#snow white defense tag
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rachel ze*ger: *bashes Disney's Snow White as a dated portrayal of women without substance and says her Snow White will actually have to learn lessons throughout the film, unlike the original*
actual quotes from the original film that depict some of the lessons Snow White both learns and teaches during her narrative, identifying her value to past and future audiences:
"I really feel quite happy now. I'm sure I'll get along somehow. Everything's going to be all right." The power of positivity and optimism yields resilience in the face of adversity. Snow White was almost murdered and had to run away from the only home she'd ever known. She had a panic attack and allowed herself to process her emotions in a healthy way, and once she acknowledged her feelings, she instantly felt much better and began to make plans on how to rebuild her life. You can't become a product of the things that have happened to you- you have to continue moving through life. So yes- acknowledge what's happening, process your emotions, but also don't let circumstances outside of your control destroy you. Get back up and keep going, even when it seems impossible. You're capable of so much more than you realize.
"Please don't run away. I won't hurt you. I'm awfully sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. But you don't know what I've been through. And all because I was afraid. I'm so ashamed of the fuss I've made." Despite what you're currently going through, you can't let that bleed through to how you affect and treat other people. Always be mindful of the impact you have on others and never allow yourself to become a victim of your own misfortune. While it's important to allow yourself to fully experience the weight of your own emotions, sometimes getting too stuck in your own circumstances can make a situation worse and create additional barriers for you to conquer. Keep everything in perspective and keep your eyes open to the communities around you.
"And as you sweep the room, imagine that the broom, is someone that you love and soon you'll find you're dancing to the tune." Always infuse even the most mundane things about you with love and suddenly your work, no matter how seemingly inconsequential it may be, will feel meaningful.
"When hearts are high the time will fly so whistle while you work." Doing something with lifted spirits and in a state of happiness makes a job ten times easier than setting about to accomplish something in a miserable mood. Nine times out of time, working on something when you're in a good disposition will also provide better results and findings.
"I know! We'll clean the house and surprise them. Then maybe they'll let me stay." Never expect anything from anyone. While Snow White assumed that the cottage belonged to orphans, making it an orphanage- and she, herself, is an orphan and she'd then have a rightful place there if, indeed, it was an orphanage- she didn't expect free room and board. She looked about her and noticed that there were gaps to be filled- namely in cleaning and cooking- and then went about fulfilling those tasks, which she hoped to leverage to bargain shelter for herself.
"Now you wash up the dishes. You tidy up the room. You clean the fireplace. And I'll use the broom!" Divide and conquer! Snow White delegated the various tasks of cleaning to the different animals and accomplished what would've individually taken her all day in a single afternoon. Identify the strengths and weaknesses of those around you, and work together as a collective to bring yourselves closer to a shared goal.
"You think their mother would- maybe they have no mother. Then they're orphans. That's too bad." Never assume anything about other people because you don't know the path of life they walk down and their situation. Never judge someone by what they're wearing or what they look like or the house they live in because you're never going to be fully aware of their circumstances and you'll come across as ignorant. Lead with compassion, always.
"If you let me stay, I'll keep house for you. I'll wash and sew and sweep and cook..." To avoid being kicked out of the haven she'd found, Snow White needed to pitch her values to the future landlords. As mentioned above, Snow White noticed the gaps that were needed to be filled in the house and pitched her services accordingly to tempt the dwarfs into letting her stay. It's hard to argue in the face of facts. Snow White knew the value she could bring to the Dwarf's cottage and wasn't shy about presenting it to them in a plea to allow her refuge.
"Oh, [you've washed] recently? Let me see your hands!" Never take anything anyone says at face value. If you're doubting them, call them on their bluff and ask for proof- and never be afraid to voice your doubt.
"March straight outside and wash or you'll not have a bite to eat!" Despite the fact that the Dwarfs nearly kicked her out before agreeing to letting her stay, Snow White had ownership of the tasks related to cooking and cleaning and she wouldn't budge until the Dwarfs behaved accordingly to the standards she set in place. She treated them as equals which, in turn, made them treat her as an equal. Sometimes, people are too afraid to come off as bossy or intimidating, or to throw their weight around, but there are moments you'll need to assert yourself and if you play second fiddle to someone, they'll treat you as just that.
"Bless the seven little men who have been so kind to me." Before wishing for anything for herself, or allowing herself to fall into a line of self despair over the tragic events of what happened to her earlier in the day, Snow White is grateful among all else. She thanks the Seven Dwarfs for their generosity toward her and asks for God to bless them. With a grateful heart, you can accomplish anything, and if you're thankful for the good things in your life and don't take anything for granted, your fortune will only multiply.
"Well, aren't you going to wash? What's the matter[, Grumpy]- cat got your tongue?" Snow White wasn't afraid to match Grumpy's energy in the moments he exhibited hatred toward her, but she always kept it playful and never meanspirited. If we encounter hatred in the workplace or at home, sometimes it behooves us to stick up for ourselves or comment on the apparent behavior others are exhibiting toward us. Always be mindful of limitations and how to express this in a safe way though- Snow White never pokes a hornet's nest or says anything toward Grumpy that would threaten the home she'd made for herself in the cottage. She knows exactly how close to walk up to the line.
more lessons we can observe from snow white in the 1937 film from her body language and different plot points:
Leave a situation that's dangerous and frightening to you. The minute the Huntsman tells Snow White of the Queen's motives, Snow White flees into the forest for refuge. She didn't try to sympathize with the Queen or reason her way out of it. Snow White recognized the potential danger she was in and she worked quickly to remove herself from it. A girl I worked with once said Snow White was dense for this- after all, why wouldn't she work with the Huntsman to ensure he'd bring her food and water while she was in the forest or assist in finding her a place of shelter? But the fact of the matter is, Snow White trusted the Huntsman once and that resulted in him nearly killing her. Cutting ties with him was the most conducive way to a safe future. Even if he didn't want to hurt her, if Snow White's whereabouts were known to him, there's no telling what the Queen would do to him to retrieve that information or to force him into using that knowledge to put Snow White in a place of danger, once again. More on this in the incredible post my friend made.
Make your intentions known! Snow White, in many ways, is a product of manifestation. Her mother wished for a child as white as snow, as black as the ebony on her window-frame, and as red as blood, and she received just that from the universe. Likewise, Snow White didn't shy away from making her wishes known to the wishing well- the wish of love after years of neglect and isolation and abuse- and her love came to her by the end of the song. Later, during the scene with the apple, she again voices her wish to be reunited with her lost love- and sure enough, it comes true!
Trust your instincts! So many people overlook this lesson that Snow White teaches, but she was visibly uncomfortable by the hag during their shared scenes. Her body language depicts her consistently shrinking away from the other woman, and generally behaving in an uneasy demeanor with tense facial expressions and a disturbed energy. She even openly says, "I feel strange" after consuming the apple. The hag applied to Snow White's compassion, identifying it as a "weak spot", because she could tell Snow White was growing increasingly vague and guarded.
Don't judge a book by its cover. Snow White wasn't frightened by the hag because of her unconventional appearance, but the frightening energy with which she interacted with Snow White. However, Snow White never judged the hag's appearance and when the hag feigned a heart attack, Snow White's compassion motivated her to nurse the old woman back to health and give her a drink of water. Juxtapose this with the Beast from Beauty and the Beast who couldn't see past the hag's outer appearance and refused to offer her shelter for the night. In turn, he was cursed until he learned the lesson that Snow White had already known.
Never expect anything from anyone or rely on a title. Snow White is the Princess of the land the Seven Dwarfs dwell in, yet she never once relied on her title or power in her interactions with them. She easily could've pulled rank and pointed out that since their property fell on the land of her rule and her former parents' rule, they should be more than willing to accommodate her. Instead of relying on these false barometers of social standing, Snow White interacted with them on a human level and offered to work in exchange for her room and board. This led to the Dwarfs interacting with her as an equal in return and they had so much more love for her than they would've if she pulled a "do you know who I am" card, leading them to rush to the cottage that much more quickly when they sensed she was in danger and surrounding her coffin in eternal vigil prior to the ending of the film.
Be open to different ways of thought and to the world around you. We live in a nuanced, vibrant world with so many different ways of thought and methods of approaching a conflict. One of the top attributes employers look for in future hires is a teachable spirit. There are many times throughout the film where Snow White askes those around her for ideas and is open to advice. "What do you do when things go wrong?" "Maybe you know where I can stay- in the woods, somewhere? You do? Will you take me there?" Snow White is always open to experiencing the world around her and never discounts the opinions and thoughts and values of those around her. In turn, she leads a very full life and this resourcefulness serves her in moments in dire need- like when she's homeless in the woods with no future prospects or connections.
#snow white#snow white defense tag#snow white 1937#oof i'm so angry#i get lily and elle did this#and naomi to a certain extent#but like#this hurts the deepest#there's so much hate for snow white already that#i would've expected rachel to respect the character or understand her somewhat#or be the person to present the character in an authentic way that would soften contemporary audiences up to snow white#what she's doing is cheap and disgusting and anything but novel
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stranded | joel miller x f!reader
pairing: joel miller x afab!fem!reader
summary: you get stranded in the middle of a blizzard. joel comes to your rescue. you share a bed for warmth. things escalate from there...
warnings/tags: 18+ content, MDNI!, smutttttt yurrrr (vaginal fingering, unprotected piv sex, dubious consent, lil bit of somnophilia, joel is packinggg), no outbreak!joel, modern au, implied age gap, soft!joel, pet names (peach, baby, darlin', sweet girl, sweetheart), lil bit of joel being jelly, cuddling to keep the cold at bay, fluff, NO USE OF Y/N
word count: 7.6k (idk what the fuck happened)
“Damn it!”
You press down hard on the gas pedal, grimacing when your engine revs but the car doesn’t move an inch.
Your tires skid uselessly over the snow and your headlights reflect into a white wall of nothing—the snowfall so thick you can’t see anything in front of or around you, as if you’re trapped in a snow globe. The road is practically gone from existence.
The only thing you can hear is the wind whistling and the staticky sound of Carrie Underwood’s ‘Jesus Take the Wheel’ going in and out on the radio.
Yeah, you wish he would right about now.
“Fuuuck,” you whine, eyes stinging with unshed tears. You hit your wheel in frustration, dropping your forehead onto the horn. It honks pityingly.
Of course, the one time you were actually going out, you had forgotten to check the weather.
You’re probably going to die out here on this back road through the woods. There’s no one around, not that you can tell, and you’re low on gas. You were going to fill up once you got out of the woods and back into civilization, but the blizzard had other plans.
Your stomach rumbles, crying out for the dinner you had skipped in hopes of having a hearty, post-sex meal with the hook-up you are—or were—on the way to see. Though, that’s certainly not happening, and the snacks you usually had stuffed into the glovebox are gone, your sister having stolen them last week after you dropped her off at school.
(Darn that growing goober!)
You don’t have anything that might prove useful in this situation besides the long, slim heels on your pumps (which could be used in defense), and the thin peacoat wrapped around your shoulders. You check your phone to see if you can call a towing company, but of course, it has zero bars.
“Shit, shit, shit,” you whimper, pressing the heel of your palm to your watering eyes.
“It’s gonna be fine,” you say to yourself, picking your head up and rubbing away the tears in your eyes. You take deep breaths and put the car into park. “You’ll be fine.”
The sudden sound of a knock on your window startles you so bad you yelp, jumping in place as ice cold terror rises up your spine.
You can hardly see who had knocked, only their gray silhouette in the white blizzard.
The stranger knocks again.
“You alright in there?” The shadow asks, a hint of a Texan accent curling their vowels. Shit. It’s a man.
You slowly grab your shoe from your foot, holding it so the heel faces the window, and snow blows into your face as you carefully roll it down an inch or two for precaution, because who knows if it’s a fucking cannibal-axe-murderer who preys on unsuspecting women stranded in the snow. Maybe he does this every year—maybe this is his prime harvesting place and time.
Your eyes are wide as you peer through the opening warily, heel at the ready.
He’s close enough now that you can make out a prominent scowl, hard brown eyes, salt and pepper hair…
…wait a minute. You’d recognize that glower anywhere.
“Joel?”
Your lungs suddenly remember how to work again, and you inhale on a shaky breath. The hand holding your shoe drops to your thigh in relief.
His brown eyes narrow. “Peach…? The hell are you doin’ out here?” He asks, and Jesus you forgot about that stupid nickname he gave you. It sends butterflies loose in your stomach. “It’s a goddamn blizzard.”
You scowl in exasperation, though, at his obvious observation. “Yeah, I think I know that, Joel. What are you doing here?”
“I heard a honk, figured someone needed help.” He looks you up and down, his gaze lingering on the circles of mascara around your eyes. “Guess I’m right.”
You straighten in your seat, the gratitude you feel at his presence is overshadowed by the need to look self sufficient and capable, because you are. You’re a grown ass woman! So…
“I don’t need your help,” you huff.
He arches a brow. “Really.” It’s not a question.
You glower. “Maybe.”
Joel leans an arm on the frame of your car, and taps your window once more. “C’mon. Let’s go.”
God, this is so embarrassing!
“Fine.” You roll up the window and turn off the car. Joel tugs the car door open as far as it can go and offers a gloved hand to help you out. You wobble a bit when you step out in your heels, grateful that Joel is there to steady you. Though, the feeling sours a bit when he huffs in disbelief at your shoes.
You send him a glare, “I had plans for tonight, okay?”
“In the middle of a blizzard?” He deadpans.
“It wasn’t that bad when I first started driving.”
“Riiiight,” he drawls, “Well, I’m sorry to say, peach, but you ain’t driving in this mess anymore. You can stay with me tonight.” He says, closing the car door behind you.
Stay? With him?
“Joel, I couldn’t bother you with—“
“I wouldn’t offer if it was a bother.”
Joel’s as stubborn as a bull, more so than Ellie. And she is stubborn. You don’t argue, because it’s fruitless to argue with a brick wall like him. And, faced with freezing to death out here or staying in a well-insulated building, choosing the latter is obviously the right thing to do.
“Okay,” you relent and point to your trunk. “I have a bag back there.”
He raises a brow. “Heels and a bag…What kind of plans were we talkin’ about here?”
A hook up, Joel, you mentally drawl. Because…that’s exactly why you were out.
Like hell you’ll tell Joel that, though, he’d disapprove. He’s always been the protective type. You’ve known him since your junior year in college, after your families practically merged. But you’ve never seen Joel as another dad. He’s always been…something else to you.
“A trip to Nunya.” You supply instead of the truth, crossing your arms over your chest to try and conserve some heat.
“Nunya?” Joel’s brows furrow.
“Yeah. Nunya business, Joel.” You give him a sardonic smile.
He shakes his head and sends you a look you’re quite familiar with, the one that makes you feel inches smaller. And ten degrees hotter.
Joel sighs in exasperation and wordlessly wrenches the trunk open. He slings your bag over his shoulder as if it weighs nothing.
(It weighs a lot. You’d know, you shoved five different erotica books in there, just in case your date failed to make you orgasm.)
(Though thinking about Joel probably would’ve been enough.)
You lock your vehicle with a bemused glance. “What are we gonna do about my car?”
“I’ll tow it out tomorrow,” Joel says. “Roads are a fuckin’ mess right now.”
You trudge behind Joel to his quaint cottage sleeping cozily between tall pine trees and chubby evergreens. The porch light is on, and the windows glow a comforting orange. Puffs of smoke drift up from the chimney. It looks warm and inviting, like straight out of a Christmas movie.
You’re impressed at how close you managed to strand yourself to his house. Maybe Jesus really did take the wheel.
Joel kicks the snow off his boots on his front porch, then opens the door, gesturing for you to enter first.
When you breach the doorway with Joel at your heels, warmth settles over your cold-bitten cheeks along with an alluring aroma of meat and tomato and spices that hits you in a wave. You’ve never seen Joel cook anything other than Chef Boyardee Beefaroni, or burgers on Tommy’s rusting grill before, so this is certainly a surprise. It could be Sarah or Ellie’s cooking, but last time you checked, Sarah could cook eggs and Ellie could cook, well, nothing.
“So did you hire a personal chef to make whatever smells so good?”
He sets your bag down in the foyer with a grunt and shrugs out of his coat. “I made it.”
You can’t help the disbelieving laugh that bursts out of you, and the slightly offended look on Joel’s face only makes it harder to stop. You cover your mouth with your hand, but you’re absolutely positive he can see the mirth lighting in your eyes.
Though he’s offended, there’s a twitch to his lip, as if he’s trying not to laugh. “I’m perfectly capable of cooking.”
“I’m sorry—I’m sorry,” you try to stamp down your giggles. “Yes, you’re capable but… is it edible?”
Your stomach decides in that moment to start rumbling, and he smirks.
“Guess you’ll have to find out.”
You take your coat off and follow Joel towards the kitchen. As you follow, you take in his aggressively Texan decor and furniture. Paintings of cowboys and horses and mountains are hung artfully on cozy, beige walls. The Eagles’ discography drifts merrily in the air from an old record player. There’s a guitar stationed in practically every corner. It’s all so very Joel, though the random space ornamentals and butterfly drawings sprinkled about are so very Ellie and Sarah. It makes you smile.
“Where are the girls?” You ask, because usually those little stinkers would be stationed at the dining room table, bickering over the answer to a ridiculously difficult math problem.
“At Dina’s,” he answers, taking off his gloves and dropping them on the table. “They wanted to play in the snow.”
Oh. So you’re here alone with him. Anxiety prickles at the edges of your mind, sinking in your stomach.
“I guess I was the only one that didn’t know about the blizzard, then.”
“You must be livin’ under a rock to not know about it.”
You grumble in protest, but your grievances disintegrate on your tongue as you enter the kitchen and near the simmering pot. You breathe in the aroma, the smell so powerful it's almost like you’re actually tasting it.
You look over your shoulder at him. “Is this chili?”
He nods. “Want some?”
“Absolutely.”
He comes up beside you to open a cabinet. “Go ‘head make yourself comfortable on the couch. I’ll bring it out to you.” Your mouth dries at the sliver of skin that peeks out beneath his flannel as he reaches up.
You force yourself to turn around. “Wow. Such a gentleman, didn’t realize you were capable,” you say, your saccharine sweet tone doing well to mask how flustered you feel. You can breathe easier the second you exit the kitchen and enter the living room.
His voice follows you. “A simple ‘thank you’ ‘stead'a this attitude would do you some good, y'know?"
"I know," you sing-song, grinning as you settle yourself down onto his couch, grabbing a blanket from a basket on the way. A fire crackles in the hearth and you study the flames with fascination as warmth spreads across your skin. You tug the blanket around you, pulling it up to your chin.
Joel emerges a minute later and your gaze darts from the fire to the bowl he holds out to you. “Here.”
“Thank you, Joel,” you say emphatically, accepting the bowl and cradling it in your hands.
He smiles, “There we go. Guess you do have some manners.”
You give him a half-bow. Joel just smiles in that familiar way, like you’re just so ridiculous he can’t believe it. It makes your stomach curl giddily.
Having rolled up the sleeves of his flannel to his elbows, Joel’s forearms are on display, muscles flexing as he tosses another log into the hearth, and you drop your gaze to your chili, as to not get caught staring. He sits down in the armchair adjacent to you with his own bowl.
You blow on the steaming chili before taking a bite, an involuntary moan releasing from you the moment it hits your tongue—paprika, peppers, tomato, cumin. It warms your stomach pleasantly. Who knew Joel could cook so well?
“This is so good,” you mumble around your bite.
He swallows his own chili down, pupils large as he watches you. “Edible enough for ya?”
You nod enthusiastically, “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”
“Mmhmm,” he hums, unconvinced, but he’s smiling at you again, and you can’t help but return it.
Comfortable silence lapses between the both of you as you eat your meals. Joel finishes first, of course, setting his bowl on the coffee table and leaning into his chair with a satisfied groan. He throws an arm over the back, spreading his legs. You watch him while he watches the fire, heat licking through you.
Eventually, after you slow down, you speak again.
“Thank you, Joel, seriously, for letting me stay.”
His eyes find yours and he nods. “‘Course, peach. Wouldn’t’ve let you freeze out there.”
You nod and glance around, taking in his cabin. A large, stone fireplace is set in the wall, a tree trunk coffee table stationed in the center of the living room, some handmade wood carvings of horses and other animals scattered about. There’s a drawing of himself sitting on the mantel, “To: Joel, From: Ellie” signed at the bottom. Your heart swells.
“It’s been awhile since I’ve been here,” you remark.
“I know,” Joel says. “You should come around more often. The girls miss you.”
Your smile turns shy and you feel a spike of bravery. “What about you? Do you miss me?”
