#gwilym imagines

[georgeweasleyslostearhq]

hi

could you please do a BoRhap request? Where she looks after the guys during recording since her family owns Rockfield Farm and they love her cooking? But the guys (minus Fred who has Mary) all fancy her too?

❤️

SOMEBODY TO LOVE

Pairings: John + Roger + Brian x Fem!reader Summary: ^^ Warnings: none, I don't think Note: I did my best guys, I'm sorry

a knock came to your door as you finished up breakfast

you left the kitchen and went to the front door

you opened the door to see a blonde with long hair with sunglasses on

he was wearing dark, slightly flared jeans, a yellow v neck shirt underneath a greeny grey jacket with fur

behind him was a short haired brunette with a mustache

he pushed the blonde out of the way and held out his hand

"hi, I'm paul, this is Roger, From Queen" he introduced

of course you knew Queen was coming to your family's farm, it wasn't like you didn't know who they were and wouldn't let them in, it's just that you felt Rogers gaze planted on you and it made you feel a little nervous

"you're not" Roger scoffed quietly

"yes, of course, come in, are the rest here too?" you asked, stepping out of the way to let them in

"they're sorting out their luggage" Roger answered, taking off his glasses

"well, I made breakfast..if you're hungry?" you smiled tightly

"depends what you're serving" Roger smirked and looked you up and down

"pancakes" you responded quickly

"yeah, I could eat"

he followed you to the kitchen and he took a seat, shovelling food onto the plate in front of him and started eating

a few minutes later Roger had finished his plate and went back for seconds

"ah there you are Freddie" Paul spoke up, noticing the other three band members by the door

"we're also here mate" the tall, long curly haired brunette said, seeming annoyed by Paul's presence

"should I show you boys to your rooms?" you wondered, breaking the silence that filled the room

The three boys standing at the door all turned to you

"didn't know the farm came with a pretty lady" the curly Brunette smiled

"oh I'm Y/n. this is my Family's Farm. I live in the building beside this one, I'm just here to show you around"

"are those pancakes for us?" the auburn haired one said

"oh, yes! you can have as many as you want" you pointed to the mountain of pancakes you had made on the counter

"they are delicious" Roger said with a mouthful of food

"well I'm Brian, This is Fred and John and I see you've already met Rog"

"it's a pleasure to meet you guys"

"pleasure's all ours darling" Freddie beamed

"well I'll show you your rooms then" you said taking off your apron and leading them upstairs

"it's probably not what you're used to but your manager said it was perfect to get away from distractions so" you shrugged

you turned to face the boys and see Roger first

"you're in here. mister Taylor" you looked to the first door

"right" he grunted, walking into the room with his heavy luggage

"and that's yours, Mister Mercury" you pointed to the room in the corner to the left

"thank you darling"

"Mister May, yours is right here" pointing to the right side next to the bathroom

Brian walked into the room and you noticed John still standing on the top of the stairs

"oh, sorry. mister Deacon, you're downstairs" he walks back down the stairs and you lead him down to the room.

"I know it's small but it doesn't get nearly as cold as the other rooms" you informed him

"okay..." he frowns as he steps down

"well I'll let you get settled then, i'll show you and the band around when you're ready" you smiled, starting to go up the stairs

"are there still pancakes?" he asked, putting his luggage down on the bed

"oh yeah, they'd probably still be warm too" you answered

he soon started following you up the stairs to the kitchen to find all the other members of the band eating the pancakes

"Rog really didn't lie, these pancakes are delicious" Brian hummed

"we need more syrup" Roger lifted up the empty bottle of maple syrup

"oh..ok" you walked over to the fridge as John took a seat and started eating the food

"here you go" you grinned, putting the syrup on the table in front of them

-

it's been a few days since they've arrived and much to your surprise, you've seen more of them then you expected

you didn't think you would see much of them, you thought thy would be very busy and you didn't have a problem with that

but Roger, Brian and John all seemed to want you around them

Roger would casually flirt with you

Brian would always start up a conversation or make you help with with a lyric

and John would subtly make eye contact and smile before coming up to you to ask for suggestions

and they would all ask if you could cook them up something when they got hungry and said they liked your cooking, so much so that there would be barely any left for Freddie or you.

Roger was currently helping you make breakfast while Brian and John sat and ate while they discussed songs

"i put my heart and soul into this song" Roger spoke up as they talked about his new song he made

"no one is disputing that" John smiled, lifting up his fork

"and you don't like it because you want your songs on the album" Roger fought

"it's not that Roger" John denied

"then what is it?" the blonde raised his eyebrows as he stopped cutting bread

"I'm in love with my car?" Brian spoke up

you fought back a laugh at the thought of the song

Brian and John both made a questionable face as silence filled the air

"maybe it's not strong enough?" Brian suggested

"what does that even mean 'not strong enough'?" Roger frowned

"I know I'm late. What did I miss?" Freddie came in and poured himself some tea

John straightened his back and looked at the singer "discussing Roger's car song"

"is it strong enough, that's all I'm asking. If I'm on my own here, then i apologise" Brian put his hands up defensively

"how does your new song go, then, hm?" Roger walked over and grabbed Brians lyrics

"you call me sweet.. like I'm some kind of cheese" the drummer read out

you stifled a laugh as you cooked bacon

"it's good" Brian defended, looking at the John who was eating a sausage with a smile and Freddie who was stirring his tea

"wow" Roger sighed sarcastically

"is that-, is that you know- when my hand's on your grease gun..That's very subtle isn't it?" Brian read Rogers back

"it's a metaphor, Brian" Roger argued

"it's just a bit weird Roger, what exactly are you doing with that car?" John spoke, waving his fork around

"what do you think, Y/n?" Roger turned to you, looking for backup

you put the now cooked bacon on a plate and turned to the boys

"don't turn to me, I'm not getting involved" you shook your head

"children please, we could all murder each other but then who would be left to record this album?" Freddie butted in

"statistically speaking, most bands don't fail, they break up" John stated mater-of-a-factly

"why the hell would you say something like that?" Freddie frowned

John shrugged and Freddie turned back to the Blonde

"Roger, there's only room in this band for one hysterical queen" Freddie informed the drummer before walking out

"you know why you're angry, Roger?" Brian began again

"...why?" Roger breathed out

"'cause you know you're song isn't strong enough" the curly headed man repeated

"boys I really don't think you should be-" you started to say but cut off by Roger throwing bacon at Brian's face

"is that strong enough?" Roger questioned

"ok" you mumbled, looking at John, who smiled at you amusingly

Roger pushed off plates and glasses off the table angrily

"what about that?!" he asked before going over to find something else

"Hey!" you yelled at Roger, who grabbed a pot of Coffee

he turned and began to swing it at the two boys before he stopped as they put their hands up

"Not the coffee machine!?" they both yelled

Roger put the coffee machine down and you sighed looking at the mess

"I'll clean this up" he sighed after a moment of silence

"you sure are" you nodded sternly

-

you sat in the recording room on the couch with John and Roger as Brian got ready to record his guitar

Roger slung his arm around your shoulder as Brian got set up

"so..how about we go get dinner later" he suggested

"pardon?" you wondered

"you, me, i'll take you out to dinner" he repeated

"I highly doubt she'll want to go out with you, Roger, she's too good for you" John sighed

"and what? you're better?" the drummer scoffed, looking over you to the auburn headed bassist

John stared at Roger for a moment

"how's katie? last time we saw her was right before we left to come here" the Deacon wondered

"shut it mate" Roger groaned

your thoughts were cut short as Brian started playing

you focused on the music but felt John's gaze on you, you slowly turned your head to see him staring at you, smiling

"so, do you have a boyfriend?" Roger asked

"I don't see how that's any of your business" you crossed your arms, looking back at Brian, who's still playing his solo

"what if I want to ask you out?" he shrugged

"how come you're the one that gets to ask her out?" John leans forward to argue with Roger

"because I can" the Taylor boy smirked

"Roger, do you have to be such a man whore?" John questioned, his accent become more defined and thick

"I think you're just jealous you don't get women chasing after you" Roger huffed, leaning back on the couch, seeming to be not fazed

"ah yes, because all i need is women to make me feel better about myself, all i need and want is women around me to fill a void of unfulfillment" John rolled his eyes

"oh yeah? let's see who she wants more then" Roger raises his eyebrows as he took off his glasses to look at you

John frowned "you can't pressure her into choosing either of us...that's not how relationships work, Roger"

Roger stifled a laugh "who said I wanted a relationship"

"my point exactly"

"all i'm saying" is that she's probably looking for somebody to love and i'm right here" Roger raised his hands in defense

"what makes you think she wants someone?" John glared

"children, children. leave the poor girl alone, she doesn't want either of you" Freddie butted in

you found yourself wondering how it came to this, two members of the band Queen almost practically fighting for your, to be with you

it made sense about Roger, seeing all of those tabloids of him with new girls around his shoulder almost every week

but John? he didn't really seem the type

you tuned out of the argument and soon wondered when Brian came back into the room as you looked up to find him sitting with Freddie

"I think whatever happens, it's up to her, you shouldn't be trying to force something she does not want" John fought

"what are you guys fighting about?"

"who gets to take this beautiful lady out" Roger smirked, nodding towards you

"who says either of you get to?" Brian spoke in a confused manner

"oh don't tell me you want her too?" Roger groaned

"what's so wrong about that?" the guitarist questioned

"I'm gonna go" you sighed, getting up

"are you still going to make us pasta tonight?" John perked up

you chuckled "I think you all need a break from my cooking"

"NO!!"

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

[storiesforallfandoms]

history repeats itself ~ gwilym lee

word count: 2836

request?: yes!

“hey, i saw you wrote for Ben Hardy so I was wondering if you would write for Gwilym Lee? If not ignore this lol. I was thinking something like he meets the reader on set and they immediately hit it off, and the resemblance of her to Brian May’s wife is uncanny (let’s pretend he’s had just the one) and it’s kinda like a history repeats itself thing? idk if that made since. maybe Brian and Roger noticing and just being so amazed seeing that happening in front of them? thank you, and obviously since i have no explanation skills take complete control!”

description: when she gets cast to play the wife of a rock legend, everyone realizes how similar she and her on screen husband look to the originals

pairing: gwilym lee x female!reader

warnings: swearing, rpf

masterlist (one, two, three)

It was such a small role, one that didn’t even have any lines. But to me, it was huge. It was a small role in a massive blockbuster movie: the Freddie Mercury biopic. It would be the biggest job of my career. Up until that point, I had only been an extra in a few sitcoms. Having a small, silent role as Brian May’s wife in a Freddie Mercury biopic may seem like a small step up from what I’m used to, but the scale of the movie made it a massive deal for me.

I wasn’t sure if I’d get the role. There were hundreds of other actresses just like me - desperate for even the smallest roles in such a big film - were lined up to meet the director and casting director. It was such a small chance of getting it I thought. Until I walked into the room and both of their eyes widened when they landed on me.

“Holy shit,” the casting director breathed. “She looks just like her.”

I was cast on the spot. I nearly sobbed in happiness. I managed to keep the tears in until I got to my car and could call my parents to give them the news.

A few months later, I was preparing for my day on set. It was a party scene that was taking place at Freddie’s mansion at the height of their career. The other band members - Brian, Roger, and John - were there with their wives/girlfriends. The scene mostly required us to sit by our assigned on-screen husbands while they conversed. It was an easy day, and it was only going to take one day of filming, but I was still nervous. I had already met up with the director and some of the cast involved in the scene, but today I was going to be meeting the main four actors and two members of Queen.

