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josephquinnswhore · 1 year

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hi honey! i discovered your blog not too long ago and my love your writing is so amazing i actually can't get enough!

i had a request if your taking them? it would be a dad!pedro pascal x wife!reader. and i've been thinking about this heavy since he was at the oscar's

could you do like a super fluff about everyone's reactions if he was the one to win an oscar for best actor?

hope you have a wonderful day my love! 💝

Cause for Celebration

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x female reader.

Summary: Pedro is nervous about being nominated for his first Oscar Award.

Word Count: 1.9k

Note: This is the best frigging idea I’ve ever seen. I love this and I hope it lives up to your expectations!! 🤍 This is my first request I’m crying so many tears right now! Thank you anon I LOVE you. May you pillow always be cold on both sides. Please let me know if you like it 🫶🏼🫶🏼

Your fingers seem to have a conscious of their own, mindlessly twisting your wedding ring around your finger to stop your hands from jittering as you were led to the paparazzi.

“Pedro! Pedro over here!” The flash of white light was blinding, the screaming and calling of paparazzi as they’re desperately attempting to gain your attention, you smile politely as you stand next to Pedro, changing your pose to his arm around your back and your hand resting on his chest. “Pedrito! I love you!” A fan screamed from next to the photographers, the one confession was enough for Pedro to thank the photographers, entwine your hands and make a beeline straight for his fans, as you approach the fans are a mess, crying and screaming as Pedro signs their items, even taking some selfies with fans. “Y/n can we please get a photo! We love you!” Your heart skipped, smiling at how sweet his fans were and you accepted graciously, “of course sweetheart!” You bare the biggest grin and lean into her as she cries, ignoring the metal barrier that presses into your ribs. “Thank you so much! Good luck Pedro!” You both thank them and move on to the interview the woman, you knew well from Pedro’s past interviews and long mop of auburn hair. Pedro’s warm hand met your back, hands grazing on the sequinned gold dress that clung to your body graciously.

“Pedro it’s so good to see you again, this is your wife right?” Pedro let out a small laugh, turning his body towards you in an attempt to include you. “Yes, this is my beautiful wife, how couldn’t I bring her? She’s my number one supporter.” The redness that spreads along your cheeks heats your face, adding to the blush from your make up. You clasp your hands together and let out an excited huff of air, “you’ve done so incredibly this year honey, you deserve this Oscar. I’ll run up to the stage and snatch it if you don’t win!” Your giggles are harmonised by Pedro’s and Amelia’s laugh. “Will you be on the dance floor with Pedro at the after party this evening?” Your hand tentatively rubs down Pedro’s arm, shaking the nerves off you, “of course how could I not? I cant have another beautiful woman claiming my man!” Pedro scoffs playfully, “you know I only have eyes for you cariño.” Amelia sighs adoringly at the two of you, “well that confirms it folks! Pedro and y/n are the hottest couple on the red carpet tonight!” She turns away from the camera her co worker held and back to you, “good luck tonight, see you two next time!”

Both saying your goodbyes, Pedro’s assistant led you past a long line of celebrities, waiting to be let in, your breath hitched, “oh my god you’re skipping past Andrew Garfield!” Pedro slips his hand into yours, “must be getting important baby,” he jokes, knowing of your little crush on Andrew, and you’re led straight into the venue. “You’re the most important to me baby- whoa,” you gasp in awe, interrupting yourself. The room was ridiculously huge, hundreds of seats in rows you couldn’t count, the stage was empty, other than the stand and a large screen above the stage, red curtains framed the outside.

“I can’t believe this is real, I mean I can. You deserve this more than anyone, I’m just so proud of you.” Celebrities fill the hundreds of seats, the ones near you being filled with A-List celebrities you’d crushed on when you were younger. “Thank you baby.” He presses a soft kiss to your temple, moving his arm around to rest on the back of your chair, you lean into him as the ceremony begins, lights dimming slightly as the spotlights shone bright on the presenters.

Unsurprisingly, Michelle Yeoh won best actress. She was a talented actor, her role as Evelyn in ‘everything everywhere all at once’ was unmatched. The mix of sci-fi and adventure had you on the edge of your seat and was a brilliantly produced movie. Her speech was just as brilliant, her sense of humour and gratitude was touching, and you felt nothing but happiness for her as she thanked her family, shaking the hands of presenters, Harrison Ford and Kate Hudson who clapped in celebration for her.

“We would like to start off with a massive thank you to everyone who joins us tonight, this has been a massive year of acting and the most incredible. We are excited to announce that Halle Berry and Elizabeth Olsen will be presenting the next award and last of the night.” Harrison Ford and Kate Hudson clap to themselves as they introduce two of your idols, barely containing your excitement you clap steadily, Pedro laughing at your excitement.

“This is it baby, this is yours.” You grip his hand encouragingly. “We are happy to present this years best actor, with some incredible nominees including; Austin Butler for his role in Elvis”, a montage of the Elvis movie flashes on the large screen tv. “Brandon Fraser for his role in The Whale,” cheer erupts through the stadium, Brandon was special to a lot of people, no doubt he would win if Pedro didn’t. “Colin Farrell for his role in ‘The Banshees of Inisherin, and what an interesting movie that was.” You find yourself jittering, Pedro’s warmth leaving your hand as he straightens his jacket, a nervous twitch of his. “Last but not least, Pedro Pascal for his spectacular role of Joel Miller in The Last of Us game rendition.” Your eyes focus on the screen, your husband portraying Joel Miller, your hand running down his suit pant on his thigh. “I’m here baby, we got this.” You whisper, reassuring the anxiety both of you felt.

