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spideyanakin · 2 months ago

Note

Omg requests for fiyero!

How about an angsty childhood best friends to strangers to lovers? Maybe growing up together, parting ways and then reuniting at shiz?

Thank you!

purple butterflies (fiyero. t)

synopsis ➾ gn! reader, purple butterflies and strawberry tarts; the memories of him who turned bittersweet with growing up. He replaced them with lovers and careless days. You replaced the memories with studying and focusing on your future, never thinking your new worlds would ever collide. [w.c 4k]

warnings ➾ reader is heartbroken and sassy, angst, fiyero being cute, me being shit at science and inventing my own rules bc let's face it this takes place in a magic land

authors note - omg stop I ADORE this request, I've had so much fun writing this <3 hope you like it. also i hope i didn't miss any accidental pronouns, i wanted to make this gn, lmk if i did!.

fiyero masterlist

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and strawberry tarts (p.2)

Purple butterflies and strawberry tarts. If you were careful you could still taste the faint sourness of the fresh strawberries from the grounds of Kiamo Ko. The freshly made dough and the sugar sprinkled on top, caramelised just enough to balance it with soft bitterness.

But now it seemed the bitterness conquered it all. Turned the strawberries tasteless, the pie crust burnt to an overbearing crisp and the sugar overcooked, with it chased away the butterflies and turned the grass greener on the other side.

Kiamo Ko had been left empty by the prince a long time ago. When his turbulent personality started bubbling up to the surface, the king and queen started to grasp every straw they possibly could, clinging for any solution to mend their son’s behavior.

When the list of tutors fell short, by the twentieth one who ran out of the castle with freshly broken glasses and a dirt stained shirt, howling scandal as he pushed himself through the doors—it had been a final decision. Fiyero was to be sent to boarding school.

With him gone, emptiness was brought to Kiamo Ko, and his family decided to move away. To another castle, another place that would better suit their new needs.

Your family was thanked for their service. Your father retired from his duties in the royal guard, and stayed behind to tend your farm. Only your eldest brother had accompanied the royals in their new life.

It's not like you wanted to become strangers. You tried to grasp at your friendship. Sending him letter after letter. But when the letters went unanswered, you were left with a universe of unanswered feelings. Unanswered questions that would forever cloud your heart.

With that, the prince became a distant memory. Chasing fluorescent purple butterflies in the gardens of Kiamo Ko at night and eating his mother's strawberry tarts became faded dreams.

Your only source of information became gossips and your brother's occasional letter, reporting on Fiyero's short stays at the new castle.

You heard he had asked about you, once, maybe twice. But as years passed, and his interests fully shifted, so did yours.

Your vile was running out of ink. Your fingers were stained blue, from your palm to the very tips of your fingers--stains you would struggle removing.

Your scribbles were getting rougher. You needed to finish this, you wanted to finish this before the clock struck three. You were getting a headache, your blueish hand was cramping, and you were starting to stain the parchment.

But people were squeaking, whispering, and where the library once felt quiet and peaceful it now felt like a coffee shop on saturday afternoons, filled to the brim with gossipers.

You continued scribbling. Something about Munchkinland being saved from rebels. A leader, a general was involved in the lot, you couldn't remember his name, you wanted to remember his name. So you continued to fill the paper with nonsense until his name would come to your mind.

But you were running out of ink. The loops felt lighter, were lighter, you wouldn't have enough to finish. So you pressed th quill further on the page. You continued to write, a sentence than another, a word than another.

Snap.

Fuck. Your feather snapped in half.

"Dammit."

"You alright?" Elphaba broke your turbulent mind, glancing towards you.

That's when she noticed; the broken quill, the stained hands, the essay dirtied in front of you.

"Fine," you mumbled, throwing the quill aside. "I thought I could finish this today."

"It's not due til next week, you'll be fine."

"Hm," you wanted to rub your forehead, but quickly realised it wouldn't be a good idea.

Elphaba saw it, she fished for her handkerchief in her pocket and handed it to you.

You thanked her, cursing again when you realised the extent of the mess on your fingers.

"What's going on?" She asked when another sigh escaped your lips.

"Nothing," you mumbled. "I have a headache, I'm hungry, tired-"

"You're working too much."

"I need to pass this class. Since Mr. Dillamond left-"

"I know. We're all in the same situation here, don't worry about it."

"Right..." You continued wiping your fingers. She was right. The whole class had been going on a down spree since the new teacher arrived. He was harsh, focused on shallow things from history you shouldn't be studying. Where once it was about analyzing the impact history had on the lands of today, his class became about glorifying the heroes still alive and spreading propaganda.

It didn't help that the whole school seemed to be brewing with anticipation. Your gaze caught once again for the fourth time that day; three students whispering and giggling to each other about something. They were squeaking and blushing.

"What is going on?" You huffed, twisting the handkerchief.

"A prince arrived at school or something."

"Prince?" You raised an eyebrow. You wondered who it could possibly be. Most princes of Oz had already graduated university, and as far as you knew, Fiyero was on the other side of Oz studying at Killimand.

"Oh Oz," you cursed, one of your bracellets had been contaminated by the ink. You wanted to cry, or maybe it was just the nerves from the day building up. This was your favorite. It had too many memories attached, memories you didn’t want to forget just yet.

"What happened?"

"Bracelet's stained," you tried to clean it but it kept falling from your grip.

"Here, let me help," she grabbed your wrist and the handkerchief.

Indeed the small butterfly wing pendant had been stained by blue.

"Here," she smiled, wiping it clean. "All good." She dropped your hand and placed the fabric back in her pocket. "It's pretty," she noticed as you checked it. "Anyone has the other half?"

"How do you know it has another half?"

"It's half a butterfly," she suggested and you smiled at the observation.

"It is. I don't think anyone has the other half," you replied with a tight smile. You knew the other half had existed, but whether or not it still did, or was still worn by its owner was another question. You started to fold your essay and clean your writing supplies. "So, this prince?"

"Oh, yeah, everyone is already swooning over him. Stumbled across him, he didn't seem like the brightest."

"Does he have a name?"

"It's that Winkie prince, Fiyero something-"

"Fiyero Tigelaar?" You gulped, and your face must have fallen because Elphaba scrunched her eyebrows.

"You know him?"

"N-no," you quickly shook your head, "just heard of him... Everyone has-" you breathed, why your hands were getting clammy?

"I'm going to go, I'll see you tomorrow," you collected the last of your stuff. Shoving your books and quill in your bag faster than you realised.

Elphaba looked so confused, you almost felt bad, almost wanted to turn around to apologize, but your mind was already on overdrive. Your chest was starting to uncontrollably heave--you needed to get out, quickly.

