#my favourite film maybe ever It's Such A Beautiful Day | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joshfutturman · 7 months ago

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'they'd find us in a week, ( lay here for years or for hours )'

oneshot - mike struggles to let you get close, but when your hands brush against his hair, he realises that he may not be able to keep you at arms length forever (1.7k words) pairing - mike schmidt (five nights at freddy's) & gn!reader tags - ok basically this whole thing was 'mike gets sleepy when you play with his hair because my headcanon is that his mom used to do it when he was younger', pre-established friendship verging on relationship, lingering feelings, pure fluff

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

you knew mike wasn’t really the super affectionate type, or at least. . . not with you, yet. each week you’d come over, he’d inch a little closer towards you on the sofa. every time, you felt your heart rate pick up. he felt so close yet so far.

this night, he was the closest he’d ever been. your eyes drift over to the armchair where he used to sit himself when you first visited, and then to him, inches from you now on the sofa. you often treated the situation like mike was an animal, your hand outstretched waiting patiently for him to sniff, get used to your scent maybe. one wrong move and he’d scamper away. you operated on his time, at his pace.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

his leg touches yours and you feel your face heat up at the innocent touch. you dare not glance towards him, relax, you think to yourself. mike probably thought nothing of it. but when you do glance despite your best efforts, you notice the red on his cheeks too.

you try to suppress a smile.

the room was lit with only small flickers from the television in his living room, some mindless action film playing. it was his suggestion, and you let him, loving the way his face lit up when he tried to explain the plot to you in a sheepish manner. his dad used to watch it with him, he said. it felt special that he wanted to share this with you, even if it wasn’t the best movie in the world, it would turn out to be one of your favourites anyway.

you try to focus, settling back into the sofa as you rest your elbow back onto the base of the sofa behind you, supporting your head as your cheek rests against your palm. your eyes drift to mike, watching him as he eyes the television with deep interest. he’s got that sleepy look he usually has and your eyes begin to study his face a little closer now that you’ve got the opportunity.

the dark bags under his eyes hadn’t gotten any better, in fact, they looked a little worse. but that leads you onto his freckles, one. . . two. . . three. . . four. . . more than you could count, dotted across his nose and cheeks. they were your favourite of his features, little constellations you wanted to connect, his face infinitely more interesting than any of the old stars in the night sky.

his stubble was growing a little long, longer than you’d seen it before - maybe tomorrow was his usual shaving day. you wouldn’t tell him, but you thought he suited it at this length. a part of you wonders what it would feel like against your own cheek, but you quickly swat that thought from your mind.

but god, his eyelashes. they were long, dark and delicate. with each blink, you wonder if mike knew how truly beautiful he actually was. he was handsome sure, but he was also incredibly beautiful. not just in looks either, he was beautiful in the way that he’d save you an extra donut - your favourite kind, he’d swerve in the road to avoid birds, he’d send you pictures of things that reminded him of you with no caption or explanation.

you loosen up, lifting your face from your hand. your fingers twitch, itching to reach out and touch his hair. that would be weird, right? but he’s so close. his head is almost resting on your shoulder. should you?

before you have a chance to stop yourself, your fingers briefly brush through a curl on his head and immediately he flinches back.

fuck. you’ve lost him. he’s scampered away.

mike looks at you with what you think to be an angered expression. his brows knit together, leaning away from you as his eyes glance from your hand to you.

“i��m. . . i’m sorry i-“ you begin to say in defence, feeling embarrassed.

mike continues to eye you cautiously. how could he tell you the kinds of feelings that stirred for him?

suddenly he’s just a boy again. he’s had another nightmare. his mom is beside him in his cramped single bed with patterned dinosaur sheets, her hand on his soft curls at the base of his head. her touch is delicate, like he’s delicate. fingers dancing through curls, mike’s eyelids flutter closed as she hums a familiar, comforting tune.

no one’s touched his hair since then. no one.

well, no one except you. right now.

he’s not sure whether to be angry or to be upset. to snap at you or to apologise for his own reaction. he can feel the sadness bubbling in his stomach, spreading up to his chest. he hadn’t thought about this in so long, convinced he’d never be comforted in that way ever again - or maybe it was that he’d never let himself be comforted like that ever again. yet here he was, craving it.

at this point, you’re convinced it’s over. he’s going to ask you to leave. you crossed a line. there was nothing here between you and him. you wanted to apologise again, but what was the use?

“did you just touch my hair?” he finally spoke up, voice softer than you expected it to be.

you swallow hard, “yeah, sorry, i just- i dunno. . .” your words fall away from you again.

mike visibly relaxes, his shoulders loosening up. “it’s okay,” he glances at your hand once more, then back to you as if he’s trying to decide something, “you can. . . if you want to.”

eyes widening, you simply stare back at him, what? you’re stunned into silence for a few moments. you’ve never heard him so soft, almost vulnerable. his gaze continues to flicker to you then away, settling back on the television and returning to the position he was in before with his head close to your shoulder. there’s a hint of red on his cheeks. you can tell he’s. . . scared.

your hand inches closer again, fingertips grazing across his dark, soft curls. immediately you see him take a deep breath through his nose, you can’t figure out what he’s feeling. secretly, he’s feeling relief.

each touch is ghost-like, hardly making contact as you switch between examining his reaction and then back to his hair. once it’s been a minute and you both relax into the interaction, you sink your hands in a little deeper as his hair glides between your fingers with ease. you flinch a little as your fingers reach scalp, splaying your fingers across his skin.

his eyes flutter closed, head slumping forward a little. you smile, drifting your nails across his head gently until you find a curl between your pointer and index finger. you twist it around, letting your fingers comb through it.

mike feels goosebumps pepper up along the back of his neck, soft tingling raining delicately along his scalp. he focuses on the soft, tender sensation of your fingers. suddenly he realises that for once, his mind is quiet. it’s not running ahead, it’s not jumping over hurdles he’d placed for himself, it’s not reliving anything, he’s. . . simply existing here, in this moment, with you.

and he’s letting you. mike isn’t shying away from the touch, instinctively rejecting any form of care. instead, he’s relishing it. his head rests against your shoulder in a final act of defeat, breathing softening to a slow pace.

if it wasn’t so goddamn relaxing, he’d probably allow himself to feel emotional. it had been so long since anyone had cared for him like this, taken the time, or even tried. his walls had grown so high that he was convinced no one would ever dare try to climb them, and if they did he’d snipe them down with a single, devastating shot.

but you? you kept climbing, taking those shots like a champ and continuing to climb anyway. slowly, but surely. and it was almost as though mike never saw you coming. like you were over that wall in a flash - waiting patiently for him to beckon you down to the other side.

and here he was as you approached.

mike’s hand finds your leg in his sleepy haze and gently, sheepishly, lets his fingertips trail across the fabric there. like he’s trying to return the favour.

this simply makes you smile.

your fingers continue to trace small shapes in his hair, a heart, a circle, a square. . . and then all your fingers at once combing through his thick curls. you can’t help but watch the way his head sinks deeper and deeper against your shoulder as he gives in to sensation.

for the first time in forever, he feels sleep beckoning him without the use of pills or any other sleep aids. just you, your simple touch and your body heat accompanying him. it’s incredibly adorable to you, watching him settle underneath your touch. his touch on your leg falters, slowing down to a halt after a short while.

gingerly, your hand snakes to the front of his scalp, running through the curls covering his forehead and exposing the skin there as if to take a peek at his face. your eyes widen and you smile as you see his eyes gently closed, mouth half open. was he. . . sleeping? he’d fallen asleep against you, your fingers still in his hair. and you wouldn’t dare stop. you’d do this forever if time and the world allowed.

it was the most peaceful you’d ever seen him, evoking deep feelings of protectiveness. mike deserved better than what this life gave him, or rather, took from him. you’d do anything to make him feel at peace, even for a little while. what little you could offer to ease the burden, you’d give.

you rest your cheek down against the top of his head, letting your own eyes close - your hands now on the back of his head, playing with the curls that settle there naturally. trying your best, you keep up the soft touches of your fingertips as long as you’re able to before sleep inevitably comes for you too. it comes in waves, your head growing heavier against mike’s as he breathes out light snores.

before long, slumber sweeps you away. both of you laying contently against the other in a sleepy bundle.

tomorrow, you’d both have to face the world, but for now? this moment was yours. and in sleep, mike would pray you’d be there when he awoke.

little did he know, you’d never want to leave his side ever again.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. ‧₊˚ dedicated tags: @helen-on-earth @fatinhadesiners06 @boonam @laurrrelise @sun-spider13 @sammygirlism @sleepyhutcherson ‧₊˚ ily!! .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

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calqlate · 1 year ago

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SUMMARY: You are the side character of someone else's fairytale and you fall in love with the male lead of her story. You think, "Can a side character get their happy ending?", and you hope you can.

PAIRING: iwaizumi hajime x gn! reader

GENRE(S): angst (with a happy ending) + pining (one-sided) + second choice syndrome

CW(S)/TW(S): coarse/foul/strong language used

WC: 4657

MASTERLIST

In all cliché love stories, there would always be a love triangle between the protagonist, the good guy, and the playboy. The protagonist would always choose the bad boy, no matter what, and the good guy would always be there as moral support. That was simply the unspoken 'rule' that posed itself as a trend in all novels.

In your life, you felt that you were definitely not the protagonist. If your life were a movie, you supposed, you would probably be one of those good-natured side characters who appeared in the film from two to four times, maybe even an extra in a story. You know, the kind chef that appeared on page sixteen of the storybook, or the dutiful store assistant who was moving boxes in the back.

Now, you might be wondering who the protagonist was. It was Sawabe Nagi: skinny, fair-skinned, and popular. She was bubbly, well-liked, and beautiful to boot; she was practically born to be the main character. Like the typical protagonist she was, she chose the bad boy, Oikawa Tooru, the dashing heartthrob of Seijoh. The good guy here was then Iwaizumi Hajime, who happened to be the playboy's best friend and childhood friend.

Before the plot was written, the good guy had a backstory with the side character. (Perhaps this story would change the course of the actual story? We would never know.)

You walked into class with your earpieces plugged in as you scrolled through your Instagram feed. As you sat down, you happened to come across a ridiculously hilarious post, something like a text post regarding your favourite band, and you tried so hard not to laugh. The pressure of holding it in was so great that as a result, you snorted out loud. Your eyes widened in surprise and you immediately clapped a hand over your mouth, hoping no one heard it. Unfortunately for you, your desk neighbour Iwaizumi Hajime had heard you, and he threw you a curious glance.

A sudden thought popped into your head: Huh, Iwaizumi really almost never smiles. Almost timidly, you decided to show him the post that had caused your earlier embarrassing outburst. Cautiously, you slid your phone over onto his desk and said, "Look at it."

The tan ravenette looked up at you from your phone, meeting your gaze. You simply tilted your head towards your phone as a response, and he raised an eyebrow at you. He still looked back down at your phone anyway, after angling the device, and looked at the post. Slowly, his lips formed the grace of smile. Shortly after, a chuckle resonated from his throat.

"Seriously, Iwaizumi, you should smile more," you commented casually, pulling your earpieces out of your ears, "It suits you."

"You think so?" Iwaizumi asked, somewhat shyly, handing your phone back to you.

You nodded, taking your phone from him, then tucking it carefully into your blazer pocket.

"I'll give you my number so you can send me more of these, then," he said.

You stopped mid-movement, then you laughed slightly. Very smooth, Iwaizumi, very smooth.

Ever since that day, the two of you would talk, laugh at ridiculous posts either one of you found on the internet or social media, eat lunch, and do usual things friends did. Slowly, through the passage of time, you realised a few small things: how you looked forward to your mini rendezvous during lunch, how you automatically lit up whenever Iwaizumi smiled, laughed, or complimented you, and how you found yourself wanting to know him inside out and as well as the back of your hand.

The final epiphany settled in: through the passage of time, you had undoubtedly fallen in love with Iwaizumi Hajime.

Your world was filled with endless joy, dizzying euphoria, and pure bliss: you would spend the rest of your remaining high school years with Iwaizumi. There was, indeed, a small part of you deep down that was afraid to come clean with him, to tell him how you really felt about him. However, you decided that it was better to keep him in the dark. You would wait for the right time to tell him everything. Your desire could wait.

That was, until he told you that he liked Sawabe Nagi — that was what burst your unknowingly fragile bubble of innocence. It was as though your ideas of your future dreamlike days with him had simply disintegrated into thin air.

However, you decided to put your friendship first before your selfish wants: you put on a brave smile, hid your sadness and slight jealousy, and wished him all the best in courting Sawabe.

