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sordidmusings · 1 year ago

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Cuddling Headcanons - Straw Hats and the Three Unwise Men

A/N: Just mulling over something sweet and something to reference back to for my own use in future writings. I just wanna give all of them some love tbh I am a slut for affection

Includes! Zoro, Sanji, Nami, Luffy, Usopp, Mihawk, Buggy, and Shanks

Warnings: gn!reader, all fluff, opla leaning for the most part but I think it can fit both pretty well, an innuendo or two

Part 2 (drabbles for each character) here!

Enjoy some guided daydreams!

Zoro

Partial touches during naps were how he started interacting with your personal space but your lap no longer belongs to you it is now his pillow

Honestly, basically any of you is a pillow whenever he decides - I don't care if you are significantly shorter than him he will find a way to fall asleep on your shoulder

For more contact, you need to be the one to cling to him but he does absolutely need to be touching you at least a bit

Once he gets used to it he’ll give you a look any time you’re depriving him of his daily intake of physical affection (the sass king will always get his tribute)

He absolutely melts like a cat in the sun if you massage at any of his muscles, could be anything as much as an evening dedicated to working out every knot he has or as simple as putting intentional pressure behind your thumb as it circles and drags along his skin

He can get nervous about kissing you when it’s not on the lips - something about it feels more vulnerable to him somehow - so if he does venture to kiss your cheek or head or shoulder or hand please reassure him with a smile or your own kisses or a firm squeeze

He gets better about being seen hugging/holding you eventually, but will never get comfortable with giving more than pecks on the cheek or forehead around the others. Maaaaaaybe the corner of your lips if he’s feeling ~spicy~

Sanji

Back hugs, back hugs, back hugs-

He’s always making sure that the two of you brush hands or arms when near each other, even after you two establish a relationship it will always give him tingles

Likes to be very intertwined when you cuddle - if he can somehow wrap around you more then he absolutely will

He is The Best at tracing shapes gently on your skin, just like with brushing hands he never tires of it because, wow, he gets to touch you! He still can’t believe it sometimes

Very good at making you feel cherished when he holds you because of the way he always seems to take his time and ease into it and constantly caress you not to say that there’s never a time he’s hurried and ravenous

It also helps that he’s always whispering sweet nothings to you about how wonderful you are, how beautiful and precious and lovely and kind and capable and special

When he wants to trap you while cuddling, he wraps his legs around you and uses their absurd strength for evil

He will melt if you ever do the same to him and he will happily be at your whims to cuddle until you've decided it's enough, all of you could be under attack but he is staying right where you want until you decide that he needs to move

Loooooves showering you with sweet little kisses anytime you're cuddling

He can sometimes get carried away with pda because he forgets that there’s anyone else around whoops

Nami

She has her legs on your lap always - sometimes while she's laying/leaning back, sometimes with one leg hooked over one of yours, sometimes basically sitting on your lap

She likes to be the one that is held and feels most comfortable with her face snuggled into something (please nurture her and that scared, lonely inner child)

Enjoys brushing the tip of her nose across you, especially across your cheek or neck or the tip of your own nose

She likes to hook your arms together whether you’re standing next to each other during a convo or you’re walking or she’s sitting next to you, she just loves the casual contact and how she can use it to be playful and pull you around or use it to stay close and let others know that both of you are taken do not even think about it keep moving along dude

She’s very weak to hugs where you pick her up a few inches off the ground for a second, they send her heart racing (bonus points if you’re noticeably taller or shorter than her and do this)

She’s also weak for words of affirmation, especially when you speak them to her while you hold each other in the quiet hours of night

For some reason literally being on your lap around others is fine but if you give her a kiss to the temple while that's happening? Suddenly it's Too Much, both in how sweet it is and also because she’s being perceived while it's happening

Luffy

Any/all contact is being had whenever he’s with you

If he’s on the floor next to you then your calf is now his teddy bear, if you’re on the floor near him he’ll snatched your torso with his legs, if you’re sat near him he’s wrapping both arms around one of yours to snuggle it

One of his favorites is leaning your backs against each other, he feels really supported and the way you occasionally lean and twist your head back to nuzzle his or give him a quick kiss makes him smile with the utmost joy

He will carry and move you around in the strangest ways - fireman carry, one arm around your waist while you’re upside down, your knees hooked over his shoulders while the rest of you hangs down, you trying to koala to his side, one time you were curled completely around his waist like a pool floaty - no one understands why you two can’t be normal

Likes to be the one to hold you so he can fidget when he needs without feeling like he has to unlatch you first, this is especially when you two are laid down and/or going to be cuddling together for awhile

PDA doesn’t bother him at all, he doesn’t give a fuck if anyone sees you snuggled up together, doesn’t even occur to him that he should care

His playfulness will come out often with dramatic “mwah!” kisses, nipping at you, blowing raspberries on your skin, and the occasional tickling

Usopp

It’s necessary for him to have his arms wrapped around you some way

Likes to be the big spoon to feel like he’s acting as armor and protecting you, it just hits the right place in his brain that has him feeling Big and Strong in the best way

He loves when you plant a kiss on his chest, especially if you aim one directly over his heart (that is totally at a normal rate plz don’t check)

He likes to play with your hair and/or massage your neck and scalp

Big into making sure wherever the two of you are cuddling is comfy, has many extra blankets and a selection of pillows by size and firmness

Always down to cuddle but feels more comfortable if you initiate first, especially when it’s a new thing between the two of you

He simultaneously loves pda and is nervous about pda but that nervousness is absolutely gone when he’s drunk or even pretty buzzed

Good at incorporating his head into hugs - hooking his jaw on your shoulder or on top of your head, leaning his temple gently into the side of your head, bumping you softly with his forehead

Need background noise while you go to sleep? He’s more than happy to hold you and turn on storyteller mode. Honestly, it’s one of his favorite things to do and he cherishes that time together

When it’s bedtime stories he’s telling, his voice is so low and soothing

Mihawk

This man needs to have his hands holding something on you (your hand, your shoulder, your waist, your thigh, your back, your ass lol),

He likes to feel wrapped around you like hes hoarding you to himself, this leads to him enjoying you laying on his chest, having all of your weight on him has him feel like he’s fully possessing you

Will definitely kiss the top of your head/your temple/your forehead/basically whatever his lips are near, not a consistent bout of them, more one deliberate peck when the need strikes him (it’s also his customary goodnight to you)

Like the other swordsman, he will give you a look if you miss a habitual touch (especially if it’s the way you usually ran a hand through his hair with a kiss to the forehead before you left the castle, that was non-negotiable it had to happen), his stare however is more the 1000 yard variety and those bright yellow eyes will bore a hole through you until you understand what you did wrong

Something about this man makes me feel his temp runs hot but not in a way that bothers him, like he doesn’t feel hot or overheated but when you touch him the difference between you two is noticeable

It’s a damn good thing that he reciprocates your physical affection, even if 70% it’s just an arm coming around you, because his stony expression makes it easy to assume that your touches are unwanted

This type of limited response is mostly for more casual cuddling like hugs or sitting next to each other because when you’re laying together his face is always soft and he’s much greedier to be pressing into you

Okay with some pda like quick and passing touches including kisses, but not a fan of anything more intimate when others can see

Buggy

The Chairrrrrr, as you’ve told him it’s circUS so both of you need to be on the throne (If he’s wanting to look extra powerful or intimidating you have no problem sitting at his feet and holding him like a heroine on a 70s fantasy novel)

He’s a big fan of any possessive gestures - arm around shoulders, back hugs, pulling you to wrap your arms around him, having you sit in his lap

He’s a cuddle switch for sure because sometimes he needs to hold you to remind himself that you’re his and sometimes he needs to feel held

Very fragile for gentle affection - please draw shapes on this man’s back, play with his hair and massage his scalp, give him head kisses, hand kisses, wrist kisses

Feels like his heart will explode if you nuzzle your face into him whether its into his chest or the side of his head or good lord his pALM (He may have literally fallen apart the first time you did that and if you’re ever in the mood for some Entertainment bring it up)

He is actually made for cuddling because if his arm is uncomfortable to lay on or starting to fall asleep? He can detach it and now it’s your stuffed animal. This can extend to literally any part of him that either of you feels is getting in the way of the perfect cuddle

Need to feel needed? The way he’ll pull you into him and hold you like you’re going to disappear will let you know he needs you

Absolutely LIVES for pda, he gets to show you off to everyone and have your gorgeous self make him shine brighter in the spotlight? Nothing could be better

Shanks

Sharing his space often means one of you sitting between the others legs, whether one is on the floor in front of the other’s seat or y’all are laying down together with one settled further down the bed, this often leads to you laying your head on the hip or stomach or upper thigh of the other

He mostly likes to be on his back or stomach and pretty splayed out, so you’ve adjusted yourself to gripping to him after he’s taken over the bed

It always makes him soft to think about you always choosing to cling to him without him having to hold you there, it really drives home that he’s something you actively want

Will grope you, sometimes sexually, but he also just likes the feeling of grabbing you, it’s somewhat of a manifestation of cute aggression

He’s a sucker for getting his neck/shoulders/upper back rubbed while cuddling (which is a pain if he’s decided to be on his back) and he is not above bargaining for it or prodding you like an indignant pet each time you stop (very good puppy eyes), this is one of his favorite perks of having you in his lap

He’s another one to not care about being seen by others but not because it hasn’t occurred to him (like Luffy) but because anyone judging him is WAY less important than getting more affection from you

His heart gets really tender when you lay with him and massage the stump of his arm and the shoulder above it because it helps with the phantom pains when he has them, it also help with the tension from using the muscles on that side to compensate, and it reminds him how the only thing about his arm that bothers you is that it hurts him

Part 2 (drabbles) here!

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artdnldsn · 4 months ago

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gestalt therapy

college professor!art donaldson x fem reader

word count: 5.2k

warnings: 18+ MDNI, swearing, student!reader, age gap, porn w/ a little plot, head (f receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, slight degradation (question mark?), one mention of "daddy"

synopsis: you're done with your senior year at college, and all you want is a parting gift.

a/n: my first full fic here wow my first ever smut WOW the only thing that's not a first here is english because it's my second language so be patient pookies. college prof au has been haunting me for days so i needed to get it out. even though i have no fucking idea how colleges work in the us ;) hope you like it! happy reading

The first thing he notices about you is how ridiculously smart you are.

It's not even a stretch or him trying to justify the instant attraction he feels towards you. No, you're genuinely, undeniably brilliant, especially for your age. You've got this way with words, and concepts come to you so easily. You pick up on all his lead-ups to lecture topics, knowing exactly what the main conversation will be about a good five minutes before the rest of the class. You smile smugly, crossing your arms and leaning back, your eyes seeking his because you want him to know that you know.

And honestly, he'd be mad at you for being so smug if you weren't so damn smart.

The way you walk up to him after class to discuss your latest essay, your stance confident and voice sure, as you argue over why you deserved a 100 and not a 98. He's looking at your essay, then at you, then back at his computer screen, squinting just to appear like he's thinking it over, but he knows you're right; of course you are. Your essay is perfect. He was just being a dick about it, nitpicking because he couldn't admit you're basically flawless.

He's getting self-conscious about his teaching. There's nothing he can teach you—you come so prepared for every class that he wonders if you even have a life outside his classroom. Maybe your brain just works like that, but a small, selfish part of him hopes you spend hours prepping for his classes. The thought that you do it for him and not the subject is a nice one, but he shoves it away.

At least that way, it wouldn't be as pathetic for him to spend nights rewriting his lectures, perfecting his presentations to the point where he's sitting in his bed at 3 AM, pondering whether Times New Roman or Arial would make his point come across better.

He's always been a perfectionist, living by the book, striving not for greatness but for the reserved maximum of his natural capabilities. He never really pushed himself. But you—oh, fuck, you. Fuck you. You make him want to lose sleep just to prove to you or himself that he's certainly smarter than some college senior.

He calls you a lot of things in his head. A know-it-all, an "excuse me" because you're always "excuse me"-ing him like he doesn't have a name, a smartass, a bitch—he hates when he's in a mood like this last one because it signals it's time to sleep. You're a lot of things, but you're not stupid.

In fact, he starts wondering if you're a once-in-a-lifetime talent. Because he's rather young for a professor, he hasn't seen as many students as his colleagues, who always crack up anecdotes about past students, someone who graduated 15, 30 years ago, but the older professors still remember them. He wonders if he's going to remember you like that. He's pretty sure he will.

He's never even thought about you as a woman and not just his student. He's just respectful like that. Sure, you were hot, which only added to your confident allure. He's not blind—hell, he'd admit it if he had to—but he's never thought about you like that.

But apparently, you have about him.

You appear at his office doorstep minutes before he's about to clock out for the night. You're looking pristine as always, and with your silhouette illuminated by the office's dim lights, he wonders for a second if you're even human with your endless drive, brilliant mind, and hair that always looks like it's animated because it's impossible for real human hair to flow that perfectly.

"Good evening," he greets you, eyebrows creasing slightly in confusion. You've never visited, your final grades are in, and you're graduating in a week. He's already said his goodbyes to your class, and when he did, you shot him a little smile that he read as everything being good between you. What are you doing here then? "Can I help—"

“Are you impotent?” you cut him off, arms crossed, a challenging look in your eyes.

He actually chokes on air. “E-excuse me?” he mutters under his breath, his expression shocked, his voice strained. God, he’s ridiculed you for years in his head for addressing him like that, and here he is now.

You turn your back to him, lock the door, and make your way to his desk in confident steps. You sit on the edge of his desk, looking at him over your shoulder. "I asked if you're impotent," you shrug, arching your eyebrow.

“No,” he blurts out, his expression still one of pure horror as he doesn’t know where to keep his gaze, his eyes darting between the papers on his desk, and his computer screen, and his hands, anywhere but you. “God, no.”

