#hunted x broken
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since this is turning into a Slay The Princess blog through no volition of my own,
I might as well talk about my ships.
because this is a fandom.
Paranoid x Hero:
come on. for one there's their banter in the nightmare route, or any route really. they sound like an old married couple. plus I like the idea of physically-weak-yet-clearly-powerful healer × physically-strongish-yet-apparently-weaker hero. like, paranoid is the ultimate support character and hero is the ultimate protagonist.
and the way they would both understand how it feels to feel constantly pressured and to second-guess every single move. because that's the thing about being a hero and trying to please everyone; because that's the thing about having anxiety and scraping for every inch of sanity amidst the terrifying unknown. the expectations. the desperate need to do the right thing, yet the immense urge to deny it all. they initially won't get along too well but given enough time they'd both get it and. stuff. yk annoyances to lovers
plus I kinda prefer the idea of platonic contrahero, and I kinda think contrarian would be aroace because he's just contrary like that. also the idea of contrarian being some little thing that just spawned and now the other voices, especially hero, have to deal with this insufferable kid...gold.
Cheated x Witch/Thorn:
trust issues wife x trust issues husband. it kind of speaks for itself. now I need to watch a playthrough where they get cheated on thorn because everything I've seen just gives them smitten but I've heard it's possible and COME ON I NEED TO SEE IT
trust issues power couple, as I said, except they're both coping in vastly different ways as well. one of them just can't stand the idea of surrender or defeat or the like. he sees life as a competition, except it's one that's indefinitely rigged against him. a game he can never win, and that's why he needs to win it. that's why he can't ever resort to others' help, because they're just going to push him down even lower than he already is. he can't risk it. it was betrayal that caused this fall of his in the first place, after all. and it was distrust that birthed him.
and the thorn is completely given to surrender. she's lost all hope and just accepted it all, but for the very same reasons as cheated. a game that she can never win and that's why she shouldn't bother. but she still doesn't want to trust because it was betrayal that caused this fall of hers in the first place. like him, she was born of distrust. and when she did win once, what then? it wasn't fair. it wasn't a true victory at all.
either way the two of them have major issues and I feel like they could help each other through it. they can empathize with each other (maybe with hero as a couples therapist) and work through this together. plus, I feel like they'd have pretty entertaining banter one on one.
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okay, I wont elaborate on everything else beyond this line because I could care a little less and I'm lazy but you could send a few asks if you're curious I guess
Opportunist x Smitten
Cold x Spectre
Broken x Hunted
Stubborn x Adversary
Long Quiet x Princess Princess/Heart of the Shifting Mound
#stp#slay the princess#stp hero#stp paranoid#stp cheated#stp thorn#stp witch#hero x paranoid#cheated x thorn#opportunist x smitten#hunted x broken
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#mydear hatchet man#today im harvesting you#gavril#john doe#lurking for love#error 143#your boyfriend#boyfriend to death#frost bite#the stranger from the bus stop#tentador leches#broken colors#mushroom oasis#14 days with you#house hunted#the price of flesh#somethings wrong with sunny day jack#monster x mediator#jacob alden#tate frost#lawrence oleander#ren hana#strade#micah yujin
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Epel: SOMEBODY COME GITTT HERRR SHE'S DANCING LIKE A STRIPPERRRR
Yuu: *gently vibing*
Rook/Malleus: *bursting in the door* WHERE?!?
Epel: See, I told ya we could lure 'em in if we tried.
#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland incorrect quotes#incorrect twisted wonderland#incorrect twst#disney twisted wonderland#disney twst#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland headcannon#rook hunt#rook hunt x reader#pomefiore x reader#pomefiore#twst epel#epel felmier#vil schoenheit#twst yuu#twisted wonderland yuu#my 1 year hiatus was broken by nonsense my apologies everyone#malleus draconia x reader#twisted wonderland malleus#malleus draconia#diasomnia#twst malleus#twst mc
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hi tumblr i’m making a jegulus /wolfstar sci fi webcomic
first chapter will be free and shall drop hopefully mid-september
#it’s a cyberpunk futuristic au btw#regulus is a human-turned-android#remus breaks him out bc they’re besties#platonic moonwater#also it’s all a metaphor for transness#and being a stranger to your body#transgender#trans regulus#because i will always make him trans xoxo#also james is the detective that tries to hunt down regulus#he doesn’t understand the lore behind why regulus was broken out#they obviously fall in gay love#love at first sight#ok time for actual tags ig#jegulus#wolfstar#futuristic#marauders au#the marauders era#hp marauders#fanart#marauders comic#webcomic#comic book#sci fi art#dystopian#cyberpunk#androids#james x regulus#sirus x remus
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LaLa seeing the kids (Jacks and Castor) be mean and evil ✨ this
LaLa seeing them grow up soft and be mean now that
LaLa saw them grow into what they are now, she lost her sense of right or wrong with them!
I wanna talk about the Valors they were probably close to. They were locked up when they still young, and noble, and stupid enough to believe if we did the right thing it would all work out.
They're gonna wake up in a new world, in a new time, and what would they want? Familiarity. A son, and brother who was the noblest of all, who was so beloved an entire nation genuinely mourned his death; a friend, a lover, who loved jewellery so much a dragon thought her treasure; a boy they all knew, who had a heart of gold and wore his emotions on his sleeve.
And what would they find? A boy who is an undead monster (and cannot look people in the eye, lest he kill them); a girl who wears threats like jewellery (and stabs people hard enough to kill at the slightest inconvenience); a boy who can kill you with just his words (and makes people think he doesn't even know what emotions are).
They saw these three grow up. They remember good children, who could be heroes, and they're all villains. They're all broken, and bleeding, and hurt and they would never, ever admit it.
I want to believe the happy, beloved rulers image of the Valors and if that were true, wouldn't seeing them all like this be absolutely heartbreaking?
(I know there were only five year's worth of measurements in the Hollow, but look at their current ages. They wouldn't have started carving on a friend's house right of the bat, so they all likely met when they were 10-11)
#guys honora LOOKED at him and KNEW this was JACKS OF THE HOLLOW.#the hollow#the good guy#the soft guy#the guy who wouldn't hunt a girl#no matter what#they were DEFINITELY locked up before he became cursed/a fate#i headcanon lala a few years older than the trio btw#this is gonna be sad but I don't think sg is gonna extrapolate on it#evajacks#evangeline fox#jacks prince of hearts#jacks x evangeline#ouabh#tbona#acftl#once upon a broken heart#the ballad of never after#a curse for true love
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WHUMPTOBER 2024: PROMPTS LIST
Welcome to Whumptober 2024 — Seventh Time's a Charm!
Please make sure to read the Event Info and FAQ below carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.
This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.
This year's playlist can be found here.
The 'Anatomy of a Whumptober Prompt' post can be found here.
And our 'Resources for Writing Sensitive Topics' post is here.
We’re very excited to see the community come together for another year of Whumptober! Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!
Best of luck and happy whumping,
Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro
(Text versions of the prompts, as well as event information, rules and FAQ are posted below the cut!)
Whumptober 2024 Prompt List
No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK
Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.” (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)
No. 2: TRUST ISSUES
Amusement Park | Role Reversal | “You got away with the crime while the knife's in my back.” (Charlotte Sands, Rollercoaster)
No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE
Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you."
No. 4: HALLUCINATIONS
Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | “You're still alive in my head.” (Billy Lockett, More)
No. 5: SUNBURN
Healing Salve | Heatstroke | "If my pain will stretch that far." (Lottery Winners, Burning House)
No. 6: NOT REALISING THEY'RE INJURED
Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | "It's not my blood."
No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES
Unconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | "It's us or them."
No. 8: SLEEP DEPRIVATION
Isolation Chamber | Forced to Stay Awake | "Leave the lights on." (Coldplay, Midnight)
No. 9: OBSESSION
Broken Window | Bruises | “Frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble.” (Fall Out Boy, Irresistible)
No. 10: BLOW TO THE HEAD
Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."
No. 11: SEEING DOUBLE
Convenience Store | Loneliness | “Leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist.” (Taylor Swift, Illicit Affairs)
No. 12: STARVATION
Underground Caverns | Cannibalism | "Just a little more."
No. 13: TEAM AS A FAMILY
Familial Curse | Multiple Whumpees | "Death will do us part." (Set It Off, Partner's In Crime)
No. 14: LEFT FOR DEAD
Hunting Gear | Blackmail | “Because I want you to know what it feels like to be haunted” (tiLLie, kooL aiD mAn)
No. 15: CHILDHOOD TRAUMA
Painful Hug | Moment of Clarity | "I did good, right?"
No. 16: NECROSIS
Swamp | Wound Cleaning | "No, I can't feel anything."
No. 17: NOWHERE ELSE TO GO
Ruined Map | Shipwrecked | "We had a good run."
No. 18: REVENGE
Unreliable Narrator | Loss of Identity | “I see what's mine and take it.” (Panic! at the Disco, Emperor's New Clothes)
No. 19: BLOOD TRAIL
Abandoned Cabin | One Way Out | "Is there anybody alive out there?" (Bruce Springsteen, Radio Nowhere)
No. 20: EMOTIONAL ANGST
Shoulder to Cry On | Giving Permission to Die | "It's not your fault."
No. 21: BODY HORROR
Body Horror | Tattoo Gun | Spirit Possession | “Let the bedsheet soak up the tears.” (Apparat feat. Soap & Skin, Goodbye)
No. 22: BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES
Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good."
No. 23: FORCED CHOICE
Public Display | Broken Pedestal | "I'm doing this for you."
No. 24: RADIATION POISONING
Collapsed Building | Equipment Failure | “I never knew daylight could be so violent.” (Florence + The Machine, No Light, No Light)
No. 25: SURGERY
Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."
No. 26: NIGHTMARES
Breakfast Table | Parting Words of Regret | “I'm haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.” (Poe, Haunted)
No. 27: VOICELESS
Laboratory | Muzzled | “I have no mouth and I must scream.”
No. 28: DENIAL
CCTV | Exposure | "They caught me red handed."
No. 29: FATIGUE
Labyrinth | Burnout | "Who said you could rest?"
No. 30: RECOVERY
Hospital Bed | Holding Back Tears | "What have I done?"
No. 31: ASKING FOR HELP
Therapy | Making Amends | "I'm alive, I'm just not well." (Elliot Lee, Alive, Not Well.)
Alternatives List:
Body Swap
Communication Barrier
Finding Old Messages
Forgotten
Friendly Fire
Motion Sickness
No-Holds-Barred Beatdown
Regret
Secrets Revealed
Shivering
Survivor's Guilt
Time Loop
Used As Bait
Venom
Vermin
Event Info & Rules
WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is “flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be a reference to an ‘old flame’ - an old relationship. It’s truly down to you!
In total, there are 4 prompts for each day. These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives. We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks. There is also a list of 15 alternative prompts that can be subbed in for any day, again to give participants as much creative freedom as possible.
Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.
When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag it with:
#whumptober2024 …..(the event tag)
#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(theme number)
#bruises, #stabbing, …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)
#altprompt …..(if you use an altprompt, tag the post with the number of the prompt you replace)
#fandom or #OC, …..(ironman, original content, oc, etc.)
#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)
#teeth, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add “tw” in front but only use the word/trigger itself)
#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)
#your own tags go here
PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]
Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.
Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed. This is based on trust and we will not check this.
Frequently Asked Questions
Please read this before you send an ask!
TIMELINE
July: Trope voting form released. Late August: Prompt list is released for at least four weeks of preparation time. Tropes cannot be posted earlier than August 25th because of Moderator obligations in real life. (But, you know, go ahead and start writing/drawing, and add the themes in later, if you want!) September: Do as much or as little on your works as you want. You can prepare everything in advance or let September go by with vibes and start working in October. It’s up to you. October 1st: Challenge begins! A storm of whump breaks upon us all! During this time, some posts will be reblogged to the whumptober archive blog. We open the yearly AO3 collection for posting (optional). November 1st: The challenge is officially over! Completionist form opens for those who want to be included in the hall-of-fame. Early November: We release completionist and participant badges, solicit feedback, and post a hall-of-fame list of completionists by the 10th.
PARTICIPATION AND COMPLETION
Q: What counts as participation? Create or continue at least one work inspired by one of this year’s prompts. Q: What counts as completion? Creating work(s) inspired by at least one prompt from each day (or alts), for a total of 31 unique prompts. Q: Do I need to create 31 works? No. You can, if you want. Or you can create one work that you add to every day with a new prompt. Or several works that combine prompts. You can also update an existing work by adding new material with the current prompts. Q: Do I need to post my works somewhere to be a completionist or a participant? No. Q: How do you know I actually completed the challenge? We’ll take your word for it! Q: Do I have to finish my work(s) to be a completionist? No, you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish them in October, but if you want it to count towards being a completionist, you must have completed 31 prompts by the end of the month. So for example, if you’re writing a long fic and you fit 31 different prompts into the writing you did in October, it’s okay if that fic isn’t finished by the time October ends, you’ll still be a completionist. Q: Is co-writing/illustrating allowed? Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you. Q: Is there a min/max limit on word count for written works? No. Q: Is there a min/max limit of quality for art? No. Q: Do I have to do something each day to be a completionist? No. You can skip days whenever you want, and as long as 31 daily prompts (or alts) are in your works done in October, you can be a completionist. For example, if you wrote a 1000-word ficlet that covers prompts in days 2, 3, and 17, you can check all three days off your list even though it’s only one work. Q: Is this challenge just for fics? No! Artworks, GIFsets, headcannons, rec lists, poetry, moodboards, or any other creative work is encouraged. Q: Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges? Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.
