#REALLY hope the new studio makes that a project

[swan2swan]

Nothing more painful than seeing everyone clown on the Mai-Zuko breakup-reunion comics after I've achieved full Avatar Enlightenment.

Yes, they were sloppily written. No, I will not miss those plotlines if and when they're retconned. Yes, I approve of kids calling it bad writing. Yes, I love the surge of Maiko love and Mai appreciation.

But I also did like seeing Mai have a little extra individual character. Not that she lacked it, really. But it was as close to a Mai solo work as we're gonna get, I fear.

I'm also not opposed to Mai having a mental collapse and needing some space from Zuko once he becomes Firelord and has a million responsibilities. She signed up to help this cute kid get over his missing mom and then welcome him home and thought she'd be courting a prince for the next few years of her life before they got married and she became a princess. Very gothic romance stuff. Not "oh hey you're barely of legal age and now you're responsible for a country, have fun with that!"--having some friction there would be neat.

Especially if she was questioning her role in the world and her individuality.

Which is why I kinda liked her Kei Lo relationship. It was a chance for Mai to say "Hey, I'm not a satellite character, I can get what I want...and it turns out that I actually DID want Zuko."

I think that's the plot of Shrek 2?

...now seeing people dunking on the URSA plotline?

[flanaganfilm]

Mr. Flanagan, I’d like to ask a question and I deeply hope that it does not offend or upset you. I am strongly considering canceling my Netflix subscription due to their new password sharing policy. However, Midnight Mass is one of my favorite shows of all time and I know it isn’t available on DVD, and I’m also profoundly anticipating your take on my favorite Edgar Allen Poe story. So I wanted to ask your take on people accessing your work through, uh, other means. If it’s something that’s offensive to you or will harm you or the other people who work so hard on these shows, I’ll happily keep my Netflix just so that I can keep supporting your work. I respect you far too much as an artist to do otherwise.

Again, I really hope I’m not upsetting you by asking this question. Thank you for everything, and I hope you’re having a great day!

(NOTE 6/4/2024: I'm editing this entry because, well over a year since it was posted, some journalists dug this up and used it to create click-bait headlines that are misleading, out of context and artificially combative. While I was of course disappointed over the years that Netflix opted not to release my work on physical media, I never experienced any hostility or aggression in those discussions, and I sincerely regret the manner in which this post was used in the press this week.)

Hi there - no offense taken whatsoever, in fact I think this is a very interesting and important question.

So. If you asked me this a few years ago, I would have said "I hate piracy and it is hurting creators, especially in the independent space." I used to get in Facebook arguments with fans early in my career when people would post about seeing my work on torrent sites, especially when that work was readily available for rent and purchase on VOD.

Back in 2014, my movie Before I Wake was pirated and leaked prior to any domestic release, and that was devastating to the project. It actually made it harder to find distribution for the film. By the time we were able to get distribution in the US, the film had already been so exposed online that the best we could hope for was a Netflix release. Netflix stepped in and saved that movie, and for that I will always be grateful to them.

However...

Working in streaming for the past few years has made me reconsider my position on piracy.

In the years I worked at Netflix, I tried very hard to get them to release my work on blu-ray and DVD.

It became clear very fast that their priority was subscriptions, and that they were not particularly interested in physical media releases of their originals, with a few exceptions.

While companies like Netflix pride themselves on being disruptors, and have proven that they can affect great change in the industry, they sometimes fail to see the difference between disruption and damage. So much that they can find themselves, intentionally or not, doing harm to the concept of film preservation.

The danger comes when a title is only available on one platform, and then - for whatever reason - is removed.

We have already seen this happen. And it is only going to happen more and more. Titles exclusively available on streaming services have essentially been erased from the world. If those titles existed on the marketplace on physical media, like HBO's Westworld, the loss is somewhat mitigated (though only somewhat.) But when titles do not exist elsewhere, they are potentially gone forever.

The list of titles that have been removed from streaming services is growing.

I still believe that where we put our dollars matters. Renting or buying a piece of work that you like is essential. It is casting a vote, encouraging studios - who only speak the language of money - to invest more effort into similar work. If we show up to support distinct, unique, exciting work, it encourages them to make more of it. It's as simple as that. If we don't show up, or if they can't hear our voice because we are casing our vote "silently" through torrent sites or other means - it makes it unlikely that they will take a chance to create that kind of work again.

Which is why I typically suggest that if you like a movie you've seen through - uh - other means, throw a few dollars at that title on a legitimate platform. Rent it. Purchase it. Support it.

But if some studios offer no avenue for that kind of support, and can (and will) remove content from their platform forever... frankly, I think that changes the rules.

Netflix will likely never release the work I created for them on physical media, though I'll always hold out hope.

Some of you may say "wait, aren't The Haunting of Hill House and The Haunting of Bly Manor available on blu-ray and DVD?" Yes, they are, because they were co-produced with Paramount, and I'm grateful that Paramount was able to release and protect those titles. (I'm also grateful that those releases include extended cuts, deleted scenes, and commentary tracks. There are a number of fantastic benefits to physical media releases.)

But a lot of the other work I did there are Netflix originals, without any other studio involvement. Those titles - like Midnight Mass, The Midnight Club, and the upcoming Fall of the House of Usher - along with my Netflix exclusive and/or original movies Before I Wake and Gerald's Game - have no such protections. The physical media releases of those titles are entirely at Netflix's discretion, and don't appear to be priority for the studio at this time.

At the moment, Netflix seems content to leave Before I Wake, Gerald's Game, Midnight Mass, and The Midnight Club on the service, where they still draw audiences. I don't think there is a plan to remove any of them anytime soon. But plans change, the industry changes.

The point is things change, and each of those titles - should they be removed from the service for any reason - are not available anywhere else. If that day comes - if Netflix's servers are destroyed, if a meteor hits the building, if they are bought out by a competitor and their library is liquidated - I don't know what the circumstances might be, I just know that if that day comes, some of the work that means the most to me in the world would be entirely erased.

Or, what if we aren't so catastrophic in our thinking? What if it the change isn't so total? What if Netflix simply bumps into an issue with the license they paid for music (like the Neil Diamond songs that play such a crucial role in Midnight Mass), and decide to leave the show up but replace the songs?

This has happened before as well - fans of Northern Exposure can get the show on DVD and blu-ray, but the music they heard when the series aired has been replaced due to the licensing issues. And the replacements - chosen for their low cost, not for creative reasons - are not improvements. What if the shows are just changed, and not by creatives, but by business affairs executives?

All to say that physical media is critically important. Having redundancy in the marketplace is critically important. The more platforms a piece of work is available on, the more likely it is to survive and grow its audience.

As for Netflix, I hope sincerely that their thinking on this issue evolves, and that they value the content they spend so much money creating enough to protect it for posterity. That's up to them, it's their studio, it's their rules. But I like to think they may see that light eventually, and realize that exclusivity in a certain window is very cool... but exclusivity in perpetuity could potentially limit the audience and endanger the work itself.

[planetsano]

fem reader. both reader and yuji get zero bitches. waxing.

I was having thoughts about Yuji getting his first wax at this really cute spa— its the new year so he’s really trying to make the effort of taking this whole “self care” thing he’s been seeing on TikTok seriously. He seems like the type to be pretty hairy down south anyway and in turn he trims it here and there but he never really upkeeps the maintenance. He wants to see what this waxing thing is all about.

So, he books the appointment and he gets you as his esthetician. He’s nervous! But also very excited! He booked a facial as well as the wax so you of course take very good care of him. The conversation is flowing beautifully and there’s a bit of chemistry there. He also thinks you’re drop dead gorgeous and when he walked into the studio, he tripped over his shoelace but that’s neither here or there.

When it’s finally time for the wax? You’re prepping everything all nice and instruct him to take off his pants and boxers— and Yuji immediately freezes. He’s all like ���What do you mean?” so you look at him from over your shoulder because you think he’s being silly but the look of genuine confusion on his face lets you know he’s being deadass serious. You tell him, “Well, I can’t wax you with your pants on now can I, cutie?” as sweet as can be, its almost a little maternal too the way you say it.

Poor Yuji. He didn’t really think about any of this fully through. He mentally punches himself in the face because of course he would have to expose himself to the esthetician, that’s just how a Brazilian wax works! Yuji doesn’t want to make it awkward so he complies and takes off his pants and underwear before he lays back onto the table. God, he’s never felt so embarrassed in his life! Is the lamp really necessary..? The warmth of it did feel pretty nice. That’s beside the point anyway.

As he’s laying there while you dilly about with your back turned to him, his mind starts to wander. When was the last time he’s had a woman’s touch? It feels like ages because it kind of has. A year? Almost close to a year. He can’t really remember. Yuji thinks you’re pretty and a good time— you’re easy to talk to and if he didn’t know any better, he thinks he might have a tiny, little crush on you. He’s already been thinking about booking another service just so he can see you.

The thought is super cute, but what isn’t cute is Yuji fighting every single demon, every single thought— nearly trying to astral project so he won’t get hard. You didn’t give him a warning before wrapping your gloved hand around his shaft and he jumped, which did get a giggle and a little “Feeling jumpy today, are we?” out of you. He played it off with a bashful little “Sorry.” before relaxing again. You’re not really doing much but your job and that’s why he feels like such a pervert when all the blood from his skull has rushed to his cock.

For him, it’s like this huge elephant in the room but for you? You don’t mind, there’s always a possibility which is why you don’t take male clients but Yuji is the only exception because he’s cute and seems like a good boy. He probably thinks that he has a poker face but there’s a reason why you keep cooing at him because he’s definitely the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. It’s so desperately obvious that he’s trying to think about the most unpleasant and uncomfortable things but it’s not working.

As the service continues, Yuji is not longer trying to keep from stay hard but he’s now rather trying not to cum all over your hands and his chest. But it’s becoming increasingly difficult to do so. He peeks down every now and again to see the progress, he keeps telling himself “She’s almost done, she’s almost done.” that he needs to hold out for just a few minutes more then he can put his pants back on. But, unfortunately it doesn’t seem to work out like he would have hoped to plan.

Your hand slid up his cock with just enough pressure and friction to make him blow his, really fat load actually. He desperately tried to grab your wrist before it happened but it was already too late, the broken protest turned into a pitiful moan halfway, the panicked jerk of his body.. truth be told you thought it was sweet. You’ve also been going through a dry spell yourself. Your last ex made you want to do some healing but with that came with stepping out of the dating pool and no casual sex.

You, yourself felt like a bit of a pervert standing here with a man putty in your fingertips. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry” was all that left his lips as you cleaned him with with a Kleenex but all you could say in return was:

“Can I..? Have your number?”

[hyperfixatedbastard]

sweet, sweet silence

Vox x Autistic!GN!Reader

Dating the CEO of VoxTek Enterprises has its perks. You always get brand new devices before they even hit the shelves, and occasionally, Vox makes things specifically for you - like noise-cancelling headphones.

Word Count: 1.3k

WARNINGS: none!

A/N: this is for the autistic homies but it works for anyone with sensory issues! 'tis based off of my own experiences so apologies if it feels inaccurate to anyone, i'm projecting so hard rn. this is also my first time writing x reader/2nd person POV so I hope I did alright! also, i do requests if anyone would like to see more of this kind of thing :)

Dividers

"Doll, c'mere for a second, would ya?" Vox calls out to you, gesturing for you to come to his desk with a 'come hither' motion. 

You raise a brow in interest as you approach your boyfriend where he's sitting in his rather eccentric chair, tinkering with...something. You hop up onto the desk, careful to sit in a spot that you know has no important screens or buttons (you learned the hard way). You don't say anything, instead just tilting your head and waiting for Vox to show off whatever he's been working on this time.

He finally lets you see what's in his clawed hands: a pair of headphones. They're clearly a VoxTek product—the blue and red color scheme gives it away—though you're certain you've never seen these on sale before. It's not uncommon for Vox to show off new products to you before they're released, though, so you don't question it.

He smirks as he holds the headphones out to you. It's not that sly, devious smile he so often has on his screen, though; it's that grin you have when you're about to surprise someone and you just know they're going to love it. "These are for you, darling."

On one hand, you get a little excited (free shit, fuck yeah!). But on the other, you're a little worried—you're not good at receiving gifts. It always ends up awkward because you don't really know how to express gratitude in an expected, neurotypical way. But Vox is well aware of that, and he can tell when you're grateful, so you push those worries to the side and take the headphones from him.

You look at them curiously, inspecting the foldable hinges, the ear cushions, and the small assortment of buttons on the speakers. You can tell that the three buttons on the right speaker are for adjusting the volume—increase, mute, and decrease—but you have no damn clue what the button on the left speaker is for.

"Well? Put 'em on," Vox encourages you, still with that expectant grin as he anticipates your reaction.

You do as he says and place the headphones over your ears. They're certainly comfortable, but you don't see what the big deal is. You already have headphones—they’re not great, as it’s damn near impossible to drown out the unbearably overstimulating sounds of Hell, but you manage. Kinda.

Just as you’re about to ask what’s so special about these headphones, Vox presses that mystery button on the left speaker, and everything goes blissfully quiet.

Your eyes widen as you get the first moment of true silence for the first time since you arrived in Hell. The sudden difference is initially jarring, but the relief is downright euphoric. 

During the entirety of your afterlife in Hell, it's been ceaselessly loud and often unbearable. The screams, the explosions, the gunshots—it's incessant, and you never get a moment of peace. The V Tower is not nearly as bad as the rest of the Pride Ring, thanks to a lot of soundproofing, but there's always something. Moans and other lewd noises fill the halls of anywhere within five floors of Valentino's studios. You can hear the screeching and yelling beneath the thrum of music emitting from Velvette’s section of the tower. 666 Studios isn't much better, with the constant chattering of the crew and bickering between newscasters.

Vox's lair office is by far the quietest place in the entirety of Hell, at least in your experience. The soundproofing here is much more effective than anywhere else in V Tower, and Vox is the only person ever here. He does talk and maniacally laugh to himself fairly often, but you don’t usually don’t mind that (and he’ll typically quite down if he can tell you’re having a rough day). But it’s far from perfect—there’s still the intermittent click-clacking of a keyboard, the constant whirring of the computer fans, the low humming of all the tech, and the audio from whatever security camera Vox is spying on. You can tune it out most of the time, but it all overwhelms you so, so easily.

And you aren't very good at hiding it (at least not with Vox, who’s too observant for his own damn good when it comes to you).

Which is why your dear boyfriend has just spent the past several days making you the best noise-canceling headphones Hell has ever seen. He knows what the constant overstimulation does to you, and he sees it far more often than he'd like to. You get irritated and snippy, and sometimes it gets so bad you have a meltdown. It's gotten less common over time, but it still happens way too frequently for either of your likings. 

“So, who’s the best boyfriend ever?” he hints, clearly fishing for a compliment. His voice is surprisingly clear despite the headphones practically deafening you—his words are muffled, but just loud enough for you to understand what’s being said. He's grinning at you like he's the one that just got the excruciatingly heartfelt present. 

Usually, you’d have a witty comeback to Vox’s attempts at getting you to stroke his ego (always followed by an actual, genuine compliment to ease his insecurities hiding behind that ego), but you’re drawing a blank right now. 

The gift is so thoughtful that you don’t even know where to start on expressing your gratitude. Noise-canceling headphones seem so obvious now, but this is Hell! Both you and Vox had died before this technology became commonplace, and not many people in Hell care that much about the noise. Vox made these headphones specifically for you. He doesn’t need them (he can quite literally just turn off his audio input) and he probably won’t make much of a profit with them as a VoxTek product. He’s a busy man, being a CEO and an Overlord, yet he took the time to make this for you himself, not even passing the project off to one of the poor souls that works for him. 

“Babe?” Vox calls out gently, waving a hand in front of your face. Oh, shit—you’re overthinking your response so much that you forgot to actually fucking respond.

You blink a few times, meeting your boyfriend’s gaze. His brows are slightly furrowed, in what you think is a mix of concern and amusement. He’s a little worried he’s fucked up somehow, but he knows you well enough by now to recognize when you’re thinking too hard about something. He actually finds it quite adorable, at least when you’re not about to have a panic attack from it. 

As he looks at you expectantly, you decide to just go with your gut (at least, that’s what you think you’re doing—you’ve never entirely understood what the fuck that phrase means).

You don’t give yourself time to second-guess your actions before you’re practically jumping into Vox’s lap—though it’s more like falling since you were just sitting on the desk. He lets out a little ‘oof’ of surprise before he chuckles and moves his hands to your waist, holding you steady while being careful of his claws. He smirks as you wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his neck, jostling the headphones a little but not enough to fuck with the noise cancellation.

“So…you like them, then?” Vox prompts, just wanting the confirmation even though the answer is already clear. You can tell by his tone that he’s still grinning proudly.

You just gently nod, inadvertently rubbing your face against the fabric of his shirt (fortunately, Vox is a fancy bastard with high standards when it comes to clothing, and he’d long ago thrown out any garment made with fabric that triggered your sensory issues).

“Thank you,” you murmur against his neck. 

His hands tighten ever so slightly around your waist, and his response is so soft you can barely hear it through the headphones. “Anything for you, doll.”

[talaok]

Will you kiss me?