“Why you never fucked me, then?” you ask, your tone still almost accusatory, but your voice soft. It’s almost like there is a hint of genuine regret in your words, and he doubts his sanity right now, wonders if he’s imagining things. He pinches his thigh under the desk, just to make sure.

“What do you mean, why?” he stutters, his cheeks flushed. “B-because.” Oh, God, it’s really bad. He’s really speechless, his mind unable to conjure up a full sentence. “Because you’re my student, and I respect you, and there are boundaries that shouldn’t be—“

“I’m not your student anymore. Not technically.” Your tone is matter-of-fact, one he’s too familiar with. One you’ve used to tell him about all the typos in his handouts, all the mistakes in his tests, all the times he’s fucked up grading someone’s papers. Only now you’re telling him… Fuck, he really can’t grasp what it is you’re telling him.

“I can’t argue with that, but I really don’t understand the point of this conversation. You’re completely out of—“

“Consider it gestalt therapy,” you shrug nonchalantly. He’s getting mad, really, with you cutting him off like that, like you’re getting back at him for years of having to listen to his lectures without having an opportunity to talk over him. It takes him a second to grasp what you’re implying. He clears his throat.

You sigh, letting your arms drop to your sides, sliding off the desk, walking up to him in these fucking deliberate strides, spinning him in his chair so he faces you, his hands lifted up in the air as if he is surrendering. He doesn’t know to what, exactly.

“Just really have to get this out of my system, Mr. Donaldson,” you sigh almost guilty, your gaze landing on his lap. He's hard, his cock straining the fabric of his trousers. Of course he is, what the fuck?

You cup him, eliciting a soft sigh from his lips, his eyes falling shut. You start stroking him through the fabric, confidently like everything you do. It makes his blood boil. You’re such a bitch. A know-it-all. A smart-ass. And so, so hot that he can’t bring himself not to kinda wish you’re intending to fuck his brains out.

He opens his mouth to say something, maybe a weak protest to give you a final out, but you lean down, pressing your lips to his in a languid, deep kiss, a thorough exploratory one like every single one of your fucking essays has ever been.

You move to his lap, straddling him, the chair creaking under your combined weight. Only when his hands move to your hips does he understand you’re wearing a skirt. God, he hasn’t even noticed that. He lets his hands stay there, caressing your bare thighs as your skirt rides up, and you lean in for another kiss.

There's no raw hunger. If anything, he’s sure he’s incapable of it in this situation, his mind still trying to catch up, trying to relabel you as not forbidden. You’re grinding against his growing erection, tugging at his hair as you deepen the kiss, your curves so unexpectedly perfect against him.

He only realizes you’re working on his belt and zipper when he hears them. Instinctively, he moves his hands to your wrists to stop you, but you just shake them away like you’ve shrugged him off all these years. He gasps into your mouth as you wrap your hand around his freed cock, stroking the length expertly, thoroughly, meticulously, as your lips never leave his. He actually relaxes into the chair, his hands gripping your waist, tugging your top up to reveal more bare skin.

No bra. Of course you didn’t wear any. You’ve come prepared as always.

You chuckle quietly, your lips continuing to move in unison with his, finding a lazy rhythm that drives you both insane. He reads this chuckle as you being amused at him taking any initiative. It makes his blood boil.

He breaks the kiss, one hand squeezing your breast firmly as he leans down, capturing your left nipple between his lips, sucking gently before biting. His other hand lands on your ass with a loud smack, making you gasp. Finally, some reaction.

He starts bucking into your hand, seeking more friction, moving his mouth to your other breast, lavishing it with the same attention, leaving a bite mark on the side, making you wince but moan. That moan—fuck, that beautiful sound. Now he’s angrier at himself than you are at him for not having fucked you sooner.

He understands you were expecting to ride him, like he’s some sexless creature, a toy to use, a dick attached to a fantasy that has nothing to do with the man he is, and it makes him even madder. He’s always admired your insightfulness, your capability to get right to the gist of things through walls of useless shit, but he’s feeling his respect for you slipping as he understands just how wrong you must’ve been about him in your head.

He peels himself off your chest, lips glistening with saliva, smacking your ass again, harder this time, groping both cheeks as he lifts you off his lap to sit you on his desk over the papers he’s grading. He’ll just tell everyone he spilled a drink. No one will miss them.

His lips find yours again in a searing hot kiss. It’s messy, all tongue and teeth like he’s trying to hurt you, but he’s not. Of course not. It’s just that something dormant is being woken up in him. You whimper as he cups your mound through your panties, making him chuckle. Well, look who’s laughing now.

"You've seriously dreamt about this?" he whispers against your jaw, his long fingers sliding into your underwear, finding your slickness. Fuck, you're so wet for him, it almost makes him black out. "Wanted me to fuck you on this desk? Or the one in the classroom? Or in the library? Or right in the fucking hall, huh? Why not? Let everyone watch." His tone is almost taunting, his every word accompanied by a painfully slow and teasing circle of his thumb over your swollen clit.

"Yes, yes, yes," you mutter, eyes squeezed shut, forehead pressing against his shoulder, hips bucking helplessly into his hand, seeking friction. It’s not clear if you’re answering his questions or begging him to go faster. It doesn’t matter; his smirk is already in place, his eyes glistening with amusement as he looks down at you, breathing hard through his nose.

"Yes, what?" he chuckles, shrugging, his eyes scanning every reaction on your face. The way your head falls back, your lower lip caught between your teeth, your cheeks flushed. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Yes, what?" he murmurs softly, his hand in your panties slowing down to the point of stopping.

A groan of disappointment escapes your lips as you snap your head back up, eyes darting open. He can see your pupils blown wide even in the dim light, the lamp on his desk illuminating you from behind like a renaissance painting. "Yes, fuck me," you say dryly, like it’s obvious, still seeing him as some pathetic, stupid nobody, but you’re slightly out of breath when you say it, so that’s a win in his book for now.

Just means he’s gotta try harder.

His arms wrap around your waist, holding you in place. He’s standing between your legs, keeping them spread wide for him. He pulls his hand out of your panties to bring it to your face, shoving two fingers into your pretty smartass mouth. Your eyebrows crease, eyes falling shut at the action, a hum leaving your lips, vibrating through his skin, but you still suck on them obediently, tasting yourself on his fingers and coating them in your saliva.

He slips one finger right inside you when it makes its way back down. He starts thrusting it into you at a steady rhythm, his lips finding your neck, nibbling on it, his teeth grazing your delicate skin, tongue sliding over the little marks his teeth leave there, as he curls his finger inside you, thrusting deeper, deeper, almost aggressively.

"God, I really thought you were smart," he mutters under his breath, hot against your skin as he adds another finger and starts stretching you, eliciting a soft moan from you. He leans down, sucking on your tits again, noticing how hard your nipples are now, almost painfully so, matching the way his dick is rock hard, still standing at full attention against his clothed abdomen. "Thought you were different. Hard-working. Proper." He sinks onto his knees in front of you, looking up at you with a glint in his eyes you can’t quite read. "Turns out you’re just a slut."

He tugs your panties down, his tongue finding your cunt, one of his hands moving to throw your leg over his shoulder, keeping it there tightly as the fingers of his other hand re-enter your cunt, starting to finger it at the same urgent pace, his tongue moving feverishly over your clit, making you moan quietly because, yes, there are still people in the building, you have to keep quiet, but a part of him, the one you’ve awoken, wishes the circumstances were different, that he could hear you scream for him.

He’s getting high off the taste of your juices, off the scent of your arousal filling his nostrils, his nose pressed into your pelvis as he fucks you with his fingers in a relentless rhythm, curling his fingers inside you, feeling your walls clench down onto him, searching for that sweet spot that’s going to make your toes curl.

“Tell me,” he rasps out, pulling away from your cunt just for enough time to say what he needs to say, peppering your inner thigh with kisses in the meantime. “Tell me exactly how long you’ve wanted this. And how you wanted me to fuck you. Leave no details out.”

You whimper when he delves back onto your clit, sucking on it, not caring to keep his teeth from grazing your sensitive skin here and there, but it’s a good feeling.

“S-since that lecture. Sophomore year,” you breathe out, you throat tight from holding back so many moans that are begging to be let out. Your mouth falls open in a silent ‘oh’ as he sucks your whole clit in, lapping at it with his tongue inside his wet hot mouth, your hand snapping instinctively onto his head, gripping his hair to pin yourself down to the reality. “You wore that slutty turtleneck, and of course I’ve thought you’re hot, but then you had one wrong date in your presentation, and I got so fucking mad at you. Thought you’re too careless to teach.”

He hums against your cunt, encouraging you to go on, or agreeing with your point, he can’t tell himself anymore. He’s completely gone at this point, drinking your juices like he’s drinking in your words. Amidst all this, he actually appreciates you not calling him stupid. You might’ve, but you didn’t.

“And you were always s-so passive, like I tried arguing with you, reading all that shit instead of going out just to get a rile out of you, and you never fucking bucked. I-I-I—“ you stutter, your mind going into overdrive for a second as he continues abusing your g-spot, his fingers moving at a frantic speed in and out, in and out. He smacks your thigh to get your attention back on the topic. “I just couldn’t fucking believe you. I was being a bitch, I was nagging you, just because. And you didn’t even care.”

He smiles into your cunt, a huff of air leaving his nose. At last, you admit it. He suddenly doesn’t feel bad at all for calling you a bitch in his head. He can feel your walls contracting around his fingers, your breathing irregular, you’re practically panting, your grip in his hair tightening as you guide him closer, rolling your hips against his tongue and fingers, seeking release. You’re close.

He pulls away, earning another cuss and another groan of disappointment off your lips. He smacks your thigh again, hard, the action leaving a red print of his big palm on your skin. “You didn’t answer,” he rasps out, delving back into you. Fucking students, he thinks to himself. Always so smart, thinking they know it all, and always forgetting to answer the second part of the question after they’re done answering the first.

Your mind is so hazy at this point, it takes you an effort to rewind the interaction in your head to understand what he means. “L-like this,” you whimper, your thighs trembling as he grips the one that’s not on his shoulder to stop it from shaking too much, keeping you in place. “I-I didn’t want you to be nice. You’re always so fucking nice, it’s not human, I knew it wasn’t true.”

He’s too set on making you cum to chuckle now, although it is pretty funny. He’s been doubting you’re human, too, but the way you gasp for air, trying desperately to hold back your moans as he feels you coming closer and closer to release, it tells him all that he needs to know. You’re just flesh and bones, not the perfect genius he’s painted you to be in his mind.

“Fuck!” you whimper, giving his hair one last tug before your hand springs up to cover your mouth, biting into your index finger to keep yourself quiet. It takes one slide of his fingers, one roll of his tongue, five seconds, and your muscles go taught as your hips buck off the desk, his pens in the glass standing on the edge of it clattering against each other, the keyboard of his computer flying up for a split second from impact of your ass slamming back down onto the desk. It’s like a mini-earthquake, that’s left your world erupt into white behind your closed eyelids.

He fingers you through it, lapping his tongue over your clit until you wince quietly from it hurting, and he pulls away reluctantly, standing up from the floor to stand in between your legs again. His neck and back hurt like hell from crouching down on the floor for so long, his muscles are not what they used to be, after all, and for a split second he considers actually giving up and letting you ride him, but it would be your win in his book, and he can’t allow that.

He spits on his hand before he leans down to kiss you, his tongue sliding back into your mouth, letting you taste yourself once again, as he brings his hand down to stroke himself, breathing softly out of his nose at the relief of some friction, finally. “You’re such a hypocrite,” he murmurs into your lips, softly, almost lovingly, the same fucking slightly condescending tone he’s always used in his classroom.

You open your mouth to ask what the fuck he means, but he pushes his tongue back into your mouth, all thoughts of a protest evaporating from your mind. You slide closer to the edge of the desk instinctively to accommodate him when he eventually pushes into you. You almost can’t wait.

He gropes your ass to position you like he wants you, his fingers digging into your plump skin maybe a little too hard. You don’t protest. He breathes heavily, like it’s physically paining him to hold back any second longer — it does,—and his brows are furrowed in concentration while he slides his tip over your clit, coating it with your slickness, the same way he frowns when he’s grading papers or goes over tomorrow’s lecture in his head.

He pushes inside in one determined thrust, piercing through you, a quiet grunt escaping his lips, a soft moan escaping yours. Before you have any time to adjust, he starts pounding his hips into yours, one of his arms hooked around your torso to keep you in place as his free hand flies to your chest, squeezing your right tit roughly, pinching your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and index finger, making it harden again.

“Careless?” he scoffs, an expression of pure disbelief on his face at the fact you’ve even dared to say that. He grunts again, his hand falling from your breast to your hip, gripping it firmly as he continues pounding into you, your breathing quickening again. He’s rather big, and it hurts a little from you still being sore from your orgasm, but you still moan softly under your nose, your wrists hurting from you leaning on the desk behind your back for so long.

“You call me careless for a typo in a presentation I made six years ago, and it’s not careless for you to come here, asking me if I’m impotent? Fuck you,” he grunts again, a grin pulling on his lips as he throws his head back, the rhythm of his hips never faltering. You’re squeezing his cock so tightly, there’s no way in hell you’re ever going to be asking him or yourself that question again.

He lets go of you, reaching behind your back to pull on your wrists, tugging them further to himself, which makes you fall back on the desk. “Fuck you,” he repeats, his words almost sounding like a moan now as he holds your wrists near your stomach, basically transfixing you. He moves one of his hands up to throw your leg over his shoulder again, another continuing holding your wrists down, as you both groan quietly at the change of the angle, the new one allowing for him to go so deep he’s touching parts of you you didn’t know existed.

