#young me thought this was peak romance

[clubkira]

DEAR FUTURE HUSBAND .ᐟ

oh future husband, better love me right!

premise. the nhk gives it’s viewers a peak into the love lives of the jnt’s lineup, interviewing the future wives of the jnt to crack the secret to a happy relationship ❤︎

content. haikyu!! jnt / f!reader. (atsumu miya, rintarou suna, wakatoshi ushijima & shoyo hinata). fluff. somewhat decent relationship advice. downbad fiancés. healthy relationships(!!). suggestive moments. petnames.

soundtrack. dear future husband : meghan trainor.

part two can be read here.

dear future husband m.list. // hq. masterlist.

ATSUMU MIYA.

“after every fight, just apologize.”

“Relationship advice?” You repeat, sitting across from the NHK interviewer, mic strapped to your shirt as a camera filmed your living room. She nods, smiling while holding a microphone of her own.

“Yes! Tell us, what is the secret to a healthy relationship?”

You tilt your head, “Well, I guess I have some advice to give.” Your fingers drum against the armrest of your couch as you sit in thought, contemplating on what to tell the reporter, “hmm..”

Atsumu sitting beside you laughs, his arm slung comfortably over your shoulder, “I have some advice I’d like to give as well.”

You turn to him with a grimace. “I don’t want any young viewers following whatever is about to come out of your mouth, ‘Tsumu.”

He looks at you offended; reeling his arm back to his side, shock spelled out all over his face. “Excuse me, I’m great at romance. I romanced you, didn’t I?”

“Unfortunately,” you jest, with Atsumu exclaiming in protest, “But this isn’t just about romancing someone, ‘Tsumu. They’re asking what makes a relationship a healthy one.”

“So?” He shrugs, “A healthy relationship is one that’s full of romance.”

“I apologize for him,” you playfully tell the interviewer, ignoring the look Atsumu gives you in response, “He’s not the best at this sorta stuff.”

She merely giggles, “No worries, the players are allowed to give their own opinions as well.” Atsumu puffs his chest out, “See, babe? She said I can talk too.”

“Yeah well, just make sure to cut out whatever he says in the final broadcast,” She lets out a snort at your jab, hiding the smile that creeps onto her face behind her microphone while Atsumu shoves your shoulder in despair.

“Awe, c’mon! I’m not that bad with relationship advice!” He pouts at you, looking like a kicked puppy when he does so, “What makes you think I’m so bad at this, do you actually want to marry me, babe?”

Your eyes soften at his saddened tone, feeling slightly guilty you link your fingers with his, eyes full of love when he smiles down at your intertwined hands.

“Of course I do, ‘Tsumu.”

The camera crew awes as you turn back to face the cameras, still holding Atsumu’s hand firmly in your own, running your thumb over the smooth cut diamond ring studded band he wears on his ring finger.

“The advice I have to give viewers is; Apologize when you are wrong,” you tell the interviewer, “No matter your pride, no amount will replace your relationship. It’s never worth sacrificing your loved one just for the sake of winning an argument.”

“Uh huh, you’re one to talk about that, babe,” Atsumu rolls his neck, “You never apologize first, it’s always me who has to for you to talk to me again.”

“What are you talking about?” You look at him confused, “I’m the one who initiates the apology conversations, you’re the stubborn one out of us.”

“Nuh-uh.”

You groan, “Exactly.”

Atsumu pulls his hand out of yours, placing it on your thigh instead before facing the cameras. “But, she is right. Do not ever choose a winning an argument over your partner. It ends badly.”

“You would know,” you snort, “You give me the longest silent treatments until I coax you out of it with kisses.”

“Can we cut that out of the broadcast, please?”

You purse your lips to hide the oncoming smile until Atsumu leans forward, a handsome grin on his face as he looks directly into the rolling cameras with a newfound confidence.

“But, y’know. I do always apologize in the end, ‘cause my girl’s never wrong.”

RINTAROU SUNA.

“make time for her.”

“You see this girl?” Suna jabs a thumb in your direction from across the kitchen, leaning against the marble island lazily as the camera team nods. “Yeah, she gets constipated if I don’t give her enough attention.”

Your head perks up immediately as you shoot him a halfhearted glare, “Do not.”

“See, she’s doing it right now.” He ignores, drinking from his glass of water before setting it down on the counter, ignoring the little gasp you let out at his actions.

Rolling your eyes, you smack his arm before sliding a coaster under his drink, “Don’t scratch the marble, Rinnie. I just bought this island.”

The camera team silently giggles at the short interactions between you two, with Suna sticking his tongue out at you and in response you give him a middle finger before he turns back to face them, “Can you believe her?”

Scoffing, you enter the camera frame beside him, “Don’t bring them into this, Rinnie.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“I’m your fiancée.”

Suna opens his mouth to argue before shutting it promptly, “Good point.”

One of the crew members holds a sign from behind the cameras, indicating to get the interview back on topic. “Why would you ever ask her for relationship advice?” Suna chuckles, “I was the one who made the first move.”

“The interview is for the fiancée’s of the JNT, Mr. Suna,” the interviewer reminds him, “But the players are welcome to voice their own opinions as well.”

Suna stretches his arm behind his back with a yawn, a sliver of his abdomen peeking out from underneath his home shirt before disappearing quickly, “Well in that case, allow me to voice this opinion—”

You slap a hand over his mouth before he can begin, “Nope, didn’t you hear them? This is my interview, Rinnie.”

“Buhf dey shaid I can shpeak too, affhole." Suna glares from behind your hand, removing it from his mouth with a groan. “Did you even wash your hand? Tastes gross.”

“Why did you lick my hand?”

“We’ve done freakier things than that and that’s what you’re worried about?”

Your words get lodged in your throat, sputtering out hurriedly, “This is going on T.V, Rinnie!”

He looks to you with a smug smile, “Yeah, and I can’t wait to rewatch this interview and see your reaction again later.”

Your fists clench momentarily before taking a deep breath, relaxing yourself and facing the cameras with a smile. “Anyways, some relationship advice I’d give to anyone watching; make time for your spouse.”

Suna nods along to your words, “Mhm, I think that’s the most important thing in a relationship.”

“Shut up, Rinnie.”

“Ouch,” he fakes a stab through his heart, monotonous eyes but a playful grin on his lips. “I talk for two seconds and you tell your dear fiancé to shut up?”

You shake your head towards him jokingly, continuing to talk to the interviewer, “A healthy relationship means you spend time with your loved ones, and your spouse should be the most loved person in your life.”

The reporter nods, “I see, I see, what do you suggest to our viewers the best ways to spend quality time with their lover?”

“In bed.” Suna chimes in immediately, earning another smack on the shoulder from you. “What?” He looks at you with a knowing grin, “Oh, you— I didn’t mean like that, oh my god you’re sooo dirty minded.”

He chuckles, “I meant like cuddling, laying in bed together, watching movies. Y’know, wholesome things.”

“Nothing is wholesome with you,” you exasperate, speaking from personal experience. “But yes, those are great ways to spend times with your lover. They’re good times to bond with them, or just relax and unwind after a long day.”

“Yeah, after a gruelling day of practice, it’s nice to come home and lay in her arms,” Suna motions to you before leaning his head on your shoulder, his grin now replaced with a small but gentle smile. “She’s all I want to see after practice.”

“Wow,” you tease, leaning your head atop his, “and where did you learn to be so smooth, hm? Are you just playing it up for the cameras, Rinnie?”

Suna snickers, hands crossed over his chest relaxed, “I would never,” he says before mumbling close to your ear.

“I just, really like to spend time with you.”

WAKATOSHI USHIJIMA.

“treat her like a lady.”

“My fiancé is out right now at the gym,” you inform the NHK station crew, their camera men follow you inside your house for the opening shots of the broadcast. “Make yourselves comfortable while you wait.”

The interviewer settles himself on a seat at your dining table as you reach for the vase of flowers atop, moving into the kitchen to pour the old water out of their vase, careful to not spill any over your kitchen counter as you refill the container with fresh water from your tap.

Refreshing the water, you carefully place the flowers back into their vase before rearranging them neatly, coming back out of the kitchen to place them back on your table and adjusting them accordingly as the interviewer watches amazed.

“Those flowers are very lovely,” he notes softly, almost as if any louder of a volume would disturb the plants, “Did you fiancé happen to get them for you?”

You smile, “yes, he did,” recalling the first time he got you a bouquet, on your first date many years ago.

“‘Toshi knows I love flowers.”

The soft click of the lock to your house causes you to perk your head up in familiarity, the frame of your fiancé’s figure coming into view as you see him placing his shoes down beside your door before coming inside.

“Welcome home, dear,” you call out to him from the kitchen, one of the camera crew’s members break off to film your fiancé as he enters the home. He drops his gym bag to the floor beside your couch, removing his jacket and hanging it on your coatrack before passing through the halls of your shared home to get to you.

Ushijima shuffles his way into the kitchen, passing by the camera crew and approaching you from behind, hugging you as his hands are wrap around your stomach, head dropping into the crook of your shoulder.

You lean into his touch, his freshly showered hair smells of the shampoo the two of you use.

“Are you showing them the flowers I got you?” He asks, eying the pretty arrangement of flowers on the table. The cameras zoom in to take a closer shot at the flowers, noting the vibrancy of the colours and the lack of thorns adorning the stems.

You and the reporter nod, Ushijima lets a small smile settle on his face. “She told me they were her favourites,” he tells the reporter.

“Hm,” he hums before turning to you, microphone extending outwards. “is that your relationship advice for the viewers then? Giving your loved one gifts?”

You shake your head quickly, “Oh, no! No, that’s not my advice— Of course, do get your partner gifts if you know they’ll enjoy them.” Ushijima straightens up, hands snaking around your waist to stand beside you as the cameras pan out to record the both of you in the same shot.

“‘Toshi just really likes to get me little things,” you smile, reminicing on all the times your eyes barely glazed over something in a store front before he was scrambling inside the shop to buy it for you, despite your pleas.

“But gifts do not have to be expensive,” You reassure the viewers again, “just little trinkets that remind you of your partner will be enough.”

Ushijima nods before lifting your hand up to the camera, showing off the engagement ring with a large diamond displayed proudly atop it. “Yes, but I do like to splurge when it comes to her.”

You retract your hand quickly, warily eying your fiancé, “‘Toshi! Don’t make the viewers think they need to buy people’s happiness with expensive gifts!”

His head tilts unsurely, “My love, do you not like the ring I got you?”

“I-I do! When did I ever say I didn’t?”

His eyes crinkle slightly in concern, “Then why are you hiding our engagement ring from the viewers?”

“Because,” you sigh, “I don’t want young, inexperienced lovers to think they need something like a huge, flashy engagement ring to be loved by someone.”

“But you deserve the best,” he rebuffs, “There is nothing I wouldn’t buy for you if you asked.”

“‘Toshi.. this isn’t really helping our case…”

The reporter turns to Ushijima, “Even though this is a special for the JNT fiancées, the players are allowed to give their own insight.” He informs your soon-to-be husband, “Do you have anything else to add for our viewers?”

Ushijima thinks for a moment, silent in thought as you look to your fiancé, and the sight of his matching engagement ring twinkling under the bright studio lights filling your home catches your eye all too quickly.

“Do you have anything you want to say, ‘Toshi?” You nudge his shoulder slightly when he continues to remain quiet, an encouraging smile on your lips.

He nods, bringing the hand with your ring on it before giving the intricately cut diamond a kiss, his piercing eyes gazing deep into yours, causing your face to heat up fervently at his wolfish grin.

“Treat your partner the best that you can, like the lady she is and deserves to be treated as.”

SHOYO HINATA.

“don’t forget your anniversaries!”

Shoyo’s leg bounces feverishly as the reporter speaks to you casually, unable to contain his excitement at being asked to join you for this broadcasted interview special.

His grin is wide, beaming whenever you sneak small glances at him whenever the reporter looks down at their cue cards of start up questions to ease into the conversation, before the real topic is brought up.

“Do you have any relationship advice for our viewers?”

You’re about to speak until Shoyo interrupts you, quite literally flying out of his seat while brightly smiling as his hand grasps yours with a tight grip, “I do, I do!”

The reporter chortles, smiling at his tactics, “Thank you, Mr. Hinata. But this interview is specifically for your fiancée.” Shoyo’s face sullens lightly until he speaks again, “But you’re allowed to give your own thoughts when she’s done.”

Shoyo slumps back into his seat dejectedly as you rub his back comfortingly, “Sorry, Sho. But just let me speak first, okay?” His pout is replaced instantaneously at your words with the usual smile he holds when around you, “Alright, baby!”

You look towards the reporter, hand still clasped in Shoyo’s securely. “Here is my advice for a healthy relationship; Don’t forget your anniversaries.”

Your fiancé’s mouth hangs open in shock at your words, head whipping to face you with a hearty laugh, “That’s what I was going to say!”

The look of shock that spreads across your face amuses him, staring at you expectantly for a few moments before you too erupt into laughter, shoulders shaking in surprise as the two of you cling to each other for support, with Shoyo nearly falling off the couch with how hard he cackles.

He clings onto your shoulder to stop himself from tumbling, which in turn causes you to laugh harder as you try to pull him back up as Shoyo calls out for you to ‘save him’.

“Baby, I’m falling!” Shoyo shrieks while howling with laughter, “Grab my hand!”

“You’re already grabbing my hand, Sho!”

Cameras stationed around your living room pan to zoom in on Shoyo’s joyful face when he fools around with you, the grip he still holds on your hand as clear as day as you jokingly attempt to rescue his bumbling self.

The out of frame reporter looks to the two of you happily, the fact that you both seem so absorbed in each other and have forgotten about the interview portion of the broadcast is surprisingly heartwarming for both the crew and the viewers watching the broadcast.

Once the two of you manage to calm down, you shyly look back to the NHK crew with a timid smile.

“Sorry,” you apologize to your interviewer, coughing as you try to hold back another bout of laughter when you catch Shoyo smiling at you again, attempting to contain his giggles. “We got a little- uhm, carried away.”

“It’s no problem,” the reporter chuckles, “I can see the two of you are very much in love, so is that the advice you wish to tell our viewers on how your relationship with each other is so healthy?”

You and Shoyo nod simultaneously, “Yeah, don’t you ever forget your partner’s anniversaries!!” Shoyo sternly but playfully warns the viewers, “I’m serious, guys! Anniversaries are important!”

“What anniversaries should our viewers be aware of when it comes to their lovers?”

This time you speak up, “Well, the major and most well known ones of course,” you begin, listing off the ones you can recall at the moment.

“For example; first month together, first year spent as a couple, birthdays could also count I suppose—”

“Did you know I proposed to her on our fifth anniversary?” Shoyo interrupts excitedly, the same happy and bright smile on his face shining when he proudly pulls up his hand to show off the ring on his finger, “I was so caught up in the moment, I forgot to put the ring on her finger after she accepted!”

Recalling that memory brings warmth to your cheeks, “Yeah, he literally forgot about the ring in the box until I asked him about it later.”

“But in any case,” you circle back to original topic at hand, noticing the way Shoyo’s smile dampens a little when you switch back so quickly as you shoot him an apologetic smile, you don’t want to waste the reporter’s and NHK crew’s time any longer.

“Don’t forget your anniversaries, people! They’re a big deal for a ton of lovers!”

“Th-that’s right!” Shoyo piggybacks off your response, “And if you do forget, you better apologize a lot!”

The reporter nods, turning their attention to your fiancé. “And do you have any final thoughts for our viewers on how you maintain a healthy relationship with your fiancée, Mr. Hinata?”

Shoyo smiles deviously at the open ended question he’s been dying to answer this whole time; his hand creeping teasingly up your thigh to the small of your back as he leans in real close to you with a knowing wink, the flushed expression displayed on your face at his actions encourages him even more to continue.

His eyes glint with amusement, the mischievous grin on his lips is firm even in front of several strangers and cameras rolling in real time, footage of his behaviour being broadcasted to the entirety of Japan this very second.

And without shame or guilt, Shoyo smirks.

“Make your anniversary nights real special for her, trust me on that one.”

reblogs are appreciated .ᐟ ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

© property of shoyostar / thomae 2023. all rights reserved.

#hinata x reader #shoyo hinata #shoyo hinata x reader #shoyo fluff #hinata fluff #atsumu x reader #atsumu fluff #suna x reader #suna fluff #ushijima x reader #ushijima fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #atsumu miya #suna rintaro #ushijima wakatoshi #haikyuu fic #haikyu fluff #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x imagines #haikyuu x self insert #haikyuu headcanons #haikyu x reader #‧₊˚⋅ ࣪ ִֶָ☾. — constellations .ᐟ

[familyvideostevie]

time you will not spend alone

joel miller x fem!reader, 18+ mdni romance at the end of the world is this: flowers, lazy nights in bed after long days, and savoring every moment | or, joel makes you something. jackson!joel au, fem!reader, fluff, maybe a bit cheesy but idgaf, ellie cameo cause i can't do a damn thing without her, tommy gets some page time here too, smut (riding, unprotected p in v sex, some finger sucking lol), tenderness, gift giving | 5.7k a/n: i think this is the last part of the just and just as series for the foreseeable future. thank you for reading about this little au and these two lovebirds! i adore them. thank you @frannyzooey and @macfrog for your eyes and support on this. and thank you everyone else for being patient. <3

Spring sweeps into the valley seemingly overnight. The peaks remain snow-capped but the bare branches of trees between the evergreens begin to bud. Chilly mornings lose their bite and frost turns to dew and every day there is more light.

You've always thought Jackson looks its best in winter, but it's a damn sight to see as life and color return. And the latter is your favorite part -- the rolling hills outside the walls and the forest patrol paths are dotted and then overflowing with flowers.

It makes you feel more alive. Patrol isn't a freezing ordeal anymore -- it's an opportunity to see the remaining beauty in the world.

Today's shift is short and easy but you find yourself lingering, running your hands through pine needles and turning your face to the sun. Your horse is happy to munch on a patch of grass in a clearing just off the main trail, but your patrol partner is less than impressed.

"Are you serious?" Ellie moans. "You're stopping again? What the fuuuuuuuuck."

She sags in the saddle. The pout on her lips makes her look like a kid sent to bed without supper rather than an almost-twenty-year-old forced to spend some extra minutes in the fresh air. Shimmer has no problem chewing on some weeds despite her rider's moaning.

"Let me enjoy the sun," you say. "When you get older you'll appreciate the little things, too."

You hop off your horse and Ellie sighs loudly.

"Jesus, you're not that old," she mutters. "Seriously, what are you doing?"

You sweep your arms around you, gesturing at the meadow. "These flowers are nice," you tell her, pointedly. She adjusts the rifle slung over her shoulder. "I think I'm going to pick some and bring them home."

She snorts. "Oh, is Joel suddenly into flowers?"

You ignore her bait and crouch, gaze sweeping over the array of colors in front of you. You tried to learn the names of flowers years ago when you found a book on them in an old bookstore but they never stuck. Purples, pinks, and yellows, large petals and small ones, delicate yet hardy to survive the world past its end.

Joel isn't a fussy man. Young fathers don't get to be, and anyone alive these days sheds that impulse just as quickly. He's happy to wake up every day with you by his side, his kid in the garage out back and walls around everything he loves, keeping it all safe.

It makes it both easy and hard to please him -- you want to give him everything but he seems to want nothing. A perfect paradox, a puzzle to solve. 

God, you love him. You love spring, you love Joel. Everything feels good.

So, you start to gather stems, snapping them at their bases, humming as you work.

"How do you choose which ones to pick?"

"Fuck," you gasp, careening forward onto one palm and looking over your shoulder. Ellie is off her horse and much closer than before, standing directly behind you. "Jesus, you're stealthy."

She shrugs, her smirk a pleased slash across her face. "You're oblivious as fuck."

You roll your eyes at her.

"Seriously," Ellie says, crossing her arms. She jerks her chin at the small bouquet you've got in one hand. "How do you make it look so nice?"

"Oh, so we've moved on from the making-fun-of-me part of this?"

She crouches next to you, elbows on her knees.

"I, uh -- " Her cheeks go pink, freckles standing out against her blush. "Dina likes flowers."

You bump her shoulder with yours. "I'm going to be so nice and not tease you."