He takes a moment to answer, a veiny hand coming up to rub at his beard as he leans on the arm of the chair. Onyx eyes drag down your figure. “‘Course I do, darlin’”
Heat pools hot and thick between your thighs at that look, and you’re about to press him about how much he really misses you when a buzzing in your pocket captures your attention. Your phone. Guess you have some bars now.
marcus: where r u?
Oh right, the hookup!
you: blizzard blocked the roads. won’t make it tonight.
marcus: ok.
You scoff at the lack of depth in his response. Not even a “stay safe out there”? Jesus. You settle into the couch with a frustrated sigh, head thumping against the cushions, eyes falling shut as exhaustion creeps into you.
Boys always thinking with their dicks. Why do you even bother?
“What’s that about?” Joel asks. You peek an eye open at him. Firelight dances across his tan skin. He gestures to your phone. “That gotta do with the real reason for your trip tonight?”
You rub your temple, “Yeah.”
He hums. "...Listen, I know it's none of my business but—“
"It was a hookup, Joel," you interrupt, already knowing where he was going with that. He tends to do that, beat around the bush so much until you’re desperate to just say it. More desperate than he was to know it. You’d rather just skip that whole process.
"Oh,” his brows furrow.
"Yeah," you repeat dumbly, fiddling with the blanket.
"There, uh, ain't no shame in that, darlin'."
You quirk a skeptical brow, "I know."
"Alright," he mumbles, avoiding eye contact with you. Awkwardness settles between you.
"Things are just a bit dry," you supply, though you have no idea why you're still talking, or why you described yourself and the state of your love-life like that because Joel doesn't need to know that. Nobody needs to know that
But it captures his attention, because he's looking at you again, though this time annoyance is written on his features, along with something else you can’t name, his eyes practically black. Damnit, you knew he’d disapprove, even if he claims there’s no shame in it.
“And you went to some random boy for that?"
You straighten on the couch. "Who else am I supposed to go to, Joel? You?” Sarcasm drips from your words.
What the hell is he implying?
His gaze jumps to the fire, the muscles in his jaw clenching, his fingers flexing on the arm of his chair. "Never mind I said anythin'."
Your arms cross defensively over your chest. "I don't need your judgment, Joel.”
"I ain't judgin'."
"Sure sounds like it."
He stands abruptly, running a hand through his peppered locks. "I'm not, I just—listen, it's gettin' late. You should sleep. I didn’t have time to get the girls’ room ready, do you want my bed?”
You shake your head, "Couch is perfectly fine, Joel. Thanks."
“You sure?”
“Yes, Joel. I’m a grown woman who can handle her decisions.”
"I know that.” Frustration laces his words. He sighs, hand coming up to rest on his belt. “Just... let me know if you need anythin'."
“You got it.”
He turns the living room light off on the way to his bedroom down the hall. You don’t watch him leave.
Once he's gone, you change into your pajamas and settle yourself on the couch beneath a blanket or two. The crackling of the fire and the howling wind outside lulls you to sleep faster than you expect.
-----
“Fuck.”
The aggressive shivers that wrack your body are what wake you up in the middle of the night.
Your blanket is wrapped tightly around you, but it’s a thin, furry thing. Nothing like the down comforter you have at home. The fire has also gone out in the hearth, low flames flickering in the ash.
You pull the blanket up to your chin, curling in on yourself as the cold permeates your skin.
Aside from the chattering of your teeth and the squall outside, it’s eerily silent in the house. You realize, now, that the whooshes from the heating system you had grown accustomed to before are gone
Shit.
You reach for the lamp on the side table, pulling down on the chain. It doesn’t turn on.
“Shit.”
You sit up, blanket wrapped around your waist. The power is out. The snow storm must’ve knocked out a power line. It’s too cold to stay out here with only your thin blanket and the clothes on your back. And Joel had said…
Let me know if you need anythin’.
You really don’t want to bother him, but the goose flesh rippling across your skin and the pathetic way your lips are quivering, along with the shudders that wrack your body as it attempts to maintain homeostasis are not something you can just sleep through.
You tightly wrap your blanket around your shoulders and tiptoe down the hall. You can see a warm light from Joel’s bedroom, the flicker of a flame on the cream walls.
You slowly push the door open but hesitate at the sight of Joel buried comfortably beneath his comforter. You don’t want to wake him… but his room is awfully toasty from the fire crackling away in his own hearth. And his bed looks absolutely heavenly.
You steel yourself and pad to the side he sleeps on.
“Joel?” You whisper. He doesn’t respond.
You lean over to gently push his shoulder. “Joel.”
“Mm—“ His brows furrow, and he scrunches further into the blankets, reminiscent of a cat curling its paws over its head when woken up.
You push his shoulder again, a bit harder this time. “Joel. Wake up.”
He swats at the air, as if your hand is a fly buzzing around his ear. “‘M awake,” he mumbles against the pillow.
“Joel—the power went out. I’m freezing.”
He’s silent for a moment, eyes still shut. He’s no doubt rolling the words around in his head, trying to make sense of them through a sleepy haze.
Then, when he does, he wordlessly scoots back and reaches for the comforter. He lifts it, offering the space next to him to you.
“C’mere.”
You splutter, taken off guard by the invitation. “What? Joel—“
“‘M not askin’, peach. C’mere.” The last word leaves his lips like a command, and you straighten reflexively, apprehension holding your limbs hostage as want curls dangerously low in your abdomen at his tone of voice. That should be enough warning to not climb into bed with him.
You debate telling him to get his ass up and give you another blanket along with a couple more logs in the hearth so you can avoid any kind of proximity between you (lest you feel those capital-f Feelings), but you can practically feel the heat radiating from the bed and his body beckoning you in.
Oh fuck it.
You let loose a shaky breath and hesitantly slip beneath the covers, facing away from him. You stay glued to the edge of the bed, careful not to let any part of you touch him. Your legs curl into your chest for extra measure. Immediately, it’s so much better. So warm. So comfortable.
And it smells like Joel.
You inhale the earthy and spicy scent of him that lingers on the linen as your head sinks into the soft pillow, but your inhale chokes off as Joel’s strong arm snakes around your waist beneath the comforter, his large hand burning like a brand when it settles hot over your stomach.
He pulls you into him, the sheets swishing as he tucks you into his body. Your back slots against his warm, broad naked chest. His bare legs intertwine with yours, his pelvis almost flush against your ass, only covered by a thin pair of briefs.
Holy shit.
You can feel everything.
“Joel?” You question, voice quivering at the sudden closeness. “What are you doing?”
“Keepin’ you warm,” he mumbles against the nape of your neck.
You do feel warmer, though it might not be entirely because he’s holding you, but rather because of how he’s holding you. He’s curled around you, like a koala around a tree, thighs bracketing yours.
You can feel his beard scraping at the nape of your neck, breaths puffing against your feverish skin.
His thumb is rubbing softly along the pudge of your tummy, palm branding your skin, his fingers dipping innocently beneath the hem of your shorts.
You can barely breathe, or even think, heartbeat stuttering as arousal pools liquid hot and heavy between your legs. Every unknowing twitch from Joel’s fingers makes it worse. Every touch of his calloused fingertips against your skin is pure agony. Every brush of your ass against his pelvis has you throbbing. You stare wide-eyed into the darkness, gaze roaming the pitch black, as if something out there could make you forget about the ever-growing desire you feel for Joel.
You can’t sleep like this.
It seems like Joel can though, appearing to already be deep in slumber. He hasn’t moved in a few minutes, his exhales even and slow against you.
You try to ignore the wetness between your legs, ignore the instinctual urge to roll your hips back against him. You should just go to sleep. But this ache you feel, pounding and deep and relentless…You have to do something about it, even with Joel holding you close.
He won’t mind…right?
But how are you supposed to touch yourself with Joel’s hand in the way?
You could just move it. That’s the right thing to do, but it feels too good, so hot and heavy on you that you just don’t want to, and as a result, an idea so absolutely fucked worms its way into your mind, lust and desperation destroying any last semblance of rational thought. You could…
No. No. You can’t do that. He’s a human fucking being, not a hand shaped vibrator.
But… you really want to, and he’s asleep so…he won’t even know…right?
You make up your mind and slowly curl your fingers around Joel’s deadweight palm, biting your lip in concentration and shame as you carefully urge his hand further into your shorts. After each nudge of his palm, you wait to see if Joel gives you any sign of him being awake. But he’s dead asleep. After a moment, you keep going.
This is so fucked, but you can’t bring yourself to care when you finally feel his thick fingers brush over your clothed folds.
“Shit,” you whisper, breathlessly, holding back a whimper. You manipulate his hand so that his palm is resting large and warm over your aching clit, while his index and middle finger are placed heavily above your heat.
And then, you really say fuck you to your morals.
You give an experimental thrust of your hips into his palm, shuddering at the contact against your clit. Then you wait to see if Joel reacts, your head tilting a bit to look over your shoulder. But Joel hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a word. Good.
Confident he won’t wake, you rock your hips again and again, holding onto his hand with your own, pressing it down with each thrust of your hips to get that sweet contact. The heel of his palm bumps your aching clit with each thrust, and you bite back moans and whimpers well enough, but you can’t hide the deepening of your breaths as you climb closer and closer to your climax.
Everything else fades away as you just focus on that one goal. On crawling over the edge. You hardly feel the growing smirk pressed to the back of your neck, or the way Joel’s cock is now hard against your ass as you grind against his palm.
“F-fuck,” you huff, eyes tightly shut as you ground yourself in his presence behind you, the beat of his heart thudding against your spine, the rise and fall of his chest, the light, unconscious brush of his lips on your neck. Closure is on the horizon as you imagine him lifting up on his arm and leaning over to actually get you off, his teeth biting down on your shoulder as he thrusts his fingers into your aching cunt.
“Joel—“ you quietly moan.
The moment his name slips from your lips, his hand suddenly pulls back, and you let out a frustrated groan (he can’t do that!), which quickly turns into a squeak of mortification (oh yes, he absolutely can!).
Because Joel is awake.
He. Is. Awake.
And he knows what you were doing, his chest rumbling against your spine as he—is he fucking laughing at you?
“Needy girl, aren’t you, peach?”
Mortification ignites in your cheeks, nausea pooling in your stomach. “Joel, oh my god, I’m so sorry—“
His hand gravitates to your thigh, curling around it. He pulls it up, inserting his knee in between your legs and he griiiinds it into your clothed cunt. Your desperate apology is cut off by a reflexive wanton moan, your back arching as pleasure reverberates inside you.
“‘S okay, baby, I understand. So fuckin’ desperate you had to use me while I was sleepin’, huh? Didn’t get what you wanted earlier so now you’re searchin’ for somethin’ else, hm?”
His large hand finds your waist again, sliding down your stomach to inch beneath both your shorts and your panties now. You gasp as his fingertips find your clit easily.
“I’m just a ‘lil offended I wasn’t your first choice,” he chides, fingers slipping through your soaking folds. “But I like this much better than you findin’ some boy to get you off. You need’a be fucked by a man, darlin’. Ain’t that right?”
His words send heat straight to your core, thighs clenching around his knee as he ruts it against you while simultaneously stimulating your clit with his fingers.
“Yes, Joel,” you moan. “Need you.”
His teeth scrape against your throat when he growls, “Goddamn right you do.”
You can’t believe this is happening.
Joel slides his hand further into your panties, his middle finger curling in to sink into your soaked cunt. You choke on a gasp.
“Who’s the guy?” He asks, randomly, while his finger rocks into you.
You can’t think as Joel inserts his ring finger alongside the other, stretching you so deliciously. “W-what?”
“The boy you were gonna see tonight. Who is he?”
Who was it? Mark? Matt? And why does he care? You don’t know, you don’t care, only thoughts of Joel Joel Joel consume your waking being.
“I—I don’t know, Joel. Please, oh my god.”
He hums pityingly. “Poor thing can't even remember his name.” His other hand comes up to slide through your hair, gripping the locks at the nape of your neck. He tugs, and you melt. “I’ll make sure you don’t forget mine.”
He doesn’t need to worry about that.
Joel moves his thumb to circle your clit as he thrusts his thick, long fingers up and into you, curling them to hit that spot that has your heartbeat dropping between your thighs, desperate and loud and begging for release.
“Hhhoh— Joel!”
“Tha’s right, baby. So goddamn wet. You’ve been dealin’ with this for awhile now, huh?”
You nod into the pillow on a broken moan as his fingers withdraw and sink into you at a steady pace, his thumb circling and circling and circling.
“Words, baby.”
You cry out, hands gripping the pillow. “Yes, yes. Joel. Been wanting this f’so long.”
“Should’a come to me first. Would’a helped you out a long time ago,” he drawls.
Yes you absolutely should have, based on how quickly you’re approaching your orgasm.
Your cries are so loud, but you don’t care, focusing only on your pleasure and the feel of Joel’s mouth on your throat.
You’re finally getting what you want. And fuck, is it amazing.
Your eyes roll back as it all builds up inside you, Joel’s hand unrelenting as he fucks you closer and closer to the edge.
You’re scorching, everything hot and intense, your stomach tightening, your legs stretching out as the pleasure builds and builds.
Fuck, you’re gonna cum—
It rips through you violently, eyes prickling with tears, your thighs clenching as your walls bare down repeatedly around Joel’s fingers, making him groan.
“Good girl,” Joel murmurs, hand eventually inching out of you and your shorts to squeeze your thigh appreciatively as aftershocks run through you, thighs quaking and clit throbbing. “That’s what you needed, huh? S’it feel good, cummin’ all over my fingers?”
His fucking voice!
“Mhmm,” you hum in agreement, sinking into the sheets, eyes drooping shut as pleasure lulls you to sleep.
He tsks, “Wake up, darlin’ I ain’t done with you yet.”
His beard scrapes against your neck as he moves to your ear.
“It’s my turn to use you.”
Your eyes shoot open. Fuck.
Joel pulls your panties down your legs as far as he can, and you squirm to wriggle them off of you.
He pulls away for a moment, but when he’s back, the bare, hot, thick length of him is pressed between your ass cheeks, and a full body shudder runs through you.
Holy shit, he’s big.
He grips your thigh again, but this time he throws it over his own. And then you feel it, the slick head of his cock as he guides it through your folds.
Oh fuck.
“You okay, peach?” He asks, laying a gentle kiss on your shoulder. Now you have tears in your eyes for an entirely different reason. His hand slides across your waist and up beneath the hem of your shirt, palming your breast. Your nipples tighten.
Your mouth feels dry and you swallow down a lump of lava. “Y-yes, Joel.”
“Good. Wanna give you all of me, how’s that sound, darlin’?”
You will take whatever, anything you can get from Joel.
“Good, Joel. Yes, please, oh my god.”
“There are those manners.”
A desperate whine slips from your lips as he directs the head of his cock into you, slowly and carefully, his hand running up and down your thigh in comforting strokes. God, he’s stretching you so much, hot and thick and pulsing inside you. It’s almost painful, but it’s a welcome pain.
“Jesus, Joel,” you moan when he stops to let you breathe, “You’re so big.”
“I ain’t even halfway in yet, darlin’.”
“W-what?” How is that even possible?
“You can take it.” He says, sliding in some more and fuck you don’t have much of a choice. but you can, and you will because he feels too fucking good, and you’re ready for him to make you feel it into next week.
“Is…is it all the way in yet?” You ask, thoroughly stretched and filled.
“Almost, sweet girl,” he breathes. “Goddamn, you’re tight.”
That makes you clench down even more, and he releases a pained groan behind you. “Relax, darlin’, c’mon.”
You do your best and let yourself sink into the bed, taking deep breaths and concentrating on the crackling of the fire.
And then, he thrusts fully into you, filling you up completely, and your mind is right back to him, a soft cry slipping from your lips into the pillow.
“There we go, tha’s it. Good job. Taking me so well,” he croons, stroking your side.
“F-fuck me, Joel, please move.”
He squeezes your ass in his large palm in retaliation to your command. “You use me, I use you, remember?”
But he listens anyway, likely desperate to move himself, because then he’s gripping your hip with a large hand and pulling back just to sheath himself fully into you once more, his cock head bumping against your cervix, and holy fucking shit.
“Joel!” You cry, and he leans over to kiss you, teeth biting at your plump lower lip as he thrusts into you again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
He rolls into you at a steady, bruising pace, and you’re practically boneless as you just take it. Cries and whimpers and moans spilling out of you like a gas leak as he mouths down your throat, sucking and biting and oh my god this is way better than just getting yourself off on his hand.
Then Joel shifts, pushing at your side to press your stomach into the mattress. You whine as he pulls out of you to situate himself behind you. He grabs your hips with both hands and pulls them up and backwards, easing himself back into you until your ass meets his skin, then he rolls his hips, driving his cock deep from a brand new angle.
All you can do is sob into the pillow.
He’s so fucking big, so fucking deep you can’t think of anything else besides him and his wonderful cock, or the filthy things he’s whispering into your shoulder blades.
His large hand plants itself on your spine, and your hands scramble for purchase on a pillow.
“Sweet girl, taking me so fuckin’ well,” he purrs. “You were desperate for this cock, huh? God, I wish you could see yourself. Split open on me like this. Your little boy toy wouldn’t be able to fuck you like this, ain’t that right?"
You shake your head. God, why did you even make that dick appointment in the first place?
You hadn’t even realized what being fucked by a “real man” meant until now.
Joel knows how to fucking deliver, you guess that’s why he’s so successful in his contracting business. He’s delivering you straight to that blessed release.
You clench around the girth of him, the filthy sounds of your arousal echoing in his room along with the cracks and snaps from the fire burning steadily in the hearth.
If you couldn’t sleep before, you definitely will be able to after this because you’re mindless as he fucks you into oblivion.
“Joel, fuck—mmph—!”
“Yeah, that’s right. Can’t say anythin’ but my name.”
His breathing has become more labored, desperate grunts escaping his lips as his cock twitches inside of you. He’s getting close, deep and gravely moans falling out of him as his thrusts become harder and more sporadic.
His hand sneaks around your front, spanning your entire stomach as he slides down to your soaking folds, his middle and ring finger finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and giving them a gentle tap before circling, using that same method from before that had you squirming.
You writhe on his length, legs falling out beneath you as your orgasm swells within you.
“Please Joel,” you whimper into the pillow.
“I’ve got you,” he promises.
It’s there, filling your body, building and cresting and searing white-hot through your limbs.
And then he thrusts a certain way, hitting that spot within you, and his fingers are circling and—
Yeah.
You fall boneless to the mattress as you come apart, your arousal coating Joel’s cock as he continues to fuck you through your release, stroking your spine. Pleasure floods through your body as the tension releases, and tears freely fall as you cry into the pillow.
Because goddamn it!
How can something feel so good?
And then Joel’s pulling out of you and letting loose a long, satisfied moan as he comes all over your back, hot stripes painting you.
He collapses next to you, groaning something about his back.
And you can’t help but laugh, delirious and soft, and Joel’s laughing too, brown eyes sparkling. His calloused hand comes up, runs his thumb along your jaw, and he’s smiling at you, soft and unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.
“You alright, peach?”
“Ohhh yeah,” you giggle, sighing with contentment.
You’re gonna be feeling this for days, just like you wanted.
Joel’s lips brush against your forehead gently, and you’re too tired to acknowledge it, slumber pulling you under far too quickly. You think you can feel the gentle swipe of a wet washcloth on your back before you pass out.
-----
“Fuck…”
The bed is empty when you wake, and a spike of anxiety shoots through you as you sit up. A fire still crackles in the hearth, a fresh log dropped in the ash. On the night stand is a note, beneath it, one of Joel’s t-shirts, your jeans, and a pair of your underwear.
Mortification climbs through you as you read:
Peach,
My bathroom’s on the left if you’d like to shower. I hope you don’t mind, I went through your bag to get you some panties underwear. Lot of books in there. You sure like to read.
Oh god, he found your erotica stack. The covers are not misleading, either, he definitely knows what kind of books they are. You force yourself to keep reading through the humiliation.
I’m out picking up Sarah and Ellie, I’ll be home soon. There’s pancakes on the counter. We’ll tow your car when I get back.
Also–about last night…we don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to. But, I want you to know that if you ever need something like that again, I’m here. And for anything else. I’m here. Always.
See you soon.
Warmth fills your body and you reread those last sentences over and over.
Always. Does he really mean that?
You check the alarm clock on his nightstand–it’s eleven fucking a.m. Holy shit, you haven’t slept that late in a long time.
When you stand, an ache radiates through you, and memories of last night flit in your mind and along with them, a fresh new wave of arousal. You scramble for the shower.
You emerge fresh and clean twenty minutes later, smelling like Joel, having only his body wash and shampoo to use. Each inhale is practically torture, and the ache between your legs is just another reminder. Seeing yourself in his shirt makes it worse. You try and push it away.
You descend the steps, halting when you hear the sound of Ellie’s voice from the kitchen.
“And I was like, pew pew! And I got both of them out!”