I was just finished with wardrobe and was on my way to hair and makeup when I came across one of the main actors, Gwilym. I had been told about him after being cast, since he was the one playing Brian May, but I hadn’t met him yet. I suddenly felt nervous as I approached the hair and makeup trailer, where Gwilym was stood outside the door also waiting. He looked up as he heard me approach and smiled.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” I said back. “I’m (Y/N).”

“Gwilym. Nice to meet you.” He reached out and shook my hand. I hoped he couldn’t feel how my hands were shaking. “You’re playing Brian’s wife, right? Well, my wife I guess.”

I chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, that’s me. I’m getting all dolled up for my one day on set to film my one, dialogue-less scene.”

“Hey, there’s no such thing as small parts remember.”

I made a face at him. “You sound like my old theater teachers.”

Gwilym cringed. “That’s the last thing I’d ever want.”

I laughed. The door to the hair and makeup trailer opened and two other extras came out. The stylist greeted us and told us to come in. I sat in one chair while Gwilym sat in the one next to me. I watched the stylist grab a long, brunette wig and place it next to Gwilym.

“I’m gonna have to do Gwilym’s wig firs since that’ll take the longest,” she told me. “So, sit tight, and try not to mess up your wardrobe too much.”

I nodded and gave her a thumbs up.

I watched the process of applying Gwilym’s wig. It really did take a long time. First, a bald cap had to be applied to Gwilym’s head. Then, the wig was placed on his head in a few different ways to figure out the best placement. Once that was figured out, the wig had to be pinned down in a way that made it look natural on his head, and not like a wig.

“So,” Gwilym said, trying his best not to move his head. “Since we’re going to be here a while, and since we’re playing a married couple, I suppose we should get to know one another.”

“Sure,” I said with a laugh. “What do you want to know?”

“Is this your first movie?”

“It is. Until now I was just an extra in a few sitcoms. I had one line once, that’s the extent of my career.”

“Well, extras are important. Without them, a scene would look so stupid if it was just the main characters.”

I shrugged. “I know that, and I know every actor has to start somewhere, but I’ve been doing this for roughly five years. Performing Arts schools are expensive and I sometimes worry I made a mistake persuing acting.”

I saw Gwilym’s eyes quickly look over at me before looking back at the mirror in front of him. “It’s never a mistake to chase your dreams. It just takes time. You have to play the small parts in order to get experience for the big ones.”

“You’re right. It’s just taking so long. But I’m here now, so that’s a step up.” I shook my head. “Anyways, away from my career insecurities. Tell me a bit about you.”

We talked throughout his wig applying process. We exchanged embarrassing childhood stories, talked about how we got into acting, general details about one another. I had forgotten about the fact that I was waiting to have my own hair and makeup done by the time Gwilym stood from his chair.

He looked at himself in the mirror before turning to me. “How do I look?”

I tilted my head as I looked up at him. “Scarily like Brian May.”

He chuckled. “That’s good, then. They won’t fire me anytime soon. I’ll see you on set?”

I nodded and watched him go. I felt a little disappointed by the fact that he was leaving. I had really enjoyed talking to him. The next time I’d see him would be on set for the scene, where we wouldn’t be able to talk, and then once that ended I’d never see him again.

The stylist started going my hair and makeup. She showed me a picture of Brian and his wife in the early 80s, which was when the scene was set, as the inspiration for my look in the scene. It was subtle, but it was clearly 80s. It didn’t take as long as Gwilym’s had, and soon enough, I was on my way again.

I stepped out of the trailer just as Gwilym was walking up again. He was now in his costume, looking so much like a young Brian May that it was scary.

“Right on time,” he said. “I was coming back to walk you to set.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” I said, but I was touched by the offer.

“I didn’t have to, but I wanted to, so I am.” He offered an arm to me, like a gentleman. I took it and we started walking to set. “Besides, it’s a big scene with a lot of people. It might be nerve wracking to walk on set by yourself with all those people.”

“It is. Especially with meeting the rest of the main cast at the same time.”

“Oh, they’re all a bunch of wankers, you don’t have to worry about meeting them.”

I giggled. “You can’t say that about Brian May and Roger Taylor, though. And they’re going to be on set, too.”

“No, you’re right. But they are very kind. You don’t have to worry about meeting them. I’m sure everyone will like you. Even if they didn’t, who cares? You won’t have to see them again after today.”

He had a point, but it was still sad to hear out loud. I had been preparing for this day for so long, excited for my first big project. And now, within a matter of hours, it would all be over. I’d be sent back home, waiting for the next role to come up, hoping that maybe this movie could help with that role being a bigger one than just an extra. Back to my normal, boring life.

Saying goodbye to Gwilym.

I had managed to shock myself with that thought. I had only known Gwilym for maybe an hour and a half, but the thought of only having this day with him brought on a bit of sadness. He was so kind, and he seemed so genuine. I had never been on a set where the main actors even acknowledged that the extras existed, let alone be nice enough to walk one to set after talking to her for some time.

Not to mention he was extremely handsome. Especially when he smiled, like he was smiling at me now.

God, don’t develop a crush on the guy you’ll never see again after today.

My heart rate jumped the second we walked on to set. Gwilym wasn’t lying when he said there was going to be a lot of people in the scene. The mansion set was packed with people, so full that there was just barely enough room to move around. I was hoping this was the only amount of extras that were set to be in the scene, or else I think my nerves would go into over drive.

The director spotted Gwilym and I almost immediately and led us over to where we were set to be for the scene. Rami, Joseph, and Ben were already sat around having a laugh as we walked up. They happily greeted Gwilym, and he then introduced me to the lot of them. They were very nice and welcomed me in almost immediately, but it was still pretty surreal to be there with them. Especially Joseph, who I had seen in Jurassic Park when I was just a kid. I almost felt out of place there, but I could tell I wasn’t alone. I introduced myself to the other girls who were playing Ben and Joseph’s on screen love interests, who also looked just as out of place as I felt.

We were all sat around together when the buzz in the room suddenly turned into a hush. It wasn’t hard to know what had just happened: they had arrived.

Brian May and Roger Taylor themselves.

Rock and roll royalty.

I looked over and my heart leapt into my throat at the sight of them. It was hard to believe that they were actually real. I had been listening to Queen’s music all my life, but it wasn’t until this moment that I truly realized that these legends were actual real people.

Actual real people who were walking towards us.

I jumped when I felt a hand on my arm. I looked over to see that it was Gwilym’s hand. When I looked at him, he smiled. I couldn’t help but smile back, the nervousness in my stomach being replaced with butterflies. His hand moved down my arm and squeezed my own. I squeezed his hand back.

“My God.”

I looked up to see Brian and Roger stood over us. I tried to put on my best smile, hoping it wasn’t as obvious as I felt it was that I was shaking. Brian was looking between Gwilym and I, a look in his eye that I couldn’t quite place. Reminiscent, maybe?

“They did a spot on job casting for this movie,” Brian commented. “It feels like I’m looking into a mirror with you two.”

“If there mirror were about 50 years younger,” Roger teased.

“You speak from experience, don’t you old man?” Brian retorted. I couldn’t help but chuckle at their banter. Years of friendship and knowing one another, and they were still cracking jokes and poking fun. I hoped to be like them with my friends when I got older. “What’s your name, love?”

It took me a moment to realize he was talking to me. I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. In fact, there was nothing going on in my head at all. It was like I had completely forgotten every little thing I had ever learned in my life. How does one continue to function after Brian May calls them “love”?

“This is (Y/N),” Gwilym said, saving me from my colossal choke.

“Yes,” I finally managed. “Sorry, my name is (Y/N). I’m a little nervous.”

“Nothing to be nervous about, darling,” Brian said. “You already have the look of my wife down. And it seems you and young Gwilym here have already gotten quite acquainted.”

I didn’t realize that Gwilym and I were still holding hands. I expected him to let go at that moment, as if he were just realizing as well, but he didn’t. Instead, he kept hold of my hand, giving it another reassuring squeeze. I wondered if the blush on my face was noticeable under the makeup.

The director called for places, so Brian and Roger took their places off set. I let out a sigh of relief after they were gone and moved into place with Gwilym.

“See?” he whispered to me as we were passed glasses of fake champagne. “They’re not that bad.”

“Their presence alone is a little terrifying,” I whispered back.

“But you got through it. Seems Brian’s taken a liking to you. Although, that’s not surprisingly considering how lovely you are.”

I was convinced this was all some sort of very long, very detailed dream. I was going to wake up at any given moment.

The scene went by very smoothly. It wasn’t hard to just look between the boys as they spoke, smiling when I was supposed to smile, offering a sour look when Rami arrived, acting as a rather rude Freddie. It felt like Gwilym was moving closer to me with each take that we did. First we started off sitting in separate chairs, until the director asked if we would switch and sit in the couch that Joseph and his lady friend had been sat in. Gwilym had moved towards me at the start of that take, and by the final take of the day our bodies were touching and his arm was around me. I was glad I didn’t have any lines, or else I would’ve likely forgotten every single one of them.

When the director called cut and said it was a wrap on the scene, I tried not to let my sadness show. The extras started to file out of the room, going to get read for a different scene that they were filling for. Not me, though. I was going to wardrobe to get my outfit taken back, and then I was going home. If I was lucky, I would be invited to the premiere, otherwise I would never see any of these people again.

I wouldn’t see Gwilym again.

Ben, Joseph, and Rami were kind enough to give me a hug and tell me they were happy to have met me. I told them likewise and started my way back to the wardrobe trailer.

“(Y/N)! Wait!”

I turned to see Gwilym rushing up towards me.

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for your next scene?” I asked him.

“Yes, but I wanted to talk to you before you left,” he said. “Look, I know this is a bit presumptive to ask because we only really spoke to one another for that time in hair and makeup, and I have no idea if you’re even single so maybe I’m about to make an ass out of myself, but I wanted to ask you if you’d like to go out this evening once I’ve finished on set.”

Everything in my brain? Gone.

Every last bit of it.

Gone.

I couldn’t believe this was happening. It had to be a dream, right? There was no way it was real. I would’ve pinched myself if it wouldn’t have made me look like a total idiot in front of Gwilym.

“Yes,” I said. “ I mean, yeah, sure, I - I would love that.”

His face lit up. “Yeah? Okay. Here, let me give you my number.”

We both realized we didn’t have our phones, so we had to do it the old fashioned way - Gwilym found a pen and paper, and wrote down his number for me. I took the paper and shoved it into my pocket.

“I’ll text you once I’m no longer part of the 80s,” I said, gesturing towards my outfit.

He chuckled. “And I’ll do the same.”

We both stood, just looking at each other for a moment. It wasn’t until Gwilym was called back to set that we finally, reluctantly, broke away to go out separate ways. I put my hand in my pocket and closed it around the piece of paper containing Gwilym’s number. I smiled to myself, having to restrain myself from skipping happily towards wardrobe.

I guess history really does repeat itself, I thought with a laugh.

[illfoandillfie]

2023 Advent: Day 11

Another one I've come up with myself. I think I got the idea for this from a reel on insta lmao. But I thot it'd make a nice Gwil blurb, especially because I felt I had to do something where he was nicer than the sugar daddy one lmao.