“So, you wanted me to be a good teacher and a good dick all at the same time?” he muses, a smirk pulling on his lips again as he looks down onto your dishevelled form, your tits bouncing out of your tugged-down top, you skirt ridden up to your waist, your fucking face, so unbearably beautiful, flushed and your lips swollen from his kisses and from you biting on them so much. He can’t fucking get enough of how silent you are now after running your mouth at him for all these years. “Did you want me to be your boyfriend, too?” he chuckles, shaking his head, his expression faltering as he picks up the rhythm for a good minute, pounding into you so hard all the items on the desk are clattering, and you have to bite on your lips again not to scream from him practically tearing you apart, because you can’t cover your mouth anymore with your wrists held by him.

“Daddy never loved you, right?” He understands he’s probably taunting you too much, his words almost feeling cruel, but he’s too far gone at this point, he’s making a forceful effort to continue looking down at you to imprint the way you look right now into his memory to revisit later, even though his eyes are almost rolling back from just how good your cunt takes him. “That’s why you’ve been pining for my dick for fucking three years? Are you getting what you wanted?”

“Y-yes,” you whimper weakly. Yes to all that, actually, but he doesn’t need to know that. He feels too good, filling you up to the brim, you can almost feel him in your guts, he’s making your toes curl. And he’s finally not acting nice. Just like you wanted him to.

“Good,” he growls, letting go of you for a second before his hands find the undersides of your knees, bringing them close to your chest, changing the angle again as he starts hammering down into you, the room filled with the sound of your shared ragged breaths, the desk creaking under you and the sound of his pelvis slapping against yours. “Fu-uck, you’re taking me so good, none of your schoolwork was ever that good,” he’s lying through his teeth. Not about the sex — you’re taking it like a champ—but about your schoolwork. It was, indeed, that good.

He basically has no power left over what words leave his mouth, he’s completely drunk on you, the taste of your cunt and your mouth still lingering on his tongue. “Are you gonna come again?” he pants out, slowing down, feeling your walls clenching down on him, squeezing him tight.

“Y-yeah,” you mutter, fluttering your eyes open to look at him from under your eyelashes, but you can pretty much only make out his silhouette with how hazy your vision has become with just how good he’s fucking you. “I knew,” you repeat, your throat feeling tight again, your head falling back on the desk as you bring your now free hands to your mouth, covering it to muffle out the scream you know is there, brewing, destined to roll of your lips when he drives you to release again.

“You—“ he starts in disbelief, but he’s getting closer, too, there’s no point in arguing now. He just can’t fucking believe the nerve on you. What do you mean, you knew? Knew he could fuck you like you wanted to? Knew you would be walking out of here with a limp? Such a know-it-all, always thinking she’s two steps ahead everybody else.

He sighs shakily, a broken, needy sound as he brings his hand in between your legs, finding your clit again, his other hand still holding your knees pressed to your chest. He rubs at you in sync with the thrusts of his hips, his pace picking up, up, and up, until he finally lets out a low grunt, stilling, slipping out of you as he watches you bite on your hand, tears streaming down your cheeks as he feels your pussy convulsing under his fingers, another orgasm hitting you, and in a matter of seconds, after a few fast strokes, he comes, too, thick ropes of his seed landing all over your stomach and knees, and some of it lands on your chin.

For a few seconds, he just stands there, catching his breath, watching over you. He opens his desk drawer, pulls out a tissue pack, and wipes himself before doing the same for you. You're still lying there, face hidden in your hands, your outfit a mess. He's already caught you crying and knows you might feel awkward doing it in front of him, so he just makes sure you're clean for when you leave.

He tucks himself back into his trousers, fastens his belt, and walks to the other side of his office. You hear him rustling around while you try to get your breath back and keep your emotions in check. His soft footsteps approach the desk again, and you feel him gently patting your knee. You open your eyes to see him holding out a cup of water—a peace offering or an apology. But you know he doesn't owe you either. He just gave you everything you've wanted for the last three years. And he even brought you fucking water. Because he's disgustingly nice like that.

You nod in gratitude, sit up, and take the plastic cup from his hand, downing it in one gulp. It actually brings some life back to you. You breathe out shakily, fix your top, and tuck your tits back in before sliding off the desk. Your shoes land softly on the floor, your legs still trembling, your knees feeling like they'll give out any moment. You tug your skirt down and sheepishly meet his gaze, unsure where to go from here.

He steps closer and brings his hands up to your face to fix your hair. His eyebrows furrow in concentration again as he smooths it down, making sure you don't look disheveled when you walk out of here.

He sighs, letting his arms drop to his sides, and keeps looking at your face as if making sure you're not just looking okay but are okay too. “I didn’t mean that. The ‘fuck you’. And the ‘slut’ comment. Well, I kinda did,” he shrugs, averting his gaze with a humorless chuckle, “but I didn’t.”

You punch the air out of his lungs as you pounce on him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. It takes him a second to gather himself, but he hesitantly hugs you back, just letting his hands rest on your lower back as you nuzzle your nose into his chest.

You had to get it out of your system, but now that it's in, you feel like you’ll never get enough. He feels like a beacon, one he's always been for you. The guy you picked a rivalry with your first week of sophomore year just to push yourself harder, to strive for greatness. He wasn’t even aware there was a rivalry to begin with. He's an academic, though, they’re all fucked up in the head, he must understand a part of it, at least.

And he understands. Truly. He just hopes you won’t start crying again, because he doesn’t know how he'd handle that. He pulls away slightly to look you in the eyes, cupping your face in his hands, and plants a soft kiss on your forehead.

“You’re a smart girl,” he says, his voice low, the small, friendly smile on his lips sincere, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he looks down at you. “You’ll figure it out. I don’t doubt it.”

He had this whole speech prepared for the class about how adult life is going to treat them, the challenges they'll face, how scary it’ll be, but also insanely rewarding. It was long, sentimental, with a few jokes thrown in. Some girls cried, but it was all bullshit. What’s real is this. Him understanding your fears without you having to voice them. Him telling you you’ve got this.

“And until you do, you always know where to find me,” he nods to the side, obviously meaning his office, a lopsided smirk making him look a good decade younger. His gaze finds yours again, and he pulls you into another tight hug, one he initiates this time.

In his mind, he’s already thinking how long it would be appropriate to wait before he can invite you for a coffee.

#art donaldson #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #art donaldson fic #art donaldson angst #art donaldson fluff #challengers 2024 #challengers x reader #challengers fic

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deathofacupid · 6 months ago

Text

dude (blurb) | jake peralta

summary: "dude" but romantically.

warnings: none.

pairing: fem!reader x jake peralta (friends to lovers)

word count: 0.8k+ words

"okay, but i'm serious! you have to try it, it's literally amazing."

"i was gonna take your word for it, but i remembered it's you... so, no."

"dude," he whined, a soft smile adorning his lips.

"dude," you say back, same tone.

"fine, fine, what if i make you one? that's, like, no work required. y'know minus chewing."

"jacob jeffrey peralta, i am not, not even on my deathbed, trying pickles with ice cream. that's just a new level of gross."

"but charles approved it!"

"why on earth would that affect whether or not i try it?"

"y'know, i have no clue. i'm getting desperate."

"i can see that."

"dudeeee," he kicks his feet on the floor as he's sitting next to you on the couch. die hard is playing on the tv in his apartment, but the two of you have seen it so many times, you practically have it memorized by heart.

and why would you ever watch die hard when jake's sitting right there?

between you and yourself, you know which you'd rather watch. okay, "watch" sounded creepy.

you're laying on his lap as he's looking down at you, pouting.

you roll your eyes, but it's all fun. "dudeeee."

truth be told, you're sure you can handle the odd food combo, but teasing him and drawing this out is so much more fun. god, you really are in love with him.

"pretty, pretty, please? with- with, like, seven cherries on top?"

"just seven?" you pretend to be offended.

"i'm a brokie, the best i can do is eight." jake runs a hand through your hair, it's so comforting.

you sigh, "all right."

"to the cherries or the pream?"

"the- the what now?"

"pickles. ice cream. pickles and ice cream. pream? yeah, you know what, that's... that's not it. doesn't roll of the tongue great."

"oh, yeah. that, and it sounds like an std."

"good point. i'm gonna assume you meant the... cream... pi... creampi-"

"i'm gonna stop you right there."

he nods quickly. "right. what about cream-"

"not if it starts with 'cream', dude."

"icickles?"

"n-"

"piccream!"

"if i try your 'dish'," you air quote, "will you stop trying to come up with names."

"maybe."

you give him a look, and he amends, "yes. maybe. i pledge to do my best." jake salutes you, then pokes your check. you scowl, swatting him away and sitting up.

"lead me to your kitchen."

"sure. it's five steps that-a-way," he says, pointing to the kitchen that is quite exactly five steps away. like a true gentleman, jake scoops you - through which you protest ("dude!") - and then (after six steps, actually [wow, his apartment is slightly bigger than hypothesized]) sets you on the counter.

"i feel like you should know that i'm perfectly capable of walking on my own."

"but why would you when i'm here?"

"dude."

"dude," he replies, grabbing the ice cream from the freezer.

"how are you even supposed to eat this? like... spread it? o-or dip?"

jake grabs a spoon and scoops some ice cream onto it. "watch, young jedi."

"i don't-"

"shh, i'm yoda-ing." he spreads it on the pickle and shoves it in your face. slowly, you sniff it. it doesn't smell... like anything bad, really.

it doesn't look great though. "is it too late to go back?"

"yes." after a second, he groans, "gah, i'll go first." he takes a bite, and you make a face.

"mmm... you shouf knodis is-"

"jake, swallow."

he grins and you furrow your brows. "what- oh. oh! jake!" your cheeks heat up so quickly, for a number of reason. because, yeah, obviously the second one sounds better.

also, of course that's what he instantly goes to.

"oh, my god. are you twelve or thirty-three? because i honestly can't tell."

"dude, i'm well-versed. you wouldn't understand."

"i'm... twenty-five. wo-wouldn't i-?"

"schematics."

"yeah, okay, bud."

"dude," he corrects.

"right," you murmur, "dude."

you don't really realize how he's leaning in, the way if you do too, your lips would touch. you falter, and you can feel warm breath minglingwith yours.

jake cups your cheek and you lean into it. you aren't sure what's about to happen, though it should be obvious. but with jake, you're nervous, afraid that this isn't really happening.

you have no clue what he's done with the pickle, and you have no clue why that's what's on your mind right now.

he squeezes your waist gently, a way of asking for permission. you nod, and at first, it's just a brush. just a brush of his lips against yours, feeling for some type of sense that this is happening. that it's reality.

you press back against him, your hand on top of his, the one on your face. your other hand blindly feels for his hair, tugging against his soft, brown curls.

when you pull away, you're breathing hard. not because of the kiss, because it wasn't aggressive or any longer than twenty seconds, but because of the adrenaline of it all.

"dude," he breathes, and you giggle.

"y'taste like pickles. and ice cream. it's actually not that bad," you admit. "at least not on you."

"dude," jake repeats, dumb-founded at what just happened.

you peck him again, right on the lips, "dude."

#b99 #brookyln nine nine #jake peralta #jake peralta imagine #jake peralta x reader #jake peralta x you #jake peralta x y/n #jake peralta oneshot #fluff #jake peralta fluff

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motherjoel · 2 years ago

Text

arms tonite (joel miller/reader)

summary: basically its YOU who gets stabbed by the baseball bat. joel isnt good with feelings. david does not exist david cant hurt anybody. a bit of angst and a bit of fluff. also LOOSELY based on arms tonite by mother mother

a/n: yawlllllll it has been a MINUTE but i am back for some tlou cause i just really wanted to write for these characters i love so very much. i apologize if the timing of their travel is fucked, i truly have no concept of geography so we can ignore that.

wc: 3.5k

warnings: just general tlou gore, nothin too bad

You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment you fell in love with Joel Miller. But as you lay here, Joel's hands soaked in your blood as he attempted to stop it from pulsating out of your abdomen, you knew it was love that you were feeling. It was supposed to be simple. After your brief stay in Jackson, the two of you were supposed to take Ellie to the fireflies. Yet, nothing seemed to be simple these days, especially not around this girl.

In the amount of time the three of you had spent together, you developed an unbreakable bond. Ellie became a sort of surrogate sister to you- you’d lost your family when you were just a kid during the outbreak and you never had the chance to become a big sister. At least not for long. And then there was Joel. You weren’t quite sure what he meant to you yet, but you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t die for him. For both of them, really- a life without them wasn’t worth living. Of course, you never planned on telling them that.

The day started fairly nice- with Joel allowing Ellie to make her own decision about who would be taking her to the fireflies. Sure, you and Ellie would be fine with Tommy, but Joel had failed to consider the bond the three of you shared when making this decision. He was thinking of only himself and his fear- this is what you had told him last night after his fight with Ellie.

“What the hell was that?” you asked him after he stormed out of Ellie’s temporary room.

“It was nothin’. Doesn’t concern you,” he replied, brushing past you as he made his way to the couch where he decided to set up camp for the night.

“Um, it sure as hell does concern me, Joel. Are you seriously going to abandon us? After everything we’ve been through, after how much that girl trusts you, Joel!” you raised your voice a bit, trying to keep yourself from alerting Ellie upstairs. Those words stung him a bit. He didn’t see it as abandonment- he saw it as protection. After everything you went through together, he never once put himself first.

“She doesn’t know a thing about what this means,” Joel turned to you. “She- she’s just a kid, she-” he stopped himself, trying to gather himself. “I can’t bring her. I’m not capable, I’m slowin’ down and I just can’t. Do. It,” he exhaled, dropping himself onto the couch.

