#at times like this it really feels terrifying to see a concentration of people with seemingly half a braincell at work all in one place | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

florenceafternoon · 19 days

Text

━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

These fics are set in the wizarding world but aren’t necessarily canon complaints.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries on ao3.

Gilded by @charmingwillow

Beneath her jumper, her heart was fluttering fast. Her free hand rubbed at the spot, willing it to calm. Her eyes ached from all the nights she spent awake, unable to sleep because it hadn’t calmed in days. Weeks.

She knew why; beneath her fingertips, under the soft cotton of her sweater, her skin tingled. She knew without seeing that the spot above her heart sparkled faintly with gold, like stars spinning in the cosmos. Scattered and dancing around a name that wouldn't quite focus. It was as beautiful as it was terrifying.

Someone, somewhere, was falling in love with her. They were close enough that Lily could feel a tug of alignment if she concentrated enough.

Or, Lily and James go on a walk in the forest.

Sunshine in My Eyes (requires an ao3 account) by monroeslittle

Mr. and Mrs. Evans are killed when Lily's only a girl, and she's supposed to go to a home with her sister. Instead, a relative they didn't know they had comes to collect them, and introduces Lily to manners, magic, and a life that's just the slightest bit different from the life she was supposed to live.

Or, an AU in which Minerva McGonagall raises Lily.

Dying Fires by @jamesunderwater

In fifth year, James attempts to comfort Lily by a dying fire - but finds this will require restraint on his part in a number of ways.

Their tentative, developing friendship is something so special to me

basic maths by @gigglesandfreckles-hp

Euphemia cuts Sirius off sharply. “I was simply verifying whether this is indeed the same Lily Evans whose name is written under my dining room table with a heart around it.”

or Lily meets the parents and James tries not to hyperventilate. over and over and over again.

Blue Jay by @neurowriter14

In a world with magic, the only thing that really took Lily by surprise, and trepidation, was the fact that she had a soulmate.

All That's Known by @women-inthe-sequel

Wizards view nearly everything as a problem for magic to fix. Other people might view him that way, but James has never felt broken. He doesn’t need to be wound like an old-fashion toy and programmed to do what everyone else does.

I am in desperate need of more deaf!James (or deaf!Lily). Please can someone recommend me fics

just like a tattoo by sleepygirl0305 (on ao3)

Shortly after he witnesses Remus and Sirius realize that they're soulmates, James gets his own soulmate tattoo. A fairly inconvenient time, given that there is a war going on. And N.E.W.Ts. But no matter, he was going to try anyway.

A Happy Thought by @thelighthousestale

The 7th year Defense Against the Dark Arts Class learns the Patronus Charm.

James is shocked to learn what Lily's Patronus is.

I know that this is a very cliché trope but I'm a sucker for patronus fics.

The Boy (in the bedroom) Next Door by @eastwindmlk

Lily Evans has to move in with her new potion's teacher to finish her apprenticeship. There is one small issue, said teacher? Fleamont Potter, father of infinitely annoying and frustratingly fit former rival James Potter. Who she has not seen after leaving Hogwarts after her third year.

Put on Bed Rest also by @/ eastwindmlk

Hogwarts is covered in snow and James Potter is sick. Who better than Lily to nurse him back to health.

May Moon by Elynn (on ao3)

May Moon- also known as the Flower Moon or Blooming Moon, due to the abundance of flowers that occur as spring arrives.

She glanced up, catching sight of Mary and Marlene in the crowd of unsorted first years, the both of them bouncing on their toes as a new student was called up. She’d already made two friends (she hoped) and Lily was always a bit of an overachiever. “Hiya,” she said, doing her best to sound upbeat. The boy—Lupin—looked up at her, face a bit shocked. “I’m Lily.”

or sixth year, a bad pick-up line, and a secret.

Not really a jily fic (it's pre-relationship) but I really wanted to include it in this rec list

Accidental Magic by @missgryffin

What else is there to do after confessing feelings in the middle of the night than spend a lazy Saturday in bed?

Hell Is Empty (And All The Devils Are Here) by @nodirectionhome-ao3

When an Order mission takes an unexpected turn, James and Lily find themselves stranded together. In the aftermath of the chaos, sheltering together through the storm, a fire catches between them.

Ignore the fact that I can't remember if I've recommended this fic or not. Regardless, the back-and-forth between James and Lily is so good in this fic.

Starlight by @suzyq31

Under the cover of stars, Lily and James go out in search of an elusive flower. The northern lights make Lily contemplate how plans change.

The next few fics are all by @apalapucian because I may or may not have been stalking her ao3 page. Everything, and I mean everything, Jayne writes is incredible.

maybe it was egos swinging (maybe it was her)

James starts rolling his shoulders, wincing. "Jesus, Evans." "back at ya," says Lily, testing her wrists. "ever heard of taking it easy?" "with you? never." "can’t believe you’d use confringo on me." "knew you'd block it," he says. "can’t believe you’d use depulso." she shrugs, grinning. "knew you'd block it."

(or: seventh-year, auror-aspirant, academic rivals, head boy and head girl James and Lily.)

I still can't get over the fact that Jayne wrote me over 11 thousand words of academic rivals jily. ELEVEN THOUSAND WORDS OF ACADEMIC RIVALS TO LOVERS JILY!! The banter, the stakes, I love everything about this fic

calliope calling

in which:

James wields a wand for the first time; Lily giggles, tracing an impossible dancing deer in the sky; Sirius slams the door; Peter sighs; and Remus screams, raw and screeching and piercingly young.

(or: the marauders and lily evans as children, and something about invisible strings glinting in the moonlight.)

green light

There are yellow roses on the kitchen table. a cup of coffee charmed to keep warm for a time. a scrawled "morning! :) –James & Harry" on a scrap of paper, the torn bottom of a receipt for... milk, she finds. and strawberries. harry was signed by Harry himself, and Lily wants to cry at the shaky strokes, the crooked lines. she can hear them in the other room where James' window seat project is almost finished. harry is laughing. he asks questions, mocks his dad's shabby handiwork, drops the things he's asked to hand.

roses and handwritten notes and coffee and giggles nearby. this is her life now. she skims the flowers, the sun itself in her heart.

or: the war is over. everybody lives AU. (well, not everybody everybody, but the potter family + sirius + remus + even peter* live.) old fic rewrite.

* = you'll see.

bad day wall

Lily calls it the bad day wall. it's like this weird communal one-liner diary thing.

every time i think i'm over her something happens and it hits me just as stupidly intense as all the other times. i'm SICK of it

why can't people just LIKE by default the people they LOVE? why do they have to be separate feelings? it would make things so much less complicated

or: in sixth year, Lily starts talking to a stranger(?) through messages on a wall. she also befriends James Potter. These two things are completely not related.

I haven't read this one but it on my marked for later

#lily evans #james potter #jily #jple #james x lily #lily x james #jily fic rec

191 notes · View notes

truegoist · 9 months

Text

LOVE LANGUAGES - quality time warnings;; gn reader. both of u are downbad(🤢🤢) . u kiss also. 1.3k words

RIN ITOSHI isn’t the most affectionate person by nature, the extreme drive for his soccer carrier has left the man stranded the permanent aggravated expression that runs through the itoshi bloodline definitely doesn’t help

in all senses, rin itoshi is not the one you expect to appear at your door, 4 in the morning.

For a couple of minutes you just stare at eachother, him fully dressed and annoyingly awake; you in your pajamas and hardly aware at your presence on earth.

“It’s my birthday” is what he says simply. “Why are you not ready” Perhaps it’s just you, but the tone in his voice seems even more agitated than usual.

“Ready for what rin?” You can see the white fog of your breath as you exhale, you don’t want to be mean to the boy on his birthday but he really is challenging his chances

“You said we’d hang out at four. It’s already four thirty five and you aren’t even ready” His tone is harsh. Accusing. But in those teal eyes that had always resembled glaciers to you now look melted down, you can tell deep down the reason for his bother is different than your so called lack of punctuality.

You can tell he’s afraid you may have forgotten about a plan that meant so much to him. He’s afraid you may not even care about it, or him. He’s terrified to not mean half as much to one person he cares about.

He won’t ever voice it. But somehow you know, or perhaps you hope that this is what he thinks; that he longs for you as much as you do for him.

It’s stupid really, how your heart fluttered at the sight of him in your door or how you can’t even bring yourself to be properly mad at him.

That’s cute and all but that doesn’t change the fact that you planned to sleep a good 2 more hours.

“Rin” you finally speak again “I meant 4 pm why would you think- How long have you even been awake for?”

A small oh leaves the strikers lips as he looks at you, dumbfounded. It appears that normally people don’t arrange meetings before dawn only occurring to him now.

With the new emotion in his face rin quite resembles a stray puppy, so much you suddenly get the urge to coddle him

“Well do you want to come inside? We can eat breakfast or something”

He trails behind you to kitchen, with how long you’ve two been friends rin knows the way as good as his own and it’s him who takes the lead on your small walk towards kitchen.

crack

The egg falls to the pan with a satisfying sound, normally you’d have gone with something easier like cereal but the mr sportsman seated in your kitchen now is determined to force his stupidly healthy diet onto you as much as he can.

Despite all his protests and attempts to help you have him sat near the table as you prepare everything. It’s half because it’s his special day and half because he’s a complete disaster in kitchen(perhaps more the later than first).

While doing so you’ve been rambling on and on about whatever comes to your mind to fill his silence, on small changes in your life, school, a show you liked, the cute cat you saw on the street yesterday… Perhaps with someone else this could feel like a monologue but it’s different with rin; maybe it’s the way how he always looks so concentrated on whatever you say, or the way he always remembers everything you’ve told to the smallest detail. Or maybe it’s just your feelings for him that make this enjoyable for you

Whatever it is, it’s how it goes between you two: you talk, and he listens. Aside from the cynical remarks here and there, talking isn’t his thing. Even if sometimes you wished it was, you wished that for once he’d be the one to talk, be the one to tell the words you never brought yourself to speak to him.

With a tap on your shoulder that caught you off guard, you almost hit the man on the face. And you probably would’ve if he didn’t caught your hand midair.

Maybe it’s because you were too caught upon telling whatever story you were on or maybe it was because the eerily quiet way rin moves for a man his size but you only notice how close he has gotten to you at this moment.

So you can almost feel the warmth emitting of his skin. So close you can hear his breath. And suddenly, you’re hyper aware of the way your very own heartbeat seems to quicken.

Perhaps it’s because it’s so early in the morning, but there’s something just so romantic about this moment; how close you two are, how the newly setting sunshine dances on his face.

You need serious help.

“Sorry did I bore you?” Once again, you’re the one to break the silence. Yes that must be it, he was just bored with you talking all the time. You should stop dreaming.

He blinks a few times, it’s evident he finds even the suggestion of such idea absurd “I enjoy listening to you (name), I thought you knew that” you hate yourself for it but even those simple words gives you such euphoria that it practically overwhelms you. Plus he still hasn’t let go of your wrist.

You have to leave before you do something seriously stupid. Like pour your heart out to rin itoshi

“That reminds me! I got something for your birthday,” You originally planned to give it to him much later, but you’re desperate and you need out “it’s upstairs if you’d let me go I can just run real quick and ge-”

“Don’t want it”

His grasp on your wrist is now much more firm, it contrasts the previous gentleness of his touch towards you. Rin has always treated you with fragility that it’s only now you realize how strong he actually is.

“I told you I don’t want you to buy me anything” his bright, teal eyes look more like a turquoise as the sun hits them, leaving you captivated by them even in this moment “But if you’re that insistent on giving me something then um…”

His newly found confidence starts to die down as he mutters the next bit “if you really want to gift me…you can give me something else” the last part is said in such low whisper that you’re sure you wouldn’t be able to hear it if weren’t for how close you two are right now. Maybe your eyes are playing a game to you right now but you can see red on his cheeks.

You must be dreaming. Or it’s that you aren’t fully awake right now and can’t think clearly, because there’s no way the rin itoshi is saying what you think he is

Fuck it, you’ve waited long enough

Your pull on him is harsher than you intended, your lips practically to crash to each other but neither of you seem to care. His body is warm against yours, and he tastes of mint.

You’re not sure how long have passed, maybe a few minutes, maybe an eternity. Or perhaps it was just a moment, shorter than one blink.

Before you can even process what just happened, you’re hit with another shock; he is smiling

rin itoshi is smiling. not a know it all “I said so”type of smirk. not a forced one.

But one that creeps bigger and bigger as he stares to you, mimicking the way red blossoms to his cheek. Yours probably aren’t much different right now either

At that moment one sentence slips out of your mouth;

“Happy birthday rin”

481 notes · View notes

alwritey-aphrodite · 2 months

Note

"wow I really cant speak huh? must be how pretty you look" with tasm! Peter parker

Peter knows he’s not exactly the epitome of suave and charming. He’s a little awkward, lanky and clumsy despite his choice of extracurricular, and May says he still leaves the house without his clothes matching or ironed most days. Still, he can’t help but want to talk to you, even when he trips over his words and makes a fool of himself every single time.

“Hey, can I sit?” He asks, voice too loud for the quiet library as he gestures towards the empty chair across from you. There are plenty of extra seats, open tables scattered all throughout the room, but you’re like a magnet, and every time Peter sees you, he can’t help but make his way over.

“Go ahead,” you respond in the appropriate volume, with a smile that makes your eyes shine as he sets his bag down, backpack thumping against the floor and causing all eyes to settle on him once again. He’s quick to pull out his own supplies as you turn back to your open textbook, highlighter gliding across the page every few minutes. Peter gets no work done, but he really can’t be blamed because how is he expected to focus when you’re so beautiful when you’re concentrating? Terrified of being caught staring, he turns back towards his blank page and scribbles some nonsense, hoping you don’t think he’s a complete weirdo.

