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a-write-for-soreeyes · 7 months

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Yes, Chef [OPLA Sanji x Afab!Reader SMUT]

Pairing : OPLA Sanji x Chef (AFAB) Reader

Summary : Sanji is the only one you call 'Chef'. One night when you're the only ones working the late shift he finally confronts you about why.

Warnings : 18+ !!!!!!, NSFW/SMUT, Semi-public sex (kitchen), Oral (fem receiving), some slight dirty talk?, the apron stays ON during foreplay, Use of the term 'Chef' in a sexual way, Top!Sanji, Bottom!Reader

Word Count : 3685 (good lord)

A/N : I have never written smut before but I think this went really well! I had one quote (that quote from Fleabag the hot priest says) and a dream (sanji brain rot and my sexy playlist), so please feel free to leave your thoughts! <3

“y/n I think we’ve known each other long enough you can stop calling me ‘Chef’.”

“Yes, Chef I know” You said, carefully placing the garnish on the plate of steak and seared vegetables at your station. It was the last call of the night and of course a group had walked in right as you and Sanji had finished clearing your stations for the night.

Placing the final plate on the counter you hit the bell, one of the servers came through the doors to the kitchen grabbing the plate and turning on their heel pushing through back to the rowdy group of pirates in the dining room. Turning back to your station and beginning to stack your pots and pans, placing the used utensils inside the pot and carrying them over to the sink, ready to re-wash them.

A comfortable quiet had washed over the kitchen, only broken by the boisterous chatter from the last table of the night. “You can head out if you’d like. I’m going to put together a new dessert I’ve been practicing for these gentlemen, hopefully get them to tip better after coming in right before closing.” Sanji had called from across the kitchen while grabbing ingredients from the pantry.

“Chef, if you don’t like my company you can just say and I’ll get out of your hair.” You joked,

“Ay don’t you ever say that gorgeous, you know I love your company,” Sanji flirted pausing next to you, “Someone with good looks and good conversation, how could I not want you around?” He winked, continuing his stride back to his station.

“I think I’ll stick around once I’m done with these if it’s all the same to you, Chef. You know how much I love to taste whatever new recipes you put together.” You replied with a smile. You really did enjoy being able to be the first person to taste all of Sanji’s cooking, and you suppose being the only person in the kitchen late at night, with your criminally good looking coworker wasn’t so bad either. Rolling up your sleeves and plunging your hands into the warm water of the sink you began to scrub at your dishes.

You scrubbed in silence for a few moments, washing the grime and the stress of the day away. “Really y/n, you can go home I really don’t mind,” Sanji walked next to you leaning his side against the counter stacked high with plates and cups that would need to be washed during tomorrows slow hours, “You’ve already stayed late enough, just finish up your dishes and turn in for the night.” Out of the corner of your eye you could see him looking over your face,

“It’s fine, Chef you know I would probably be awake anyw-” Your sentence and scrubbing stopped as Sanji reached forwards wiping a smear of some ingredient from your cheek, letting his thumb linger on your cheek for just a moment, your face heating at the intimacy of the moment.

“Sorry love,” He said, pulling his hand away from your face and placing it back on the counter next to you, “Couldn’t focus on your beautiful face with something covering it.”

This has always been the game between the two of you. When you had joined the Baratie’ crew almost 3 years ago, Sanji had started working his charm on you from day one, flustering you everytime causing you to always avoid his flirtatious gaze. Although it had taken you about two months to get comfortable with the pleasure he takes in flirting with you, (leaving you mildly excited each time he had thrown a nickname your way) the day that you did start flirting back was possibly the best day of Sanji’ life, (although he wouldn’t be admitting that to anyone anytime soon) and possibly the worst of yours. The embarrassment you felt every time you gave a flirtatious response, effectively causing you to never have the guts to look him in the eyes.

And although his flirting was nothing new, something about being the only people in the quiet kitchen after a busy Friday night, had the soft way Sanji was speaking to you to have a new feeling behind it.

“Sanji, I’m fine really. I’ll finish these up and then I want to taste whatever you’re supposed to be cooking over there, for our lovely guests.” You softly broke the tension, not looking up at him from the murky water. Sanji chuckled and pushed off the counter, making his way back to his abandoned pastry mix. Resuming your washing the both of you working contently in each other's presence.

—-

Placing the last of your now clean dishes back at your station and wiping your hands on the towel you always had draped over the string of your apron. Slugging your way over to Sanji's station, you hiked yourself up onto the counter next to him, huffing out a quiet “Whatever you’ve got baking smells amazing Chef. I can’t wait to taste whatever it is.”

Sanji chuckled, continuing to whisk whatever he was whipping up for a “quick dessert”.

“They’re strawberry macarons, with an easy butterscotch drizzle on top.”

“Ah yes Chef, a very simple dessert, definitely not a complicated pastry that can take years to master.” Laughing, Sanji put down the bowl and grabbed his dish towel, turning towards the oven behind him, taking hold of the hot baking sheet in his covered hand. Turning back to you he gently swatted your side, placing the hot tray down where you had been sitting.

“For your information the pastry is not the hard part for me. It’s the filling that always gets me.”, Using his one hand to pull the macaron shells up from the pan, Sanji stuck his finger in the bowl on his right swiping up some of the filling he had been whipping up on his finger, and held it out to you, “Here give this a try, I know it’s missing something I just can’t quite place it.”

Seeing Sanji hold his finger out, covered in the pink buttercream filling, you made the conscious decision that this was going to be your winning move in this game of cat and mouse you and him had been playing for the past years. You leaned forwards and wrapped your mouth around his finger, the taste of the sweet icing flowing over your tongue. Swirling your tongue around his finger to get the last of the filling off of his digit.

“It’s good. Could maybe use a little more powdered sugar, get it to thicken up a bit more.” You shrugged.

Sanji was silent. Not even a flirtatious remark about how ‘you’re all the sugar I need sugar’ just silence. Looking at Sanji directly (for possibly the first time in months) you were shocked at the way he was looking at you. So gently, so full of love and something else you couldn’t quite place. Surprise? Uncomfortability? You weren’t sure, only assuming the worst, regret flooded your body immediately. Sanji opened his mouth to speak but you beat him to it, hanging your head,

“I-I’m so sorry Chef, I-I don’t know what I was thinking, I guess I just thought it would be funny considering how much we fake flirt with each other, but I’m now realizing that that was WILDLY inappropriate especially to someone who is a much better chef than I am- I’m so so sorry Chef-”

“Ah, fuck you calling me “Chef” like it doesn’t turn you on just to say it.” Your head snapped up to look him directly in the eyes.

“Wha-what?”

“You heard what I said.” He smirked at you, blond hair falling in front of his left eye, “The way you say it any moment you possibly can, ‘yes Chef’, ‘I’m sorry Chef’, ‘Of course I can Chef’. You think I haven’t noticed how I’m the only one you call that?” Sanji stalking around the counter, placed one hand on the counter at either side of you.

He leaned into you, his hot breath fanning over your neck, “Everytime you say that stupid fucking title,you know what it does to me. What it makes me think of.”

Shivering at the feeling of his breath you turned your face towards him, “And what does it make you think of, Chef?” A low rumble reverberated from Sanji’ chest, now pressing up close to you.

Sanji tilted his head, lips just barely ghosting over yours, “Would you like me to show you?” You gave an embarrassed nod.

His lips were soft against yours, tasting of cigarettes and the mint he used to try and cover the previous. Pushing himself up against you, you could feel your underwear beginning to slick. Teeth clashing together you ran your hand up Sanji’ back, neck and up into his blonde hair. One of his own hands wrapping around your waist, the other sliding up the front of your apron and giving your breast a soft squeeze. You gasped, and fast as lightning Sanji slipped his tongue into your mouth exploring it with a small groan at the feeling.

Using the heated kiss as a distraction Sanji began to unbutton your uniform, pausing every few buttons to bring his hands up to your face, deepening your make out before going back to his main mission of releasing you from your shirt.

Finally undoing the final button of your uniform Sanji reached into your shirt with one hand swiping over your tit, causing it to harden under his calloused hand, even with the fabric of your bra separating them. Although Sanji made quick work of that issue, easily reaching around you and unclasping the irritating bra pulling it down under your breasts, allowing them to bounce slightly with the force of your making out. Removing his other hand from your waist Sanji roughly cupped your breasts in his hands bringing them out from behind your apron. Squeezing them with his large hands, your apron roughly scraping against the soft flesh, you moaned into the unstopping kisses. Hiking you up onto the edge of the counter Sanji gave himself better access to your chest, leaning down to your right tit and taking it into his mouth, tongue swirling around the nipple, leaving kisses, nips and hickies all around. His left hand grasping at your other tit Sanji pinches at the bud for a few moments before switching. Moans leaving your mouth, you bit your lip nearly drawing blood, as you used one hand to pull his head closer into your chest, the other pulling off his ascot, apron and starting on the snap buttons of his uniform.

“Please, Chef please.” You whimpered, beginning to roll your hips on him, the feeling of his warm mouth on your chest with no friction on your lower parts starting to take its toll on you. Feeling Sanji groan and roll against the counter he pulled back looking at you, hair a mess, eyes glazed over in arousal he ripped the apron and top from off your body, bra following immediately after. During the moment of separation you ripped his now crumpled shirt off, tossing it somewhere in the kitchen out of your vision, which was now focused solely on taking in Sanji’ gorgeous figure.

Grabbing his face and pulling him towards you hungerly you continued to make out. Sanji began to press his body against yours reaching behind your figure to swipe the forgotten baking sheet off the counter creating room for him to be able to push you back into a lying position, the heat of the counter where the hot pans of pastries had just been only seconds earlier caused you to let out a gasp, arching your back to get away from the heat pressing your breasts right into Sanji’s hard chest, his hand going behind you to pull your torso as close to him as possible.

Pulling back from the kiss, Sanji gently laid you down fully on the counter. Running his hands down your sides he began to kiss his way down your body stopping to leave small nips around your chest and hips. Pulling away Sanji started work on your belt, unbuckling it and immediately going for your buttons. You begin to fuss at the feeling of his hands being so close to where you need him but he has yet to touch you.

“I know love, don't worry, I’m gonna make you feel so good.” he whispered out, pressing a kiss to your thigh as he finally slid your pants off, leaving you in just your panties. Groaning at the sight of you trying to hump the air to get any friction to quell the desire you feel, Sanji brought a finger up to your covered mound, gently ghosting it along causing you to let a loud whimper escape from your lips. “Darling you’re soaked. If I didn’t know any better I’d think you want me to make you feel good?”

Gripping the edges of the counter whimpered “Yes. Yes yes please Chef, please make me feel good.”

Sanji smirked up at you, already fidgeting and he hasn’t even started yet. “Well, when you put it like that. I guess I have no choice.” He pulled your panties down grabbing them in one hand and used the other to grasp your hip bringing your soaked pussy right to him, immediately beginning his assault, licking up your folds and once he reached the top starting to suck on your clit, swirling his tongue around the small bud. Your hand shot down for Sanji’ bleach blond hair, fisting it and using it to pull him right into you, wrapping your legs around his head when he stuck his tongue right into your pussy.

“Oh fuck! Yes, god please!” You moaned, at the sound of your moans and whimpers Sanji could feel the tent in his pants straining, he beginning to slightly hump at the air, getting pleasure from just the motions he made.

Feeling the knot begin to form in your stomach you started to pant and hump his face faster. Sanji getting the message stopped tongue fucking you to resume sucking on your clit bringing his right hand down to your entrance sticking 2 fingers in you easily between the slick and spit that had been pooling there. The pleasure assaulting your senses caused you to lurch forwards, nails scraping against Sanji's scalp causing him to moan against you.

Between the feeling of Sanji sucking on your clit, his fingers rapidly pushing in and out of you and the vibrations of the moans he was letting out you felt the knot in your stomach snap, shaking your felt yourself release all over his face, practically screaming out into the echoes of the kitchen,

“Yes, yes fuck, yes Chef! Fuck!” When the feeling of your first orgasm of the night finished and your clit started to become overstimulated you leant back against your arm, releasing your hold on Sanji's hair to run one hand through it and tried to pull yourself away from his mouth still licking up your wetness and kissing around your nub.

“Uhh, Chef- Chef please too- too much” Pulling himself off of you Sanji leant back on his heels, a string of spit and cum connecting him to you. You took a moment to admire him as he caught his breath. He looked beautiful, face covered in your cum with strings of it and drool connecting the two of you, hair sticking in all directions from your harsh pulling and his eyes, god his eyes he had a look in them you’d only ever hoped to see, he was so drunk on your pussy you’re not even sure he knew where the two of you were right now.

