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orobaxis · 1 year

Note

I loved your Ominis fic so much! It felt like I was there with him 🤭 for prompts I couldn’t decide between “You need to know that I have grown to care for you. Deeply." and "I can't fathom the idea of my life without you in it." It could be angsty or not I don’t mind 😊

“deeply”

ominis gaunt x f!reader (hogwarts legacy)

ominis starts to avoid you.

word count: 2849

warning: some pureblood purity nonsense, f!reader may be muggleborn or a half-blood

beware of spoilers in the comments/tags/reblogs!

“what's wrong with you and ominis?”

you frown, eyes not leaving your plate as you give anne a shrug. you don’t know, really, what’s going on between you and ominis. he just suddenly became so distant to you.

at first, you thought it was just you. you thought you were going a bit paranoid, or that you were overthinking it. because ominis always sits with you, that was his place, that was where people expected to find him in the great hall. wherever y/n was, ominis wasn’t far behind.

it started when he raced anne to sit beside sebastian for lunch. you don’t think they noticed, and anne was just all too happy to sit beside you and chat, but you did. he was supposed to sit beside you, so why didn’t he? you chalked it up to him wanting to talk (argue) with seb, and thought nothing of it.

next was when you arrived to the library shortly after your potions class. you always go to the library after potions to try to work on your homework, you had a dedicated nook and ominis would join you and you would both nag the twins to start their homework (and not copy yours). but one day, he just…wasn’t there. you were beginning to get worried, then, wondering if he wasn’t feeling well, or if you did something to upset him. so that night, you try to catch him in the common room.

he didn’t show up. you four would usually sit by the large windows overlooking the lake, waiting for the giant squid to greet you while pranking other students. but when sebastian told you that “he said he wanted to rest”, your heart formed a little crack in it. and every day he started to avoid you, the crack just grew a little bit bigger.

“i think…he’s avoiding me,” you tell anne. despite being close to ominis, you and anne share a sisterly bond that was forged early in your lives and stronger than the very foundations of magic. there are things you simply cannot talk to seb or ominis about (for one, your…budding feelings towards the latter), and it’s always anne who you turn to in times like these. “he hasn’t talked to me for days now.”

anne scrunches her face in displeasure. “that isn’t like ominis at all, he’s not ignoring me, and certainly not my brother,” she turns to you warily, “do you think it was something you did? something you said?”

“i’m trying to remember, but i’m certain i haven’t said or done anything that could have upset ominis,” the tone of your voice is sadder now, disparaging, “that i know of.”

anne, ever the optimist, reaches for your hand and squeezes it, “well, whatever it is, i’m sure ominis will come around. he can’t stay away forever, you know?”

feeling somewhat comforted, you give her a terse smile. do you know that?

it might be best to stay away. ignoring the thumping of his heart and the fluttering in his stomach, ominis flicks his wand, and the howler is engulfed in flames before it can disintegrate. he is thankful for the privacy of the undercroft at this moment, although he knows that any one of his friends can pop in, the message in the howler was not something he wanted them to hear.

son,

we have heard rumours about you associating with some…unsavoury folk—

is that really what they think of her? of y/n? because she wasn’t born from a prominent pureblood family, because she associates herself with muggleborn professor garlick, because she loves all things that grow and not fascinated in the dark arts?

does his family really think less of her because of her birth?

ominis made a hard and rash decision, and it has been going well. however, he’s certain that you are starting to get suspicious by now. you are a smart witch, you know that he’s been avoiding you. but ominis thinks there is no other option. in order to keep you away from his family’s sharp and piercing gaze, it is better to distant himself from you. it is for your own safety. he cannot have them sink their infected claws into the only comfort he has away from home. no matter how hard it is, ominis has to keep away.

which is becoming hard, seeing your history together. having barely separated, you have all the same classes together. herbology, for one, is your favourite class, and you had paired with him to care for a pot of chinese chomping cabbage. this is going to be a lot harder than he thought, seeing as you had rooted yourself deep into his routine, his life, and his heart.

feeling emboldened by your conversation with anne, you are hopeful that ominis will finally break his silence in herbology. you are partners, and you have to discuss how to properly care for this rather…biting…flora.

your anxious smile drops a bit when ominis says nothing when you greet him, only standing away from the potting station, seemingly indifferent.

“so…i thought we should start trimming our cabbage and feed it some carrots,” you suggest slowly, trying to gauge any reaction. “and maybe water it before we leave. what do you say, ominis?”

the smile is replaced by a frown when you see him looking away from you, something he hasn’t done since you two started being friends. he is attentive like that, whenever you talk to him, he would turn to your general direction, making sure you know that he was listening to you. now, you aren’t so sure that he’s not let your words pass through one ear and out the other.

ominis only shrugs, “do whatever you think is right,” and turns away from your completely.

disheartened, you turn to the potting station, trying to ignore the tightening of your throat and the sharp sting of tears threatening to fall down your cheeks. you silently tend to your plant for the rest of the class.

“why are you ignoring y/n?”

sebastian finds him sulking close to the defense against the dark arts classroom. this is also one of your favourite hauntings, enjoying the tea the biscuits when you have a free period.

ominis sighs, knowing that he cannot really avoid the question forever. he also knows how persistent sebastian can be, and it would be no use to hide it from him. despite this, he tries to play dumb at first, “what makes you say that?”

“well, for one, you haven’t been sitting next to her or talking to her for a couple of days now. and in herbology, you’d think someone made her watch a niffler getting tortured with how sad she looked.” sebastian’s tone is accusatory.

the gaunt boy frowns as he imagines how much his actions hurt you, only giving you one sentence answers whenever you ask questions in class and avoiding you as much as he can. he hates that he’s the reason you were so down in herbology earlier.

“and anne has been pestering me to ask you,” sebastian adds, “which means you better tell me now before she comes here and beats it out of you.”

ominis scoffs, “like she’d eve—”

“ominis, the only reason she hasn’t hexed you is because she’s busy comforting y/n right now. as soon as she’s done, you best believe we’ll both be on the receiving end of a mean stinging hex.”

well, ominis couldn’t argue with that.

“it’s my parents,” he tells sebastian, “they owled me, wrote to me that i shouldn’t be associating with ‘unsavoury folk’ and those who are ‘lesser’. that i am slytherin’s heir and should not be seen with someone who has muggle parentage and friends with muggleborns.”

sebastian blanches at that. “how dare they!”

“you might think that’s that, but it’s also a threat. they are telling me to stop now, or else they will find her.”

“and this…this is why you’re staying away?”

ominis nods, “i don’t want my family to even think of her. to look at her or touch her. i cannot have them taint her.”

he waits as sebastian goes silent, trying to process what he just said. he is not hoping for a solution, nor comfort.

“but…you’re hurting her. and yourself.”

ominis says nothing. he doesn’t need to. what more can he say?

you want to believe that you’re getting used to the silence. but you really can’t. it’s so different without ominis’ presence, without his (overly) doting nature, or his commentary whenever seb does anything stupid. while you still wonder what it is you did to make him ice you out, you also start to muster the courage to talk to him alone and ask him about it.

relaying this to anne, you two try to find the right “opportunity” to catch ominis off guard so that you can confront him. he seemingly catches on to it though, now sticking beside sebastian at any cost. sebastian is also a bit subdued, and that is something you should ask about in a while as well.

it’s so strange to find ominis across the table from you in the great hall, face turned away from you like he is deliberately letting you know he doesn’t want to acknowledge your presence. anne has been helpful, sitting beside you and initiating conversation, but it’s not the same.

it’s not the same without him.

so when the owls started arriving and delivering packages, you consider it a welcome surprise to receive one.

“oh, a package!” anne exclaims excitedly, “who is it from?”

you turn over the package, the smile on your face replaced by a frown, “i don’t know. it’s unmarked.”

at that, ominis can feel the hair on the back of his neck standing, and he sits up straighter. “don’t open it.”

you look up to ominis, surprised that he not only was listening to you (and ignoring you on purpose), but that he talked to you. even if it was just to tell you not to open a package.

sebastian purses his lips and nods, “he’s right, y/n. it could be some prank from someone.”

or something related to the dark arts that is meant to curse you, he and ominis think.

ominis has a gnawing feeling of anxiety, wondering if it was his family who sent you this mysterious package. do they really think he wouldn’t know about it? why would they send something potentially dangerous in such a conspicuous way?

“alright,” you acquiesce, now thinking that it couldn’t hurt to be on the safe side. it would be terrible if the package turned out to be a prank, wondering if it would explode when you open it or splash you with something pungent. “i’ll open it outside.”

“i will open it,” ominis states, and it sounds final. you stare at him, contemplating on whether this would be the right time to ask him, if he has decided he’s had enough of ignoring you and you can go back to the way it was. the finality in his words seem to suggest that he does not tryst whatever is in that package. his arms extend across the table to you, “i’ll keep it in the undercroft for now.”

blinking in surprise, you raise your eyebrow, “you want to hide it there?”

he nods tersely, “just to make sure it doesn’t explode on you. after classes we will go to the beach and open it.”

resigned, you hand the package over to him, taking the moment to bask in the feeling of his fingers brushing against your own. as quickly as it happened, ominis’ hands are gone, and he stands up, wand blinking red in front of him. he doesn’t say anything as he leaves for the undercroft.

sebastian says nothing when he hears your sigh of defeat.

the four of you find yourselves at the beach after class, eyeing the suspicious package tucked under ominis’ arm.

“i didn’t find any traces of dark arts in the package,” he says, “but we can never be too careful. i will place it on the ground and i need you all to back away as far as you can.”

“will you be safe?” you blurt out, your worry for him trumping the other confusing feelings you have bubbling up your chest, “if this is some kind of…dark arts artifact…i think it would be best if we get a teacher involved.”

ominis thought about that, of course. “if it’s dark arts, then i might be able to find a way to control it. and then you can go and fetch professor hecat.”

still wary, you voice your assent, grabbing anne’s hand for support.

you watch ominis take a deep breath, sebastian standing not too far from him, ready to catch him if anything happens as well as to guard you and anne.

ominis waves his hand in a flourish, and you all held your breaths as the packaging tears open to find…

a book.

thick, and well-used, it looks like…an ordinary textbook.

you shuffle towards ominis curiously, ignoring sebastian’s calls, and peeked to see what it is.

“oh, it’s a book,” you comment. you get close enough to read the title, even as ominis extends his arm to stop you from getting any closer. “it’s the herbology book i’ve been looking for!”

“what book?” ominis asks, still distrustful.

“i asked deek the house elf to help me find a book on herbology that professor garlick mentioned. he said he knew where that missing book may have been hidden. he must have sent it to me when he found it.”

you cautiously move away from ominis hold, reaching for the book. “see? it’s harmless. deek probably just didn’t put his name on it.”

“so, it’s not evil?” sebastian asks.

you raise the book and wave it, smiling, “nope!”

“merlin’s beard! that gave me quite the fright,” anne exclaims, hands on her chest, “this was all just a big misunderstanding!”

you smile, before subtly turning your gaze to ominis. he is quiet, once again icing you out. he nods stiffly before raising his wand, proceeding to walk away.