Fiyero was here? At Shiz?

If you thought you were having a bad day, you didn't think it could get any worse. The one person that you thought you would never see again was now roaming the very halls of your University. You'd probably share a class or two with him if you were truly that unlucky.

Oz, what did you do to deserve this?

Would he even remember you? Would he even realize the heartache he had caused you?

Would he remember what he had told you that night under the stars when it was official he would be leaving to boarding school? How he had held your hand, squeezed it so tight so you would remember his touch.

Would he even remember chasing purple butterflies for the last time together that night. How impatient he had been, how he scared them, making them flutter away, only for the small creatures to circle the both of you.

How the butterflies, the moonlight, and the silent trees were the only other witnesses to him kissing you.

Your first kiss.

His first kiss.

Though it would be his first kiss of many; a start to a life of accumulated lovers, you reminded yourself as you clenched your books a little tighter.

You had just been his first victim.

That night, under the stars of Winkie country as fluorescent purple butterflies swarmed around you, as his hand slithered around your waist, the other brushing the apple of your cheek in a sealing touch. That night he had sealed the fate of your heart with his lips.

Because the next morning he had left you and Kiamo Ko behind with no regrets, only preparing himself for his new life ahead.

"And so this is the library," Glinda's voice mumbled over your ears. You were too focused on your boiling thoughts to even register her, or to notice the figure trailing behind her.

You royally bumped into them, full strength as you attempted to dart out of the library.

Whoever he was; he was strong. Years of training behind him as you felt his arm wrap around your shoulder in attempt to cushion the crash.

"Wow hey there, watch out," his voice was soft, charming, familiar almost- "Ranger!?" He squeaked in delight. Your mind swirled, no one had called you that since-

Fiyero.

You opened your eyes to meet his.

Indeed you were face to face with him, his arms still wrapped around you.

He was older, but then so were you. He didn't change a bit though, still as handsome, maybe even more charming than before. You found yourself staring up at the same blue eyes, the same grin you remembered and loved.

Your heart looped in your chest, and that's when you knew you had to get out of here, quickly.

But as he looked at you his eyes sparkled, and the brightest smile you had ever seen him wear raised upon his features, somehow your feet were stuck in place.

"Oh Oz! How have you been?" Fiyero did not hesitate to cage you in his arms again, and suddenly you couldn't breathe.

His hug was perfect. Just like you remembered. As if the years had never passed and you still fitted against one another like two pieces of a puzzle.

Two wings of the same butterfly.

You felt incapable of reciprocating the hug. He didn't feel the same, yet he felt exactly like you remembered. He smelled the same, jasmin, fresh roses and leather, almost intoxicating as the memories came crashing through again.

You wanted to cry. Right there in the middle of the Shiz library, as his arms were wrapped around you; you wanted to cry.

Suddenly you craved Cruck, your rabbit stuffed animal that you left behind under the soft covers of your childhood room. You wanted to be tucked into your pastel sheets by your mother. You wanted to fall asleep with a smile on your lips as you remembered the day's adventure. That sleep would take you as you dreamt of the roses of Kiamo Ko; because you knew you would wake up just to run to them again the next morning.

Because you knew that after your mother attempted to have you eat breakfast, you would run back to the castle just to find Fiyero waiting for you up in the tree by the gates.

You almost melted into the hug. Almost.

Because after the jasmin, the roses and the leather there had been heartbreak. The lost letters, the unanswered calls. The empty promises.

"I'm alright," you attempted, still crushed in his grip.

"You two know each other?" Galinda squeaked behind her books. Eye brows scrunching, of course she would be the one showing him around.

"Yeah!" Fiyero bounced on his heels, loosening his grip on you.

He was gazing at you as if you were a wonder of the world and you did not like it one bit.

Hand still on your shoulder, people were starting to gather around, curiosity getting the best of them. After all, you had suddenly become a competition in the conquering of his heart.

But the more eyes were on you, the tenser you felt--and Fiyero did not seem to care or even notice.

"Yeah! Her brother works for the royal guard, we grew up together! Oz! How have you been?" He repeated, and you blinked--was he truly this happy to see you?

You wanted to disappear into the books, melt into the shelves, and be one with the stories.

"I've been fine," it was colder, drier than you wished. You didn't want to speak to him that way, but you couldn't help yourself. "I have to go Fiyero."

He almost seemed disappointed. You almost felt bad.

"See you around?"

You didn't reply.

You left without even glancing back to him.

The clock was ticking painfully slow, and you watched as Mr. Willows grabbed yet again another bicker from the shelves by his side.

He placed it on his desk and stepped towards the small glass greenhouse. Five small bright neon blue mushrooms stood proudly atop a mound of dirt.

He delicately removed the glass top of the greenhouse and the mushrooms suddenly lost all their fluorescence, turning grey white. You carefully watched as he plucked one right out and dropped it into the bicker.

As he placed the glass jar back on top and the mushroom's colors shone brightly again, he grumbled in his low voice, "Now, do you know what causes their fluoresces?" He turned his glass-hidden eyes towards the twenty-six heads in front of him.

No answers.

You hesitated, but giggles stopped you. Giggles coming from the back left of the classroom, not far from the door.

In the quiet of the room, all eyes turned to them. Of course, they had bloomed from Fiyero's chest, and you eyed as he leaned back in his chair smirking, with a blushing Galinda by his side.

"Is there something funny Mr. Tigelaar?"

Fiyero seemed to be taken aback, but he brushed it off just as quickly, "no, please continue with what you were saying."

"Can you answer the question for me?"

He blinked.

"Could you repeat the question?"

"What causes the fluoresce of those mushrooms?"

"The fact that they're magic?" Fiyero poorly offered, and you were sure it had caused a laugh from a red-headed girl sitting across you.

Mr. Willows sighed, placing his glasses further up his nose.

"Anyone else?"

"It's caused by the chemical reaction of their molecules when it's exposed to dark lights. The moon is enough to light them in nature, but during the day, to see it you'd have to place it in special glass, like the one you have, Sir."

"Very good. At least someone is paying attention."

You missed the grin Fiyero was throwing you.

"Hey, Ranger!" His voice caught in your ears, tangling like honey and seeping through every parts of you.

You were tempted to escape, but somehow he had melted your feet to the ground, and all you could do was wait for him to catch up, "still love being the smarter one I see?" He offered, leaning to you with a sly grin.

What game was he playing?

"Fiyero, it was a simple answer, you should have known that."

"Will you come to the Oz dust tonight?"

"No. I've got to study."

"C'mon! It will give us a chance to catch up!"