He’s so focused on trying to look like he’s busy without actually doing anything that he doesn’t notice when you shut your textbook and slide it into your bag, and he nearly jumps out of his seat in shock when you lean forward to tap your knuckles against the table.

“Wanna grab lunch?” You ask, leaning across the table to keep your voice down but all Peter can focus on is how pretty your hair looks, illuminated from behind like an angel.

“Yeah, sure, that would be awesome,” he struggles to form any sort of concise or cohesive sentence, but you smile anyway, leaving him to miss your proximity as you straighten up and haul your backpack onto your shoulder.

It really is a beautiful day, and it seems like the entire city is in a good mood, celebrating the end of winter and the beginning of warm weather and sunshine. It won’t last long, and soon everyone will be angry and rude and hot and miserable, but for now, the weather is perfect and people smile as you walk past.

“I’m so ready for this semester to be over,” you say as you tilt your head upwards, like a flower seeking out the sun, and Peter’s so enamored he almost forgets to respond, until you sneak a glance out of the corner of your eye, your lips quirked up in a teasing smile, something less soft but no less beautiful than the smile he typically receives.

“Oh yeah, me too,” he manages to reply, your knuckles brushing against his as you swing your arms while you walk.

“Any big plans?” This time you tilt your head towards him, and the full force of your attention is almost too much, almost enough to make Peter’s heart stop and his brain shut down. He doesn’t trust his brain to create a full, coherent response, so he just shakes his head, smiling as you reply, “Me neither,” before he even gets the chance to ask.

The two of you stop by one of the many cheap takeout restaurants near the library, grabbing your food and finding a bench to enjoy the weather, keeping your head tilted up to the sun as if it’s truly magnetic, as if you don’t have a choice but to bloom. Peter tries his best to be a good conversationalist, but he’s got so many thoughts and feelings swirling through his brain that every time he looks at you, or can feel you looking at him, he’s unable to respond the way he wants to.

“Wow, I really can’t speak, huh?” He asks rhetorically after stuttering over his words for what seems like the millionth time, “Must be how pretty you look.” He spares you a sideways glance, a little afraid to look at you fully, but he can’t help but grin when he sees your mouth open and close, silently attempting to form a response. He laughs and you follow suit, leaning against his side with the force of your giggles and sending him into a spiral all over again. You'd been on equal footing for a minute, but even as his heart pounds against his ribs and you straighten up again, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm peter parker #tasm fanfiction #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter fanfiction #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction

194 notes · View notes

eff4freddie · 23 days

Text

Touch | Part Six

Words: 5.8k

Just as you approach something resembling contentment, this broken world will exact its toll.

Warnings: smutty smut, trauma, grief, Joel hasn't come to terms with what happened in Salt Lake, Joel is bad at feelings, but pretty good with his hands. Minors DNI.

Part Five | Series Masterlist | Part Seven

You were busy again, the new table earning its keep almost immediately, and the ease that you moved around your treatment room, the way that you could bend without reaching over, push with your weight rather than your wrists, meant that you could concentrate more, heal more effectively. You hadn’t realised how much the clumsiness of the old dining table had been holding you back. Every day that you used it, you wanted to find a new way to thank Joel. Maybe even sometimes, with all of your clothes on.

Except that the idea also terrified you, in a way that you were struggling to really understand. The idea of him, of being naked with him, not that you really fully had been, of kissing him even, no that you had, was enough to send an absolute riot of butterflies careening through your guts and down into your legs, into your knees. The idea of him scared you, his reputation proceeded him, and you kept thinking of how wary Maria was, how protective Ellie seemed to be, how sweetly oblivious Tommy was most of the time which you were beginning to suspect was actually a choice. You wanted to pull them all into a room and forensically map out who the fuck Joel Miller actually was. You were aware you were thinking like a crazy person. You didn’t care.

Because then when he was with you, when you fell into his orbit, looked into his eyes, there was something heavier and realer and more tangible than your stupid, flighty, squawking fears. It worried you, that he made you into a different person when he was around you. You weren’t sure what that person was capable of getting up to, left to her own devices, but you had an inkling.

You knew that you were pushing him away, pushing it all away, because it scared you, but also it felt like the only sane thing to do, had kept you alive for years and years, had meant that when you lost people it hurt less, maybe. Being busy again, and fairly invested in maintaining your denial for as long as you could manage it, you got back to your usual routine of seeing the broken and weary people of Jackson early, before the work hours, and then steadily throughout the day. It afforded you the illusion of being sociable, of contributing to the community, without having to actually be in it. Without Ray and Marla, with Maria and Tommy wrapped up in the baby, with Joel being…Joel, you had collected a long list of clients and a dwindling list of friends. It could have made you sad if you thought about it, so you didn’t, and you were too busy anyway, and how could you be lonely with all these people in your house?

Besides which, in the quiet moments you could feel the tension in people, the uneasiness woven tight into the musculature of most of the residents you now saw. Not everyone knew Marla or Jacob or the others personally, not everyone even necessarily liked them, especially not fucking Jacob, but everyone had an investment in their safe and hopefully bountiful return.

To escape it, you went for long walks along the foreshore of Jackon’s lake at the bottom of the township, until the dying light forced you back. You were there, hands in the freezing water feeling out for flat stones you could warm in hot water and press into particularly assertive muscle knots, when you heard the yelling. You were up and sprinting, the twisty and icy path underneath you occasionally threatening to boot you into the snow, and if you’d had time to think about it you have marvelled at the difference in your reaction from Joel and Ellie’s homecoming to this one. The elation you felt at their return, the relief of it, not just for you and Marla and Ray, but for Jackon. For what it meant for this community. For your community.

Trying not to knock yourself out on the way to the gate meant that you didn’t initially notice the quiet. There was a smattering of people still out despite the cold, the encroaching darkness, but they weren’t rushing forward, weren’t really helping the returned residents, were in fact milling around, some just standing in quiet observance, and it occurred to you for a second that they were like onlookers at a funeral. You pushed forward into the crowd, trying to see past unmoving shoulders, past still bodies, moving towards the sounds of horses, of panting breaths you weren’t sure belonged to whom.

And then you arrived at the front, and you had a clear view. And you realised the panting breaths were your own.

There were only two horses, and only three riders. Marla at the reigns of one, Jacob slung over the back of her saddle, slumping over at an odd angle, his head rolled back in a way that you thought would really strain his cervical spine, until you realised he was tied to the horse, had been roped around Marla’s midsection, that he was nearly as pale as the snow around you, that he was very dead. The other rider stared, unblinking, into the distance and was eventually helped down and led to the infirmary, not ever having said a word.

Marla had seen you, had watched you fight your way to the front of the crowd, had searched you out. She was shivering, a splatter of blood across her chest and under her neck, and you couldn’t tell if it was hers or if it was Jacob’s or someone else’s entirely, and in that moment staring into her eyes you knew that it didn’t matter, that it would never matter, that whatever damage it was it had already been calculated, tallied, on a ledger somewhere none of you would ever be able to balance.

You motioned to a few of the men around you, gesturing to the ropes around Marla’s middle. ‘Cut him loose,’ you said, in a voice you didn’t recognise, and reached your arms up to hold Marla’s hand. You held it, limp and contrite in yours, while Jacob’s body was freed from hers. When he was lifted away she slumped forward, her back having held his weight for god knows how long, and you caught her, pulled her down from the horse on wobbling legs, let her crumple underneath you and set her down onto the pavement. Someone pulled a blanket over her shoulders and you held her in it, gripped her hard and tight and let her shake in your arms. You looked up into the eyes of Ray, who looked like he might throw up or pass out or both, and you pulled him down with you, wrapped him around her while he cried into her hairline, and you watched as the horses were led away.

‘Did you bring anything?’ someone asked from the crowd, quiet but hopeful, and you wanted to reach up and slap them for every moronic word they had dared speak into existence, had thought to utter in this sacred space of abject loss.

Marla never answered, and you squeezed her. She twisted in your arms to look up at you, an angry purple and yellow bruise forming having formed under her eye. You turned to Ray. ‘Help me get her to mine,’ you said.

You had the fire going, and you pushed your old armchair right up to it, folding Marla into it under a sea of blankets. Ray went to get something to bring her from the mess hall, something warming but easy to chew, and you perched beside her, slid down until her knees were in your lap and she was resting her head against the wing of the chair, and you stared, together, into the fire.

‘We barely made it back,’ she whispered, her voice dry, her lips chapped and windburned. You stayed still, not wanting to shake her, not wanting to do anything that might stop her from talking. ‘Rode through, all night. I wanted to bring him back, bring them all but I could only get him.’

‘Was it raiders?’ you asked, and she shook her head.

‘Both,’ she said, and you didn’t understand. ‘Raiders that had…kept a few clickers, had them locked up, had them uhhh…weaponised.’

You shuddered. ‘Like pets?’ you asked.

‘Like torture devices,’ she simply replied. You contemplated this for a second, couldn’t imagine it, the terror of being faced with that choice: raider or runner.

‘We got within a few hours of where we thought the pharmacy was,’ she went on, her voice catching. She continued to shake, her hands tremoring underneath the blanket, and you tried to tuck her in tighter, tried to warm her up. ‘We’d gone through a valley, ended up on the other side of a glade, it would have been so beautiful in the before times. We found a farmhouse, looked abandoned. Wasn’t.’

She was jiggling her foot and you put your hand out to hold it, feeling that her socks were wet. ‘By the time we realised they were already on us, were ready, had seen us coming.’

She looked at you, tears forming in her eyes. ‘They tried to lock us in the cage with them,’ she swallowed. ‘Jacob was really brave, fought them hard, stopped them from putting us in.’

If cold had gotten into her boots she must have been freezing, was risking losing a toe. You lifted the blankets to pull at her sock, putting your hand on her bare skin to warm it.

‘But one of them, two of them maybe, they got out,’ she continued. You held the ball of her foot in your hand, rubbing your thumb over the top of her foot in what you hoped were comforting little circles.

‘I just wanted to get him back here,’ she said, just as you felt it, a raised, rough ridge on her ankle, tendrils of heat snaking up her shin. You threw the blankets back, saw the bite there, the way the ropes of twisting fungus had already started their march up to her heart. You froze, your terrified eyes snapping to her wet, sorry, scared ones.

‘Don’t let Ray do it,’ she said.

It didn’t matter that you hadn’t been there before, you knew where it was. You wrapped on the door so hard you would later discover the skin on your knuckles had split. All you could hear was the ringing in your ears, your vision narrowed down to a pinprick, the look on Marla’s face so drawn, so scared, so resolute, imprinted on the inside of your eyelids. You kept wrapping, hopping from side to side, your tears mingling with the frigid air. You called for him on his front porch, your voice high and choking on the fear, on the grief in it.

He'd wrenched the door open, having pulled his boots on but not yet done up the laces, the furrow in his brow deep, his eyes wild when he clocked you, when he checked your six.

‘Jesus, are you? What is it?’ he spluttered, and you couldn’t let him finish, had to get the words out in case they poisoned you.

‘She’s bit, Joel,’ you spat out, watching his face fall.

‘Who, Ellie?’ he asked, panic rising in his voice, and you choked out a sob, shaking your head fiercely. He grabbed you by both shoulders, bending down to look you in the eye. You shook underneath him, wanted to launch yourself into his chest and bury yourself in it.

‘Marla,’ you said, shivering so hard your jaw was barely cooperating. ‘She came back bit.’

‘Where is she?’ he asked, and you told him. You’d locked her in your treatment room. She hadn’t turned yet, and you figured there was still an hour or two, maybe. The tremors you’d thought were the cold, shock.

‘Please, Joel,’ you said, and he was already heading back into the house to grab his rifle. Tears were streaming down your face now, your knees threatening to give. ‘Please be kind about it.’

He pulled you in, off his porch and into his living room. Set you down on the rug beside the fire.

‘I’ve got you,’ he said. ‘You stay here, you stay warm. You wait for me. You don’t come lookin’, you hear me?’

You nodded, and he shook his head at you. ‘Repeat it,’ he said.

‘I won’t come looking,’ you said, quiet and desperate like a child. He nodded, then, his rifle slung over his shoulder. You took a long breath in, felt the burn of it down your chest and into your lungs. Felt the electricity crackle between the two of you, arcing from his chest to yours through the air, let it fuel you for the next part.

The three of you had just left Chicago, two or so days into your trek towards Wyoming, to maybe find something better, to maybe find more of the same. Ray and Marla were ahead of you by about four paces, you deciding to hang back to let them chat. You could hear their murmurs, Ray’s giggle high and giddy when Marla made him laugh. You could imagine the two of them strolling down a sidewalk together, one hand holding their coffees with the other hand holding each other’s. You could see the golden light of the late afternoon in the trees, backlighting them as they chatted about their work, about their friends, about what movie they wanted to see on the weekend. You could imagine them going out for dinner of an evening, Marla resting her head on Ray’s shoulder as the sun set over the water, the two of them intertwined and suburban and blissfully, delightfully bored.

You were so lost in this reverie that you hadn’t realised they were talking to you until you nearly rammed into them, and you stopped to see them smiling, warmly at you.

‘You were a million miles away,’ Marla observed, and she reached out to pinch your arm.

‘Years,’ you said. ‘I was a million years away.’

You sat with your legs folded underneath you on Joel’s floor, the fire warming your skin enough to remind you that you were alive. Your stomach ached, your chest burned, you rocked backwards and forwards and tucked your chin into your chest and sobbed, alternating between wiping your tears with the top of your shirt and just letting them fall onto the carpet.

You saw yourself as if you were floating outside your body, observed yourself get up on all fours and keen into the carpet, unleashing a wail unlike anything you’d ever heard. You thought, for a second, that this woman on the floor was unrecognisable, was barely human, scratching at the rug and trying to breathe through the sobs.