PROMPTS
Q: How do the prompts work? There are FOUR prompts per day: a theme and three ideas. You can use one, two, three, or all four prompts for each day. If you don’t like any of the daily prompts, you can substitute one of the ALT prompts instead. Q: How strictly/literally should we interpret the prompts? As literally or as figuratively as you want. For example, if the theme is WATER, that could mean drowning, waterboarding, raining, swimming, take place underwater, be lost at sea, construct a metaphor about a character’s mood that changes like a flowing river, crying, or whatever else you can think of that fits that theme. Q: Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many? No limit and combine as many as you’d like. If you create a work that checks off multiple prompts, that work will count for a fill of multiple prompts. You need to address 31 different prompts to be an official completionist, but you don’t have to produce 31 separate works.
WORKS
Q: What’s whump? Hurting a character, whether that’s physically, emotionally, intellectually, psychologically, or any other way you can think of. Comfort afterwards is optional. Angst is emotional whump, so it counts. Q: How do I know if it’s whumpy enough? If your character is just mildly inconvenienced, it probably needs more whump. However, no participant has to prove whumpiness to the mods. Whatever you write is up to you. Q: What kind of characters can I create for? Anything. Generic “whumpee,” OC, PC, NPC, major characters, minor characters, or whatever you want. There are no limits. Q: Does it have to take place in a specific fandom? No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want. Q: Can I create AI-created works? We will not reblog or promote any works we know to be generative AI-created. Q: Is there anything we’re not allowed to write? As long as it contains whump and is based on our prompts, it’s fine. Please courtesy tag your works if you post them so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences. Q: What about sex, minor characters, and potentially disturbing content? You can create whatever works are legal in your country and post them accordingly. Please courtesy tag anything you think might be objectionable if you post to Tumblr so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences.
POSTING
Q: Where can I post my work? Post where and how you want. You don’t even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive. There is an AO3 archive for Whumptober 2024, as well as the parent collection for works completed outside of the event. Q: Can I start posting early? You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? We won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st. Q: Can I post late? Yes. For the sake of our hardworking Post Fairies, only a day’s themes will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive each day of October. But you can post whenever. Some of us are still working on and posting Whumptober fics from years ago. Q: Do I have to use your tags? Only on Tumblr and only if you want us to reblog your work on @whumptober-archive. Q: How do I have my works reblogged to the archive? Properly tagged posts will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive. If you want the official archive blog to reblog you, post on Tumblr and tag correctly (see this FAQ link for more info on tagging). Please note not all posts will be reblogged each day. Q: Can we @ you? For questions and comments, of course. We’ll be getting a flood of notifications, so if you really want us to see something send an ask. Q: Can I cross post on other blogs? Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable, as long as they allow cross-posting (to us). You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once. If you post some works under your main and others under an alt blog, that’s fine for completionist purposes. Q: Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms? Of course! We’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there, which can be found here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the personal boundaries of any whumpers in your social circle (don’t out anyone as a participant who would prefer not to be outed).
Most importantly, have fun, create, and enjoy all the whump posted this October!
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Help My Family Survive and Find Safety in Gaza
Dear friends and merciful people
Imagine losing everything that is dear to you in one day. This is the harsh reality that my family is facing in Gaza. I am is Hasan Alserr, and I communicate with you with a heart full of pain and a desperate call for help.
On July 28, 2024, my world crashed when my mother and sister were tragically killed during an attack on the tent displaced in the safe areas of Muwasi Khan Yunis, as the Israeli occupation claims. Our family of seven has been destroyed - my father, my only sister four brothers. Now, we are only five people, struggling to survive under horrific conditions.
Donate Here:
Our home has been completely demolished and homeless. In addition, my father has the only source of income that supports us, as we have been displaced several times, and every transition strips us of stability and hope. One day the walls were safe, leaving the survivors' family in a temporary tent, holding on to hope amid their broken dreams.
We desperately need your support to survive and eventually evacuate from Gaza. Your donations will provide basic supplies, help us secure safer living conditions, and help evacuate efforts. Every contribution, no matter how small, will make a big difference in our battle for survival.
Your donation and sharing of our story will greatly help us build our lives, provide the necessary protection for all of us, and provide the main necessities of life, including food, treatment, and basics.
Thank you for your kindness and standing with us during this critical time.
With sincere appreciation,
Hasan Alserr,
I attach these photos and videos to you, because they convey my story more realistically.
To follow up on what happens first to my family, on Instagram, @hasanalserr or X (Twitter) @hassanalserr7
Donate here
@nabulsi @ibtisams-blog @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @vakarians-babe @7amaspayrollmanager @fairuzfan @fallahifag @sayruq @humanvoreture @kaapstadgirly @sar-soor @dimonds456-art @plomegranate @commissions4aid-international @nabulsi @soon-palestine @communitythings @palestinegenocide @vakarian-shepard @ghost-and-a-half @7amaspayrollmanager @kaapstadgirly @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @feluka @marnotrawstw-o @toughknit @flower-tea-fairies @feluka @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @vivisection-gf @communistchameleon @troythecatfish @the-bastard-king @4ft10tvlandfangirl @the-bastard-king
#Gaza #free palestine #palestinian genocide #save palestine #palabras #i stand with palestine #gaza #free gaza #gaza strip #star wars #football #footgoddess #goals #help #donita donata #$h tumblr #x twitter #instagram #architect #tumblr milestone #architecture#music#muslim #muscle #makeup #menswear #stray kids #love #love quotes #self love #Art #Artwork #ArtOfTheDay #ArtistOnTumblr #Illustration #Photography #PhotoOfTheDay #PhotographyLovers #TumblrPhotography #Fashion #OOTD (Outfit Of The Day) #Style #FashionBlog #StreetStyle #Writing #WritersOfTumblr #Poetry #Storytelling #Music #MusicLovers #NewMusic #MusicRecommendation #MusicBlog #Travel #TravelPhotography #Wanderlust #TravelBlog #Explore #Lifestyle #LifeStyleBlogger #DailyLife #Inspiration #SelfCare #Quotes #Inspiration #QuoteOfTheDay #Wisdom #LifeQuotes #Memes #Funny #MemeOfTheDay #Humor #InternetCulture #Food #Foodie #FoodPor #Recipe #FoodPhotography#Fitness, #Workout #FitnessMotivation #HealthyLiving, #FitLife#Books, #BookRecommendations #Reading, #BookLover #Bibliophile #DIY #Crafts #Handmade #DIYProjects #Crafty#Gaming #Gamer #VideoGames #GameOn #GamingCommunity #Animals #Pets #CuteAnimals #AnimalLovers #PetPhotography #Nature #NaturePhotography #Outdoors #NatureLovers #NatureWalk #Technology #Tech #TechNews #Gadgets #Innovation #MentalHealth #SelfCare #MentalHealthAwareness #Wellness #Mindfulness #Aesthetic #TumblrAesthetic #VisualArt #AestheticBlog #Artistic
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For Cryin’ Out Loud
pairing: post-outbreak! joel miller x afab! reader
how to help the palestinians and what it means to write for the last of us characters
word count: 7.9k
description: living with joel is complicated, especially when you can’t sleep due to nightmares. when you find yourself in his bed, you can’t help yourself. but joel sure can. give him a day to mull it over.
warnings: pretty slow burn, kinda forced proximity, kinda angsty, unspecified age gap (don’t like it, don’t read it), joel gives you tons of nicknames (darlin’, kiddo, etc.), discussions of nightmares and possible mental illnesses, some fluff, reader isn’t really described, joel is kinda a gaslighter, he’s also a bit pervy, unprotected p in v (wrap it y’all), oral (f! receiving), dirty talk, joel like worships you!!!!!, joel licks his fingers clean, giving genitalia pronouns, joel’s a big boy. think that’s it. lemme know what I missed!
author’s note: I really enjoyed writing this. the idea is pretty simple but I love domestic jackson!joel. I promise i’ll try to switch it up soon and write something that isn’t jackson!era lol. support your fav fics by reblogging and commenting!! thanks love ya <3
For some reason, you always find yourself standing at the threshold of the front door when you cannot sleep.
The air was especially brisk tonight. You wrapped yourself in a gray chunky sweater you found in the lost and found in Jackson’s thrift store, hoping to regain some warmth. Your bed may have been comfortable, but it was the place where nightmares usually plagued you.
It was too late to be awake, and you knew that if you were caught, you would hear it from Joel. He always reprimanded you. Every time he caught you up late, it was like your father woke up and found your hand in the cookie jar.
The dynamic between you two had changed since arriving in Jackson, and you almost resented him for it. When it was just you, him, and Ellie, you were managing a family unit. Joel was always the protective father, you being the mom or the voice of reason, and Ellie being chaos.
When Ellie and Joel’s relationship shifted, he took on a fatherly role for you. It bothered you. A lot.
In a moment of contemplation, you hear footsteps coming down the steps behind you.
He’s wearing flannel pajama pants and no shirt, his hairy tummy something you did not see often.
“What are you doing awake?” He questions, his voice groggy with a twinge of annoyance.
You do not feel like explaining yourself, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to get out of this situation without a justification.
You huff, leaning your back against the door frame so you can get a full look at the broad man. “Can’t sleep. Thought staring into the darkness would help.”
He grunts, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “How’s that workin’ for you, sweetheart?”
You could not close your eyes without the haunting dreams that seemed lively and so real. Every night, you had the same recurring ones. You were being chased, hunted, or murdered. Or all of the above. You would wake in a cold sweat, not wanting to shut your eyelids ever again.
“Hm,” You say, staring back outside for a brief moment, “‘Was better when you weren’t looking over my shoulder.”
He chuckles, “Get back to bed.”
“I can’t, Joel.”
“You can and will. You’re no good when you’re tired.”
“If I close my eyes, Joel, I will just have the same goddamn nightmares I have every night. And I will end up doing what I’m doing now, which is trying to get some fresh air to forget them.”
“You’re not gonna forget ‘em with some fresh air. You just need to… get over them.”
The breeze picks up as soon as he says it, almost like the world knew the tension would have to be broken with some frigid air. You retort with, “And how do you get over yours?”
"I just accept them," he says, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. "I don't have time to dwell on them. There's always more important things to worry about."
"I'm more tired in the morning when I just endure them." You explain, trying not to cry about it. But you are so sick of them. The same thing every night.
“I get it. One day they will subside, I’m sure of it. But for now, you gotta-”
You just want him to shut up. At the same time, your mind is trying to remember the last time you did not have a nightmare. The memory makes your stomach churn. “You remember that one time we were forced to share that sleeping bag? Back in Pittsburgh?”
“Yeah,” His tone was wary, “What about it?”
"That was the first night I didn't have it." You explain, your voice a bit shaking at the insinuation. You don’t want to face the fact that Joel, the man that you have known for going on 10 years, kept your nightmares at bay. The same man who continuously rejected you and told you that he was old enough to be your dad. The same man that told you no, I don’t like you like that. I never will. That Joel.
“And? Why are you bringing this up now?”
"Because every night I go to my bed and I'm forced to face them alone. When you were there... they didn't even bother holding my mind hostage.”
He took another step closer, closing some of the distance between you two. He towers over you and you can’t help but stare up at him in awe. Joel has always been a complicated part of your life. You consider him your sexual awakening, honestly, but he will never ever know that. Over the years, he’s only gotten more handsome.
But now, he has a curious expression written all over his face.
"Are you saying you want to share a bed with me?" he asks, his voice gruff and low.
You suck in a deep breath, not wanting to answer. You knew that was stepping over a boundary for Joel. He liked his space. He didn’t like you impeding on that space, especially. Your bedroom was the furthest away from his for a reason.
"I don't know." You manage to say.
Joel's gaze darkened, his expression was completely unreadable. You wish you could read his mind, but you should be grateful you can not.
Because in Joel’s mind, he’s trying to formulate a way to convince you to stay away from him altogether. The wall he has built over the last decade was intentional. He did not want to hurt you any further. He already knew you had feelings for him, but he was an old man. He did not want to drag you into his mess, all the baggage he carried. He looked after you, he shared a home with you, and that’s it. Strictly platonic.
He shifted on his feet a little, unable to tear his eyes away from you. You shook like a little leaf.
"You don't know?" he repeated, his voice a low rumble.
You nod, "I don't know if I want that."
You do want that. But you want more, too. You knew you would be playing with fire. You would just be disappointed.
Joel’s temptations are buried deep but they still fester every now and again. Some days he would catch a glance at you getting dressed in the crack of your door and have to take a cold shower. As soon as he felt those emotions bubble in his chest, he would try to distract himself. Maybe he would take a longer patrol. Maybe he would go to the Tipsy Bison and try to find a woman to take home. That one never really worked.
“Well, what do you want then? Because standin’ at the door and letting all the cold air in ain’t gonna work for me or you.”
You look down at your picked-over fingernails and contemplate your next sentence. You don't want to be heartbroken in the morning when you wake up and he's there sleeping peacefully next to you and you're not... his.
"I want to sleep with you."
Joel was not expecting such a blunt response from you, but he appreciated you not beating around the bush about it. He gestures for you to step out of the doorway so he can shut the door, which you do.
He looked down at you, his eyes raking over your face, taking in the exhaustion and uncertainty.
"You sure?" he asked, his voice a gruff whisper.
You just nod as he locks the front door. You couldn’t believe you were doing this.
Joel couldn’t believe it either. Maybe it was the tiredness or the instincts he felt to protect you, but he was not mad at the idea of sharing his bed with you.
You signal for him to go upstairs, “You lead the way.”
-
Joel’s room was always off-limits to you. So when you step into his small little world, you take it all in.
The artwork around the room was mainly nature landscapes. He had a big dresser right at the room's entrance with picture frames of Sarah, Ellie, and other family members. You were even included in one photo—a picture of you and him on some horses from last year.
A shirt littered one side of the bed, so you took that as it was probably his side. Unfortunately for you, it was the right side. You felt a pang of guilt realizing you would probably end up restlessly lying in Joel’s bed if you were stuck on the left.
Before he can pull back the blanket for himself, you stop him.
“Uh, can I sleep on that side?”