"No," your reply was stern, and you could almost catch a glimpse of disappointment across his features; same as this morning in the library.

"Do it for me, please?" he pouted, big blue eyes sparkling again--and suddenly you were back in the gardens of Kiamo Ko, with a pleading boy prince, begging that you join on his mischief.

"I'll think about it," you sighed, tightening your grip on your books as you started bouncing on your heels to leave. Oz, you'd have to work on the effects his charm had on you.

You were over him.

You had been over him for years, or so you thought.

"You better be there," he pointed out.

"I'll think about it," you repeated, giving him a short smile before finally disappearing into a corridor.

"So what was that about? Your dramatic, I don't know Fiyero, but I clearly do?" Elphaba raised an eyebrow, looking up from her book.

"It's nothing," you huffed, focusing on your history book. You turned around on your bed, your back towards Elphaba in a silent plea to stop the questions.

"I'm calling it bullshit."

"I'm allowed my secrets," you mumbled against your pillow.

"No," she grinned. "Not with the way he was staring at you."

"Same way he stares at everyone."

"Galinda will beg to differ. She's been pestering me with questions about you all day!"

You heard shuffling from behind you, and glanced from the corner of your eye to see Elphaba closing her book and marching the few steps towards you.

"Then let her think. It will do her some good to use that brain of hers," you turned your focus back on your textbook--eyes squinting as you turned the page; only to be met with Winkie Country in bold black letters, with a drawing of the plains and cities below it.

"Ugh," you harshly closed the book, slapping it across the bed.

"Will you tell me at least?" You barely noticed as she sat by the foot of your bed.

"There's nothing much to say," your eyes met hers. "We grew up together, then we lost contact."

"And nothing else happened?"

"No," you lied.

"I refuse to believe that."

"That's what you will have to do, sorry," you sighed and stared at your ceiling lamp, a pretty purple crystal flower blooming from the ceiling.

"Right..." She paused in thought, you were almost curious as to what she would say next. "Well I don't, and I'll keep pestering you about it."

"It's almost curfew, you need to get back to your dorm," you mumbled, sitting up and grabbing your hair brush from your bedside table.

"Stop changing the subject," she warned. "Galinda's probably there getting ready with her two shadows anyway."

"Tweedle dee and Tweedle dumb," you laughed to yourself, starting to detangle your hair. "Are you going to the Oz dust with them?"

"No. You?"

You shook your head no, snuggling deeper into the cushions of your bed.

"I heard Fiyero asked you to come," she teased.

"You heard nothing," you pointed to her with the tip of your hair brush. "Now get out before I throw that book in your face," you accentuated your words by pushing your textbook toward her with your toes.

"Fine," she chuckled. "I'm warning you, I'll get the answers out of you somehow," and with those words, she disappeared through the doors of your dorm, leaving you alone with the shadows of your thoughts.

Your eyes went back to the lamp on your ceiling before fluttering closed. You sighed through your nose, heart squeezing in your chest.

Pictures of a dancing boy in a pastel green suit flashed before your closed eyes before you could stop them. The polished marble floors of the great hall as music flowed. Your father in a uniform, adorned by medals; a change to his usual knight's armor you rarely saw him out of. Your mother in her most beautiful dress by his side.

Fiyero dragging you through the dancing bodies, causing havoc once again. The Queen scolding him later that evening.

You almost expected to open your eyes to the beautiful adorned ceiling of Kiamo Ko's great hall, but when you did, you weren't met with the familiar stained glass. You weren't met with the family portraits of generations of Tigelaars.

You were met with that damned purple ceiling lamp.

Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to go...

Maybe you could get some answers out of him?

Maybe you could finally get some closure.

But could you handle the hypocrisy? Could you handle seeing him dancing with Galinda, just for him to look at you with puppy dog eyes the second she was out of his sight?

Your outfit felt tight against your body. Tighter than it usually did. The purple mesh pooled around you perfectly as you walked, trailing behind you gracefully with each step. For a golden second, you felt like you belonged here, walking down the steps of the Oz dust.

The music was loud, echoing through the cave in its gripping melody. People were cheering, singing lyrics you did not know, and it suddenly felt as if you were drowning, maybe you were. Caged under the ocean in a bubble of music, sweat, and fairy dust.

That's when you spotted him. He was dancing with a boy you shared mathematics with. Jory, a tall handsome blonde that had most students swooning before Fiyero had stepped a foot at Shiz.

You noticed Galinda was nowhere to be found, nor was Elphaba.

You breathed.

You could do this.

If your biggest fear was Galinda's judgment, and she wasn't even there, then why was your heart beating out your chest the more your feet took you down the stone steps?

You twisted the fabric of your sleeves as you darted towards the bar. You smiled at the waiter before ordering your drink, your rings clinking with your coins as you placed them on the marble counter. to pay.

And suddenly he was there. Like a shadow he appeared, attracted to you like a moth to a flame.

"You came," there was a smile in his voice you couldn't deny. It made you at a loss for words, awkwardly swallowing as you figured out what you should say.

"Where's your date?" You finally spoke, keeping your gaze focused on your hands on the counter.

"Left with her roommate."

"Hm,"

"I'm glad you're here," his voice was soft over the music, yet you could still hear it just as clearly.

You didn't reply, simply smiled before turning your attention to the drink the waiter slid to you.

You took a sip, bathing in the silence between you.

Fiyero's silence was loud, so loud your ears were ringing.

Before you could even register, his hand reached to yours. Pinky finger searching your own on the polished counter. You watched, unable to let your attention fly from his hand. The moment felt painfully slow, and too fast all at once.

Suddenly you saw it, the pull of your butterfly pendent.

You noticed his only after, the golden bracelet amidst the myriad of others; leather cuffs, silver, and gold chains. But the one you had placed upon his wrists years ago was still there, and as his hand crept closer, the two pendants collided like they were meant to.

The magnets merged and the purple butterfly was whole again.

Two wings of the same butterfly.

You gazed up to see him, just to find his eyes already on yours.

Neither of you spoke, scared to break the silence.

Your vision was getting blurry, your breath was becoming chopped. Now you really felt like you were drowning.

Drowning in a myriad of purple butterflies.

You were back in that forest. His eyes were the ones of a small boy again, standing amidst the gardens of his home. The jasmin, the roses and the leather were engulfing you whole, filling your lungs to the brim.

"Dance with me."

"We shouldn't-"

"Please?"