“Wow,” you replied, softly sitting next to him. “You’re really underestimating yourself,” you sighed, Joel, lifting his face to look at you. “I mean, not only yourself but me, Joel. In case you’d forgotten, I’ve gotten myself through some tough shit. And Ellie? Man, she's the toughest kid I’ve ever met. Hell, she's one of the toughest people I’ve ever met,” you said, observing Joel’s worn face. “I mean… don't you think she at least deserves a choice?” you asked, hoping to convince Joel to come to his senses and realize who he was.

“I’ll take the couch. Bedrooms down the hall,” he grumbled before turning his back to you and lying down. There was nothing left you could say at this point, so you decided to spare yourself and make your way to the bedroom. The bed was pretty big. It could’ve fit two people.

The moment you saw Joel in the stables the next morning, you could feel your heart soar. Before he said a word, you knew he had made the right decision. The three of you squeezed onto the horse, Ellie sandwiched in the middle, and you were off. You and Joel sat in peaceful silence for a while, occasionally responding to Ellie’s rambling to show you were listening. Before you knew it, you were arriving at the so-called firefly base.

“What the fu-” you started.

“Holy shit! Are those monkeys?” Ellie exclaimed, pointing at the crowd of animals before you.

“Must be from the old labs,” Joel muttered, a hint of interest in his voice

“Look at them go!” you giggled.

“First time seein’ a monkey?” Joel asked the two of you.

“First time seein' a monkey,” you replied in unison, both awestruck. A smile crept onto Joel's face at this- the togetherness he felt in rare moments like this is what kept him going.

You soon came across the fireflies symbol painted on a couple of signs, but no guards appeared nearby. You all dismounted the horse before making your way inside, guns drawn. You in the back, Joel in the front, and Ellie sandwiched between yet again. The building you came across was abandoned from the looks of it, with papers scattered about.

“They just left,” Joel said, coming across a packing list among the scattered supplies. You suddenly heard a clang from another room, drawing your attention.

“Maybe not all of them,” you replied as the three of you carefully moved towards the sound. Your heart picked up its pace- whatever was in that room couldn’t be a firefly. Maybe a raider, you thought, which didn’t help your anxieties. Joel put a finger to his lips before opening the door, signaling for your silence. Relief rushed through you as you saw the source of the noise was just a few stray monkeys. It was only moments later that you heard voices- voices that certainly didn’t come from an animal. Peering out the window, the three of you saw a group of men, presumably raiders.

“Shit,” you murmured, instinctively grabbing Ellie’s arm.

“Out the back,” said Joel, leading the way for the three of you to make your escape. You ducked behind some sandbags for a moment before making your break to the horse. As Joel untied the horse, you heard footsteps quickly making their way over to you.

“Joel!” Ellie screamed as the man swung his bat at his head, hitting it on a tree and breaking it in two. While Joel dodged his attack you jumped on the man and banged him into the tree behind him before he knocked you back on your ass, banging your head on the ground. You’ve had your fair share of concussions, and you knew that's exactly what just happened to you. Joel quickly recovered from the first attack before grabbing the man, a wave of anger in his eyes as you’ve never seen before. His arm tightened around the man's throat, unrelenting in its strength. Struggle as he may, it wasn’t long before his neck was snapped. You remain on the ground, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you look at Ellie, shakily holding her gun. Her eyes darken as they shift down to your stomach. Your eyes follow hers and you finally see what she’s looking at. When the man hit the bat into the tree, it must've snapped in half. One half was on the ground a few feet away from you, while, unfortunately, the other half was buried in your stomach.

“Shit,” Ellie said, lowering her gun and walking over to you. Your hand reached down, adrenaline still pumping through your body, and you instinctively pulled the wooden piece out of your abdomen. You barely even felt it. Joel was silent the entire time, and you couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking. You threw it aside before noticing three more men coming your way. As fast as possible, Joel hiked himself up onto the horse and grabbed you while Ellie pushed from the ground before pulling herself up, you now sitting between the two. Joel didn’t let himself focus on the anxiety in his chest that blurred his vision- he needed to get you both to safety.

“Fuck,” you sighed, adrenaline wearing off a bit and pain seeping in.

“Go!” Ellie yelled to Joel as you began to move. She grabbed her gun and shot backward at the men- she didn’t have the best aim, but it certainly deterred them from advancing anymore. Ellie kept peering over her shoulder, on high alert. If you weren’t putting all of your focus on staying conscious, you’d have noticed her slight tremble. You would have noticed Joel's body tense when your breathing slowed, his occasional glance over his shoulder. His erratic heartbeat as he tried to keep you talking.

“We’re gonna get back to Jackson and we’re gonna get some help,” Joel said over his shoulder. There wasn’t a hint of emotion in his voice- he was excellent at hiding how he truly feels.

“No,” you uttered, using all of your strength.

“Sorry, no?” Joel questioned.

“Get her to the fireflies,” you whispered before your vision began to blur. Your lifeless body crumpled off the horse, Ellie attempted to hold on but it all happened too fast. The cold snow was stained red, the warm blood leaving your body melting the snow directly beneath you. Joel and Ellie quickly hopped down, one on each side of you.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Ellie panicked, hands shakily reaching towards your abdomen.

“Ellie,” Joel said, voice laced with panic. He motioned for her to grab his pack while he placed his hands onto the wound, blood seeping through the gaps in his fingers. He had never felt so helpless in his life- at least, not since Sarah. That same shuddered breathing coming from a person he loves- he couldn’t bear it.

“Joel, what the fuck do we do,” she asked. Joel continued to silently work on packing your wound with an extra flannel he had in his bag.

“It’s ok,” you croaked. They immediately turned to you on the ground, almost stopping in their tracks. “Just help me to that house,” you said, motioning towards a house about 50 yards away. You were struggling to breathe under the pressure of Joel’s hands on your wound- it almost seemed useless, you were still losing blood like crazy. Joel tied the flannel around your waist to try to keep the blood from seeping out. Once he decided you were situated, he picked you up bridal style and led you to the house. When you arrived, they gently placed you at the entrance, Ellie staying with you while Joel made sure the house was clear. He returned to help you inside, lying you on an old mattress. You let out a small laugh as you got situated.

“What?” Joel asked, a hint of irritation in his voice. How could you be laughing right now?

“Don’tcha think it's kinda cute?” you asked as he fussed with your bandages.

“What’s that?” he asked gruffly, not exactly in the mood for your attitude.

“Oh, just that I might be dying in your arms tonight. I dunno, feels like a movie,” you said, your pale lips curling into a smile. He gave you a look, pausing briefly to peer into your eyes. You wordlessly pleaded with him to lighten the mood a bit, for Ellie’s sake. He didn't say a word.

“Joel, what the fuck do we do?” Ellie repeated herself in her panic.

“It’s ok. You guys go. Now,” you said. Joel's eyebrows furrowed at this. “You leave, go north. Go to Tommy.”

“Um, the fuck?” Ellie asked. “I don’t know what you think this is but we're not leaving,” Ellie said, frustration creeping into her voice. She looked hurt by this, and it broke your heart. Were you doing the same thing Joel had done just last night?

“The kids right,” Joel said as you turned to look at him. “You’re either comin' with us or we're all campin’ here for the night. No in-between” Joel finished. You pleaded to him with your eyes again, begging him to just give up on you. The two of them would be fine, you knew it. But you didn’t know the emotional toll it would have taken on the stubborn man in front of you. He was stubborn, but so were you. Only you didn’t get a chance to prove just how stubborn you could be before you couldn’t fight the darkness that crept into your vision.

You woke with a start the next morning. You often woke in a panic these days, but the feeling was only further cemented when you realized you didn’t quite recognize your surroundings. The only thing you could recognize was Joel’s eyes on you, which brought you some semblance of comfort. When he noticed you awake, he rushed to your side. As much as you could imagine Joel to “rush.”

“Hey, you uh, awake. You’re awake,” he said softly, trying not to wake Ellie asleep in the corner of the same dilapidated room you’d been in for a while now.

“It would appear so,” you replied, attempting to sit up a bit.

“Hey, hey, relax,” he put his hand on your shoulder, urging you to lay back down. “Your infections bad. We managed to trade for some penicillin but it's not gonna be enough. We gotta figure out how to get you back to Jackson,” Joel said, lightly lifting your shirt to look at the wound.

You cursed the heat rising to your face as Joel's fingers brushed your bare skin. You’d never been intimate like this before, though this was barely intimacy. He hadn’t ever touched your skin like this- with such delicacy. You were fragile to him at this moment, and you needed to be handled with care. You hated being a burden, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel nice to be taken care of for once.

You were too busy focusing on your own reaction to this gesture to notice Joels. His hands shook as he cared for your wound, wincing as he saw that it really wasn’t getting any better. He didn’t know what this meant- he wasn’t a doctor by any means, but he knew this wasn’t good.

You were in and out of sleep throughout the next day or two, letting the dull, throbbing pain lull you into sleep. It hurt to watch Joel and Ellie worry about you, especially because there was nothing you could do to help. Your days felt numbered- the amount of penicillin was scarce and you weren’t feeling any better. You barely had the strength to keep your eyes open, much less speak.

“Joel,” you managed to croak- you couldn’t even spare the energy to seethe at the pain pulsating throughout your body.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he replied, kneeling next to you. He only called you sweetheart when he needed something- what did he need from you now? To live? “Whatcha need?”

“You’re special, you know that?” you whispered, a tear rolling down your cheek.

“And why is that?” he asked, wiping the tear.

“You really know how to make a girl fall in love,” you smiled- this isn’t something you ever planned on telling him, but as you lie there, vision blurring around the edges as the darkness caved in on you, there was nothing else you wanted to say.

Joel felt panic consume him when your eyes closed.

“Hey, hey darlin’, wake up for me, okay?” he pleaded. Ellie stalked over, panic heating her chest. “Ellie, grab her legs,” Joel said. It was like he was kicked into a new gear- he was going to do whatever it took to keep you with him.

You didn’t know where you were. The walls were unfamiliar and white- stark and sterile. The first thing you noticed was the couch in the corner of the room, occupied by your two favorite people. Joel sat upright, arms crossed and eyes closed. His brows were furrowed like he was having some sort of nightmare. Ellie’s expression mirrored his, as she lay on her side with her head resting on his leg, arms curled into her chest. Your heart warmed at the sight- he was becoming a father figure to her, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. You tried to sit up, failing immediately as pain shot through your body. You winced, perhaps a little too loud, as Joel’s eyes shot open. Ellie remained in a deep sleep on his lap.

“You’re up,” he acknowledged, almost like it was too good to be true. He carefully shifted his body so he could move Ellie from his lap and onto the couch before he stood to walk towards you. “She hasn’t gotten much sleep, be best not to wake her,” he said, leaning down to brush a hair from her face. Seeing him be this gentle with her melted your heart.

“How, um, how long was I out?” you asked, lifting the sheets to see your wound. It was covered and clean, but you knew it was there from the way it throbbed.

“About a week. Scared the shit out of… the kid,” he said, sitting on the edge of your bed. He bit back what he truly wanted to say- you scared the shit out of him. But he wasn’t going to admit that you had that much of an impact on him. The second he lets others affect his life is the second he gets weak. There wasn’t a place for vulnerability in this world. “It was, a, uh, miracle that you lived.”

“Oh yeah?” your eyebrows raised. “Shit. I’m sorry for worrying… her,” you glanced at Ellie again as she snuggled into the couch. “How did I, um how did you guys get me here?” you asked. Your voice was hoarse from lack of use, but you tried to remain strong.

“We, uh, we gotcha back on the horse. Ellie led the way, I made sure you were safe, I mean, I just made sure you didn’t fall,” he replied, looking at his feet. “Took us awhile to get back, I… I didn't think you were gonna make it,” he replied, coughing to cover up the break in his voice. He was still in disbelief that you even woke up.

“Well, it looks like you’re stuck with me,” you laughed weakly. Then it was silent for a few moments, the two of you stewing in your thoughts. “You know, I think if it had been anybody else with me, I would’ve just died,” you remarked. Joel shook his head.

“Well, that’s not true. You’re strong” he said quietly.

“Well, yeah, sure I’m strong. But I can choose not to be. I honestly would’ve been fine to die if it was in your arms. But I couldn’t do that to you. Not… not again,” you paused, gathering your thoughts. “It’s just… you’re it for me, Joel. You and Ellie- you guys are it. And if I can’t have you guys, well, let's just say I wouldn’t mind staying asleep,” you confessed, avoiding eye contact.

“Ahem…” you heard Ellie clear her throat from her position on the couch. “Sorry, I have a habit of snooping, but holy shit you’re awake!” she squealed, bouncing over to you and plopping herself onto you in a hug. She knocked the wind out of you, and you may have cared if you weren’t so happy to see her.

“Hey, hey, easy on her now,” Joel said, pulling Ellie back from you a bit. He was still quiet, processing what you had just said to him.

“Ahhh, my sweet Ellie girl, how I missed you so,” you smiled, pinching her cheeks.

“Bullshit, you were definitely just dreaming about Joel the whole time. Must’ve been nice, sleeping that long,” she laughed. You ignore the first part of her sentence.

“Yeah, I guess I’m pretty well rested,” you smiled, ruffling her hair and pulling her into another hug.

“I’m gonna go get someone, a nurse,” Ellie excused herself from the room, leaving you with Joel yet again.

“I’m sorry if that was too mu-” you started before Joel cut you off.

“No, no, don’t apologize, sweetheart,” he said softly. It wasn’t a whisper- it was just soft. He’d been so soft with you. “I… I can’t say I don’t feel the same,” he looked down at his shoes.

“Oh, uh, you do?” you blushed. You felt so childish, like you were admitting you had a crush on him, but it was more than that. It was a partnership, a dependency- a loyalty to one another that didn’t need a label. Only, you couldn’t hide the way you felt anymore.