Pairing: Pedro pascal x reader

Summary: You are a famous actress who Pedro has a crush on, and he finally gets to meet you once you get both invited to The Graham Norton Show

warnings: just fluff

a/n: I had to

"What a pair we have here tonight huh?"Graham spoke enthusiastically, making the audience explode in roaring cheers and applauses.

You just smiled as you tried looking at the crowd, getting overwhelmed by the blinding lights.

"Y/n Y/l/n and Pedro Pascal, just- wow"

Other applauses filled the studio.

"Ok so let's start with you y/n, you have a show coming out next week, two oscar nominated films already out, and one more coming out next month" he took a deep breath, feigning fatigue "You must be tired, I mean, How long has it been since you slept?" he joked, making you laugh.

"well I did work a lot this past year, but it was worth it, I'm happy I got to be part of so many wonderful projects and I'm really proud of all of them, I just can't wait for people to see them"

"well I'm sure we're all gonna love them"

"I hope so, I'm always nervous about it"

"Really?" The man beside you asked, surprise clear in his tone.

Pedro Pascal,

You had heard of him before, of the boom he seemed to have made lately, but had never met him until half an hour ago, when you briefly introduced yourselves to one another.

He looked nervous, awkward even, and you didn't know if it was because of the show he was about to get on, if he just was like that, or if there was something else bothering him.

"of course, when I go to premiers I'm always looking over at how people are reacting, if they're like bored or on their phones or actually interested, it's nervewracking, don't you?"

"well of course I do" he chuckled "but I'm no one compared to you"

He had a beautiful smile, you noticed, sweet, comforting.

"oh stop it" you smacked his shoulder playfully " you're a big deal, Pedro"

He just shook his head, still smiling softly, and Graham took the opportunity to intervene.

"of course you are, I mean, Game of Thrones, Narcos," he listed " and now the Mandalorian and The last of us, I mean you're really killing it"

The crowd cheered some more at the mention of those shows.

"thank you," he said shyly, looking like he almost wanted them to stop.

"so how does it feel?" he asked, "to be on such massive hits at the same time?"

"Well, it feels... scary" he laughed, joined by the audience

"you don't like being the center of attention?" Graham asked

"oh no I do" he corrected, making you laugh "It's just frightening at times, 

but I'm having a good time y'know, it's also comforting seeing everyone I've worked with kind of be in the same position as me" he shrugged.

"People you've worked with?"

"yes, you know like Bella Ramsey, they're also- well they're young so of course, they're new to this- but, y'know, we're not used to all this attention and it feels good to have someone by your side who understands what's going on"

"of course" graham nodded "that's true, Bella is really young" he noticed "that's a thing both your shows have in common, young people," he said, "how did that feel? working with the new generation, I'm not saying you're old, but did you ever feel left out?"

"oh, all time" Pedro laughed

"yeah me too" you agreed "there were times when I was really lost but too ashamed to ask " you laughed in embarrassment

"absolutely," Pedro said, " they have a language of their own"

"right?!" you exclaimed, happy someone finally understood you.

"yes, like, there's one term that I learned recently that's really wonderful- somebody was saying - you swerve - "

You frowned

"do you know what swerving is?"

"nope" 

"I was like oh- get somebody off your scent or something like that- I don't know - confuse somebody, and they were like: no, they come in for a kiss and you swerve" he demonstrated, pretending to be avoiding a kiss on the cheek.

"Isn't that great?"

you nodded, laughing, as an idea came to you

"We should try"

His eyes widened as he turned to you 

"c'mon swerve me"

"no, I cannot swerve you!"

"c'mon it's for science"

"I can't, I can't swerve y/n Y/l/n, that's like - a crime"

"oh stop it, just do it, I wanna try it c'mon," you said, flattered

"ok fine, but just because I can't say no to you" he surrendered

"ok" you cleared your throat, preparing yourself "Oh wow, hi Pedro" you pretended to greet him, going in for a kiss.

He just smiled, as he did, eventually avoid your kiss,

his beard grazed your cheek, and the proximity to him, sparked something inside you, something quick, but likewise persistent.

As you leaned away, you noticed with amusement the flush on his cheeks and had to bite down a smile.

He fanned himself exaggeratedly "I'm blushing," he mumbled, making you chuckle, as you rested a hand on his arm, trying to soothe him.

" So how does swerving feel?" Graham asked

"it's... interesting" you glanced at him.

"It makes me feel rude" he looked at you too now, "I would never do it, it feels- it's mean"

"oh we know you wouldn't" you reassured him.

"I didn't like it" he shook his head

You smiled, tilting your head "would it make you feel better if we did it again without the swerving?"

You noticed how he seemed to have a momentary shutdown.

"yes," he said bluntly

"oh my god yes"

You laughed softly, as his mouth gaped open.

"Will you kiss me?" he almost begged, which was funny considering you had proposed it.

"Alright then, come here" you gestured, and he leaned closer, letting you press a quick kiss to his cheek.

"there" you smiled

"I think I just died"

"oh stop it, you're flattering me," you said, noticing a trace of red on his face "whoops, sorry I left a lipstick print" you went to clean it 

"no no" he stopped you 

"please leave it, I want proof this actually happened"

[heegyukeluv]

love-battery (lhs) - req

pairing: heeseung x afab!reader

synopsis: Heeseung always would make you feel recharged just by being around. And you did the same to him.

my's note: hi hello here's a very fluff cute little thing! it's a request (thank you for requesting <3), so i hope you like it!!!! (have to say that when i chose the name of this fic, the jinyoung's song with similar name started to play on my head non-stop help)

warnings: skinship, established relationship, fluff, pet names, explicit language (i can't help myself. i'll always use at least one 'fuck' lol).

wc: 3k

NOT PROOFREAD.

Even with your boyfriend’s tight schedule and the fact you both lived quite far from each other, you and Heeseung always managed ways to meet up and hang out for at least an hour or so – enough to work as a full recharge for Heeseung.

However, for the last whole month you only saw Heeseung three times. You were used to seeing him almost every day, either by going to his and staying for a bit or he coming to yours for the same reason, and it was pissing you off how annoying adult life was being so far, unabling you to do your daily basis chores, let alone drive to Heeseung’s studio to be with him.

Heeseung normally had a tough routine as a producer by spending long hours in his studio, staying up all night working on his music and constantly dealing with tight deadlines. Your favorite hobby was to grab a coffee and some snacks to surprise him by showing up unexpectedly; and of course, to sit on his lap while he kept doing his things. 

But now you were the one fighting against time, as you had to deal with your last year in college, struggling with your final project and with your respective project partners – who would have thought that working with people would lead you to be that stressed, huh?

Your life was a total mess at this point, your sleep schedule chaotic, your body aching, begging for a pause to get some proper rest, but you really couldn’t give yourself that luxury; all the submission dates getting closer and closer making you go crazy in desperation.

And on top of that, you haven’t seen your boyfriend, the main source of your happiness, in almost two weeks.

“This is so frustrating, Hee,” you said with a realistic sad tone, when you decided to ignore the blank page on your laptop waiting for a new plot to pop up in your mind, and give your love life a little more attention, calling Heeseung. “It’s almost like the world doesn't want us to be together.”

“Don’t say such things, my love. Not even as kidding,” he interrupted you to say with a gentle voice. “We’re going to figure out something, yeah?”

“I’m sorry, Hee. But– I’m dealing with a bunch of stupid assignments with stupid deadlines in this stupid degree I chose, and you’ve told me early this week that you were pretty chill with your work. But I didn’t even have time to invite you over the days you said you’re free! Not to mention that if you were here I’d be paying more attention to you and getting fucked with my project.”

“Y/N–”

“And when I’m free you’re the one swamped with work! And, please, I’m not blaming you, babe, please don’t take it the wrong way. I love you and I love that you can work with the thing you’re passionate about. I’m just… Frustrated,” you unloaded with a long sigh, voice trembling a bit since your feelings were, also, a mess and your heart aching. “And I miss you so much. I wish we lived a bit closer, so we could meet more often in moments like this.”

You heard Heeseung soft breathing through the phone. He decided to let you vent instead of cutting you off, because he, more than anyone, knew how overwhelmed you felt whenever you had to deal with submission dates and projects. It was your third project in your whole degree, this one being the most important one, and Heeseung saw you in shambles during your working time in the smaller ones, fully understanding how hard it has been with this final one.

“I’m sorry you’re having to go through all of this, pretty girl,” you could feel the comfort in his tender, sweet tone. You wiped out a single tear that tried to escape your eyes, curving yourself into a little ball on your couch. “But you don’t have to do this alone, my love,” you heard a weird noise through his phone, very similar to a door unlocking. Your door unlocking. You frowned. “Don’t freak out, bae. I’m entering your apartment right now.”

Your heart dropped in your chest. “What?” You whispered in disbelief, your phone falling off from your hand, your eyes widening as you watched your boyfriend walk through the front door, smiling big and bright at you.

His dark red hair was attractively messy because of the motorcycle helmet. He also carried a big backpack on his back and a plastic bag with the logo of your favorite food place.

“You’re kidding me,” your voice was barely a whisper at this point, your lips curving into a smile that grew bigger and bigger, still finding it hard to believe that the man talking to you on your phone was now in front of you. Your beloved boyfriend was now in front of you. “Lee fucking Heeseung!” You almost squealed, walking in his direction right after he put his helmet and his backpack on the ground, to jump on his open arms which were waiting to embrace you in a tight hug.

Your legs instantly wrapped around his waist and your arms on his shoulders, his firm hands gripping on your thighs to hold you close and steady as you buried your face on his neck, inhaling his scent as if it was your favorite drug. You heard Heeseung chuckling at your reaction and you finally noticed how fast your heart was beating, everything feeling unreal. All the frustration you felt waving off your body quickly.

“Hi, baby,” Heeseung said in an affectionate way, with you still hidden on the curve of his neck, making him let out a small laugh at your adorableness. He missed you so much.

Your fingers tangled in his soft hair, pulling him into yourself as if you could become one before you started to kiss every piece of his exposed skin, from his jawline to close to his ear, to his cheek, the tip of his nose and finally his glistening, dreamy lips.

Heeseung let out a contented sigh when he felt your sweet taste, walking carefully through the living room so he could sit on the couch with you on his lap, the contact never breaking. He deepened the kiss by slightly brushing his tongue on your bottom lip, electricity running all over his body once you let him in to feel him closer, so intimately; his hands sneaked into your shirt, caressing the bare skin of your waist just because he needed to touch, to feel you more.

“I missed you so much, my love,” you whispered when you parted away to catch your breath, pecking his lip countless times as you said “Missed. You. So. Much. Oh. My. God,” and the last one lasted a bit longer, making Heeseung giggle and kiss you properly one more time. 

“I missed you too, pretty.”

Heeseung was looking at you with so much love, his eyes sparkling in joy for finally having you that close, touching, kissing you. He caressed your cheek while his gaze wandered all your face features, as if he was trying to memorize every one of them, completely endeared by your beauty.

Heeseung looked at you as if he just discovered what love is. 

You weren’t different, though. Your soft touch on his strands of hair, scratching slightly as your contemplated every piece of your very good-looking boyfriend, not holding yourself when your fingers started gently to trace his face; his big deer eyes now turned into little crescents, his pretty nose that you loved to kiss, the little charming mole on his forehead, and his so, so attractive lips adorning the most beautiful smile you ever had the chance to see. You were so in love.

Heeseung felt like he could stare at you all day and he would never feel tired, actually to have you close always worked as a battery recharge. And for you, Heeseung did the same, making all your bad feelings wash away easily because you had him, and you knew you could rely on him.

Ironically, the sound of your laptop on the coffee table indicating that its battery was running out, pulled you both out of your little love bubble, startling you slightly. The reality check hit you with full force, and the bottom of your stomach sank immediately.

You gulped, looking at Heeseung with a hint of sadness before you sighed and said, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m super happy you’re here, but I–”

“You have things to do, I know,” Heeseung cut you off mid-sentence. His kind voice, the small peck on your cheek, and his cute smile making you shiver and melt. “But don’t worry about me, okay? You do your things, I’ll be around for whenever you finish, and then we can cuddle,” he said simply, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“You’re staying?” You questioned with eyes sparkling in confusion. “I don’t want you to mess up your sche–”

Heeseung now stopped your talking with a sweet kiss, and then another, and another, and one more just in case. “I’m staying, baby,” he chuckled at your tilted head, expressing that you were very much confused. “As I said before, I’m pretty chill this week,” he explained with a warm smile, mirroring yours. “Anything I have to do, I can do from my computer or phone, so I’m all yours this weekend, my love.”

Heeseung fell even deeply for you when he saw your eyes shining like you received the best news of your life. And for you, you actually did. To have your boyfriend for a whole weekend after days without being able to see each other, you truly thought you were dreaming. 

So to have Heeseung feeding you while your hands worked on your writing was definitely something that you hadn’t planned for your friday. He was openly giving his opinion as well after you cutely asked him to, paying attention to every detail you shared with him about the plot you were working on. 

“So your idea is that after he leaves the house, you give an extra zoom on the door knob because someone is going to open, even though the house is supposed to be empty?”

“Yes! And then it’s revealed to be actually his ‘dead’ twin!” You explained excitedly, noticing Heeseung gazing very passionately at you. You blushed, feeling suddenly too aware, because your story now has been read by someone other than you. “I– I know it’s kinda simple and boring, but I mean– I got the approval to keep working on it, so…” You shrugged, trying to act cool, but your pout was showing how insecure you actually felt.

“It’s not simple or anything bad, my love,” Heeseung couldn’t resist the urge of kissing your small pout as he reassured you. “It’s impressive how your creative mind works, I’m really proud,” he said with his voice filled with sincerity.

You gave him a shy smile before going back to writing, heart beating fast with his genuine words.

Heeseung never left your side. You needed him around you every single second, not only to compensate for the days you were apart, but because Heeseung was really your source of energy. So to write on your computer while having his fingers intertwined with yours became a natural activity during the moments you were working on your project. You could feel Heeseung’s love stare at your face during those moments, completely in love by your focused expression. 

Sometimes he would leave your touch to reply to some of his co-workers on his phone, giving them the attention they needed, but in the meantime his head would be resting on your shoulder, completely addicted to your touch and to having you close – his hair tickling your neck making you lose focus for a few minutes.  

You both wanted and needed each other with the same intensity. Heeseung always loved your clinginess, emphasizing how lovable you looked with your pouty face whenever he had to leave the bed to go to the bathroom or grab some food in the kitchen and “leave you to die alone”, like you normally would say in a very dramatic way. Especially because he himself was pretty clingy too, holding you in a tight back hug whenever you had to go back home after visiting him at his studio, refusing to let you leave his side.

To move in together was a big dream. However Heeseung always talked with you about finishing your studies first before committing your relationship on that instance, so you could have your freedom without him disrupting your focus; he also knew that he wasn’t ready to have you so close for that long, afraid of scaring you off by how much he would be around you, maybe losing his own concentration on his work. 

And this behavior was being shown at that moment, by you doing the lunch and him hugging you from behind.

“I have to be honest, I don’t really see this as ‘helping’, Hee,” you said with a playful chuckle, not really bothered by his big hands resting on your hips as well as his chin on your shoulder while you did all the work. He was clinging like a koala, making it challenging to move around the kitchen.

“What do you mean? I’m clearly helping you,” he said with a babyish voice, making you giggle. You could tell he was pouting too. “What if you get hurt? I have to be close, y’know? To save you from danger.”

You laughed hard, throwing your head behind and profusely resting it on his chest. “The danger?”

“Yeah, the knife and fire and stuff…” He explained like it was obvious.

You turned down the heat on the stove, moving away from it so you could face your boyfriend, just to meet his big, adorable eyes looking at you with a dramatically pleading expression. “You’re right,” you said softly, cupping his cheeks and planting a kiss on his lips. “Thank you for protecting me from the dangers of my kitchen,” you added a hint of sarcasm to your very affectionate tone, without holding your smile when he nodded proudly, before pulling you closer to kiss you properly as now your self-proclaimed hero. 

After you finished cooking – with Heeseung’s help, of course –, you both shared the meal, doing constant “love shots” but with your food, just so you could feel each other’s touch.

Heeseung didn’t let you go back to work on your project when you finished eating, saying you needed a bit of resting time with him. And how could you oppose such truthful words? 

So you spend quite a long time of your Saturday afternoon embraced in Heeseung’s arms and scent all over you, making it difficult to choose anything different from being on the bed cuddling him. 

After changing positions many times, you now were on top of Heeseung, face buried on his neck while he hummed some random song, hands gently caressing your back and scalp, making you wonder if taking a quick nap at that moment would mess up too much with your project work.

As if a sense of responsibility hit you, remembering all your deadlines and especially that you had to finish at least the plot writing by Monday – in two days –, you forced yourself to try to move away. Your body refused, though.

“I should go,” you said, muffed into his skin.

“Yeah, you should…” Heeseung added, not moving an inch to help you with that. In fact, he held you closer. Your warm body against his own helping him to relax. 

“Like, reeeally gotta go…” You didn’t move as well, trailing kisses all over his neck as you refused to get up.

“Definitely you do…” His voice was a bit raspy in a sweet, tender way that made it even harder for you to leave. He was about to fall asleep.