#prince fiyero 🫧#fiyero #fiyero tigelaar #fiyero x you #fiyero imagine #fiyero x reader #fiyero tigelaar x you #fiyero tigelaar x y/n #fiyero tigelaar x reader #fiyero tigelaar imagine

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hellishjoel · 5 months ago

Text

wild like the west

3.3k / pairing: cowboy!joel miller x cowgirl!reader

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summary: joel and his cowgirl warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), implied but unspecified age gap, joel is technically reader's boss (so power dynamic stuff), swearing, dirty talk, pet names (baby girl, brat, etc.), unprotected p in v, pussy pronouns, asphyxiation kink, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, clean up on aisle reader's stomach, reader is described having hair but otherwise (I believe) reader is a blank slate, no use of y/n, barely edited A/N: I unfortunately have not stopped thinking about a game joel miller x yellowstone crossover, and I feel like he would like this to be his long, happy life. I also haven't written for joel since may which feels like a sin! sorry baby!

It doesn’t matter how many ass bruises you get, or the pain of repeated thrashes to your knees from getting bucked off; this unruly horse will bend its spirit to your will.

Half the job of purchasing new horses for the Miller Ridge Ranch is breaking them in like a pair of new shoes.

Any cowboy, or for you, cowgirl, knows that a horse can sense your personality and fear from a mile away. If you sprout fear, it won’t trust you to be the guide on its back. It’s a mutual thing to trust one another. It’s the trust Joel thrust upon you after loyally working at the ranch for a handful of years. Sure, you were young, but you had a good head on your shoulders.

He perches his cowboy boot on the low fence rail, teeth gnawing at a toothpick as he watches you with careful eyes. The morning dew settles over the long grass and tall trees, untouched by man, fostered by nature. With the sun clawing at the horizon, the land turns from a pale blue to a beaming orange glow. It’s beautiful here, peaceful. You imagine this is the life that Joel always wanted, craved. He’s not from around here, he’s got too much Southern twang to be from these northern Montana woods.

Life guided him up here and he never turned back.

You can feel the horse grow agitated under your haunches, whinnying with anxiety as it takes a few rough steps backward in the ground-up dirt.

“S’okay, boy, take it easy, easy,” you coo in a gentle voice that lets the horse breathe through its panic. You grip the colt’s mane at the very base of his neck, right by the horn of your saddle, gently scratching that sweet spot that seems to bring him some tranquility.

You’re the only one who seems to calm these beautiful boys.

“You got a habit of gettin’ in’ta trouble before it even knows to start lookin’ for ya.” Joel’s southern drawl rumbles deep from his chest, stepping into the training ring and crooking his first two fingers in your direction.

“I got it, Joel,” you say insistently, guiding the horse by a little squeeze of your boots to its belly in Joel’s direction.

“Know ya do.” Joel stops at the horse’s chest and pats its neck, large and calloused hand stroking down its coarse mane as he stares up at you, squinting from the morning sunlight.

His eyes are starkly brilliant in this light, typically a dark brown, now a glowy amber under the brim of his black cowboy hat. “You know that part of learnin’ how to be a cowboy is lettin’ them break in their own horse. Hop down.”

A sigh leaves your parted lips as you unhook one boot from the stirrups and throw yourself off. Taking the reigns, you walk with Joel back to the main fence.

“You’re too nice to ‘em. I hired you to be a bit more…” He pauses indefinitely, tilting his head.

“Ruthless. I know.” Your eyes connect, both hardened after years of this long life. One day of being a cowboy felt like a year at any other job.

The plan was plain and simple, a route you’d taken a hundred times with a crew that changed on and off for the past couple of years. The cattle were in need of fresh resources, lush grass to graze on, and streams of pristine crystal water. Up through the valley they’d go.

The cowboys and cowgirls were gathered on their horses, Joel sat atop his beautiful black mare, eyes piercing his crew even behind his tinted sunglasses. Any season besides summer in this state demanded thick, warm work wear. Joel adorned a chocolate brown Carhartt and thick denim jeans under old, worn-out brown chaps.

“I want Wyatt and Jack to take front, Bo and Sadie, swing, Jess and June on the flank, Tucker and Sammy on the drag. Wear your bandanas, it’s gonna get dusty back there,” your eyes flick up to a string of confused faces, “any questions?”

“Why do we have to go through the valley? We’d have to push hundreds of cows through open water,” Bo mutters, disdain for a woman making all these choices for him, perhaps.

“Yeah, n’I can’t swim. Never learned.” Another pipes in.

“Then you’re a goddamn idiot,” old man Wyatt gurgles up a chuckle. Wyatt has been a cowboy longer than you have been alive. He raised you up to be tough with a streak of kindness that could never be washed away. He gives you a tight nod of reassurance as you sigh weakly.

All this tomfoolery seems to be a bit much for Joel’s taste. “She’s takin’ questions about the plan, not your ‘pinions on it. I tell her what to do, she tells ya’ll what to do. You question her, you question me. So do as she says, or you answer to me.”

Joel’s always had a tight hand on the crew. He intimidates them. He is their boss, after all. They have a problem with you or this ranch or anyone else, they answer to him. Joel takes off his sunglasses and narrows his eyes on Bo, the newest cowboy with a pretty big mouth on him who bucks just as bad as your new colts. And his dead eyes are set on you.

The rest of the crew sets off towards the direction of the cattle herd, everyone except Bo.

Your head jerks upward in his direction, your own eyes narrowed. “You wanna say somethin’?” You ride alongside Bo, who seems to be wrestling with his stupid thoughts. But before he gets a chance to say anything, Joel intervenes.

“Got a fight in you? It starts an’ ends with me.”

Bo looks between both of you, simply scoffing before he backs his horse off and trots along towards the crew.

The view from the top of the valley is beautiful, all yellow and golden, with a pale blue sky and tall trees that harbor the secrets of the forest. Joel used to tell you it would whisper to him, warn him. Your chestnut-colored horse stands tall next to Joel’s, and both of you are overseeing the herd and the crew working together.

“Not as bad as I thought this was gonna be,” Joel mutters, turning his head in your direction. You’re unrecognizably quiet. He’s never known you to be so still.

He watches as your fingers anxiously twirl your horse’s mane. “You undermine me in front of them, and they don’t respect me, Joel.”

So that’s what got you so stiff. He takes in a deep breath of mountain air, crossing his wrists over the horn of his saddle and glancing over at you out of the corner of his eye. Your hair blows in the wind, gentle and flowing. Almost graceful if it wasn’t in this wild west. Your beauty was city beauty, he was surprised you ever found your way out here.

“Bo’s as green as grass. He needs to learn not t’talk to you like that. And if he needs to learn from me, so be it.”

Keeping your lips zipped, your eyes scan the points that use the dogs to guide the herd in the right direction. The swings and flanks work the mid to back-mid to maintain movement, and the drags stationed at the back ensure that any loose stragglers keep up.