He completely halts in his motions, turning his head towards you with a blank expression. “My side? Why?”
You lick your lips, already regretting this whole thing.
“Because I have had this superstition since I was a kid that I could only sleep on the right side of the bed."
Joel wants to laugh, but he doesn’t. He can tell you are at war in your head about the question, your expression practically anticipating his rejection.
"Superstitions, huh?" he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips."You and your weird beliefs."
You watch as he crosses to the other side of the bed and lifts the blanket. Is he actually letting you have his side? Maybe he doesn’t hate you.
“You could also call it a compulsion, but superstitions seem more fun and less like a mental illness.”
He laughs this time, his deep chuckle making you feel a bit more relaxed about the situation. You did not feel like a burden as much. You walk to the right side and pull back his navy blue sheets and blanket. The spot looks warm and inviting so when you crawl in next to Joel, you start to realize that you’re back in the same situation you were in years ago in that sleeping bag. He was so close and warm and you wanted nothing more but for him to hold you and keep you comfortable.
But then another thing came to mind before you could imagine his arms around you.
You usually sleep on your right side or back, but now you don't know what to do because you didn't know how Joel slept.
"Do you sleep on your side or back?"
Joel studies you as you fidget beside him, your uncertainty causing him to smirk slightly. It was almost endearing, seeing you be completely out of control of your surroundings. He remembers back when you were traveling with him you had an obsessive need to straighten up everything before you fell asleep. You had to roll yourself up in your sleeping bag the same way every night.
"Usually on my back," he said finally. "But I can sleep on my side, too."
You swallow, trying to picture yourself sleeping. For some reason you felt the urge to have control of the situation, dictating exactly how he has to sleep, too. "Can I... I'll sleep on my side if you can sleep on your back? Is that okay?"
Joel had to suppress a smirk at your request. You knew he was trying to hold back a snarky remark. Instead, he surprises you.
"Sure, you can sleep on your side," he agreed, shifting his body weight onto his back, "’n I'll sleep on my back. No big deal."
You turn to face him, tucking the pillow further under your head. You can tell his eyes are heavy from exhaustion. You know it's time to shut up, to go to sleep, but you feel the need to say something else to him. Sometimes your brain concocts questions and statements and you know you shouldn’t say them, but your mouth betrays you.
"When was the last time you had a girl in your bed?"
Why the fuck would you ask that? You think to yourself. It fell out of your mouth like drool.
Joel's eyes widened at your blunt question, surprise and a hint of embarrassment coloring his expression. You knew he was probably just expecting you to lay here next to him, maybe roll around a bit, then sleep. But instead, it’s an interrogation.
He took a deep breath, his mind rattling around as he tried to think of a response. He didn't want to admit what his genuine answer was to you, but he too could not help himself.
"Why do you want to know that?" he asks, his voice steely.
You hate that he even responded because now you needed to defend yourself.
"I uh, don't know. I don't know why it matters."
Joel chuckled softly, noting that you probably just had a case of word vomit. You always told him you were infamous for putting your foot in your mouth, especially in awkward situations.
"Curiosity got the better of you, huh?" he asks, rubbing his face with his hands. “You just can’t help yourself, sweetheart.”
He shifted slightly, rolling onto his side to face you, his gaze studying your expression.
You smirk, grateful that he's letting it slide. When he turns onto his side and he's at eye level with you, your face drops a bit. He is ruining the vision in your head. He’s throwing a wrench in your plans.
"You're supposed to be on your back, sir."
Joel couldn't help but chuckle softly at your comment. He knew he was supposed to be on his back, but the new angle allowed him to see you better in the faint moonlight.
"Don't worry," he said, a hint of humor in his voice. "I'll turn back over in a minute. Just... enjoying the view for a bit."
You roll your eyes, lifting your hands from under the covers and lightly hitting his arm. You knew he was just fucking with you now.
"Okay, for that, I want to know the answer to my stupid question."
Joel let out a low laugh, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. He shook his head, amused by your persistence. You start to think about it and you have never really seen him bring anyone home. Maybe it had been a very long time and he was embarrassed.
"Alright, alright," he said, a hint of resignation in his voice. "Last time I had a girl in my bed..."
He paused for a moment, his eyes dropping to the covers, his mind racing to find the right words.
"Go on..."
Joel took another deep breath, his voice dropping even lower as he spoke.
"It's been a long time, kiddo," he admitted, his voice pierced with a bit of shame. "Almost ten years, if I'm being honest."
Your eyes widen in surprise. "No way... You've never just... got it on with someone in bed?"
Joel's face flushed with embarrassment at your blunt question, a mix of shock and slight irritation flashing across his eyes.
"Jesus, you really don't hold back, do ya?" he muttered. He shifts a bit, trying to get comfortable in a different way. He hadn't expected the conversation to turn so personal, so quickly and he did not want to face you anymore. He was mortified.
You mentally slap yourself in the face.
"I'm sorry, I am just tired and delusional. Uh, you don't have to answer that."
Joel could practically feel the humiliation radiating off you and he too felt the exact same way. You knew how to add to an already awkward situation.
"No, no, it's fine," he reassured you, his voice a bit gentler now. "I get it. You're tired, and your filter has taken a backseat."
"Yeah, exactly..."
He shifted on the bed, turning onto his back again, his gaze shifting to the ceiling, avoiding your curious stare.
You could not help but stare at his side profile. A prominent straight nose. His downturned lips are surrounded by some fine lines that show his age. He was a beautiful man now, but you can’t help but imagine him back in his 20s. He had to have been a hit with the ladies back then.
Joel could feel your gaze on him, studying his face. And while you were not scrutinizing him, he felt like a commodity in a museum or something. He forced himself to keep his gaze on the ceiling, refusing to meet your eyes.
"So… ten years and no sex?”
You could seriously, not help yourself.
"Correct.” He grumbles, still not meeting your stare.
"Damn, Joel." You mutter, adjusting a bit to sit up a little more on your pillow. "I seriously thought you were sleeping around the whole time we have been in Jackson.”
He finally turns your way, a bit of offense on his face. “Why would you think that?”
You shrug, not wanting to insult him. But that’s how you formulated your grudge towards him. It was easy to just chalk everything up to problems with random women you have seen around town.
“You just give off the energy…”
“What?”
You huff, laying back on the pillow. “I don’t know, Joel! I feel like when I’m around you all the ladies think you’re handsome. They stare.”
“They are staring because you’re always following me around and we aren’t married or… together. They think we are odd.”
You had never heard such things around Jackson, but it does sort of make sense. Everyone was probably just confused because you two lived together but were not a couple. You can admit it is bizarre, but it just did not feel like an option any other way, in your mind. So Tommy gave you two a bigger house and you set up separate rooms.
But in actuality, Joel secretly told Tommy that he did not want you too far from him. So when Tommy couldn’t give you any other houses nearby, Joel just told him that you two would be roommates.
“Well fuck ‘em.” You mutter, trying not to sound too offended by the thought of people gossiping about you two.
Joel just nods. You settle by tucking your arm under your pillow. You yawn, the exhaustion now taking over your body. You watch Joel grab a pair of reading glasses from the side table and a book. You decide not to bother him, especially because he probably wanted to just read himself to sleep instead of being interrogated by you any further.
You close your eyes and eventually fall asleep. The deeper you get, Joel notices how your breathing pattern changes. When he’s finally ready to get some shut-eye as well, he watches as your body crawls closer to him. Your arm swings over his stomach and rests on his forearm. He is so shocked he does not move a muscle.
You adjust some more, not knowing what you are doing. Your leg creeps up and tucks right between his. You snuggle your face right into his chest. The only movement Joel decides to make is slinging his arm over your shoulders to pull you in tighter.
It’s the first time in years that you two slept soundly, with no interruptions. No nightmares, no sudden intrusions, nothing. Silence and snores fill the room and that’s it.
-
When you wake up, it’s slow and gradual. Your brain hardly computes that you’re laying on top of Joel’s shirtless frame, until your hand runs across his warm tummy.
You crook your neck up, looking at the handsome man you are spreading across.
His lips are slightly ajar, letting out hardly-there snores. They are so pretty and pink and you cannot help but touch them with feather-like fingertips. You would feel so guilty waking him up-
His eyes slowly open taking notice of your actions even though you tried not to stir him. Your eyes fly open in shock, but he does not seem very annoyed. He smiles.
“Mornin’ darlin’,” He says in a deep sleep-laced voice. You smile back at him, loving that he decided to call you the nickname you always got giddy over. You press your fingers into his chest before replying.
“I didn’t have a nightmare.”
His hand comes up from your shoulders and tucks some hair behind your ear as he stares down at you, “That’s good kiddo. I’m glad you slept well.”
The intimacy is almost too much. The way this is how it would be if you woke up to Joel every morning. It sends your brain into overdrive and you force yourself to ruin it a bit.
“Woulda slept even better if you didn’t talk so much in your sleep.”
Joel froze for a moment, his cheeks immediately flushing pink with embarrassment. He sits up a bit more, adjusting to the brighter lighting in his room. He knew he had a problem with talking in his sleep. Ellie used to talk about it all the time. He dreaded hearing what he was saying while curled up next to you.
"Uh... what did I say?" he asked, trying to maintain his composure.
"Something about it felt so good to be pressed up against someone, I don't know..."
You could not help yourself and started to laugh. You knew you were going to get a rise out of him.
Joel's face flushed an even deeper shade of pink as you started to laugh, clearly amused by your joke. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, his mind racing as he tried to come up with an excuse. He was just dreaming, it was not about you.
"W-what?" he spluttered out instead of making an excuse. "I didn't... I didn't say anything like that."
You have a shit-eating grin on your face and you press your hands on his chest to prop yourself up. You enjoyed watching him squirm.
Joel's eyes flickered down to your hands on his chest. He sickly thought they felt so right placed there. He imagined what you would look like fully mounting him.
He tried to keep his expression neutral, but you could see through his stone-cold exterior.
"You're messing with me, aren't you?" he grumbled, a hint of suspicion in his voice.
"Fully fuckin' with you." You giggle, hoping he is not really that mad at you.
“You’re a brat.”
You move your foot slightly, running it up his leg. It sends shockwaves up his body, having you so close and moving around so seamlessly.
"No, you said something about how beautiful, alluring, and incredible I am. Said I was the girl of your dreams…"
"Yeah, right," he said, a hint of playful sarcasm in his voice. "You expect me to believe that?"
"So, you don't believe me?"
"No, I don't believe you," he says, his voice stern but playful. "I think you're a dirty little liar, trying to play me for a fool."
"A dirty little liar, huh? Well, it's good to know that you don't think I'm beautiful, alluring, and incredible." You giggle at his acknowledgment, knowing he caught you red-handed.
"Oh, I never said that," he smirked, a hint of teasing in his voice. "You are all of those things, darlin’. But you're also a dirty little liar who likes to play games."
"So you think I'm beautiful?" You crack, the biggest smile painted on your face. You don’t even care that he’s calling you a liar because it does not matter. Joel thinks you are beautiful.
“‘Course I do.”
You push yourself up onto your butt, sitting crisscross next to him. He secretly wishes you were still curled up on top of him.
“You always this nice in the morning?” You ponder, your fingertips starting to toy with the hair on his stomach. He tries not to pay mind to it, letting you have full access to touch him.
But it’s driving him insane. The way you look freshly woken up, completely enamored with the idea of him calling you beautiful. You have some puffiness under your eyes and your lips are more swollen than usual.
“I am always nice to you.”
You let out a scoff, “No, you’re not.”
He notices the shift in your tone and starts to get defensive, “Now you’re just lyin’.”
Joel always loved to gaslight you in these situations. You knew better than to let him get away with it, especially now. “No there was that one time you told me you did not like me and that you would never like me. How you are old enough to be my dad-”
“Because I am!”
And there’s the wall. The only constant in you two’s relationship. He was so good at throwing it up when feelings were being expressed. When vulnerability was presented, Joel could not help but reject it.
“And the world’s fuckin’ ended, Joel! Big deal!” You almost yell, moving your hands from him.
Why does he already miss your hands?
He huffs, crossing his arms over his soft chest. “We have had this conversation for the last 10 years.’M not sure why we keep rehashing it.”
“And every time you turn me down it’s another fuckin’ stab in the heart.”
“You know why we can’t,” He practically growls. You can not stand to even look at him anymore with your bitterness and irritation taking over.
“Whatever, Joel.”
As soon as you say it, you’re already leaving his room and heading to your own. When you slam the door, you hope you have made your point. You want to scream and punch a hole in the wall, but instead you just furiously stomp around the room and grab your clothes. You had patrol at noon, so you needed to get to the mess hall before breakfast was over. You try not to cry as you strip down and get dressed.
Joel sits in bed, reeling. He hates that it has become a conversation every six months. He hated that rejecting you always sent you into a spiral of hating him for extended periods. It’s not that he did not want you, it was simply just not in the cards. He was too old to be in love. He was too old to play house with you. He just could not submit to the idea of leading you on, especially because you had so much more life to live.
He finally works up the courage to get out of bed and put on some clothes. He opts for putting on his typical jeans and thick flannel. It was getting colder and he knew by the end of the winter, you would end up with half his flannels anyway, so he had to enjoy them while he had them.
You storm downstairs, going to the back door for your boots when you spot him in the kitchen.
“You got pat-”
“Yes.” You respond quickly, shoving your foot into your shoes. He stands behind you with a mug full of tea, watching your every move.
“Who are you-”
“Jesse.”
He was asking his usual questions, which you were not in the mood to answer.
“Hey, can you-”
You snap your head back at him, giving him the glare you gave him as a warning usually. By now, he takes it as a hint and backs off. But not this time.
“Can I what?”
He rolls his eyes, “Can you fuckin’ not be a brat about this?”
You wish your glare came with knives. If that were the case, Joel Miller would be dead on his kitchen floor.