“Gosh, I can’t even tell you how it felt to see you like that. It should’ve been me, you know,” he said, disappointment evident on his features.

“Um, no, it shouldn’t have. Besides, how would we have gotten your big ass back to Jackson?” you giggled, grabbing his hand. His expression changed then as he looked down at your intertwined hands. “Joel, what does this mean?” you asked.

He chose not to respond with words- they were never his strong suit. Without a word, he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your lips. It was soft and it was sweet and it was like nothing you had ever experienced before- not from someone you loved. You reciprocated, weaving a hand into his hair to pull him closer.

“Yeah, they’re just in here-woahhhhhhh!” Ellie yelled, giggling and running out of the room. Joel quickly pulled back and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

“That little shit,” he sighed.

“Well, she was gonna have to find out somehow,” you giggled, pressing a kiss to his bruised knuckles.

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slasherscream · 8 months ago

Text

Wash Day

pairing: jordan li x fem black!reader

"You wanna go out to dinner tonight? Know I've been busy this week. Feel like I've barely seen you." Jordan mutters against the shell of your ear. You shiver as he gives the skin a teasing kiss.

Already you're pouting, knowing what your answer has to be even though you wish so desperately that you could give a different response. "Wish I could, Jordan. But my night is already spoken for."

You're spun around by a hand on your hip, playful and fast so that you can't stop yourself from falling into his chest. Your hands grip his jacket for balance, and he reaches up to hold one of them with his own. "You got plans? With who? Cate? Cancel them."

"Brat." You laugh.

How demanding Jordan is would be less cute if they ever asked you to do something they themselves wouldn't. As it stands, with the way they do anything you ask at the drop of a hat, all you can do is roll your eyes and pretend to be exasperated instead of smitten.

"Fine, don't cancel. I'll just come with." Jordan sighs, as if seeing his best friend is a great tragedy (Which it is. Cate being there means you'll smack Jordan's hand away when he tries to sneak it up your skirt at dinner.)

"What if we want a girls' night?" You shoot back, grinning.

Jordan shifts. The hands on your waist are smaller now, but pull you in closer, "You're the one who's feeling bratty. Really have been neglecting you this week, huh baby?" Jordan smirks, in that condescending way she does when she realizes you're trying to get a certain reaction out of her.

"The plans aren't with Cate, and they aren't cancellable." You sigh, deciding not to rise to the bait of her tone, smirk, or the little circles she's rubbing into your skin.

"What are these oh so important plans?" Jordan asks.

"Do you know how many white boys have complimented my hair today, Jordan?" You ask.

"Pardon?" Jordan blinks at what seems to be a completely unrelated topic.

"Six! Six white boys complimented my braids today. I'm about to kill myself, if we're being honest. I must looked fucked up, and you didn't even say anything." You pout.

You've been having a bit of a rough day, to say the least.

"You look beautiful. What are you talking about?" Jordan asks, confused but nonetheless, wanting to make you feel better. "If you didn't look good I'd very politely... have Cate tell you. But you look great! You've been getting compliments all day, you just said it yourself!"

"Wow, you'd throw Cate under the bus, huh coward?"

"Cate isn't interested in making out with you every spare second of the day. I am. You can be mad at her. I've got stuff I wanna do." Jordan's grin is downright salacious. You smack her arm, trying not to smile.

"Ah. You are operating under the same delusions of the white man. I see that now, I'll let go of the anger." You say, sighing and kissing Jordan on the cheek.

"First of all, don't you ever fucking insult me like that again.... Second of all, what particular delusion am I sharing with the white man?" Jordan asks.

"White men only compliment a black woman's hairstyle at two points in time. When it's brand spanking, fresh off the lot new. Or when it's started to look like shit. I've had these braids in for longer than... is your business. So guess which compliment I'm getting right now?"

"I fucking refuse to say your hair looks like shit, and this conversation feels like a trap. You're always beautiful to me." Jordan says.

"Thank you, baby. But we live on a campus where the diversity win photographers lurk around every corner trying to get pictures of 'The Diversity Win Couple' in our most natural state. I need to take out my braids tonight before I talk crazy in the group chat, and Andre sends me a 'this you?' pic that will devastate my argument." You shake your head somberly, already imagining the fate that lies before you.

"You could stop talking crazy in the group chat." Jordan teases.

"You know damn well I'm not capable of that."

The two of you burst into laughter, unable to keep it together. Jordan has always been obsessed with how easy it is for you to make them laugh.

"Is that gonna take up your whole night, though, baby? We don't have to go to dinner early! We'll go wherever you want." Jordan insists, tone bordering on begging.

Whenever they come out of a particularly busy week, they spend the next two weeks glued to you. As if to make up for it. The clinginess is a stark difference from how they acted before you made things official.

"Jordan, look at the braids on my head."

"I'm looking at them."

"Are you seeing them with your eyes?"

"Yes, and my eyes are sending the image to my brain, which I assure you is working. What's your point here, baby?"

"How long do you think it will take me to undo these, detangle my hair, wash it, deep condition it, and then wash it again?"

Jordan squints at you for a long moment, analyzing your hairstyle and the utter displeasure on your face. "I dunno? Maybe... four hours?"

"I should fucking murder you. Just for that, you're helping me with wash day now."

Jordan's face breaks into a grin like sunlight breaking through clouds, "So I do get to spend the day with you, is what you're saying?"

"Yeah, baby, you get to spend the day with me." You click your tongue at them. Pitying them for the ache in their fingers they're about to feel. They complain about curling their God damn hair a couple of times a week. You suspect you'll be ready to kill one another by hour two.

But you also missed them a lot. Or whatever.

"Don't cut too high up, Jordie. " You whine, shifting his grip lower on your braid, to an acceptable cutting length of the hair extension.

"Baby... can I ask you a very serious question right now?" Jordan hums, obediently cutting where you instructed.

"What?" You ask, already starting to unbraid the piece.

"How... long... do you think your hair is?" Jordan, to be fair to him, does ask the question quietly and with the proper amount of hesitation.

"How dare you! Are you calling me bald?" You gasp, stifling a laugh.

"Don't do this to me. You are prolonging the process. We can cut these braids at least four inches higher than what we're doing right now." Jordan says, you can't see his face but you can tell he's also trying not to laugh. Bastard.

"My hair grew!"

"From the top of your head. It did not magically lower itself further into the fucking braid extension." Jordan loses the battle and laughs.

"Jordan Li do not fucking cut off any of my hair or I'll cry and then blow up this school."

"Of course, princess." Jordan kisses the top of your head and gives in to your terrorist demands because you're cute.

"So how am I supposed to do it, baby?" Jordan claps her hands and you smile at how eager she sounds to help.

"You're gonna want to section it off. Do like... eight parts of hair. That'll make literally every step after this easier. Then you're gonna comb the hair from the bottom, 'kay?"

"Got it."

Jordan starts the process of parting your hair, careful and slow. Fingers sectioning off eight chunks of hair that she keeps apart with the silky hair ties you hand her over your shoulder.

"You sure you don't want me to comb it, Jordie?" You ask Jordan.

"I'll be gentle, don't worry. You always say your shoulders hurt at the end of wash day. Which is crazy, because I've seen what you can bench. I've got you, baby." She spritzes extra detangler spray on each of the parts she just made.

You move around slightly, a little sore already from sitting still between her legs for so long, but smiling to yourself nonetheless. A pillow is suddenly shoved into your face and you lean away, confused.

"Sit on this one instead. It'll be better." Jordan says.

You switch out the pillows and tilt your head back to look at her. "Why're you always right? Is that your kink?"

"No, my kink is bossing you around." Jordan smirks and leans down to give you a kiss. Despite the awkward angle you can't help trying to deepen the contact. The feeling of her soft lips sliding against yours, firm but gentle, is always irresistible.

She hums and gives you a playful nip before pulling away. "Don't start something we can't finish."

"Who says we can't?" You shoot back, staring up at her.

"You will be pissed an hour from now if you glance at your phone and we haven't made any progress." Jordan runs her thumb along your bottom lip before pushing your head forward.

"Who says it will take an hour?"

"I do. If we start, I'm not stopping." Jordan's voice dips seductively and a line of tension runs up the length of your spine.

You smack her thigh for teasing you, "Shut up."

"Is this comfortable?" Jordan frowns, staring at the angle your head has to be at to fit in the bowl of the sink.

"No, but this is the best angle this chair can get me to." You say. Usually you just wash in the shower, but since Jordan is helping the sink makes more sense.

Jordan stands, scowling at how uncomfortable you seem. Suddenly he grins, "Baby! Make a chair with your shields. Something that leans."

You were getting a lot better with being able to make complex shapes, with less concentration. You stand up from the chair you'd dragged from the common room. Jordan pulls it out of the way and gives you an encouraging thumbs up.

It takes you a minute, but you conjure a shield that resembles a salon chair and the both of you let out identical cries of delight.

Jordan pushes you to sit down with a kiss on your forehead. "That's my fucking girl. Tell me if the temperature is too hot."

Jordan washes your hair with the perfect amount of pressure and thoroughness. He's nearly rhythmic in his methodical cleaning. You didn't realize your eyes had fluttered closed until you hear him laugh. You open one eye to glare at him playfully, knowing he won't get soap in them.

"What's so funny?"

"You're like a cat. You gonna purr for me, baby?" He smirks.

"If you keep going like that, yeah. Or I'll fall asleep. Please don't make me fall asleep. I'll fall on my ass." You say.

"I'll endeavor to make the rest of the wash as unpleasant as possible."

He does not do that. And at one point you do fall asleep. Jordan catches you before you can actually fall. 'Thank God for Supe reflexes', you both think. You spend the rest of the wash with your eyes wide open and Jordan laughing at you.

"Did we put too much?" Jordan asks, dabbing at another drip of oil and conditioner down your brow.

"No, this is typical. The hair has to be saturated. It's dripping because the oil is you know... getting hot and even more liquid-y." You say, eyeing the episode of Property Brother's you'd both decided on. "Hm. I think that woman should be put to death."

Jordan was keeping vigilant about dabbing at the sides of your face. You'd been in charge of one side, at first. But Jordan seemed to have a sixth sense for when the other side was dripping as well, and kept interrupting you before you could get to any trickles of oil. You'd given up and just started narrating the show for her as she wasn't taking her eyes off the line of your brow.

"Why? What did she do?" Jordan dabs again.

"She wants to put up a fence that blocks the view of the historical house that she did not have to buy if she wanted a fence so bad." You roll your eyes.

"Is the city gonna let her?"

"No."

"Haha. 500k down the drain." Jordan cackles.

"Anti-gentrification win!" You hold out your fist for a fist-bump and Jordan obediently obliges, oil soaked rag still held in her fist.

A comfortable silence falls over you two, besides the noise of the portable hair dryer.

"I really think we put too much, baby." Jordan mutters, dabbing again.

"I have been doing this since I was twelve, Jordan!"

"Play the video again, one speed slower this time." Jordan's eyes are glued to your phone.

You're sitting between his legs again, cushioned by the (superior) pillow of his choosing. You were trying to decide on a simple hair style when Jordan saw a picture of Mini Twists and got excited to see you in them.

("You've already seen me in mini twists, Jordie. What are you talking about?"

"You weren't my girlfriend the last time you wore them though! Now you are, and I get to look at you as much as I want."

So that had decided that.)

"Okay, I think I got it. 'M gonna start with a braid base, without making the parts too big, then start twisting the hair with two strands, and that will make it last longer, right?"

"Right." You smile at how focused Jordan sounds.

They're hot when they're in the zone. You just didn't think they'd get so into helping you with your hair. But you should have known, really. Acts of service paired with their inner perfectionist? You're completely relaxed at this point. You know Jordan won't have you walking out of your room looking crazy, come hell or high water.

"Is this okay?" Jordan shows you a picture of the back of your head, three rows of twists done.

You gasp, snatching the phone, "That's my head?"

"Uh... yes?" Jordan answers slowly.

"The back of my head? The head on my body?"

"Should I start over?"

"Fuck you! These are almost better than mine. Who's hair are you playing around in when I'm not here, Jordan LI?"

"Stop using my fucking government name." Jordan tilts your head back to look at him with a gentle grip on your neck, grinning down at you. "You play too fucking much. You sure they're good, princess? It's okay if I need to redo them."

"I'm gonna give you orgasms that will make you lose brain cells."

"Baby!" Jordan laughs, rolling his eyes. "I'm serious. Do any of them need redoing?"

"The first row is really fucking good for a beginner but the second row is damn near perfect." You say.

"I'll redo the first row then." Jordan kisses your temple before moving you to face forward again.

"I said they were good!" You protest.

"But the second row is better. I want the whole thing to look good. Don't want you feeling self conscious cause I fucked up the style, y'know." Jordan mumbles.

You tilt your head back to look at him, ignoring him sucking his teeth (a habit he picked up from you) at you moving.

"I love you, Jordie. Thank you for helping me today." You coo.

You watch his face go red with a grin. He grins back, leaning down to give you a gentle kiss. When he tries to pull away too soon you whine, holding him close by the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Wanna kiss you. You're sweet." You breathe the words against his lips, insistently continuing the caress.

He sighs, smitten, and let's you lead for a moment. Hand finding it's way back to your neck and tightening just enough to make you gasp. Still, he pulls away too quickly.

"I'm gonna fuck you up." You scowl at him.

"The only thing you're gonna fuck up is your neck, brat. This is a horrible angle for you." Jordan's smile is so soft at the edges it's your turn to blush.

"Speak for yourself."

"No, I'm too busy speaking on behalf of your neck."

"Well, I'm speaking on behalf of my-"

"Pussy?"