Warnings: Age Gap (unspecified but reader is in uni), P in V, unprotected sex, facial,

“Fuck Gwil,” you moaned, head dizzy and legs shaking as he made you cum for the second time. Fairly standard for him but vastly different to pretty much all the guys you’d been with before.   Gwilym groaned as your pussy tightened, managing to maintain his rhythm and keep his thumb working over your clit.   You squirmed, not sure if you were trying to get closer or further from his touch, but moaning as the wave of pleasure continued.   It was this sort of treatment that had convinced you to keep seeing him beyond what you'd expected would be a one night stand. You didn’t usually do the older guy thing but fuck he made a good case for switching. His cock alone was reason enough, not to mention his fingers and tongue and the fact that he knew where the clit was. But beyond sex you’d started to see why too. 

He had his own house and more money than guys your age which was nice. He knew how to cook and clean and was more emotionally mature, or mature in general really. The guys you’d previously been with, and the guys at uni you might have considered going out with, all seemed like children compared to Gwil. And he was respectful too. Of your space and your time and your belongings. He’d have happily spent the night with you without having sex at all. In fact, he’d suggested that when he realised his box of condoms was empty. But you’d been thinking about his cock all day and were practically desperate for it so told him you still wanted to. He’d double checked and was very sweet about making sure you didn’t feel pressured or anything like that.   “If it makes you feel better you could pull out and cum on me. That’d be hot,” you’d said as you’d reached into his pants, finding him stiffening already.   “Oh I like that idea,” he’d said, voice all low and rumbly and sexy, “You’d look good covered in my cum.”  “Yeah? Where would you like to see it most? Stomach? Ass?”  “Face.” 

After that there’d been very little room for talk. Mostly it had just been moaning and touching and kissing and fucking. He’d got you to cum very quickly, hitting just right as he pounded into you. And when you did, he moaned about how good your cunt felt, reminding you he was raw which made it all so much hotter. The second orgasm was better somehow but he must have felt the same because he pulled out nearly as soon as you were through it.  You whined at the sudden loss but he was already shuffling over you, his hand gliding over his cock, slick with your cum, as he held himself back while he lined up.   A groaned, “Close your eyes,” was all the warning you got and you hurried to do so before he grunted and you felt his cum spurt over your brow and cheeks and nose and lips seconds later. It went on longer than you’d expected to which just made you horny all over again.   Gwil was vocal throughout his release too, which you appreciated. You liked hearing him. Especially when he panted, “Fuck you’re so hot like this,” after he was done.  You would have opened your eyes and smiled except he’d already scooted back and begun kissing you desperately, pushing his cum onto your tongue with his. 

You were panting by the time he finally let you go, able to feel the cum and sweat drying on your skin even as your arched your body up into his, hoping for another round.   Gwil dropped a soft, much more chaste, kiss to your lips and said, “You must be getting uncomfortable under all my mess. I’ll find you something to clean up, give me a second.”  You nodded, sitting up as soon as his weight was off you. Surprisingly Gwil left the room, still naked which you supposed was a perk of owning your own home and not having flatmates. But, as far as your experience went guys usually handed you a shirt or, if you were lucky, towel from their floor. Once you’d even been handed your own dress to clean yourself up. Gwil’s dirty laundry wasn’t on the floor but he hadn’t stopped at his laundry basket in the corner of his room either, so you weren’t exactly sure what to expect. You sat there wondering if you were meant to follow or if you should just bite the bullet and tidy up as much as possible with your discarded shirt. But Gwil came back before long and knelt beside you on the bed.  “Close eyes again,” he said softly, lifting what appeared to be a damp facewasher up to your cheek.   It was comfortably warm against your skin, his strokes as gentle as possible as he properly took care of you. And once again you found yourself thinking that maybe there were a few goood reasons to date older men.   “Feel better?” he asked when he was through.  All you could do was look up at him and nod, speechless at how well he treated you.   His smile was adorable as he leaned in to give you a small kiss before setting the cloth on his nightstand and rejoining you under the covers.   You snugged into him, still not quite capable of anything more than gazing at him in rapt wonder.   “You’re quiet,” his hand rubbed over your thigh, “everything okay?”  “Perfect,” you nodded, pulling him into another, deeper kiss. 

[simphq]

So i an absolutely obsessed with Queen and the film Bohemian Rhapsody. I love the cast and so I decided to write a Joe Mazzello story. Feel free to add some ideas if you would like to!! So Here is the backstory and first chapter!

• Your Roger Taylors child

• the story is set around the filming of bohemian rhapsody

•most focused on the real life experience than their ‘online life’

•if you have any ideas lmk 😁

•Thanks for reading x

————————————————————

@therealy/n

Therealy/n Glad to be on set x

View all 12,364 comments

Benhardy we look fantastic 😏

Mrgwilymlee Love it when your on set ❤️

joe_mazzello you should come on to set more!

therealy/n @joe_mazzello ill see what i can do 😁

Brianmayforreal the boys looked amazing today! Bri

Rogertaylorofficial the boys worked really hard today and it was wonderful to have you on set today my darling.

ramimalek who is the handsome man at the end i wonder??

Benhardy @ramimalek me duhh 🙄

Therealy/n @benhardy in your dreams blondy

Lucyboynton1 i wish i was on set today 😭

Therealy/n @lucyboynton1 ugh me too i felt lonely without my other half today 😢

[emotionallydrainedtrash]

Sarah's Fic Recs!

These are fics I've found particularly delightful and want to appreciate and share with you guys. Full credits to all authors, you guys are awesome!! Xx

My Own Masterlist+Request Info

❤️-Fluff

💢-Angst

❗-Suggestive but SFW

‼️-NSFW

The Maze Runner

Newt

Imagines

Redamancy by @lilacsnid ❤️❗

"In which way you are always putting other's needs and happiness above your own. It's slowly starting to take its toll on you and Newt notices this."

Stranger Things

Eddie Munson

Imagines

Ten Things I Like About You by @theonewiththefanfics ❤️

"There is one rule for Y/N to accept Jason Carver's advances: if he wants to go out with her, the jock has to name ten things he likes about the resident 'Freak' Eddie Munson. Can he do it?"

Morning Newspapers and Fresh Coffee by @marvelsswansong "99%❤️ 1%💢"

"As Hawkins and the Upside Down begin to merge into one, Eddie runs to you and places a ring on your left hand. 'The moment we beat this fucking demon, I'm marrying you.' And he does. Trading weapons for morning newspapers and the scent of blood for fresh coffee for each morning."

Younger by @stranger-nightmare ❤️

"Stressing about the future is no fun, so Eddie takes you on an impulse trip to remind you to live in the moment, to remind you of just how alive the two of you are."

Needy by @steviebears ❤️💢

"Eddie comforts you when you have a panic attack."

Bohemian Rhapsody Cast

Headcannons

Them With Your Newborn by @mistymazzello ❤️

Harry Potter

Remus Lupin

Imagines

Flustered by @acosmis-t ❤️

"hi!! Could we pls get remus like making fun of fem! reader by making her flustered?"

[cepheusgalaxy]

Gwilym pressed himself into the corner of his cell, tucking his limbs into his body as close as he could. His bony knees pressed into his chin. His thin arms were squished behind him. His wings were held down with the band around his chest anyway, but the exposed parts flattened completely against his back.

He might have accepted what Yorath was going to do to him and prepared himself for it, but that didn’t mean he would make it easy. 

Still a fighter. Yorath had muttered that last time. Gwilym held those words close and took them for his own. 

Still a fighter. 

“Do you know why I hurt you, Gwilym?” asked Yorath. 

“Because I tried to kill you twice and blew up three rooms and you like it when I scream and you especially like it if you can make me beg,” said Gwilym, his voice quiet and raspy from disuse and dehydration. He had learned to speak despite the discomfort it caused him. 

He had learned a lot of uncomfortable things. 

“Do you know why I enjoy hurting you specifically?” 

Gwilym shook his head. Because he healed fast? 

Anything to keep him talking and delay the pain. 

“Because through hurting you I hurt Eirlys,” said Yorath. “You burn. Far away, safe at home, Fen screams. Eirlys is powerless to do anything about it. You, as a person, are insignificant. You don’t matter. I’d have killed you within days if not for your connection to Eirlys. Your Fen wouldn’t have been allowed to go home if he were anyone else’s son or were you not soul-bonded. Your crimes merit execution, but I let you live for this.” 

“Why Eirlys?” 

Keep him talking. 

Yorath rested the flat of his knife- not iron this time, thank Brân- against Gwilym’s cheek. “If someone caused the death of your child, wouldn’t you do anything you could to make that person responsible hurt?” 

He sliced down. 

Gwilym didn’t scream. He never screamed at the first cut. Yorath knew this.

Every time, they played the game of finding out at what point Gwilym would scream this time, at what point his survival mechanism of going limp and hiding inside himself would kick in, if and when he would start begging, at what point he would stop begging to preserve his little remaining strength and give up completely, at what point he would pass out from the pain and the constant use of his magic. The game of finding out how many times his body could be destroyed and he would still come back from it.

It was a game for Yorath, at least. For Gwilym, it was a repetition of the most traumatic things to ever happen to him, an exercise in self-control, a discovery of what exactly his magic could do and what his body and mind could take. A discovery of at what point he would try- fail- to kill himself this time.

He hated his magic. He hated how it kept him alive. He hated how it healed him so fast, over and over, and gave Yorath more opportunity and time to inflict pain.

He wanted to die. He wanted it to end. 

The second cut came. Precise, measured, planned, removing skin from his face while preserving the wasting-away muscle beneath it. “Right now, Fen will feel his face stinging. He’ll know what’s coming next. He’ll know or guess that you’re being skinned again. He’ll cry and scream and curse his inability to do anything to save you. Eirlys will hold him and think of me and know what I’m doing to you and why.”

Gwilym still didn’t scream, but he was breathing fast now, too fast, his chained hands shaking violently behind him.

He pushed his face into his knees, slicing himself on the knife against his cheek as he moved. The small, bleeding, skinless portion stung when it touched his grimy pants.

It was already healing over.

This would be the second time his skin would have to completely regenerate. The second time Yorath skinned him alive. 

Maybe it meant the iron would come out. He grabbed for even the smaller bit of hope now, things like maybe he’ll forget or maybe it will only be blunt. 

Yorath twisted his hand in Gwilym’s hair and pulled his head up, horribly and deceptively gently. “Hiding already? We’ve barely gotten started.”

A broken sob came from Gwilym’s chest.

Yorath sat down in front of him, crossing his legs, a cruel grin on his face. He spread out his tools between them. 

[Image description: A reaction image. It shows a drawing of an emoji-like guy beating their fists on the table and banging their head to it too, excitedly. /end ID.]

omg.....................hes crying...............

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

We had one of Steff's comedian friends staying with us on the weekend, lovely lad called Sam from Singapore. He had never been to Wales before, and he requested that we take him to a Welsh restaurant so he could try Welsh food

That's surprisingly difficult, actually. Like a lot of Welsh culture, our culinary traditions have not exactly been applauded over the years, so you don't really see them. But a lucky Google search revealed a brand new one has just opened in SA1 called the Welsh House, so great! Away we went.

Fuck me, they went all in.

It wasn't just the menu (though fuck me, what a menu - one of their 'for the table to share' options was little mini leek and cheddar Welsh cakes with salted butter and they were paralysingly good). It wasn't just that every alcohol was Welsh, even including the wine (surprisingly good btw, called 'Naturiol'.)

The table centerpieces were daffodils. All signs for the toilets were Welsh only. The walls had photos of Wales, modern and historical; the windows had the fleur de lis; the specials board (pork belly in Welsh cider and damson sauce with honey and wild garlic glazed carrots) had dragons on. I realise this is probably normal for country-themed restaurants, but I've never been to one for Wales before.