"Fuck off," she scoffs, tucking her smile into her shoulder.

It's quick work. Ellie follows your lead, balances out the blooms she picks with some leafy weeds. She ties them together with one of the minimum four spare hairbands she has on her person at all times -- bits of cloth, occasionally a rare unused elastic from before if she's found some on patrol.

"Isn't it kinda shitty?" she muses, nimble fingers turning her bouquet this way and that to admire it. "We're killing them. The flowers, I mean."

"Little late to have a conscience about killing," you say lightly. The two rabbits she pulled from Jackson snares hang from her saddle. You've seen her in action, too -- gun raised, hands steady, blood splattered across her cheek. It's not an accusation, far from it. Violence is a language you both speak, one she's known for most of her still-short life.

She rolls her eyes, every bit a teenager. "Whatever."

You sigh. "You're right, though," you say. "There were whole shops dedicated to this before. Selling flowers, making bouquets and centerpieces and all that shit."

She probably knows this, but she lets you describe it. Ellie soaks up bits of the old world like it will materialize before her if she listens hard enough. Joel says it was much worse when she was younger, right after they settled into Jackson. She wanted details about everything and watched every movie she could get her hands on. You think she was satisfying her curiosity, sure, but also that she was trying to understand him better -- but didn't know how to say so.

"Weird," she mutters. "And you just...bought them for other people?"

"Or yourself." You pat her shoulder and stand. Your horse tries to nibble on your flowers before you haul yourself back in the saddle. "It was just a nice thing to do, I guess."

"Killing something to make someone else happy," Ellie says with a dry laugh. She tucks her bouquet in the crook of her arm once she's back in the saddle. "I guess everyone does that these days."

It's absurd when she puts it that way, but it's true. You've all got blood on your hands. You would kill for this girl, for Joel, for pretty much anyone in Jackson. And you have.

The flowers are for Joel, they're for your house, they're for you. Something beautiful to bring home alongside your dirt stains and scarred hands, your haunted eyes and nightmares. No one is spared those.

It's only mid-morning by the time you get back to the wall. You and Ellie left at dawn, short sticks drawn for the early shift. She leaves you in the stables with a mock salute and a shout of thanks, practically jogging to Dina's to give her the flowers.

You're untacking your horse when you hear familiar laughter, a deep chuckle and Ellie's faint indignant protest.

"Mornin'," Joel says from behind you. "Was hopin' to catch you at the gate."

"Can you hold these?"

You blindly extend the hand with the flowers. His fingers carefully extract the bouquet and you return to brushing out your horse.

"Does this have somethin' to do with Ellie runnin' out of her with flowers of her own?"

"Never let anyone say you're unobservant, Joel Miller."

He snickers. You leave your horse with a final pat on the neck and thanks for a job well done.

When you face Joel, he looks tired -- he's been pulling extra long days replacing windows and roof tiles after the winter's damage. God knows that man never seems fully rested, but it's a little worse when the seasons change.

He's told you time and time again that standing two stories off the ground is a hell of a lot safer than fighting some Infected on patrol, but you still worry. Just like you know he worries about you beyond the walls, how he's a little tenser whenever you're not in sight, whenever he hasn't seen Ellie for a few days ‘cause they're both busy. It's just how he loves. It's how you both love.

You make no move to take the flowers from him, instead brushing some sawdust from his shoulder.

"Did you have a job already?" you ask.

"Small one. Fixin' a crooked over mailbox." He looks pointedly at his full fist. "You gonna explain now?"

"They're for you."

Joel blinks once, twice, brows furrowing like you're speaking a different language. Maybe a few years ago you'd start to feel self-conscious, unsure of your romantic gesture and insecure in his reaction. But now, as fully in love and connected to this man as you are, you lean in.

"If you're too manly to carry flowers through town --"

You make to take them from him but he snaps out of his daze and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you to his chest in a smooth motion.

He also holds the bouquet in the air and out of reach.

"Hey, now," he says. "Hands off. These ain't your flowers."

"I picked 'em," you remind him, poking him in the ribs for good measure. 

He flinches just a little but doesn't move. His embrace is warm and familiar and you sink into it. "Gettin' romantic," he mutters and brings the flowers back down to eye level to examine them.

"I'm just trying to catch up to you," you say into his jacket. He huffs and his palm rubs a slow line up and down your arm.

You wiggle out of his embrace to shoulder your pack.

"I am pretty romantic," he muses.

It's true. Even if he's joking and even if no one but you gets to see it, Joel has always made sure you feel loved. Courtship and romance look different these days, but it still comes naturally to him -- loving. Dinner dates, jewelry, and trips to the airport have become a battered paperback, a sharpened knife, and bloody knuckles, but it rings just as true. He loves you and he loves his family the best way he knows how – by keeping you all safe.

And you do your best to convey the same thing. You tell him, of course, but you also mend his shirts and chop wood when his back is acting up, and you look after his kid like she's your own.

Joel deserves to know that he can receive all that he gives, too – the protection, the tenderness, the beauty. Moments of softness and rest where he knows he’s taken care of, thought of, that he matters beyond the things he can do for everyone else.

So, you also do things like bring him flowers.

Sometimes you feel like it will never be enough. You will never have enough time to show him how much he means to you, how he's saved you, how important and cherished and loved he is. How good he is.

Joel reaches for your face with his free hand. He traces the line of your cheekbone with his thumb and smirks when you inhale sharply. Another patrol returns and the stables are suddenly louder and more crowded than before. If you're both free for the rest of the day, you want to drag him up to your bedroom and spend the hours there. You want to show him, for the millionth time, how much you love him.

"Okay, Mr. Pretty Romantic," you say, grabbing his hand and tangling your fingers together. "Let's go home."

___

Joel is hiding something from you.

The flowers last for a week and you watch him eye them and smile every time he enters the kitchen.

But after they droop and go in the compost pile, something shifts. Something subtle, sure, but you spend most of your waking hours looking for or at Joel, so you notice.

He starts keeping his workshop door closed. Normally you'll sit and watch him work, or he'll teach you a few chords here and there on the guitars he's making, but your lessons move to the porch and the upstairs hallway loses the scent of wood glue and stain.

In fact, he actively steers you away from the room altogether. He's all just needs a deep clean and it's messy, is all. It's not rocket science -- he's making something for you, clearly. But giving him a hard time is too fun to pass up.

One night, you and Ellie wait at the bottom of the stairs. There's a dinner and movie night in the old church and you're taking the opportunity to make it a family outing.

"You coming?" you holler up the stairs. You hear the door creak open.

"Gimme a second," he calls back down.

"Jesus," you mutter. You tap the side of Ellie’s sneaker with your boot. "You know anything about that?"

Honesty is important between all of you, but you know Joel and Ellie need to have their secrets. There is too much tangled history between them for you to understand it all. It's important to you that they have a relationship all their own, even if it means they scheme.

Ellie is examining her switchblade with intense focus. "I might," she says with a smirk. "He's a lovesick loser, I'll tell you that."

You lean on the banister and raise your eyebrows. "Do you remember when you asked me how to embroider so you could put Dina's name on her jacket?"

The knife swings closed with a snick and she rolls her eyes at you, cheeks pink.

"Shit, dude," she says. "Why do I tell you anything?"

"She liked the flowers, though, didn't she?"

Ellie crosses her arms and smiles at whatever memory she's seeing in her mind. "Yeah," she says. "She did. Jesse gave me so much shit, though --"

The door upstairs closes and Joel's heavy footfalls cut her off.

"Finally," you grumble. He trods down the stairs, arms half in his jacket when he catches sight of the two of you. "Are you hiding state secrets in there?"

"What the fuck does that mean?" Ellie asks.

"Might be," is all he says. He's got that twinkle in his eye that means mischief but he looks proud of himself. You can let him have this, whatever this is. You trust him and you'll find out eventually.

"Alright," you say, pushing off the banister and heading for the door. "You're going to breathe toxic fumes with the door closed."

"No, seriously," Ellie says. "What kind of secrets would a state be keeping?"

"Ain't nothin' toxic in there," he says lightly. He bumps Ellie's shoulder with his. "C'mon."

She throws her hands up in the air. "You know, it's shitty when you ignore me."

"Did you hear somethin'?" Joel says to you.

You shake your head, swallowing your laughter. "No," you say. "Nothing."

"Assholes." She pushes past you and down the steps onto the street. "I'm going to make sure there are no mashed potatoes left when you get there."

__

You don't mind letting Joel do whatever he's up to in all of his spare moments. It does mean you have more time to yourself, so you pick up some extra wall shifts.

And when one of those shifts is with Tommy? Well, you can't help but needle him a little bit about it all.

"Do you know what your brother is up to?" you ask him.

The wind today carries some lingering winter bite, so you've got the collar of your coat pulled up around your ears. Tommy’s hair whips around his face when he raises his eyebrows at you.

"Gonna have to be more specific," he says. "My brother is always up to some shit."

"I think he'd say the same thing about you."

Tommy laughs. He's got the reputation for being the more easy-going of the Millers, but you know he's more a match for Joel than most think. Out in the world, they work as one, silent and deadly, always in step when it counts. They still speak a language all their own with just a look and you see so much of them in each other when you pay attention.

"Well, I learned it all from him," he says. He adjusts his grip on the rifle and sighs. "I happen to know what you're talkin' 'bout, though."

"Is he just telling everyone but me?"

"Nah," Tommy scoffs. "Asked me and Ellie for help, s'all. And you know he tells that girl everythin'."

You both smile for a moment at your fondness for them.

Tommy clears his throat. "Does it bother you? Him keepin' a secret?"

You know Tommy won't let your answer get back to Joel. He's asking as your friend, as your kind-of brother. He's asking because he cares.

A patrol crests the hill, green flag waving in the air. They whistle and shout for the gate to be opened. 

You step closer to Tommy so he can hear you. "No," you say. "I just like to gossip."

"Don't I know it," he chuckles. "You two are the eyes and ears of this damn town. Knowin' everything."

"Except what happens in my own home," you tease. 

He shrugs. "You'll like it, if that helps," he adds.

"I know I will."

You look out at the world beyond the wall and smile to yourself. 

Joel has made you a few things over the years. He works wonders with his hands all the time: Beautiful, intricate carvings for the house, for Ellie, for new babies in town. The wall of guitars, not to mention the ones he's made for kids to learn on in school. You're better at sewing than he is, but he's pretty damn good – fixing up pillowcases and blankets and clothes of all kinds. Joel is a craftsman.

Hands that hold you can also pull a trigger, punch until there's nothing left, and craft a work of art.

And he knows you. He pays attention -- there is a reason behind everything he does. If he's making you something, you know you'll love it.

"Strange, ain’t it?" Tommy says. You turn to him, a question on your face. "World ended and here we all are, happy. Makin' shit for each other. Gosspin'."

You sigh. “Took a lot to get here.”

“Damn right,” he says with a long whistle. “Lotta shit behind us.”

“Do you ever regret it?” you ask. 

Tommy considers your words. You two talk plenty, but you’ve never really spoken about the past. Joel tells you whatever you want to hear about the years before you knew him, so you’ve got a pretty good picture of their lives after the outbreak.

"Can I tell you somethin’?” Tommy asks. You nod. "Alright. I – I never thought I'd see my brother this happy again. And I wish every damn day that Sarah was here to see it. To know him this way, to meet Maria. To know you and Ellie."

Joel has said the same thing before and it’s an honor greater than you can ever explain.

"When I saw him and that girl a few years ago, I thought --" Tommy clears his throat. "I thought maybe he’d made it through all the shit we did. And I was right. She brought him through it. And now he’s here, doin’ stable life shit we dreamed about before."

"Ellie is a force," you say, a little surprised to find your voice watery. The love between Ellie and Joel is fierce and powerful, evident to anyone who witnesses it. They would do anything for each other, even though they're mending.

"She is," he says. "And so are you.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Shit, I don’t know where I’m goin’ with this. Point is – seein' him love you, too, shows me he’s through it. He's alive again, you know? And I’d do all the shit we did over again just to get us all here. So, no. I don’t regret it."

It’s nothing you haven’t thought before, but the words work their way into your heart and sit there, heavy and warm.

“Damn,” you say. You swallow and give him a wide smile. "If you keep going, Tommy Miller, I will start crying and that would embarrass us both."

He laughs and blinks a few times. You join in, wiping your eyes.

"Alright, I won't," he says. "Jesus, all you did was ask what he's doin' in that workshop."

You clap him on the shoulder. "I won't tell anyone you started blubbering on duty."

He snorts. "Ain't that generous of you.”

__

Days pass. A week. You almost forget about Joel's project because he spends less and less time in the workshop and more on tasks around town as the days get longer. You're both busy -- chopping wood, planting bulbs for the fall, helping de-shed the horses. There's always work to be done.

After a particularly long day on your feet, you come out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel to find he's gotten home while you were in the shower.

"Hey, stranger," you say. You're mostly dry but some water drips down your back and you shiver. Joel is leaning against the headboard on top of the sheets without his shirt, reading whatever book he's onto now.

"Didn't hear me come in?" he asks. He sets his volume aside and pulls off his glasses.

"I was too busy coming back to life under some hot water." He probably heard you singing off-key to some long-lost song stuck in your head for the millionth time. "And you're quiet as hell, Joel."

He shrugs.

You just look at each other, the intimate gaze of two people who know every inch of each other and never tire of it.

The sleep pants he wears to bed this time of year are lightweight, thin enough that you can see the outline of him from here. His stomach is soft where he's bent at the waist and the trail of hair above his waistband is dark, darker than the rest of what's on his chest.

The golden expanse of his skin just begs to be touched, so you make your way over to him in your towel. He makes room for you to perch on the edge of the bed, the bare skin of your thigh pressing into his pants. His palm rests on your knee.

"I haven't seen much of you lately," you say softly. "’Cause of that damn thing you're working on."

His fingers press into your skin.

"Ain't patience a virtue, or something like that?"

"Whatever magic you're working better be worth waiting for," you tease.

Joel's hand resumes its path up your leg and he smirks.

"I can work some magic right now," he says.

You laugh, throwing your head back as his fingertips edge under the towel.

"That was awful," you say. "I should get dressed in all of my layers right now and go sleep on the couch."

You pull away from his touch so you can straddle him, your towel only held on by one hand at your breasts.

Joel snickers. "But then I wouldn't be able to do this."

Nimble fingers find your cunt between your spread legs and you gasp a laugh, one hand on his shoulder to balance you in his lap.

"Smooth," you manage. His other hand tugs on the towel and you release it, your slightly damp skin breaking out into goosebumps in the air of the bedroom.

Joel drags his lips between your breasts and you feel his smile.

"Christ," he says. "You comin' outta there in just a towel and you expect me to go to sleep?"

He pulls his fingers from you and frames your face with both hands to drag it down to his in a lazy, thorough kiss, like he's savoring each moment.

His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you let him in readily, arms wrapping around his shoulders as you grind down on the hardness you can feel through his pants.

"I've missed you," you say, dragging your tongue along down his jaw. His fingertips press into your bare hips hard enough to bruise, but it's a grounding touch rather than an urgent one. You want to take your time because you have missed him, and you think he feels the same way.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Joel groans, dragging your lips back to his. "It'll be worth it."

You pull back to look him in the eyes. The hazel-grey is almost totally taken over by his pupil, but his gaze softens when you cup his cheek and smile.

"I know," you say, and mean it. Naked in his lap in your bedroom, you mean it. You always mean it. You always trust him.

Joel kisses you once, twice, and you pull on his lower lip with your teeth when he pulls away. His nostrils flare and before you can tug his cock from his pants, he holds two fingers out to you.

You laugh, circling his wrist and bringing the digits past your lips. You swirl your tongue around them and really take your time with it, laving at his knuckles before releasing them with a pop.

His cock twitches beneath you and he huffs.

"You're an easy man to please, Joel Miller," you tell him, tugging down his pants and letting his shaft spring free. You stroke him root to tip and he hisses.

"Nah," he manages. "It's ‘cause it's you."

He follows his words with a circle of your clit from his spit-slick fingers.

"See?" you gasp. "Romantic."

It's a bit crowded, his hand rubbing your clit and yours slowly jerking him, but neither of you rush it. You pant together, dotting lazy kisses on any piece of bare skin you can reach. You breathe him in, the combination of sweat and gun oil and fresh detergent that's just Joel. A rush of tenderness hits you so suddenly your nose stings.

"Joel," you say, a bit ragged. "Joel, can you --"

A gentle hand on your face brings your foreheads together, his eyes on yours.

"Whatever you want," he groans. "Whatever you want, it's yours."

You can't help it -- you laugh. Brightly and happily, almost in disbelief that this man is yours. Real and solid under you right now, beside you every night. Yours to love and cherish and all the rest.

"You laughin' at me?" he grumbles, though you can tell he's fighting a smile.

"I just love you, is all," you say. You probably don't say it enough. You and Joel show each other every day, so much so that you can't imagine he doesn't know. As it is, you feel loved by him with every move he makes, every time he looks in your direction, every time he says your name.

"And I want you to fuck me," you add.

It's Joel's turn to laugh.

"Now who's the romantic one?" he says. 

You rise from his lap and settle onto your back on the other side of the bed, stretching with your hands above your head.

His eyes follow the line of your bare body, fondness and hunger recognizable in his gaze.

"Always so damn pretty," he grumbles. "Prettiest thing I've ever seen."

"Flirt," you tease.

He rises to his knees and pumps his cock a few times with his fist. You spread your legs for him, knees bent up against your chest.

He settles between your knees and you lock them around his hips. Joel honest-to-god winks at you before dragging two fingers through your folds to make sure you're slick enough.

"Ready?"

You nod. He enters you in one practiced move and you groan in unison as you adjust. It takes some shuffling but he finds a position he can hold, and you wrap your arms around his neck.

Joel fucks you slow and deep. Each drag of his cock against your walls curls your toes and drags whines from both of your throats. He keeps up his usual babel -- doin' so good, feel like a dream, so damn tight, cunt's a fuckin' miracle -- and you press your hands into his bare back like he's a life raft.

Sweat beats on your brow, your chest, everywhere, and you suck bruises into his neck as his thrusts get a little frantic. Your own orgasm sneaks up on you, the pressure building and building and building until it snaps without warning.

"Joel -- Joel, fuck, I --"

You clench around him and he chants your name, that's it, baby, come on my cock, and buries himself to the hilt to finish inside you.

He hovers above you on trembling arms long enough to press a sweet kiss to your lips before rolling off of you.

"Now I'm ready for bed," you say, panting.

You fling a hand out lazily and it lands on his chest. He intertwines your fingers and his gaze finds yours. You smile as you get your breathing under control.

Joel smooths your brow with a thumb. "Don't forget to --"

"I know, I know," you say. "C'mon, you know this isn't my first rodeo." You get up from the bed and head to the bathroom.

"You sayin' I'm a bull?" Joel calls after you.

"Save a horse, ride a cowboy!" you holler back, cleaning yourself up. "Didn't people used to say that?"

Joel doesn't answer you but you laugh at your own joke. You make your way back to the bed in old pyjamas and find him back in his sweatpants, feet flat on the floor like he's about to get up and go somewhere.

"Joel?"

He sighs, his shoulders moving up and down like he's bracing himself.

"It's done," he says. "Your surprise."

The confession stops you in your tracks.

"Oh?"

You know Joel better than mosty, but sometimes he's still a puzzle. The hesitation, the slight air of anxiety about him as he says it confuses you. Because Joel is good at taking care of people, and he has to know it -- those years he and Ellie didn't speak you know he left her things, know that he took care of her from afar as much as she would let him. It's just what he does, he uses his hands to beat and shoot and bloody – but also to carve and hold and love.

They're the same thing, really.

And he's made you something – one of countless gifts he's given you, tangible and not, throughout your relationship.

But he's nervous. As if you wouldn't love anything he made, anything he does. As if you're not gone over every part of him.

"Hm," he says. "Yeah. Let me --"

Joel gets up from the bed and pads over to the dresser to rummage around in a drawer. You meet him back on the bed and he's holding a square-ish parcel wrapped in cloth.

You gingerly take it from him.

"This is what you've been working on?" you ask softly. He nods.