Grabbing his right wrist from where his fingers were still brushing against your pussy lips you pulled him up to you, locking your lips in another kiss, this one much more gentle and soft than the previous rough make out you had. Pushing your tongue into his mouth you could taste yourself on his tongue, occasionally kissing around his mouth and along his jawline to collect more of your slick from his face. Sanji let out a gasp as you kissed up his jaw and to his ear, giving it a slight nip before whispering to him, “You made me feel so good Chef. I wanna do the same for you.”

Standing to his full height Sanji started to work on his belt, hands shaking in anticipation at finally being able to feel you around him. You started work on the button on his bottoms, purposely brushing your hand against his erection feeling it twitch at every touch you gave him. Reaching your hands up to his waistband Sanji pulled down his pants and underwear in one swoop as he stepped out of the pool of fabric now at his feet. Cradling your face in his large hands Sanji ran his thumb down your cheekbone and swiped it over your lips.

"I wanna make you feel good, let me make you feel good.”, You looked up at him with half lidded eyes, your hand lazily wrapping around his hard-on, stroking him and running your thumb over his head using the precum that had begun to bead there as lube for your lazy motions. “Please Chef.” You felt his cock twitch at the title and his breathing hitch.

“We can feel good together love. Just let me take care of you this time.” At that Sanji guided you back to your lying position against the now cold countertop of his work station. Taking a moment to admire you splayed out before him Sanji ran his hands down the backs of your thighs pushing them up to give himself access to your wet cunt.

Rubbing the head of his cock against your folds he collected some of your slick before he watched his cock disappear into you. A growl coming from him as he felt you tighten around his shaft.

Keening at the feeling of yourself stretching around him, your eyes rolling back as he pushed further finally bottoming out. Sanji paused allowing you a chance to adjust to his size he could feel you tighten around him.

Slowly, he began to pull almost all the way out of you before rocking back in, the both of you groaning at the feeling. Sanji looked up at your face, eyes almost completely closed and mouth open gasping in pleasure. He reached forwards grasping your soft hand in his own rough one giving something for you to ground yourself on through the pleasure.

“Chef please-!” you whimpered at the feeling of his thrusts starting to pick up speed.

“Fuck love, you feel so good squeezing around me.” Sanji groaned into your ear, leaving sloppy kisses around your jaw and down your neck, his cock burying into you at a rapid pace.

Your moans and huffs at the overwhelming feelings you were experiencing getting louder with each thrust, to the point you were almost crying out in pleasure. Sanji captured your lips again roughly making out with you in an attempt to quiet you, although between your moans and the squelch of his cock pistoning in and out of you it was nearly impossible to do so.

Sanji could feel his high approaching with each thrust, “I-I’m close, fuck darling you feel so good-” he sighed pressing your foreheads together.

“I-I’m so close, please Chef. Please let me cum please!” You blubbered against his lips, tears beginning to form and run down your cheeks, you could feel every inch of him in you, stretching you, pressing against every part of you, his head kissing your cervix.

“Just a little more baby, just give me a little more.” Pounding into your cunt, slick running down both of you, you wrapped your legs around his back pulling him impossibly closer, the hand that was resting coming down to rub furiously at your clit, “come for me love, come all over my cock.” Your mouth opened in a silent scream as you felt yourself release all over his cock, your pussy clamping down, you cried out,

“Fuck! Chef!”

At the feeling of you cumming around him Sanji knew he just needed a few more before he to came undone, or- “Fuck Sanji!” your eyes rolling back, and that was his breaking point. At the sound of you crying out his name, his real name for the first time since you’ve met, not some title he’d heard a thousand times before, Sanji came. Ropes of his cum painting your insides with his release he shuttered, his vision blanking at the overwhelming bliss he was experiencing from cumming inside you for the first time.

The air between you two hot and heavy as you both stayed still just enjoying the intimacy of the moment. Sanji gave a few final sluggish thrusts to help you both ride the end of your pleasures before the feeling became too much. He pulled out gently being sure not to overwhelm you, the sound of your mixed cum quietly dripping from you both onto the tiled floor beneath him.

Basking in the afterglow of the scene, foreheads pressed together you tilted your head up locking your lips in a tender kiss. Bringing your hand that was not clasped in Sanji's up to caress his face, taking in the way the soft light reflected off his glistening forehead and the beads of sweat that dripped from his disheveled hair down the curves and lines of his face.

“You’re beautiful.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who’s supposed to say that to you, Love.” He chuckled, allowing the seriousness of the moment to fade away into comfortable giggles. “I love you.” He breathed out, gazing at you, trying to memorize everything about you in this moment, from how your messy hair splayed out behind you to the dried tear tracks down your face. Looking back into his blue eyes,

“I love you Sanji.”

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#sanji x reader smut #opla sanji x reader #sanji x reader #opla sanji x reader smut #smut #opla sanji #one piece live action #one piece netflix

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timothylawrence · 5 months

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10 characters | 10 fandoms | 10 a negotiable number of tags

tagged by the wonderful @babeoffrontiers mwah <3 these aren't in any order except for number one hehe. what can i say except i love girls and wyll ravengard

Sasha (Borderlands): literally my favorite video game character to ever exist. I love her complexity, I love her heart. I love how she plays into the story, her selfishness, her love... and she now canonically has a billionaire ceo pining after her for six years and counting #queen.

Rachel Amber (Life is Strange): sorry for loving tragedy. sorry for loving the dead girl that haunts the narrative. Played the game in high-school and I related to her a lot... she will always mean a lot to me (Daughter also doing the album for before the storm DID NOT HELP!)

Billie Lurk (Dishonored): SAD GIRLS I LOVE YOU.... Sorry i love her relationship with Daud and the Outsider later on... I love betrayal i love messy family drama and I love having a heart that beats too loud.

Wyll Ravengard (Baldur's Gate): love of my life king of my heart... sorry I love those who hold unwavering hope... someone who's been tortured and harmed yet refuses to give up the love he has for the world. He's probably one of my top three male characters ever and I truly adore his character sm.

Claire (Fleabag): sorry i love Claire sm too. she's such a relatable character, I love how she grows and she made me cry so many times. I also love her pencil haircut. it's french. (and its my fav reaction image to like everything).

Alex (Oxenfree): I LOVE YOU TRAPPED IN TIME GIRL!! I love your heart!! I love your humor!! i love your awkwardness. her grief is palpable and ugh. I just love her.

Diane Nguyen (Bojack Horseman): the girl for all girls in their 20s. Quite literally altered my outlook on things and was such a healing character. A lot of her quotes and scenes really stuck with me and although I’m not brave enough to stomach the show for a rewatch her scenes were so pivotal to me…

Vantage (Apex Legends): sorry I play shooters 24/7 but fun to play + SHES so cute. Teenage girl raised on a planet with no civilization and is a funny gal all the same. Love her and i need her to get an heirloom STAT.

Nadine Ross (Uncharted): I LOVE HER SM. I love her passion and i love love love her smarts and skills. she's also so freaking gorgeous and That Moment in uncharted 4 lives in my mind forever and ever. also her and Nadine should kiss a lot.

Haru Okumura (Persona 5): GIRL WHO DESERVED BETTER BY THE GAME.... I will always be upset that she was sidelined but ugh, i love her heart. how she cares for everyone. she's also so fucking funny and has amazing timing on what she says . seriously the best girllll

hehe not tagging to many ppl cus im notorious for 'stealing people to tag (ahem jordan)' butttttt @opossum-on-the-spectrum @dekariosgale @bootheminiaturegiantspacehamster and @glasscoffingirlfriend <333

#ewbie.txt #god this list is a mess . i tried to do more than just gaming but i realized all i do is play video games #but erm... i love girls with big hearts and girls who care too much sorry and girls who are messy and girls who do revenge and #i jsut realized wylls the only guy on here help... its ok hes one of the girls #THANK YOU BESTIE FOR TAGGINNNGGG

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everythingsbetterunderthestars · 1 year

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Hi my name is Anna

Im French

Im 18

My pronouns are she/her/they/them and I’m a lesbian and demigirl

Self diagnosed autistic

I speak fluent French, English and German

I’m also a fic writer! Here’s the link to my snowjanus fanfic (WIP)

Check this for more info

I love reading and watching shows

I have two cats and a dog

Sorry in advance I just have this one page for all my interests so you’ll get content about lots of different things (almost everything will be queer though)

My username is a quote from Radio Silence by the fabulous Alice Oseman because it’s one of my favourite books ever

I have too many fandoms but here are a few: Osemanverse, Young Royals, six of crows, Harry Potter (mostly marauders), Good Omens, RWRB, WTNV, IWTV, She Ra, the owl house, Buffy, stranger things, OFMD, I am not okay with this, the end of the fucking world, fleabag, Helluva Boss… and basically any queer content I can get my hands on (I have an unimaginably high TBR and extremely long to watch list)

Anyway if you want to talk about any of those interests or want to recommend me a queer book/show/movie I’d be delighted !

Or if you want queer books/shows recommendations I have a tonnnn ! (Especially books)

You’re welcome to just send me a message or an ask :)

(My music taste is also pretty gay, currently obsessed with baby queen, king princess, girl in red, Chloe Moriondo, Pomme, wasia project, Radiohead, Tamino, Matilda Mann, Alexandra Savior…)

My favourite colour is blue

Uhm that’s all I can think of for now so yeah welcome to my blog ! I’ll update this as I go

(Also I discovered tumblr thanks to Solitaire so I’m forever indebted to Alice Oseman)

(Just putting this here so I can find it again for Reasons)

#osemanverse #six of crows #harry potter #rwrb #wtnv #iwtv #she ra #buffyverse #young royals #stranger things

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homosapiennns · 1 year

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I’m going to admit right away that I’m taking four drugs right now, but I need to say it : misery content isn’t good for anyone and it will never be. Misery loves company. Saying ‘I want to kill myself LMAAOOO’ and ‘I’m dying inside :DDD’ are NOT JOKES AND they will never make you feel good. Ever. You should never be in your Fleabag/Bojack Horseman/Oyasumi Punpun etc. era. I’m tired of seeing edgy shit all over social media because it actually makes me feel worse EVEN THOUGH I TAKE FOUR DIFFERENT MEDS. It damages everyone’s self confidence and I’m sick of it. How about lifting ourselves? How about start saying things like “the burden of being the prettiest person ever in the world😮‍💨” and “I’m so sorry that I’m intelligent funny and cute at the same time.” as jokes? And honestly even if you don’t believe it (I don’t believe it either) its okay because its not about believing it, its about feeling good in our skin. I really like this quote that I’ve seen recently : “ I’m happy with myself and I want to be born as myself again. I’m really satisfied with who I am and I love myself “ like that’s what we should aim for, loving ourselves so much that if we were born again we would choose ourselves again ❤️‍🩹

#mental health

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otrtbs · 2 years

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hello! hows it going? <3

is something like this cropping up in Mon Dieu? bc if it is… i’d love it but i think i might cry :(

like, on a surface level, this fic concept is goofy and fun, but the angst potential for this has me in such a chokehold. i’m obsessed im sorry akshsg but it’d be a wonderful unexpectedly emotional work if you follow the fleabag vibe

(im sorry for the constant badgering over a fic that doesn’t really exist yet lmao but i just really love this idea and i hope you don’t mind me popping in here like this. hope you’re well lovely! 💛)

HELLO!! I AM WELL!! <33

so it wasn’t going too but now I’m thinking!!! bc how close do I wanna follow fleabag yk?? BUT

YEAH I COULD DO IT BUT IT WOULDNT BE AS SAD

and regulus would not listen, I hate to say it “bane of James’ existence and object of all his desires” to quote bridgerton at you hahaha

but there will definitely be fleabag-esque angst!!