You are so thrown off by the question that you just watch him get angrier when you do not respond.
“Are you serious, right now?” You press, keeping your voice from cracking.
He brings the mug up to his mouth, taking an obnoxious sip. When he pulls the mug away, you notice how steaming it is. “You always pull this shit-”
“No, you do! You do this shit to me every fuckin’ time, Joel. You sweet talk me, make me feel comfortable, have me lapping everything up in the palm of your hands, and then you snatch it away. Then have the audacity to get mad at me!”
You are yelling now and it is throwing him off. Joel knows better than to interrupt you like you do to him. You were the kind of person who would calm down if you felt heard.
The way he knew you down to your core made this all so painful. Because if he was not so stubborn and true to his convictions, he would have fucked you the moment you touched his lips this morning.
“I ain’t tryin’ to make this harder than-” “Too fuckin’ late.”
You think back to the moment last night when you knew you were going to hurt your own feelings by sleeping with him. You knew better, yet here you are, still blaming him for your stupidity.
He stands there, still holding his mug, staring you down like a wounded doe who got pierced with an arrow. He feels guilty like he misled you. Before he can say anything, you are lacing up your boots and leaving out the front door without another word.
-
All day long, Joel wanders around the house trying to get rid of the pit in his stomach. Nothing works. A shower. Reading a book. Cutting wood. As soon as he tried to use laundry as a distraction, he reached into his hamper and found one of your t-shirts. He held it close and smelled it, trying to wrap his head around how he got here.
You spend all day, silently fuming on horseback with Jesse. When he tries to get you to open up, you ice him out and tell him to focus on the trail in front of him.
You get back by sundown, the sun setting making it a lot chiller than you expected. You decide to take the long way home, wanting to avoid being home for as long as possible. You were not ready to face Joel, let alone share a space with him. But unfortunately, during your patrol, you fell into some mud and needed a shower. The more time it spent on your clothes and body, the grosser you felt.
You open the front door, announcing that you are home. It was a habit you and Joel developed after you both pulled guns on each other during late-night arrivals.
You hear Joel mumble something from the living room, but you do not stop to listen and continue on your way upstairs to the bathroom.
You strip down as soon as the door is closed, tossing your muddy clothing into a hamper in the corner. You would get them washed and hung as soon as you shower off.
You hear Joel’s footsteps creaking around the upstairs hallway as you scrub your body with homemade soap and warm water.
When you start to dry yourself off, you hear Joel grunting something in the hallway. You wrap yourself in a towel and peek your head out the door. He’s on his hands and knees wiping something off the hardwood. “What’s goin’ on?”
He looks up at you, your body only covered in a bleach-stained blue towel. It makes his head spin. He can’t even be mad that you tracked in mud.
He swallows, gripping the cloth he’s using tighter. “You got mud everywhere.”
You step out, not even really thinking about the fact that you are not properly dressed in front of Joel. You were still mad at him, anyway. Who cares what he thinks?
“Sorry, I could’ve cleaned it up.”
He returns to wiping the wood, “It’s fine, I got it, kiddo.”
You accept his response and move on to your room, but the draft you leave behind drifts to Joel’s nostrils. Your soap smells like lavender and it always sends his mind racing when you are fresh from a shower. He clears his throat, trying to get through the emotions filling his chest.
But it’s been like this all day. You’re all around him even when you’re not physically here. How can he get away from you? Why is he trying to run in the first place?
He’s on his knees in your hallway, cleaning up your mess, sniffing the air you leave behind because he’s fucking in love with you and he cannot help himself anymore.
Joel starts to think about how peaceful he felt having you next to him last night and how he would love to feel that way every night. For once he’s not thinking about what everyone else would think. For once he’s thinking selfishly and caving into every desire he has ever pondered about you. How would you feel under him? How would your lips feel pressed against his pulse point?
His body was on fire, thinking about you.
You are fiddling with some clothes in your dresser after you flick on the overhead light. You do not hear him come into your room behind you.
You are so wrapped up in your own thoughts that when he clears his throat to announce he’s in your room, you scream. Loud.
“For cryin’ out loud, woman!”
You grip your towel tighter when you turn and see him standing at your mercy.
“Joel, what the fuck?” You yell, gesturing to the fact that you are practically naked. He does not care, of course, and his ears are ringing from your piercing scream. He gathers himself as you shift back, trying to create some distance from him.
He is trying not to gawk at the fact that your grip on the towel against your chest is only pushing up your cleavage. He’s biting back everything. “Can we talk?”
“Talk about what? The fact you crept into my room when I was trying to change? Are we past boundaries now?”
You are pissed, trying not to rattle off another million things to discuss with him. He’s only really talking about one thing.
He scoffs at your last statement. “Boundaries were already out the window when you crawled into bed with me last night.”
Silence fills the room as you completely stop breathing. The anger you originally felt dissipates.
“Joel-“
“I ain’t doin’ this back and forth anymore,” He starts shifting in his spot, unsure if he really should be doing this. “I can’t live how I've been livin’. Somethin’s gotta give.”
You furrow your eyebrows, confused.
“You are the one who won’t give, Joel.”
As soon as you say it, he practically drags himself over to you. Completely destitute. You have never seen him look so desperate before. You can tell that he’s been at war with himself ever since you left this morning. His eyes never lied.
His hand creeps up your bare arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake.
But then you remember his words from this morning. You start feeling like this is just a moment of weakness for him and that he will regret it later. You had to stop it before it was too late. You did not want to deal with the consequences.
“Joel, you said we can’t-”
“Fuck what I said,” He cuts you off, “Do you want this?”
You stare into those brown eyes, searching for a sign of hesitance. You cannot believe Joel is being this vulnerable with you.
But, you do want him. God, you have wanted him so badly for so long. You have searched for him in every man you have ever been with since knowing him.
Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. He takes note of your parted lips, every word failing you at that moment.
“Darlin’-”
“Yes,” You finally manage. “Yes, I do want this.”
It’s all he needs. He closes the gap between you two by wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his space. His lips crash onto yours, not wasting another breath of air waiting to indulge in his sickest fantasies.
You are all Joel ever dreamed about. He knew that once he caved and physically gave in, his world would be shot and everything would revolve around you. For years it had been a teetering object on a cliff, one nudge would have him falling. He always managed. But now, he was falling head first.
His lips move so perfectly with your own. Your hand released your towel and found the tufts of his curls at the base of his head. You did not care that the article pooled around your feet, leaving you completely bare in front of Joel. You have wanted this all along. To be uncovered, to be stripped down to the rawest form. He broke the kiss briefly just to scan your naked body, his forehead pressed against your own.
“Fuck, you are so beautiful.”
Your heart stutters as his hand traces your stomach down to your hips, all the way down to your ass. He stops there, grabbing a handful.
“I need you,” You choke out before pressing your lips to his over and over again. “Right now.”
He mumbles “jump” into your mouth and you do so, his hands working quickly to hike you up onto his waist. He carries you to your bed, wasting no time dropping you onto your back.
He cannot get enough of your soft, swollen lips. Every time he pulls away slightly, he dives in again even more aggressively than the last time.
You are so hypnotized by the way he feels on top of you. In the light, he seems so much broader than he was last night. He’s still fully clothed, to your dismay. You start to tug at his shirt, motioning him to remove the articles that are in your way.
He throws off his shirt before he stands up at the edge of the bed and pushes down his jeans.
“Joel… I-“
He just shuts you up with another passionate kiss. It’s all tongue and teeth like he’s trying to melt into your mouth. Your hands trail up his back, gripping onto his shoulders, holding him down so he is pressing against your nude body.
“God, I have wanted this for so long,” He sputters, trying not to sound too desperate. “Been wanting this.”
That’s when his hand reaches down between your thighs and gathers the wetness your slit has to offer. His fingers dance across it, starting from the top all the way to your spongy entrance.
“Please, Joel.”
He loves the lust-laced tone you speak with when you say his name. It almost makes him cum there and then.
You watch as he makes his way down your body, peppering kisses from your shoulder to your hip. When he parts your legs, you feel quite exposed. The adrenaline of being so spread for him manifests into a moan.
“You are divine, baby.”
The use of that adjective is so-not-Joel that it makes you giggle. He notes your reaction and decides to sink down into you. When his mouth gets close to your core, it’s no longer a laughing matter.
He uses his fingers again, using them to spread open your pussy lips. He cannot keep his eyes away from how dripping you are. “This all for me?”
“Y-yes, Joel.”
“God, I was a fuckin’ fool for so long. Could’ve had her earlier and I never fuckin’ caved. Such an idiot.”
Him giving your cunt pronouns was enough to have you throwing your head back and shuttering. His touch was magnetic like he knew exactly what buttons to push as he rubbed his fingers and palm over your core.
“Yeah, you’ve been missin’ out. Every night…” You swallow before looking down at the man that is enamored with your pussy, “E-every night I would lay in this bed, fuckin’ myself just thinkin’ about you.”
He growls at the statement, before teasingly kissing your clit. “Every night, hm, kiddo?”
“God, yes.”
Your eyes squeeze shut as he leans forward more and dives in. His nose is pressed firmly against the top of your pussy, nudging forward every time his tongue enters your hole. When that motion became consistent, you began to note the rumblings in the pit of your stomach. A familiar build-up that you managed to get when you were playing with yourself.
His fingers move in tandem with his lips and tongue. While his middle and pointer finger slide in and out of you, his lips wrap around your clit. It’s overwhelming and all-consuming.
You do not know where to center yourself, so your hands grip the bed sheets you were completely soaking as Joel pulls the first orgasm out of you.
“That’s it, baby, she’s cryin’ for me, hm?”
You hardly make a noise, the orgasm is so earth-shattering that you just writhe on the mattress.
“Oh my god…” You groan, finally able to catch your breath. When Joel removes his fingers from you, you watch as he slowly brings them up to his lips.
When he inserts them in his mouth, you gawk at him, unsure how to react. He watches your expression and chuckles darkly.
“Mm, never seen a man enjoy the taste of ya?”
You shake your head. “Never expected to hear those words leave your mouth, either.”
“Wait ‘til you hear what else I got to say.”
He stands up beside the bed, grabs your hips, and brings them to the edge. He is tossing you around with ease, bringing your lower body flush with his. He yanks down his briefs, revealing himself to you. You instantly take notice of how well-endowed he is. You never thought you would ever be close to his cock, let alone have it lining up at your entrance.
“Joel…“ You stop him with your small voice, but still welcoming him in with your legs opened wide, “I don’t know if it will fit.”
He grins, “It will, baby. Just relax for me, okay?”
You watch him slide his member along your center, the feeling so blissfully overstimulating. You whine a bit, raising your hips to his.
But Joel continues his torture, enjoying the way you’re squirming under him. The way your eyebrows are knitted together, your eyes shut as you grind up into him. It’s the prettiest sight.
“Ready?”
Your eyes fly open as you watch him ease his way into your core, the sound of squelching filling the room. You don’t think you have ever been this wet for someone.
“Oh my fuckin’ god, Joel…”
He smiles as he inches in, “Squeezin’ my cock so good, darlin’.”
When he’s fully sheathed inside, he tests the waters by drawing out slowly. You roll your hips in a circle, trying to feel out every inch of him. He fits, but you know once he starts to move faster, the stretch will become overwhelming.
He’s trying to focus and not blow his load immediately. You look so beautiful below him, your tits slowly shifting back and forth every time he draws back and forth. He reaches out, wanting to feel the flesh between his fingers. God, he craved every inch of you, he realizes.
You open your legs as far as you can, letting him hit you at a different angle. The movement allows him to slip in a bit more seamlessly, so when he speeds up his thrusts, you don’t feel like you will completely split in half.
He brings your leg up to hips, and feeling your soft delicate skin against him makes him lose all sense. His hips snap faster the more you moan out for him.
“Fuckin’ Christ, girl. I can’t believe I was missin’ out on this cunt,” He babbles, “Need this cunt every day from now on. Gonna have you all to myself every night.”
You are too fucked out of your mind to read into those implications.
“‘M all yours, Joel.”
He smiles, slowing down a bit. “Keep talkin’ like that and ‘ll finish a lot sooner than you.”
You sit up a bit, your eyes flickering over his entire body. He notices you checking out his nude frame, which makes him feel a bit more bold. He leans down, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. You love the way his tongue slips into your mouth so effortlessly. When he opens his mouth, his facial hair tickles your nose a bit which makes you smile. When his hips pick back up to a quicker pace, it sends you gasping into his mouth.
“Please, Joel,” You whine, that familiar build starts up but this time it’s like a freight train. Moving so quickly down every nerve ending in your body. “I’m gonna cum.”
“‘M with you, darlin’. Soak this dick. I’m right behind ya.”
His dirty talk causes the crash. Your body practically lifts off the mattress. You cry out so loud you are sure a neighbor could hear you. You try to gain your bearings, but you are panting like you just ran a mile.
Joel fucks you through it, but the restriction your pussy is putting on his cock sends him over the edge. His hips stutter into yours, his seed emptying into your spent hole. He just keeps repeating your name as his thrusts slow down.
He has never had such a visceral orgasm in his life. His knees are weak and can hardly keep up his weight. He practically falls on top of you, which does not offend you at all. His warm sweaty body on top of you is almost reassuring.
“You okay, kiddo?” He finally mutters as his hot breath fans the nape of your neck. You just nod, bringing your hand up to his salt and pepper hair. You tug lightly, smiling to yourself.
“I’m more than okay.”
He finally sits up, his cock spilling out of you as he adjusts his position. Your hole drips a mixture of cum onto your newly clean sheets, but you could care less. It’s just another thing to hand wash tonight.
Joel stumbles to the middle of the room, picking up your bath towel. He uses it to wipe himself up before coming over to you. Your legs are still slightly apart so he decides to clean you up a bit. He’s gentle, knowing that you are probably still sensitive.
