anybody can tell that this shared moment is filled with happiness and understanding…perhaps, even longing.

But what do you call it when these two timelines have converged in the past? If two timelines that once converged reconverge at a further point on the timeline, did that initial interlude ever truly end? Are interludes simply short periods in our lives if these interludes stay in our timelines forever, even when the moments they denote end?

Nevertheless, at this moment, you know you’re happy. And you can only hope the man who sits across from you, the one who looks at you with a reminiscent expression you once experienced so long ago, is feeling the same way.

“Okay. We’re in third place. If we win this one, then we’ll be a point ahead of them.”

“I tied it pretty tightly. Is the tightness okay with you?” Wonwoo frowns from below you, seemingly exploring a different problem at hand. He inspects the rope he tied around your leg, poking and prodding at different sections. “It’s a three-legged race, but I don’t want you getting hurt from an accidental rope burn because I tied it too tightly.”

“Wonwoo, it’s fine.” You pat his left shoulder, letting him know he doesn’t have to worry.

He grabs your stretched hand, and you help hoist him upwards. But there is an apparent frown on his face.

“Why do you still call me Wonwoo,” he mumbles while wrapping your arm around his back and on his waist. There is a tiny pout on his face pointed downwards as he naturally loops his arm around your shoulders like he had done it a thousand times. “Are you not comfortable with calling me ‘babe?’ Any other name also works.”

Deep down, or not even deep down, you know he is right. You are uncomfortable with the idea of casually calling him by these pet names over and over again. Calling him by fake pet names, not counting the many idealistic scenarios that once played in your head, in this case, feels very wrong. His sudden change in attitude towards you as well as his overall demeanor after the last game left you in shock. A plot twist in a season finale would be less shocking than what you feel at this very moment. Like every other hypothetical person in your situation, you choose to ignore your problems by focusing on your other problems at hand. Because you know very well, allowing yourself to fully play into this fake husband rouse, even in times when you’re truly happy, would only hurt you in the end. And you’ve been hurt by him before, not really sure if you ever fully healed.

But you can’t deny he looks and seems nothing like the literal he-devil he was this morning. In fact, he seems to be the opposite. Even without being physically tied to you, he trails behind you like a lost puppy and clings onto your sleeve like a cat who kneads dough on your arm, nails hooked onto the fabric of your clothing. And you let him hold you close to him so much that he leans his chin on your shoulder while listening to others talk. And you let his hair tickle your scalp and would let him melt into you if he asked.

Getting hurt by the same man twice does not make a right. Succinctly, it only makes you dumb. So, to protect yourself, you use the image of the screaming man from the morning to remind yourself that everything is a rouse no matter how much you enjoy each moment with the illustrator.

The three-legged race’s course starts in the banquet hall, passes through the hallway and into the lobby, takes several twists and turns throughout the sitting area, and finishes in the banquet hall. Wonwoo takes the lead, firmly holding you against him while he chants “in, out, in, out” to direct how the two of you should speed-walk. But the excitement of the games and the promise of the upgraded room must have gone over the heads of several of the teams, causing each team to speed walk into a sprint once they left the banquet hall.

Wonwoo and you are also victims of wanting to win, or at least of wanting to beat the author. But in this incredibly small lodge, there are only so many paces you can take before having to try to squeeze past another team. And Wonwoo practically hoists you onto his foot without notice, penguin-walking you to make it past another team to navigate through the sectioned seating area.

Startled by his sudden lack of communication, you demand he set you down. “Let me go,” you grunt after being jostled against one of the round wooden tables. You are absolutely sure your hip would bruise in the morning if he bumped you into one more object. “It’d be easier if one of us walks ahead of the other.”

Does it look like I care?” His ego slips from his tongue, completely coating the sweet words that came out of his mouth before the game started. His sudden change in tone catches you by surprise. “I’ll buy a sled from the gift shop if it means I get to drag you instead of hauling you around.”

“It’s just a game.” You try to push yourself off of him, annoyed that he’s suddenly being uncooperative with you. In the meantime, the team behind the two of you catches up and pulls ahead. “Let me go before one of us gets hurt.”

Wonwoo’s eyes aren’t trained on you. Instead, he stretches his head to look at the few teams in front of the two of you. Surprisingly, the two of you make it out of the seating area without any trouble. Before the two of you can make a sprint back toward the banquet hall, you pull yourself away from Wonwoo, yanking his arm off of your shoulder.

“Babe, come on.” He holds out his hand for you to grab onto. “We’re going to end up being last.”

But your hand never reaches out to meet his.

“Babe? Are you serious? Are you kidding me? Are you really calling me ‘babe’ right now?” You almost shriek at him if it weren’t for the fact that the two of you are standing in proximity to the reception desk. But you are exasperated, your voice wobbles as you voice what is bothering you. “I’ve had it with you, Wonwoo. I tried communicating with you. I tried voicing my fears. But your head is so far up your ass that you couldn’t even think about the safety of the person right beside you. Am I sad and mad about what happened this morning? Yeah, I still am. Nobody deserves to be treated that way, but nobody deserves to be ignored. I don’t care about winning anymore. I feel humiliated, utterly and devastatingly humiliated by you and by myself. To think I let myself have fun around you. To think I believed for a second that you truly did care about me. At one point, I thought we were friends. At one point, I really did like you for who you were. But I guess I can’t expect people to stay the same, can I?” More words and sentences pour out of your mouth – like a small tornado that grows larger in size after picking up all of the things you left unsaid, the words that threatened to slip from your tongue all picked up and twirled into the tornado, you ended up saying more than what you meant to say.

“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say,” he begins, but he can only hopelessly stare at you squatting in place to untie the rope that binds the two of you.

“There.” You bitterly drop the rope in his free hand. “You’re free from me now. You can go back to hating me all you want.”

“But I don’t hate you.”

“I’m done, Wonwoo. I’m done with being confused so I’m just going to give up and wallow in my room until Jeonghan picks me up once the snow clears.”

five

“No offense, but I would never spend that much time or energy on a guy…especially a guy who treats you like that. He even stopped pounding on your front door so that obviously means that he’s the type to stop trying after a while,” your cousin rants from the other side of your phone screen. He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose while the cat he is looking after purrs contently on his lap. “So what are you? A masochist? You like men who treat you poorly and then reward you with like an hour of happiness? That’s literally like if professors gave you the hardest final you’ve ever taken in your life and told you to grab a free cookie after you turned in the final. What are you even holding onto at this point?”

“I don’t know,” you wail at the older man, crumpling your used tissue in the palm of your hand. It quickly joins the growing pile of snot-riddled balls of tissue at the edge of your bed. When you recline into your initial position, the shifted blanket knocks Wonwoo’s hand warmer onto the floor.

“Eww stop holding your phone so close to your face,” Jeonghan complains, “Vernon says I kinda look like you, and I can’t help imagining that’s how I look when I cry.”

“I don’t know why I still like him,” you mumble to your cousin. You honestly still don’t understand why you like him despite every single recent negative encounter with him. To be honest, your heart doesn’t flutter as it does with the characters in the novels you read. Nothing cliched happens when you see him, like how the world stops and he is the only one who walks in slow motion. Quite frankly, your days pass by whether you see him or not, but it doesn’t mean that the thought of him crosses your mind every once in a while.

“Maybe you just like the idea of him,” he offers with a sigh. There isn’t much that he could do for you in the middle of a snowstorm except to be on a video call with you and hope that the can solve whatever you have going on before his bedtime.

“I make up scenarios of him in my mind but I still prefer the real him,” you admit with a twinge of embarrassment. You can only sink deeper under your covers, pulling the cabin-themed sheets closer to your chest. Maybe you’re still holding onto the Wonwoo who existed during the work trip, and maybe, you think, he still exists somewhere.

“Hypothetically, do you maybe think that the reason why he’s so bad at everything is because he spends most of his time with children and draws instead of writing so his communication skill is basically hindered? Like how you’re good with feelings and ideas because that’s the bulk of the media you surround yourself with daily so you have more exposure to that area. So you have man-child versus person with skewed expectations on love and relationships. But then you literally have people like me…perfect in every aspect.”

“Shut up. You talk about traffic every morning but you can’t even name the model of your car. You were also tricked by a catfish.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“I’m sorry,” you beg him. “Please don’t.”

“My point is.” He places his phone down on the sleeping cat to use as a temporary phone stand while he gathers his thoughts. “The two of you seem like total opposites. And the only time the two of you seem to work well together is when you meet in the middle. So, have you ever tried communicating with him? Ever pulled him to the side to ask him why he’s such an ass?”

Yoon Jeonghan’s simple solution to your problem causes your brain to briefly short-circuit. Silence fills your lonely cabin room as your mouth slightly hangs open while your cousin silently judges you from the other end of the phone. It took a simple suggestion to make you realize that you have been hanging onto Wonwoo’s personality change to even think to consider the idea of confronting him about it. And Jeonghan’s hypothesis may not be wrong at all – life isn’t a fictional novel where everything can be magically solved in the incoming chapters.

“No?” Your answer is meek. You don’t know what to feel after this revelation. Anger? Despair? Peacefulness?

“And is he still knocking on your door? Trying to talk to you?” His tone is gentle for once.

“Yeah?” You look to the right side of your room where the door stands between his room and yours. Slips of lodge notebook paper often found in the nightstand drawers slowly shove themselves through the tiny crack under the door. “I think he’s pushing slips of paper under our shared door.”

“Then go talk to him. But throw away your snot pile and fix your appearance before you do. Yeah?”

“What would I do without you?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t care. Bye.”

Sitting on the floor with your back leaned against the door, you shuffle the sheets of paper in your hands. There are a couple of sorry notes partnered with sad and apologetic-looking animal doodles. There are a few slips where he asks you to forgive him. Then there are these series of slips – a mini cartoon of his morning, this morning – that somehow cause a small upwards curl to form on your lips.

Blue ballpoint pen ink depicts a series of panels starting with a text he received this morning. This comic is void of cute tiny animals and can only be drawn with the sincerity of a children’s book illustrator. He draws himself staring at his phone screen in confusion – you’re missing, and the rest of the work group chat has no idea where you are. And he’s worried. Everybody is worried, but nobody is worried enough to send search parties for you. Blue-figured Wonwoo rushes out of his room, completely abandoning his presentation for the author, to rush to the entrance of Interlude. Because he knows that your team always passes through Interlude, but you’re known to arrive at the campsite while rubbing your eyes, hair frizzing from the static built from your head rubbing against the headrest while you were sleeping on the way there. But the scene he stumbles upon makes him angry despite how relieved he is to know that you are okay.

The few pages that you hold in your hand are smudged with blue ink, and the ending is unfinished. Wonwoo softly rasps his knuckles against the shared door, calling out your name. When you don’t reply, he sighs and sits down with his back against the door. You feel a tiny jolt with his added pressure against the door. Still, you can’t bring yourself to confront him. At least not yet.

“I’m childish and I let myself get caught up in moments. And you were right, if something happened to you, I would never forgive myself for hurting you. At one point, I really did forget that the reason why we agreed to work together was because we didn’t want him to win. I ended up wanting us to win, or at least for you to win so you could have the upgrade. I’m really sorry for not communicating well with you, and for how I acted.”

The sound of his hair leaving the door lets you know that he probably dropped his head toward his lap.

Taking a shallow breath, he mutters into his hands, “And I wasn’t lying when I talked about us at the beach. I really did like you then. I still like you.”

“Then why ignore me? Why act like you hate me? What did I do to deserve how you treated me?” The questions leave your mouth in a flare of anger.

“I started ignoring you because I was hiding from you. I couldn’t confront you because I knew I would make it obvious that I liked you. But I guess I hid from you for too long because you thought I hated you.” His voice muffled from being on the other side of the door.

“So all of this happened because of some big misunderstanding? Just because we couldn’t confront each other?”

So it really was a simple problem with a simple solution. The revelation feels like a sore punch in the gut, one that’s so surprising that all you can do is laugh.

“I’m sorry, Yn. I really am.”