Also I don’t mind you popping in at all !!! esp to talk abt priest!James and/or fleabag :))))) I hope you’re well too 🥰🥰🥰

#asks #mon dieu

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pyladeshungover · 2 months

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intro post

Tara // 29 // Australia

she / her / hers

oops i got into hockey sorry guys

my url is from approximately 2013 when I was a les mis blog, and my pfp is athelstan from vikings in a flower crown because that was cool in 2015. title is from the boat that rocked. I've been here forever.

i'm very not normal about sidney crosby, matthew tkachuk, travis konecny, and nolan patrick

i'm slightly more normal but still unhinged about claude giroux and jamie drysdale

i do occassionally lb the hockey - pens lb, flyers lb, sometimes panthers lb

23/24 stanley cup bracket (hope not belief):

tag lists also i do tend to be pretty good about tagging everything so if you blacklist nothing should slip through

I did not realise you can only access that page on desktop so:

FROM THE SELF my face; sort of - my face and my thoughts university life - university/college experiences adulthood - attempts to function as a successful adult millennials - the Adulthood Experience™ specific to millennials life is hard - depression tag so not straight - i am queer mine - shit i’ve made or drawn tumblr - i’ve been on this godforsaken website since i was 15 and i hate everything about that

RELIGION blessed is he who comes in the name of the lord - christianity jc and the boys - jesus and the apostles jc and the girls - ladies of the disciples upon this rock - history of, stories about, and images of the church do not be afraid - angels your kingdom come - prophets, saints, and the apocalypse the old gods are dead - graeco-roman mythology folklore - local folk and fairy-tales

WORLD AFFAIRS/CULTURE straya - things about Australia auspol - Australian politics uspol - US politics i’m a pathetic history major - general world and cultural history who likes bad jokes - especially awful attempts at humour words - poetry, quotes, literature reclaiming the women - feminist re-tellings of fictional women humanity - the good and incredible things about humans and community (also includes human and alien speculative fiction) christmas - i love christmas covid 19 - self explanatory 2020 - see above 2021 - mamma mia, here we go again 2022 - we’re three years into The Great Loneliness

FANDOM fandom / fanfic

# - 911 A - abfab B - brooklyn 99 / black books / beauty and the beast / birds of prey /buffy C - criminal minds / code black D - dirk gently / doctor who / disney / derry girls E - elementary F - firefly / fresh off the boat / friends / fleabag G - great british bake off / grace and frankie / greys anatomy / galavant / game of thrones / gilmore girls / the great / the good place H - holes / hunt for the wilderpeople / the hobbit / hannibal / hamilton / harry potter I - inside llewyn davis J - jurassic park / jesus christ superstar K - kingsman / killing eve L - lethal weapon / lucifer / lotr / les mis M - moulin rouge / mamma mia / moana / mad max / the man from u.n.c.l.e. / mindhunter / miss fisher’s murder mysteries / the marvelous mrs maisel N - narnia / nhl O - the office / the old guard / oitnb P - pushing daisies / parks and rec / the princess bride / psych / the prince of egypt / the parent trap / pirates of the caribbean / pride / prodigal son / phantom of the opera Q - queer eye S - spn / star wars / scrubs / the song of achilles / schitts creek / santa clarita diet / six the musical T - teen wolf / twilight / to all the boys i’ve loved before / U - umbrella academy V - vikings / venom W - what we do in the shadows / the witcher / wonder woman X - xfiles

HOCKEY nhl hrpf the rituals are intricate (n-h-is-for-for-homosexuality-l) they’re so stupid 🥹 (memes) hockey narratives hockey art hockey poetry hockey vid edit

Players (i’m in the process of switching old tags to initialsjerseynumber and have to wait for my queue to go through before they’re complete) -

include but are not limited to: am34 auston matthews / an39 nedeljkovic / ao8 ovi / bm63 brad marchand / bt7 brady tkachuk / cb98 connor bedard / cg28 giroux / cm97 mcdavid / ek65 erik karlsson / em71 geno / jd9 jamie drysdale / jh86 jack hughes / jj68 jaromir jagr / js1 jeremy swayman / kl58 letang / ld29 leon draisaitl / lh43 luke hughes / maf29 flower / mt19 matthew tkachuk / mm16 mitch marner / nh13 nico hischier / np19 nolpat / qh43 quinn hughes / rg27 ryan graves / sc87 sid /tj35 jarry / tk11 travis konecny / ts91 seguin / ts18 tim stutzle / tz11 trevor zegras / wg99 wayne gretzky

Other player tags - hughes bros / love thy goalie

Ships - tknp / sidgeno / drygras / mattdrai / brioux / mike likes jeff but jeff loves mike / swaymark

Teams - bruins / ducks / flyers / gritty / leafs / oilers / pens / sens / stars / yotes

Liveblogging semiregularly - pens lb

Liveblogging very occassionally - flyers lb / sens lb / panthers lb

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wolfstar-in-color · 3 years

Text

July Colorful Column: Remus is a Crip, and We Can Write Him Better.

There is one thing that can get me to close a fic so voraciously I don’t even make sure I’m not closing other essential tabs in the process. It doesn’t matter how much I’m loving the fic, how well written I think it is, or how desperately I want to know how it ends. Once I read this sentence, I am done.

It’s written in a variety of different ways, but it always goes something like this: “You don’t want me,” Remus said, “I am too sick/broken/poor/old/[insert chosen self-demeaning adjective here].”

You’re familiar with the trope. The trope is canonical. And if you’ve been around the wolfstar fandom for longer than a few minutes, you’ve read the trope. Maybe you love the trope! Maybe you’ve written the trope! Maybe you’re about to stop reading this column, because the trope rings true to you and you feel a little attacked!

Now, let’s get one thing out of the way right now: I am not saying the trope is wrong. I am not saying it’s bad. I am not saying we should stop writing it. We all have things we don’t like to see in our chosen fics. Maybe you can’t stand Leather Jacket Motorbike Sirius? Maybe you think Elbow Patch Remus is overdone? Or maybe your pet peeves are based in something a little deeper - maybe you think Poor Latino Remus is an irresponsible depiction, or that PWPs are too reductive? Whatever it is, we all have our things.

Let me tell you about my thing. When I first became very ill several years ago, there were various low points in which I felt I had become inherently unlovable. This is, more or less, a normal reaction. When your body stops doing things it used to be able to do - or starts doing things you were quite alright without, thank you very much - it changes the way you relate to your body. You don’t want to hear my whole disability history, so yada yada yada, most people eventually come to accept their limitations. It’s a very painful existence, one in which you constantly tell yourself your disability has transformed you into a burdensome, unworthy member of society, and if nothing else, it’s not terribly sustainable. Being disabled takes grit! It takes power! It takes a truly absurd amount of medical self-advocacy! Hating yourself? Thinking yourself unworthy of love? No one has time for that.

Of course, I’m being hyperbolic. Plenty of disabled people struggle with these feelings many years into their disabilities, and never really get over them. But here’s the thing. We experience those stories ALL THE TIME. Remember Rain Man? Or Million Dollar Baby? Or that one with the actress from Game of Thrones and that British actor who seemed like he was going to have a promising career but then didn't? Those are all stories about sad, bitter disabled people and their sad, bitter lives, two out of three of which end in the character completing suicide because they simply couldn’t imagine having to live as a disabled person. (I mean, come on media, I get that we're less likely to enjoy a leisurely Saturday hike, but our parking is SUBLIME.) When was the last time you engaged with media that depicted a happy disabled person? A complex disabled person? A disabled person who has sex? No really, these aren’t hypothetical questions, can you please drop a rec in the notes?? Because I am desperate.

There are lots of problems with this trope, and they’ve been discussed ad nauseam by people with PhDs. I’m not actually interested in talking about how this trope leads to a more prevalent societal idea that disabled people are unworthy of love, or contributes to the kind of political thought processes that keep disabled people purposefully disenfranchised. I’m just a bitch on Tumblr, and I have a bone to pick: the thing I really hate about the trope? It’s boring. I’m bored. You know how, like, halfway through Grey’s Anatomy you realized they were just recycling the same plot points over and over again and there was just no WAY anyone working at a hospital prone to THAT MANY disasters would stay on staff? It's like that. I love a recycled trope as much as the next person (There Was Only One Bed, anyone?). But I need. Something. Else.

Remus is disabled. BOLD claim. WILD speculation. Except, not really. You simply - no matter how you flip it, slice it, puree it, or deconstruct it - cannot tell me Remus Lupin is not disabled. Most of us, by this point, are probably familiar with the way that One Canonical Author intended One Dashing Werewolf to be “a metaphor for those illnesses that carry stigma, like HIV and AIDS” [I’m sorry to link you to an outside source quoting She Who Must Not Be Named, but we’re professionals here]. Which is... a thing. It’s been discussed. And, listen, there’s no denying that this parallel is a problematic interpretation of people who have HIV/AIDS and all such similar “those illnesses” (though I’ll admit that I, too, am perennially apt to turn into a raging beast liable to harm anything that crosses my path, but that’s more linked to the at-least-once-monthly recollection that One Day At A Time got cancelled). Critiques aside, Remus Lupin is a character who - due to a condition that affects him physically, mentally, emotionally, and intellectually - is repeatedly marginalized, oppressed, denied political and social power, and ostracized due to unfounded fear that he is infectious to others. Does that sound familiar?

We’re not going to argue about whether or not “Remus is canonically disabled as fuck” is a fair reading. And the reason we’re not going to argue about whether or not it’s a fair reading is because I haven’t read canon in 10-plus years and you will win the argument. Canon is only marginally relevant here. The icon of this blog is brown, curly haired Remus Lupin kissing his trans boyfriend, Sirius Black. We are obviously not too terribly invested in canon. The wolfstar fandom is now a community with over 25,000 AO3 fics, entire careers launched from drawing or writing or cosplaying this non-canonical pairing. We love to play around here with storylines and universes and races and genders and sexualities and all kinds of things, but most of the time? Remus is still disabled. He’s disabled as a werewolf in canon-compliant works, he’s disabled in the AUs where he was injured or abused or kidnapped or harmed as a child, he’s disabled in the stories that read him as chronically ill or bipolar or traumatized or blind or Deaf. I’d go so far as to say that he is one of very few characters in the Wide Wonderful World of media who is, in as close to his essence as one can be, always disabled. And that means? Don’t shoot the messenger... but we could stand to be a tiny bit more responsible with how we portray him.

Disabled people are complicated. As much as I’d like to pretend we are always level-headed, confident, and ready to assert our inherent worth, we are still just humans. We have bad days. We doubt our worth. We sometimes go out with guys who complain about our steroid-induced weight gain (it was a long time ago, Tumblr, okay??). But, we also have joy and fun and good days and sex and happiness and families and so many other things.

Remus is a disabled character, and as such, it’s only fair that he’d have those unworthy moments. But - I propose - Remus is also a crip. What is a crip? A crip - like a queer - is someone who eschews the limited boundaries placed on their bodies, who rejects a hierarchy of oppression in favor of an intersectional analysis of lived experience, who isn’t interested in being the tragic figure responsible for helping people with dominant identities realize how good they have it. Crips interpret their disabilities however they want, rethinking bodies and medicine and pleasure and pain and even time itself. Crips are political, community-minded, and in search of liberation.

Remus is a character who struggles with his disability, sure. But he’s also a character who leverages his physical condition to attempt to shift communities towards his political leanings, advocates for the rights of those who share his physical condition, and has super hot sex with his wrongfully convicted boyfriend ultimately goes on to build community and family. Having a condition that quite literally cripples you, over which you have no control, and through which you are often read as a social pariah? That’s disability. But using said condition as a means through which to build advocacy and community? Now that’s some crip shit.

Personally, I love disabled!Remus Lupin. But I love crip!Remus Lupin even more. I’d love to see more of a Remus who owns his disability, who covets what makes him unique, and who never ever again tells a potential romantic partner they are too good for him because of his disability. This trope - unlike There Was Only One Bed! - sometimes actually hurts to read. Where’s Remus who thinks a potential romantic partner isn’t good enough for him? Where’s Remus who insists his partners learn more about his condition in order to treat him properly? Where’s sexy wheelchair user Remus? Where’s Remus who uses his werewolf transformations as an excuse to travel the world? Where’s crip Remus??

We don’t have to put “you don’t want me” Remus entirely to bed. It is but one of many repeated tropes that are - in the words of The Hot Priest from Fleabag - morally a bit dubious. And let’s face it - we don’t always come to fandom for its moral superiority (as much as we sometimes like to think we do).

This is not a condemnation - it is an invitation. Able-bodied folks are all but an injury, illness, or couple decades away from being disabled. And when you get here, I sincerely hope you don’t waste your time on “you don’t want me”ing back and forth with the people you love. I’m inviting you to come to the crip side now. We have snacks, and without all the “you don’t want me” talk, we get to the juicy parts much faster.

Colorfully,

Mod Theo

#wolfstar #disability in fandom #disabled remus #crip remus #please write me some crip remus #I beg of you #fandom meta

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firstfullmoon · 4 years

Note

sorry if this has been asked before, but what are your favorite quotes about (romantic) love?

• “I love you. I want us both to eat well.”

— Christopher Citro, from “Our Beautiful Life When It’s Filled with Shriek”

• “You kiss the back of my legs and I want to cry. Only the sun has come this close, only the sun.”

— Shauna Barbosa, from “GPS”

• “August. We were arguing. You want love to be like this every day don’t you? 92 degrees even in the shade.”

“I used to be a hopeless romantic. I am still a hopeless romantic. I used to believe that love was the highest value. I still believe that love is the highest value. I don’t expect to be happy. I don’t imagine that I will find love, whatever that means, or that if I do find it, it will make me happy. I don’t think of love as the answer or the solution. I think of love as a force of nature - as strong as the sun, as necessary, as impersonal, as gigantic, as impossible, as scorching as it is warming, as drought-making as it is life-giving. And when it burns out, the planet dies.”

“If love is going to be done differently I will have to do it. I don’t mean as a messiah-thing, I mean as a me-thing. I want to look into your eyes and not get blown up. I want you to see me as I am and not destroy me. I don’t want to retreat into plant life, or have the same bad dream every night. I don’t want to watch a city burn because I was there.”