Once he finishes up, he crawls next to you as you continue to recover. Your bones felt like jello so standing up to adjust yourself was not an option.
So instead of facing him, you stare up at your ceiling fan as his eyes lock onto every detail of your profile. It brings him back to one night you two shared under the stars a couple of years ago. It was his turn to keep watch so you curled up in your sleeping bag by the fire. He admired you from across the flames, the orange hues lit up every angle of your face. It was at that moment that Joel realized that he could not picture his life without you. You had weaseled your way into every facet of his life and he used to resent the impact you had on him. You were younger, more patient but still stubborn like him. You made him laugh, like genuinely laugh, for the first time since the infection. While you may have been a bit impulsive with your emotions, he envied the way you could say exactly what you were thinking.
Joel did not want to love you, but it was impossible not to.
You finally look over at him, noticing the softness in his gaze.
“Are you okay?” You pose, scrunching your nose.
He gives you a toothless smile, his eyes crinkling a bit. “I just can’t wait to sleep next to you for the rest of my life.”
tags of people I love and who may wanna read (no pressure I just love u) (some of u did ask tho) : @ashleyfilm @hockeyhughes @pedrospookie @guiltyasdave @amanitacowboy @myownwholewildworld
#joel miller tlou#joel miller#joel miller fanfic#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader#joel miller fic#joel miller x afab!reader#joel miller x female reader#pedro pascal#tlou au#tlou fic#tlou smut#joel miller fanfiction#fic: for cryin’ out loud#the last of us smut#gracieheartspedro
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the 141 x reader fic that you did was so yummy!!! pls make them suffer the wrath of reader and make 141 realise how much they need them when they leave,
your work is so amazing btw and your way with words is simply ✨chef’s kiss✨ (((o(*゚▽゚*)o)))♡
thank you!! here’s part 3 :)
ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE
angry didn’t even begin to describe how you felt as you slammed the door to price’s office behind you.
you were tense, muscles taut and poised to fight. your fists clenched at your sides, blunt nails digging into your palms hard enough to hurt. your jaw was clenched, teeth grinding together as you resisted the urge to march back in there and unleash your fury.
no. not like this. not when you weren’t a hundred percent. not when they would still look at you like you were a wounded doe, stumbling around on broken legs.
in the back of your mind, you can hear that psychologist saying ‘this anger will eat you alive if you let it. you need to let it out somehow.’
you inhaled, unclenched your fists, and made up your mind. you pulled the iv from your arm, wincing at the pinch of the needle.
you left the iv pole standing there as you made your way to the gym.
the gym was empty when you arrived, which made sense for this time of day. many would be occupied by drills or in the mess hall. others would be sleeping off long nights. you had the place to yourself, and you were grateful for the absence of watchful eyes and sweetened tongues.
you were tired of those who knew nothing acting like they knew something. of those who apologized or asked if you were okay. word spread like wildfire around base, and the subject of your ‘betrayal’ had been front-page news since the start of the witch hunt.
the gym door clicked shut behind you, and you surveyed the room. you knew your doctor would have a fit once you returned to the infirmary, and that she probably wouldn’t let you out alone again, but you didn’t really care.
you needed to let off some steam, and the best way you knew how was with your fists. either you start swinging at a bag or at a certain someone’s face. the bag won’t be condescending, and that makes your choice easy.
you approach one of the bright red punching bags in the corner. it’s scratched and taped from where someone had busted it open. scars that didn’t go away, that wouldn’t— just like yours.
you huffed. it didn’t do any good to start feeling sorry for yourself. you hadn’t done anything wrong. your team had.
you stretch your arms out in front of you, fingers interlocking to pop your knuckles. you catch sight of your severed finger, still healing. they’d recovered what had been chopped off, but hadn’t been able to save it.
just another permanent reminder, something to make sure you didn’t dare forget. you didn’t think you ever would regardless.
you shook out your hands and rolled your shoulders back. fists raised, you angled yourself towards the bag. feet spread, shoulders squared, thumb tucked under your fingers instead of inside. a stance that was second nature after years of sparring and hand-to-hand drills.
the bag was firm when your fist connected with it. you would have been lying if you said it didn’t hurt. you punched with the other hand— same results. the time you’d spent confined to an infirmary bed had done a number on you. muscles had atrophied, bones had weakened. the leg you’d suffered a bone-deep cut to shook under your weight.
you didn’t care. you kept punching, your breathing picking up as your emotions guided you. sweat dripped into your eyes and rolled down your back. you felt weak, physically and mentally. you hated feeling this way, and so you punched harder.
“slow down,” a voice grumbled from behind you.
you ignored him, continuing to punch the bag. you hadn’t heard the door open, nor heard the sound of him approaching, but you would have been surprised if you did.
simon always had a penchant for sneaking up on people, intentionally or not.
“gonna pass out if y’don’t stop,” he said after a minute. you could feel his eyes on you. you ignored him again.
you didn’t need to turn around to know he was standing there with his arms crossed, eyes full of something unreadable.
“stop,” he says firmly, and you sense his movement as he surges forward. his hand lands heavily on your shoulder, pulling you back from the punching bag. you heave in a breath before spinning around and punching him in the nose.
simon stumbles back a step, eyes widened slightly. for someone who prided himself on being so observant, he clearly didn’t see that coming. it made you feel the tiniest bit smug that you’d caught him off guard for once.
you dropped your hands to your knees then, squeezing your eyes shut as a wave of nausea washed over you. damn the bastard, he had been right. you shouldn’t have even been in here in the first place, let alone exerted yourself as much as you had.
your hands were shaking as you tried to pull yourself together. you opened your eyes to see drops of blood on the gym floor, by your feet. you had split your knuckles open.
there were also drops of blood at simon’s feet. you looked up then, slowly straightening your posture. he’d removed his mask, his face bare as he stared at you. blood dripped from his nose.
“gonna have to hit harder than that if y’want to break it,” he says, and you narrow your eyes at him.
“did you follow me in here?”
“no.” he says, and you’re giving a mirthless laugh.
“oh, please. im sure price sent you, yeah? you’ve always been his little lap dog. he says ‘jump’ and you say ‘how high,’ isn’t that right, lieutenant?”
your tone is tense, angry. you throw his title in his face, seeing as he’d been so quick to remind you of yours back in price’s office.
simon watches you, and you want to tackle him. he had always been quiet, always stoic. you’d been with him for years, but you still didn’t think you’d broken down all of his walls.
he was so good at masking his thoughts, his feelings. you weren’t. soap had always called you an open book. whenever you were mad or upset, everyone knew it.
no one knew anything about simon unless he wanted them to. it drove you mad then, and it was sure as hell driving you mad now.
“you need to get back to the infirmary,” he tells you. he wipes the back of his hand under his nose, smearing red across his skin. for a moment, you want to chastise him, reach up and wipe the remnants from his face.
you quickly shake that thought from your head. what is it they say— old habits die hard?
these habits would die if you had to strangle each one with your bare hands. anything you harbored for the four men on your team, for the one you’d called yours, was dead and gone.
“fuck off,” you tell him.
“why are you so damn stubborn?” he says then, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him start to crack since everything had happened. emotions are beginning to leak through his stony exterior, whether he means them to or not.
“you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. none of you do,” you say, and you take a step forward then, eyes blazing as you stare up at him. “not after what you did.”
he doesn’t speak for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. his eyes never leave yours.
“it shouldn’t have happened like that.” he tells you. you scoff.
“like that? you mean the four of you torturing me? tying me up and mutilating me like I was just another fucking target?” your voice was rising as you took another step forward, shoving a finger into his chest.
“if I’d treated you like another target,” he said, tone even. “you would’ve been dead.”
“so you showed me mercy, is that it?” you bared your teeth, a hollow laugh escaping your throat. “oh, thank you simon. I really felt that fucking mercy when you cut off my finger, and when you cut through layers of skin to get to bone.”
you inhaled before continuing. “I should be grateful then, right? is that what you want from me? for me to recognize your fucking ‘mercy’ and take you back? take you all back?”
he just stands there. you can see his jaw clench, but he makes no move to speak. you find it funny that he hasn’t even tried to apologize. john, your ever prideful captain, had swallowed his failure and pleaded for your forgiveness.
johnny and kyle would surely have done the same if they’d had the chance to speak to you, even if they only had a minute.
but simon? simon doesn’t. he doesn’t outwardly admit his wrongs. he doesn’t apologize. doesn’t seem sorry, even. you don’t know what’s going on inside his head, but you find yourself not really caring to know.
the fact that he can’t bring himself to admit, in blunt words, that he had astronomically fucked up and that he felt even the slightest bit of remorse, told you everything you needed to know.
cold, stoic ghost. you hadn’t been afraid of him when you’d first joined the squad, and you weren’t afraid of him now.
but back then, you’d wanted to break down those stone walls of his. you’d wanted to be someone he felt safe around, someone who knew him inside and out.
now, you’re packing your time with him into a box in your mind and dumping it into the trash. simon riley means nothing to you now.
“take your mercy and shove it up your ass,” you tell him. you step back and drop your hand, your eyes still locked on his.
“and by the way,” you say as you start towards the door. he doesn’t turn around, doesn’t move an inch. it’s as if he’s rooted to the spot.
“you should’ve just killed me.”
author’s note:
not really sure how I feel about this one tbh. I have plans for a part four, but I’m not quite sure how long I’ll be making this series.
and as for simon— I want to write an extra part about his thoughts/feelings about everything. let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!
anyways, let me know your thoughts please :) (I honestly may end up deleting this and rewriting it when I’m not tired lol)
taglist: @preeyansha @igotmajordaddyissues @nanatheoaktree @aesthetic0cherryblossom @oceanicexolorer @soph121212 @liv2post @cupid-eclipse @angels-despair18 @k4marina
#ghost cod#ghost x gn reader#simon ghost x reader#ghost x you#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost angst#ghost call of duty#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#ghost#simon riley x gn reader#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#simon riley#simon riley angst#call of duty fic#captain john price#gaz call of duty#soap call of duty#captain price#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty#141!reader#141 x reader#task force 141#tf 141#ghost mw2#call of duty angst#johnny mactavish#john price
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megumi x reader (just him getting scolded 😁)
"ah, crap," megumi muttered under his breath, his eyes widening as he recognized the signature brand and color.
there it is. your favorite lipstick—what’s left of it, anyway. the perfect, hard-to-find shade you hunted down last year and wore almost daily, crushed and smeared against the countertop in a sad, waxy smear.
the tube lies in his hand, twisted all the way up, and he looks at it like it’s a bomb he doesn’t know how to defuse.
the realization of the situation sinking in him, along with a growing sense of dread.
"no, no, no," he murmured, a hint of panic in his voice.
"this isn't good. baby is gonna kill me." he held the broken pieces delicately, mentally preparing himself for the worst.
as you enter the room, that was the first thing you see.
you fold your arms and stare at him as your irritation bubbles up to the surface.
"please tell me you didn't."
"do you even know how hard it was to find that shade? that exact shade?"
he shrinks a little under your gaze, glancing between you and the ruined lipstick as if he’s trying to figure out a way to put it back together.
“i thought… maybe i could… buy you a new one?”
you let out a frustrated sigh, glancing at the smudged remains of the lipstick.
part of you wants to keep fuming, let him see just how much it mattered, but something in his expression—the way he’s genuinely upset, almost like he’s let you down—makes it harder to hold on to the anger.
he doesn't look at you as he says, "i'm so sorry, baby" (his expression being the accurate representation of the "☹️" emoji)
you let out another sigh, softer this time. “just… be more careful, okay?”
he nods solemnly, and you can’t help but notice how he still won’t meet your eyes.
gosh, he is such a baby.
#jjk imagines#jjk#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x you#jjk x black reader#jjk fluff#jjk x fem reader#megumi fushiguro#megumi fushiguro fluff#megumi imagines#megumi x reader#jjk megumi#megumi fushiguro imagines#megumi fluff#megumi drabbles#jujutsu kaisen megumi#megumi x black reader#megumi x fem reader#megumi x you#megumi imagine#megumi headcannons#anime drabbles#anime headcannons#anime imagines#anime#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu megumi#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jujutsu kaisen fluff
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A multi-headcanon request please. How the boys react when they discover their s/o has been hiding a wound from them because she had it under control and didn't want to give them something else to worry about
Hi! Thanks so much for the request and all the support! Have written a little fic for each of the guys, starring... - Xavier, Deepspace Hunter extraordinaire ✨ - Linkon's worst best baking partner, Zayne 🍪 - Drama queen Rafayel 👑 - King of self-care, Sylus 💅
Putting On A Brave Face
L&DS Boys x Reader
Summary: Sometimes, a certain hunter likes to say things are fine when they definitely aren't...
Genre: A lil bit of angst, mostly fluff + comfort!
Warnings/Additional tags: female reader, established relationship, swearing, canon pet names, some injury details/blood mentioned, teeeeency bit of suggestion (I'm looking at YOU, Sylus...)
| Word count: 4k (1k each!) | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!
Xavier ⭐
This is bad. Not ‘end of everything as we know it’ bad, but definitely ‘an obscene amount of paperwork’ bad.
You clutch one of your pistols to your chest— deep breath— and you listen carefully, your head leant back against the rock you’re using as cover. Your mind latches on to every sound: each growl, each rumble of earth that marks the movements of the Wanderers that have trapped you here.
You’ve fought worse odds, but then again, you don’t usually have to do it with a broken leg.
Or maybe just sprained? You shift a little, trying to move, and the pain that sears through you settles the debate in an instant. Your teeth sink into the back of your hand to keep you from crying out.
You hope Xavier’s ok. You sent him your co-ordinates minutes ago, and the lack of response has worry gnawing away at the deepest parts of you. You check your hunter’s watch.
Still nothing.
Another deep breath, and you readjust your position as much as you can. Balancing on your good leg, you manage to peer over the top of the rock to get a visual of your surroundings.