“ominis, wait!” you call out.

you see him hesitate, stopping his tracks for a moment. he clears his throat, “i’m glad you’re safe.”

he finds out by the large windows in the common room, one of your favourite spots.

you were learning your forehead against the window, listening to the sound of water behind the thick glass.

“the giant squid isn’t here,” ominis remarks, “i couldn’t hear it.”

he cannot see the sad smile on your face. “thank you for letting me know, i think it’s better knowing that instead of waiting for nothing.”

oh.

he doesn’t like the sound of your voice when it’s sad.

before he can process it, he is standing in front of you, hands clenched at his sides. “i’m sorry y/n. i know i hurt you…but…”

your voice is small and muffled against the window, “i don’t know what i did for you to push me away like this.”

“my family has threatened to hurt you if i don’t stay away,” he blurts out, and you sit up in surprise.

“what?” you are shocked, to say the least.

“that’s why i was so worried about the package. i was afraid that they had sent you a cursed object because you…because you associate yourself with me.

but y/n, you need to know that i have grown to care for you. deeply,” ominis doesn’t want to admit how much he’s shaking, how it is obvious from the way he sounds that his shaky voice is about to crack and his throat tight as he struggles to keep his emotions at bay, “you are the last thing i want my family to touch. i couldn’t let them hurt you. not you.”

you exhale, tears now flowing down your cheeks. you stand in front of him and grasp his hands, which are cold, clammy, and shaking.

“oh ominis,” you squeeze his hands, slowly making your way closer until your forehead rests against his. feelings that you thought are yours to keep, buried deep and untouched in your heart, are starting to rise. “i cannot fathom the idea of my life without you in it. i don’t care what your family thinks. i will be fine as long as i’m with you. with seb and anne. with our family.”

ominis starts to break, exhaling as he feels your skin touch his, your smell invading his senses and your warmth soothing his tormented soul. “i cannot lose you, y/n. not to them.”

smiling through your tears, you raise your arms to pull him into a hug. “you won’t lose me, ominis. i promise you.”

there may be a lot of work to be done, more talks to be had, with regards to your feelings and his, on how to navigate these feelings and desires while also making sure that his family never touches you, but for now, ominis basks in your presence and in the love you have for him. and for now, that is enough.

aaaahhh sped write this minutes before a class presentation. i hope it’s fine. thank you for your patience with my writing styles/formatting as i try to find the best style/layout to write. thank you for the overwhelming love!!!

#ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt imagine #hogwarts #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts imagine #hogwarts legacy imagine #sebastian sallow #anne sallow

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minniethemoocherda · 23 days

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Stay With Me

A/N: I cannot thank you all enough for all the support you guys have given me in response to my Morpherine fics! It has been completely insane especially all your incredible comments as well as all the amazing art over on tumblr! If it wasn't for you guys then I probably wouldn't feel as inspired to keep writing these fics so again thank you all so much!!!! Xxxxxxx

Ao3

FF.net

"NOOOOO!" Morph screamed as they woke up to find themselves sitting in a puddle of their own sweat and gloop.

They screamed again their bedroom door was broken down.

"What's wrong?" Logan demanded, claws drawn and body tensed ready to pounce.

"You giving me a fucking heart attack!" Morph cried, firing a pillow across the room.

Logan slashed through the first, but the second that Morph had launched a moment later hit him square in the face.

Morph was too riled up to feel any satisfaction at that fact.

"What are you even doing here?" Morph asked, feeling their body finally fully solidify back to its normal shape under the fabric of their oversized t-shirt.

"I heard you talkin' in your sleep." Logan grumbled.

"From all the way on the other side of the mansion?" Morph said pointedly, since they both knew that Morph knew that Logan's super-hearing didn't work that well.

That was when Morph realised that Logan was still wearing his uniform despite the fact that it was- Morph checked the alarm clock besides them- three o'clock in the morning.

"Do you want to tell me why you're not in bed?" Morph asked.

"No." Logan replied.

"Do you want to go back to bed?"

Logan sat himself in front of the remains of the doorway, watchful eyes glaring into the corridor outside.

"No."

"Do you want to come to bed?" Morph asked, which was something that if it were not three o'clock in the morning, Morph would never have asked.

After a moment's pause Logan again replied "No."

Morph sighed. The adrenaline of waking up from a nightmare and having their room being broken into was wearing off and now they just wanted to go back to sleep.

So they grabbed the duvet, sheets and blanket from their bed and carried them over to where Logan was apparently determined to stay on guard all night.

"What're you doin'?" Logan grumbled as Morph arranged the bedsheets around him.

"We are having a sleepover." Morph stated. "And I'm getting the pillow since you broke my other one."

Morph lay down on the duvet they'd placed on the floor, facing away from Logan into their room. The Wolverine still had his claws out but he didn't otherwise complain as Morph threw one of the sheets over the pair of them.

After a long time, long enough for Morph to think they might have made a mistake, Logan growled out a sigh.

"After we heard about Genosha I... I couldn't...I've been patrolling the halls all night-I just... I can't loose anyone else I care about." Logan growled, grief stumbling his words.

Slowly so as not to startle him, Morph sat back up. Logan was still facing away from them, never one to let other's see his weaknesses, but by now they had become experts at reading The Wolverine's behaviour. And they knew from the forceful shivers raking his body that Logan was literally biting back tears.

In that moment Morph would have done anything to help. But without the ability to change reality, there was little they could do. But that didn't mean that there was nothing.

Morph placed their hand on Logan's shoulder, his muscles taunt to the point Morph was worried they might snap. They squeezed their hand, hoping to share their own grief and to shoulder some of it for him.

Morph had never been on this side of loosing an X-men before. A stab of guilt as sharp as The Wolverine's claws buried its way into their stomach, at the thought that their own death could have caused the same amount of pain.

When they had learnt about Gambit's death, the only comparable pain Morph had felt was when they themselves had died. The concept that they would never again share each other's love for cooking or that they would never loose another heavily rigged card game, was impossible to comprehend. They weren't as close to Gambit as they could have been, however, as the only other openly queer person on the team, there had been a special connection between the two of them.

And Morph might not have shared the same history with Magneto that the other's had. The only reason they'd had to hate to him was that he was a generally shitty person who'd done some pretty shitty things. But when Morph had offered to take the team to Sinister's lair, he had been kind to them, making it clear that they did not have to if it brought back too many bad memories. And because of that, they couldn't help but grieve for him too.

And if Logan could finally open up, then it was only fair that Morph did the same.

"I.. I was dreaming... about that night."

They both knew what night Morph was talking about. The one where Morph was about to watch The Wolverine die and they sacrificed themselves to save him. Except in their dream there were too late. They lost him. Just like they lost Magneto. Like they lost Remy.

Because whilst being under Sinister's control was hell on earth, they would suffer through it all again if it meant that Logan was alive to lie beside them.

"I ain't lettin' nothin' get past me." Logan promised, finally turning to them. The grief was still there, it would probably never fully go away, but the pain that had been etched into the grooves of his skin, had been transformed into a steely determination.

"I know." Morph smiled, even after everything, unable to stop the fluttering if their heart at the sight of Logan's protectiveness directed at them. "And I'm not letting anything get past me either."

Feeling emboldened, from where their hand had been placed on Logan's shoulder, Morph traced his collar bone until their hand cupped the back of his neck.

"But even if you don't plan on sleeping, I have it on the trusted authority of my ex-therapist, that just lying down can help. So please, lay down for me." Morph's smile turned into a smirk. "I'll even let you share the pillow."

Logan blinked before shaking his head and snorting a smirk of his own.

"Alright, you win this one bub." He conceded, finally putting his claws away as he allowed Morph to pull him down to the pillow.

Morph reluctantly let go as they turned away from Logan to face the inside of their room, whilst The Wolverine took after his namesake and proceeded to nestle himself a den out of the bedsheets.

Now Morph hadn't really thought about the physics of sharing a pillow when they'd made the offer, as usual too preoccupied with making a joke to think about the consequences of opening their big mouth.

Because Logan's back was now placed firmly against theirs and the thin layer of his uniform was doing little to hide the solid layer muscle or stop the furnace level heat that his body was projecting. And due to his previous shuffling, the bottom of Morph's t-shirt had ridden up so that the sliver of skin between their briefs and their shirt could feel the full heat of Logan's body. It wasn't as if they hadn't touched the other before, But never that part of their body and even though the exposed skin was barely a few inches, Morph felt near naked at the touch.

They had no idea how they were supposed to go to sleep now. But eventually they must have.

Because next time Morph opened their eyes morning sun was beaming through their bedroom windows. At least that was where they assumed the light was coming from, as all they could see was the sleeping face of The Wolverine.

For a moment, Morph thought that they were still dreaming. Until they felt the breeze of Logan's breathe against the expanse of skin where their nose would have been.

As Morph blinked away sleep, they realised that the groves of anger and pain that Morph thought had been permanently etched onto Logan's face were relaxed, not completely gone but as close to peaceful as he could get.

They also realised that Logan's limbs were wrapped around their body like a koala in a tree as though he was afraid that if he didn't hold on tight enough he would fall. As a result Morph's hands, which had been trapped between the two of them, were braced against Logan's chest. Through the soft fabric of his costume, Morph could feel the individual bristles of his hair and under that the beating of his heart.

Perhaps they had died again, except this time they'd ended up in heaven instead of hell. That was the only logical explanation they could think of for why Logan would be holding them so close.

Well if this was their fate then Morph was happy to accept it, not that they were able to escape The Wolverine's grasp even if they wanted to. So with one last lingering look at the soft strokes of Logan's face, Morph drifted back off to sleep.

#morpherine #x men 97 #morph #wolverine #morph x wolverine #morph x logan #the wolverine #x men #morph x men #james logan howlett #logan howlett #gambit #magneto #kevin sydney

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nostalgicfortomorrow · 1 month

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zutara fanfic recs bc absolutely nobody asked

PLEASE REBLOG AND TELL ME IF YOU LIKED MY RECS BTW :)

the art of holding on and letting go - teen and up - by evergreenonthehorizon

genuinely one of the best fics i've ever read. it's aang centric and it's from his pov so zutara isn't as prominent as you would have hoped but it's a modern au where they all go to the same high school and aang learns how to let go of his infatuation with the idea of katara rather than who katara is as a person. deeply underrated, please check it out.

we hold our hearts in silence - general audiences - by psychadelic_sya

it completely follows the canon timeline and it features geriatric and ancient zutara who meet again after many years and when you read this, please listen to last kiss by taylor swift on repeat. that's how you get the full experience. it hurts so so so much.

the colour of the stars - teen and up - by bluenebulae

it's a season 3 rewrite from the day of the black sun onwards where katara and zuko both get captured and they work together to try and find the gaang. it's pretty long but the slow burn is so well done, they absolutely nailed the characterisation and it might be my favourite fic ever. they learn everything about each other and the moments zutara shares makes my heart burn with happiness. cannot recommend this one enough.

figure it out - mature - by clearascountryair (uncompleted but ends in a good spot)

they aged up all the characters by two years and it's basically about ember island and what happened after southern raiders. it's a bit uncomfortable at times for some, because there's quite a lot of sex mentioned and featured and drinking as well but the messages overall and the lessons are really good. and it covers the non consensual kataang kiss and there's so many good takeaways. not finished, but ends up in a good spot.

the chemistry of cooking - mature - by smeditteranea

hear me out, hear me out, HEAR ME OUT, it's another college modern au (yeah, sue me, i love my modern aus) but it's really well done, the characterisation is done right, no hate to any of the characters whatsoever, supremely adorable, there's some smut but just scroll past that. so zuko and katara basically end up being lab partners in a cooking class which ozai seriously frowns upon. ozai runs this really morally bankrupt company and zuko works in it, and basically figures out that ozai is doing illegal dumpings and tries to report it.

