#bcs i've been feeling. distant lately?

[zemnarihah]

my best friend has been very distant w me lately and i asked today if she wanted to hang out and she said she probably couldn't bc it's her brothers birthday but she would let me know if she could and i have her location and i just looked and she's at her boyfriends house rn....

[aro-aizawa]

ha. ha. hahaha. yeah i always love this feeling its great :)

[shellshocklove]

lover, lover, lover | joel miller

pairing/AU: 70s!pornstar!joel miller x inexperienced!female reader

summary: after blurring the lines with your boss and pornstar joel in pismo beach, what happens when you come back home to LA?

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! reader is 23, joel is in his early 30s, accuracies and inaccuracies about the 70s and the porn industry, smoking of cigarettes (it's the 70s alright), misogyny (bc of the times™), swearing, use of pet names, oral (f+m receiving), use of sextoys, handjob, praise kink, soft!dom joel but also a hint of sub!joel, porn, degradation, no use of y/n

a/n: this is the part 2 to this fic. you should read the part 1 first or this will make no sense lmao. i know it's been months since i posted that one and i've gone back and forth a lot on if i was gonna write a second part, but here it is <3 again i wanna give a big thank you to my beloved @dustydaddyyy for encouraging me every step of the way, listening to me when i feel lost, and for reading through everything. i love you babes!!! <3

main masterlist / ao3

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

You jolted awake.

With a groan and a confusing squint, you sat up on your elbow. The back of your hand rubbed roughly at your eye as you looked around your darkened bedroom. The fan on your dresser huffed and swirled, blowing cool air in your direction with every pass – blowing away the memories of your dream.

You turned around to lay down again when you heard it. A distant sound of your phone ringing in your hallway. You let out another groan as you scooted out of bed, your nighty falling around your knees as your feet met the carpet floor. Shuffling down the hall you muttered a quiet “I’m coming, calm down,” to the phone.

You lifted the phone of the hook with a quiet, “Hello.”

“Did I wake ya, sweet girl?” the static voice answered.

“Joel, what time is it?” you sighed into the phone, your arm hitting the cool wall as you leaned against it.

“Um…” he started, probably checking his watch, “02.05.”

“Yes, you woke me up…” you told him, eyes tired and falling shut before blinking open in quiet panic, “Wait– did something happen? Why are you calling so late?” Fear squeezed around your heart, wrapping its cold hands around it as flashes of Joel getting arrested, or kidnapped… or something worse, played like a movie in your head.

“No,” he laughed, “No, sweetheart! I just couldn’t sleep.”

“So, you decided to wake me instead? You are aware we have a meeting with VCA tomorrow at 9am? I told you that didn’t I?” Two fingers pinched the bridge of your nose – trying to squeeze the sleep away.

You usually never forgot any of Joel’s meetings or commitments, and you prided yourself in staying on top of his schedule. You could swear you told him about the meeting the other day on the way back from Pismo Beach.

Pismo Beach.

You hadn’t seen him since you dropped him off. Two days had passed. Two days since… Since you’d had sex with Joel. Two days since he told you he wanted you to be his. Was Joel your boyfriend now? You couldn’t tell.

“Yeah, you did, you’re a good assistant,” he said, the smile evident in his voice.

The praise wrapped itself around your heart like a pink cloud of love – it made you smile.

“Thanks,” you whispered, your quiet voice making him chuckle down the other end.

You waited for his chuckle to die before you asked him, “Um… was there anything else?”

“You tired of me already, sweetheart?” he teased.

“No, never,” you shook your head, “it’s just late.”

“I know, I’m sorry baby,” the way he said it, he left the words hanging in the air.

A second passed in silence, and then another. You waited for him to say something else, but when the words never came you spoke, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Can I come over?” he almost cut you off, his words hanging at the end of your own like a teenager on a skateboard gripping tightly to the back of a bus.

“Tonight?” you asked, front teeth digging into your bottom lip.

“Yeah, now,” he clarified, “my car’s fixed– I can be there in probably… thirty minutes?”

“Ehm…” your head bumped against the wall. Thirty minutes? It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see Joel – you did – but it was so late, and you had to get up so early tomorrow.

“Maybe twenty if I speed,” he laughed.

“Joel,” you chided, a smiled tugged at your lips.

“Okay, thirty,” he relented.

You pushed off the wall, a finger curling around the phone cord. “If I say yes you have to be sneaky– and quiet. My landlord doesn’t allow boys to visit.”

“Good thing I ain’t a boy then, sweetheart.”

You snorted, teeth digging into your lip to kill a smile from blooming, “I’m serious, Joel! A girl got evicted last month because she got caught having her boyfriend over.”

“How’s that even legal?” his static voice wondered.

“I don’t know Joel, my landlord… she’s this old lady– super religious and she owns the whole complex– I think she inherited it from her late husband who was a developer or something. Anyway, every time I bump into her, she always questions me about if I have a boyfriend and then gives me this speech about how premarital sex is a sin, and how I’ll go to hell–”

“Shit, baby– move out,” Joel cut you off.

“I can’t,” you sighed, “It was the only place I could afford when I moved here.”

“Ain’t I payin’ you enough?” he teased, “I’ll talk to Ronald about a raise f’you want.”

You let out a chuckle, “I’m not sure it’s appropriate– or professional, to talk about this now, Joel.”

“Alright, baby– always so professional,” he playfully chided, “we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

You let out a hum, though a small knot tied itself in your stomach at the thought. You didn’t want Joel to get the wrong impression; that you wanted a raise now that you’d let him fuck you.

“See ya in 30?” he said, breaking the static silence, “I’ll be real sneaky.”

“Ok,” you said softly.

You told him your address, making him repeat your apartment number back to you before you hung up. You didn’t want him accidently knocking on the wrong door, and getting you evicted.

Padding back into your bedroom, you grabbed your silk robe hanging off the door. You twisted it around yourself while you turned on the lamp over your bedside table. The light bathed your room in a soft glow. You were starting to wake up a little now. Leaving your bedroom door ajar you walked back down your hallway with soft steps. Stepping into the kitchen, you grabbed a mug from your cupboard, busying yourself with making a cup of tea as you waited for Joel.

Thirty minutes later, you heard the buzz of your doorbell. Abandoning your cup on your kitchen table, you quickly hurried to your door, buzzing him in. Your heart hammered in your chest. The risk of getting caught so late on a Sunday night was low, but you could never be too careful. You waited for him in your doorway, your finger picking at your nail bed as you looked out for him to round the corner.

You breathed out a relieved sigh when you saw him, a smile widening across your face as he picked up his pace in a small jog. His grin was wide as well, all teeth and crinkles as he closed the space between you. With a small glance over his shoulder, he made sure he hadn’t been caught as you ushered him inside.

The light in your hallway was low, tinting everything in a warm yellow hue. His hands were on you in an instant, strong hands gliding over your waist from behind as you locked your door. In the next moment you felt his chest press against your back, locking you to his body in an engulfing hug. His nose dragged down the column of your neck, pressing sweet kisses into your skin.

“Hi,” he mumbled.

Leaning into his touch you hummed out a greeting. His grip tightened around you before he turned you around in his hands, your hands automatically wrapping themselves around his neck. God, he was handsome. Soft brown eyes shining under the soft light, you watched as they took you in, traveling down your bare face, down to your silk robe hiding your nighty. A sting of embarrassment panged in your chest under his gaze, maybe you should’ve changed into something else, something a little sexier. Then you realized what kind of sexy he was used to, sheer lingerie, stockings, garter belts and high heels, not whatever underwear you were hiding away in your drawers.