“I’m also sorry.” You feel really guilty now that you know that you were wrong to believe that he hated you. “I should’ve confronted you about this earlier.”

“Does it still hurt?” His voice sounds clearer as if he shifted his body so he sits facing the door.

“Oh, from the race? Actually nothing happened.”

“From when you fell from heaven,” he finishes with his voice trailing in diminuendo, almost as if he is slightly embarrassed from using the overused pick-up line.

“It actually hurt a lot,” you joke. “But I’m glad it was you who found me in the middle of the road.”

“Then can I stay by your side? Not separated by doors, but by your side?”

So you push yourself away from the door, turning around to unlock the brassy knob. The door slowly swings open to Wonwoo, who is still sitting on the floor, now facing you. And you awkwardly sit in front of him, not really able to meet his eyes.

“I think I have a lot to learn.” He fiddles with the hem of his sweater. “I’ll start by being more communicative about my feelings,” he promises with a soft smile. “Because I really do like you.”

“I like you too.”

There is a magnetic pull that slowly draws the two of you closer together, a comforting sort of sensation that offers a moment of solace created from two extremes. The outside world is dark. The snowstorm has long gone. The surfaces where the sunlight once touched are replaced with the soft yellow glow of several lamps around both of your rooms. Kaleidoscopic remnants of shards of light scatter around every surface. But the two of you, seemingly in the very corners of your shared world exert a different type of glow - one that can only be created in a collision like the break of dawn after a devastating snowstorm.

“I really like you too,” you can’t help but reaffirm.

“It’s actually ‘I also like you.’” He can’t help but playfully correct you. “You’re the publisher. You shouldn’t be making these errors.” He teases.

“And you’re the illustrator, so shouldn’t you stay quiet so I can kiss you?”

one month later

At the base of a computer monitor, a tiny wooden whittled cat naps lazily next to its turtle counterpart. Two people sit side-by-side in the breakroom a few rooms away, the metal seats practically stuck to each other. While their lunches heat up in the microwave, the two happily discuss the upcoming young adult novel they are finally working on together. Under the table, their pinkies naturally interlock. The man who scrolls through art ideas on his tablet can’t help but let his eyes linger on his partner for a little too long while they scroll enthusiastically through the several concept art slides he created. When the microwave sounds, he quickly leaves a soft and brief kiss on the side of his partner’s temple before getting up to remove their heated lunches. And the partner smiles while turning back to look at him, a smile brighter than the soft sunlight that wraps the room in a warm afternoon glow.

There’s a new interlude in their timelines. In this interlude, the two opposites are taking it slow, learning to meet in the middle.

dedicated to ellie (@flowershu/@eliphant). just wanted to thank you for supporting wondernus for all these years. happy new year <33

#svthub #svthub.collab #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen au #seventeen fluff #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo au #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x yn #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo angst #wonwoo scenarios

1K notes · View notes

hollybell51 · 10 months

Text

If I don't have you

Navigation

Ethan Hunt x AFAB!Reader

Mission Impossible (around MI3)

Word count: 6.6K

Summary: your mind won't let go of a close call, or all the things that remain unsaid between you and Ethan.

Content: gratuitous smut, angst, light blood/wounds (canon typical), swearing, angst with a happy ending, some mildly dubious moments (ie., sneaking into people's beds), but there's explicit consent so dw about that. Friends to lovers, first kisses (like between people), oral (f receiving), handjobs, making out, missionary, unprotected sex, bit of dirty talk, sappy love confessions (I'm a sap myself, give me a break). I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything.

Notes: hey guys I'm back with another terrible title and porn nobody asked for! I've recently been consumed by Mission Impossible and was devastated by the lack of Ethan Hunt content, and I may or may not be starting down the Tom Cruise rabbit hole, so I did the natural thing and wrote some good old smut. This man makes me absolutely feral in every film (sixty fucking one and he's still got it! What the fuck!) but the long hair really gets me (you all know this already) so I chose to go with somewhere around the MI3 mark. I'm also somehow convinced that he just gets hotter with each film but that's another issue.

Mandatory disclaimer, I don't really care what Tom Cruise does in his own free time with his money and energy but I personally don't fuck with scientology, so yeah. Anyways, enjoy!

The door to the hotel room banged shut behind you, loud and sudden in the cool stillness of the evening. Your face felt hot, and not just because of the heat outside or the fact that you’d just effectively undertaken a high-speed parkour course, blood rushing in your ears, heart pounding.

“What the hell, Ethan?” you hissed as you spun to face him, jerking your arm out of his grip.

He ignored you, stepping closer in the narrow entryway. “Are you hurt?”

Were you hurt? God, it never failed to amaze you just how little regard this man had for his own safety. First he’d quite literally jumped off the roof of a building (albeit a low building, and he’d slid down the tented roof of one of the market stalls first), then raced head-first into what had nearly ended up an all-out fire fight, despite you and Luther both yelling across the comms at him to stop, go around and cut them off! Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t listened.

“That was fucking insane!” you burst.

“Are you ok?”

You were being pursued, first at a walk and then a run. Ethan had seen, you’d told him and Luther both over the comms, and had been receiving directions from the latter. But there were three men chasing you – working for the man you were stalking, most likely, although you weren’t sure – and the streets were unfamiliar, the heat of the evening oppressive, the crush of bodies at the market stifling and the air dusty and thick. You knew, even as your feet pounded on the uneven ground, that you were not going to outlast these men – locals, larger and more numerous than you.

“You’re fucking insane, you know that?”

Ethan had barrelled into you from the side just as the first gunshot had gone off, rolling with a grunt and a curse over some poor stallholder’s display and behind a wall of crates. The rush of relief his presence unfailingly conjured was short-lived as he dragged you to your feet, a quick “alright?” and that goddamn movie-star grin before he was pushing you out from behind the makeshift shelter and back into the crowd. You hadn’t even noticed the substantial tear in his shirt or the rough hatching of a graze high on his cheek until you’d been leaning against a wall, panting and a little shaky, but alive and free of your pursuers.

You’d almost ripped him a (another) new one then and there, but then he’d shaken his head at you and held up his hand, panting, “let’s just get back,” before you could even open your mouth. So you’d held your tongue. Until you’d gotten back.

Now, both his hands were on your shoulders, firm and warm, holding you still. “(Y/N),” he was saying, his eyes searching your face. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” you sighed after a moment, half tempted to jerk out of his grasp again. You didn’t. “I’m fine. Are you?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He nodded, his hands sliding down to grip your arms. The graze wasn’t too bad up close, but as your eyes flicked to the cut on his arm, your anger reared its head again. God, if that had been twenty centimetres to the right…

“No you’re fuckin not,” you said, breathing deeply. It was late, and you didn’t want to disturb anyone more than you already had. “Let me see that.”

His hands dropped from you altogether, and he stepped back. “It’s fine, (Y/N), just a graze.”

“A bullet graze!”

“It’s fine.”

You shook your head, closing what little distance had opened up between you to point your finger into his chest. “Don’t ever pull shit like that again.”

“No promises,” he shrugged.

Jesus fucking Christ! You had half a mind to grab his gun off him and finish the job right there, see how fine he’d be with his brains blown onto the wall behind him. Even then he’d brush it off as a bruise, maybe a light concussion. You swallowed. “Ethan, you could have been killed !”

“But I wasn’t. All that matters is that you’re alright.” He’d taken your hand, folding your accusing finger back towards your palm gently – so gently it made your heart ache – and enclosing your fist in his much larger one. Your stupid, traitorous stomach did a flip to rival his acrobatics.

“No,” you gritted, “that’s not all that matters! You fucking–” matter. You matter to me. You pressed your lips firmly together, the words boiling in the back of your throat, spiralling into a hard, painful lump. You matter, Ethan, more than any fucking mission. None of it would mean shit if you didn’t make it, if I didn’t have you. You matter and I fucking love you, you idiot!

He was looking at you oddly, you realised, the silence hanging between you so thickly you’d need a damn chainsaw to cut it. His hand still cradled yours, but as you watched, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly and the ready-for-anything gleam you were so painfully familiar with faded from his eyes.

You both turned as someone – Luther – cleared his throat, a sharp silhouette against the glow of twilight through the window behind him.

“Are you alright?” your friend asked, looking between the two of you.

“Yeah,” you huffed, pulling back and running both your now-free hands through your hair.

“Ethan?”

“Yeah.”

Another silence, though less tense.

“Taking a shower,” you muttered, feeling your own body slouch as the adrenaline drained from you. You were sweaty, hot, dusty, shaky and too strung out for any more of this shit. Nobody stopped you as you trudged past first Ethan, then Luther, down the narrow hallway and into the small hotel bathroom. You thought you could hear Luther’s rumbling voice over the stream of shower water, Ethan’s higher-pitched response, but couldn’t make out any words. Maybe that was for the better.

In your dream, Ethan wasn’t fine. In your dream, he hadn’t moved as fast and wasn’t stumbling to his feet, pulling you with him. In your dream, he went down and stayed down, breath coming fast and short, and instead of a rip in his sleeve there was a dark stain spreading over his chest.

“Ethan?” you said, watching yourself scramble across the rough dirt of the street to his side, your hands flitting uselessly over his torso.

He cursed, taking your hand as he had so many times before, big and warm and more comforting than it had any right to be. “You alright?” he asked, teeth gritted.

“Yeah, fine. Fuck, Ethan hold on–”

“No, (Y/N)–”

“Hold on , dammit!” It was amazing how viscerally you could feel the pain, sharp and hot like a gunshot wound of your own. You fumbled at your pockets with one hand, pressing down on his chest with the other, but your phone was nowhere to be found. When you shouted for an ambulance or help or anything at all, nobody was listening. The market bustled on around you, the people no more real than shadows on a wall.

Ethan was saying your name again, his blood hot and wet against your palm. Too much, too much too fast.

“All that matters is that you’re alright,” he was telling you, and half your mind was seeing him as he had been in the hallway – serious, sweaty, patch of pink skin over his cheekbone hatched with where the dirt had caught and cut it as he’d rolled.

In your dream, you told the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth, words spilling from you in a sick waterfall. “You matter, Ethan. You matter to me, I love you, do you know how much you matter to me?”

You’d seen people die before. It was part and parcel of your job, so you knew what it looked like. This was no different. Ethan’s eyes were hazy, unfocussed, and he was too pale. There was a light sheen of sweat beading his face and neck. His chest was soaked with his blood and your hands were slick with it. His fingers were loosening around your own.

“Ethan?” you asked, your own grip slackening as his head lolled. “Ethan, come on, just hold on–”

No one’s coming.

“Hold on, Ethan. Don’t go. Don’t go, I can’t do this without you.”

He wasn’t looking at you anymore.

“Please, just– listen to me. You don’t know. You have no idea how much you matter to me, how much I need you. Ethan, come on, I love you!”

In your dream, Ethan was dead and you woke shivering despite the warmth of the room. You lay stock-still, counting to ten again and again until your breathing finally slowed and your heart rate returned to normal. You wriggled down under the sheet you’d draped over yourself, curling inwards and wishing for something more substantial than the loose t-shirt – once Ethan’s – and your underwear.

You’d watched Ethan die a thousand times, in a thousand different ways. Nobody would ever torture it out of you, but these – when he didn’t know, when it was too late before you told him – were the worst. It left you with a sick feeling in your gut, a hollow emptiness in your chest where your heart and lungs should have been, and limbs so heavy you were always surprised you managed to get up the next morning. And, of course, the inevitable wave of loathing at how fucking pathetic you were dreaming about telling your partner – friend , probably your best friend, because you were long past being coworkers – that you loved him.

You sighed, turning over. It was close to the full moon, the open window casting a rectangle of silver over the lump that was your legs, the light breeze moving the curtains gently. You could get up and close it. You should.

You’d been too pissed off and tired after your shower to do much more than grunt thanks to Luther when he handed you a cold doner kebab, eat it, then fall onto your bed and close your eyes. Usually, you’d have forced Ethan to take a shower too, waited until he emerged in fresh clothes and smelling like cheap soap, hair damp and curling around his ears, and patted the spot on the couch or bed or floor beside you. He’d always roll his eyes but sit anyway, and he’d stay sitting as you cleaned and dressed – sometimes stitched – whatever injuries he’d acquired with only minimal complaining. He’d give you the same treatment afterwards.