Joel rolls his eyes and sighs, reaching his hand across to your horse’s reigns, keeping your horse tucked to his side.

“C’mon, Cowgirl. Spit it out.”

“You go about defendin’ me, it looks like we’re sleepin’ together,” you gripe, “and I don’t need our crew slingin’ the slander that I got my job fuckin’ the boss. I don’t want that shit, Joel.”

Joel shifts his jaw from side to side, silent as he usually is. His tongue muscles over the right words, the words that will settle that ball of uncertainty you have nestled in your gut.

He settles on the truth.

“We are sleepin’ together.”

Shaking your head, you steal your reigns back from Joel and gently nuzzle your boots against the horse’s underbelly. “Well, maybe that should end.”

Joel watches on with a small smirk as your horse is set in motion down the grassy hill. He shouts loud enough for his voice to carry down from the high ground. “You set those boys straight, or I’ll have to keep doin’ it for ya.”

You sling back your middle finger in his direction, both of your horses riding side by side now as you follow the crew through to the valley.

Joel sighs upon entering his large, private cabin, resting his cowboy hat to air out on a hook by the front door. His clothes wreak of his musky sweat, and the shower calls his name. He walks stiffly. Joel’s thick thigh muscles are as strong as iron from riding his horse, and his back cracks each time he inhales.

But he can’t deny that this life was made for him.

Training to be a carpenter, earning pennies on the dollar to work in the hot Texas sun, and for what? Building someone else’s dream property? He had his own dreams.

The ranch was his dream.

He always had a profound appreciation for nature and the outdoors.

Fuck the city, fuck car horns honking obnoxiously, fuck the traffic. He found more fulfillment in listening to the wind flutter through the trees and would much rather hear the moos of his cattle than impatient commuters at six in the morning.

Plus, he’s never felt more free or independent. This was his land, and he made the decisions on how it was run. Hiring the sassy cowgirl from the metropolis just happened to be a nice bonus on lonely nights when there wasn’t much left to his whiskey bottle, and the ride into town was more than twenty minutes for a new one. She sated him all the same, better, even.

Despite years of riding and wrangling, you’re so fucking soft. You have soft eyes, a pretty voice, and satiny thighs. Your lips are plush against his weathered ones, and you don’t seem to mind sitting in his lap with his rougher-than-barbwire hands feeling over your body.

But in turn, you’ve made a little soft spot in his wild like the west heart of his. And he swore he’d never settle down; you seem to have the same intentions.

Things were easy. Nice and easy. Almost routine.

The bunkhouse would be busy with cowboys and cowgirls playing card games, drinking their beers, singing to the music on the radio, and talking nonsense. You’d slip out after dark and wind up upstairs in his bed.

He recalls you saying something about how his bed is more comfy than the ones in the bunkhouse.

“Whatever you say, darlin’.”

Tonight was no different. Fresh from his shower with a towel secured low on his waist, he hums curiously at the sight of you sprawled out across his bed. No more than a minute later, you are tugging it loose from his frame and letting it pool around his ankles.

“Thought you said you were done,” Joel muses with a hint of teasing. You sit up from the bed on your knees and wrap your arms around his broad trap and shoulder muscles.

“I ain’t a quitter,” you mutter against Joel’s mouth, feeling his tongue glide along yours as he explores you freely.

He sheds your clothes, feeling your freshly showered skin and hair under his rough palms. He can’t help but touch you like you’re his, like he owns you. But no man can possess the wind.

You kiss as he slips you under the bed’s cool sheets, drunk on the way you move so pliantly under his guidance. His lips move to the slope of your neck, his greying whiskers scratching your skin before he washes over the irritation with more kisses.

Joel’s hands slip between your legs, cupping your clothed center in one hand. Your eyes light up at the friction, mewling up a moan of his name as he massages over the wet spot growing on your panties.

“She’s already soaked, darlin’. You been thinkin’ ‘bout this?” Joel muses, sitting up properly to peel your shirt off your body, two fingers curling around the hem of your panties and chucking them mindlessly on the floor.

“Joel,” you whisper breathlessly as he’s about to slip down between those pretty legs of yours.

“What?” He asks, damn near annoyed.

“I can’t wait,” you beg breathlessly, his eyes meeting yours. “I-I can’t, I’m beggin’ you, please. It’s been a long day.”

Joel sighs but ultimately nods. It’s not what he wants, but sometimes you both need a quick fix.

Joel’s body parts your legs, a grunt escaping the depth of his throat as he ruts his hips against your own.

“Good idea,” he mutters against your mouth, leaning down and distracting himself with your kisses as he lines his length up and down your soaking center.

You sharply inhale as he enters and the sound is music to his ears. He feels your nails carving into his back muscles as he sinks himself in deeper deeper deeper, both of you panting with eagerness by the time his hips are flush with your own, lost in where you end and he begins.

You let out a string of moans as he reels himself back, only to return to your depths with a snap of his hips that releases a shrill whine of his name from your throat. His forearms are buried in the fluff of the pillows on either side of your head, forehead against forehead, his hips grinding against you now.

The friction is enough to make your head spin. You can feel the coarse hair of his happy trail tickling your already anxious pearl.

“Fuck,” you huff out, letting your hands slip down his back, knowing that if you want him to pick up the pace, you’ll have to ignite his fire. In one quick movement, your hands drag themselves up Joel’s back, your nails creating etched lines that raise red once you finish at the very tops of his shoulders.

Joel releases a long, low groan in response as his eyes snap open to meet yours. The sting of pain creates heat along Joel’s spine. His jaw is wound tight as he brings his large hand to wrap around your pretty throat, thumb on your chin to force you into staring straight at him.

“Such a goddamn brat,” he growls, adding pressure to the column of your throat as he begins to pound into you harder and harder with each thrust of his hips. You cry out his name, a cacophony of your panting moans and your slick squelching against his hips fill your ears. The ecstasy of losing just a smidge of air is enough to make your eyes roll into the back of your head.

He’s obsessed with the way your eyes gloss over in lust, your body jerking up the bed with each powerful thrust he gives you. Your mouth hangs open, gasping for air that’s just out of your reach.

“You take it, baby girl, you keep takin’ it. She’s so fuckin’- goddamit, so fuckin’ good for me,” he pants, feeling the warm air dissolve against your skin as Joel begins to swell fatter inside of you.

Perfectly slick and warm, he loses himself in your pussy. You squeeze and choke him, his orgasm only building as you whimper how good he feels.