— Jeanette Winterson

• “I’ll take care of you. / It’s rotten work. / Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

— from Anne Carson’s translation of Orestes

• “I think of you all the time and therefore have little to say that would not embarrass you, for instance my first feeling about the rain was that it was like you.”

— John Cage, from a letter to Merce Cunningham

• “I want you to know, if you ever read this, there was a time when I would rather have had you by my side than any one of these words; I would rather have had you by my side than all the blue in the world.”

— Maggie Nelson, Bluets

• “I want to be a village full of sweethearts, / as you are, every second of the day, / cooking me soups & drawing me pictures / & holding me, my inexplicable & elephant sadness, / with your infinite arms. / But isn’t it true, you are not / always why I am happy. & I promise / it is true, you are almost never why, / why I am sad.”

— Chen Chen, from “Elegy for My Sadness”

• “Look here Vita—throw over your man, and we’ll go to Hampton Court and dine on the river together and walk in the garden in the moonlight and come home late and have a bottle of wine and get tipsy, and I’ll tell you all the things I have in my head, millions, myriads — They won’t stir by day, only by dark on the river. Think of that. Throw over your man, I say, and come.”

“I always have such need to merely talk to you. Even when I have nothing to talk about – with you I just seem to go right ahead and sort of invent it. I invent it for you. Because I never seem to run out of tenderness for you and because I need to feel you near.”

“I could only think of you as being very distant and beautiful and calm. A lighthouse in clean waters.”

“What can one say — except that I love you and I’ve got to live through this strange quiet evening thinking of you sitting alone. Dearest — let me have a line… You have given me such happiness…”

— Virginia Woolf, from letters to Vita Sackville-West

• “I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia. I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone. I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way. I can’t be clever and stand-offish with you: I love you too much for that. Too truly. You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defences. And I don’t really resent it.”

“Please, in all this muddle of life, continue to be a bright and constant star. Just a few things remain as beacons: poetry, and you, and solitude.”

— Vita Sackville-West, from letters to Virginia Woolf

• “Love is awful. It’s awful. It’s painful. It’s frightening. It makes you doubt yourself, judge yourself, distance yourself from the other people in your life. It makes you selfish. It makes you creepy, makes you obsessed with your hair, makes you cruel, makes you say and do things you never thought you would do. It’s all any of us want, and it’s hell when we get there. So no wonder it’s something we don’t want to do on our own. I was taught if we’re born with love then life is about choosing the right place to put it. People talk about that a lot, feeling right, when it feels right it’s easy. But I’m not sure that’s true. It takes strength to know what’s right. And love isn’t something that weak people do. Being a romantic takes a hell of a lot of hope. I think what they mean is, when you find somebody that you love, it feels like hope.“

— Phoebe Waller-Bridge, in Fleabag

• “i carry your heart with me(i carry it inmy heart)”

— e.e. cummings, from “[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]”

• “There was once a very great American surgeon named Halsted. He was married to a nurse. He loved her-immeasurably. One day Halsted noticed that his wife’s hands were chapped and red when she came back from surgery. And so he invented rubber gloves. For her. It is one of the great love stories in medicine. The difference between inspired medicine and uninspired medicine is love. When I met Ana I knew: I loved her to the point of invention.”

— Sarah Ruhl, The Clean House

• “oh god it’s wonderful / to get out of bed / and drink too much coffee / and smoke too many cigarettes / and love you so much”

— Frank O’Hara, from “Steps”

• “This morning there’s snow everywhere. We remark on it. You tell me you didn’t sleep well. I say I didn’t either. You had a terrible night. “Me too.” We’re extraordinarily calm and tender with each other as if sensing the other’s rickety state of mind. As if we knew what the other was feeling. We don’t, of course. We never do. No matter. It’s the tenderness I care about. That’s the gift this morning that moves and holds me. Same as every morning.”

— Raymond Carver, from “The Gift”

• “Well Marianne, it’s come to this time when we are really so old and our bodies are falling apart and I think I will follow you very soon. Know that I am so close behind you that if you stretch out your hand, I think you can reach mine.”

— Leonard Cohen, in a letter to Marianna Ihlen

• “I think about love on a scale from 1 to 10. Most of us find a 6 or a 7, and that’s why we have divorce. It’s the truth. We settle for that 6 or 7. But I like to think Kevin is Chiron’s 10. He’s found that and he realizes that there’s no reason to settle for a 6 or a 7 because, “I know this person is my 10. Whether or not this person believes I’m his 10, I’m going to devote my life to this person entirely.” That’s why the line where he says, “You’re the only man that’s ever touched me,” for me, was the most amazing, most beautiful thing I’ve seen in cinema, period. Because that’s what we strive for as people, to find that one person because they’re there. If Kevin doesn’t feel that they should be together, Chiron is just going to die a miserable person because that’s his person and he won’t settle for anything else.“

— Trevante Rhodes about Moonlight

• “I look at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world”

— Frank O’Hara, from “Having a Coke with You” but the whole poem is !

• “The door slammed and someone came home and low voices could be heard, the single lilt of a question as it rose, “How was it?” or “Are you hungry?” Something plain and necessary, yet extra, with care, a voice like those tiny roofs over the phone booths along the train tracks, the ones made from the same shingles used for houses, except only four rows wide—just enough to keep the phone dry. And maybe that’s all I wanted—to be asked a question and have it cover me, like a roof the width of myself.”

— Ocean Vuong, from On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous

• “I keep wishing for you, keep shutting up my eyes and looking toward the sky, asking with all my might for you, and yet you do not come. I thought of you, until the world grew rounder than it sometimes is, and I broke several dishes.”

— Emily Dickinson, in a letter to Minnie Holland

• “I don’t want you to be nervous. Maybe thinking of a walrus would help. Have you seen the video of the penguin accidentally stepping on a sleeping walrus? It thought it was a rock. The walrus wakes up like what the fuck and the penguin scurries off like oh shit. Sometimes it’s funny watching a surprise happen, and not just funny but kind of amazing — like, you never really know what’s what when it comes to this planet.

Then again, when it’s you getting surprised, that’s different. Especially for tender ones like us. What are we supposed to do? It’s bad for our hearts, you know. I hope you won’t need pills like I do. I think I get so scared because I’m greedy — I want to hold onto everything, the world wants to take it away. What the fuck. The number of hours we have together is actually not so large. Please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of just leaving. Please forget your scarf in my life and come back later for it.”

— Mikko Harvey, “For M”

• “Willem sleeps on the left side of the bed, and he on the right, and the first night they slept in the same bed, he turned to his right on his side, the way he always did, and Willem pressed up against him, tucking his right arm under his neck and then across his shoulders, and his left arm around his stomach, moving his legs between his legs. He was surprised by this, but once he overcame his initial discomfort, he found he liked it, that it was like being swaddled. One night in June, however, Willem didn’t do it, and he worried he had done something wrong. The next morning–early mornings were the other time they talked about the things that seemed too tender, too difficult, to be said in the daylight–he asked Willem if he was upset with him, and Willem, looking surprised, said no, of course not. “I just wondered,” he began, stammering, “because last night you didn’t–” But he couldn’t finish the sentence; he was too embarrassed. But then he could see Willem’s expression clear, and he rolled into him and wrapped his arms around him. “This?” he asked, and he nodded. “It was just because it was so hot last night, Willem said, and he waited for Willem to laugh at him, but he didn’t. “That’s the only reason, Judy.” Since then, Willem has held him in the same way every night, even through July, when not even the air-conditioning could erase the heaviness from the air, and when they both woke damp with sweat. This, he realizes, is what he wanted from a relationship all along. This is what he meant when he hoped he might someday be touched.”

— Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life

• “No, I didn’t imagine my being alone with you the way you do. If I want the impossible, I want it in its entirety. Entirely alone, dearest, I wanted us to be entirely alone on this earth, entirely alone under the sky, and to lead my life, my life that is yours, without distraction and with complete concentration, in you.”

— Franz Kafka, from a letter to Felice Bauer

• “If I could attach our blood vessels so we could become each other I would. If I could attach our blood vessels in order to anchor you to the earth, to this present time, I would. If I could open up your body and slip inside your skin and look out your eyes and forever have my lips fused with yours, I would.”

— David Wojnarowicz, The Half-Life

• “I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell, I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”

— Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

• “If Moses had seen the way my friend’s face blushes when he’s drunk, and his beautiful curls and wonderful hands, he would not have written in his Torah: do not lie with a man”

— Rabbi Yehuda Al-Harizi/Judah Ben Solomon Harizi

• “I’ll rob the bank that gave you the impression that money is more fruitful than words, and I’ll cut holes in the ozone if it means you have one less day of rain. I’ll walk you to the hospital, I’ll wait in a white room that reeks of hand sanitizer and latex for the results from the MRI scan that tries to locate the malady that keeps your mind guessing, and I want to write you a poem every day until my hand breaks and assure you that you’ll find your place, it’s just the world has a funny way of hiding spots fertile enough for bodies like yours to grow roots. I hope our ghosts aren’t eating you alive. If i’m to speak for myself, I’ll tell you that the universe is twice as big as we think it is and you’re the only one that made that idea less devastating.”

— Lucas Regazzi, from “Small”

• “I thought she was sleeping until I heard her call out from across the room, “Will you bring me a glass of water?” I did. Then in her always-sleepy tone and drawl she said, “Do you remember when you were a little girl and you would ask your mama to bring you a glass of water?” Yeah. “You know how half the time you weren’t even thirsty. You just wanted that hand that was attached to that glass that was attached to that person you just wanted to stay there until you fell asleep.” She took the glass of water that I brought her and just sat it down full on the table next to her. Wow, I thought. What am I gonna do with love like this.”

— Dito Montiel, One Night

#this is the best ask i've ever received actually thank you so much #w #compilation #the earth was made for lovers #shauna barbosa #jeanette winterson #madeline miller #franz kafka #hanya yanagihara #emily dickinson #ocean vuong #maggie nelson #chen chen #virginia woolf #vita sackville west #david wojnarowicz #frank o’hara

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secondhand-trash · 4 years

Text

❝Is it ‘running through the airport’ kind of love?❞

❝The only person I’d run through an airport for is you.❞

Season 2 ep 6, Fleabag

A/N: I’m not sure if I made it obvious enough by the many Fleabag quotes on the list and the many times I tried to not-so-subtly shove Fleabag references into my past writings, but I love Fleabag. I think it’s such a brilliant show and I wish I can see it for the first time again just to feel the impact.

(Update from 2021: this is scheduled to be rewritten because I think there’s so much missed potential in this one)

There was nothing you could think of that was possibly worse than sitting next to your ex in a wedding.

Your back was stiff, your hands placed soundly in your lap as you tried to make sure you took up as little as space as possible so there was no way, literally no way you would need to talk to the man next to you at all.

Perhaps it was bit of a petty thought, but you hope that Oikawa was feeling just as but preferably more uncomfortable than you were. Even though, knowing him, he probably wouldn’t.

Don’t talk to me... don’t talk to me...

“So... how have you been?”

Ah fuck.

You tried to not make your exasperation too obvious as you turned to his side slightly, putting on a smile that was friendly enough to be polite but also enough distant for him to know that you were not particularly thrilled for this conversation.

It wasn’t that you two ended on bad terms, but the way you slowly drifted apart was nowhere near satisfactory either.

“Good,” you said, “you?”

His throat tightened at your clear disinterested. The more logical thing he should have done when he walked through the door and saw you at the end of the row all by yourself was to sit at the other end of the room, one that made sure you two would not be in each other’s view until the whole ceremony was over. But it had been so long, and his legs were moving before his mind could stop him until he was standing right next to you.

“Pretty much the same thing,” he replied, trying his best to keep the conversation going, “are you here with anyone?”

“No,” you weren’t sure why you were telling him all this, but there had always been something about Oikawa that made you say things and only regret it later, “don’t really have anyone I can bring to an old classmate’s wedding, let’s be real.”

“Oh?” his voice slightly sharpened, tilting his head in both interest and in shock, “really?”

You shrugged, “Just ended things with someone and now I can’t bother to get myself out there again.”

He paused as if he was lost of words for a rare moment. He opened his mouth for a brief second only to close it again, finger tapping against his thigh. You knew what he was hesitating to say, and you sighed before giving him the ease of not having to ask at all.

“He is leaving the country,” you looked up as you bite your lips, curving into a bitter smile. The reason was all too familiar for this to not be ironic and you didn’t know if laughing was an appropriate response, “I love him but I just don’t want to handle the distance.”

You were not too heartbroken by it. You liked him enough, but it was nothing earth-shattering to the point you could not live without the man. It was just tiring, that was all.

“Is it ‘running through the airport’ kind of love?”

He said that with the expectation to see some sort of wavering in your stillness, to see some sort of sign that whatever feeling it was, you still felt something for him. He wouldn’t even mind if you had glared at him, or be pissed that he brought it up. He was shocked when he saw you smile.