The night grew darker. The fire died down. You collapsed in on yourself, felt the last guide rope tethering you to the ground fail, and you slipped under, crouched on the floor with your forehead resting on your arms, your knees numb from the weight of pressing into the rug, your mind empty, time having stopped, the world having fallen off its axis. A small part of you observed in wonder at how much grief you could carry. A larger part, a wiser part, a part that had taken a back seat to let the banshee take the wheel for a while, knew that this was so much more than Marla. Knew that it was all of them, a ledger steeped in red.

In the darkness you became vaguely aware of footsteps, the sound of the fire being stoked, logs being added. Felt a blanket thrown over your shoulders, then warm hands on the small of your back guiding you, pulling you up and over to sit astride a warm body, a strong pair of legs. You wrapped your arms around him, clung to him like a koala to a Eucalypt, snuffled your tear-streaked face into his neck, into his shirt. He held you to him, a hand buried in your hair and cradling your skull in his palm, the other wrapped around your back, easing the fabric away and tucking under, to touch you, skin to skin. You heard whispers of words, mixed with your own sobs, your own gasps. He held you through all of it, on aching bones on the hard floor, until the crashing waves settled, until you finally washed ashore.

‘You don’t have a couch,’ you said, after a while, pulling your head up to observe the oddly sparse furniture arrangement. He snickered, leaning you back to brush the hair out of your eyes, away from your wet face.

You realised, after a moment, heat on your cheeks. ‘Oh,’ you said, simply. He gazed at you, watched you put two and two together, stood unshaken in all that he had sacrificed for you.

‘But where do you sit?’ you asked, and he nodded towards the old rocking chair he’d pulled in from the porch outside. You nodded your head, because it was perfect really, and because it made sense, and because you needed it to.

‘Is she gone?’ you asked, shifting on his lap to watch his face. He blinked slowly, nodded. You felt your face crumple, felt him tighten his hold on you. ‘Was it bad?’ you choked out, and he shook his head.

‘She was so brave,’ he said, gravelly voice just above a whisper. He reached out and cupped your face, wiped a tear away, held your gaze to him. ‘She was ready. She said when it was time.’

‘She didn’t…turn?’ you asked, clinging to his forearms now, letting him anchor you. He shook his head once more.

‘No, baby,’ he said, and you wanted to wrap yourself up in the sound of it, let it blanket you in warmth and quiet, burrow down into it and hibernate for the winter.

‘Thank you,’ you said, simply. He hummed in response, collecting a tear on his thumb and raising it to his lips, licking it clean. You gasped at the sight of it, his eyes never leaving yours, squirming on his lap, the sudden heat in your cunt catching you off guard. ‘Joel?’ you whispered, and he raised his eyebrows at you. ‘Are your legs numb?’ and he laughed then, because you had managed to surprise him, and after he caught his breath he sheepishly nodded. ‘Take me to bed, then,’ you said, climbing off him and extending a hand. You hauled him up, his knees creaking. For a moment the both of you stood, staring at each other in the light of the fire. You felt breathless with need for him, your head swimming, the sadness shifting just enough to let the heat in, the want. ‘Up the stairs,’ he told you. You slipped your hand into his paw.

Joel’s bedroom was sparse, the walnut oak bed pressed up against the wall, a stack of books on the floor beneath a bare lamp, a guitar in the corner. His scent was all over the sheets, all over the clothes strewn around the floor. You pressed yourself against him in the hope that you would absorb some of it into your cotton.

The moment you crossed the threshold his hands were on you, pulling your clothes from you like they had personally insulted him, shucking your jeans off your hips and pulling your panties down with them until you were bare, standing before him at the foot of his bed. He took a step back and you watched his face as his gaze devoured you, the heat of it so scorching that you could swear you could feel his fingers on you even standing three feet away. You trembled from the cold air and the intensity of it, and he saw in your face, read in you that you wanted to turn away from it, from the intimacy of it.

‘Don’t,’ he all but whispered, coming towards you and running his hands up on the outside of your arms. ‘Don’t be shy, not now,’ he said. He slipped a hand behind your back and his knees between yours, pushing you gently onto the bed behind you, laid his body over you and nipped at the skin behind your ear. You pulled at his flannel, trying to claw it from him without even unbuttoning it, groaning in frustration when the garment held fast. He snickered, his little lopsided grin, as he pulled it away.

You lifted yourself up on one arm, bringing the other to cradle him to you, licks and nibbles to his collar bone, to the patches of hair on his chin. His brought his hands to your breasts, pebbled the nipple with his fingers while he pushed and rolled them, squeezed them together just to watch them bounce. He was hard and heavy between your legs, still covered in his jeans, and you lifted shaking fingers to his belt buckle. He froze, a sharp intake of breath between his teeth, as he watched you. You faltered, worried for a second you had read it all wrong, that he was going to push you from him, that he had seen something in you, that you had revealed something wrong and gnarled.

‘Do you…should I?’ you stuttered, and he came to his senses again, his brow creasing when he saw you were floundering.

‘Oh, my sweet girl,’ he said, and you thought it would be kinder if he just set you on fire at that point, ‘darlin’ I was just awed for a second, that somethin’ as gorgeous as you would want a man like me. An old man like me.’

You felt the relief wash over you, your pulse quickening now but not from fear. ‘Seasoned,’ you grinned, bringing him back down to you, pulling him on top of you as his hands helped yours to free him, push his jeans over his hips. ‘Worn in,’ you went on, and he grinned at your little game. ‘Fine wine,’ you finished, and he snickered again.

‘Vinegar,’ he said, and you pushed his head down to your chest, fed him your breast, let him lave at your nipple while you gasped and clutched at his hair.

‘Experienced,’ you whimpered, and he huffed out a warm laugh into your breastbone. You wanted to unlock your ribs, swing them open like an ancient garden gate, and capture it there for safe keeping.

Free, now, the two of you naked and lying together on top of his blanket, the sheets rumpling underneath you as you rutted against each other. He reached a hand down to cup your sex, groaning when he felt how wet he had made you, how you were dripping for him. You gasped as he ran his fingers up and over your slit, gently teasing your lips apart, testing you, teasing you. You rolled your hips, trying to snare him, trying to slide him inside, but he worked against you, zigged when you zagged, and your frustrated little gasps delighted him.

‘Joel,’ you groaned, your voice tight across your chest, not enough air in your lungs to properly scold him. He ignored you, instead lifting his lips to his fingers and sampling a little taste. You watched him, eyes wide as his fell shut at the taste of you.

‘So sweet,’ he said, almost to himself, before he opened his eyes as if he just remembered you were there. ‘Here, baby,’ he said, and he fed yourself to you, his fingers sliding over your tongue as you suckled at them, his hot breath on your face as he watched you, pupils dark in the half-light of his lamp, sweat forming on his brow.

When you had sucked them clean he lowered them again, slipped them inside you, bending down to rest his ear on your mouth when you began to pant, to whimper.

‘Show me,’ he said, pulling your hand to your cunt and watching as you began slow, lazy circles around your clit. He furrowed his brow, pushed off you and down to watch properly, lifted a leg to prop you open, planting your foot on the mattress beneath you to open you wide and obscene in front of him. You blushed, moved to cover your face with your hands, but he stopped and caught you, brought your fingers back to your core before he slipped inside again. You raised your head to look at him beneath you and you realised he was learning you, studying your movements to replicate them later, letting you teach him how to touch you so that you’d never have to do it alone again.

Your first orgasm hit you hard. Under his careful, studious gaze you felt yourself unravel, your legs shaking where he held you open, his hand grasping at your ankle to keep you from slamming shut. So lost in the feeling of it, of the blooming heat expanding out and into your belly, of the undulations of your cunt around his fingers, that you barely noticed him slip his fingers from you and slide to the ground beside the bed, pushing your legs into your chest and holding them there, pressing you in half all the better to ease his tongue into your cunt and lick up your spend, kitten licks at your sensitive clit before plunging his tongue into your hole, breathing hard through his nose and groaning, uttering filth in the base of his throat as he devoured you, wrung your second orgasm from you in a matter of minutes, rolling from side to side and head thrown back, hands tangled in his hair as his mouth rode you, as he stayed with you up to your peak and then over it, savouring and lapping at your come, rutting into the side of the bed as he let your thighs down to rest on his shoulders, your breath ragged and rippling with pleasure, hands clutching to the blanket to steady himself, to catch his breath.

He gazed at you in repose, ran his eyes over your sopping cunt up to your heaving belly, to the curve of the underside of your breast, the nipples straining into the cold air, and then up to your face, your head thrown back as you came down, as you squirmed from the overstimulation still coursing through you, as you let your hands drop beside you, sated and glorious in his worship of you.

You swallowed, your mouth, lips, throat dry. With shaky hands you reached for him, grabbed at the air above his shoulders, felt him shift and rise up to meet you, felt his weight blanketing you as you came back to yourself. With one hand in your hair and the other tracing your cheek, your jaw, you opened your eyes to stare into his, the desire carved hard and deep into his features.

‘Take it,’ you whispered, watching as his bottom lip quivered with need. ‘Please, Joel.’

He shifted his weight to one arm, reached down between you as you lifted your legs to bracket his hips, crossing your feet at the ankles behind his back. You felt him guide his cock to the weeping maw of your cunt.

‘Please,’ you whispered again, as you felt him slip inside you, the burn and the stretch and the force of him, so hard and pulsing as he parted you. He dropped his head, sighing, and you planted your lips to his brow, whimpered at the weight of his cock inside you, at the weight of the two of you finally, finally joined.

‘She’s tight, baby,’ he said, his brow creasing. He moved his hips, shoving further into you in one shot, and you gasped, grabbed at his shoulders, brought his eyes back to yours. He paused, gazing into your eyes, read the trepidation in them. ‘S’ok baby,’ he cooed, leaning down to place a kiss on your cheekbone. ‘You can do it,’ he encouraged, and you felt the warmth of his reassurance radiate down your thighs. ‘We can take our time,’ he said, languidly pulling back from you before gently, achingly, taking his place again. ‘Got all night for ya,’ he said, and you realised he had started to ramble, and that under his hot breath, on top of his blanket in his sparse bedroom lit only by his bedside lamp, in the cold Jackson night where the snow dampened all the noise, all the loss, all the sharp edges down, you never wanted him to stop whispering his filthy encouragement to you, never wanted him to stop easing his way into you, to the core of you, marking you where only he belonged.

‘Doin’ so good for me,’ he went on, his eyes closing on their own, lost in the grip of your cunt around him, in the heat of you. Finally he was fully seated, the warmth of his belly coming to rest upon yours. He settled there, reluctant to move, until you squirmed underneath him, caged whimpers escaping your throat. He opened his eyes, his lopsided grin appearing above you, as he planted a kiss on your hairline, gazed down at you as you stretched around him. He brought his hand down to cup your jaw again, held you there under his stare, as he withdrew his hips and eased back in again, pushing deeper into you that you gasped when he bottomed out, his eyes never leaving yours as your mouth dropped open in surprise at the feeling he was pulling from you, at the need and the ache of your cunt spread so open and wanting for him, at the way he was so effortlessly taking you apart, so calmly and so warmly unravelling you.

‘Too good,’ you complained, your brow saddling and jaw clenching, as you felt your cunt grip and release, grip and release. He cooed at you, revelling in your whimpers, gasped as you did, shared in your breath, made you submit to the divinity he was pushing you towards. This was how your third orgasm found you.

Locked in his gaze you could only lie beneath him, holding him to you by the shoulders and groaning as he pistoned in and out, watching his eyes slam shut as he was dragged under, submitted to the pull, his come washing the fear and the stress and the grief out of you, replacing it only with scorching heat, with a kind of pleasure indistinguishable from a greedy, pernicious want, with something that, in another life, you could have shaped into love.

You lay, entwined together, under his blanket. Your head on his chest, ear to his heartbeat, you felt your body rise and fall as he breathed underneath you. You hadn’t wanted the night to end, hadn’t wanted to close your eyes and wake to the aftermath. Together you lay and watched the sunrise. Occasionally Joel ran his fingers up and down your arm to let you know he was still there.

‘Joel?’ you whispered, and he hummed in response. You kept your head down, listening to his pulse quicken as you spoke. ‘Canna ask you something?’ you said, jaw resting on his ribs.

‘Uhhuh,’ he said, but his fingers were stopped now, frozen in place on your shoulder.

‘Before, when we were…’ you trailed off, because even though hours before he had been eyelevel with your swollen, puffy cunt, now suddenly talking about it felt too intimate. ‘Before,’ you started again, ‘you said you didn’t think I’d want a man like you.’

‘An old man,’ he corrected, and you smiled.

‘Seasoned,’ you corrected, and he groaned, theatrically. ‘But you said a man like you, then an old man like you,’ you reminded him. He wasn’t laughing anymore, and you could feel the temperature in the room drop. ‘What did you mean?’ you ploughed on, because you were in it now.

He thought for a moment, swallowing hard. You shifted in his arms, looked up at him, saw the flicker of panic there, before he reset his features in stone. You pulled away from him in surprise, not having seen that look directed at you in weeks, not since the first time he had appeared reticent and sore at your door. Your stomach dropped.

‘I gotta check on the horses,’ he said, rolling you out of the way and moving to get up. You sat up with him, grabbing at his arm.

‘Joel,’ you said, trying to pull him back towards you, but so easily overpowered. He rolled his shoulder, shaking you off.

‘The two that came back, they need to be checked over. Waited for first light.’

‘Joel, I don’t understand what’s happening.’ He was standing, pacing around the room pulling his clothes back together, gathering yours and dropping them on the end of the bed. He stared at you, expectant, but you refused to move.

‘What kind of man did you mean, Joel?’ you pressed him, and he scoffed, pulling his jeans on and hastily doing up his shirt. He missed a few buttons, and in that moment you didn’t feel like helping him.

‘You know exactly what kind of man,’ he said.

You saw Maria’s tense shoulders when he came into her kitchen, bleeding. You saw her sitting in your kitchen as you held her feet to your chest, explaining how Tommy was different, how he had only wanted to impress his big brother.