The room cheered for Pedro, your heart soars with pride as you cheer along. “Alright alright let’s get to it.” The crowd shushes, the rooms tension increased tenfold. The fumbling of the envelope could be heard through the microphone, the crackling of the paper as it opened and the two women looked at each other with a big smile on their face. “The winner for the 2023 Best Actor award is,” you’re on the edge of your seat and Pedro is still, anxiety clawing at him. “Pedro Pascal!” They exclaim in unison. Your jaw hits the floor, pride and excitement becoming too much, the whole room cheered for him, he was unmoving in his seat, in shock that he actually won. You pull his arm upward, a big grin on your face as he stands, you stand with him and you don’t miss the loving look in his eyes, he kisses you softly, laughing as he pulls away, moving toward the stage. You and your peers are clapping, your tears welling on your lash line threatened to ruin your perfectly applied make up. Pedro shakes Halle and Elizabeth’s hands, taking the Oscar in his hands and cradles it, as if it were made of glass. “I don’t even know what to say, I was certain I wouldn’t win so I haven’t prepared much of a speech.” The confession earned him a chuckle from the crowd, yourself included at his truth. “I just, want to thank my family, my mother for guiding me my sisters and nephews for their support. Everyone on my team and the guys at Naughty Dog for giving me this life-changing opportunity. I want to thank the other nominees, especially Brandon Frasier, your journey and story has touched us all and we love you man.” The room erupts in cheer, whistling clapping and yelling echo in agreement. “Lastly and most importantly, I want to thank my beautiful wife, for always believing in me, pushing me to be a better man. For loving me and for being selfless, for putting up with a lifestyle she knew nothing about. I want to thank her especially for making me a father to our beautiful daughter Eméile, and our beautiful son on the way!” Your cheeks are burning ferociously as the crowd gasps and turns to you, seeing you confirm the statement with your hands protectively grasping your stomach, a small bump that would’ve been otherwise noticeable, was now noticeable.

Past the point of caring about your make up, tears are falling down your cheeks, a sob choking you up as it gets stuck in your throat, you blow him a kiss as he finalises his speech with a repetition of his wedding vows. “Thank you for saving me, I wouldn’t be here without you cariño.” You were sobbing, clapping for your husband as your chest expands to make more room for your heart that is so full of love. He pulls you into a bear hug as he embraces you, his own tears of happiness falling on to your bare shoulder. The event coming to an end as they thank everyone for their presence. “With that ladies and gentlemen, we want to thank you all for joining us tonight. Please feel free to stick around for the after party to celebrate!”

Pedro pulls away from you, shaking the hands of his peers as they congratulate him, inviting him to party with them early into the morning, in which he declines. “No thank you, me and my beautiful wife are going to spend our time celebrating as a family, you all have a wonderful evening!”

“Dad you won! I knew you would! I’m so proud of you!” Your daughter Eméile exclaims excitedly as she sees the golden figure of his Oscar. She buries her face in his suit-clad chest and sighs. “You’re like, the coolest dad ever now. You know that right?” Pedro laughs and ruffles your daughters hair. “Uh I would hope so Em!” She smiles as she hugs you, gently approaching as she doesn’t want to hurt the baby, even if you assure her a hundred times it’s fine. “I’m so proud of you too ma.” You bite your lip to stop it’s wobble, “thank you baby. I’m proud of you too. I’m darn proud of us all!” You admit with a huff. “Why don’t we watch a movie with dinner and popcorn to wind down?” You and Em shoot each other a look and grin, Pedro raises an eyebrow at your scheming. “I vote ‘We can be Heroes’.” You snort as you purse your lips, “Agreed. Two votes babe you’re outnumbered.” You confirm with a smirk on your lips.

Pedro sighs, “alright, I’ll order takeout. Chinese?” There was no objection as you both murmur in agreement taking seat on the lounge.

“I don’t wanna hear a peep outta you two about how cringe this movie is.” You and Eméile both burst out laughing, “but dad it is kinda cringe.” Pedro sighs as he sits with the popcorn, the smell wafting into your nose as you salivating as your hand dives into the oversized bowl of steaming buttered popcorn as the credits roll in. “You’re 16, don’t you wanna watch like, Wednesday or something?” Em scoffs, “no, I wanna watch this,” she points to the tv and turns to her dad, “and since when did my age have anything to do with my interests?” You raise your eyebrows at Pedro and he gives you a look of confusion, shaking his head. “Teenagers are so confusing.” He mumbles to himself as you all settle into the couch, crunching on the popcorn simultaneously as you cuddle up to each other as you wait for your Chinese takeout to arrive.

What in the world did you ever feel nervous for? You think as you watch the movie on the screen, the effects making you laugh as you watch Pedro-Marcus fly through the sky on the tv screen.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x fem reader #Pedro pascal rpf #Pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal at the oscars #dad Pedro pascal #dad x Pedro

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shychick-52 · 29 days

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I will never get over the injustice of the fact that we never got a mutual hug between Sofia and Cedric. Not once, in all the times she hugged him, has he ever hugged her back.

Not even in season 4 when he finally turned over a new leaf and truly accepted/embraced his friendship with her, and how much he cared about her.

In season 2's 'Winter's Gift', there was a deleted storyboard/scene where they would have actually shared a hug at the end after Sofia gave him the homemade wand case for Wassailia, (which he was canonically overjoyed and touched to receive in the actual episode, saying it was the best present he ever got; it would have made the mutual hug all the more precious and meaningful, a milestone in their relationship, showing how much he truly had come to cherish her friendship). But I can't see any logical reason it would have gotten cut for time, because I don't see how that would have taken up any time at all, especially if it was meant to take place during the sweet "Happy holidays, Mr. Cedric" / "Yes, well, it is happy, isn't it?" exchange right at the end. And I can't see why the Disney higher-ups would have disapproved it, because it would have shown even more growth in Cedric's character. And not only were we deprived of a mutual hug, but there was no hug at all in the actual episode (it would have been so sweet to at least have Sofia hug him).