Sarah’s scoff of disbelief follows. “Nuh-uh! You didn’t even hit me!”
You creep down the steps, smiling a bit at Ellie’s outcry of “Yes I fucking did!”, and then you hear it–Joel’s low laugh, the Texan drawl.
“You kiddos are gonna drive me crazy. Just eat your damn pancakes.”
“Why’d you make these in the first place? You don’t even like pancakes,” Sarah teases.
“Uh…”
You decide you should probably help him out. “Hey girls.”
Three heads snap in your direction. The eyes of one skirting down your body, a blush creeping across his cheeks. The other two brighten in shock.
“What are you doing here!” Ellie gasps.
“We haven’t seen you in forever!” Sarah adds.
You enter the kitchen and come up behind them to pull them in for a hug, your arms hooking around their necks. You smush their cheeks against yours. Ellie grumbles, Sarah laughs.
“I know! I’ve missed you guys so much. I’m just super busy with being an adult and all that shit,” you say, letting them go so they can breathe. You round the island, grabbing a plate and stacking two pancakes on it.
“Well, stop being busy. We miss you,” Ellie says.
“If I could, I would.”
“Why are you wearing Dad’s shirt?” Sarah asks, eyes narrowing, a mischievous smile pulling at her lips.
“I–um–” the question catches you off guard, and you scramble for an excuse, eyes flicking to Joel desperately. He clears his throat and crosses his arms over his broad chest, now covered in yet another, dark flannel. How many does he own?
“Snowstorm stranded her here last night, and she didn’t have any clean clothes,” Joel says, definitively.
It’s not a lie at all, and yet, it feels like one.
Sarah and Ellie exchange a look that says, yeah fucking right. You shovel pancake into your mouth to try and cool down the blush in your cheeks.
“Speakin’ of,” he continues, “I’ve got the tow dolly all hooked up so when you’re done, we can tow your car out.”
“Great. Thank you, Joel.”
His brown eyes flick between yours, his hand coming up to rest large and warm on your shoulder. “‘Course, sweetheart.”
You finish your pancakes without any more embarrassing questions from the girls, thank God, and then you’re out in the snow wearing a pair of Joel’s boots stuffed with socks (they’re too big, but they’re better than heels) and bundled up in one of his coats, watching Joel tow your tiny car out of the snowbank.
It’s just as cold as yesterday, though the dreary sky has cleared into a baby blue, the sun bright and high above the clouds. The roads are clearer, the snow plows having come by not too long ago.
You grimace as you hear your car groan and creak as Joel pulls it out of the snow, big puffs of it falling off the roof in clumps. Eventually, it’s on solid ground once more, and he tows it back toward his cabin.
Back in the driveway, Joel hops out of his truck and double checks your car. He pats the roof of it when he deems it accetable. “All good to go, sweetheart.”
You sigh in relief, “Thank you so much Joel, seriously.”
He nods, though he looks…nervous for some reason. “‘Course, darlin’. Glad I could help.”
You don’t really want to leave, but you’ve bothered him long enough, so you stroll to the driver's side and go to open it, but suddenly Joel’s hand comes down to keep it closed. You look up at him confused.
His expression is hard, serious as he looks down at you. “Do you regret last night?”
Well. You were not expecting that. You thought that, maybe, it would just remain undiscussed. A blip. Something you both shared, but never spoke of again. You know your answer, though.
“No. I don’t.”
“Good,” he says, eyes dark, “me either.”
He opens the door for you, pauses for a second then shuts it, voice desperate. “I just need to say this, before you go.”
You nod, encouraging him to go on.
He takes a deep breath, rakes a hand through his graying locks. Pinches the bridge of his nose, and shuts his eyes tight. When he opens them again, there's a hard determination in them. Your pulse quickens, your legs turn to jelly.
“I like you, peach,” he says. “I understand if you don’t want to be with me because of the whole single father thing. And, also because I’m me. But I just thought I’d tell you how I felt, because,” he huffs out a laugh, shakes his head, “I’m thinkin’ you might like me, too.”
Your hands are shaking, and not because of the cold. Maybe you should buy a lottery ticket with how lucky you've been these past fifteen hours.
“I’ve liked you since the moment I met you, Joel," you confess.
“Oh,” he says, breathless, and a smile pulls at his lips.
“Yeah,” you breathe, your own grin forming to match his.
The breeze shakes the evergreens, drifting flakes of snow onto Joel’s graying hair. His nose is reddened by the biting cold, but his eyes are warm as he smiles down at you.
“Not gonna lie to you sweetheart, I’m kind of glad you got stranded here.”
"Yeah, me too," you laugh, and then you pull him down to you, pressing your lips against his, smiling into the kiss.
This kiss is the exact opposite of the one he gave you last night. It’s careful, sweet, tentative. He reveres your mouth, rather than ravishes it. You’re both bundled in multiple layers, standing in the freezing cold rather than lying naked in a warm bed.
And yet, it’s just as perfect, if not more.
Eventually Joel pulls back, hands heavy on your waist. He’s still grinning. His hands frame your face, his thumb running softly along your cheekbone.
“Peach,” he says. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#tlou#tlou fic#pedro pascal#joel miller smut#joel miller
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The Affair - Chapter 1 (Larissa/Reader)
Hiya! As part of my weekly writing challenge, I wrote this chapter over two writing sessions, and I chose not to wait for the fic to be finished before posting. It'll probably be a couple of chapters all together.
Pairing: Larissa Weems/You Rating: Mature
Tags: Morally Ambiguous Character, Swearing, Boss/Employee Relationship, Infidelity, Second-person POV, Teacher Reader.
Link to AO3 in the title
The Affair - Chapter 1
Waiting in the snow for a married woman , you thought, moodily pulling your scarf up to cover your freezing nose as yet another car passed, how the fuck did my life come to this?
You had never been one for thrills in life. If anything, you had been pretty boring: you’d always liked English class at school, always got straight As, never stepped a foot out of line. You never felt the need to, nor the appeal of being rebellious. You’d gone on to get a bachelor’s degree and teacher’s certification, and then you’d gone on to teach English in a string of small town schools.
There was only one aspect out of the ordinary in your life up until now; you could never settle down in one place.. You felt a restlessness, a pull towards something you still hadn’t found, and after a couple of years in a place, it inevitably built up until it was too strong to resist. And so you packed your bags, applied for a job somewhere else, and started anew.
You didn’t think Jericho would be much different. Small town, 5 thousand inhabitants, only spots of interest a tacky historical reconstruction site and a school full of outcasts. The same one you had applied to. Nothing much to offer. You’d give it a year or two at most.
You didn’t really care about the fact that you were teaching outcasts. They might drink blood or howl at the moon or whatever in their spare time, but they were teenagers that had to learn to write a proper essay just like anyone else. You prided yourself in your work ethic and told that to the board when they interviewed you. Apparently they appreciated that. Or there was nobody else who had applied. There had been some accidents during the last school year, apparently. The board had repeated several times that it had been a one-off and it had been taken care of definitively.They had all seemed very defensive about the topic.
Once again, you shrugged it off. You had no time to waste on rumors and things of the past. The school had its quirks, sure, but all schools had, each in their own way. You settled in your quarters on the school grounds, and started reviewing your lesson plans taking into account the notes left by the previous teacher. You settled in for your usual routine of lessons, tests, marking that you were familiar with by now.
And then she barged into your life, throwing routine and predictability to the wind.
Even with your aversion to gossip, you’d heard about her. Larissa Weems, the best principal Nevermore had ever had, mysteriously injured in the line of work, supposedly trying to protect the school, and hospitalized for months after that. When talking about her, voices dropped to a whisper out of respect - or fear, you hadn’t been able to ascertain that.
The day she had come back, you’d have thought royalty was about to visit the school, with the amount of fretting, of preparations, of nervous energy filling the halls and rooms. You’d had to let your classes work on assignments because they had been unable to listen to one word of what you were explaining. You had rolled your eyes in the privacy of your room. Seriously, you’d seen plenty of disruptive principals in your years of teaching, but one who could be so distracting even before she had set foot back in school? That was a first.
You felt obliged to show up as well to the welcoming committee. The whole staff was there, as well as the student body. Some had even prepared signs, and there was a white banner draped along the balcony on which was written, in red paint, a very wonky Welcome back Princ. Weems .
It was cute that she was so beloved by her school, you thought, but you were also thinking of how to recover the day of missed lessons, and how to optimize the next days’ so as to go back on track. You tried not to be too miffed about it.
All of the thoughts of lesson plans and all of the lingering irritation at them being disrupted fled your brain at the sight of the first foot stepping out of the car. Shiny, varnished black shoes, showing off a milky ankle, and a shapely calf that look longer than any you’d seen (not that you made a point of looking at women’s legs all the time, but sometimes your eyes did wander…)
The skin on show was sadly cut off below the knee by the modest hemline of a woolen dress and it was at that point that Nevermore’s principal exited the car in all of her towering beauty, and your mind went completely blank, cause in all of their gossip everyone in Nevermore had forgotten to mention a small, key detail about the principal.
She was stunning.
The most beautiful woman you’d ever seen was standing before you, waving and smiling regally, as the whole school cheered. You almost didn’t notice all the jubilant ruckus, your eyes too busy raking all over her figure, as if trying to commit every single detail to memory. Her slender, elegant hands, wrapped in leather gloves. The perfectly-tailored coat, in the same fabric and color as the dress. The sparkle of her gold jewelry in the pale winter sun. The perfect proportion of her face, the way the bright red lipstick brought attention to her smile.
Her light eyes were roaming all over the crowd, as if taking stock of known faces and new entries. Finally her gaze fixed on you, and you could see a spark of amusement flicker on her face at seeing you.
You belatedly realized that you had been gaping at her like a fish out of water.
The day after you had still been beating yourself up about the humiliation at being caught slack-jawed staring at your boss when she visited you in your classroom after you were done with the day’s lessons.
She rapped against the doorframe, but strode in before you could say anything. You scrambled to your feet, awkwardly, while she covered the distance from the door to your desk in a couple of long steps. She was wearing another dress today, a tartan dress with a belt that cinched her waist, underlying the shape of her hips and chest while still being completely work-appropriate.
“So you’re the new teacher they have hired to replace poor Collins.” It wasn’t a question, but you nodded anyway. “I’m Larissa Weems. Usually, I have the final word on new hires. The board does a wonderful job but sometimes they lack a certain sort of practicality in their assessment of candidates, as it happened with the last hire. I wasn’t convinced by her spiel, but the board insisted and…well. I should have trusted my gut instinct.” Her eyes grew distant for a second, before focusing back on you with a hard gaze. You could see the speckles of lighter and darker blue mixing in her irises, and the perfectly applied make-up that highlighted their natural beauty. You tried to shake yourself out of her charm. She could be trying to fire you, and you were busy ogling her! That’s not the kind of person you were! You cleared your voice, trying to think up something to say to help your case.
“I…”
“I know you have been hired already, and I am sure you are a perfect fit for the role. I’d just like to have a little chat together, nothing too formal, just getting to know each other a little bit better.” She smiled as she said that, and while you were sure it was supposed to be a polite smile, you couldn’t help the shiver that went down your spine at that.
She looks like a predator closing in on prey , your mind unhelpfully suggested.
You swallowed, suddenly conscious of your sweaty palms and increasing heart rate.
“O-of course, ma'am." was all you could meekily say.
"Perfect." she purred. "Meet me at seven sharp at the Lilac Lounge. I'll have a private booth reserved."
To be continued...
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#dianneking writes#dianneking fanfiction#larissa weems#larissa weems fanfiction#gwendoline christie#gwendoline christie fanfiction#dragonmist fanfiction#cross posted on ao3#larissa weems/reader#larissa weems x reader
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SNOWFLAKES IN MY STOMACH WHEN WE'RE KISSING
summary - spending the holidays with jake's family isn't always smooth sailing, but little else matters when you're grossly in love.
(also - jake dresses up as santa for his nieces and nephews, you're real into it.)
pairing - jake seresin x (fem!)reader
word count - 2.7k
rating - nsfw content, 18+, mdni!
content warnings & tags - no use of (y/n) / mostly fluff / jake being super in love / jake's family celebrates christmas / very brief angst / me being incapable of giving jake a good childhood / brief mention of childhood abuse / swearing / alcohol consumption / dash of smut / fingering / lmk if i missed anything!
a/n: a little belated christmas one shot for you all. reblogs, comments, and likes super appreciated!
TOP GUN MASTERLIST / LIBRARY BLOG
Heat audibly blasts through the vents, the entire house sweltering. A solid summer day indoors. His mother won’t even let anyone touch the thermostat. In her defense, she grew up without a lick of snow on the ground and now it’s fifteen degrees in December, a real white Christmas.
Which isn’t exactly ideal for Jake considering he’s been roped into wearing a Santa suit for his young nieces and nephews. The suit is all red polyester—the least breathable material known to man—and thick faux fur cuffs. It’s causing him to start perspiring where sweat simply shouldn't be, his white undershirt clinging to his back and his crack.
“It’s too goddamn hot in this thing.”
Unbuttoning the jacket, he airs it out, the relief near immediate.
Over his shoulder, he catches sight of you lounging on the guest bed—the one his mother oddly insisted that you could share—odd because that’s been a hard and fast rule for all the non-married seresin kids since his older sister began dating.
When she’d pointed him to the room, he’d paused, waiting for her to tell him which room would be yours, separately. Exactly like the sole previous time a girlfriend had stayed the night, way back in college, he figured you’d be placed in the room past his parents so no premarital shenanigans would occur. When that moment didn’t come, he’d stood there stupefied till you bumped his hip, nodding in the direction of the room.
Then he found out that with his brother and sister, their spouses and kids, and a few stray cousins and aunts staying, every other room was already occupied tenfold when he showed up with you in tow.
He wasn’t sure if he would actually come down until a few days before, on the fence about spending so much time packed together with his family. But you’d volunteered to go along with him, meeting everyone besides his mother for the first time. Offering yourself up as a buffer.
It gives him pause less and less, just how much you care about him. Warmth spreads through him at the memory.
He was thankful that you had a bunch of airline credit banked, otherwise booking so late during the peak holiday season flights would’ve cost an arm and a leg.
Your feet kick back and forth as your eyes drag up his back, not put off in the slightest by his melting-like-frosty-the-snowman state, meeting his gaze with a heat you don’t attempt to hide. His irritation at the outfit dispels at your attention, melting away into something far sweeter.
“Is this doing it for you?”
“Oh,” your voice strained, “yeah, absolutely.”
And while there’s a bit of humor to the whole situation, what with the whole ‘being dressed as Old Saint Nick’ thing, your attraction to him isn’t a joke in the slightest. Sweaty, sunburned, exhausted. You seem to take a liking to any form Jake comes in.
You continue, twirling your finger in a slow, instructive circle, humor alighting in your eyes, “Do a little twirl for me, baby.”
He laughs but gives in to your borderline indecent direction, turning steadily on his heel. He does a slow three-sixty, letting the jacket fall to his waist so your eyes can freely roam. Turning back to you, he takes you in the sight of you before he closes the gap, crawling over you to give you a kiss.
Things are so simple with you, you never make him work for your affection, it’s always present, even in your teasing. He doesn’t feel that pang of being inadequate that his father instilled in him when he was young—the pang that he let drive him for far too long into his adulthood. He can breathe right around you, loosen his tongue, soften his words. He can be a good man, not just a good pilot.
He loves you. You love him. Everything is right in the world.
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The kids love the whole theatrics of him dressing up like Santa, faux beard, and all. He answers their inquiries into whether or not he’s their uncle Jake with a falsely grandiose tone, handing them their presents—you’re not sure if they fully buy into it, but they all seem to be having fun.
Sipping on a mug of coffee, warm in your palms, you watch him from afar as he juggles holding two of his nieces, one dangling off of his arm like it's a monkey bar and the other calmly being held on his hip.
Ainsley and Avery—without judgment, you wonder what the reasoning is to name all your kids with the same first letter, like Pokemon evolutions.
“He’s always been good with them. Kids.”
Ah, the dreaded (potential) future mother-in-law ambushing you about kids part of the day. You had that penciled in for sometime around… now, generally. You look over at her. She looks back at you with a familiar glint in her eye. God, Jake looks just like her, same straight nose and dimpled smile and hooded eyes.
Mae doesn’t mean any ill will. You’re aware. But it all still settles ominously on your shoulders. The breadth of the unknown, what the future could hold, kids or not—whether or not you and Jake will even get that far, you hope so.
You nod slowly, calmly noting, “That’s not surprising.”
You see the way he is with them, how much they adore him. It’s a nice picture. But you're both still undecided on whether that’s one that you want of your own.
She seems to detect that you’re not going to humor her about the subject, dropping it. She looks at your empty mug, “Do you want a refill?”
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You casually gesture to the sprig taped to the doorjamb above you, “Is that what you were up to earlier?”
You note the little red berries, the toothed leaves, and the bush-like appearance.
“Maybe.” With a self-satisfied smile, he shrugs. His large palms grip at your waist, gently pushing you against the doorway.
You scratch at your cheek. “You know that’s not mistletoe, right?”
Holly. It's a frequent mistake, mostly from movies that wanted something to hang with a little more visual pop than actual mistletoe. He sighs, head falling back as he glares up at the traitorous plant. You’d never pass up the chance to poke a little fun at him, but now you want to bring the smile back to his face.
You poke at his side, bringing those pretty green eyes back to you, “But I suppose I can spare a kiss regardless.”
A smile creeps onto his face, warmth clear in his gaze. He leans his weight into you, not enough to crush but enough to let you feel all of him. Tilting his head, his voice drops as he questions, “Oh, will you make an exception? Bend the rules? For little ‘ol me?”
Breathing the same air, his nose nearly brushes yours. Everything but him, every sound and sight is extraneous—it all just turns to static.
You hum in agreement, “For you.” You brush the pads of your fingers along his cheekbone, intentionally gentle, enjoying the way his lashes flutter at the gesture. “Now give me a kiss.”
Like the ever-dutiful soldier he is, he dips his head in assent, “Yes, ma’am.”
He takes the green light, gently molding his mouth to yours.
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His sixteen-year-old nephew, Sam, heckles him across the dinner table, quietly calling him a “fucking simp” as he hands you a refill of eggnog with a quick peck—that becomes two or three at his insistence, his lips chasing yours. His tone isn’t cruel, just an attempt at embarrassing his uncle.
He gets a smack upside the head from his dad—Jake’s older brother, Matt—for the language at the table, quick and sharp. Recycled material from their own childhoods. He tries to suppress the instinctual flinch, annoyance burning in his chest at how years later his heart is still sent racing. Jake wonders if he too, will become like their father. If it’s unavoidable. Something built into him. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree with his brother.
He knows that he has the capacity for cruelty in him and though it doesn't come as quickly these days, he still has to make an active effort to not be a dick sometimes, especially with Bradshaw.
And then, a hand, warm and stabilizing, slides across his thigh, squeezing tenderly. His eyes bounce around the table, everyone pointedly looking at their plates, just like when they were young and his father thought that one of them needed corporal punishment for acting like a kid.
Except for you, whose eyes are focused on Jake with so much understanding that he can’t help but knock his boot into his brothers.
“Don't do that shit.”
A tense moment follows. The clatter of forks stop, drinks pause at lips, and everyone’s eyes plant on him, perplexed that it’s been acknowledged in the slightest. Matt levels a stare back at him, and he wonders if he’s going to hear their dad’s signature line come out of his brother’s mouth—don’t tell me how to discipline my kids—leveled at anyone who ever expressed concern for the way their father treated them, teachers, other parents, their own mom.
His brother is the one to blink first, dropping his eyes down to his plate as he stabs at a piece of asparagus. The festivities resume around them. Quieter.
It’s not a real acknowledgment. But he’s drawn a line in the sand.
Sam continues looking at him for a few more moments. He wonders if his nephew knows just how similar their childhoods were, why his father is the way that he is. Not that it would make it better, but it might help him to know that it’s not him, some fault of his own.
Jake always thought that it was him. He knows a little better now.
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After all the kids have been bundled up in beds and the adults break out the liquor, it doesn't take long for Jake to crash. Sprawled on the couch next to you, his arm draped around your shoulder becomes less of a pleasant weight and more of a log hanging around your neck.
You tap his stomach, softer and less-toned after the holidays—at your insistence that he actually eats some sugar for once and doesn’t, under any circumstances, wake you up at five am during your vacation so he can go for a run. You’re glad that he’s taken the threat seriously, that he’s taking it easy and actually relaxing while you’re here. He grumbles at your touch but barely stirs, about eighty percent tired, twenty-percent drunk.
“Christ, when did he become such a lightweight?” His brother directs his jibe disguised as a question to you.
Rolling your eyes, you sigh, standing up. You pat his thigh, holding your hands out. “Up and at ‘em, lieutenant.”