You sighed, “I missed being like this with you.” You lifted your head just enough to see his serene expression; eyes closed, lips slightly parted and a calm breathing. You almost cried with the fact that you truly needed to go back to your life instead of staying there with Heeseung. 

Your hands caressed his face with all the care in the world, making him open his eyes, “I missed it too, pretty. I miss you every moment I’m without you, actually.”

You noticed a soft flush  on Heeseung cheeks and giggled at the sight of your ‘so cool’ boyfriend blushing in front of you. 

You always appreciated how Heeseung was not only a good listener to your worries and maybe overwhelming thoughts, but also unafraid to show you his most sensitive and vulnerable side in order to make you comfortable on doing the same. You cherished his presence in your life with all you had, not being scared of loving him so openly, because he did the same for you. 

“I love you,” you whispered, leaning in to tease a kiss. He smiled against your lips, closing his eyes again.

“I love you too, my love,” he murmured, mirroring your tone and capturing your bottom lip with his own, to pull you near and finally kiss you. 

You decided to stay for a bit longer, because Heeseung’s hands roaming your body with such care and tenderness, his sweet mouth working on yours, and his loving whispers against your skin were too irresistible.

The best excuse you found for yourself was that you were revitalizing so you could work better, your creativity would flow easily and you would finish it in no time.

And, well, he would be around you anyway, because he just couldn’t never get enough of your pretty face, or your joyful presence, or your addicting warm touches.

After all, Heeseung always worked as a recharger to your love battery, and for him, you were no different.

[onlyangel4]

unexpected. SMAU. LH44. final part.

lewis hamilton x tattoo artist! reader

in which reader is the last person someone you expect to find in the paddock and that is what makes him drawn to you. or lando's tattoo artist friend visits the paddock to tattoo zak brown after the miami gp win and the internet goes mad.

warnings- cursing

part one // part two

main faceclaim is ryan ashley malarkey

y/ntattoos posted a story

written: lilith's first time abroad is gonna be a fun one.

hamiltonupdates

liked by user17, user43, user53 and 18,732 others

hamiltonupdates: lewis and roscoe seen arriving to the canadian gp. he arrived with y/n y/ln the tattoo artist that he was pictured with at the italian gp and her dog lilith. something tells us that this is not just a coincidence

view all 2,341 comments

user17: damn i thought we had escaped y/n

user53: no cause if they are having a dog play date that is the cutest thing

user43: fuck it. i'm speaking my truth, i love y/n and hope that they are together

y/ntattoos posted a story

written: lilith's first gp

landonorris replied to your story: TRAITOR

y/ntattoos: oh shh you knew i was going to be in mercedes hospitality

landonorris: i know but still i miss my god daughter

mercedesamgf1

liked by y/ntattoos, lewishamilton, georgerussell and 459,289 others

mercedesamgf1: puppy love in the mercedes garage today

view all 52,319 comments

y/ntattoos: in lilith's defence roscoe doesn't actually seem phased

lewishamilton: did he tell you that

y/ntattoos: yeah he told me he loves her and wants her around all the time

lewishamilton: my poor son is now a chair

y/ntattoos: if lilith fits, lilith sits i don't make the rules

georgerussell: wishing that we always have dogs in the garage

lewishamilton: roscoe is almost always there george

georgerussell: i mean cute dogs that don't drool like roscoe

user10: see even mercedes admin likes y/n so just leave her alone

liked by lewishamilton, y/ntattoos and mercedesamgf1

mclaren: you took our girl and her dog. how dare you!

mercedesamgf1: admin is willing to fight to the death for y/n and lilith

mclaren: name a time and a place

y/ntattoos

liked by lewishamilton, mercedesamgf1, landonorris and 219,829 others

y/ntattoos: the best weekend

thank you for having us mercedesamgf1

view all 67,102 comments

lewishamilton: i think roscoe is already missing lilith

y/ntattoos: and lilith is really mssing roscoe

user19: they are flirting through their dogs. she matches his freak perfectly.

mercedesamgf1: we love you y/n

georgerussell: second !

carmenmundt: third !

y/ntattoos: love you all

user32: the entire mercedes garage loves her so all you haters should just shut tf up liked by y/ntattoos

landonorris: i was gonna leave an angry comment but y'all are cute

user41: LANDO WHAT DO YOU KNOW

lewishamilton posted a story

written: here we go @.y/ntattoos

landonorris replied to your story: make sure you don't cry like a baby in front of your girlfriend

lewishamilton: lando i have been tattooed so many times before. i think you might be projecting

lewishamilton posted a story

written: all new finger tatts done by the talented @.y/ntattoos

y/ntattoos

liked by lewishamilton, roscoelovescoco, user47 and 512,091 others

y/ntattoos: today black hope tattoo studios welcomed roscoe (and his dad)

view all 43,210 comments

roscoelovescoco: lilith is the best napping partner ever

liked by y/ntattoos

lewishamilton: amazed by how talented you are

y/ntattoos: aw thank you lew

user47: omg lew, they have to be dating

user92: it is silverstone week shouldn't he really be training and not wasting time with her

user12: they are fucking adults. leave them alone.

y/ntattoos posted a story

written: here we fucking go

f1wags

liked by f1fan, user12, user70 and 34,510 others

f1wags: firstly, well done lewis! secondly, this win has revealed a brand new wag in y/n y/ln. there have been rumours surrounding the tattoo artist dating lewis since they met in italy but today has cemented it. when lewis won cameras cut to y/n happy sobbing in the mercedes garage with roscoe in her arms and then she ran over to the podium to congratulate him.

view all 22,119 comments

f1fan: for all the hate she got in the beginning i love her

user12: her carrying roscoe to the podium made me cry

user70: best wag confirmed?

y/ntattoos

liked by mercedesamgf1, lewishamilton, landonorris and 976,102 others

y/ntattoos: lew. i am so incredibly captivated by your talent, i spent that whole race just watching you make good decisions again and again, your brain amazes me. i am so fucking proud of you my love.

view all 102,119 comments

lewishamilton: i had the best support imaginable

y/ntattoos: i love you

mercedesamgf1: y/n you just made admin cry all over again

y/ntattoos: sorry admin. love you !

landonorris: finally, i don't have to keep this secret

lewishamilton

liked by y/ntattoos, mercedesamgf1, landonorris and 3,149,209 others

lewishamilton: full silverstone post is in the works. but first i would like to introduce you all to my lucky charm.

view all 721,109 comments

y/ntattoos: you did it baby

lewishamilton: lcould not have done it without your support my love.

user62: this man wins a grand prix for the first time in over 900 days and his first priority is to hard launch his girlfriend. i want a love like that.

mercedesamgf1: brand new wag just dropped

taglist for this series: @ilivbullyingjeongin @formulaal @xoscar03

[7ndipity]

Second Glances

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: You and Yoongi have been best friends for years, but after you confess you feelings for him, Yoongi realizes he might have misread his own feelings towards you.

Word Count: 1.9K

Warnings: slight angst, swearing, lil suggestive at the end, partially proofread

A/N: Thanks so much to @whitefoxgirl for this request! Tbh, I'm not entirely happy with this, but I didn’t want to leave you hanging for ages while I nitpicked.🙄 I hope you still like it tho💜

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

It was a strange thing, how you could go on seeing someone the same way for years, and then all of a sudden, something happens and turns you on your head.

When Hobi had first introduced you to his fellow members after you moved to Seoul, you and Yoongi had clicked instantly, much to the surprise of everyone else. No one could quite understand it, but the two you had seemed to fit together naturally like two halves of a whole, the yin to his yang; while he was on the quieter, more introverted side, you were bright and loud, with an infectious enthusiasm. A prime example of that being the way he could hear you and Hobi before you ever entered his studio, laughing loudly as you rushed through the door ahead of his bandmate.

“There’s no way you did that!” You insisted.

“I did, I swear, we even have video of it!” Hobi argued.

“What the fuck are you two yelling about?” Yoongi asked, more amused than annoyed by the sudden noise.

“Did he actually go bungee jumping?” You asked, turning your attention to him.

“Why would I lie about that?!” Hobi exclaimed.

“Oh, that,” Yoongi deliberated for a second before smirking over at Hobi. “No, he didn’t.”

“Why are you lying?!” Hobi yelled, making you both burst into laughter. As much as Hoseok loved you and his hyung becoming friends, you were absolute menaces together, constantly teasing him and the members, as well as each other.

“Screw it, I just wanted to ask if you wanted to come with us to get something to eat?” He asked, exasperatedly.

“Sure.” Yoongi answered, still laughing slightly.

“Cool, I’m gonna go find Jimin, I’ll be right back.” He announced, heading back out the door before either of you could say anything else.

Yoongi turned his attention back to the screen in front of him as you settled on the sofa, Hobi apparently having taken your energy with him as he left, as silence suddenly fell over the room.

Yoongi glanced over at you. “You okay?”

“Hmm?” You looked up in confusion. “Yeah, why?”

“I dunno, you just got kinda quiet.” He shrugged.

You let out a small laugh. “I’m okay, I just know that you don’t like a lot of noise, so I usually try to be a little calmer when it’s just us so I won’t bug you.”

“You don’t bug me.” He said.

“No?” You looked at him doubtfully.

“Well, not a significant amount.” He smirked, making you laugh again. “You wanna see what I’m working on?”

“Really?” Your eyes lit up.

“Sure.” He said, pulling a second chair over close to his so you could both see the screen as he hit play.

Yoongi was normally quite private about his music, at least until it was finished, but he loved getting to show you his new projects, talking animatedly as you listened to part of the song, explaining how he mixed and layered the audio files, or what lines he liked best.

“So is this how you get girls?” You said, unable to resist teasing him just a little bit as he spoke.

“No,” He shot you a sly look. “I just like getting to teach you stuff.”

“Oh really?” You grinned, leaning over the arm of your chair. “You know, I don’t know how to kiss either, care to teach me that?”

Yoongi’s eyes widened, looking over at you in surprise.

“I’m just joking Yoongs!” You laughed, trying to quickly dispel any awkwardness. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Eh, it’s okay, it boosts my ego.” He replied, grinning at you.

“Really?” You asked.

“Yeah, even if I know you’re just playing around.” He said, shooting you a quick wink, missing the way you looked away, falling silent again for a new reason.

While it was true that part of your flirty remarks were just for the sake of teasing him, enjoying the way you could so easily make him flush red, that wasn’t the case for all of them.

In the past few months, your feelings for Yoongi had shifted from those of purely a friend into something more, a fact that you had been trying to subtly bring to Yoongi’s attention, apparently without success.

You hadn’t wanted to just drop the information on him like a bomb, fully aware that he might not reciprocate, and not wanting to jeopardize your friendship, but clearly your current approach was not going to get you any type of answer.

“What if I wasn’t?” You said suddenly.

“What?” He glanced back at you, confused.

“What if I wasn’t kidding? What if I liked you?” You asked, watching him carefully.

He blinked at you. “I-, did, wait what?!”

“I know it’s probably not the best time, but I don’t know if there’ll ever be a ‘best time’ to say this.” You took a breath. “I like you, as more than a friend, and I understand if you don’t feel the same for me, but I just… I just wanted to say it.” You finished, staring down at your hands, afraid to meet his gaze.

He stared at you in complete shock, his mind scrambling to try and make sense of what you’d just said. How long had you felt this way? What did this mean for your friendship?

The seconds ticked by as the silence in the room grew nearly unbearable.

“Please say something.” You urged.

“Y/n, I-,” Yoongi sat back in his chair. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t see you that way.” He said as gently as possible.

You nodded, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “Yeah, that’s what I figured.”

“I’m so sorry.” He apologized.

“It’s alright, I knew it was a long shot,” You smiled at him. “At least now I know, and we can go on as normal.”

He blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You chuckled slightly at his bemused expression. “I’m a grown woman, Yoongi, I can handle a little rejection. I knew you might not feel the same, but nothing’s changed, you’re still one of my best friends. I just wanted to tell you.”

“Okay.” He said, visibly relaxing.

“Are we still okay?” You asked.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Yeah, we’re good.”

“Cool.” You smiled, quickly changing the subject as the others came back in.

To Yoongi’s surprise, you lived up to your word, continuing on with your friendship as if nothing had ever happened, hanging out with him and other members as usual. Even that same day at lunch, no one else would’ve had an inkling of what had transpired between the two of you from the way you acted, sitting together and talking easily, still making your teasing comments here and there.

Everything was exactly the same, except it wasn’t.

It was miniscule at first, but in the weeks that had followed, it was clear that something had changed. Not you exactly, but something in the way Yoongi saw you changed; the way you laughed at something he said, or the way you smiled at him, but suddenly everything about you seemed to draw him in, leaving him questioning his words to you. Did he see you as more than a friend?

Looking back, he couldn’t deny that he’d always thought you were attractive, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was attracted to you. And maybe sometimes his heart rate picked up a little more than usual due to your flirty remarks, but that was just because you caught him off guard. It didn’t mean anything, right? It wasn’t like he caught himself thinking about you constantly or wondering about how your lips would feel against his-

What the fuck?! He shook himself, quickly glancing over at where you were sitting on his sofa, working peacefully on your laptop.

He felt like he was going crazy, like he was gaslighting himself. Was your confession really all it had taken to make him develop feelings for you? Or had they existed the whole time and he was just too blind to notice? Why couldn’t he have had this fucking revelation three weeks ago when you were sat in front of him? But of course you figured it out first, you were always more forward than he was, that was one of the things he loved about you…

Fuck.

The worst part was that you could tell something was off, but he couldn’t very well tell you what. He would look like a complete asshole if he tried to make a move on you after having rejected you, like he was just fucking around with your feelings.

“Yoongs?” Your voice suddenly snapped him back to the present, realizing he’d been staring off into space.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, turning back to his computer.

You sighed, sitting up and moving your things off to the side.

“Are we gonna talk about this?” You asked.

“About what?” He didn’t look up.

“About how weird you’ve been acting lately.” You said.

He didn’t respond, looking down.

“Look, if this is about what I said-”

“It’s not.” He denied quickly.

“Yoongi, you’ve barely even looked at me today.” He turned around, meeting your eyes as you stared at him.

“Please, just talk to me.” You pleaded.

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

You waited. “Because?”

“Because I screwed up,” He said. “You told me how you felt and I said no, but now I can’t stop thinking about it and, fuck, you must hate me, I don’t know what the fuck I’m saying but I-”

His ramble was abruptly cut off by you striding across the room and crashing your lips to his, making his mind go blank. He leaned up into you, hands finding your hips to steady you as you leaned over his chair, your hands tangling in his hair, savoring the taste of your lip balm on his tongue.

Too soon for his liking, you pulled away, breathing heavily as you met his eyes.

“I definitely don’t hate you,” You breathed. “Though I do have some things to say about your communications skills.” You snickered.

“Of course you do.” He scoffed.

“We can talk about that later though.’ You smiled. “Right now, I'd rather us just cover the basics.”

You leaned in again, noting the way his breath hitched slightly.

“Do you want this?” You asked softly.

He stared up at you with dark eyes, his voice coming out as almost a whisper. “I do.”

You kissed him, pressing him back in his chair as you moved to straddle him, earning a soft grunt from him. Yoongi gripped your waist tightly, not entirely used to having someone take the lead like this, but finding himself falling into the role easily, melting against you as you pressed closer, a shiver passing through him as your tongue slipped into his mouth.

“Hey hyung, I was jus- AGH MY EYES!”

You nearly fell backwards off Yoongi’s lap at Jimin’s scream from behind you, Yoongi’s hands catching you as you both whipped around to see the younger member standing in the doorway, staring at both of you in shock.

“Do you ever fucking knock?!” Yoongi snapped.

“I was-, I-.” Not knowing how to respond, Jimin simply backed out of the room, closing the door loudly behind him, leaving you and Yoongi alone again.

“Maybe we should do this somewhere else.” You said, face flushed in embarrassment.

“Why? Now they know not to come in.” Yoongi grinned, trying to tug you closer again, but you put a hand on his chest.

“Yoongi.” You complained.

“Okay, fine” He relented. “I guess I should buy you dinner first, it’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“You suck.” You laughed.

“Hey, you’re the one that likes me, it’s not my fault you have shit taste.” He teased, kissing you again lightly.

“Alright then, Mr. Gentleman, buy me dinner.” You grinned against his lips.

“Yes ma’am.”

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

[maxwellatoms]

Do you think the new division of Cartoon Network Studios will end up exploiting and abusing AI to make new cartoons of their old properties?

I wouldn't put it past any studio to do this.

We're at the end of The Animation Industry As We Know It, so studios are going to do anything and everything they can to stay alive.

The way I see it is:

AI "art" isn't actually art. Art is created by humans to express ideas and emotions. Writing prompts allows a computer to interpret human ideas and emotions by taking other examples of those things and recombining them.

Just because something isn't art doesn't mean that humans can't understand it or find it beautiful. We passed a really fun prompt generation milestone about a year ago where everything looked like it was made by a Dadaist or someone on heavy psychedelics. Now we're at the Uncanny Valley stage. Soon, you won't be able to tell the difference.