“Holy fuck, Joel, please please please, right there, ohmygod you’re gonna make me-” you gasp, your back arching off the mattress as you grip onto his forearm that’s still holding your delicate throat, your other hand gripping the hair at the nape of his neck. He knows to squeeze a little harder as you fall apart, the euphoria of the combination sending you over the edge.

Joel’s holding on for dear life, always focused on putting you first, always trying to prove your jokes of him being an old man wrong. But he can’t deny he’s nearly finished twice now, your pretty cunt all nice and warm for him.

What’s wrong with pushing you over the edge a little?

Joel abandons the hold on your throat as you still are witnessing the aftershocks of your orgasm, his two thick fingers circling over your swollen clit.

Joel smirks as your eyes snap open, your jaw dropping wide as you silently scream in pleasure. He nods sadistically, smirking as he overstimulates your already twitchy clit.

“You’re gonna give me another, right here, right now,” Joel grunts, stilling his hips as he’s buried to the hilt inside you, feeling your pussy clench around his cock as your gasps and strangled moans fill the room.

“Fuck, Joel I don’t think I can,” you cry out, bracing the wrist of the hand that’s still working figure-eights around your pearl. Joel watches as your chest rises and falls quickly, nipples at peaks as you continue to clench repeatedly around his cock.

“Know you can, baby, cum on this cock again. You’re a strong cowgirl, ain’t’cha? You been thinkin’ ‘bout this all day, getting this pretty girl drilled by me, know ya have.”

And he’s right. Shamefully so. Denying Joel looks good in and out of his cowboy attire is just nonsense. The way he rides his horse with his thighs snagged tight around its middle, gnawing on his toothpicks to ward off the need to smoke a cigarette or chew; at this point, it’s everything that he does that turns you on.

And maybe that’s why it’s so easy to give him a second one.

Your nails pierce into his skin as your hands grip his biceps, mewling and moaning something wrecked, feeling the warmth gather deep in your belly once more.

“Keep fuckin’ me, I didn’t say to stop,” you pant.

Joel disguises his laughter by meeting your lips with his own, giving you messy kisses that taste better than perfect ones. His hips and fingers work in tandem to force you over the edge. You’re shaking under him, your thigh muscles twitching with excitement, legs wrapping around his middle as he grows closer to his own finish.

Just as he feels like he’s going to give way, he can feel your pussy clenching around his aching cock, his tip brushing so perfectly against that spongy spot that sets your insides alight.

“Fuck,” he grits, ripping himself loose of your perfectly wasted cunt as he yanks over his length. One, two, three more times, and he’s spilling warm spend across your belly. The pretty splatters are like a Jackson Pollock. He stares in awe at how pretty you look getting finished on.

The bed dips as he falls into place beside you. He doesn’t lay idle. He reaches for some tissues from his bedside table, politely wiping away his mess as you stare at him with lustful eyes. You were so fucked out. Sorta cute.

“Quit,” he mutters, avoiding your eyes.

“You ain’t as old as I thought you were.” You whisper, a smirk tugging on the corners of your mouth.

Joel chuckles softly at your familiar tease. He's heard it countless times, but it never ceases to make him roll his eyes and pull you closer to him. He kisses your forehead affectionately, his voice carrying a hint of playful banter.

“You gonna keep remindin' me about my age every chance you get? Don’t stop ya from comin’ back each night.”

You lay your head on his chest and listen to his heart thump.

Joel’s got one arm slung around your shoulders, the other on your thigh that’s draped across his middle. His strong hand works slowly into your tired muscles. You play with the greying curls on his chest, taking note of the dark, nearly black ones still speckled throughout.

“Goodnight, old cowboy.” You say, patting his chest, hearing his slow laughter rumble from his chest.

“G’night, pain in my ass.”

main masterlist | notifications blog

#joel miller #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal the last of us #pedro pascal joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #tlou #tlou fic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel tlou

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josephus-miller · 2 years ago

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saw the absolute coolest car the other day

#alabama dirt man #queer #of course you have alabama dirt man and pronouns #SO many pronouns.

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bumblesimagines · 7 months ago

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Burning Love

Request: Yes or No

Summary: As the eldest son and heir to the Iron Throne, Prince (Y/N) Targaryen has many responsibilities; most of which his darling sister hopes to share with him one day.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

TW/CW: Targcest/Incest (Full-blooded Brother-Sister), Aemma lives!! and Alicent is not a childbride, mentions of stillbirths and miscarriages (Aemma's pregnancies)