You ran through an airport for the man who was now sitting next to you and even though it was an utterly stupid decision on your part, the reminiscence of your naïve romance brought a bitter-sweet sore to your chest. It was when he was about to leave the country to go to the other end of the globe, and you had ran through the airport to crash into him. It was quite the storm among your high school circle, your graduating class’ favourite story to recall even years later.

You remembered the way his arms felt around your shoulders, the way his voice almost cracked as he said to you-

Wait, what did he say?

You were almost shocked that the entire incident was a blur in your head when you had always regarded it as the singular memory that represented the ending of your high school life.

You only remembered that it seemed right at the time. You were young, reckless and head-over-heels in love. What most people left out when they brought up it up over a gathering in remembrance of your days of no regrets was the fact that even though it felt like the dramatic climax to a romance film, life was not scripted.

People did not want to know how the protagonist spent weeks and weeks staying up every night just to say good morning to the love interest who was miles away. No one would want their fantasies to be broken as main character spent nights crying themselves to sleep when all they want was for someone to be there for them but they didn’t even have the heart to blame anyone for their solitude. They especially had no interest in the way he brushed off each missed phone call with a hasty explanation that he was busy with his work.

It was better to leave the story as it was than to know all the ways passion could run dry when you eventually had to be faced with the harsh reality that one day you would not be young, and one day you would be tired of waiting.

It was much easier to run through an airport than waiting by the phone for days on end.

You were quiet until you slowly parted your lips.

“The only person I’d run through an airport for is you.”

His eyes widened, “What-”

“Dearly beloved...”

“It’s starting.”

You did not talk again for the rest of the ceremony and perhaps it was the doing of your own oversensitivity, but you had a feeling that you could feel his eyes on you occasionally throughout the bit of time he had next to you.

“Are you going anywhere later?” You turned back as you were about to leave. Oikawa was standing by the wall, his hands shoved in the pocket of his well-ironed dress pants.

“No?”

“Want to get a drink?”

You should say no, you really should say no...

But as if it was the last bit of recklessness left in your bones, you weren’t sure if you want to.

“Sure.”

Another A/N: aye I feel like this is kinda messy and nowhere near my best work but i just really want to make a try to see if I can use that quote in some way that is different to how it worked in its original text so💀sorry ms waller-bridge

(more lines I like from things I like as prompts for people I like)

#oikawa x reader #oikawa imagine #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader

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dynamics-of-an-asteroid · 3 years

Note

Dont suppose you have a copy of the interview you could share?

For you, dear anon~

His Dark Materials: Andrew Scott on life after Fleabag and Sherlock

We’ve loved him as both Fleabag’s Hot Priest and Sherlock’s menacing Moriarty. Now, he’s back on our screens in the new series of His Dark Materials. Polly Vernon talks to our TV crush

Andrew Scott is mortified. The actor – formerly Moriarty to Benedict Cumberbatch’s Sherlock, then the Hot Priest of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag, imminently Colonel John Parry in the BBC’s adaptation of Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials – arrives at the photographic studio, bang on the appointed hour, in a fawn cashmere cardigan with a fine gold chain around his neck, bemoaning “this terrible, terrible eye infection, which is making me so self-conscious. I’m so sorry. It isn’t that you’ve massively upset me before we’ve even started. It’s so annoying. But anyway…”

Scott, 44, is small, vivid, wiry and garrulously Irish, with a face that is not handsome so much as mesmerising, intense, sharply boned, symmetrical, startlingly expressive. Sequences of emotions so subtle and complicated that I can’t begin to identify or keep up with them ruffle his brow from moment to moment. And, yup, the whole thing is rather disrupted by his left eye. This is no light kiss of conjunctivitis. It’s a swollen, red, perma-weeping situation that engulfs the whole socket. Scott turns his face two thirds on to me, so the infection is largely hidden, which would probably help if we weren’t sitting in a brightly lit hair and make-up room with a massive, inescapable mirror fixed to one wall. “Oh God,” Scott says every time he catches sight of his reflection.

Stress?

“Let’s be honest,” he says. “Let’s not skirt around the issue. It’s being overworked and…” Scott’s eye begins weeping. “Oh my goodness. I am so sorry. Really, really very sorry.”

Wanna wear my sunglasses, I ask, holding them out to him.

“That would be a bit more weird, wouldn’t it? I actually did think about that in the taxi, but I thought that would be some sort of weird and screwed Invisible Man-type thing. I mean, it couldn’t be worse. And then we have to go and get our photograph taken. It’ll be one of those pictures where, you know, those creepy pictures… Of people crying?”

That’s what Photoshop’s for, I say.

“Anyway. Let’s just ignore it.”

I wonder if it’s particularly hard to walk around with an eye infection at a point in time where you’re not merely famous, as Scott is – a star of stage, screen and Bond film, winner of multiple awards, including, as of barely two weeks ago, a Best Actor Olivier for Present Laughter at the Old Vic – but specifically famous for being sexy.

In 2019, Andrew Scott became synonymous with, well, sex. While playing a character technically known as the Priest, whom the general public instantly renamed the Hot Priest, the spiritual support turned transgressive love interest of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s supremely popular Fleabag, Scott became a cypher for the nation’s more exotic desires. A deliciously contentious pin-up. Ground zero on an earnest social media debate about whether the Priest’s relationship with Fleabag should be considered abusive, power imbalanced, “problematic”. And that was just for starters.

The Priest’s sexual iconography extended far beyond the limits of the show, becoming the subject of internet memes and real-life merchandise (visit online retailer Etsy for your £12 Hot Priest mug emblazoned with an illustration of Scott in priest’s robes, alongside the word “kneel”, a reference to a pivotal moment between the show’s lead characters, which takes place in a confession box, the climax of which, assuming you haven’t already seen it, you could probably take a stab at). There was an unprecedented upsurge in young worshippers, and women started bombarding social media “influencer” the Rev Chris Lee of west London with nude photographs. There was much foetid fan fiction.

To be publicly defined by so much sex, as Scott still is, a year and a half after Fleabag concluded, and then to be encumbered by something as visibly unsexy as an eye infection, I can see how that might make a chap self-conscious.

Scott isn’t here to rake up all that old Hot Priest stuff, mind. He’s here to talk about the second series of His Dark Materials, a lush, expensive fantasy drama based on the Philip Pullman books, jewel in the crown of the BBC’s autumn schedule. The series was filmed through 2019 and the beginning of 2020 and had all but wrapped before lockdown. Good timing, as it turned out, because the extensive post-production processes, unlike shooting, could be completed in isolation.

Scott’s Colonel John Parry is an explorer, the missing father of the central character, 14-year-old Will Parry. He’s a man who slipped into a parallel universe some years earlier, acquired a “daemon” – an exterior animal-formed expression of his soul, a female osprey called Sayan Kötör, voiced with public-pleasing symmetry by Phoebe Waller-Bridge – and never found a way back to “our” world and his son. I speak as a fan of the books, which you might describe as a darker, existential response to Harry Potter, although honestly? They’re better than that. The show is great, a deft, rewarding interpretation, and Scott is an exciting prospect as Parry.

Did he jump at the part?

“I did, actually. It was definitely something I was into. We were doing a play and it seemed like a fun thing to do.” Scott is one of those who slips into the third person when speaking about himself in a professional capacity.

Had he read the books?

“Yeah,” he says. “I think they’re extraordinary. The truth, but told on a slant. I love the way Pullman tells children about spirituality or religion in such an extraordinary, intelligent way. He doesn’t speak down to them. He talks to children’s souls.”

Given that Pullman effectively kills off God through the course of the books and Scott’s a lapsed Irish Catholic who has suffered his share of shame on account of the church’s grip on his homeland (more on which shortly), I’d imagine Pullman’s books talked to Scott’s adult soul too.

Presumably, he didn’t have to audition. Presumably, he never has to. Too famous for auditions?

“No,” he says. “Although I’ve always thought auditioning is a pretty good thing to do.”

Why?

“Because you’re able to understand, ‘Oh, this is the vibe here.’ You think, when you’re an actor, you don’t have much choice, but I’ve always felt like auditioning is a good opportunity for you to go, ‘Oh well, I don’t much like you either. I think you’re dreadful!’ ”

I don’t care that you didn’t give me that part?

“Yeah.” Scott becomes playfully, theatrically defiant. “I don’t care!” He flicks aside an imaginary rejection with a churlish hand.

Will John Parry and His Dark Materials be enough to eliminate all residual overtones of Hot Priest sexiness from Scott? Maybe. He is a fine actor, no question, entirely transformed from role to role. I saw him play Paul, a narcissistic, fame-addled touring rock star, at the Royal Court in 2014 in Simon Stephens’ Birdland, back when his deeply sinister Moriarty weighed almost as heavily on Scott’s reputation as the Hot Priest does now. I’d watched him become someone else entirely on stage. “Oh, you saw that?” Scott says, pleased.

I quote, “Am I cancer?” at him, his defining line from the play, as evidence.

“Oh Jesus. Oh f***ing hell. Oh my. I’d forgotten that line. ‘Am I cancer?’ ”

The Hot Priest association hasn’t left him yet, which is why I find myself asking what it’s like to be the very definition of sexiness.

“You get invited to more parties.”

Better parties?

“Yeah.”

Better than during his Moriarty phase?

“Definitely.”

It must be fun to find yourself le dernier cri in sexy, according to the whole nation.

“Yeah, that’s fun,” he says. “I didn’t really like being associated with scary. It’s not what I’m interested in being, in life, being intimidating to people. It’s not part of my nature, whereas being sexy to people…”

That is part of his nature?

“Well, they’re very different things.”

They’re both about having power over people.

“I suppose they are, yes.”

So did Scott, bored of scaring people, say to Phoebe Waller-Bridge, writer and star of Fleabag and a long-term friend (they met in 2009 while starring in Roaring Trade at the Soho Theatre), “Write a role for me that will make everyone think I’m just really, really sexy now”?

“That’s such a good belt. Are they two ‘Gs’?”

“Exactly.”

——————————

Andrew Scott is not the easiest interview. He’s utterly charming. Really, just a delight. In between prostrating himself for the offence of his eye and apologising for not turning up the first time we were scheduled to meet (ten days earlier; a delayed Covid test result meant he couldn’t make it), he ensures I have a good time in his company. He is playful. He makes me laugh. His every utterance is delivered as a grand performance. (“Shhhh! Just… Shhhh!” he implores, placing a finger against his lips while expressing frustrations over the mindless jabber of social media, and he does it so powerfully, he compels me to be quiet, breathlessly to await delivery of his next line.) He finds elegant ways to flatter me. He laughs at my jokes and is terribly taken with my belt.

Yeah. For Gucci.

“Oh. Ha ha! I thought it was the Golden Globes. I love the Golden Globes. Ha ha!”

And of course, he’s Irish. Clichédly, melodiously Irish, which makes everything sound softer and jollier than it might otherwise.

As for the actual business of being interviewed, of answering straight questions with straight answers, finishing off sentences, offering more than a slip-slide of vagaries punctuated by vigorous hand gestures, none of which translates into print? He’d rather not.

He tells me, as he’s told other journalists before, this is because he’s interested in navigating the line between “privacy and secrecy”, then says he’s aware he’s sometimes “got away with secrecy under the guise and respectability of privacy”, as if signalling potential incoming slipperiness, which means I prepare to throw every trick in the book at him.

First up: amateur psychology.

Might Andrew Scott’s gayness be at the heart of his reluctance to speak more freely? Perhaps. This is no scoop. He’s been out for almost as long as he’s been famous. “I mean, as a civilian, I was quite young [when I came out], you know? But then, as a celebrity…”

He tails off, allows me to fill in the blanks. This is another of his evasion tactics. I can’t very well quote Scott on the presumptions I make about things he never quite says.

He had to have another coming out?

“Yes. And I have another one coming up.”

He has another coming out coming up?

“Yeah.”

So that will be, what? Tier 3 gayness?

“Tier 3, yeah.”

Scott grew up in Ireland at a time when it wasn’t legal to be gay, which could certainly seed an enduring reluctance towards carefree openness in a person. He invokes the concept of shame more regularly than the average interviewee. He was born in Dublin in 1976 to Nora, an art teacher, and Jim, who worked at an employment agency. He has one older sister, Sarah, and a younger one, Hannah.

He was shy, so started attending a children’s drama course.

Did that help?

“Yeah. Acting to me is not pretending to be someone else. It’s more like, this is who I actually am. The lie that tells the truth,” he says. I am none the wiser. He was clearly talented. He went from adverts to his first starring role in a film aged 17 (Korea, directed by Cathal Black), won a bursary to art school but took a place at Trinity College Dublin to study drama instead, and ditched that six months in to join Dublin’s Abbey Theatre. He’s been gainfully employed in the field ever since.