It's not just drawings and paintings that are effected, but writing and film. It's every part of the entertainment industry. And the genie is out of the bottle. I've seen people saying that prompt-based image generators have "democratized" art. And I see where they're coming from. In ten years, I can easily see a future where anyone can sit down at their desk, have a short conversation with their computer, and have a ready-to-watch, custom movie with flawless special effects, passable story, and a solid three act structure. You want to replace Harrison Ford in Star Wars with your little brother and have Chewbacca make only fart sounds, and then they fly to Narnia and fistfight Batman? Done.

But, sadly, long before we reach that ten year mark, the bots will get hold of this stuff and absolutely lay waste to existing art industries. Sure, as a prompter I guess you can be proud of the hours or days you put into crafting your prompts, but you know what's better than a human at crafting prompts? Bots. Imagine bots cranking out hundreds of thousands of full-length feature films per minute. The noise level will squash almost any organic artist or AI prompter out of existence.

AI images trivialize real art. The whole point of a studio is to provide the money, labor, and space to create these big, complicated art projects. But if there are no big, complicated art projects, no creatives leading the charge, and no employees to pay... what the fuck do we need studios for? We won't, but their sheer wealth and power will leave them forcing themselves on us for the rest of our lives.

The near future will see studios clamp down on the tech in order to keep it in their own hands. Disney does tons of proprietary tech stuff, so I'm sure they're ahead of the game. Other studios will continue to seek mergers until they can merge with a content distribution platform. I've heard rumors of Comcast wanting to buy out either WB or Nick. That's the sort of thing I'm talking about. The only winners of this game will be the two or three super-huge distribution platforms who can filter out enough of the spam (which they themselves are likely perpetuating) to provide a reasonable entertainment experience.

400,000 channels and nothing's on.

I do think that money will eventually make the "you can't copyright AI stuff" thing go away. There's also the attrition of "Oh, whoops! We accidentally put an AI actor in there and no one noticed for five years, so now it's cool."

One way or another, it's gonna be a wild ride. As the canary in the coal mine, I hope we can all get some UBI before I'm forced to move into the sewers and go full C.H.U.D.

[yooglefics]

Reveal — Part two: editing

Pairing: Yoongi x fem!reader ( camboy!yoongi x camgirl!reader )  Wordcount: 1,735 words Genre: 18+, mdni, remainder to not use fanfics as your only source of sex ed. Summary: Yoongi is just helping a friend help you, but is he even supposed to listen to this?. Part 2 of Reveal: recording. Read it for context. This is just why and how we got to that ending. More warnings under read more.

Includes: Mentions of selling sex content. People recording sex acts. Mentions of sexual activity ( doing things and also talking about doing things and thinking about doing more things ). Mentions of past and not past masturbation ( f and m ).  Dirty talk? I guess?. Sprinkle of possessive yoongi? Is not my fault i sweaaaar Author's note: Remember when I started writing something short and silly lmao, what a time. Btw, I have never used OF so if something I say about how they use the website is actually not true / completely wrong just pretend please lmao. Anyway, I thought it'd be fun to write Yoongi's side, hope you like it! If you do please remember to leave a comment, reblog, ask, follow and what not. Thank you for reading <3

Saturday is probably Yoongi's favorite day of the week. No waking up early, no work, and not worrying about having to do any of those the next day.

That's why he groans when his phone rings with messages from Jungkook. He knows is him because he is the only one who still insists on sending him a million messages instead of just one. 

Love the guy, but he can be annoying.

The fifth ring comes and hopping is the last one, Yoongi finally reaches for his phone and rolls to his back. 

JK: hey JK: are you awake? JK: and free today? JK: i need a favor JK: yoongi?

Yoongi: with what? If I have to leave my house is probably a no.

Both of them know that actually, even if it ruined his plans of relaxing, he would say yes. Because that's what friends do.

JK: no no. You can do it at your house  JK: I need to edit an audio for my friend JK: but I'm on the schedule today JK: and if I don't send it back quickly she will back out JK: please? 

Yoongi: ok. Send it to me. Yoongi: you own me, tho.

Throwing his phone on the bed, he gets out of it to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, getting ready to sit in his studio for at least an hour. He knows is probably a bit extra to use his expensive equipment for whatever this favor is, but if he is going to help, he is going to do it right.

Opening Jungkook's messages on his laptop, Yoongi almost wants to laugh at himself.

JK: [ killmepls.mp3 ] JK: is and OF thing, btw JK: don't listen to it in public lol

Yep, definitely Poducer Min equipment is too extra for this. But, fuck it.

The archive is already downloaded when he opens the software, starting a new project and naming it the same as the audio plus final, to not get confused. Plugging in his headphones he starts playing it, already noticing whoever this is, is pretty quiet at the beginning and he would most likely have to cut it off, still, he listens to make sure.

A few taps followed by a “hi..” is the start, and he chuckles at their giggles.

He decides to let that in, but cuts the next few seconds where only their breathing can be heard along with some clicking and fabric moving. Is too long of a pause for this kind of thing and the clicking gives a way they weren't ready to start. Sure they wouldn't mind.

They put music on? It sounds familiar but is pretty fade out, so he can't really be sure, and then “This angle is kinda…” 

That's him.

That's his voice.

“Hot,” the voice continues before he can rewind.

“You can't tell me I'm mean anymore. I'm spoiling you,” his own voice travels again on his headphones. “I'm giving you this view and I'm giving you what's probably the thing you all ask the most: hands.”

What is this? Some kind of joke?

Did Jungkook put them up to this?

“I hate him. I'm gonna sue him,” 

That gets a laugh from him, even if he is still confused about what is happening.

Maybe it's just his imagination?

Should he ask his friend?

More movement of fabric. Maybe bed sheets or clothes. More breathing, a bit faster than last time and then, a groan. 

He can leave that in.

Wait, that's right. He is supposed to be editing this. He has to go back and…

“This angle is kinda…” his voice says and he hits pause. Is really him. Is that possible?

He feels like he is imagining things.

“Jungkook, I swear if this is some kind of joke or something,” he rambles taking his phone out.

Yoongi: did you listen to it?

JK: no, didn't have time JK: why? something wrong? JK: don't tell me it can't be used JK: she is gonna be sad :(

Yoongi: who is she?

JK: dunno if i can tell you 

Yoongi: technically I'm doing a favor for her. I think is fair 

JK: good point JK: is afterhours(y/n)

He opens a new tap on his laptop, goes to the website and searches for the username through his followers. And sure enough there it is. Subscribed a month ago.

He clicks to see your perfil. The first post he can see without being subscribed is a picture of a lilac lingerie set on a bed with the caption “very early birthday present”, from a week ago. 

He considers subscribing to see more, but he stops himself from clicking, remembering Jungkook didn't even want to tell him who you were. Oh, shit. What would you do if you knew it was him editing your audio? Would you back out? Or be sad?

Now it feels kind of wrong, like if he were invading your privacy.

He clicks around on his computer again, audio track back to the zero seconds mark. He hears the “hi” and the giggles and stops it before his voice appears. 

“Okay, this is going to be posted. It was recorded with the intention of being posted for people to hear,” he reasons. “If it's not posted I'd just forget about it and if it is… I'd… subscribe? To make up for listening?”

Clearly that part is not completely made up on his mind, but he doesn't have to decide what to do right now, he has to finish editing. And so, Yoongi clicks around the software again, cutting and deleting another section, the one where you can hear his voice and even his music before.

That's it. It was a familiar track because it is his. He composed that himself to put in the background of his videos exclusively. He figured putting his own touch would help if something was posted outside his page, never imagining hearing it in the background of someone else's video or audio was even possible.

It shouldn't affect him this much. After all, people touching themselves to his videos is half the reason he likes making them. What can he say? Is a turn on to have that effect on others, it builds his confidence up.

But actually hearing it is different. 

Groan and fabric moving, a bit too close to the mic he considers doing something about it, but “I want you to touch me,” is the perfect whisper. Just the right volume, just the right words.

No more audio of SugaD can be heard now, you probably turn down the volume of the video or pause it. Yoongi is curious about it. The idea of your sounds being a reaction to his past self is doing things to him, and Yoongi would like to ignore them before getting too distracted, but is kind of a boomer not knowing exactly what your reactions are for.

Maybe he can open his video, it wouldn't be hard for him to synchronized it with your audio and—

No.

That would cross the line. Is enough that he—

“Are you hard?” your voice continues, timidly he thinks. 

Is this your first time doing this? That's why you couldn't edit yourself?

What would you do if you knew he was listening and his dick was calling for attention at all your little sounds?

He stops your recording, considers taking a break, going back to bed. But he knows just forgetting about this would be hard and in the end he would have to come back and finish helping.

He unpaused it.

More moans echo throughout his headphones and he fixes them on top of his head, as if that would help him concentrate. You just sound so pretty, and when you plead he wants to give you anything you ask for, his dick twitching with desire.

He could just— no. That'll be wrong. Is enough he is letting it affect him this much, he can't just—

His leg bounces under his desk, hand glue to his mouse even when he is just listening now. Only stopping and going back a couple times to fix the volume of background noise, making it less or more obvious depending on the flow or your moans.

A groan of his own cuts the silence in his studio when you form words again. “It feels so good, oh god.” And Yoongi wishes he knew what. Wishes he could see you, could touch you. Could make you sound and feel that good in person.

“Uh uh,” short moans leave your lips, and it sounds so much like you're agreeing with his thoughts he really considers sneaking a hand down his pants. Allow his mind to wander and imagine what you would look like under him. Or on top. Or just coming undone by him.

But he doesn't. He just listens to your recording, your breathing, your pleas and your cut out warning when you cum.

“Fucking hell,” Yoongi angrily whispers. And for a second he considers doing the SugaD special of cutting it out of the final audio, but that's too selfish.

Or perhaps is more selfish leaving it. Considering he wants the world to hear how you sound when listening to him.

Yoongi managed to leave the studio without touching himself. But is not really as impressive as it sounds since his hand is on his dick the minute he goes back to bed after listening to the final edit of your audio one last time. The excuse of being just to make sure is perfect is just that, an excuse. And your pretty sounds replay on his head while he jerks off until orgasm.

JK: thank youuuu JK: she says thank you too!

Does that mean you know he was the one editing it?

He opens the app on his phone, looks for your perfil again and debates a couple minutes his options. 

What's the worst that can happen? You blocking him? He would understand, but if he actually doesn't do anything, doesn't play his chance, he wouldn't forgive himself.

And so, he subscribes. Page refreshes instantly and a new post greets him.

[ afterhours(y/n):

Surprise, surprise. Is my birthday month but I keep spoiling you, ain't I the best? 😝 

      [ VoiceReveal.mp3 ]

                                                                         ]

Doesn't even have to listen to it, his fingers move on their own, “the cutest”, he comments.

♡ Tag list: @m00njinnie , @sexytholland , @seoullove96 , @thelilbutifulthings , @disneyprincessshuri ,

( is hereee! I appreciate u guys hehe <3 ) ( if anyone else wants to be tagged in the future, let me know )

➪ Part one. | ➪ Part three. | ➪ Updates for this verse | ➪ Ko-fi

➪ Main masterlist. | ➪ Updates in general | ➪ Request & chats ♡

[imagineinside]

Star-Like Encounters (Hugh Jackman x Fem!Reader) Chapter 3

Previous Chapter: https://www.tumblr.com/imagineinside/760895461984976896/star-like-encounters-hugh-jackman-x-femreader?source=share

A/N: Heheheh I had so much fun writing this little Cinderella-esque chapter. I hope you guys have equal amount of fun reading it! :) (Also, as always, I do not know these people nor is this meant to be an accurate representation of them.)

Description: You begin your first semester at a prestigious university with a mix of excitement and chaos. After a frantic start involving a late arrival due to your roommate’s Hollywood-related detour, your day takes an unexpected turn when you meet Hugh Jackman, your roommate’s boss, at a movie studio.

Hugh, intrigued by your expertise in physics, invites you to consult on a film project aiming for scientific accuracy. Balancing your new academic responsibilities with a potential Hollywood cameo, you must navigate your dual interests. As you face your own feelings, you discover that the lines between your professional and personal worlds are more intertwined than you imagined.

Currently Applicable Tags: Sexual themes 18+, Fluff, cocky Hugh Jackman, flirty Hugh Jackman, age gap (55 and late 20s), so much pining, mutual pining, reader under alcoholic influence, grammatical errors, more to come.

The day of the debut event arrived faster than you had anticipated. Hugh had arranged for you to meet with him and his stylists six hours before the event officially began, which you thought was quite an extensive length of time. But then again, you had never gotten ready for an event like this before. 

Hugh had been texting you pictures of various different red and yellow dresses, sent to him originally from his stylist. You think the last time you had worn an evening gown like that was to your high school prom. It had taken a while, but you had all settled on a strapless red gown that would be tailored to your form. What had really caught your attention about the gown was the small trane in the back and the slit up the front left leg. It was simple enough that you wouldn’t draw enough attention but still beautiful enough to match the rest of the attendees.

Hugh had promised to pick you up from your apartment, and as you sat on your couch waiting for the text saying he had arrived butterflies of anxiety flew around your stomach.

“You look like you’re going to throw up,” Ashley said as she walked into the common room with her lunch in her hand.

“Jee, thanks, Ash,” you snapped back.

Your friend raised her hands in self defense, “I didn’t mean bad by it. You’ll be fine tonight, you don’t need to worry. Hugh’s a good guy.”

“I know that. Just how would you feel if your celebrity crush asked you out to attend the debut of a movie you’ve been eagerly awaiting to arrive in theaters?” Your knees started to nervously bounce now.

“If Jennifer Lawrence asked me out I would make it a night she never forgot. So good that we would run off into the sunset together to live the rest of our lives together,” your friend said dramatically as she scanned the horizon with her hand.

You rolled your eyes, “Sure you would.” Just then your phone vibrated in your hand and a text from Hugh illuminated the screen.

Yup, that was the text saying he was here. You stood from your seat just as a second text came through.

You smiled to yourself at that, at least you weren’t the only person who was nervous about tonight. You thought that he would be accustomed to events like this after so many years in the entertainment business.

Going out to the car, you waved once you spotted Hugh parked on the side of the street. He was waiting outside the front of his car, leaning against the hood with his arms crossed over his massive chest. Something about seeing him waiting for you like that made your heart soar.

His eyes lit up once he saw you, a crooked smile forming on his face, “Y/N, it’s great to see you.” If he was truly nervous, he didn’t seem to show it.

You gave him a polite smile, “Thank you for coming to pick me up.”

“It was my pleasure,” He said and opened the door for you to slide into the passenger seat. His raw manliness is even more attractive paired with his manners and the way he seems to prioritize your comfort and presence.

The car was merging onto the road when he asked you next, “So, are you nervous?”

You let out a small laugh, “Me? Nervous about being photographed by hundreds of people? With you? And possibly also meeting some of your castmates? And seeing my photos go up online?” You swallowed and squeaked out a quiet, “Yes.”

Hugh laughed and something about the soft baritone made you feel a little better, “You’ll do great. You get to play the part of my sexy arm candy for the night… help to distract them from this old mug.”

You know he mainly meant it as a joke, but you were reeling with which to respond to first: his compliment (which like oh my god, did he just call you sexy?) or the fact that he views himself as anything short of the hottest man on Earth. “I don’t think anyone will pay me any mind, Hugh,” you said with a raised brow and a teasing smile thrown his way. “A fifty-five year old Wolverine never looked so good.” Were you flirting? Maybe just a little…

You weren’t sure if it was the change of lighting as you drove under a tunnel, but you thought you saw a slight blush creep up to his cheeks. “I’m glad you think so. I was slightly nervous at the start of the movie production being able to pay tribute to my old character.”

“Hugh, even if you weren’t still super hot and muscular, I don’t think there could be anyone else to play Wolverine.”

“You think I’m hot, huh?” He asked with a playful smile as he turned down an alleyway to the venue parking lot.

Despite feeling your own blush creep up on you, you decided to try to play it off, “I’m pretty sure every girl in the whole of the world finds you hot. I am far from the only one.”

You let him breathe a moment as he reversed the car into the parking spot, his hand coming up to the back of your headrest–and holy crap his bicep was right there. You barely resisted the urge to bite it.

“Maybe so,” Hugh finally replied as he gathered his belongings and paused for a moment to look you in the eye, “But right now you’re the only one that matters.”

* * *

The two of you were separated into different rooms when you arrived. Apparently it wasn’t going to take as long to get Hugh ready as you, so he was going to be working on other things. His stylist was a sweet, older woman who had years in this field. You gave her full liberty on your hair and makeup, she knew much better than you what would be appropriate.

“My daughter looks so much like you,” she had said sweetly while working on your makeup. “Of course, she never lets me do her makeup like this.”

Brenda, you found her name was, had given you a more subtle look. Nothing too flashy. More a sultry, smokey eye look with a matte red lipstick to match your dress.

“I do prefer to keep my hair up,” you had told her. You found it just bothered you if it hung in front of your face.

“We can work with that,” she said with a small giggle.

She ended up deciding on the very ageless french twist hairstyle, but without the necessary claw clip in the back. About midway through you had lost count of the amount of bobby pins she was hiding in your hair. Finally you were able to change into your dress, and with a couple finishing touches, such as earrings, a necklace and a bracelet, Brenda said you were “red carpet ready!”

It felt like you were living a real-life Cinderella fairytale. 

For one night only.