“Shit,” he whispered, eyes blown wide in the low light, “let me kiss you properly, sweetheart.”

His big palm cupped your cheek, bringing you closer before he brushed his lips over yours. He tasted like a mix of his last cigarette and beer. You didn’t realize how much you’d missed his touch, his lips against yours. Joel hummed into the kiss, nose bumping into yours as he held you close, thumb ghosting over your skin. The kiss was quick, but still tender, and when you broke apart, the embarrassment from earlier had faded.

“Missed your lips baby,” he whispered against them, emphasizing his words with another peck.

“You did?” your voice was breathless, eyes half lidded from his affection.

He didn’t answer, only catching your lips in another mind-blowing kiss. His hand not on your cheek traveled from your waist to the curve of your ass, where it squeezed. You jumped a little from his touch, breaking his kiss. Immediately Joel removed his hands, catching himself as he took a step back.

“No?” he asked, eyes searching yours.

A flood of warmth filled your chest, “No, it’s okay– it’s just… late.”

His eyes softened at your words, his palm finding your cheek again to softly rub his thumb over your skin, “I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, “It’s okay…” you trailed off, your hand grabbing his other hand to intertwine your fingers, “Let’s go to bed?”

With his hand in yours Joel trailed after you down the hallway.

“The bathroom is just in here if you wanna use it?” you stopped at the end of your hallway, pointing to your closed bathroom door. Joel gave you a short nod and a smile, and let go of your hand, but not before giving it a little squeeze.

You stepped backwards to push open your bedroom door while he vanished to your bathroom. The alarm clock on your bedside table showed 3.08 in big red letters when your eyes flickered to it as you pulled at the strings of your silk robe. You twisted out of it and hung it back on the hook on your door, before you climbed back into your bed, waiting for Joel.

He walked into your room a few minutes later. You watched him from under the covers, eyes hooded with tiredness as he shed his clothes. Naked, safe for his briefs, he haphazardly folded his clothes, eyes flitting around your room for a place to put them.

“You can just leave them on the dresser,” you said, all cozy under the covers.

Sending you a small nod he sauntered over to your dresser with his clothes half-folded in his hand, where he placed them down gently. He stood there for a moment longer with his back turned, something catching his eye.

“So,” he spoke up, “what’s the review?”

“Huh?” You were confused.

You watched how his shoulders shook, grabbing something off your dresser before turning around, hiding it behind his back as he closed the space between you. You were still confused, a furrow pulling at your eyebrows.

“What d’ya prefer? This,” he started, revealing what he was hiding behind his back, “Or the real thing?”

In his hand he held the box with the dildo he’d modeled for. You’d forgotten all about it in your back seat while you were in Pismo Beach, only noticing it again as you’d parked outside your apartment. You had been meaning to give it back to Joel, didn’t take his ‘joke’ of you keeping it at face value, but then you’d forgotten all about it, leaving you with no choice other than to bring it inside.

“Joel,” you felt a flash of heat burn your cheeks.

“What? I wanna know,” he grinned, fingers fiddling with the cardboard to open it.

You gave him a chastising kick from under the covers, trying to shut the conversation down, but it only made him huff out a laugh.

“I don’t know, I haven’t tried it,” you said truthfully. The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind.

“What? Not even once,” his eyebrows knitted together, he almost looked disappointed.

You shook your head, “I was gonna give it back to you when I dropped you off on Friday, but it slipped my mind.”

“Why? I gave it to you,” he pulled the dildo out, the supposed perfect recreation of his package.

“Joel, you couldn’t have been serious about that?” you breathed out a laugh. It was hard to take him seriously with the toy in his hand.

“Well, now I’m a little disappointed, sweetheart,” he placed the box and the dildo on your bedside table, next to your alarm clock, “I really wanted to know your thoughts.”

He crept up the bed as you shifted over to make space, holding open the duvet for him to slip under.

“I’m sorry, Joel– I just didn’t think you were serious about that… and,” you trailed off when he wrapped his strong arms around your body, twisting around in his arms as he pulled you close against him.

“And, what?” he said, his breath huffing against the shell of your ear.

“I… uh, I haven’t… since,” you didn’t know how to say it.

But Joel knew, pulling you closer to rock his hips against your ass, “Haven’t what, sweetheart? Touched yourself?”

He wasn’t hard, but he wasn’t not hard – you could feel the semi he was sporting against your backside. It made you lose your trail of thought, as memories of the last time he held you against his body like this, filled your mind.

You had enough sense to shake your head, not trusting your voice to come out as words and not a strangled moan.

“No?” he teased with another rock of his hips, “Well, I have, sweetheart– touched myself thinkin’ of you.”

“Joel,” you couldn’t fight the whine from escaping as he rocked his hips against you again, his big hand slipping under your nighty.

“Touched myself thinkin’ about this beautiful fuckin’ body of yours,” his hand splayed over your tummy, traveling upwards to grab at your breast. “Thought about these pretty tits,” his voice got lower, whispering in your ear as he flicked a finger over your nipple, making you sigh. He let go of your breast, hand gliding down your body to ghost over the hem of your panties, “And this tight little pussy,” he finished.

“Joel,” you sighed, body reacting automatically to his touch. His breath in your ear sent goosebumps down the whole of your body, and a whine fell from your lips as he palmed your heat over your panties, feeling your arousal starting to soak the cotton.

“Yes, sweetheart, say my name as I touch your pussy. Tell me who’s makin’ you feel good.”

Fuck, it took all your strength to gather your thoughts, “Joel, it’s–” you let out a gasp as his fingers found your clit.

“What, baby?”

“It’s– It’s late,” you managed to breathe out.

And just like that, the spell was broken. His hand slipped from your cunt to rest over your waist. You twisted around to face him, a pang of guilt filling your chest.

“I’m s-sorry, I just–”

He cut you off by pressing his lips against yours in a quick kiss. “Don’t you apologize to me,” he said, eyes boring into yours, “If you ain’t feelin’ it, I ain’t feelin’ it, okay?”

You felt yourself nod, your chest filling with gratefulness. You wanted Joel so much, you did, you wanted him to feel good, but you didn’t want it at 3am when you had to wake up in four hours.

“Thank you,” you whispered gratefully, your forehead falling against his.

He shifted his face, cheek brushing against your forehead until you felt him press a kiss to your skin. “Nothin’ to thank me for, my sweet girl.”

You shifted closer to him, cheek boring into his naked chest, “It’s not that I don’t want to,” you told him, “I’m just so tired.”

Pulling you closer to his body, Joel wrapped his strong arms around you, “’s okay, baby, you just close your pretty eyes, okay?”

You nodded against his head before you whispered, “Good night, Joel.”

“Night, sweet girl.”

“Hey,” you felt a nudge in your side pull you from your dream, “How d’you turn off this thing?”

Then you heard it. Your alarm. The beeping was loud and obnoxious, but it did the job to wake you, usually.

With heavy limbs you sat up on your elbow, goosebumps spreading over the newly exposed skin as you leaned over Joel’s body to press the snooze button. His big hands found your waist when you leaned back, guiding you to straddle his body.