But the best bit, see, was the music

I clocked, when we walked in, that they were playing If You Tolerate This Then Your Children Will Be Next by the Manic Street Preachers (you always clock the Manics). Ah, I thought. A Welsh song! In a Welsh restaurant! Ho ho ho.

As they seated us, it became What's New Pussycat. Ah! I thought. Another Welsh song! Fu fu fu.

Then they played Monster by the Automatic and I was like my god are they only playing Welsh music?? That's so cool! What an eclectic mix that's going to be. We should suggest to them they should look into Welsh language music too, really mix it up.

And then they played Anrheoli by Yws Gwynedd and lads, Steff and I lost our shit. We lost our fucking shit. Sam's sitting there, utterly bewildered. The staff are nervously edging away from us. We don't care. It's the first time I have ever heard a Welsh language song played outside of a Welsh language setting. We're so excited.

"They're playing Welsh music!!!" says Steff. "Holy shit!!!"

"Imagine if they played Sebona Fi!" I say, humorously.

"Nah," says Steff. "You can't in a restaurant. There'd be a riot, it's faerie music."

"...what?" says Sam

We explain the cultural phenomenon that is Sebona Fi. The song changes: Primadonna Girl, by Marina and the Diamonds.

"She's Welsh??" says Sam.

"She's from Abergavenny!" we beam.

"I don't know what that means," nods Sam, who is from Singapore.

Next: The Bartender and the Thief, by the Stereophonics. We're in high spirits. The extraordinarily Welsh wine arrives, as does the rarebit on sourdough starter. Sam, a gay man, delightedly orders the faggots and peas.

They play Ben Rhys by Gwilym Bowen Rhys, and we lose our shit again. Sam is now used to this, because comedians are adaptable. "They even have daffodils!" I say, misty eyed. "Is that relevant?" Sam asks, fascinated.

They play Hiraeth, by PLU. Hard to explain that one. Very hard to explain the effect it has when it's played in a restaurant, but Sam looks around the suddenly muted room and whispers "Are we in church?"

"It's about Hiraeth," whispers Steff. "So kind of."

Next: the Masses Against the Classes, by the Manics. Utter tonal whiplash. This playlist is not remotely restaurant appropriate. It's perfect.

"You'd think they'd pick like... a genre," Sam says dreamily. "We just went from church to the barricades."

The faggots arrive. "I forgot it would be a western sized portion," Sam says morosely, of what to me is a normal sized plate of food. He tries one, and brightens.

They play Sebona Fi.

The place erupts.

[likesomekindofcheese]

OHHHHHHH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH I

*keyboard smash*

Gwilym holding out the wedding to not make Y/N comfortable??? Defending her and calling her “my wife”!?!?!? Saying she looked beautiful!?!?!? The KISS!?!?!! (Personally, I probably would have 😏👉🤌🏻🚂🍆🌮🌚🌝 him there, but I get it��) and the confession was so sweet!!! He loved her this whole time??!??? I can’t!!!!! I love it!!!!!

would that i

pairing: prince!gwilym lee x reader

in which an arranged marriage is the worst possible fate and you refuse to accept it. gwilym makes it difficult to reject him.

title inspo: would that i // hozier

a/n: modern royalty! getting excited abt an au and doing minimal research! unregulated speculation! my favorite hobbies

How archaic. All of it.

You’ve cried all your tears, tried to fight your father until you were hoarse. It seems everyone in the palace has grown impassive to your crying. And everything is unchanged. You are to be married to a man you barely know, a man you do not love, and it seems no one cares. No one that can change anything, anyway.

Your chambermaid is sympathetic, certainly, but she’s so blind to what your life actually entails that she just doesn’t understand. An arranged marriage to the first in line to the throne seems so glamorous to her. She would trade anything to be in your position. Part of you wishes that she would.

All your control has been stolen from you, stripped away. It’s a feeling you’ve always pushed down and hidden away from your brother, your parents, and your staff. And by choosing your husband, the one person you are supposed to be able to turn to and trust and love and protect—the single most intimate person in your life—you feel as though your life has been stolen from you. It is no longer your own.

As of this morning, you are no longer just Y/N. You are Y/N, Princess of Wales. You are Gwilym’s wife.

A man you have resisted closeness with. A man you have detested since your countries agreed to your betrothal many years ago. It was your only way of retaliating, of fighting against the marriage you so fiercely resented. It did not seem to matter to either of your fathers how vehemently you detested Gwilym. It only mattered what good this marriage would do for your respective homelands. You resent your husband as much as you resent your father, a man who listened to neither your pleas nor your mother’s, a man who only seemed to care about preparing his son to take the throne after him, and paid no mind to his daughter unless it meant getting her off his back.

It was only when Henry, your only sibling and the very light of your father’s life, objected to the proposal that your father took any pause. At fifteen years old, Henry was already being prepared to take over whenever your father was gone, which meant he was sitting in on most diplomatic meetings, your father’s silent shadow. Usually. The fact that he even thought to stand up to the idea meant something to you. The courage that was needed was not something you understood when you were so young, but you understood when Henry said he tried to save you. You loved him more for it.

It’s another sickening blow in the deal. You lose your home, your freedom, your original title, and you lose your best friend, too. You and Henry are being permanently separated for the first time in your life. It’s the final nail in your terrible attitude.

It almost fills you with glee—the only thing that does—the way Gwilym doesn’t seem to know how to interact with you. The wedding itself is an overstated affair, one where the two of you must hang off one another for the entire world to see and gawk over for the next week or so until there’s some Hollywood scandal that captures everyone’s attention and you can go back to your life of relative peace. Considering you can’t stand him, it’s almost impossible to act enamored with him, especially since the day is packed full of festivities. You hardly have a moment to think, let alone sulk, and you’re trying desperately to soak in whatever time you have left with your mother and brother. You’ll see them again, of course, but it will never be the same. Your phone calls could not possibly replace irritating Henry in the middle of the night before an important event.

You and Gwilym can’t share more than five words all day, aside from your highly publicized vows. Everyone coos at you both, perfectly deceived to believe that you are, in fact, head over heels. They are unaware of the massive benefit both your countries will see from this arrangement, that it’s some sick sort of treaty, upon which everything you know about your life depends.

Your husband isn’t bogged down in the slightest at how this might affect his life. He’s full of charming, if not smarmy, smiles at your guests, diplomats and ambassadors, and generally powerful people, the same kind that made your skin crawl. Gwilym fits in perfectly with them. Not because he makes you nervous, as many of these people do, but because he knows exactly what to say to disarm them. They don’t tend to like you. You aren’t one to laugh along with them. You refuse to appease them.

Gwilym, though, is keen to rub elbows with them. And he’s good at it. He will be king one day, after all, and diplomacy is very important to his cause. It’s a skill your brother needs to work on.

It’s a terribly long day full of many people you don’t particularly care for. By the time you and Gwilym retire to your private apartment, in an opposite wing from the Queen, you don’t exactly have the energy to have a real conversation with him.

Evidently, he doesn’t feel the same. Your new handmaiden, Maeve, helps you undress efficiently, gracious with your lack of interaction, while Gwilym buzzes around the room, raving about the day as though you hadn’t been there, too, grinning and preserving your modesty by keeping his back to you, mostly.

“It truly was a wonderful day, don’t you think, Maeve?”

You catch the tiniest quirk of her brow, an almost-suppressed look of snark, and you snicker too quietly for Gwilym to hear.

“Yes, Your Highness. It was a beautiful day,” she pleases him.

You step out of your dress, much too dramatic, and you regret rejecting the additional help with the task, enough to smile softly at Maeve, who seems concerned with how she’ll get the oversized pile of white tulle and silk properly put away. “Let’s leave this for tomorrow, yeah?” You suggest softly. She looks at you with thinly-veiled panic, and you jump to reassure her. “It’s been a long day, for both of us. I’m sure we’re both ready for some rest. We’ll have help in the morning.”

She breathes out quietly. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Goodnight, Maeve. Thank you for your help,” you say, unable to properly put on a front. You give her an undone smile, one she matches, and she and Gwilym share similar partings before she slips from the room, leaving little trace she was ever here.

He wants to talk. You can tell he does because even when you come back from changing into your pajamas and washing your face, he’s still rolling on the balls of his feet, lips upturned in a bright expression. “Did you have a good day, Y/N?” He asks, noticeably less excited than before. He seems disappointed, and you’re unsure why, exactly. Perhaps he’s as displeased with this marriage as you are. It’s a comforting thought, that you aren’t completely alone.

“It was long,” you say simply, blinking slowly.

“But it was beautiful, don’t you think?” He pushes, and you stare at him blankly, giving a short nod.

“I’d really like to go to sleep now,” you murmur, too exhausted to even pretend to be interested in whatever conversation he’s trying to drag you into.

“Of course,” Gwilym agrees. “It was a busy day. You must be overwhelmed.” You nod again, rubbing your eye with the heel of your hand.

How to say goodnight to your husband? The two of you stand across the room from one another, silent and awkward. Gwilym sticks his hands in the pockets of his pajamas and you entwine your fingers, pursing your lips. “Well,” you clear your throat. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

You turn toward your bedroom and, without another look back, you close the door behind you. Tomorrow, you would wake early for your honeymoon, and you can feel how heavy your eyelids have gotten. You weren’t lying to get out of a conversation with Gwilym. You have just endured the longest day of your life and all you want is a moment alone. You collapse on the bed with little grace, crawling under the heavy down cover and burrowing your head into the pillow.

Even as you try to fall asleep, your mind rolls over your day, the people, the cameras. Gwilym. He’s so...formal, even when he’s eager. Always a close distance away from you while he charms everyone else. But something about him compels you. Makes you wonder. The way he always addresses you by your name, always looking so deeply into your eyes that you feel chilled. He’s odd, certainly, but not entirely off-putting. As irritated as you may be, perhaps there are worse people to be stuck with.

You think this is a life you could get used to.

You’re used to a certain kind of power. You had been born with a silver spoon and had been waited on since the second you were born. But this is unlike anything you have ever experienced.

Maybe it’s because it’s your honeymoon, but the way Gwilym reacts to the treatment makes you think that this is perfectly normal for him. Was this your new life? Being waited on hand and foot?

It’s a luxurious trip, one that you and Gwilym spend apart, for the most part. There are worse ways to live. You’ve always enjoyed alone time, and if you and Gwilym keep on like this, you’ll have a wealth of alone time for the rest of your life. The two of you leave one another alone for the entire three weeks, save for a few dinner trips in the case of photographers, exploring the island and basking in the sun and soaking in the water. Most nights, you don’t even hear him come back to the room. For all you know—for all you care—he isn’t even coming back, and yes, he’s your husband, but it doesn’t seem like your business.

It’s a fairly desolate island, so the dinners you share, on the off chance someone is watching, feel pointless and awkward.

Smarmy, stupid Gwilym. He becomes more impossible to stand with every moment you spend together. You grew up privileged, allowed to obtain your heart’s every desire if it meant that you would leave your father alone, but Gwilym has seen that privilege a hundred times over. He isn’t entirely unaware of the state of the world, as evidenced by his many sympathetic tweets for countries in need. The performance of it all is off-putting, to say the least. The fact that he seems unphased by the special treatment he receives from everyone, impervious to the ogling from those who were able to get within a fifteen-foot radius. It doesn’t register to him at all. Or maybe it does and he just doesn’t care.

You’re not sure which seems worse.