Near the end of season 2's 'The Enchanted Feast', after Sofia and Cedric manage to defeat Miss Nettle together, Sofia hugs him. And... it's not totally obvious, because Sofia was kind of in the way of his arm, but it does look like he either gave her a one-armed hug or at least affectionately patted her on the back (either way, it's absolutely adorable, and I can't stop rewinding it to this part every time I watch this episode). In any case, it's the closest we got to a canon shared hug between them (and maybe it was one), so it's one of my favorite scenes in the series! I don't know how to make gifs, so I'll try to show it in this clip (it's at the 0:34 mark) and in a couple screenshots:

youtube

The only time he TRULY hugged her back wasn't even 100% canon! It took place at the end of that cute 'Rain, Rain, Go Away' nursery rhyme short on Disney Junior's Youtube channel:

Now, if only that's what we'd got at the end of the series finale ('Forever Royal') after she thanked him for saving her from the amulet!! But not only did she not hug him at all one last time, but it would have been a perfect opportunity for him to be the one to initiate a hug, showing even more of his incredible character development and their bond:

Sofia the First~Forever Royal~Cedric Returns Sofia's Amulet (youtube.com)

It also was a missed opportunity for them to share a mutual hug at the end of the first episode of season 4 'Day of the Sorcerers' after Cedric earnestly expressed his gratitude to Sofia for defending him and advocating for a second chance to Roland (during the scene where Cedric was still on his knees after pleading for forgiveness to Roland, and Sofia returns his wand after Roland agrees to reinstate him as royal sorcerer). It really was a missed opportunity, because that the was the episode where Cedric finally truly chose friendship with Sofia over his evil dreams. But again, there was no hug at all:

And another fantastic opportunity would have been in s4's 'In Cedric We Trust', after Cedric sacrificed his safety to save Sofia's life, nearly injuring him. ("I can't believe how you saved me like that! You could have gotten really hurt!" / "So could you, Sofia."). Once again, zero hug at all (but it was so adorable how he took her by the hands, at least):

I would certainly hope that if Sofia had hugged him in all those scenes, he would have finally hugged her back!!

And again, him finally being the one to first hug her would have been FRIGGING EVERYTHING.

@sweetmariihs2 @fantadym @bettathanyou @moonypears-blog @cedric-my-beloved

#cedric the sorcerer #cedric the great #cedric the sensational #princess sofia #sofia the first #sofia the fandom #character analysis #character development #Youtube

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vagabond-umlaut · 4 months

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transmigrator, meet manipulator

Chapter 1 of functio laesa Gojo x Fem!Reader; Geto & Reader [platonic]; Canon Divergent AU; Isekai. Fluff & Angst & Drama & Humor; Reincarnation; Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies; Incredibly Self-Indulgent; Eventual Happy Ending; Eventual Friendships & Romance.

I've jumped on the Isekai bandwagon, y'all. [And I don't regret it one bit.] [Yet.]

Chapter warnings: Mentions of dying, accidents and panicking. Cult leader Geto.

Many ways exist for one to start a story.

They can write a duel. A confession. A query. A mansion. Or even introduce a character if they wanna.

But no.

You don't start your story any of these ways.

You start it by screeching. Then fainting.

If not totally, quite a bit– oh, who are you even kidding– you're totally freaking out, girl.

****

Dying is sad.

Sadder if you're dying with so many dreams unfulfilled.

Saddest if you're dying in one world, only to find yourself in another world, before realising you'll die [again] in this new world.

Sounds like one hell of an overdramatic overreaction, right?

It won't when your eyes open to a person with black eyes and black hair and bangs. Next move to the 2014 in bold on the wall calendar. Then finally fall on the traditional Buddhist monk robes worn by him... Oh, no way in hell—

A terrified shiver racks through your body; you try your best to hide it as you smile politely at the man.

"Um, hey."

Geto looks at you blankly for a while longer, before cracking a genial smile. In another universe, he would have made an excellent actor, you're sure.

"How are you feeling now?" he asks warmly, moving from the sofa to the chair beside your bed; you really wish he didn't, "You sure do look much better than when I found you."

"I'm better now," you reply, still smiling despite not really wanting to. Then add, wanting to continue your tirade of politeness as a survival tactic, "Thanks for bringing me to the hospital, by the way. I'm sure I would've bled out from my injuries if not for you. Thank you, Geto-san."

Whatever response you might have expected, a pair of wide eyes certainly wasn't a part of them. Geto looks at you, baffled, for another moment, before coughing up a visibly startled chuckle.

"Ah, there's no need to thank me, Miss. I was simply doing what I deemed right. Though I must say..." He trails off for a beat, before resuming, a smirk playing on his features, "I'm pleasantly surprised to see you interact with me so freely. I was thinking you might run for the hills on waking up and seeing me the first thing, from the way you screamed at me earlier today."

"Haha, sorry," you say sheepishly, not knowing how to form a seemingly legit reply.

You definitely cannot say you were scared shitless then, seeing a 2D character in the flesh. Even more for it being the genocidal villain from your favourite anime movie. No, you definitely cannot even utter that.

You ultimately decide to settle for something half-truth-y, "I was terribly shocked then, I think. Not in the right mental space after being hit by a vehic–"

A ringtone cuts you off in the middle of your strained apology. For the first time in your life [lives?], you feel happy for being interrupted while speaking. The man plucks his phone out, wrinkles folding his forehead as he glances at the screen. Only to cut the call in the next instant, shooting you a contrite smile as he rises from his seat.

"Sorry to cut short our little talk, Miss," The man sounds genuinely apologetic; you know better though, "But I'm sure we'll meet again. Soon enough. There are many questions I need you to answer, you see."

"Of course, Geto-san," you chuckle, sagging in relief inside when he finally, frigging finally, steps towards the door. And quite possibly– no, definitely out of your life too. 'Cause there's no way in hell you will let him meet you again. New world or not, you know you have to AND YOU WILL get as far as possible from this–

Geto pauses. One hand on the doorknob. Head twisted slightly to show you a closed-eye smile.

"I never introduced myself once tonight," he hums, "nor did I find you on a road. I found you in the middle of a deserted forest."

A second passes. Or maybe ten. Or maybe sixty. You don't know. You're too busy panicking to know.

Your savior's [more like, future slaughterer's] smile grows impossibly wider. The air feels impossibly colder.

"Goodnight Miss," he says, opening the door. The lights from the room spill into the dark corridor outside. "We will meet again."