His lips found yours in a soft kiss, then another before he mumbled, “Good mornin’,” against your lips.

He didn’t give you the chance to reply as he pulled you into yet another kiss. It took you by surprise, your hand coming up to press into the pillow next to his head, to hold your weight. Under the duvet you felt his hand travel down your body, slipping under the hem of your nighty and dragging upwards, cupping your ass as he pulled the fabric with him. His touch ignited something in you, making you whimper against his lips.

“There she is,” he whispered, pulling away from your lips with a loud smack to press kisses along your jaw. It made you sigh, your body going lax in his arms as he pulled you closer, mind going blank from his loving. Then he suddenly tightened his arms around your body, his strong hand splaying over your back as he flipped you around to lay on your back beneath him. A small yelp fell from your lips at the sudden movement, the yelp turning into a giggle when he dived into the crook of your neck, his mustache tickling you as he pressed small kisses against your skin.

With a hasty hand he balled the fabric of your nighty in his hands, pushing it up your body to reveal your naked body to him. He sucked a breath through his teeth at the sight, eyes hungry with lust as they raked over your form.

“Need to fuckin’ taste you, sweetheart.” His voice was a low rasp, coated in residual sleep and arousal, “Been thinkin’ about how sweet you taste this whole weekend.”

You couldn’t hold back the whine at the back of your throat at his words, hips bucking by their own accord where he had your legs splayed open over his thighs. Arousal spread like electricity through your body, where it pooled like dripping honey in your tummy.

“Please,” you begged when his fingers found the hem of your panties, his pointer finger dipping beneath the band to run it across your skin.

“Yeah?” he coaxed, “Want me to eat your little pussy, sweet girl?” his finger stretched at the elastic, letting it slap against your skin as he pulled away. Under him you whined, frantic hands finding the back of his neck to pull him closer to you. In your hurry to kiss him, you missed his mouth, clumsily bumping your nose into his instead.

It made him breathe out a shallow chuckle, “Okay, baby, okay. I’ll take care of ya.”

He pulled back from you, your hands around his neck falling to your sides, and softly hitting your mattress. Grabbing at the soft flesh at the back of your thighs, he spread them wider, putting your covered cunt on display for him. His eyes drank in your body, studied how soft and pliant you’d gone from his touch.

You watched his face, his eyes, his lip twitching with a wicked smile when you jumped under his finger, starting to press slow circles down on your covered clit. He dipped his finger lower, caressing your folds over the fabric before he pressed two fingers into your covered hole as far as your panties allowed. You could feel how soaked you already were, your dripping cunt fluttering around nothing when he pulled back.

“Let’s get you out of these, huh?” he said, voice dripping with pity, “My sweet girl’s just beggin’ to be touched, ain’t she?”

To your own surprise you managed to peep out an answer, “Yes.” Your voice came out strangled and begging, your mind clouded over with Joel.

“Yes, that’s right, baby, you’re such a good girl, let me hear you.” He hooked his finger under the elastic, tapping your ass lightly. You lifted up off the mattress, helping him drag your soaked panties down your legs.

Under him you felt your mouth drop open slightly, watching him as he clasped your panties in his hand, his thumb rubbing at the wetness with a cocky smile tugging at the corner of his lips. With his thumb coated in you, he dropped your panties, losing them in the sheets as he brought his attention back on you.

His eyes bored into yours as he lowered himself between your legs pressing soft kisses against your inner thigh. His big hands splayed over the back of your legs, pushing them closer to your chest to putt your naked and dripping cunt back on display. You held your breath as you waited for him to finally touch you where you wanted, but then he hesitated. The air was charged with arousal, his breath fanning over your throbbing clit. A thought of how you might die if he didn’t touch you soon, crossed your mind.

With a desperate whine, your hand tangled in his hair. You didn’t know what to do, so you begged, “Please, Joel?”

His eyes found yours immediately, where he saw how much you needed him, but he needed it in words, “Y’want me to touch you, sweetheart? To eat your pussy?”

“Yes,” the words fell from your lips so fast you almost cut him off, “Please,” you added for good measure.

Your consent was all he wanted. He dipped his head to lick ever so gently at your clit, making you mewl under him, a needy desperate sound, begging for more. When he wrapped his lips around your clit, and sucked, that’s when you turned into a withering moaning mess under him, hips bucking into his mouth, chasing more of the pleasure he was giving you.

Joel hummed against you, the bass of his voice vibrating against your most sensitive spot, pulling you deeper under the blanket of pleasure.

When his hand loosened its grip around the back of your thigh to caress your folds, a moan got caught in your throat. “P-please” you stuttered, dying to have his fingers split you open and coaxing you towards your release.

But Joel removed his fingers, continuing to explore you with his tongue instead. He dipped down, tongue lapping at your folds, tasting your arousal like he told you’d he’d been dying to. With one fat lick up the length of your pussy he took your clit back in his mouth, going back to lapping and circling it just right, coaxing you closer and closer.

“Fuck.”

You were hauling quickly towards your orgasm. Your eyebrows twisted together in a tight frown, fingers gripping and tugging at his hair, your leg close to shaking with the intensity. You were right there on the edge.

Then he abruptly pulled away. The disappointing mewl escaped you on instinct, and Joel laughed. Laughed. Your heart twisted in on itself at the sound.

“W-what?” you muttered, confusion painting your features when he sat up.

Joel grinned down at you, a mischievous glint in his eye as he leaned down to your face and cupped your chin, his thumb rubbing your skin with tenderness.

“Want you to be good f’me, sweet girl, can you do that?”

Your head moved in his hand, a timid nod as you searched his face. “I–I can be good.”

His grin widened, all teeth and crinkles around his eyes. He squeezed your cheeks together lightly, a small pout forming to kiss away.

“Good girl.”

His mustache tickled your cupid’s bow, and you could taste yourself on his tongue, taste how desperate for him you were.

He left you breathless when he pulled away, your body all loose and pliant from his touch, not registering what he was doing until he was back to sitting between your legs. Your eyes raked over his body, his broad shoulders, trailing his happy trail down his torso to his waist, noticing the shape of his hard cock in his briefs, a wet spot staining them where the head was.

Fuck, you wanted him inside you.

Then you noticed his hands, and what he was in them. The dildo, of him. You shifted up the bed in surprise. Your nighty fell down over your chest as you sat up on your elbows, watching him with wide eyes.

He watched you too, turning the dildo in his hand to nudge at your entrance as he leaned forward to hover over your body, a big hand on your chest pushing you down.

“Are you gonna be good?” 

“Joel,” you gasped, feeling your hole flutter in anticipation.

“Are you?” he pressed, rubbing the silicone head slowly up and down your folds, coating it in your arousal.

“Y-yeah, y-yes,” you nodded, face heating from the obscene slick sounds of your arousal.

With a wicked grin, his eyes flicked back to your aching cunt, before he pushed the head inside slowly, feeding your more and more until the dildo was buried inside you. A broken moan fell from your lips, mouth dropping open from the pleasure of being stretched.

“There you go, sweetheart. ‘s big stretch, isn’t it? Doing so good for me, my good girl, honey, my good fuckin’ girl.”

He pushed the toy in and out in shallow thrusts, working you open around the fake cock. It wasn’t the same, but still the stretch was divine. With his eyes glued to your cunt he pulled the dildo all the way out, only the head notched at your entrance, before slowly thrusting in all the way. You whimpered when you felt him nudge at your spot inside, your hand desperately grabbing for his other arm to anchor you from falling over the edge too soon.