"I was going to say raging hormones but that's a lot more to the point, yeah. Or maybe I was going to say something romantic. You ever think of that, Jordie? Huh?"

"Were you going to say something romantic?" Jordan hums.

"No."

"Let me do your hair in peace." Jordan turns you forward again with a laugh.

"Turn this way." Jordan instructs, snapping another picture.

"I don't know whether you're worse than an Instagram hair stylist or a Mom." You ponder, words barely audible because your girlfriend is scary.

"Shut up and smile." Jordan scowls.

As if engraved into your genetic code the words make you do just that. You suffer through another 20 pictures being taken before you say enough is enough.

Jordan happily shows you the pictures, as if you hadn't seen yourself in the mirror just a minute ago. Or ever. The grin on her face so wide it looks like it hurts.

"You like it, baby?" Jordan asks again.

"It looks so good, Jordie. It looks like I paid someone honestly."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You drape your arms around her shoulders. "How's this angle?"

"For what?" Jordan tilts her head to the side, puzzled.

"For kissing. Since you were so worried about the angle before."

Jordan scoffs, but she's the one to pull you in. She doesn't pull away this time.

A/N: i needed reader to have a goofball vibe because i have a goofball vibe. if you enjoyed this fic consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anonymous ask saying you enjoyed it! a writers fuel is engagement. xoxoxo

#jordan li x reader #jordan li imagine #jordan li #black!reader #black reader #IVE WORKED ON THIS ONE TOO LONG FUCK IT WE BALL #last few jordan li readers i've written have not had a reader who is a goofball #and if someone acted like this around me (hot brooding and scowling)#i suffer from jester syndrome. i would need to make them laugh

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flawseer · 3 months ago

Text

Mail Call #3

Answering comments from @void-the-bear @railway-lands @keabirb @ilikebookssomuch @chezgorman @cartoons-everywhere @dragonra305

Please don't hurt me. I have glasses.

Thank you, to all of you. It makes me genuinely happy to know that I'm able to put something into this world that other people can enjoy. I think this is a great setting that is fun to add to.

Doing a Wings of Fire-themed run of this Smaugust challenge has been very interesting and it's good that the result appears to be well-received. It's not always been easy, I'm actually getting quite exhausted having to post content on a strict schedule like this. But it is worth doing if it makes people happy.

Relating to my comment on this post. I probably will do it eventually, along with some other ideas I had that didn't fit in. But it won't happen while Smaugust is still going, as I am already skirting the limits of what I am physically capable of right now.

Ahh... hm... This is the question that has toppled mountains and started wars. You're going to get hit squads sent after me.

Well, there is the big one, of course. Qibli/Winter. They have such wonderful chemistry whenever they are in a scene together (with one pretty upsetting exception). And Qibli is always teasing him about being his destiny and the two of them getting married, so I think there is some attraction there.

Then uh... I used to feel completely ambivalent about this one, but Starflight/Fatespeaker has really grown on me over time. There's a lot of interesting potential there that doesn't really make it into the story. I need to make a long-winded post about Fatespeaker one day.

Blaze/Glacier is another one that could be cute. I think putting a repressed Icewing together with a highly eccentric and rambunctious Sandwing is going to be a winning combination most of the time. Or well, I guess I should say "could have been cute", since Glacier had to die for the plot, in a very wretched and infuriating way too.

There are a couple more that I think have their moments or could be interesting in one way or another. Some of them even contradicting or overlapping each other. Listing all of them would probably be a bit excessive.

Oh yeah, and I think Sunny is ace.

Ah, a question that'll make me put someone else's favorite character at the bottom of a preference list... After the shipping question I'm starting to fear for my life now.

Let me preface this by clarifying that I generally like all of the DoD. There are some characters in this setting that I loathe and wish they would exit the story, and the arc 1 protagonists are nowhere near that. So being ranked low here translates to me saying "Yeah, they're okay, room for improvement", not "wow, they're the WORST!"

Okay whatever, let's get down to it.

#1 - Sunny

That one's easy, I mean, just look at the pinned post on this blog.

Sunny is so wonderful and charming and perfect in every conceivable way, she is one of my six all-time favorite characters. She is the flower that blooms in the bitter desert. A lot of people may perceive her as this demure and innocent character who is always happy and friendly, and oblivious to the suffering around her. Nah, Sunny knows exactly what is going on. She is keenly aware of all the bloodshed, suffering, and toxicity that unfolds in the world around her. When she remains optimistic and forgiving in the face of darkness, that is not her being meek or passive, it's her steadfastly refusing to let that darkness into herself. She is actively embodying the change she wants to see in the world, even when it hurts her or gets her taken advantage of, because that is what she believes in and the future she will create.

That's pretty inspiring. I wish I had that kind of inner strength.

Also, she is not weak. While she's not a powerhouse scrapper like Tsunami or an invincible stack of bricks like Clay, Sunny strikes quickly and without hesitation when her friends are in danger, and can be deviously clever. This is often overlooked, but she is--to my knowledge--the only character to land an attack on Morrowseer that comes close to actually hurting him.

Well... you got me rambling about Sunny. Let's go through the others more briskly.

#2 - Starflight

I like Starflight a lot. Unfortunately the story really doesn't. He is like, the unluckiest character by far. I don't know what he did to deserve the never-ending cavalcade of misfortune that gets shoveled in his direction throughout all three arcs. Like, it never ends. A couple of friends and I came together and we jokingly called our group the "Starflight Protection Foundation", because someone needs to stage an intervention. Like, wrap him in a cozy sweater and buy him hot chocolate or something. Heaven help this poor man.

He's another one of my favorites.

#3 - Glory

Glory is really cool; I vibe with the "unchosen hero spurned by destiny" theme. She goes through her life and is constantly told "No, you don't have a special destiny. You're the fifth wheel. You are worthless and unimportant". Though she struggles with the constant abuse and devaluation, she eventually finds a way to turn it into strength and declare that the only value that matters is the one she gives to herself.

I really wish the story had NOT made her turn out to be a secret princess. "I was born without destiny, so I'm making my own" is a so much more satisfying character trajectory than "Oh, don't worry. You were born special after all, you just didn't know about it".

So yeah, I kind of tend to put that "secret princess" plot twist on the shelf when I think about Glory, and prefer to think that she managed to sway Grandeur with her skill and determination, rather than a random blood link.

#4 - Clay

Clay is very lovable. He is like the emotional bedrock of the group and acts as a stabilizing force that pairs well with all of the other arc 1 protagonists. He pretty much resolves all of his baggage in the first book and becomes content and steady. That is very good for him, but unfortunately this also kind of turns him into just some dude for the following four books.

Which is fine, it is good for the other characters to have someone behind them who loves them and helps them up when they stumble. It just makes it difficult for Clay to shine on his own.

#5 - Tsunami

Okay, so, Tsunami. I actually like her a lot in arc 1. She's bringing an interesting kind of energy to the group that is like, half-supportive and half-detrimental. Very chaotic. She also has to contend with some heavy stuff; everything to do with her father and the complications in her family life. It's very interesting. Lots of places to go with that.

Arc 2 Tsunami though, really grinds my gears. She regresses into this kind of juvenile, immature personality that is just pointlessly abrasive and confrontational. She acts really condescendingly towards Peril-- despite the latter having saved Clay's life AND it being really important to Clay that her staying at JMA works out well. Her borderline sabotaging this effort by making Peril feel unwelcome seems very dismissive towards Clay's feelings. It also doesn't help that she is the most outspoken about her loathing of Nightwing mindreading and prophecies, which drives Moonwatcher further into her emotional shell and makes things more complicated.

Okay, I have to reiterate: I don't dislike Tsunami. I just think her character arc is incomplete. It feels like she is stuck in arrested development while at JMA. She's mostly running around yelling at people, when she really should be thinking about what to do about Queen Coral, and how to get custody of her siblings. Her sister Anemone is carrying emotional scars from how the Queen has kept her leashed like a dog for her entire life, a process that is now happening to Auklet, even to this day. And then there's the 30 something children who have never known parental love for a day in their life and their mother can't remember the names of.

Someone's gotta step in and save these kids. Or like, at least start vaguely thinking about it.

Turtle???

Hmm....

...

Moose!

#flawseer reply #romance

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nadvs · 4 months ago

Note

rafe x reader meeting eachother’s family ?? love the series !!🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

thank you!! i got a few requests for this one, i hope y’all like it 🥰

based on this fic

» au masterlist

they decided it’s best to meet each other’s families before he moves away to start training and playing basketball professionally. the timing works out well, considering they’ve been together for five months now.

when rafe met her family, she could not believe he was even capable of being so polite. he shook hands. he asked questions. he even fake-laughed at jokes. he was charming as hell. and she teased him mercilessly for it.

“didn’t expect you to call my dad sir,” she mumbled with a small smile as he drove them out onto the street.

“i can’t afford to fuck up,” he replied with a shrug. the fact that he cared so much made her heart flutter.

now, a week later, they’re driving to rafe’s family house and she can’t believe how big the homes in his neighborhood are.

he had told her about how his dad owned a successful business. she knew he was well off based on how carelessly he throws money around, the opposite of most of their friends, who fit the cliche of poor students scraping by. but this? this is ridiculous.

“could’ve told me that you live in a mansion,” she says as the gate at the end of his driveway opens.

“okay. i live in a mansion.”

she nudges his shoulder and huffs a laugh.

when they step through the front door, she can tell rafe didn’t mince his words when he told her about his familial relationships. the way everyone greets him makes it clear he was telling the truth about everything.

his youngest sister, who he said he always had a soft spot for, throws her arms around him. his other sister only offers a nod of her head. apparently all they do is bicker.

his step-mom’s side hug is impersonal but polite. and rafe visibly stiffens when his dad approaches him, pulling him into a hug, patting his son’s back hard.

he told her all about how much he’s always tried to get his dad’s approval. that his sister usually got it without having to try, while rafe always struggled for it. she can tell her boyfriend is tense.

“congratulations are in order,” ward says, diving into conversation about draft night. then, because he just seems to love making his son feel less than, he mentions how the team he was drafted to hasn’t won a championship in a few years.

“but hey, maybe things will change this year,” his father adds.

she can’t hold herself back from interjecting.

“they will. they have a new team of coaches now. they’re making all kinds of improvements, including the rookies they signed,” she says. she forces a smile and offers a handshake, introducing herself.

rafe watches her with a smirk he can’t stifle. he was just about to introduce her, but she couldn’t help herself from butting in to bat for him. they have a lot in common, including how protective she is.

sure enough, after dinner, wheezie quietly mentions to rafe that she’s basically a girl version of him.

“you think so?” he mumbles.

“no kidding,” sarah says, overhearing. “except i actually like her.”

rafe watches his girlfriend drift towards a wall of photos, cocking her head as she looks at the images of him in different stages of his life.

“wow,” she mumbles when he comes up next to her.

“what?”

“you’re playing basketball in like, all of these,” she says with a soft chuckle. “it was meant to be.”

he looks down at her. he know he’s grinning like an idiot because he notices rose close by, smiling at him like a proud parent.

afterwards, she goes to the restroom before they head out, and his step-mom turns to look at rafe the second she’s out of earshot.

“we like her,” rose says, her arm at the crook of ward’s elbow. “you seem happy.”

“i am,” rafe admits. he didn’t need their approval, but it feels really good to have it. it’s not a surprise to him, though. she was talkative and fun. she was likeable. she was herself.

“make good choices when you’re out there, son,” his dad says. “let us know if you need anything for the move.”

rafe nods. it’s bizarre how he’s taking such a big step, moving states away for an nba contract, yet he still feels like a kid when he’s here.

but then she comes back into the room and he feels like the self-assured man he knows he is.

they say their goodbyes and she breathes a breath of relief when she shuts the passenger door of his car.

“you good?” he laughs.

“that was so nerve-racking,” she admits.

“what?” she seemed totally cool and collected the whole time.

“the first thing i did was snap at your dad,” she says nervously. “i thought i blew it.”

“nah, everyone liked you,” rafe says. he turns the car on. “my sisters said that we’re the same person.”

the sentiment warms her heart.

“you’re really sweet with wheezie, by the way,” she says. “the guys would never believe it.”

“and they don’t have to,” he mumbles, feigning irritation. she laughs. he puts up a tough, intimidating front with his teammates. she sees right past it.

she leans over to kiss his cheek. she’s glad it went well. she sees a future with him. he sees one with her, too.

#ask #swteblurb

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rosekasa · 9 months ago

Text

(slumber) partycrasher

He’s finishing up on Rue de la République when he sees Ladybug on Alya’s balcony. His footsteps slow to a halt on the roof tile. It’s Sunday today, isn't it? Ladybug doesn't patrol on Sundays. Did something happen at Alya’s? He stops, reroutes, and heads over.

He gets closer, the lights bringing them further into focus. The two girls stand close together, huddled over Alya’s phone, murmuring quietly.

“Good evening, ladies,” he says as he lands.

The shriek that exits Ladybug echoes through the street.

He stands there, rigid, all the punny greetings he had planned effectively smacked out of his mouth. He has never heard Ladybug make that sound before. He didn't even know Ladybug was capable of making that sound. Even Alya seems taken aback, staring at her wide-eyed.

After five heavy seconds of silence, Ladybug comes back to life. “Um—!” she says. “Wow! Chat Noir! Hi! I wasn't expecting you to crash our slumber party!”

He blinks, still reeling from the scream. “...Slumber party?”

This time, it's Alya’s stupor that lifts. “Um— yep! Ladybug comes over every Sunday and we have a sleepover. Y’know, Ladyblogger-Ladybug bonding time.”

Huh. So that’s why she doesn't patrol on Sundays? He thought it was a civilian thing.

…She could've told him.