You continued to hang out with him, though it pained you knowing that he never felt the same way you did. It was definitely difficult to feign smiles and speak comfortably with him. You had also once considered putting some distance between the both of you, but your better judgement convinced you otherwise as you did not want to dump your pain onto Iwaizumi like that. It would not be fair to him at all.

One day, after an afternoon of rigorous training, you walked out and was heading to the gate when you spotted someone sitting with their head low under the tree, just near the gates. The figure's silhouette was unmistakable to you; it was none other than your spiky-haired deskie.

"Iwaizumi?" you said as you approached him cautiously, watching his every movement with great focus.

"Oh, hey," he said as he glanced up to look at you, smiling slightly as if — no, definitely — trying to hide his earlier gloomy mood, "You're done with practice?"

You noticed that his characteristically mesmerising deep charcoal eyes were rather red and puffy, with dried tears on his face — a seemingly vulnerable look you never thought you would see on his being. A somewhat glassy look was in his eyes, as if he was looking into the fog, desperately searching for something far away.

You knew that you were not that something he was looking for.

"Were you crying?" you asked as you sat down next to him, eyes still on him, not daring to break away for just a breath.

He knew there was not really any point lying about it, for he knew he was easy to read, especially with you since he spent most of his time with you these days, and he nodded in response. He dropped his gaze to his hands, which were balled into fists on his thighs.

"What happened?" you asked, then added hurriedly, "If you don't mind telling me. I won't judge, I swear."

"Sawabe rejected me," he said softly as more tears formed in his eyes, the painful words getting lodged in his throat, "She... she told me she was sorry, that she... likes Oikawa instead."

"I'm... sorry to hear that," you whispered, not really knowing how you should be feeling. A part of you was overjoyed by the thought of Iwaizumi not standing a chance with Sawabe, and another part of you was disgusted at yourself for feeling this way. However, one could not stop the heart for desiring what it wanted.

Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders to envelop him in a hug to console him. Iwaizumi wrapped his arms around you in return and gripped onto your uniform tightly, burrowing his face into your shoulder and staining his tears on your blazer. You rubbed small circles on his back to further comfort him, not knowing what else to say but let him cry his heart out and let time soften his sobs.

"It seems like no one'll fall for me," he muttered in self-hate after he could not seem to cry any longer since his throat was getting raw and his tear ducts seemed to run out of tears, then he began to dry his tears and rest his chin on your shoulder as he chuckled dryly, "Not like it's that surprising, really."

"Are you kidding me?" your outburst was incredulous, with you pulling him away from the embrace and staring at him with widened eyes and furrowed brows, "I can't believe you thought so lowly of yourself; I fell in love with you within these two months, you know!"

Once those rambling words left your mouth, you turned red, slapped a hand over your mouth, and bit your lower lip. You began to berate yourself internally, What a wonderful time you chose to confess!

An awkward silence settled between the both of you, and you decided that he was officially disturbed by your sudden (and inappropriate) confession.

"S-Sorry, I should really get going," you muttered, then mumbled a flimsy excuse and dropped your hand to your side, gathered your belongings up, and prepared to leave. You were very much ready to get home to cry, wallow in your misery, and eat a tub full of ice cream.

"Thank you," Iwaizumi said suddenly which caused you to whirl your head at him, a small yet empathetic smile tugging at his lips, "It made my day."

Suddenly, you had this strong urge in you to say something ridiculous that popped up in your head, something that you knew only worked in Korean dramas, not real-life scenarios. However, it was worth a shot, right?

"Listen, Iwaizumi," you said, choosing your words very carefully, "I know this may sound stupid and one-sided, considering how you got... you know." You waved your hand in the air vaguely, not wanting to verbalise what Iwaizumi had been through a couple of hours ago, then continued, "Anyway, I'm sure I can treat you better than her, and I'm sure I can help you get over it."

There was a moment of silence.

Have I gone too far? you thought, fiddling with your thumbs nervously, Maybe I should just tell him to forget what I just said—

His reply cut you off mid-thought, "Then let's date."

"Seriously, [F/N], if you want to look at videos of corgi butts, do so when you're not walking," Iwaizumi sighed as he sat next to the bed which you were currently sitting on in the infirmary.

You, being hooked onto this never-ending list of corgi underside videos a friend had recommended to you, decided it would be a great idea to watch them while walking towards the indoor sports hall. It just so happened you were walking down a rather steep decline while doing so, did not see that you were about to trip over a sizeable pebble, and went tumbling down the hill. Luckily, you were not too high up the hill, so you managed to not sustain any severe injuries other than a twisted ankle. You were even luckier Iwaizumi was nearby, because he had been trying to find Oikawa who seemingly vanished from his classroom ("Probably to flirt with other girls," Iwaizumi would always say with a massive eye roll).

"You really are a good boyfriend, Hajime," you said with a grin as he simply shook his head at you.

It had been about a month since both of you started dating, and you had been trying your best to help Iwaizumi get over his rejection. The first step in your relationship was to address each other by your respective first names (which was your idea). Both of you were a little bit awkward at the initial stage, but soon got over it and became a second nature to the two of you.

"[L/N]? Iwaizumi?"

The curtains separating the both of you from the next bed was swept open by the school nurse, revealing a very pale Sawabe. Her dark hair made a stark comparison to her unhealthily white complexion. To finish off the staggering look, there was a pair of eye bags circling the bottom of her eyes.

Iwaizumi froze in place, like a deer caught in headlights. You immediately noticed this and contemplated whether you should reach over and squeeze his hand gently as a form of reassurance. After all, his hand was now (fortunately) close to yours.

"I guessed it was you guys judging from your voices," Sawabe added with a little laugh (even though no one really asked her).

You did not take the chance and your hand remained glued to your side. Iwaizumi's hand was now drawn back to his side as he stood up.

"Sawabe? What happened to you?" Iwaizumi asked, walking up to her, an even more concerned expression taking over his face compared to the one he had given you, "Where's Trashikawa?"

"Tooru said he was busy and couldn't come, because he said he had some extra volleyball practice he wanted to put in," the brunette replied, "As for me, it isn't anything serious. Just a couple of things went wrong. I'm fine now."

You averted your gaze from the pair, clenching your hands into fists. You knew it was fine for Iwaizumi got get worried over sawabe since they were friends, but you could not help yourself and felt jealous. The way they conversed sounded as though they were dating, which seemed like a punch to your gut.

This also seemed to further highlight your incompetence in the whole point you and Iwaizumi were dating in the first place. Iwaizumi still seemed to hold a special place for his former love after all.

You then knew, I can't hold a candle to Sawabe.

Slowly, you slipped off the bed and limped to the doorway as quickly and quietly as you possibly could. You wanted to leave while you still had some control over your emotions, before it was too late and you started crying and made both a scene and a fool out of yourself.

Iwaizumi never noticed your disappearance, and you never felt your heart ache so badly before.

After practice, you switched your phone on to see a few messages from Iwaizumi. Earlier, you had turned it off after you fled the scene in the infirmary, not wanting to hear anything from Iwaizumi or anyone, really. Since you had busted your ankle, you could not take part in track activities, so you sat by the bleachers and finished up some of your biology homework. In the end, the coach told you to go home and get some rest.

Tentatively, your thumb hovered over his name in your inbox before you finally decided to read his messages.

Hajime: Are you at practice now?

Hajime: Why did you leave so suddenly?

Hajime: I'm sorry, I won't be walking home with you today. I have to walk Sawabe home since Trashikawa is still practicing and no one's home to fetch her.

Hajime: Text me when you get home, okay?

Kissing your teeth, sighing inwardly, and not wanting to answer, you put on some music and shoved your phone into your blazer pocket. Subconsciously, you knew Iwaizumi would still be worried over Sawabe. Your heart twisted in jealousy at this.

When you arrived home, you decided to switch your phone to aeroplane mode to refrain from any distractions while you were revising. The first exam was coming in a month's time; you could not afford to relax. You put on your Spotify playlist meant for effective studying and locked yourself in your room for a solid hour.

After a good hour of revision, you checked the time on the digital clock which stood on your table: 6.45 pm.

The thoughts of Iwaizumi walking Sawabe back home flooded your mind. Did he really move on, or does he still have something for her? Your eyebrows furrowed as your brain spiraled further into confusing thoughts, everything getting tangled in a chaos.

Not wanting to waste any time thinking about it, you buried your face into your arms as you crossed them on your desk, closing your eyes and willing yourself to stop worrying. Before you knew it, you had fallen asleep.

Knock knock. Knock knock.

The sound of gentle knocking woke you right up. Rubbing your eyes and blinking, you caught sight of someone at your window, fist to your window panels. You squinted at the rather well-built figure hovering by your window before your eyes widened in recognition.

Iwaizumi?

Quickly, you rushed over (all while limping) and opened the window to let him in. Panic filled your veins as you opened the grilles.

"What are you doing? This is the second floor!" you berated him as he tumbled inside and onto your bedroom floor, "Why didn't you use the front door like a normal human being?"

"N-No one answered when I rang the doorbell, so I decided to climb up instead," he answered, and you noticed he sounded out of breath.

"Why are you breathless?" you asked, "Did you run over or something?"

"Yeah, I ran here since I got worried about you," he answered as he tried to catch his breath after sitting up, watching you carefully, "You left my texts on read and didn't read any of my new ones."

You just let out a soft sigh and said, "Come on, let's go downstairs and I'll get you something to eat."

Iwaizumi helped you down the steps (since you were injured, after all) and to the living room and was told to sit down, only he refused, because he pointed out you were still limping. You did not bother to argue with him and let him follow you.

The two of you then headed to the kitchen to get some biscuits and two glasses of milk, which Iwaizumi insisted on carrying. Both of you headed back to the living room with your snacks and sat comfortably on the sofa, with Iwaizumi balancing the plate of biscuits on his thighs.

After a few moments of hearing the sounds of crunching biscuits, he said, "Hey, let's play a game."

"Alright, fine," you said, reaching for another biscuit, "What do you have in mind?"

"Truth or dare," Iwaizumi replied simply, chewing his biscuit thoughtfully, "Now, truth or dare?"

"Truth," you answered without hesitation, popping the biscuit into your mouth.

"What do you think of our relationship?" he asked, then pointing between both of you, "You know, us."

There was a short moment of deafening silence (not even the prior sounds of biscuit chewing was heard) before you answered with a defeated look in your eyes, "There was never an 'us'."

He raised his eyebrows in curiosity, What do you mean?

"I love you," you proclaimed suddenly, turning your head to meet his gaze heads-on in determination.

No response. He just could not bring himself to say it. The words were lodged in his throat, being barricaded by an unknown force from escaping his lips, which were tightly shut. This silence confirmed your suspicions; this silence was as loud as a lion's deafening roar, an obvious statement of impending heartbreak and goodbyes.

"See?" you said softly, tears threatening to spill from your eyes, and you immediately looked away, "That's exactly what i mean."

Quickly, you wiped your tears away, put on your best smile, and said, "Okay, your turn. Truth or dare?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but the sound of his phone ringing cut him off.

"Sorry," he mouthed as he took his phone out of his trouser pocket and glanced at the caller ID (he looked somewhat scared, but of what?), then answering, "Hello?"

"Iwaizumi? Could you come back to keep me company?" Sawabe's voice was unmistakable from the other line, causing you to further shrink down in your seat, "I'm kinda afraid of being alone."

"I'm coming over," he answered without missing a beat before ending the call.

You whirled your head over and looked into his eyes, yours full of hurt and sorrow. Though you knew he had probably never genuinely loved you like a true lover from the start, you never expected him to ditch you for someone else, that someone being the previous apple of his eye.

Though, could Sawabe still be counted as 'previous'? Iwaizumi cared about her; he clearly still had her as his number one priority, it seemed.

Your head started to spin with wild thoughts as you watched him place the plate of remaining biscuits on the table: Was he really going to her? did he never get over her? Did he ever see me as his significant other?

"I'm sorry, [F/N]. I really am," Iwaizumi said, a look of sorrow and regrets gracing his face (the very face you came to love), before giving a slight bow and exiting the house.

You sat there, eyes hollow, head silent, heart broken. You did not know what else to think. The only thing you knew was that you were tired. You were tired of chasing someone who had another goal in their eyes. You were tired of trying to be the missing puzzle piece in someone else's life. You were tired of illusionising yourself that the one you truly loved reciprocated your feelings.

In the end, the joke was on you. You were left alone with nothing else, just you and your broken heart that had been shattered into tiny shards that lay around your feet.