You unwrap the cloth and find yourself holding leather-bound journal. The hide is smooth under your fingertips, scraped clean by hand and tanned a dark chestnut.The spine is about an inch wide, the whole thing swen together with neat stitches of what can only be catgut. A thinner strip of leather is wrapped around the cover and tucked into itself carefully. It must have taken him ages to make. 

"Joel," you gasp. "It's...god, it's beautiful."

He tells you how he found it on patrol a few weeks ago. The cover was fucked but the paper was somehow fine, so he dried out the pages and rebound it with a hide he tanned himself. You run your hands over it again almost like you can feel his fingerprints all over it, the hours he poured into the pages.

The inside cover falls open easily when you undo the tie and you see letters in the bottom left corner of it. Your eyes sting.

Joel has carefully burned your name into the leather, each letter perfectly lined up with the next. You haven't had something with your name on it in years.

He clears his throat. "Ellie said she'd give you some of her pens. Show you how to refill 'em."

You look up from your gift and find so much love on his face you can hardly stand it. He was inside you not that long ago and somehow this is more intimate. You surge forward into his space and wrap an arm around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck.

"I don't know what to say," you confess. "Just -- thank you."

He runs his hand along your spine.

"S'nothin'," he says. "Just saw it and thought of you, is all."

You release him and shake your head in disbelief. This man.

"What should I write in it?"

Joel's cheeks darken a little. Of course he's thought of everything.

"Figured you could write about...all this." He waves a hand in the air like that explains anything.

"All what?"

He shrugs one bare shoulder.

"Life," he says. "Jackson. Folks here. Might be nice, havin' the memories."

You scoot closer to him so you're almost in his lap again.

"You want me to write down the gossip?" You mean it as a joke but Joel nods.

"You pay attention," he explains. "Someone's gotta."

You're not much of a writer anymore, haven't had cause to be in twenty years. But you do like to tell stories. You both do. 

The pages are soft under your fingertips as you flip through them again. You're going to fill them with stories -- about this town, about Joel and Ellie and Tommy and the people you love. The people you've lost, too. The memories that hurt like bruises, like fresh wounds. But the good stuff, too. The gossip, the love stories, the plants in the yard and the flowers on the trails.

Joel has given you the ability to record your lives.

You reach over him to set the journal on the nightstand before you frame his face with both of your hands.

"I'm going to write pages and pages about you, Joel Miller," you whisper.

He huffs, cheeks warm under your palms. "That's borin'."

You shake your head and lean in until your lips brush and your eyes flutter shut.

"That's the story," you say. "That's my life. This is my life. You are."

“I love you,” he breathes. “So damn much. Y’know that?”

How could you not? You say so and kiss him firmly but without hurry. You’ve got lots of time. You’ve got forever.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

[thetruthwilloutsworld]

If anyone knows a thing or two about sex scenes, it’s Sam Heughan. Over the past decade, the 43-year-old Scottish star of Outlander, the cult-hit historical drama, has filmed hours of notoriously raunchy footage in his role as Jamie Fraser, the dashing 18th-­century Highland rebel, with his wife, Claire – a time-traveller from the 20th century, played by ­Caitríona Balfe.

Yet two years ago, Heughan, as one of the executive producers (with Balfe), introduced an intimacy co-ordinator to choreograph such scenes, which had been criticised by many as excessively violent.

“The industry’s completely changed since Outlander started,” Heughan says, sitting in a Soho bar on a visit to London from his home outside Glasgow. “Not just our show but also shows like Game of Thrones were very graphic, with no room for the imagination, in a way that’s quite jarring now. As young, keen actors, we were just expected to get naked and go at it. Caitríona and I formed a bond and trusted each other, but there were times when we were pushed too far.” He was especially troubled by a scene involving full-frontal nudity in ­season one, when Jamie was tortured and raped by his rival, Black Jack Randall (Tobias Menzies). “That really didn’t sit well.”

Everything changed following the MeToo scandal, leading ­Heughan to employ Vanessa Coffey to choreograph the sex scenes. “So now everyone knows what the boundaries are, like in a football or rugby match. It’s been so helpful and freeing, and it was because I didn’t want younger actors to go through what we’d gone through. Now, the scenes are sexually charged, but not gratuitous.”

Despite his heartthrob status, Heughan – who’s 6ft 2in, with the strapping physique his role necess­i­tates – is modest and thoughtful company. He also had Coffey enlisted to co-ordinate his latest pro­ject, Channel 4’s erotic thriller The Couple Next Door, filmed during the short break between Outlander’s seasons nine and 10, in which he plays Danny, a policeman living in a Leeds suburb in an open marriage with Becka (Jessica De Gouw).

“We didn’t want to make a salacious or seedy show about swingers,” Heughan says. “It’s about the psychology behind it – what is it to be in an open relationship where two characters love each other so much that they can invite people into that relationship? I think it’s possibly the greatest form of romance to allow your partner this, if it’s the itch they need to scratch. My character struggles with it.

The couple’s (initially) strait-laced neighbours are played by Alfred Enoch and Eleanor Tom­linson, who in 2019 finished five seasons as Demelza in Poldark. With Outlander about to start ­filming its final season, she and Heughan compared notes on moving on from a huge, long-running costume drama.

“It’s emotional. For me, the prospect’s hugely bittersweet. It feels like getting out of an institution. Outlander’s like a family, it literally defines who I am.” After all, Heughan has created an empire of Outlander spin-offs, including books, television travelogues and his spirits brand, The Sassenach – named after Jamie’s nickname for the English Claire – not to mention his charity, My Peak Challenge, which has raised nearly £5 million to fund a variety of causes, including ­hunger relief and blood-cancer research. “I’m ready for new challenges, but also nervous about what it’s like in the real world,” he says.

Still, he felt now was the right time to wrap. “Outlander could have finished after the ninth season, but, personally, I felt we hadn’t quite got there. So now we have the problem of pushing the writers to do something that’s hopefully satisfying for the audience, but also exciting.” So Heughan doesn’t yet know how Outlander ends? “No idea, and it’s really tough because Diana [Gabaldon, the author on whose novels the series is based] has written so many books.”

The show has a vast international fanbase; VisitScotland has cited a 67 per cent rise in visits to the show’s locations, such as Culloden and Inverness. “I do feel like I’m an unofficial ambassador for Scotland, and sometimes I don’t think the show is given enough credit for what it’s done for Scottish tourism,” Heughan says. “I think the numbers are even bigger than they say, because reams of Americans are just making their own itineraries. Doune Castle’s numbers are up 800 per cent, it’s been completely renovated as a result.”

The show has also transformed the local film industry. “For 10 years, we’ve been employing ­people at over 200 Scottish locations, we’ve started an intern scheme, we’ve built a studio with five sound stages where there was nothing before. So it’s going to leave a legacy.”

The son of an artist single mother (his father walked out when he was a baby), Heughan spent his early childhood in the Borders, his teens in Edinburgh, before studying at Glasgow’s Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama, where his mentor was third-year student James McAvoy.

Having worked in London and Los Angeles, Heughan fell back in love with Scotland when he was cast in Outlander. Initially against independence, filming the first ­season in the run-up to the 2016 ­referendum transformed him into a vocal advocate. “Scottish politics right now is a bit of a mess, which is a shame, but maybe they’ll find a new rallying cry. We’re a great wee country with amazing resources, most of which are controlled by the British. Similar small European countries have great identities.”

Initially, Heughan is hesitant to discuss the issue, aware taking either side will provoke a social-media backlash, but then he decides: “Why can’t actors have opi­n­ions? The problem is you have to come down on one side, there is no room for deb­ate. Everything has be­come so aggressive and then social-media algo­rithms mean you only get to see one side of the argument.”

He had his fingers burnt when last month he signed an open letter from Artists for Palestine UK, alongside the likes of Tilda Swinton and Steve Coogan, which accused the Government of “aiding and abetting” Israeli war crimes, but failed to condemn Hamas’s terrorism. The following day, Heughan rescinded, saying he hadn’t “fully understood” what he was signing.

“I was maybe naively calling for peace, which is what we all want, but, unfortunately, that situation is so complex, I can’t understand it all,” he says now. “As an actor, you have a platform, but if you put your thoughts out there, you upset ­people, but you’re also damned if you don’t say anything.”

Heughan’s taking time to navigate a potential post-Outlander career path. “I’m a workaholic, but I have to be discerning. Whatever I do next, I have to feel really passionate about.” Possible plans include directing and exploring a different side to Scotland than misty heather and bagpipes. “I think that underbelly you see in [Ian Rankin’s] Rebus and Irvine Welsh is very interesting, there are still pockets that are very hard and gritty.”

Back in 2005, he auditioned for James Bond in Casino Royale – the role that eventually went to Daniel Craig. Now, there’s a new vacancy. “I’ll throw my hat in the ring,” he says, grinning. “I’d be a brilliant Bond, I’m good at action and I’d bring a lot of ­emotional intelligence.”

There might even be space for a personal life. Heughan’s mystified by “facts” he reads about his private life online. “There’s so much ­nonsense that’s completely false – apparently, I have a daughter. News to me!” he says, flushing. The truth, he says, is that Outlander leaves no time for relationships.

“It’s insane hours and takes over everything. Caitríona’s carved out a beautiful family for herself that she protects very well, but I’ve seen how hard it is for her to do that. I want a cat, but I’m too scared even for that, how would I look after it? One day, maybe,” Heughan says, dreamily.

Posting again as some people had difficulty opening the previous link.

[seventeenlovesthree]

I don't care if you believe in the power of friendship, the underlying romance of comradery, the inherent gayness of Shounen manga, the inevitable eroticism of being pirates, Captain and First Mate of the same crew... But these two. They. Are the pinnacle, the peak, the climax, the Magnum Opus of mutual loyalty. Platonic, romantic, whatever you may call it, be my guest, all interpretations are valid here. I've said it before, I will never shut up about it and it's driving me insane.

Zoro had his goal in front of his eyes, but he was still rather aimless, like a dull knife - quite literally - lost at sea. Luffy - once again, quite literally - gave him a direction. Something to push himself further beyond, not only in terms of his own dream - he made a promise once, a promise he could never forget. And now he made a second one. A promise to stay by his side. Of the person that helped him not to lose sight of said dream. Of the person who decided not to get in the way of his goal in the first place - just to end up doubting himself, since he thought he had almost doomed him to die before he could even try.

They both have experienced loss in their young lives. They already had to learn lessons the hard way. Again, under normal circumstances, they're not good with talking emotions and such with each other - but this time it counted. Like Luffy said. He may have had a hard time before. But now it's so clear to him. Clearer than anything else: He needs Zoro. The fear of losing him made him lose appetite, optimism, he was willing to do anything for him, no matter the cost, maybe even eating his own limbs for his sake - so no amount of physical touch (one of his primary love languages) could even express the joy of having Zoro back, alive.

And Zoro needs Luffy too. The one who inspired him. Whose own dream he deemed worth protecting. He won't let him falter. That's why, despite all the pain, he can reassure him, even smile at him. Because he is part of his dream now too.

That vow, that promise, that unshattered sense of loyalty is meant to last a lifetime. Until death does them part.

Quite literally.

#one piece #one piece live action #opla #opla spoilers #one piece spoilers #monkey d luffy #roronoa zoro #zolu #i will never ever shut up about this #the framing means everything to me #yes aroace!lufffy is capable of love too not everything has to be s*xual and the love between these two means the world to me

[i-smoke-chapstick]

'COME ON EILEEN!, [PART ONE]

-GOTHAM!VICTOR ZSASZ X READER-

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; You're not used to being seen, especially not by Jim Gordan. And especially not by Don Carmine Falcone.

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!victor x female reader. SLOW BURN!!! This is a 4 part fic. LOTS OF PLOT SET-UP!! AGE GAP ROMANCE! (reader is still in highschool). Some gore in the beginning. Takes a while for reader to meet Victor. Can I write a gotham fic without Victor being obsessive? Victor ends up getting REALLY protective later on. But also, eventual really soft Victor. Like, you're his world. Set during season 1.

⋆ 'PART ONE, - 'PART TWO, - 'PART THREE, - 'PART FOUR,

Special thanks to @adalwolfgang for giving me the courage to write this teehee

♫ “You are far too young and clever.” Come On Eileen by Dexys Midnight Runners

Your life had been strange. Ever since you moved to this goddamn city. You're parents thought it would be such a grand idea; move to the city of innovation. With WayneTech and a good classy old fashioned vibe. More like the city of crime, you think. This place is an absolute shit hole!

Well, sometimes it's a shit hole. Other times you understand the strange appeal. The school wasn't half bad, aside from the weird drug dealers you saw counting money in the hallways.

You made plenty of acquaintances, but not enough, really. All of the gothamite students kind of stuck to their own. Rich cliques and street trash. You didn't really fit in as a new comer.

Everything got even more complicated one day after class. You decided to stay late at the library, brushing up on whatever homework you had. Apparently you stayed later than you thought you had, because once you were done, the night had clouded over into a cool darkness.

You knew you shouldn't be by yourself at night in gotham. It was the biggest rule to living in this city. So, you quickly packed your shit and left.

Coming outside, the parking lot was damn near empty. You gripped the straps of your book bag and centered yourself. It would be a small walk home. No harm no foul.

Well, your false confidence quickly died out when you heard a man wailing from behind you. You wanted to keep walking, but you couldn't. Damn you and your moral compass.

You made the decision to sneak a peak behind you. Just behind the overarching brick wall of Gotham high, laid a student. And another man hanging over him. With a bloody baseball bat.

Your ears began to ring as you saw the face of the student, practically decimated and beaten inwards. You could only make out the vague words of "Help me!" and "This will teach you to bring me my money on time." Their voices overlapped, and the sound of metal hitting skin in a loud ca-thunk and a crunch. The man getting beat looked at you for help; well, with what was left of his face.

You immediately knew this was a weird drug deal altercation, and also none of your business. You turned on your heel and bolted, running for your life. The sound of the baseball and the sight of your fellow student beaten bloody haunted you the whole way home.

The next morning, it was all over the news. Well, not all over the news. Front page scoops were reserved for "Maroni's new take over! What's next for Gotham's Underground?" and "Wayne Enterprises launches new aerospace tech!" But if you looked hard enough and switched a few channels, you'd see the headline clear as day.

"Gotham High Student Found Beaten To Death on Campus"

You couldn't eat your breakfast that morning. A few bites an you needed to throw it up. You couldn't erase the memory. You did nothing.

You mustered up the strength to go to school though, knowing you would have too, or your mom would kill you. You felt sick the whole time getting dressed, brushing your teeth, and closing the door. What's worse was the walk to school, seeing your steps retraced from the night before. The city seemed awfully more cheery in the daylight.

When you finally made it to the campus, your heart dropped. At least 3 cop cars pulled up, caution tape and flashing camera lights. The body of the man was in the same spot you'd seen him in.

A cop was instructing wandering and gossiping students to get a move on to class and to stop staring. You heard them whispering. But you stayed stuck, unable to move. The memories played in your head.

You could hear the muffled yelling of the cop telling you to move, but you didn't seem to register it. Neither could you register the gruff voice of a man telling the cop to wait a minute.

A hand on your shoulder pulled you out of your thoughts. You turned around in a spasm, coming face to face with Jim fucking Gordan.

You'd seen him on the TV before. He'd been the cities hero as of late. Took out the balloon man. Red hood gang. Even the Wayne killer. Tons of others. You swallowed.

In a surprisingly gentle movement, he firmly grasped your shoulder and guided you to a more private area, away from the judgey glances of other students and cops who merely rolled their eyes at him. One in particular, which you knew to be his partner, Harvey Bullock, let out an obnoxious groan while taking a bite of a Sandwich.

"Hello. My name is Jim Gordan." He spoke to you softly.

"I know who you are." The words came out more defensive than you intended them too. He backed up a little bit, mouth open and nodding. He politely removed his hand from your shoulder.

He flashed a small, awkward smile. It made you furrow your brows.

"Did you see anything that happened here last night? Anything at all." His voice lowered to a whisper. Something about his voice was gentle, charismatic. His words illicited the memory of the student in a pool of his own blood.

Jim studied you and your every movement, and when you flinched, his eyes lit up. But he kept the same serious and soft expression.

"You did, didn't you?" He urged, bending down just a tad to be at your level. You backed up. "Listen, I need you to tell me what you saw."

You stayed silent. He inhaled through his nose.

"No one is going to hurt you. I promise. Just tell me your name, give me a statement." His tone is more firm this time, and nods in the far off direction of his partner. "I don't want to have to drag you down to the station."

You mulled over what he said, before sighing.

You bit your lip, and spilled your guts.

He took note of everything you said eagerly. And when he was done, he gave you a small thank-you. You nodded, and assumed that would be the end of things.

Hah! You were wrong.

Almost half the student body had seen you and Jim Gordan talking. Before long, you were the talk of the town. The newbie in town was privy to a case with Jim Gordan.

When Gordan caught the culprit? Now that was front page news. One of Maroni's men caught in the act of beating an underage student half to death over a few milligrams of coke. Selling it to minors actively. It reflected poorly on the entirety of his underground empire. Apparently even criminals had a conscious.

And in a strange way, you also got to reap some benefits. You made a lot of new friends now, on both sides of the school. The rich cliques applauded you for helping rid the city of cretins and return it to its former glory. Some rumors had spread, and now the street trash students thought you were some badass who gave Gordan a tough time before helping him. It was all bullshit- you thought. You just helped with a stupid case.

But now, it seemed you were the only one with a hand in both pools of water. And god, it was a lot of connections. You knew about every murder cover-up the rich kids parents paid for. You knew about every ATM robbery and drug deal the street kids made. Every creepy teacher sleeping with a student. Every staff member who faked their taxes. You were a walking encyclopedia of all the crimes in Gotham committed by students and adults alike.

You didn't ask for it. But...you were glad you could help, in away. None of your friends were really real. No, the only real friend you had was Jim Gordan.

He'd made it a point to come to you for almost everything now. Figured you made a better information source than penguin. Plus, you didn't ask for anything in return. You were just thankful for the company.

He'd come down and meet you in the library when he needed you, after school, away from prying eyes. He'd sneak the both of you into a storage closet, before asking for your help.

You'd asked him a few times if you could get involved more; first hand. You thought you could do more than just being a reference. But he always just gave you that awkward smile. "Next time." He'd promised. Next time never came.

You were getting tired of your role as an informant. And you weren't the only one who noticed.

You damn near kicked and clawed. You woke up one day, blindfolded and strapped to a leather chair. Light leaked through the blindfold, and you went to scream. But there was tape covering your mouth

You knew you shouldn't have told Jim Gordan any of this shit. God, were you a snitch?!? A rat for the GCPD. Of course some gang was going to tie you up and kill you at one point!

You felt your chest heave as you struggled against your restraints.

A voice boomed, and it shut up your struggling.

"Miss L/N." It was a mans voice. Much older. "Forgive me for shocking you."

The blindfold was taken off your eyes by another figure behind you. You squinted as the light hit your retinas, and you stood face to face with Don Carmine Falcone.

You were rendered speechless.

"Let me give you some context here," He continued, and you felt your heart drop. "I have a proposition, of sorts."

You breathed against the tape on your mouth, deathly silent. A proposition. What the hell did that mean? Were you going to get to choose the way you died?

"See, I admire those who have methodical approaches. Good work ethic. You seem to have both." He circled you, standing up. "I heard whispers of a young girl that seemed to have wormed her way into the GCPD."

He paused, looking you directly in the eye.

"You are an incredibly useful asset, Miss L/N. Does Gordan tell you that enough?" The man urged. You felt your heart rate settle; and your mind do flips. No, you thought. He really doesn't.

"...I propose, you do a job for me. A small one, I assure you." He put his hand up. "You attend school with a student whose father is deep into Maroni's operation. I assume you know who I'm speaking of."

You do.

"I also assume you know all about where said man resides, with the rest of his crew. I want you to tell me where exactly that is. And, I want you to go there with Victor."

The words coming out of his mouth were terrifying. Victor...Victor, Victor, Victor. You repeated the name over and over. And then it clicked.

Victor Zsasz.

Oh god, this couldn't be happening. A million questions rushed through out your head. Jim had told you about his incident with him.

You managed to turn to look over your shoulder in the direction Falcone nodded too. Sure enough, there the man stood.