You hadn’t done any of that before, and now you missed the little ritual. You’d been mentally cataloguing the first aid kit for antiseptic cream, bandages, wound pads, suture needles and sterile thread as soon as it had even clocked in your mind that he had more than just the graze to his cheek, the uncomfortable weight of your dream growing heavier with the realisation that you’d left it all to him. And Luther, you supposed.

It was such a little thing, but in the moment it seemed to loom over you, blocking out the moon’s rectangle.

You sighed again, your feet hitting the floor before you’d even fully realised that you were getting up. 2.28 AM glowed sickly green from the digital clock on the nightstand. Maybe if you hadn’t had that specific dream, you thought, you would have given this more consideration. Turned over and closed your eyes, decided to wait until morning proper, dismissed your guilt and concern as remnants of a stressful evening. But you had had that dream, and now that you’d eased the door open and were slipping down the hallway towards the room Ethan occupied, there was no way you could have turned back.

His door was ajar, and didn’t squeal or protest when you eased it open. The set-up, like most hotel bedrooms, was exactly the same as your own. Cupboard on one wall (open, with a duffle bag resting half in and half out of it), dresser next to the door (two guns and a few spare magazines next to them), and a double bed by the window. The orientation of the room meant that the moonlight fell on the floor instead of the bed, but you could still clearly make out Ethan’s prone form, sheet wrinkled and twisted under him, one arm dangling over the side of the mattress, a few strands of hair over his face fluttering with each breath.

You’d seen him asleep before, of course you had. There hadn’t always been hotel rooms with two bedrooms and a pull-out couch to rotate through, nice as that was. There hadn’t even always been separate beds or mattresses – or any at all. Sometimes you ended up side by side in a queen that was supposed to be two singles, slumped on top of him in the back of a van or on a rooftop, curled against his back in a sleeping bag that was only really meant for one person. You didn’t mind, not really, but seeing him like that – totally relaxed, peaceful – tugged at something deep inside you.

You hesitated, one hand on the doorframe, shivering once more in the breeze from his open window. The curtains billowed inwards, floated suspended for a moment, then receded back to brush at the thick sill. The bed rustled as Ethan turned over, and you froze. He’d said something, you thought he’d said something that sounded like your name. Then he did it again, and you were sure.

“(Y/N).”

You crossed the room silently, kneeling then lying smoothly on the bed and against his back like you were made to fit there. He hummed softly as your arm slid over his ribs, your fingers splayed over his heart. Still beating, strong and even and alive.

He sighed, shifting ever so slightly back towards you, his own hand finding yours, larger fingers lacing with your own.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed. The dressing on his arm where the bullet had clipped him seemed to glow, taunting you. He did this himself, it said. You left, he almost took a fucking bullet for you and you didn’t even fix it for him .

The slow expansion and contraction of his torso paused for a moment. Neither of you were heavy sleepers, your job had seen to that. “(Y/N)?”

“Yeah.”

“What’re you sorry for?” he asked, voice thick with sleep.

Everything. “Yelling at you. I just…” You paused, no longer cold in the shadow of your dream, but still aware of its presence. “I don’t wanna see you get hurt.”

There was a beat of silence, then he was turning over again to face you, his hand slipping from your own to run up over your forearm, your elbow, your upper arm, catching momentarily on the sleeve of your shirt before coming to rest on your shoulder. “You’re here,” he whispered. “Thought I was dreaming…”

You smiled, reaching out to run your fingers around the neck of his wifebeater singlet. Even just waking up, he looked good in the damn thing. “You were.”

He frowned, the patch of rough red hashing standing out in the silvery dimness. Up this close, you could see every minute crease between his brows that hadn’t been there a minute ago, every tiny line of tension around his eyes. “What’re you doing here?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. I felt bad.” I couldn’t help you. I couldn’t help you and I couldn’t tell you, and you still don’t know.

“For yelling at me?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t wanna see you get hurt, either. That’s–”

“All that matters. You said.”

You were at a crossroads. You felt it as if someone had infused your every cell with the knowledge that you had two options, and you could only take one, and it would change things. How, you weren’t sure, but the sticky warmth of Ethan’s blood between your fingers and the rough dirt digging into your knees still made your skin tingle.

“You’re wrong,” you continued. “That’s not all that matters.”

The frown deepened. “Hm?”

“You matter, Ethan. To me. If I don’t have you…” You shrugged, once again counting your breaths. How was it that you were more highly strung now than you had been while you were quite literally being chased through a market and shot at? It was so far away now, a distant memory of someone else. This, here, the gap barely wider than ten centimetres between your face and Ethan’s, the warm air and the pale moonlight, the warmer weight of his hand still on your shoulder… That was real.

But bravery – a strange word, you realised, even as you had the thought – only went so far. “Don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” you finished lamely.

He knew it wasn’t what you’d been going to say, that it barely went half way to getting across what you wanted to. But still, he just smiled and gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You won’t ever have to find out.”

Maybe you weren’t really awake. Maybe you’d wandered into his dream instead of his room, or maybe (and more likely) he’d found his way into yours. Maybe you really had turned over and gone back to sleep instead of padding down the hall and sliding in next to him, and this was your mind’s way of apologising to you for the earlier horror show. It must be, you reasoned, because somewhere you’d ended up pressed against his front – something that hadn’t happened before; you always found yourself curled around him from behind. Your skin felt like it was on fire as his hand slid across your collar, up your neck to rest on your cheek.

The kiss, when it came, hardly registered as something new. After all, how many times had this played out in your mind? How many times had you wondered what it would be like to move those last few centimetres, lean across that last gap, shove the two of you over that line like he’d shoved you out of the way of that bullet. It was an extension of where you were right now, of where you’d been for the last however long, of where you’d somehow known you were eventually going to end up.

He was as gentle with you as he’d always been, soft and so painfully careful. He held you like you might break, as if you were something precious and delicate, his hand warm where he cradled your face. You felt the last sticky residue of tension and fear drain from your body as you slid the hand that had been resting on his chest down, over his ribs, around his back, pressing between his shoulder blades.

“Ethan,” you whispered as he pulled away, still close enough that you could feel his breath on your face. You weren’t shivering anymore.

“You’re so beautiful,” he replied, brushing a stray piece of hair away from your face.

You smiled, every cell in your body tingling with warmth. “So’re you.”

“Mm-mm,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Not like you. You have no idea how beautiful you are.”

There wasn’t much your kiss-addled, Ethan-filled brain could say to that. You closed the gap once more, his mouth impossibly soft, the faint hint of his toothpaste clinging to his tongue when it slid against your own. Someone – you or him, you weren’t sure – made a tiny noise somewhere in the realm of a sigh as you shifted even closer to him, hooking your leg over his.

He was almost on top of you now, leaning over you, suspended carefully on one arm. You’d been here before, pressed into the floor of wherever you were sparring, sweaty and determined to do whatever it took to gain the upper hand again. Secretly, though, you’d wondered what that would feel like like this, and now you wondered if he had, too.

Just as you had all those other times, you pushed your hips up off the mattress and flipped him smoothly. He huffed as you straddled him, blinking up at you in surprise before a smile spread over his face and he sat up, kissing you once more, his hands settling on your hips. You were half aware of your body curving towards his as your hands tangled in his hair, the rapid deterioration of your kisses into something that probably wouldn’t fit the word under any stringent definition.

“Can I?” he asked, fingers flitting around the hem of your shirt.

You just nodded, pulling the garment over your head quicker than you ever had before and casting it aside. If Ethan recognised it, he didn’t say anything.

“You too,” you whispered when he didn’t show any signs of copying you, pulling at the thin cotton of his own shirt.

“Huh?”

“Shirt, dummy,” you smiled. “It’s not fair if I’m the only one who’s naked.”

“All’s fair in love and war.”

Love. Your heart sped up at the word. This could be love. Or war, you supposed.

“I don’t think that’s what that means,” you said, wrinkling your nose.

“Sure it is,” he shrugged. But his hands were at the hem of the stupid thing, and before you could say anything else he was easing it over his head – mindful of his arm – and tossing it to join yours. “Fair now?”

“Yeah.” You’d seen him without a shirt before. Changing in the back of a van, bandaging a cracked rib or disinfecting a patch of tiny cuts where he’d rolled through broken glass (which happened far too frequently, in your opinion), passing him on his way out of the bathroom. Every time made your stomach flip over and your mind race, but you’d never been able to touch him like this before; run your hands down over his shoulders and arms, across his stomach, up again over his chest, around his ribcage, down the curve of his spine.

He was in the same boat, you supposed, smiling as his hand slid appreciatively up your side, thumb skimming the soft underside of your breast. You moaned as he bent to kiss down the column of your throat, sucking at the flesh over your jugular and where your neck met your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin occasionally, tongue soothing the blossoming marks left behind.

“Can I ask you something?” you sighed as he mouthed at the hollow of your collar bone.

“Yeah.”

“You said my name before. Were you dreaming about me?”

Again, “Yeah.”

You smiled. “What about me?”

“That you were here.” He broke away from your skin, stretching to place a soft kiss on your lips. “And you were safe.”

“Well I am.” There was more to it, you could feel it.

“You are.” Another kiss, almost chaste in its brevity.

“What else?” you asked.

He paused, hesitant, then, “You had your legs around my neck.”

Oh. Oh.

“Fuck, Ethan,” you whispered. That image wasn’t a new one. The fact that he dreamed about you was news enough, but that… That sent a veritable deluge of heat and desire down through your body, pooling wetly between your thighs. You had to consciously stop yourself from grinding on him right then and there.

You wouldn’t have been able to, anyway. He was pushing you backwards now, his kisses trailing down over your sternum, between your breasts – he paused here to mouth at one, kneading the other gently, making you moan again – and on to your stomach. He slowed when he reached the waistband of your underwear, kissing across the bridge between your hip bones, leaving you a belt of faint hickeys.

“Can–”

“Yes,” you answered.

He looked up at you from where he’d slid between your legs, one hand on your hip and the other pushing at your thigh. His hair hung over his forehead and almost into his eyes (you’d been trying to get him to let you trim it for weeks now), lips pink and kiss-swollen and so pretty. “Ok,” he smiled, pulling your underwear down over your legs shockingly easily, considering they were still wrapped around his waist. You cursed softly as he bent his head again, kissing the inside of your thigh.

“Wondered what this’d be like,” he whispered, sucking at a spot beside it.

“Fuck, Ethan,” you gasped, your hand sliding down to rest on his head, fingers carding through his hair.

He hummed softly into your skin. “What you’d taste like.”

You cursed again as he licked over the mark, fingers skirting where you wanted him most, your skin on fire with every kiss.

“What you’d sound like.”

You pressed your lips together firmly, stifling any sound as he slid a finger over your wetness. You raised your head, meeting his eyes directly. “Do you wanna find out?”

“Yes,” he breathed. His breath hitched in his chest, and there was that perfect movie-star grin. “Fuck, yes.”

You opened your mouth to say something to that, but before the words had formed in your mind Ethan was licking up your cunt and the only thing that came out of your mouth was an embarrassingly loud moan. You felt him smile, his own soft noise of pleasure muffled against your flesh as he licked again, then sucked determinedly at your clit.

“Oh, fuck , Ethan–” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair, legs locked around his shoulders.

“Hm?”

“That’s fucking– You’re– Holy shit that’s good.”

Ethan just grinned again, his tongue flicking over you, one finger circling your entrance. A suggestion. “Is this alright?”

You nodded frantically, pressing your lips together as he pushed it inside you. “Yes,” you whined as he licked you again, letting yourself fall back onto the mattress as the hand not gripping his hair twisted in the sheets. He groaned softly, the sound reverberating over you as he sucked your clit, his finger working your hole. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop–” you panted, practically grinding on his face.