“Hugh is just through that door,” Brenda said with a knowing smile and a wink.

“Oh, Brenda, there’s nothing going on–”

She cut you off, “I’ve lived enough years on this Earth to know when there is a deeper connection, even if the other people try to deny it.”

Clutching the black handbag she had given you, you turned away from her and opened the door.

You didn’t look up right away, not sure what to do with yourself. You had never gotten this dressed up in your life. Pantsuits were more your style for work, not… this. Not that you didn’t completely enjoy it, though.

A breathless “wow” caught your attention and your eyes snapped up.

Hugh was standing across the room, seemingly in the process of applying his cufflinks. Though something had frozen him in place. 

No, not something… someone. You. 

His chest was moving quickly with his breaths, as if the wind had gotten knocked out of him. You felt every movement of his eyes on you as he took you in, as if his hands were there instead, trailing every curve and flowing line.

Not knowing what else to do with yourself, you gave him a quick spin, “What do you think?”

The next thing you knew, he was moving to you from across the room, cufflinks disregarded on a nearby table. Every step he took echoed through you until he came to rest before you. His hands hovered midair between the two of you, as if he wanted to reach out to you but came to his senses. 

You wanted to tell him to “Do it.” The words fell from your mouth before you could stop them.

Then his hands were on your waist and tugging you closer. You didn’t even realize you had begun to shake until you raised your hand to rest on his chest.

“You look absolutely stunning, Y/N,” the words left his mouth like a whispered prayer.

His hands seemed to move on their own as one trailed further south over the curve of your ass, and the other came up to your chin and tilted your face to meet his. You didn’t tell him to stop.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” you whispered to him as you shared the same air. You could feel the puff of his breath across your lips–

A knock at the door had the both of you jumping away. It was like you had just been caught making out at your parents house for the first time.

“Oh, Huuuugh,” a sing-songy voice called from the other side of the door. You could recognize it anywhere, you had seen the Deadpool movies. “I’m comin’ in so you better not be naked.” And just like that the door swung open for Ryan Reynolds to enter the room. 

His eyes did one quick scan before stopping on you, and you weren’t sure why, but you held your breath. “And who is this lovely woman?” He said with a grin and began to approach you, “I’m Ryan, and who might you be?”

“I’m Y/N, the astrophysics Professor helping Hugh with his next film.” You said and shook Ryan’s hand.

“Well he did not say you were such a smokeshow, dear goodness. Don’t tell Blake I said that, she’d kill me,” you couldn’t help but laugh at that, knowing it was all just a joke. “Listen, they need us out there in like 20 minutos, can ya do that?”

20 minutes… your heart felt like it was in your throat. That little episode with Hugh had really distracted you from your nerves, but not anymore.

“Yeah, we’ll be right behind you, just give us a minute?” Hugh asked and gestured for him to leave the room.

“Ah ah ah, no not before a picture of you two, c’mon now,” Ryan said and practically shoved Hugh back towards you.

Something told you that Ryan wouldn’t give up quietly and Hugh gave you an apathetic look. You gave him a small smile and mouthed “it’s okay.” The next thing you knew, Hugh’s giant hand was back around your waist and you were posing for a picture. Once Ryan was apparently satisfied he put his phone down and began walking out of the room.

“You two look great! Trust me, you’ll thank me for the picture later.” With a click of the door, he was gone as fast as he had arrived.

A heavy silence fell over the small dressing room once Ryan had made his exit. You weren’t entirely sure where to pick up after what you had gotten interrupted from. Were you guys seriously about to kiss? For some reason you have a hard time believing Hugh would want to kiss you of all people. He could have literally anyone he wanted.

Distantly, you heard Hugh ask you a question. Something about a photo, maybe? You were so in your own thoughts that you just mumbled a “yeah” and didn’t give it much thought.

“Hey, Y/N, you alright?” Hugh asked, his hand appearing on your shoulder.

You blinked yourself out of whatever trance you had put yourself in, “Uh, yeah, sorry.” You paused for a moment, perhaps this would be the best time to be honest with Hugh. “Listen, I don’t know if I can do this…”

“What do you mean?” concern etched itself between Hugh’s eyebrows.

“I’m going to probably be asked questions I don’t know the answer to out there. I don’t know the first thing about posing in front of a camera. I am not star material, I spent nearly my entire graduate years inside my dorm room. I kid you not, I was so pale I scared my roommate ‘cause she thought I was a ghost one night.”

Your last comment made Hugh burst out laughing, the worry on his face disappearing almost immediately. You smacked him, not hard, with your black clutch purse. “Stop it!” You exclaimed, now beginning to fight your own laughter, “I’m actually nervous here!”

“Sorry,” he giggled, hand coming up to block his mouth as if that would stop his laughter, “I can just picture it so well–”

“Ah, jee, thanks. That makes me feel wonderful.”

Hugh wiped tears from his eyes and turned to look at you sincerely, “You are wonderful. But if you don’t want to go out there, then you can just skip the red carpet and go straight to the theater.”

You blinked up at him, “You promise?”

“I will pinky promise if you would like.”

You thought for a moment, “Yes, that would make me feel better.”

Hugh let out another laugh, “You don’t stop surprising me.” He linked your pinkies together and squeezed tightly, “I pinky promise you.”

Then, with a tenacity that surprised you after his hesitation earlier, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you towards him until your chests were flush together. “Though it would be their loss not getting to see how absolutely amazing you look tonight.”

The air was beginning to feel heavy again as tension crackled between the two of you. You weren’t sure you would stop yourself if it came to another moment like before, and it didn’t seem that Ryan was going to come swooping back in. So, to save yourself from any future embarrassment, you playfully shoved Hugh away, his grip on your waist releasing, and you said, “You better get finished up there. Don’t want to be the one to make us late now would you?”

Hugh then finished putting together his suit, which was an all black ensemble but with a red handkerchief to presumably match your dress.

“How do I look?” he asked and gave a quick spin, mocking what you had done earlier.

“Very dashing,” you said and threw the magazine you had been flipping through to the side.

Before you could push yourself to a stand, Hugh was there with his hand outstretched in front of you. You smiled shyly at him before placing your hand in his and allowing him to pull you up next to him. “As I said, you can still leave the carpet if it gets overwhelming for you.”

As the two of you approached the door, your left hand rested on his bicep as he held you close up next to him. It was definitely worth standing so close, his bicep felt like a rock beneath your hand. “Thank you, Hugh.”

He gave you the most genuine smile you think you have ever seen before he leaned down and placed a quick kiss to the top of your head. And just like that, you were walking out for your very first red carpet event.

* * *

Walking out onto the carpet for the first time was even more overwhelming than you thought it would be. The immediate flashing of cameras had you recoiling and gripping onto Hugh’s arm even tighter. His other hand came up to rest on yours as another form of reassurance. Then he leaned down until his lips brushed on the crest of your ear to whisper, “Show them how beautiful you are.”

Lifting your head back up you squinted your eyes into the flashing of the cameras and gave Hugh’s arm a thankful squeeze. There was so much talking and photographers yelling around you that you weren’t entirely sure where to go or what to do, so you followed Hugh’s lead.

It was slightly mesmerizing to watch Hugh be in his element on the carpet. The way he moved into poses with you almost automatically helped you feel more confident, and you would pause every few paces to let photographers get their desired pictures. Later down the carpet, Hugh got pulled into a few interviews with Ryan, but that gave you a chance to talk to Blake Lively for the first time. You had absolutely loved her “Lady Liberty” look a couple years ago at the Met Gala. The two of you had actually exchanged phone numbers in the hopes of staying in contact.

“You doing alright?” Hugh asked when he and Ryan walked back over to you and Blake. His hand slid across your waist and stayed there, notched around your back, as if it was his favorite place to be.

You smiled up at him, “Yeah, I’m actually really enjoying this.” You settled a hand on his chest and looked at him in his soft, brown eyes. “Hugh, thank you for this experience.”

He smiled back at you, the crows feet forming in the corner of his eyes, “I’m not sure if this night was more for you or for me.”

You were about to ask him what he meant when Ryan exclaimed you guys should go get your seats in the showroom before everyone else got there first. You had agreed it was a good idea, and the two of you followed after Hugh’s costar.

The four of you got seats all in a row, with–of course–Ryan and Hugh sitting next to each other. You couldn’t believe that you were really going to get to see the movie with the two starring actors sitting right beside you. You would have to be careful to keep your fangirling to a minimum.

Watching the movie felt like a spiritual experience, or maybe that was just because the waiters kept coming by and handing you more champagne which you were definitely getting tipsy off of. Either way, it was amazing. It was everything you had ever wanted all wrapped up into one two hour length film. The comic accurate Wolverine had you bursting out laughing and asking Hugh how they had made him so tiny. Getting to see all the old mutants from the X-Men was also such a great experience. The Honda Odyssey fight scene would go down in your mind as one of the best choreographed fight scenes of all time. And don’t even get you started on comic-accurate Blade, Elektra, and Gambit. Plus X-23 coming back had you crying tears of joy on the inside.

Now you were watching the final scenes of the movie when Deadpool goes down to stop the machine from destroying his world. You didn’t even try to stop the tears from falling down your face at the noble sacrifice.

Hugh must have heard your quiet sniffles as you tried to hide your embarrassing emotions over fictional characters you had grown so attached to. “Hey,” he whispered, “it’s gonna be alright.” His hand fell to your thigh and his thumb began rubbing soothing patterns against your skin.

“I know,” you whispered back, your voice watery from crying, “It’s just so beautiful. I wish I wasn’t ruining my makeup right now though.”

Hugh let out a low chuckle, “You still look beautiful to me.”

When you looked back up to the screen, it felt like your world was coming to a standstill. Right there, with Like a Prayer by Madonna playing in the background, was a very ripped, glazed Hawaiian roll looking Hugh Jackman all over the big screen. You didn’t even realize your jaw had dropped open until you heard laughter from beside you as Hugh took in your reaction. Deadpool’s reaction in the movie was also totally warranted.

“I don’t know if I’m turned on or still sad that now Wolverine and Deadpool are both going to die,” you whispered to Hugh beside you who gave your thigh a playful squeeze.

You watched the remaining moments of the movie at the edge of your seat, wishing that it would never end.

“Wow,” you said as the lights turned back on and people began filing out of the showroom. “That was…That was better than sex.”

“Amen,” Ryan replied as he helped Blake put her jacket back on. “Catch you later, Hugh.” You waved Ryan and Blake goodbye as they left the theater.

“I think that was the most jacked Wolverine has ever been in any movie.”

Hugh laughed and flashed his bright smile at you, “I definitely didn’t get that fit without a whole team to help me do it.”

You gave him a soft smile in return, “You did great in the movie, Hugh. I think that will go down as one of the best MCU movies, like, ever. I don’t think that was the worst Wolverine, I think he was the best one.”

Hugh tilted his head at you, “What makes you say that?”

“Because he had so many demons following him. He lost everyone. Yet he still found a new purpose to do better. You can’t be the worst version of yourself if you do that.”

“You look for the good in everyone don’t you?” He said with a smile as he stood from his chair and extended a hand to help you up. Ever the gentleman.

When you went to stand, your feet wobbled beneath you and fell forward like a damsel in distress. Strong arms held you upwards and you heard a laugh rumble up from Hugh’s chest. “Sorry,” you mumbled and righted yourself, “I think I had one-too-many glasses of champagne. Just hopefully I don’t throw up,” as soon as the words left your mouth you cringed at yourself outwardly. 

“Sorry, that was gross. Very not ladylike. And you are always such a gentleman. It’s like you were born to open doors for me and help me up from a chair. Sorry, I’m drunk. Don’t hold anything I’m saying against me tomorrow.” You mumbled into your hand as you realized you were rambling on. Jeez, that must have been some strong champagne.

“Maybe I should take you home?” Hugh offered as he held one arm around you and the other in your left hand, helping to steady you down the steps towards the exit.

“No, God, I’m sorry. I’m really making a fool of myself–”

“That’s not it.” Hugh cut you off, “I just want to make sure you get comfortable tonight and do whatever you need.”

“You’re so nice,” You said and looked up to his heartbreakingly handsome face, tears forming at the edges of your eyes, “I’m an emotional drunk, you can’t be that nice or I’m gonna cry.” Hugh laughed at that, at least he was able to find you humorous in this state. “Ashley also texted me and told me she was having a girl over tonight… I don’t want to walk in on her again.” You shivered, “We barely got past it the last time.”

Hugh seemed to cringe at whatever mental image he had pictured as well, “Alright, then where were you planning on going tonight?”

“I asked our friend Janet but she didn’t respond. Oh no!” You exclaimed, “I’m going to be homeless!”

Hugh laughed and guided you outside towards the back parking lot where his car was surely still waiting for the both of you. “You’re not going to be homeless. If you need to, you can spend the night at my apartment.”

“Nonononono,” you hurried to say, the words slurring together, “I can’t stay at your apartment. I cannot see where the magic happens.”

“Where the mag–What are you saying, goofball?” Hugh laughed again as he opened the door for you and you did not slide into the seat gracefully, as much as you tried.

“You’re so hot. There’s no way I can spend the night at your place. I want to too much.”

Hugh began driving out of the parking lot and the motion of the vehicle made your head spin even more. “Why not just try to get a little shut eye, it’s a thirty minute drive to get there from here.”

* * *

You didn’t even realize you had passed out in Hugh Jackman’s car until you heard the hum of the engine come to a stop and the lights flick out. You had drool sliding down the side of your mouth which you tried to slyly wipe away.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Hugh greeted and reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. You reveled in the light graze of his fingers as they floated against your skin. “Let’s get you inside, shall we?”

The nap had actually helped to sober you up a lot, though you would never admit that he was right, of course. You were able to walk up to his apartment without any assistance in not falling over, though Hugh still stayed behind you in case you lost your balance. Once you got inside, your jaw felt like it fell to the floor. This one apartment was probably four times the size of the one you shared with Ashley, and it even had a staircase up to a second floor. So there wasn’t just one floor for one apartment? This was an entirely new concept to you.

And there was an entire wall of windows. You basically dashed over to them as you looked out to the sea just West of you and the city lights scattering the Southern coastline.

“Wow,” you breathed, your breath fogging up the glass.

“I know,” Hugh said from behind you, “once I saw the view I knew I had to have this place.” He reached forward and placed a gentle hand on your lower back. “Why don’t you go wash up in the master bath, I’ll get some clothes laid out for you.”

You blushed and mumbled a thank you before following Hugh up the stairs. The master bedroom alone was the size of your apartment, though you didn’t want to say anything. You’re sure Hugh isn’t the type to rub his financial status in other people’s faces, and therefore he probably doesn’t like people making comments on it either.

“Use whatever you need,” Hugh said with a smile as you worked on taking your heels off on the edge of the bed.

“Thank you,” you blushed, embarrassment flooding over you. “I’m really sorry about getting so drunk, Hugh. I don’t want you to think that’s normal for me.”

Hugh waved you away and came to sit next to you, the bed dipping from his weight as he sat down, “Tonight was about you enjoying the experience and the movie, which you did. I’m glad that you were there with me.”

“Did I say anything too unhinged? My memory is a bit fuzzy right before I passed out.”

Hugh appeared to give it some thought, “No, just that you think I’m hot.” He said with a mischievous smile.

You rolled your eyes as a smile grew on your own face, “Well I thought that was already obvious.”

“Oh really?”

“Well, duh, I’ve only had a massive crush on you since The Greatest Showman,” the second the words left your mouth you realized what you had said. 

The smile dropped from your face almost immediately as you grabbed a nearby blanket and threw it over your head to pretend you could simply disappear. You guessed that while you didn’t feel drunk anymore, your filter was still working on coming back. 

“Y/N,” Hugh called and tugged at the blanket but you fought to keep it in place.

“No, I’m never coming out of here.”

“Sweetheart, let me see your face,” something about the way he said it made you allow him to peel the blanket off of you. You weren’t ready to look at him again, though it felt like his eyes were looking straight through you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“For what, sweetheart?” Hugh asked as his hand lifted your chin until you had no choice but to look him in the eye.

“For ruining whatever friendship we had the possibility of creating.”

“Baby,” he purred, his voice like silk, “this was never going to be only a friendship.” Then his lips were on yours.

The kiss wasn’t frantic or steamy like you thought it would be. It was soft, and gentle, like he was just testing the water to see if either of you would get burned. You opened up to him, becoming pliant under his strong hand that was still on your cheek. A deep moan echoed up from his throat to urge you on, the sound making you squeeze your thighs together as you gripped around nothing.

“You’re so beautiful,” Hugh whispered, sounding absolutely breathless as he broke the kiss, only to come back for more.

You opened up for him when his tongue requested entrance and it was like neither of you could get enough. Sharing the same breath wasn’t enough anymore, you needed to be closer. You pushed against his chest, to which you received very little resistance before he laid back on the bed, all spread out for you. Something about seeing him flushed and breathing heavily because of you really messed with your head.

Before you had a chance to overthink it, you swung your leg over him and settled over his abdomen. Your hips grinded down on their own accord, though it rewarded you with a satisfying groan from the man at your mercy beneath you. You would do that all night if it meant you got to hear him make those noises.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Hugh gasped and his hands shot out to your hips with a grip you were sure would leave bruises in the morning.