“Oh. Well.” He hopes his voice doesn't sound strained. “Don’t let me intrude.” He gives them both a smile, then leaps back onto the rooftops.

Neither of them say goodbye.

══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══

He doesn't want to be petty, but why would Ladybug not tell him about the sleepovers? They’d agreed to keep superhero things completely transparent between each other. So is this not a superhero thing, then? Is Ladybug hanging out in costume with Alya Césaire more personal than hanging out with Chat Noir?

He huffs, eyes snapping over to the light on Alya’s balcony. He has a right to bring this up, surely. He's her partner.

Ladybug is alone, this time, but the glass door is open. She has a blanket over her shoulders, a fox-printed mug in her hand, the light of Alya’s phone illuminating her face, eyes glued to the screen.

Remembering her reaction from the last time, he steps onto the balcony a little gentler from behind her. “Hey—”

“They're making out on a fire escape.”

He chokes on his spit, grappling for purchase at the balcony door. “I— I’m sorry?”

Ladybug whips around, the blanket flying onto the floor. At least she doesn't scream again. But the look in her eye is somehow even more concerning.

Behind him, a toilet flushes, and padded footsteps draw near. “Did you get to the part where he books a hotel—” She cuts herself off with a gasp. “...Chat Noir. Hi.”

The three of them stand together silently, in their awkward vertical line, for what feels like a full minute.

This was such a stupid idea. What’s wrong with him, accosting his partner on her days off? It’s not his business how she spends that, nor who she spends it with. Unlike him, she’s not wasting all her time thinking about their partnership. Maybe he just needs to get a life.

“Sorry for crashing— again,” he quickly says. He takes a couple of steps back to the railing, turning to face both of them. “I— uh, thought there was an akuma down the road and wanted to tell you but, uh, looks like it's just a tree.” He laughs nervously, grabbing around for his baton. “I’ll be off, then.”

“Wait— are you sure—” Ladybug starts.

There’s sympathy in her eyes. His breath hitches.

“Yes!” he says. As he steps away from her again, his baton slips from his hand. “Sorry, I’ll just text next time.”

Alya pipes up from behind him. “Chat, you’re always welcome to stay—”

“No, seriously, I, like, am allergic to sleepovers. I break out into hives.”

Ladybug furrows her brow. “I don't think that's true.”

“My medical history is very complicated.” Finally retrieving his baton, he opens it and turns to the skyline. “Well, bye!”

Ladybug makes a small, aborted sound of protest. But then as she reaches to stop him, her grip on Alya’s phone slips.

She screams. Alya screams. Chat Noir wonders whether this is what they're practicing together every Sunday.

Still balanced on his baton, he grabs the phone midair, holding it up over the safety of the balcony.

Automatically, his eyes fall on the screen.

Ladybug moans as Chat Noir kisses down her neck. He lifts her onto the fire escape, pulling her legs around him, lifting his head to press a hot, wet, kiss to her—

Alya snatches the phone from his hand. “Thanks.”

Ladybug’s face is crimson, hands tight around her mug.

Chat Noir looks from Ladybug, to Alya, to the phone. Her screen is still on. He looks away before he catches any more words.

He clears his throat. “W-Well, I should, uh, get off, then. I mean—!” He holds up his hands. “Be off! This balcony! And back home! Um— you should read— I mean, um, use your phone indoors just in case. Bye!”

He never does get around to asking about their slumber parties.

#im sorry #miraculous ladybug #ladynoir #ml fic #♡alizeh writes♡

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dark-frosted-heart · 4 months ago

Text

Roger Barel Main Route - Chapter 11

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. I’m doing this for archiving purposes and you can probably find a better translation out there.

I got promoted from dogsbody to pet and Roger gave me a nice collar—or choker.

However, on the same night, I did a thing that was just a short step away from something lovers would do, and am now in the midst of self-reflection.

(Wah…Roger never fails to drive me mad)

Ale: Arf arf arf.

When I raised my head from my depressive state, I saw Ale running toward me.

Kate: Ah, Ale. Haha, you’re awake? Good morning.

Ale: Arf…arf?

He looked at me in confusion as if sensing my distress through his animal intuition.

Kate: Hmm. Today, I still have to write my Fairytale Keeper report. After that…

~~ Flashback ~~

Roger: Would it be good or evil to make curses disappear from this world? You don’t have to answer me now. When it comes to you, let me know.

~~ End flashback ~~

Recently, the almost lovers act between Roger and I wasn’t the only thing on my mind.

(The question Roger assigned me that day…)

(Currently, I don’t know enough about “Cursed Ones” to answer it)

Kate: I’m going to have to ask your owner about this, aren’t I?

Ale: Arf.

After submitting my report to Victor, I knocked on the lab door with Ale in tow.

Roger: Oh, why’re the two dogs together?

When I approached him, he tried to pet both mine and Ale’s head, so I ducked away.

Roger: Oh, rebellion.

I ignored him and bowed my head.

Kate: I have a favor to ask. Please lend me some of your research material on “Cursed Ones”.

Roger: Hmm, my research material? These documents are like my life. Let me hear what you plan to do with them first.

Kate: Currently I don’t have enough knowledge to find the answer to your question. Even if I’m only here for a short time, I’ve met Crown and would like to take this seriously. I want to know if it’s good or bad for Crown to be cursed. I wanted to come up with an answer myself and record it as Fairytale Keeper.

Roger: …You’re the kind of girl who’s considerate of the minority.

Roger turned around and collected all his research material on Cursed ones from his desk and bookshelves—

Roger: Here. I don’t mind leaving these with you.

Books, files, and even slips of paper were all placed in my arms.

Kate: Wow, thank you so much! …But, is all this okay?

Roger: What, all that boldness earlier was just for show?

Roger smirked as if to challenge me, provoking my competitive spirit.

Kate: No way. I’ll get through all this in no time!

Roger: Hmm, then I’ll add to it. Here.

Kate: Ugh…

He dumped more materials and my arms started feeling heavy.

Roger: Broadening your horizons by learning what you don’t know is also a of strength. If you can get through all that, I’ll promote you from dog to assistant. Well, maybe the naive lil’ lady will get her heart broken…

Don’t underestimate me +4 +4

Are you trying to make me mad?

I’m capable

Kate: Please don’t underestimate me. Promise me that.

Roger: And promise me that you won’t get your heart broken. Don’t come cryin’ to me about it later.

(Geez…)

I stumbled out toward the exit with a huge stack of material in my arms.

Roger: I got high hopes for you, Kate.

Kate: …

I glared at Roger as he opened the door and left the basement.

Ale: Arf!

Ale had followed after, but then stopped and looked at his owner.

As if to say, don’t be a bully.

Ale: …

Roger: …He probably thinks Kate’s one of his own.

As he closed the door, Roger’s shoulders shook with amusement—

After leaving the basement, I headed toward the garden.

Kate: Let’s read outside for a change of pace, Ale.

Ale: Arf.

I sat down in a chair and started to go over Roger’s research material.

(If I remember correctly, Alec’s research materials were confiscated by the police)

(That means all of this was done by Roger)

The huge amount of material in Roger’s handwriting showed the life he spent doing research.

Kate: …I’ll read this all carefully.

And so I turned the first page on the research materials—

(A “Cursed One” is someone that’s been cursed since birth and has nothing to do with genetics)

(And I believe it’s innate, not acquired)

(Meaning, I believe that being cursed is an “individual” mutation)

There was a huge amount of material based on hypotheses and testing, and results based on those tests. Every time I turned a page, I was surprised by new facts.

As I looked over everything so as to not miss a thing, one sentence caught my attention.

Kate: …A “‘Cursed One’s’ tragic fate can’t be altered. In the past, there have been no exceptions.” Huh…?

There was something scribbled on the edge of the document.

“The more I learn about curses, the more ridiculous it gets.”

“It’s like God’s whim and it makes me sick.”

This scribble among the clinical data brought forth Roger’s true feelings. For a moment, I stopped breathing.

He had begun his research on Cursed Ones as a child, and to this day, still hasn’t found a way to erase them.

(It’s…so absurd)

His way of life was quite like being in the dark, walking alone without knowing what lay ahead.

Ale: Arf arf.

Suddenly, I heard Ale’s barking and looked up.

Kate: Woah. What’s wrong, Ale? Is it Roger?

When I looked in the direction he was barking at, the owner of the footsteps appeared.

Ellis: Sorry, not Roger.

Kate: Ellis.

Ellis: I thought I’d give Ale a treat. Roger told me he was with you.

He offered a steaming mug to me.

Ellis: Hot milk for you.

He wrapped my hands around the mug and the warmth I felt seeping through the ceramic brought a smile to my face.

Kate: It’s warm…Thank you for your concern, Ellis.

Ellis: I wanted to make you happy.

Saying what he’d always say, Ellis patted Ale’s head.

And then—Ale’s paws were clapped together.

(Ah, Ellis’ Briar Bushes ability…)

Ale: Arf?

Ellis: Sorry, I’ll unbind you. “That’s enough”.

(Ah…)

~~ Flashback ~~

Alec: …Thank you. —”That’s enough.”

~~ End flashback ~~

In an instant, the images I had pictured in my head overlapped across time.

(Alec’s and Ellis’ abilities…are the same?)

(That means—)

I thought back to a sentence I read in Roger’s research materials.

(“Even if a Cursed One dies, the curse itself doesn’t disappear”)

(“After the Cursed One dies, the curse will reappear after some time”)

(“Humans with the same curse can’t exist at the same time”)

(If that’s the case…Then the one with the “Briar Bushes curse” after Alec is Ellis?)

As I thought over it, a finger poked at the space between my brows.

Ellis: It’s the first time I’ve seen you make a face like that. Kate, you’re starting to resemble Roger a bit.

Kate: Huh…?

Ellis: Hehe, your expression was like his just now.

Kate: What kind of face?

Ellis: Like a child completely absorbed in their thoughts. I heard from Roger that you’re studying about Cursed Ones. Is there any way I can help?

Ellis leaned forward and looked at me.

Kate: Then…Can I ask about how you and Roger met?

Ellis: Sure.

Ellis’ twilight-colored eyes wavered a bit.

Ellis: …I met Roger before joining Crown. I was already working as Jude’s assistant, but even back then, he attracted a lot of resentment from all sides. One night, Jude got stabbed with a knife and was brought to Roger’s father’s clinic. Roger was helping out at the clinic at the time—that’s how we met. So, back to the story. At that time, Jude asked Roger instead of his father to perform surgery.

Kate: Why?

Ellis: The reason for Jude’s injuries was so dangerous that the average doctor refused to treat him. However, Roger wasn’t licensed at the time and was looking for hands-on practice.

Kate: Um, so…a mutual convenience?

Ellis: Mm, pretty much.

(M-meaning he performed the procedure without actually being licensed at the time—)

(Let’s just pretend I didn’t hear that)

Ellis: Jude got injured a lot, and after that moment, Roger would secretly treat him… So I started going back there often. Roger looked really happy when he found out that we were Cursed Ones.

(No doubt he was as happy as when he met Alec)

My chest tightened as I thought about the boyish smile he’d sometimes have.

Ellis: It happened on a night Jude got injured… While Jude was asleep, Roger and I were making small talk. That night, I was listening to him talk about the time when was investigating whether Al was cursed or not.

Ellis stared off into the distance like he was trying to recall a memory.

~~ Flashback start ~~

Ellis: So this “Alfons” made you eat shoe polish cream?

Roger: Yeah, it was an illusion. That’s when I realized he was a Cursed One. But in exchange… Every time I eat cake, I remember the taste of shoe polish cream.

Ellis: Hehe, that’s a pretty big price to pay.

While they were laughing, Roger suddenly looked at Ellis.

Roger: That reminds me, I haven’t seen your power.

Ellis: Ah…maybe? Then…I’m sorry if it surprises you a bit, Roger.

Ellis touched the top of Roger’s head.

Then…his hands were clapped together as if in prayer.

Ellis: This is my ability. As for Jude, if he pokes your forehead—

Roger: …O_O …Alec.

Ellis: Roger?

Roger: Ah, it’s nothing. It’s been a while since I last had an ability used on me so I was surprised. Ellis, you have the “Briar Bushes curse” don’t you?

(...Alec and Ellis really do have the same curse)

Ellis: …Why did Roger look so sad when he learned about my “Briar Bushes curse”? Not only that, sometimes he’ll make this face when he sees me.

(...It’s not my story to tell)

Kate: Really now.

Ellis: But I don’t want him to look sad, so I never asked about it. I want to make Roger happy too.

Roger had seen what would be Ellis’ last moments with his own eyes, so that’s why he doesn’t want him to go down the same path as Alec.

(I can’t say that avoiding that ending will be easy)

Roger: I wanna make curses disappear from this world.

The voice in my chest resurfaced, gripping at my heart.

Kate: …I’m certain just talking with you will make Roger happy.

Ellis: Really? Enough to kill him?

Kate: Y-You can’t!

—Ellis’ curse seemed extremely complex.

Over the next few days, I finished reading through the huge amount of material Roger had given me.

(I’ll go and borrow medical books this time after getting changed)

(Some medical knowledge could help me understand Cursed Ones better…)

That’s what I thought at the time.

Roger: Kate, I got good news. A new Cursed One may have been found!

#ikemen villains #ikevil #ikevil jp #ikevil translations #roger barel #ikevil roger #ikevil roger route

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eyra · 1 year ago

Note

I hope you’ll forgive my selfishness, but I am dying to ask: What did Remus think the first time he saw Sirius in Beneath a Big Blue Sky??

today is your lucky day. I've mentioned a few times that I've dabbled in the possibility of one day writing more bits and pieces in the Beneath a Big Blue Sky world. whether or not this will ever all see the light of day I'm not sure, but since you asked, I'll share a little snippet of Remus and Sirius meeting for the first time - from Remus's point of view.

enjoy 🐑🐑 x

“Mr Lupin, is it?”