Sort of dressed, he was now pacing, the morning light turning his skin a ghostly pale, and you thought for a moment he was haunting you. ‘You know exactly,’ he repeated. ‘Same reason you came running to me the second your friend needed killin’.’

You flinched like he’d slapped you, would have preferred if he had.

‘What kind of man, Joel?’ you asked, and he looked at you, then, tortured for a second before he wiped it away with his hand on his face.

‘A fuckin killer,’ he said, quiet and deathly in the chill of the morning.

You stared at him, heart racing. You were surprised and you also weren’t. You knew what this world demanded of people, the toll you had all paid for survival.

‘Infected?’ you asked, and he sighed, frustrated.

‘Don’t be so fuckin’ naïve,’ he said.

You remembered you were naked, but this was the first time he had really made you feel it, and you held the blanket to your chest, tight.

He wouldn’t look at you, staring instead out the window as Jackson woke.

‘I ain’t a good man,’ he said, quietly, and you shook your head.

‘I don’t believe that,’ you said, and he sneered at you then, picked up your clothes and threw them at you.

‘You don’t know shit about me,’ he said, and then he was gone. You listened as his heavy footsteps stomped down the stairs, the pause as he pulled his boots on, the slam of the door.

Taglist:

@orcasoul

@archofimagine

@hiroikegawa

@ilovejoel-andjavi

@giggly-otter

@harrysrosetatto

@Hjzghi-blog

@daddy-dins-girl

@kathaaaaaaa

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller #tlou fanfiction

133 notes · View notes

save-the-villainous-cat · 7 months

Note

Please may I have experienced superhero x rookie terrified villain with many many spicy?? I shall trade u my driving license for it. Big please.

The villain punched them in the jaw — accidentally.

It was the hero’s fault, at least partially, since they had decided to sneak up on them. The villain was in the middle of a robbery, concentrating on breaking glass and stealing ancient archeological artefacts. When the villain turned around, heart pounding in their chest, they put a hand on their mouth and stared at their nemesis.

The punch had hurt the villain’s knuckles too, turning them red and making them ache but the villain’s jaw looked the exact same. They had taken a few steps back, had even mumbled a quiet “fuck,” however, now they only smirked.

“Damn,” they said. “That’ll bruise.”

The villain considered running away. The ancient dagger was in their hand, worth millions on the black market.

“…you’re welcome?”

“You disabled the security system, that was smart. But you didn’t think of the fast food restaurant across the street. People watched you break into the museum.” The hero was tall. And usually, the villain was the tall one in their friend group but the hero seemed to be more present than the villain.

They could’ve blamed it on authority but the villain suspected it was focus.

They held up their hands as if to give up.

“Sorry to cause you any trouble, officer.”

“You know I’m not with the police,” the hero said. They took a step towards the villain and in this situation, they could’ve easily taken control over the villain. The punch hadn’t really affected them, hadn’t even intimidated them. “Not a big fan of teams, you know?”

“Ahh, lone wolf.” The villain’s grip around the dagger tightened and they slowly took a step back, their boots crushing the glass on the ground. “Intriguing.”

Would the hero actually put them in jail? Yeah, stealing wasn’t right but the villain needed that goddamn money.

The hero grinned smoothly, whereas sweat ran down the villain’s back.

God, this was what? The fifth time they were seeing each other?

“You like that?”

“I didn’t say that,” the villain replied quickly, maybe a little too quickly. There was a dagger in the villain’s hand, they realised, so they pointed it at the hero confidently. “But I’d like to leave now.”

The hero shook their head and tsked.

“Are you sure you want to add assault to this robbery? Doesn’t look good on a resume, trust me.” They crossed their arms in front of their chest.

“Well, I already punched you in the jaw, so…” Another step forward. Another step back. The hero cocked their head curiously, observing the villain’s movements carefully.

“Oh, you wouldn’t dare.” And the villain hadn’t thought that they would dare but they decided to close their eyes (dumb thought) and stab the hero blindly (even dumber).

Their eyes opened wide when the hero grabbed their wrist and managed to push them to the ground. Suddenly, the dagger they wanted to steal was pressed against their throat and the hero sat on top of them, face only centimetres away from them. All of the air left the villain’s lungs as their heart pumped blood through their system at abnormal speed.

The ground underneath them was hard and the hero was heavy on their hips. They stared up at them, mouth gaping.

“You’re pretty feisty, no?” the hero asked. They leaned in, lips against the villain’s ear. “And provocative.”

The villain didn’t know what to say to that, couldn’t even think of a dumb response. They tried to get up but the hero pushed them down lazily, as if they were bored.

“If you behave, I’ll call it attempted robbery in my report and we can call it a night.” They shrugged. “I’m a generous hero, y’know, and you’re kinda cute.”

“Cute?” The villain could feel their cheeks heat up. Whatever mind games the hero was playing, it worked. The villain didn’t feel like stealing anytime soon.

“Kinda cute. I’ll have to check you for other weapons now.” The villain was sure their whole body was turning a dark red as the hero’s fingers went down their body. Probably the worst part about this was how careful the hero was, how intimate yet respectful the situation was. The villain watched them search for weapons (which were nonexistent) with gentle fingers that weren’t lewd.

The villain didn’t know if they were falling for their nemesis or if they were just touch-starved.

“Hm. Brave little villain, no?” Once again, the hero tilted their head, as if they were toying with their prey. “Let’s talk about this.”

“This feels like a date,” the villain whispered, eyes staring up in shock.

“…who says it isn’t?” The hero winked and began their interrogation.

#not really spicy!!#writing snippet #heroxvillain snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroes and villains #villain #hero #hero x villain #heroxvillain #an answer for an ask #request

209 notes · View notes

capricornlevi · 3 months

Text

tattoo artist!choso x reader // v mildly suggestive/nsfw, mdni // wc ~700

---

"choso, it's just like tattooing anybody else," you quip, diligently keeping your arm in the position he set out at the beginning. his tattoo parlour's bench is quite comfortable, all things considered -- you don't think you could manage two hours on your side with your arm over your head otherwise. "just pretend i'm any other client."

"you're not," he retorts, and when you glance down at him, you see he's locked in on the movements of the needle, eyes not so much as flickering a millimetre in your direction. his hair is pulled back out of his eyes, his sleeves rolled up to reveal the black-and-white whirls of his own designs, but even as you gawk down at him, he continues pretending that the only visible part of you is the three-inch wide patch of skin he's tattooing.

equal parts relieving and frustrating.

"how is it any different?" you press, trying to point out the ridiculousness of his worries.

he scoffs in response, careful to not let it affect his movements, the unrelenting sting of the needle against your ribcage serving as evidence. "i haven't seen my other clients naked before."

you roll your eyes. "you've seen me naked three times, y'know. we're hardly married. can't a girl ask her talented friend-with-benefits for a tattoo? isn't that one of the benefits?"

choso's nose scrunches up adorably, brow furrowing from something other than concentration. "don't call us that."

"aw, are we lovers? paramours? in a situationshi-"

"don't finish that sentence," he butts in impatiently, gloved hand holding your waist firmly in place as he puts the finishing touches on his design.

he had been mumbling before about how awkward this could be, how he doesn't like to tattoo people he knows. how it's too much pressure.

you decide to put his mind at ease. "well, we're not dating, so if it turns out shit, i can't really break up with you. i can only just ... make it so that you won't see me naked a fourth time, i guess. is that still a scary consequence?"

"terrifying," he mumbles through a fond smile, your ramblings having successfully cut through the tension. and just then, the buzz of the needle quietens to a stop, with choso grabbing some equipment from his side tray that you presume is for the aftercare.

"is that it?" you gasp, trying to angle your head to catch a glimpse at the finished work. "is it done?"

"that didn't feel like two hours to you?" he asks, lips still pulled up into a nervous little grin as he grabs a mirror. "can't say the same for myself. i told you how much pressure it is-"

"choso!" you squeal, a bit more ungracefully than you expected, mouth falling open as the image of your tattoo reflects in the mirror in front of you. "i fucking love it!"

the design is the stuff of your pinterest board dreams; exactly as you imagined it but somehow better, with refined details you couldn't have pictured yourself. all done with minimal pain and only a bit of griping on the artist's end.

a blush has formed along choso's sharp cheekbones, the same blush you get to see whenever you have the apartment to yourself and can invite him over without your shared friend group making the world's biggest deal out of it.

the same blush he gets whenever you kiss him, when your fingernails start to dig in against his lower back as he --

"you like it?" he asks, adorably bashful despite the objective beauty of his design.

"of course," you reply earnestly, figuring it best not to tease him when he's done you such a favour. "i know you're giving me a reduced rate, but fuck, man, you could charge double for this."

"double is a bit dramatic," he replies quietly, blush spreading. your turn to grin.

"okay, then i'll have to make it up to you in other ways, i guess."

he swallows thickly, your implication obvious even to someone as innocent as choso.

still, for the sake of clarity and to show your sincere gratitude -- and your own self-interest, admittedly, since you can't believe it's been nearly two weeks since you're felt his lips on yours -- you decide to elaborate on your offer.

"up for a fourth time?"

#choso x reader #choso kamo x reader #choso x you #jjk x reader #may tries to write

103 notes · View notes

underdark-dreams · 5 months

Text

I got too excited and finished the second chapter 👀 [ch1]

A Strand to Climb - Ch.2

Tav finally catches up with her wizard at Sorcerous Sundries; Rolan has some complicated feelings about seeing her again.

Tags: Reunions, Mutual Pining | Word Count: 3,042 [Read on AO3]

The next day dawned just as gloomy and gray as Rolan’s mood.

He hadn't slept well in his chilly room at the Tower; the flesh beside his brow was bruised deeper than he’d realized. His fretful dreams of shadow curses and illithid monstrosities had been laced through with the dull ache in his skull.

As a result he’d been short with the customers this morning. It didn’t really matter—no one cared about the boy behind the counter. People tended to look through him, if they looked at him at all.

No doubt his bruised and beaten appearance made people uncomfortable. Rolan knew Lorroakan didn’t care a jot for his wellbeing, but he did wonder why the man wouldn’t avoid damaging the first face people saw when they walked in. It couldn’t be good for business.

These days Rolan found himself more of a shopkeeper than a student, after all.

With that thought in mind, he pulled the large book of figures up onto the counter. At least there was plenty of work there to occupy him—Lorroakan had been an atrocious bookkeeper.

By the time midday dragged along, Sorcerous Sundries had cleared out almost completely. The sky outside the wide front entry had darkened further from the approaching storm. Periodically a humid breeze would gust through the doorway. Each time, Rolan had to grab hold of the pages of his ledger before he lost his place.

Eventually he shoved the thing aside in impatience, thunking a heavy potion bottle down on top to weigh down the page.

From its hiding place among the scroll shelves, Rolan instead pulled out a stained and dogeared volume: Suspended Ceremorphosis. He'd swiped it from the tower while Lorroakan was engaged with yet another so-called Nightsong hunter.

Lorroakan certainly wouldn’t miss the text. He hadn't maintained the protective spells on the reference section of his library the way he had the sections on spellcraft and the Weave. Evidently he thought everyone must have the single-minded and incurious lust for power that he did himself.

Rolan had never thought of himself as having a weak stomach, yet he found he had to take the text in small doses. The only thing that kept him reading it was a promise he’d made to Tav many moons ago, on a night when hope was easier to come by.

Whoever had authored it must have been a surgeon—more likely a necromancer. Each gruesome detail was described thoroughly, almost lovingly in some passages.

Rolan forced his way through as many pages as he could manage. Combined with the painstaking diagrams of each stage of the infection and transformation, he found it painful reading. Especially when it directly concerned one of the people he cared about most in all the Realms.

Who knew if Tav still even needed his help after all this time? She’d proven herself far more resourceful than him on many occasions. Maybe she was already on the trail for a proper cure by now. Maybe he was just wasting his time.

Rolan abruptly pushed this book aside too, turning back to his ledger again for the reprieve of sordid coin.

All things considered, Sorcerous Sundries was thriving. The citizens of Baldur’s Gate were shaken, borderline terrified by the recent march of the Absolute's forces…and frightened people spent gold on anything they thought might keep their families safe. Rolan summed last week's numbers a second and a third time, convinced he must have added a figure somewhere.

A brash voice outside pierced his concentration. Rolan glanced up sharply to the open doors, quill poised on the page.

Suffering hells. Aradin again? Whether or not he’d actually been involved in this week’s clumsy burglary attempt, he should have the common sense not to show his face.

The mercenary had been no rosy presence back at the Grove, and he was a constant bane at the magic shop ever since Rolan had been placed on front desk duties. He was always appearing to insist on a private audience with Lorroakan, or some great sum owed to him, or some other equally improbable outcome depending on the day.

Just as Lorroakan had accused him of last night—ungratefully—Rolan had finally taken it upon himself to charm the metal construct at the door to turn him away on sight.

As he watched, Aradin jabbed a threatening finger into the construct's face, as if it might be intimidated into compliance.

Thick fucking idiot, Rolan thought viciously. He had no patience for this today. Right as he set down his pen, someone else caught Aradin's attention from behind.

If not for her change in attire, he would have recognized Tav’s figure at first glance. But then Aradin shifted slightly as he spoke, and Rolan caught sight of her face.

The city seemed to be treating her well; he was relieved to see it. Her features were bright and well-rested for once, despite the scowling line of her brows as she squared her shoulders toward Aradin.

For the first time in days, Rolan managed a faint smile. She never did like bullies.

She'd commissioned fine new armor—perhaps from Dammon's forge up the street. Tav shone like an aasimar despite the overcast day behind her. The thought occurred with not near enough force to distract him from gaping at her lovely face.

His face. Zurgan—

Rolan’s spine straightened with a jerk. Why hadn’t he prepared for how she might react? How he might explain his pathetic appearance? He’d forgotten to anticipate any of it properly, and found himself blinded by panic.