“Joel,” you whimpered, “P-please, t-touch m-my–”

Joel picked up his pace, fucking you faster and deeper with the dildo, the obscene squelching sounds of your cunt filled the air between your moans. His grip tightened in your hand, guiding it to hover over your clit.

“Touch your what, honey?” He teased, pressing your fingers down, guiding them in tight circles.

“Ah– fuck,” you whimpered, eyes squeezing shut as you felt the coil in your tummy tighten, and tighten, and tighten.

Then it all became too much. With a broken cry you came, squeezing hard around the fake cock. Joel continued fucking you, a small gush of liquid pouring down over the toy with each thrust, as you pulsed and squirmed around it.

Catching your breath, you came down from your high, while small jolts of pleasure crashed over you, making your legs shake like a leaf in a storm. It was like your ears were ringing, before you realized they were actually ringing.

“This fuckin’ alarm,” Joel muttered, hovering over you to turn it off.

His voice brought you back to earth, as you turned your head to look at the time. Shit, you were gonna be late!

With shaky hands you glided your hand down your cunt to grab at the base of the toy still inside you, “Joel, we’re gonna be late for your meeting,” you murmured, slipping the dildo from your cunt. Everything was sticky and messy between your legs, a big wet stain growing under your ass.

Joel pushed your hand away, like he was scolding you for touching what was his. “We can be a little late, sweetheart,” he said calmly, before ducking down to press a kiss to your clit.

You shifted up the bed, away from his touch, anxiety an endless spiral in your tummy. “No, we can’t, Joel– They told me it’s a pitch for a new movie, you’ll miss out on a big opportunity if you don’t show.”

Between your legs, Joel’s head dropped to your chest, as a pained sigh left his lungs. He went quiet for a beat as you watched the messy curls at the top of his head, then he lifted his head to look at you, “Okay, then.”

You felt bad leaving him hanging as you both got out of bed, his rock-hard cock strained desperately against the fabric of his briefs – just dying to be touched.

“Joel, I-I’m sorry,” you closed the space between you, snaking your arms around him.

“Sweetheart, ya need to stop apologizin’”, he placed a dry kiss to the top of your head, steady hands finding your waist. Your heart swelled in your chest. He made you feel so safe.

You almost muttered another ‘I’m sorry’, before catching yourself, “Okay,” you nodded against his chest. You basked in his touch for another minute, his strong arms around you, breathing in the comforting scent of him – the intoxicating mix of his faded cologne, cigarettes and sex.

“You were enjoyin’ it though, weren’t you?” Joel asked as he pulled away. You could see the cheeky smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he looked down at you, “So tell me, sweetheart... it better’n the real thing?”

“No,” you said, your own teasing smile tickling your lips as you detangled yourself from him, and turned around to head towards the bathroom, “Real thing’s better.”

Suddenly you felt his hands on your hips, and then Joel was pulling you back against him. He pressed himself against you so you could feel how hard he still was, his aching cock barely contained by his briefs.

“Attagirl,” he half-whispered, half-groaned into your ear, breath fanning over your neck and making you shiver. 

“I need a shower,” you said with a giggle, stepping away from him before turning around again, only for Joel to pull you close once more. He found your eyes, his hands barely loosening their grip on your body. You could still feel him against you, his hard cock now pressed against your stomach. “Do you… maybe,” you bit down on your bottom lip, wide eyes searching his face.

“Wanna shower with you?” he helped you with a grin, and you nodded.

Your shower was cramped, too small to fit two people, and even though you had been the one to ask, you still felt nervous under the streaming water. He looked so good; your eyes couldn’t help but trail the water droplets racing down his thick muscles. He watched you too, but more openly, his eyes not afraid to trail down your body – to glide over your tits, down your back, and over the curve of your ass.

And then there was his cock, still hard and leaking, making its presence known between you like a third person. What made it worse was that he didn’t even acknowledge it, just went about washing his body like nothing, pushing back his wet curls as he rinsed your shampoo from his hair.

Did he want you to say something? The thought fluttered in your stomach.

“Um, Joel?” your voice echoed against the tiles.

You watched as he tipped his head forward from under the showerhead, eyes blinking at you as soapsuds hit his broad shoulders and ran down his chest.

“You know– um… I can–”

Jesus Christ! Could you be less sexy.

When he didn’t say anything, you breathed out a nervous sigh, eyes flitting down to his cock, hoping he would take the hint.

And he did.

“You wanna touch my cock, sweet girl?” His whole demeanor shifted.

“Would that– would that be okay?” you said, your teeth catching on your bottom lip.

“More than okay, sweetheart,” he said, with a devilish grin.

You took a few steps closer, a shaky hand landing on his waist while the other hovered between your bodies, right above where his heavy cock twitched in anticipation.

You didn’t know what to do. Well, you did. You’d seen it enough times at work to know, but you’d never actually done it before. Another reminder of just how inexperienced you were when it came to all of this. You looked at him with uncertainty, for guidance, and without uttering a single word, Joel knew what you were asking.

He curled his fingers around your wrist, bringing it up to his face, and spat. Using that tender grip he guided your hand down between your bodies again – the back of your hand brushed against the rough hair of his happy trail – and down to the base of his aching cock.

“There ya go,” he whispered as your fingers wrapped around him, Joel’s spit smearing over his shaft as you moved upwards in an experimenting stroke, “Good girl, just like that,” he hissed through his teeth.

You tilted your head to watch his face. Watched how his eyes were so fixated on your hand wrapped around him as you began to slowly stroke his cock, familiarizing yourself with the weight and feel of him in your hand. You didn’t miss the way his breathing shifted, releasing a sound you’d never heard come from his lips before. A whimper.

“Am–am I doing okay?” you asked, your eyes following his down to your hand wrapped around him. He was so big in your hand, your fingers struggling to meet around the girth of him.

He hissed out a strained laugh. “Yeah, baby, you’re doing so good– massage the head for me a little,” Joel groaned.

You did as you were told, bringing your hand up to the tip with a tug, squeezing out a pearl of precum. It dripped down over your hand, your thumb skating over the sensitive head, and smearing it all over.

“Shit,” Joel hissed, “keep doin’ that, sweetheart, bein’ so good f’me,” he praised, encouraging you.

You’d never seen Joel like this before. So at your mercy– at anyone’s mercy – always the one to take charge. But now he was falling apart from your touch. He encouraged you further as his breath got heavier. You sped up the strokes over his cock, and his body slumped into yours, face buried in the crook of your neck, as he whispered breathy babblings of praise into your skin. A glowing feeling of pride grew in your chest as you brought him closer and closer to his release.

“I’m close, baby,” he whimpered in your ear, “don’t fuckin’ stop.”

So you didn’t.

With your hand tight around his cock, you quickened your pace, tracing your thumb over his slit just like he’d told you to do earlier. A slick noise of spit and precum echoed against your bathroom tiles. His thighs tensed, his hand grabbed at your waist to pin you to his body, and you knew he was right on the edge.

“Fuck, I’m comin’.”

With a string of praising curses, he came apart in your hand. His thighs clenched, his heavy balls tightening as cum spurted from his tip in ribbons over your hand. The bass of his voice vibrated against your skin, as you continued working him through his high, slicking up your hand and fingers even more.