In cliché romance movies, the protagonist gets into a messy love triangle and falls in love with the bad boy.

And in this film, you were just a side character who liked the good guy, but never had your love acknowledged.

You walked into class with your earpieces plugged in, muting the unpleasant world that surrounded you. Life still went on even though bad things happen, but you can still angrily say "Fuck you" to the world who bestowed empty promises upon you and wallow in self-pity.

In all retrospect, you had been thinking about how your relationship between you and Iwaizumi had been, and by judging the latest (dramatic) turn of events, it was not going to get far in the long run.

Once you placed your books and materials on your desk, you could hear a muted voice saying through your earpieces, "Good morning."

Though it was faint through the loud dance music you were playing, you still knew the voice's owner. After all, it was the voice you had come to love, too.

"H — Iwaizumi," you said simply as you took out your earpiece, cursing yourself mentally for the slip of your tongue. (You cringed inwardly at your second action following your response; you probably looked way too excited when you heard him call out to you. Bad habits were indeed hard to break.)

"I-I'm really sorry about yesterday," Iwaizumi muttered, looking down at the floor with his hands shoved in his pockets, not daring to meet your gaze on him that you were actually imposing yourself to do.

Without saying a word, you grabbed his hand and led him out of the classroom. Class was not going to start until another thirty minutes or so, anyway. You had more pressing matters at hand to discuss with him rather than something that was going to be forgotten in a few years.

You swiftly pushed past the hordes of students who were either gossiping about Oikawa, talking about a weekend party, or some other useless junk, bringing him to the school rooftop.

The school rooftop seemed like a secret haven: free of students' chatter, free of judgement, free of suffocating criticism.

You let go of him and walked a few steps forward, your back faced towards him.

"Are... you okay?" he asked tentatively. You had never behaved like this before, so this was completely new for him.

Without turning around, you said, "I've been thinking a lot since last night."

You turned around and looked into his eyes, hoping that what you were doing was right. You did not want to say it (you never would if you had the option to), but you wanted to spare yourself from the torture and did not want yourself to do this any longer. After all, it proved that your attempts to get him to move on failed. Love can be such a powerful force.

"Let's break up," you said simply, trying to keep your gaze levelled and not let your emotions take control and ruin this any further.

"What?" Iwaizumi coughed out with widened eyes, a little dumbfounded by this twist of events. Never in his wildest dreams did he expect you to break up with him. After all, you were the one who asked to date in the first place.

"This relationship is one-sided, and it's going nowhere," you stated, "So there's really no point continuing it. It's hurting both of us. Besides, it seems like I didn't help you get over her."

You took a quick and deep breath and continued, "It isn't good for any of us. so, let's break up and spare one another."

Feeling tears sting your eyes, you quickly strode past him, not wanting to let him see you break down. You willed yourself not to cry until you made it past that door back into the campus. It was going so well, too, so why—

Suddenly, you felt a warm and larger hand take hold of your wrist. The same hand pulled you back into someone's arms. It was Iwaizumi, of course, bringing you into his embrace, just like how you had done for him when you found him near the school gates being upset over Sawabe's reveal of her true feelings a month ago.

"You did help me," he said gently, "You're very special to me, and you've brightened my life. You've made me see the world in a different light, a different perspective, and for that, I want to thank you."

That was not exactly what you wanted to hear, but it still made you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. Before you knew it, you found yourself wrapping your arms around his torso and you leaned further in, your head pressing into his chest and you could hear his steady heartbeat resembling a siren song.

"If you would give me a second chance, I will tell you those three words one day," Iwaizumi said, with sincerity embedded in his words.

"So you're going to force yourself to love me?" you asked, breaking the embrace and looking up at him with a somewhat offended look, "Because I don't want you to. It's not right to the both of us."

"I'm not," he answered quickly, then explained, "I'm unsure of my feelings as of now, but if you would give me a second chance..."

He reached for your hand, encased it within his larger one, and continued with sincerity in his eyes, "I'm sure I won't hurt you again."

You bit your lip as your heart struggled to make a decision. The rational part of you wanted to refuse and say no, to put an end to this tragic tale. However, the lovesick fool in you convinced you otherwise. A second chance would not hurt anybody, and maybe there would come a day where Iwaizumi would really say those three words you longed to hear with a sincere heart.

"Alright," you stepped forward and squeezed his hands, "I'll wait for you."

"Thank you," he wrapped his arms around you and buried his face into the crook of your neck, warmth spreading throughout his body. Moving on will be difficult, but for you, he was willing to do it and free himself from Sawabe's grasp.

In all cliché romance films, the protagonist gets into a love triangle and chooses the bad boy. The good guy supports them and thinks he is unloved, when there is a minor side character wanting and waiting to be with him, for him to extend his hand and accept their love, but never getting their happy ending.

It seems like, in this romance movie, the side character does get their own happily ever after after all.

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hopelessdaydreamer7 · 6 months ago

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Bind of my favourite fic Darkness Exist to Make Light Truly Count by @aquaquadrant

This is my first bind ever and it was a really fun process! Recently my cousin @haxkattpress has got into book binding and has done many amazing projects! So on my visit with her we did this project together!

For the typeset I wanted to do something really artistic like Rapunzel. To do this I went to the tangled art book and used Claire Keane work that was used for the drawings around Rapunzel’s tower! But to make the drawings work with the fic a bit more I went in and drew Varian in a few since it’s not just a story about Rapunzel.

For the book itself we went with a nice mint green and pink and white marble end papers! And to make it even more artistic we speckled the sides with three different colours to really add character.

The illustration on the cover was also one of Claire Keane concept arts for the film. I thought it was really beautiful and would be a nice touch especially with the bird theme.

Maybe one day if there’s the working for a future bind of the fic since I just went up to chapter forty the end of act three I could use the illustration again but give it a new look. Here’s a mock up idea of what it could like.

This bind is for personal use only and not for profit. I will love to keep it on my shelf with my other books. The fic can be found on ao3! Thank you AquaQuadrant for writing the fic I hope you like the bind and hope to do others like this one day!

#rapunzles tangled adventure #tangled the series #varian #rapunzel #custom #book binding #littlebrother!au #art

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littlemissmentallyunstable · 4 months ago

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title: we’re oranges and apples now

paring: grayson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: you and grayson broke up years and years ago after a long and happy relationship but one day you meet again in the future and the memories come flooding back…

parts: we’re apples and oranges now (your pov)

warnings:

a/n: this is we’re apples and oranges now but reversed in Grayson’s POV, you’ll notice this mirrors the other fic quite a bit, this is intentional!!

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @peterlcsingwendy @lxvebelle @xoxo-vee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zoyaaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77

Grayson’s POV

I was wandering around the shops cluelessly. Cluelessly is never a word I thought I’d describe myself with. Grayson Hawthorne was not a clueless man but nowadays I seemed to becoming less and less like Grayson Hawthorne than ever. I check the list of items I’d been asked to purchase and gather most of the things I need. I find myself in the fruit aisle, picking up various berries when I spot some oranges. Not my particular favourite but I decide to get some anyway. As I’m picking some I’m suddenly aware of someone beside me. I glance from the corner of my eye. She’s recognisable in an odd sort of way. I couldn’t quite see her face but something about her presence, the way she’s breathing, her careful movements, it’s all so familiar. It’s like I’d seen her so many times but couldn’t place my finger on who she is. I ignore the puzzle my brain is trying to make this and focus on the oranges in my hands. She’s buying apples, placing one by one in a brown paper bag. I’m just about to put the final orange in the bag when suddenly I feel her bump into me. I see hands fly to her mouth and her eyes widen.

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry!”

Her voice hits me like a train and I realise who she is. Why she was so recognisable. The left side of my chest fills with warmth that spreads across my whole body and suddenly my heart is pounding. I’m frozen for a second, not knowing what to say until I blurt out her name.

“Y/N!”

I stand up properly to make sure it’s really her. She’s stood there still, not moving, not blinking, I don’t even know if she’s breathing. She seems to be ina state of paralysis for a few moments. She looks up finally and murmurs my name.

“Gray?”

I chill runs down my spine, it’s been so long since I’ve heard my names from those lips. Her lips. The ones I used to kiss and now look at us. Too flustered for each other’s good in the fruit aisle of a grocery stores. Her hair spills around her face, framing her beautiful features. It’s like I’m looking at her for the first and last time all over again. The odd feelings of desire and pain mixing up into some messy soup in the pit of my stomach. As our eyes meet, a lifetime of love flashes before me. Memories that had been buried deep into the darkest parts of my mind begin to resurface and play like a mini movie. Over and over and over, like the film tape was stuck in the camera and no more of the story could make it through. She looks just like I remembered yet not quite. The months I’d spent moping over her, dreaming of her features, once drawing her just from memory. And now she was here infront of me. I wonder what she might be thinking. If she were thinking about the past we’d been through or the present were in now. Or maybe it’s neither, maybe I’m not even on her mind.

“Wow it’s really you,” I say. I want to smile, but I can’t will myself too, it feels in my gut like some sort of betrayal… but I don’t know who to. My wife? My children? Myself? Her?

It’s so odd seeing her again. Part of her was always somehow engraved into the side of my heart. Even when it was all over, the scarred name was still there and right now I can feel it throbbing. I don’t know whether the pain is good or bad but it just feels so natural for it to occur. I’d thought I was over this, over her, over the feeling but now I can see her again I don’t feel so powerful over my own swarm of thoughts as I did when she wasn’t staring at me with those angel eyes. She’s everything I’d remembered. Perfection doesn’t even begin to outline what she looks like. She looks a little older, a little more mature but I dare say it’s made her even prettier. She has the same gorgeous eyes, bright smile, soft hair. All those nights I’d spent gazing at her while she slept, tracing the very features that I stare at now. Then I’d taken them for granted, assumed that I’d be able to do that forever but now I just take them in slowly, processing this might be the last time I see them.

A question plays on the tip of my tongue, but it had already died long before in my throat, so I don’t ask it. Even though my heart is screaming for me to just be brave for once, my brain declines once again. My eye flicker down to get a glimpse of her left hand. I am guilty, but I have to know if she’s found someone new. Someone who’s given her what she deserves, the things that I couldn’t. But her left hand is gripping the basket so tightly that her fingers and any rings are hidden behind the handle and the white of her knuckles. So I’m left staring at the items in her basket. Baby bottles and blankets. My heart plummets down to my stomach. Was she expecting? Or had she already had her child? It’s funny, I’d always thought if she’d ever had a baby it would be mine. Suddenly this revelation makes me angry. She is having it has had a baby with someone. She’s a mother and not to my children. It stings so much more than it should. Like antiseptic on a fresh wound. But what hurts more than that is that I don’t know these things about her anymore. I don’t know her life, all the exciting moments and even the painful ones. And I’m never going to. It’s never going to be what it was and it’s all my fault. I let it all slip away and now I’m full of regret,

And then the blow of guilt hits me out of no where again. As if a shell has exploded right in front of me and I’ve been blown to smithereens. I should’ve be feeling regret. I have my own a life now with a woman a love, who is now called my wife. I have kids and a car and a steady income. And she has her life. I’m selfish, I’m so bitterly selfish for wanting what I can’t have when I already have so much… and yet it still doesn’t stop me.

Her hand shifts hold on the basket and then I see it. An engagement ring and a wedding band. Classy and classic. I expect nothing less, of course. That’s her taste. It always has been and I’m glad she’s find someone who respects that, who acknowledges it. But it’s grating at me… if we had still been together would she have gotten the same set or would it be different. I wish I didn’t care this much. I shouldn’t care this much. It’s a piece of damn mental and yet it’s suddenly the only thing on my mind. I’m ridden with a horrible vicious jealousy, spreading like an ugly rash all over my skin. I’m jealous of whatever man put these rings on her finger, whatever man got the luxury of calling her his wife. I’m disgusted in myself for feeling this way because she looks happy. Happier than ever. And I want that for her more than anything. She deserves to be the happiest girl in the world. But I wish I could’ve made her this happy. But I failed. And this is my punishment. I have my own life now and so does she, so I keep having to remind myself. Why is the concept so hard for me to grasp?

I wonder about her husband. It’s hard to picture her with someone else. I think about all the things I hope he is to her. Was he the kindest soul on the planet? Would he do anything and everything for her? Did he treat her like she deserved more than the world? I hoped, I prayed he was. And even though I’m trying to forbid it to, my mind still wanders on… Was he anything like I was? Or did I scar her so badly that he was my opposite? What made her choose him? Fall for him harder than she’d fallen for me? What made his love worth fighting for?