BONUS:

i feel something (when i see you now) - teen and up - by glowgal

katara is an up and coming popular actor and is zuko's high school crush. they meet again and it's so adorable.

#zutara #zutara fanfic recs #katara/zuko #ao3 #fanfic recommendations #avatar #avatar the last airbender #zutara fanfic recommendations #zutara fanfic #zutara fanfiction

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ao3commentoftheday · 2 months

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A person asked: I’m curious about Meta works, and what does or does not constitute ephemeral, especially in the context of breaking down a work as one watches to comment on how things were done. Would such a thing be allowed? Not necessarily just like screaming over things, but like a clear longform “at this point in this episode, I liked this move from them, I didn’t like this choice and this is what I might have preferred” type of thing, if that makes sense?

“Ephemeral content” is our catch-all term for live reactions, announcement/update posts, journal entries, etc that contain limited analytical or interpretive content and are largely meant to share or capture someone's experiences, impressions, or feelings in the moment. These are all definitely part of the overall fandom experience (just look at all the posts on this blog or elsewhere on Tumblr), but AO3 focuses on hosting fannish stories, art, and analysis.

Whether "breaking down a work" would count as "meta" really depends on how someone goes about it. If it's mostly a summary of canon/real-life events or if the majority of what you added is your impression of the source material and what happened, we'd probably call that a live reaction and say it isn't allowed. There definitely needs to be a good amount of analysis or interpretation beyond just a person's feelings or impressions about the material. If you're familiar with YouTube, something like "CinemaSins" would likely be classified as ephemeral. If it's more like a video essay ("Nerdwriter1" or "every frame a painting"), it's more likely to be considered meta, and allowed.

Oh! Also, people have to be wary of quoting too much of the source material. Our TOS only allows short quotes. Even if someone had detailed analysis or such, including a huge amount of a copyrighted source (such as an episode transcript) would still break our TOS, typically some part of our copyright infringement policies.

— guest mod tealight

If you have a question you’d like answered, you can ask here.

Disclaimer: I’m speaking for myself and not behalf of AO3 or PAC. I can only answer general questions. I cannot tell you if a specific work or user is breaking the rules. If you want to file a report or otherwise need an official PAC response, you can find PAC’s contact form by clicking on the “Policy Questions & Abuse Reports” link on any AO3 page.

#ask a pac volunteer #guest mod tealight #pac takeover #ao3

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pearlywritings · 1 year

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To wear white once more

synopsis: wedding is one of the most memorable and happiest days in one’s life. What are the chances of you dressing in white again to capture this moment on canvas? Diluc makes it possible.

pairing: Diluc x fem!reader

tw: established relationship, fluff, newlyweds, Adelinde is a mother figure we all need

word count: 1.7k+ words

a/n: a portrait after your wedding was suggested by a lovely @bobaboob who, by the way, said that she had this fic in mind while drawing this piece of art

Looking in the mirror makes all the memories of nervousness and excitement wash over Diluc again, sending a shiver down his spine. Everything is as just as it was a month ago - his white suit hugs his body in all the right places, the long-tailed jacket complimenting his height, the golden lines on its and vest's lapels along with golden buttons forming a perfect wedding attire. The only standing out feature is a ruby brooch pinned to his cravat, matching his flaming locks, reflecting light just like his crimson eyes, momentarily clouded by recalling the events that happened on one of the happiest days in his life.

His heart skips a beat when he remembers a mesmerizing venue organized in the gardens of the Winery, guests - mainly from your side - on the benches, Kaeya and Adelinde by his side… Come to think of it, his adoptive brother was present in this very room while Diluc was getting ready, lightly joking and unknowingly helping Diluc with his nerves. Yeah, the day was a rollercoaster of emotions. Especially after you appeared.

The man adjusts his sleeves, making sure he looks perfect - it's only logical he'll match you in that. Brushing a lock of hair from the left side of his face, he hears a soft knock on his door, immediately knowing who it is.

"Come in, Adelinde."

The older woman enters the room with the most adoring smile on her face, eyes crinkling in joy, just like on his wedding day, which brings even more blissful memories back. She walks directly to him, reaching out to help with hair a little - she knows him too well, and Diluc is grateful for that.

"I've just met Master François Clouet and offered him brunch. He was very eager about it, given his long journey, so you might have another 20 or so minutes."

Diluc hums, closing his eyes and letting the maid work her magic.

"Good. And my wife?"

His wife… it rolls off his tongue so naturally and the golden ring around his finger becomes so palpable.

"Checked on the girls and they said she was almost ready. I think you can go and see her already.”

She can clearly see he wants to - it’s in the smallest details honestly. The way his lips are twitching in a hardly contained lovesick smile, the trembling of his for once bare fingers, the darting of his eyes to the door behind her and it’s quite obvious from how he forces his body to stay still in place until she is finished. If she wasn’t helping him with his hair, Adelinde is sure - he’d be running out of the door the moment the words left her mouth.

Cute. The glimpses of a young boy she used to know and care about as a mother come through, and the woman can’t thank you enough for it, for the happiness you brought in this lonesome mansion and love you rekindled in the hurt man’s heart.

“All done, Master Diluc,” when he shifts his eyes, not spotting his bangs in sight, he doesn’t even have to look in the mirror to know Adelinde recreated his look perfectly.

“Thank you, Adelinde,” and he means it, not stopping his body from moving, just like it did a month ago, enveloping the woman in his embrace, squeezing just a little. The blond-haired maid laughs, standing on her tiptoes and hugging him back.

“It’s always a pleasure to me. I dreamt of helping you with the wedding one day, and I must admit, doing some of it the second time is just as thrilling.”

Diluc cannot agree more.

When the door of your shared bedroom is right in front of him, the owner of the Dawn Winery feels his heart thumping in his chest, cravat feeling a bit suffocating and hand twitching. He hears excited giggles of the maids on the other side and your soft voice speaking to them, so full of glee and eagerness, that he doesn’t notice his fingers curling in a fist and knocking against the wooden surface. Instantly the sounds of laughter and conversation disappear, but the redhead makes out quick steps hurrying to the door.

The maid opening it gasps and turns around, immediately ushering others outside. The man moves to let five girls out of the room, all bowing and greeting him, to which he answers with a nod, entering the moment the last one leaves, closing the door behind him.

“My love, you are here,” your sweet words pull crimson eyes to your figure and his breath hitches. Basked in the sunlight pouring through the big window, your body is swarmed in pure whiteness. The dress, tailored together with his suit, makes you the loveliest bride a man could wish for. Long flowing skirt consists of many layers, streaming and moving with the slightest of your turns, the corseted waist pushes your chest up a little bit, though leaving half of your back bare… Oh how many kisses he placed there when the night was over and his fingers were working on the strings-

He clears his throat, coughing in his fist and fighting back the rising flush off his cheeks. Your smile turns teasing, lips wearing a pretty shade of lipstick, and Diluc notes in disappointment that he won’t be able to kiss you before the work on the painting for today is over. It doesn’t stop him from approaching you though, arms wrapping around your waist and bringing you closer to place a gentle peck on your cheek.

“Aren’t you a romantic one, my dear husband?” He shudders at the new term that was applied to him the moment the rings were slipped on your fingers and you two were proclaimed wedded.

“Can’t help it when my wife is this gorgeous,” it’s your turn to become bashful, sliding your palms up his back in an embrace, being careful not to crumple the jacket.

“Honestly, I didn't think I'd get to wear this dress again, not to mention so soon.”

“Sorry for keeping it from you, my flame.”

Despite already exchanging wedding presents, Diluc kept one more surprise from you. He knew you adored his father’s tradition of keeping paintings of not only nature, but important events of the family life, and your newlywed husband fully shared the sentiment. Undoubtedly, you two hired a photographer from Fontaine to capture the day marking your journey as spouses, and now have plenty of photos, but Diluc knew that it would bring you both absolute joy to have a portrait painted to hang it in the hall for every guest to know what a happy couple lives in this mansion.

Today is exactly the day for it.

“It’s alright,” your lashes flutter as he leans close again to plant another kiss - on your forehead this time. “Had you told me earlier, I would’ve been too excited to properly enjoy our honeymoon. So, good timing.”

Diluc chuckles at that. Then, on a whim he gently grabs your waist and starts swaying slowly, twirling your bodies in a tender dance, still flash to each other and foreheads pressed together, gazing into each other’s eyes. Your palms shift to his shoulders, feet moving back, right, forward, left, creating small waltz squares under the guidance of your husband who, as it seems, doesn’t want to let you go.

You dance like this for just ten minutes, but for Diluc it’s an eternity spent in your arms. He almost forgets you have plans and a man waiting for you two downstairs, until you stop, huffing a little when he bumps into you driven by inertia.

“Shouldn’t we go?” You don't know why you are whispering, but the moment is so innermost, that even the slightest rise of one’s voice might break it. You see how he releases a small breath of discontent, but doesn’t let it be shown in facial expression - after all, you are right.

“Of course, dear," your heart skips a beat, when he brings your hand to his lips and kisses the back of it, right over your wedding band. "Let’s go, Master Clouet must be waiting for us.”

The old man, who happened to know Master Crepus personally, seems to be gruff at first, but turns out to be a sweet person at heart, being extremely patient with both of you and occasionally commenting on how nice it is to see the boy, whom he last saw as a little kid, standing in front of him all grown up and with a wife by his side.

You are awe-stricken by the speed with which his dry and sinewy hands are moving, putting layer after layer of paint on the canvas, glancing up and down with his strikingly lively and bright eyes. He is nice to have around, and he treats you like human beings and not like statues, which many artists tend to do. He gives you breaks of course, doesn’t scold for moving an inch and doesn’t have a problem with fixing your poses if one of you happens to ruin it. He readily partakes in lunch and dinner and accepts Diluc’s offer to stay in one of the guest’s bedrooms, promising that it’ll take him only three nights.

And just as promised, on the morning of the fourth day, you watch the big painting getting hung in the hall as Diluc is handing Master Clouet a heavy pouch of mora, shaking his hand and saying something that makes an old man heartily laugh and pat the redhead’s shoulder. He then nods in approval, adding a couple more words of farewell, before following Adelinde to the exit. Diluc returns to your side.

“It’s brilliant,” your voice is shaking a little, happy tears brimming your eyes. Your body leans back on your husband’s chest, feeling him wrap his arms around your middle and putting his chin on your shoulder. “I love it so, so much, ‘luc. Just… I didn’t know a brush could recreate something so accurately! It’s unbelievable. Just look at our faces! It’s so detailed, I can practically see hearts in my eyes! Yours too, by the way,” the man snorts, pressing a kiss to the side of your jaw, absolutely enjoying your amazement and teasing. He fully shares your feelings about the painting and almost opens his mouth to tell that he made a deal to invite your recent guest to make more paintings of you - some of the walls are pretty empty, if you ask him. However, he decides against it - after all what is life without pleasant surprises?