Collecting HOTD oneshots like pokemon cards at this point

~~~

It was known that Targaryens had... questionable traditions. Traditions those with outsider perspective could only force themself to understand.

There was the act of putting a dragon egg in the cradle of a babe and hoping the egg would hatch sometime soon after to ensure the babe was bonded to a loyal protector they'd grow up alongside of; a tradition started by Rhaena Targaryen, eldest daughter of King Aenys I and Queen Alyssa Velaryon. Targaryens were Dragonriders, bonded with the very beasts they used to conquer the lands and pull them all into one kingdom (with the exception of Dorne, of course). They cremated their dead, a custom from Old Valyria, often with the help of a dragon belonging to their closest kin.

And of course, the most infamous and often looked down upon custom, wedding kin to kin. Another custom from Old Valyria that many followers of the Seven turned their cheek upon, for they found the act of wedding siblings to siblings and so forth (apart from cousin to cousin) a sin. Faithful followers could voice their complaints as much as they wished, but Targaryens were kings, queens, princes, and princesses. Nobody could or would stop them from keeping their bloodline pure if they so wished.

Descending from a long, historic, and proud family, Rhaenyra grew up listening and learning the tales of those who'd come before her. Aegon the Conquer and his faithful sister-wives, Rhaenys and Visenya; the many rebellions and fighting brought on during the lives of King Aenys I and King Maegor the Cruel; The Old King Jaehaerys who'd chosen her father, Viserys, as heir over his own late heir's daughter, Rhaenys; and of course, the histories written during the early stages of her father's reign.

Her beloved older brother had been two when King Jaehaerys named their father heir and three when their father ascended the throne whilst their beautiful mother, Aemma Arryn, carried her in the womb. The fourth person to ever hold little Rhaenyra in their arms had been her brother, closely supervised by their parents and the maester attending the birth, of course. With a healthy son and daughter, Viserys and Aemma hardly needed for more children, but they tried anyway. Their attempts never carried to term, however, and any little ones that did were either stillborn or died mere hours or days after birth.

Still, Rhaenyra never needed for any more siblings. Her brother was enough, in her humble opinion. He cared for her diligently, especially during their younger years when he eagerly wished to play with her, even if it meant the two of them being gently scolded at the end of the day for dirting Rhaenyra's dresses with mud and dirt. (Y/N) treated her as his equal, even showing her how to use a wooden sword when he began his training and helping prepare her for dragon-riding on Syrax. His own mount hardly needed much training in the Dragonpit, for the mighty Vermithor's first rider had been the Old King.

As time passed, the siblings were forced apart more often than Rhaenyra enjoyed. She'd made up her mind long ago that she and (Y/N) would one day be wed, and she'd be his formidable sister-wife. Their parents merely chuckled about it when she'd first told them at the age of seven, her squeaky voice and flushed cheeks only drawing cooing from Aemma and sweet smiles from Viserys. The absence of her brother had been stark, his time taken up by training, studying, and spending time with the Small Council, but Alicent Hightower had quickly taken his spot as Rhaenyra's companion.

However, in due time, (Y/N) became man-grown, and while Rhaenyra quickly followed with her flowering, as heir and prince, (Y/N) became the most eligible bachelor in all of Westeros. It took time for it to become apparent to Rhaenyra but her eyes and ears opened when she heard their parents speaking of it. Many families, highborn and lowborn, offered their daughters through letters or visits to Kings Landing. Lannisters, Baratheons, Starks, Brackens, Blackwoods, Tullys, and plenty more came forth. Even Otto Hightower made a passing comment about wedding Alicent to him. It was infuriating.

"In truth, I do not understand your irritation, Rhaenyra," Alicent spoke gently, her slender fingers working on embroidery. A flower she'd seen in the gardens, or something along those lines. Rhaenyra hadn't truly been paying attention to her dear friend. She'd been too focused on silently fuming at the sight of her brother showing one of the highborn ladies around the Red Keep. Every giggle, every blush, every bat of her eyelashes made Rhaenyra tick. "It's wonderful to watch one's brother fall in love."

"You wouldn't understand, Alicent." Rhaenyra sighed. "It is like the love King Jaeherys and the Good Queen Alysanne had."

Alicent faltered at her words, her head lifting to eye her friend with a small grimace. "You do remember our lessons, correct? King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne had to wed in secret, for they knew that not even their mother approved in fear of another uprising from the Faith. Nobody has made a fuss over your parents since they are cousins, but who knows what may happen if you wed (Y/N)."

"(Y/N) is everything King Jaehaerys was, Alicent. He is beloved by the Realm." Rhaenyra reminded her friend with a small smile, pushing herself off the cushioned seats and smoothing her hands over the front of her dress. Her earrings swung slightly when she tilted her head slightly to the side, the ends of them brushing against her shoulders. Her eyes tracked (Y/N) as he lifted the lady's hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles before departing. "He will be a good king, and if I could prove it, I would be a good queen. His queen." Her feet began moving automatically.

"Rhaenyra," The name tumbled out of Alicent's mouth, her hands fumbling with the items in hand. "Where are you going?"

Bunching up the skirt of her dress in her hands, Rhaenyra grinned over her shoulder and chuckled at the concerned look on Alicent's features that only grew at the sight of her mischievous glint. "To speak with my brother!"

With a goal in mind, Rhaenyra entered the castle and followed the distant figure of her brother as he cut down hallways with long strides until he reached his bedchambers. Rhaenyra took a moment to herself to catch her breath and rake her fingers through her long silver locks before she approached the doors and nodded for the guards to open them. She stepped inside, a smile appearing across her lips when (Y/N) turned to look at her.

"My favorite sister," (Y/N) cooed, taking a seat at his desk and unrolling a letter. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes in return, clasping her hands together behind her back and taking small steps toward him. He skimmed the contents of the letter, his face giving away nothing of what it spoke of. "Is there something you require, Nyra, or are you suffering from boredom? I have plenty of lords and ladies who'd be happy to keep you busy."

Rhaenyra scoffed quietly and (Y/N) gave a small grin. "I hear Father is urging you to find a wife."

"The Small Council is urging him to urge me, more like. They believe it is time to begin having children. Seeing as Father and Mother had great difficulty, they wish for me to have an heir by the time I ascend the throne to ensure there won't be issues later on." (Y/N) explained, coiling the letter back up and pulling out a blank paper. He dipped his quill in ink and began writing. "Otto has been... more friendly as of recently. He speaks incredibly highly of Lady Alicent."

"You'd tell me if you were interested in someone, wouldn't you?" Rhaenyra reached over the desk to pluck the quill from his fingers, setting it aside and raising her brows at him. (Y/N) slumped back in his seat and laced his fingers over his midsection, a hint of amusement twinkling in his eyes. Rhaenyra rounded the table and without thinking twice, she plopped down on his thigh.

"Nyra,"

"You know as well as I do who you should wed, (Y/N). I know what a good queen should be, and I do not care about status or riches like the families of those ladies do. We have the blood of the dragon in our veins. Nobody would truly understand us." Rhaenyra spoke softly, her bottom lip slightly jutting out as she placed her palm over his cheek. His own hands unlaced, one moving to press against her back.

"The Small Council-"

"Fuck the Small Council." Rhaenyra huffed, earning a quiet chuckle from her brother. "You are the prince, the heir. Whatever it is you choose, they must deal with it. It is their job to counsel, to offer their advice and opinions, not to dictate what you do. We could mount Syrax and Vermithor and fly elsewhere to wed in the customs of Old Valyria."

A gentle sigh escaped (Y/N), and he leaned forward to press a delicate kiss to Rhaenyra's shoulder. The princess relaxed at the action, her hand moving past his cheek to the back of his head. (Y/N)'s lips curled up. "You are insufferable." He told her with a gentle laugh before leaning in to press their mouths together. He drew back too quickly for Rhaenyra's liking. "But a good ruler is a patient one, Nyra. If you wish for us to wed, or to lay together-" He brushed their lips together teasingly. "-you must wait. Father and Mother will be easy to convince."