A soft hum, then he was adding a second finger, lapping up everything you were giving him as you squirmed , your breath coming in ragged gasps. You could feel the orgasm coming now, coiling in your stomach like a spring, hot and tight and Ethan was the one building it up. Every curl of his fingers, every brush of his tongue and lips, every little grunt or hum, and his free hand gripping your thigh like a vice. You hoped you’d have bruises.

“Oh, oh, Ethan, oh my God–”

Close, you were so damn close. You were aware of your hips jutting up against his face, and the tiny part of your brain that wasn’t consumed with pleasure and want might have felt bad.

“I’m gonna– fuck – holy shit , Ethan– Ethan I’m gonna–”

Then everything was crashing around you and you were crying his name, your legs spasming and your spine arching, electricity fizzing through you. Ethan continued fucking you with his hand, slower and gentler now, his mouth soft on your sensitive clit. Maybe it was gradual, maybe not, but eventually your body transitioned from roiling static to a gentle buzz and your grip on his hair slackened, your legs relaxing around his shoulders.

He sat calmly between your legs, licking his fingers. The entire lower half of his face shone silver in the moonlight with your slick, his lips pink and swollen, eyes fixed keenly on you. You thought if he looked at you like that a second longer, you were going to cum all over again.

You smiled at him, your hand finding his where it still rested on your hip. Gently (though maybe it was because your limbs still felt so heavy and floppy), you pulled him up the bed and down on top of yourself, stretching up to kiss him hard. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue when it slid into your mouth, and his hand on your skin was slightly sticky. It slid around your waist, pushing against the small of your back, pressing your chest to his. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to get enough of it.

You whispered his name against his lips, your own hands settled firmly around his shoulders, holding on for dear life. The fabric of his underwear – why the hell was he still wearing anything? – seemed to burn where it brushed over your hip, pressing hot and hard against you.

“(Y/N),” he breathed, pulling back enough to study your face carefully, as if he were memorising every detail.

You felt the air catch in your lungs, your heart skip a beat. “You’re so…” Pretty. Lovely. Gorgeous. Hot. Handsome. Beautiful. You’re everything, Ethan. “God, I love you.”

He froze, and it was only then that you realised you’d said it. You’d actually said the goddamn words, aloud, to him.

“Are you serious?” he asked. Not incredulous, not judgemental, simply seeking clarification.

And how the hell were you supposed to lie? You nodded, your mouth suddenly dry.

“Say it again.”

“I love you,” you repeated numbly. Then, swallowing, “Is that ok?”

Another beat passed in silence, then he laughed. “Yes, dammit, I love you too.”

“You… love me too.” Had you heard him right? Had you somehow wandered back to your dream, fallen into an orgasm-dulled sleep and imagined the last few minutes? But no, Ethan’s lips felt real enough when they brushed yours again, his fingers felt real enough on your back.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“Say it again.”

“I love you. And you love me, don’t you?”

You nodded, an absurd bubble of laughter swelling in your chest. “Yes,” you grinned. “I love you, Ethan.”

This kiss was different. A kiss has to taste different after something like that, you supposed, and you were both still smiling. You reached down, your fingers skirting the waistband of his underwear, then further still to press your hand against his hard bulge. He moaned into your mouth, breaking the kiss to glance down, up again.

“Off,” you whispered, already pulling at the fabric. He obliged, quickly and smoothly as he’d rid himself of his shirt, and in a moment his lips were back against your own, hot and hungry. You took his cock in your hand, your own lips moving away from his across his jaw, the hollow where it met his neck, his skin clean and smooth and tasting faintly of hotel soap.

His dick was hot to the touch, thick and long and roped with veins. You’d wondered, sometimes, what this would feel like. You’d imagined the sound he’d make when you touched him like this (it couldn’t ever have come close to the real thing, you knew that now), how that hot weight would feel against your tongue. He groaned in earnest as you stroked your hand along his length, your thumb swiping around the leaking head. He cursed softly, your name hissing between his teeth, hips moving gently in tandem with your hand.

“I wanted you for so long, Ethan,” you murmured into his neck. “You have no idea.”

“Yeah?”

You smiled. “I dream about you too, you know.”

He faltered, just for a moment, then, “What about me?”

You felt your smile widen and you frantically suppressed the urge to laugh again at the echo of your own earlier words. “I dream about fucking you six ways into next week,” you said simply. “Sucking your cock till I’m choking on it and making you cum in my mouth. Or in my pussy, I don’t care.”

“Oh fuck, (Y/N), Jesus,” he groaned, the sound sending another bolt of heat to your still sensitive pussy. “You think about that when we’re out there?”

“Mhm.” This time you did laugh, nothing more than a soft exhale, not stopping your hand’s movements. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to jerk you off when you’re tryna aim a gun.”

His cock twitched in your grasp, a low moan pressed back behind his lips. “God, (Y/N) that’s–”

“Insane?”

“So fucking hot. You’re so fucking hot.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Wanna feel you, all of you. Can I?”

Now it was your turn to curse. “Yes,” you breathed, wriggling to wrap your legs around his waist, your hand leaving its place to grip his shoulder, run down his arm, guide his hand to your hip. “Please, Ethan.”

“Here?”

“Yeah. Here.” You ground your hips against his, already tingling as his cock slid against your slick centre. “I want you inside me. Need you.”

“Shit, ok, just let me–” He broke off as he sank into you, his hum of pleasure mingling with your own breathy moan. Maybe it was the after effects of your earlier orgasm, the dream state you still weren’t entirely sure you’d broken out of, or a combination of both, but you swore that nothing would ever top this feeling. It was like he was made for you, slow and soft as he pulled out and pushed back in, did it again, then again and again.

“Shit, Ethan,” you whispered, your hand coming up to run over the back of his head, fingers carding through his mussed-up hair as he bent his head to kiss your chest. You were glad it was still long enough for this, that you hadn’t managed to get him to cut it. He groaned against you and you smiled to yourself, stroking his scalp again and coaxing another wonderful little moan. You curled your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, lifting your hips off the mattress in time with his thrusts. His breath fanned over your neck, the muscles of his arm taut.

“Harder?” you murmured. “Don’t have to be so gentle.”

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he replied, his breath warm against your skin.

“You won’t, don’t worry. Please?”

He raised his head, eyes searching your face. “Ok,” he said, dipping down to kiss your lips quickly and softly before he was drawing away and sitting back between your legs, lifting your hips with one hand and sliding a pillow under your lower back with the other.

Your heart skipped a beat, butterflies swirling alongside the magma in your stomach. This time he pushed hard into you, his cock stroking every inch of your insides, the hand that had been on your hip sliding to press down on your pelvis. “Yes,” you gasped, “yes, just like that.”

“Like this?” Another thrust, even and determined.

“Yeah, oh fuck that’s so good.” You reached up over your head, one hand gripping the headboard of the bed as the other twisted in the sheets, eyes fixed on Ethan. He was so beautiful in the moonlight, shining as though he was cast in silver. He was a fucking masterpiece.

“You’re so good,” he said. “You look so perfect like that, feel like Heaven, (Y/N), I swear.”

Oh, did he know what he was doing to you? Every jolt of his hips against yours building low inside you, his barely restrained little sounds and the heaving of his chest. You weren’t going to last much longer.

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, “ fuck, Ethan, you feel so good. Making me feel so fucking good, so good , you have no idea.”

“Hm?”

“So hot. You’re so goddamn hot, you know that?”

“(Y/N)–”

You were close. You were so fucking close, wound tight and ready to snap at any moment. You whined his name, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts, legs tight around his waist.

“Fuck, (Y/N), I’m– I’m gonna–” He broke off, pressing his lips together, his eyes fixed on you.

“Yeah? You gonna cum?”

“Yeah, fuck, where do I–”

“In me.”

“You sure?”

Were you sure? You’d been sure for way too long now. “Yeah, dammit, wanna feel you cum in my pussy, fucking filling me up so good–”

That did it. His thrusts stuttered and slowed as he spilled inside you, his chest heaving and his head tilted back, eyes closed, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. God, he was just too much, and you’d made him look like that. It had been you, all you, and it was you he was still buried deep inside. Your own climax rolled over you with that, your body squeezing tight and hot around him, your grip on the bed hard enough that you were sure your knuckles were white, spine arching as bliss flooded your body. You might have said his name, he might have said yours again, but it didn’t matter.

You lay there, warm all over and shaking, watching him. After a moment, his eyes opened and he smiled at you, gingerly pulling out to flop beside you on the mattress.

“Clean up?” he asked, already reaching over the side of the bed.

“Yeah.” You were too heavy to do anything but let him gently run the towel he’d found between your legs, thighs and stomach twitching when the rough cotton came into contact with your oversensitive clit.

“Sorry,” he muttered, cursorily wiping at his own crotch before tossing the piece of fabric away. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you sighed again, wriggling off the pillow and kicking it aside. You shifted closer to him, his arm sliding around your shoulders and pulling you against his side, his heart beating strong next to your own. Your eyes were drawn to the darker, rougher patch on his cheek, and you frowned.

“What?” he asked.

“This.” You ran your fingers over it gently, barely even touching the skin, doing the same to the dressing on his arm. “And this. Can I have a look tomorrow?”

“It is tomorrow.” He nodded to the clock. Right, yeah. After midnight. “I thought I did an ok job,” he went on before you could say anything.

“Ethan, there’s nothing even on this one,” you protested. “It’s just… there.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re not gonna kiss it better?”

“I never said that.” You smiled, dipping to brush the spot with your lips. Featherlight, barely there. “Better?”

He nodded.

“I still want to check them.”

“Ok,” he relented, squeezing your shoulder gently.

You shifted closer, your face inches from his own. Up this close, you could see the baby hairs stuck to his forehead with sweat, every eyelash shining iridescent white under the moon. “I meant it,” you whispered.

“What?”

“That you matter to me. You’re the most important thing in the world to me.”

His breath rushed through his lungs and back out again as he stretched to place a soft kiss on your forehead. “You’re the most important thing to me, too. I love you.”

You tilted your face to his, this time meeting his lips with your own. It was slow, unhurried, relaxed and tender, and everything you adored in Ethan. “I love you, too,” you whispered into it. Then, grinning as you drew back, “And I meant all the other stuff, too.”

He raised an eyebrow, “All of it?”

“Yeah.”

His chest shook with faint laughter under you, his hand stroking over your shoulder. “I didn’t know you thought like that. Didn’t know you thought about me like that.”

“Yeah, well…” You trailed off, shrugging, your cheeks warm. “Sorry if it was a bit much.”

“Don’t worry,” he smiled, “it wasn’t. I liked it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You know,” you said as you lay down, “anyone else couldn’t waterboard that out of me.”

“Guess I’m just that special.”

“You are, Ethan.” You weren’t shivering anymore, the only weight in you was the pleasant kind of exhaustion that came with finally being safe, being home. Ethan was alive and he knew, he knew you loved him, and he knew what he meant to you, and he loved you too. If this was a dream, it was the best one you’d ever had.

#ethan hunt #ethan hunt x reader #mission impossible #shameless smut #smut #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #tom cruise

595 notes · View notes

0-hunting-grounds-0 · 11 days

Text

Meet more of our team!!!

🦌

Sarah (labor.0f.love on Instagram)

Sarah is our lovely layout lead and was responsible for a very VERY important character’s animation ;]

While leading the team in these aspects, she also contributed her skills to the overall animation of the film, both for rough and cleanup! She also had a hand in compositing with her eye for lighting!

Dasanti (dashenvy on Instagram)

Dasanti helped with character design during pre-production. She also helped to produce layouts for our film, animated (rough & cleanup), as well as composited! Dasanti is one of our social media managers along with myself ( @niles-mcdonald ) and Daniella (colordanime on Instagram).