After your honeymoon, the two of you settle into a routine with alarming swiftness. Your home, only a block from the palace, is finished when you arrive home. Gwilym attends to his duties as prince and you attend to the throwaway duties they assign to you as his princess. You see one another when those duties overlap, but other than that, you live entirely separate lives. It works.

The meetings are your least favorite of all the responsibilities you’ve inherited. The entire reason you’re there is to sit at Gwilym’s side; you’re decorative at best, a complete oversight at worst. You don’t speak, you rarely make eye contact with any of the guests, and, perhaps worst of all, you’re forced to endure the meetings, sometimes hours long, listening to your husband do what he does best: kiss the asses of people you cannot stand.

They rarely even look in your direction. If you were to draw any sort of attention to yourself, you imagine they would be shocked to notice you’re even there.

On one such morning, after a late-night of conversation with Maeve followed by a phone call to your brother, you’re exhausted. You consider begging Gwilym to let you skip the meeting—especially since your presence serves no purpose but to make you look every bit the attached and doting wife both you and Gwilym know you are not—but you know he would never allow it. His mother insists that your attendance is pertinent, and part of you thinks that Gwilym revels in your boredom, knowing that forcing you to feign interest in many of the matters discussed is worse than any kind of punishment he could ever dole out himself. You sit in silence while your husband acts important in his chair; he asks you what you think, but all you can ever force is a tight smile. The performance exhausts you.

Guests are often—even when they don’t acknowledge you—more than cordial with your husband, sucking up to him just as much as he does them, but on the morning of your terrible mood and uncontrollable yawning, you notice a definitive difference in your guest before the meeting has even officially begun.

Gwilym’s warm greeting is met only with a harrumph, his handshake reciprocated most reluctantly, and part of you enjoys the shell-shocked look on your husband’s face, unused to being written off. Now he knows how you feel.

It’s near impossible to keep your pleased little smirk off your face, so you look down at your lap, fiddling with your fingers and pursing your lips. You have your legs crossed, fingers entwined, attention entirely focused on the clock, and counting the minutes until you have some free time to take a nap. Maybe a few fantasies where you spoke to your husband in the same way this unhappy stranger spoke to him.

You’re lost in your own little world, too buried in your daydreams that you don’t take note of the escalating tension; you have never known your husband to lose his patience—he’s had an abundance of it with you and it never seems to run out—but when you finally look up from your hands and tune back into the conversation, you’re taken aback by the clipped voice he uses, clearly unimpressed with the antagonistic man sitting across the table from the two of you.

“You aren’t listening to what I’m saying,” Gwilym huffs, and curiously, you can’t help but watch him. You have spent the last ten years detesting Gwilym and the last five actively trying to irritate him, but you’ve never seen him like this. He’s more than patient with you, but it seems that not everyone has that luxury.

“I’m certainly listening, Your Highness,” he sneers the title and Gwilym’s eyes harden perceptibly. “And what I’m hearing is that your useless country won’t use your endless funds on something that could benefit everyone. Instead, you’re keen to sit pretty in your palace and get no real work done.” You can’t help it. Your brows raise, shoulders squaring, physically taken aback by his words, and he finally seems to notice you. “And you, you’re so brainless that they only keep you around for something to look at, whether it’s sufficient or not, and—” Gwilym stands with a start.

“That is enough.” You jump at the boom in his voice, loud and unwilling to be fought against. “That is my wife. You can disrespect me and you can disrespect my country, but I will not sit here and allow you to be thoughtless and cruel to her.”

At first, you think this is just another of his performances, ones you have both gotten good at, pretending to be in love with each other. But after another examination, you can practically see the blood boiling under his skin, along with the bulging of his neck at the collar of his shirt. He’s genuinely angry and for some reason, the idea shocks you.

The man across from the desk looks surprised to be pushed against; perhaps he was familiar with the prince’s usual agreeable demeanor, but he is unshaken nonetheless. Gwilym stands from the desk and smooths his button-down. “I believe our meeting is over. Oscar is outside the door, he’ll show you the way out.”

Gwilym doesn’t check over his shoulder to ensure that the man follows him. Instead, he opens the door and beckons Oscar, dismissing the guest without another look as he is led from the room.

You stare at him, dumbfounded at both the unexpected trajectory of the meeting and his reaction, standing to calm him as he begins to pace.

“That is unbelievable. Absolutely unacceptable. I’m going to email his superior later today. You had better believe he’ll never set foot on these grounds again. Appalling.”

He’s more furious than you’ve ever seen him and it feels like your job to calm him down, so you approach him carefully. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s fine. I’m sure Oscar is berating him as we speak,” you try to joke, but he looks at you with burning eyes before he grabs your biceps, staring at you with such intensity that every word you want to say to him is knocked directly out of your mind.

“Are you alright?”

You blink. “Me?” You ask dumbly, unable to consider that he’s worked up over anything other than the disrespect that he faced today. “Yes, I’m alright. Are you alright?”

“You shouldn’t be spoken to that way,” he says fiercely, ignoring your question. “I won’t stand for it.”

“Gwilym, it’s really okay.”

He lets out a heavy breath. “No, sweetheart, it isn’t. It’s not okay at all.”

And for the first time since you’ve been married, Gwilym is looking a little bit like a human that you might be able to stand.

It’s late. Not even the plush mattress and the soft rush of wind outside your window can lull you to sleep. Toss and turn as you might, the events of the morning cannot be knocked loose from their place in your mind. Gwilym and his cheeks flushed with fury, jaw clenched and staring into your eyes so intensely that it almost makes you dizzy to think about even now.

He had been angry for you. Not at you, not about you, but on your behalf. He had defended you. He had cut short an important meeting and you had both endured a stern conversation from the publicist, but Gwilym had stood his ground with her. “You shouldn’t be spoken to that way. I won’t stand for it.”

The words were engraved in your brain.

For the first time, you felt like something other than property. You didn’t feel like the aftermath of a transactional marriage. You were a wife, and your husband, the one you had fought so fiercely against, had been the one to stand up for you.

It had been six months of silently skirting around one another. Six months of trying to pretend that he does not exist. He had tried in the beginning, of course. Tried to converse with you, to be friends, at the very least. You hadn’t let him.

And now you were kind of wishing you had.

The floors freeze your feet as you pad across them, tossing a robe over your shoulders to preserve some dignity. Gwilym is only next door, but the walk feels so long because you’re second-guessing yourself every single step of the way. He’s your husband, for god’s sake. Should it be so hard to talk to him?

You knock on the door, listening to his quiet sighs and the padding of his feet as he crosses to open the door, and your stomach turns in anticipation. When he swings the door open, his brows raise in surprise. “Y/N.”

It’s quiet for a long moment. Clearly, you’ve come to say something, and he wants you to say it. The problem is you and the fact that you aren’t sure what to say to him. Or rather, you know what to say, you just aren’t sure how to say it. “I wanted…After the meeting, I wanted to thank you. For standing up for me.”

Gwilym looks at you, stuck halfway between shocked and confused. “Y/N, you don’t have to thank me for that. It’s my duty to ensure that you are being treated with respect.”

Duty. Of course. You’re his duty. An obligation. Gwilym protected you because he felt he must. And no, that certainly didn’t explain his anger, but it makes sense. It also makes your lips pucker and your stomach twist.

“Right…Thank you anyway,” You respond curtly. Your husband tilts his head amiably.

“Of course. Always.”

You don’t stick around to make more conversation. Instead, you shamefully slip back into your bedroom and slide between your sheets. You go to bed more confused than ever about where you stand with Gwilym, and a little frustrated that this feeling is becoming more common.

You can barely breathe. Your dress is too tight and the room is too full and you feel like you’re suffocating. Gwilym had come earlier than you did, and now you’re cursing yourself for your own pride. It had been pride that kept you from arriving at the gala together (your publicist had nearly had a stroke, but she had finally met someone as stubborn as she was). But now you’re alone in a room full of people you barely know, and you need something familiar. You need the comfortable weight of Gwilym’s hand on your waist and the warm embrace of his cologne.

Your husband has been looking for you all night. He hasn’t seen you since before he left and Gwilym starts to feel worry nagging in the pit of his stomach. You’ve gained a great skill in the odd kind of way you must interact with these people. Relationships between people in power work so much differently now, not just because Gwilym’s country runs differently, but also because of your elevated status. You rarely need to rely on him, but there’s been a change in you in the last few weeks. For the first time in your marriage—larger, the first time since you two had met—you seem not to be disgusted by Gwilym and his presence, even in private, and he’s started to crave you. He’s always adored you, ever since the first moment he saw you. Understandably, you have wanted nothing to do with him. You were so young when your match was made. He would be more surprised if you didn’t resent him at all.

Finally, after feeling his heart in his throat all night at your absence, he catches sight of you. It’s a wonder he hadn’t seen you before because you’re a light. Now that he sees you, he won’t be able to take his eyes off of you all night. You’re hugging the edge of the crowd, a glass of champagne in hand as your eyes glaze over all your peers.

And then you see him, too. He watches your shoulders slump in relief and the two of you cut through the crowd right to each other. “Where have you been hiding?” He asks, but it’s half-hearted. Gwilym still feels like he’s been punched in the chest and with you even closer, he’s able to see the details. Your makeup is done just so and your neckline perfectly reveals the gentle curve from your neck to your shoulder. If he focuses on it for too long, he’ll begin to feel dizzy, so he looks away.

You huff. “Hard not to hide in a crowd like this.”

“You look perfect,” he compliments thoughtlessly, voice tinged with awe.

Ears burning, you look at your shoes for a moment to compose yourself. “Thank you. So do you.”

A complement returned is a victory of the highest caliber, so Gwilym beams at you. It’s always difficult in public; he doesn’t want you to think all of his affection is for show, and he certainly doesn’t want you to think that he’s taking advantage of the crowd to attend to you. It isn’t for the cameras, not at all, but he can’t help himself. His hand falls to your waist and you lean into him. Side by side, you two are the picture of a perfect couple. You’re entirely content in each other’s presence. There’s no need to dance and no need to drink. Rather, you watch, and every once in a while, Gwilym tightens his hold on your waist just to remind you that he’s there.

It’s unbearably crowded and you’re beginning to suffocate. You lean in closer to Gwilym. “Do you want to get some air?”

Eagerly, Gwilym nods. He’s perfectly content to stay inside, but he’ll take any excuse to let everyone get a look at you on his arm. He’s happy to guide you through the crowd, catching every eye you can; further, there’s little he wouldn’t do for a moment of alone time with you. Gwilym guides you out of the ballroom, greeting staff as he sneaks you through the back hallways. It’s reminiscent of sneaking boys through your own hallways as a teenager, and it makes your stomach leap. You’re nervous and you don’t know why. You’ve known Gwilym for years, been married to him for just over half a year; you know Gwilym, but you still feel the gentle, fluttering anxiety that comes with a new crush. It’s a feeling that you’ve suppressed for the last few weeks. You don’t want to suppress it tonight.

He guides you out to the lower courtyard. You’re unsure if you’re comfortable enough with Gwilym to giggle and tell jokes like you’re used to, but the silence is comforting, too. Muffled string music and the din of conversation flow through open doors and cracked windows, fighting against the peaceful quiet of the warm night.

There’s pressure, a little bit of tension, and you can feel his eyes on you even with your back turned. The closer you and your husband become, the more you have to fight his influence on you. It shouldn’t be scary. In the public eye, he’s already yours. He has you and you have him. Even so, you know that you two have never had a normal relationship. This fear, the excitement, and confusion, are, perhaps, the most natural part of your relationship. This is familiar. They are the safe feelings you associate with the crushes of your teenagehood.