I look back to her face and inwardly sigh. I doubt she was doing this. Mulling over me and my life like I am hers. Overthinking every detail, wondering who she’s married to and why. She’s too kind, too mature. I only wish I could have the decency to do the same, but it’s pricing difficult. Though, I catch her eyeing my wedding ring. And suddenly a pang hits my stomach and I want to tell her so many things that I can’t. I wish I could tell her I didn’t dare engrave the initials in the metal, like we’d one discussed. I didn’t for one second think of doing that with anyone but her. I wanted to tell her that I drove all the way out to a jewellers in another town just so I wouldn’t go to the same one we once did. I wanted to tell her that I kept the promise rings we’d made together and I still have them in a box under the roof of my house. But I stay silent because I am a coward.

“Yeah, gosh, hi, how have you been?” she asks. The first thing I notice is how radiant she looks, the brightness in her eyes and joy in her voice. ‘She’s happy’ I think again and that makes me smile a little.

“Good, I’m good,” I reply, “how are you?”

“Yeah,” she nods, “good as well.”

“It’s been a while,” i say, forcing a laugh to hide the resurfacing pain. It was easier like that.

“Yeah it has,” she grins back, her eyes pinned to mine. She looks so delicate in this moment and so unbelievably beautiful, “it’s about time we’d bump into each other.”

“Yeah,” I reply, gazing at her trying to suppress my smile. But it seems to not obey and suddenly I’m grinning like I haven’t in a very long time, not since we were together I don’t think.

A menagerie of memories replay in my head, but it feels like I’m a bystander in every scene, watching another version of myself with her. A wave of deja vu envelopes me suddenly sending tingles down my spine. I don’t like what she does to me, I don’t like feeling so far from myself and yet I miss her so much. And just as if she’s reading my thoughts she says three fateful words that I’ll never forget,

“I’ve missed you,” she says rather suddenly.

Those words hit me like a bus, in the best way possible. In fact I wish to be hit with that bus over and over and over just to feel the impact.

“I’ve missed you too,” I say, hoping she can hear the meaning in my voice, see the emotion in my eyes.

The tide of bittersweetness roll in and out slowly, unsurely, indecisively. And even though the water is only up to my ankles I’m suddenly drowning. Drowning in the most minuscule amount of water because my mind is making it out to be so much more than it is. A unswallowable lump forms in my throat in this prolonged silence. My eyes refuse to leave her face, the very face I left all those years ago. She wears the same expression as that night. One of the worst nights of my life. Her eyes are wide, a borderline of hurt and happiness. I still have nightmares to this day, it’s one moment of us together that I never wish to relive. The silence makes me ache all over, craving her voice once more. I want to forget about the history and bury it right next to the pain and trauma that have been buried for years now. But making this quiet somewhat bearable is the silent conversation we share. We know each other well enough to do so. A shared moment the saddest of happiness and the happiest of sadness all at once.

A call comes through on my phone and I look down to the buzzing device to see it’s my wife. Guilt surges through me once again.

“Well I’d best get going,” I tell her quickly.

I need to get away. Even though all I want to so is stand her for the rest of time just to hear her voice and see her face. She’s my drug, she always has been and always will be. But I gave up a long time ago and I can’t go back to what I was, to who I was. So I need to run and rehabilitate, so I don’t get addicted again. A coward of a man is all I am, but I least I laid my eyes on her beauty once more before I never did again.

“Yeah me too,” she nod firmly, confidently.

She holds herself with so much more pride now, she knows how much she’s worth and I can see it. I’m glad.

“Goodbye Y/N,” I murmur, savouring the feeling of her name on my lips, “I wish you all the best.”

And I did. Truly I did. I wanted her to have everything she ever could dream of and then more.

“Bye Gray,” she says with a small smile that I never realised how much I’d missed seeing, “I wish you the same.”

We turn and walk our separate ways, apples in her basket, oranges in mine. I take the call from my wife and then wander aimlessly down different aisles not knowing what I was doing or where I was going anymore. Until it had been an hour and I finally made it back home. As soon as I can I get into the shower and break down. A sob silently as the water droplets run down my body, until the lungs ache and my head screams at me to stop. And even then it’s hard to. I can’t shake the regret, I can’t shake the pain, I can’t shake her voice and her face from my brain. I quietly wonder if she cried too… no. She’s far too strong. I pull myself together for the sake of the life I lead now and force myself not to think of her.

The oranges rot in the fruit bowl. I don’t think I would’ve eaten them when they were fresh anyway, I’ve never liked their immediate sourness and then the thick sugary aftertaste left to coat my throat. The next time I go to the shop I buy apples instead of oranges hoping she’d be there too, but she never was. I find myself wondering if the next time she went to the shop she bought oranges rather than apples in hope to see me. But I suppose it will remain one of the worlds’ greatest mysteries and I will never find the answer, no matter how hard I try…

a/n: I gave Gray’s pov a shot?? Don’t know how successful it was, but I hope you enjoyed anyways. Thanks for reading 🤍🤍

TIG masterlist

#bella writes 🤍#grayson hawthorne #grayson hawthorne x you #grayson hawthorne x reader #the inheritance games #tig #the brothers hawthorne #the final gambit #the hawthorne legacy #tig fic #love to write #writing

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numberonecolinbridgertonlover · 3 months ago

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What the Bridgerton character you relate to the most says about you (based on the show and my opinion) *mostly unserious edition*

Anthony - older sibling part one. That or you are the certified glue that holds your entire family together. Also, fake arse cynic, I know you want to be loved and cherished you’re just scared it will never last or no one will ever see you that way. Control freak but I get it.

Benedict - You are the personification of the quote about grief. (In case you don’t know which one I’m talking about: "How do you process grief? By running from it until it finds me in the middle of a sunny street on a beautiful day?") You have been running away from something your entire life, whether that be yourself or a feeling. Newsflash it’s gonna catch you one day. That said, you’re probably also lgbtq and camp.

Colin - gurrllll… read Benedict’s first and then come back here, you also need to hear that. You are a quote on quote pathological people pleaser. SAVIOUR COMPLEX. Girl, they’re not gonna love you even if you can bend the laws of nature for them. You’re naive, sensitive and desperate for someone, literally anyone to understand and care for you. Also, babes… you’re not unworthy of love, you just have imposters syndrome.

Daphne - I bet you loved watching Zoella in her prime. I also feel like you’re the sort of person that is constantly expecting/hoping to bump into the love of your life whenever you’re in public. You’re a hopeless romantic but I get it.

Eloise - You’re probably LGBTQ. You might have started out a feminist with the girl power quotes but have since delved deeper and have since been more radicalised. You probably struggle to connect with overt "femininity" for numerous reasons including the patriarchy and the media’s portrayal of women but you support all women regardless. Your fashion sense consists of baggy tops, jeans and jorts (RIP Eloise, you would’ve loved baggy clothes 😔) Do you own a carabiner? You’ve probably had a fuck arse bob era at some point in your life.

Francesca - girl I get it, I really do. I hate human civilisation as well. It’s loud, it’s overwhelming, it’s scary. You’ve felt like the odd one out everywhere you go and people always seem to pick up that despite how hard you try to hide it . You just want to live in peace, maybe with someone who understands you. That said, how’s that autism diagnosis coming along-

Gregory - You are the personification of that vine where the kid has a knife. ("What have you got there? A KNIFE. no-)

Hyacinth - I just know you’re funny asf. Haters hate to see you coming because they know you’re about to gag tf out of them.

Kate - older sibling part two, probably older sister. If not, just like with Anthony, the glue the holds the family together. You can stand up to haters but you can’t say no to your friends when you want to. Sometimes you’ve just got to bite the bullet and prioritise your own happiness girl.

Penelope - …where do I even begin? You were probably the person that everyone just unanimously decided they thought was weird or unapproachable and it has messed you up indefinitely. (That’s on them though girl, there is nothing wrong with you I promise 💋) Family issues. You have imagined getting revenge on everyone who has ever wronged you. Body issues (girl, you’re beautiful don’t let anyone tell you otherwise) Short.

Simon - Daddy issues daddy issues. Emotionally constipated. You can’t believe meaningless sex and substance abuse didn’t cure you.

Philip - You have anxiety.

John: Introvert™️ honestly just read Francesca’s you’re both in the same boat. You are not afraid to dip once the social battery has ran out and I respect that. You know how to set up boundaries. Though, I think you wonder sometimes if you have protected your peace a bit too much because your only friend is your pet or your mum let’s be honest—

Michaela: LGBTQ. And you’re right because she is beautiful- I bet you love the film Bottoms. Favourite artists include Chappell Roan, Renee Rapp. You like Bridgerton in a gay way (the women)

Violet: You’ve never quite gotten over that one relationship have you… you would love the song loml by Taylor Swift 😔✊.

Portia: I feel like you have been told one thing you’re entire life and you’ve kind of based your entire personality upon that only to realise when you have grown up and met new people that it’s all worthless and the very foundations of who you are are crumbling as we speak. But you look slay while it happens.

Lady Danbury: I bet you’re expecting me to tell you how much of a baddie you are… which you are but don’t pretend you’re not wearing a facade to ensure you never get hurt by anyone ever again.

Queen Charlotte: Alexa play right where you left me by Taylor Swift.

Brimsely: your gay situationship has messed you up.

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angelst4re · 8 months ago

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headcanons (nsfw too 🤭) for jamie as reader's first boyfriend ever, i just know that he would be the most supportive, protective and just such a lovely boyfriend 🥺

YES YES YES!!!! i can’t imagine anyone ever beating jamie in the boyfriend game…

Jamie x gn!reader headcanons <3

summary: jamie’s your first boyfriend ever!

warnings: NSFW!!! i wrote this in 2 parts so the first part is sfw and there’s a warning before it gets nsfw! <3

notes: this is the first time i think i’ve written and posted something just from my phone so i hope this looks okay… BUT LOOK WHOS BACK🫶

You worried it would be awkward being in a relationship with someone who has experience when you don’t

But he never made it feel like that, it was so natural

He took you on your first date to the beach and it was the best day ever

He took pictures of you which he later made his lockscreen and you did the same for him

You complained, saying how you looked awful in those pictures but he completely disagreed

“You need to start seeing yourself with my eyes, darling. I’ve never met anyone more beautiful.”

The kisses!!!!!!

Forehead kisses, kisses to the back of your hand, kisses on your cheek, kisses on your nose…

He would always greet you after work with a kiss and you’d do the same for him

When he would be away filming, you found it difficult to begin with as you didn’t know how the long distance thing would work, but it seemed to be fine

He’d text and call all the time when he had a chance and you’d tell eachother about your days

He loved to spoil you…

He would always buy you gifts just because he saw something and it made him think of you so he got so excited that he had to buy it for you

“Darling, I know you said to stop buying you all the things but look what I found at the shop!”

When you first started getting to know each other, you’d talk about your favourite movies and songs and you’d have date nights where you’d watch your favourite movies or make playlists for each other and turn them into cds

He’d always have the most fun date ideas, and they’d always be something you love or to do with your interests

He literally knows you better than you know yourself

Whenever you’d stay over his house he’d always cook you dinner and breakfast

His love language is touch so he would always be holding your hand or have his hand on your thigh, or be leaning against you when you’d be standing together

He introduced you to his friends and they loved you! You had so many things in common and it never felt awkward

“Jamie I’m stealing your partner, they’re so much cooler than you.”

When you’d be out in busy places and someone would bump into you, whether accidentally or not, he’d give them a dirty look as they passed and you felt him hold you closer to him

Even on busy trains when there was no space to sit down, he’d have his arm around you to make sure felt safe

I mentioned before that he would spoil you, and valentine’s day was an example of this

He’d take you away on a surprise trip for the weekend

And he would always buy the best gifts for your birthday

Where do I find my own Jamie???

NSFW BELOW!!!!!!! YOUVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

As well as your first boyfriend, Jamie was the one to take your virginity

He wanted to have it all planned and prepared to make it the perfect night

But instead, you were both watching a movie and his hand was on your thigh, tracing circles and your mind was going into overdrive

You were aching between your thighs and Jamie could tell something was up

“Is everything alright, love? Are you mad at me?” He asked suddenly

“What? No!” You laughed, and he had said how he felt you tense up

“Can I ask you something?” You asked him, and he didn’t know what on earth you were going to come out with

“Could we maybe go to the bedroom?”

Immediately, he got the hint and picked you, carrying you over his shoulder

He was so gentle when it came to foreplay, he didn’t want to push you too far or make you uncomfortable.