You squeezed him until there was only a small dribble pearling at his tip. A white stream of cum ran down his cock and down to his balls, dripping down onto the tiles of your shower floor. And then it was too much, and Joel hissed, lifting his head from the crook of your neck to dab your hand away.

He didn’t say anything, only grabbing your face with both hands, crashing his lips against yours in a desperate kiss. With your hand messy from his release, you didn’t know where to touch him, opting to grab at his elbow with your other hand to steady yourself.

Out in the hallway, your phone rang, forcing you to breathlessly pull away. With a sorry smile, you ran your messy hand under the showerhead before quickly pulling at the shower curtain.

The phone rang loudly as you tiptoed down the hallway. Water droplets ran down your skin, leaving a trail of dark spots on the carpet. Your hand clung to the towel you’d wrapped around yourself while the other hurried to answer the phone.

“Hello?” you sang.

“Hi, sweetie, it’s your uncle,” a gruff voice answered.

“Oh, hi,” you said, leaning against the wall.

Down the hall your bathroom door opened, steam framing Joel’s body as he stepped out naked as the day he was born, with a towel resting over his shoulders. His heavy cock soft between his strong thighs– it was like a scene straight out of a porno, one he’d probably starred in. He caught your eye, and smiled, making his way towards you as he brought the towel up to dry his hair, his biceps flexing with the effort.

“What was that?” you stuttered, completely missing what your uncle had said on the other end.

“Almost hung up on ya, I said,” your uncle repeated.

“Sorry, I was just getting out of the shower.”

“I was just calling to say I’m driving a Corvette down to LA in a couple of days for a client. Was thinking I’d take you out to dinner– catch up– make sure you’re not getting up to any trouble down there,” he laughed.

His tone was lighthearted, but you couldn’t help but cringe. The trouble in question reaching his hand out to trace a drop trailing down your exposed collarbone, ducking down to place a teasing kiss to your skin.

“D-dinner sounds nice,” you managed to choke out, “Um, I know a nice Italian place down in Santa Monica.”

“Sounds great, sweetie! I’ll call ya after I’ve dropped off the car Thursday afternoon,” your uncle’s static voice replied.

“Thursday afternoon,” you repeated, “Ok, see you then!”

“So…” Joel started, his arms snaking their way around your form. “I ain’t the only man who wants a piece of ya,” he joked, after you’d hung up the phone,

“That was my uncle, Joel,” you let him know, your body melting against his touch.

“He’s takin’ you to dinner?” he queried.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “he’s driving a car down here for work, so he wanted to see me.”

Joel hummed, dropping his head to brush his lips over yours as his hand splayed over your waist slid down to the curve of your ass.

“Nonono,” you chuckled, pulling away, “Joel, we’re already late as is!”

“So what,” Joel groaned, pulling you back for another kiss, hands tightening their grip on your ass, before trailing soft kisses to the corner of your mouth, “We could stay in ya know... enjoy the real thing.”

Joel’s kisses continued along the line of your jaw, teeth grazing your skin.

“As tempting as that sounds,” you let out through a small groan as you felt his tongue tickle that spot under your jaw, “We can’t cancel this meeting.”

Joel’s lips stopped their descent towards your neck, and he took a breath, the force of it tickling your skin, before he lifted his head, lips grazing across your jaw as he kissed the corner of your mouth again.

“Later,” you promise him, eyes looking into his. Joel’s smile was wistful, another small sigh escaping through his nostrils before he brushed his lips over yours.

“Later.”

“Let’s get started? Or do we want some coffees before we start?” Ronald asked from his seat at the head of the table.

You were seated in a chair in the corner, the cigarette smoke hung low over the room. In your lap your notebook rested, cracked spine opened to a random blank page while your fingers fiddled with your pen.

All the big important men from VCA were here, eager to finally work with the infamous Joel Packer on their new big-budget project. The last couple of years had been big for Joel, multiple magazine photoshoots, longer features and obviously modeling for a sextoy, but this film would be his biggest opportunity. It would bring in a lot of money, and Ronald knew it. He couldn’t hide the dollar signs in his eyes behind his ‘friendly’ grin.

“Ey, sweetheart!” Ronald raised his voice. You lifted your gaze from your notebook, curious as to what he was yelling about.

“Yeah, you!” He looked straight at you, a hand waving you towards him. Did he forget your name? You wouldn’t put it past him.

Leaving your notebook and pen in your chair you walked over to him, hands wringing behind your back as you stood behind Joel where he sat to Ronald’s right. He looked at you with impatience, a crude finger motioning you closer.

“Why don’t you go get us all some coffees, sweetie?” he spat out the order, his sour breath hitting you in your face.

“Um, uh,” you looked to Joel for help. This wasn’t your job; this was a job for an intern. It was important for you to be here, to take notes, to know what arrangements needed to be done, and which people to call.

“Um, uh,” Ronald parroted, “just do it– isn’t it what I’m paying you for?”

It wasn’t, but now everyone was looking at you. Everyone except for Joel. His gaze bored into the teak in front of him, fingers tightly pinched around a cigarette. With no help from Joel, you held your tongue and muttered a “Yes, sir,” to Ronald before you turned on heels.

“Alright! I wanna start by introducing Cheryl here, making her film debut alongside Joel–” you heard Ronald start as you slipped through the door of the meeting room.

Outside the meeting room, you were met with a brown hallway, identical to the left and right. Wood paneling clad the walls, and you couldn’t help your eyes from peeking through the glass partition walls of other meeting rooms as you made your way down the hall. Everything looked the same. You turned a corner, and you swore you’d been there before. After walking for what felt like a small eternity, you made it to a break room with a small kitchenette.

The coffee in the pot looked old and stale, and you poured it out in the sink. As you waited for the fresh pot to brew you searched through the cupboards for a coffee carafe. The cupboards of the kitchenette were pretty empty, only filled with mugs and drinking glasses. With a sigh you kneeled to look through the cabinet below the sink.  You tried your best to be fast, not wanting to miss anything important. Finally, you found what you were looking for. With fresh coffee in one hand, and paper cups in the other, you made your way back down a hallway you hoped would bring you back to the meeting.

A couple of wrong turns later you let out a sigh of relief as you peaked Joel through the glass partition wall of the meeting room. This better be good enough for Ronald, you thought as you opened the door, not bothering to knock.

“And I think that’s about it,” one of the men opposite Joel said as you placed the coffee and paper cups on the table, “We’ll break for lunch and go ahead with the chemistry test later today.”

Did you really just miss the whole meeting?

“Sounds great,” Ronald said, pushing his chair out, and standing to his feet to shake the hands of the men from VCA. Then the rest of the room came alive as people got up from their seats and gathering their things. In front of you a chair bumped into you, pushing you a little off balance.

“Oh! Sorry– didn’t see you there.”

It was Cheryl, Joel’s new co-star. She was young, just turned twenty-one if you remembered correctly, and gorgeous. Her blonde hair, curled to perfection, cascaded down her back. Her light blue dress clung tightly to her body, accentuating her curves while the deep v-neck showed off her cleavage.

You shook your head and put on a smile, muttering an “It’s okay,” as you stepped out of her way, and shifted closer to Joel. He was busy gathering the papers spread out in front of him on the table, tapping them lightly against the teak before gathering them in his hands, turning towards you and Cheryl.