“I think I do,” you whispered, “because you do it to me, too.”

Both of you moved at the same time, lips crashing together. You didn’t even mind that your teeth knocked together as he ravaged you. His left hand came up to grip at the back of your head, holding you right where he wanted you. You felt him rut up against you in search of friction, and God you wanted it so badly too, but–

“Hugh,” you pulled away, breathless and lips red from kissing, “I think we’re getting carried away.” He stayed beneath you, chest heaving, as if he was still trying to process your words. “I don’t… I think we should talk once I don’t have any alcohol left in me.”

Hugh nodded, his mouth parted as if he was still contemplating whether to kiss you again or not. “Alright, sweetheart, I’ll let you get washed up. I’ll get you some water and a Liquid IV as well.”

“Thank you,” you said and placed a small kiss on his lips before sliding off of him as a reminder it wasn’t over.

You hadn’t realized the extent to which you had affected him until you looked back to see a tent in his dress slacks as he sat up. You quickly averted your gaze and strutted into the washroom.

Once you were done, just as promised, Hugh had left (what you would assume) was one of his shirts laid out on the bed, as well as water and a Liquid IV on the nightstand. Alongside it was a folded note that read: I’m sleeping in the guest bed, I don’t think I would be able to control myself with you tonight. Sleep as long as you need, I’ll have breakfast ready in the morning. ♥️

You went to bed that night with a surge of hope in your chest.

Bonus, Hugh’s Instagram Post:

Taglist: @corvusmorte, @chinchie, @reinabxitch, @shortnloud, @nizem8, @rexmeshlasblog (if you aren't on this last but want to be let me know!)

[walli3darl1ng]

Had a few of you ask me for part four so here it is!

What? You all thought I wasn’t gonna update?! 🫠🧍🏻

Anygays, Enjoy!

Doll maker!reader x Wally Darling

In which reader is a doll maker and gets asked to freshen up Wally Darling before it’s big show, but the cutie is falling in love and will do anything to have you.

Morning quick arrives and you’re laying on your back, arms out and letting out soft but deep snort. It was a peaceful and comfortable state.

Wally, however, was face down onto his stomach and hanging off the bed, ready to fall—

*thud*

“I'm up! I’m..up.” You groan. Blinking away the sleep, you reach up and rub your eyes glancing around before finding Wally on the ground. “Oh, hey Wally.”

There’s a dramatically long pause before it hits you like a ton of bricks and immediately picks him up from the floor, almost tripping and falling yourself. “Wally?!”

“How did you get here?” You set him on your lap and dust him off, giving a once over to see if he’s damaged. To your relief—he’s perfect. “Did I really bring you back with me last night?”

Wally was panicking a bit, he’s not calling you stupid, but is hoping your mind will convince you that you indeed brought him in your room last night and not him coming down himself.

He sees you shrug your shoulders and set him against the headboard of your bed, holding his hand. “Okay, well, I’ll just get ready and we can finally put your outfit on. Next I’ll work on your shoes.”

Wally lets gravity give his answer and tilts his head to the side in response getting a giggle from you. What a unique sound, he adores it. He wants to hear it again. He feels so extremely safe that he gets nervous when you leave him and walk into the bathroom and close the door.

It was an awful feeling, almost like feeling the walks slowly but swiftly cave in and feeling time grow excruciatingly long the harder he stares at the door. After a lifetime—it was only a few minutes in reality but the 12 apple shortie needed to be dramatic—you come out all freshen up but your hair is still messy.

“Much better, Let’s get dressed after breakfast,” you smile and walk over to Wally and pick him up automatically wrapping his arms around your neck and pulling him closer. “How’s that sound, Wally?”

Sounds wonderful. Was he waking up and getting ready for the day wrong all his existence? Sure he wakes up to Home but it doesn’t feel the same, it’s different. Why? You walk over to the kitchen and set Wally on the counter, sending him a smile before walking away and starting to make your morning drink.

“I did a little research last night and I found a lot of things about you, little one.” After making your drink and making a hot drink you set it in front of Wally and wrapped his hands around it. “For one, you really enjoy hot drinks even though you won’t drink it but the warmth is nice isn’t it?”

Wally is starting to think this is all a dream, how can someone be all he ever desires?

“Oh and I found out you like apples so I made this little scented pouch you can carry with you, it smells like sweet apples.” You show him the small pouch with a smile.

After breakfast and you just take Wally everywhere you go while cleaning a bit you start to head upstairs to your studio. You sat Wally and started to dress him up in his new, clean outfit. You also put the small pouch inside one of his pockets of his cardigan. You then stand Wally up to get a look at him. “You’re perfect.”

Is he? He is perfect, if you say so he is.

“Oh! Well almost. Hold on,” you pull him closer and look through drawers before finding what you needed. You pull away and wrap a solid red tie and make a bow. “Now you’re perfect. All that's left is fixing your shoes and making a travel box.”

It’s been a few days, you were done getting measurements and the wood for the box as well as other things to decorate it with. In the span of days you’ve grown attached, you put all your energy into Wally but this project is making you weak. Like your energy is getting absorbed more with each passing day but you can’t stop being around him. You’ll take him everywhere you go.

Wally has learned a lot with the help of Celine, they will tell him all sorts of things. He learned that humans—like his doll maker recharge by sleeping, where their body and mind relax. That’s why you didn’t hear him when he snuck into your room—I mean, when you brought him to your room.

Celine has also been telling him how to absorb energy, they does it to make you tired and actually take care of yourself by not overworking but they’ve noticed that Wally does it constantly and that can be a problem. Wally has been more persistent on information, asking specific questions and wanting a detailed answer, most of which Celine can’t answer them.

“So it’s possible for them to come to my world physically?”

“W-well not physically but spiritually.” Celine explains softly. They already regret telling Wally this.

“What’s it called again?”

“It’s called ‘shifting’. It means that when the mind and spirit are relaxed and in-sync the spirit can detach from the physical body and go wherever it pleases.”

[thefrogdalorian]

The Best of Both Worlds

Din Djarin x Female Reader Modern!AU

Summary: When a new Star Wars TV show called The Mandalorian premiered, you found yourself completely enamoured with the titular character. Enjoyment of watching the lone bounty hunter travel through the galaxy quickly turned to obsession. There was just something about the show that captured your imagination. Now, you spend much of your free time — when you're not working a fast-paced, minimum wage and incredibly stressful job at a prestigious London Museum— speaking to your online friends about your love for the show. There's just one thing... Despite how much you love The Mandalorian, no one knows the identity of the man behind the helmet... either in the show, or in real life. You only know him as Mando. No one has ever seen his face, no one knows his name.  Even after the countless hours of speculation from fans online, which even you have occasionally participated in, no one is any the wiser to the identity of the mysterious man who wears the shiny armour.  Surely, given the depth of your love for the show, you'd recognise if the man who you spend so much time obsessing over online was to ever cross paths with you. Right?

Content Warnings: Reader is AFAB, uses she/her pronouns and in her mid 20s. Age gap between her and Din is noted but not really central to the story. Grogu is human, hints of past trauma/child abuse before Din adopted him are mentioned but not described in detail. Some mature scenes later on in the fic but not explicit smut... because I just cannot write x reader smut! Author's Note: SO very excited to finally share this fic! Thank you to the lovely @suresnips for being my beta. I really appreciate you ♡ This baby was originally my NaNoWriMo 2023 project and was inspired by this post from @toxic-seduction that I saw one evening and couldn't stop thinking about! POVs will alternate chapter to chapter from Din to reader. It was fun to write that way! Set in London for a few reasons: partly because I love the movie Notting Hill and it has some of those vibes (if you squint), also, the village where Din lives is based on Elstree Studios just outside London, where the OT was filmed and ultimately because NO WAY was I writing a modern!AU set in the states, it would've been painfully obvious a Brit wrote it. While there are lots of references to places in London, I don't live there so it might not be truly accurate (Londoners don't come for me). Also, to be political for a sec, reader works at the British Museum and I hate that institution. This was actually the line of work I was interested in when I was at Uni but for many different reasons I did not pursue it. However, it works for the plot of this story and as you'll see, she doesn't exactly love it either and goes on a few rants. Just wanted to make that clear that her job there is not an endorsement of it or anything. I can't stand them or their historical apologist bs and I wish we would give back all the things we stole (including the Parthenon Marbles)! Finally, it was incredibly important to me that the actor behind Mando in this fic clearly be the fictional character of Din Djarin rather than the real person Pedro Pascal, because rpf is not my jam! I hope I did that pretty well but just wanted to warn that if you're expecting me to use Din as some kind of way to write a Pedro fic, this won't be for you! Okay, I'll shut up now! This fic is fully written, just needs editing so hopefully I'll get a couple of chapters up each week, but life happens. I'm very proud of this one and I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Also if you would like to be added to my taglist for this fic, please let me know! Happy reading ♡

❁ My Masterlist ❁ Read on AO3 ❁

Why Does It Always Rain On Me? [Reader POV]: After a dreadful day which saw you drenched by a rainstorm after leaving a hectic day at work, you reflect on your love for Mando and upcoming excitement for the sci-fi convention you will soon be attending with your internet best friend.

He Is My Only Priority [Din's Pov]: The character of The Mandalorian is known and loved by millions. But there is another, much softer side to the man who portrays him that Din Djarin is determined to keep hidden from the world, despite the challenges that presents for him and his beloved son, Grogu.

This Is Why (I Don't Leave The House) [Reader's POV]: Your internet bestie arrives in preparation for the Star Wars convention you will attend together. Everything is set for the greatest weekend of your life! Until you arrive at the con and find yourself overwhelmed by all the crowds and noise. At least you have numerous incredibly realistic Mando cosplays to distract you from how stressed you feel, and there's one in particular which is uncannily accurate...

Curiosity Killed The Cat [Din's POV]: Despite his reservations and against his better instincts, Din heads to a Star Wars convention that he was invited to. Although he fears that his cover will be blown, curiosity gets the best of Din and he can't resist attending a panel. But Din doesn't exactly find the answers he was looking for. Instead, he finds something far more precious. Something that he would never have expected...

He's So Tall (And Handsome As Hell) [Reader's POV]: Being back in the real world and returning to work after an incredible weekend at the convention where you had so many fun experiences is taking its toll on you. The thought of collapsing on your couch in front of The Mandalorian is the only thing keeping you going. However, the universe has other plans for you. News of an out-of-hours tour for a private client that you are asked to lead almost sends you over the edge, but when you finally meet the man, he is the opposite of what you were expecting. Weirdly, he seems familiar...

With A Little Help From My Friends [Din's POV]: Din returns to the set of The Mandalorian to begin filming a new season. Despite his experience and capability, he finds that he struggles to focus as his thoughts remain firmly fixed on a certain someone...

You're The Sunflower [Reader's POV]: Despite feeling certain that you'll never see the ridiculously handsome man you gave a tour of the museum to, a special delivery is about to change everything...

Your Face Hung Up High In The Gallery [Din's POV]: After a difficult few days of filming The Mandalorian, Din is excited to spend time with you as he finally takes you on your first proper date...

Have I Known You Twenty Seconds or Twenty Years? - (Reader's POV):  Despite a messy evening which led to you waking up in an opulent hotel which you have no memory of falling asleep in, memories of kind brown eyes and breathless kisses soon come flooding back to soothe your soul. Your relationship deepens as the two of you spending time together whenever your busy schedules allow. But one night, a turn of events causes you - despite Din's reassurances - to wonder if everything you have been working so hard to build together has just come crashing down around you...

There's A War Inside Of Me - [Din's POV]: The realities of the secret he is keeping from you begin to weigh heavily on Din's mind and he seeks advice from a certain curly haired co-star on what his next move should be. Things don't go exactly according to plan, not least because of the typically awful English weather...

It Could Be Love, We Could Be The Way Forward - [Reader's POV]: With your respective busy jobs keeping you and Din apart, a mystery date after a hectic day at work is exactly what you needed.

The Calm - [Din's POV]: When filming overruns and conspires to keep Din from the fun weekend he planned for you, he agonises over his decision. Fortunately, he manages to salvage the weekend, even after a calamity involving a rowboat...

The Storm - [Reader's POV]: The happiness you feel in response to a question Din posed to you is somewhat clouded by lingering doubts. Yet your affection for each other helps you to push those emotions down, until a weekend spent at his cottage changes everything...

P.S. - I tried to be inclusive for all body types and skin tones in this fic, but if I missed something, I do apologise. If you do spot something that takes you out of the fic, I am more than happy for constructive criticism as I wouldn't want anyone to be excluded on those grounds. I am always trying to do better and would love to know where I went wrong so I can improve and be more aware of these things going forward, so I would appreciate it if you could let me know if you do spot anything. Thank you so much! ♡

[magneticecstasy]

clandestine ✤ joel miller part ii — crushcrushcrush

series masterlist & foreword | ao3

moodboard is not an illustration of how reader should look, just for the ~vibes~

fic summary: it’s september 2016, you're in your final year of sixth form college and joel miller joins the teaching staff as your new history teacher. over the course of the academic year, boundaries are blurred, crossed and ruined when joel begins to reciprocate your insatiable crush on him; what should be so wrong just feels so right.

rating: E | pairing/AU: teacher!joel x student!fem!reader

chapter warnings/tags: (7.1k) this is an 18+ fic so mdni! dubcon (due to student/teacher relationship, both parties are consenting otherwise), age gap (reader is 18, Joel is in his early 30s), power imbalance, inappropriate relationships (teacher!Joel is really not a good teacher), fetishization of new-adulthood, some pervy!Joel, dacryphilia, solo m!masturbation (Joel jacks off in a school bathroom, dirty bastard), solo f!masturbation, wet dreams (mentioned), pet names (Joel calls reader darlin’, sweetheart etc.), minimal description of fem!reader where possible, reader has hair and is generally able-bodied, otherwise undescribed where possible, Tommy is mentioned and is 2 years younger than Joel

a/n: thank you to those who read and enjoyed part one!! i'm absolutely over the moon with all the comments, reblogs and likes!!! it warms my lil heart right up! chapter title comes from crushcrushcrush by paramore but also overlaps with crush by ethel cain which i've been listening to relentlessly when writing this fic. we get more joel this chapter, i hope i'm doing him justice lol - also i mention the epq a million times in this chapter - it's a qualification where you do an extended project that you have to do in sixth form and it's a fucking ballache so everyone hates doing it, trust me

account tags (tagging people who asked and people who seemed interested in chapter one, let me know if you'd like to be added): @sugadolly @yorkshirewench @jodiswiftle @pedgito @mel2fine @canteenee4 @dugiioh @undercoverpena @javiermillerrrr @littlemisspascal

banners and graphics from @saradika-graphics

Thursday 17th October

6:30am

As the weeks of the new term pass, the season changes. The balmy days of September merge into the typical chill of October. Long daylight hours surrender to darker nighttides, elongating the late autumn evenings. Its mornings are darker, sunrise commencing later and later as each day passes. The drop in temperature, though gradual, is noticeable, making the warm cocoon of your bed all the more inviting when your blaring alarm disrupts your blissful sleep. With great reluctance, you pull yourself from the inviting nest and pull the covers back in a haphazard attempt of making your bed. It feels a little pointless as you’ll only be getting back in it later tonight but you don’t want your mum to nag. Making your way to the bathroom, the laminate floor of the hallway beneath your bare feet makes you cringe with its cool touch. The tiles in the bathroom are colder but you decide to suck it up and jump in the shower as a warm place of refuge.

Your carefully crafted shower playlist echoes, a cacophony of sound that's a ritual to your morning routine: shower, get ready, breakfast, drive to college. Using the shower like your own personal recording studio, you sing  along like nobody’s listening as you wash your body with sweet smelling soaps, the music helping to calm you before the busy day ahead. A knock at the bathroom door startles you cold. It nearly sends you slipping on the shower’s floor.

“Don’t be in there all day, Mum and I need to get ready too, you know,” your dad grumbles from behind the door. You mumble out a response, rolling your eyes, letting him know that you’ll be out soon. You wash the remnant bubbles of body wash left on your body before switching off the shower and drying off with a rough towel. Wrapping it around yourself, you exit the bathroom and return to your bedroom.

Like any other teenager’s room, it’s untidy. A pile of laundry in a basket threatens to overflow—you make a mental note to deal with it when you get home tonight. The main source of mess is concentrated on and around your desk, textbooks and folders stacked one upon another like a tower on one side with notebooks in a scattered pile on the other with your closed laptop in the middle. The past few weeks of term brought with it a tsunami of work and you’d manage to tread water in the sea of revision, coursework and homework but it was tiring trying to keep on top of college plus everything else and your room was evidence of that.

Conscious of the time, you get ready with haste, applying a light amount of makeup (to avoid sanctions for ‘wearing too much’) and pull on your uniform: a crisp button-up shirt tucked into a pleated plaid skirt, dark tights and shoes, tie, and a fitted blazer that bore the college’s emblem on the breast. You look at yourself in the full length mirror, inspecting yourself, readjusting your tie so it doesn't look completely ridiculous and rolling up your skirt a few times so it hits just above of your knee. The uniform isn’t much to your taste but it could be much worse. Satisfied, you pack your bag with the notebooks you need for the day and head downstairs for breakfast.