There’s four, no— five Wanderers. Stupid no-hunt zone; you’re never not outnumbered.
You can see your second pistol, abandoned in the middle of the clearing where you’d dropped it. There’s flickers of movement, too: further in the woods. More Wanderers. Shit.
You duck behind the rock you’re starting to think might be your new home. Then your watch flickers, broadcasting a map of the area, and there’s the co-ordinates of another hunter, closing in fast.
Something flashes in the clearing, lighting the dark of the forest like a stutter of lightning. Then again. Then again. There’s a blood-curdling roar, and it ends— abrupt— with another flash.
Everything goes silent, save for a familiar voice calling your name.
“Xavier!” you call back.
You peek over the rock to see your partner jogging towards you, dead Wanderers littered behind him. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soft as always, but his sword is still dripping blood.
“I’m ok.” You clamber up, using the rock as a seat when the small effort almost breaks you. “You?”
Xavier draws close— his gloved hands on your face, cupping your cheeks. His thumb grazes over a shallow scrape on your brow. “Yeah,” he answers.
“Did you find that weird Wanderer?”
He shakes his head: no. Steps back to check his watch. “It’s probably moved on to a different zone by now.”
“Then we should look for it,” you say, standing up. All of your weight is on one leg.
“Ah,” Xavier ponders, rubbing his neck, “really? I thought we should maybe head back.”
“No need.” And what’s the plan here, exactly? You can’t walk. You definitely can’t fight. Maybe you can wait here while he— no. He’s never going to leave you. “I told you I’m ok.”
“But you’re not.”
“I am,” you assert. You’re determined to convince him and your own, useless body. It’s just a sprain. It is just a sprain. You take a step forwards and stumble, your bad leg crumpling beneath you.
Xavier catches you, strong and solid, and he's holding you like you’re something delicate. He sets you down on the rock again. The pain is making your vision swim.
“You’re hurt,” he reasons gently, even though the truth of it is a knife that’s twisting in your heart. He seems to sense your reluctance: “There’s no shame in admitting that. It happens. Let’s go back.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m slowing you down, Xavier!” you gush. Your heart is split open and it has to bleed somewhere. “You have no idea what it’s like… being your partner.”
He’s looking at you with so much guilt and gods, you wish that somewhere was anywhere but his hands. “What do you mean?” he asks on a shaky breath.
“I love working with you.” Soften the blow. “I love being with you, but you don’t need me. You’re this incredible hunter. This figure of legend, of everyone’s stories. You can do so much on your own and I just don’t know how to keep up. I mean, look at me— I can’t.”
You feel sick. Empty. “You shouldn’t have to hang back for me,” you finish limply. “You’re you, Xavier. You can fight like a hundred Wanderers and still come out unscathed.”
The blue of Xavier’s eyes has grown understandably more turbulent, though it settles a little. He seems to relax. “Yeah… about that,” he mumbles hesitantly.
He turns around and your mouth drops. A savage cut drapes like a crimson sash down his back, splitting the white of his uniform. It’s not deep enough to be fatal, but it’s not good, either.
“Wha— Xavier!” you exclaim, trying to surge forwards, but your pain keeps you rooted. “You said you were ok!”
“So did you,” he frowns, bewildered. “Can we get out of—”
“Yeah, yeah.” You let him take your arm and help you to your feet.
He leads you through the clearing and into the forest, supporting your weight as you hop along beside him. There’s a murmur about how he should carry you, but you’re quick to reassure him he’s doing enough. You’re both hurting; you both just need to survive the short walk out of the no-hunt zone, where a med team can take over.
“You don’t slow me down, you know,” Xavier says quietly, after a minute of silence. “You’re the reason I can keep going.”
You squeeze his arm affectionately, mustering a smile even though you’re nauseous with pain and the idea that he’s been dwelling on your speech this whole time. “Well,” you chuckle through gritted teeth, “you’re gonna have to learn how to get by without me.”
“Huh?” He gives you a curious look.
You glance down at your leg. “Zayne’s gonna kill me...”
Zayne ❄
“I’m a doctor.”
You stop what you’re doing to fix Zayne with a questioning stare. “Ok…?”
“I’ve published dozens of research papers. Pioneered new surgical techniques. My work on Evol-based regenerative properties still has lasting implications for my field, and I’ve the accolades to show for it. The Starcatcher Award. The Linde Award, too— I was the youngest ever recipient.”
None of this is news to you, and you can’t help chuckling at this change in your usually-humble physician. You humour him: “The youngest ever recipient, huh?” There’s a crack as you split an egg on the side of the bowl in front of you. “That’s very impressive.”
“Is it?”
Zayne stands from his seat at your kitchen table: you hear the chair draw back. You feel his presence arrive behind you as you continue to stir your soon-to-be cookie dough. “Yeah,” you lilt with a smile.
“Really?” he pushes again, and his arms wrap around you as he bends to speak into your ear. “Because someone seems to think I can’t even recognise a—” he nips at it— “sprained ankle.”
His breath is warm on your neck and you let out a giggle. “Keep speaking to me like that and these cookies are never making it into the oven. Or your stomach.”
The man relents. He releases you, not returning to his seat but opting to lean against the kitchen counter instead. You glance up at him; he stares back, waiting for an actual answer.
“My ankle is fine, Zayne.”
There’s a sigh as he crosses his arms.
“It is,” you insist, even though you did sprain your ankle at work today, it does hurt like hell, and you do just want to sit down. You reach for the flour you’d measured out previously, tipping it into the larger bowl. “If it wasn’t, would I really be here— making you cookies?”
“Yes,” he says plainly.
“You’re delusional.”
“Ok.”
Well, that was a little too easy. Don’t overthink it, and definitely don’t read into the fact that he’s standing there oh-so-smugly, like he knows something you don’t. You finish stirring the flour into the mixture, then add the last of the ingredients. Just a pinch of salt, and then…
Where did you put the chocolate chips? You glance about yourself but they’re nowhere in sight. “Hey, Zayne? Have you seen the—”
“This cupboard,” he indicates with an upwards nod of his head. His eyes are relentless. “Top shelf.”
Ah. That’s ok. You’ve totally got this. You move beneath the cupboard, opening it and gazing up into the contents. You can see the pack of chocolate chips. You can get up there somehow, right?
“Would you like me to—” Zayne starts, but you cut him off:
“Nope.” You put your hands on your hips. “Please— if I can climb the back of an alive, awake, and very angry deluge wyrmlord to put a sword through its skull, I think I can make it onto the kitchen counter in one piece. Lemme just…”
Your knee lifts. You make it about a centimetre from the floor before Zayne’s hands are on your waist, grounding you. “Stop,” he instructs, and it's not a tone that allows for any rebuttal. Satisfied by your silence, he brings the chocolate chips down to you.
“Thanks,” you say quietly as they’re placed on the counter.
“You’re welcome."
Sheepishly, you spill a generous amount of chocolate chips into the cookie mixture. Your throat hurts in the way that keeps you from saying anything more. You already feel like an idiot, and your eyes are watering, threatening to make you look like even more of one.
Zayne’s hand appears in front of you, hovering over the bowl. You laugh in understanding: giving the half-empty bag another shake so chocolate chips fall into his palm.
“You… don’t have to explain yourself,” he says as he lifts them to his mouth. His next words are muffled: “But you can tell me anything, my love. I never want you to feel as though you can’t.”
You chuckle again; you can’t help yourself. Look at him: your oh-so-serious doctor shovelling chocolate into his mouth. He raises an eyebrow at you, his lips still on his palm.
“I know I can tell you anything,” you smile, the ache in your throat receding, however much the rest of you hurts. “I did sprain my ankle. It’s not that I wanted to hide it from you, it’s just—” you stop stirring the mixture— “it’s just that your whole life is taking care of people at the hospital. You should get a break from it. You should get to be Zayne, here… at home. Just Zayne, not Doctor Zayne.”
Zayne’s hazel eyes have taken on a hue of regret. He pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, buying himself a few seconds as he contemplates. “Are you a doctor?” he asks after a moment.
“No?”
“And yet, here you are, taking care of me.” He reaches for the abandoned packet of chocolate chips. “Tell me, does it feel like work to you?”
“Yeah,” you tease, drawing the packet away from his stretching fingers in explanation; you’re both grinning.
“Well, it never feels like work to me. Just Zayne likes taking care of you. And right now? He wants to bundle you up on the sofa and finish these cookies for you.”
You purse your lips: that’s some dubious wording. “Zayne, hell will freeze over before I leave you and this cookie dough unsupervised.”
He shushes you, pulling on the cord of your apron until the bow at your back comes loose. Before you can protest, he’s wearing the apron himself.
“Zayne, I’m not kidding. I know what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna get rid of me, and then you’ll—”
“Shh,” he coos again, whisking you carefully off your feet, because it’s time for a taste of your own medicine. “You’re delusional.”
Rafayel 🔥
“Mmhmm. Mmhmm.”
“Raf, who are you—”
He holds out a finger to shush you. “Mmhmm.”
You cross your arms impatiently. Who is he even talking to, anyway? His lilac eyes are locked on you as he continues humming away, apparently very invested in whatever the person on the phone is saying; you’ve never seen him go this long without talking.
He narrows his eyes at you. You narrow your eyes right back.
All around you, guests of the exhibition are milling about, all dressed to the nines and minding their business, however much they want the attention of the man in front of you. A few of them linger as they pass him, like they want to say something, like they’re going to say something…
But they don’t.
It’s a wonder that Rafayel stands out in the crowd as much as he does. You’d seamlessly located him, back from your third trip to the bathroom to check on the bandages you’ve managed to conceal beneath this dress. He’s still holding your purse for you, his phone in his other hand, except—
That’s your phone. That’s your phone! “Rafayel!”
He shushes you again. “I understand,” he says solemnly, notably not to you, “thanks for letting me know.” The call is ended. He takes a deep, collected breath, then looks at you. “I knew it!”
“Knew what? Who was that?”
“Zayne.”
“You called Zayne?”
“Like I had a choice!” Rafayel retaliates. It is true; he’s spent the entire evening trying to get you to admit something was wrong, and you had no intention of giving him that pleasure. “You’re supposed to be in the hospital! What kind of idiot breaks out of the hospital?”
The lack of irony in the question almost breaks you. “Umm… you?! Like every other week?!”
He shrugs. “That’s different.”
“Rafayel, I swear, I’m gonna— ah!” you gasp in pain. You’d stepped forwards too quickly— maybe to strangle him, but that’s neither here nor there— and the wound on your side is clearly on his side. It stings like hell: punishing you, and you know the pain is self-inflicted.
Rafayel frowns in concern, maybe even guilt, and that’s why you didn’t tell him. “C’mon, we should go,” he insists gravely.
“It’s fine, Raf. It doesn’t even—”
“Stop lying! You said you wouldn’t hide stuff like this from me. You promised, remember?”
You’re losing track of all the promises you’ve made to the Lemurian, but you do remember that one. Guilt has its teeth in you, too. “I know,” you grumble, “I’m sorry, ok? I just knew—”
“What?”
“That you’d act like this! You’ve been working on this exhibition for months, Raf. Tonight is supposed to be about you. Not me— you. And I want it to stay that way. Everyone’s here to celebrate you and your work, and that’s how it should be. That’s what I want. To support you. To be here for you.”
Your voice has gone timid. You finish meekly: “Can’t you let me do this for you? Please?”
Rafayel’s eyes are wide and still the prettiest things you’ve ever seen, even in a room full of masterpieces and jewels you could never afford. They shine with uncertainty, but soften as he smiles, full of fondness and affection. “That’s sweet. But also? Really dumb.”
“Raf—”
“The only— and I mean only— reason I’m here tonight is because you are. I don’t care about what anyone thinks about me or my paintings. Just you. And you can see this?” He gestures around the gallery. “Anytime. My life’s your private exhibition, cutie. Exclusive access, 24/7, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
He steps closer to you: close enough that he can see the tear that’s made it halfway down your cheek. He wipes it away with a chuckle. “Plus,” he adds, “I know you know I’m amazing. You don’t need these old sourpusses to tell you that, do you?”
You laugh tentatively. “No, I don’t.”
Your injury protests as you use the lapels on Rafayel’s blazer to pull him closer; you have to stand on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He’s still grinning as he draws away, a light blush on his cheeks, but the sweetness of the moment vanishes as his gaze drifts lower.
“My eyes are up here, Rafayel.”
“Yeah…” he concedes mindlessly, but then he points: “you know you’re like, bleeding, right?”
You glance downwards to where the red of your dress is turning darker. There’s just a small splotch, but it’s growing. Shit. You must have reopened the wound.
“Thomas?” you hear Rafayel call, and then he’s stuffing a silk handkerchief into your hands— helping you apply pressure. “We have to get out of here,” he explains as a figure joins you.
His agent folds his arms; this is not dissimilar to stunts you and Rafayel have pulled before. “Fake blood, guys? Really?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You can’t leave, Rafayel. I can just see the headlines tomorrow…”
“Dashing artist selflessly flees exhibition to save devoted bodyguard,” Rafayel concurs with a nod.
Thomas groans. “That’s not what they’re going to—”
“Help me out with this, cutie?”
“Yes, sir,” you mock salute.
A moment later, Rafayel has scooped you up into his arms. Your hero; he gives you a conspiratorial wink before glancing about frantically. “Quickly!” he cries out. “Everyone out of the way, please!”
“For the love of—” Thomas starts.
“Oh, gods!” you shout in agony. “It hurts. It hurts!”
Heads turn. Cameras flash.
Tomorrow morning, half of Linkon will be talking about one of their favourite celebrities and his long-envied bodyguard. A news article will pop-up on her doctor’s phone, and he’ll see the pictures and sigh.
Sylus 🩸
“It’s not too late to back down, sweetie,” Sylus sneers.