Message from Dasanti: “This is my first of many animation collab projects and it was an awesome experience. Not only did I love what I was doing and learned more about animation as a whole, I also gained some amazing friends while doing it. I think that’s the key takeaway from this project. I know my teammates will do great things in the future! >:)”

🦌

#indie animation #animation #artists on tumblr #hunting grounds #hunting grounds film #digital art #art

9 notes · View notes

via-l0ve · 10 months

Note

perhaps maybe some sam and colby headcannons? like if u joined them on a vid or something with a little silly romance !! i love all the headcannons you do and i am absolutely rolling around on the ground at the goofy ones 🫶🫶

S&C Headcannons! 👻

a/n: hi i love sam and colby they’re so cute and funky LMFAOO. i see a lot of colby x readers so i decided to make this a sam x reader 🩷🩷 love you guys! this is kind of short, so if you want me to do a pt. 2 js lmk!!!

Warnings: sam x gn!reader (romantic), colby x gn! reader (platonic), swearing, ghost hunting lol

you get to intro the video and the boys are sitting next to you like 😀👍

they make you introduce yourself and give you a little title card with some swaggy music

Sam is always next to you and you’re definitely wearing some of his XPLR merch

you’re holding the camera and something scary happens and you LAUNCH the camera and it hits colby in the stomach

you’re dying and sam is cackling and colby is crying because ouch

let’s say you’re at a haunted hotel or something and you have a guide and you’re really into it and getting all the lore and the guys are behind you talking about harry styles and how colby’s ball hurts from that camera throw

sam has an arm wrapped around you all the time

the guide brings you into the most haunted room and you’re looking all around and getting chills

ALWAYS sending weird glances to the camera

if you’re filming you make sure to get really bad angles of the boys

you guys have a one direction concert in the car

Colby gets scared and jumps back and bumps into you and you grab his sweatshirt but you loose your balance and fall into sam and sam falls and colby falls ontop of you and you go

*WHEEZE*

and everyone is so concerned

had to take a break after that one

when you ask the questions to the ghosts they answer fr and sam is nervous for you

they both think you might have an empath thing going on

you have to do the estes method and sam is so worried, colby is standing right next to you like a worried parent

the moment you feel nervous sam dosent make you stay if you’re uncomfortable but you always end up staying anyways cus you ain’t no BITCH

colby screeches like a child every time something happens

let’s say you get scratched

sam is SPRINTING with some Neosporin or something

colby is freaking out

“ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod”

sam always calls you down

forehead and cheek kisses constantly

#love u mwah #thank you sm for this request #sam golbach #sam and colby #colby brock #sam golbach x reader

644 notes · View notes

themisimagines · 8 months

Text

labyrinth

content: you and vyn attend a birthday party hosted in his honour but end up doing something rather more fun in a garden labyrinth. wink wink nudge nudge. again inspired by anna karenina (2012) film but also labyrinth (1986). maybe a companion to 'i could sleep inside the cold of you'. some spoilers for episode 10. total porn without plot. characters: vyn x fem!reader warnings: public sex, hunter-prey relationship, breeding kink, minor knife play

On your second last day in Svart, Vyn's father hosts a birthday party for Vyn – all to keep up appearances, of course. His father isn't present, and Vyn dislikes half, if not most of the people there. You've made your way through most of the evening by his side, and finally things have begun to wind down, the guests suitably drunk and starting to do unspeakable things, sure to forget everything by tomorrow. Vyn has told you to keep close – he doesn't trust half the people here, and your kidnap by his uncle is still fresh in the forefront of his mind.

Then the next moment, you find yourself wandering the grounds of a large garden maze, heart beating out of your chest as you run as fast as you can, trying to get to the heart of the labyrinth before you get caught. Every single twitch of the leaves and hedges beside you makes you jump. You've dropped pieces of clothing slowly to make a trail, so you don't get lost. Thank goodness they dressed you like an iced cake – layers upon layers of silk, lace, underskirt, petticoats, gloves, ornaments, brocade, outer layers, inner layers, not to mention the hoops used to prop up the voluminous skirts.

Just as you shed one of your outer layers, exposing your bare skin to the chill night air, a low whistle sounds behind you. Without looking, you decide to run, going further and further into the maze, not caring if you get lost now. But just as you see you've hit a dead end, you turn around, but Vyn is there, blocking the entrance.

Vyn stands in front of you, slowly approaching and twirling a decorative blade between his fingers. Even though you know he would never hurt you, there is a tantalising whisper of fear running up your spine, which is deliciously arousing.

'I found you,' he sing songs softly. In the moonlight, his eyes glint as he gets closer, the most delicious shade of honey gold. You love seeing him like this, like a cat who has gotten the cream, a mischievous boy reliving the childhood he never really got to have.

You consider making a dash for it, but he closes the distance and grips your wrists over your head tightly, breath skimming against your ear and neck as he whispers, 'Don't even try... I've hunted down my prey and I intend on enjoying every single moment...'

He turns you around and secures your wrists to a branch with his abandoned bowtie, manoeuvring expertly around your hooped skirts to run his hands up your bodice and corset, slicing open the corset ribbons and stripping your layers back. Standing there, unable to move, you feel especially vulnerable, feeling the cool metal of the blade just barely grazing your skin. Under his careful unwrapping, you are soon completely naked, bared to the moonlight.

'What a marvellous birthday present,' he whispers against your skin, pressing soft kisses throughout your back. 'Thank you.'

You can hear other people have entered the maze, laughing drunkenly from some distance away. Vyn sees you notice them, and chuckles in a low voice. 'You didn't manage to find the heart of the maze so you're all mine. If I choose to let anyone else watch me fuck you, then you can't do anything about it.'

'Pretty words,' you retort, squirming at the feeling of his gloved hands running over your body, squeezing at your tits, ghosting over your thighs, flicking at your clit. 'I bet if anyone actually dared to come over, you would have their head cut off or something.'

He growls at the thought and bites down hard on your neck, definitely leaving a bruise there. 'You're not wrong.'

Vyn pulls away and you whine at the lack of contact, turning around to see what he's up to, but without any warning, he lines his throbbing cock up with your entrance and thrusts up into you, making you cry out in surprise.

The pace he's taking is breathless, cock sliding out fully before slamming into you, setting a desperate pace like he's trying to punish you, forcing small cries from your throat. You are pressed up tightly against the hedge, pain mingling with pleasure, twigs and branches scratching at your delicate skin, feeling like a thousand hands clawing at you, which somehow is a huge turn on.

'That's it,' Vyn purrs. 'Make those beautiful noises for me, darling. I want everyone to hear you.'

You try to bite your tongue just to defy him, but then he grabs your breasts in each hand, forcing you against him and bending your back impossibly as he fucks you fast and hard. Your nipples are in his clever fingers, and he is playing with them in the way that makes you want to scream, because it feels too good, and you are terribly overstimulated from everything. You squirm relentlessly on his cock and you hear him pant shallowly, quietly whispering about how wonderful you are over and over again under his breath, hips thrusting into you endlessly.

You're not content with letting him have his way completely, so you turn your head around to look at his face, which is dark with desire, completely focused on every single sensation as if he's a beast and you're his prey.

'Is that all you've got?' You challenge him.

Upon hearing that, he growls and stops to untie your hands, looking to punish you even further, but the moment you are free you tackle him onto the ground, knocking all the air out of his lungs and mounting him. His face is surprised, but he doesn't resist, and this time it's your turn to pin his arms above his head with his own bowtie as he watches you hungrily, not resisting although you know he could easily break free of your sloppy knots, wanting to see what you do next. It's a strange sight – you are completely nude, having been stripped so thoroughly by Vyn earlier, but he is almost fully clothed. It almost makes you feel like a wild woman who has hunted down her prey and is ready to enjoy the spoils.

You slide down onto his cock, relishing the feeling of fucking outdoors – being fucked from behind always feels so animalistic, but being on top tonight drives you wild, and you lift yourself off his cock and plunge back down, watching Vyn bite his lip and watch you move up and down, your breasts bouncing with every thrust, your thighs burning with exertion. 'Nghh-' you moan, feeling him hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you. 'I love watching you like this,' you tease him breathlessly. 'Helpless beneath me, completely at my mercy...' You grind your hips in a circular motion, drawing your lovemaking out.

There are more voices approaching, they seem to be getting closer, but you're quite sure that they aren't about to find you anytime soon. Cries of pleasure ring out from other corners of the maze, other lovers having found secret spots to release their desires. You see Vyn's eyes glint as you tease him, a smile on the corner of his lips, rising to the challenge. He shifts his feet upwards, thighs grazing your buttocks, and you are just about to ask him what kind of tricks he's trying when his hips thrust upwards, sending you bouncing upwards, and seeing stars from how deeply his cock is buried inside you.

'I can hardly let my prey get away with everything,' Vyn bites down, cock ramming into you, leaving you breathless and begging him to slow down.

'Ah - Vyn - Ah - ah - mmmh!' You cry out, as he drives faster and faster, not letting you gather yourself for a single moment, thrusting so hard that you lose your balance and are pressed against him, hands scrabbling for purchase in the soil as he just uses you mercilessly, chasing his own release while pushing you closer and closer off the edge. 'Ready to scream for our audience?' He chuckles in a low voice. A pair of voices comes so close that you swear they are about to turn the corner, and the thought of getting caught is so deliciously tantalising that Vyn just has to thrust a few more times before you come undone around his cock, trying to stifle your cries in his neck, clenching and throbbing so hard that you see flashes at the side of your vision.

Vyn speeds up for his last few thrusts, and he whispers how good you are, how amazing your cunt feels around his cock, about how much he loves you, and surely you have another one in there for him, he wants to feel you come again. He has freed his own hands and one now snakes down to your clit, the other tearing your hand away from your mouth - 'Don't you dare hold back, I want everyone to hear that you're mine.' He rubs your clit as his cock grows and throbs inside your cunt and that pushes you over the edge again, crying out in earnest this time - 'Fuck yes, Vyn - oh!' and Vyn cums with a guttural groan, growling deeply and squeezing his eyes in pleasure.

The voices trail off, giggling to themselves. There is no way that they didn't hear their lovemaking, but also the hedges are so thick that they couldn't possibly have seen who it was. You collapse onto Vyn, and he embraces you in his arms, both of you panting heavily. He gives you his jacket, and drags over the remains of your dress to keep you warm. 'It would be a shame if you caught a cold,' he says. 'I would feel rather responsible.' You giggle against his chest, buried in layers of silk and tulle. You both look up at the sky, watching the stars and feeling so lucky to be in love.

#tears of themis #tears of themis smut #vyn richter #vyn richter smut #vyn x reader #vyn richter x reader #vyn tears of themis #tot imagines #tot smut #happy birthday my damaged baby boy

276 notes · View notes

thecreaturecodex · 2 years

Text

Monster Art History: The Wendigo

You may be wondering why the wendigo, which has become very popular in pop culture over the last 10 years or so, is usually depicted in Western sources with a deer head. This appears nowhere in Native American traditions, despite the creature having lots of folkloric variations. The association of the wendigo with deer is 100% Western, 100% modern, and has a long, weird history.

Just in case you need a primer, the windigo or witiko is a supernatural being from the Algonquin speaking nations of the eastern American continent. It appears as an emaciated figure, sometimes giant, sometimes covered in ice, sometimes both. In many stories, they have a literal heart of ice. Windigos are manifestations of cannibalism and winter, and hunt, kill and eat people. Someone who resorts to cannibalism to survive, or otherwise abandons their community for personal gain, will become one of them. A few stories tell of someone being “cured” and turned back into a human, but usually the only cure is to kill the monster. In the last several decades, native writers have associated windigos with capitalism and deforestation as an extension of their selfishness. If you would like to know more about the properly Native windigo in context, I recommend Dangerous Spirits: The Windigo in Myth and History by Shawn Smallman.

The creature first came into horror fiction with Algernon Blackwood’s “The Wendigo”. Note the spelling, which would become the standard in horror, and generally in non-academic Western sources. In that story, it is not associated with cannibalism, but instead is a more generic “evil spirit of nature”. This wendigo stalks white people in the wilderness and turns a Native character into a new wendigo by seizing them and flying with them into the sky. This definitely better fits fears about non white people, fears about nature, and how the one is closer to the other than “civilized” people. Its description in the story is vague (the most we get is that it has burned its feet away by running into the sky). But when the story appeared in Weird Tales in the 1930s, Virgil Finlay illustrated it like this, the first antlered wendigo I know of.