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader #diluc x fem!reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc ragnvindr #genshin impact fluff

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rosella35 · 3 months

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Okay, so I’ve been meaning to post something about this for over a week now and figured using it as a very productive way of procrastinating on writing an assignment is the perfect time.

G/T community, and to all the incredible people who have supported my writing of Borrowed Courage over the years:

Go read @fireflywritesgt s ‘The Art of Love and War’. I cannot stress this enough.

This story has been my hyperfixation for the past week and will in all likelihood stay that way for many more to come because it’s just that damn incredible. Even if you’re not a huge G/T fan, I continue to be blown away by Warren’s writing style and the way they capture every character’s personality and emotions so beautifully. I only wish I could do this so well.

Joe and Harry, my god. Those two have been rotting away inside of my head all week because I just can’t get enough of their relationship and its complexities. This story is practically preying on my love of psychology and exploring those tricky and taboo themes of prejudice and power imbalance that got me into G/T in the first place. The way Warren has slowly built up the lore of their world and the culture of the miniatures captivated me from the moment I started reading. It’s the kind of thing I love exploring in my own writing, but done in a way that’s completely authentic, and a whole new spin on the classic borrower trope - I just love it!

So yeah, to sum it all up in one sentence, please check out their story, it honestly does not disappoint. But also to Warren, thank you for sharing your world with this community. I’m sure I’m not the only one you’ve inspired with your writing, and I look forward to more of Harry and Joe’s misadventures in the future! ☺️

TL;DR:

Read The Art of Love and War by @fireflywritesgt it’s very good

#gianttiny #gtcommunity #gt author #g/t community #tinypeople #theborrowers #g/t writing #writers appreciation #theartofloveandwar #Harry and Joe #go read this please

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netherfeildren · 1 year

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FEAR OF GOD : Chapter IX : What should we believe in next?

Series Masterlist ; Moodboard

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: There is no point to which you cannot return — the moment lives on forever.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Fluff (fucking finally, am I right?); smut; pregnancy kink

A/N: Art is Femme Au Tigre (detail), François Martin-Kavel

Word Count: 8.2K

Read on AO3

Chapter IX: What should we believe in next?

To love someone

is firstly to confess: I’m prepared to be devastated by you.

-Billy-Ray Belcourt, A History of My Brief Body

In many ways, you felt like the forest had swallowed you down its dark maw, and spit you back out a different person altogether – a rebirth of sorts. You’d awoken to a different set of priorities to which, you now knew, you had to dedicate yourself to like nothing you’d ever done before.

There could be no recalcitrance, no doubt, no fear. You realized it was, as ever, always choices, choices, choices that determined the value of your character, the weight of your potential. It had seemed for so long that you’d found yourself unmoored – waiting for something, Joel or your own certainty, your own desires to come to fruition. But you’d not realized, until this very moment, until death had been so close, until you’d almost lost yourself in that overwhelming wilderness, alone with only the possibility of what your future could be, and now, carrying this baby in your arms, another held within you, born of all the love in your heart you could ever hold – you realized your choice had been made a long time ago – in your dedication to survive after Beth. You remember the moment of startling revelation that you’d never considered putting an end to yourself after witnessing such a tragedy, that it, perhaps, would have been less of a struggle after such a trauma. The realization seems to be colored in a different sort of light now, after everything. You can see now that that was your decision, that was your choice. That was your moment of ownership over yourself, of taking your very life, your future in your hands, and choosing to go on. Everything that had come after that was merely a byproduct of that moment of perseverance. Joel, Connie, Jackson, your life here, those were all consequences – the fruit – of that choice. You’d chosen to live. You’d chosen to go on in a world in which there existed the great possibility of being alone for the rest of your life, of dying, of more pain, more hurt, more struggle, and yet you’d done it.

You think of that long past conversation with Connie, I would not like to see your choices taken from you once again, but what he’d failed to realize was that you’d been living in the realm of that past choice already. That the ultimate decision – the one to endure, to survive despite whatever had passed or may come to pass, had already been made. The enlightenment of that certainty, that which you could provide for yourself, to forge your own path, to survive when you needed to, was infinitely comforting in the face of all that you had to look forward to. You realize now, holding such potential for life within you, in your arms, that was what your choice was, to live. Anything that came after that was only what had always been intended, what was inevitable, what would have always happened thereafter, no matter what. A life full of inevitabilities: Beth, you, Joel, a child. The comfort that realization provides now is so profound. You wish, like in so many other moments, that Connie were here to share it with him. The great epiphany of having realized that the place your life had come to had been led here by your own hand, after having felt, for so long, so out of control. There could be no regret after that, only a great appreciation that now you had so much to look forward to; even if, perhaps, the one thing, the one man, you needed might not be part of it. Another choice to be made there. Perhaps the most terrifying of them all.

Courage, above all else, it is courage that is necessary to go on.

You look down at Kate asleep in your arms, her full belly and the gentle sway of the rocking chair pulling her into drowsiness. You run the tip of your finger over the soft peach fuzz of her tiny little brow. “Poor little girl. All alone in the world… But now you have me – you’ll always have me. And soon there’ll be another, another baby,” you tell her, your most precious secret. “There’ll be three of us then. And I don’t know where I’ll get the strength to take care of us all, but I will, I promise. I’ll find it, I’ll pull it out of myself any way I have to. I promise you.” You press a small kiss to the softest rose petal of a cheek you’ve ever felt.

Joel leans against the side of your house – listening to you talk to Kate – promising this most sacred of things as you sit slowly rocking her on your back porch. Another baby, another baby, another baby. The entirety of the face of the world could be alight with fire in this moment, and he doesn’t think he’d feel himself burning. Maybe he already is. His heart, his heart – it’s on fire. Maybe I’ve finally gotten so fucking old this’ll be the thing to kill me. Maybe I’m actually just dying of a goddamn heart attack right now. He clutches his chest. Wants to laugh and cry and scream and kiss the ever loving hell out of you. He wishes, like in so many other moments, that Sarah was here. He wishes he could tell her she’s going to have a little brother or sister, that the two of you could have known each other. He can’t move, can’t get his brain to send a signal to his legs to move. To go to you. And he thinks: this is what real wonder is. This is like nothing else that has ever come before. A baby, a baby, my Birdie’s baby.

He can’t say he’s even surprised really, has just been subconsciously waiting for this. Acting like a goddamn teenager, just discovered sex, never heard of a condom or pulling out, fucking you every chance he got. Jesus. Two babies in his fifties – he’ll never hear the end of it from Ellie. A huff of a laugh escapes, and he feels a tear run down his cheek.

“Can I hold her?” He steps up onto the porch. You startle a tiny bit, jostling the sleeping bundle, looking around yourself as if for an escape, but when you look back into his eyes, it’s almost like there’s an air of resignation in them, as if you’re now realizing there’s no escaping this.

“Of course.” You frown down a little at her as you make the transfer, a soft coo passing your lips to settle her, reassure her, I’ll be right here, don’t be scared. The warm brush of your arms along his chest sends a shivering jolt through him. He hasn’t touched you in too long, what feels like years. He takes the baby gently from your arms and settles in the rocker across from you. The tiny weight in his palms is so small and yet so magnificently significant, heavy in the weight of what she represents. It’s been so many years since he’s held a baby, his own baby, but it feels as natural as breathing. The muscle memory reawakening to remind him to support her head, keep his too-big-hands gentle and soft. He looks back at you, so lovely, always. The most beautiful thing he’s ever set eyes on in his whole life, he’s sure. He wants to go and lay his head in your lap, stay there forever. And now that he knows the secret you’ve been carrying, he’s shocked at himself, that he hadn’t noticed before, so attuned is he to the planes of your face, the slope of your mouth and brow and cheekbone, the color and warmth of your skin, your body. But he sees it now, painted upon you as if you were a canvas for all that’s shared between the two of you, this tiny little secret you’ve both created together. It glows out of the light shining in your eyes, bathes your skin in the most radiant luminescence. But you look tired now too, afraid of him, of what he’s about to say, for he can see you know there’s something he wants to say to you.

“What is it? Tell me,” you breathe, and there it is, always that keen ability you have to read his mind.

“I was afraid,” he confesses.

And yet it is not a confession, for you already know, have always understood him to his very core. “I know.”

“I had a choice to make, a moment to flinch. I chose wrong.” Your gaze is trained on Kate asleep in his arms, and he can see the roll of your throat swallowing. “I should have never turned away from you. I will never turn away from you again.”

You stifle a little gasp, turn away to look out into the dark of the surrounding trees. He can see your eyes shifting back and forth, as if you’re searching for something. Perhaps now’s the appropriate time for him to get on his knees and start begging. He watches your throat work several times, and the tears welling in your eyes tell him you’re trying to swallow your sobs. A bludgeoning would be less painful than watching the look on your face right now.

He can’t voice what he just heard you say, not yet, not yet. He needs this to be about the two of you first, about what he feels for you, about what he needs you to understand about what’s inside of him, what he’s let go of, before he lets anything else interfere in what might happen here. He needs the two of you now to come to each other of your own volition, unburdened by anything else except for what you feel for one another, the necessity of being together because without the other you’d simply die.

“Birdie, look at me. Gimme those gorgeous eyes.”

“I can’t,” you choke out.

“Please, baby. Why not?”

“I don’t want to see what’s not there. I can’t–” He gets up then, comes to kneel before you, the baby still cradled in one arm, he brings his other to grasp your face. “Look at me, Birdie. Listen to me when I tell you that I fucking love you, and I will never ever leave you again.”

“Joel– there’s something–” you cut yourself off.

He grips your chin gently, the rest of his life cradled in both hands, “I am so fucking sorry. And I love you so goddamn much. I can’t say that I’ll never hurt you again, piss you off, that’ll I’ll never make a mistake, do the wrong thing, say the wrong thing,” his voice is guttural, he has to clear his throat several times of the tightness overwhelming it before he can continue, “But I promise I’m gonna do everything in my power to try. To be the man you need, the man Kate and Ellie need. Look at me–” for you’ve closed your eyes now, silent tears streaming down your cheeks, running over his fingers to drip down onto your lap. You blink them open. “You hearin’ me?”

“Yes–” you whisper, “Yes, I hear you.” And then you’re sliding down into his lap, bottom coming to rest on his bent knee so he’s cradling you in one arm and Kate in the other. “I should've never left–” you sob, clutch at his clothes, his hair, drag your nails through the thick of his beard.

“No, baby– no. I should’a never let you go.” He tangles a hand into the back of your hair, bringing your mouth to his, and then finally, finally the taste of you within him again. He licks into your mouth, deep. The hot cave of it, opening so sweetly for him. You moan into him, breathe him in, let your head fall back for him to devour more deeply.

But he pulls back, gives you a moment to breathe. There’s still so much left for the two of you to say. He grips you around the waist and rises to his feet with a grunt, goddamn knees, the both of you clutched within his arms. “Let’s put her to bed.”