The clock in the kitchen shows that it’s past half 7 and it hurries your pace. You make some toast lathered in butter and eat it hurriedly before calling out goodbye to your parents and rush out the door. A silent prayer passes to your lips as you get in your car, hoping that it’ll start with no issues. Turning the ignition, the car sputters to life, thank god. Moving into gear, it creeks as you roll out of the driveway and drive to college.

9:17am

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you seethe under your breath.

Holding an essay that you’d completed a fortnight ago for Mr Hall, the other History teacher, you almost crumple it with how tight you grip the papers. It’s littered with red squiggles of Mr Hall’s sloppy handwriting, taunting you as if it were hyperfocusing on every little mistake you’ve ever made. Shuffling through the essay’s pages, scanning its contents, a laugh of disbelief erupts from the back of your throat. The final comment scrawled on the last page nearly sends you over the edge with indignation:

I don’t think you’ve grasped the concept of this topic very well. Try harder next time. Grade: 11/25. 

Bullshit. In an attempt to prove yourself to the despised teacher, you made sure that your spelling and grammar was immaculate and even asked Mr Miller to proofread for you as a favour. In the short few weeks since his arrival, you’d built up a good rapport with the new teacher. It was inevitable with the way he was, his charming allure drawing you to him. It also helped that you found him earth-shatteringly attractive.

You watched him in anticipation as he read your work, feeling the tips of your ears grow hot. It’s probably shit, you think. Pure rubbish. After a while, he put you out of your misery.

“This looks good to me, darlin’,” he drawls, his praise sending an involuntary shiver through your body, “really good, actually. It’s well-written, concise, and has what appears to be thorough source analysis,” he compliments, his thick fingers gliding over the paragraphs, as he focuses on the text. “This is miles better than some of the stuff I use’ta grade when I was teaching at the university and those were meant t’be college level,” he scoffs, returning the papers back to you.

His fingers lingered a little too long as they graze against yours, sending sparks of electricity through your body.

“You mean it? You’re not just saying that to not hurt my feelings, right?” you ask nervously, unsure of yourself.

“‘Course. I don’t mess around, darlin’. Let me know what you get. ‘Be interested to know.”

Noticing your displeasure, Chelsea nudges you. “You alrigh’?” she inquires, her voice low to avoid anyone overhearing.

“That man is taking the absolute piss. Look at this shit.” You shove the paper across the desk for her to read. She reads through the essay without a sound, concentrating.

“What the hell, 11 out of 25? Lemme check mine, I haven’t seen it yet,” she says and reads through her own work, confusion dawning on her face. “I got 16 out of 25? But yours was way more detailed. Doesn’t make sense. Yours is at least a B, surely?” 

“Well, according to dickhead over there, it’s an E.” Exasperated, you take the essay from her and shove it in your bag. You just can’t fucking win with this man; it feels like he’s determined to undermine and belittle you at every turn. Even on results’ day back in August, he barely acknowledged you, only offering a curt ‘well done’. Before you can rant further, Mr Hall beckons the class for their attention and begins his lesson. Throughout the rest of the period, you seethe like a pot over a flame, slowly simmering, threatening to overflow.

10:50am

As soon as the bell goes, you dart out of the classroom with little regard for Mr Hall and his hollers, berating you for leaving his class without waiting to be dismissed. If you stayed a second longer in that classroom, you were sure to explode. Unbothered by his threat of a detention, you storm down the corridor with reckless abandon. Wanting to be anywhere else right now, the thought of jumping in your car and skiving the rest of the day was tempting. Tears of frustration threaten to fall and the mist of anger clouds your mind so much that you’re startled when you slam hard into someone’s chest as you round the corner.

“Ow! Watch where you’re going, you fuckin—” you launch into berating the person but stop abruptly when you realise who you’d collided with, your face scorching with embarrasment.

Mr Miller stands before you, his broad frame towering over you. He let out a husky laugh, his eyes glinting with a teasing warmth.

“Easy, sweetheart, you rushing to the canteen or somethin’?”  You stay silent, afraid the tears in your eyes would spill if you said anything. It takes a moment for him to grasp the distress etched on your face.

“Talk to me, darlin’, what’s wrong?” His voice is low, as concern blooms across his face. The corridor begins to fill with students, its temperature rising and absolutely not helping with your impending meltdown. A heaviness settles in your eyes, and thick tears soon spill down your cheeks without warning. How embarrassing.

Without a moment's hesitation, Joel has a strong arm around you as he whisks you away into his classroom that’s just up the corridor, doing his best to shield you from prying eyes. Ushering you in and closing the door behind him, he pulls a chair from under a desk close to his and beckons you to sit down. Slumping into the rigid chair, you let the frustrated tears flow.

“Ugh, he’s such a fucking asshole!” you groan in resentment, your voice breaking as you bury your face in your hands and sob uncontrollably, finally giving in to your emotions. Joel stays silent save for a soft I know, darlin’, it’s gonna be okay, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder, thumb softly tracing circles to soothe you. As your tears gradually slow and you start to regain your composure, he positions his leather office chair in front of you and sits down comfortably in the plush seat.

“Tell me what’s happened that’s got you so upset. Was it those boys again?” he asks softly, though sounds disgruntled at the thought of those idiots bothering you again.

“No, no,” you utter whilst using the sleeve of your blazer to wipe away any stray tears. “You know that essay I showed you? Well, I got the grade back off Mr Hall. 11 out of 25. An E.” Your voice wavers, a stray tear falling down your warmed cheek.

His eyes widen with utter disbelief, but he doesn’t interrupt. The gaze of his delicious brown eyes is unwavering as he listens to you, providing you with a safe space to vent your resentment.

“I just don’t understand what his fucking problem is. He’s always talking down to me, shitting on whatever I hand in, giving me crappy feedback. Like if my work is so bad, at least help me with providing constructive criticism, it’s literally his job,” you express, waving your arms in exasperation, hands chopping through the air as if to slice through the grievance.

“Yeah, I don’t like him but I try to be as respectful as I can, y’know. I’m just so tired of the bullshit.” You let out a loud sigh, feeling the weight of the issue begin to dissolve from your tense shoulders.

Joel shuffles in his chair before he moistens his lips with a short flit of his tongue, thinking thoroughly before he approaches his next question: “How long has this been going on?”

“I dunno, since last year.”

“You got the essay with ya?”

“Yeah, lemme grab it.” You rifle through your heavy bag, searching. It takes a second but you find it.

“Thank you, darlin’,” he coos with a slight but comforting smile, taking the papers from you. He twists back to grab his glasses from the desk behind him elongating his body to reach them.

The front of his button-up shirt comes untucked in the process, revealing a glimpse of his soft, somewhat imperceptible trail of hair descending from his soft abdomen that beckons your curiosity and desire. It draws your eyes, each subtle curve and line a tender reminder of his natural magnetism. Paired with the groan that escapes his lips as he stretches behind, this sight feels obscene to observe.

Warm arousal pools low in your tummy, and you feel wet slick begin to permeate the soft folds of your cunt. Biting your plump lip, your thighs clench, seeking any solution to relieve the slow building pressure in your core. It does nothing but wind you up tighter like an iron spring, threatening to burst. You tear your ogling eyes away before he notices and you cross your legs in a last ditch attempt to find reprieve, your skirt hitching a little higher revealing more of your pantyhose-covered thighs; it’s not purposeful, but it isn’t accidental either. He slips the glasses on, sneaking a glance at you in that damn skirt before reading through the papers.

Joel's immediate reaction to reading the essay was parallel to yours: what the fuck? He had heard about Anthony Hall's reputation around the college; Hall was disliked by the majority of staff whilst the students absolutely despised him. Sure, Hall had always been polite enough to him in department meetings and casual encounters, but Joel had sensed something was off about him. Joel was never one to judge someone immediately based on rumour or appearance, he had just thought that Hall was just a bit of a weird guy, awkward and antisocial. However, holding your essay covered in some of the harshest feedback he'd ever seen as a lecturer and teacher, Joel reached his conclusion: Anthony Hall is a douchebag.

“Jesus Christ…” he breathes, flicking through the essay. Some of these comments didn’t even make sense to what you had been writing about, they were just nasty. Joel wondered if Hall had been drunk or high when marking your essay. Possibly both. The more he read, the more his heart ached for you. He’d come to know how hardworking you were in his few weeks at the college, always asking questions to deepen your understanding of certain topics in lessons, often staying behind to pick his brains about what he thought about a topic. 

Whether it was to genuinely seek his opinion or  simply to have an excuse to talk to him alone, he didn’t mind. He cherished your company in any capacity. He found your expression endearing as you focused on the tasks he set, your brow furrowing slightly with concentration, and the way you bit your lip when faced with a challenging question was something he found particularly alluring. Your soft laughter at his corny jokes, even when the rest of the class would roll their eyes, felt like an intimate connection between the two of you.

The way your hips moved when you approached his desk to ask a question set his heart racing and watching you leave, your skirt swaying, teased him to no end, stirring an inquisitiveness about what lay beneath. He couldn’t help but notice that you sometimes rolled up your skirt making it shorter, and silently hoped you did that just for him—and it drove him absolutely crazy. These subtle gestures, whether intentional or not, kept his thoughts occupied, leaving him to navigate a delicate balance between professional restraint and his own personal curiosity.

“So what do you think? Is he right or…?” you trail off, breaking the silence. Joel hadn’t realised that he hadn’t said anything for a while, the incredulity of the essay situation overcoming him.

“I’m just speechless, honestly. I ain’t ever seen anything like it. Barely know where to begin…” He falters, a kink in his self-assured armour he so often wore with pride. Your stomach drops and worry sets in for a moment. Sensing your insecurity, he endeavours to repair the armour.

He flashes a sweet smile, an eyebrow slightly raised for a moment, revealing soft crows feet that grace the outer corner of his espresso brown eyes. “But I can tell you that this is a fantastic essay. It ain’t fair the way he’s graded it. I can tell you that for free, darlin’,” he pauses a moment. “I’m gonna talk to him about this,” waving the essay nonchalantly, “if you’re happy for me to do so, ‘course,” his steady gaze meeting with yours.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna cause…” The rest of your words die in your mouth as Joel’s gazes intensifies as if to command you to lay your trust with him. Understanding, you nod, fidgeting with the bits of skin around your nails. As his look softens, his eyes glisten as the sunlight hits the flicks of toffee and golden honey tones of his orbs in the most delicious way.  

“Alright, you talk to Mr Hall, just please leave out the bit where I had a menty b.” You let out a nervous laugh, shuffling around in your seat. 

“The hell is a menty b?” He scoffs, ever confused by the way young people communicate these days. It was bad enough at home in Austin with teen colloquialisms, but British slang was a different beast altogether for Joel. It was like a new language that often forced him to wade through an unknown branch of the English lexicon when he conversed with his students and staff alike.

“Mental breakdown, duh,” You smirked, a teasing grin creeping across your lips, “you coulda guessed that one easy if used your head.” Rolling your eyes in a dramatic fashion, you wanted to tease him, wanted him to get wound up so much he had to pin you down and put you in your place. One day, maybe, for now that desire remains in your dreams.

“Hey—don’t let your mouth write a check your butt can’t cash.” He quips, playing along in this rally of dalliance.

You shoot him a playful but confused look. “What does that even mean?”

A quiet but teasing gruff chuckle escapes him. “Means don’t run your mouth ‘less you got the gall to back it up.” He quips, leaning back to chuck the essay on his desk.

The sliver of silky hair makes an appearance again and you have to take a deep breath to compose yourself as your clit swells with the want—no—the need for her to be touched. Sure you’ve had some less-than-stellar experiences that left you disappointed, aching for more, but this was a whole different kettle of fish. He’d barely laid a finger and had you a dripping, horny mess. If he only knew about the party in your panties when he taught you the concepts of American politics or the grounds for Regan’s war on drugs, you were sure he’d say you’re a bad girl and needed to be taught a lesson. And god, you wish he would.

“I’ve got the gall.” You challenge, arms crossed in juvenile defiance, playing it up.

“Ya think so?” Matching your energy, he readjusts himself in the plush leather office chair, leaning towards you. The tension in the air is palpable, thick like thunder, waiting for the lightning to strike. 

Joel’s tone shifts, husky, pouring thick like honey. “Wanna put your money where your mouth is, darlin’?” He tests, kissing his teeth, that gaze pouring into you as he tilts his head slightly in curiosity, dark golden eyes flitting between yours and your lips. 

Before you could respond, the bell cuts through the air like a jagged knife cutting you out of the moment like a butcher carving through a baron of meat. You let out a heavy sigh. EPQ is your next lesson and the thought of it makes you cringe.

“Fuck,” Joel mutters under his breath in a hope you won’t hear, his large palms falling to his lap with a soft slap, “best get to next lesson sweetheart. Don’t want you to be late, now, do we?”

Begrudgingly, you gather your things without much haste, not caring about being late. The day feels like a write-off to you at this point. Mr Miller walks you to the door, opening it for you—always the gentleman. Leaning casually against the door frame, his broad shoulders exude effortless rugged charm.

“Relax, alright? I'll handle it with Mr Hall. No need to worry your pretty little head, okay?”

“I won’t, I promise. Thank you, sir.”

And with that, you shuffle along to third period. You forget about the essay for a while, smiling to yourself, revelling at the fact that Mr Miller called you pretty. It makes the day that little bit easier to deal with.

11:32am

Closing the door behind you, Joel resigns himself to his desk, letting out a gruff sigh, thumb and finger massaging the bridge of his aquiline nose. He hated to see you so down and upset, but you looked so goddamn pretty with tears streaming down your face. Sordid illicit imaginings of you cloud his mind, his growing erection straining against his trousers, a pertinent reminder that he is probably—definitely—absolutely fucked. 

Working in a college is hard work. Piles of marking. Countless meetings to attend. Difficult conversations to be had with students, parents and co-workers. The burden of it all could and would ruin some professionals without a way to relieve the stress. Some nights when Joel found himself needing release after a stressful day, you crept into his mind.

Deep down it was wrong to think of you like that, but it didn’t stop his mind from picturing how you’d feel around him, whether it’d be your soft mouth or sweet cunt. Before he had the chance to battle the moral ethics of it all, he’d be a panting mess, hand wrapped around his thick cock, fervently chasing a state of oblivion until he came hard with thick ropes of cum shooting across his soft belly, leaving him gasping for air.

The first time it happened, he was wracked with guilt for days afterwards, and couldn’t bear to meet your gaze the rest of that week, despite your best efforts to make conversation. He was getting it out of his system, that was all. He wouldn’t do it again. Or so he thought.

The next time he found himself chasing a sordid release was a day you wore your hair in two pigtails adorned with little pretty pink pom-poms.

Jesus Christ, she’s got to be doing this on purpose, right? She’s gotta know she’s being a goddamn tease.

He carried on the lesson as planned, trying to not let it affect him by thinking of dead puppies and suchlike but as soon the opportunity arose during lunch break, he escaped to the male staff toilet, locking himself in the lone cubicle.

It felt wrong, dirty, perverted and it probably was, to be truthful. But the thought of having you, something so forbidden, so illicit, clouded his judgement and made his dick harder. He pushed those criticisms to the back of his mind as he undid his belt and removed his thick, veiny cock from his pants in a swift motion. There was only a short window for him to get this over and done with.

Lazily pumping himself at first with the saliva he’d crudely spat in his hand, he relished in the pleasure, his eyes fluttering shut with sick thoughts of your smaller hand in place of his.

Fucking slut with them lil’ pigtails… she knows what she’s doing… gagging for this fucking cock.

Slow pumps quicken to fervent strokes, fabricated images of you on your knees for him taking him in your sweet mouth flashed in his mind.

Such a pretty girl taking my cock… good girl, that’s it… just like that.

A groan threatened to emerge from his throat and he bit his lip so hard he could taste copper which only spurred him on. Pearls of precum leaked from his slit, languid drops dripping down the head, mixing with his spit, a delicious slick coating his length. That familiar tug in his stomach and twitching dick signalled the beginning of the end, and he had to prop himself up with his other hand against the wall of the cubicle to steady himself as he tugged his cock with reckless abandon.

You want my cum in that pretty little mouth huh?… Fucking take it… F-fuuuuuck.

The peak of his release hit him like a tonne of bricks, blurring his vision. Ropes of cum spilled over the toilet seat and landed inside it with a few crude plops. He stroked his length through the aftershocks, panting and gasping for air, body writhing with oversensitivity. After coming down from the high, he took a moment to realise what he’d just done. Jerked off at the thought of you, a student, in the bathroom like some dirty pervert—fuck’s sake Joel. Shame surged through his veins like heroin, the guilt blooming through his body.

Before Joel could contemplate his actions further, he heard the door of the bathroom slam open. Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck. With great haste, he wiped away the evidence of his sordid release from the seat and flushed it away, wishing he could do the same with the guilt decimating his conscience right now. His hands were trembling as adrenaline merged with shame whilst he tucked himself away, zipping his trousers up and re-buckling his belt. Sweat had made his soft curls adhere to his forehead, his heart beating so hard that he believed it would burst out of his chest at any moment.

In an attempt to keep up appearances, he went to wash his hands and saw the last person he wished to see in a bathroom: Anthony ‘the smallest man that ever lived’ Hall. Joel offered a polite nod, not wishing to converse with the man and washed his hands under the scolding hot tap. It was the least he deserved after the stunt he just pulled.