You lean into your husband, a shiver rolling down your back at the warmth of his body. At this moment, you adore him more than you ever have; outside an important charity gala, holding you tight even in private. He came with you not because he needed the air, but because you did. From the corner of your eye, you can see him already looking at you, and your heart begins to pound. Slowly, so slowly that he feels his breathing stutter, you turn to look at him.

Gwilym is overwhelmed; you’re here, leaning closer to him, if there is such a thing, looking so beautiful and relaxed and comfortable in his presence. There isn’t a second thought when he leans into you, taking only a second to breathe you in and listen for rejection before he presses his lips to yours.

Large hands slide from your hips up to your shoulder blades, pulling you in close. Your hands grip his shoulders for only a moment before one slides up to his hair, the other on his neck, trying to keep both him and your sanity close. All night, the two of you have been made up perfectly, but you undo one another in a matter of minutes. His hair is mussed in seconds and your lipstick, subtle as it is, will undoubtedly be smeared across both of your faces by the time you’re done with one another.

Gwilym devours you and you arch into him, prepared to offer him anything he takes. He pours every bit of himself into the kiss; weeks, months, years of longing and aching force their way out of him in a rush of victory. He pulls you so close that you lose your breath, your chests pressed together so tightly that you fear he can feel the uncontrollable thrumming of your heart. The heat of the night is stifling combined with the heat building between you and Gwilym but you can’t pull away from him; he encompasses you.

The closeness and the taste of you and the satisfaction of it all crashes over Gwilym. A heady moan vibrates against your mouth—something deep and warm that only incites the fire razing through you—his fingertips pressing so tightly into your back that you can feel the pinpricks of bruises already. Your head falls back not from lack of want but desperation for air. Gwilym is unphased. His nose traces down your cheek to your neck, breathing you in until he’s dizzy, spiraling under your influence. Everything burns, everything aches. Every cell in your body yearns for him even with him pressed against you. Sloppy kisses fall across your collarbones as Gwilym works love bites into your skin. All he wants is more. He’s waited years for you and now he’s getting his fill.

Panting, you pull on his hair and force out a whisper of his name. Part of you wonders if anyone can see you from the windows, if any staff who have snuck out for a smoke break are watching you from the doors, but a larger part of you hardly cares. There isn’t a part of you that wants to focus on anything other than the way Gwilym’s teeth scrape your skin carnally.

Desperately, you guide his lips back to yours, wanton for another taste of him. He would have overpowered you if he wasn’t just as controlled by you. Anything you want, anything you can think to ask for, he decides, is yours, as long as you kiss him like this. This kiss is worth the wait in every conceivable way. One of his large hands grabs the back of your neck, exerting his power in a way that has your knees buckling, your body relying on Gwilym’s to keep you from entirely collapsing. Against your mouth, your husband grins, thrilled to have the same effect on you as you do on him.

And god, you want him. You’re desperate to live in this moment for the rest of your life, but the music filters into your senses again. You remember where you are—who you’re with, and pulling away from him is agonizing. Both of you are dazed, Gwilym more than you. When you force out a harsh breath, his eyes finally open, the blue of them dark and blown out. His cheeks are flushed and his lips are swollen and he looks like he’s floating. You can’t even handle the sight of him, sure that you’re doomed to fall back into his circulation with no way to get out.

“Y/N,” he breathes, and the rasp of his voice almost makes you moan.

You take a step back, pressing a hand to your chest to try to hold yourself together. This wasn’t part of the plan. Nothing about this had changed; you were still just the wife. Gwilym’s duty.

“I have to go,” you force.

His entire face crumples, but you’ve already turned around. More alert at your sudden rejection, he startles as you begin to rush through the courtyard. “Y/N,” he repeats, stronger this time. All you need is a moment alone, a few minutes to think about where you go next; you ignore his calls, focused exclusively on getting out.

Gwilym stares after you, running a hand through his mussed hair. As distant as you’ve kept him, he knows you. You need time. You slip back inside and Gwilym anticipates that you’ll get a car back home. Emotions run high within; he’s elated and confused and all he wants is more of you, but he doesn’t want to crowd you. With a humorless laugh, he ponders you, and your marriage, and he considers whether you two would work if your titles were removed as he begins his journey home.

Several hours later, both of you are silent in your home. You’ve been locked in your bedroom since you got home, your dress unceremoniously thrown over the foot bench. Gwilym has fought with himself all night about whether or not he should try to speak to you.

When you hear the gentle rapping at your door, you pretend you don’t hear it, and Gwilym doesn’t knock again.

The next morning, you force on a brave face and leave your bedroom. Things have changed with your husband, that much was impossible to deny, but neither of you had changed. This was still that man who used you as an accessory. You want to want Gwilym. How much easier could your life be if you and your husband didn’t have to fake it? Moreover, you had grown to adore Gwilym. Something about him works as a siren song to you. After so long of keeping your husband locked out of your life, you’re prepared to give him an opening.

He waits for you in the kitchen, the softest smile on his lips. “Hi, sweetheart,” he says. There’s no anger in his voice. No resentment. He doesn’t seem upset that you left him behind at a charity gala. There’s just adoration; the sweetest smile and understanding eyes. It only makes you feel worse. It only makes you more confused.

“Hi,” you respond quietly, sitting at the island.

“Are you hungry? We can order in breakfast.”

You hate that this feels like an act, like he’s afraid to mention what you both stayed up thinking about. More than that, you hate that he’s doing this because he thinks it’s what you want. With a careful smile, one a little more vulnerable than he’s used to seeing on you, you shake your head. “I think we should talk.”

Gwilym exhales sharply, relieved that not only are you willing to talk, but you’re the one bringing it up. For all he knew, the two of you were going to skirt around this kiss for the rest of your lives. If you wanted to forget it, he would have given it to you. He didn’t want to forget it, but more than that, he wanted you to be happy. He would give you everything you asked for, and anything you didn’t, he would do what he could to guess. Letting go of this, admittedly, would have been a harder task than any others.

For a long few seconds, neither of you says anything. Gwilym wants to let you work through your thoughts without his interference, but you want to know how he feels. Was he caught in the moment? Did he regret it? He can’t stand the silence and he can’t handle the uncertainty, so he finally says, “It was a hell of a kiss.”

Relieved, you allow a soft laugh. “Can’t deny that.”

He looks at you from under his lashes, mouth upturned. “If it made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry,” he begins, “but I don’t regret it. If I had the chance, I would do it again.”

Your heart soars, a tiny smile finding its way on your lips against your better judgment. “Me neither,” you admit.

The way he looks at you, like a nervous teenager whose crush is finally reciprocated, makes you fall even harder for him. You wouldn’t take it back, not even if all of this imploded. You would hold that memory right in your heart, tucked into the safest corner of your mind to pull out on a rainy day.

“But I need to get some things off of my chest,” you whisper. With a nod, Gwilym sits across from you, prepared to listen. Anxiety seizes you because all you want is for this to work. All you want is for this conversation to comfort you instead of disturbing you. With a deep breath, you put your chin in your hands. “I want to apologize for being so cold with you all these years. I always felt…that my free will had been stolen from me when they decided on our marriage, and I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair—not when you had just as little choice as I did.”

“Y/N, please don’t apologize for that,” he murmurs, reaching across the counter to grab your hand. “No one, least of all me, is going to blame you for being frustrated about that.”

You smile gently at him, stroking your thumb over his knuckle. He’s so sweet. All you can do is pray that his answers put you at ease as this response has. “It’s just…since we’ve been married, some things just feel…wrong. I’ve had a difficult time accepting certain aspects of our relationship.” Still, his clear blue eyes implore you to continue. He’s trying to listen, entirely open to what you want to say. You adore him. You could cry for him. It seems impossible that he was the one you pushed away for so long. “Gwilym, I’m not your wife. I’m an accessory. It feels like—like I only exist to make you look better.”

He frowns, squeezing your hand. “Sweetheart,” he whispers. “What have I done to make you feel like that?

With the softest smile and tiny little snort, you shake your head. “Those stupid meetings.”

Gwilym stares at you with nothing but confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“I sit in those meetings for hours at a time just to look like a wife who needs to be with her husband. I hate it. I have always hated it. They make me feel…ornamental.”

With astonishment painting his pretty blue eyes, he blinks at you. “Darling, those are your meetings too.” You scoff, but he shakes his head. “I would never ask you to sit in a meeting in which you had no business. Y/N, I ask your opinion in every single one of those meetings. I always wanted your opinion. That’s why you’re there.”

You stare at him. And you’ve never felt dumber. He had always asked your opinion, but you had written it off as performance. You had never thought, not once, that you were in those meetings for any reason other than to make Gwilym look good. And Gwilym, sweet Gwilym, pulls your hands to his lips and kisses your knuckles. He holds your hands to his cheek and watches you carefully, waiting for a reaction.

“I’m such an idiot,” you finally whisper.

He breathes a quiet laugh. “No, you aren’t. I should have made that clear to you.”

“Gwil, I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he insists. You groan. “And for your peace of mind, I did push the wedding back as far as possible. I held off as long as I could.’

“You’re killing me,” you whine. With a laugh, he stands and walks around to your side of the island.

You lift your head to watch him lean against the counter, eagerly allowing him to pull you against him. The warmth of his body against yours is a comfort after over twelve agonizing hours without him. It seemed impossible that the two of you had gone so long without one another. In less than a day, you’ve become dependent on his touch. You crave him like you never have.

“And just so you know,” he whispers against your hairline, stroking your back. “I’ve been in love with you since the moment we met.” It if were at all possible, you would have melted into him. You could cry and you could sing. Performance is no longer a concern. It had never been a performance for him. All the unabashed, eager conversation was genuine. The sidelong looks, the lingering hands. He had meant it all. You had ignored his meanings. “It kills me to think that I made you feel invisible. I’ll do everything in my power to fix this.”

You look at him, unable to hide the tumultuous adoration on your face. You stare at him, star-eyed, and Gwilym feels his heart stop. How long he had waited to see that look.

“I can’t believe you were the one in front of me all this time,” you say quietly, awed. “You are not at all who my pride made you seem.”

He strokes a hand down your cheek, thumb tracing the bridge of your nose. “I’m here.”

Your darling husband. The man you had fallen for in the last few weeks was the one in front of you all the time. Your heart sinks and soars and constricts. How you could have been so foolish in the years since you had met Gwilym, you couldn’t possibly understand. Looking into his earnest eyes, you wonder how you could have ever called this man arrogant, pompous, or smarmy. You’ve been a terrible fool.

With one, two, three soft kisses, you wrap your arms tightly around Gwilym, holding him close to your heart and silently begging him to listen to the way it beats for him. “I’m going to make this up to you,” you promise.

Gwilym shakes his head, kissing your temple. “This is all I want. Just keep me close.”

And that, you think, is a promise that would be hard to break.