Victor looked at you stoically, leather hand coming up to wave at you, like this was a joke. A frightening smile played on his lips as he took in your shaking form.

You looked back to Falcone, and he gently tore off the tape covering your mouth, and undid the restraints on your right hand. You breathed shakily.

"Why do you want me to go with Zsasz? I get being an informant- why do you want me to go kill a bunch of guys?!?" Your voice sounded strained. You meant for it to be more confident. You flexed your wrist where the restraints had been.

Falcone nodded. "That's for me to know." He stated bluntly, obviously not further elaborating. "Do we have a deal?"

"And If I say no?" You wavered, watching the Don stretch out a hand to shake on it. Falcone merely pursed his lips and frowned.

In a swift movement, he motioned back to Victor who stared you down intently. Victor mouthed the words, "I'm gonna stab you." With a stabbing gesture of his hand.

You swallowed.

And then you shook Falcone's hand.

#x reader #gotham #gotham x reader #batman #batman rogues #batman x reader #gotham villains x reader #batman rouges gallery #dc comics #victor zsasz x reader #victor zsasz headcanons #gotham victor zsasz #victor zsasz gotham

[devine-fem]

Why do you ship damian and Jon? especially still as they are now in canon, I’m genuinely just asking…

This is a loaded question.

Firstly, my introduction to younger heroes was through Super Sons and I didn’t immediately ship them until I entered the fandom and had all their content clash together consistently in my head and it slowly made me realize the potential of the characters and what I was reading.

I’m more of a Damian Wayne enjoyer than anything in the batfam, he’s my favorite Batkid, then its Jason and Cass. I really enjoy his character and I also really relished in the potential Jon had with Damian and how he was a genuine friend.

I really do think that if done right then Damian and Jon being in some sort of relationship would not only be excellent representation but also, could fix a lot of troubling aspects of their character. Like their mantles and how their characters function in canon. Their relationship could be catalyst for them seeking a new mantle.

It’s more so built off of the mutual friendship they have for each other and how much they care about the other person.

A lot of people expect me to consider older Jon because he’s canon but no, I don’t like Jon’s age up for many, many reasons so I choose to ignore it.

Whoever chooses to get mad at me for it are hypocrites because you cannot honestly tell me there aren’t stuff about your favorite character that you don’t choose to ignore… every character in dc has done something problematic and if you didn’t ignore something, they wouldn’t be enjoyable.

People only want me to take in older Jon because they either hate the ship or weirdly enjoy Jon’s pseudo-relationship and feel threatened over Damijon even though it’s an entire fanon ship and can’t do anything to harm canon in the first place. You guys have the canon ship, why do you have to feel so threatened?

On Damian’s part, there’s flatline but I don’t personally feel threatened by his relationship/romance with her… she’s a fine love interest and I really enjoy her allegories of death, it’s interesting to think about and how that correlates with Damian’s grief with Alfred. There’s no reason for me to get so up and arms about Damian’s canon romances… it’s fandom… I think I would even like them a lot at some point when Nika gets some more content in the future. I also fear for her because she’s so new and has potential to become a character we grow to hate once other writers get their hands on her… (I have more thoughts on this but that’s all for now)

Jay… no… I’m sorry, there’s no appeal with him and Jon and with how it came about… I don’t find it likable.

Like I don’t actually want Damijon to be canon ever, really, it’d be a nightmare in the longrun with how these writers handle queer relationships.

And yes, people are always like “Damian and Jon had an age gap even before the age up-“ Dude, their ages were infamously inconsistent in comics that weren’t Super Sons, sometimes they had a 1-2 year age gap if you put them on a certain timeline in canon. Super Sons is what established the age gap, and even after Jon was aged up, till Taylor took it, they still had an inconsistent age gap. Jon’s age was inconsistent and Damian was also aged up but people tend to forget that.

Jon and Damian don’t have canon birthdays and didn’t know each other for that long before the age up. The age gap is probably much smaller. Even Taylor sometimes refers to it as “2-3 years” but he’s never consistent on any basis so…

I simply just think they’re 1-2 years apart in my head, or sometimes 3 as well. But I also, don’t consider them being in a healthy romantic relationship unless they are adults. No one should consider Jon and Damian actually being able to hold a relationship while they are young, it wouldn’t work. Any shipping I do while they are younger, is because that's where they peaked and it’ll be entirely innocent.

If they were to be in a relationship as they’re older, I seriously do think they can be incredibly happy together. I feel they are somewhat the perfect person for the other.

Thanks for the ask.

#jon kent #damian wayne #flatline #dc comics #ask #super sons #jonathan kent #asks

[vonev]

Sweets

MW2, Simon “Ghost” RileyxReader fanfiction

A one-shot I dedicated a full night's rest to, amen.

Self-insert, AFAB, she/her pronouns.

Word count, 6230

—”Sweets.”

Everyone in the room turned to Ghost, his word taking a while to register in everyone’s mind.

“Why?” Gaz was the first to bring up the question everyone wanted to ask—he looked at Ghost and tilted his head. 

“She likes sweets,” Ghost muttered.

OR

You slowly fall in love with your first lieutenant in command.

______________________________________________________________

Love was always complicated: one-sided, reciprocated, or none at all.

You recall elementary school days; you had your eyes on a particular boy that sat beside you during classes. You two would always exchange shy glances, and both hands would always be so close yet far. The two of you had been young and naive to the true concept of love. But it had been nice; he would always wave at you after school before being sent home and shared the same table as you during lunch—sharing his food with you as well.

It was the purest form of love, yet so far from the truth of it.

You were transferred to a different school only a month after—something about your mother having an affair with the school principal, and your father had found out. You remember the argument your parents shared at the principal’s office; a couple of other teachers had peaked into the office to get an earful to fuel their gossip later, leaving you awkwardly standing to the side as you held your head down low.

When your father clasped his large palm around your small one and dragged you out of the office, you saw the boy walking around the corner—the two of you shared glances, and without knowing, it would've been the last time you ever saw him again.

He merely waved you an enthusiastic goodbye; the promise of sharing lunches the next day hung on his lips as he watched you leave through the front door with your father in hand.

You had no idea how much it meant to you, not until you recalled the memory years later, whilst enjoying a romance book—the evening dawn basking your figure as you sat in your chair on the balcony. 

“If you remember me, then I don’t care if everyone else forgets.”

For the whole evening that day, you wondered if the boy had ever thought of you, too.

It hadn’t taken long for you to find your next love; it was during secondary school when you were a freshman. 

A surge of gossip circled around a particular sophomore student who won the national basketball championship with his team. It was a big deal, apparently—not to you, but even so, you could applaud his effort to achieve such a feat. 

The way you two met was nothing short of cliche.

You were rushing down the empty school hallway; with a stack of paper sandwiched in a folder, clutched in your arms as you practically flew across the hallway. You rounded a sharp corner, and the next few seconds were a blur—you felt the file filled with papers flying out of your grasp as you landed on your butt, head hitting the corner of the wall; pain started blooming in your temple at the harsh impact.

You let out a string of curses as you registered your situation. 

You bumped into someone, or rather, he bumped into you. 

Your eyes squeezed open as they trailed toward the boy on the floor across from you. He was rubbing the back of his head as he slowly propped himself back up with his elbow; hisses spilt out of him as his eyes shot open. “Hey, you—” his irritated gaze landed on you, and as he took in the imagery in front of him, his eyes softened tenfold.

You tilted your head, hand reaching up to soothe the nagging headache. You were stunned—before remembering the purpose of running down the hallway in the first place.

You were late for class.

Panic ensued—you were totally screwed if you couldn’t attend Mrs Fellot’s class in time. Your arms reached out as you picked up the fallen file and scrambled to retrieve the scattered papers across the ground. You mumbled incoherent ‘oh nos’ and ‘fucks’ under your breath, so busy with collecting the sheets that you hadn’t noticed another hand reaching out, bumping into yours.

Your eyes flickered from the papers to the boy in front of you. His eyes shone a bright green as they pierced deep into your skin, and his lips hung open as though he had words to say. But you only cocked an eyebrow at him and went back to gathering the layer and layer of written scripts from the floor. The boy’s hand froze in place, unknowing of what to do. You stood back up a minute later, and all the papers were now comfortably seated in your file. 

Before you leave the scene, your eyes trail his hunched-over form, and you both share glances at each other as you soon dart away down the hallway. 

You had been late to class that morning.

Mrs Fellot gave you detention for being a minute late to her class, and as a student, you had no choice but to glue your butt to your seat and accept your fate as your classmates gave you looks of pity.

Around lunchtime, the boy from earlier approached your table as you were seen picking and prodding at your food—you had no appetite for the food they provided at school. He invited himself into the seat across from you; you hadn’t even noticed his presence until you heard a snap of his fingers in front of your face. You perked up at the noise, your cautious gaze recognising the pair of bright green ones that faced you. 

Your lips pulled into a sneer as you looked at him, displeased at the event that unfolded that morning. And for that entire lunchtime, you both bantered with each other, throwing light-hearted insults—that wasn’t to say you have forgiven him for the detention you received because of him, but your mood was no longer soured for the rest of the day.

You both found out later that he had gotten detention from his teacher for being late, too.

Detention that day was blissful because he had been there by your side. 

And so, your 9th-grade love story unfolded. 

He would meet you for lunch every day and walk you home from school so he could wave you goodbye at your front door. Once, he had gotten into trouble with his coach because he abandoned his practice just to meet you in the school’s backyard and spend leisure time with you as you both chatted about everything and anything.

It wasn’t until he had confessed his feelings to you one day when you noticed the little things he did—He looked at you with such fondness in his eyes and would become a puddle of gush at your shoulder brushing against his, or whenever you’d lock gaze with him, his eyes would trail toward your lips as you rambled his ears away.

You had your first kiss that day of the confession, behind the school, tucked away in the corner of the backyard that no one knew of—except for the two of you.

After that day, he would frequently drag you to his basketball practice; it was as if he was showing you off to the entire school—putting you on the throne as his one and only queen and he, the king. 

You both were known as the high school sweethearts—many would come to tell the stories of whenever they’d find you huddled away, whispering sweet nothings to each other and giggling at one another’s jokes. 

It had felt like a dream; you both spoke of goals to achieve whilst your fingers would lock together, invading each other’s personal space—but it felt right, and to be honest? It felt as though you both could conquer the world with your love.

The feelings lasted for what felt like an eternity.

As passionate as the love had been—it was fragile. 

Rumours would fly around school about him hanging out with another girl, but you brushed them away and took them as that—rumours.

You had all your trust in him to not betray the love you two shared so intimately.

To be frank, you wore rose-tinted glasses whenever you were around him.

And it wasn’t until one day in your junior year when your best friend pulled you into the restroom and looked at you with worry that swarmed her eyes. 

“He’s cheating on you.”

You almost couldn’t believe it. After all, you both had been together for years by then—2, to be exact. So why would someone, especially him, throw his love for you down the drain? So naturally, your best friend grew frustrated with you, but she never gave up on proving you wrong. Unfortunately for her, your boyfriend at the time had been a slimy bastard. He would be seen with another girl one second and be alone the other—it was difficult to catch him in the act, to say the least.

But it hadn’t taken her long before she thought of a fool-proof plan.

The school’s backyard.

She teamed up with a friend of hers—and it took much convincing to get the other girl involved. First, it took a few days of the girl reaching out to your boyfriend through his social media, then his personal phone number and a couple of sly glances shared with each other in the school’s hallway before he agreed to meet up with her in the backyard.

Specifically, the corner you and him shared over the years.

Your best friend had been delirious when she approached you one day at school; she took your hand before abruptly dragging you along the school hallways and toward the infamous backyard. Of course, you were angry at her; admittedly, you had no idea why she had been trying to prove to you the things that never happened: your boyfriend cheating being the case.

It didn’t take long for your clouded conscience to be shattered.

As it took a quick glance at the little corner of heaven you had been building with your boyfriend over the years to see one of the worst things you had laid your eyes on.

Your boyfriend hunched over another small frame of a girl as he took her in for a kiss.

You were deaf to the gasp that the girl let out. At that moment, it felt like all your senses had been stolen—buried away somewhere you could barely reach with your fingertips. He had turned around at the surprised yelp the girl beneath him let out; following her gaze, it landed on you: the love of his life.

You looked devoided of life, and the pang of hurt he experienced was nothing short of minuscule—it hurt .

It hurt to see you glance into his eyes, the love and tenderness your glances held gone in an instant. It hurt to see you pick up your feet and walk away from the scene, your best friend throwing him dirty looks as she tugged your arm in hers and took you away from him.

He had been angry, had tried chasing after you—but your friend dragged you into the nurse’s office and lost him in the crowd of students in the hall.

For the first time in your friend’s life, she saw you break down. Not with tears, but the mere image of your sunken, depressing gaze and you barely holding your head up high made her almost regret she had shown you anything, almost .

She knew it was the right thing to do, and if the shoes were switched, you would’ve done the same. She loved you, and it pained her to see you losing your spirit for the next month. You barely ate, conversed with others and hadn’t had a good night’s rest for a whole month.

Heartbreak was a bitch.

Throughout the first few months, your ex would attempt to find ways to talk to you: whether it would be during breakfast hours, lunchtime, or even the house parties you attended. He would always be there, stalking your steps and watching your every move. 

It wasn’t until he graduated before you that he stopped bothering you.

And you?

You had hardly shed a tear during post-breakup, and it only took you another half a month before you were back to being, well, you.

Just without the pep in your steps you had when you were in love.

The school years passed by in a blink of an eye, and soon, you were graduating.

You found yourself submitting an application to be enlisted in the military: you wanted to follow in your father’s footsteps, as he had been nothing short of the perfect father figure you could ever ask for. It only had taken a few months before you were mailed a letter from the military: you had been accepted.

The grin you wore as you rushed downstairs and flashed your father the letter you received; he had been so happy that he gave you the tightest hug he could muster. 

You told your best friend, of course. 

You two had stuck through thick and thin during and after secondary school—and even whilst she was in another state studying for college, you both never failed to send each other silly texts; your private messaging app served as a placeholder for her notes, whether it’d be school or just love letters she received from girls over the years.

She was an endearing presence to you, and you swore to her that you would never leave her side as you both grew old.

The love you both shared differed from the previous— whilst passionate and exciting, it had been overwhelming. No, the love you shared with your best friend was one of endearment, respect and understanding. You learnt that love wasn’t only exclusive to one between two significant others but also between those that mattered to you. 

It had been half a decade since you last contacted your best friend.

You two grew apart gradually due to the difficulty of your busy schedules; you both weren’t always able to take the time out of your stressful days to sit down and chat with each other—catch up and whatnot.

The military had been way more stress-inducing than you realised; you worked your ass off to be where you are today—second lieutenant in command.

The first droplet of tears you had was when you were being put through a brutal in-action training course.

You had been sent out to the field with a task force to take care of a local drug ring and were told to eliminate possible threats before they spiral into something worse. That was when you first rode a helicopter, too.

Action sprung into life when the aircraft landed on American soil before your feet had even touched the ground. 

Bullets were flying through the air above you, one barely grazing the skin of your arms as it punctured through the fabric of your uniform. Your captain at the time pulled your team away to a safe spot tucked inside a house that sheltered all of you— most of you.

One of your comrades had gotten caught in the crossfire and died an unfortunate death upon entering the field: bleeding to death. None of you had the time to mourn over her death and hurried away as your captain led you all to an advantageous ground. You were situated on the roof of the building, prone as you teased the trigger of your rifle with your fingertip, your crosshair hovered over an enemy’s head—the perfect shot. 

Whilst you were focused on taking down your target with the precision of a falcon, your team had been ambushed. To none of your knowledge, one of the enemies managed to slip into the building without being spotted and picked you all off one at a time. Although he was soon killed by your captain, more had swarmed the building and overwhelmed your team.

Yet, despite the odds, your team came out on top—skillfully eliminating them a wave at a time. 

You placed a bullet through what you assumed was the last enemy’s head before you turned to your captain—only the two of you remained during the whole combat, the others K.I.A. Though as devastated as you were, you carried out the mission beautifully with the aid of your captain. 

He had his hand on your slumped shoulder, his face prideful as he gave you one of the brightest smiles you’d ever seen.

One moment, you watched as he ruffled your head and gave you a hearty chuckle.

The next, you saw red painted the front of his uniform—right where his heart would be.

You still remembered the weight of his large body as he fell on you like a heavy sack of potatoes, the quiet murmurs you voiced as you let your mind soak the situation. Your captain, dead, with a bullet through his heart. 

His blood, your red-tinted hands as you pushed him to the side and pressed against his wound, the red you saw in your eyes when you felt the shaky barrel of a gun pressed against the back of your head. The red you felt in you when you tackled the enemy to the ground, of the enemy’s blood spilt on the floor, and the red that decorated the child’s head.

The child.

To say you were horrified was a mere understatement.

When you came to your senses, you were beyond mortified .

You murdered a child.

The ache you felt in your heart constantly stabbed at you like a mother’s anguish; you couldn’t imagine your future child suffering the same fate. It pained you; it did.

That night, you mourned over the lives deserving of death—and those that were not.

You recall how you picked up a discarded shovel found on the side of the road, how you carried the body of the child and walked to the garden you found tucked away behind the building, how you worked to dig up the dirt and buried the child. You had taken a look at the child, and from what you could see, he seemed like a sweet one. Your heart had been torn apart at the thought of having to bury a child soldier.

The child soldier you murdered.

You remember calling in for extraction as you sat in the garden near where you had buried the child and sobbed away. The extraction team struggled to find you—and assumed you died whilst calling for them, but one had stumbled upon you, hunched over with your arms hugging your knees, wailing.

You couldn’t stomach food for the next few weeks, only consuming water and sweetened drinks for nutrition—or the lack thereof. Everyone back at the base had said you were cold and distant and would actively refrain from joining fun base activities.

You had even turned down the invitation to go to a bar with others, which, if you had been yourself, you would’ve accepted the invitation in a heartbeat. 

It was a surprise you lasted for weeks without food and still had the energy to be deployed for more missions. And even more surprising when you returned from every task, and all of it had been successful despite the odds you were given.

The news of your spectacular performance reached the ears of many; the higher-ups had gotten a few words of your feat and decided to promote you gradually as you kept on attending missions and completing demanding tasks.

It was how you ended up in Task Force-141.

This force was a strange bunch; you had never seen a team with this many varying personalities collide at many times of the day yet work so well with each other.

When you were told Captain Price wanted to recruit you into his task force, you politely declined the offer at first—not willing to deal with the heavy-hitting tasks they were usually assigned. The news of your rejection had broken out within the base—rumours had flown from ear to ear. It had felt like being back in 9th grade again when most students would engage in gossip in the school’s hallway.

Many had approached you during your free time in pursuit of hurling question after question at you; some of the questions threatened your right to privacy. 

“How’d Captain Price approach you?” 

You had no clue yourself. He asked for your presence in his office one day and offered you the chance.

“Why’d you decline it?”

Because you wanted less of the mental torment and even less of the bloodshed you would have to endure.

“I would’ve taken the chance in a heartbeat if I was you.”

That question felt like a jab at your choice, more than just a simple question.

“Did you think you weren’t good enough?”

You remembered the red mark you left on his face after he had said that to you, feeling the stinging pain in your palm as he rubbed his cheek and cursed at you before lunging forward. But there were eyes, and the eyes moved—he was dragged away soon after before he was able to land a hit on you. 

You hadn’t missed the dirty glances some people stole at you when they thought you weren’t looking.

The second time you had been summoned to Captain Price’s office, his offer to recruit you into his task force was one of desperation. They had been struggling with an ongoing operation, and he explained how your help would greatly benefit the two parties involved: you and the task force.

He even went as far as to drag you to the briefing with his squad the following day; irritation gnawed at your mood as the day would’ve been an off-day for you if it wasn’t for the briefing. 

You had been a few minutes late, but as you placed your hand on the large door, you exhaled and pushed it open.

Eyes immediately fell on you.

Unfamiliar faces stared you down.

You felt like you had barged into the wrong briefing for a second as silence dangled in the air, your eyes searched for Captain Price’s, and it wasn’t long before you found his gaze. Relief washed over you, thanking the heaven above that you were saved from potential embarrassment and greeted Captain Price before taking an unoccupied seat for yourself.