'Looks-like-a-cinnamon-roll-but-will-kill-you' Geto and 'Looks-like-a-cinnamon-roll-and-is-a-very-jumpy-one' Reader.

What can ever go wrong?

Divider by @benkeibear. Header from Pinterest. I don't own the characters used here.

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #kit posts 📝

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jamneuromain · 2 years

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You Had Me Before Hello

Ari Levinson x You / Reader

Warning: Smut, Fluff and Smut, Alternate Universe - College / University, Age Difference, Size Difference, Swearing, Public Sex, Beards (Facial Hair), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Dirty Talk, degradation if you squint, Pussy Spanking, Light Dom/sub tones, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Ari Levinson is being Meanie

Word count: 4k + Bonus~600

Summary: You are a new student on campus, and you meet a handsome librarian.

It is your first day as a freshman.

In a university. In a foreign country, no less.

You settled in your dormitory yesterday at noon, and you received notice this morning that you need a colored copy of your passport to register for your semester today.

You had your copies of your passport, yes, but all in black and white, instead of the colored version.

You had to rush to the Main Library, which, by the way, is twenty minutes away from your place of residence, and hopefully make it in time for your registration appointment with the student center.

Making sense of the signs in a foreign language is hard enough, you groan more when you actually step inside the main library.

People. Everywhere. A lot of them. Chatting or questioning or answering.

Some of them wearing bright color T-shirts, stating that they are volunteers or staff of the library, helping freshmen. As far as you can see, all of them are occupied with freshmen.

Plural.

Like, at least three or four students surrounding one staff or one volunteer.

You bite your lip and observe the first floor, not wanting to bother them.

Lucky enough for you, the library doesn’t require a student card (another card you need to collect when registering for your semester, God knows how many cards and papers have traveled to your hand within less than 24 hours) to get in. You slip through the crowd quietly, noticing the bold letters in a far corner of the first floor that say PRINTING, not in English, of course, but you know that word.

It is a little relief that the printing corner is less crowded. You huff out a breath, reading the instruction to printing that is taped to the wall.

You chew on your lip anxiously when you try to understand the instructions in the local language. To be fairly honest, you regret instantly not attending a university in your home country.

Where you can read and understand fucking printing instructions.

You don’t want a helping hand. You don’t need a helping hand. You are perfectly fine working out your shit in the last few years of your life. And you have to choose a foreign land to continue your studies.

Fucking brilliant.

You turn your head, sighing that you need someone to help you after all.

All of them seem so busy, either talking to another person that you really don’t want to interrupt, or managing their own business on their laptops and phones.

Except for one man.

He isn’t looking at his phone, his laptop, or any electronic devices. He holds his arm, with biceps big enough to strangle an ox. Or maybe three. At once. The man has a scruffy beard and slightly long hair like a lumberjack. He is also incredibly tall like a lumberjack, possibly 6ft8 or 6ft9. He wears a crappy purple T-shirt, meaning that he is also one of the staff.

You walk up to him carefully, mentally prepare yourself for an upcoming conversation, and inhale deeply to calm your nerves.

His freaking musky and woody cologne does NOT help.

In fact, it nearly melts your knees and have you trip on yourself right in front of him.

He is so frigging tall; you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes.

He must have noticed you, for he bends his knees a little, and faces you with a warm smile.

“Um … Hello? Hi? Do you speak English?”

You cover your mouth in realization, eyes wide in shock, after the words flow out of your throat and reach your ears. And your brain. You should have said that in the local language first. Not everyone in this country speaks English and you know that.

You know that!

Just why did you put your foot in your mouth?

Why???

Right, what’s this sentence in the local language again?

The corner of his lips perks up a little, eyes light up in amusement. He nods.

“Sure.”

He can’t help but add, “first semester, huh?”

He sounds so American. Which is a good thing. Which you don’t complain at all. For which you are extremely grateful.

You can understand him. The best damn thing that happens to you today. The best damn thing in the last 24 hours.

You blink. Your appointment with the student center is in 15 minutes. The student center is about a five-minute walk from here. And you really need to figure out how the printer works before the appointment is over. And you don’t understand what’s taped to the wall other than it’s the instruction manual. Of sorts. And you NEED your colored passport copy.

You bite your lip again when the air in your lungs runs out. You have to take a big breath. You just said everything at a speed that only tape-records it, plays it back, and put it on 0.5x speed can someone understand you.

“Please?” You rub your wrist, whispering and perhaps blushing. You don’t want to embarrass yourself by repeating, and you don’t expect him to understand what you just said. Your fingers snatching the edge of your passport so tight that your knuckles are white.

He chuckles, running his hand through his hair. His low timbre fills the air between you: “Sure, lemme help you with it.”

“Thank you. Thank you.” You squeak, following him to a printer.

“Now, it’s as simple as any printer.” He gestures towards the machine, his blue eyes sparkling, but it’s difficult to tell due to the height difference, “if you want to print something from the computer, just click ‘print’ and one of these will print stuff out.”

“Making a copy of my passport?” You pipe up hopefully.

He holds out a hand, taking your passport, “flip the lid open. Whatever you need a copy of, put it inside, close the lid.” He pauses his instruction, fingers hovering above the keypad of the printer, “your student card?”

You blush again, this time, you are certain you are embarrassed, “I haven’t got it yet. I have to complete the registration first and I need a copy of my passport to do that.”

He hums, muscles flexing to operate the machine, “don’t worry. I’ll swipe my card.”

You are suffocating.

His cologne. His massive body. He is invading your senses and your sole piece of mind.

What’s left of it that is not influenced by his smile.

“Just place your student card, here,” he instructs, showing you which button to push and press, “this one, copy.” His head snaps in your direction one more time, “how many copies you want?”

“One.” You check your email just to be sure, “one, thank you, one will do.”

It is only seconds before the machine rumbles to life and gives you the piece of paper you need.

Well, he gives you the paper you need and hands you your passport.

“Thank you!” You shuffle the paper and the passport in your pile of documents in your bag, “thank you so much for this. I would be lost without you.” You flash him a grin with your lower lip still tucked between your teeth.