His eyes peel open at the use of his rank. Blinking awake, he flops his hands into yours, not taking a strong grip. You're thankful for the fact that he barely relies on you to help himself stand, swaying minorly as he does so. You’re not particularly eager to see what’d happen if you had to haul all two hundred pounds of Jake upright on your own.
You both trod up the stairs. His hand caressing the silver tinsel wrapped around the banister as you go, the Christmas lights hung from it setting the staircase in a warm glow. With your arm looped around his waist and his looped around yours, you make slow progress towards the room at the end of the hall.
He toes off his boots as you shut the door to the bedroom, flopping backward onto the bed. Eyes fluttering sleepily, a hint of a smile on his face, he sighs out a breath. Voicing his inner thoughts aloud, his voice is gentle, “I'm so happy.”
The statement settles sweetly in the air.
Taking hold of your hand, he pulls you on top of him. His eyes heavy, he isn’t particularly conscientious about where you’re going to land, so you have to catch yourself before you knee him in the dick. Straddling him, you find your place in his lap. Affection, as it always does, blooms in your chest at the sight of him.
“Are you as happy as I am?” His question is gently curious, none of his old insecurity laced through.
You slowly nod, hands smoothing over his chest as you lean over him. “Yeah, I really am.”
Under your palms, you can feel him huff a pleased sigh.
Large hands land on your thighs, smoothing up and down the bare skin under the hem of your skirt. His eyes roam over your figure, from your legs, your waist, your chest, finally landing on your face, “You look so pretty. Have I told you that?”
Suppressing your smile, you squint as you tilt your head, imitating deep thought. You hum, “Mm, about twenty times today.”
“I think you could stand to hear it one more time.” He sits up on his elbows with surprising swiftness, his nose brushing along your cheek before his lips settle next to your ear, “You are so pretty.”
He pulls back just enough to kiss you, lips gliding softly over yours. He tastes like rum and vanilla. Under you, you feel him grow half hard. It’s one of the things that you never really expected from him, just how needy of a drunk he is.
He slips his tongue into your mouth, large palms squeezing at your hips as he guides you to rock over him. His breaths mingle with your own as he pulls back, panting, “You wet for me?”
Rucking up your skirt past your hips, his hand slips into your underwear and he swipes two fingers through the wetness collected there before you can—for the sake of his sleep schedule—gently turn him down. You fold over him, smothering your moan into his shoulder as he pushes in, his palm immediately harshly grinding against your clit. With your own buzz sliding through your body, you melt into the pleasure, task entirely forgotten.
Burning heat spreads through your core, your cunt clamping down around his fingers. It’s so good—it’s always this way, like he’s read the manual on your body. Slick sounds echo in the otherwise quiet room; your gut twists, high building.
Just as you're about to fall over the edge his movements slow, and the peak he was working you to begins to dissipate. But you're left on the edge as his brain seems to intermittently connect to its previous task, working over your pulsing clit. Your hips kick into his palm, the not quite enough stimulation tortuous. You try to roll off of him, but the arm around your back stays put. He grumbles for a moment. You nearly yelp at a shift of his palm shoots electricity up your spine.
You shake his shoulder, “Jake, Jake.”
“Mm,” he hums, “no, no.” He blinks himself only half-awake, eyes still drooping, “Second wind.”
You reach behind your back, sliding his arm from around you, pressing it to his chest. You draw his hand out from under you, the drag of his fingers sending waves of heat through you. Pressing a kiss under his jaw, you whisper, “Go to sleep.”
Eyes still closed he slides the fingers that were just inside you past his lips, casually cleaning your arousal off them. You have to pretend like that doesn't make your cunt pulse with need. He rolls onto his side, then mumbles into the pillow, “Fine, but I’m going to rock your world in the morning.”
You pat his stomach, placating him—sure that in the morning he’ll remember that he’s surrounded by his parents, siblings, and their offspring, that the walls are a little too thin for what he wants to do to you.
You collapse on the bed beside him, already nodding off.
You're proven wrong in the morning. He sends you over the edge twice with his head trapped between your thighs and his palm sealed over your mouth. And at breakfast, you have to play off the flush he carries as the AC putting out too much heat, smiles barely suppressed.
e/n: thank you for reading!
tagging those who liked the teaser: @mamachasesmayhem @pricelessemotion @sorchathered @dizzybee03 @always-and-forever-at @ofstoriesandstardust @sunlightmurdock @withahappyrefrain @aworldwideapart @shamelessghostwagonwobbler
#jake seresin#jake hangman seresin#jake seresin x reader#jake seresin x you#jake seresin fic#top gun fandom#top gun fanfiction#top gun maverick#top gun maverick fic#my writing
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𝐈'𝐌 (𝐂)𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒 ⌇ wanda maximoff
summary: when they said 'white christmas', you thought it meant being covered in snow. not...... this.
☰ PAIRING: sub!wanda x dom!gn!reader
☰ TAGS: modern!au, smut (18+), first times, loss of virginity, corruption, rough sex, body worship, teasing, fingering, nipple play, you make wanda squirt for the first time, then you overstimulate her 'cause you're a fuckin' tease
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pining for wanda maximoff was one thing, but being best friends with her troublemaker twin brother pietro was a whole ‘nother hurdle you couldn’t leap over.
she was so alluring, in the best and worst sense. with the wide emerald eyes and the little skirts she wore and the adorable nose scrunch.
pietro would probably kill you if he found out what was going on inside your creative imagination every time you went over to his place (which he shared with wanda).
in your defense, it had started as something innocent: stumbling into her the first time you went over to hang out with pietro, with bashful apologies and not-so-hidden blushes. she had looked at you in a wondrous awe, green eyes sparkling with hidden intent.
then you started coming over more often, and you started stumbling into her more often. it was totally unintentional, though. definitely…
“oi, help me put up the decorations!” pietro called out to you from the living room. december had swung round again, and you were helping the maximoffs prepare for the jolly season of christmas.
when you entered the living room, you were enraptured by the many colourful decorations, the center of attention being the huge christmas tree. it was adorned with silver and red ornaments, not to forget the myriad of wrapped presents under its evergreen leaves.
to your right, wanda was standing on her tip-toes, trying to put a wreath on a part of the wall she couldn’t quite reach. you quickly scanned your surroundings, to find that pietro was preoccupied with something else.
seizing the opportune moment, you approached the redhead from behind. you reached up to help her hold the wreath, smiling as she let out a soft gasp at your presence.
“may i?” you asked wanda softly, your warm breath hitting her skin. the redhead quickly nodded, looking down, the tips of her ears burning a bright red. as you stood behind her, you saw her thighs clench deliciously and your eyes darkened, a smirk finding its way onto your face.
guess wanda wasn’t that innocent.
as you placed the wreath above your heads, you allowed your crotch to brush against her ass for the slightest moment. “there you go,” you murmured softly, right above wanda’s ear.
you swore you saw wanda bite her lip, but then pietro was coming towards the two of you, and the moment had ended as quickly as it had begun.
later that day after the festivities and a hearty dinner, you and the maximoff twins were settled down to watch a movie.
right as you were about to hit play on ‘home alone’, pietro jumped up from his seat, clutching his phone while staring at it with a horrified expression.
“what is it?” wanda asked concernedly at his frantic state.
“oh shit, i left my car at the car wash!”
“what the- how-”
“no, trust me, i’m not dumb. so i went to bring my car for a wash, but then i wanted to eat sour patch kids, so i went to the convenience store at the petrol kiosk, but then there were no sour patch kids, so i ran to the supermarket, but then after buying them i forgot about my car, so i just went back home, thinking i had gone to the grocery store on a regular occasion-”
“that is quite dumb.” wanda interrupts, a grin forming on her face. you would’ve agreed wholeheartedly, if not for the fit of crushing laughter overtaking your body.
wanda watches you with a certain amusement, and by the time you’ve stopped making fun of your best friend, he was already out of the house, the door nearly swinging off its hinges.
you and wanda were left alone in the living room, the only sounds being michael buble and shania twain’s rendition of ‘white christmas’ playing over the sound speaker.
you knew it was wrong, but some slightly predatory thoughts of wanda were swimming in your head as you stared at the redhead, the image of her bending her to your will and doing as you wished lingering. she was just so perfect, so sweet, so innocent, so-
“do you want to continue the movie?” wanda asked you softly, reaching up to run a hand along the side of your cheek. you froze at her sudden boldness, and it seemed like she did too.
“okay,” you managed to say, shielding the stutter that threatened to make its appearance. but before wanda could retract her hand in embarrassment, you seized it, pulling her onto your lap.
wanda’s little breathy gasp sent a jolt of arousal right down to your core. you could see her bashfulness, afraid to even turn around to look at you. but then she shifted in your lap, leaning back to rest her head on your shoulders, making it clear she was definitely not opposed to the idea.
letting out a small huff of satisfaction, you wrapped an arm around her stomach, pulling wanda in even closer.
albeit rather shy at first, wanda warmed up to your bold touches quickly throughout the movie. she seemed more than content with letting your hands glide mindlessly across her stomach and her thighs, in circular motions that drove her insane.
after long moments of a heated atmosphere with palpable sexual tension, wanda let out an addicting whine when your fingers slipped under the hem of her sweater.
you smile at her mischievously, even though you know she can't see you. but it's your laugh that fucks her up in the best way possible: warm breath painting the back of her neck, a rasp that's practically ear candy in close proximity, and-
"would you?" you ask seriously, breaking the ice first, though rather slowly.
wanda gets snapped out of her mind whirl, still struggling yet turned on by the fact that she can't see you. it heightens her other senses, and she's so unbelievably turned on she think she might die.
"...would i what?" wanda dares to ask, her breath picking up but refusing to stutter.
you don't respond for a while. you want to ruin her, but you want to prolong her suffering. the sound of wanda's shallow breaths echoes in your ears.
finally, you reach up to cup wanda’s face from behind, using your thumb to press down on her bottom lip.
wanda lets out an honest-to-god whimper from the back of her throat. in that moment, she freezes, completely stilling in your arms, half terrified and fully aroused.
well, fuck.
your grip on wanda’s hip becomes downright possessive, short nails digging into her hipbone. wanda gasps breathily, and you lean closer, much closer, lips brushing against the back of wanda's ear piercing, then murmuring directly into her ear.
“would you let me fuck you right now, wanda?"
the redhead could have sworn the entirety of her bring ascended then. her heartbeat was drumming in her ears. "i- uh," she mutters unintelligibly, throat running dry when you forcefully pulls her hips closer.
despite your close proximity, you never fail to see the way wanda's thighs clench, and it excites you.
you're probably wrong for wanting this, for wanting to fuck wanda senseless, when you'd only met a few weeks ago. but it's hard to resist, when the redhead bucks against your thigh, when she's already acting so flustered.
"haven't answered me yet, love," you remind wanda, tracing your fingertips over her cold skin, slowly going higher and higher up her sweater.
obviously, wanda thinks, the logical reasoning would be to say no. even though you're smoking hot, you did after all just meet a few weeks ago. and to do it in her brother's house? with his best friend? insane. absolutely, no way in hell, would she ever-
“y-yeah. sure, i mean. uhm.” wanda answers, evidently embarrassed. “if you want to.”
and that's how you ended up with your fingers buried knuckle-deep inside wanda maximoff's cunt.
fascinating, you know, but it had worked nonetheless, so who was to blame you?
wanda was rather hesitant of her inexperience at first, it being an insecurity to her. but it has quite the opposite effect on you.
"you're such a good girl," you groaned, praising the redhead who was writhing below you. you take pleasure in the way she squirmed, so shy yet so needy.
desperate pants echoed around the living room, pleads for alleviation leaving wanda’s lips, as the feeling of pleasure flooded every one of her senses.
the movie was long forgotten, and the only thing that currently existed in your world was wanda maximoff.
the fast yet careful pace of slender fingers thrusting in and out of her dripping sex had wanda seeing stars. her thighs were obediently spread out on the sofa, your steady hands never failing to keep them open.
not like it would’ve been necessary, anyway, considering wanda's utter pliancy and churning need for that overwhelming feeling to never end, for you cruelly delightful ministrations to bring her over the edge.
“you like that, sweetheart?” you asked, your other hand leaving her thigh to slip off her sweater with some difficulty and tugging at her hardened nipple. wanda’s breathy moans got louder, instinctively clenching around your fingers harder.
wanda couldn’t bring herself to say anything, not when her state of mind was in a blissful paradise. you tilted her face up to stare at her clouded eyes.
when wanda’s eyelids fluttered open, to be greeted by the sight of your deliciously darkened eyes, sucking your own fingers off of her juices, she nearly came then and there.
“please,” she whispered, trying to bring up her hips for more.
“i know, i know,” you murmured, never stopping your sinful work, driving your fingers deeper and harder each time. at a particularly harsh curl of your fingers, wanda arched off the sofa, letting out a scream that rang in your head.
“oh, i need it,” wanda whined, as you hit that spot again. you kissed off the tears on the side of wanda’s eyes, looking at her beauty with a wondrous awe.
“mhm, what do you need?” you asked with a teasing lilt, purposefully leaving your fingers in a way she wouldn’t be able to cum just yet. wanda groaned in frustration, but you held your own.
“i need to-” she was cut off when you leaned forward to suck purple bruises into her porcelain skin, as she struggled with the distraction. “i want- oh, right there.”
you began sucking on her hard nips, your fingers still buried in her sopping cunt. wanda threw her head back, eyes rolling into the back of her head with sounds of pleasure falling unashamedly from her lips.
wanda had lost control, you knew, yet you wanted more. you craved more. you wanted to edge her into the darkest depths of oblivion, bring her to a high she didn’t know existed, until she wouldn’t be able to fuck anyone else the same.
you added a third finger, throwing both of her legs over your shoulders. with one last thrust that brought wanda over the edge, she came with a blinding vision of white light, your name falling from her lips like a sacred chant.
“oh- i’m gonna-” wanda cut off her own moans when her orgasm hit like a tidal wave, figuratively and literally. her ropes of white cream came out in spurts, painting your fingers and forearms, then her own thighs, then more of you.
well, it sure is a white christmas.
you watched her cum with a hint of pride, then smiling slowly at her, knowing it had been a first.
“first time squirting?” you asked, kissing up her thighs.
“...first time actually cumming,” wanda responded shakily, then laughing nervously. “thank you.”
you chuckled at her embarrassment, pulling her in for a kiss. it was slow and sweet at first, wanda savouring the softness of it all, before you slipped your tongue between her lips to deepen the kiss. wanda let you work your magic, closing her eyes again in ecstasy.
it was a while before you could bring yourself to stop kissing wanda. “anytime. i-”
the sudden sound of a key unlocking the door made both of you freeze in horror. before either of you had the chance to even lift a finger, the door swung open. damn pietro for always being so speedy.
“okay, they towed my car, but i got it back. anyways, i-”
the blonde caught sight of what was happening before him and nearly passed out there and then. pietro’s jaw hung open, then he stepped back, then he let out a sokovian curse.
“uh, merry christmas, pietro?” you trailed off, looking at him with an awkward grin, fingers still deep inside his sister.
he stepped back, running a hand through dusty blonde hair, still trying to process the scene before him. the next words fell from his lips in a rush.
"i didn't see that coming."
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#marvel women#marvel smut#wanda maximoff smut#wanda maximoff x reader smut#wanda maximoff x reader#wlw smut#gxg smut#wanda x reader#wanda x you#bottom wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff#marvel#top reader#dom reader#my works
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A thought about Gerard’s scene in Episode 18, which is: Elody watches the conversation between Gerard and Rapunzel.
——————
Princess Elody is a tactical motherfucker, so even when these cool young women approach her and say all the right things, things that make sense, she doesn’t fully buy in. Not at face value.
When they talk about princes, it’s somehow both completely flippant and with caustic derision — like these young men were props meant to move the plot along, sole owners of agency in stories that weren’t even titled after them. (Elody wonders about their treatment of the princes as the fairies’ deux es machina, wonders about how easy it is to “kill a lot of princes” as Snow White explains. And by their own logic, how likely is it, really, that the princes are cardboard cutouts if Cinderella is so sure her stepmother, not even royalty, has her own book?)
There’s evidence to the contrary of this in her story specifically, which she has no trouble recounting. There’s no way her prince was meant to pacify her into an idyllic life, because he’s a layabout! He’s unreliable! And sure, he’s charming and fun, yes, he tried to pull her away from the war table, but that wasn’t because of any scheming to get her to stay in line, it was just because he wanted attention. He’s frivolous, he’s not a monster, she says. She’s so passionate in her defense of Gerard’s personhood that she almost misses the shared look of the princesses, the glint in Rapunzel’s eye.
Let us show you, Rapunzel says, what a monster looks like.
The scrying ritual is completed quickly and without fuss. Rapunzel stares into a mirror that ripples like water, and then, on the other side, there he is. More froglike than he’s ever been.
“You’re a prince, friends are probably pretty expendable, right? How many friends have you really had, other than Elody?”
Now hold on, Elody wants to say, that’s goading him. That’s not fair. Cinderella puts a firm hand on her shoulder and shakes her head no, to stay quiet, to wait it out. Elody bites her tongue and waits for Gerard to prove one of them right.
“Your friends seem to really value you as a person. I’m sure it’s a comfort to know that they’re not just sort of putting up with you because you’ll tag along and swing your sword, prove a little bit useful.”
Gerard has snowball fights with his friends. He has friends? He has a dedicated workout buddy? She’s not sure he’s ever been dedicated to anything, except for gossip... or her. Now that she thinks about it, he has always been unquestionably devoted to her, hasn’t he?
“I have seen some titanic feats of strength from my companions the Beast, Cinderella, Snow White. Truly impressive acts of heroism.
I do not think I have seen any of my sisters strain more greatly than the Princess Elody to find something kind to say about you.”
Elody does open her mouth to speak this time, which turns out to be a huge mistake when a writhing mass of knotted hair wraps around the lower half of her face. Not to constrict, only to silence. A pit forms in her stomach at the thought that Rapunzel might not be lying, that in trying to defend Gerard she only condemned the worst of him.
“Yes... I don’t... I don’t doubt that.”
Her heart breaks for the second time.
“But I haven't seen the Princess Elody in a while, and I think it's telling that I'm seeing you in this lake and not her or any of the other princesses. I think you’re... manipulating people, or not telling them the full truth.”
Her eyes dart to the other princesses. Snow White’s expression remains unchanged, though Cinderella’s darkens slightly. When Rapunzel speaks again, it does not escape Elody’s notice that she doesn’t acknowledge what Gerard pointed out; she deflects. Elody is getting angrier, now, tugging at the hair around her jaw, hardly even hearing the next bit until a third voice speaks up, says the Princess Elody cares for you deeply.
“Not quite the same thing.”
“It's not, but seeing as the last thing she saw of me was me running away after I had already done that, I’m grateful that she still cares for me at all.”
The hair gathering around her tenses. Elody was brought here to see that, when Gerard thought nobody else could hear, he would prove himself to be just an agent of the fairies, or an empty vessel, or a selfish monster. What she’s seeing is none of those things. But she’s also not seeing the man she knew as her husband: he’s grown and changed, almost become someone else entirely. She wants to call out to Gerard. She wants to get to know him all over again.
“Gerard,” Rapunzel hisses, “what do you think the odds are that it got into Elody's head that the virtuous thing to do was to fall in love with a cold and slimy frog, and that every kindness she has paid you in your life has been a testament to her charity, rather than anything about you that would bring her joy?”
Elody freezes.
“I don't know that I can answer that.”
“It doesn’t seem very fair to Elody that you can’t.”
“... I agree.”
The image in the mirror of the man who will never be a man again ripples and vanishes. Elody’s hands have fallen away from the hair around her face, which is convenient, as she finds herself suddenly holding a book. The hair recedes, and she doesn’t register what it is Rapunzel is saying to try and placate her, because the book in her hands is a slim volume, bound in her favorite shade of green and embossed in golden ink.
On the front is the title — The Princess Elody.
#neverafter#Dimension 20#dimension 20 neverafter#gerelody#princess elody#gerard of greenleigh#d20 elody#elody of greenleigh#gerard and elody#d20 neverafter#my art#I GUESS#this is honestly just me trying to cope with that last episode#GERELODY NATION HOW WE FEELING
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Except for a Mouse
RotTMNT Donatello x Reader One-Shot
Tags: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Mistletoe, Gift Fic, One Shot, Short & Sweet, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Gender-Neutral Reader
Synopsis: Scurrying around, you help your boyfriend as he tries to rekindle the excitement of the gift giving season.
Also Available on Ao3
A Secret Santa gift for dearest @s-s-ironnie
Didgeridoo you are an endless delight and I'm so happy to have met you! I hope you have a wonderful holiday and enjoy!