The sight of him cradling Kate’s in his strong arms, the little bundle of her, so small, he could hold her entire weight in the palm of his large hand. Watching him set her in the crib you’d set up beside your bed, so, so gently, it has images of the rest of a shared life flashing in your mind. Sending painful cramps of lust through your womb, spears of longing through your heart. He’s so solid and strong. Broad and thick and you know that nothing could ever hurt you when you’re in the circle of his arms. He makes you untouchable by anyone or anything but him.

When he turns to face you you’re already there, pressing your hands and your breasts along the broad, strong planes of his chest. Pulling him out of the bedroom and into the hallway to push him roughly up against the wall and attempt to climb him. “Jesus fuck, Birdie–”

He cradles your jaw in that strong hand he’d just so gently cradled the tiny baby with, and you suck his thumb into your mouth, the groan he lets out at that — it sets you ablaze. “Joel, please, please, fuck me,” you beg. Your voice pitched into a whine. You’ll become inconsolable soon, if he isn’t careful, if he doesn’t hurry. Your cunt, a tight furl of desperate need, you claw at his belt, his shirt. “Please, p–please, I can’t wait anymore, I need it. I don’t care.”

“Birdie, open your fucking eyes,” he gives your head a sharp little shake, you’d pressed your eyes tightly closed to keep the tears at bay, “Look at me. This is it,” he says, “You and me. Do you understand? This is it – us.” Your eyes are huge and wet, unblinking. His grip on your jaw, cheeks smushed, mouth in a pucker, forces your head to nod like a marionette – as if he could force the understanding into you.

“I love you, Birdie. Do you understand me?” And you want to say no, no you don’t understand because how could you ever comprehend something that enormous.

You look down, then, unable to meet his eyes anymore and press the tips of your fingers to his lips as if to stifle his words. How can something you’ve wanted for so long, so desperately, scare you so much now? It’s as if the two of you have switched places – as if he’s transplanted his fear into you. What would you do with the love of a man like this? What does one do once they have the possibility of everything they’ve ever wanted within arms reach? How could your love for him, the intensity of it, intertwine with his in a way that could create a life together? How did one grapple with the notion of casting away their loneliness, their aloneness, when you’d lived with it for so long? And most important of all, what about all you hadn’t told him yet? What would he say then?

So many questions, little bird.

“I’ll give you anything. Anything you want, baby,” he whispers, and you wish he wouldn’t say such things. No – you couldn’t brush up against the idea of your love for each other existing out in the world one moment, only for it to be ripped away from you the next.

His voice is hushed, he says again: “I love you,” and the words slide through your hair like water as he presses you tighter into him. You feel so empty, your cunt clenching desperately around nothing at just the deep, familiar sound of his voice.

This feels, simultaneously, like the final nail in the coffin being ripped away, setting you free, and also, being hammered home, sealing your fate away with an undeniable finality.

And Joel, he’d never been able to say the words easily before. I love you, it is a blessing – a benediction and a gift – to be able to tell the person you love, out loud, how you feel about them. To have them in front of you to do such a simple thing. To have that choice. He’d always felt too laid bare by it – vulnerable. To Sarah, to Ellie, to his brother. He’d always needed to work around it, find another word for it, another action to show them – let me do you this favor, let me bring you this thing I know you love, let me stand guard over you all night so you can rest. It wasn’t ever enough; so, he’d say it now. He’d tell you now, without fear or regret or take backs. Without pushing you away after. He’d tell you, let it settle between the two of you and exist as it would.

You rip yourself from his arms then and turn away abruptly, too much to take in all at once. Pacing away, you can feel him stalking after you, herding you like prey. His fingers ghosting along the trailing tips of your long hair. You go as far as the confines of the house allow you to escape him, and then his hands are gripping your hips, spinning you around to face him and pressing you up and against him. Patience seemingly at an end.

He presses you up against the wall, his hands everywhere, under your breasts to lift the heavy weight of them up and into his face and open mouth, kissing and sucking and biting. He bends his knees to bring his face down closer to your level, sucks whatever skin of yours he can into his mouth, breathes you in, wraps his arms around your waist and squeezes.

You moan at the feel of him, your head tipped back – you should talk, you should talk, you know you have more to say – but your eyes are cast to the ceiling almost in supplication, and he’s everywhere, touching every part of you.

“I love you, and you’re gonna listen to me. I’m gonna say it over and over until you’ve got it in your head. Do anything I gotta do to prove it to you.”

“Promise me you’ll never leave me,” you beg suddenly, “Promise me you’ll be with me always, please.”

“I promise, Birdie.” I promise, I promise, I promise.

He pulls back, presses his brow to yours, it feels feverish and you’re trembling in his arms, needy little fingers carding through his hair to tug his mouth back to yours. “Tell me– lemme hear you say it.” He does not need to specify, you know what it is he wants from you.

A tiny whimper, and then: “I love you too.”

“Fuck–” who would’ve ever thought the words’d have such a direct line to his cock. He moans, deep in his chest and slots your mouths back together, takes your top lip between his own to pepper soft little kisses on your open, panting mouth, sucking and nibbling and licking.

He straightens to his full height, grasps the hinge of your jaw to open your mouth wide for him and thrusts his tongue inside, runs it along the roof of your mouth, behind your teeth. It’s wet and sloppy and you feel like you’re suffocating in each other. His hands roam down to clutch your ass in his hands and hoist you up and into him, your legs wrapping around his waist, he rolls his already hard erection into you. “I’m gonna fuck you now, alright? ‘Nd then we’ll talk some more, but fuck, right now I need inside that gorgeous cunt.”

“I missed you – oh god,” you moan, rolling your hot center along the stiff length of him, “Missed you so mu–much.” He growls the start of your name, his ragged voice turning it into nothing more than an incoherent, wordless snarl before he’s turning on his heel and setting your ass down on the edge of the kitchen table. His hands tangle in your hair, tugging your head back to open you to his savaging, all tongue and teeth, he fucks into your mouth with all the mounted desperation and fear and need of the past few days.

Your hands are at his belt, tearing his clothes open and then your hand is there, wrapping around the hot, hard length of him and he rips his mouth back to stare into your eyes, teeth bared in a snarl. You stare at each other, open mouths panting into each other as you start to jack his cock slowly, up and down, tight little hand squeezing from base to tip, a twist at the sensitive, leaking head.

“Shit, I– I was out of my fucking mind–” and at his words a flash of hot anger burns through him. “You’re never leaving me again. This is it,” he growls.

“Never,” you promise, “Never again.”

He pushes you back onto the surface of the table and pulls your ass to the edge, ripping your leggings and panties over your hips and down your legs. He pushes your sweater up over your naked breasts, wraps his hand around the lush weight of both of them and brings his face to them, licking and sucking as much as he can into his mouth. “Joel, please, please, I need you inside of me,” you’re crying, breathy, high pitched and whining.

“Not yet, not yet. Need to feel you, Birdie. Need to feel you here with me, need to taste you.” He kneels between your spread thighs, hooks one over his shoulder, your other ankle held in his grasp to anchor you wide, pushes to rest your heel on the edge of the table, completely vulnerable and open to him. Your pussy is red and swollen and soaked, slick sliding down your thighs, between your ass onto the table. “Fuck–” he licks the broad, flat of his tongue through the mess of your cunt, drinking your slick down. The taste of you – he’ll never tire of it, never get enough. Your back arches at the feel of his mouth on your aching sex and he takes the swollen bud of your clit gently between his teeth and holds there, you pause, acknowledge that you’re caught, before he sucks hard, and the whining mewl you let out, Jesus Christ, he could come just at the sound of it. He moves back down, presses his tongue inside, fucking in and out of you, can feel the ripple of your muscles, desperate for more.

He moves back up to your clit lapping at it with his tongue as he presses two thick fingers inside to stretch you open, eyes trained on your face the entire time. He can hear you whispering his name over and over again and it washes over him like a litany of forgiveness. He will do anything he needs to, to continue hearing you say his name like that for the rest of his life.

He stands then, fists his aching cock at the thick base and presses the wide head at your little clenching hole. “Gonna give it to you now, baby. No more crying, it’s okay, I’m gonna fuck you now.”

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

He’s pressing in, then, all the way to the end of you. Until his tip is at the mouth of your womb, right where you’re carrying his baby now. He pulls his hips back, the slick suck of your cunt trying to hold on to him, pull him back in deeper, and thrusts in again a little harder, but slow, just as deep, so that you feel the entire length of him, every throbbing ridge. Your eyes are unfocused, wet – lips red and swollen. So, so fucking beautiful. He needs to tell you now. He needs to tell you what he knows. Needs to tell you that he heard. That he’s gonna take care of the three of you. That you and him and Ellie and the babies will all be a family. That you’ll never have to worry or be scared or alone ever again. That there will be no more monsters. He pushes in again, harder, his hands sliding along the slopes and dips of your soft curves, brings one of them to the crown of your head to hold you in place, anchor you against the sharp thrust of his hips.

“How is it that we always end up in this position, huh?” he grunts. “Meant to have a conversation, but instead buried balls deep in your sweet cunt.” He nuzzles into your throat and you tip your head back. You’re beyond conversation, a half laugh, half moan all you can manage. He presses again and again and again against that sensitive spot he owns inside of you, fucks up against it harder.

“I heard you,” he whispers, so soft, into the dark, tender crook of your neck, that place made just for him, not stopping the rhythm of his hips. “I heard what you said to the baby earlier.” You freeze beneath him. Suddenly filled with tense fear and trepidation, and he hates himself for ever behaving in a way that could ever pull such a reaction from you. He promises himself and you and his child within you, that he will never, ever do something again to further that uncertainty. He presses a gentle kiss to the hinge of your jaw, runs his palm over the soft swell of your belly. “Heard you’re carrying a little secret, just for me.”

“Joel–”

“Didn’t think I could ever– would– would ever have– have this again,” presses another soft kiss, grinds his cock deeper.

It is almost possible to canonize each other with the force of this feeling. To give so much to each other – to create life in a dead world– what on earth could ever, ever be as sacred as this?

“You gonna give me a baby, little bird?”

“Y– yes, Joel. Yes – Oh, God– that’s so good,” you moan.

He grips your face roughly: “Tell me again, say it. I have’ta hear you.”

“I love you. I’m gonna give you a baby.”

“Fuck — fuck.” He starts to saw his length in and out of you again, the wet squelch like some lewd song between your bodies. “Again, again.”

“Ungh — I love you, I love you, I love you, Joel.” His cock feels like it gets harder and harder the more you say it. The words sing through his entire body. He grips the sides of the heavy wooden table to keep it from scooting across the floor with the power of his thrusts, and you clutch the front of his shirt to pull yourself onto him deeper.

“Fucking tight, p– perfect,” he grits, forehead pressed into your breasts as he watches the place where his cock impales you. His hips pick up their pace, fuck you harder “I’m gonna take care of us. Gonna love you forever." He starts to feel your muscles pulse and flutter at that, the wet suck of your pussy as you start to come around him, and the tight clutch is so wet, searing, it triggers his own orgasm. He wraps his arms around your waist to arch your back up, off the table and buries his face in your breasts as he starts to fill you with his spend. Your fingers tangle in his hair, press him harder into you until he’s almost drowning in your soft musky scent, come and sweat and him covering your skin everywhere.