There was no time to unfreeze his boots from the floor—Tav and her companions were already sweeping past Aradin and into the shop.

Her gaze landed on Rolan before any of the rest even noticed him. His heart hammered in his chest as he watched her expressions play out in quick succession: dismay, then concern, then indignation.

The way her eyes traveled over his face made Rolan wish he could melt into an invisible puddle. But such powers were beyond him—all he could do was stand mute as Tav drew up to the counter in front of him.

“Welcome to Sorcerous Sundries.” Rolan spoke the usual lines, and hated the falseness of his voice as he did so.

Tav only blinked at him for a moment. “Hi,” she replied softly.

The two of them looked at each other for what felt like an age. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, in truth. Her eyes were wide and wholly inescapable. Rolan found his mind full of many words, all of which refused to exit his mouth.

“Oh shit, Rolan? What happened to your face, mate?”

The towering Tiefling hellfighter spoke up before either of them could. She was peering at him from behind Tav’s shoulder with an expression of guileless concern.

“Karlach—” Tav wheeled on her with a soft admonition.

She was trying to spare his pride. For some reason, that made Rolan feel lower than ever. As Tav turned back to him with a tight smile, he hoped the patchwork of bruises on his face hid its flush of abject humiliation.

Tav opened her mouth, but Rolan rushed to speak first. “I expect you’re here to see Master Lorroakan.”

Something flickered behind her eyes. “We are,” was all she answered.

“Then you’ll find the portals to the Tower upstairs. Do be careful to choose correctly the first time, it’s a great deal of trouble getting back in here if you don’t—Lorroakan has little patience for anyone who might waste his time—”

Rolan was fussing with his ledger and rifling through the pages as if it contained much important work he had to get back to. Anything to avoid looking at her anymore.

“Right…thanks, Rolan.” Tav’s voice was uncertain. He clenched his jaw against a sudden pang of remorse. “See you later, then?”

Rolan nodded tersely down at his work. He made no other answer.

She lingered for just a moment as the rest of her friends departed for the staircase. Then Rolan heard the metallic clinking of her plate armor as she too moved away.

He kept his head bent doggedly over his book as she did. Rolan’s eyes pretended to move over the page, seeing none of it. His ears were trained behind him to track Tav’s footfalls on the stairs.

When he heard the rushing whirl of a portal activating above, he stayed frozen for a few seconds to be sure. Then he shut the ledger with a snap.

And like a shameful coward, he ran to hide.

At least Rolan had enough sense to summon his master’s projection before he turned on his heel. Not a familiar incantation, but he glimpsed the Weave successfully materializing from over his shoulder as he swept toward the concealed door under the great staircase.

His fingers fumbled for a key at his belt—the one Tolna had lent him his first day. Once the door latched behind him, he stumbled down the dark stairs into the ancillary storeroom.

The place was full of more dust than anything else. Rolan coughed and sneezed several times before he managed a simple cantrip to light one of the torches along the wall.

Then he sank down onto an empty crate, slumped against the bookshelf behind him, and leaned the tips of his horns back against its dusty volumes.

What in the hells was he doing?

Living the life he’d chosen, Rolan answered himself. Tend the shop, ascend for lessons—sleep and repeat.

For how many years? One, two? Five?

Five years as a wizard’s apprentice was rare, but not unheard of. And Lorroakan didn't strike him as a man who readily dismissed his apprentices from service.

What exactly did he expect Tav to do for the next five years? Surely not wait around for a pathetic wizard-in-training who didn't have the strength to fight back against his own worthless master.

Sitting in this damp basement, surrounded by cobwebs, Rolan couldn't think of a single good reason why someone like her might still want someone like him.

An old, familiar feeling slithered through his gut. Unwanted.

It was true that Lorroakan had proved more of a disappointment than he could possibly have imagined. But the man had one advantage over every other archwizard Rolan had written to over the years, pleading for a chance to prove himself.

Lorroakan was the only one who had accepted him in.

Whatever the archwizard’s many deficiencies, they did nothing to change the other advantages this apprenticeship could grant him. Notoriety, privilege, access. The wizarding circles of Faerûn didn’t open for just anyone, especially not a bastard Tiefling. Not unless you had connections.

So what if he had feelings for Tav. Strong ones. Ones he sometimes wished he could make disappear…despite the way she continually visited his dreams. This apprenticeship was something Rolan had dreamed of for far longer.

And what about her feelings?

She'd told him she loved him many times during their last brief nights together at Last Light Inn. On one particularly memorable occasion, she'd been naked on top of him.

Rolan had replayed the moment in his head too many times to count, yet it never failed to set his heart racing.

But those were moments when blood ran hot from freshly escaped peril—moments suspended in forgiving shadow. Under the harsh light of day, perhaps Tav could finally see him clearly.

Rolan’s hands rose to his face. He prodded and felt along its planes with his fingers, gritting his teeth as he rediscovered each fleshy bruise and scrape on its surface. He was a mess of a man.

Abruptly, Rolan shook his head to clear away all this self-pitying nonsense. His thoughts turned back to Tav’s current audience with Lorroakan.

He wondered what they spoke of. Perhaps the Nightsong; perhaps her parasite.

If Lorroakan knew anything about Illithids or ceremorphosis—an idea that seemed more laughable by the day—Rolan prayed to all the gods that he’d have the decency to share his knowledge with her.

Whatever the subject, their conversation was brief.

Rolan’s ear caught the muffled hum of the portal once again and knew Tav and her companions had descended from the Tower. He waited a few more minutes to be sure, then rose to trudge back up to the main floor. When stepped back into the light, she and her companions were gone.

Rolan had no right to feel as disappointed as he did. He was the one who’d hidden from her like a child, after all.

As his feet dragged him back behind the counter, Rolan realized that in his haste he’d left out the stolen book on ceremorphosis—turned open to a particularly gruesome illustration.

He thanked his stars that it had been Tav and her friends paying a visit. Another customer might have been put off by the sight, enough so that a complaint made its way back to Lorroakan. The archwizard was jealous as a dragon when it came to guarding his hoard, however little personal interest he took in its riches.

As he picked up the tome to hide it away again, a small slip of parchment fluttered from between its pages to land on the counter in front of him. Rolan turned it over, then felt his heart repeat the motion.

Had he truly never seen her handwriting before? The letters were small and even, yet clearly written in haste:

Let’s talk alone. I love you

ps thank you for the research

Whatever information Lorroakan had provided her, if she was thanking him for reading a dusty book, it must not have been worth much.

Despite every weight pulling on his heart, Rolan reread each word several more times. Then he slipped the note gently into the pocket of his robes.

—

“Hey! You coming?”

“One second,” Tav called over her shoulder.

She hastily fit a postscript onto the small scrap of parchment. Then she slipped it like a page marker into Rolan’s book and laid his quill back on the counter.

It was obvious that Rolan wanted to avoid running into her a second time. A sad pang ran through her at the thought, but she couldn’t really blame him. She’d never seen him looking so miserable—not even that night after his siblings had been taken to Moonrise.

Lia’s words from yesterday rang in her ears. I don’t think he’s treating Rolan well. Whatever dark things Tav had imagined, they hadn’t prepared her for the sight of Rolan’s face—plainly dappled with weeks of brutal mistreatment.

Her fingers clenched hard at her sides. Tav glanced up at the shimmering projection of Lorroakan behind the counter and quelled the furious urge to put a fist right through its vapid smile.

As she jogged back out through the atrium of Sorcerous Sundries, Karlach turned to fall into stride beside her. The other two had walked ahead, clearly unaware that they’d left anyone behind. Gale was gesticulating animatedly about something; Wyll listened politely at his shoulder.

“So that Lorroakan’s a real prick,” Karlach remarked with characteristic bluntness as they walked.

Tav gave a harsh laugh. “Read my mind.”

“How d’you think he knows about the Nightsong?”

She had been asking herself the same question. Her mind’s eye conjured up the circle of runes in his study, the one he’d indiscreetly shown off to them on this very first meeting.

It had Balthazar’s fingerprints all over it.

“Probably has a background in necromancy,” Tav guessed aloud. “No way to know for sure.”

Karlach’s palm rang against plate metal as she clapped it between Tav’s shoulder blades. “Until we kick his arse and charm it out of him, you mean.”

Tav only smiled weakly in response. Inside, she could scarcely wait for the day when Lorroakan would get what was coming to him.

Beside her, a mischievous chuckle was rising from Karlach’s chest. “Hells, imagine when we tell Aylin. She’s going to tear that man apart.”

“Let’s not tell her just yet,” Tav said in a rush.

She felt Karlach’s eyes search her face. “Why not?”

Tav looked down at the cobblestones as they continued. “Rolan and I need to talk, Karlach. Whether or not he wants to, I owe it to him. He should know everything before all the Nightsong’s righteous vengeance comes down on his archwizard’s head.”

There was a pause. “You don’t think he knows?”

“No way.” She looked up at Karlach then, her face steely-certain. “Rolan would never do something like that.”

“Yeah…you’re right. Forget I said anything,” Karlach added, her tone apologetic. Before she knew it, Tav felt a warm arm jostle around the pauldrons on her shoulders.

“Listen, Tav, it’s gonna be okay. You and Rolan will talk it through, or maybe you’ll just fuck his stubborn wizard brains out again—”

“Karlach!”

“Oh come on, like everyone doesn’t already know?” Karlach was cracking up loud enough that Wyll glanced back from in front to see the commotion. Tav couldn’t help an embarrassed laugh, but she hid half her face behind a hand.

Before long, the dark stormclouds gathering above put a pause on the rest of their errands in the Lower City. It seemed wise to just wait out the weather at their rented room in the Elfsong.

Karlach did make some excuse or other to swing by Dammon’s forge instead—despite the fact that they’d been just yesterday.

Tav said nothing, but she wasn’t fooled. To borrow Karlach’s words, if anyone needed to fuck anyone else’s brains out, those two were obvious candidates.

With thunder rumbling on the horizon, everyone else settled into their private corners of their quarters for the rest of the afternoon. Shadowheart and Lae’zel turned to meditation; Gale to the large stack of books that he always mysteriously managed to fit in his pack. Astarion was curled in front of the fire, his lips moving silently as he pored over a book on Infernal.

For a few hours, Tav found herself with no plans and no responsibilities.

Though her new armor from Dammon was exquisite, she exchanged it for some more inconspicuous clothes, then pinned her heavy hooded cloak around her shoulders for the inevitable rain.

And with everyone else occupied, she slipped unnoticed out of their rooms and back down to the streets.

#rolan x tav #mutual pining #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #tav x rolan #sage and soldier #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #rebgrrl writes #underdark dreams #i think i love them

114 notes · View notes

icycoldninja · 2 months

Note

Headcanons for the Sparda boys and V with a s/o that got turned into a demon? (As for how: My best guess is something like the Ascension ceremony from DMC4.)

Reader shows up to the Devil May Cry one day after healing from a cooking related injury (burned hand, knife slipped and cut them, whatever), because they were kinda hoping the people at Devil May Cry could help. They'd probably be hesitant to tell anyone they're a demon right out- if that's even what they are, because they're not really sure themselves- but the lads could probably piece it together. Or just sense/smell the other demon nearby. Reader probably just thinks the shop and the shop employees stink, but if trying to be polite about it.

Not sure if humans/human blood would smell tasty to a new demon, but maybe? If so, that's another horrifying change they'd have to deal with and ask for help on.

Very interesting concept, hope I did it justice. Enjoy!

Sparda boys + V X Demon!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Your transformation was relatively recent, but terrifying. You'd managed to keep it a secret from everyone since the day you discovered your sudden change, but coping on your own was hard.

-You were constantly anxious about hurting the others unexpectedly, as demons are known to do, and couldn't concentrate on most of your tasks.

-You ended up burning your hand on the stove one night while trying to heat up some dinner, and in your panic, decided to head to Devil May Cry to see if someone could help you.

-At the same time, you hoped someone would notice your situation and help you out, though how could they? You had no physical changes, just internal ones.

-When you set foot into Devil May Cry, your heightened sense of smell caught the scent of something oddly appealing. You had no idea what it was, or why it smelled so good, but it did, and following the scent led you to the staff.

-The girls didn't think anything of it and assumed you were just disoriented because of your burn, but the boys--Dante specifically, noticed your behavior and thought it was weird that you were behaving the same way as demons did when they were tracking their prey.

-After your burn was dressed, he pulled you aside to ask you if anything was wrong. The concern in his eyes as well as the unusually grim timbre of his voice proved that he knew something was wrong. There was no other choice than to come clean.

-And so you revealed your secret, explaining how you'd been forced to take part in some sort of dark ritual whose side effects manifested days later. You broke down in tears, sobbing over your changed state, expressing your worries that you'd never be able to turn back.

-Dante took your hands and pulled you into his chest, pressing kisses to your head as he assured you everything would be fine. He'd help you find a cure, no matter what it took.

-He told you that no matter what you turned into, he'd still love you, and he'd be more than happy to offer up some of his blood if you need to feed, as some species of demons do.

■ Vergil ■

-The day you noticed your transformation, which came in the form of scales breaking out all over your body, as well as sharp fangs that replaced several of your teeth.

-You tried to hide it, but Vergil was a very observant man. He knew something was wrong, but chose not to say anything because he wanted you to come to him on his own. Also, there was a chance it was just you being moody, in which case, he didn't want to get involved.

-Your scales soon spread to your hands, making it hard for you to feel things with your palms and fingers. This made chopping food with knives very difficult because you couldn't feel the knife or the food in your hands.

-At one point the knife slipped, cutting the back of your hand. Swearing like a sailor, you bundled your hand up in a rag and stumbled off to Devil May Cry for someone to heal the injury.

-The moment you got there, you smelled something awful. It was worse than rotting food; it was beyond putrid. Just what was that smell?!