The alarm goes off on your phone, reminding you there are only a couple of minutes before your appointment. You let out a soft “ooof”, meeting his eyes apologetically, “sorry, that’s my alarm. I need to get to the student center. Thank you for the printing! And helping me!”

“Nah, happy to help.” He waves his hand, and you gulp. His massive hands. Massive. “Have a great day!” He adds, holding his arms again just as you saw him for the first time.

You step back, flashing him another smile, and rush towards the door, heading out.

It is until you arrive on time for your appointment in the student center do you realize, you should have said “have a great day” too.

You should have.

You purse your lips, wishing you had, or your smile has conveyed the message.

You almost forget completely about him, until you meet him again, in the library.

You are searching for a paperback. It is on the reading list of one of your classes, and since it’s only a book with 100 pages, you don’t mind at all picking it up from the library and reading the book later.

The problem is, you can’t find the shelve where the book is, allegedly, according to the library system.

You circle the third floor twice. With bookshelves made of metal, easily a foot or two taller than you (!), you are wandering in an iron jungle, which is probably an understatement. Your stomach grumbles in protest. It’s half past twelve, and you need some food before your body goes on strike. You’ll need another twenty minutes to walk to your dorm to cook. On second thought, you’d buy a sandwich and a bag of chips on your way back.

You rub your forehead, looking around for a service desk.

Why doesn’t this damn place have a map or something. You mutter under your breath, the bag on your shoulder heavier by the minute. You would have left your laptop in your dorm, but you opted to take it for notes.

Not a wise choice.

With a service desk in sight, you cross your fingers, hoping the staff hasn’t decided to go to lunch – because that would be marking your fruitless search during the last half an hour an end.

A man is sitting behind the service desk. It raises the little flame of hope inside you.

You mentally brace yourself for speaking in a foreign language, “Hello? Hi? I was wondering if you could help me find a book?”

No grammar mistakes. Pronunciation clear. Voice audible. Good. You nailed it.

“Hello. Uh, sure. Which book?” He places the book in his hand down on the table, swirling his chair, pulling him close to the table. He looks up and flashes you a smile, waiting for your answer in anticipation.

His slightly long hair, his large biceps, and his scruffy beard. Something seems familiar with this man.

“Oh wait, you’re the girl who wants her passport copied.” Realization hits his face, and he switches to English. To make you more comfortable, obviously. His smile a shade more genuine, or is that possible? Surely your head didn’t make all this up? “I’m Ari, by the way.”

You suck up a breath. The man who helped you with the printing machine. Your memory clicks.

And the reason you hold your breathing is the strong musky cologne that could knock you off your feet right this second. Or on your knees? Both?

“Ri-Right,” you stutter the name of the book, lowering your eyes. His blue irises piercing, as if seeing right through your skin, and digging out your mind filled with excessive active neurons.

Did you tell him your name? You don’t remember.

He is not wearing a bright-colored T-shirt, but a blue shirt, somewhat formal. He rolled up the sleeves to his elbows as if his biceps weren’t protruding enough. And he loosened the button of his shirt, his chest peeking out.

You are going to faint.

Ari types something on the computer in front of him, and says: “It should be on the F9-303 shelf.”

You rip your mind from the gutter and bite your lip, “it should… the problem is, I can’t find the shelf.”

He “aww”s in sympathy, grabbing his card and his phone, “c’mon, I’ll take you there. It could be a bit tricky; you see, you have to go across the self-study lobby, and turn left…”

He stands up. His tall frame looming over you. He could literally stuff you inside his body if he wants to. And his jeans, his ass-hugging jeans. His long legs. His fucking thick thighs.

You follow him, your mind detached from your body, wondering to God knows where.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lip. Heart pounding frantically in your ribcage. You have never felt this way for a man. Any man. How you could only whimper in his presence, how your eyes can barely leave his image without your fierce control over your body, how you melt under his gaze.

Which is now.

You feel like you melt. On the floor, in a puddle.

“You alright?” He stops, eyeing you curiously.

“Yeah… yeah.” You sound more like convincing yourself instead of convincing him.

Ari doesn’t press more on the topic, gesturing one of the shelves to your right-hand side, “here it is. F9-303.” He holds his arm, leaning on another bookshelf, a smirk on his face.

You murmur a low “thank you”, fully aware that you two passed by a room full of students just a few feet from the shelves.

F9-303: 3707. The number of the book you are searching for. Something momentarily distracts your mind from the filthy thoughts. Your eyes started with the middle of the shelf.

F9-303. This match. Good news.

Bad news, this row is F9-303: 80 to F9-303: 945.

Higher up must be.

You sigh, nearly breaking your neck searching in the iron jungle of books before you finally find the damn book. F9-303: 3707.

The smell of old books and browning papers calms your nerves. You stand on your tip-toe to grab it.

It is a half-success.

You touched the cover of the book, however, failed to pull it out. Because you can’t reach the top of the book. And the heavy laptop is dragging you down.

You lay your bag against the bookshelf, and try again.

No luck.

It’s not like you can change your height or the length of your arm within 5 seconds.

Shit.

You could always ask him to help. Your head helpfully suggests.

Nope. NO. Nada. Never. Not again!

You press your head on the cold steel. Cursing your height and your arm’s length. And whoever is brilliant enough to design huge iron anti-human bookshelves.

But mostly yourself.

Mostly about how you will embarrass yourself again in front of him.

You pray to whatever deity above to carve a hole under your feet so the earth could swallow you. When you consider for a brief second jumping up to get the fucking book.

Jumping! Like a fucking monkey!

Although you haven’t jumped. The idea alone is just painful.

Your breath hitches when a warm body presses up against you. A long arm reaches easily above your head, taking the book in his large hand.

You turn your body around so quickly that your spine could have snapped.

You are faced with his chest. His masculine scent drips into your lungs, squeezing all the oxygen out of your cells.