He eased the tip of a finger into you whilst placing kisses all over your thighs, he never stopped watching for how you reacted to his touch

He never stopped telling you how beautiful you were, and how good you looked beneath him

You wanted to give him head before he fucked you, but he told you this was your night, and that you could get into that another time

He lined his cock up with you and pushed in very very slowly, he was so scared of hurting you and he just wanted to make you feel as good as possible

He would always ask you how it felt, not just because he wanted to hear you say how good his cock was, but because he wanted to make sure it felt as good for you as it did for him

You were so tight he had stop several times just because he was scared he’d come too soon.

Once he was all the way in, you both remained in this position for a while, exploring each others mouths with your tongues and bodies with your hands until you were ready

When you bucked your hips upwards, he knew you were ready and began to move, slowly thrusting his hips and you felt like you were ascending

Nothing had ever felt so good before

You were begging him to go faster and harder, for more.

You never knew if dirty talk was something you’d like or find cringey, but when he would praise you and whisper things in your ear it drove you crazy

“Look at how well you’re taking me, baby.”

“Cant believe I’m the first person to hear your pretty noises, darling.”

“Don’t hold them back, let me know how good I’m making you feel, sweetheart.”

It wasn’t long before you came around his cock, he held you close as your thighs shook and your eyes squeezed shut.

He pulled out and came not long after, and he didn’t take a moment to come down from his high as he knew you’d most likely be aching from the stretch of his cock

He went to get a glass of water and a towel to clean you up with

His aftercare would be top tier i need to make an updated nsfw alphabet🤭

#jamie campbell bower #jamie bower #jamie campbell bower x reader #jamie bower x reader #jamie bower rpf #jamie headcanons #jamie campbell bower smut #jamie bower smut

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forwhump · 5 months ago

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a/n: ;-; I feel a little silly introducing myself on a writing post but I feel sillier just starting to post my writing w/out any sort of introduction at all, so hi ! I’m Tina ! I’ve semi recently gotten introduced to the whump community because the content I create has been whump the whole time I just didn’t know it & thought I was alone in it !

now that I realize I’m not, I figured I might as well start posting my blurbs somewhere ! I don’t know if it qualifies as conventional whump, but is there such thing as conventional whump ? so what the hell

I put my two favourite oc’s through the horrors so often I have so much whump content w them & it’s just going to waste in my google docs & my notes app ! I’m chronically shy about posting my work online but I figured somebody out there might see this & maybe even like it so what’s the harm in sharing !

if you do see this & maybe even like it, yay ! I’m so glad ! thank you for even reading it <3

tw/cw for aftermath implied rape, mentions of being gutted

Wren has always been beautiful.

Silas had always thought so. Even at Wren’s worst, even when it wasn’t wholly appropriate to think. Silas had thought so since that very first day, since he was dragged into this place clawing and biting, since Wren had looked up at him from his place in the common room and smiled at Silas, sympathetic, as he was dragged into hell.

It was striking, even then, even disoriented and scared and confused. Wren was a bright spot, a glimmer of light in a bland, grey prisonscape. He’s beautiful like no other person Silas has ever seen, beautiful in a way reserved for the sunrise and the moon, so beautiful it actually gives him an eerie, kind of inhuman quality, even now, even still.

Wren has always been beautiful and Wren is beautiful still. But this —

There is nothing beautiful about this.

It’s ugly. It hurts something low in Silas’ chest.

It’s a film strip that’s been double exposed. Wren’s always been beautiful, and so particular about his hair; Wren has fairytale hair. It’s impossibly long, fairytale long, and the colour of snow, kinda, but he’s always so particular about it, he takes such good care of it, something that’s only his, something that belonged to him before this place, something they let him keep, and his hair always shimmers, perfect, iridescent. Silas has always found it kind of hypnotizing. Wren’s always so careful about how he braids it.

His hair is a mess. It had been pulled up into a ponytail with a piece of pink ribbon that’s gotten mostly lost in the tangles of his hair. Loose strands stick to his face, his throat, his waist, the insides of his thighs with tears, spit, sweat, semen, blood. He’s wearing some demeaning little pleated skirt, the same pale pink as the ribbon, and it’s short, it’s so short, and there’s so much visible skin that Silas can see almost every bruise, big and purple and splotchy and broken, like road rash. He can see all the blood tracked down the insides of his bruised thighs. He can see handprints. Tooth prints.

How is this happening? How did it get to this?

“Wren,” he hears himself say.

“Leave me alone.” His voice is the flattest Silas has ever heard it. He doesn’t lift his face from the carpet.

“Wren.” He doesn’t know what he’s gonna say. What can he say? He reaches a hand out, almost instinctive.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Wren —“

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Wren snaps, almost screams, and he finally lifts his head as he flinches away.

Most of the left side of his face is that same broken, road rash bruise. His mouth is swollen. His eyes, from crying. He doesn’t have hickeys, but proper, scabbing bite marks, bruising his jaw and his throat.

So much bruising. So much blood.

Silas knows what to do.

He struggles with that, sometimes.

Wren was allowed to keep his hair; Silas was, as well. It’s all Silas got to keep.

No part of Silas is the same as it was when he got here; no organ, no arterie. Silas isn’t human anymore, Silas is a weapon, but he tries, oh my god, he fuckin’ tries, if nothing else he tries, and he’s getting better, he thinks. He just struggles sometimes with human emotions, with feelings, thoughts, with what to do, what to say.

He knows now, though. What to do.

No part of Silas is really human anymore, but most of him is all still attached. His left leg, however, isn’t, and the replacement he’d been given, as a massive, inhuman superfreak, is heavy and deadly and fuckin’ uncomfortable. It pinches. Silas hates it almost more than anything. Unless he absolutely has to wear it, he gets around in his chair. It’s how he gets back to his room, where, without even a groan of displeasure, he makes quick work of his superfreak prosthetic.

On his own, he stands. Onto his chair, he piles one of his crewnecks, a favourite of Wren’s because of how cartoonishly large it fits him. Silas piles his comforter on top. From Wren’s room, he grabs his hairbrush and a pair of his joggers. Their clothing is the same dull grey as everything else in hell — prison grey, Silas thinks of it.

He limps his chair back to the common room. He folds the sweatshirt and joggers over the back, brush hooked in one hand as he holds open the blanket. “Okay,” he says. “Come.”

Wren’s head is down again. He’s right where they dumped him, a pile on the common room floor. “Leave me alone, Silas.”

Silas frowns. “No,” he says. “Come. I won’t touch.”

Slowly, Wren lifts his head. He blinks up at Silas with huge, wet eyes. “What?” He says, less sharp but a bit more broken. “What are you doing?”

Silas shakes the blanket at him. “Come.”

He isn’t expecting the way Wren’s face crumples, or the way he sobs. Softly, he says, “Wren?”

Wren turns his face away, but when he sobs, he sobs, “Silas.”

Folding the blanket and the brush back onto his chair, Silas limps around it to slowly, awkwardly maneuver himself onto the carpet next to Wren. Within reaching distance, but he’s careful not to touch.

Wren doesn’t lift his face and sobs into the carpet.

Slowly, Silas lies down, on his back next to him. He reaches out, he doesn’t touch, but he invites, and without looking at him Wren shifts into his arms and sobs into Silas’ shoulder.

Silas covers his back with a massive, gentle hand and lets him cry.

He cries for a long time.

Eventually, his sobs soften to sniffles and the hitching of his back slows under Silas’ hand. He says, into Silas’ grey sweatshirt, “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Why?” Silas asks.

Wren’s chest hitches. His voice cracks when he says, “I’m disgusting.”

He frowns. “You’re not disgusting.”

Wren hiccups out a sob.

“Wren,” Silas says, “you’ve held my organs inside my body for me. This is nothing.”

He sobs again.

Silas thumbs slowly across his back, over the stiff, ripped material of his shirt. “Let me take care of you this time, Wren,” he says. “Please.”

“You shouldn’t have to take care of me,” he says softly.

“I don’t,” Silas says. “I want to.”

Wren’s small fist curls into Silas’ crewneck. Into his chest, he whispers, “they really hurt me, Silas.”

“I’ll take care of them,” Silas promises. He already knows how he’ll do it. It won’t be slow but it will be painful. “Let me take care of you first.”

Wren doesn’t answer him, but he nods into Silas’ shoulder.

Softly, Silas asks, “can I pick you up?”

He nods again.

Gratefully, gently, Silas lifts Wren into his arms and from there, into his chair. He pulls the grey blanket around his shoulders and Wren sinks into it gratefully.

The bathroom is cold, and the water doesn’t get hot, but it gets warm, so Silas runs it warm before he limps across the bathroom to gather an armful of towels. He held Wren to his feet, and leaves the towels in his place.

“You don’t have to do this,” Wren says softly.

“So?” Silas says.

He blinks up at him, a bit taken aback.

Supporting most of Wren’s weight, Silas says, “do you want my help getting undressed or do you want me not to touch you?”

Wren blinks up at him again, sniffling. “Would you help me?” He asks, so soft he’d barely spoken.

“I’ll do anything you ask me to,” Silas answers.

Wren makes a soft sound, and Silas is careful not to touch any of the bruises as he bumbles through small buttons and zippers with huge hands. He helps Wren out of his ruined skirt and into the lukewarm water. Silas doesn’t undress, but he follows him in, letting Wren lean hard against him as he lathers a washcloth he hands to him before getting to work untangling his hair.

It’s a careful few hours of effort, because Wren has so much hair and it’s so matted, caked with blood, grime, semen.

Silas is meticulous. He brushes it out. Washes it. He isn’t a great braider yet, but June had been teaching him the basics, and he can struggle his way through a sloppy French braid. He tugs the elastic out of his own hair to tie it off, and once he’s done, Wren turns to look up at him and he’s crying again.

“Wren?” He says.

And Wren surges forward, pushing his face into the hollow of Silas’ sternum, arms tight around his waist.

“Thank you,” he whispers into his wet sweatshirt.

Silas cradles the back of his head with one hand. “It’s okay,” he says.

In truth, he would die for Wren in a heartbeat. This is nothing.

#im being so brave posting words that i wrote you have no idea #if you read this & you really hated it & you feel inclined to let me know please be soooooo gentle im soooooo sensitive #but LOL anyway :’)#whump #whump writing #whump community #whumpblr #whump stuff #whump scenario #whump scenes #whump story #soft whump #whumpee #caretaker #caretaker and whumpee #human weapon whumpee #comfort whump #wren & silas #might as well give them a tag

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charlidos · 8 months ago

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"With Mr. Mortensen, Bloom "lost" himself in the New Zealand wilderness. 14 hours later they both returned to the LotR set bruised and thirsty and with a photo that's reputed to be the best ever taken of Orlando. If Mortensen would only release it."

In the myth of Viggo and Orlando's adventures in New Zealand and Middle Earth, this is my favourite legendary tale; two men getting lost and spending a night in a New Zealand rainforest, a "moonless night" 24 years ago. The leader of the pack taking the eager young pup on an adventure, Viggo the romantic renaissance man and Orlando's I'll-follow-you-on-any-adventure adoration. It is indeed the stuff of legends. And like all legends, the story changes over time.

So here's all we know, all we can guess and all we can blissfully imagine.

To begin with, the video interview is from 2004, and the info that Orlando was the "friend" accompaning him is from 2005. However, when Viggo told the same story back in 2003, he was alone, no friend mentioned.

"One time, I was in the rainforest near the west coast of the South Island. It was on a shooting break, one of those incredibly rare weekends where I actually had a Saturday off. So I just went down there for a day and a night to a place that I'd been to before. I wanted to get to the coast, so I headed into the woods, but it was a bit of a hike and it suddenly got dark. I hadn't brought a flashlight with me, which was a bit stupid, because I thought I knew the trail really well. But then I got lost. There was no moon and it was overcast, so it was just completely pitch black, especially as the vegetation was really dense and thorny. But I did have a camera with me, which had a flash, and a couple of rolls of film. So I used the flash to try and find my way out. For a second you could see everything around, so I was using the flash to try and find the trail. I kept thinking, 'It must be around here somewhere', but I never did find it. And then I ran out of film. At some point I was just getting really tired and ended up in a marshy area. I was falling down all the time, getting cut by thorns and I thought, 'This is stupid'. So, I found a piece of relatively high ground and lay down for a little while, until the moon came up. Luckily, when the moon arrived I managed to get my bearings and eventually I was able to figure out how to get back to where I started from. It was a huge relief, but when I showed up back on the set, I really alarmed everyone because it looked like I'd been through a grinder."