“What are we going to do?” The two of you lay in a nest made of the comforter dragged off your bed, your ugly orange throw draped over your naked hips. He’d gotten the fire going, the warm fingers of it licking at your back. Your head’s tucked into the crook of his shoulder, your bare chests pressed together, hot and sweaty. So close and comfortable.

“You’re not to worry about anything,” tiny kiss pressed to your nose, “I’m gonna take care of everything,” another to the arch of your brow, the corner of your mouth, the edge of your jaw.

“Two babies is a lot.” You twirl your fingers through the curls at his nape. You’ll never stop touching him now, for the rest of your life, you plan to keep your hands on his skin.

He ignores that, continues his lecture, “And you’re not going to work so hard anymore – lots of breaks and resting. And you’re not to go forgetting meals anymore either. Three times a day, three square meals. And be sure that I’m gonna keep a close eye on all that.”

“And, and, and,” you mock, “Anything else?”

He gives you a stern frown, “I’ll let you know as I think of ‘em.”

“Actually, I think I’ll do what I want.” You hitch your thigh over his hip so that your wet core is pressed up against his thigh, his come still leaking from you. Even after he’d bent to clean you with his tongue after he’d pulled out earlier.

“You’ll do as I say.” He gives your bottom a gentle swat.

“What are you gonna do? Punish me?”

He nuzzles at your nipple, “No–” gives it a little bite, “You’d like that too much. Won’t give you my cock, that’s what I’ll do. Make you really suffer.”

“What a mean old man you are.”

“You like that too.” He rolls to lean over you, your head cushioned in the crook of his elbow. He gathers your wrists in his hand above your head, runs his nose along the length of your throat, a wet swipe of his tongue over the wing of your collarbone, down to the peak of your breast where he presses a long kiss, then his open mouth dragging over the lines of your ribs, lower still to the soft swell of your belly, where he presses his forehead. No sign of your secret yet, just the shared knowledge between the two of you for now. His tongue dips into your navel and you giggle, try and push him away, but he grips your thigh to keep you in place. He has you caught, snared. His nose journeys back up, skating along the surface of your skin. He nips gently at the meat of your bicep, and then back into your hair again to breathe deep, “Smell so good,” he moans. You can feel his length hardening again against your hip and your answering wetness begins to pool. “So soft–”

Kate’s cry sounds from the bedroom.

He pauses, “I’ll get her, don’t worry.” He presses a soft kiss to your temple and brow and heaves himself up with a rough groan. You watch the long lines of his body uncoil, the messy, silver threaded curls, broad shoulders, thick arms, smattering of hair on his chest that creeps down to his belly, his cock, thick and long, even soft as it is now, still wearing the glossy sheen of your slick. All your insides clench at the sight of him. Lust mixed with the satisfying flavor of possession, and the overwhelming splendor of your love, the knowledge that he’s all yours. That his claim over you is mutual, shared in full. That you love him, you love him, you love him, and he loves you back. That you’re carrying his baby.

Thank God pregnancy’s going to give you an extra excuse to jump his bones even more than usual, you think, with a pleased sigh.

“Stop ogling me,” he grouches, but you know he likes it, likes your eyes on him.

“Never.” You burrow further into your nest of blankets and stare at his ass as he walks away.

Joel and Ellie sit on her porch in the cool evening air after dinner. Nancy makes hooch in her spare time, when she isn’t helping you tend to patients, and they nurse glasses of it together now. It’s strong as shit, and who knew old ladies’d be so good at brewing booze, Ellie laughs

“How’s she doing?”

“Good. Settled now, just a bit tired from all the movin’ around. Overturning a mountain’d be easier than trying to get that woman to get off her feet for ten minutes.” He’d moved you and Kate into his house earlier that week. He had more bedrooms. More space to turn one of the guests into a nursery for the babies.

“She’s unsatisfied with the color of the outside of the house.” Baby, it’s so dreary. It can’t be a curmudgeon lair anymore, it’s gotta be baby friendly and bright. “Too dark and dreary, according to her.” It needs to look happy. “Don’t know where the hell I’m supposed to find enough exterior paint for a whole house in the middle of the damn apocalypse but–” he sighs. And really, when you’d gotten on your knees afterwards to make him agreeable, how was he meant to do anything besides whatever it was you could ever possibly want.

“Real trouble maker you’ve got on your hands there, it seems.”

“Ah, well, what’s three more trouble makers in the grand scheme of things, huh? Dealt with you well enough.”

She freezes, “Three?” The look on her face – oh, he’s in for it now.

“Well…you see– Birdie’s… well, she’s— I’d been meaning to mention it—” he can’t even say the word to her, slow and stuttering and red in the face.

“You knocked her up, didn’t you?!” she shouts. “But h– no – oh, that is so – ewwwwww! That is so– I don’t even– I don’t even wanna think about that!”

“Don’t be immature,” he says, exasperated, “And quit your damn hollerin’.”

“Fuck you, man. That’s disgusting – I can’t think about that shit. Old man and my friend – no way. Let’s talk about something else –” she looks up at the sky, anywhere but him, pretends to whistle, even though she still can’t, “Isn’t the weather nice tonight? Not too cold, huh?”

“You’re a weird kid.”

“You’re a weird kid, you dick.”

“Don’t go gettin’ all over excited now. These things happen–”

“You knocked your girlfriend up in the middle of the apocalypse,” she deadpans.

“Ellie–”

“Oh god–” she’s laughing hysterically now, bent over and clutching her middle, “Oh, god… I am never gonna let you live this down – Dina!” she hollers, “Dina, get the fuck out here! Oh my god, the fuck are you going to do with two babies, Birdie, me and Dina.You’ve officially been overpowered by estrogen.” She cranes her neck back and screams again, “Dina, Joel’s gonna be a baby daddy!” at the top of her goddamn lungs.

“Ellie! What’s the matter with you?” he hushes, looking around the dark road, “Whole damn neighborhood’s gonna hear you.”

She turns back to him, points a mocking finger at him, “You better fuckin’ pray that baby turns out a boy or you’ll never win another argument for the rest of your sorry life, old man.”

He slides into bed with you afterwards, his hand sneaking up the back of his t-shirt you have on to slide against your bare skin.

“How’d it go?” you murmur into his hair, sleepy and warm, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders.

“Good, Dina made dinner. Me and Ellie sat out on the porch after, had a drink.” The girls had invited the two of you over tonight as a small step, Joel and Ellie’s way of easing back into the normalcy of things, with the benefit of you and Dina serving as buffers for the inevitable awkwardness. You’d been too tired to join them – the fatigue of pregnancy taking a toll on your good graces. “Nancy’s hooch s’fuckin’ strong,” he mumbles into your skin, “Think it got me tipsy or somethin’.”

You huff a laugh, “So, normal…”

“Yeah, normal, s’good.”

“You talked?”

“Yeah, we talked. Told her about the baby” he says with a small smile, softly pushing your hair behind your ear.

“Oh, and what’d she have to say about that?” You sidle up into his chest, running your hands across the strong planes of him.

“Nothing flattering or respectful towards me or for the ears of an infant,” he grouches.

“I’d expect nothing less of her. Call you an old dog?”

He grumbles, “Yeah, yeah, amongst other things. Not so old I couldn’t knock you up though, am I?” Smug bastard.

“Of course not, baby. You know your old-man-charm is what really got me into bed with you in the first place.”

“Shut up, little girl.” He buries his head in the valley of your breasts, nuzzles softly, gives the swell a soft nip. Your breath hitches, extra sensitive now. “And how were you?”

“Tired…achy,” you pout. His hands roam now, squeezing and kneading the soft swells of your curves.

“My poor Birdie.”

“Feel better now though,” you squirm a little, hitch your knee higher up on his side.

“Is that so?”

“Mmm, we missed you.” Your hips roll a little, seeking the relief of his hard length.

“Missed me?” he nuzzles deeper and laves his tongue into your cleavage.

“Missed our daddy,” you whisper into his hair, breathy, whiny. Provoking.

That shocks him into stillness, gotcha. “Jesus,” he says gruffly. His hands reach down to cup your ass, squeezing roughly, rolling his hardening length into the soft apex of your thighs. Pressing down right on your clit and pulling a throaty moan out of you.

“Jesus fucking christ–” he pants and moves to cup you between the legs. “Make me so fuckin’ hard with that mouth.” The molten heat of your core seeps through the thin gusset of your panties, already soaked. “Can’t wait to see you round and swollen with my baby, little bird.” He pulls the neck of your soft, worn t-shirt down bearing your naked breasts to him. “So goddamn pretty…” His big hands mold the heavy weight of them and gently squeezes your tits up and into his open mouth, so sensitive… I know, I know, Birdie. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle with this soft little cunt. I’ll get you nice and ready for me first.

What a cruel, cruel man.

He reaches down to free his hard cock from the confines of his jeans, pushes them down far enough to free his aching length and heavy balls. He pulls your panties to the side, exposing your aching, wet flesh to the cool air and tucks his cock under the elastic, letting the thick weight of him rest there, over your cunt, the tight stretch of the fabric adding to the pressure. Oh, he’s going to be mean, you can already tell. “Joel, please, no– no teasing– It hurts–”

“I know, I know, don’t worry, I’m gonna give it to you – Don’t worry. Just be a good and patient girl for me, just for a little.” He starts to thrust against your slick pussy, the fat head catching on your clit with every thrust up – stoking the fire in your blood. His hands on your ass direct your movements, but you need more, you need to feel more of his skin. You pull your shirt up over your breasts, and tug his own t-shirt up his chest as well, let your stomachs press together, the shared heat between your skin turning the temperature of your blood up to boiling. “Need to feel you,” you whimper.

“I’m right here, little bird.” His thrusts start to get faster, and he shifts his hips back a little, changing the angle so that the wide tip catches on your sensitive entrance with every thrust, and then up to grind against your clit. “Come for me, baby. Give it to me just like this so I can fuck you after. Need that little cunt nice and soft for me – gotta be gentle with her now it’s filled with my baby.” And God, the mouth on this man.

Your heart is beating so fast, it feels like it’s burning, like it’s going to melt and seep right into his own chest cavity. Everything below your waist starts to tighten and quicken and his cock is soaked with your slick, sliding fast and smooth, the slight catch at your opening and then the surge up to grind the entire length of him against your sex, the restriction of your panties making the squeeze tighter. You grip the thick muscle of his shoulders to leverage yourself better, roll your hips onto him harder, faster. You’re moaning his name, begging him for his cock and everything else he has to give, you want everything. And then you’re coming, the knot in your womb going loose and wet. Your head falls back on your neck, but he grips your jaw to bring your face back to his. “Lemme see those gorgeous eyes, my love, lemme see you come for me.” Your open mouth is panting into his, and he licks into you, tastes behind your teeth. He guides you through it, keeps the steady roll of his thrusts and your ass gripped in his hands bringing you further into him. “Just like that– Yeah, baby, give it to me just like that. So fucking pretty.”

“Feels so– so good,” you stutter.

He grips the base of his cock, your walls still fluttering and pulsing, and starts to press into your still clenching pussy. The wet gush of your orgasm pulls him in with a lewd suck of your walls, and then he’s there, there as deep as anyone’s ever been inside of you, right at his spot, and fucking up into it. His grip on the flesh of your ass is tight and you feel one of his hands sneak back between your legs to slot around where he’s fucking you open. “Goddamn, it does–” he growls, looking down at where his cock disappears into you. “Look at that– milking me like such a good girl. My perfect girl. Gonna give me a baby, my Birdie’s baby, huh?”