The luster of receiving gifts had dulled with age. You tried not to include yourself in that, but it was an unfortunate fact across the board. The whole how to do of the holiday had eclipsed the supposed reason for the season. It was an odd thing; understanding why your elders had been exhausted and spent most of their days lounging while the kids ran around with their new toys. Practicality won out as you got older and with it came a stagnant sense.
“Socks?! Fantastic! Oh, they’re even the boot kind!? That’s great because mine have been wearing on my ankles all season!”
“A new whetstone, this is just what I needed. You even got the right grit. Thanks! I can’t wait to use this with those new tutorial vids I’ve been watching.”
“Can’t have enough floofy soap!”
For Donnie, it was absolute misery. In all the years you had known him, he was a gift giving master. He prided himself on knowing just what to get someone even if it wasn’t something of this world. It was his chance to flex not just his inventions, but seek the validation he so desperately craved. He considered Christmas to be his big sports game and he had enough winning rings to fill a jewelry shop.
Which was why with each consecutive year, as the requests got more mundane and the reactions gentler, he was losing that glint in his eye little by little.
It crushed you.
“A gym membership renewal!?” Donnie pushed his palms into his eye sockets so hard his chair tipped lethally backward. “Nardo wasn’t even joking!”
“Nice to have the expense taken care of…” You mourned beside your partner.
“He has an entire home gym, built by moi, what does he need-!?” Donnie groaned loudly. “The rest are just as bad: ‘that shell wax you make,’ ‘back scratcher,’ ‘gift card to that craft store I like!’” In a swivel, Donnie turned to face you while throttling the arms of his chair. “At least Casey and April chose spirited items! ‘A home defense system to vanquish audacious insects’ and an upgrade to her invisibility cloak. Fine, great, interesting enough, but not inspired! They’ll receive them, but they won’t dazzle! All my intelligence! Wasted!” In another turn that made his seat creak, Donnie threw up dozens of security camera screens filled with footage of his family. “They want not! They came up with objects to appease me!”
“It can be like that…” You dampened now that he was out of sight again.
“What can I do?” He spoke a hopeless rhetorical.
“Spend time with them? Your dad always loves having the kids back home.”
“Something constructive, please.” Donnie griped with a bitterness you knew wasn’t for you.
You finally stood and approached to put a hand on his shoulder.
One of his came up to take it as he continued to glower at the monitors.
“This is what it’s like sometimes.” You leaned in and kissed the side of his head. “The child-like wonder is gone.”
Donnie stayed statuesque and you were about pull away when his grip suddenly seized to a painful degree.
“A-ah!”
“You’re a genius!” In one swift twirl, he was out of his seat and you were up in the air being showered with kisses.
So began operation ‘Help to Make the Season Bright.’ Starting right after October as Halloween was always given its due and with little to do for Thanksgiving as that was Mikey’s territory, Donnie folded you into his plan. You were there to reign him in which you knew to be an integral role.
Never mind the weather, the Hamatos were in for a white Christmas. Donnie had crafted a new-age snow machine after you’d talked him down from one that manipulated the atmosphere. Inspired by a certain famous holiday film, Donnie had acquired gifts from his family's younger days. Having had to talk him down from time travel itself to purchase the items, you then fielded him when it came to decorations. Wanting the lair to take on that magic imbued by children’s eyes, it meant for more decorations than the past.
All counting down to the titular eve, he’d knocked Splinter out with pre-festivity cake and milk and waited for the others to retreat before you were called upon. Together you spent the entire night transforming the space and setting up in a secluded section of the nearby park. Exhausted and without a wink of sleep, you’d roused the group at an agonizing 5am as was past tradition and the day began.
Grouching about the time was quickly overshadowed by wide gleaming eyes. Whispers of how Donnie had done this were brushed past as everyone was whisked outside into a winter wonderland. Donned in coats that exactly replicated ones of their youth, Raph was the first to devolve into water works. The ensuing snowball fight brought out a heat that you hadn’t seen playfully enacted in years and a break with hot chocolate made from a pilfered recipe meant Mikey was the next to weep.
Worn out bodies were pulled inside, where upon getting their actually requested gifts, Leo stubbornly fought sobbing as he opened a mint version of his first and favorite Jupiter Jim action figure. April fell next with a newly sized version of her Hamato-crested top and Casey turned red in the face after being given validation with a combined plate of cookies and brownies.
Donnie, ever shining in his element, rode the high straight through the day until everyone collectively lost their steam. A turtle pile now with the addition of partners formed and Splinter snored loudly as a fond backdrop. Lingering sentiments meant you couldn’t join in and you had just pulled a pan of green bean casserole out of the oven to cool even though it was debatable whether it’d be eaten warm or at all. Shuffling out of the kitchen, you found Donnie leaning and watching the group and telegraphed your approach with heavier footsteps.
Instead of addressing you, he folded back an arm at the ready.
You tucked yourself into his side and he wrapped you up in the appendage. “You did it.”
“I couldn’t have without you.” He gave his family one last wistful look before bringing glowing adoration down to you.
You smiled where your head was sleepily resting against his plastron.
“One last thing…”
Your lips tugged downward. “The dinner was last…” In a slight shuffle against him, you unearthed your phone along with the list. “Yeah… we marked them all off.” You showed him.
“Oh!” He put on airs as he leaned forward to examine your phone with great feigned interest.
“Donnie…” You pursed your lip.
“Seems there was one missing.” With a tap, your list refreshed and a new item appeared.
☐ First Kiss
“When did you…?” Your head shifted back from the addition. “A kiss? Who’s that for?”
Turning confusion to your partner, you watched as an mechanical arm emerged from his battle shell. Tipping to watch it, there was a bit of green with white dotting tied up in a purple ribbon and just like that you were in your early twenties again.
Shy and at your first Hamato Christmas, you and Donnie had a brand new situationship that had started up at nearly the same time the temperatures had dropped. Nerves had him inviting you along with a flurry of worries over what you were about to be thrust into. Naivety meant you wrongly brushed him off and, it was after unknowingly boarding a rollercoaster, you had snuck away for a breather in the hall. Not second guessing your decision to pursue the purple turtle, but instead having so quickly agreed to meeting his family after what hadn’t even been 30 days, you exhaled and prepared to reenter the foray when he met you.
“There you are.” He caught your visage and softened. “You alright?”
“Yeah… just… you were right.” You gave an awkward laugh.
“I’d usually gloat, but it is a holiday.” He teased.
You chuckled as he came in to grab your hand with what looked like an offer on his lips.
“Boom!” Leo exploded a flurry of limbs into the moment causing the pair of you to back up against the wall. The slider slammed his arm between you both causing you to yelp.
“Nardo!” Donnie growled.
“You’ve been hit by!” Leo dodged a swipe from his brother with a pose.
Donnie leapt at him a second time.
“You’ve been struck by!” Leo avoided the attack a second time with finger to the air.
“Enough!” Donnie squared himself and you knew he was about to go for his weapon.
Leo stopped him with a finger pushed right into the genius’ forehead. “A smooth mistletoe!”
Fleeing with a flurry of giggles, Donnie sat a fuming mass staring after where his brother had gone where you had the wherewithal to turn toward the wall Leo had accosted. There, stuck with far too much duct tape was a sprig of mistletoe, obviously coordinated for this brother based on the color of its ribbon. “Uh… Donnie…” You paled.
“Infuriating! He was just loafing around and now he-!” Donnie spun around, saw the dismay on your face, and then the bit of greenery on the wall. “O-oh…”
“It’s a silly tradition!” You squawked. “Y-You were g-going to say something. I think!?”
“That…” He stepped closer, resuming his earlier position by your side. “… we could sneak away… That I know a good Chinese place…”
“T-that sounds good, we should go!” You went to grab his arm and flee when he steadied you by catching your appendage first.
“One… last thing…?” Donnie flicked his gaze to the mistletoe and back to you, beet red. “If you’re… agreeable?”
You gave a jittery nod, your own face a blushing mess.
He leaned in to close the gap just as he was doing now. You melted against him with a coordination you hadn’t had all those years ago and slipped your arms around his neck to deepen the move further. Parting came with a nuzzle of nose to snout and a little giggle from you.
“Next would be getting that peking duck.”
“What a coincidence, my data indicates the group will be asleep for at least 3 more hours.”
“We should go…” You breathed against him, stealing another kiss.
He nodded with an agreement that neither of you bothered making good on.
💜
I plotted two version of this fic based on Digi's preference! I thought it'd be fun the include the other here: In a similar vein, the other fic was Sweet Ironnie where Donnie and Iris go all out to give the kids the best Christmas. Only problem is that they forgot to treat themselves for the holiday so the kids snare them in a mistletoe trap! Thank you @rheawritesforfun for hearing me out!
Also thank you @thepinkpanther83 for being a beta boss!
#rottmnt#rottmnt donnie x reader#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rise of the tmnt#rottmnt x reader#donatello hamato#donnie x reader#rise donnie#rise donnie x reader#rottmnt donnie#rottmnt donatello#christmas#me#fanfiction#my fanfiction
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This is my contribution to a secret santa discord server event. This fic is warm and fluffy and I LOVED writing it, I love these characters SO much. I hope you like it too!
Warnings/notes/tags are: polyamory, unspecified AU where Geto is not evil, unspecified whether this is a non-cursed world or a jujutsu AU where we just ignore the presence of curses. Loads and loads and loads of fluff.
2nd person. Reader is genderneutral, no pronouns are used.
Spending the winter holidays with Geto and Gojo is…
…finding time in your busy schedules so the three of you can enjoy a winter market.
Strolling along the little stalls, taking in the views and the smells. It’s winter, and it has been dark for a while, but all the twinkling lights decorating the stalls reflecting into the white snow -both real and fake- make up for all that darkness. The smells are a little overwhelming at first, all kinds of stalls lined up flooding your senses with strong, sweet odors, heavy spices and the warmth of grilled meats… it’s a lot, combined with the sights and the jolly music playing from the speakers spread around the market, you can’t help but feel a little overwhelmed.
It doesn’t help that Satoru is immediately overly enthusiastic, ready to spend money on souvenirs and gifts for all the students and everyone else he knows, and pointing out all the stalls he’d like to try the food at. He’d run off without you two if it weren’t for Suguru’s quick reflexes, grabbing onto the hood of his jacket and janking him back. Suguru’s holding your hand firmly in his, grounding you from all the things overwhelming your senses.
You stroll past the stalls, for some reason holding a whole bunch of bags from Satoru, who just can’t seem to stop getting stuff. At every stall there is something that reminds him of one of his studens, his friends or either of you, and he just has to get it.
You leave the market filled with all kinds of foods and drinks, Suguru suggesting a little break amongst the food stalls, and Gojo getting a little bit of everything to sample, completely filling the little table you are standing at with various containers and plates, one smelling and looking more delicious than the other. You have to fight a little to ensure you get to sample some of the sweet desserts, and all three of you end up with smears on your faces from various sauces- feeding each other is romantic only when you don’t joke around and miss mouths on purpose (and of course you had to have revenge).
… snuggling up on the couch, shivering and sniffling, full of regret but still shaking from laughter, after Suguru sneakily started a snowball fight on your way home.
You had felt the cold snow collide with the back of your head and turned around immediately, throwing an accusatory glare at Satoru, who immediately put his hands up in defense.
“I swear y/n- It wasn’t me I-…”
His pleas immediately interrupted by yet another snowball, this one narrowly missing the tip of his nose, the both of you whipping your heads around to see Suguru standing with his hands hidden behind his back, giving you both his most innocent smile before grinning and throwing two more snowballs at the both of you simultaneously, a remarkable display of his aim and strength. Though this time you saw them coming and both you and Satoru managed to duck away in time, already grabbing handfuls of snow for your counter-offense.
The two-against-one-match quickly turned into an all-out battle where each of you had to fend for themselves, because you slipped and nearly fell, throwing one of your snowballs to Satoru, who had promptly declared you his enemy as well.
You spent almost two hours laughing, running around, hiding from snowballs and each other, you felt like kids again. As if there was not a single care in the world. You continued until your stomach hurt from laughing, your fingers ached from the cold, and you could barely feel your face anymore.
The minute your little snowball fight was over, you realized just how much snow had melted and had managed to get through to your clothes, despite your gloves, scarf and jacket protecting you from most of the cold.
You went back inside, changing into warm clothes, fluffy socks and cuddling up on the couch. You put on a silly movie for some background noise and entertainment, Suguru retrieved the blankets and Satoru prepped hot cocoa, overflowing your mugs with way too many mini marshmallows, offering to ‘help’ either one of you if you thought there were too many for you to eat- how kind of him.
You sat in between the two men, knees pulled up and neatly tucked under the blanket. You barely registered the movie you put on, too busy getting warmed up and enjoying the serenity and pure happiness you felt in that moment.
…making all kinds of plans, only to spend most of the holiday resting and chilling.
There were things that had to be done: some household chores as well as work, and there were some things that you wanted to do for fun. Going to visit a new shopping center nearby, explore some city sights you hadn’t had the chance to. You wanted to go out on some dates, go for long walks enjoying the winter landscapes, relax, not worry and stress too much. There was work to be done, but work would always be there, and opportunities to relax and do fun things were scarce, especially in periods where the three of you were available.
Suguru is a go with the flow kind of person, so he’s happy to tag along to whatever plans you make. Satoru however, is like a kid in a candy store when there is suddenly a lot of free time on your hands, and he is on the couch with his laptop in no time, ready to order tickets to anything you wanna visit, booking trips, and talking about so many plans you wonder out loud where he thinks he’s going to find the time to do all that.
The fact that you finally can relax makes all the plans seem exciting though, and initially you are 100% behind Satoru, adding on suggestions, sending him links and scrolling on your phone, doing additional research for a lot of the places and activities he suggests. You do listen to Suguru who suggests only really booking things when you’re sure you can go do it, when timing, planning, transport, other plans and your energy levels are all aligned and allow you to do the activity.
He turns out to be the voice of reason, cause all three of you have such a hard time getting up in the morning, finally getting to sleep in (and it’s quite hard getting up when you’re in someone else's arms, comfortable and warm).
Chores -unless really necessary- get postponed, plans get cancelled. Instead you stay in, watching silly movies, and finally catching up on the latest series you really wanted to watch. You go on walks together, exploring your own neighborhood and stopping at restaurants you haven’t had the chance to try out yet. You focus all your time and effort on quality time and enjoying the time all three of you have together. And you very quickly realize that truly, you do not need to have big and exciting plans to make the most of your winter break.
… sharing a bed, because it is ‘cold’ outside.
You leave your windows open at night, because it’s healthier, and you don’t like feeling all stuffy in the morning. There is a certain charm about entering a cold room and snuggling underneath the warm blankets, warming up as you fall asleep, and waking up in your own little warm cocoon. Especially if you have no further responsibilities that day, your blankets keeping you trapped in bed on a cold winter day, sleeping in.
It is a little less exciting though when the temperatures drop abruptly, and the room is not nice and chilly, but actually is freezing when you go in. You are shivering when you get changed, and your blankets just don’t feel right. Your feet might as well be blocks of ice in your warm, fuzzy, socks.
It only takes a few minutes of tossing and turning before you decide you need to get a better source of heat in your bed. Or a bed, doesn’t necessarily matter which one.
So you wrap yourself in a blanket, carefully closing the door behind you, and shuffle your way through the dark hallway, only to find Satoru -your current target- standing in the hallway, mirroring yourself with his blanket wrapped around you as well.
“It’s too cold in my room”, is the only thing you can blurt out as an explanation, feeling the overwhelming need to explain, even though that’s not necessary. He just nods in acknowledgement, and you need no further words between the two of you to know what the next step is.
Suguru is already peacefully asleep in a room that’s colder than the rest of the house, but not freezing temperature. Leave it to him to actually properly figure out when to open and close the windows in his room to reach maximum oxygen and the best possible temperature to still be able to snuggle underneath the blankets without risking to freeze overnight.
Suguru is a quiet sleeper, almost too silent, and you worry you might have woken him up by opening his door. But you didn’t; he merely stirs in his sleep, lips parting in a quiet sigh, hand moving up a little to lay on top of the raven hair that’s splayed upon his pillow.
You are both as quiet as possible when you enter, Suguru only waking up when you both slip into the bed to either side of him, piling your blankets on top of him and snuggling close. There is a brief moment of surprise, followed by a very sleepy nod of acknowledgement. All three of you take a little time to adjust to three people in the bed, and it’s not entirely sure whose limbs are entangling with who, but it doesn’t matter as you can already feel your body relaxing the second you find a comfortable position.
Your eyelids grow heavy while you hear Suguru and Satoru quietly converse in the background. You squeeze an arm that is around you, a quiet way of saying goodnight.
…feeling warm, no matter the temperature. Because you are safe. You are loved.
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#geto x reader#gojo x reader#geto x gojo x reader#satosugu#satoru x reader#suguru x reader#polyam#winter fic#holiday fic#reader insert#second person#GN reader#secret santa#fluff#humor#cosy#jjk reader insert
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For the request game!
Fall With Me - The Wild Reeds
SVT
Enemies to lovers
Ahhhhhh omg ok. Since no member was specified im gonna just choose one :)
Warnings: a bad kiss is discussed, also they do make out, lawyer!jeonghan and he's a menace as per usual
The annual best friends’ trip would be going much better if it weren’t for the presence of a certain attorney.
The first time you’d met Yoon Jeonghan had been during a dizzying cross-examination of your expert information in a high-profile criminal case. As a forensic speech-pattern analyst, you had taken your job as an expert witness to testify against an almost-certainly guilty extortionist very seriously, but Jeonghan had managed to twist every one of your facts to the advantage of the man, creating just enough reasonable doubt to get the man off with a slap on the wrist.
You had sworn to hate the handsome, smooth-talking defense attorney for as long as you lived -- so imagine your shock when your friend had brought him along with the group as her plus-one because her boyfriend couldn’t make it. As her cousin, and the closest male relative she had, he was more than happy to tag along, he’d said.
And now you watch him across the room, schmoozing over your friends, unable to break it to them that he was the evil attorney that you’d complained about for weeks after the trial.
What was even worse about it was that he kept catching your eye from where he sat playing cards with your childhood friends, framed in the big windows like an angel wreathed in light, his fine features sly and knowing, more and more aggravating with every glance. You knew he remembered you by the way his eyes lit with recognition as they’d taken in all the faces in the spacious cabin. You groan internally -- this man must be your own personal demon, sent to torture you for some long-forgotten sin. And he just has to look good while doing it, doesn’t he?
“Hey, are you even listening to me?” your friend Seokmin says, suddenly.
“Oh!” you exclaim, turning back toward him with a sheepish look, but he’s grinning at you.
“You aren’t the only one staring at him,” he says. “Look at Juliette.”
Sure enough, your old college roommate is eyeing Jeonghan in interest. You know that look -- she’s going to do something she’ll probably regret later if she doesn’t get distracted soon. A part of you wonders why it always seems to be down to you to prevent disaster as you excuse yourself from Seokmin with a hurried excuse, making your way over to Juliette with a request for some snowshoeing in the newly-fallen snow outside.
But of course, the odds are not in your favor today. Jeonghan stands up, tossing in his cards after what you clock as his third poker win today. “I’d better quit while I’m ahead,” he says, and then looks up at you. “Did you say something about snowshoeing?”
Well, you can’t exactly lie to his face while all your friends are looking at you expectantly, so you give him a curt nod. “Can I come?” he asks, and there is an amused undertone to his voice that brings your already-hot temper to a boiling point.
Juliette answers first. “Of course!” she chirps, and you have no choice but to trudge into the mud room with them, your jaw set in a hard line and your eyes flashing. You suit up wordlessly while the other two make flirty conversation, somehow growing even more peeved as you listen to them.
Finally, you’re walking out into the calm, quiet forest, the snowshoes keeping your boots from sinking into the deep layer of snow frosted over the ground. You find yourself trailing behind Jeonghan and Juliette, listening to them chatter happily together, for the entirety of the hike, only finding a brief moment of relief from the anger when you pause at an overlook. Here, white-dusted fir trees spill by the thousands down a steep incline that leads to a small valley, and the sun slowly sinking seems to light everything in a pinkish glow. It’s breathtaking. You can’t help but smile.
Except for when you turn and catch a glimpse of Jeonghan staring at you.
His expression is mirroring your own: complete awe, a dumbfounded smile, eyes wide as though afraid he won’t be able to take it all in. Except he’s not looking at the view — he’s looking at you.
Juliette notices and makes a lame excuse for why she needs to head back to the cabin, ignoring your protests and leaving you alone with Jeonghan. “You remember me, don’t you?” he asks instantly when she’s out of earshot.
“Of course I do,” you say, bristling. “Liar.”
He chuckles, and you hate how cute he is when he’s laughing at you. “It’s actually ‘lawyer’, but that’s an easy mistake,” he says, unbothered by your venom.