"Does it matter if we wait?" Rhaenyra tilted her head and batted her lashes coyly, the feigned innocence prompting (Y/N) to roll his eyes. She rose from his lap and dropped her hands to his, tugging on them until he stood up from the chair. She smiled widely, devilishly even, and slung her arms around his shoulders. "We will be wed, regardless. It will not matter."

"I have things I must do, Nyra." (Y/N) gave a heavy sigh and shrugged his shoulders, his hands coming to rest on her waist. "As I said, you must be patient. If you wish to speed things along, you should speak with Mother. She'll always be the key to winning Father over." He told her and planted a kiss on her temple before settling back down on the chair.

"Will we be like that someday?" Rhaenyra asked softly, stepping out of the way so he could resume his letter. She toyed with the rings along her fingers, the thought of becoming one of those couples who genuinely cared for each other bringing a smile to herself. It was a desire all ladies had. While sons could marry whichever woman of age they desired, ladies had to hope the husbands their fathers or elder brothers chose were good men. She'd seen far too many times the faces of girls her age married and chained to men old enough to be their grandfathers.

(Y/N) paused his writing and lifted his head to look at her, offering a reassuring smile. "Someday." He nodded.

"I look forward to it, then."

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neverendingford · 2 years ago

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#storytime sexcapades #hooked up with a guy and found out he goes to the church that the pastor was from (the one who crashed our Tuesday queer support group)#so uh. that was weird. I don't feel too weird about it because I've processed it by now. but hmmm #at least I have a good excuse now to not see him again #but also.. it is my duty in life to hook up with chubby men and call them beautiful.#but yeah. not looking to regularly hang out with anyone who's publicly Christian. no thanks I don't need to hear about it #yes I'm saying Christians should be closeted eat dirt I don't care.#he was nice though. very clearly respected my pronouns and was pretty chill. I just am very much not interested in religions individuals #tag talk

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consciousexe · 7 months ago

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giggled at this and then thought about it, yeah I would shit my pants.

oc concept????? long horse nowhere king jester ????? guy

#also thinking about the behaviour of this guy #it chases players out of the facility before another jester pops just so she can hunt the other jester #they eat other jesters and chasing players away is just so that he can locate the other jester without any witnesses #also dont mind me using inconsistent pronouns in this; im testing out which pronouns work best for xem #if a boxed jester is already near dirt then di immediately pops and strangles the box with der body until the other jester emerges #also di/der/dirt as pronouns is highkey sick as hell #might use that for this long jester #actually I might just do all neopronouns for this one chat #filthy neopronouns specifically because this guy is filthy and loves it #lethal company #lethal company jester #long horse #rambling

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the-oblivious-writer · 25 days ago

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A Loving Distraction

Wednesday Addams x Reader

One-shot

Summary: Wednesday attempts what’s meant to be a “study” session, but being the distraction you are, you had other plans in mind.

Warning(s): kissing, established relationship, and no pronouns

Notes: dedicated to @101rizzlrr - ask and I shall deliver

You stare at your phone, thumb hovering over the text you're about to send to Wednesday. The message reads: "Meet me in the library? Promise to actually study this time."

The memory of your last "study session" brings a smile to your face. You'd spent more time debating the merits of different torture methods throughout history than actually reviewing for finals. Not that you minded - Wednesday's passionate defense of the rack over the iron maiden had been oddly endearing.

Your phone buzzes with her reply: "Bold of you to imply I was the distraction last time. But fine. West wing, third floor. Don't be late."

Twenty minutes later, you're climbing the worn stone steps of Nevermore Academy's library. The afternoon light filters through the Gothic windows, casting long shadows across the floor. You spot Wednesday at her usual table, surrounded by a fortress of leather-bound books. She's wearing her signature black dress, white collar crisp and perfect despite the late hour.

"You're four minutes late," she says without looking up from her notes.

"I brought a peace offering." You place a steaming cup of black coffee - no sugar, no cream - next to her elbow. "And I was delayed by Principal Weems giving her weekly lecture about proper uniform length to some poor first year."

"Excuses." But she takes the coffee, and you catch the slight softening around her eyes that passes for a smile in Wednesday's world. "I assume you're here because you're still struggling with Advanced Poisons?"

You slide into the chair across from her, pulling out your own textbook. "Some of us didn't grow up taste-testing deadly nightshade."

"Your loss. Mother always said it builds character." She reaches for your notebook, scanning your latest attempts at categorizing toxic fungi. "Your classification system is almost painfully wrong. Look at this - you've put death caps under 'slow-acting.' They can kill within 48 hours."

"Not everyone shares your enthusiasm for mortality rates," you tease, leaning closer to see where she's marking corrections in precise red ink. Her hair smells faintly of rain and graveyard dirt - a scent you've come to associate with comfort, oddly enough.

"Clearly. Which is why you need my help." She pauses, dark eyes flickering to yours. "Though I suppose there are worse ways to spend an afternoon than ensuring you don't accidentally poison yourself with basic mushroom identification."

"Aw, you do care."

"Don't be ridiculous." But her knee bumps yours under the table, and stays there.

The next hour passes in a comfortable rhythm of studying and bickering. Wednesday corrects your work with cutting efficiency, while you try to distract her by suggesting increasingly outlandish uses for non-lethal poisons. ("Think about it - just enough to make the entire school board mildly nauseated during budget meetings.")

"Focus," she chides, but there's amusement lurking in her voice. "Unless you want to explain to your parents why you failed this semester."

"They'd understand. I'd just tell them I was distracted by my brilliant, beautiful girlfriend who happens to be a walking encyclopedia of death."

"Flattery will get you nowhere." She turns a page with deliberate precision. "And that's not even close to my most impressive quality."

You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand. "Oh? Do tell."

"I can name at least fifteen ways to incapacitate someone with items found in this library alone." Her eyes meet yours, challenging. "Would you like a demonstration?"

"Tempting, but I think the librarian is still mad about last time." You reach across the table, fingers brushing her wrist. "Besides, I can think of better uses for our time."

Wednesday arches an eyebrow. "Can you now?"

The tension shifts, electric and familiar. You stand slowly, walking around the table until you're beside her chair. She turns to face you, expression unreadable but for the slight catch in her breath when you lean down.

"Much better uses," you murmur, and then you're kissing her. Her lips are cool against yours, tasting of coffee and secrets. One of her hands finds its way to your collar, pulling you closer with that controlled intensity that is so uniquely Wednesday.

You break apart at the sound of footsteps approaching, though you don't go far. Wednesday's normally pale cheeks have the faintest hint of color, and you can't help feeling a bit smug about that.

"That was…" she starts.

"Distracting?" you offer with a grin.

"Entirely inappropriate for a study session." But she's fighting a smile now, the real kind that makes her look almost human. "We have an exam tomorrow."

"True." You brush a strand of dark hair from her face. "But I'd argue that was an excellent practical demonstration of biological responses to stimuli."

Wednesday rolls her eyes, but she's definitely smiling now. "Your scientific method needs work."

"Then I suppose we'll need more practice." You gesture to the towering shelves around you. "We have the whole library."

"You're impossible." She stands, gathering her books with precise movements. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"To find somewhere more private for your… research." She gives you a look that makes your heart skip. "Unless you'd rather stay here and actually study?"

You grab your bag, already following her toward the stacks. "Lead the way."

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A/N: nice little one-shot before I post more angst

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x gn!reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x you #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday addams

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