“Your book.” His voice drugs your brain, making you feel funny, making you squirm. Ari lowers his head to gaze into your eyes. The beautiful blue eyes lust-blown, his body burning. Every ounce of your self-control fizzes into thin air like water vapor.

You should grab the book and thank him.

You should.

You really should.

Instead of fixing his gaze, and your heart pounding in your throat.

You bite your lip, when the book hits the ground with a soft thud, and he frees your lip with his. Taking hold of your waist and your neck. Crushing you with his muscles. His bulge digging into your soft belly. Your hands rest on his broad chest willingly, tugging the fabric with your nails.

You have never kissed a man with a beard before.

It is new.

It is itchy.

It is exciting.

“Fuck.” Ari mutters, ravishing your jawline and your neck, teeth nibbling your collarbone. His beard rubs your skin, sparks of fire blooming in your chest. He palms your breasts roughly, dipping one hand down. His hand sneaks inside your leggings, only a thin piece of panties blocking his way. He toys with your clit beneath the wet spot of your panties, his lips back on yours once more to muffle your gasps.

If it weren’t for him pinning your body to the shelves, you’d be weak on your knees right now. Your breasts tender, nipples peaking under his large hand. Your core drenched, aching for more.

He pulls up your sweater and his hand works its way to your skin, thumbing your pebbled nipples.

“No bra? Buttercup, you’re naughtier than I thought.” He tuts, fingers landing on your pussy, your panties out of the way somehow.

You try to muster an explanation, but you forget all about that and shiver as he captures your clit between his fingers, rolling and pinching it experimentally. Involuntary moans slip out of your lips. You try your best to bite back your noises, but his skilled fingers work your clit, triggering your body to act on itself.

“Ari -” You exhale trembly, legs on the verge of giving out. It’s a surprise you still remember his name when you are about to drown in orgasm, “close. Fuck. Please.”

Ari thrusts his fingers into your tight channel, the heel of his palm against your clit. You almost bite your tongue when he explores your pussy and pushes you steadily toward an orgasm.

You bite down on the back of your hand when the orgasm hits you hard. Your channel clenches around his fingers, your thighs shaking, as his palm still digging into your bundle of nerves.

You ride the tides of your aftershock through slow breathing. Ari pulls his fingers out to lick them, groaning by your ear, “sweetest cunt I’ve ever had, buttercup.”

He manhandles your body, your front pressing the shelves, and he rustles behind you. He unzips his pants, pulling your leggings and your panties down in one fluid motion, and his bulbous head taps your pussy. A gentle knocking, your mushy brain concludes, probably the only thing gentle you’re getting from him.

His hand holds your hips, sinking you on his cock.

He is fucking HUGE.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” You forget how to breathe. How to scream. How to curse. His girth stretches you to the fullest, reaching spots that you didn’t even know were there. Your eyes brimming with tears, choking on air, hands grabbing back. His arms, his hair, his body, anything to hold you. Anything to brace you.

Ari presses you against the shelves, a string of profanities leaves his lips. He grasps your breast again, other hand on your hips, snapping himself into you.

“Tight fucking cunt. Milkin’ me.” His hand settles on your throat, grunting as he hits your cervix, “hate to crush your windpipe, buttercup, but you’d better keep the fuck down.”

Your nails rake his bare arms, mewling, protesting his roughness.

“Bet you fuckin’ lovin’ it. Fucked like a desperate little slut. Knowing anyone could come over right now is making you hornier, huh?”

As if on cue, your channel convulses with his words. It’s so wrong, to get off with his degradation. But you can’t help it. The hoarse in his voice, the low whispers, the strength he maneuvers you, you love it.

You moan and whimper, which basically is your entire vocabulary now, leaning onto him to get away from his annoying paw on your throat.

“Poor baby needs her attention.” He chuckles darkly, ramming into you, “that’s it – Fucking Christ, your pussy’s gripping me.”

You shake your head. You don’t want to grip him or milk him. You want him to whisper sweet things to your ear, showering you with praises, dolling you up like you’re the princess.

“No – No.” You rasp out, “not a slut.”

Yet your pussy says otherwise. Your abused pussy weeps when he roughly fucks you. Your pussy squelches when he thrusts in. A fire burning your abdomen, wrings your insides tighter and tighter.

Ari’s hand finds your clit again, slapping it mercilessly, “too late, buttercup. Look at the mess you made.”

White hot shocks take control of your body. His swats torture your clit, now puffy and throbbing, adds to your fire. Tip-toeing the borderline between pain and pleasure, accumulating at a speed that is too much to take.

You try to push his hands away, but his arm is too strong. He laughs at your resistance, spanking your clit some more, “c’mon buttercup, cream my fucking cock. Cum. I said, CUM.”

Your mind goes blank. The fire in your belly erupts. Your tight hole beating a pulse nearly damn same as your heart, but with him balls deep inside you, you are filled, and your pussy could only take his pounding without any defense. He nestles his entire length inside, and fucking you through your orgasm.

He stops his assault with your clit as soon as you cum, only rubbing it with smooth circles, prolonging your orgasm.

You slam your head back into the bookshelf when the intensity strikes you. Your screams become moans with his large hand on your mouth.

Before you realize it, he flips your body over, with his cock in your pussy, plowing into you again.

“Can’t.” You choke, breath ragged and uneven, “too much.”

Ari captures your lips with a bruising kiss, his facial hair less irritating. “One more, just one more, buttercup.”

You sniffle, tears sliding down your cheeks, “… ’m sensitive. Can’t. Please, Ari.”

He puts your jelly legs on his waist, setting a pace slamming his hips into you, “baby, be a good girl and just cum one more time.” He licks the tears from your face, peppering you with little pecks and kisses, “it’s not that hard, hm?”

It’s not.

The second orgasm teetering on the edge as he speaks.

“You’re so fucking hot cumming on my dick. C’mon buttercup, I wanna see that again.”

You swallow hard. Your pussy sore and sticky, your clit swollen, your hole clamming down his thick girth. You don’t think you could handle cumming again.