“Look,” you say, trying to keep a moderate tone, “in case it wasn’t already clear, I really don’t like you.”
“Why not?” he asks innocently. “Because I’m good at my job?”
“Because you helped a guilty person escape justice!” you say loudly. A raven in a nearby tree takes off in fear.
His face seems to harden a little. “Tell me what you know about the defendant.”
This request takes you aback. “I don’t know anything about him,” you tell Jeonghan. “Other than his speech patterns and what they indicate.”
He looks at your face — seeming to debate with himself for a moment. Then he speaks. “He is the only caretaker for both his elderly mother, who is blind, and a young daughter still undergoing treatments for an aggressive cancer. The company he worked for was scamming its employees out of money, so he pulled a clever scam back and was able to make enough off of it to pay for his daughter to be treated at a top hospital and for his mother to have a seeing-eye dog. If he went to jail, where would they be?”
The information you’re receiving weighs on you heavily as you listen to him, and you feel your face burn with a guilty flush. “I had no idea.”
He nods shortly. “Not everything is as black-and-white as you think.”
He begins to walk away, back toward the cabin, and you have no choice but to follow him. As you enter the mud room again, stripping off your snow clothed and hanging them to dry, Jeonghan gives a soft chuckle. “Were you really that mad?”
“Yeah,” you admit, allowing him a small smile although your ego is still a bit bruised. “You made me sound like an idiot in court. I’m quite good at my job, you know.” You internally cringe at self. Why do you feel the need to justify yourself to him?
He nods in understanding. “I know you are. And you’re cute, too.”
This boldness shocks you into silence, and he gives a small giggle that almost undoes you. “I wanted to talk to you after trial, but the look on your face was…”
“Radiant?” you say, recovering quickly with a raised eyebrow.
“Well, you were certainly radiating something,” he allows. “I was scared you’d bite me.”
You laugh. Time to play his game, you think. “I still haven’t ruled it out.”
You saunter past him as his jaw drops, taking a seat beside Seokmin and letting out a deep sigh. There’s still a nagging tension in the air though, especially when Jeonghan stations himself across the room from you with his cousin and some other friends, only to meet eyes with you every few minutes with a sparkle of curiosity in his wide eyes.
As night falls, the lights dim. One by one, people start excusing themselves to go to bed, until it’s just a gaggle of you left, you and Jeonghan included. You keep expecting Jeonghan to get up and go to bed -- you noticed on the first night of the trip that he tires easily and usually is in bed earlier than the rest of your friends -- but he never does. Instead, the air gets thicker as Jeonghan moves next to you on the couch, as nonchalant as anything, and you feel your cheeks heating up. Eventually he turns to you as the others become engrossed in their own conversation.
“So, if you knew that today was the last day of your life —“
“Are you serious?” you groan. “I’m disappointed in you.”
He looks indignant and taken aback. “Well, I’m trying to get to know you,” he says defensively.
“Yeah, but you’re asking the manic-pixie-dreamboy questions,” you tell him. “Start with something normal, and then maybe I’ll tell you my hamartia or whatever.”
He bites his bottom lip. “Uh, okay. What made you want to be a speech pathologist?”
“That’s much better,” you commend him. “And I actually have a little brother who grew up with a speech impediment that made him difficult to understand, and I spent my whole childhood translating him for others. So I guess it was something I knew I could do. Plus it was interesting to know how to help similar kids.”
Jeonghan nods. “I guess that makes sense.”
“What made you want to be a lawyer?” you shoot back.
His response is immediate. “I’m a master manipulator, and I wanted to make a lot of money. It seemed like the logical choice.”
You can’t help but laugh. “That’s the reddest red flag I’ve ever heard,” you say. “I should be running for the hills.”
“So why aren’t you?” he asks with a sly smile.
“Must be colorblind,” you say dryly. “But it’s actually because master manipulators usually aren’t so upfront with their gifts.”
He grins. “Well, I really am good at … influencing people, to a degree. But I guess I became a criminal defense attorney to broaden my view on humanity. There are people I’ve represented in court that I would hate to be alone with, and yet somehow I’ve learned that they all have a level of humanity that would surprise most people. They weren’t all good people, but they were all still people. And I think that’s made me a better person overall.”
You grin to hide how impressed you are. “And the money is good too.”
He nods. “Well, obviously.”
This earns a giggle from you, and Jeonghan turns his body to face yours. For the next three hours, you talk about everything, even as the last of the stragglers disappear with tired farewells into their bedroom. Finally, it’s just you and Yoon Jeonghan, sitting at opposite ends of a broad brown couch, laughing about one of your awkward dating stories.
“And after all that,” you say, wiping a tear of derision and amusement from your eye, “he has the nerve to kiss me!”
Jeonghan’s eyes go wide. “Did he ask first?” he asks.
“Well, yeah,” you say.
“Why did you say yes?!” he groans through laughter.
“I was so taken aback! And also, he was pretty hot,” you admit.
He looks at you skeptically. “If I asked you a question, would you answer honestly?”
“Depends on the question.”
“Give me just this one,” he pleads.
“Okay,” you say, giving in easily at the sight of his puppy eyes.
“Was he hotter than me?” he asks.
Your jaw drops. “Yoon Jeonghan.”
“You said you’d answer the question honestly,” he reminds you.
You begrudgingly consider him. “You’re hotter,” you finally answer, glad he probably can’t see you blush in this low light.
He nods, satisfied. “Okay, go on. What happened next?”
You laugh at the nonchalant way he’s handled this news. “Oh, he was a terrible kisser. All of those looks just for him to have no sensitivity at all. Jammed his tongue down my throat and everything.”
“You should’ve told him no,” he says quietly, moving almost imperceptibly closer.
“I really should’ve. Anyway, that was actually the most recent kiss I’ve had, so my experiences with kissing are all being viewed through that lens, and it’s kind of ruined for me now.” You make a face as you remember the date, and the associated kiss. By the time your shudder brings you back down to earth, Jeonghan has moved just one inch closer on the couch. You pretend not to notice.
He pins you with his gaze, though. “Are you being coy on purpose?” he asks through narrowed eyes, making another small move in your direction.
“What do you mean?” you ask him, suddenly nervous.
“We’re alone, and you openly admitted I’m hotter than the last guy you kissed --”
“After you coerced me into telling you,” you interject, amused.
“And now you’re talking about how bad he was at kissing,” Jeonghan finishes, undeterred. “Tell me what kind of conclusion I’m supposed to draw from that.” And with that, he closes the gap between you, moving so close that your thighs are touching.
You look into his eyes. This was a plot twist you didn’t see coming -- you hadn’t been able to figure out why he’d stuck around when everyone started going to bed, but his reasons for doing so were becoming more and more clear, and although you woke up this morning as his sworn enemy, you have a feeling that everything has changed.
So you stare, wanting to fall, but also wanting to stay in this moment, right here, contemplating the risk. Maybe you’ve got it wrong -- it’s certainly possible. But maybe, just maybe, you’ve run out of options for things to say, leaving just the one thought you had when he’d moved closer and asked you to tell him what to think.
“Well, you’re the lawyer,” you finally answer, barely above a soft whisper. “Figure it out.”
You catch a hint of a smile before Jeonghan’s hands are reaching up to cradle your face, bringing your lips gently, but ever so insistently, to his own.
His lips are soft and light on your own, a massive upgrade from the clumsy kisses of whoever had come before. You can’t remember that man, nor anyone else, for that matter. You barely register the feeling of the coarse couch cushions beneath you, sinking under your combined weight as Jeonghan pulls you onto his lap to continue the kiss. The light brush of his tongue over your bottom lip has you reaching for him hungrily, pulling him closer to you so you can feel his heart beating against your own.
It takes a particularly loud squeak from the couch for the both of you to realize how loud you were being. You both freeze and look at the stairs, terrified that one of your friends has caught you, before you both realize and explode into quiet giggles, pressing your foreheads together.
“Do you want to sleep in my room tonight?” you ask him breathlessly.
“I could never fall asleep with you in the same room as me,” he replies with a wicked grin.
#svt#svt fluff#svt imagines#svt x reader#seventeen#jeonghan#jeonghan fluff#jeonghan imagines#svt jeonghan#yoon jeonghan
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My Little Shadow: Part Six (Azriel X Reader)
Warnings: Hypothermia, waking up in a strange place.
After traveling through the snowy landscape, Y/N starts to succumb to the cold. That is, until a certain Illyrian shadowsinger shows up to rescue her.
Part five Part seven
Tag list: @mis-lil-red
Cassian is in this one, and still upset about being left out last time!
We traveled like that for a couple more days. At first I didn’t ask the shadows for assistance during the day, knowing we’d be stark against the white snow.
But by the third day, we were so cold that I couldn’t bring myself to care anymore.
It still wasn’t enough. I had started to carry Stella a few miles back, her small form shaking in my arms as we continued.
I had given her the extra set of clothes my mother had packed for me. I was willing to die before I went back to Hewn City, but I wouldn’t let anything happen to Stella.
My limbs were so cold that I couldn’t feel them anymore, my trembling as I forced them to keep plodding through the snow.
I stumbled, falling into the snow with Stella in my arms.
She cried out my name, but my vision was going blurry. It was so cold.
I heard her continue to shout, but I didn’t understand any of it.
My eye flutter shut, I knew this was the worst time to sleep but I couldn’t fight it.
A pair of warm hands held my shoulders, shaking me slightly. “Hey, hey. I need you to open your eyes for me, little shadow.”
I recognise Azriel's voice, and I force myself to open my eyes. “Azriel?”
His brow is knit together in worry, his eyes searching my face. “What the hell happened?”
I’m unsure how to explain, not sure how much he knew, but I’m quickly distracted by my shadows, having followed Azriel back to me, wrapping around me in an attempt to warm me.
Azriel curses as my eyes start to close again, picking me up gently.
Azriel starts to talk with someone else, but I’m no longer aware of any of it, falling asleep against his warm body.
I wake up in a warm bed, and I shoot up, immediately regretting the decision as my head spins and the covers fall from me, making me feel even colder.
“Hey, be careful.” I hear a male voice hiss, and as I lay back down I look over to see Azriel, tense in a chair beside the bed I was now resting in.
My shadows wrap around me defensively, and his eyes dart to them. “They’ve been like that the whole time. They only let me and Madja near.”
I cock an eyebrow at the unknown female’s name.
“She’s our healer.” He says, grabbing a cup of tea off the bedside table, pushing it into my numb hands. “Drink.”
I eye the cup of tea with suspicion. “Where am I?” I ask, turning and placing the cup back onto the table.
His eyes darkened at the discarded cup, but I didn’t reach to pick it back up.
Even if I was stuck in bed for the time being, I was sick of Males telling me what to do, and it would take a lot more than a few cranky glances to get me to change my mind.
“You’re in the night court.” He said, crossing his arms.
I stiffen, my shadows swirled around me protectively, sensing my terror.
Stella. My bones scream at me as I roll out of the bed, stumbling as I force myself to stand upright.
Azriel matched my defensive stance across the bed, and I growled, “What have you done with my sister?”
He blinks in surprise, the only sign that anything is wrong. “We haven’t done anything-”
I don’t wait for his response, my shadows wrapping around me until I’m completely encased in shadows, and I run through the closed door.
Hearing a startled clatter from inside, usually I’d take the time to enjoy the shock, but I didn’t have time.
I didn’t recognise these halls. I ran through them, sending out shadow tendrils to search for Stella until-
Shoving through the door, I let my shadows go as I saw Stella playing, shocked to see the one and only Morrigan playing with her.
I ignore Morrigan, rushing to my little sister who grin at me, completely unaware as I envelope her in a tight hug.
“Are you okay? Has anyone hurt you?” I ask her, absorbed in examining her, looking for any injuries.
I hear Morrigan go to the door, presumably talking to Azriel, who I had felt arrive a moment earlier.
She shakes her head. “No, I’m fine. But look!”
She points behind her, to the window I hadn’t noticed.
I gasp as I look out the window, seeing green grass and sunlight. I had thought he said…
“This isn’t the night court.” I say, not letting my sister go, but craning my neck to see more.
When was the last time I had seen grass and daylight?
“Actually, it is.” Morrigan's voice came out sounding… glittery. That was the best way I could put it.
“I know what it feels like, having freedom after being in that place. It’s overwhelming, isn’t it?” She said, sitting on the floor next to me.
My chest tightened. Freedom. She had said freedom, because that was what I now had.
“What is this place?” I asked, letting my sister go and walking over to the window, looking out at the street packed with happy people, not knowing how good they had it.
Azriel appeared next to me, and I didn’t flinch.
“This is Velaris, the city of starlight.” He said, laying a hand on my shoulder.
I looked up at him, and he was staring at me with a small smirk on his face. “Now will you get back in bed, or will I have to carry you again?”
I snorted, but didn’t respond as I looked out the window again. “I want to go outside.” I breathed, unsure if he even heard me.
“Are you going to run off again?” He asks, and I turn to shoot him a glare, but I see a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.
I scoff, but don’t look away. “I promise.”
He grins now. “Great, but as soon as we get back, you’re back on bed rest.”
I roll my eyes, but turn around, my eyes drifting over to Morrigan. She’s wearing a sweater that leaves her shoulders bare, the top of which is folded over and lacy. Her golden hair is tied back to reveal her deep brown eyes that look at me with a touch of pity.
I can’t stand it, so I look away.
Azriel lets me take the lead, and I almost run face first into the chest of another male. I look up and recognise him as the one Azriel had called Cass.
“Oh, hi. I don’t think you ever got my name before you made a deal with my brother. I’m Cassian.” He says, and I don’t miss the hint of annoyance that still lingered at being left out.
I let out a little snort, but I extended my hand for him to shake. “Y/N. I didn’t know you two were brothers.”
He takes my hand with a death grip, shaking it so hard I felt as if my brain was rattling around in my skull as he amended, “Not by blood, but might as well be. So is Rhys, even if he’s a hardass sometimes.”
I blink at the casual use of the highlord's name. I looked around, making sure he wasn’t about to appear out of nowhere to correct Cassian.
But nothing happened.
“Rhys isn’t like other highlords, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Cassain said, his voice a drawl as he continued to block the hallway.
All I really wanted to do was go outside.
“That’s great, but do you mind moving?” I ask, staring into his eyes , making it clear I didn’t wish to be fucked with.
Morrigan laughed from behind me. “You better listen to her Cass, she’s stronger than she looks.”
He chuckled, but looking at his brother, being silent as the night as he stood steadily behind me.
Whatever Cassian saw in his brother's face, he let out a dramatic sigh before moving out of our way.
I look at the front door, my lips tugging upwards despite my best efforts.
If this was where Stella and I would be staying, it would only be logical to take a look around.
And it didn’t hurt that I had Azriel by my side while I did so.
#reader x azriel#a court of frost and starlight#a court of mist and fury#a court of thorns and roses#a court of silver flames#a court of wings and ruin#acomaf#acotar#acowar#azriel acotar#y/n x azriel#azriel shadowsinger#reader x shadowsinger#Y/N x shadowsinger#shadowsinger x reader#shadowsinger#shadows#cassian#morrigan#cassian acotar#acotar series#velaris#hewn city#sarah j maas#morrigan acotar#high lord of the night court#high lord rhysand#night court#city of starlight#acotar fanfiction
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✨2023: A Summary✨
Post your most popular and/or favourite edit/gifset/analysis for each month (it’s okay to skip months!)
Tagged by @lurkingshan (here) and @wen-kexing-apologist (here). Thanks for the tags!
In 2023, I made 175 original posts, including 45 metas about 12 different shows and two large scale projects (the GMMTV Multiverse and the GMMTV Kissing charts). It was interesting to see what meta (and how much) I had written in which months. It's also fun looking back as I approach my one year anniversary of watching and writing about BL - I'm so grateful for all the wonderful people I've met and gotten to chat with over these past months!
January and February [0 metas]
I wasn’t on BL Tumblr yet! Any and all meta came in the form of thoughts, texts, and powerpoint presentations.
March [6 metas]
My BL Tumblr debut! I started this blog with the intention of 1) more easily gathering and archiving posts for future reference, and 2) collecting my thoughts somewhere other than text threads and my notes app, so I began posting meta the day I got here.
Most popular: what started as me thinking about Win’s rock t-shirt from ep 11 and then grew from there… - reading a lot into a random Thai ql shirt choice? Me?
Favourite(s): Thoughts on Tinn, his mother, and coming out (part 1, part 2); Thoughts on Tinn, his mother, and music - My first meta ever posted! I keep returning to Tinn and his mother's relationship in My School President...
April [1 meta]
By default, the most popular (and favourite): Gun's feelings are realistic - I love when MSP subverts our expectations
May [13 metas]
Oh damn! This was a big meta month for me. Some of my favourite metas I've ever written were posted this month.
Most popular: The Eighth Sense and Missing Pieces - I am really proud of this one. It also made me laugh that I apologized for the length at the beginning when I would go on to post much, MUCH longer metas.
Favourite(s): Thoughts on genre, tropes, Bad Buddy, and My School President (aka my Bad Buddy and MSP thesis, which began life as a powerpoint presentation... now here's one of those much, MUCH longer metas in question); Wai as a faen fatale (which also began life as part of that same powerpoint presentation and I think perfectly encapsulates my analytical style); Conversations in ITSAY that are about more than they seem (I am really proud of the analysis I did here and the writing style I used to present it). This was also the month in which I started my deeply self-indulgent GMMTV Multiverse project, which later inspired my mission to record all GMMTV kisses.
June [11 metas]
Oh nooo another bunch of my favourites. This is cruel to make me choose.
Most popular: Thinking about Pran's "Pat, you've got to stop doing this to me" (I love this one! and this was the first of several times I've gotten to collaborate with the wonderful @dudeyuri)
Favourite(s): An analysis of the baseball mom shirt, Bad Buddy ep. 5 (my entry into the venerable field of Bad Buddy/ql shirt analysis and also encapsulates pretty much everything I try to do in my metas); An impassioned defense of the Bad Buddy ep. 5 rooftop kiss (combines many of my favourite things: reading deeply into the minute details of Bad Buddy, an analytical framework that just clicks itself together as I write, and literature reviews); and Thinking about Snow White as the engineering play, part 1 (shout out to the two other people going ham on Snow White as an allegory during the Our Skyy 2 madness - @chickenstrangers (here) and @letgomaggie (here))
July [3 metas]
Most popular (and favourite): Thinking about Pat, Pran, and pursuit (I think this was my first time articulating the idea of Pat and Pran's commitment to the bit, a concept which continues to circle in my head. This was also another collaboration with the wonderful @dudeyuri!)
August [7 metas]
Here comes Only Friends... and the GMMTV Kissing Multiverse project.
Most popular: GMMTV Kissing Multiverse updates 1, 2 and 3 (this is so much fun to track and analyze, and I've been really touched by everyone else's excitement for the project too); Various thoughts and musings on Only Friends and ephemerality (the Ephemerality Squad assembles!)
Favourite: Thinking about Boston: a study of episode 3 - I find Boston's mind a fascinating place to explore
September [8 metas]
Oh look! It's more Only Friends!
Most popular: Mansplain, Manipulate, Manwhore: Ray confronting Boston - once again, I love getting into Boston's head. This post was inspired by @wen-kexing-apologist's scene breakdowns, especially their Fight Night one
Favourite(s): The above, and also The Mundanity of Meanness
October [5 metas]
Most popular (and favourite): The first fist bump in Bad Buddy - oof. I've gotta come back to this idea sometime.
November [3 metas]
Most popular: The Latest Update to the Kissing Multiverse - the hotly anticipated post-Only Friends update to the kissing charts
Favourite: the kissing charts, and Thinking about Pat, Pran, and competition - again, I love to think about Pat and Pran. I consider this one to be part of an ongoing series, along with my earlier metas on pursuit and the rooftop.
December [1 meta]
Most popular (and favourite): Not Me and earrings - technically an addition on @chickenstrangers' post, but was a relief to get my months old "Not Me is about ears and earrings!" thoughts out.
some no pressure tags: @chickenstrangers, @distant-screaming, @dudeyuri, @neuroticbookworm, @slayerkitty, @telomeke, @twig-tea, @waitmyturtles
#bl wrapped#ranch thoughts#honestly all laid out this doesn't seem like a lot. I'm surprised by how much more I wrote in May and June!#fascinating how you - Shan and WKA - also didn't start your meta journeys until a couple of months into 2023
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Permission
Chapter 16
(Chapter 15; Chapter 17)
True Form Sukuna x Reader
Rating: Explicit
Warning: Graphic Depiction Of Violence
Please see Chapter 1 for tags!
Dance With The Devil
The darkness of the night wraps around the both of you, as he carries you deeper into the woods. Step by step. It’s been a while now since he saved you from these beasts, almost feels like an eternity. You heard no sign of threat since, only the sounds of snow and twigs cracking under his weight.