“Hey, that seat’s reserved.” you heard a monotonous tone from your right, and you turned to him. You held his gaze in yours as you bore into him with your staring. He broke away soon after—you noticed his adam's apple bobbed in his throat.

A few seconds later, the door creaked open. 

You adjusted your sight, eyes trailing toward the person that had just entered. 

He was tall, standing at 6’4 in height from what you saw, well-built, and kept to himself as he chose to lean against the wall to his left instead of picking a seat. The whole time you had your eyes on him—his never left yours. And when you caught his gaze in yours, it felt like those sunken, dark eyes of his spoke to you. 

For once in your time, you communicated with someone without spilling a word. 

“Ghost, you’re late.” Price’s voice had severed the tension between you two.

Ghost, huh.

As your eyes found him again, you could understand the meaning behind the callsign.

Those eyes of his never left your mind for quite a while.

It was hard to avoid; you weren’t able to if you had wanted. You had accepted Price’s recruitment offer when he extended it to you once more after the briefing, you agreed with what they had planned, and you promised to carry it out.

Sweets were the callsign they had given to you within the first week of you all working together. You had a keen liking for sweets—and the task force members would occasionally catch you with your hand in a sweets jar more often than not.

You all had a conversation over what your callsign would be, and everyone racked their exhausted brain for ideas until a husky, deep voice put down a suggestion—

—”Sweets.”

Everyone in the room turned to Ghost, his word taking a while to register in everyone’s mind.

“Why?” Gaz was the first to bring up the question everyone wanted to ask—he looked at Ghost and tilted his head. 

“She likes sweets,” Ghost muttered, his eyes lingering on your face before he continued, “Caught her sneaking around the kitchen at midnight looking for sweets more than once this week.” 

Heat flooded your face, and you were sure you resembled the colour of a tomato at how embarrassed you felt being exposed to your comrades. 

“You do, too!” In a poor attempt at biting back, you also called Ghost out on his bullcrap. “You were in the kitchen yesterday night with your head in the sweets cabinet,” you narrowed your eyes at him as he stared at you, almost dumbfounded.

“Because you have been dwindling our sweets supply—” before he could resume, you cut him off. “ You had your hand shoved deep in the choco pie boxes,” you scoffed. “Don’t play dumb, lieutenant.” 

Ghost shrugged at your words, “Gotta finish the sweets before you do—” At that, you stood up from your seat, hand slammed onto the table as you shoved the accusation back at him. “You finished a whole jar of the Cadbury picnic bars. I was saving those for myself, asshole.” 

“Should’ve finished it yourself before I had my hands on them, love.”

“I’ll fucking finish you first—”

“Enough,” Soap had gotten up from his seat at the table, his choice of liquor in his hand as he shook his head at the two of you. “Aye, I’m done with listening to them flirt with each other. Gaz, let’s head out yea?” his words slurred, you were sure whilst you and ghost argued back and forth—he had been taking way too many sips from his bottle. Gaz held his hands up in defeat, then followed Soap out of the kitchen.

Price sat at the end of the table, his head in his hand as he observed the situation in front of him. And when both your gazes fell on him, he felt an immense pressure to get away from the table and escape the kitchen. 

From then on, you started labelling your jars with your callsign—yet as time had proven you right again and again, you could never catch Ghost in the act of stealing from your sweets jar. 

And the time you did—

It rained cats and dogs that night, thunderstruck loud and hard. You always had a difficult time being embraced by sleep, and when it did come, you usually would wake up sweating from a rough nightmare.

Tonight was no exception, and before you knew it, you found yourself walking down the stairs and toward the kitchen. You could use some nice Cadbury chocolate in your mouth right about now. 

But as you steadily approached the kitchen, you noticed the lights were on—and you immediately cling to the wall beside you as you glide along the textured surface. Your head peeked around the corner, eyes searching for any signs of a potential break-in. As you neared the kitchen, however, you spotted a large man sitting at the kitchen bar. He had his back turned to you, and you noticed his exposed hair.

He had no mask on.

You tilt your head at the strange view and clear your throat, alerting him of your presence. He lightly jolted at the noise and shot his hand out to collect his balaclava before pulling it over his head. 

Weird.

Usually, he would’ve been able to sense you even if you had been miles away from where he sat. But tonight, something seemed off. You shrugged and walked into the kitchen, immediately reaching for the sweets cabinet and pulling out one of your favourites: Maltesers. You hummed in glee and grabbed a few more into your hands. 

You turned around and could feel the stress emitting off him like strong tides.

For some reason, the sight of Ghost being sad shot a pang through your chest—as if it had been personal to you.

“Can I sit next to you?” your voice quiet, not wanting to startle the burly man that seemed deep in his thoughts, his head hung low.

You took his silence as a response and sat beside him at the kitchen bar. You tore open the packaging of your sweets and nibbled on it, savouring the taste. You glanced quickly at the man beside you and jumped when you saw that he had been staring at you, having a go at it with the sweets. You didn’t fail to notice the way his eyes flickered from your face to the chocolate in your hand and back to your face.

Amusement flashed across your eyes, and you reached your hand out, offering him the sweets.

It took him a while to react, but after a few more alternating glances, he took the bar from your hand and stared at you. 

“What?” you cocked your eyebrow at his odd reaction.

“Look away, sweetheart.” 

You rolled your eyes, “I’m not gonna bite if you take your mask off in front of me,” you decided to push his buttons further—to fish a reaction out of the man. “Why,” you leaned in, your face now halfway from where you sat. “You’re ugly?”

He chuckled.

Love has a way of finding you.

Wherever you are—whenever you were.

You just hadn’t expected it to manifest in the form of a tough, bulky man who had his heart closed to the world. 

You knew Ghost was a man that preferred to be left alone, but on the occasions, his walls would be down, letting you get a glimpse of who he was. 

And that night, as you both shared bars of chocolate over the kitchen bar, you knew he was worth getting to know about. 

It would happen again and again.

Nights where you both would find yourselves in each other’s company, enjoying the comfortable silence that lingered around. Nights where you both talked about your favourite sweets, music, show—favourite person. 

He had said he didn’t exactly have one, but you had a suspicion you knew who he treasured the most—because it wasn’t a person, it was the entire task force.

You recalled the memories you had with your best friend— ex , best friend. You weren’t sure if she had remembered you still after years of no calls, texts, or wind of each other. But you cherished the sweet moments during the times you needed them. 

Ghost wouldn’t admit it, but when he was with you, he wasn’t Ghost—no, he was Simon whenever you would share trinkets of your memories with each other. His usual uptight demeanour progressively softened over the many nights at the kitchen bar; his eyes would drink in your face as you told your stories. Making mental notes of the way your smile would tug at your lips, the way your eyes would water at the emotional talks, how you seemed to know ways to comfort him with just your presence. 

And whenever each of you felt down, you would seek each other’s company.

You sneezed; the sudden cold air blow sent chills to your core. Ghost’s head snapped toward you, his gaze visibly concerned, and he watched as you cowered underneath the thick blanket you both were sharing. 

You two had been in his room, watching the reruns of Modern Family, when you suddenly felt under the weather. You hadn’t had time to take care of yourself recently—between the assignments you were deployed for and the countless paperwork you had to finish by a tight deadline, you barely had 5 hours of sleep every night for the past weeks.

Ghost had seen it coming from miles away: the darkening eyebags around your eyes, your usual casual nature now dissipated, leaving only a shell of you that operated on a routine.

He let out a long exhale, his arms reaching out to tuck you into the blanket even more. 

But as you peered at him with those fluttering lashes, he groaned and moved to sit behind you. He adjusted his position and laid you down on top of him, your head flushed against his chest—and you refrained from fidgeting as you felt his toned yet soft muscles underneath you.

Your head was screaming.

Yet as he cradled your smaller frame into his larger one, you felt safe—like you belonged. 

You sighed, letting yourself completely relax against him. He placed a hand on your head, rubbing comfort into your temple in the motion of circles. 

Yeah, you could get used to this.

The noises coming from the TV soon gradually muffled as your eyes threatened to close every passing second. The deadly combination of Ghost rubbing all the right spots on your head and his warm, large arms around your figure coarse you into a deep, peaceful slumber.

And ever since then, you’d find yourself in similar positions with Ghost—in his room, him with his arms around you and giving you the comfort you so desperately needed. 

So, here you were.

You and Ghost were wrapped around the two of you underneath the thick blanket. Reruns of the show you were watching had been long forgotten; instead, the two of you looked into each other’s gaze. 

Your hand rubbed small, comforting circles into his cheek—he practically melted under you. It had been about half a year since you joined Task Force-141; after the first mission, you had ultimately decided to stick with the team—strangely enough, they all accepted you as though you were family. 

Sure, missions hadn’t gotten easy over time, but the bonds you managed to kindle made up for all of it. The countless nights all of you would spend losing your minds at a local bar—the constant lighthearted bantering that never seemed to cease. You lost count of how many times you had to drag Soap out of a bar before he went and flirted with anything that moved, the numerous times when you had to pull Gaz out of a dangerous situation during high-risk missions—not to mention whenever Price would go off and try to get himself killed just to save one of you. When you had him seated at the debriefing, you made sure to give him an earful anytime he attempted something idiotic for the lives of others, even if it had been for his team.

But, you would never take one thing for granted—

—Ghost stirred in his position, changing the angle of his body so he could get the optimised comfort. You watched as he nudged your hand with his face; amid your daydreaming, you had stopped caressing his cheek.

You feel the nervousness churning in your stomach, thoroughly giving your following words more thought.

You knew that you had grown feelings for the man for quite a while now—from the joking banter down to the bold flirting you both shared, it was as though every time you were with each other, you had your own bubble.

One that you would be too afraid to pop.

“Ghost–”

“Simon.”

Huh?

Did you hear that right?

Staring into the eyes of the man whose heart had been closed off to everyone—you were in shock. The sight of him finally opening up to you had been unfathomable since you first thought about it—he was a tough man to crack and an even tougher man to understand. 

“My name’s Simon, love.”

His voice was soft as silk, with the undeniable hint of tenderness he reserved only for you as he continued to gaze into your eyes with such a yearning that you couldn’t believe it had been for you. 

Your other hand shakily reached up to cup his face into both hands, feeling the smooth texture of the balaclava he still wore under your fingertips. Your eyes scanned his feature for any deceit—there were none.

He was as genuine as is. 

And you couldn’t help the tear that slipped your eye; you had waited for this moment for quite a while now— 

“Simon,” you took a fleeting breath, “I like you.”

Simon sighed, and for a moment, your calm facade was slowly falling apart—did he change his mind? Had he been lying all this time? But your doubts were short-lived as Simon reached his hand up and lifted his skull-printed balaclava off.

It was him.

The man you adored so much in blood and flesh,

You felt his rough skin with your fingers as you explored every nook and cranny of his face with all that you could. Your finger brushed his lips; they were surprisingly soft and very kissable.

As though he could read your mind, he closed the little distance you both had, and the next thing you know: he had his lips on yours.

Love was always complicated: one-sided, reciprocated, or none at all.

But as you shared an intimate, passionate kiss with Simon.

You knew you had found the one to share your never-ending love with.

And you wouldn’t trade him for the world.

#ghost cod #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #john mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #cod mwii #mw2 #modern warfare 2 #y/n #x reader #female reader #angst #hurt/comfort #ghost fanfiction

[sgiandubh]

OK, I got it : Telegraph shitshow, anyone?

Oh, what the hell. I had no patience and couldn't picture myself fidgeting in a dull supermarket and ending up by forgetting half of the things on my list.

So, here it is, all of it.

Proof of buying:

Yeah, "between Outlander's seasons nine and 10'. See how accurate the girl who wrote it is? How about a cobbled something to address the real issues at stake, of which there are three (more on this, in my next post)?

LOL? LOL.

Anyway, there goes. Passages in bold are marked by me:

If anyone knows a thing or two about sex scenes, it’s Sam Heughan. Over the past decade, the 43-year-old Scottish star of Outlander, the cult-hit historical drama, has filmed hours of notoriously raunchy footage in his role as Jamie Fraser, the dashing 18th-­century Highland rebel, with his wife, Claire – a time-traveller from the 20th century, played by ­Caitríona Balfe.

Yet two years ago, Heughan, as one of the executive producers (with Balfe), introduced an intimacy co-ordinator to choreograph such scenes, which had been criticised by many as excessively violent.

“The industry’s completely changed since Outlander started,” Heughan says, sitting in a Soho bar on a visit to London from his home outside Glasgow. “Not just our show but also shows like Game of Thrones were very graphic, with no room for the imagination, in a way that’s quite jarring now. As young, keen actors, we were just expected to get naked and go at it. Caitríona and I formed a bond and trusted each other, but there were times when we were pushed too far.” He was especially troubled by a scene involving full-frontal nudity in ­season one, when Jamie was tortured and raped by his rival, Black Jack Randall (Tobias Menzies). “That really didn’t sit well.”

Everything changed following the MeToo scandal, leading ­Heughan to employ Vanessa Coffey to choreograph the sex scenes. “So now everyone knows what the boundaries are, like in a football or rugby match. It’s been so helpful and freeing, and it was because I didn’t want younger actors to go through what we’d gone through. Now, the scenes are sexually charged, but not gratuitous.”

Despite his heartthrob status, Heughan – who’s 6ft 2in, with the strapping physique his role necess­i­tates – is modest and thoughtful company. He also had Coffey enlisted to co-ordinate his latest pro­ject, Channel 4’s erotic thriller The Couple Next Door, filmed during the short break between Outlander’s seasons nine and 10, in which he plays Danny, a policeman living in a Leeds suburb in an open marriage with Becka (Jessica De Gouw).

“We didn’t want to make a salacious or seedy show about swingers,” Heughan says. “It’s about the psychology behind it – what is it to be in an open relationship where two characters love each other so much that they can invite people into that relationship? I think it’s possibly the greatest form of romance to allow your partner this, if it’s the itch they need to scratch. My character struggles with it.”

The couple’s (initially) strait-laced neighbours are played by Alfred Enoch and Eleanor Tom­linson, who in 2019 finished five seasons as Demelza in Poldark. With Outlander about to start ��filming its final season, she and Heughan compared notes on moving on from a huge, long-running costume drama.

“It’s emotional. For me, the prospect’s hugely bittersweet. It feels like getting out of an institution. Outlander’s like a family, it literally defines who I am.” After all, Heughan has created an empire of Outlander spin-offs, including books, television travelogues and his spirits brand, The Sassenach – named after Jamie’s nickname for the English Claire – not to mention his charity, My Peak Challenge, which has raised nearly £5 million to fund a variety of causes, including ­hunger relief and blood-cancer research. “I’m ready for new challenges, but also nervous about what it’s like in the real world,” he says.

Still, he felt now was the right time to wrap. “Outlander could have finished after the ninth season, but, personally, I felt we hadn’t quite got there. So now we have the problem of pushing the writers to do something that’s hopefully satisfying for the audience, but also exciting.” So Heughan doesn’t yet know how Outlander ends? “No idea, and it’s really tough because Diana [Gabaldon, the author on whose novels the series is based] has written so many books.”

The show has a vast international fanbase; VisitScotland has cited a 67 per cent rise in visits to the show’s locations, such as Culloden and Inverness. “I do feel like I’m an unofficial ambassador for Scotland, and sometimes I don’t think the show is given enough credit for what it’s done for Scottish tourism,” Heughan says. “I think the numbers are even bigger than they say, because reams of Americans are just making their own itineraries. Doune Castle’s numbers are up 800 per cent, it’s been completely renovated as a result.”

The show has also transformed the local film industry. “For 10 years, we’ve been employing ­people at over 200 Scottish locations, we’ve started an intern scheme, we’ve built a studio with five sound stages where there was nothing before. So it’s going to leave a legacy.”

The son of an artist single mother (his father walked out when he was a baby), Heughan spent his early childhood in the Borders, his teens in Edinburgh, before studying at Glasgow’s Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama, where his mentor was third-year student James McAvoy.

Having worked in London and Los Angeles, Heughan fell back in love with Scotland when he was cast in Outlander. Initially against independence, filming the first ­season in the run-up to the 2016 ­referendum transformed him into a vocal advocate. “Scottish politics right now is a bit of a mess, which is a shame, but maybe they’ll find a new rallying cry. We’re a great wee country with amazing resources, most of which are controlled by the British. Similar small European countries have great identities.”

Initially, Heughan is hesitant to discuss the issue, aware taking either side will provoke a social-media backlash, but then he decides: “Why can’t actors have opi­n­ions? The problem is you have to come down on one side, there is no room for deb­ate. Everything has be­come so aggressive and then social-media algo­rithms mean you only get to see one side of the argument.”

He had his fingers burnt when last month he signed an open letter from Artists for Palestine UK, alongside the likes of Tilda Swinton and Steve Coogan, which accused the Government of “aiding and abetting” Israeli war crimes, but failed to condemn Hamas’s terrorism. The following day, Heughan rescinded, saying he hadn’t “fully understood” what he was signing.

“I was maybe naively calling for peace, which is what we all want, but, unfortunately, that situation is so complex, I can’t understand it all,” he says now. “As an actor, you have a platform, but if you put your thoughts out there, you upset ­people, but you’re also damned if you don’t say anything.”

Heughan’s taking time to navigate a potential post-Outlander career path. “I’m a workaholic, but I have to be discerning. Whatever I do next, I have to feel really passionate about.” Possible plans include directing and exploring a different side to Scotland than misty heather and bagpipes. “I think that underbelly you see in [Ian Rankin’s] Rebus and Irvine Welsh is very interesting, there are still pockets that are very hard and gritty.”

Back in 2005, he auditioned for James Bond in Casino Royale – the role that eventually went to Daniel Craig. Now, there’s a new vacancy. “I’ll throw my hat in the ring,” he says, grinning. “I’d be a brilliant Bond, I’m good at action and I’d bring a lot of ­emotional intelligence.”

There might even be space for a personal life. Heughan’s mystified by “facts” he reads about his private life online. “There’s so much ­nonsense that’s completely false – apparently, I have a daughter. News to me!” he says, flushing. The truth, he says, is that Outlander leaves no time for relationships.

“It’s insane hours and takes over everything. Caitríona’s carved out a beautiful family for herself that she protects very well, but I’ve seen how hard it is for her to do that. I want a cat, but I’m too scared even for that, how would I look after it? One day, maybe,” Heughan says, dreamily.

The Couple Next Door begins on Channel 4 on Monday 27 November at 9pm; stream all episodes from this date

#shitshow

[johannestevans]

Crimson Peak: A Love Letter To Gothic Romance

Adoring thoughts on Guillermo Del Toro’s 2015 masterpiece.

On Patreon / / On Medium.

This review and bit of analysis is related to the talk I’ll be giving on Crimson Peak tomorrow, responses to misogyny and marginalisation in and around Gothic fiction, and how much of this social conservatism is mirrored in BookTok and modern retorts to problematic fiction.

All proceeds from the Romancing the Gothic Goths for Breakfast talks go to charity, feeding school children free breakfasts! You can sign up for tickets here.

Edith and Thomas in bed, via Cap-That.

Crimson Peak (2015) frustrated me when it came out, and often frustrates me today — I was desperately excited about it when it was released, loved it the first time I saw it, have loved it every time I’ve watched it since. What frustrated me was not the film itself, but its advertisements and the way it’s filed and tagged on sites even today is that Crimson Peak is not a horror film.

Crimson Peak is a Gothic romance.

Yes, Gothic fiction — Gothic horror — might be classified under traditional horror tags and descriptors, but gothic romance is a different and more complicated kettle of fish.

Gothic fiction is typified by its associations with the most visceral of human emotions — with fear and horror and terror; with disgust and anger and rage; with want and jealousy and envy; with lust and love… and grief.

We see in Gothic fiction what we see in the the Gothic architecture for which the genre is named, inspired by its traditional settings — the darkness that lingers thick and impenetrable amidst the ceiling arches, untouched no matter how many candles are lit; the long shadows cast by figures silhouetted against windows and fireplaces; the endless corridors, the haunted attics, the cold and shadowed cellars, the strange and troubling shapes of the house around us.

What do we find in Gothic romance, then?

In Gothic fiction we find the most macabre and grotesque of happenings, of settings, of events — in Gothic romance, we find those who love and lust for them.