This story was ripped off by August Derleth, a prominent Weird author in the 1940s and the main popularizer of HP Lovecraft. In his Cthulhu Mythos stories, he introduces Ithaqua the Wind Walker, which is an alien version of Blackwood’s monster. This fits into Derleth’s vision of the gods and monsters of HP Lovecraft falling into the four classical elements, with Ithaqua being invented to represent Air. Ithaqua is usually depicted as an icy, emaciated giant, so ironically is one of the more accurate wendigos to Indigeonous beliefs in pop culture.

Image from a recent French edition of Call of Cthulhu RPG, by Loic Muzy

In Pet Sematary, Stephen King uses a wendigo as the reason for why the titular cemetery is cursed. This is an update of the classic racist trope of the “Indian Burial Ground”, except this time what gets buried there comes back animalistic and evil. The racist implications of that are pretty apparent. This wendigo is seen briefly and has ram’s horns. It does not appear in the first film adaptation, but does in the more recent one... with deer horns instead, because those are trendy right now.

A good scholarly look at the real windigo versus the 20th century horror wendigo is “The Appropriation of the Windigo Spirit in Horror Literature” by Kallie Hunchman.

In the 1980s, a movie called Frostbiter: Wrath of the Wendigo was produced, but it wasn’t released until 1995 by Troma. From what I’ve read, it’s a pretty transparent ripoff of Evil Dead 2, with the characters being picked off in a haunted cabin with a zombie in the basement. The “twist” is that the origin of the horrors is a wendigo released by breaking a Christian demonology-style sacred circle. This wendigo is realized in stop motion animation, and has the most deer-like body yet.

A number of other independent horror movies in the 90s and 2000s used wendigos as a plot element. These follow the Blackwood/King approach of having the wendigo being something evil, ancient and Native American, reflecting white anxieties about living on stolen land more than Native anxieties about cannibalism and greed. Wendigo (2001) has the creature sicced on a white family when they hit a deer with their car. The Last Winter (2006) posits that global warming and fossil fuel extraction have unleashed the ghosts of dead animals, which are wendigo apparently, to revenge themselves on mankind. Which approaches the idea that greed is wendigo sickness, but I don’t think intentionally as a reference to modern Native literature. The “wendigo” in this movie are spectral moose and caribou.

The mainstream breakthrough of the deer-headed wendigo was in, appropriately enough for this blog, Pathfinder RPG. In “Spires of Xin-Shalast”, the last volume of Rise of the Runelords published in 2008, a wendigo is a major encounter. I suspect that either the author (Greg A. Vaughn), or one of the editorial staff had seen Frostbiter, as the setup involves a cabin haunted by dwarven cannibal ghosts who all killed and ate each other due to a wendigo’s influence. This wendigo is a hybrid of the Blackwood and Cree versions in terms of its MO: it is a cannibal ice spirit that wants to make more cannibals, and does so by abducting people and running off into the sky with them. Its design is the standard for what most Western artists depict wendigos as these days: an emaciated humanoid with the head and antlers of a deer (and the burned off feet of Algernon Blackwood, which are less common):

This wendigo definitely made a splash at the time; it was the first time I remember seeing a deer-headed wendigo, and art of that design started to become common. It pushed away previous wendigo depictions, which were typically werewolves (as French Canadian trappers had blended the concept with their own loup-garou, and Werewolf the Apocalypse had a whole faction of racist Native American “wendigos”) or shaggy and ape like (based more on the look of the Marvel Comics villain).

What turned wendigos from “folklore/horror monster” to “fandom blorbo” was Hannibal, which first aired in 2013. In that series, the first murder is a woman’s body impaled on a stag’s head, after which protagonist Will Graham has visions of a black stag, and a man with the antlers of a stag, representing murder, evil, and of course the cannibalistic murderer Hannibal Lecter.

Since Hannibal was super popular with the shipping fandom set, wendigo themed characters became popular in its wake, creating a wholly new way to culturally appropriate the wendigo. This was magnified by Over the Garden Wall, which came out in 2014, and its villain The Beast. The Beast is never called a wendigo, but is an antlered giant associated with winter, and so is commonly head-canoned as a wendigo and associated with them in fandom circles.

Which gets us to the modern day, where teenagers have misunderstood wendigo OCs, any character with antlers can be called a wendigo on the internet, and actual First Nations people with an actual cultural connection to the legend wish that people would just knock it off.

#and now you know #wendigo #windigo #witiko #creature design #art history #pathfinder rpg #algernon blackwood #august derleth #cthulhu mythos #stephen king #b movies #stop motion #hannibal #native american #first nations #cultural appropriation #long post

2K notes · View notes

art · 1 year

Photo

Creator Spotlight: @scottlava

Scott Campbell has illustrated numerous children’s books, including SKULLS!, Sleepy the Goodnight Buddy, and Zombie In Love. He was author/illustrator of the much-loved HUG MACHINE. He enjoyed a long career in video games, where he art directed the critically acclaimed game Psychonauts and Brutal Legend for Double Fine Productions. Great Showdowns is his ongoing online series. Scott’s work has appeared in galleries and publications around the world. You can see more of his work at ScottC.com.

Check out our interview with Scott below!

How did you get your start in art, and more specifically, with Great Showdowns?

I went to art school in San Francisco and have been painting, making comics, and designing video games ever since with Double Fine Productions. The Great Showdowns began at the first Crazy 4 Cult exhibition at Gallery 1988 in Los Angeles back in 2007, an exhibition of artwork inspired by the cult classics of cinema. The first 10 little paintings were intended to be snack-sized pieces for people to easily collect. They began with perhaps the most iconic of wild west showdowns from A Fistful of Dollars with Clint Eastwood. I pulled some of my favorite moments from films like Ghostbusters, Predator, Exorcist, and Planet of the Apes and placed them all in simple little dust-colored squares as if they were in the dirt streets of a wild west town. They began as good versus evil but grew to all kinds of showdowns between people and objects and often moments of great love between people. I started a tumblr for them a few years later, and I have been posting them ever since. We have published three Great Showdown books and have had 3 solo exhibitions along with worldwide scavenger hunts. There are over a thousand of them up on the site by now, and i do not plan on stopping any time soon.

Which 3 famous artists (dead or alive) would you invite to your dinner party?

I would like to gather Jim Henson, Walt Disney, and Richard Scarry together for dinner and chats. They have all created my favorite and most joyful worlds. I think we would have some of the most delightful chats.

What is a medium that you have always been intrigued by but would never use yourself?

I love collage, but every time I try it, I get frustrated and just quit. Someday I will get into it when my kids are old enough to really mess around with various mediums. I plan to have boxes of textiles and magazines for them to just annihilate.

What does your work set up look like?

Oh, it’s just a table with an old mug for water and an old plate for my watercolors and not much else. I share a studio with a bunch of very inspiring people who make wonderful things, from fabricated creatures to VR experiences and films. I have probably the simplest little area in the space. I do have an old oak flat file that I love to look at.

Advice you would give to an aspiring creator?

The biggest thing I would push upon everyone would be to not fret about one’s visual style. The style will grow and present itself as you experiment with mediums and expose yourself to various cultural delights. Just have fun and try all kinds of things.

What is one interaction you had from a fan of yours that has stuck with you over the years?

I gave a game design presentation many years back on a game I had art directed at the time called Brutal Legend at a game conference in Leeds. The game followed a roadie to the age of metal in the land of metal, with demons and chrome volcanoes and hot rods growing from the ground, and rivers of happy and cheering fans. After the talk, I spoke with someone whose work I had seen in earlier portfolio reviews at the conference. She was very shy but incredibly talented. She came up to me after the talk feeling pretty emotional and inspired to the point of tears and sobbing. It was probably the most extreme reaction I have ever gotten from someone, and it touched me deep down in my guts. That’s why we make things! To bring on the tears!

From video games, to illustrations, and children's books, you've worked on many projects. What was the most challenging, yet rewarding one?

Video games take an enormous amount of work over a long period of time and rely on the skills and talent of many like-minded people. It is sometimes difficult to corral such an effort, but it is incredibly rewarding to see it all come together to create such epic worlds. That said, though, children’s books are very enjoyable in a cozy way. It’s just me right there working on a world and all the pressure is on me. I cannot rely on all the talented people around me to make it look great.

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

I love perusing old fashion and film blogs and artists like Bob Jinx and Neil Sanders and collections like Its Colossal.

Thanks for stopping by, Scott! Be sure to check out the Great Showdowns over at @scottlava!

#creator spotlight #artists on tumblr #scott campbell #great showdowns

1K notes · View notes

mcdonaldsplayground · 1 year

Text

| actually the worst | bonus part

aged up ao’nung x f!reader (18+)

summary: a few years after meeting the metkayina people (and quaritch trying to kill your entire family), you finally get a chance to bring ao’nung to see your former home. however, there’s more to think about than just touring him around the forest.

includes: 18+ content (not anything actually spicy, just more suggestive), teasing, swearing, suggestive remarks, ao’nung being a cocky bastard again😮‍💨

word count: 5.4k

a/n: okay so in this universe neteyam is still alive because i simply cannot process complex emotions at this time😀 also please note that i made up the general plot here just to fit the story but obviously it’s probably gonna be very different in the next avatar films😅 ALSO, i’m so sorry to anyone who was expecting smut or like, in-depth descriptions, but this is as spicy as my writing is gonna get for now hehe. hope you enjoy this lil’ bonus part. i’m gonna get to writing some other stuff soon:)

“Okay, everyone! We’re leaving in ten minutes so if you’re not ready by then, you’re flying by yourself!” Your father called, looking frantic as he saddled up his ikran and tried to herd everyone over at the same time. Jake always went full dad-mode before these trips.

Since the battle on the ship with Quaritch a few years ago, things had finally calmed down and allowed your family the ability to travel back home to the forest and the Omatikaya clan. However, the island had become your home too, so you tried to split your time between each. As much as you loved returning to the forest, though, there was someone that you found increasingly difficult to leave behind.

Ao’nung. The most annoying person you had ever met. Also, often to your chagrin, your boyfriend. The past few years together had been whatever your guys’ version of domestic bliss was. Mostly a lot of playful teasing and sometimes borderline bullying. A lot of flirting, too. Your family and friends often called the two of you childish, but that was just your dynamic, and you loved every second of it.

Recently, though, you’d been a little disappointed. Not with Ao’nung’s treatment of you, definitely not, but with how busy he’d been with his duties. You knew it wasn’t his fault, he was the son of the Olo’eyktan, after all. It was just that between going out hunting, Olo’eyktan training, and working on completing his warrior rites, you felt as if he was becoming a stranger that you were watching from afar. You couldn’t even remember the last time the two of you had been alone.

“Hey, I’m sorry that Ao’nung can’t come, [Y/N].” Neteyam said as he packed the last of his things and strapped them to his ikran, shooting you a sympathetic look. You sighed to yourself, trying not to let your disappointment show.

“It’s no big deal,” You shrugged. “It’s not like we’re leaving forever.” It was true that you wouldn’t be gone as long as usual this time, but it was certainly long enough. Not only would you be away from Ao’nung, but you would miss the completion of his Iknimaya. He was supposed to finish up next week, which was the only reason he wouldn’t be able to come with you like you had originally planned months ago. Actually, you'd been begging him to go along with you for a while, but it had never worked out with his schedule. This time seemed to cut the deepest, though.

“You keep saying it’s not a big deal, but I don’t think you mean that,” Neteyam pushed, coming over to stand next to you. His presence was a comfort, especially because he had inadvertently become the person you always went to for relationship advice. “It’s okay not to be okay, you know.”

“Yeah, I- I know…” You trailed off, unconvincing. “I just wanted to be there when he finished his Iknimaya. He’s worked so hard, Teyam.” You bit your lip, staring hard at the ground. “And-” You cut yourself off, suddenly feeling embarrassed at your own thoughts.

“And?” Neteyam’s tone was gentle, encouraging. You sighed.