[syrips]

As a teeny-tiny Rahadin simp, who do you think could be his friend? (And if you don't hc him as aroace, what do you think his type could be 🤭)

honestly, i think godfrey gwilym could be his friend. hear me out - hed prob hate the absolute heck out of vladimir horngaard, but he'd be able to relate (and have mutual respect) for godfrey. and if that fails, well, itd be at least in an intimate combat/rival kind of bond

if he's hc'ed as not aroace, i think his type would be. well, this sounds insane, but. ireena. listen. someone else here literally has a rahadin x ireena ship thing in their campaign and LET ME TELL YOU. it makes SO much sense. like. if u think about all the ppl rahadin hates, then you compare it to people rahadin tolerates. rahadin would tolerate ireena. so so well. aaah! it feels forbidden but omg. redeemable rahadin x ireena, OR rahadin with an understanding ireena. oh that sounds so cool-

another one rahadin might fit well with is, listen hear me out. but lydia petrovna. I KNOW. it SOUDNS CRAZY but LISTEN. imagine if rahadin protected her, and she was genuinely happy because of him? imagine if she was with someone who didnt force happiness, and instead accepted the bittersweetness of darkness? idk. i needa see it - nJDANSJdn i think rahadin would do well with a neutral/good/positive/gremlin partner, someone who didnt have to mask around him, even if it's the ugly truth.

ALSO. underrated but. rahadin AND PPL'S PCs. i know. this one seems obvious but let me explain. like. rahadin and a PC just fits so easy together since theyre both similar to the gwilym and 'ppl he tolerates' stuff thing well. i believe if someone was allied to strahd, rahadin would tolerate the PC, ths, making them a potential canditate as well!!

[vanhelsingapologist]

imagine being a sad revenant and this group of adventurers come into your room where you’re brooding and sad but they talk to you and you’re like I don’t know they seem sort of weird but well-intentioned and so you’re like ok ok you can go anywhere but there are spiders on the ceiling! and the adventurers are like great 👍😃👍👍😄!!! and the dhampir gets promptly stuck on the ceiling where there are spiders. now you’re just standing there watching as the adventurers light the webs on fire and you’re like ok well at least the spiders are dying but really, I did say there were spiders.

so you help them out and it’s fine and you tell them alright guys you can go anywhere but the main hall because my ex boyfriend is there and he’s not doing so well and the adventurers are like great!! 👍👍😄😃👍😃 right on Sir we would hate to make it awkward for you 👍👍! and then thirty minutes later youre engaged in bitter combat with the man you no longer recognize (your boyfriend who has traded reason for madness) and the adventurers kill him and you’re like well I guess he’s coming back but you do NOT want to be here when he does and the adventurers are like 👍👍👍 of COURSE Sir 😄😃👍😃 and then they long rest.

every day Godfrey Gwilym wakes up

[georgeweasleyslostearhq]

Can I request a fluffy Joe Mazzello x fem. reader long fic where it’s their 9 month old baby daughter’s first Christmas and reader melts at the sight of Joe holding their daughter and showing her all of the presents she’s got and their daughter says dada and Joe and reader light up at how much of a daddy’s girl she is and reader thinks about how when she signed up to play an extra on Bohemian Rhapsody that she never thought she would end up falling in love on set?

of course!

FIRST CHRISTMAS

pairings: Joe Mazzello x Fem!reader summary: ^^^ warnings: None note: y/d/n stands for your daughters name

"oh and look at this!" you heard your husband say downstairs.

you walked downstairs and caught Joe holding your little daughter while showing her the christmas gifts she had gotten

she giggled and took it off him, throwing it on the floor

"no, no. don't throw it, play with it" Joe picked up the care bear and put in front of your daughter and waving it around

"well good morning" you yawned.

Joe looked up and you and smiled like an idiot, your daughter looked over and laughed

"good morning, darling" Joe greeted

"Merry christmas" you walked up the them, sitting on the couch, leaning down to kiss Joe who was situated on the floor, next to the lit up tree.

"how long have you been up?" you asked him and they looked like they have been there a while

"i took her down here about thirty minutes ago, I wanted her to see her presents" he shrugged

"and you couldn't wait for me?"

"not really no, you looked to cute to wake up" you looked back down and your daughter and made a silly face at Y/D/N before looking back up at you

"you should've just woken me up" you stated, looking down at your little baby, you've always noticed how much she looks like Joe. a spitting image of him, but she looked too much like him right now and it made your heart swell.

"I'm sorry, I was just too excited" he confessed, holding your daughter against his chest

you let out a breathy chuckle and closed your eyes.

"dada" Y/D/N whined, pointing at more presents under the tree

Joe pulled her away from his chest and looked at her, his mouth was agape and he looked like he was about to cry

"darling, did you hear that?" Joe asked you

you shuffled closer to them and smiled at him even though he was focused on your baby

"I did joe, I heard it clear as day"

you rubbed joe's arms from behind and rested your chin on shoulder, looking down at your little daughter, smiling at her gratefully

"I told you she was a dada's girl" he whispered to you, finally looking away from her.

"I never doubted it"

"I love you" he said kissing you softly

"I love you too" you smiled at him sweetly

"what did you want, sweetie?" Joe asked your daughter

you thought back to when you were an extra on Bohemian Rhapsody and how you two met and what would've happened if you didn't.

--

you were sitting down on your phone, waiting with other extras to be called on to go on in the scene, you were focused

"hey, you" you looked up and noticed the director standing front of me

"yes?" you smiled politely.

"I need you to go get joe, he's on in 5" he said.

"alright" you stood up and went out to the trailers, looking at the doors for him name written on it.

Rami, Ben, Joe.

you go up to the door and knock three times and waiting for a response

"come in" he replied through the door

he probably thought it was ben.

I opened the door slowly and peeked in, seeing him in his little couch on his phone

"the director wants you to know that you're on in 5" you stated as you entered his view

he didn't respond to you though, you though he was being rude and just ignoring you but the look on his face made you feel otherwise.

his mouth was slightly open and his eyes were relaxed, he looked sort of dazed and off in the clouds, it didn't make you uncomfortable per se, you just felt weak under his gaze.

"excuse me?" you forced yourself to say to snap him out of his daydream

"oh, right ok. just wait there" he said as he saw you were about to leave.

he put his phone away and got up. walking towards you

"who are you, exactly?" he questioned as you waked down the steps with him behind you

"I'm an extra" you responded

"no I meant your name" he chuckled

"oh um, Y/n"

"I'm joe" he smiled warmly

"I know" you took a deep breath

"do you now?" he responded in amusement

"well yeah, I feel like I have to" you smiled sheepishly

"you have a really pretty smile" he told you, looking down at your lips to your eyes.

"oh" you let out an embarrassed laugh as you looked down, tucking a piece of your curled hair behind your ear

"thanks"

"I'm sorry, just the way you're sweet, cute and beautiful at the same time is beyond me"

"oh my god" you muttered to yourself, you felt your cheeks turn warm and your stomach did flips.

"ok so wait other than taking my breath away what do you do for a living?" he smirked playfully. you turned you head away and covered your face with your hands.

"never heard that one before" you laughed, still looking anywhere but at him

"get used to it" he said

--

"this is the best christmas" Joe sighed happily

[storiesforallfandoms]

Masterlist 3!

Here’s the third masterlist for all of my works! If you want to check out more of my work, here’s the links for masterlist one and masterlist two Imagines marked * are smutty imagines! Imagines marked ` are requests! Imagines marked ⭐ are personal favorites!

IMAGINES

STRANGER THINGS small ~ jim hopper` dance with me ~ eddie munson ⭐ starry night ~ steve harrington* (part five) ⭐ at the hip ~ steve harrington` ⭐ triple date ~ steve harrington (part six) ⭐ the freak ~ steve harrington (part seven) ⭐ oblivious ~ eddie munson ⭐ jason doesn’t know ~ eddie munson ⭐ this is music ~ eddie munson` ⭐

SUPERNATURAL strange human feelings ~ castiel` cleaning ~ dean winchester`

HANNIBAL into fiction` sob story ~ hannibal lecter

THE BOYS obsession ~ billy butcher* ⭐ herogasm ~ soldier boy* ⭐ alone on christmas ~ billy butcher can’t get too close ~ billy butcher ⭐ change in a heartbeat ~ billy butcher ⭐ the bad room ~ homelander ⭐

THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY life father ~ diego hargreeves` rescue mission ~ klaus hargreeves’ ⭐

THE LAST OF US (HBO) friendly neighbors ~ joel miller ⭐ too sweet ~ joel miller

BARRY attraction ~ barry berkman` treat him better ~ barry berkman

AMERICAN HORROR STORY late night sins ~ xavier plympton (1984)*`

VICTORIOUS lost dog ~ tori vega` junker ~ beck oliver

HEMLOCK GROVE i don’t ever wanna see you with him ~ roman godfrey ⭐

THE VAMPIRE DIARIES roses are red ~ damon salvatore` ⭐

OUR FLAG MEANS DEATH captive ~ blackbeard/ed teach ⭐

PEAKY BLINDERS moved on ~ thomas shelby

FUTURE MAN winner ~ josh futturman* ⭐

GAME OF THRONES littlest lion ~ oberyn martell (part one) ⭐ freedom ~ oberyn martell (part two) ⭐

THE WITCHER destiny ~ geralt of rivia

DOCTOR WHO looks of a princess ~ eleventh doctor ⭐

BRIDGERTON by the lake ~ benedict bridgerton

THE GENTLEMEN the assistant ~ raymond smith ⭐

PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN spirit of nature ~ jack sparrow`

THE MAZE RUNNER i’ll keep you safe ~ newt`

MARVEL how things are now ~ marc spector and steven grant` ⭐ kneel ~ loki* the most wonderful time ~ bucky barnes fast ~ pietro maximoff ⭐

1917 early morning ~ will schofield*`

THE UNBEARABLE WEIGHT OF MASSIVE TALENT happy birthday ~ javi gutierrez ⭐

FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY’S i need someone older ~ william afton ⭐ the ice cream girl ~ mike schmidt

SALTBURN new toy ~ felix catton ⭐ partners ~ oliver quick ⭐

THE SANTA CLAUSE santa’s sister-in-law ~ bernard the elf

8 MILE one of the guys ~ jimmy smith jr ⭐

THE FALL GUY the space cowboy and the pa ~ tom ryder

A QUIET PLACE i’d find you in any life ~ eric ⭐

GLADIATOR II betrothed ~ emperor geta ⭐

PETE DAVIDSON your gift` favoritism`

HARRY STYLES the perfect tree a star in the making` sleepy head`

MACHINE GUN KELLY baby mama` ⭐ my queen*` getting your attention*` all the mistakes` not what it looks like` can’t keep doing this*`

EMINEM may the best artist win*` too close for comfort` ⭐ when it’s wrong but it feels right` in the dressing room*` he’s acting different` we have to stop meeting like this` every inch*` let’s surprise the world` i’m sorry i let you down`

GOODGUYFITZ wake up call*`

CORPSE HUSBAND letting go` they forgot` ⭐

ASHTON IRWIN home life` cover me*`

CONAN GRAY pushing`

MATTHEW LILLARD accidental drunk confessions`

JOHNNY KNOXVILLE feeling good*`

ALEX TURNER more than a song*` ⭐

BO BURNHAM can’t handle this right now ⭐ look at me*`

KRISTEN STEWART special customer`

TARON EGERTON he already has my approval ⭐

ROBERT PATTINSON my favorite superhero

GERARD WAY good girl*`

GWILYM LEE history repeats itself`

RYAN GOSLING play date`

JOSEPH QUINN bad idea, right? ⭐

RANBOO fluffy haired gamer boy`

JACOB ELORDI height advantage`

MOTLEY CRUE she is mine ~ mick mars`

CHRIS EVANS not used to normal` ⭐

SWAGGERSOULS our next step`

JSCHLATT too far ⭐ the hotel room* ⭐

JOHNNY DEPP just for us`

TRAVIS BARKER the parent trap`

SHIPS

family reunion ~ hermione granger x draco malfoy`

HEADCANONS

showing pedro pascal fan edits ⭐ sitting on jschlatt’s lap ⭐

NSFW ALPHABET

rook (jp capellette)*` eddie munson* ⭐ billy butcher* ⭐

[illfoandillfie]