“Y– yes, Joel,” your voice is a soft, whimpering mewl. “I’ll give you anything– anything–” You dig your fingernails into the muscle of his back, try to drive your words home, into his skin.

“I know, I know, you’re fucking perfect, fucking wet– Keep going, keep coming around my cock, just like that.” He rolls you over onto your back now, settling deeper between your thighs, and picks up the pace of his hips. Your naked breasts pressed tight against his chest, the hair there rubs against your sensitive, swollen nipples. It feels like he’s everywhere, embedded in every square inch of your skin, invading, conquering. And he has, he conquered you a long time ago.

It is perhaps the greatest thing that’s ever happened to you.

One of his hands cups the crown of your head, keeping you in place, his palm so wide it covers the entire span of your skull, and the other pulls your thigh open for him wider, angling your pelvis so he can ram against the mouth of your womb, and your insides are so sensitive, your orgasm still echoing in your skin, it feels like he has a direct line to the very heart of your pleasure. He speaks to it in whispers and demands, and you roll directly into the throbs of a new orgasm. No reprieve, no moment to gather your skin around you, pull your seams together.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

“Yeah, I can feel it – Gonna soak my cock again, I can feel it–”

“Oh my fucking god,” your moan is broken and guttural, and then it’s there, overtaking you completely, your vision whiting out. Your back arches as deep as possible, somehow letting him in ever further and you feel the pulse of his come, the heat of it, as he starts to fill you.

“Fuck– fucking perfect cunt, take me so well.” He buries his face in your neck, licking and kissing as much skin as he can get his mouth on. The hinge is your jaw feels like it’s come undone, gasping and hiccuping, it’s too much. He feels so heavy inside of you, like your insides, your skin is swollen with him.

“Joel–” you whisper, trembling. He hums, pressing his nose into your hair, he pushes your head back, making room to run the tip of it along the column of your throat, kiss to the soft spot behind your ear, down to your collarbone to suck a blossom into the dip there.

He’s whispering into your skin, perfect girl, perfect pussy, so good, so pretty, let me fuck a baby into you, take me so well always. He pulls out gently, the both of you groaning at the loss, at the sudden gush of your mingled come. You’re soaked, the insides of your thighs, your panties a sodden mess. The lap of his jeans, that he’d not bothered to even take off all the way, soaked in your slick as well. He moves to shuck off his clothes, and then pulls your ruined panties down the smooth slopes of your legs. He kneels between your spread thighs, brings your foot up to his mouth, presses a soft kiss to the arch of it, then further up, his tongue dragging along your calf to your knee, another press of his mouth to the bone there, and then he’s spreading your thighs wide, a smug look of appreciation as he surveys the wet, swollen mess he’s made of you. His thumbs pull your lips apart to take in the sight of his come leaking out of your still clenching hole, a soft swipe of his thumb to your clit that has you gasping and bucking away. “Ah, ah, gotta clean you up, little bird.”

You’re too blissed out to even object, to tell him you’re too sensitive, that you can’t take anymore. His tongue is gentle, slow languorous strokes against your wet flesh. He eats up the mess, cleaning you slowly until another orgasm is right there, pooling low in your pelvis and then surging through you in gentle waves, rolling along the lines of your limbs. There are overwhelmed tears running down your cheeks, and you can see the slow grind of his hips into the mattress, turned on just from this, from the shared taste of you.

He kisses the insides of your thighs, runs his tongue along the crevice between your leg and pelvis, licking up the slick and sweat there, and it should be disgusting, but all it does is make you want to taste every single inch of his skin, as well. Finally, he lays his cheek on the damp inside of your thigh, looks up at you, and the two of you just lay there, holding each other’s gazes, quiet.

There’s a tiny bump to your belly now. The soft little swell existing between the two of you, like the most precious, perfect shared secret. This little kernel of truth that only belongs to the two of you. He’s been so smug about it, strutting around like a damn peacock. You’ve made him promise, Ellie, and Dina by proxy, are the only ones he can tell until you’re a little further along, but the cocky look he gets in his eyes every time he looks at you is practically a blaring sign. Yeah, I knocked her up, she belongs to me. And it’s also made him insatiable, relentless and needy, fucking you every chance he can get. Not that you’re complaining.

Wish I could get you pregnant again already, he’d whispered in your ear as he’d finished inside of you yesterday, bent over the kitchen table, leggings and panties around your ankles.

It is a small sort of miracle to lay here now, like this. Without any sort of distance, after everything else.

The desire for choice was the spark that animated the deepest inquiries of what now existed between you. The force that grounded the two of you together, a need for a path of your own choosing; one so savage, it overcame all other obstacles. Internal, external, human, fungus, past, present. None of those existential inquiries mattered after the choice for one another had been made. Once the helm of fear had been cast away, all that remained thereafter, was only the deepest desire to choose the path that, at the birth of the end of the world, had been stripped of the two of you. The willingness to choose for yourself that which you knew might, could, devastate you, and yet choose it anyway. To accept that a thing could hurt you, maim you, obliterate you, and yet still take its hand. To know that you may not deserve it, but that you would inevitably be hurt – that you would, yourself, inevitably hurt someone who, in turn, did not deserve it either. But that was the price of accepting your monstrousness, of cherishing it, of, at long last, letting it go. After all, to acknowledge a thing was, in many ways, to free yourself of its power over you. Your fear could not lead you, control you, if you were aware of it enough to master it, to take it for what it was, merely a faction of yourself, not the entirety of who you were.

No longer a man made up of fears, no longer a man made up of hurts.

After courage, the possibilities were endless. For courage, above all else, was what was necessary to go on.

Epilogue

Netherfeildren Masterlist

#FoG fic #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #tlou fic #ellie williams

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thewillowtree3 · 7 months

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Korrasami Secret Santa 2023!! ;DD!!

Hi, Korrasami fam!! We're back!! ;D!!

We're doing Korrasami Secret Santa for 2023!! (Sike, I did not copy this part from Korrasami Secret Secret 2022, but the rest I will LOOL). 6 years and kicking, babey, let's go ;DD!!

The rules are the same:

Korrasami creators will be able to gift one another with Secret Santa gifts. Whether it be fics, art, videos, animations…the fun’s all there! (It doesn’t have to be holiday-themed! It can be whatever you want :)

The Process:

This Secret Santa exchange will be done through drawnames.com, which is a Secret Santa Name Generator. You’ll need your email for this, and you can message me it directly on Tumblr (I’ll gather everyone’s names up, and put them into the generator when it’s time to draw names.)

The due date to sign up is 11:59 PM Nov 30, 2023 PDT (I’d like everyone to have ample time to do their Secret Santa gifts). :)

Most likely, you’ll need to make an account on drawnames.com (you don’t need to, but it’s recommended. When you get to writing your Wish List on there, under ‘Hobbies and Interests’, make two different lists: One for ‘Fic Requests’, the other for ‘Art Requests’. If a writer draws your name, you’ll have a suggestion for what you want them to write. If an artist draws your name, they’ll have an idea of what to create! (Also, originally, this project only had fanfic and fanart- but if anyone can contribute any other talents, that’d be swell!)

Example: Fic Request- I want Korra and Asami cuddling at home with a fireplace!

Art Request: I want Korrasami going otter-penguin sledding!

The fic and art requests can be the same, or they can be different. Please limit it to one, or if you can’t choose, then two options. You can also note things that you don’t want (i.e. No smut or NSFW work!). You can be as specific as you wish.

Also, everyone else! We recognize that there may be people in the fandom who don’t create content, but still want to contribute! @lamftw came up with these great ideas four years ago, if you’d still like to participate in the Secret Santa. You can:

Create Korrasami memes! The more memes, the better :)

Share your favorite Korrasami headcanons! We’d love to hear them.

Share your favorite artwork/fanfic!

Share your favorite moment from LoK or share how much Korrasami means to you.

Create Korrasami memes, write a sweet holiday message/ note of appreciation :)

Also, we can all show some love to our favorite creators, to Bryke, Janet Varney, and Seychelle Gabriel (the voice of Korra and Asami, respectively). :)

When everyone has signed up, I’ll put all the names into the Secret Santa Name Generator. You should get an email, asking you to join the Secret Santa exchange. Just click ‘Join Group’, and you’re good! Once everyone has joined, the names will then be drawn, and you’ll get your chosen individual (you’ll get an email for this too). Please remember to check your email on Dec 1; we cannot draw names unless everyone has joined the Secret Santa group!

The reveal will be on Dec 19, 2023 (the 9th Korrasami Anniversary ;DD). Post your work on Tumblr, and tag the person you got, so they’ll know what lovely work they got! Also, please tag ‘Korrasami Secret Santa’ so we can save these posts for the future :).

Please note that if you sign up, you HAVE to commit to making something. This is open to all creators, of any skill level, but please please make something if you sign up. You don’t wanna leave anyone hanging!

Last note- remember to message me on Tumblr and give me your email. That’s the way to sign up! :)

Let's freaking go, y'all! LET'S MAKE THIS A GOOD ONE!! ;DDDD!!

Spread this to all your creator friends! LET'S GO FAM!! ;DD!!

6 YEARS IN A ROW!! LEGGO!! ;DDDD!!

Note- 11/27: Hey y’all, I’ve been shadowbanned recently LOL. Idk when Tumblr will unban me and give me my account back so ;__;. Because I’ve been shadowbanned, I cannot see any messages about the Korrasami Secret Santa :((. If I don’t get my account back before Nov 30th, I’ll just have to postpone the event and make a new date for it/prolong the posting date. I’ll keep y’all updated ;__;.

Note-11/28: Y’all, I just found out- Y’ALL CAN SEND IN ASKS!! I can still see them!! ;DDDD!! So if you still wanna join, please send me an ask with your email. I’ll still be prolonging the join/posting date if I don’t get my account back before Nov 30th, but this is a solution in the meantime!! :33

#legend of korra #korra #asami #korrasami #korrasami secret santa #fanart #fanfic #it's back!! ;DDDD!!

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madamealys · 2 months

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Imagine being the wife of Daemon Targaryen. (+21)

***

When you look at this man, you cannot believe how fortunate you are. It isn’t only about the looks, even though to deny these don’t play a part in how attracted you still are towards him is to indulge in lies; but how protective he can be whenever you fly with him on Caraxes, whenever you accompany him at court.

Or how attentive he can be when you are sharing your day with him. Daemon Targaryen actually listens whenever your studies get your brain sharped—in truth, he is often horny whenever you and him have this moment talking about politics, philosophy, art… because he is also aroused by your looks.

When you are not well, he is the kind of husband who tends his wife. And he makes sure to leave his duties aside to be by your side. Saying nothing, but his presence says a lot.

These are your thoughts as you miss him a great deal. Daemon has been exiled again… probably for rebelling against that douchebag who attends by the name of Otto Hightower. And you had to stay behind because he assured you he’d not take long.