How Catholic was his upbringing?

“Well, there were Catholic priests in my life,” he says. “None of whom I wanted to have sex with.”

Does it amuse Scott to know he inspired a mass fetishising of priestly ranks? That in 2019, the Hot Priest would make, “Can you have sex with a Catholic priest?” one of the most googled terms of the year?

“Absolutely f***ing mental,” he says.

Homosexuality wasn’t legalised in Ireland until 1993, when Scott was 16.

“I always think, if I’d had a boyfriend then, which I definitely did not…”

No?

“No.”

He knew he was gay, though?

“No. No, no, no, no!”

Was he suppressing it or not thinking about it?

“I would say suppressing. Definitely suppressing. I don’t believe people just don’t think about it.”

An upbeat, cheesy jazz remix of something or other starts playing outside the room.

“Oooh, this is the soundtrack for this bit of the interview,” says Scott. He wiggles his shoulders to the music.

I switch to strict dominatrix interviewer mode. Focus, I say. You were about to tell me something good.

“Oh, shit, was I? OK. I think what’s really insidious is that people don’t ask you about sex or… People wouldn’t say, ‘Are you gay or are you [straight]?’ And the lack of directness is very damaging. They just didn’t go there.”

Does he think his family, friends, the people closest to him knew then that he was gay?

“No,” he says. “I don’t think they did know. Or maybe they have a suspicion, but they think, I want to be respectful, so I’m not going to ask about that. Then [when you do come out], people say, ‘Oh, I’m glad.’ You know? If you do talk about it. So I suppose what I feel now is, talking about sex or sexuality is important. Really important.”

Having said that, “There’s still getting rid of the shame. In a situation like this, 10 or 15 years ago, I would have been…” He fakes shock, horror. “Oh no! Polly’s just asked me about [he switches to a whisper] that.”

Scott will talk about his sex life only notionally. No specifics. For 15 years, between 2001 and 2016, he was in a relationship with the actor turned screenwriter Stephen Beresford (Scott starred in Beresford’s 2014 film Pride). Ever since, he’s refused to answer questions about his romantic life.

And he’s not going to talk about it now, I presume.

“No.”

What if we talk about it opaquely?

“OK.”

Where does he see himself, domestically, in an ideal world? Married with kids whom he’ll, I dunno, adopt or have via surrogacy?

“I like it. It’s bold. Am I going to adopt or…?”

Get a surrogate?

“I definitely think that’s something I would be open to.”

Great, I say, with blatant sarcasm. Thanks. How specific.

“Ha! I’m sorry. OK. Have I got any children at the moment? No. How can I… [explain]? OK. I was with a friend of mine in Dublin…”

His partner?

“No, no, no. Not my partner. Ah ha. I see what you were…”

Teasing. Yes.

“Ha! Yes. So, I was with a friend in Dublin and we were walking around and he was looking at apartments and I was like, ‘What about this place here?’ You know? And he said, ‘No,’ and I said, ‘Why not?’ and he said, ‘I don’t live a heteronormative life, so I don’t want a heteronormative house.’ ”

What’s a heteronormative house?

“Two up, two down thing. He goes, ‘I can live in a loft or a weird space. I don’t need those things.’ He was so proud of it. He really owned it. I think where a lot of one’s pain comes from is when you go, ‘I should want that.’ And so, to answer your question opaquely, I have kids I adore. I love children, genuinely, and I had a very happy childhood. But I also feel, if I don’t have kids, that’s all right. I think I would’ve attached a lot of shame beforehand, with not living a particularly heteronormative life… Even with being gay, there’s a sort of way of being gay that’s acceptable. And I don’t feel that any more.”

He feels you can be unacceptably gay?

“Exactly. Exactly!”

I ask when shame shifted for him and Scott says it was when Ireland voted overwhelmingly in favour of same-sex marriage in the 2015 referendum, which felt, he says, “like acceptance, genuinely. And I remember going out to this gay bar in Dublin and this girl came up to me, this cool Dublin girl, and she said, ‘What are you doing here? You need to go down to, I don’t know, blah, blah, this bar in some park.’ She was saying, ‘This isn’t the right gay bar for you. This is some shit gig,’ when the fact I’m in a gay bar in Ireland [at all] is a miracle to me, and then some person with a half-shaved head is telling me, ‘No, you need to go somewhere cooler.’ ”

His left eye starts weeping again.

“I’m so happy about that,” he says. “Even though I’m crying.”

I ask Scott if he has a game plan when picking roles, if he plots his course from Sherlock villain to Bond quasi-villain (he played Max Denbigh in Spectre) to sex icon, and, if so, what next? “No. Jesus, no,” he says.

We talk about the totalitarianism of social media, which he isn’t on, and share a mutual despair over it. “I thought it was something one would associate with the right, but actually, now it’s [the left] that is very ‘you’re this’ or ‘you’re that’. I find that quite frightening. It actually makes me feel ferocious.”

Is he not worried about being cancelled, of somehow saying the “wrong” thing, according to Twitter sensitivities, then having a thousand voices mobilised against him, demanding his firing, in the style of JK Rowling?

“I’m not,” he says. “I refuse to be. A very intelligent person I was talking to recently was writing a book and he said, ‘I’m going to get a sensitivity expert to have a look. I don’t want to get cancelled.’ I found that frightening.”

Is he rich? “Rich is the absence of worry about money,” he says. He can’t remember the last time he worried about money.

That must be nice.

“Of course it f***ing is. I think it’s a miracle. I really do. I was working in a French theatre in London for nothing – none of us was working for anything – and I remember the artistic director of the theatre talking about the fact we weren’t earning any money as some sort of virtue. I remember feeling really annoyed about that, like this isn’t good.”

This leads to an inevitable conversation about how the arts are suffering with Covid, including a segue down the Fatima route, the much shared government advert that depicted a young ballerina and suggested she retrain in something called cyber. “Her name’s not even Fatima,” Scott rails. “I think she’s called Desire’e. From New York.”

I mean to ask him about his experience of filming The Pursuit of Love with Lily James and Dominic West, stars of their own recent off-screen micro-scandal in Rome, just in case he lets any scurrilous insight slip, but our time’s up and it’s not as if Scott has much form on offering up scurrilous insight anyway.

Still, I feel grateful to him for meeting me halfway on the other stuff. And so I say goodbye to Andrew Scott, the UK’s foremost gay heterosexual lapsed Catholic faux-priest lust icon with a troublesome eye infection.

#''Tier 3 gayness'' is peak comedy #I'm not sure if I should put this in the tag but y'all can reblog if you need it on yours #long post #andrew scott

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mortuarybees · 5 years

Note

mr. Bees i sprained my ankle and am bedridden until further notice, please rec me ur fav fics under 8k (that adhd attention span is fun)

I’m so sorry to hear about your ankle!! I’d be happy to rec some fics. i’m only tagging authors if they have their urls listed with the fic! if you want me to add your url, just lmk :). also if my mutuals have posted fics feel free to put them in the replies bc yall have Taste:

salinity and other measurements of brackish water by drawlight / @drawlight - 3.5k - if you haven’t read salinity yet, drop absolutely everything and do it right now because it’s phenomenal and atmospheric and it absolutely aches!!! “It's an odd thing, getting on after the End of the World. Crowley takes to sea-watching.”

quiet light and ad astra (explicit) by drawlight @drawlight - the first clocks in at around 2k and the second at 8k. it’s the shortest and most effective slowburn i have ever read. quiet light is unconfessed love; ad astra is a love confession and first time and they’re beautiful

everything just stops by witching - 4.5k - idk how long you’ve been following me but when i first read it i FULLY had a meltdown and took all of you with me. it’s that “i love you deep, angel” shit “I love your silly aziraphale things” shit! they have the tenderest fucking conversation in literary history while crowley is drunk in a bath it’s wonderful

a culmination of miracles by prettydizzeed / @genderqueercrowley - 1.3k - an absolutely beautifully written fic about crowley having chronic pain and informing aziraphale about it six thousand years later

i keep a window for you (it’s always open) by prettydizzeed / @genderqueercrowley - 2.4k - a complete fkcing war crime of a fic of crowley getting emotional about romeo and juliet and continuing to be emotional about it for centuries and then, even worse, quoting r+j in a love confession.

such surpassing brightness by handful_of_silence - 7.7k - one of my favorite fics of all time! aziraphale is the patron of queer people and has been for thousands of years! fuck!

it’s the light (it’s the obstacle that casts it) by handful_of_silence - 5.7k - “The Patron Saint of London's LGBT Community is real, and he lives in Soho.” aziraphale and crowley speak polari. literally so up my alley i melted when i saw it

your hair was long when we first met by aziraphvle / @aziraphvle - 1.4k - crowley asks aziraphale to cut his hair and we are taken on a thousand-word journey about how aziraphale loves his hair and loves him and it’s. a whole lot. bringing samson by regina spektor into it was entirely uncalled for. again i am Weak for aziraphale loving and caring for crowley.

and then i will kneel down (explicit) - 5.4k - f. fleabag omens. it’s the confession scene but it’s aziraphale and crowley. it is More than you could ever possibly imagine

hard feelings/loveless by witching - 2.3k - "Aziraphale said it was like the opposite of the feeling you’re having when you say things like “this feels spooky.” Crowley didn’t know what to make of that, but he expected it was something like the opposite of the feeling you get when the only person who truly knows you makes a cryptic remark suggesting that you can’t understand love. Crowley understood love all too well.”

the saddest part of my day by witching - 3k - "crowley is preparing to leave on a demonic assignment, and he's very nervous about leaving aziraphale in charge in his absence.” they have a very open and honest and loving and very adult conversation about their feelings and tbh? That’s My Kink

summer and his pleasures by witching (explicit) - 7.2k - “absence makes the heart grow fonder, and crowley and aziraphale’s hearts were plenty fond to begin with. a story told through phone calls while they are separated for work-related reasons.”

penance by blissymbolics / @blissymbolics (explicit) - 5.9k - praise kink/crowley finally gets off after six thousand years of trying

like a prayer for which no words exist by lipsstainedbloodred - 8.1k - “In which Crowley and Aziraphale do not dine at the Ritz after that nasty business with Heaven and Hell, and Crowley has an existential crisis instead.”

men have gone to heaven for smaller things than that by mercuryhatter - 713 words - Robbie Ross’ funeral. “Aziraphale finds an age slipping away from him.”

where you stay i will stay by mercuryhatter - 866 words - men at the Hundred Guineas Club went by women’s names. aziraphale chose naomi and paid to keep the name ruth available in case crowley woke up. aaaaa

the hour/the spot/the look/the words by planethunter - 2.5k - “Crowley watches Pride and Prejudice (2005) and it spurs a realisation.” you can imagine what a trial it is to read p+p 2005 being brought into good omens but life is nothing but suffering apparently, i’ve learned that this summer through this fandom

and the punchline to the joke is asking SOMEONE SAVE US by princex_N / @princex-n - 5.8k - “The fact of the matter is that Crowley was the first bitter cripple to limp across the face of this planet. It's been 6000 years and things don't seem to have gotten much better.”

birds of a feather by idiopathicsmile - 3.6k - idiopathicsmile of world ain’t ready fame. if your life can be divided into Before Les Mis and After Les Mis, you understand. “Aziraphale nests. Crowley relearns some crucial facts about angelic courtship rituals.”

covet by mirawonderfulstar / @mirawonderfulstar - 2.4k - “Aziraphale, little good though it did him, wanted desperately. He wanted with an urgency that scared him. He wanted wine, and cocoa, and the occasional tea. He wanted gravlax with dill sauce, and Pappardelle Bolognese, and those awful little iced biscuits they had at Tesco at Christmastime. He wanted dinners at the Ritz and long walks in the park and late nights in the back room of his shop. He wanted Crowley. Fervently, achingly, he wanted Crowley.”

indellible by greased_lightning_rod / @aziraphallist (explicit) - “It turns out glitter is miracle-proof and, also, that it itches. Crowley needs some help preening. He gets a bit more than he bargained for.” Wing kink. yall know i’m weak for aziraphale taking care of crowley sue me

get religion quick (cause you’re looking divine) by brinnanza - 4.2k - “So it was fine. Even if Crowley couldn’t love him, he clearly liked him well enough, and that was almost the same thing. It no doubt would have continued to be fine, or at least fine-adjacent, were it not for a narrowly averted apocalypse and several bottles of a really quite nice Riesling Aziraphale had found in the back room of his newly restored bookshop.”

the nuances of “together” by mirawonderfulstar @mirawonderfulstar 2.8k - “Everybody in the whole world can tell Aziraphale and Crowley are a couple. Everyone except, apparently, Crowley.”

listen (he’s already told you five times) by darcylindbergh / @forineffablereasons - 1.8k - “Not everything Crowley says is said out loud. Aziraphale doesn't always hear him at first, but he's learning to stop being surprised.” Love!!! Languages!