“Aw, but you got all dressed up for the occasion.”
Your eyes rake over the outline of the man’s abs, courtesy of the tank top he’s wearing, and it does take the sting out of the fact that he’ll be trying to hit you. He holds his wrapped hands before him, ready to defend, ready to attack. He’ll probably attack, right?
“Last chance,” he growls.
“Is it, though?” This is the third ‘last chance’ you’ve been given in the five minutes you’ve been teetering on combat. You beckon him with a curl of your fingers. “Come on, Sylus. This is getting old.”
He scoffs: “How do you think I feel?”
“Like you’re about to get your ass kicked?”
“Alright, enough.” His hands drop and it feels like you’re back at the academy, about to be scolded for not taking something seriously. Sylus turns his back on you. Moves to the edge of the boxing ring so he can retrieve a stool from outside of it and sit down in a huff. He starts peeling the wraps from his knuckles, and— wait, is he mad? Like, actually mad?
“What’s wrong, Sy?”
He laughs as though you’re missing something dreadfully obvious. Maybe irony.
“Sylus?”
“You really are heartless, sweetie. You know that?”
The words steal your breath away, if only for a moment. Yours is a relationship of pulled punches, but he won’t meet your gaze and that one was real, wasn’t it? He wanted it to sting. “Why—”
“I could have hurt you,” he snaps, his dishevelled, snowy hair falling to cover his eyes. His discarded wraps slide from his hands, pooling by his feet like blood. “You were going to let me hurt you.”
He looks at you, finally, but it’s not in the way you want. His gaze is cast low, trailing over your body and making you feel every bruise, every closed cut that wants to reopen and every ache, rooted almost to bone. You’d done your best to hide it, even going so far as to press make-up hastily over your purpled skin.
That Wanderer really did a number on you yesterday.
“You should have told me,” Sylus says, since you’ve made it onto the same page. “Honestly, kitten. Why would you—”
“Because Luke and Kieran told me, ok?”
Oh, they’re going to kill you. It was supposed to be a secret, and here you are, spilling like a fresh wound because you can’t stand the thought of Sylus being upset with you. You step closer, scrambling to dissect what you’ve done right in front of his eyes— holding it out to him: this is why. This is why. “They said you had a rough week. Some deals of yours had fallen through or something. And I’ve been too busy. I haven’t called, I haven’t even texted, and…”
You need him to understand, but the truth is a mess in your hands and how do you even start to explain it to him?
“You wanted to do something for me,” he finishes for you, and you don’t have to explain a thing.
“Yeah…” you confirm, bittersweet and still sad. “You do so much for me, Sylus. I just wanted to do what you wanted, for a change.”
Maybe it’s a round of boxing. Maybe it’s a dozen illicit dealings where he needs you to play enforcer— it doesn’t matter. As long as he’s happy.
“Come here,” he orders gently.
You close the rest of the rift between you, letting him reach for you and pull you closer. His knees have spread so you can slot against him, and his arms circle around you— trapping you— as he nuzzles into the warmth of your stomach.
“I’m sorry I called you heartless,” he speaks into you, his voice muffled as he gives you a chaste kiss. He then cranes his head upwards, resting his chin against you so he can profess more clearly: “I do worry about you, kitten.”
“I know—” your hands move to his head— “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”
“Mmm,” he hums in accordance, maybe even forgiveness, and his eyes close as your fingers card through the soft of his hair. “I lied too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he confesses on a contented sigh. “I didn’t want to spend today… boxing.”
“What do you want to do today, Sy?”
His eyes flicker open and his hands find your hips. “What I really want…” he contemplates, as his thumbs slip under the hem of your shirt to rub circles on your skin, “is to take care of you.”
There are lifetimes of need in his gaze.
“Won’t you let me take care of you, sweetie?”
…
“If he finds the terms so disagreeable, then he’s more than welcome to take his business elsewhere. Although—” Sylus’s voice is cold— “he might find his other options less… amenable than when he saw them last. Less communicative, too. You can tell him I said so.”
He ends the phone call. Smiles. “Sorry about that, sweetie.”
“Are the boys ok?”
The smile widens, even though you can’t see it. “They’re fine.”
Phone set aside, Sylus carries on with the important business Kieran’s call had distracted him from. You’re half asleep, your head in his lap as he brushes your hair: rose-scented and soft from the bath he’d drawn for you, hours ago. Every bandage is fresh and clean. Every ache has been dulled with a lazy massage and more chaste kisses, for good measure.
“Perfect day,” you mumble blissfully.
“Perfect day,” Sylus agrees.
#🖋rach is actually writing#xavier x reader#zayne x reader#rafayel x reader#sylus x reader#love and deepspace#lads x reader#lads x mc#shen xinghui#li shen#qi yu#qin che#lads#lnds#l&ds
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Soothe and pamper.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x lover!fem!reader
Summary: it had been a long week of hunting, and Dean said he was fine… until you came in, of course.
Content: fluff, Dean being needy and overdramatic (and clingy), no use of y/n, Sam being the third wheel (kind of)
English is not my first language, sorry if there are any mistakes!
Word count: 653
Dean Winchester was a master at the "I'm fine" act. After years of being on the hunt, he could brush off a rough week like it was second nature. So, when Sam asked if he was okay after their latest exhausting hunt, he just scoffed, as usual.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." Dean said, waving a dismissive hand like he was brushing off a pesky fly, as if he hadn't spent the last seven days chasing after demons across two states.
"Quit worrying, Sammy."
Sam raised an eyebrow but didn't press any further. This was like Dean's default setting—deny, deflect, and pretend like everything was cool, even if he looked like he'd been chewed up and spat out.
But then, you walked into the room.
As soon as Dean caught sight of you, his entire demeanor shifted. The tough-as-nails hunter, who moments ago had been shrugging off his brother's concern, let out an over-the-top groan so loud it echoed through the bunker.
You barely had a chance to say a word before Dean threw himself into your arms like a wounded soldier returning from battle.
"This week—oh, you wouldn't believe it!" He buried his face into your shoulder with a pitiful groan, his voice muffled against your shirt. "It's been so bad, baby. So bad."
You could feel the weight of his body sag against yours, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace. He nestled his head into the crook of your neck.
It would've been pathetic if it wasn't so funny.
"I don't know how I made it out alive," Dean continued, pulling back just enough to look at you with wide, puppy-dog eyes, his bottom lip sticking out in an exaggerated pout. "The food was nasty, the motel beds were terrible, and don't even get me started on the demons!"
You ran your fingers through his hair as he rambled on, completely lost in the comfort of being with you.
"Do you see this?" He gestured toward his body. "I'm a broken man."
Sam, watching this unfold, rolled his eyes so hard they almost got stuck. "You've gotta be kidding me."
And Dean ignored him completely.
"You're the only one who understands, sweetheart." He whined, clinging onto you like his life depended on it. "Sam's no help, he doesn't get it."
"Dean," you said, struggling to keep a straight face. "You were fine like five seconds ago."
"What are you talking about?" He squeezed you tighter, feigning innocence. "I was just holding it all in. I didn't want to scare Sammy. But now... now I can finally let it all out."
"Uh-huh," you said dryly. "And how much of this is just you wanting to get pampered?"
Dean gasped in mock offense, pulling back to look at you again. "Me? Using my genuine suffering to get pampered? I would never—"
You raised an eyebrow at him.
He hesitated for a second, then smirked. "Okay, maybe a little."
Sam snorted in the background, shaking his head as he headed for the door. "You two are ridiculous," he called over his shoulder before disappearing down the hall.
You sighed, shrugging your shoulders. "Well, what can I do to make it better, Dean?"
He was still leaning heavily into your embrace. "You. Me. Bed. Cuddles... for my emotional well-being, of course."
You smiled slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. "And all your troubles will disappear?"
"Exactly," Dean grumbled, sounding so serious you had to hold back a laugh. "Exactly." He sighed, content now, taking advantage of the situation for all it was worth.
"And if you throw in a back rub, I'll be a whole new man by morning." He added, his lips twitched into a smile.
"Alright, drama queen. But only because I know how hard it is to be you." you laughed softly.
"You're the only one who understands." Dean murmured, his voice filled with gratitude.
#dean winchester#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x you#dean winchester x female!reader#dean winchester fic#dean winchester fluff#dean winchester imagine#dean winchester oneshot#spn#supernatural#dean winchester spn#spnfandom#spn fanfic#spnfamily#supernatural family#supernatural fic#supernatural fanfiction
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Yan Tribe X Reader
Requests are open!
• You were a camera woman for discovery channel. You loved your job. After all you get to travel world with your crew, see and explore the most interesting wonders, and get paid to shoot all of that in camera. What more can you ask for? Yeah your love life sucked because you were never at a one place for long. But who cares? You have your camera and your passion.
• Your crew has been assigned to shoot a new show by channel which is showing and telling people about the tribal life and community of an x forest. You were excited.
• You shooted and captured all the things about the tribal community. The people were friendly once they warmed up to your team. They showed and told you everything about their community, about forest, their lifestyle through a member of yours who knew their language and translated everything.
• You got to know about many tribal traditions, rituals, festive, their beliefs, their worships, hunting, farming style but what caught your attention was a certain tall, muscular young tribe man.
• He would always be with your crew even if he is not needed. You were shooting a particular episode on the womens in tribe? He was still there silently just observing you all especially you in a way you didn't notice.
• Your crew tried fishing for some fun in break time. And as usual your clumsy self would trip and ruin everything embarassing yourself. He would later leave a basket full of fish for you silently.
• You noticed that he was kinda good looking. Okay not kinda but a lot good looking with his huge built, dark black tribal tattoos covering his tan arms and chest, his sharp bone jewellery giving all Tarzan vibes with his long black hair tied in half bun that many women in community wished to be his mate. Also because he was a excellent hunter.
• You once told someone in community casually that you wished to taste raw natural honey from honeycombs like other tribals but were scared due to honeybees and he heard it. Well next day he gives you a huge piece of honeycomb anonymously ,freshly teared by him even though it caused him serval stinks from honey bee because this was not the season to collect honey but he would do anything for you.
• Their community had a practice where once in a year men would wear their best dresses, jewellery trying to impress womens and get their attention. This was a special episode that you weren't shooting but the other cameraman was doing because you were on the other side of forest with a few crew members shooting some shots of forest for another episode as your time of departure were close and you have to finish your work fast.
• You finished your shots. And walked a bit around the forest a little more to explore while your fellow mates moved back to see the celebration.
• You saw yan tribe sitting all alone under a tree. You felt sad seeing him all alone like this instead of being in the celebration with others. Well might be the women whose attention he is trying to grab chose someone else in competition you thought.
You tried to console him by speaking in your broken fluency in their tribe language which you have learned by staying with them for months. You were scared that you might have said something offensive to him unconsciously due to the language barrier because his expressions didn't change but became serious.
He only looked up at you and held your hand in his and said "MATE". You knew your speaking and listening skills towards his language were below average but you were 101% sure what mate word that he said means. And that scared you to dead because seeing his big strong hand holding your fragile one tightly made it clear that he is not going to let you leave at any cost.
Want part 2? Let me know through comments.
Requests are open!
For more yandere reading:
#irl yan#yan blog#yancore#yandere#yandere male#yandere x darling#yandere x reader#yandere x y/n#yandere x you#yandere things#yandere boy#yan core#x reader#fem reader#writeblr#writers on tumblr#obsessive thoughts#obssesive#obsessive love#sick love#soft yandere#yande.re#yandere stalking#yandere smut#possesive love#yandere tribe#short story#oc yandere#yandere fic#yandere art
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The Ogre Prince of Breakbend Isle
Male Ogre Yandere x Feminized Male Reader
CW: Noncon, drugging, aphrodisiacs, aphrodisiac cum, kidnapping, voyeurism, masturbation, big musky ogre cock, cockwarming, somnophilia, multiple orgasms, feminized reader, belly bulge from absurdly huge dick, belly bulge from absurdly large amounts of ogre cum, sweet yandere, general yandere behavior
Word Count: 1.4k
(Started writing this last night before the cat thing, then worked more on it until 5am, then finished it up this evening. REALLY hope you all like it, pretty please comment <3)
Breakbend Isle. Not a place any human should ever be. It was a medium-sized island filled with ogre villages. Yet you were there. A storm had taken your tiny fishing ship and washed you up there. The boat had broken hopelessly too.
You were stranded in dangerous territory. The ogres had a reputation for being brutal and violent towards trespassers, as none who had set foot there had ever returned.
And you were no exception. Despite your best efforts, your cooking fire was sniffed out miles away by Rahtrig the Wrathful. Prince to the leading ogres of Breakbend Isle, son of a the fiercest ogre warlord in human history. He took after his father, over 7ft tall and all muscle.
He had been hunting for deer but found something far more appetizing for a completely different type of hunger.
Instead of just walking up and snatching you, he was captivated and wanted to just… watch. You were so pretty. Most ogres found humans to be exceedingly beautiful. No matter the human's gender they made cute little wives.
Their delicate hands and tongues could greatly pleasure an ogre's prick or massage his big nuts. Rahtrig rubbed his aching crotch in anticipation.
The ogre prince watched you as you ate some fish you had caught. Your tiny little meal that you ate with your delicate little mouth. Then he stared as you disrobed and got into the nearby stream to bathe.
Rahtrig stared in rapt attention at your form. Your perfect small human cock was just so cute. He'd definitely let you grind your cock on his big tongue and let you spill your seed on it.
He started stroking himself as he watched and fantasized about all the amazing things the two of you could do together. He came quickly, spilling thick cum all over the ground.
The ogre had to stifle a moan. He wasn't yet ready to steal you away. Instead, he continued to spy on you until you went to sleep on a pile of leaves with only a jacket to cover you.
Rahtrig crept closer and gazed upon the serenity of your sleeping face bathed in the soft moonlight. Then he imagined more domestic and romantic things for the two of you.