It’s been three days though and to sleep in a bed without the comfort of his body, the warmth of his skin against yours… is too dreadful. You are often anxious, considering pleading to the king to give his brother another chance, even if this means to take the risk of angering Daemon, for he is very prideful.

It’s when you, trying to busy yourself with sewing a new tapestry for your household, are told by one of the maids of your trust that Caraxes has been spotted.

“Oh praise the Gods!”, you exclaim, relieved. “Please ensure that all is set to receive the lord.”

And you are quickly having another lady to help you dress a better gown—perhaps the red one with details in black, his favourite colors—to welcome him properly.

The idea of how this night might end already gives you goosebumps, for it’s been a while since you and him haven’t done it—mostly because you’ve been engaged in philosophy studies and he, with wars waged against the Tetrarchy at Free Cities.

Your y/c hair is left partially loose—you tied a few locks in a short braid—, your delicate features are painted in light make up and your curves are reinforced by this beautiful long silk sleeved gown.

It does show some cleavage, the line of your neck to that of your breasts quite exposed—as you see yourself in mirror you blush at it, specially because your nipples are getting hard, eager to pop out to his mouth. But you, as a lady and his wife, know that it’s always better when you hold your desires back.

Right?

Heavens, you don’t know. Your legs shake lightly as your pussy begins to ache. You remember still how, before he went off, he reclined your back, spread your legs and slided his length, throbbing his cock into your womanhood. To recollect is to be bit by agony, for that night he smirked when hearing your screams going louder.

“Had I known how loud you could be, I’d have tried this position before”, he said then.

Another memory flashes back, when he caught you naked in bed touching yourself. You hadn’t seen him for a few days too—because he flew to see his brother— and here you were, moaning his name with your legs indecently spread and your fingers doing poorly the job he excelled.

And all so suddenly, he removed his clothes and laid back next to you, shuddering you as he helps you getting to reach your climax.

“Is it good? Thinking of me, does it make you good?”

That same day he replaced his finger with his tongue. And Gods be damned, you loved it. And you want it again. Even if he might accuse you of naughtiness.

Well, you once told him, how can one be his wife without being prompted to lust? And you swear you’d never seen this man blush before.

So here you are, holding back your fire, waiting for the reunion. You have an emerald necklace that he gifted you last Yule as well as a pair of rubies embellishing your ears.

By the time you get to the living room, Daemon, with his hair shorter, is impatient for his wife.

“Fuck, where is…?” And he is as silent as you are, as if you two are transfixed by each other’s presence.

“Daemon”, relief comes through as you run to his arms, there staying engulfed. “Three days never before felt so long.”

He smiles to himself when feeling your frame pressed against his, smelling your scent and hearing your voice—the sentiments there being expressed making his heart race.

The rogue prince presses a kiss over your forehead before cupping your face and finally kissing your lips, a reward for a painful, long waiting.

“My lady”, he smiles down at you. “Always loyal.”

“It could never be otherwise”, you stroke his cheek, eyeing him with the utmost devotion. “Three days and yet it felt like eternity to wait for your return. My prayers were my only comfort, the balsam to my aching heart.”

“A poetess”, he murmurs in awe, “with a soul that never ceases to inspire me love.”

Daemon gives a side crooked smirk when seeing his words paint a crimson shade on your cheeks, when seeing how bright your smile is. He then leans to peck your lips before whispering down to your ear.

“I’m looking forward tonight. You are gorgeous, my wife. All of this for me?”

His voice, a quiet whisper that contains a lot more than lets it show, gives you shivers. You lower your gaze before smiling rather shyly.

“Yes, lord. All of this to my husband.”

When you raise your eyes, you know you are lost. Daemon Targaryen has just pierced your soul.

***

“Finally”, he pulls you to himself, staying right behind you as he rests his chin over your shoulder, arms around your waist. “Finally a moment alone with you, Y/Nickname.”

You giggle softly.

“I’ve been looking forward to this…”

“If I remember well, you burn as bright as any dragon fire”, recollects Daemon, smirking when in reference to the first night spent together after the bedding ceremony where he deflowered you. “Especially where weak spots are concerned”, and here he whispers hotly in your ear, pleased to see a shiver running over your spine and how weak your knees are.

You hate to be so vulnerable before him, to be so easily read, but at the same time you love that he knows you so well.

You try to find balance at the nearest object nearby, which happens to be the window. As darkness grows outside, there is little of the landscape you can spot, although it hardly distracts you of your husband’s preying eyes.

As Daemon turns at you, he denudes you with only a gaze. He drinks of the view of you, pleased to find you in a struggle to hold back the long lust he—and only he—evokes in you.

His cock goes rigid in his pants as he watches your breathing going painfully slow, as your hands hold against the wall, as your body begs him to do what you both want him to do.

But Daemon wants to take his time—because when he does, oh the waiting will be worth it.

His fingertips begin to caress your features before slowly going to your neck.

“I love the colour you chose to welcome me tonight”, says the rogue prince, secretively smirking at how you notice his small details, much like he does at you.

“It pleases me to hear it so”, you tilt your head to the side, locking gazes with him. “All was done with this purpose.”

And in this moment his index finger slides to your mouth. A glint of mischief sparks behind his eyes as you open it and welcome it with your tongue in a very suggestive gesture.

“Mm.” He sighs almost inaudibly, aroused already. “You like it, don’t you? Ever since I taught you how it’s done… you’ve mastered it.”

“Like you taught me indeed, my lord”, you smirk back, eyeing him intently. Your hands are about to buckle his bell but he soon stops you.

“No”, Daemon groans as he pins you against the wall. “Wife, I play this game.”

“Better than I”, you aquiesce, willingly so.

He chuckles before leaning inches closer to you.

“Indeed”, and when his hands move from your waist to embrace you, before grabbing your hair gently, he kisses you.

His tongue gently comes after yours, pairing synchronously in perfect harmony. You dwell in the taste of sweet Dornish wine that mixes with yours, carefully minted after dinner.

And then it gets deeper. It gets passionate. You start to burn in fever, longing for his command, to be subdued to his will. Daemon knows you, even when your breathing comes out a different pace or how your hands slowly move to play with his now shorter locks.

He knows.

A devilish smirks paints his lips when sensing your impatience. He likes to take his time, though by now your rose scent drives him insane. It’s a particular rose. He knows it.

It’s as if a dragon calls another to mate.

He knows.

Daemon finally unlaces your gown. He needs to see your nude state, to devour your curves with his eyes. So he parts his lips from yours, pleased to find in your eyes that pledge he likes so well.

And you blush before his intent gaze. You promptly try to cover yourself, but the domineering man you call your husband gently parts your legs with his knee and firmly takes your hands to pin your wrists above your head.

“Daemon!”, you whimper like the wench you are.

“Yes?”, he licks his tongue around his mouth, already with a bone at the sight of you so exposed, your nipples so damn hardened. “Can’t I appreciate my wife?”

Your face goes pink with his words. You are at his mercy, you dare not to pledge liberty. But you begin to feel dropping wet in your legs. Rubbing one to the other, you try to show some control.

But Daemon knows he’s affecting you. And he likes the view. Oh, he does.

A sly smirk runs in his lips as he pulls your hair with one hand and wraps another around your neck, all the whilst parting your legs with his knee.

“Hmm. You couldn’t handle staying three long days and nights without me, could you?”, he whispers, aroused as you whimper at the pressure he makes into your womanhood.

Your mouth barely opens, forming an “o” as you flutter your eyelashes. The torture only worsens when you whimper due to the short distance he takes of you.

Because Daemon Targaryen starts touching himself at the thought of you. So ready, so undone… right under his power.

“It is most unfair to be unkindly treated in such a manner”, you protest, already salivating when remembering what it felt like to have his length throbbing in your mouth.

Daemon smirks still at you, locking eyes precisely as he releases his pressure.

“Is it?”, he then groans, pleased to be under your intent stare. “I thought you liked to watch.”

You blush once more at the reference of the day you caught him, perhaps unintentionally, on such a private moment. You were sent by the king to look after him—the prince hasn’t courted you yet, despite his openly flirting to you, so innocent back then—and you found him rather jerking at the library.

You could not look away though you froze when he opened his eyes and found you there, watching as he came undone. And to think all of what he did next…

Still gives you shivers even after these years.

“Do you like that, don’t you?”, he places his soaked index finger into your mouth, watching you with eyes dark with desire as you suck it, glinting with mischief when doing so.

You barely come to an answer as his mouth engulfs yours, colliding lips in a passionate and deep kiss. It is as if your soul is set alight, burning with something more meaningful than merely desire.

You are his and he’s yours. He knows it, he feels it too. Never before he’s been so tamed as he is now. This dragon who was known to many women down the capital, whether high or low born, are faithful to one woman now who is fortunate to be called his wife.

And you occupy such privileged position that certainly has some envious ladies grumbling on and upon—rumour has it that Rhaenyra Targaryen is one of those heartbroken ladies who never truly accepted that you are his lady.

This certainly does not cross your mind by now when his lips pursuit your skin, deliciously devouring your neck—his gritted teeth leaving bruises all the way.

“My husband, I need more”, you whimper louder, impatiently so.

He leans back to smile at you, that way you like him to—carrying a mix of bashfulness and cheekiness— before saying:

“My darling spoilt brat”, he chuckles. “What have I raised?”

A peck in your lips and the man finally lowers his kiss. At long last your lust is satisfied and he cups each nipple, devouring you like a famine man.

It feels so good to have his tongue twisting it around your pink nipple, biting it, taking his time there. You arch your back, you want to play with his hair, but he’s still holding your wrists, tightening the grip as if saying he “owns” you.

And you blissfully give in. Specially when he stops caressing your boobs and slides a hand to your feminine part.

So suddenly you moan louder. For the moment his fingers are inside you, clutched within, digging a deep path to your uterus, your chest gets heavier and it is as if you have butterflies in your stomach.

“Come to me”, he is now standing his nude body so close to yours that sweats are mixed. “Come. I want to hear you scream my name.”

One look is enough and you are crying out his name, finally released off that unbearable pressure that has been within you.

“Daemon…”

“Y/N…”

And with no waiting for further playtimes, your legs are wrapped around his waist and he finally thrusts his erect manhood within you.

Locked against the wall, you two move synchronously, breath to breath, body to body. The fire of a dragon burns all over you an it feels good to be burnt alive.

As his thrusts match with the moves of your hips, climax seems to approach. He pulls you to his lips, before gently lifting you up only to lay you down at the table and there fucking you intently.

Hardly surprises anyone awake by that hour at the castle to hear indecent sounds echoing through it. This only means how the prince is in a very good mood indeed.

***

Daemon watches you sleep peacefully in his arms. Both of you are in his quarters now, poorly covered by a silk linen sheet over your bodies. His eyes linger in your heart-shaped face, in how serene you look with your eyes shut.

He puts delicately your y/c locks behind your ear, making sure none make you uncomfortable in your sleep. The prince looks at you with a sweet, almost secretive grin in his lips.

He loves his lady. He missed her company, her laughters, her body, her wit.

The prince holds you tight against him, drifting to sleep himself. In his mind he replays the scenes of the day he discovered you and him loved each other.

Such sheepish smile only spreads when, resting a hand over your belly, he is struck with a feeling he’s having an heir anytime now…

#Daemon Targaryen smut

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