“Are you okay, Joel? You look a bit out of sorts.” Hall asked with his nasally tone, whilst relieving himself in a urinal. 

“‘M fine, thank you.” Joel’s tone was pointed, hinting that the conversion needed to be over, like yesterday.

Hall didn’t catch the hint, the stupid bastard. “It’s just you look a bit clammy… are you coming down with something?”

Oh, fuck off Anthony, not now.

“No, sir. If anything it’s just a cold.” He lies, anything to get the twat to stop talking to him whilst scrubbing his hands of sin.

“Well stay away from me then, I don’t want your yankee germs.” He guffaws at his own dumb joke. Joel forced a weak laugh out with every fibre of his being as he wrung his hands dry on some paper towel before discarding it in a bin.

Eager to escape the situation, Joel said a curt ‘see you later’ and slipped past before Hall could say anything further to him. He rushes back to his classroom, cheeks flushed, self-contempt coursing throughout his body. He coaches himself through the peril swirling through his mind: Pull yourself together, Joel, this has to stop, she’s just a girl. That’s the last time.

It’s about three days before he is choking his cock again at the thought of you, chasing that debauched oblivion again.

Monday 4th November

11:43am

It’d been a few weeks since Mr Miller promised to talk to Mr Hall about Essay-gate. That was the name you and Chelsea had given the affair; it seemed fitting as you’d learned about the Watergate scandal in the weeks since the incident. You didn’t want to pester him about the outcome of the conversation between the two teachers, fearing that you would be annoying him, but you thought you’d know by now at least.

It surprised you when you would come to find out the conclusion when Mr Miller knocks on the computer room door of your EPQ lesson, asking for you and instructing you to bring your things as you wouldn’t be coming back. You were more than happy to follow him. Quiet elation melts over you, grateful to be missing EPQ, not that you’d be doing a lot anyway apart from dicking around or browsing online. Arriving at his room, he placed your usual chair in front of his plush leather office chair. It feels a little silly but it warms your heart seeing the arrangement of chairs facing one another, a setup becoming all too familiar when you had your chats with the history teacher.

“We gotta stop meeting like this, darlin’,” he jokes teasingly, large hands running through his curls as he relaxes into his plush leather chair. A black button-up shirt hugs his body in all the right ways, emphasising his broad shoulders. The top button is undone, revealing a small birthmark that you long to kiss and nibble on. You laugh, giving him a look of incredulity—amused by his joke and distracted by how striking he looks in black. It almost makes you forget there’s a reason as to why you’re here in the first place.

“So, there’s some good news, and some bad news.” He begins, his large hands laced in one another. “Good news is Mr. Hall decided to re-evaluate your essay thanks to my… suggestion.”

Joel’s use of the word suggestion was a little white lie. He had actually torn Anthony a new one, launching into a scathing critique of the man’s grading, thoroughly deconstructing the other teacher’s justification for the low mark. In the end, it boiled down to Anthony’s preference in writing style, rather than the substance of the essay. His feebled reasoning angered Joel further, almost flying off the handle during the confrontation.

Joel had come well-prepared: leveraging on his past experience as a college and university lecturer and the mark scheme Hall should’ve been using to grade, Joel had compellingly demonstrated that your essay not only met but surpassed the required standards. 

“And the bad news…?” you pry, bracing yourself for the worst.

“The old grade was submitted in the latest data-drop. Admin’s flagged you up for needing extra support in History until the next drop in about 6 weeks.” Joel looks at you carefully, gauging your reaction.

“The fuck?” Fucking Mr Hall causing shit again, goddamn. “Can’t he change it, it’ll literally take a second?”

“I tried, darlin’, but Admin’s locked the drops until the next window and I can’t get access to edit ‘em.”

“Fuck’s sake.” You sigh, swearing under your breath. “So lay it on me, what does this all mean?”

“‘Means that you gotta attend some sessions—like tutoring.”

“Ugh, so I’m stuck with Hall?” The thought of spending any more time than necessary with the man makes your skin crawl.

A quiet grin of delight creeps across Joel’s lips. “We decided that it’d be best for you to work with me, actually.”

Another white lie. When he found out you were getting extra tutoring, he wasted no time going to Admin to make sure you worked with him instead of Hall. Officially, this was justified by the ongoing animosity between the two of you. Unofficially, though, Joel’s real motivation was far more intimate, borderline voracious—he wanted you all to himself and was willing to pull every little string to make it happen. He knew full well you didn’t need the extra help; in fact, he knew you were more than capable. What he really wanted was the chance to be alone with you. He knew he was probably sick for wishing to spend so much time with his barely legal student, but his curiosity of the situation got the better of him. He wanted to see where this, whatever it was, was going and he was strapped in for the ride.

“So ya stuck with me for an extra few hours a week—ain’t you a lucky thing.”

He winks, and your breath catches in your throat. You try to clear it, hoping to disguise your reaction, but Joel is not fooled. He quietly savours the way your reactions betray you each time. He finds it endearing that you think you're discreet, clutching your crush on him like a poker hand, when Joel can see through your cards with ease.

“So how’s this going to work?” You ask after composing yourself, keen to find out the details of the arrangement.

“Hang on, lemme check the email Admin sent me.” He swivels around to his desk and logs into the computer. You notice the way he types, only using his pointer fingers to tap on each key. Such a boomer, you think, quietly laughing to yourself. Joel doesn’t notice, concentrating on hitting the correct key instead. Once logged in, he pulls up the email and reads the screen intently, scanning each line carefully.

“Alrigh’...” he draws out slowly, before turning to you, “according to this, you’ll be able to miss one EPQ lesson and the last 2 hours need to be taken out of your own study periods.” He draws his attention back to the computer, changing the window and revealing a document with a copy of his teaching timetable.

“I’ve got a free period this hour when you’re in EPQ so that could work. And I’m happy to have you in these periods here, here, here or here,” he explains, pointing at the empty cells in the timetable. You get your own timetable up on your phone to compare schedules.

After a lengthy discussion, you both decide that you’ll see him for an hour on a Monday, Wednesday and Friday where your study periods matched with his free ones. Mr Miller emphasises that you could bring any work with you to the sessions, not just History, as he was willing to help where he could. It was so kind of him to offer and it seemed that he genuinely wanted to help you succeed. He even gave you his phone number to contact him with any questions you had. You weren’t sure if he was allowed to do this but you didn’t care. Mr Miller had given you his phone number. You saved it under JM with a little sparkle emoji, concealing his identity in case of prying eyes.

The first text you sent at home that night was simple, yet your hands trembled as you typed and deleted it over and over, not wanting to sound like an idiot.

Thanks for agreeing to help me, I appreciate it :) just texting so you have my number too

After sending the message you buried the phone under your pillow, too anxious to watch and linger, waiting for his response. You’re surprised when his reply comes back within a few minutes.

my pleasure, darlin. can’t wait for our first proper session on wednesday. X

The message, punctuated by a kiss at the end, sends your heart into a flutter. You remind yourself he probably sends texts like that to everyone, not just you. Then, a second message arrives with a buzz, startling you and causing you to nearly drop your phone.

don’t forget the watergate worksheet tomorrow—ya gonna regret letting me have ur number when I’m nagging ya for homework haha. X

You begin to type with haste. Your fingers hover over the x key, debating on whether to return the gesture. Fuck it. No harm done, it’s just a letter after all.

Hahaha I won’t. See you tomorrow x

Within a minute, his response arrives.

see ya then. sweet dreams, darlin. X

You decide to leave it there and head to bed. As you slip into sleep, Mr Miller haunts your dreams: his rugged face, strong hands, broad shoulders, and deep caramel eyes are a tantalising vision. That night is the first of many dreams you have about him, leaving your soft folds drenched with longing when you wake.

Wednesday 20th November

12:31pm

The arrangement of additional tutoring worked out well. You got to miss an hour of EPQ and you were able to spend even more time with your favourite teacher. During the sessions, you were able to get your college work done whilst getting to know more about Mr Miller.

In your exchanges, you find out he grew up in Austin, Texas, with his younger brother Tommy. Tommy, a soldier turned contractor, founded Miller’s Construction after an honourable discharge from the US Army at 23. Mr Miller would help Tommy out during grad school summer breaks and whenever money was tight. Despite the long, gruelling days under the hot Texan sun, he enjoyed the hands-on work, something different from the realm of academia he found himself in. He’d graduated with a respectable bachelor's degree at 22 and then pursued a master's in American History and Politics. Working as a teacher’s aide during his master's program had ignited his interest in teaching, leading him to take up lecturing positions at community colleges and universities around Texas after grad school. Eventually, seeking new opportunities, he moved to the UK, where he worked at several universities. However, the insecurity of temporary contracts pushed him to switch to the further education sector, seeking the stability of a full-time salary. And that’s how he found himself teaching at your college.

You’re mesmerised by how he recounts his life—his eyes gleam with fondness when he speaks of Tommy, his voice comes alive as he recalls the wild nights in Austin with his younger brother when he was home from service, and he speaks openly about his initial fears of leaving home. Getting to know Mr. Miller on such an intimate level feels like a breath of fresh air; teachers often seem like distant robots, detached from their true selves. You never quite understood why.

Today’s session is like any other. After a long double period of English, you find your way to his classroom. He looks up as you enter, greeting you with a warm, inviting smile that makes the day’s stress melt away.

“Hey, ya ready for our session?” he smiles, that kind expression always so infectious that you felt your own lips curling.

“Gimme a sec, I just had back-to-back English and my brain feels like jelly. Who knew Shakespeare’s sonnets could be so confusing.” You sigh in exasperation, dropping your heavy bag on the desk closest to Mr. Miller’s with a thump. Rifling through it, you find your notebook and pencil case, then shuffle through the notebook for your university entrance essay drafts. With the UCAS deadline steadily approaching, you’re anxious to finish. You’re on what feels like the zillionth draft, and it’s driving you crazy. Mr. Miller noticed your frustration during your last tutoring session and encouraged you to bring it along this time so he could help. How kind of him.

You hand the drafts to Mr. Miller, who spends a few minutes reading through them, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. You watch him anxiously, your heart racing, as he writes comments in the margins. After what feels like an eternity, he hands the pages back to you. Your heart flutters at the sight of his positive feedback, the final comment punctuated with a smiley face: ‘This is great, darlin’, keep it up :)’

Warm stirs in your chest as you read over the comments, a coy smile tugging on your lips and you find yourself giddy with elation. 

“Happy?” he muses, quietly pleased with your reaction. He felt good about making you happy, you deserve it after all considering the essay fiasco with Mr Hall.

“Yeah,” you respond, drawing your eyes away from the pages to meet his eyes, “I just had one question.”

His brow furrows, a little confused. “Sure, darlin’, shoot.”

“Why is it that you always call me dawrl-lin’?” you imitated his Texan drawl, narrowing your eyes. The nickname had intrigued you and you never heard him call anyone else so why not ask?

“Now, that was a terrible impression, ya need to stay in your lane.” He chortles at your inquisitiveness.

He pauses before revealing his answer.

“I only call pretty girls darlin’,” a smirk flashes on his lips, before realising what he’s implied and its implications. You feel your breath catch in the back of your throat and you suddenly feel hot.

Shit, he thinks, chastising himself. Y’done gone and crossed the line, you fuckin’ tool.

“It’s a-a Texas thing,” he attempts to justify himself, lying through his teeth. Joel's eyes widened like a deer in headlights. His mind was racing with the consequences of his behaviour. Reported. Investigated. Suspended without pay. Fired. Blacklisted from teaching. All because he couldn’t stop himself from running his mouth trying to flirt with you, and forgetting himself.

“‘m sorry if I was making you uncomfortable. I can stop if you wanna.”

In truth he didn’t wish to stop. He wished to whisper it over and over whilst he ravished your body, nibbling, biting, kissing you all over.

“It's okay, Mr Miller. I kinda like it,” you smile, glancing back at your work. You didn’t just like it though, you loved it. Texas thing or not, you were quietly delighted he’d given you a pet name that was reserved for you. He sounded so seductive whenever he called you darlin’ during class, in the corridors in between lessons, or during your one-on-ones, he had to know what he was doing, surely.

Every time darlin’ passes his lips, without fail, knots form in your tummy, affecting your ability to concentrate on occasion. Sometimes, when you were on your own late at night, save for the company of a bullet vibrator attached to your clit, the wicked imaginings of Mr Miller could and would often throw you over the precipice of bliss. You imagine him whispering darlin’ and sweet nothings in your ear whilst his calloused fingers skillfully worked with your clit before devouring your pussy as if he were starved. The thoughts of him leave you a shaking mess, forcing yourself to stifle any moans and gasps with the palm of your hand as the waves of illicit bliss ripple through you, making your cunt flutter with pleasure as you tease your sensitive bud through the aftershocks. You always felt a little shameful after the fact, unable to hold his gaze the morning after, the thoughts of Mr Miller ravishing your body still raw in your mind from the night before.

“That’s alrigh’ then. We’ll keep it that way,” he replies, quietly relieved.

She’s not gonna snitch on me, he thinks.

What a good girl.

Thank you for reading this to the end! If you enjoyed please extend a like or reblog (with a comment if you'd like, I love reading them <3) to support writers, it helps a ton!💞

[sgiandubh]

A word on Wardpark/Cumbernauld Studios

@docsama left a comment, on S's birthday, under one of my posts and I promised her an answer with more information, as soon as I got the time. Anyway, here goes - and @docsama, sorry for the delay:

Question is: who owns the Wardpark Film and Television Studios?

The answer was quick to find, in the not-so-old specialized media:

The story begins in 2013, with an ambitious Scottish entrepreneur, Terry Thomson - this guy (courtesy of The Herald, https://www.heraldscotland.com/news/15984820.analysis-three-projects-pipeline-help-productions-make-big-picture/):

He is the owner of the Thomson Pettie Group, based in Carluke (https://www.thomsonpettie.com/about-us), which has nothing to do with cinema:

You've read that right: they are 'manufacturers of fabricated metal parts and assemblies', primarily for the national automotive industry. Yet, in 2013, Mr. Thomson agreed to rent what he described as 'a dormant industrial property' - a warehouse, to be exact - to Sony, in order to host the filming and production of OL. Thus, he became the CEO of a newly created entity, The Wardpark Film and Television Studios (https://www.hackmancapital.com/scotlands-largest-most-iconic-film-studio-acquired-by-hackman-capital-partners-and-square-mile-capital/).

By 2017, Wardpark was doing so well, that a big expansion plan was announced, with the direct support of the Scottish Government, which invested £4 million via Scottish Enterprise, its business support, advice and funding agency:

And then, in November 2021, the little engine that could was sold to those two big US investors, Hackman Capital Partners (HCP) and Square Mile Capital Management LLC (now globally rebranded as Affinius Capital). In this montage, Hackman Capital Partners brought its own confirmed film studios and media management expertise...

... while Square Mile most probably funded a sizeable portion of the acquisition, simply because this is what they do best:

Perhaps an interesting detail: HCP owns and manages both the Culver City based Sony Pictures Animation Studios' Campus and the legendary Culver Studios, now rebranded by Amazon:

Back to Scotland, Wardpark Studio's sale made just about everyone happy. Mr. Thomson kept his CEO job and look who was more than thrilled about the juicy transaction:

Currently, the studio is operated by HCP's subsidiary, The MBS Group:

That means that MBS probably manages just about everything, as far as daily management is concerned, from business operations, staffing and/or property management, to lighting and grip, trucks and generators' fleet, expendables and props. Unless I could see a contract and have a precise idea, I can just enumerate all the services they offer.

At no point in time did S and C own anything of those studios. As for the Executive Producer part, that is another discussion entirely. I could be coaxed to write something about it, if you really want to know why Those Two are EPs and what does that really, really mean - because once again, I have seen and read a LOT of bullshit in here, especially in the Desperate Housewives Disgruntled Tumblrettes' corner.

Thank you for asking. It was fun to research and write and I hope it brought more clarity to you.

[glitterstarly]

Guys. Guys. Hear me out. This reset was planned since the beginning of the server. Since the beginning of everything.

There was a person on twt that has been making theories since the firsts months of the qsmp, and theorized that the island is an time loop and after reaching a certain point it restarts again, but the story repeats itself with changes on the plot caused on what they learn on the previous resets, as the purpose of the federation says: to make the island perfect. The old buildings at the beginning of the server, the diaries and entries found by Cellbit, the resistance, everything is designed and supposed to happen again and again and again.

Now, I know that things have been difficult for everyone in this past months, but I believe that this was the original plan of the server until the idea got distorted in the way (the situation with the admins that managed the server, the egg event that extended for almost a year, miscommunication, etc), and know that its know the new admins running Quackity Studios are people really passionated with the project I believe that they would want to bring again the original plans that were done for the server but they were never able to do for different reasons (hopefully the horror is back again! :D)

But I'm really faithful about this changes, and I DO believe this is not something that was planned in a rush and this is something that was put on the table years ago when qsmp was only especulation, it's just sad that things developed in the way they did but hey, the important thing is to learn from the mistakes in order to have better results in the future, and I hope this new start just bring good things for everyone, we really need it :,)