Having you sleep with your head nestled on his huge pecs, lightly drooling on him because of how safe and comfortable you feel. Coming home to you after a long day of hunting or patrol. Maybe even adopting an orphan ogre child and raising it as your own together.
You awoke to find yourself carried over the shoulder of a massive ogre. He stroked your back to comfort you while you cried, kicked, and struggled.
"Shhh, my small flower, would never hurt you. I'm your husband, Rahtrig!"
Did you hear that correctly?
"What? No! You're not m-"
He chuckled loudly, cutting you off. As if the notion that he wasn't your partner was genuinely hilarious.
"Will feel lots better once we get you on my dick. Will be all you want for days~"
His promise to fuck you until you were a babbling cock addicted mess did nothing to calm you down. His deep, rumbling voice didn't exactly help soothe you either.
You continued kicking and screaming the entire way until you were just too exhausted to continue.
When he got into the walls of his village, every ogre that happened to see what he was carrying congratulated the both of you on your upcoming marriage. You saw that there were more than a few humans that averted their gaze as Rahtrig passed by with you. Some of them were accompanied by half-ogre offspring.
The ogre holding you saw you staring at the humans and their children.
"You can't get pregnant; it's fine. We'll adopt!"
Your mind swirled with the image of an ogre child much larger and stronger than you running to you and hugging you half to death. And how would you deal with a rebellious teenager that could kill you with one smack? You barely even noticed when he opened the door to a large ogre hut and stepped inside.
Rahtrig sat you down on the bed. You shook in fear as he started a fire. After that, he lit a few candles around the room. With the hut illuminated, you could see your surroundings clearly.
It was all one room; on this side was a bed and some furniture, and on the other there was a kitchen and eating area. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, as well as strings of small bones. The heads of various frightening beasts were mounted upon the walls.
You wondered if any of those bones were human and had never wanted to bolt more. But you were in a close walled ogre village, there was really nowhere to run.
With his task of lighting the place done, he turned his attention to you. Much to your dismay.
He took off his large fur loincloth and belt. They were all he was wearing, given the warm climate and the fact that he had only been on a hunt.
His massive cock sprung free; it was far thicker than your arm and least three feet long, uncut and dripping with precum. It was a slightly darker shade of steel grey than the rest of his body. The musk hit you from several feet away, a heady and manly scent, not exactly unpleasant.
He grabbed a vial of liquid before walking closer.
His balls swung heavily beneath him as he got onto the bed with you, ready to empty their contents deeply into your soft ass.
You cowered and shrank against the wall that the bed was situated beside. Rahtrig could smell your fear. It was unpleasant. You were so obviously stricken with terror.
That wouldn't do at all. That's the scent you want on prey. Or an enemy you were about to strike down in combat. Not on your pretty bride.
"Calm down, princess; this'll help. Would never hurt you."
Undeterred by your kicks and protests, the ogre prince pulled you over to him carefully and flipped you over on your belly.
Rahtrig opened the vial and slowly poured all the contents directly on your hole, making sure to massage it in as well as possible. You gradually calmed down as it took effect, though you were still quite scared that his cock would simply split you in two.
When he lined up with your hole and sunk into you, though, all remaining anxiety and fear melted away before the pure bliss you felt.
"Wh-what was in that?"
"Magic potion. Makes humans relax. Also makes em stretchy to take ogre cock."
You only responded by moaning lewdly and pushing your ass back and forth on his dick. Impaling yourself down to the base and creating a perfect stretched outline of his prick in your tummy.
Rahtrig licked and nipped at your sensitive neck as he thrust slowly. He continued at that leisurely pace until you whimpered for him to go faster. He smirked. He knew once you had been lubed up and then filled with ogre precum that you'd be addicted. Both were potent aphrodisiacs, as was his actual cum.
He pulled out of you and moved you over while he got situated in the bed, lying on his back.
The ogre situated you on his dick and let you ride him at your own pace.
After over an hour of riding him, you had cum several times but were still gripped with arousal. He had cum a few times too; your belly distended with cum that slowly leaked out of you and dripped down his shaft and nuts.
You started crying because you needed more but were just too tired.
Rahtrig wiped away your tears and let you lay on top of him and go gently to sleep as he kept his cock in you to fuck you to sleep.
Eventually his cum and the lube from the vial would wear off, though that could take days. You'd always crave his dick, though, no matter what after the first dose. Though you may still try to resist, it could take a while for you to bond with him.
He was sure you'd be the perfect wife eventually, though. Even if it took a while for you to be willing. All the humans who landed on the island settled in at some point.
#yandere teratophilia#my ocs#yandere terato#yandere x reader#monster boyfriend#yandere monster#yandere boyfriend#feminized male reader#male reader#x male reader#male yandere x male reader#My OC Rahtrig
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Gojo Satoru x darling
TW: NSFW, noncon, fantasy au
gn reader
Thinking about hunter Gojo and the pretty little nymph that gets themselves snared in one of his traps.
You can’t get your poor leg loose, having twisted your ankle in your fall to the ground – something’s wrong with your wing too, you can feel it – the thin network’s been folded, almost broken – so even if you did manage getting loose, you wouldn’t be able to fly away.
Branches snap around you along the crunch of old leaves – and your heart’s beating out of your chest in fear of it – knowing something large and dangerous is not far behind, that whoever set the trap is not something that wishes you well.
“You’re not a rabbit.” The man says, having crept in close before you’d even heard him approach – crouching in front of you with a hunter's grace. Hawk-eyes ice-blue and piercing, hair as white as pure snow.
He’s got three daggers sleaved in his belt – a fillet knife, a gutting knife, and a larger one you imagine is meant to slice throats. He doesn’t carry a sword like most men but has a bow and sack of arrows slung on his back. Otherwise, dressed lightly – brown leather boots, brown slacks, and a blue cotton shirt. You could have mistaken him for a woodland elf if it weren’t for the thick stench of man.
“Eating creatures from the holy forest is forbidden.” You snip, despite your wide eyes and the wobble of fear evident on your lip.
He only smiles at the quip, a grin like a predator humored by prey. “You wouldn’t tell a wolf not to hunt.”
He stalks you, leaning in closer, and you try shuffling away – but the movement only makes you wince.
“I’m just another hungry animal…”
Rope gnaws into your fine skin while his breath puffs hot and dewy on your face.
“And tonight… seems lady luck has favored me once again.”
He gags you and ties you further up before redoing his snare for the next unlucky creature – then carries you over his shoulder until he’s dropping you down on a bed of furs.
Your skin flushes with goosebumps at the thought of being skinned the same way – mouthing a little prayer around the cloth he’s split your teeth and lips with. He’s cut trees down as well; you hear their pitiful screams when he lights a fire with their bodies. You mourn them, too.
At his full height, the man must be two heads taller than any male nymph you’ve ever seen and at least three heads taller than you. You hope you’re enough to satisfy him tonight, to spare the forest of further bloodshed.
You shiver and sniffle when he starts prepping you – removing your clothes and groping your tender, fleshy places with a strength you’re not used to – hands large and crass – kneading you like dough – probably to assess the quality of your meat. He has a smile on his face while at it.
Humans make you sick – to think he’s planning on roasting then eating you despite the soul fueling your spirit and the beating heart in your chest. But you’ve long known that all death but their own matters little to them – they don’t feel the same way nymphs do – they don’t regard life with the same respect they’ve donned themselves. It must be a sad and lonely existence, you think. It even makes you feel a little sorry for him.
You yelp when his gritty fingers brush the area between your legs – shimmying when he lowers his mouth down to the same place. Oh God – does he plan on eating you raw? While your body’s still hot and pumping blood?
But the bite never comes – not yet eating but tasting it would seem – licking and slurping and sucking on you.
He takes his shirt off. Probably to avoid spilling on it, you think.
You don’t really understand what’s going on until he’s got his fat manhood pointed toward your kernel-sized hole. Eyes wide as he splits you apart slowly and unabashedly – as though it isn't as deviant as a dog mating a cat – sinking in inch after meaty inch.
You whimper at the stretch – wincing when the plush mushroom-shaped head grinds against that special place inside you.
It doesn’t fit more than halfway, but that doesn’t seem to bother him – rolling his head back with a rusty groan, even with just the tip gaining purchase within you – pounding into you like a beast in his rut.
“What's the matter, pretty nymph? Did you think I was gonna eat you?” He laughs, bearing over you – his hands steadying your hips to meet his sharp thrust – each hit deeper than the last. “I’m the only hunter in this forest; I can eat what I want when I want – but eating you?” He scoffed and snickered. “That would just be a waste.”
The blood on his breath makes you wrinkle your nose – squeezing your eyes shut as his tongue sweeps up the tear streaks on your cheek.
“My stomach’s already full. Time to empty my balls.”
#yandere jjk#yandere jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujustu kaisen#jujutsu gojo#jujutsu kaisen#gojo smut#satoru gojo smut#gojo satoru smut#gojou satoru x reader#satoru gojo#gojo satoru#gojo x reader#gojo saturo#jjk gojo#yandere gojo x reader#yandere gojo satoru#yandere gojo#yandere satoru gojo#jjk smut#jujustu kaisen headcanons#gojo headcanons
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Things about the Wisdom Saga that have plagued me all damn day
Legendary
Whether intentional or not, Miguel's Telemachus really sounds like a younger version of Jorge's Odysseus. And that hurts.
"If I fight those monsters, is it you I'll find?" The layers. Could he go out and hunt for his father? Could he find his 'legendary' strength within himself? Or will Odysseus be the 'monster' he finds?
"Somebody help me, come and give me the strength" And his call is answered T_T
20 years.
Antinous fully interrupts this bop. Rude.
Ayron sounds legitimately scary and Telemachus taking a stand is so O.O
Little Wolf
I wanna fight this guy. Love that Athena agrees. (The beat of the song and sharp bursts of vocals really emulate blows.)
The quaver on "I don't know how".
Athena is immediately charmed by Telemachus' enthusiasm. She sounds so fond.
The fact she sees heart in him as an advantage when it was Odysseus choosing heart over mind that drove them apart. Guh.
Did she tell him to bite Antinous? XD
"Oh, maybe I pushed you a bit too hard." The change in her perspective is already so apparent - she wouldn't have admitted a mistake or miscalculation to Odysseus.
We'll Be Fine
"I had a friend before..." A FRIEND? FRIEND?!?!
An admission that she didn't fully appreciate what Odysseus was going through, that she feels guilty for having "missed it all".
It's unclear to begin with if she's come to Telemachus for Odysseus, or to try and replace him. Both are equally heart-breaking.
"I don't know who your friend is, I don't know what he's like" UNKNOWINGLY ECHOING HIS OWN THOUGHTS IN 'LEGENDARY'. NO IT'S FINE I'M FINE.
"The best day of my life because I got in a fight and I didn't die! :D" Telemachus, child, please.
"We'll be fine" using the same run as "this is my goodbye" T_T
Him immediately offering up friendship to Athena, like Odysseus once did, must hit her so hard. "You're a good kid." Yes he is - because he's more like his dad than he knows.
Love in Paradise
"Old friend..." FRRRRRIIIIEEEENNNNNDDDDD!!!!!
10 years.
The memory fragments sounding so fraught and chaotic together, hitting harder because they're hitting Athena all at once. She missed a lot.
"She's my wife." "Anyways..." Calypso, girl, please.
Love that they're singing completely different melodies through the first half of this song for two reasons: because Odysseus is revisiting previous motifs, once more trying to hold onto the man he was, and also because it shows Calypso is not willing to compromise on what she wants.
"Last I checked goddesses can't die." We'll come back to this later.
Then Odysseus realises he is truly trapped and he sings along to Calypso's melody in muted horror.
POLITIES OUT HERE STILL HAUNTING THE NARRATIVE.
Just the words "open arms" are enough to confront Odysseus (again) with all he's lost. All he hears are screams.
And the one he screams out for is Athena.
"He needs my help." NO KIDDING GO GET YOUR BOY.
God Games
"Father, God, King..." There's a lot to unpack in that fun family dynamic.
"To untie apprehensions that were placed on that Greek?" Zeus is like, nobody likes that guy, why do you care?
The gods being called out like X Factor finalists is everything.
So there's a great contrast against the previous song - unlike Calypso, Athena is matching each of her singing partners with their tone and beat as she convinces them. She isn't winning by 'imposing her will', she's meeting them where they are.
Rational arguments work until Aphrodite, where Athena says "please" for the first time. She softens to appeal to Aphrodite, which is why Ares has to step in.
The way she says his name XD
Ares' lines sound like as much of a fighting chant as 'Little Wolf' did, which makes it all the better that the mention of Telemachus is what gets her to 'fight back'.
"His son's my friend!" YES HE IS. And Athena of all people declaring "a broken heart can mend" is fascinating. Can't help but wonder if she's talking about herself coming around to forgiving Odysseus.
"Never once has he cheated on his wife." Handwaving the source material is worth it for this line ALONE.
Zeus is so pressed by everyone openly knowing he cheats on Hera. Stop doing it then my dude.
Ares sounding genuinely concerned for Athena is doing things to me. Goddesses can't die, huh?
Her time motif flitting in and out like a weak heartbeat.
The soft piano of 'Warrior of the Mind', touching on a whisper of 'Legendary', then rising to a triumphant crescendo as Athena regains herself. I will be forever haunted by visions of Odysseus and Telemachus helping her to her feet.
And then, finally, she faces her own father and begs. Because Odysseus and Telemachus deserve a chance to be father and child.
The parallel, by the way, of Athena entering this saga to help an outnumbered Telemachus, and now closing it with him/Odysseus unknowingly helping her win her own battle too. JORGE HOW DARE YOU T_T
#athena is my fav can you tell#I haven't seen any animatics don't come for me#epic the musical#the wisdom saga#athena#telemachus#odysseus#jorge rivera herrans
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