sudden and surprising moments of overwhelming affection by darcylindbergh @forineffablereasons - 2.7k - “Aziraphale has not shut up in thirty-four minutes. Crowley’s been counting.” O More I Love Your Silly Aziraphale Things Shit. if you’re a neurotic talkative gay and insecure about it that particular genre of good omens fic is ruinous.

things truly terrible by darcylindbergh / @forineffablereasons - 1.2k - “Crowley has said some truly terrible things over the years, but this was the worst.” tooth-rotting-sweet love song-fueled confession.

tell me all the ways by tinsnip - 1.6k - “Crowley was out in the garden. Aziraphale was in his study, most definitely not looking out the window. Really. Really. One little speck of sentiment: was it so much to ask?” More! Love! Languages!

a name for earth by regencysnuffboxes - 1.1k - “Demons can’t say holy names, and Aziraphael accommodates his new friend accordingly.”

a home at the beginning of the world by stereobone / @stereobone - 5.8k - crowley just kind of. moves in with aziraphale. Meaningful Interior Decorating! Couch Metaphor! yall know what i’m weak for

#i hope you're back on your feet soon!#and i hope these keep you occupied until then :)#henry speaks #good omens #fic rec #caniwritemywayout

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allthefookinlove · 3 years

Text

Thank you @hulahoo-p for tagging me <3

name/nickname: Eleonora, Ele for short

gender: female

star sign: sagittarius

height: 170 cm

time: 18:30 or 6:30pm

birthday: 6th of december

favourite bands/groups: one direction, twenty one pilots, panic! at the disco, gorillaz

favourite solo artists: louis obv, the other 1d boys, jon bellion, melanie martinez, stromae, mahmood and achille lauro (the last two are italian singers)

song stuck in my head: I'm a man by the spencer davis group

last film: la la land, it was soo good and I cried too much lol

last show: fleabag and I'm also rewatching the queen's gambit!

when did I create this blog: uhh probably in 2013

what do I post: mostly 1d/louis/larry related stuff, favourite films and shows, funny memes and textposts, inspirational quotes or posts

last thing I googled: a streaming site for fleabag

other blogs: nope

do I get asks: no but I'd love to get them!

why did I choose this url: I just thought it was cool lol

following: 543

followers: 175

average hours of sleep: probably 9/10

lucky number: idkkk

instruments: I can play the keyboard and the guitar but I'm not that good lol

what am I wearing: red sweater and black jeans

dream job: translator or dialogist

dream trip: I don't have one planned atm

favourite food: pizza and spaghetti

nationality: italian

favourite song: can't choose between all of them sorry

last book read: a book by an italian author from which orwell took inspiration to write 1984

three fictional universes you’d like to live: the umbrella academy but like I'm one of the 43 kids with superpowers, back to the future where time travel exists, and pixar

I tag @whatagreatproblemtohave @girlscrush @touchoflouis @iii-was-stumblin @knightchanges if you want to, of course!

#i highkey like this tag games #tag game👾

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 5 years

Text

Bless me father

Summary: You really needed to get laid. It’s been a long two years. And when the hot stranger walked through the door of your favorite pub and said all the right things, you were sure you made the right descision when you took him home for that night. That was until you saw him 2 weeks later. In the church. Baptizing your friends child.

Words: 4.852 (holy crap)

Pairing: Priest!?John Constantine / F!Reader

warnings: Smut (and a very questionable plot)

A/N: I can’t believe I wrote this. I started this a month ago. Aparently this happens when I listen to too much Hozier and watch that certain episode of Fleabag to often (check Season 2 out). This also started out as something entire differently. But to quote @fanficsrusz (who wanted to be tagged so there you go) We’re going to hell anyway so... enjoy?

„Oh my god.“ You whispered. Looking at your sister, who was sitting beside you.

“What?” She leant to you to whisper back.

“The guy I told you about… From the pub…”

“Can we talk about him, when we’re not in a church at a baptism?”

“It’s him.” You looked at her with big eyes.

“Who?” She asked giving you the side eye.

You gestured towards the man who was holding the baby that was about to be baptized.

“I slept with the fucking priest.”

1 week earlier

It had been one of these days. You know days when you woke up to get to work and had a mood that could only get better instead of worse.

It started with the coffee machine at home being broken. Then your car wouldn’t start, so you had to take the bus to get to work, which resulted in you being 30 minutes late. Thankfully your boss didn’t mind, it had been the first time. But when you got to your desk and saw the amount of work that waited for you, you wanted to scream. Instead you rolled your eyes and got to work.

10 hours later, the only thing that could lift your mood was a beer at your favourite pub.

They knew you there. You basically spend most of your free time there. Not as a crazy drunk person. But you enjoyed your occasional beer. And the company.

“There you are. I was wondering if you would get here today.” Alex, the owner of the pub, said as you sat down in front of him. He looked like your godfather. But younger. And more Swedish.

Your beer was standing in front of you only seconds later. You took a big sip.

“Jesus this day sucked.” You sighed, losing your coat, putting it on the seat next to you.

“Wanna talk about it?” Alex looked at you.

“It’s just one of these days…” You knew exactly why you were in such a shitty mood. Alex looked at you calmly.

“It’s been 2 years on the day, hasn’t it?” He asked. You nodded, picking up your beer and emptying it.

“You need to get over it.”

“You don’t just get over your husband dying in a car crash.” You looked at Alex, who was sighing.

“I know. But he wouldn’t want you to be miserable. He’d say you need to get laid. It’s been 2 years Sweetheart.” Alex winked at you, which made you chuckle. Yes. That sounded like Jake. And Alex would know. He was his best friend.

“And how do I get laid? It’s not like there’s a line somewhere.”

The door of the pub opened, and your head turned in the direction, to see who entered. Good thing you already drank your beer. There was no other words as to describe him as sex on legs.

Completely dressed in black, he looked through the room and slowly made his way to the opposite end of the bar you were sitting in. He had short dark hair, no beard, which brought out his perfect cheekbones. Alex chuckled beside you. You closed your mouth which apparently had opened and coughed looking at him.

“Maybe he can get you laid.” He whispered grinning, walking down the bar to take his order.

“Oh my god shut up.” You called after him, which made him laugh loudly. The hot stranger looked at you, his eyebrows raised, before his attention was on Alex to order.

Another beer was placed in front of you a couple of minutes later.

“I need to get up early tomorrow. No more beer for me. But I’ll take a tea.” You told Alex.

“It’s not from me.” You looked at him, and he nodded in the direction down the bar.

“Oh come on. Stop messing with me.”

“I’m not. He told me to get you your favourite. Because you looked like hell.”

“You’re kidding.”

He shook his head.

“I’m not.” He held his hands up innocently. You looked at him, and came to the conclusion, that he was not messing with you. You got up, took the beer and walked over to hot guy.

“Are you always randomly offending people, or am I the exception?” You asked, standing beside him. He turned in his seat to look at you. His brown eyes taking you in. Damn.

“It wasn’t my intention to offend you. I merely wanted to improve your day.”

“By saying I look like hell?”

“By inviting you for a drink, so you wouldn’t think about what is on your mind.”

“Right.” You looked confused at him, there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

“If you want talk about it…”

“Why would I talk about my issues with a complete stranger?”

“People say I’m a good listener.”

“What people?”

“People.” He shrugged his shoulders. Alex apparently had served him his drink. Scotch.

You still looked at him confused, as he picked up his glass and brought it to his lips. You breathed in deep, as you saw his jawline work. Jesus fucking Christ…

“Tea?” Alex stood beside you, trying to hide his grin.

“Thanks.” You took it and sat down beside hot stranger guy who looked at you.

“I’m John by the way.”

“Y/N.”

“So what is on your mind?”

“Just a shitty day I guess.”

“Talk about shitty days.” He shook his head, breathing out loudly.

“Oh?” You asked.

“First day at the new job. Not exactly happy how it went.” He explained.

“Wanna talk about it? People say I’m a good listener.” You smirked at him. He laughed, holding his hand in front of his mouth. That was cute.

“Not much to talk about. I took over the job that had been done by someone else for almost 20 years and everything is a mess. It will take me forever to sort it out.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“It is complicated. Thank you. The first one who finally understands me.” He genuinely smiled.

“You are very welcome.” You winked at him and you could swear you saw him blush, but he hid his face in his hands very quickly.

You looked across the room to spot Alex who was giving you two thumbs. You rolled your eyes and put you attention back to John.

“So what about you?” He asked you.

“What about me?”

“Why did you have a shitty day?” He put his head on one of his hands, turning his whole attention to you.

“Oh… Just… Work stuff. And a broken coffee machine in the morning. And… then my car wouldn’t start. Shit I forgot about that.”

“Good thing it’s Friday. Or do you need your car tomorrow?”

“Nope. I’m planning on staying in bed the whole weekend.” You nibbled innocently on your tea and John coughed, having just drank from his scotch.

You put your hand on his back, rubbing it gently.

“You okay?” You asked him. He nodded.

“Thank you.”

“So, if you just started working here, have you seen any of the sights?” You asked him, having talked for about an hour about what came to your minds.

“I actually grew up here.”

“You did?”

“In the orphanage on the other side of town.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry. What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“It’s been 40 years, I think I can tell you, that my parents died in a car crash, when I was 4 years old.”

“Must have been hard to grow up there.”

“It was.” He looked at your hand, which was laying on his. You didn’t even notice that you put it there. He turned his hand, enwinding your fingers with his, drawing small circles on the back of your hand. You closed your eyes, breathing in deep, before you opened them again to look at him. The look he gave you, with his slightly parted lips, eyes as dark as chocolate, made you shiver.

“We’re closing.” Alex shouted and you blinked a couple of times, before you turned your head. There were only 4 people left, including the two of you.

“Put it on my tab?” You asked Alex.

“Sure thing. What about you?” He looked at John, who still had the same expression on his face. He searched for a couple of notes, and handed him over to Alex.

“That’s 20 to much.”

“Keep it.” He finally looked at Alex, smiling gently.

“Well thank you. Please come back as often as you like.” Alex smiled. John nodded.

“Do you need a lift home?” Alex asked you.

You looked from him to John.

“I think I’m good Alex. Thanks.”

“Well then. See you tomorrow.” Alex handed you your coat. John stood and held it out for you, helping you put it on.

“Thanks.” You knotted the belt of you coat, looking up at John. He really was tall. You didn’t notice it all the time you were sitting beside him.

“Can I give you a lift home?” He asked, putting his jacket on.

“That would be great, yes.” You smiled up at him, already going to the door.

As soon as the cold night air hit you, you were wide awake. Were you about to invite a complete stranger into your home? Well not complete stranger. You liked him. He wasn’t wrong when he told you, that he was a good listener.

The door behind you opened, and John stepped out, a cigarette in his mouth, lightening it on his way over to you. What was it about good looking men and cigarettes?

“Where’s your car?” You ask.

“I don’t have a car.” He came to stand in front of you and nodded his head to your right, where a motorcycle was standing.

“I’ve never rode a motorcycle.” You confessed.

“Well another first time.” He whispered, putting the hair, that had fallen into your face, behind your ear, softly touching your ear, caressing you cheek.

“Another first time?” You asked hoarsely, your hand hesitantly wandering up his chest. He was so close.

“First time at the new job. First time at the pub. First time meeting you. First time…” He turned his head, to push the smoke out of his lungs, throwing the cigarette away. You could feel his heart beating, beneath your fingers.

“First time?” You asked shakily.

“We shouldn’t do this.” He whispered as he bend down to kiss your lips. His soft lips lay firm on yours, his arms coming around you, to put you flush against his chest. Your hands wandered into his neck, up in his hair, making him open his mouth, where your tongue found his. He bit lightly into your lip as you parted for some air. Apparently you needed air to survive. A weird concept when you knew you could be kissing him instead.

He looked down at you. You could see the passion in his eyes. But there was something else in it. Confusion? Regret? You weren’t sure.

“Let’s get you home.” He again whispered and helped you sit on his motorcycle, putting the helmet on your head, before he himself sat in front of you, grabbing you hands, crossing them around his waist. You clanged to his back.

“Where to?” He asked. You gave him your address, offering directions.

“No need. I know exactly where to go.” He winked at you, as he put his helmet on and started the engine.

You barely made it through the door of your house, as John picked you up, pinning you with your back on the door, kissing you demanding. Your legs came around his hips, as his hand wandered up your thigh, his other hand next to your head on the wall. You whimpered, as he began to roll his hips, making you feel just how aroused he was.

“We shouldn’t do this.” He whispered again, his tongue drawing a line down your throat, kissing your neck.

“You... You keep saying that… But you’re doing it anyway.” You stuttered, drawing your head back to rest at the door behind you. He pushed you further up, his hand wandering from your thigh up to you cleavage. He opened the first buttons of you blouse, before he quickly shoved it open, buttons flying everywhere. His tongue dipped between you still clothed breasts, before he put the cup of your bra down, and gently sucked on your nipple, before he bit in it, making you cry out loud.