“And I just keep worrying that he’s going to get tired of me being gone all the time. Once he’s officially a warrior he gets to choose a mate. I know it’s really horrible of me to think it, but, what if he doesn’t choose me?” You involuntarily imagined coming back from the forest to find him mated to another, your heart rising to your throat.

“I hear what you’re saying, but I have to tell you that’s impossible, [Y/N]. If you could see the way Ao’nung looks at you, you would know.” Neteyam grinned as you flushed, fighting a smile of your own. Before you could say anything in response, your dad declared it was time to leave. Your heart sank back down, and you turned to mount your ikran.

“Wait! Wait up! You’re going to forget your favourite, most handsome possession!” The deep voice sent a familiar shiver of longing down your spine, though his words made you roll your eyes. There was only one man in the world who could do that to you with just a sentence.

You whipped around, wide-eyed as your big dork of a boyfriend sprinted over to your family.

“Miss me, forest girl?” He was grinning like an absolute fool as he finally came to a stop a few feet away from you, panting slightly. You were quick to hide your extreme joy with a glare, lest you show just how much power he held over your emotions.

“Aren’t you supposed to be taming a skimwing right now?” You raised an eyebrow. “You know, so you can prove that you’re a man or something?” You held back a smirk as he narrowed his eyes.

“Alright, then. If you didn’t want me to come you should have just said so.” He said, nonchalantly shrugging as he turned to go back. You knew he was goading you, but you couldn’t help it as you jumped forward, catching his wrist.

“No! Don’t.”

“Oh, so you do want me to come?” He simpered, eyes dancing with mirth. If you weren’t in front of your family you probably would have jumped his bones right there. Something about that perpetual conceited attitude did things to you.

“Can you not be a dickhead for like, one second?” You asked, eliciting a chuckle from him. That was when you noticed the tattoo.

The sweeping intricate black lines spanned a good portion of the left side of his rib cage, swooping slightly up and around the curve of his back. It was gorgeous, but the ink looked incredibly fresh, the edges of the elegant piece slightly raised. You gaped, your fingers twitching with the urge to reach out and touch it.

“What is that?” You breathed, flicking your gaze up to meet your favourite ocean blues.

“I’m surprised you don’t know what a tattoo is considering you’ve lived here for-” You glared daggers as he spoke, indicating that now was not the time for witty banter. He cracked a wide grin, holding his hands up in surrender. “Alright, geez. I wanted to surprise you.”

“Okay but-” Suddenly everything fell into place in your mind and you gasped, your eyes growing wide. “You finished your Iknimaya?”

He nodded. “Just call me the greatest warrior who’s ever lived- woah!” He laughed deeply as you barreled into him, wrapping your arms around his neck before he lifted you off the ground and spun you around.

“Ao’nung the mighty warrior.” You could barely contain your smile as you peppered a few kisses along his cheeks. “I am so proud of you!”

It wasn’t like either of you to show such blatant affection in front of others, especially your parents, but it seemed impossible not to in this moment.

“That’s why I’ve been so busy lately,” He admitted, pulling back and setting you down in front of him, maintaining a loose grip on your waist. “I had to beg my father to let me work overtime, and it was a pretty tight schedule. I technically finished yesterday, but I woke up before dawn this morning to get my tattoo done.” You could have sworn the only other time Ao’nung had smiled this big was after your very first kiss.

“Oh, Nung, I’m so happy for you! Thank you!” You leaned in to kiss him, but you were rudely interrupted by your youngest brother, who was standing a few feet away with your family.

“Oh, Ao’nung! I’m so proud of you, mighty warrior! Let’s kiss in front of everyone and waste a whole bunch of time being gross!” He mocked in a high-pitched voice, rolling his eyes. Lo’ak may have gotten older, but he still loved to make fun of you two. “I hate to break up your guys’ little love fest, but we were supposed to leave like, ten minutes ago.” He huffed. Tsireya may not have been around to chastise him, but your mother certainly was. She smacked the back of his head, glaring at the boy.

“Lo’ak! You should be happy for Ao’nung! He is a warrior of the clan now.” Neytiri turned to look at Ao’nung, smiling proudly. Ever since your parents had found out about you and him, your mother was very supportive. She’d grown to love him like a son. Your father, however, was not so fond. You and him had been through many arguments in which he claimed you needed to wait until you were old enough for a mate in order to be with Ao’nung. Even now, when this had suddenly become possible, Jake looked a little disapproving.

“My love, Lo’ak is right. We really do have to get going.” You frowned at your father’s lack of enthusiasm, but nothing could truly drag your mood down for long as you thought about finally getting to show Ao’nung your precious forest. Even the days-long ikran flight didn’t seem all that bad anymore.

After you and Ao’nung clambered onto your ikran together and took off, you sighed contentedly, leaning back into him when you had a chance to relax a bit. You could feel the low tenor of his voice through his chest as he spoke, his hands placed on your thighs as he rubbed slow circles along them with his thumbs.

“I can’t wait to see this great forest you’ve been raving about for years.” You grinned at his words, biting your lip as you fantasized about showing him every inch of your former home.

“I can’t wait to see what my grandmother thinks of you.” You snorted. The image of her scrutinizing gaze making the usually overconfident Ao’nung sweat had you giggling.

“She’ll love me. All the ladies do.” You could hear the smirk in his words.

“I hated your guts when we met.” You reminded him, hoping to humble him even just slightly. It was a futile attempt.

“And now?”

“Maybe I still do.”

“Is that so?” He bent his head down to whisper into your ear. “It’s interesting that you hate my guts but yet you love when I rearrange y-”

“If you finish that sentence I will push you off this ikran so fast, Ao’nung.” You warned, a nervous laugh threatening to escape your chest.

“You’d miss me if you did that.”

“Unlikely.”

“Oh, you'd definitely miss me."

“So what is this boy’s name, again?” Your grandmother questioned as you helped her prepare food for dinner. You couldn’t help but smile as she squinted her eyes in the direction of where your brothers and Ao’nung were talking around the fire a little ways off. You all had arrived at the forest late, so everyone was just resting for the remainder of the night. Exploring would have to wait until tomorrow.

“His name is Ao’nung, grandmother.”

“Hm. Well, he could do with an attitude adjustment. But he looks to be a strong warrior, no doubt.” She pursed her lips, still appearing to scrutinize him.

“Yes. He actually just completed his Iknimaya,” You tried your best not to sound like you were gushing over him. “He is very strong, indeed.” The image of his toned arms flashed through your mind. The way he could lift you over his shoulder and carry you. The way his muscles tensed when he gripped your hips as he kissed you. You couldn’t help but flush, shaking your head slightly to clear it. Your grandmother was staring at you, the smallest of grins tugging at the corners of her lips.

“So you are mated, then?” She questioned, and you almost choked on air. You supposed you should have expected the question sooner or later, but it still surprised you. Your heart sped up at the thought.

“Oh- well… no.” You mentally cursed yourself for stuttering.

“You sound unsure, child. Do you not want to be his mate?”

“I- It’s- Yes. Yes of course I do,” Your gaze drifted over to him, watching fondly as he laughed at something Lo’ak had said. Despite the obvious stupidity of it, you still couldn’t shake the thought of him possibly choosing someone else to be his mate. It was like some deeply hidden fear you didn’t know you had until now. “It is just a matter of whether or not he wants to be my mate too.” You finished your thought quietly, looking down at your hands in your lap.

“I would think that would be the least of your worries, my dear.” Your grandmother spoke softly, placing a gentle hand on your knee. “He may be a mighty warrior, but even I can see his weakness is you. His eyes betray him every time he looks at you.” This was the second time recently someone had told you such a thing. It made you slightly dizzy with childish giddiness, the idea of you having such an affect on the aloof and confident male.

You were unsure how to respond, but you smiled widely to yourself, a little embarrassed. Your grandmother just chuckled and turned to call everyone over to eat.

The food was almost painfully good after eating pre-prepared meals over the course of your trip. Even Tuk, normally the pickiest eater ever, was scarfing every last bit down. It also felt great to eat together with your family, just enjoying their company as you leaned into Ao’nung’s side, his free arm wrapped around your shoulders. It didn’t take too long for everyone to finish and start turning in for the night.

Your family all slept in a group of hammocks nearby one another, but Ao’nung had been given a spare hammock a little ways away in order to give him more “privacy”, as your dad said, but you figured that he just didn’t want the two of you sleeping near each other. He was very protective and hypocritical considering everything he got up to with your mother when they were young. He was also naive if he thought that sending Ao’nung off by himself was going to keep you two apart.

Once everyone seemed soundly asleep, you silently slipped out of your hammock and crept away to find Ao’nung. It wasn’t too difficult as he appeared to be struggling to lie down comfortably in his hammock. You giggled quietly, sneaking up beside the warrior.

“Do you know how stupid you look right now?” You whispered, quickly slapping your hand over Ao’nung’s mouth as he yelped. You could barely hold in your laughter. “Shut up, skxawng! You’ll wake the whole clan!”

“Very funny, you little brat.” Ao’nung’s expression was sour, especially as he continued to struggle slightly with his hammock.

“You know, I’m very good at helping people who ask.” You smirked, folding your arms across your chest as you watched him try to stop swinging from side to side.

“Fine.” He huffed, glaring up at you.

“Fine what?”

“Seriously?” Ao’nung shot you an annoyed look, but you just stood there, enjoying the power you held in this situation. When you didn’t respond, he finally huffed, resigning himself to what he knew you wanted.

“Would you please do me the favour of helping me figure this stupid thing out, your all-knowing royal highness?” The last bit was a snarky joke, one meant to annoy you, but it only made you grin.

“Why didn’t you ask sooner, Nung?” You made your way over and steadied the hammock, fingertips pushing lightly on Ao’nung’s bicep to indicate that he should move over. When he shifted, you took the chance to climb in beside him, a look of pleasant surprise overtaking his features. The hammock stilled once the two of you had found a comfortable position facing each other, close enough to breathe the same air.

“So this is what you came here for?” Ao’nung questioned, his eyebrows raising as his signature cocky smirk settled onto his lips.

“It’s like you want me to punch you.” You scoffed, tracing the familiar patterns of his skin with your finger, particularly the glowing constellation of freckles that spanned his broad chest. He shivered beneath your touch. However, when you accidentally grazed over the edges of his new tattoo, he hissed. You quickly pulled back, cringing.

“Sorry!” You apologized hurriedly, worried that you had hurt him.

“No, it’s alright. It’s just still a little sore.” He admitted, offering you a gentle smile. You returned it, but did not place your hands back where they were.

“So, you can choose a mate now.” You finally said after a few moments of silence, peering through your lashes to try and gauge his expression. This was a conversation you had been dying to have for days, but it hadn’t seemed like the right time until now. Even so, your heart began to race slightly.

“Yes.” Ao’nung’s tone was low, serious. Maybe it was because of your nerves, but you found it difficult to read his expression.

“And?” You bit your lip, waiting impatiently for him to say anything. Your irrational fears were screaming in the back of your mind.

“And?” He quirked an eyebrow. “What do you want me to say?” You heart plummeted into your abdomen, unable to stop yourself from frowning deeply as you flicked your gaze down so you could avoid eye-contact. You swallowed thickly as your throat constricted. You felt like such a baby for reacting this way, but it was like you couldn’t stop it. The next words coming out felt like someone had stuck a branding iron down your throat.

“Do you want to mate with someone else?”

“What?” Ao’nung sat up slightly in shock, confusion and worry written all over his face. “What are you taking about?”

You just shrugged, afraid you would truly start crying if you spoke or even looked up from your fidgeting fingers.

“[Y/N].” His tone was firm but soft, a plead for you to explain. You felt ridiculously stupid.

“There’s lots of beautiful women of the clan. Many who would make a great Tsahìk some day,” You managed quietly, letting out a short breath. “I don’t want to hold you back just because we have been together so long. Besides, I know what your mother thinks of me, and maybe she is right. I still act like a child sometimes. I am gone so much visiting home. And I am not-” Your voice broke, a few warm tears finally spilling over onto your cheeks. “I am not Metkayina. I am not like you.”