His dick swells up in your pussy – how’s that even possible. He tightens his jaw, massaging your lips with his, “please, pretty baby.” His voice so soft as if begging you. He kisses your sweaty forehead and your throat column, “Christ, your pussy feels good.”

“Ari -” You stammer your words, the upcoming coil winds up in your lower belly once more, "… cumming. I’m cumming."

He kisses you hungrily, his hips losing the pace he builds up as his neck flushes. Your orgasm ripples in your veins, bubbling your blood, leaving your body pliant.

With a final thrust, his dick pulses in your velvet walls, shooting out ropes fulling you to the brim.

It takes both of you a moment to come down from your high.

You pull your leggings and your panties from your ankle, while he offers you a tissue to clean yourself up.

“Would you like to go on a date later?” Ari blurts out.

You huff out a breath, tucking your shirt back under your sweater, “yeah, cause that’s … original.”

You manage the only word you could. It was a spur of your mind. In fact, you would love to go on a date with him. To get to know him. You don’t do casual sex. You never did. Apart from this time, apparently.

“I think the word you are looking for is conventional.” Ari chuckles, not minding your attitude at all. He picks up the long-forgotten book from the ground, handing it to you.

You shuffle it into your now-heavier bag, and chew on your lower lip.

Your lips are still suffering from a first-degree burn from his beard. Frankly, you want the burn on your lips again.

“What’d you say, buttercup?” He cradles your jaw in his palm, bending his knees just a little so that he could watch you without you having to crane your neck. He sounds almost begging, “lemme buy you dinner? A cup of coffee? Something?”

He pouts.

This grown-ass man. POUTS.

Like a kicked puppy soaking wet due to the rain.

“Pretty please?” He kisses your lips, gently, this time.

You snort a short laugh, “Don’t the college rules forbid teacher-student relationships?” You fix the straps of your bag on your shoulder, leaning into his touch.

“Uh-uh.” He shakes his head, long hair making you want to tuck them behind his ears, “not if you’re not in my class.”

“Well then,” you grin like a Cheshire cat, before he suffocates you with another kiss, “you owe me lunch, Ari.”

Bonus:

Three months into your relationship, everything works out smoothly.

You haven’t moved in with him. Not yet. But all things considered, you practically stay in his place six days out of a week, only returning to your dorm to fetch a couple of necessities.

So, here you are, lying on his chest, feeling his heart beating steadily under your palm and his fingers massaging your scalp after a stressful day full of lectures and seminars. You are also stressed because this is the second day of your period, and your hormones would not calm down, messing with your sleep and your mental health.

Messing with your mind, having you raise your head and pop out a question.

Not the kind of question that needs you to kneel before him and present him with a ring. God no.

The kind of question that would cause a war between you. The kind of question, if you did not hear the answer that makes you “awww”, you will be so mad at him.

“I was wondering,” you raise your head, looking him in the eyes. His blue eyes nothing short of warmth, engulfing you with a sense of security.

“When is it that you feel you fall in love with me, for the first time?”

You don’t know why you ask. Probably has something to do with the beginning of your relationship being mind-blowing sex in the library.

Your stomach starts a new wave of cramps, and you bite your lip. Due to the pain, but also the anxiety that you are not sure why he ends up with you. You are shy, inward, and occasionally cursing. Starting a relationship with sex is something you have never experienced before.

As far as you can tell, Ari is the exact opposite of you.

You just … don’t know.

Ari places a kiss on the top of your head, his thumb stroking your back absent-mindedly, providing you with more warmth.

Ari met you on your first day in this country.

Roughly 24 hours before you two actually talked to each other.

He was driving through the city to his apartment, to get ready for the semester. He was supposed to help out in the Main Library the next day.

He was running errands all day. Hitting brick walls each and every step of the way because the bureaucracy in the system was killing him.

Reaching a crossroad where there were no signal lights, Ari noticed a girl, you, with a heavy backpack, standing by the curb, stepping out a few times, only to return to your spot, waiting for a chance to cross the road. A couple of sedans drove by, but none of the drivers gave a shit about a pedestrian trying to cross the road.

He could see the tiredness on your face. The sun was getting low, and it was not safe for anyone to wander around the streets alone. He assumed you were one of those who just wanted to go home.

His car slows to a near stop. A few feet from you. He thought you would cross the road.

You bit your lip, smiled a bit, and waved your hand, signaling him to drive.

He chuckled to himself. He rolled down the window by a seam, and gestured for you to go ahead.

There were more cars behind him, and many were getting impatient, honking in protest.

You smiled. A genuine smile, even though you were tired.

You looked less tired, running in front of his car with the backpack swinging on your shoulders, waving after you had safely arrived on the other side of the road.

And he met you, formally, the next day. In the university he was working. His buttercup, you.

Ari rubs your lower belly. A few whines of discomfort escaped your lips.

“Well buttercup,” he moves himself to hover above your body, while you tuck a strand of loose brown hair behind his ear. He lowers his head to steal a kiss, “you had me before hello.”

Fluff no smut Drabble: Why "Buttercup"?

Smut implied drabble Distraction

#ari levinson smut #ari levinson #the red sea diving resort #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #ari levinson x female reader #you had me before hello #ari levinson fluff #ari levinson fanfiction #chris evans characters #ari levinson drabble

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amuseoffyre · 10 months

Text

Had a bit of a day at the weekend :)

Thanks to @primevideouk I was one of the lucky folk who got to visit the Soho set and honestly, I was entirely blown away on every possible level.

The set is so much more than I could ever have anticipated. Not just the size, which is staggering enough, but the love and attention to detail poured into it, the layers, the tiny things that build and build to make it feel real are incredible. From the hand-written adverts for flats in the newsagent window to copies of New Aquarian on the window sill of the coffee shop, there are little human touches and easter eggs everywhere.

Aziraphale's bookshop is perfect inside and I love it and they were very lucky I didn't just squirrel down in one of the armchairs with the Robert Louis Stevenson collection on the cherub-table at the front door.