How come Orlando joined him on this trip into the wild? I can only speculate (it's what I'm here for, making an epic mountain of a molehill), but Orlando is famously very keen on adventure, so I'm sure he was eager to join. Moreover, he obviously worshipped the ground Viggo walked on (his "guardian angel" who has the skills to basically manage anything. Orlando probably thought "what could possibly go wrong?") and took any opportunity to follow his king. In other words, I don't think Orlando was hard pressed about coming along.

Why did Viggo ask Orlando then? Because he knew Orlando would say yes? Because he knew Orlando would appreciate it, more than the others? Because Orlando was the only other actor having a day off? Because Viggo felt a strong urge to share this beautiful and amazing place with him? Because of the chance to spend quality time with his sweet elf boy?

In Viggo's excellent plan for the hike, they'd be back soon, "in time for dinner". But instead they got lost. Maybe the prescence of the pretty elf prince distracted him? Or maybe he was being overly confident in his abilities, and perhaps wanting to show off a little? Even Viggo will want to impress people he likes, I'm sure.

Viggo brought his camera, photographer that he is. But he also brought an extra roll of film, suggesting he was planning to take a lot of pics. Maybe he wanted to photograph Orlando out in the woods; a beautiful elf in his natural element. But then he seems to quite quickly spend all the film on finding the way, running out before they were even remotely near home. Maybe he panicked a bit? Or maybe he really just wanted to get cool, impromptu photos for a book.

"When I developed the film, which was black and white, there were some really interesting images. The flash had lit up the ground, the foliage and these ferns which are typical of New Zealand. Some of them are almost like negatives because there was this fog and the flash was bouncing off them creating a really strange effect. It's quite unusual because there are these delicate ferns with their little tendrils and all the whiteness around them which makes them look like Japanese prints. I printed off four of them, which I've called Lost 1, 2, 3 and 4. You can see them on the internet."

(This is the first rendering of the tale, in 2002.)

The fact that Viggo apparently also took one - at least - photo of Orlando, suggests that Viggo either took some photos before getting lost, or he took photos of Orlando, furtively (or mistakenly?), while he was supposed to flash their way home. (But who is it who claims this photo is the best ever taken of Orlando? Orlando himself? Does he have it framed at home, as a treasured memory?)

As it got dark out with no moonlight, they started bumping into things, falling over and getting scratched by thorns and bruised by trees. They obviously didn't get seriously hurt, but maybe Viggo did start to worry for their safety. Like he said, he felt responsible for bringing Orlando out there, if he also got injured, it would have been disastrous. (Not sure if this rainforest also has dangerous animals and insects. Trampling on a deadly snake, walking into a poisonous spiderweb, getting prowled upon by a wild animal.)

The way Viggo tells it, the whole thing has an air of romantic adventure. Just picture them finding a piece of dry land for them to stay for a while. waiting for the moon and the stars to come out. (Or until the sun came up?) Imagine them lying on soft grass in a glade, talking softly, just waiting and enjoying each other's company.

Orlando can't have been used to being out in the wilderness, particularly in a foreign country, so Viggo was likely feeling protective. And I imagine Orlando keeping close to Viggo at all times, feeling safe as long as he could feel Viggo's warm body near. Trusting Viggo to keep them safe. If it was "pitch dark", how did they keep track of each other? I imagine Orlando grabbing hold of Viggo's hand, clutching it hard, his only anchor in a foreign, scary place. When they laid down in that glade, maybe they snuggled in close to each other to keep warm (since any night will most likely be a little cool). Maybe holding each other, for comfort and safety. Dirty, bruised, thirsty, completely lost and sharing a beautiful night together.

I can also see them finally seeing the first light of day, and being able to find their way back, hiking back to civilisation. Returning dishevled, exhausted yet very happy. I can see them, two crazy and adventurous nutters laughing about that night in the rainforest of NZ. And living to tell the wild tale, for years to come.

It's such a beautiful, romantic image. No matter what, I feel sure such an experience is one you keep with you for a long time. Bonding to the two together, forever. And creating a mythical legend to boot.

#viggo mortensen #orlando bloom #viggorli #lord of the rings #this is my way of writing fanfiction really #legends are there to be retold right?

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bakingblues · 4 months ago

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my great grandmother was a magic weaver

My nanna used to love telling me she was born within the sound of the Bow Bells meaning she was a true Cockney, which is genuinely quite funny if you knew my nanna at all. This actually played no part in me being a West Ham fan, but I the idea of these threads that weave through our lives, joining us in ways that mean something beyond what the eye can see.

In fact, Nanna was ostensibly a Spurs fan, having been taken to White Hart Lane by her brother when she was younger. She'd tell me that standing in the terraces was like being caught up in a rough sea, at one point both her feet were off the ground as she was lifted up by the bodies squashed next to her. She never went again, but it didn't stop her fondly teasing me.

Nanna died 8 days ago, and I can't stop thinking about the newsletter Lorde wrote when her dog died.

I eat a grief sandwich

I wear a grief coat

I see a grief film

And isn't that what it's like. Except for me it's just I have a grief bath, I have a grief bath, I go for a grief walk, I have a grief bath. I keep buying yarn the colours of the sea and I knit a grief sock. Kasper told me he finds how life is cyclical sad but very beautiful and so maybe with the rest of the yarn I won't knit more grief socks, but I'll make a blanket for the little bundle of cells growing in Lucy's tummy. A life goes on and on and on and isn't that lovely blanket.

Ella lets me go over to her flat and lie on her bed and cry in her arms, Lindsay comes over and brings bread and cheese and sends flowers to my mum, Meg and Rach and Lucy and Emily check in every day. Victoria is so gentle with me, letting me tiptoe around the flat feeling so heavy with sadness. My school friends tell me how much they love Nanna, how she was an icon, a legend, a wonderful person. Everyone tells me they'll always think of her when they see Poldark.

Every day I put on either the heart locket bracelet she gave me, or the amber necklace with the spider trapped in that mum said I could keep. I wrap myself in the cardigan she made me when I was 11 or wear the soft navy blue cashmere jumper I slipped into my bag when we were sorting through her clothes last week. I just want to be surrounded by her, all the time. She was my favourite, I'll miss her forever and ever.

#I don't know #I just can't process the reality of what it means that she's died #maybe writing some of it out will help #personal

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fuckyeahfightlock · 11 months ago

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20 questions for fic writers 2023

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

207

2. What’s your total A03 word count?

1.2 million (!!!)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

BBC Sherlock (Sherlock TV, ACD), Doctor Who/Torchwood, Black Sails/Treasure Island, Maurice (film/novel), Raffles/Raffles TV, Don't Trust the B---- in Apartment 23, Dexter, The Sandman (comics), Versailles, The Untamed, MST3K

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

The Imposter Art and Nature Boyfriend Material Eight and Fifty Nights Wind and Winter

No surprise three of those are from the same series (my most popular one). I kind of feel like The Imposter is my fandom legacy, which is fine by me; I'm proud of it.

(they're all beauties, in my eyes)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I started out responding to every one. I barely do anymore, only because when I was writing long, chaptered fics, it became overwhelming. Lately I get many fewer, so I do respond to some. I tend to reply to comments on non-Sherlock fics more now, because the fandoms are smaller and I like to gas us up a little!

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Am and Was, the final story in my fight!lock series Bleed So Pretty, ends with a double suicide.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably All Said and Done, the happy ending for the 1920s stately home series, Dawn Before the Rest of the World. But a lot of my fics have happy endings, even most of the angsty ones.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I have! Very early on someone got very angry that AUs even exist, and took it out on one of my stories (maybe it was the first AU she ever read???); she mostly complained that I was writing Them out of character, which is probably true to some extent, but everyone has their own tolerance levels for that kind of stuff, so, whatever. Someone got very angry that one of my missing-scene fics based on a novel included verbatim text at the beginning and end (context being necessary to the bit I wrote in the middle), even though I made that VERY CLEAR in the beginning notes; she was not satisfied and felt I was a plagiarist, which to me is not a concept that even applies to transformative works, so again, whatever.

I don't mind any comment except ones that boil down to "I don't like this," because there's nothing I can do about that. I can fix spellings and punctuation, sew up plot holes, and make other minor adjustments to the technical stuff. But if someone just comments that they don't like the story, I'm helpless.

9. Do you write smut?

Very much so! I have written entire long novels just as set dressing for smut.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Several! I decided as soon as Sherlock came out on BBC that it takes place in the very same universe (London, present day) as Doctor Who/Torchwood (so, aliens exist). So I crossed those over a bunch. Doctor Who/Torchwood also got crossed over with Dexter, and with The Sandman comics. ACD!Holmes crossed over with Raffles, based on a screenplay of a film featured on MST3K. Black Sails is already Treasure Island pastiche, so that counts though I'm not responsible for it.

(this legendary bitch was only a bitch from a legend in Treasure Island)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I was a victim of netscraping of the AO3 by various pay-to-read schemes, twice. But to my knowledge, no one person has like, copy/pasted my fic and put their name on it as the author.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

A couple in Russian, a couple in Chinese.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Twice. It's not really my jam.

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Johnlock.

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

A final story in my Road to Home series, a fix-it fic where Donna gets her memory back (which I began writing in 2013 or 2014). Now that she's got it back in canon, it seems even less likely I'll ever finish it.

(Russell T Davies accepted it maybe a little TOO hard)

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Right now, discipline (mine, not in my BDSM AU characters')

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I've done it, probably not 100% correctly or well, but I try really hard (not just google translate! I consult native speakers!) to get it right. Generally I recommend keeping it to a minimum unless you learn the trick where AO3 lets you hover a cursor over text and you can put the translation in the pop-up. Too few people are multilingual.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I wrote self-insert Duran Duran bandom fic starting when I was 12, in 1984. My first fic on the AO3 was a Sherlock fic.

(my first husband, John Taylor)

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

Don't make me choose! I can't choose a favourite child. Today I was writing on One-Man Advantage, so that's a fave because of recency bias, but I was also thinking about Stages, so that's a fave because when I think of it my heart aches. The Re/Formation of Billy Bones is a fave because I love the backstory I created for him and I think I wrote it well. At Depth is a tiny hidden gem. I love all the Christmas ones and all the snowed-in ones. I love the kinky ones and the fluffy ones and the ones with OCs. I love some I've forgotten about. I love'm all.

Thanks for tagging me, @onesmallfamily !

#long post #20 questions #writing #fic

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mimi-is-so-horny · 4 months ago

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this weekend was almost blurry. i think the heatwave (and me feeling foggy and tired all the time when it's hot, owing to my mountain-village upbringing) did not help. still, i can't complain.

last Tuesday, Sir visited me to fuck me. i love it when He fucks me on my bed. I have kept Anna's favourite sheets - they're very pretty and feel very luxurious, indeed. He fucked my pussy. He held my jaw so tightly He bruised a small spot. fucked my mouth with His fingers - the AC that is constantly on makes my lips dry, so it was easy for a tear to happen. i loved waking up extra early on Wednesday to do my makeup for work and having to cover up His use. i felt so young.

He bruised my cervix. this is so special, because when pain comes from the skin (spanking, caning), it's different; the pain comes from the outside. your suit. but when you are fucked rough in the cunt or the ass - the pain comes from the inside. so, i had Him in me for days. how many people can say they've been used so well? not many. i'm so lucky. He cuddled me in His clothes while i was totally naked. He had printed some photos of me on His home printer - screen captures from my videos so far. i felt like a schoolgirl.

"see how you look here? here? this one? next time you shouldn't hide your face like that." "next time, keep your eyes open when you're in pain - like here, in this photo." "see how you hold your stomach here? you hide. no. don't do that."

i nodded attentively each time. i was dripping.

i don't like porn because it's so foreign to my experience. the actresses are so proudly eager performing for the camera. i am eager, and i am desperately in need to serve most of the time; but i'm also ashamed of it. i started thinking of it as performing a function, and things got more matter-of-factly and easy. but, it's not like you can serve winking at the camera, right? i want to be a slave. i want to be useful. i want to be marked. but i am also becoming more quiet in the process. i think that accepting some stuff has made it easier for me to stop doing drugs, trying to be on a constant caloric deficit, tapping my fingers impatiently in the elevator, drinking... a lot. denying i wanted my abuser dead, then denied i missed him when he miraculously died in a car accident. admitting i want love, even if i don't know if it is like, a real thing. technically, i'm healthier, and will probably live longer (maybe). i could never imagine allowing myself to live past a certain point. now, i do.

throughout the next few days i felt my cunt... dry. i was worried. why are you denying your nature? fuck. thankfully a conversation with a special someone here made me wet just in time for Friday.