-Then you walked into the kitchen, where everyone was gathered at the time, and the smell got worse. It quickly became apparent that the smell was coming from the staff.

-While the girls helped fix up your wound, you did your best to keep your disgust from being expressed upon your face. Despite your best efforts, Vergil noticed that something was definitely wrong with you.

-He approached you, hoping to inquire about your strange behavior, but the proximity between the two of you resulted in the horrible smell getting worse, untill it was too much to bear.

-You started coughing and gagging, your hands flying up to clutch your throat. When Vergil saw the scales on your hands, he instantly realized what was wrong with you.

-He immediately stepped back into the next room and spoke to you from afar. You confessed, begrudgingly, that you'd been turned into a demon somehow and that you were able to smell human blood, which was disgusting. You expressed your fear and discomfort, to which Vergil assured you he would find a cure.

-In the meantime, your task would be figuring out how to grow accustomed to your demonic sense of smell--and the stinkiness of human blood.

□ Nero □

-Nero was actually present when you turned during the ceremony, and therefore was more involved when the aftershocks began to surface.

-You grew a tail, your eyes changed color, and your pupils dilated to slits. You also became noticeably more hungry for raw meat.

-Nero started to freak out over your erratic behavior and was very reluctant to leave you alone, but you insisted, and so he complied.

-Unfortunately, Nero's fears became more justified after he learned you tried to grab a steak off a steaming hot frying pan, burning your whole hand in the process.

-When you reached Devil May Cry to ask him to patch up your burnt hand, you smelled the unmistakable, extremely appetizing scent of human blood.

-Had Nero not been physically holding you back, you might have leaped forward and tried to devour everyone in the shop.

-After tying you down to a chair and dressing your burns, Nero made a vow to search for a cure for you as soon as possible--before the transformation got any worse and turned you into a full on, bloodthirsty demon.

-He would be gone for a long, long time, leading you to lock yourself inside your own home and give Nero the only key so you couldn't break out and wreak havoc while he was away.

-The next few months, or maybe years, would be trying times, but the both of you were strong--you'd get through this, no doubt about it.

● V ●

-When you noticed your transformation, it was already too late. You suffered from violent muscle spasms, headaches, and pain in your joints as a result of the dramatic changes your body was undergoing.

-You never reached out to anyone, especially V, because you had no idea what was happening to you.

-You were afraid, and feared dragging anyone else, including your beloved, into your problems.

-Sadly, your body had other plans. It decided to force you to undergo a seizure in the middle of your kitchen, during which you temporarily sprouted an extra limb. All the flailing and trashing you were doing caused you to bash several of your body parts against the counteracts, hard.

-By the time the seizure was over, you were throughly and entirely bruised.

-Casting aside your pride, you dragged yourself to Devil May Cry to reluctantly ask someone to bandage your aching limbs.

-It was there where you ran into V, who noticed your bruises and exhausted appearance, which made him worry. He pulled you aside, pressed ice packs to your aching bones, and gently requested you tell him what was wrong.

-It took a lot of convincing, but V managed to get you to confess your issues. You explained how something was making your body change, and with teary eyes, described the pain you went through because of it.

-V had no idea why this was happening to you, but he was sure you two would figure things out together. The first step was to deduce what was afflicting you, then, to find the cure.

73 notes · View notes

petrichor-idyllic · 9 months

Note

Hi Petri, soooo I just finished Dead man walking and already (not that soon though, cause I know you have many requests to get through) need a part 2 because this is my new favorite thing, I love it, you did amazing (as always <3).

You can do whatever you want for part 2 but I wish you could do a little scene where the reader is trying to figure something about her job out and Gally is there just staring at her, and how beautiful she looks when concentrated,and they're just flirting and having fun. Also please do a lot of Fry teasing them because I absolutely love it.

Yes, absolutely, I can.

Love my boy Gally.

Sorry I've been MIA.

DEAD MAN WALKING PT. 2

MASTERLIST | GALLY MASTERLIST

PART 1 | PART 2

SUMMARY: See above. Continuation from part 1. Time skip to the Safe Haven.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, Frypan bullying Gally, awkward tension, you not being sure what to do with yourself, reference to Chuck's death. WICKED being WCKD because movie. Newt's dead. Rip.

The past few weeks have been a blur of chaos and emotion.

You'd arrived at the Safe Haven. But, you were the only person left from the rebels.

Lawrence stormed the City, destroying and setting fire to everything, which was not the plan. And not something you agreed with.

You'd split off and made your own way through the City, managing to bump into Gally on his way to their escape ship. His group had taken some blows.

They'd lost Newt to the Flare. Teresa got swallowed by a burning building. Thomas had been shot. Minho had been deeply traumatised at WCKD's hands.

Life hadn't been easy on these kids. But at least they're safe now.

And so are you, even if you're permanently having some kind of identity crisis due to too much free time and losing your rebellious means.

But, hey, you've still got Gally, at least.

Well, sort of.

Things have been painful awkward since your kiss in the Last City.

It's no one's fault in particular. You've been moving a hundred miles an hour your entire life, and now you get shouted at for finishing your work too quickly, and you're not really sure how to deal with people when you're not bossing them around or being bossed around.

And, Gally is just generally terrible at feelings.

It's actually mildly concerning, sometimes.

Which has led to a weirdly tense friendship where neither of you really know what you're doing.

It's a painful watch.

And you kinda sorta forgot that Gally is still a slightly awkward teenage boy with no experience with women.

It's definitely an experience; but on the bright side, you've become an honorary Glader. Sure, you don't understand the slang still, and you have to remember to not ask too much about the Maze or some of the people because you'll be met with several PTSD induced panic attacks. But, you've befriended them.

Minho is funny and sarcastic and incredibly tough.

Frypan is sweet, and also kind of funny. And he's an excellent cook despite what the other boys say.

Thomas is bold and determined, even taking a bit of a leadership role alongside Vince - even after his well-deserved break.

And whilst Brenda and Jorge aren't quite Gladers, you also like them quite a bit. Jorge reminds you of Lawrence in a way. He's rebellious and bold, but instead of cold and occasionally terrifying, he's funny and fraternal. And Brenda is kind of like you in a way, except she's playful. Which you have severely been lacking in the last few years of your life.

Yet, despite integrating into his friend group, his new home, his daily life - yours and Gally's relationship is still at a weird standstill.

So, you've decided to dive into work. Helping Vince is an easy way to clear your mind, and helping out people who've suffered under WCKS's hands is kind of your speciality.

You prepare blankets, clean, help Frypan in the kitchen, help with building plans, settle petty disputes; you name it, you do it.

And that's something Gally has always admired about you.

"Oi, shank, you're starin' again." Frypan says, snickering as he sits next to Gally, the light from the flames bouncing off his face.

Bonfires are an almost nightly occurrence at the Safe Haven. A celebration of their freedom and security. But, it's a bittersweet experience for the remaining Gladers. Memories of happier times dance in the fires of community. They always thought escaping the Maze would be the end, but they often find themselves remembering simpler times.

You don't share the same heartfelt irony.

"I'm not starin'." Gally grumbles back, yet his eyes still linger on you.

You walk around, handing out drinks and occasionally adding to the fire, making small talk; mainly with Vince, Thomas, and Brenda. You also occasionally take grimances sips of Gally's special brew - another festivity bought from the remains of the Maze.

"Uh huh, sure you aren't." Frypan chuckles as he sips his drink, a beat passing between the boys. "I don't get it. You guys kissed. Like, you kissed an actual girl. And now... what?"

Gally sighs, dropping his head as he speaks in a grumbled tone. "I... I don't know, man. She's... she was my boss. She saved my life. You know she found me in the Maze and-"

"And did everything to patch you up. Took you under her wing. Yeah, yeah, we know, we get it." Frypan rolls his eyes, knowing the story off by heart. "You clearly care about her, so why not actually doing something about it?"

"She hasn't done anything about it."

"Uh, yeah, she did."

"When?"

"When she shuckin' kissed you, slinthead."

Gally falls silent for a moment, eyes landing back on you. It's everything about you; your hair, your eyes, your smile, the way you hold yourself, your passion - everything.

"...I don't wanna shuck it up, Fry."

Frypan's eyes land on his friend, the teasing tone slipping away as he looks at him. "Huh? What do you mean?"

Gally anxiously taps his foot, eyes lingering on you again. He looked at you like you were a Goddess and him a feeble insect, blessed to be in your mere presence.

"Gally?" Frypan presses him, brows starting to furrow in worry.

Gally has never been good with words. He's aggressive, and scary, and dangerous. Even if he has learnt to forgive and become more humble thanks to you, it's not like he's become an expert at this. And now he has...

Feelings.

Ew.

He sighs, running his fingers through his short hair. "...I messed everything up back in the Maze. I was scared, and I acted on my own. I tried to hurt you guys, and I..." He trails off, the sound of the gunshot and Chuck hitting the floor still burnt into the back of his retinas. He shakes his head, clearing his throat. "I don't wanna mess this up, too."

Frypan looks at him for a few seconds, before smacking him on the back of the head.

"Klunk-! Fry! What the shuck, man?" Gally grumbles as he rubs the back of his head.

"Are you hearing yourself, shank?" Frypan leans forward on his knees. "That girl over there brought you back from the dead. She saw the potential in you and made it work. Without you, we would've never been able to save Minho, we would've never stopped WCKD - hell, we probably wouldn't even have made it here, man. Get a grip. You ain't that same sissy that spent his time buggin' out around the Glade, terrified of change. You're a hero and a rebell who risked his life for change."

Gally looks at his friend, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"And the only way that you're shucking this up, is if you sit you shank-ass here and do nothing." Frypan continues, letting the statement hang in the air for several moments.

Gally nods, churning the words over in his head.

"I'm right. Am I right, or am I right?" Frypan grins.

Gally snorts, shaking his head slightly. "You're right."

"'Course I shuckin' am." Frypan grins, patting his long-time friend's back. "Now, are you gonna sit here, wasting your breath yappin' my ear off - or are you gonna go get your girl?"

Gally struggles to hide the smile playing on his lips.

His girl.

He likes the sound of that.

"I'm gonna get my girl."

Whilst Gally gets his heart to heart (lecture) from Frypan, you've taken to cleaning up cups and desperately trying to stop drunk people from falling over. It's not a pleasant way to spend your evening, but it takes your mind off your boredom and constant speculation about your relationship with Gally.

"Hey, Boss." The familiar voice pulls you away from your thoughts, landing on the broad boy.

"I told you you don't have to call me Boss anymore, Gally." You roll your eyes slightly, continuing to pick up glasses.

"Yeah, sorry, force of habit." Gally rocks on his heels, anxiously looking at you.

"...You good?"

"Uh, yeah - uh, can we talk?" You raise an eyebrow at his words, a bubble starting to form in the pit of your stomach. "Like.. in private?"

"Sure. 'Course. Uh, wanna walk along the beach?"

"Yeah." He smiles slightly. "Sounds good."

You put the glasses you've collected down, nodding for him to follow you as you both head towards the waves, starting to wander as the waves just miss lapping up your feet.

Gally doesn't look at you for a while. His eyes fixed on the endless sand ahead of him; it's a heavy silence.

You don't push him. Sure, you spent months pushing him to his full potential. But when it came to talking, it was better to let Gally take his time.

After about ten minutes of walking, he finally takes a deep breath. "So, uh... I spoke to Fry.."

"Oh, yeah? What did he have to say this time?"

"He basically called me a useless slinthead." He chuckles dryly, glancing at you.

"Slinthead? That's like a dickhead, right?" He grins slightly; you're still getting used to the dumb slang of the Glade - it really doesn't help that every group of Maze escapees has their own set of personal curse words.

"Yeah, basically." He chuckles.

"...why'd he call you a dickhead? Sorry- slinthead."

He can't help but shake his head at you, that smile still on his face. "Well, uh, I've been a massive diaper-klunkin' sissy, basically."

You blink. What the fuck does that even mean?

He laughs at your confusion before composing himself, stopping to look at you, which makes you stop, too. You face him, brows furrowed slightly as nervousness starts to feel heavy through your inside.

"...remember before the Last City fell? When you kissed me?"

You freeze, embarrassment heating your face as you'd began to start cringing at the memory when you fall asleep. "Honestly, I thought you'd forgotten that." You attempt to joke to lighten some of the tension.

He scoffs. "Yeah... I've been a bit of an idiot." He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just... I was worried about ruining things between us, yanno? I'm so used to messy everything up and-"

"You don't mess everything up." You interject, immediately prepared to defend him against himself.

"Yeah - I know; Frypan already gave me the lecture." He grimaces slightly, almost like he's cringing at himself. "But... I like you. Like, I really shuckin' like you. And... we're safe here. I wanna stop being such a pussy and just..."

It takes a second to sink in what he's saying, your skin feels warm and tingly, butterflies erupting in your stomach. "...just?"

"...I just wanna ask you if... you'd... like to be my girlfriend?" His confidence falters with every word, voice raising in pitch, scrunching his face as he finishes his question in embarrassment. "That sounded shuckin' awkward." He sighs. "Listen-"

You don't listen, because he has no time to speak. Adrenaline takes over as you step towards him, hand coming to cup his cheek as you press your lips against his once again.

The kiss is short and sweet as you pull away, meeting his half-lidded eyes and wide grin. "Take that as a yes?"

"Yes, Gally, I'd love to be your girlfriend. Took you fuckin' long enough."

He snorts. "Yeah, yeah." He leans back in, kissing you again, this time deeper and with more passion, his fingers creeping around the back of your head and into your hair.

"Shuck yeah!" Both of you pull away from each other, seeing Frypan shouting from half way down the beach. "Told you she's your girl!"

You look at Gally. "The fuck is he on about?"

"...Don't worry about it."

So, I'm back.

Again.

And back with a part 2, nonetheless. Sorry for vanishing, lads, I've had some wicked lack of motivation and I feel like a bit of a dick about it.