Some of the most famous Gothic romances are Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre; Deaphne Du Maurier’s Rebecca; Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights (Stephenie Meyer’s favourite book, and an inspiration for Twilight, by all accounts: no more damning comment can be made of it).

When I was describing my affection for the genre to my partner the other day, I also mentioned Bram Stoker’s Dracula — Dracula lacks the female protagonist that these three classics have, but I would argue that the want and lust (and even love) between Dracula, Jonathan, and Mina (in each direction) more than amount to enough to fit the book into the genre.

It’s not as simple as desire or want or even love for another whilst horrific happenings go on around their heads — Gothic romance’s unique allure is in the darkness of people’s romantic desires, their sexual desires. Wanting what they should not want — wanting the pain and the grief and the fear as much as they want the sweetness, the comfort, the pleasure of love.

This stands out most of all in those Gothic works that delve into proto-feminist explorations of female empowerment — in Jane Eyre, in Wuthering Heights, in similar works that largely centre the horror of a young woman (or women) entering into marriage with a man that leads her to doom of one type or other, supernatural or mundane, what is ultimately being explored is the horror of these women’s lack of choices and agency.

If she will be terrorised either way, if she will live in fear, if she will be controlled no matter what she does and whom she’s married, why would she not seek out a controller, seek out a ghost or monster, whom excites her? To whom she is most deeply attracted? A man who she can — and will — terrorise in turn?

I think it’s why poor Jonathan Harker stands alongside these Gothic heroines in my mind, not merely in line with Mina because he’s her husband, but part of the line-up in his own right— he is desirous of Dracula and, like many of these women stumbling, or rushing headlong and passionately into, dangerous matches, he is heedless of every warning as he allows himself to be trapped in the faraway manse of this hypnotising man who will feed on him, and whom at the same time Harker feels a sort of hunger for even as his intentions and his nature become clear.

What is it, then, about Crimson Peak?

Here’s a Gothic romance that stands on its own two feet — like the best of pastiches, it near perfectly echoes the tone and the hypnotising ache of the best and most impactful stories in the genre, creating a story that could well have been penned centuries ago alongside contemporaries like Wuthering Heights.

In Crimson Peak, there are so many references to different staples of the genre — apart from the basic staples of the isolated manse in the middle of the dales, the strange and dark family with the sordid past, the young ingenue, intelligent and driven but at the same time naive, we see small references or direct mirrors to particular tropes or archetypes present in some famous Gothic tales.

Finlay, for example, the Sharpes’ elderly caretaker who seems confused and scatterbrained, is a mirror to the long-winded and sometimes incomprehensible Joseph of Wuthering Heights; Edith compares herself to Mary Shelley, a stalwart creator in the Gothic genre and one of its defining authors.

Like the best of pastiches, it is filled with its love for that which it’s imitating, delving into classic tropes of the genre — the sprawling and crumbling manse on the hill, apart from all the other houses, filled only with ghosts; the once rich and splendid family, now rendered impoverished and preying on others to survive; the aspects of natural horror, insects feasting on one another, the presence of this red in tooth and claw violence and the desperation to survive; the horrors of lonely, isolated children developing inappropriate and disgusting, incestuous intimacies with one another, those intimacies carried on into their adulthood; ghosts that at once horrify those they appear before and yet on some level crave to help them, to save them, or at least undo what has been done.

At the same time, every character but Lucille Sharpe (Jessica Chastain) is desperate to escape the genre they’ve been born into.

Edith (Mia Wasikowsa), naturally, wants for a romance, but she also wants more for herself than her role as a woman in the society she’s in — much like the Brontë sisters did themselves, she wishes to disguise her gender so that her work is not immediately dismissed, exchanging her father’s gift of a pen for the machinised genderlessness of a typed hand, that she might be an author and create things for herself, just as her father built things before he owned them; Thomas (Tom Hiddleston) wants for a romance himself, craves the love and sweetness of a marriage whilst untangling himself from the horror it’s attached to with his sister, but he is also trying to drag himself out of the hole his house is creating with machinery designed to dredge out clay.

Edith and Thomas both reach for tools of the industrial age, reach with grasping hands for modernity, as if these can save them from the classic ghost story they’re trapped in.

And yet there are further depths to this gift — in giving Edith the gift of this pen, Carter (Jim Beaver) is giving her a sort of phallic symbol. He is a patriarch giving his daughter a metaphorical extension of masculinity and masculine power — in essence, he is saying to her: “Edith, you are not just my daughter, not just a woman as in the eyes of the patriarchal society around us, but you are my firstborn. Uncaring of the gendered nature of your position, and the ways in which this dispossesses you, I am giving you an appropriate tool for your trade.”

And what does Edith do? Immediately reject his pen, because his approval and his extension of this power to her is not enough — she exchanges the tool for the typewriter because she craves the anonymity it will give her, and its modernity.

Appropriate, that Carter Cushing should take such a dim view of Sharpe’s prototype and dismiss it as little more than a child’s toy, whilst talking about his own hard work leading to the empire he later built — talking about hardening his hands before he built larger structures, before he owned property himself.

This is the same opportunity he is attempting to offer Edith in giving her that pen: for her to have a tool to build with before she owns his empire, and yet she rejects it. In turning down this offer of power from Carter Cushing, representative of his allotting her more personhood than one might expect to be offered to a woman in this period, her head is then turned by Thomas Sharpe’s proposal.

She is, in a way, taken back to the past when she returns with him to England — social mores are not so flexible in England as they are for a woman like Edith in America, and even if they were, she is isolated from anybody but Thomas and Lucille (and the ghosts in their home), so she is robbed entirely of opportunities for self-empowerment or agency.

In Allerdale, it is Lucille that carries all the power, Lucille that holds the a ring of metaphorical phalluses on her belt, taken from all her victims — Lucille holds the keys to the house, and denies them immediately to Edith, who by all rights should now be lady of the house as Thomas’ new wife.

She holds power in her hands, wielding these keys, and of course, Edith takes the one that had belonged to Enola Schiotti to unlock her trunk — the same ghost who unlocks another door for her, no key needed, to give her some power within that home on the sly.

It’s appropriate that Edith finally wields her father’s pen when Lucille pushes her to sign the contract that will sign her life away — a concern Carter no doubt always had about Edith marrying any man, even were Thomas not so suspicious a character — and uses it as a weapon to attack Lucille and defend herself, to allow herself to reach once again for freedom.

There are so many layered meanings and ideas within the text, and it’s so richly written and developed compared to many contemporary films I might think of — it’s miserable to think of, but Crimson Peak really is one of those films where you feel that every part of the story has its place, where the whole thing has been wholly considered, carefully mixed and edited, where every scene, every line, every movement of the camera is for a reason, and adds to the greater narrative, elevates that narrative.

In the beginning, for example, we hear Edith say that her mother died of cholera, and that it was a closed casket, that her father begged her not to look — when Carter himself is on the block in the morgue, she is compelled to look although she doesn’t wish to, and seeing him dead there, she cannot conceive of the reality of the situation. She never sees her mother dead, but she understands she is dead, and then sees her as a ghost — never able to fully digest the death of her father, she denies it even as she touches his cold hand, and she is never haunted by him.

Edith mentions that she sees Thomas Sharpe as a parasite with a title before meeting him, and she is entirely right to think of him as such, because that is precisely what he is — there is a continuous and constant theme of living things feeding off one another. Lucille compares Edith to a butterfly, the two of them sitting side by side, one brightly yellow and the other dark and pale: Lucille tells Edith, distant and dreamy, that the moths she’s so familiar with eat butterflies (like her).

Edith and Lucille, via cap-that. “It’s a savage world of things dying or eating each other, right beneath our feet.”

Even the house itself at Allerdale is being consumed by the mountain below, being devoured by the red and bloody clay that had once given the family within it their fortune — having been fed upon by this family over generations, it now feeds on them in turn, both in the absorption of Allerdale House, and incidentally in the drowned victims of those the Sharpe siblings feed into the cellar vats.

Edith as a protagonist notes details — she’s keen and clever, investigates, considers; she notes that Alan keeps Arthur Conan Doyle on his shelves; she speaks on the specificities of Thomas Sharpe’s wardrobe and how its dated appearance reveals that his fortune is waning or has entirely waned; she follows clues, she researches, she deduces. Like her father, she reaches for information, arms herself with it.

We see her horrified again and again by the ghosts that plague her, and at the same time, she works so hard to understand them — she works hard at every opportunity to comprehend the incomprehensible, to know the unknown, to understand everything that cannot be understood.

There are so many other wonderful elements to the film — it’s beautifully shot, of course, and has some of my favourite costuming that I could name in any period piece. Every dress, every suit, is perfectly tailored, effortlessly lit, every piece moves and flows, every piece of jewellery or accessory is set to fit the period, the setting, each individual character.

Even the ghosts, with their smoky essence, with the unnatural shift and angularity to their movements embroiled in a constant and preternatural fog, seem so real, have such a texture to them that makes them so easy not only to visualise, but to imagine you can feel, that you can reach out and touch — or not touch, even as you reach.

And like any good Gothic piece, but especially a Gothic romance, Crimson Peak is a film that exudes sex.

Every glance between Edith and Thomas is full to the brim with want and lust and desire — Thomas’ gaze lingers on Edith’s face and her body, on her hands, on the movement of her skirts and the shift of her waist; Edith follows after Thomas where he moves, leans toward him like a candle flame drawn to a draught, and you can see her hold her breath whenever he draws closer.

Whenever there is a distance between the two of them it feels fraught with electric tension: when that distance is slowly closed, bit by bit, and yet repeatedly denied and interrupted — by Alan, by Carter, by Lucille, by everyone around them — it seems that it should crackle and pop, flash and burst into flames.

Lucille’s desperate control of Thomas is in part dependent on their sexual dynamic, on the older Lucille having groomed him into a partnership when she was only 14 and Thomas even younger at 12 — and Thomas’ soft murmurings, almost to himself, with Edith, are so revealing of his vulnerability.

“You’re so different,” he whispers in one scene, and quickly brushes off Edith’s bafflement at the comment; he is frightened to lay hands on Edith, even to be alone with her at times, for fear of Lucille’s wrath, and when finally permitted the opportunity to fall into bed with her, he’s desperate in his desire for her.

His most sympathetic moment is no doubt where he says to Alan through carefully gritted teeth that Alan is a doctor, that Alan knows where to direct Thomas’ blade, that he might finally do violence upon someone — what Lucille has always wanted from him — and yet still save himself from having committed a murder.

Lucille damns everyone she touches, kills everyone she can — her mother; Carter Cushing; the dog; each of her brother’s wives; Thomas Sharpe himself.

And yet she’s not unsympathetic.

We see Lucille’s desperation — under her cold demeanour is an agonisingly lonely woman, isolated and abused for the whole of her life, robbed of any real and obvious power of her own, and forced to wield power only through her brother’s name, her brother’s movements, her brother’s actual, legal power, which as a woman she cannot wield.

Lucille and Thomas were locked alone in their attic and denied access to anywhere else in the house, apparently denied any other companionship or loving contact — their mother was also an abuse victim, and became isolated after what their father did to her, but she just carried on the cycle in abusing her own children. Is it any wonder she should grapple so desperately for purchase in a world literally slipping out from under her, the sliding stone and brick stained red with crimson clay?

Is it any wonder that she should mix blood in with it, when she has nothing in the world, as far as she sees it, but her brother?

As cold and brutal and violent as Lucille is, she acts on instinct to protect herself and who she holds most dear — even in killing Thomas himself, it’s a desperate action in the hopes of keeping him bound up with her, terrified of his rejecting her when he has been the one constant she has ever been able to rely on.

God, what a film.

#musings #crimson peak #tom hiddleston #movie recs #movie review

[b-skarsgard]

Every so often though, art will imitate life. For twigs, that moment came when she took on the romantic life of Shelly Webster in The Crow. “It set a new bar for the type of love that I want,” she explains. In the reboot, Rupert Sanders re-centres the story of undying love and makes Shelly’s role more three-dimensional; a co-lead not a cipher. “I needed someone who was magical and almost beyond human, who had something like a gift that was just imperceptible, and there was something about twigs,” says the director, who cast the singer to star opposite Bill Skarsgård over afternoon tea, without so much as an audition. “On-screen relationships are really hard. But from the first day we shot twigs and Bill making out, jumping in a lake, smoking weed, and just being young adults having fun, it was really instant.” She shares the same fond memories. “I think Bill and I had incredible chemistry as friends off set. It made acting for me so much easier because I really trusted him,” twigs says. “I’m so romantic, I got to live a romance for a whole summer. How incredible to play that, because at the time, I was quite a broken woman,” she pauses to ponder the thought, then continues. “At the end of filming I was actually nervous about leaving Eric behind. But then I do think I still have Shelly within me, which sounds weird. But you know what Shelly taught me? That my darkness is beautiful, like a black rose.”

#fka twigs #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård #the crow #interview #vogue #british vogue #magazine #shelly webster

[hunnythebee]

Jealousy

Recent events between Phee and Tech have you feeling... well to put it bluntly, have you feeling jealous.

2.4k words - first person - gender neutral

Tags: Reader x Tech, GN Reader (let me know if I used anything gender specific and I will edit it out), Jealous!Reader, Best Friend!Hunter, mild spoilers for Season 2 Episode 13, pining, angst, fluff, love confessions, kissing

I would like to preface this by stating for the record, I am in no way against the direction they are going with Tech and Phee. I love that they are leading toward a canon romance (or at the very least hinting at it). However, posts made by people voicing their own opinions have inspired me to write this because I've never written a jealous!reader before and it sounded fun. Now that that’s out of the way, enjoy!

I had been cordial, friendly even with Phee. She was decent… for a pirate. Not that we had been much better in recent times, so who was I to judge? But what had me sucking at my teeth while I glared from my seat behind Tech was the way she was touching him. So familiar. And this nickname she had for him always made my stomach twist. ‘Brown eyes.’ How creative of her. I shouldn’t be so mad at her. She was going to help us afterall. Stars I just… I can’t figure out why she rubs the wrong way so hard.

I was silent as the dead the whole trip to wherever she was taking us. I hadn’t realized I was clenching my jaw until it unclenched. My whole mouth fell slack at the sight of this small island civilization. Beautiful blue waters surrounded a mountain dotted with small white huts. It looked so peaceful, so serene. Tech landed the Maurauder at the peak of the mountain, where there stood a tall tree and an even taller temple-like structure. As I stepped out of the ship the warm sun hit my skin and I sighed in relief. My seething anger melted away from me almost instantly.

A man, whom Phee referred to as Shep appeared on the platform, along with a young girl. She hugged the man, which made my anger melt even more. Maybe this was her husband and child? Maybe she’s just really friendly by nature. Then I overheard Wrecker make a joking comment towards Tech.

“Looks like you’ve got some competition.” He nudged Tech with his elbow to emphasize the remark. I bit my cheek and rolled my eyes, a gesture Hunter couldn’t help but notice. I relaxed a little when I took notice of Tech’s utter confusion towards Wrecker’s remark as he lowered his datapad. Phee then introduced Shep to us as the mayor of this island, Pabu, and his daughter Lyanna. Phee proceeded to list us off by name, Omega, myself, Hunter, Wrecker, and then Tech. My anger flared back up just a little when she saved Tech’s name for last, but I quickly attempted to stomp out the internal flame. Hunter was giving me a side eye, which meant I wasn’t quick enough about it.

After the introductions were made, Shep invited us all to eat with them at his home. As we were leaving the platform, Phee stated that she would catch up. Tech lingered behind the group, she said something to him and left. He turned around smiling and proceeded to catch up. I noticed his grin and his body language when they were talking, and I felt twinge. It wasn’t anger or hatred. This was something else entirely. I was so lost in thought I hadn’t realized that I was becoming a straggler, lingering so far behind the group that I couldn’t hear what any of them were saying. It didn’t matter. My heart pounded in my ears and I could feel a lump forming in my throat. I didn’t want to feel like this, not when everyone else was so happy. Yet here I was, turning green with jealousy. Worse yet, I couldn’t understand why. I turned my head to look out at the water as I walked, hoping the view would calm me as it had before. I was so focused that I didn’t notice Hunter blocking my path until it was too late.

I would have walked square into his chest if he hadn’t grabbed me by the shoulder with a gentle, yet firm hand. The contact startled me and I let out a small yell and clutched my chest.

“Hunter! You nerf-herder nearly gave me a heart attack,” I exclaimed. 

He was silent for a moment and then responded with a simple, “Your heart’s fine. Your head is what I’m concerned about.”

I tried to feign confusion. I knew exactly what he was talking about, but I was hoping if I acted dumb he wouldn’t pry. As usual, it didn’t work. He shouted up to the rest of the group that we would catch up in a minute, then turned his attention back to me.

“Talk to me. What’s going on? You’ve been off all day.” He was looking at me with that sincere concerned look he gets, and I knew I couldn’t hide what was bothering me. I sighed and fell against the wall to my right.

“It’s… Phee.” I started, struggling to get the words out.

“I figured out that much,” he stood in front of me, folding his arms over his chest. “The question is why does she make you so angry?”

I froze. My heart dropped into my stomach. I knew why. I had figured it out moments before the collision with Hunter. I wasn’t ready to say yet. Not fully.

“Because…” I hesitated, looking everywhere but Hunter’s eyes.

“Because?” He echoed.

I sighed heavily. I couldn’t say it. I physically couldn’t make the words take form, despite them being right on the tip of my tongue. I was struggling and he could tell. He stepped closer to me and I felt a caloused hand touch my cheek carefully. I finally let myself look at him. He had this knowing look on his face.

“Do you need me to say it for you?” He asked. I bit my lip and shook my head in agreement. There was no way of knowing if he actually knew what was running through my mind, but it did always kind of feel like he could read minds sometimes.

“You’re in love with Tech.”

He stated it so easily. Like it wasn’t the most planet shattering phrase in the galaxy. Tears welled in my eyes and I whispered a barely audible, “Yes.”

Hunter pulled me into a tight hug as the tears began to fall, and then the verbal floodgates released.

“I can’t stand it, Hunter. Seeing the two of them together. She’s always flirting with him. Touching him or calling ‘Brown Eyes.” What kind of kriffing nickname is that anyways? ‘Brown Eyes’? You all have brown eyes! At least be more original than that! But that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is the way he looks at her. He would never look at me like that…”

“That you’ve seen…” Hunter mutters under his breath. I pull away and stare at him with a furrowed brow.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I questioned.

“Nothing. I think you should talk to Tech. Tell him how you feel. If he feels the same then you can stop feeling so jealous. If he doesn’t… then at least you have closure.” He grabs my shoulder one last time and gives it a squeeze. “Think about it over dinner, okay?”

“Okay…” I responded.

I gathered myself and we headed toward the home of the Mayor. Dinner felt… long. Scratch that. It felt like an eternity. Phee was her usual self, and Tech seemed to actually be enjoying it. I felt sick. I couldn’t eat anymore. I stood up from the table abruptly and excused myself. I wasn’t sure where I was going to go, but I needed to get away from there. I decided to go back to the ship. I raced up the steps as fast as my legs would carry me. I don’t even think I was halfway there before I got winded and had to stop for breath. I felt far enough away that I could at least take my time now. I decided to take a break to watch the sunset, hoping that it would make me feel better. It was sort of working to calm my nerves, until I heard my name being called by a familiar voice. I turned my head to catch a glimpse of Tech, running up the steps towards me. His long legs carried him up two or three steps at a time. My heart raced and I panicked. I couldn’t face him like this. I turned quickly from him and began sprinting back up the steps, with him in tow and gaining. I was already exhausted from booking it up the steps before and my endurance was nothing compared to a clone’s, so it was a given that he was going to eventually catch up to me. I at least managed to get to the landing second to the top before he got to me. He caught my hand in his and my heart leapt inside my chest.

He was breathing hard from the exertion, “What…is…going…on?” He spoke, panting between his words.

“Just…leave…me…alone.” I panted back. I pulled my hand from his, despite wanting to keep it there forever. I tried to move to continue my climb, but I was too slow. His hands pressed into my shoulders and shoved me against the wall. My eyes widened at the show of brute force he was exhibiting. It wasn’t like him to use his strength like this. I had almost forgotten that, despite his differing physique, he was meant to be as strong as any other clone. There was escaping now, but I could still refuse to look in his eyes. If I did, I was sure I would break.