Friday afternoon, Sir picked me up from home. drove me to the empty parking lot He likes and i gave Him a blowjob after being ordered to take my top off. His cum tasted delicious this time, and i told Him. i swallowed and let Him fix His zipper. kept my top off (i think some men my age noticed, but Sir's car is kinda high and the seats deep. so, i don't feel visible, and He is very relaxed about it. in any case, it made me feel cheap and when i told Him, He chuckled).

Anna had already arrived at His place. we sat in the family room with the large TV and we watched both my most recent caning and my painal sessions. Sir and Anna on the sofa - i was seated by Anna's feet. Anna was moved to tears, as she found them both beautiful; she looked like she was watching a horror film. scared. i saw her eyes watching me get ass fucked and caned. it was revulsion, fear. i don't think she's a painslut. she thanked me for letting Sir explore that with me, and i deflected: i just do what i want. what i want is His. did you ever thank your toys after playing with them, Anna? i don't think so.

Sir was so sweet. He carried me to the bathroom to let me pee. He wiped my cunt clean. He fucked my pussy like He really needed it - He didn't come for a long time so it left me feeling sore. Anna worshipped my tits and thanked me for letting Sir "take it out on me". i kissed her hands and told her it was my pleasure and my pleasure is my purpose. there is no trade-off, as Sir respects consent very much. i have just accepted Him. just me and all of my cunt.

Anna and Sir left to dine out, leaving me home alone. i ate, brushed my teeth, read a little. when they came back, they used my mouth on the sofa. first Anna - she leaked all over my chin and i thanked her. Sir said one orgasm was enough for her. His turn: He ordered me to keep His balls in my mouth for as long as i could. fuck. Sir is big. He's not too long, but He's really thick. and His balls are bigger than my ex's. balls are so weird - soft and lumpy, but not lumpy like some tits. i tried to keep them in and my effort was lousy - but i was so tired. He did the most humiliating thing: He pumped on my tongue. it felt so gross, like cheating. but i also didn't care. i swallowed.

i kneeled and let my nose touch the floor to thank them for their cum, yet no words came out and my eyelids felt heavy. i felt tired enough to sleep on the floor and Sir gave me two light slaps to get up and sleep in my bed. He tucked me in and turned on the AC. He kisses my hand. i think i chuckled but i was quickly asleep.

Saturday morning was much less passive. i woke up determined to make up for last night. i'd beg to get my ass fucked. Sir fucked my pussy first, then my ass. He came in my ass - it felt so intrusive. i told Him, chuckling.

"repeat what you said."

"it feels intrusive... why cum there?"

"is this yellow, honey? what colour is it?"

"no, no. i don't mind it. I just don't see the point."

"you don't *mind* it, but do you feel good? does it feel good, Mimi?"

Pause.

my denied cunt looks at me, its lips open.

"it doesn't feel good, Sir."

"great."

Anna chimed in. she's not supposed to cum till Monday and she's not happy.

"it's not supposed to feel good. fucking whore. whore", she pouts.

i nodded. Sir looks serious. He's regretting going too far. He looks a bit frozen. regretful. fuck.

"Sir. permission to hug your knees, Sir?"

He nodded. i hugged His knees and nuzzled into His thigh. He wore jeans and i only wore my heels. i'm so naked, i wish He could feel my nipples brush on Him.

"it doesn't feel good, Sir. but i feel great about it. my stomach tells me when things aren't good, because it feels tight down there. like when you slapped me too hard in May, remember?"

He nodded.

"but i told you. right?"

He nodded.

"i'd love more of your cum in my asshole, Sir."

He hugged me. He ordered Anna to cuddle me till He finished with some work.

Anna kept His cum in with a butt plug, and cupped my neck, and kissed my tits. we hugged and cuddled for an hour.

Anna pumped my cunt. Sir took pictures and said it looked cute but almost fake. i loved the result so much i ordered a pussy pump - i hope it arrives soon. my clit was very neglected and Sir wanted me to edge with an ice cube - but Anna, of all people, talked Him out of it. throbby clit, leaky cunt. cunt wiped by Anna; Mimi is humiliated.

Sir only fucked Anna later that day, and asked me (very kindly) to lick and swallow His cum off her pussy. i kissed her pussy and did it. she mocked me for kissing her pussy to take Sir's gift, but i told her good whores are kind and don't make a mess. good whores are kind and don't make a mess. good whores are kind and don't make a mess. hypnotic.

Anna is also trying to experiment with body writing, so i went to bed looking extra special. she went to a very posh school so of course - the writing was in French.

she wrote "son dieu en debasement" ("her god in debasement") over my ass on my lower back, an arrow pointing towards my ass crack. she wrote that because we had a long discussion about what i consider my purpose in use to be (anal use, throat use, denial, body modifications, etc). she concluded that while women listen to their pussies for what they want, i as a bottom cunt listen to something far more degrading: my asshole. i just lowered my head and said "yes" quietly to most stuff she said. our whole discussion was her enthusiastically suggesting things about me and me just adding a little or saying yes. childlike.

an arrow pointing to the edge of my cunt slit and "putain fermée" written on my lower stomach (means "locked whore").

she wanted to write on my tits, too - but Sir didn't let her. Sir listened a bit (He was busy reading something) and then got up to see what Anna was about to write, indicating where the arrow should end right above my slit. to be accurate but also "elegant". like i'm an object.

Sunday was beautiful.

i slept in, feeling lazy. it was my denied cunt that properly woke me up. i throbbed at the idea of writing about one of my fantasies. my fingers are too slow to get me close to ruin, but they have always been unreliable. i bumped into Sir on my way to use the bathroom. He watched me pee and lightly pinched my nipples: He politely asked me to brush my teeth. i said yes - i've probably never gotten my teeth brushed for me before. it felt sweet, especially as He gave me a kiss on the cheek. He let me kiss His knuckles.

i had breakfast and did some chores. Sir let me know He had ordered food from a proper restaurant for us today; He wants me to explore more refined cuisine or whatever. of course He ordered for me. Dijon and cognac tender-charred slices with sweet potatoes. He ran His hand up and down my back while i ate - He can be so mom-like sometimes. i loved the food but i was too distracted by my cunt to thank Him. He told me not to talk, and helped me lie down to use the pussy pump on me again. i welcomed it - i was beyond passive. i was melting and so, so happy. He really pushed my cunt this time. i've seen it a bit like this before but its folds were brought out in a way that made it look very new.

ages later (or at least my cunt says it was a decade later) i was led outside to be pissed on. i was laid on my back, closed my eyes, opened my mouth. Anna pissed right above my head. Sir sprayed me well. i could taste their sweet lemonade cocktails in their urine.

i feel so happy. warm, happy. cherished and blessed and warm. i've been sleeping more peacefully this past month. i've stopped constantly wanting to drink, or smoking as much as i used to. i feel more heard than when i sat for PhD vacancies' final-round interviews.

and my cunt is so wet all the time. thank You, Sir.

bises,

Mimi.

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aloneholy · 9 months ago

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hi i love your blog :) & was wondering if you could recommend your favorite/the best sapphic n wlw media like shows books movies please? I have recently come to ... Realisations .. :') I do love picnic at hanging rock btw and also the similar vibes of the media that you tend to reblog. homeorotic energy w out being Explicity Stated it also very welcome <3 thank you if you can and i hope thats okay !!! have a good day :)

hellooo what a lovely question - thank you so much! i’ll happily rec some things i’ve loved, especially that i find homoerotic/wlw media that Compel me much harder to come by - and i agree, picnic at hanging rock is so unique.

books:

- zami: a new spelling of my name by audre lorde - an “autobiomythography” & maybe thee most formative book for me, in terms of wlw reading. i read it for university and it changed me as a person, changed the way i look at loving women. it’s beautiful

- nightwood by djuna barnes - if you like the more unsettling aspects of picnic at hanging rock, something lynchian and modernist, this is a dark and heavily abstract lesbian novel which i really love

- our wives under the sea - a really poignant and lovely soft sci-fi depiction of a wlw relationship, themes of grief, identity, loss etc. some compare it to annihilation though expect much less science fiction

- her body and other parties by carmen maria machado - a lovely (probably my favourite!) collection of short stories which often are wlw-centric or have a vibe. stunning prose in general

- hera lindsay bird by hera lindsay bird - wlw poetry, very fun and contemporary, what i call self-aware poetry

- mary oliver’s poetry!!!

- for biographies, anything about tove jansson….

- anything by virginia woolf will fit the not explicitly stated vibe feeling - mrs dalloway has a really wistful lesbian undercurrent, orlando is a love letter to vita sackville-west. etc. etc.

movies:

- persona (ingmar bergman) - thee movie. it’s Not explicitly stated, it’s feverish and desolate, but it’s both intensely homoerotic and a searing exploration of identity, existential dread etc.

- mulholland drive (david lynch) - again, unsettling vibes. not even gonna elaborate on it - it’s a david lynch - but it’s a must-see

- passing (rebecca hall) - a moody, poignant and beautiful adaptation of nella larsen’s novella (which is on my to-read list) about a relationship between two women

- the favourite (yorgos lanthimos) - recently rewatched with a friend, no notes. a bizarre, obsessive, thrilling story. rachel weisz is to die for in it

- kajillionaire (miranda july) - a tender and strange (affectionate) depiction of a bond between two women in unexpected circumstances

- thoroughbreds (cory finley) - what if murder was homoerotic, what if murder was a metaphor. in a way this is about every codependent friendship between girls that has ever veered towards obsession

- vita & virginia (chanya button) - a biopic abt virginia woolf and vita sackville-west specifically, people have very mixed feelings on it but i personally love it to bits.

tv shows:

- black sails - anne and max’s storyline in black sails is the most visceral and lovely wlw story i’ve seen in tv or film… there are specific tws i would heed for max’s arc in the first season which i’d be happy to elaborate on, but their story is beautiful

- first season of killing eve is still unmatched 😔 second is still quite nice, if not as good. third is hm. the ending scene has whimsy to it. never watch the fourth.

things my gf loves that i still haven’t read/seen:

- portrait of a lady on fire - i just know it will Get to me so i’m waiting for the right mood to watch it

- this is how you lose the time war by amal el-mohtar & max gladstone - same reasoning!

things i’ve started but haven’t had a chance to finish yet:

- little blue encyclopaedia (for vivian) by hazel jane plante - a beautiful (but sad, and also about grieving, hence it’s taking me a while) trans wlw story. quaint and quiet and wistful.

#wlw recs #wlw books #wlw movies #thank you for this question this was so nice to think about!!!#lesbian book recs #answered #my dream is for something like autobiography of red about women to exist #One day maybe i’ll make it happen #and i would love recs too!!!

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allwaswell16 · 2 years ago

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One Direction fics that include social media into the fic as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

—Harry/Louis—

♡ Your Mess Is Mine by amory

(M, 176k, kid fic) Louis is the father to the most brilliant little boy in the world who is all Louis really needs, or at least that's what he tells himself. Harry is a gorgeous boybander fresh off a two year break and a massive scandal that's left him a little broken and more than ready to move on.

♡ A Love Like War by sincewewereeighteen

(E, 173k, famous/not famous) the one in which Louis Tomlinson is a cliched rock star, he's got everything except for love. But then he meets Harry Styles; the man that, against all odds, saves him in every way a person can be saved, even when Louis didn't know he needed saving in the first place.

♡ Walk That Mile by purpledaisy / @daisyharry

(E, 149k, road trip au) A Route 66 AU where falling in love was never part of the plan.

♡ You You You by @isthatyoularry

(M, 137k, famous/not famous) the one where Harry and Louis meet at a club and Louis takes Harry home, only for him to realize that the boy who just made him breakfast half naked is Harry Styles from One Direction.

♡ Have Love, Will Travel by @kingsofeverything

(E, 97k, road trip au) Rather than spend the summer working at their desks, Louis and Harry are given the opportunity to crisscross the country together in a tiny camper, filming their adventures for a YouTube series.

♡ say you want me by orphan_account

(M, 37k, famous/not famous) Harry’s a closeted pop star and Louis is the uni student he keeps fighting with on Twitter

♡ From the Start by @allwaswell16

(E, 32k, fake relationship) Louis has no idea that one act of kindness will cause his life to spiral out of control. But that's what happens when his new friend fake proposes to him and a video of it goes viral.

♡ You're the Light by @allwaswell16

(E, 31k, newspaper au) What he finds on his first day of work is a tall, gorgeous editor named Harry who has the most beautiful green eyes he’s ever seen—and who also happens to be his new boss.