It was painfully silent for a few torturously long seconds. Finally, you felt Ao’nung’s fingers tilt your chin up so he could look at you. His gaze was giving you the all-too-familiar impression that he was seeing you intimately, seeing beyond just your face.

“I do not want anyone else.” He breathed, moving to cradle your face in his hands, brushing away your tears with his thumbs. “I have the most beautiful woman here in front of me. And for some reason, Eywa forbid, I think she likes me.” He grinned and you felt your heart lift.

“You might be right about that.” You said quietly, earning a low chuckle from him.

“[Y/N], I need you to know that I do not care if my mother doesn’t approve of you. The other women of the clan do not tease me. They do not make ridiculously funny faces when they’re annoyed. They do not have the courage to stand up to me and call me a jerkwad when I’m being mean.” The two of you laughed faintly at the memory of you calling him every English insult you could think of. “I love you because you do all of those things. And I love you because you are just as much Metkayina as anyone else in the clan, even though you did not grow up knowing our ways. You were not born into your place there, you earned it, and I can only hope I’ve earned even a slight chance at being worthy enough to be your mate.” You were staring hard at each other now, barely breathing as you hung on to every single word he said. You slid your hands behind his neck, tugging him closer to you, your lips ghosting over his.

“Whether I like it or not, you own my heart, Ao’nung.”

His lips crashed to meet yours with an intensity that set your heart racing. The kiss was all heat and desperation, tongues and teeth. Ao’nung bit your bottom lip, smirking when you gasped. His fingers then found your waist and he smoothly flipped your positions so that he was over top of you, groaning as you placed kisses along his neck and jaw.

“I can’t believe you were worried about me not wanting to be your mate when I’m so fucking in love with you.” He said between sloppy kisses, his hands sliding slowly up and down your thighs, positioned on either side of his body. You shuddered at the way it made your stomach tighten. “As if I would let anyone else hold my heart in their hand.” You whined as he fingered the waistband of your clothing, sucking on a sweet spot just beneath your ear.

“I can think of something else of yours that I would love to hold right about now.” Your eyes glinted as you gazed at him, a quick flash of surprise passing over his face before he broke into a smirk.

“Be my guest, love.”

The mid-afternoon sun shone brightly as you excitedly made your way up the hallelujah mountains. You and Ao’nung had spent the morning around the forest with your family, but you’d really wanted to show him some of your favourite spots by yourself, one of which you were heading to now.

"Hurry up, slow poke!" You found yourself calling out, a laugh bubbling from your chest when Ao’nung groaned behind you. You turned your head back to grin tauntingly at him.

"When you said you were going to show me your home, this is not what I pictured us doing." Ao'nung frowned, glancing warily over the side of the vine you both walked upon.

"No? What exactly were you picturing, then, Nung?" You queried and Ao'nung's lips split into what you could only describe as a suggestive grin.

"Oh, you know, maybe a little less dangerous hiking and a little more finding a secluded spot to-"

"Oh my Eywa!" You yelped, shaking your head. "Just keep walking, you sick bastard."

"Just putting ideas out there.." He chuckled, suddenly pushing forward to catch up to you. He slung his arm around your waist, pulling you into him like it was the most natural action in the world.

You leaned in closer, standing on your tiptoes to whisper into his ear. "You're so desperate, Ao'nung." He shivered.

"Only for you, forest girl." As the words left his lips, you suddenly felt as if you’d experienced this moment before, down to the exact details. You furrowed your brows, trying hard to remember why it felt so familiar.

“Oh!” You gasped out loud, nearly sending your boyfriend toppling over the side of the vine as your memory came into focus. On instinct, you reached out quickly to steady a confused looking Ao’nung.

“Are you trying to kill me, woman?” He asked incredulously, placing a hand over his heart. “What was that?”

You flushed, unsure of what to say. It was such a strange experience to have to explain.

“Um, it’s nothing.” You laughed breathily, trying to sound as casual as possible before continuing your trek up the mountains. Unfortunately, that was not satisfactory enough for him. He grabbed at your waist, pulling you back into him so you were both were facing forward, your back flush against his chest.

“Tell me.” He whispered in your ear, sending goosebumps along your skin.

“It’s weird.” You chuckled, turning your head so you could meet his eyes. They were alight with interest.

“Like you don’t already say weird things all the time?” He asked, laughing as he earned a gentle punch to the bicep. You turned fully to face him.

“Do you remember the first night we went to the cove of ancestors? The night Kiri had a seizure?” You questioned, playing with your fingers as they rested on his chest, feeling his slow breaths beneath your touch.

“Of course.” He furrowed his brows slightly, as if playing through the memory in his head. “The first time you let your guard down around me.” His lips split into a small smirk, though it was more fond than cocky.

“Yeah, whatever,” You smiled softly. “Well, before all that crazy stuff happened, I had a vision when I connected to the tree. It was- well… it was this.” You bit your lip, spreading out your hands to indicate the scene around you.

“The mountains?” He questioned, not entirely following.

“Yes. But us, too. The exact conversation we just had a few minutes ago. It felt so familiar while it was happening, but I couldn’t remember why until now.” You felt awkward explaining it to him, avoiding eye contact and instead trying to read the rest of his face.

“So you knew this was going to happen?” It was a loaded question, indicating both the general situation and your relationship as a whole. A smirk was tugging at his lips.

“Kind of…” You said slowly. “But at the time I still thought I maybe hated you, so it freaked me out. I didn’t know if it was actually going to come true or not. I was working up the courage to talk to you about it before everything went to shit.” You laughed a little, thinking back on all the chaos of those first few months living on the island.

“I want you to be my mate.” Ao’nung said suddenly, staring down at you with a rare completely serious expression. You snapped your head up quickly, confused at the sudden turn in conversation, though a flutter of excitement settled in your stomach.

“I know,” You smiled softly. “I can’t wait until we get back home-”

“No, now.” His voice was firm, his mind already made up. Your eyebrows shot skyward. “I don’t want to waste anymore time not being officially bonded. We can go tonight,. I think Eywa has given us a sign through your dream.” He grabbed your hand, gently lacing his fingers with yours.

“But- what about our parents?” You asked, trying to ignore the rising giddiness inside of you. “I mean my dad will probably burst a blood vessel in his eye. And don’t even get me started on your mom… She already has enough reason to hate me.”

“It’s not about them, my love.”

“But you are the chief’s son, Nung. There are rituals and ceremonies for you and your chosen mate-”

“Me and you.”

“Yes,” You breath hitched slightly, blushing. “Us. Your parents won’t be pleased if you do not complete them in the traditional way.” You were speaking to deaf ears, reiterating things he already knew well.

“We’ll have our own stupid rituals.” He muttered, his fingers skating along your arm, bringing them up to trace the outline of your jaw. “Ceremonies and parties and disapproving parents can wait until we return.” He searched your eyes, desperately hoping for you to be feeling the same immediacy as him. The same all-consuming desire to be one after waiting so long. Despite your feeble rationale behind why it was a terrible idea, you had to admit that you wanted to do it just as badly.

“Tonight, then.” You finally caved, an excited buzz settling under your skin. Ao’nung grinned, picking you up to swing you around before pulling you into a hug. You could feel his excitement in the air around you, making you bite your lip to keep from smiling too wide.

You woke to the sun already shining brightly, pleasantly warming your skin. A pair of strong arms were wrapped around your abdomen, your legs tangled together with two other, longer and broader ones. It could have been any other morning after sneaking out to be with Ao’nung.

It was not.

You could feel the mating bond even now as your mate lay sleeping beneath you, his soft breaths tickling your skin. Nothing about your feelings for the warrior boy had changed, you still felt the deep love that had claimed a stake on your heart years ago, but it was like it had been fortified, made immortal under the gaze of Eywa. Your soul was tied completely to his, two halves to make a entirely new whole. His eyes fluttered open as you stared at his sleeping form, admiring his peacefulness. He smiled sleepily.

“Good morning, my love.” His voice was slightly raspy from sleep, and you felt your stomach tighten, suddenly replaying every euphoric detail about the night before. You clenched your legs together, letting Ao’nung sit up and pull you into his lap while running a hand slowly up your thigh. Once you were comfortably sitting on top of him, he began to place sweet kisses along your neck.

“Ao’nung.” You tried (failed) to sound stern, placing a hand on each of his biceps in a weak attempt to stop him from caressing all along your body. “We have to go back.” Your words got lost in a moan as he nipped at your collarbone, looking up at you in a desperate sort of way. You shuddered, unable to stop yourself from dipping your head down to place a kiss on his pouted lips. He kissed back fervently, one of his hands sliding to the back of your head while the other danced along your ribcage, dangerously close to eliciting another moan from you. If you didn’t stop now, you knew you never would.

“Alright, alright. Don’t make me smack you, dipshit.” He groaned in annoyance as you pulled away, your lips already slightly swollen from the kiss.

“C’mon, [Y/N].” He whined, his ears flicking back in disappointment. “You're my mate, now. Can we not just enjoy this time?”

You chuckled, tracing your thumb over his bottom lip. “I’m sure you got more than enough enjoyment last night. Now it’s time to for us to deal with the repercussions of that.” You quickly placed one more soft kiss on his lips before sighing and untangling your limbs from his. He unhappily followed your lead, holding your hand to help you up. As the two of you slowly began your walk back home, you smiled to yourself, feeling more content than you ever had before. Even the thought of confronting both your parents seemed but a small inconvenience, an easy price to pay for the sheer elation you felt at the bond you now shared with Ao’nung.

“I still think we could have stayed longer.” He frowned, swinging your intertwined hands back and forth slightly.

“Doubtful. It’s pretty much a miracle they haven’t sent out a search party already.” You laughed, guessing it was already mid-morning. Your family had probably been awake for hours.

“What should I say to your parents?” Ao’nung questioned.

“Well, you should probably start by begging my dad for mercy,” You deadpanned. “Though I doubt that will help.”

“Thanks, I’m so glad you’re confident in me.” Ao’nung quipped back sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “I’d like to remind you that I’m a warrior now.”

You grinned. “You’re about to be a dead warrior.”

“Well, at least my last great memory is of you on your knees last night-"

You cut him off with a light punch in the gut. It was like hitting the bark of a tree, but he did you the courtesy of pretending to feel it, at least.

“Geez, someone’s touchy about that.” He smirked, amusement flickering in his gaze.

“Just save the cockiness until after we talk to my parents. I know you probably don’t know to be humble, but-”

“Oh, I’ll be humble. I’ll be even more humble than Neteyam when he gets a compliment.” He spoke of it like a challenge, and you giggled.

“Speaking of that, I forgot to mention that my brothers are probably going to kill you, too, you know. Then maybe even Kiri. You’ll be dead four times over.”

“You’re lucky you’re worth all this murder I’m about to experience.”

“Just remember that this was your idea, genius.”

“Yeah, yeah. But who’s the one who loves me too much to have said no?”

“Shut up.”

“Fine. But only if you give me a good luck kiss before we get back because I’m starting to get nervous now.”

taglist:

@luvlykrispy @foreverfolkloregirly @findingourtreasure @tiddybiddy @nao-cchi @goodiesinthecloset21 @elegantkidfansoul @azaleaniath @cloakedvengeance @philiasoul @aonungmybf @joshuahongsfuturewife @shartnart1 @ayanamire @tireytesulineytiriite @bigmama123 @fucksnow @seashelldom @melsunshine @littlethingsinlife @thesheelfsworld @in-luvais @perseny @minkyungseokie @acrobatcheeks @theblaxkbird @sakura-onesan @1-800-not-simping @srrybroo @ellasully @trulynotavailable @dreamergirljen @ipoopedmypants47 @hangezoes-wife @scarletrosesposts @kaealowri @eggnox @spiceyhotsherbet @awkward-halfhug

#ao'nung #ao'nung fanfiction #ao'nung fluff #ao'nung x reader #ao'nung x y/n #ao'nung x you #aonung #aonung fanfiction #aonung fluff #aonung x reader #aonung x y/n #aonung x you #atwow #atwow ao'nung #avatar #the way of water #avatar the way of water

918 notes · View notes