It’s so cold.
The muscles of his shoulder underneath you start to relax, the longer he carries you. You notice, that never ever, his skin felt cold to you. The arm, that presses into the back of your thighs, holding you, the shoulder, that your belly is laying against and his back, that your hands are pressing into. All feel warm. However, you start to shiver, as the dampness of your clothes and the never ending snowfall presses the cold into your back. Every snowflake that blows onto you, feels like a needle and deep, in the back of your head, you wish that he would hold you closer to him.
No. I don’t.
Suddenly the blackness gets illuminated in a soft orange. In front of you, you see his tall shadow move through the snow, reflecting on the grid of the branches and the footprints he leaves behind in the soft white cotton of the snow, walking through the darkness. You feel something hot, burning, near your thigh. The sudden warmth gives you goosebumps and you push your upper body up on his shoulder blades. Turning around as much as you can, you discover, that he manifested a flame in his left hand. Not knowing if it’s supposed to warm you or light the way, you softly sigh and turn back around.
He walks and walks and walks and after a while, you notice that the snowfall slowly stops. Sukuna comes to a halt and in the reflection of the trees in front of you, you see the small flame light up and growing larger. You turn around again and in that moment he throws the flame forward, out of his hand. It lights up the ground in front of him and sets it on fire. The snow and ice is melting and sends a loud hissing sound to your ears.
The space around around the both of you grows dark again, as the flame expires. Sukuna holds you tight, before he drops you roughly on the ground in front of him. The impact stings in your cold, tired feet, while you hear him walking past you. You just stand there, eyes locked down to your feet, looking into the darkness. The sound of wood breaking and twigs crackling reaches your ears and soon a soft whoosh is audible, the ground you illuminates again.
A fireplace?
You can see more now. The ground beneath you is empty, no snow, no plants, just dirt. The fire melted it all away. It reminds you of the sight six years ago and you start to suppress the thought of being devoured by him, that‘s knocking on your mind. Slowly, you concentrate on the warmth the fire gives you, feeling warmer, as the heat of the fireplace reaches your back. Crossing your arms, you start to stroke soothingly over them, still not turning to face the man you once called King. He is silent, although you feel his stare bore into your back. The silence between you grows and grows. Each others pride fighting against each other.
And you can’t bear it.
Say something.
Your heartbeat grows louder and heavier. The familiar sound of his nails tapping impatiently against something reaches your ear and it wrecks your nerves. You sigh in annoyance. This moment of silence feels like an eternity. It’s uncomfortable, too. After everything he did, you can’t let him win this battle. You need to stand your ground.
Let him speak first.
“Your defense sucks.” he grumbles behind you. Your ears jump backwards as he starts to speak. Suddenly the dagger, that he hold in his hand this whole time, lands with a sharp sting in the ground right next to you. The impact making you jump a bit. You turn your head, just to eye him in the corner of your eyes. His muscular figure is illuminated by the fire, his gaze serious.
“Attack!” he orders, as he lowers himself into a defensive position. You eye him up and down and you can’t help to feel like he’s ridiculous. Giving him the cold shoulder, you turn forward again, ignoring him.
Stand your ground.
He chuckles and heavy footsteps start to walk up and arrive directly behind you.
“I know you want to.” he whispers in your ear, grabbing your arms. It’s sending goosebumps all over your body and you hate that he still has this impact on you. Sighing louder, you feel your anger growing again, heart in your throat.
“Do it.” he breathes, his nose and lips grazing the shell of your ear. Your blood starts to boil and you turn around, growling in anger, crouching in the process, pulling the dagger out of the ground and start to attack him. He dodges every of your tries to stab him. You tumble forward, while you aim for his stomach, chest and neck.
“More!” The way he smirks at you, while you’re trying to wound him. It makes you desperate.
Left. Right. Over. Under.
You wail in anger, while he moves so effortlessly, dancing around the sharp tip of the dagger.
“Use those claws, little kitten!” he mocks and hearing his nickname for you almost tears every last nerve you have in you. You attack and attack and attack. Putting so much anger in each blow, that you sincerely hope that you will hurt him, make him bleed. Your fierceness, however, can’t make up for the condition your body is in and you grow tired quickly. In the blink of an eye, Sukuna slips the dagger out of your hand, throwing it back into the dirt right next to you. He grabs you by the neck and yanks you towards him.
“You’re dead.” he hisses, dropping his smirk, as he pulls you closer, hovering over your face. “A dead runaway, wearing the keepsake that reminds her of her King” he continues. Your anger and the way his fingers impede the bloodflow to your brain, just like when he fucked you so good and heavy, makes your body react with arousal between your thighs.
I hate him.
You breathe heavily and angry against him, before he huffs and lets go of you. Knowing, that he can smell you, you hate how he won this fight. Not only physically, but also mentally. He drained you even further, your body now being so tired, another escape attempt isn’t even an option. You hate, how he knows it and you hate how you fell for his little trap.
“You’re still bleeding.” he says, his eyes shooting down to your cunt, before he turns around to sit on a fallen tree trunk. You pause, panting from the exertion you put your body in.
“Why are we here?” you ask, ignoring his comment. Sukuna looks at you serious.
“To remind you of your place.” he grumbles, eyeing you. You huff, feeling your abdomen stir and a cramp approaching.
“My place is not by your side.” you say, not looking at him. “You made sure of that.” you whisper, as you look back into his red orbs.
Cramp.
He squints his eyes and you notice his jaw clenching.
“Fool.” he growls. “You’re mine.”
“You think you own me, just because you fucked me.”
“You begged me to claim you.” he hisses.
You huff at his answer and shake your head. Turning to your right, you crouch down in front of the fire and reach out your hands to warm yourself.
“I wish it was that easy.” you whisper as you stare into the flames. “I wonder if the women housing in your perfect little shrine think the same.”
You hear him smack his lips and his breath becoming more annoyed. Your own hitches as another cramp approaches and you distort your face in agony.
“What a whore of a King.” you whisper.
His fingernails tap and scratch on the wood angrily, tearing your last nerve, making you want to say what’s been lingering on your mind.
“I hate you.” only a breath.
He shoots up from the log he’s sitting on, only to crouch down next to you.
“Oh yeah?” he grabs your chin harshly to turn your face towards him. “You know what I hate?” he hisses at you, making your heart feel like it’s going to stop. “Disrespectful little brat bitches like you. How dare you speaking to your King like that? How dare you running away in the middle of the night? How dare you to look at that insect of a man?”
What?
You look at him in confusion. His grip grows tighter.
“Devoting yourself to me on your knees, begging me to claim you and then looking at this pathetic mortal bastard with those bright little eyes of yours, while sitting up there on the throne right next to your King.” he growls. “You’re pissing me off!”
You huff.
“You are no King to me.” you say in disbelief. Hearing that he thinks of you like that, doubting you like that, fuels your rage. His lip twitches, as he listens to your words.
“What would your new little fucktoy think, if she saw you getting jealous over a glance from me to a stranger, a glance filled with emotions that were reserved for you?” you spit back. “Devoting herself to you, looking at you with her bright little eyes, then seeing you come for me, after I ran away?” you talk faster, louder, as you lean in, pushing against is grip. “Knowing you saved my life from monsters in the dark? Hearing your voice echoing through the woods, as you screamed that I’m yours? All of that for just another subordina-”
“She’d be reminded of her place.” he growls back, interrupting you, as his eyes glow into yours.
Your breath hitches and you muster his face, as you didn’t expect this answer from him.
“So what was my place then, when I saw you treating her like me? Heard you treating her like me?“ your voice resigns. He pauses, his eyes drop to your lips.
“Fool.”
You huff. “I guess, I am.” you whisper, as you yank your head out of his grip, turning your face forward again. Sukuna growls in annoyance, leans back and sits down against the log. The silence between the both of you grows back.
It’s different this time. Less… heavy.
Another cramp in your uterus reminds you of the cotton cloth that’s still in there. Ignoring Sukuna’s presence, you reach down between your thighs and pull the bloody cloth out of your cunt. Somehow, removing it gives you a feeling of relief and you throw it into the flames before you. The smell of burning blood fills the air.
It stinks.
You notice, that your thighs are all bloody, including parts of your kimono. Not having anything left you could stuff into you to prevent you from bleeding, you just leave it.
Can’t do anything about it anyway, you think to yourself, before you lay down on your right side, having Sukuna sitting against the log near your feet. The dirt is so cold in comparison to the hot fire right in front of your face. You feel tired. Breathing steadily, feeling warm and feeling like the both of you got some steam off between each other, you slowly start to relax. Knowing, that he’s watching you, you wonder, if he feels the same. The air around you doesn’t seem to tense anymore at least and as much as you hate this situation, blowing off steam dropped a weight off your heart. You continue to watch the flames dance and your mind starts to wander off.
Sukuna seems different. Emotional. You try to recollect if you ever saw him being like this, while you softly scrap the dirty ground beneath you. His wide eyes when he pinned you down, you almost saw a hint of fear in them. The way his voice must be heard miles away when he finally caught you. The way he’s so jealous, possessive and claiming.
He’s an impatient bastard and an asshole that’s full of himself, that’s what you know for sure. However, considering how he treated you today, how he saved you from these monsters and what he told you, you start to ask yourself if there’s more to him. More to his thoughts about you, his feelings.
Is he even capable of that?
You’re just another subordinate, just another one of his concubines. Well, not anymore. You’re not in the shrine anyway and you don’t know if you’re ever making it back there. There’s still the possibility that he’s going to eat you. However, why would he be so angry with you, if that was his intention? He could’ve devoured you, before carrying you into these woods for what felt to you like an eternity.
His poor back.
You can’t help, but to softly smile at your own thought. A thought that reminds you of the last time you felt truly happy. It was with him.
Or do you smile because you’re now here with him? Alone? Not in the shrine with all the others.
…all the others.
Your smiles fades. Anger still present in your heart, poking at your mind. Just like the flames in front of your face, your heart and mind dance with each other.
Dance around sanity and emotion.
Dance around repelling and forgiving.
Dance around hate and… love.
#permission#permission chapters#true form sukuna#sukuna#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#sukuna smut#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#true form sukuna smut#fanfiction#slow burn#sukuna x you#sukuna x reader#true form sukuna x you#true form sukuna x reader
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┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° “I’M…WHAT?”
…in which they give you a pet-name.
FEATURING: albedo, alhaithem, ayato, & beidou.
WARNINGS: none!
NOTE/S: still hoarding requests 🥱 i kinda wanna do more of these, lmk if u want me to!
ALBEDO
✧ For once in his life, the genius is stumped. Sort of. Calling you a nickname rather than just your name is unheard of for him — the furthest he’s gone with addressing someone familiarly would be dropping Kaeya’s title and regarding him simply as “Kaeya” — so it’s not too wild that he’s a bit worked up over how to address you. Does he have to ask you first? Is it considered kinder if he does? What if you don’t like it? What is he supposed to call you? He’s initially trying to take inspiration from his surroundings in Dragonspine, but considering his only living company consists of hilichurls, slimes, and Fatui agents, he decides there’s little to no appropriate inspiration in the mountains. When you come to visit and tag along on another of his expeditions and stumble across a flower — a little white-petaled thing that has a scientific name that you’d perhaps find boring and that you instead call a “snow flower” — he gets his little aha! moment. He ask if you like the flower — like, really like it, to the point where you get a little confused — but the next time you visit, he greets you with a smile and a fresh one he has definitely been working on growing in abundance SPECIFICALLY for you and replaces your name with “snow flower.” Eventually slips up and calls you “my snow flower”. Kaeya finds out and thinks it’s fucking hilarious.
ALHAITHEM
✧ The mere concept of sweetening up your name makes him slightly embarrassed. Yes, you two are…something, but he keeps up that half-scholar, half-anti-relationships wall pretty hard. He feels weird not — everyone else in relationships calls their partner by some cute nickname, not their full governmental address first name, so shouldn’t he? Sure, he’s not at all a follower of what everyone else does, but when it comes to untouched territory he has never had a relationship or sex ever argue with the wall he gets a bit confused. This isn’t the kind of thing he can study or debunk for himself, and so he now has to take on the difficult role of finding a nickname for you that isn’t weird, makes you feel good and doesn’t make him flustered. Spoiler, that last point will not be met, ever. He’ll hide it pretty well, sure — he’s bit abrasive and quick anyways — but the first time he chokes over calling you something as simple as “hon” (he was going for “honey” and did not quite get there) he seemed awful eager to get moving on task again. If you question it, he just sort-of defensively asks if you don’t like it. When you say you like it, he just sort of looks at you and goes “okay” and continues with whatever he was doing. When you first address him by the same name, he ignores it but, huh, his ears flush a little. Funny. Corner him about it later, would you?
AYATO
✧ He’s not shy about doing it. Actually, he gets a little enjoyment out of seeing you get a little flustered if he calls you something other than your name — he’ll do it much more in private, considering that he has a reputation to keep. Calling you pet names in public would probably not bode well for him and his stature. However, when it’s just the two of you, or maybe you two and Ayaka, or even if you two are just roaming the estate, he’ll drop a nickname. He experiments with a few — nothing lewd, of course, he prefers the classy ones — just to see which one gets you the most. His options include sweetheart, darling, and honey, though his eventual choice is a simple love. It’s cute and it’s simple and it makes you flush so nicely. It isn’t uncommon for you to be about the estate doing your own personal commissions and he’ll pass by, perhaps in the company of one of the estate guards, and greet you with a quick “good morning/afternoon/evening, love” and continue on as if he’d never said anything beyond casual small talk.
BEIDOU
✧ She’d start calling you one casually; maybe “darlin” or something similar. The first time she does it, you flush and she asks if it’s alright; when you say yeah, she just laughs and then continues on with whatever she’d been saying. This name, however, does not stick or at least it doesn’t outside of the bedroom because you get yourself a new one. Upon finding a closed chest filled with riches, she had exclaimed “treasure!” to which you’d jokingly responded to. She found it funny, you found it funny, and now you’ve been dubbed “treasure”. The rest of the crew, definitely including Kazuha, tease you about it. Just a little. It isn’t uncommon for someone to jokingly use her name for you — “behind you, treasure!” or “on your left, treasure!” — only to be quickly added onto by the rest of the ship. Think along the lines of “hey, be careful, that’s Captain Beidou’s treasure”, something that manages to get you just a little flustered. She thinks it’s funny to watch you get just a little embarrassed, and she’ll jump in on it if she’s a few drinks too deep, but mention it bothering you and she’s quick to shut down any and all teasing about your name.
#genshin impact#genshin headcanons#genshin x reader#genshin x you#genshin smut#genshin albedo#genshin alhaitham#genshin ayato#genshin beidou
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OC lore time (weird boygirl edition)
thank you sm for the tag @zoroarkthief!! I'm always happy to share about my wol :'))
Khed'a Dakwhil
—B A S I C S
Name: Khed'a Dakwhil
Nicknames: His adoptive mother called him cicada :> The scions will sometimes call him khedy (tataru started it and then everyone else followed). Aymeric calls him angel as a term of endearment.
Age: 28 at the beginning of ARR
Nameday: Second Astral Moon, 16th Sun
Race: Keeper of the Moon Miqo'te
Gender: Nonbinary, Genderfluid
Orientation: Bisexual with a slight lean towards guys
Profession: He's held every odd job you can think of but predominantly considers himself a white mage.
—P H Y S I C A L A S P E C T S
Hair: Dark brown bob
Eyes: Orange-Brown
Skin: light skin tone
Tattoos/scars: He has a scar of hardened skin in the center of his chest. He also has crystalline streaks going up his forearms. Both are a result of prolonged exposure to earth attuned aether.
—F A M I L Y
Parents: His birth mom is [redacted], and he doesn't know who his father is. His adoptive mother, Aria-A-Yan, was his conjury mentor when he was taken in as an orphan to the conjurer's guild. She was really supportive of him and helped him open up.
Siblings: None!
Grandparents: He heard stories of his grandmother but never knew her.
In-laws and Other: I really like him with Aymeric and considering the end of Heavensward, he's not on good terms with his father-in-law. Lol. As for other relatives, he's very close with the brother of his adopted mother, E-Sumi-Yan, and considers him like an uncle.
Pets: He has a little bird that follows him around named Thistle. He befriended it on the road to Ishgard.
—S K I L L S
Abilities: Khed'a has precise aetheric control as a highly skilled white mage. Due to the condition with his body, he has to keep a careful eye on his aether. During his time with the padjal, he learned how to properly manage and control the aether in his body. He is a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to healing. He learned self-defense techniques while among the padjal that later served him when he moved on to pick up lancer/dragoon as a job.
Hobbies: He enjoys collecting and brewing different teas. He also really likes going on walks, especially when he is in a new place or just needs some time to think. Khed'a has a journal where he takes notes on the local flowers, plants, and insects of an area (and will sometimes press flora in it). He also likes to keep plants, though as a traveler he's found that difficult to maintain. He has a plant in a small pot that he's kept alive by propagating every so often. Khed'a also enjoys birdwatching.
—T R A I T S
Most Positive Trait: His resilience and commitment to making the best of things in any given situation. He doesn't get discouraged despite it all.
Most Negative Trait: He's sometimes too willing to help others, to the point of stretching himself thin. He has issues with being objectified/being treated as a tool for others. He still falls into that role and struggles to properly adovcate for himself since it's a deeply ingrained pattern of behavior he's unlearning.
—L I K E S
Colors: Deep green, earthy browns, red, deep blue, smoky gray.
Smells: Freshly fallen snow, bergamot, chamomile, freshly washed sheets, a warm fire, flowers in bloom.
Textures: soft fabrics like silk and satin, freshly polished wood, the steadiness of a lance, leather, smooth pieces of metal (like jewelry or trinkets).
Drinks: He likes tea most, especially bergamot. He will also drink juices and lemonade. He enjoys hot chocolate as well.
—O T H E R D E T A I L S
Smokes: Nope.
Drinks: He doesn't drink alcohol but he will enjoy tea :3
Drugs: Nope.
Mount Issuance: Black Chocobo gifted from his friend Haurchefant. He will also use the unicorn he befriended as a conjurer, or the witch's broom mount.
Been Arrested: Yes (Post ARR :) Aside from that he hasn't run into too much more on that front.
I tag @freckledfemme @redgemwink @eirikaily @lululeighsworld @cogentsummoner @gnusnoteunuchs & anyone else who wants to talk about their wol/oc in general :3c
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Out in the Cold (Part Four)
M Orc x M Troll (Hulder) Reader
PREVIOUS || STORY TAG || NEXT
Wordcount: 4126
Content Warnings: Animal Death (Hunting/Self Defense), Injury (Animal Attack), Broken Bone, Blood
If something can go wrong, it will go wrong.
You wake with a confused snort. The only thing keeping you from tumbling to the forest floor below is your superb cat-like reflexes, your hands automatically darting out and gripping the branch you're perched on.
Your fingernails dig into the cold bark as your bleary mind tries to make sense of what happened. All around you are the snowcapped tops of evergreens. Much of the same sight from before you fell asleep has been blurred white by the flurries.
As you look around, the small pile of gathered snow falls from atop the hood of your cloak. Before you can get a firm grasp on your bearing, you’re distracted by a strange noise.
What is that…?
You freeze in place as you realize the sound is crunching snow.
Nearby.
Footsteps? There's something moving around on the ground below you.
You look down, expecting to see a band of enraged orcs gathering around to shake you out of the tree and beat you to a fine pulp, but instead you see the hulking, striped form of a young winter-coated hexopard, sniffing around the base of the tree.
It uses the claws on two of its six massive paws to dig at the bark, leaving large gouges in the hard surface of the tree like nothing more than lukewarm, spreadable butter.
Damn. That’s a problem!
You bite your thumbnail in worry, mind racing for a solution.
The overgrown creature below you rears up, leaning its full weight on the tree and causing the wood to creak and groan. It stretches out its neck, following a scent that’s drawing it up the tree. Its twitching nose would be a great deal more adorable if it wasn’t the size of your fist and above a maw full of razor sharp fangs that could snap your bones like brittle twigs.
The way it's behaving, it’s either going to climb up, or the tree is going to snap under its weight and bring you crashing to the ground with it from a tall height.
Terror settles in your gut, but you manage to stay calm. You absolutely have to figure out how to handle this - lest you end up as this creature's next meal, or broken from a fall from this height.
LAST SPRING
“And remember, the most important part of staying safe is being aware of your surroundings.” Torg’s deep voice easily projects out over the group without being too loud. “That’s why we hunt in pairs; Two sets of eyes always see more than one.”
You're in a newly set up hunting camp, listening to Torg address your little group; you, and eight tweenaged orclings. All of them are somehow scarily buff, despite barely being out of single digits in age. Some of them are already taller than you, and all of them are already wider.