♡ The Daddiest Place on Earth by lovelarry10 / @chloehl10

(E, 23k, Disney World au) Louis. Harry. Instagram. A whole lot of confusion and a whole lot of laughs...

♡ Anonymous Said by @alivingfire

(T, 21k, tumblr) two boys, two blogs, two years of anonymous messages, and a bookshop where it all comes together

♡ Then We Talk Slow by @letsjustsee

(E, 20k, famous/not famous) A famous/non-famous AU in which Louis banters back and forth with his new record company on Twitter, only to find out that Harry is the man behind the tweets.

♡ blend into my favourite colour by rainbowninja167 / @rainbowtitania

(T, 19k, coffee shop) Harry is a barista with a secret Werewolf High fan blog, a desperate crush on a customer named Louis, and a best friend on Tumblr who always makes him laugh. Louis can't figure out why the barista at his favorite coffee shop keeps creepily staring at him, and to make matters worse, he may be slightly in love with a friend he met online.

♡ Found My Missing Piece by @styleandsin

(NR, 16k, fashion au) Louis and Harry are both fashion bloggers. Louis' been following Harry for years. Harry and his blog really gave him the confidence and the push to make his own.

♡ you don't have to play the part by fairytalelights / @lookslikefairytale

(M, 16k, famous/not famous) the one where Harry is Britain's new pop sensation, Louis is R&B star Zayn's sassy social media manager and things get confusing

♡ This is a Rainbow War by @lululawrence

(NR, 15k, famous/not famous) the one where Harry's a famous singer, Louis is part of his road crew, and after Harry gives Louis a special assignment regarding rainbow flags, things maybe turn out a little differently than either of them planned.

♡ it do be like that sometimes by wordsnnotes / @quelsentiment

(T, 14k, enemies to lovers) an enemies to lovers AU inspired by my short experience in this crazy fandom and my even shorter experience on stan Twitter

♡ from, your secret admirer by flicker_album / @niall-official

(T, 13k, secret admirer) the one where Louis is Harry's Tumblr crush so he sends him secret admirer messages for Valentine's Day

♡ Nailed By Louis by @haztobegood

(E, 9k, cooking au) It had started as a joke, just two months earlier. Louis had tried to make recipe from HarrySizzles Instagram account.

♡ Hot Chocolate by @kingsofeverything

(E, 6k, chocolatier Harry) Harry wants to make something new for Hot Chocolates, his small batch chocolate shop. Louis offers to help.

♡ Kiwi by dimpled_halo / @comebackassholes

(M, 6k, exes to lovers) The last place Louis expects to see Harry again after ten years is performing at a music festival in Chicago

♡ The Places Where We Met by Chelsea Frew / @chelsea-frew

(G, 5k, famous/not famous) Harry Styles loves his job as 1/3 of a famous boy band. It does, however, get lonely, and he counts on a special online friend to get him through.

♡ Missed Connection by @kingsofeverything

(E, 3k, Craigslist) Harry is absolutely clueless when it comes to figuring out if other guys are into him, so he enlists his friend Niall to assist. That may or may not be a mistake

—Rare Pairs—

♡ One In Ten Million by craigtrash

(M, 36k, Zayn/Liam) University student Zayn Malik is a big fan of One Direction, world famous boy band, especially member Liam Payne. When Liam accidentally tweets his phone number, Zayn takes a chance that changed his life.

♡ walk, walk fashion baby by @disgruntledkittenface

(E, 23k, Louis/Nick Grimshaw) Louis loves his supportive boyfriend, his passionate and interesting band of friends and coworkers, and his pair of quirky and dedicated dogs. What he doesn’t love is his job as co-editor of the Lifestyle section at a popular site aimed at millennials.

♡ Almost Feels Like Nothing's Changed at All (If You Close Your Eyes) by Hllangel / @glitterbootsandyellowshorts

(G, 3k, Louis/Nick Grimshaw) The tweet went out about two minutes ago, but it's basically blown up his notifications, and probably his life.

#1dficvillage #trackinghome #tracksintheam #hltracks #trackinghappily #1dsource #ficrec #social media fics

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coulsons-fullmetal-cellist · 2 years ago

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For the Love of Horror

(Dieter x horror-loving female reader)

Summary: The reader is totally me; I love horror films and I usually watch them on my own as most of my friends are scaredy cats. There aren’t that many fics where the male character is the one scared of film and Dieter seemed to be the perfect fit.

Warning: no use of y/n, mentions of scary films, Dieter being scared of said scary films, slight euphemisms, saucy suggestions, lots of adorable fluffiness

Notes: I sort of ignore the ending of the film. In fact I wrote my own here also check out the masterlist for more of these two here

Dieter Bravo loved you, but you loved horror films, and he was the biggest scaredy cat in the world.

You’d first met the strange but handsome actor as his makeup artist for an indie film. On Sap of Justice, he played a man hunting down his wife’s killer while slowly being turned into a tree. He won a SAG or something for that, he didn’t care, but it required hours in the makeup chair.

You showed up on the first day wearing a bright yellow jumper, an even brighter smile and a Tupperware full of homemade cookies. He was instantly smitten.

His latest rehab stint actually worked this time, but he ended up developing a giant sweet tooth. While the rest of the crew did not appreciate your delightful treats, Dieter ended up consuming more than he should have, usually while he was sitting in his makeup chair, making a bit of a mess.

You then came up with the idea of giving him a piece of chocolate to slowly melt on his tongue so he could sit back and let you do you work. You’d slip in another piece onto his tongue when he ran out, it was probably the most sensual thing he’d ever experience.

He was happy to just sit and listen to you as you babbled on about films, most of which he’d never heard of. You knew a surprising amount, more than most directors he’s worked with.

He couldn’t help but smile at your bubbly enthusiasm and he just wanted to be around you. But that tiny colourful you had a dark interior: your love of horror films.

The first time you invited him over to watch a scary movie, he thought it was a euphemism for his favourite activity and he was excited.

But no.

You put on Hereditary.

He spent the rest of the night alone in his room with the lights on, his eyes never leaving the ceiling.

The following night he had a nightmare where he was stuck in a dollhouse with naked people.

He was so relieved when you wanted to have another movie night. He suggested maybe a romantic film this time round.

So, you put on Candyman.

Dieter couldn’t look at himself in a mirror for at least a week.

The third time he suggested watching a comedy film.

So, you put on An American Werewolf in London.

This time it was less scary as he mainly spent the time looking at you while you enthusiastically explained in detail how Rick Baker achieved the first transformation scene and how horror films lead to your career choice.

That was when he fell in love completely and utterly in love with you.

And he needed to come clean about his horror film phobia.

Thankfully, you didn’t kick him to the curb like the piece of garbage he believed he was. You apologized profusely for taking over film choices with your favourites and it was definitely his turn to choose his favourite.

Dieter shyly suggested Beauty and the Beast to which you sighed and said it was your favourite non-horror film and immediately put it on. You put your head on his shoulder as you watched it.

“So why is this your favourite film Dieter?”

“Well…I like to think that if a beast can fall in love and get a happily ever after, then that gives me hope”

Your reply was a hug and kiss on the cheek,

He could certainly get used to this. It was nice.

Eventually, you both found a compromise with your film watching together. No horror film before dark and not every time you got together. You hunted around to find the least scary horror films when it was your choice. And you suggested he watch Dead Meats Kill Count which helped because Dieter could at least anticipate when the scary parts would happen beforehand. You always made sure to turn the volume down when a jump scare was going to happen.

In the meantime, Dieter worked with his therapist to uncover the reason behind his scaredness of scary films. He suspected it was that donkey scene in Pinocchio was the cause of trauma but there was still work to do.

You saved him from your guilty pleasure films such as Snakes on a Plane and the Final Destination series, so you instead only subjected him to the good ones: the really good, critically acclaimed, award-winning ones. He finally watched The Shining and Get Out which ended up not being as scary as he thought.

Dieter discovered he had missed out on a huge amount of great films. You were both sobbing wrecks at the end of Train to Busan and he absolutely loved Willem Dafoe’s crazy ass monologue in The Lighthouse and immediately had to learn it himself.

You discovered that Dieter had a huge love for animated films and would sing along to every song, every time. Of course he knew all the lyrics to Under the Sea and Be Our Guest which you couldn’t help but smile at, he was just that adorable.

And you were roped into a duet of A Whole New World. Dieter was just a big romantic at heart. It was a side of the actor no one knew or cared about.

Whenever a new horror film came out at the cinema, you were more than happy to go by yourself as you were used to that. He survived watching A Quiet Place with the volume down and praised your bravery and madness for seeing it at the cinema alone.

But when there were times when you really wanted to see a film not in the cinema and Dieter didn’t want to be alone, something to do with his love of cuddles with you or something. This would be when you’d watch it with headphones one and Dieter would be hiding his head in your lap. Most of the time you’d run your fingers through his hair, and he’d fall asleep.

He liked this.

He could get used to this.

Two years later…

“Honey cakes, I’m home!”

You practically skipped across the hallway to give your boyfriend Dieter his well-deserved welcome home hugs and kisses.

This was the best part of his day.

You were now living together in his huge house, and both couldn’t be happier. Dieter was happy to wake up next to you every day and you were happy to finally be able to watch horror films on his huge TV.

“How was the meeting with your agent?”

“Not bad. Got given this script for a TV thing to read through.”

You perked your face in interest. “Oh? Thinking of moving away from films?”

“Well, I’m told this is a pretty good script. Written by some guy named Mike Flanagan…”

You promptly screamed.

Dieter almost flew across the room; he’d never heard you scream before. And he thought he did a pretty good job in the bedroom.

“Mike Flanagan?!!!”

“Is he good?”

“Is he good?!!!”

You proceeded to grab the collar of his shirt and started shaking him in excitement.

“He makes Stephen King good, that’s how good he is!”

You’d never been rough with him before, and he liked it. A lot.

Your tiny body was bouncing around like a jellybean, you were that excited.

“You remember that film Oculus? The one with the mirror?”

“Is that the one with the hook hand guy?”

“No, that was Candyman; the second film we watched together. Oculus has that one big mirror and Karen Gillan.”

He was surprised you remembered your second date.

“Oh yeah, that one”

“And Gerald’s Game was amazing!”

“I still occasionally have nightmares about that tall man”

“Aw, I’m sorry”

You immediately hugged him, and he rubbed your back in appreciation.

“So, you think I should read the script?”

“If you get to work with Mike Flanagan, I’ll marry you!”

“Seriously?”

But you had bounced away at this point. Pouting, Dieter immediately pulled out his phone and called his agent.

“Hey, that TV thing you gave me the script for: I’ll do it, sign me up”

“You’ve already read it? That was quick”

“No, but I have it on good authority from an expert that it’ll be good, so I’ll do it”

“Alright then, but still read the script”

“Yeah, yeah of course. Hey, um…are they needing any makeup artists by the way?”

“Probably. Are you recommending your girlfriend again?”

“Well, she’s the best, and if she got to work on this job, she’d probably have my baby which sounds…nice”

Dieter was lost in this happy fantasy until his agent interrupted him.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Gotta go. Bye!”

He quickly hung as because you had returned by then and you had that look: the look that meant he was going to be subject to a new horror themed piece of media.

“Now, I’m thinking you should at least watch one of Flanagan’s series to help with your decision and we should definitely watch Midnight Mass”

“Hang on, I’ve heard of that one. That’s the one everyone on set wouldn’t shut up about”

“Because it’s good!”

“Hasn’t it got vampires in it?”

“Yes. But it also has monologues”

This piqued his interest.

“I like monologues”

“I know you do and there’s lots in this one.”

You got up on your tiptoes to give him a kiss.

“Now, get in your favourite comfy clothes. I want us to fit in a few episodes before it gets dark.”

“Yes ma’am!”

You gave his small butt a playful slap as he walked away.

He was going to have to get out that engagement ring from its hiding spot sooner than he thought.

Films referenced: Hereditary (2018), Candyman (1992), An American Werewolf in London (1981), Beauty and the Beast (1991), Snakes on a Plane (2006), Final Destination (2000), The Shining (1980), Get Out (2017), Train to Busan (2016), The Lighthouse (2019), The Little Mermaid (1989), Aladdin (1992), A Quiet Place (2018), Oculus (2013), Gerald's Game (2017), Midnight Mass (2021)

Lovingly tagging @cevans-is-classic

#pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #the mandalorian #din djarin #dyn jarren #dieter bravo #the bubble #the bubble netflix #dieter x reader #dieter fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #love of horror fanfic #love of horror #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter x honey cakes

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