Christ.

Remus nods slowly, shaking the other boy's hand. "If you like," he mutters. If I must be, he thinks. What a mess. What an absolute pain in the arse. "Two strong lads," Lyall had asked the agency for, and Remus knows because he was in the next room listening, and still smarting over the fact that his old dad wanted to hire help anyway. "We'll be reet," Remus had insisted, shaking out his left arm in proof that his shoulder was mostly healed, which it was. They would've managed: he still had his other arm, and all the ewes looked in good health so far, and bringing in two strangers to help run the season seemed like a fine waste of money to Remus and something they'd not done since he'd turned fifteen and proven that he was good and capable of handling just as much work as Lyall during the lambs, and he'd felt all kinds of embarrassed when Lyall had implied that this year he might need some help. As if he were now a problem to be solved, or somehow less of a man this year than he was last year, and certainly less than he ought to be.

But if they must get help - if Lyall must hire someone for a few months - then at the very least Remus had hoped that the workers who arrived would be up to the job. A couple of veterinary students, or something; someone who knew their way around a sheep, and it hadn't seemed too big an ask. As it is, the two boys standing dumbly in front of him on the station platform look less suited to farm work and more like they should be standing in a shop window somewhere, with their brand new boots and spotless, neatly-pressed cream trousers. Cream trousers, and all.

Remus remembers, one night in the late winter not long after the accident, being laid up in his bed in front of the fuzzy little television Hope had insisted on setting up in his room to keep him occupied during his recovery. It had a remote held together with Sellotape and a funny round aerial which didn't quite pick up the Freeview signal, and he'd been mindlessly flicking through the scant channels when he'd happened upon some reality programme or other; something about a load of toffs titting about London with daft haircuts and those cream trousers, and he wonders now if the two boys standing in front of him have seen the show, or realise how ridiculous they look.

Or at least, one of them looks ridiculous. The lanky one with the glasses and the palm that's far too smooth to have seen any real work in its life. He's still beaming down at Remus with a sort of manic smile, which sets Remus's teeth on edge - man looks insane - and then Remus lets his eyes slip away to the shorter boy standing next to him. And he's something else altogether. He's all cheekbones and soft, shoulder-length hair, the colour of Whitby jet, and it's tucked on the one side back behind his ear and then there's one pretty strand hanging loosely over his brow, and he's watching Remus uncertainly and when they make eye contact - when the noise of the four-by-four across the car park fades away to static, and the train on the platform huffs out a great cloud of smoke that Remus doesn't see - Remus feels his cheeks grow hot under his tan and something funny happens in his throat, and he thinks to himself: "Wow," and then, straightaway: "That’s bloody inconvenient."

They drive back to the farm in silence, mostly, and Remus swallows three times before asking the boy in the back seat for his name. Sirius, as it turns out; the dog star, and Remus suddenly recalls a night a decade ago when they'd been up on the fell and the air had been balmy and close and Lily had been reading out of that funny old book about the constellations. "What's that one?" Remus had muttered, pointing at a cluster of stars somewhere over the top paddock. Lily had yawned, and flicked over a few more pages. "Canis Major," she'd said around another yawn, and then: "That bright one's called Sirius, it says here," and Remus had squinted up at it, and frowned, and thought it was pretty good, as stars go.

⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩

#ask #big blue sky #my writing

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scrumptiousstuffs · 25 days ago

Note

As much as I love talking about how pretty First is (he's so pretty! And as far as anyone knows a total sweetheart which is even better), can we talk about how ridiculously talented he is? He just becomes his characters like sliding on a second skin, it's insane. And the microexpressions and subtle changes in his eyes...I feel like it's such an underappreciated form of acting but he does it so well I never want to stop watching him. And he just keeps getting better and better. I can't wait to see what he does with Kant. Everyone keeps saying that these characters are different from what they've done before so im so curious. And also I'm just ready to have a flirty First character on my screen again.

Well, anon - where do you want to start? I’m going to say upfront, I’m not the most eloquent writer in writing meta or analysing any actors acting capability or their characters on screen.

There are other blogs who write all these beautiful meta re: The Eclipse and Only Friends. @bird-inacage wrote many thoughtful analysis of them. Please feel free to read them. Other links: Link 1. But also, just search for “The Eclipse meta” or “Only Friends meta” and so many good commentary from various blogs will pop up. You may agree or disagree with them but I personally find it fun to read through what other people think of the series and the characters in general.

Anyway, back to your topic of the greatness of First Kanaphan as an actor. I agree with all your statements regarding his acting capabilities.

I am entranced whenever First is on screen - whether he played a suppressed queer teenager in high school or the broken, lonely banker to the gruff bar singer with the heart of gold.

His eyes are expressive and the control he has over his facial muscles…exquisite 👌. The way he shifts from one expression to another with us (the viewers) being able to tell them without that much of a change? - it’s definitely a wow everytime I see it. I mentioned previously in a different ask I find First fluid in his acting.

People will argue his character in Not Me (Yok) is the best out of his current projects. I will argue otherwise.

Yes, Yok allowed First to showcase his poweress in acting. First as Yok was able to show massive range from being loud, stubbornly opinionated, flirty (or slutty in First’s own words) etc. before we see him ultimately breakdown when he got betrayed. Definitely A-class acting 👍.

However as Akk, then Alan followed by Sand - these characters are more reserved at baseline and not as “colourful” of a character as Yok. And to some extent, these roles are more challenging (for any actors) to showcase “range” as they need to be able to internally express it without big emotive or gesture.

But the way First embodied them - with just a slight twitch of his jaw, tightness around his lips or when he allowed his eyes to darken with anger or lust (depending on the situation) - we as the viewers can always tell what the character is feeling, and that’s what make him an amazing actor to watch on screen.

And since this is my blog and I can do whatever I want, I’m putting up examples from each series post Not Me:

1) The Eclipse

When Akk first met Ayan in the teacher’s bathroom and saw Ayan’s tattoo - we (and Akk) all got distracted by Ayan’s sexy tattoo. But the quick flick of Akk’s eyes 👀 to that tattoo followed by the slight widening of his eyes and then shifting to hardening his glare while at the same time quick gulp of his throat? - all of that occurred within seconds….and I remember watching this scene thinking oh, Akk definitely has some unwanted thoughts on the new kid

Or when they were wrestling on the judo mat, and Akk pinned Ayan down - teasingly asked the latter to try and free himself. He was smiling down at Ayan but the minute Ayan slide those arms around his neck, the way his smile faded and you can see gay panic in those eyes….

They are of course so many more examples including Akk mini-conversation with his mom at night when he hesitantly tried to explain the pressure he was under at school but ultimately chickened out cause he didn’t want to burden him mom (and you could see this written all over his face).

2) Moonlight Chicken

There was a previous ask, where that anon said he found Alan the most pathetic character out of all of First’s projects. And I will again reiterate here, with the limited amount of screen time he had, First sparkled whenever he came on screen.

The way you can tell his frustration over his destroyed relationship while trying to cling on it cause he just doesn’t know what he did wrong for Wen was painful for us viewers to watch. And I don’t know about you, my heart breaks for him when he broke down after Wen finally screamed at him that he only slept with Alan cause he felt sorry for him - you can again see the flick/shift from anger in Alan’s face to shock disbelief and humiliation when Wen said that to him. You could see the self-loathing in his face after Wen left the living room. And as he silently cried on the floor of their apartment, I cried with him.

Or when Alan finally had his talk with Wen at the bbq restaurant, you could read the quiet resignation in Alan’s face as Wen finally break it off for good by sliding his promise ring back to him.

3. Only Friends

Even from the first episode, when he brought Ray back to his apartment - after Ray puked his guts out and as Ray snuggled on Sand’s shoulder - you could read the half amusement, half exasperation on his face while they both just sat on that bathroom floor.

Or when Ray finally got his chance with Mew, and Sand saw them dancing in the club. We see the wistful, sad boba eyes of his. And when Ray confronted him outside the bar, that cracked in his voice as he told Ray “you and I were never friends.” - yeah, my heart again breaks for him.

Or how about the angry-lust driven kiss in that music room (before Top interrupted them). You could see the mixture of anger, almost despair in Sand eyes, the tightness in his jaw and you could see the tremble in his lips. But even with all that, us as viewers clocked on how much he loves Ray (Ray knows that too…hence why he pounced and kiss Sand)

Plus when Sand confronted Top at the hospital - the narrowed eyes, the low, even tone of his voice where you know he is just barely holding on to his temper

I can go on and on…but I’ll stop here.

Anyway, like you, I’m looking forward to seeing more of him as Kant - I have no doubt we will see him nail it as a flirt (or as First keeps insisting, sugar daddy?). However, I’m also looking forward to see his interactions with Babe, Style and Fadel cause I’m sure we will be blessed with more masterclass in microexpression!

#asked and answered #first kanaphan #firstkhao #First is both beautiful and talented #both my boys are #the eclipse #only friends #moonlight chicken

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nevarroes · 1 month ago

Note

hi, new to this blog - just want to say, im absolutely obsessed. you art is incredible, both in skill, and clear love for your work. im so enamored by these two. i scroll through your art tag and just - wow. i love how each time you draw him, he gets bigger. i love the tenderness, eroticism, and also love in each drawing.

however, being as new as i am, i feel a little behind on the lore behind these characters (your lore, i mean. not canon lore haha) i tries finding a post perhaps with some backstory but i can't, so i hope you don't mind answering my question if someone's already asked it/you've already talked about it.

what's the story behind gortash gaining weight? as in, (apologies if im awful at explaining) is it a clear feeder/feedee relationship, or is the weight gain just a side effect of cas feeding him a lot, and he just kind of accepted it? i hope i explain this well, english is not my first language haha.

Hi, first of all thank you so much, it truly means a lot to me that there's still people like getting interested in them and all!💜 I've covered some of this in older asks (like ages ago, I admit) but more than happy to summarize it again here

So to Cas, it’s not about the fetish—he’s not generally into fat people or the kink at all (quite the opposite, actually). It’s more about control and the damage done, if that makes sense. Cas wanted to have power over Gortash, hoping it’d both ruin him in a way and make him unappealing to others, maybe even make him dependent on Cas. Physical attraction wasn’t really the factor in the beginning, Cas was just obsessed with Gortash and by nature he’s not capable of "mild" feelings like some simple crush. Even before Gortash got fat, it’s not that like…. Cas found him irresistibly attractive or something, that was never the actual thing

It wasn't obvious from the get-go either, Cas began by inviting him to eat more and over every business they discussed, subtly enabling him without even really knowing himself what he was trying to achieve. Cas holds himself to an extremely high standard when it comes to fitness and nutrition (I’ve mentioned this before but he has a horrible relationship with his body and eating considering his past as an incubus and trying to live up to certain things. It's an eating disorder if we want to be real, but its a bit different since when in the Hells he doesn’t technically need to eat). Cas usually finds people who let themselves go gross and undisciplined, but Gortash was viewed differently by him. He wasn’t fat before either (probably wouldve made Cas absolutely not interested anymore), but he ate a lot of junk and was excitable by a good meal, which seemed strange for a man that Cas considered to be oddly similar in behavior to devils. Gortash still didn’t that eat much though, since he prioritized work and would often forget to eat (before Cas that is)

Cas found this intriguing more than anything—how could someone like Gortash, who carries himself the way he does, have a slight weakness for something as trivial as food? So, it became a bit of a game, seeing how far he could push Gortash. He realized he could go pretty far, Gortash even let Cas influence him to the point of discomfort and physical weakness. U know, overeating until he was clearly not in the position to fight back and if Cas wanted, he could exploit that.

Gortash obviously noticed what Cas was doing too but since he couldn’t find a logical explanation for it, he allowed it to continue, out of curiosity more than anything. he didn’t care much about getting a little fat and he knew he would, but his power to him was always in his intellect and words, not his physical form. Early on he made some snide comments too, like asking if Cas was trying to make him fat to take his power and telling him how it was a rather inefficient tactic. But Cas never stopped, and Gortash let him continue. In a way, it was some twisted gesture of affection from Cas too… he doesn’t seem like the type who’d go out of his way to keep someone fed or remember their favorite treats and then attempt to send 10 deliveries of it, yet there he was. And Gortash, though he’d never admit it at the time, enjoyed having someone "show up" for him and him personally instead of his power or his work, in some strange way😖

Over time, it just kind of progressed further into the whole feeding thing. Gortash didn’t feel the need to stop since he saw how much joy it brought Cas and it wasn’t hurting him in his eyes. So it got to the point of Gortash allowing him to hand feed him and all too and well… yeah. Cas found the whole thing turning him on too of course, not just because of what it did to Gortash’s body, but because it was something Cas caused. It showed the control he had over Gortash—proof that his influence wasn’t just in mind games or his imagination—in a physical way. I wanna say that it still is definitely genuione attraction, it’s just a very specific… scenario that developed out of Cas’ obsession with Gortash mixed with his destructive tendencies and abosolute horrid relationship with body image and stuff. So… its not that Cas is into fat people or would have this kink with anyone else, it’s that he’s into Gortash, and he wants to "possess" him completely

I went further into detail about like… a few topics related to this in past asks but i can’t link them all as it really depends what ur curious about! But here’s the tag pages in case you didn't see them, I do try to tag everything that might be interesting at some point so it's not sorted, more of a "if you get bored you can scroll through it" thing😩

gortcas lore

gortcas nsfw lore (a lot of shit here but the blog got censored, there's a new tag on my side blog now but most info is here)

#blakemail #mollys fics also generally show their relationship and such in more depth people should read them and stuff... heart emoji...#gortcas lore #weight gain

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