Yanno... since it's been literal months.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed :))

#🌿 petri writes #🍃 petri tmr #🌿 petri tmr gally #🌿 petri writes tmr #tmr fanfiction #tmr imagines #the maze runner #maze runner gally #gally tmr #gally maze runner #tmr gally #gally #gally x reader

210 notes · View notes

izvmimi · 1 year

Text

cw: infidelity. angst. minors dni.

a/n: i was in a mood when i wrote this lmfaooo

There’s a lump in your throat, compounded by the feeling of your throat closing up concentrically, as everything settles in at once.

Izuku is cheating on you.

Your Izuku.

Symbol of Peace Izuku.

Izuku who has always smiled and held you and told you you were enough and more, in your highs and in your lows.

He’s cheating on you, unabashedly, and you’re in the process of forgetting how to breathe.

Your lungs ache as you sift through what else is left behind in his car. Besides panties that don’t belong to you (bolder and skimpier than anything you can imagine wearing yourself), there’s a bit of lipstick, stains that you can’t identify as your vision is blurring with tears… your mind keeps trying to recreate positions in the backseat that is too small for someone like him. Did he lay down like a filthy animal and let her ride him, smiling down at him like you’ve done so many nights before? Or did it start in the front seat, her taking the opportunity of a stopped red light to dip down low and engulf his straining cock in her mouth, only for him to pull over and pull her under him?

How many times? How long have you been fooled? Were all those late nights really missions or trysts? Every time he went to the shower first, instead of kissing you as you pretended to be long asleep - was that really coincidence or was he so desperate to wash off the stench of another woman?

Is the owner of the barely there panties, stuffed vengefully in a baggie, the only one? Or will there be more to find, each belonging to people that are prettier, younger, more agreeable than you are?

It’s all you can think about for the rest of the day. Wrapped up in blankets that you’ve changed because you can’t stand the smell of him right now, you force yourself into a fitful sleep, the evidence laid bare for everyone to see in the living room, the door to the bedroom locked, and your heart broken.

—

You wake up to the fitful shaking of the door. Disoriented, you can hear your husband’s voice yelling, or rather his voice is raised, but barely audible over the sound of the door being shaken dramatically. You know it’s just for show - he can just as easily force it open as he can do whatever else he wants in this relationship.

“Babe? Why is this door locked? Listen, if it’s about the… thing in the living room, I-I can explain.”

You don’t say anything back, reaching for your earphones, drowning out the noise with loud orchestral music, the sound of clashing cymbals minimally distracting to your life crashing to pieces.

It takes five minutes for him to decide to force the door.

You don’t budge, despite knowing that your bedroom door is now cleanly ripped off its hinges. Even if he’s gone mad enough to break your vows, and mad enough to break your property, he would never be so insane to hurt you physically.

You don’t hear him call your name, or rather you choose not to hear, and soon your blankets are ripped off of you as well, and this is when you sit up, now in a rage yourself.

“What the fuck do you want?!”

Izuku is red-faced and clearly upset, but even so, for a split second he pales in the face of your own fury.

“It’s not what you think-” he starts, and your blood runs hot then ice cold. You smile, wide and poisonous.

“Okay.” The smile doesn’t reach your eyes, and it unsettles him, because he knows that smile. It’s the smile you’ve given people the closest to dead you can manage; it’s the smile that means you’re past any sort of reason, and at any moment you can snap.

But you haven’t snapped now. Now you hold your arms to yourself, somewhere between cold and guarded, and watch him. Empty but smiling.

You didn’t ask him to continue, and he opens his mouth, faltering as he can’t come up with the words to explain himself. And here he notices that your eyes are puffy and red, and your face is puffy, and even your lips, and even if your smile is empty and terrifying, you look exhausted with thought.

“I don’t love her,” is the only excuse he can come up with. You already have pieced the rest, and this part is true.

“Isn’t that a relief?” your reply is honeyed. “May I return to bed?” you ask.

Izuku breathes in.

“Don’t leave me,” he says and his voice cracks.

And you laugh once, loudly, sharply, disrespectfully, before sitting back down on your bed and pulling the covers over your head.

He pleads your name again, pulling at the blankets and tossing them to the side, and he watches, as you try to pretend things are not happening, and you can make it through shutting out the outside world.

“Please talk to me.”

You snort, then sit up. There’s a long hard look you give him, where you take in his treacherous features, the false concern in his eyes, the quiver in his mouth, the freckles you’ve spent many a night kissing, shoulders that another woman has hung on, a voice that spoke lies to you, every inch of him a piece of shit.

“All I have to say to you is I hope she came.”

#izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #daydreams: bnha #thoughts: izuku #cw infidelity #izuku angst #mimi's notes

748 notes · View notes

gabessquishytum · 6 months

Note

Ah, no sex ed Dream my beloved. I'm now thinking about trans Dream and how sex ed can be particularly terrible for people with vaginas. Like, Dream's spent his life being told about how much his first time would hurt, and he'd bleed, and even after it'd never feel as good as it would if he had a dick, female orgasms are just a myth, right?

So Dream grows up being like "no thank you" to the very idea of sex because honestly it sounds pretty bad, and for what? To make his partner happy? Dream doesn't like *anyone* that much. If he sometimes feels 'weird' (the word he's looking for is 'horny' but of course he doesn't recognize that) it's easy enough to ignore and get on with his life.

Enter trans Hob who is extremely passionate about comprehensive sex ed and decides his new purpose in life is educating his new roommate. He's got diagrams and youtube videos and toys and hands on experience. Hob will happily demonstrate all the fun he has with his own pussy to show Dream there's nothing to be scared of.

Hob encourages Dream to touch himself, but at this point Dream would much rather have *Hob's* hands on him.

T4T dreamling is my favourite food!!! Yummy!!!! AND no sex Ed Dream!!!! A feast!!!!

Hob finds out about Dream’s complete lack of experience (and even self exploration) a few months after they've started not hating each other and become close as friends. And Hob is careful. Dream’s aversion to exploring his body could be a dysphoria thing, and Hob would never want to trigger him that way. He asks careful questions, and once he's established that Dream just... doesn't see the point in touching himself... Hob springs into action. He gets out the powerpoints and the diagrams and the essays on gender and sexuality. Dream sits on his bed watching as Hob rants about how people with female presenting bodies have been oppressed for centuries, and he feels that weird feeling. The tingling in his private parts and the uncomfortable wetness. It's difficult to concentrate on what Hob’s actually saying when all Dream seems to want to do is look at his hands and thighs and neck.

And when Hob finally stops for breath he looks at Dream blushing and squirming, and he knows that the time for verbal education is over. Dream is clearly desperate for a hands on lesson.

Hob really does have the loveliest, most wonderfully masculine hands. His fingers are so thick they make Dream feel tiny. When the pads brush up against the place that Hob had described as his clit, or his dick if he preferred the term - Dream whimpers and feels every muscle in his lower body clamping up. For the first time he understands something primal within himself - the need to have something inside.

Hob is still talking, soft and low, telling Dream exactly what he's doing and what the name of each part he touches is. Dream hopes there won't be a quiz later because he can't think, can't even see through the tears in his eyes. He feels like he needs to let go and he's terrified suddenly that he's about to pee.

And then he has his first ever orgasm, all over Hob’s fingers. He watches, shaking and panting and starstruck, as Hob licks his hands clean.

"You wanna know something great about bodies like ours?" Hob says, propping his chin against Dream’s knee. "Multiple orgasms."

And so Dream’s college education really begins.

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft #trans hob #trans dream

82 notes · View notes

lottie150209 · 3 months

Text

My opinion on GAZ BOTTOMING, Gaz x anyreader, MDNI!!!

A/N: a little head cannon + my opinion on SOME gaz x readers, no hate given to anyone !! 😋

Tags: kyle gaz garrick mw2, gaz mw2, gaz cod, kyle gaz garrick x reader, kyle gaz garrick, gaz call of duty, gaz smut, gaz x reader

Cw: slight smut? not a lot of detail !!

A common thing i’ve noticed on some Gaz x readers is that Gaz is often a bottom, don’t get me wrong I see him as a bottom myself but not for the same reasons as some people on here do. I personally don’t headcannon Gaz as some innocent, small, cute bean who needs help tying his shoes up. Are some people forgetting that Gaz is literally a member in a military unit? That Gaz has been on numerous missions which are extremely dangerous and low-key terrifying? At one point he was literally dangling out of a helicopter, like no hate to anyone who thinks differently to me but in my honest opinion, Gaz is just as much of a strong fighter in task force 141 as Ghost or Soap or Price.

If I were to imagine Gaz bottoming it would be because he enjoys watching you top. He loves seeing the little glimmer in your eyes as you stroke him gently and feel him throb beneath your fingers. He’d admire the way you concentrated on his body and touched him in places to see how he’d react. He’d find your pretty, adorable face so sexy.

He doesn’t see sex as some big scene in your relationship where the two of you fuck and that’s it. He sees it as an opportunity to grow together and to honour each other on another level. He loves you and he loves your body in any shape or form and he’s fully aware you feel the same about him. He loves to please you and if letting you run your fingers down his soft skin does that, he has no trouble bottoming a couple times.

Trust is so important to Gaz. The missions he goes on can last weeks- months even. So knowing you’re his and he’s yours is important to him (not like he’d think you’d cheat on him he just likes the extra security of knowing you wouldn’t). He’s honest about how things feel when you try things he’s not used to and he’s not afraid to ask you to stop or give suggestions or compliment you on the good work you’re doing.

“Maybe go a bit slower baby?”

“Fuck, could you touch more to the right please?”

“Oh yeah, that feels so good honey,”

He knows how much verbal communication means to you during sex.

“You’re doing a great job.”

He enjoys anything you two do really, as long as it’s within his boundaries and you have mutual agreed on it of course. He doesn’t care whether he’s a top, bottom, switch or whatever else because he just enjoys having sex with you.

#kyle gaz garrick mw2 #gaz mw2 #gaz cod #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz call of duty #gaz smut #gaz x reader

50 notes · View notes

navybrat817 · 2 years

Note

Is it bad that I want Lloyd to choke me?

Not bad at all, nonnie.

Have a Taste

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x Female Reader Summary: Lloyd gets off on the control he has over you, but is he really in control? Word Count: Over 1.1k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, rough oral sex (m. receiving), spitting, possessive behavior, threat of violence, Lloyd Hansen (I feel like his stache should have a warning apart from the man. I want him to look like Andy. 😂) A/N: I don't know. I'm in a mood. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Edit by the beautiful Nix and banners by the lovely @maysdigitalarts .

Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and updates and reblog or comment if you feel inclined. Thank you for reading!

You once asked Lloyd to list his favorite things. He didn't hesitate when he replied "choking you" as number one. Whether it was from his hand against your skin or his cock down your throat, it sent a thrill through him to watch your eyes widen in hesitation each time he used you. If you showed fear, it was because you didn't know when he'd get bored of you. Life in general was meaningless to a man like him, who killed more people than he cared to remember, but your mortality in his hands?

He gets off on being your god.

You get off on letting him think he has control.

There was no soft rocking of his hips as he grabbed the back of your head and pushed his cock to the back of your throat, bringing you back to the present. He hadn’t bothered to undress when he shoved you to your knees minutes ago and released himself from his slacks as he settled in his chair. You squeezed his thigh as you gagged, but he pushed you down further until your nose hit the small bit of curls at the base. He firmly held you in place, smirking as you blinked up at him and tried to breath through your nose.

"You gonna cry for me? Or is your pussy the only thing weeping for me?" he taunted, slapping your cheek twice with his other hand. You didn't register the sting from his palm or ring. Not with his dick constricting your breathing. "Get that look off your face. You can still breathe.”

Your eyes narrowed to slits as he laughed, the action making you take him impossibly deeper. With your nose smothered, you weren't sure how much longer you could stay like that. He surrounded you, his scent, touch, taste, everything. Spots danced in front of your eyes as you smacked his leg twice, a tear sliding down your cheek as he yanked your head back, air flowing back into your lungs.

"Think everyone knows by now you're my slut?" he asked, seizing the opportunity to shove his cock past your lips again when you tried to answer. You spluttered as he leaned back and brought your head with him, forcing you to bob your head up and down. Drool seeped out of the corners of your mouth as you whimpered. "Or should I finish in your face so they see that I own you?"

Wouldn't be the first time you made a mess on my face.

But you both knew he preferred to fill your holes as much as possible

He slid across your tongue with a sigh. "You know. I don't actually like being possessive. Gets complicated when people can hold something over you," he said nonchalantly, as if you weren't there. You did your best to concentrate on the task at hand, fear and arousal pooling in your gut. His indifference was more terrifying than his rage. "But you, pumpkin, I guess you just bring that side out of me. Congratu-fucking-lations.”

It shouldn't make you wet to know that this man, this sociopath, felt possessive of you. But the moment he shot one of his associates who stared at you a little too long, you were lost. Maybe you were a little fucked up, but isn’t that what drew the two of you toward each other in the first place? The jagged pieces of your psyche were too sharp for anyone else.

So were his.

You could cover each other with scars and you’d still crave more.

“Where the fuck are you going? Getting lost in your head again?!” he snapped, gripping both sides of your face as he snapped his hips. “You don’t get to think when I fuck you, cupcake. So suck my cock like you mean it.”

The ease in which he chokes you makes more tears fall. You wonder some days what he sees when he looks at you. Holes to fuck, someone to keep boost his ego. Shame filled you as your panties dampened more, the urge to rub your clit growing with each thrust in your mouth. You didn't dare touch yourself though. He wouldn't break your fingers if you did, but he'd make you wish he had.

"Keep choking yourself on my cock 'til I come down your throat. Thank me when I'm done, you fucking hear me?"

Your eyes rolled back, moaning in encouragement as he thrust his hips faster. He controlled the pace with a groan, your throat burning as he used you. Did he realize that you were using him, too? He thought he was in control because you let him take from you, but your mouth, hands and cunt were the things that made him snap.