“Keep doing that, and I’m going to…” You started to say, as his lips closed around your other bud, sucking hard, his tongue flicking around it.

“Oh god…” You cried out, your whole body shaking. He stopped what he was doing, looking at you.

“Did you just..?” He raised an eyebrow. You grabbed him by his shirt, and kissed him hard.

“Yes I did just cum John. And you haven’t even touched me anywhere near to where I want you to touch me.” Growling he pushed you off the door.

“Bedroom.” There was no question in his voice. You put your feet down on the ground, suddenly feeling very confident, as you removed your blouse and opened your bra, never leaving his eyes, as you let them both fall to the ground. His eyes taking you in. You turned around, walking up the stairs to your bedroom. It wasn’t long until you felt two arms around your waist, his head coming to rest on your shoulder before he picked you up again, tossing you on your bed shrieking. You turned, resting your weight on your arms as you looked up at him. The only light in the room was the moonlight that came through the windows, accenting his figure even more. He wasn’t just hot. He was beautiful.

“You’re wearing entirely to many clothes, John.” You said, wetting your lips, as you looked up at him. You pushed yourself up, to knee on the bed and began to open his shirt. One button after the next, before you slowly pushed it down his shoulders. Kissing his collarbones, your hands rested on his chest. You let your tongue wander down, nibbling on his nipple. You looked up at him, his eyes watching your every move.

You kissed yourself down his stomach, dipping your tongue into his bellybutton, before your hand began to rub him through his pants. He was impressive to say the least. He moaned, as you slowly worked your hand up and down. You could see his jaw tense, he closed his eyes, surely enjoying what you were doing. You were about to open his belt, when you felt his hands on yours.

“Lay back, legs up.” He whispered demanding.

You bit your lip, as you let yourself fall down into your bed. He grabbed your legs, slowly dragging down your pants and panties in one go. He tossed them behind him, kissing your ankle, as he slowly kneeled down, spreading your legs on his way down. You suddenly felt very exposed, laying like this in front of him, and tried to close your legs, as you felt his lips on your inner thigh. You looked down at him, as his head lay in front of you, just looking at your core.

You were about to ask, what he was doing, when he gently pushed himself up and his lips lightly sucked on your outer lips. You let your head fall back in the sheets, moaning deeply. It had been more than 2 years since anyone than you had even touched you.

Sucking and licking his way up he closed his lips around your clit and flicked his lips over it. Your hands flew into his hair to hold him there. You could feel him smiling, as he licked himself down to your opening, shoving his tongue into you. You couldn’t look away from his eyes, that were intensely looking at you, as he began to eat you out. You were breathing heavy, when you felt two of his fingers pushing into you, his tongue working on your clit. Your hips started to move to get him deeper ,when his fingers brushed over a particular spot inside you, that had you nearly screaming.

“There it is...” He himself nearly moaned. He put all his attention to this spot, while you grabbed the sheets beside you.

“Fuck. I’m gonna...” You moaned.

“Come” He murmured, sucking hardly on your clit. You came, your whole body shaking, breathing heavy, rolling your hips, as he fingerfucked you through your orgasm. You were pretty sure you saw stars at some point.

He pulled his fingers out of you, putting them in his mouth before he leant down to you, kissing you, tasting yourself. Your hands crossed behind his neck, making their way down his strong back, your fingers sneaking in his pants, lightly scratching his ass.

He growled, reaching for your hands.

“Hands up. And leave them there.”

“Yes Sir.” You groaned, putting your hands above your head, resting them on your pillow. Who would have thought you like being manhandled?

He opened his belt, pulling it out of it’s loops in one movement, throwing it on the ground. You bit your lip. The anticipation was nearly killing you.

He opened the buttons of his pants, letting them drop to the ground. Apparently he wasn’t a big fan of underwear. Crawling on top of you, you suppressed the urge to put your arms around him. He kissed himself up from your hips, leaving a line to your breasts, up to you neck, before his lips were on yours. You could feel him at you entrance, rolling your hips to get some kind of friction. He bit in your earlobe and sucked on the skin behind you ear. Your hands came to rest on his back, lightly scratching his skin, as he looked at you.

“Didn’t I say to leave your hands up?” He asked, moving his tip up and down your slit, making you moan.

“I never said I would.” You rolled your hips, his tip slightly sinking into you. He smirked before he pushed forward and thrusted his length into you. You closed your eyes, opening your mouth but no sound came out of it. You felt so full.

“Open your eyes.” He whispered, his left arm sneaking behind your back, lifting you up slightly. You opened your eyes, breathing in deep as he began to slowly move inside you. Unintentionally you clenched your muscles, making him moan.

“God you’re tight.”

“It’s been some time.” You groaned, rolling your hips to meet his movements.

“For me too.” He grabbed your leg, putting it over his shoulder, fastening his pace.

“I find that hard to believe.” You shuddered, as he brushed against that spot again.

“Hmmm... Harder” You moaned, your hands wandering down to touch yourself.

He started to thrust harder into you, grabbing your other leg, putting it on his shoulder too. He was so deep inside of you, you would be sore for days. His hand came down, to where you were touching yourself, moving your hand faster, as he quickened his movements.

Your whole body shook as you came within seconds, hissing he pulled out of you to come on your stomach. You were both breathing heavy as he leaned down to kiss you, before he let himself fall on his back next to you. Neither of you moved or said anything for a couple minutes, both of you trying to control your breathing. When you began to shiver, this time from the cold, you got up to the ensuite to pee and clean yourself a little. Walking back you saw him looking at you, so you extra swayed your hips. As you climbed back into your bed, warm arms came around you to pull you on his chest. You put the blanket above both of you and fell asleep within the next minutes, listening to his heartbeat.

…..

Your sister looked at you with big eyes, before she straightened up in her seat, eying the priest. There was no doubt. It was John, that was wearing a beige robe, taking about how blessed this child is, now that it is about to be baptized and become a child of god.

“I mean he is hot. You didn’t lie there.” Your sister said, turning her head to you.

“He still is a priest. A catholic priest. Who is supposed to live in celibate.”

“From what you’ve told me, I don’t think he lives in celibate.” She whispered, wiggling her eyebrows. The priest looked through the crowd and was startled for a second, as he spotted you. You were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that you had the best sex of your life with a catholic priest, so you didn’t really pay attention to what he was saying.

You were standing outside together with your sister, when you shivered. Your sister looked behind you, and then back to you.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” She kissed your cheek. “Don’t blame yourself. He should have told you. Also. He’s really really hot.”

“Not helpful.” You whispered back as she smiled.

“Father.” She greeted him and left you standing with him.

Shaking your head you exhaled and turned around.

“Can I do something for you, Father?” You raised your eyebrow and John looked down at you. He had lost his robe somewhere on the way and was only wearing his black pants and dress shirt. And his clerical collar. You crossed your arms in front of you. Waiting for him to say something.

“I should have told you.”

“No shit.” You hissed. A couple of heads turned towards you and you nodded smiling at them until they turned away from you.

“Would it have mattered if I told you?” He asked. You thought about that. Would it? You took to long to answer, and saw him nodding his head, a little smirk on his face.

“I can’t talk about that on the baptism of my friends baby.”

“Then come see me later. I’ll be here.” He gestured to the church.

“ I’m sure you will.” You said and left him standing.

“Oh please. Don’t tell me you would have said no, if he had told you. You merely regret the lost opportunity of moaning Father when he made you come.” Your sister said.

“Rude.” You punched her arm, drinking your second glass of prosecco. You had left the party after the baptism rather shortly. Your sister following you. Now you were sitting on her balcony, looking down the street.

“What did he say after I left?” She asked.

“He wants to talk. I should come see him at the church.”

“What are you doing here then?”

“Trying to talk myself out of going there, because I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands to myself, if he’s standing in front of me.”

Your sister shrugged her shoulders. “We’re all going to hell anyway. If you get all hot and bothered because you get laid by a priest, who cares? We’re atheists anyway.”

“How are we related?” You asked her and shook your head laughing, emptying your glass.

“Okay I’m going.”

He was standing outside of the church, when you exited your car. The sun just started to go down, leaving a pink light to illuminate everything. He spotted you right away and walked towards you, putting his cigarette out, which he had been smoking.

“You have some explaining to do.” You told him. He nodded.

“Let’s get inside. I have to get my stuff.”

“Okay.”

You walked behind him into the church. You shouldn’t be thinking about how his naked skin under your fingers felt. Or how he tasted, but you couldn’t help yourself. Stopping in the middle of the aisle you looked up to the big cross hanging in front of you.

You never had been raised religious. Your parents didn’t believe in it, and neither did you. Still, it felt weird. Having thoughts like these in a church. The house of god. Where people came to pray.

“If it would make you feel better, I could take your confession.” John was standing at the altar, waiting for you.

“I’m not catholic. And I don’t think you taking my confession would help me ease my thoughts. Shouldn’t you be confessing? Or punishing yourself? You didn’t just break you celibate, you lied. You drank. Aren’t these all things, you’re supposed to not be doing? Stop smiling at me you idiot.”

“I’m sorry. And yes. Yes you’re right. I did break all the rules to have you but I don’t regret it.”

“No?”

He walked towards you and your breath hitched, when he stopped right in front of you. You could feel his warmth and smell his scent.

“Let me take your confession.” He whispered into your ear and you swallowed. Where you about to have kinky sex in a church? He tilted his head, towards the confessional and started walking towards it, disappearing on the left side. Headshaking you followed him, sitting down on the right side, closing the curtain. There was little coming from the other side where John was sitting.

“So what should I confess to you now?” You asked, crossing your legs.

“That’s not how it works. You say Bless me father for I have sinned and then you tell me when your last confession was.”

“But I’m not catholic.”

“Humour me.”

“You just want me to address you as father because you like hearing it, don’t you?” And deep inside you, you did too. You were met with silence on the other side

Ah fuck it.

“Bless me father for I have sinned. I’ve never confessed, so it’s been a little more than 32 years.”

“What do you have to confess?”

“Apart from sleeping with a catholic priest who is sitting next to me?” She quirked her eyebrow. You could hear him chuckle.

“Yes. Apart from that.”

You sighed.

“Well I’m not exactly familiar with your rules. But... I guess it’s safe to say I use God’s name in every way not appropriate. Let’s see... I once lied to my mom about going to a slumber party with my best friend, when I really went to sleep with my boyfriend. Oh I stole a bathrobe at a hotel once. I’m good at this.” You laughed a little.

“This is not supposed to be fun.”

“Well maybe you should confess your sins then.” You suggested.

“You’re no priest.”

“And I’m not catholic and yet her I sit, confessing my sins to you.” You were met with silence again.

After a couple minutes you were pretty sure, that he wouldn’t talk, so you stood, walking out of the confessional, when a hand grabbed your wrist, and he pulled you back, closing the door behind you, pushing you down on his lap. His lips were on yours, as his hands wandered under your dress up your thigh. Your hands were in his hair. You couldn’t believe this was happening. He rubbed you over the thin fabric of your panties, before he pulled it to the side and shoved his finger deep inside of you. You bit your lip to stop yourself from moaning. Arching your back, your hands came to his shoulders, lifting you up and down, as you rode his finger. He added two more and you positively lost your mind. Until he firmly grabbed you hip, keeping you still, stopping all his movements, with his fingers buried deep inside of you.

You looked down at him.

“You want me to confess my sins?” He asked you, slowly moving his fingers inside of you. You bit your lip and nodded.

“I came here to take care of something, but on my first night here I met you.” His thumb came up to your clit, beginning to slowly draw circles, while his fingers still moved within you. You whimpered.

“And instead of focusing on my task here, all I can think about is the various places I want to fuck you in.” He began to move faster.

“It’s difficult as it is, trying to play the priest, but you...” He shook his head. “You I haven’t counted in.”

It took a while until the information he just gave you, processed in your brain.

“You’re not a priest?” You asked.

“I didn’t say that.” He smirked.

You crossed your arms around his neck, as you felt your orgasm approach fast.

“John...” You breathed as you came, tugging on his hair, as you rode down your high.

You barely heard his zipper, before he replaced his fingers inside you with his cock.

“Oh god.” You moaned quietly.

“Again with the blasphemy.” He chuckled, grabbing your legs, to put them behind his back, picking you up and pressing you against the wall. He started to push into you faster and harder.

“Bloody Hell John” You moaned, as you felt his finger rubbing your clit. You were about to come again.

“That’s where we’re all going anyway honey.” He groaned in your ear, as he spilled inside of you, taking you over the edge with him.

#ff #fanfic #fanfiction #keanu reeves #smut #I'll be outside #waiting for the ground to open #because you know hell and stuff #john constantine x reader

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