“Why are you running from me?” He still sounded exhausted, but his voice was like music to me. I sighed deeply and looked up at the sky, anything but his eyes. He lowered his head and continued to speak.

“Hunter…said I should be the one to come after you,” he admitted.

“That mud-scuffer…” I muttered.

Tech laughed, it was dry and tired, but it gave me chills. I was breaking already and I wasn’t even looking at him.

“Why didn’t he want me to catch you? Why are you running? And why… why won’t you look at me?” I could hear pain in his voice. I didn’t want to cause him pain. That was the last thing I wanted. I bit into my lower lip and finally met his stare. His eyes were filled with worry. He was looking straight into mine and I felt it. I was breaking. There was nothing stopping it.

“Please…” I pleaded with him in one last feeble attempt. “Please Tech… don’t.”

“I know something is wrong…” He ignored my pleas. “You can tell me anything. You know that.”

He was right. I am usually so open with him, so why should this be any different. Just tell him how I feel, be rejected and move on. Like Hunter said.

“I…” I start, but lose my train of thought when I look into his eyes. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the wall. Just say it already.

“I love you.”

My heart was pounding so loudly I wasn’t sure if he had responded and I couldn’t hear him, or if he was being unusually silent. I couldn’t bear to look at him. I didn’t want to see his eyes, the look of betrayal over my confession. Or the confusion. I couldn’t take it. I just wanted him to tell me doesn’t feel the same way so this could all be over. Finally I felt movement, his hands left my shoulders. I still didn’t dare look at him, keeping my eyes shut tight and my head against the wall. Still nothing from him. Maybe he left. I finally decided to open my eyes, to see if he truly had just walked away. But I couldn’t have been more wrong.

He was standing in front of me, looking magnificent with the sunset behind him. His hands were limp at his sides. I took my time working my way to his eyes. Wanting to avoid the moment for just a little longer. His mouth hung open slightly in shock. Finally I made it to his eyes, but they didn’t have the look I had been expecting. There was shock, which was to be expected, but something else. Something… contemplative.

“Tech, I–” I began, but the moment I spoke he moved in towards me. His hands found my neck and jaw, much softer than Hunter’s were, and fitting there perfectly as if they were made to hold me. Tech’s body was pressed completely against mine, with one of his legs tucked between mine. His face wasn’t even an inch from mine, as he nuzzled my nose with his own. My breath hitched in my throat as he spoke. His voice was still familiar, but the tone was foreign. He spoke low and with a heat I had never heard come from him before.

“Say it again,” he requested.

“I– I love you, Tech,” I confessed once more, as I leaned into his hand. And then his lips were on mine. Soft and gentle, patiently waiting for me to confirm that this action was okay. I kissed him back, pressing into him and reveling in this moment. He hummed happily and deepened the kiss. We continued like this till the sun had set completely. Finally we broke apart for air and he pressed his forehead to mine.

I needed to hear him say the words. So I leaned back, wanting to see him say it. Then I breathlessly asked, “Do you love me?”

“Emotions are a complex concept, and I don’t fully believe that words can be utilized to sum up one's feelings at any given point. But… if I had to put a word to what I am feeling, then… yes. Love is about as close to explaining how I feel about you.” He responded, making even that absurdly roundabout ‘yes’ sound sexy.

I laughed, “I wouldn’t have expected you to say you love me in any other way.”

“Am I truly that predictable?” He looked a little offended.

“Hmm… occasionally.” I responded. “For example, I didn’t know what to expect from you when I confessed. But I do know what you’re going to say next.”

“Do you now?” He cocked his head in amusement.

“Mmhm. You’re going to say we should head back before the others begin to worry,” I replied.

His eyes widened slightly, “How did yo–” 

“I know you,” I shrugged, grabbing him by the arm. “So, let’s head back. There’s plenty of time for… this, later.”

He blushed a little at the thought, and agreed to head back down to the Mayor’s home. I finally felt at ease. I hope the rest of the night is more relaxing.

Masterlist

#the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #the bad batch fanfic #tbb #tbb fanfiction #tbb fanfic #bad batch #bad batch fanfiction #bad batch fanfic #tech #tech x reader #tech x you #reader x tech #you x tech #best friend hunter #jealous!reader x tech #jealous reader #gender neutral reader x tech #gn!reader #gn!reader x tech #tech x gn!reader

[sassykattery]

Rites and Rituals, Pt. 5

Well that was hot. Can I make it hotter?

CW: MC is afab, uses she/her pronouns. MC is a demon and poly. *Smut scene: monsterfucking? (Use of demon forms), voyeurism, exhibitionism, cucking (I guess?), creampie, biting. Mention blood briefly.

Themes: Romance. DiavoloxMC. LuciferxMC. Sex.

Characters: Barbatos, MC="you", Lucifer, Diavolo

Minors and ageless blogs DNI

18+ only

Enjoy

Masterlist

"Young Master, Mistress I–," Barbatos stopped short to see you and Diavolo passed out on the prince's bed, still naked and in your demon forms, both asleep. You were lying face down, leg kicked out and head laid to the side. Diavolo was partially on top of you, his head directly behind yours, nuzzling your hair.

It wasn't often Barbatos was caught off-guard like this, but he wasn't oblivious to what you and Diavolo did. It just wasn't like either of you to remain this way for long. But what Barbatos also found interesting was his reaction to seeing you in particular. There was something about your demon form he found to be extremely arousing, so quickly and quietly he shut the door, looking to find something else to occupy his time and mind until you two awoke.

There was a knock at the castle doors, so Barbatos attended to that, finding Lucifer on the other side.

"Good afternoon, looking for MC? I don't believe you have any meetings with the young lord today, Lucifer," Barbatos said, gesturing for the demon to come in.

"Indeed. She hasn't answered her D.D.D., and my brothers are driving me up the wall with some of the wedding tasks she asigned to us," Lucifer stated.

"Well, it may be a while," Barbatos said, his eyes shifting away.

"Ah, is she asleep?" Lucifer asked. "It's unusual consider– Barbatos?" Lucifer stopped when he saw the slightest hint of pink on the butler's cheeks. "What's wrong with her?"

"Go see for yourself," Barbatos stated, walking off to distract himself. Before Lucifer could ask, he was gone. So, he began to wander the castle in search of you. You weren't in the office, so he went to your suite, to which everything was still in place and your bed was still made. Finally, he had the thought to check Diavolo's bedroom, becoming slightly concerned.

Quietly, he opened the door to see what Barbatos must have seen. You two were still in the same spot, and truly, to Lucifer, you looked so beautiful like that. He approached, kneeling down next to the bed, just a foot away from your face. He reached out his hand to brush the hair away from your face, which caused you to stir, and your eyes fluttered open.

Instantly, you smiled to see your beloved, and he softly smiled back. Carefully, you detached from Diavolo and slid yourself off the bed, right onto Lucifer's lap, to where he ran his gloved hands up and down your naked back, kissing you softly.

"Hello, my love," he murmured.

"Mm, hi. What are you doing here?" You muttered back quietly.

"My brothers needed your assistance back at the House, but now I'm inclined to just stay here with you like this, my little demon," he replied, his hands wandering down to your ass and giving it a squeeze. His gaze drank in your naked demon form.

"Ah, well, I wouldn't mind, you know you're always welcome," you replied sweetly. His foxlike grin clued you in to his thoughts, so you slipped your hands under his shirt. You peaked up over the bed to see Diavolo still asleep, so you looked back down at Lucifer and attacked his mouth with your own.

*Lucifer grabbed a hold of you and gently reclined back onto the floor and rolled over to hover above you, now in his demon form, too. Quickly, both of you worked together to disrobe him and became tangled up in one another, little moans and gasps escaping. At one point his cock slipped into your entrance, and a louder moan escaped your lips, and your nails drug up his back at the pleasure.

"MC," he growled at you.

"Please," you whimpered, arching your back. He dove down to ravage your neck, thrusting into you faster.

"I've got you, dove," he muttered. He brought his lips back to yours, both your tongues lashing out at one another. Breaking the kiss, his eyes raked over your appearance, the haziness flooding your gaze, the redness of your cheeks.

His hands grabbed your thighs to bring them up and wrap your legs around his hips. Never having tried this with you, he reached up and gently grasped your horns near the base. You gasped and writhed, tightening your legs around his body, refusing to let him go.

"You like that, sweetness?" He whispered. Tears formed at the corners of your eyes, and you nodded. His hands released them only to graze his fingers from the tip of your horns all the way down to where they met your scalp. A more pitiful and needy whimper escaped your lips as your eyes rolled back, wings tensing up and feathers standing on end.

"Mm, now that's sexy," Diavolo said from his perch on the bed. Lucifer side-eyed the prince. He was laying chest-down on the bed near the edge to watch you both, propped up on one elbow, chin held on his palm.

You registered that Diavolo had spoken, but it was far away as all you could think about were the volts of dazzling pleasure rolling down your spine as Lucifer ran his thumbs over the apex of your horns, right on the ridges, causing you to purr. No, not quite like a domestic feline, more like a cheetah, where your whole body vibrated below Lucifer.

Finally, you managed to look up through half-lidded eyes, glancing over at Diavolo, who smiled as you gazed at him. Lucifer quickly grabbed your chin with one hand, snapping it back towards him. "Eyes on me, pretty demon," he demanded, thrusting into you harder to get your attention, to which you gasped at the sensation. Your hands gripped onto his biceps, fingers digging into his flesh.

"That's it, darling, focus on who's making you feel so good," he mused. "In fact, say my name," he ordered.

"Lucifer," you whispered.

"Louder, let me hear your pretty voice," he demanded. Your blush deepened, feeling a touch embarrassed at his command. He saw your hesitation and smirked. "What? You don't want to moan my name in front of him?"

"Go on, darling, stroke his ego," Diavolo mused, watching you. You wanted to look back at him again, but you did your best to keep your eyes on the demon fucking you.

Lucifer reached back and forced one of your legs onto his shoulder, and then leaned forward to deepen the penetration.

"Ah! Lucifer!" You wailed as he hit your g-spot relentlessly.

"That's it, dove, just like that. You sound for pretty like that," Lucifer groaned. He ducked his head down to your ear and whispered, "Now, look at him and scream it while I make you cum."

Your eyes went wide, and he brought your other leg onto his shoulder, pressing your knees back into your torso as he bullied your cervix. Tears began to fall from the stimulation, and a choked, broken sob escaped your lips as you looked over at Diavolo finally.

"Luu-ci-feeer," you cried. Diavolo just watched in awe and a smirk, holding your gaze. The demon fucking you buried his face in your neck, biting into the crook of it as he came apart on top of you. He continued to thrust through your mutual orgasms, carrying you through as he filled you with his warm desire, so much that it was already leaking back out. Your hands dug into his shoulders, your nails beginning to draw blood as you clutched him as tightly as possible. His bite, similarly, nicked into your skin, red drops sliding onto his lips and tongue.

Moments after your climax released you, you still clung onto Lucifer, burying your face into his neck.

"Are you alright?" He whispered into your ear.

"Tired," is all you whispered back. You returned back to your regular form, feeling rather weak.

*Gently, his hands went under your back, and with his core strength, he sat up on his knees and then stood to his feet while you hung on koala-style. And then carefully, he placed you back on the bed. He unhooked your limbs from his body and withdrew from you, leaving to clean himself up.

Diavolo scooted over to you and kissed your temple. Unable to speak, you simply rolled over and cuddled up to him.

"Did we wear you out?" He asked quietly. You nodded. Lucifer returned and joined you two on the bed and then pulled you back over to himself.

Diavolo frowned, but Lucifer retorted, "You had your time with her. However, I do believe Barbatos was... bothered by something, you may want to look into that."

"Barbatos?" Diavolo asked. Lucifer recounted what was said before he found you both. Diavolo left you two to get dressed and investigate.

---

Elsewhere in the castle, Barbatos furiously worked in the kitchen, doing anything to distract himself. He ended up creating a three-course meal enough to feed twenty people by accident, and when he looked around at what he'd done, he sighed.

"Hm, the last time you did this was when MC was nearly killed by lower demons, and you ended up making enough of your signature cake, even Beel didn't finish it, so what's troubling you this time?" Diavolo asked from the doorway.

Barbatos stared at the kitchen counter, combing through his thoughts.

"I wish you would have just told me that's how you felt," Diavolo stated at the lack of an answer.

"Surely, I don't know what you speak of, my lord," Barbatos replied coldly, retrieving plates.

"I knew you loved her, but I'm a tad surprised you desire her," Diavolo stated.

"It doesn't matter," Barbatos replied, keeping his voice even.

Diavolo crossed his arms and tilted his head. "Surely, you know I'd disagree with that. You haven't desired anyone in millennia, Barbatos."

"My lord, it doesn't matter, because how I feel only comes secondary to how you feel, and that is how it must be," Barbatos answered, a tad tense.

"I would think after all these years, you still wouldn't hold that opinion. I care very much about how you feel," Diavolo replied, softening. "I assume she doesn't know."

"No, and she won't," Barbatos stated, finally facing the prince and halting his work.

Diavolo's eyes widened. "You saw something, didn't you?"

Barbatos' eyes glittered with hints of emotion. Diavolo approached, standing on the other side of the kitchen island counter. "What was it?" The prince inquired.

"The last time you asked me to look at her present timelines, yes, I saw something. Sometimes, she reciprocates. Sometimes, she doesn't. In any case, she already has you and the eldest Avatar and holds the attentions of every other beast or being in all three realms. Surely, I don't need to add to her list of concerns," the butler quipped.

"You're worried she'll reject you?" Diavolo pressed further.

"My lord," Barbatos finally warned, "she is betrothed to you and Lucifer. Surely neither of you are interested in creating an even more complicated situation."

"You never asked if we were," Diavolo pointed out. "So, I assume that means we rejected the idea in other realities." He paused for a moment. "Barbatos, you've served me well over the years, I think the least I could do is offer you the chance to get something you want. I'll talk with Lucifer, and maybe you can find out for yourself," he said before turning to leave the butler to his thoughts.

Barbatos was rarely shocked, but he found himself rather nervous at the prospect of confessing himself to you like that.

---

"Is she asleep?" Diavolo asked from the doorway to the bedroom. Lucifer nodded, still cradling you. "Let's talk in my office."

Begrudgingly, Lucifer released his hold on you carefully, and left you to sleep as he got dressed again and followed the prince.

Diavolo smirked as he sat at his desk.

"This should be good," Lucifer mused, seeing the prince's reaction.

"You know Barbatos loves MC, yes?" Diavolo inquired.

"I'm aware," Lucifer replied, unsure of where this was going.

"It seems as though he also has other feelings."

Lucifer's eyes narrowed, "Other?"

"He desires her," Diavolo clarified.

"And what do you make of that?" Lucifer asked, a little unenthused.

Diavolo's smirk deepened. "I know you're not fond of sharing MC, however, I do think she may hold some amount of the same feelings. Or, at least, a version that is maybe a little more subdued."

"I think I'd like to know how MC feels about it before going too far with the idea. But does he merely want to spend time with her, or...?" Lucifer trailed off.

"I'm not certain. Barbatos hasn't been interested in anyone in at least a thousand years, so I'm not even sure what he would want out of a relationship at this point. But he made it clear that in other realities, sometimes she accepts his feelings, other times not, as well as sometimes we do and don't reject the idea," Diavolo replied, deep in thought.

"I see. Well, as we agreed, whatever makes MC happy, I'm fine with, but yes, I will admit I'm not fond of sharing her more than I have to," Lucifer stated, slightly uneasy. "I suggest we talk with Barbatos and then MC, to get a better idea of the situation."

Diavolo nodded. "Agreed."

---

Thanks for reading! <3

Post made by sassykattery. Do not repost. Reblogs and comments appreciated.

Tags: @delphi-dreamin @bite-sized-devil @itsmeninerz @themythicaldisaster @obeymediasimp @flemmingbamse @marvelous-maniac @frozengoldie

#obey me #obey me shall we date #sassywrites #sassystories #obey me fanfic #obey me lucifer #love-eternal #obey me diavolo #obey me smut #lucifer x female reader #lucifer smut #diavolo smut

[beanghostprincess]

I typed shuggy into tag and noticed you answering some stuff about them so I hope it’s alright to ask!!! I finished Netflix version like yesterday and I loved shuggy vibes and I told this on tw and some people came to me and told me it’s mid and there are better shanks ships, because he doesn’t really care about buggy I tried to look through wiki but it’s so many stuff there and it will take me ages to catch up Does he care about buggy?? I want someone to spoil me!! I actually really want to know this!

Some might prefer other ships and that is alright, but straight-up saying that Shanks doesn't care about Buggy is just... Not true at all. That being the main reason why some people seem to not ship them is just ridiculous. The short answer is: Yes, he does care about Buggy. Quite a lot, actually. The Netflix adaptation skipped their flashback for literally no reason (I am guessing we will see it... Someday?) but it shows Shanks cares a lot for him.

A lot of stuff happens between them but the missing flashback is more than enough to know, I think: They were on a pirate crew together and these two are shown to be always arguing about stupid things from a very young age. Like. Childhood best friends type of thing. And I find it funny how people say Shanks doesn't care about Buggy when he is shown to be the one approaching him all the time instead of Buggy doing so. Shanks actually seems more open to showing his care for Buggy than him. Constantly. Long story short, things™ happen and Buggy finds this map and this devil fruit and he wants to sail on his own to sell it and find the treasure on the map to form his own pirate crew. Again, things™ happen and Shanks appears out of nowhere, making Buggy eat the fruit suddenly and drop the map into the sea. And because Shuggy is desperate for a new life and to make a name for himself, he jumps into the sea to grab the map. Of course, he's drowning, and Shanks doesn't hesitate, not even for a damn second to save him. Idk about you, but that is peak romance to me.

That is one of the reasons why Buggy is resentful toward Shanks. Although I think the map and fruit thing is more of a metaphor/symbology than anything else for, like, the real reason why Buggy resents Shanks. But that's another story--

And, if you don't care about spoilers, I'll just tell you THE Shuggy moment for me that shows how much Shanks cares about Buggy: They were supposed to go to the last island together with their crew but Buggy suddenly got sick and was told not to go despite his begging to let him do so. And Shanks (WITHOUT ANYBODY TELLING HIM TO, BY THE WAY, THIS IS ALL HIM) stayed back with him instead of going with the rest of the crew. He took care of Buggy when he was sick. And stayed back because he clearly didn't want to achieve their dream if Buggy wasn't there too or at least he thought it was unfair to do so without him. He was heavily worried about him, too, like-- (Not to mention the parallelisms of this with the same thing happening between a canon romantic couple in the same episode... Oda you're not subtle about Shuggy).

Most people will say "but that's a thing from the PAST! He used to care about Buggy but not anymore" but they are wrong. You truly, genuinely think that SHANKS is going to stop caring for his old friend??? ??????? ????? SHANKS????????? That man values personal connections and friendships so fucking bad it is. One of the things he teaches Luffy???? Like- There is NO way he doesn't care about Buggy. Also the bubble speech theory... When they meet again at Marineford and he smiles at him so sweetly... Crying sobbing...

I hope this was enough to answer your question! People might like other ships and that is completely alright! But saying Shanks doesn't care about Buggy......................... I am side-eyeing them......

#imagine saying shanks doesn't care about buggy OF ALL THINGS #you gotta be kidding me i- this is actually really funny idk what type of show they've been watching #always found funny the 'shanks has better ships' bc.... i mean he does have great ships but the one with more emotional depth is shuggy #i don't trust people on twitter with opinions never #every time someone says shuggy is mid i start shaking with rage #and also !!!!! you can ask whatever you want anon it's totally alright #i am glad you liked the dynamic in OPLA!!! if you ever watch the show or read the manga i'm sure you'll love them even more #one piece #buggy the clown #red haired shanks #shuggy #ask-bean!

[autisticlancemcclain]

fic rec friday 15

welcome the the fifteenth fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.  

1. there, nestled against his pulse by @hiuythn

stop why are you doing this to me stop it stop it stop--

klance soulmate au where your right wrist has the first words your soulmate says to you, and the left holds the last words they'll say to you. super sad, so much angst, and i've been informed it'll make you sob until you choke.