When you didn’t make a move to leave, Cheryl cleared her throat, widening her eyes at Joel as they flickered towards you. Your heart sunk in your chest. It didn’t take a genius to take her hint – you knew when you weren’t wanted.

“I’ll uh… I’ll wait for you down in the reception,” you muttered to Joel, “Let me know what you want for lunch, and I’ll get you something.” Before he could say anything, you turned around to leave, grabbing your notebook and pen.

You knew you shouldn’t have looked back as you made your way out the door, but you did. The cold stone in your chest sank lower as you watched them. Cheryl’s body curled towards Joel as they talked, her hand landing on his bicep as she let out a giggly laugh. It made your heart sting, but maybe not as much as the ache of watching Joel’s bright smile, the one he so often gave you.

Over fifteen minutes later, Joel finally walked into the reception where you waited for him. You were hard to miss where you sat on one of the couches, reading a magazine, the only person occupying the space.

“Whatcha readin’?” he asked, slumping down next to you, so close his arm brushed against yours.

You couldn’t watch his bright eyes, and the cheeky smile tugging at his lips. So, you held up one of the porn magazines you’d grabbed off the coffee table, blocking his view of your face, substituting it with the woman adorning the front and posing seductively to the camera, showing off the biggest boobs you’d ever seen.

“Industry news,” you shrugged.

You earned yourself a chuckle, “Anythin’ interestin’?”

“Not really,” you sighed, quickly shutting the magazine, and throwing it haphazardly on the table.

You could feel his warmth beside you, his broad frame, and strong arms. The same arms who’d held you so close this morning. Still, you didn’t look at him, your gaze falling to your fiddling hands in your lap. A piece of skin around your thumb had come loose, and it burned as you pulled at it.

“Um…” you started, still watching your hands, “What’s the plan for lunch? You want me to go down to that deli you like– get you a sandwich?”

Joel’s arm brushed against you as he shifted in his seat, bucking his hips slightly to fish out his pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. “Ain’t no need to do that for me, sweetheart,” he said, his voice slightly muffled by the cigarette between his lips.

“Well, it’s kinda my job,” you mumbled, your face pulling up into a slight frown as you ripped the loose skin around your thumb.

“Yeah– but,” Joel drew a breath of his cigarette.

Now you looked at him, eyebrows pulled tight in a real frown, “But what?”

He watched you, eyes dancing over your face as he took another drag, releasing the smoke out the corner of his mouth.

“Nothin’.”

You couldn’t interpret his face with the way he was looking at you, almost as he was searching for something. A silence grew between you – it was ugly and festering, like a canyon had grown between you – it was something you’d never felt with Joel before.

“A sandwich sounds nice,” he finally spoke across the silence, and you nodded.

“Um– can I borrow your car?” you asked, clearing your throat of your anxiety.

“Yeah, sweetheart.” It was like your question had woken him.

Joel had driven you both into work today, your car sitting pretty in its parking space outside your apartment complex. He rested his half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray on the table before he fished his car keys from his jeans pocket and handed them to you.

“They have me set up in a trailer out on the lot next door– I’ll wait for ya there, alright?” The hand handing you his keys locked around yours, caging them between your hands.

You squeezed his hand, the familiar weight of it in your hand, the tenderness in which he held you, made you feel a little better. Shrinking the deep canyon between you to a ravine.

“Um, why exactly?” you asked, eyes glued to your intertwined hands.

“Shit– sorry,” Joel shook his head and shifted closer to you, his knee brushing against yours, “they want me and Cheryl to have a chemistry test before they go ahead with signin’ the contracts. It’s nothin’ big or anythin’– just a blowjob.”

Just a blowjob.

You nodded slowly. It was just a blowjob, but it was a blowjob from Cheryl. Cheryl who was younger with the perfect body. Cheryl who made him smile and laugh. Cheryl who could give him a blowjob, and not some sorry excuse of a handjob.

“Oh, okay,” you peeped, loosening your grip around his hand, clasping the keys in your hand.

You got up from the couch before he could say anything more, “I’ll go get you your lunch then.”

His cigarette resting in the ashtray had burned out, like your conversation with Joel. You bent slightly to grab your purse when his hands clasped around your wrist, bringing your attention back on him.

“’s everythin’ alright?” he asked you as he got up from the couch as well, closing the space between you.

Your lips pulled into a smile, one you hoped was convincing, “Yeah! Why wouldn’t it?”

His other hand came up to cup your cheek gently, shifting your face to look at him. “’s just for work, you know,” he told you.

Your head was nodding even before he’d finished talking, your face still pulled tight in a smile, “Yeah, Joel, I know.”

“Okay,” he whispered and leaned closer. You shifted your face in his palm, his lips hitting your other cheek in a short peck before you were pulling away. His fingers like a bracelet around your wrist, fell heavy to his side.

“See you in a little bit,” you told him before pushing the door to the reception open and stepping outside.

Some forty minutes later you were knocking on a trailer door with the sign ‘Joel Packer’ hanging on the front. In your other hand you were balancing two coffees and a bag with two sandwiches. You knocked again when nothing happened, scared you’d shown up to the wrong trailer for a second, even with the sign telling you, you were in the right place.

“Joel? I have your lunch.”

“Come in,” he answered almost immediately.

You opened the trailer door and stepped inside, careful not to spill the coffees all over the carpeted floor of his trailer as you balanced everything. With the door closed you turned around, eyes scanning the cramped room for Joel.

He was laying on the couch, one hand down the front of his pants where he palmed himself over his briefs – a lazy smile resting over his features as he took you in.

“Oh! Sorry,” you quickly looked away, scurrying to place his food on the nearest table.

Behind you Joel got up from the couch, crossing the small space between you to wrap his arms around your body, and press his front against your ass. You jumped in his grasp, your hands finding his where they rested around your waist.

“Stop apologizin’” he whispered in your ear, his teeth catching on your earlobe, “was just gettin’ ready, baby,” his breath was hot against the column of your neck, and you felt his cock grow against your ass. “Ain’t gonna have any trouble gettin’ hard now though,” he chuckled.

“Joel,” you whined, the sound pathetic at the back of your throat.

“Yes, baby, let me hear ya,” you could feel the bass in his voice vibrate against your skin.

His hands spread over your body, drinking you in with his touch, grabbing at your breast while pressing tender kisses to your neck. You melted against him, body soft and pliant. In an instant you were back in your memories from this morning, and you couldn’t fight the whimper from falling from your lips. With closed eyes your memories mixed with your present. Images of how he’d kissed you, touched you, and taken care of you this morning blended with the firm press of his body against yours and his calloused hands exploring you; like how you could still see your reflection in rippling water.

“Joel,” you tried again.

“I know, my sweet girl,” he cooed.

Behind you he bucked his hips against your ass, the bulge of his hard cock splitting your cheeks. You felt your arousal wet your panties, an ache of anticipation settling in your core.

“Fuck, sweetheart– wish it was you getting on your knees for me later.” He whispered his filthy words in your ear with another buck of his hips. “Wanna feel your tight little throat around my cock as you choke on it.”

His confession made a nervousness intertwine itself with your blinding arousal. You turned around in his arms, your face nuzzled into the dip where his neck met his collarbone, “I-I’ve never done that before.” Your confession was barely a whisper, the words muffled into his skin.