You gave him that privilege.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Here it comes. Stay fucking still.”

That’s right, big boy. Lose it. Come for me.

He warned you, but it was still a bit of a shock when he spilled in your mouth. You swallowed some of him down as he grunted, thick, salty and enough to make you choke again. He held you there until he was satisfied, releasing you after a moment so you could sit back on your heels. You sniffled as you wiped your mouth and cheeks with the back of your hand.

I’m still a mess even when he doesn't finish on my face. The bastard doesn't even have a hair out of place.

"Fuck, you're pretty when you cry," he smiled, his muscles flexing under his polo as he leaned forward in his chair. You kept your mouth shut when his hand shot out to grip your chin, your hand snaking up your dress. "Aww, nothing to say? Did I fuck your throat that good?"

Your jaw lowered to show him the remainder of his release you let settle on your tongue.

"I fucking told you to swallow and thank me when-"

He didn't blink as you spit it in his face, exhaling through his nose as he began to tremble in anger. No one else would ever have the balls to do what you just did and you took great satisfaction in that. Hell, he was probably impressed.

Just a little.

"Thank you," you croaked, smiling when he wrapped his hand around your throat.

“You think that’s fucking funny?” he whispered.

Like his indifference, whispering was scarier than his screams.

And you were so fucking turned on. Before he could squeeze, you lifted your hand to show him your gun. You always kept a weapon strapped to your thigh, like he taught you. “Just wanted you to know how it feels. Now let’s see if you choke when I’m drowning you with my pussy.”

*****

So. I just did that. 😇 Thank you for reading!

#navybrat writes #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x female reader #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen imagine #lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen #chris evans x reader #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x you

850 notes · View notes

hogans-heroes · 2 months

Text

Me after the MOTA finale

My longest (spoilery) ep discussion yet under the cut:

There was…so much, this episode and I’m still raw and emotional. What a rollercoaster. Damn.

First just want to say we got some scenes we wanted like Crosby losing his shit over the locked supply room! 10/10 loved it and Rosie yelling “coca-cola” at the Russians will never not be funny.

I couldn’t breathe in the forced march. And Bucky’s state is still bad and Gale stayed so close. The prisoners getting shot by their own plane was horrible, and happened a lot. Can you imagine surviving years in a camp just to get killed like that?

The scene where the prisoners are in the train goddamn killed me i was not expecting such a sudden shift. Bucky comforting the one guy who was terrified. Them being convinced they were going to be killed and Gale and Bucky’s little exchange??? Gale saying he really did believe they would be the last two in the air, with that horrible lost expression like a kid who can’t understand? Them saying these years wpild have be hard without the other and they wouldn’t have done anything different?

Omg Gale really did say he’s “in” for an escape just to get Bucky to calm down and not get shot 😭

Gale looks so much younger with his fluffy escape hair it makes me sad, and his heartbroken look when his friend got killed…

Let’s talk about Rosie for a second. That scene of him in the concentration camp was so powerful because there was no words, nothing happening, no action/reaction like so many other films. You just sit there with Rosie and realize. Seeing that writing on the wall was…well of course there’s no words. That’s the point.

“Not even the earth that covers our bones will remember us.” The power of that statement sucker punched me and drove home even more determination to keep doing what I’m doing in historical work etc., telling these stories.

THE WAY I FLIPPED MY SHIT WHEN WE SAW THE COMMONWEALTH TROOPS IN THE LAST CAMP!!???! The Indian and Caribbean pilots??? The Sikhs!?? The Australians!!! The Algerians and French colonials??! In love

The last camp riot when the tanks showed up was SO INTENSE and amazing. And honestly the best symbolism of the show was the Nazi flag getting torn up but the mix of all nations that fought, then seeing all the different flags flying as the guys cheered.

Gale’s longing look when he saw the planes dropping food instead of bombs broke my heart. His smiles getting back in the plane and taking the food, seeing the people happy to be helped instead of scared/angry of being attacked. THIS BOY HAS MY HEART.

Bucky in the tower and in the Jeep along side Gale’s plane was TRAIN SLAM OF EMOTION MY GOD.

OF COURSE BUCKY WOULDNT LET THEM SHIP GALE’S LOCKER

Their smiles in the cockpit together, real, sweet smiles after all this time, and ending with all the planes flying away into that gorgeous sky…I have no words. It’s been such an emotional journey and was a powerful ending. I still feel like I could burst into tears any minute.

#mota spoilers #masters of the air spoilers #masters of the air #mota #I guess that’s all my word vomit #I am not ok and will be writing an insane amount of fic for the foreseeable future #very emotionally fragile rn

50 notes · View notes

wlw-imagines · 5 months

Text

Inevitable - Camila Mendes/Reader

prompt: "Hello! Maybe something where reader joined the riverdale cast and her and Camila Mendes gets close?? Like they flirt every day and after a while they start dating? Thanks💋" - anon

a/n: these are from my old tumblr thefandomwritings from back in 2018 ! re-vamped and re-purposed!! hope u enjoy and forgive the 2018 me style writing

Your relationship with Camila had started out as a strange one. You were clearly bound to be friends from the moment you met when you joined the RIverdale cast for Season 2. The idea of joining a cast that had already bonded terrified you but she had welcomed you with open arms and always spent her spare time with you.

At first you had thought she was just one of those extra friendly people, her and Lili always mentioned how they got on so well from the beginning, but your friendship wasn't really like that. At least not in your eyes.

That may have been because you had very quickly developed feelings for the girl. Your relationship had quickly become a flirtatious one, only fuelling your feelings. But you were sure that for her it was only ever going to be a friendship - flirting with one another was only a competition of who could be the bigger flirt. You were convinced she would never feel the same as you did.

You were walking across the car park to the set for your first filming, the costume you were wearing already felt like home and the friends you were with already felt like family. You were all joking together when you were distracted by a distant wolf whistle.

Looking up, you noticed Camila standing in the direction you were walking towards. Once she noticed you were looking again she wolf whistled again and you could just about see her wiggling her eyebrows with a cheeky grin.

You looked behind you, slightly confused, "Who's she-?" Madeleine laughed and hung her arm around your shoulders and Lili smirked. "What?"

"You just got cat-called by Cami, congrats." Lili squeezed you lightly, “She means well. It must be her horny teen way of flirting, I think.”

"Who... with me?" The two nodded, laughing. "Huh?" You glanced at Camila again who was still looking at you but obviously attempting to pretend not to.

Lili looked between the two of you and let out a small gasp, "Are you guys dating?"

"What? No!" You shook your head. You'd only known each other just under a month, not that that had stopped you falling half in love with the girl.

"Well, I'm calling it. It's happening." She shrugged as if you no longer had a say in the matter any longer, it was fate. You just shook your head and rolled your eyes before heading on set.

------------------------------------

It had been three weeks since you had started filming with the cast of Riverdale and you were glad to say that your character hadn't been murdered off just yet, hopefully insinuating that they liked you.

You had really settled in at this point, having to spend hours in makeup helped forge your friendships with the crew and spending even longer with your fellow actors behind the scenes meant you were as close as could be. It was strange how quickly you could make friends when you were together 24/7 in their highs and lows.

Right now was one of your lows.

You were in makeup, it was 4:20 in the morning and you wouldn't exactly say you were elated to be there. Michelle, the woman who worked on your makeup, had made your life as cheerful as it could be at such an early hour. Even so, when you had to look in the wall mirror in front of your chair, you'd immediately noticed the bed hair and dark circles under your eyes. Michelle had her work cut out for her today.

And talking about Michelle, she had disappeared. She had told you where she was going but you were definitely not concentrating. So you were kind of surprised that when you heard someone come up behind you, it wasn't Michelle but Camila standing there.

"Looking hot Y/N." You looked at Camila in time to see her wink at you, already in full make-up and her cheerleading costume. Not for the first time since meeting her, you felt the butterflies in your stomach but shook them off and jokingly rolled your eyes.

"Right back at you Mendes." You attempt to wink back but since you were still half asleep you failed miserably, causing the other girl to throw her head back and let out a loud laugh.

She came up behind you and wrapped her arms around your shoulders so you were both looking at each other in the mirror. "You know, I think you're cute... so I mean this in the most loving, supportive way but- you actually look slightly like death. You sleep okay?"

"Mhmm," You nodded, not wanting to delve into a deep discussion about your sleeping issues. It did, however, make your heart skip a beat to see Camila look genuinely concerned for you, but before she had the chance to push further you moved the conversation on, "I mean, obviously I would have slept better if you were by my side."

The corners of her mouth twitched upwards as she shook her head and softly said "You're welcome to join me any time". She stood there for a moment, just looking at you before taking a deep breath and unwrapping her arms from you and straightening up, "I'll see you on set Y/N."

"Yep, see you." You gave a small wave but was quickly distracted by Michelle reappearing out of the storage cupboard. And so began the torturous session of hair being styled, lips being painted and eyelashes being curled (it was never ending).

--------------------------------

Moments like these were some of your favourites. You had reached the end of filming for the second season and so most of the cast were hanging out at Madeleine and Lili's as an end of season party. You had bought in a load of pizzas and KJ had brought alcohol. A lot of alcohol. You all took this as an opportunity to chill out, gossip and just let your hair down.

It didn't take anyone long to get way too drunk, everyone apart from Camila and Lili who seemed to be making sure no one set the apartment (or themselves) on fire.

"Camila." You smiled as you fell down next to her on the sofa, "You look very sober."

She smiled and looked at you, and if you were sober you would definitely have managed to notice the heart eyes she had when looking at you. Drunk you just thought you were hallucinating. "And you are very drunk. Come on, I'm taking you to a bed." She stood up and helped you up as well, holding you close to her to keep you steady.

"At least take me on a date first." You laughed, swaying dangerously close to her lips.

She raised an eyebrow and smirked slightly, "Mhmm, maybe tomorrow."

You nodded, seemed a fair enough deal, "I'm holding you to that."

"I'm not so sure you'll remember." She opened the door to Madeleine's room (Madeleine was already passed out on another sofa) and placed you on the bed, "Wait here, I'll get you some water." Camila walked out and you let yourself fall back on the bed and closed your eyes. In no time at all, Camila was back with a plastic cup of cold water. She helped you sit up and drink some before relaxing slightly, her protective side showing ever so slightly.

You glanced at your water and then to the girl sitting next to you before smiling a very drunk smile, "Okay, okay. Cam, what's your opinion on water?" She took one look at you and shook her head, laughing.

"Oh god, this isn't your attempt at drunk flirting, is it?"

Nearly tipping your glass of water, you tried rolling your eyes before putting your hand on her knee, "Just answer the question, dumbass."

She cleared her throat and licked her lips, looking down at your hand before answering, "Alright, I, uh, I like water. It's good. Why?"

"Because, that means you like 80% of me."

Her face broke out in a smile and she kissed your temple (although that may have been something you also hallucinated in a drunken haze) "Oh babe, I like 100% of you." She moved some hair out of your face and took the glass of water away, putting it on the bedside table. "Come on, let's get you into bed." She stood you up again and begun to unbutton your trousers.

'Woah, woah, woah. Stranger danger." You mumbled, squirming away.

"Y/N? I'm not trying anything, I'm just-"

"Nope."

"You'll be uncomfortable sleeping in your jeans, I'm just-"

"Away!"

"You are such a pain, get in bed." Giving in, Camila forced you under the duvet and was about to leave when you pulled her in next to you.

"Good night Cam." You mumbled, wrapping your arms around her. She was about to protest when she looked at you and suddenly couldn't think of anywhere else she would rather be.

------------------------------

It had been a few months since you had seen your friends and cast members. You had been completely absorbed with your latest project working on Supergirl and hadn't managed to see anyone. That was until you started the press run for Riverdale. AKA days of interviews, comic con panels, photoshoots. Doing all this only reminded you of how much you were in love with Camila. You were hardly able to look away from her in any interview.

It took until the very end of your press tour to decide to confess. You were tired, in love, and ever so slightly drunk when you knocked on her hotel door.

Camila opened the door and looked suitably surprised to see you. She opened her mouth to say something but you interrupted her. "I've just realised something." You stared at her, taking everything about her in. This made you pause long enough that she spoke up.

"It's 2am, you're either drunk or you've finally realised that you're completely and totally in love with me." She smirked slightly but you didn’t miss the slight way her eyes dulled. You grinned and stepped (swayed) closer to her.

"Yeah."

Rolling her eyes, she gave you a fond look and pulled you into her room, closing the door behind you. "Right, I'll get you some water. Come on, I-"

"What? Why would I need water for- oh, no. I'm... It's not the drunk option. Although I did have a bit of liquid courage before with the guys at the bar to get me to-" You stopped yourself from rambling and shook your head. "I love you Camila."

Her hands became still as she looked at you, her mouth hanging open slightly in shock and her eyebrows raised. She blinked a couple of times before she cleared her throat and forced a smile. "You're drunk, kind of reminds me of the end of season party." She shook her head, "You don't mean that. Or you won't in the morning." She bowed her head, distracting herself by fixing you up a glass of water, making it look like a much harder job than it really was.

You frowned at her reaction, not quite expecting that from her. You didn't truly know what it meant but you stepped forwards, taking the glass out of her hands and turning the tap off. Putting both hands under her chin, you softly pushed her chin up so she was looking at you.

"Camila, it has taken me way too long to say this.. but, I love you. And that really isn't alcohol talking." Softly but surely you placed your lips on hers, finally doing what you should have done months ago.

Camila pulled away and smiled, keeping her arms around you and your body close to hers, "Y/N? I love you too."

#camila mendes #camila mendes x reader #camila mendes fic #riverdale #riverdale x reader #WLW #wlw imagines #wlw imagine #wlw x reader #wlw-imagines #lesbian #lesbian imagine #imagine

42 notes · View notes