1. there, nestled against his pulse (the main story, from Keith's POV) 2. this is what love looks like: (tnahp from Lance's POV + 38k of sequel content) 3. roll credits (deleted/extra scenes and additional headcanons)

okay. i am so desperately obsessed with this fic, i was obsessed with it the first time i read it and im obsessed with it now. and yes i know i did all hiuythn fics last week and i promise i wont this week. BUT i have a set of comments associated with this fic bc it is Just That Good and so i shall present them to u now:

- literally the funniest characterization of shiro i’ve ever read. this shiro is gay and tired. this shiro unironically and frequently says “move. i’m gay” and gets away with it at the garrison. this shiro has been through A Lot and just wants to fucking retire - allura here is so so funny she’s such a badass. she’s giving “i love shiny things! like the shine of your spilled blood on the floor if you say that dumb shit one more fucking time!!” we stan a queen. - coran is a Mood. this man is desperately trying to reign in four teenagers and two young adults and just wants to go to bed and also he cares for them all so so much. ultimate dad - pidge is Mischief Personified. she is a brat and i adore her. she’s here to cause problems and by god she will succeed - hunk is so done it’s so fucking funny. “that’s literally impossible.” he’s a genius and he knows it, he’s glad to call you out on your bullshit. he doesn’t even TRY to pretend he can keep a secret and/or handle drama god what a mood - don’t even get me started on klance!! they’re so funny omg. the banter is EXQUISITE. lance and keith adore each other so much and they’re so badass. literally the coolest power couple fight scenes ever to be made, i do adore. gosh. and the ROMANCE they are so devoted to each other i’m emotional - honourable mention of lance’s legs and keith’a Soft Squishy Feelings that are mentioned so often that they’re characters. iconic. all in all, the best way to describe this series is Gay and Tired. i love it and i’m sad to see it end. i will be rereading it an embarrassing number of times. infinity/10

2. all the little things by @jilliancares

Or: 5 times Keith let Lance get away with things that he'd never let anyone else do, and 1 time Lance realized that he was, apparently, special

oblivious lance will always be funny to me. and the idea of keith just letting lance get away with Everything and Everyone knowing how whipped he is except for lance himself?? peak humour. never not funny

3. Full Disclosure by @dragonomatopoeia

Keith is impulsive and straightforward when it comes to most things, and emotions are no exception. It's no surprise, then, that when he realises that he might have developed a crush on Lance, he tries to tell him immediately. Unfortunately, it's very hard to account for both circumstance and who Lance is as a person.

Alternatively: Four Times Keith Tried to Confess and One Time Lance Actually Understood

more 2016 eliteness!! this fic is hilarious. and also its number one selling quality is that all of the characters are trans and nd i literally love that for them. nonbinary hunk loml

4. catch me, before i fall by @pastelrainbow

‘We are a good team.’

Even now, just recalling the way Lance had smiled as the words left his lips, made Keith’s heart race and his cheeks redden. Lance had never looked at him so fondly before. No boy ever had. The thought of it made a sigh escape his lips and Keith hunched his shoulders, a pout tugging his lips downwards.

Curse my weak gay heart.

-

a what if keith caught lance outside his cryo-pod.

the idea of keith being a suave casanova with more game than aphrodite herself but immediately going bright red and hissing when shiro teases him. peak dynamic. absolutely nailed siblings 

5. of demons and dates by spartona (faveour)

Three times Keith scares Lance shitless with his ghost shenanigans, and one time Lance tries to retaliate.

first of all. BFU KLANCE BFU KLANCE BFU KLANCE. second of all. the  “we’ve BEEN dating u dumbass ily” trope is so funny to me. i will never get over it

that’s it for today!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!

#actually lots of five plus one esque fics this week #bc i love them #ahem anyways #vld #voltron #lance #lance mcclain #keith #keith kogane #klance #team as family #fluff and humour #broganes #fic rec #fic rec friday #longpost

[jokeringcutio]

Halloween Prompt Fills MASTERLIST 2023 [ Reader Inserts ]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

AN: Follow me for more Reader-Inserts.

Non-Explicit Tales:

Reader accidentally enters Neverland and meets Hook Fandom: Hook / Peter Pan Pairing: Reader x Captain James Hook Rating: Teen Warnings: Halloween Party, Pirates, Kiss.

Reader is an Au Pair trick and treating at the Grabber's door Fandom: The Black Phone 2022 Pairing: Albert Shaw (The Grabber) x Reader (Au Pair from abroad) Rating: Teen Warnings: Au Pair Reader is from Abroad, Mention of Age Gap, Dark Undertones. Overall quite sweet.

Summary: You are an Au Pair stopping at the Grabber’s House. Romantic (with perhaps the tiniest hint of darkness underneath).

Reader meets Thomas Sharpe at the Halloween BallFandom: Crimson Peak Pairing: Sir Thomas Sharpe x Reader Rating: Teen Warnings: None Really. Romance. Talk about marriage and kids. Drama. Tiny bit of Angst? Sorry it was written in a rush. Possible Cameo for Albert Shaw. Summary:  AU in which Sir Thomas Sharpe never had his sister corrupt him and meets Reader at a Halloween masquerade.

Explicit Tales below:

(Don't read if you're under 18)

Reader in Hogwarts outfit visits Snape during Halloween Fandom: Harry Potter Pairing: Professor Snape x Reader Rating: Explicit Summary: A grown-up dressed as a Hogwarts student on Halloween… Snape has his own thoughts about it.

Warnings: Explicit Sexual content, spanking, blowjob.

Reader Mistakes Arthur Fleck (as Carnival) for a friend Fandom: Joker 2019 Pairing: Arthur Fleck (as Carnival) x Reader Rating: Explicit Summary: You mistake him for somebody else, but that might be the best thing that happened to the both of you, for you end up losing your virginity to each other.

Warnings: Sexual content, Virginity/First time.

Reader ends up being bred by Otis in a Halloween Ritual Please read ALL warnings. Fandom: House of a 1000 corpses, devil's rejects, 3 from hell. Pairing: Otis B. Driftwood x Reader Rating: Explicit Summary: When you and your friends ask for help, you end up as part of a horrific ritual. Warnings: Killer Family, murder, death of a friend, Sexual content, Non-con, Breeding.

Reader Bumps into a Clown at Halloween who comes to visit her house Please read ALL warnings. Fandom: Terrifier (2), All Hallows Eve (2) Pairing: Art the Clown x Reader Rating: Explicit Summary: It is Halloween when you bump into a clown and, embarrassed, apologize. Later that evening, your roommate Meri seems to have invited that very same clown into your house for a bit of fun. But that fun turns quickly into a nightmare. Warnings: Mention of Murder, Cannibalism, death of a friend, Sexual content, dub-con. Reader is scared of clowns. Implied Virginity/First Time. Mention of Blood. Coulrophobia.

Reader (witch!) ties Ernst to his chair and has her way with him Fandom: First Reformed Pairing: Ernst Toller x (Witch!) Reader Rating: Explicit Summary: Ernst is home alone at Halloween when a Witch comes at his door. Warnings: Mention of inner conflict, Pastor x Witch, Explicit Sexual Content, Slight Bondage: Ernst is tied down, Reader on top.

Reader is putting on decorations with coworker Albert Shaw Fandom: The Black Phone 2022 Pairing: Albert Shaw (The Grabber) x Reader (coworker) Rating: Explicit Summary: You’re putting the decorations up in the hardware store where you work, when your coworker lingers behind to help you.

Warnings: Explicit Sexual content, Reader wearing a skirt, Fingering.

Reader finds a handsome wounded stranger at her door Fandom: Stranger Things Pairing: Henry Creel (001) x Reader Rating: Explicit Summary: It’s Halloween when a young, wounded man appears at your door. How can you refuse him.. anything?

Warnings: Explicit Sexual content, mention of blood, orderly Henry Creel.

Reader dresses up as a Vampire after catching Arthur as Dracula Fandom: Joker (2019) Pairing: Arthur Fleck x Reader Rating: Explicit Summary: Arthur thinks dressing up as Dracula will help him seduce his neighbor: you.

Warnings: Explicit Sexual content, smoking (Arthur), laughing during sex.

If you like my work you can: [ Show support and buy me a ko-fi) ] [ Follow my Tumblr for more updates and new fics ] I take requests ♡

#masterlist halloween #masterlist #fanfiction

[legendary-guest]

what r ur favorite drakgo fics?

A very good question! I have a lot of favourites! List with blurbs and commentary incoming, giant. Reviewed Mad Angry, Mad Crazy by bcbdrums Hell hath no fury like a mad scientist scorned! Borderline psychological thriller, equal parts character deconstruction and tragedy, a twisted telling of the aftermath of So the Drama and Mad Dogs and Aliens. Love having your brain scrambled, heart torn apart? This one's for you! I've reviewed this one in particular for anyone who may feel lost when following the story; also, because I adore it.

Mint by OhBoyOhBoy A moment of deep sentiment and romance amongst chaos and debris. Tension is built upon excellently, the sweetness is the peak and the end, a (literal) gasp. This author has great work, but this is my absolute favourite. Contains my favourite Shego name ever.

Drakgo Drabbles by gofordrakgo Some of the best drabble work I have ever seen. No word is wasted. Moments in time, bits of unique characterisation, huge events condensed into 100 words; a wide variety of topics and themes. You will find something you love here, don't let the word count put you off. Less is more, and how! I recommend revisiting a piece that catches your interest to appreciate it better, don't fly through. Dwelling by gofordrakgo A unique origin story for our favourite villains, where a young Shego, Shea (my second favourite Shego name), worms her way into dorky Drew Lipsky's derelict apartment and the domino effect that comes of it. Reverse-engineered Drakgo; unrefined, naive, and...innocent? Lots of sweetness and humour with an underlying, creeping darkness. Developing story, I recommend sticking around - I know I am! and now i'm covered in you by soulffles (NSFW 18+) A fantastic post-Graduation get-together fic with wonderful prose. Deeply romantic, intimate and funny! The internal monologues for this piece are spot on, the way the author weaves in humour amongst these vulnerable moments and thoughts just endears me to Drakken and Shego's plight of...realising that they love each other. A Precise Hand by eclipsing-dreams Fantastic subject of hands being the focus, revolving around all the wonderful things they can do (and can elicit!). Two chapters, one for each of them. Excellently constructed, fantastic characterisation, and just a touch (har har) naughty. A slightly unique edge of characterisation is given to Shego's part that I find intriguing. Happy, sweet ending; you aren't left hanging! Highly recommend the author's other pieces, this is simply my favourite. Here by gofordrakgo Drakken and Shego show-up for each other when they need someone most. The Shego section in this story is my favourite; the best depiction of, to avoid spoilers, a 'vulnerable' Shego I have ever seen. This convinced me, this was her. Dr. D showing up for her in that part, my goodness. I love it. The wounded pride, the shame, the quashing of feeling she presents is just great. Fantastic balance. So lovely. Happy ending. Friends by gofordrakgo Shego realises she may not have been the greatest friend to Drakken, and questions the nature of their relationship post-Graduation in her emotional exhaustion. Fantastic character breakdown, very tightly written. If you love slow-on-the-uptake Drakgo, an emotionally exhausted Shego who suddenly lets her thoughts (and feelings) run wild and awkward domesticity, I recommend. Forfeit by bcbdrums The only winning move is not to play! Somewhat non-linear story-telling, smashing together the bits of Dr. Drakken's shattered life post-Graduation, and post-Shego. O, we love a good Greek tragedy! Parting is such sweet sorrow. Jealous by TheyCanHaveTheSex (NSFW 18+) How can I say no to angry, angst fuelled sex, anguish and repressed feeling? How can I say no to jealousy? I can't, is the answer. Love the tension and how bizarre Shego is in particular in this piece, at least to a certain point. The way the story gives way to genuine hurt, too, I really love it a lot. It's not very heavy, in my opinion, but it does get a bit sad. Sweet, happy ending, I really love this one.

Unreviewed A New Beginning by Windcage (NSFW 18+) Yet another fantastic post-Graduation get-together fic! Mature, sort of refined atmosphere that I love, featuring a particularly distracted Dr. Drakken and an unusually patient Shego - until she isn't. Very, very sweet, romantic and funny. Doc's plant mutation is characterised in a fun way here as well. Highly recommend. come back when you can by obijuankenobi (NSFW 18+) A Drakgo exclusive Graduation Part 1, basically! Excellently written exploration of Drakken and Shego's new careers post-Graduation, and insight into how Dr. D really sees himself, after all the fanfare. Well-written, fun plot that does not overstay its welcome, fun action scenes, Drakken and Shego protecting each other, and, most of all, extremely sweet and tender romance. A++, five gold stars, Honour Roll, you name it. And, Motor Ed gives Shego a sexy motorcycle! Why didn't she ever have one in the show? This author gets it. Bad is Good and Good is Bad by split-n-splice Realistic, gritty and somewhat surreal depiction of how Drakken and Shego met, before they became Drakken and Shego. Strong, tense atmosphere. Visceral, ugly, the lowest they have ever been in their young lives, and, when they meet, consequences are inevitable and paths are determined, set in stone. The author makes clever narrative choices, such as omitting names entirely, which builds upon the emerging, almost 'blank slate' aspects of the Doc's and Shego's identities as youths at this point in time. The setting is fantastic, probably my favourite aspect of this piece. So many strong bits of imagery that involve the environment, especially in the second and third chapters. A great scar origin story, too. I highly recommend for anyone who likes something meatier, more grounded. O yeah, and there's great art inside! How considerate of the author to help the reader out! Durable by tabbyclaw Love this one, especially the bluntness of Shego's inner monologue/prose. Possessive, cheeky, somewhat domineering, almost feigning playing second-fiddle to Dr. Drakken. The setting for this is great, there's a great sense of Shego-flavoured risk and recklessness involved without sacrificing her glamour. This might all sound like nonsense, but, I assure you, it is all there in the text! Fans of kissy-face, this one is for you! (Meaning, every Drakgo fan ever, but I digress).

Untitled by tabbyclaw I always appreciate this author's maturity when dealing with Drakgo, I adore it, and it's present here, too. No skimping on the romance at all, it's just wonderful. A take on a love confession that's just so...nice. After the whirlwind and fervour, realisation rolls in. Comforting. Ocean Views by Aleego ; Tumblr fanfic link inspired by art by midnightcaptions (NSFW 18+) An excellent fic inspired by a great piece of art! Truly a merger of great minds! Phone sex might be nothing new, but it works excellently here to establish tension. It's actually a fantastic headspace for Drakken and Shego to be in as characters, not having to face each other, but to speak as if they were alone. It's a strange bit of intimacy between them that, potentially, serves as a lynch pin to how their dynamic changes. Tastefully written. Truth or Dare by those-other-ones (NSFW 18+) Love this one. Love how unique it is, how casual it is, how unglamorous it is. It's also incredibly sweet, vulnerable. Romantic drunkenness, if you will. Captures their competitive and stubborn personalities very well, sabotaging themselves without even knowing by throwing alcohol into the mix. Happy ending, very tender, intimate, sweet. Full-on sex not something you can handle? Try this one. Untitled by those-other-ones (NSFW 18+) An alternative take on an existing fic where Shego is still a hero in Go City and Dr. Drakken makes his villainous debut! I enjoy how weird this is as a first meeting. The setting allows for a great sexual tension and atmosphere that's very unusual, and, when villain and hero are alone together, fervour, desperation and tenderness are unleashed. Very different, highly recommend. Love this one. Routine by Nikki-wr (NSFW 18+) Drakken and Shego's relationship suddenly becomes physical, but it's not all roses. This is a really excellent, weighty, angsty fic. I love how their misunderstandings, miscommunication and insecurities are depicted, their fears of honesty and taking risks when it comes to each other, juxtaposed with irony of perpetuating a self-destructive path. My words might be strong, but this fic ends very, very sweetly. In truth, all of this author's pieces are strong, and angst-tinged, which I adore, but I've chosen this one to highlight. Love the passion. Oldies: Fics from Years Gone By! Vietnam by Dr. Agent My absolute favourite Drakken-centric Drakgo fic ever, bar none! Drakken's developing feelings for Shego are documented in unguarded moments, woven with masterful, restrained prose. The language in this blows me away, it's just. Wow. There is one line in this, a single line, that I obsess over. Powerful imagery and metaphor that ties together the wilderness, war and jungle-theming of the piece - just brilliant, multi-faceted. The author also has a Shego-centric one to mirror this, but Vietnam is my absolute favourite. Beautiful Dynamite by Crystal Allen My favourite Shego character-study fic, ever! Set during Two to Tutor, the author utilises Señor Senior Sr.'s wisened voice as our guide into the ferocious, yet unattractive, side of Shego. Brilliant, I cannot think of a more polarising pair to make commentary on each other, despite their shared hedonism, passion for wealth and villainy. SSS makes slight Drakgo commentary at the end, which I love. Makes me want to read more from his perspective on the two of them, since in this fic, their relationship sort of parallels and contradicts ones he has had in the past. I highly recommend for any big Shego fans. Jealous by NAster Another great Shego-centric fic with jealousy as a core theme that makes the list? Say it isn't so! Wonderful take on Shego's flighty, ornery nature and how it's influenced her behaviour with Drakken, and, with everyone else. Understated, sweet Drakgo, possessive Shego. What's not to love?

Out of Control by Blackfire 18 The Supreme One's treatment of her last line of defence has warped him, not just in body, but in mind. Some of my favourite nasty lines from Supreme Shego and Drakken live here. Rage, angst and tragedy, all in one. The Supreme One's future is miserable for all, even herself. Downer ending. Seeking Shelter from the Rain by Blackfire 18 A classic. Adore this author's Gothic atmosphere, it's very nostalgic, and very prominent in this dreary piece. Amidst a recent failure, Shego is vulnerable and Drakken is there with her. Comforting, sweet ending. Fatal Mistake in the Dark by Blackfire 18 In my opinion, not as strong as the other two pieces. However, it is the ending to this that I really like. The author's sense of building dread is fantastic and present in all her dark fics, but the pay-off for this one is intriguing. Tragedy...? Everything by Hematitebadger A measured, mature, sweet, outcome of a scenario where Dr. Drakken wins. The sheer gentleness, the duality of Lipsky, what he is capable of and who he is. Just lovely. Minutes and Years by Hematitebadger 50 sentences, a real relic from the past! One of the very best that Drakgo has to offer. You only need one sentence to grab you! Symbiosis by Ninnik Nishukan from The Ones That Never Happened Liked Out of Control? Watch a similar dynamic play out and end in a completely different way! Understand the reasons behind Shego and Drakken's transformation and relationship in this timeline, and the brief humanity they end up sharing. Optimistic, relieving ending compared to its sibling-fic. The author's best work, in my sincere opinion. More? Interesting ideas/cute moments/unique settings that I like Stay by Eienvine - Oldie Any Road Will Get You There by Crystal Allen - Oldie Definitely Exactly What It Looks Like by souljelly - Reviewed Sick Day by split-n-splice - Reviewed Practice Makes Perfect by split-n-splice - Reviewed The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie by split-n-splice - Unreviewed Not Sentimental by sweet_tangerine_dreams - Reviewed New and Not New by Malvolia - Reviewed A Knotty Situation by bcbdrums - Unreviewed In All the Gin Joints in the World, He Asks for Coco Moo by UnapologeticallyMeatwad - Unreviewed The Aftermath by dragannahEireann - Unreviewed / Incomplete Fic Expected by gofordrakgo - Reviewed Just a Pair of Cold Dwellers by OhBoyOhBoy - Unreviewed

Thanks razzledazzledrakgo, for breaking in my ask box, and for breaking the dam! I don't know how to add a Keep Reading cut.

#razzledazzledrakgo #drakgo #drakgo fanfic #drakgo fanfiction #legendary response #legendary list #I mean it has to be look at this monster #so #legendary it shall be #Approx. 5 months of utter insanity #devouring everything I could get my hands on whilst living my life #There's so much high quality Drakgo fanfic and I would like for everyone to go out and read it. Explore it. LOVE IT! #If you could imagine Motor Ed running this blog and reading and reviewing Drakgo #That would make me happy and make me laugh #Seriously #O yeah and as always #LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THIIIIIINK