His grip tightened around you, and you felt the way his body moved under your cheek, a comforting hand landed carefully at the back of your neck. His jaw and cheek bumped against the top of your head as he dipped down to your face and his breath changed like he was about to say something, but then was interrupted by a hollow knock on the trailer door.

“We’re ready for you on set in fifteen minutes, Mr. Miller,” a voice called.

With the knock the spell was broken. You untangled yourself from his embrace, a shy smile ghosting over your lips as you stepped away.

“You should eat.”

Again, you’d agreed to watch him film. Joel had convinced you on his way out the trailer door, his hand resting at the small of your back as he led you towards the set. It was a small shoot – only Joel and Cheryl, the cameraman, the sound guy, a couple people from VCA, Ronald, and you. In the time you’d worked for Joel, you couldn’t remember a set feeling this intimate (not that you usually stayed to watch– not unless he explicitly asked).

The only goal for the scene was to find out if Joel and Cheryl worked well together on camera – hence no specific storyline or roles they were supposed to act out. Joel was getting his dick sucked, but other than that they were free to take the scene whichever way they wanted.

The room buzzed with quiet conversation as the cameraman got the camera and film ready. Joel was already seated on the couch where the scene would take place. His legs were spread wide, his hard bulge on display as he leisurely smoked a cigarette. Cheryl had taken up the seat beside him, leaning her elbow on the back and resting her head in her hands. They were talking, but you couldn’t hear from where you stood in the corner. Every now and then Joel’s eyes would search for yours, meeting them for a moment as a small smile spread across his lips, before they would flick back to Cheryl, joining their conversation again.

A few minutes later, the cameraman gave the okay to start shooting, making the rest of the set settle down. Joel still smoked his cigarette, so you took it upon yourself to be a good assistant and walk over to him with an ashtray.

A smile spread across Joel’s face when he saw you approach. His arm came up to rest over the back of the couch, his body opening to you with curiosity. You gave him a small smile in return, presenting the ashtray to him with a teasing raise of your eyebrow.

“Just ‘nother drag, sweetheart,” he teased, placing his cigarette back between his lips.

“Nuh-uh,” you chuckled, stealing his cigarette from his mouth with two pinched fingers.

The rest of the smoke in his lungs came out in small chuckles, his hands gathering in his lap as he leaned slightly towards you, moony eyes watching you. He was about to say something before,

“Quiet on set,” the cameraman interrupted with a shout.

You wanted to do something. Cup his cheek, kiss him, anything to just touch him, but you couldn’t. You needed to keep it professional. Instead, you gave him another small smile before you walked back to your previous spot in the corner.

“And… action!”

With the shout of the cameraman, the film was rolling, and the shoot had started.

Leaning against the wall again, you crossed your arms over your chest as you watched Cheryl sink to her knees between Joel’s spread legs. On her lips she wore an innocent pout while her hands caressed his thighs.

“Wanna put my mouth on it,” she said in a sweet voice.

“Yeah, baby? What do you want in your pretty little mouth?” Joel’s voice was deep and coaxing, his hand cupping Cheryl’s chin where his thumb ghosted over her skin.

Cheryl tilted her face down slightly, eyes big and wide as she looked up at him through her lashes.

“Your cock, sir,” she pouted.

You still didn’t know much of the plot to the porno they were shooting, but it was clear that they were going in a specific direction. It wasn’t unusual for Joel to slip into a more dominant character in the pornos he played in, but this new element of innocence from his scene partner wasn’t something he often did.

“You want me to teach you how to suck cock like a proper whore, sweet girl?”

Sweet girl.

You watched how Cheryl’s head nodded in his palm, teeth catching on her bottom lip, and a wicked smile tugged at the corners of Joel’s mouth. It made you shift your weight, arms tightening around your body.

“Alright…” Joel’s thumb ghosted over her bottom lip, “Take my cock out,” he ordered, pulling his hand away.

Cheryl obediently did as he said, her hands messing with the buttons on his jeans. Joel wasn’t wearing anything underneath – it was easier that way, he’d told you earlier in his trailer. Cheryl gasped as Joel’s hard cock sprung free. Her eyes wide as she watched how his cock slapped against his lower stomach.

“’s big isn’t it, sweet girl?”

Again.

Your teeth caught on your bottom lip, pulling at the loose skin with a burning ache.

“So big, sir,” Cheryl agreed, nodding her head.

“Too big for your little mouth, sweetheart?” Joel teased, taking himself in his hand, pulling gentle strokes up and down.

Cheryl shook her head again, “No, sir! I can take it!”

Joel huffed out a laugh at that, his grin growing wider. “Yes, you can, slut.”

His degrading words pulled a moan from Cheryl, and not a second later her mouth was on him. Joel laughed again, another huffing chuckle leaving him as his heavy hand came to rest at the top of her head, guiding her down on him.

“That’s it, slut, suck that big cock– take it all the way down that whore throat,” he encouraged, head tipping back in pleasure. The wet sounds echoing through the room were obscene, pornographic. Sticky strings of spit clung to Cheryl’s chin and dripped down to her breasts where she’d tugged at the V of her neckline to expose them.

“Feels so good, my sweet girl– just like that,” Joel moaned, eyes squeezed shut with a look of pleasure coating his features like he’d ascended to heaven.

My sweet girl.

The room spun, and you pressed your back harder against the wall, like it would fall down over you if you didn’t press up against it. Or maybe it was you who would cave in.

That pet name. That fucking pet name.

You needed to step out if you wanted to breathe, your throat tightening up as your thoughts drifted; to this morning in your bed and then again in the shower, to the two of you in that motel bed, to Joel’s hand on your knee as he’d knelt in front of you by the pool in Pismo Beach. Burning tears pressed behind your eyelids. You couldn’t watch any more, couldn’t hear any more, you couldn’t.

As quietly as you could you stepped out of the set. Your eyes pinched together in a squint as the hot LA afternoon sun blazed down on you. The air hot and stuffy, but not as suffocating as you felt inside.

Why did you feel this way? Jealous of another woman?

Joel wasn’t your boyfriend… at least not in so many words, but after Pismo Beach and his confession, he felt like yours. Someone you can’t help but fall in love with. That’s what he’d told you.

You couldn’t keep your thoughts from spiraling. Fall in love with? How could he be in love with you? You’d only had sex twice, never been on a proper date. You didn’t know who he was outside work. His touch and his kisses felt good, but how could you know if it was more than that – more than just something physical. He’d never called you his girlfriend. Why did you have any right to be upset right now?

This was his job. You knew that before you got involved with him. It wasn’t a problem for you, you’d told him so in the job interview. You’d spoken the truth at the time, but now you weren’t so sure.

Numbed by your realization, you stepped back inside. The scene you were met with only affirmed your thoughts.

You couldn’t give him what he wanted.

They’d moved positions. Cheryl’s head hung off the armrest, perfect boobs bouncing beneath Joel as he fucked her throat. It was lewd, and dirty and plain vulgar. With every thrust of his hips Joel earned himself a quiet gag. Under him, her body was completely at his mercy. He pulled back every once in a while, to let her breath, before plunging his hard cock back down her throat. Ropes of bubbling spit escaped her mouth and ran down her face.

Joel was completely in control, using her throat purely for his own pleasure. Groans and moans spilled from his lips in between filthy praises and ‘good girl’’s. Cheryl’s body squirmed under him, her hand rubbing quickly at her clit under her dress, edging herself towards her orgasm.