Gwil is newly hired as a professor and ends up late on his first day bc you jumped his bones when you saw his prof outfit, tweed and glasses and all

Blurb Advent 2023: Day 16

hehehe gotta love some professor gwil 😏

Warnings: p in v sex, quickie against a wall, slight overstimulation

“I really,” Gwil cut himself off as he kissed you, the motion making you sway on the spot in the hallway, starting to speak again before his lips had fully left yours, “shouldn’t Y/N.” You reached for his belt buckle, “Well if you stop complaining we’ll be done faster.”  He composed his argument as he kissed you again, his fingers working on unbuttoning your work blouse as he backed you against the wall, “I can’t be late on my first day. I’m a professor now, I should be professional.”  “This is on you,” you giggled reaching into his pants to free his cock, “for springing such a sexy look on me out of fucking nowhere.” You moved your head aside so you could spit on your palm.   Gwil groaned as your wet palm slid along his length, getting him hard, “If I’d known you’d be so into tweed I’d have started wearing it years ago. I just wanted to look the part.”  “It fucking suits you. The glasses and everything,” you nearly moaned remembering how hot he looked, “Oh my god put it in me already.”  “Shit, really?”  “Gwil, you’ve got no idea how well it’s working for me. I need your cock.”  “Alright, Jesus,” he hurried to hike your skirt up so he could lift one of your legs over his arm. As quickly as possible he tugged your knickers aside and pushed himself inside.  You gasped at the suddenness, a slight sting accompanying the stretch, but you were too horny to mind. Grasping at the tweed jacket you moaned as he began to rut into you, each thrust easier to take than the last.   “Fuck, Y/N,” he grunted.  You tried to kiss him again but missed his mouth, catching the corner of it instead.   Gwil righted your mistake, groaning into your mouth as he sank into you over and over, one hand messily fumbling its way under your skirt to your clit.  The stroke of his thumb made you clench and Gwil swore again, breath hot against your lips. His voice became strained, his movement jerky, as he tried to hold off his orgasm long enough to get you off.   You shook your head. His faltering pace and inconsistent strokes were keeping your climax from building properly, “Cum Gwil, please.”  He breathed out shakily and with two more deep thrusts hit his release, pressing you hard against the wall as he twitched inside you, filling you with his cum.   You kissed him again, revelling in the feeling of it, even if you hadn’t been able to get off yourself.    But Gwil wasn’t through. Able to focus better now he was spent, his fingers on your clit became much more insistent, his hips still firm against yours as he continued to fill you though he couldn’t fuck you without hissing at the overstimulation.   You rapidly got close, clutching at Gwil’s shoulder’s, the tweed rough against your palms, until you were right there, moaning as he pushed you over the edge.  

You were still breathing hard when he slipped from you, gently righting your underwear. Underwear you’d need to change before you left for work.   “Well that was unexpected,”  You laughed, reaching up to rub your lipstick from his face, “Sorry, but you do look very sexy. Better go clean up, you’re gonna be late.”  “Not a great look on my first day.”  “You’ll be fine. But maybe get dressed a bit earlier from now on so this doesn’t become a habit.” 

[froggyfroo-art]

Gwilym

It's been a loooong May for me, and yesterday sucked majorly so I drew this that evening to try and relax. I'm not happy with how anime-esque the face looks despite specifically trying NOT to draw in that style, but the anatomy is surprisngly alright.

Gwilym is one of a a few characters who mainly exist in my head specifically so i can imagine music videos while I'm walking along (as you do), and Gwilym formed while I was listening to the bands Fleur De Lys, Sŵnami and Gwilym among others (the latter being their namesake.) I've only really started developing them properly, so I don't want to explain who they are too much in case it changes, but here's some general stuff:

Gwilym goes by he/they (he/she/they to trusted friends and family) and is gay. They are a linguist (PHD) who speaks Welsh, English, Cornish and Breton (as well as a bit of BSL for a friend theirs), a Celtic historian and a musician. Their band is called Llewod Rampant, which is a four piece rock band (exact genre pending lmao) that they front as the lead singer and guitarist. Their personality is a bit serious, and they can be pretty stubborn and even antagonistic at times due to their Hidden Depths™ (still a WIP but the basics are there). Despite this they are surprisingly good with children, and present very friendly and playful whenever they interact with them. They were originally meant to be a Spawn character but I'm not sure if that's still gonna be a thing or not (they do not have an animal design yet, anyway) because I want to have a go at making other stories. Will still add an STS tag just in case.

[mx-lamour]

Happily grazing through I, Strahd again and taking things, I imagine, only slightly out of context. As a treat. :3

Alek Gwilym stood with them. His eyes flickered as he looked me over. . . . . . handsome Gunther Cosco. Though the oldest in the group by some ten years, he still cut a dashing figure. . . Could he be the one? Of course he could, I impatiently answered myself. Alek glanced at me as though he'd somehow heard my thoughts.

[likesomekindofcheese]

Hey! Just recently finished The Great and frankly I’m also upset about Grigor’s relationship between Georgina and Marial, of which I haven’t liked her character since the beginning of the show and can’t seem to fathom why he loves her. Anyways, I can’t seem to find the post where you explain why you don’t like it, and if you haven’t written/posted it, I’d love to see why!

*cracks knuckles*

Hi there! I don't think I made a whole official post about why I don't like it outside of jokes. So let me explain why here. To get one thing over with, it was a personal thing. Gwilym Lee was my celebrity number one husband-boyfriend crush for ages. I began watching The Great for him. And of course I wrote lots of Grigor x reader fics to channel my imagination and lust. So when he became a cheater in season 2, out of nowhere, without any warning...it was a shock. I tried to think through it, justify it, but it never did. It felt like even in my fantasies, I wasn't safe. I wasn't good enough. The minute I slipped up in a romantic relationship, I would be cheated on as punishment. I had panic attacks and couldn't sleep and cried for days. I couldn't even look at the show or images or of Grigor for without crying. It was as if...I was the one cheated on. I literally had to get therapy because it bothered me so much.

Okay, now that this is done, here is my personal take of why Grigor/Marial is bad as a pairing. Also, this is just me being biased and my personal take, so if you ship the pairing...eh, good for you, all the more power to ya. This post isn't for you.

Let's move onto the foundation. I've discussed it a lot with the Queen and legend @ladystrallan but here it is for all y'all. The Big reasons why. Starting with the most important one.

Reason #1) Marial does not actually give a shit about Grigor's well-being and happiness.

Often in fanfics, when Grigor cheats on George, it's because he is sad about George and the OC or Reader or whoever is worried about him. They want him to be happy, wanted, loved, and valued, and chosen. Marial does none of those things. It's never about "how can I help this poor little meow meow feel better?" It's about "what can he do for me" like she's the damn rat from Charlotte's Web.

Reason #2) Marial does not respect Grigor

If Marial did respect Grigor, she would listen to what he says. She would not blab to Catherine about Peter having sex with and accidentally killing her mother. In season 3, when Peter dies- Grigor is sobbing and in a grieving state for his best friend. Marial on the other hand is celebrating his death like the munchkins celebrating a house dropping on the wicked witch in The Wizard of Oz. Let's put it this way- if someone who you loved, someone you were very close to dropped dead out of nowhere, would you want to date someone who celebrated the death as good thing? No. If she did respect him, she would support him in his grief. She would keep her trap shut. Even if she personally didn't like Peter...she would still be there for Grigor's struggle of losing his friend. At the end of the day...Marial will betray her bestie to become a lady again. She is only on her own side and no one else's. She gets some Pet The Dog moments with the serfs...but not with anyone else she has interpersonal connections with at court.

Reason #3) The Affair is selfish.

Marial does none of these things. She starts the affair not because she is worried about his well-being, or happiness, or respect or selflessly genuinely loves him...she starts it because 1) he was a former fling, 2) she is rich again and she can, and 3) to spite Georgiana. Grigor kind of wants to feel happy and alive again- but it's bc George is away from him!

I understand that fiction is not reality. We can use fiction to discuss taboo things. Or even admit that we fantasize about things we know are ethically wrong. It says nothing about us. Just because we fantasize it or like it in fiction doesn't mean we like it in real life. But...

Reason #4) The Writers paint Georgiana's affair as bad and Grigor's affair as good.

We have all of season one to see how much it hurts Grigor to see his wife be Peter's mistress. And I'm not going to pretend it is entirely good. But Georgiana does get a few lines in season 1 after the poisoning that she kind of...HAS to be Peter's mistress. That their high social standing and wealth comes from their close friendship with Peter that in no ways should be tampered with. And this includes the complete lack of boundaries with Georgiana, because he is the absolute ruler emperor. Like that line in Six The Musical- If Peter says it's you, it's you. As far as I know, Peter and Georgiana is consensual other than the implied power balance and she's lucky she likes Peter and he's a good lover. In fact, back in the day, men WOULD offer their wives as missteress to the king because you could get a huge castle and lots of lands and money from it! That's what Mary Boleyn's husband thought when Henry VIII made her his mistress. You don't technically have a choice- might as well make the most out of it.

Yet the writer(s) paint Georgiana as bad and frame Marial as good, as something that Grigor needs to heal (it ain't), that she is his true love (blech) all without taking a big look in the mirror. They don't know how to handle a complex woman as Georgiana but they think framing Marial as a girlboss makes it better (yuck).

On a related note...imagine if we switched the genders? If Grigor was Georgette and Marial was Mark, we have Georgette being lonely and swept up in her exes charms. Giving everything to Mark, even when he crosses her personal boundaries. Despite this, she keeps running back to him, swearing she'll marry him even though he hates her recently dead bestie and doesn't comfort or support her mourning.

If that was the case, there would be riots! People would be all "omg you deserve better! My poor baby! Dump his ass, queen!" But...no. Since we have Miss GirlBoss (tm) Marial, this toxicity is apparently okay.

Reason #5) Grigor's love and loyalty to his wife was part of what made his character so endearing in the first place.

It's like if Peter said "fudge" instead of "fuck," but we all fell in love with Count Dymov because he loved his wife so much. That is why there are so many Grigor fics out there. Becuase the depth of love he has not only for Peter...but for Georgiana. It's not the issue that his honor as a man is insulted to have his wife sleep around...it's because he is genuinely heartbroken and sad about it. That he loves her that much. And that he loves Peter that much too. He's crying when he tries to put a pillow over Peter's face to suffocate him. In fact, Georgiana does care about his well being despite the whole mistress stuff. When he gets scruff out of rebellion, she knocks him out and tenderly gives him a shave. They tease and flirt with each other. She sits on his lap. Who wouldn't want a relationship where you are that wanted, adored, and unconditionally loved? In fact, their only conflict was Peter. If it wasn't for Peter, they would have an idyllic, wonderful marriage. Look up The Great on TV Tropes- they are listed as "Happily Married."

So him having an affair on Georgiana, to where he is given an option to KILL GEORGIANA and abandon her for Marial felt egregiously out of character.

This is not why i signed up. I wanted him and Georgiana to heal and grow and triumph in their love, especially as the series went on and Peter focused more on his romantic relationship with Catherine to where that WAS the show.

So yeah...those are my two cents.