The behind-the-scenes team who were there to tell us about their work were amazing. Producers in the coffee shop, costume designer with an array of new costumes, concept designer in the bookshop and the set decorator and graphic designers showing us around in the street. They love this show as much as we do and it pours out of them. You can tell how much thought and feeling they have put into every single detail of the show. Also, we have been warned/assured that David Arnold's score is going to blow us away.

Yes, I have seen episode 1. No I am saying nothing about it except AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!! (And that we watched it in the frigging Dirty Donkey :D :D :D :D)

#good omens #good omens s2

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wilcze-kudly · 1 month

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I mean, Suyin also decided to not come forward about the nature of the rift to her own children. Even when they had grown up and it was relevant to the situation. She also didn't take into consideration Lin's worries about the Red Lotus, not to the magnitude that Lin was urging on.

Moreover, Lin didn't want to be in Zaofu. She explicitly tried to stay away. Was it mature? Definitely not. But it was her choice, and it was one that would have prevented any more fighting or family drama from happening in the middle of a mission to keep the frigging avatar safe.

You say that the show only portrayed Lin's POV (which is true), however the development of the episode only show it to us, not any of the characters present.

Let's say we don't see those flashbacks, then what would have we seen? Suyin's version that (what a surprise) leaves out her whole part in the conflict beyond the "we were both neglected by our mom" part.

No, she didn't try to make good to her during the episode. Not when the very root of the issue circles to the secrecy Toph forced to keep Suyin's record clean. No, she didn't placate Lin's suspicions when at the first chance she goes over Lin to aid a bunch of teenagers follow the sadistic criminal group Lin was trying to protect them from.

And finally, no, you don't get to play woe-is-me when you force someone to a situation they don't want to be in. It's really ugly, on either side of it, but I seriously feel you're leaving out the part where it was Suyin's territory, family and influence the scenario of it. She had a support network, Lin was paranoic- could anyone have expected any different?

Ok. Several misconceptions to clear up. (Because there always are whenever I post anything vaguely critical of Lin).

When I said that Su tried to make good with Lin multiple times, I was speaking predominantly about how it was said (very hard to spot when you're mainly focused on seeing Su as the devil, I know😊) that Suyin has tried to contact Lin on peaceful terms multiple times.

One thing I rarely see brought up by people when discussing Lin's rift is that Lin... might just not want to discuss her scarring with just anyone? Like for some reason people act like the decent thing of Suyin to do is to.... not respect Lin's autonomy and privacy? And if Lin blew Su off as it was impied that she did, I doubt Lin's level of comfort around talking about the scar was discussed.

The red lotus issue, and here's a controversial opinion, wouldn't seem like a big issue to most people at the time.

You must remember that while yes, the Red Lotus were incredibly hyped up by Zuko and Tonraq, but to the public they were just 4 randos who were stupid enough to try and kidnap the most well guarded 4 year old in the world. People didn't even know the organisations name, and none of the 4 ever explained why they were after Korra.

Especially that Suyin was introduced to the concept like this:

Korra: She's just a little worried because there's a bunch of crazy criminals after me.

Not exactly screaming " hey shit is hitting the fan". Which isn't helped by the fact that Lin would rather blow her brains out than have a conversation with Su where she isn't allowed to substitute the important things with backhanded insults.

Suyin did assure Lin plenty of times that Zaofu is an incredibly safe city, which it was. The only reason the Red Lotus got in is because they had a man on the inside and they still left empty hamded and with their tails between their legs. Suyin could never account for Aiwei's betrayal.

Honestly, dear, your inclusion of criticism on my posts about the episodes' storylines is weird. I was purely speaking on how the story was presented to us, the viewers.

Lin is a veey shut off character who would rather commit mass homocide than have a moment of vulnerability. Huh, I wounder why Su didn't go around spilling someone else's tragic backstory to randos. "Hey, Korra, you've proven to be just GREAT as handling sensitive issues like this, how about I give you more ammo to pull out on Lin? I'm sure that will go over amazing."

I will say that Suyin letting the Krew follow Aiwei is a dick move and a stupid thing to do. I don't think Sugin was thinking clearly, due to the immense betrayal she was feeling due to Aiwei's actions.

I will say, I think that Suyin perfering to lie to Lin rather than disagree with her outrigt is very indicative if their relationship. But since most people who talk about this pair seem to perfer the "ooga booga Su bad, Lin good" school of thought, I guess we'll never have a mature conversation about this fascinating pattern of behaviour.

I will also concede that Suyin had the "advantage" of having her support system. Being on her turf would probably be comforting, but let's not forget that Lin actively insulted/drove to tears Suyin's kids, complete innocents in this situation.

Lin: Five kids. What a nightmare. Suyin: No, no. My children are a blessing. Lin: Yeah, mom used to say that too, but she never meant it.

Can I just say how much I hate this exchange? Like giving Lin the absolute benefit of the doubt she's being a jerk and then traumadumping at the worst possible moment. Giving a little less benefit of the doubt she's implying to her niblings' faces that their mother is lting about loving them.

Lin's obsession with painting Su as a villai is a symptom of her mommy issues, but you guys just like. Took it at face value you chumps.

Like yeah Su has the advantage of having her family close but that just kinda opens up the doors for Lin to make even more teenagers feel like absolute garbage. And after all that's her super special talent.

But you know what? I would have expected different from a 50+ woman who is in charge of people's lives. Like, call me insane and a dick and insensitive, but girlie should've gotten her shit together. But Lin doesn't value herself enough to do so and that is her skill issue. She self handicaps, she stagnates, she ignores her own well-being and it bites her in the ass.

It is, once again, a fascinating set of behaviours to discuss have but Lin is this fandoms sopping wet kitten, so we don't get to talk about Lin Beifong's arrested development.

Lin isn't an angsty teen or forlorn young adult. She's a grown ass woman with a career. She can get it together. I believe in her.

#can you tell im slowly becoming saltier and saltier when it comes to lin #me: hey guys suyin isn't the devil #lin stans: and i took that personally #lin beifong #suyin beifong #korra #legend of korra #avatar #tlok #the legend of korra #avatar the legend of korra #atlok #lok #anti lin beifong

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