While Torg talks, you take one last chance to look over your new bow.
It took some time and a lot of effort to finish it. Urguk’s family trade is carpentry, as it turns out. So, you spent a lot of afternoons trying to shape a usable riser and set of limbs out of hunks of wood, using machines in his family’s workshop that you’ve never even seen before, let alone knew how to use. But Urguk was more than happy to show you, and while he’s not the best at verbal instructions; he certainly makes up for that in enthusiasm. After several sessions, friction burns and splinters later, you ended up with a bow that was nearly functional.
And even more lucky for you, Lurog is much better at giving instructions, and used their experience braiding to help you make your bowstring. She effortlessly knew the amount of strands you’d need for a light enough draw weight for you. Coating the strands in beeswax and braiding them together was the easy part, after that.
And now you have a new, practically shining weapon, tailor made by your own hand to suit your strengths. The first time you practiced with it after it was made, Torg was nearly blown away with how big of an improvement it made on your aim. You certainly didn’t have to quit mid-quiver, now.
And you have to admit, the admiration and praise from him felt quite nice…
Finally, it’s time to get to business after weeks of crash course training; you’re more than ready to see what the bow you slaved hours over can do. You’re aching to see the culmination of the daunting task of crafting an entire functioning weapon by hand, that you only managed to accomplish with the help of your friends.
Your friends…?
Ugh. When did you start calling them that?
It's not a good idea to get attached like this…
“Alright, is everyone ready?”
Your much younger compatriots' energetic voices sound around you in a loud and discordant, though affirmative, chorus.
“...Absolutely!” You add a few seconds late.
Torg finishes addressing the group. The bubbling excitement of the youngsters you’re surrounded by is truly contagious, a pleasant buzz of activity in the back of your mind.
The kids disperse with their chaperones - whom respectively give you a reassuring, tusky grin and a lazy thumbs up - as they pass with their charges in tow.
It seems that this year, things have been restructured to account for your presence. Urguk and Lurog are acting as chaperones for the four pairs of young orcs, there only to confirm their kills and to act as support if anything goes wrong. This is usually solely Torg's job, but they seem excited to be sharing the responsibility this time. You’re a bit surprised that some of the more seasoned hunters weren't the ones doing this job, but it occurs to you after some thought that they’re probably busy doing their own hunting, now that spring is here.
That left Torg open to act as both your chaperone and your hunting partner. Though you still have to make a solo kill, he'll be your second set of eyes.
…You get the feeling he made things this way to shield anyone else from the potential mishap you're likely to cause, deciding instead to take any resulting damage that may result himself.
You huff at the thought. You’ll show him.
You suppose it’s for the best. Over the last few weeks of archery practice, you think he’s gotten a lot more relaxed with you, and he’s not the worst company to be stuck with in the woods for an extended period… At least you’ll be safe if anything happens, you try to convince yourself that’s the only reason.
The chaperones and pairs of orclings gradually depart from camp. You're left with only your own chaperone/hunting partner, alone in the newly verdant forest clearing.
“A rousing speech as always.” You grin and gesture to your own sleek face. “I like what you’ve done with the beard.”
“Hmm, thanks.” He rubs the short, newly trimmed shape of his facial hair. “I always cut it back this time of year. Otherwise it collects pollen and I’m sneezing all the time.”
“I see.” You smile, thinking of his thick, dark hair dusted yellow-green instead of the sleek, neatly-trimmed thing it is now. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
“Lead the way,” Torg's mouth takes on a small curl of a wry smile before adding, "Boss."
You can't help but laugh, and make your way through the trees, as well, though you head in the opposite direction of the other group.
It takes you a long time to find any hint of a wild animal, even despite it being the season when nature is bursting at the seams with young rabbits, elk yearlings and various types of fowl.
You finally manage to find clear traces of a hooved herbivore grazing. Between the hoof prints in the soft areas of ground and the occasional mark of antler velvet being rubbed against trees, you determine it's most likely an elk. You follow the signs as best you can through the woods, following the path the creature took likely some hours earlier.
After a while of tracking, you crest a small incline, and through the twiggy branches you can make out the form of your quarry. A young male elk grazes in the fresh spring grass of the area below the overhanging slope you stand on.
It's a bit big for you to take down on your own with only your light bow, and you can basically hear Torg thinking the same thing behind you. You had expected to kill a hare or maybe a spring quail, but this elk is the first living creature besides Torg you've laid eyes on for several hours.
You need to get this one. Your ego won’t let you pass it up.
But it’s angled slightly towards you. If you shoot it like this, your arrow won’t be able to get past the elk’s shoulder bone - resulting in a long, messy death, rather than a quick and much less painful one for either of you.
You nock an arrow and line up your shot, steadying your breathing and waiting for the elk to move to a better position.
And finally it does, turning broadside to reach what must be a particularly succulent looking patch of grass.
Your arm doesn't shake anymore when you draw back the string.
You hold your breath and loose the arrow - just as the deer turns slightly back towards you.
The arrow hits it and stays lodged behind its shoulder. Luckily the arrow didn’t glance off the bone, but it’s closer to the front of the animal rather than where it needs to be on the side.
The elk lets out an alarmed bellow and bounds off through the woods, leaving a bright red sanguinous trail to follow.
"Dammit-" You hiss in irritation, rising hastily from your crouch to tail the wounded animal.
"Don't worry." You hear Torg encourage in uncharacteristic low volume as you pass by him. "You'll get it."
You track the cervid once again, this time slightly easier given the literal colored line leading you to it. After nearly another hour of following the trail through the brush, you come to a clearing.
You walk out into the middle of the empty space, where the blood trail immediately stops dead, ending in a large collected pool on the grass with no indication of anything leaving it. Somehow, there is no sign of the wounded elk anywhere.
The clearing is devoid of movement and sound - all the sounds of small animals moving through the brush and bird calls have completely stopped.
It’s downright creepy.
You approach the bloodstained area, not caring to avoid the cracking twigs under your boot while you crouch beside the ominous puddle to investigate.
It’s blood, alright. But the trail seemingly leads to nowhere. You stand back up, irritated. Your tail swishes angrily, slapping at the grass at your feet with the end of each twitching arc.
You did everything right! Why are things going wrong now?
“What in the hell-?” You motion widely with your hands, palms up. “Did it get up and fly away, then?! Maybe it ascended to heaven!”
“Wait-” Torg says your name in a stern voice as he reaches the edge of the clearing behind you.
A large glob of something wet drips into the middle of your outstretched palm.
Your eyes dart to the source of the wetness, a rivulet of red now slowing tracking down the tendon in your wrist.
Blood.
Your head snaps up, and you see the now lifeless corpse of the elk, now half-eaten, with one of your arrows still buried in its shoulder. It’s lodged into the crook of one of the branches of the large tree overhanging the clearing, legs and antlers dangling limply.
“W-W-What in the hell!” You wheeze out again, paralyzed by fear, your legs planted firmly to the ground.
“Don’t turn around. Back up. Slowly.” Torg continues, deadly serious.
Your legs just aren’t listening to your command to function. They may as well be made of jelly.
Even less so when you spot the culprit that stored the elk in the tree.
Glittering, fixed eyes meet yours. A silent behemoth- an adult male hexopard, still clad in winter coat- becomes clear in your vision through the camouflage of the underbrush. It’s crouched predatorily at the other end of clearing. Lying in wait, ready to launch itself at any moment. A ring of wet crimson coats the fur around its mouth.
You barely choke back the scream, only managing to because your life may depend on it.
“Listen-” Torg says your name again, much more desperate this time. “I know it's scary. But you have to move.”
You want to, but you just can’t. You can’t move, can’t bring any words to escape your choked-shut throat.
“It will be alright. Don’t turn your back on it,” Torg repeats, this time both firmer and more pressed, but still somehow comforting. “Slowly. Come to me.”
Unthinking, you tilt your head to look back at Torg- maybe to better plan your escape route, maybe for reassurance- but either way, it is a mistake.
In a snap, the stillness of the situation breaks.
Everything moves so fast. The hexopard lurches forward at top speed, covering ground at an alarming pace with its six, agile limbs.
You’re about to be devoured.
But you don’t die horribly - instead you’re slung forcibly out of the way, nearly toppling over your own feet in the process.
You stumble to regain your balance as Torg places himself between you and the hexopard. His spear is up between his hands, a horizontal bar smashed into the hinge of the beast’s jaw. It snarls and gnashes, trying to break free from the makeshift bit with fang and claw.
“Hrrgh- RUN!” He shouts at you, his arms straining with all they have to keep the massive creature impeded.”RUN NOW!”
You know you should flee, but -
This thing will outrun you in seconds if it gets past Torg, and you can’t withstand even a single hit the way he clearly can.
You make a split decision to disobey Torg’s instruction. Your legs instead carry you as fast as possible towards the nearest tree not containing a dead elk, and you hastily begin to scale the tree. If you get up here, you can probably at least hit it with some arrows-
“NO! IT CAN CLIMB!” Torg shouts at you between the snarling he’s doing in an attempt to intimidate the beast, noticing your change in plan. “YOU HAVE TO GET-”
Before Torg can complete his thought, the wooden haft of the weapon holding it back snaps in half with a sickeningly loud crack. The middle of the wooden shaft is crunched to splinters between the animal’s powerful, sharpley fanged jaw. The spear’s body is separated into two ragged pieces.
The hexopard uses the force of the stored up energy releasing to take Torg down, knocking him supine, where it bears down on him.
Torg raises the back of his bracer-covered forearm, lodging it in its mouth in the spear’s place, to keep the creature away from his face and throat.
Torg has dropped the blunt end of his spear, but the tipped end stays in his hand as an improvised blade - anything to stab and gouge in an attempt to fight back as he struggles on the ground.
Shit, shit, shit- I have to do something-
Or Torg’s going to-
Going to-
You can't even bring yourself to even think about it.
You cradle your head in your hands, not even noticing the elk blood you’re smearing in your hair, desperately trying to squeeze a good idea from between your temples.
The hexopard’s jaw finally readjusts its grip and clamps down hard, crunching down full force on Torg’s forearm, and assumingly, straight into bone. Torg lets out a bellow in pain, still striking at the beast’s face and head one handed with all of the strength he has left.
But what can you even do? Your hands can’t be trusted to hold your bow with how badly they’re trembling in abject horror, let alone still being slippery from blood.
You’re weak and useless, as always-
The predator drops his arm to go for his neck. Torg’s opposite gloved hand holding the creature’s snout at bay is his last resort to keep the menacing jaws from fully mauling him. You can see cyan-hued blood running down his arm as it tremors, his strength threatening to fail any moment now.
That's when you remember the other weapon you have access to - your trusty dagger, resting concealed on your belt, like it always is.
The beast’s jaws slip past Torg’s grip and snaps forward to rip out his throat. Torg barely manages to turn his head fast enough to survive, instead the fangs piercing the leather armor covering Torg's shoulder and sinking into his flesh.
“Hhrngh-!” Torg grits his teeth, struggling in vain to pry the creature's mouth from his deltoid with his hand.
Your hesitation is driven away - it may be a stupid idea, but you need to at least try to help before it's too late.
At least if you fail and you both die, you won't have a whole tribe of orcs seeking revenge on you for getting their chieftain killed.
You unsheathe your trusty dagger, holding it with both hands as you quickly adjust your positioning.
You take a deep breath.
Then, you pounce.
A dizzying spin of pale colors swirls in your vision as you descend. The weight of your body drives the full force of your fall through the knife. You land on your feet (of course) on the furred back of the creature with a thump. Your dagger buries into the back of the hexopard's neck, right below the base of the skull, sinking down to straddle the creature’s back to try to keep yourself from being flung off.
The beast releases its clamp on Torg in surprise. It thrashes and roars in a spray of blood, now fully focused on you. It tries to throw you off or twist back to bite at you, but it's too late.
You continue to leverage the blade with all your body weight until you feel a snap, and the creature lets out one last long, mournful waul before falling completely limp and silent.
Breaths wild and heaving, you look at Torg's pale expression of awe below you, momentarily stunned yourself.
Then you snap back to your senses, sheathing your blade and rolling off the hexopard's back to help Torg to wriggle free from beneath the beast’s deadweight.
Soon, with your moderate assistance, he's dragged himself clear of being pinned. He holds his palm to the weeping holes in his shoulder, staunching the heavy flow of cool toned blood from his wound.
He lets out a low groan as he stubbornly tries to get to his feet with only the use of one of his thick arms.
"Don't stand up yet… I-" Your hands don't stop shaking as you dig through your pack, searching for your first aid supplies. The adrenaline in your veins is making all of the heavy emotions feel far away for now. "Let me at least patch you up first."
He grunts affirmatively and leans back against the base of the tree you were just perched in.
The first thing you do is hand him one of the healing draughts tucked at the top of the kit.
"Thanks." He pops the cork from the vial with his thumb, draining it one handed before handing back the spent bottle. "Have a feeling I'll need it."
“Yeah. I… think I would’ve much preferred the elk maul you.” You say, trying to make light of the situation. “Are horribly dangerous big cats usually skulking around baby’s first hunting trip?”
“No, they are supposed to have woken up from hibernation and migrated for spring by now. Big guy was probably a late riser and driven mad by the hunger.”
You start to tend to his wounds; you’re not the best medic, but you at least know enough to manage to clean a wound and put on a bandage.
“Your blood is blue too.” You observe with a small laugh, though you’re not sure why you said that of all things.
“Yeah-” Torg sucks in a hiss of air at the sting of the antiseptic coated cloth meeting his cuts. “Mom’s a troll- A giant.”
“Well, that certainly explains a lot about you.” You work to bandage the large wound first, then any other ones on his arms, hands and face that are profusely leaking. “A bit surprised you didn’t mention being half troll by now.”
“Completely different kind of troll than what you are. Didn’t seem important.”
“A troll is still a troll!” You laugh incredulously.
Torg simply rolls his eyes at you, apparently too exhausted to continue to argue.
Then you come to his left arm, which doesn't seem to look quite right.
“Your arm…”
“S’broken.” He says simply, as if he was telling you what he had for breakfast instead of something this upsetting. “Not my first broken bone. Shaman will fix me up.”
After you’ve cleaned and bandaged the bite wound under his bracer, you help make a makeshift splint with your unstrung bow.
“At least this came in handy in some way today.” You chuckle as you begin to tie the strips of cloth to secure his arm to it. It earns an amused snort from him, and you’re happy as long as he’s conscious and interacting.
You work in relative silence after that. You glance up to check he’s still lucid when you see his dark eyes resting on you.
Maybe it’s the flood of emotion rushing back into your brain as the adrenaline wears off, but you can’t help but feel incredibly fond of him right now.
You also can’t help but think - maybe a bit strangely, given the current circumstances - that he looks very handsome, even like this.
“Yes?” You say, smirking, your ears twitching as you try to banish the strange thought.
“...You didn’t run when I told you.” Torg admonishes you with a grunt, his voice hoarse.
“Oho, is that really something you’re going to scold me for? Right now?” You say incredulously, gesturing to his general state of injury. “That stinking behemoth would’ve bitten your head off next if I hadn’t disobeyed you, you know!”
“I know. You made the right call.” He nods. The smile he gives you exudes pure pride. It's a foreign expression for you to see him with- to see anyone with, when it comes to you- and one you're not used to being on the receiving end of in general. “Thank you.”
"Sure." You try to ignore how flustered this makes you, and help him get to his feet. It must just be your emotions being unhinged from the ordeal. “I would’ve been an appetizer if you hadn’t pushed me out of the way first, so I suppose we can call it even.”
Luckily, his lower body is generally unharmed, so he can still walk unassisted. Once he gets some stronger pain medicine from camp, he’ll likely be able to make the trip back to the settlement with little issue.
Torg stubbornly insists on giving the dead hexopard a look over before you leave. He has to confirm your kill, apparently.
You don’t even want to look at it anymore, the remorse heavy in your gut. You’re a thief, not a murderer - you don’t personally relish in killing living things, even animals. Hopefully hexopard meat is edible, so it nor the elk’s death isn’t pointless, but… At the end of the day, between the hexopard dying or Torg, you much prefer that it wasn’t Torg.
“Imagine that, a little cat killed that huge beast on his first hunt!” He remarks in amazement as he looks over the huge carcass. “Never seen anything like it in my years of being Chieftain so far.”
“I mean, usually this trial is done by children, right? That would be quite a feat.” You chuckle in turn. “I’d hate to encounter the little bastard that could manage this...”
Torg seems to find that quite funny as he bellows out a laughing fit, having to wipe a tear from his eye with his good hand.
“You should be proud.” He adds when he’s composed himself. “It’s a great achievement to take down something so large, all on your own.”
“I didn’t do it on my own.” You assert with a smile. “I had an excellent distraction.”
You think, perhaps, you’ll leave this out of the next message to your guildmaster as well…
>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI
#exophilia#monster lover#monster romance#monster x reader#monster x monster#orc x reader#orc#male x male#male reader#mlm#mxm#series: out in the cold#oc: torg#oc: reyr#nine of words
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Friends. It’s been a HELL of a week, no? For those of us watching BOTH the Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy X ATOTS episodes AND Our Dining Table (AND STEP BY STEP RETURNS NEXT WEEK, FUCK). I mean. I had purposely NOT taken on new shows to hoard my mental health resources to handle Our Skyy 2/BBS/ATOTS, but I give up, I’m just a bowl of cocktails, melted ice cream, and mental tears.
I held off on watching Our Dining Table, episode 9, until today to recover from episode 2, part 4/4, oh holy Jesus of Our Skyy 2/BBS/ATOTS this week, but I’ve caught up on ODT, so here we go.
The dearest wonderfriend @lurkingshan wrote a fabulous piece about the family dynamics at hand in the meeting between Yutaka and his adoptive family. Everyone knows now that that wasn’t in the manga, and I want to take a few guesses as to why it was included in the screenplay.
I haven’t plunged into the tags as much as Shan, but it seems like some folks may think that Yutaka misjudged his adoptive family as he grew up. I’m more interested in the why of that, and Shan certainly touches upon it as an effect of Yutaka losing his parents so young. We know Yutaka has a fear of abandonment. It’s how it gets expressed that’s affecting his whole life -- including, in the words of @wen-kexing-apologist, the LONG FUCKING PREGNANT PAUSES (lol).
Yutaka was so shattered by the initial behavior of his adoptive brother when he was first taken in -- after his parents died -- that he utterly retreated into himself, and COULD NOT SEE the subtle changes of Yuki Oniisan over the course of the rest of their childhoods, as Yuki tried to reach out. Yuki ended up thinking that that was the way Yutaka just was, when in fact, this was Yutaka’s protective shield.... a sheild that ended up being mostly who Yutaka ended up being as an adult anyway.
I absolutely LOVED seeing this motif being played out in a non-canon scene, LOVED IT. I LOVED how that scene was set up, with almost HOSPITAL-LIKE lighting, SURGICAL lighting, COLD and white (yuuki means snow, funnily enough EDITING TO CORRECT, thank you to @sliceduplife for correcting me because I was only hearing “yuuki” by sound, and the kanji of his name actually means courage + tree, so please ignore the snow comparison to the lighting!) -- while the flashback to Minoru and Tane was full of warm, yellow, sun-like light.
This was an EXAMINATION of Yutaka’s mind and heart. After talking with his adoptive family, Yutaka realized his perspective and perception was off. He’s missing subtle details about his interactions with people. His shield is SO strong that he missed fully embodying HIS OWN FEELINGS FOR MINORU -- even though, as he says to Minoru in the playground, that he KNEW what those feelings were. He just didn’t know how to act on them.
And we’re going to see, in the final episode, another instance of this, another experience of a feeling that Yutaka hasn’t had before, but one that he KNOWS HE NEEDS TO FEAR, because he lost his parents. Now that he has something GOOD -- he knows there’s a chance he’ll LOSE IT. And as friends like @respectthepetty and @troubled-mind have noted, the last episode will feature Dad Ueda-san in a turn that will not disappoint regarding this.
But now, this fear of LOSS. Y’all and me -- we all know people, and/or we are these people, that always have something on our minds that we’re anxious about. I’m that kind of person -- I don’t feel normal if I’m not stressed about something. I just bet that this is Yutaka’s defense mechanism against any more pain, and what we’re witnessing is the embodiment of it.
Y’all know this by now since I’m late in writing this, but next week’s episode is gonna be emotionally EVERYTHING, so get your tissues ready. I, for one, am definitely not ready, and he has a lot to do with this, so yes, I DO blame Aof Noppharnach for cliffhangers AGAIN airing his damn Our Skyy shows while the best BL airing right now is ending. COME AWN, AOF!
#this post was sponsored by kleenex#our dining table#bokura no shokutaku#minoru x yutaka#yutaka x minoru#inukai atsuhiro#iijima hiroki
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