This is what Joel wanted. Someone like Cheryl– someone who was confident and skilled, someone who knew what she was doing.

You watched Joel’s thrusts turn sloppy, and that now familiar pinch in his brow let you know he was about to bust his load. With a quick motion he jerked his cock back, taking his throbbing and sensitive cock in hand, fisting himself quickly. Cheryl gasped for air, before she withered with her orgasm.

Joel groaned louder than you’d ever heard him before, his eyes flicking up from Cheryl’s squirming body to find yours. A smile spread across his face then, and then he was spilling over his knuckles and painting Cheryl’s face with his release.

“Shit,” Joel panted, coming down. His hand squeezed the last few drops of his cum out of his cock and onto Cheryl’s tongue.

“Aaaand– cut,” the camera man yelled.

Joel dropped the act immediately, stepping away from a ruined Cheryl as his cock went soft in his hand.

“Shit,” Cheryl groaned, wiping some of the mix of spit and Joel’s cum from her face.

“You okay?” Joel asked, tender hands helping her sit upright.

Cheryl giggled sweetly, big smile blossoming over her features, “Okay? More than okay, Joel– fucking amazing.”

As the gentle lover you knew him to be, Joel helped Cheryl clean up her face after getting handed a towel, but not before assessing the picture he’d painted– which wasn’t much, not compared the cumshots he usually gave out.  

“If I knew I’d be filmin’ today I wouldn’t have jerked of this morning,” he laughed, wiping her face.

It wasn’t funny.

part three -> here

i hope this was okay? and that you liked this! <3 as always feedback as a comment, in the tags, as an ask or reply is very much appreciated, and they make me super happy! <3

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[lucy90712]

kinda sad but reader distancing herself from jude bc she’s pregnant and don’t know how to tell him and he’s really scared bc he thinks she’s gonna leave him

A/n: I had to give this a happy ending as I have far too much angst to write that I needed a pick me up

Do it. Just do it. 

I have to keep telling myself those few words. In front of me sits a pregnancy test that I can't get myself to take as I don't want to know the answer. Jude and I have always been really careful as he doesn't want kids, I don't mind either way but because he doesn't want them we always try to be super safe. Despite that for the last few weeks I've just not felt right I've been feeling really nauseous and my period is now a week late which really only means one thing I just didn't want to believe it. As much as I know I'm almost definitely pregnant I don't want to take the test as that will confirm it and then I'll have to deal with the consequences.

How would I tell Jude? Would he leave me? Can I raise a baby on my own? All of those questions swirled round my brain as I still just stared at the test. Jude will definitely not be happy but if I am pregnant I don't want to get rid of the baby as I don't think I could handle all the emotions that come with that. If I don't get rid of the baby I can definitely see Jude breaking up with me which I understand he doesn't want kids and he's just starting out his career at Real Madrid he won't want a baby to look after so I'll probably be on my own in a city I don't know with no support. 

It got to the point that all of the questions were starting to eat away at me so to forget about them I decided just to take the test. What no one tells you about taking a pregnancy test is that the few minute wait for the result feels like a century I swear I was pacing back and forth forever before the screen displayed the result. I chose to take a digital test as it would tell me how many weeks I was as that's something I wanted to know too but then I realised that knowing how far along I am will make it feel a whole lot more real. There was no surprise when I finally looked at the test and it said pregnant 4-5 weeks. 

Finally seeing it confirmed made it impossible to hold back my tears any longer. Instinctively my hand went to my stomach as I thought about how in a few short months I will have a baby the baby that is currently growing inside me. The tears were a mix of happiness as somehow I was actually happy to know I was pregnant and anxiety as I have no idea what the future holds. 

~~~~~~~~~~

It has been a month since I found out I was pregnant and I'm now 10 weeks along. A few weeks back I went for my first ultrasound and got to see the baby and make sure everything was ok which it was. Jude still doesn't know, I've tried to tell him so many times but I just can't do it I either chicken out or the moment just doesn't feel right. I know I need to tell him soon as I'm already starting to develop a small bump which will only get bigger and sometimes I think Jude gets a bit suspicious when I won't eat certain things I usually love as I know they will make me sick. 

Over the past month I have definitely been a lot more distant with Jude which has meant he hasn't noticed when I've had really bad sickness days and that I have a small bump growing. It's hard hiding such a big secret from him which is part of why I've been so distant because I just want to tell him and for us to be a happy family but I know it won't go that way and I can't bare the thought of that. I love Jude so much and I don't want to ruin our relationship but I know at some point I'll have to tell him and deal with whatever heartbreak comes along with that. 

No one apart from me knows about my pregnancy not even my parents or my friends I have kept it a complete secret. Today though I'm seeing my friends and I know they are getting a bit suspicious as when we go out I'm always tired and I don't drink anymore. We aren't doing much today just going for brunch so I got up after Jude left for training and went to where we were supposed to meet. Once everyone was there we went in and got a table and I lasted less than a minute before the smell of someone's food made me feel so nauseous that I had to run to the bathroom. My best friend joined me to make sure I was ok but I knew she wasn't convinced when I said I was fine. 

"Are you ok?" The rest of the group asked 

"Yeah I'm fine" I said 

"What's going on girl you've been acting weird for a while now" my best friend said 

"Ok you guys can't say anything to anyone but I'm pregnant I found out a month ago and I've been hiding it because Jude doesn't want kids and I don't know how to tell him" I admitted 

None of them really knew what to say they all knew that Jude didn't want kids and a baby was never supposed to be part of our lives so they were as shocked as I was. After the initial shock they all started giving me advice and telling me everything would be fine. They all tried to reassure me that Jude wouldn't leave me when he found out but they did say I need to tell him at some point soon and I agree but it's hard to find the right words to say. 

Once I got back home I just sat in silence thinking about life and how I got to this point. I was so consumed with my thoughts that I didn’t hear the front door opening or Jude calling my name as he entered the house with increased panic when I didn’t reply. I only came back to reality when he was stood in front of me catching his breath after I nearly gave him a heart attack. There was a lot of staring at each other as I tried to find something to say while he tried to read me and work out what I was thinking. 

“Love are you ok and before you tell me you’re fine I know you’re not you’ve been acting strange for a while and I just want to know what I can do to make things better” he said 

Hearing him say that was too much for me I just burst into tears right in front of him. His arms made their way around me and he tried to calm me down but that didn’t help. This last month I’ve held back all of my emotions about this whole situation and now they are coming out all at once and I can’t hold them back any longer. I tried to tell him but the words couldn’t escape my mouth so instead I grabbed his hand and took him upstairs with me. I kept my pregnancy test and ultrasound pictures hidden away in my wardrobe so I found them and just placed them in Jude’s hands. This isn’t how I wanted to tell him but I think it’s the only way I can do it without having another breakdown. 

“What is this?” He asked 

“I’m pregnant” I said 

“I’m sorry I know you don’t want kids and we are always careful I don’t know how it happened and I just I’m just sorry” I rambled 

“Hey it’s ok calm down how long have you known?” He asked 

“I’ve known for a month and I’m 10 weeks now” I said 

“Wow we are going to be parents” he said hugging me tightly 

“Wait you aren’t mad” I questioned 

“No of course I’m not mad I’m actually really happy I know I said I didn’t want kids but more recently I started to change my mind especially seeing you with all the guys kids it made me want that with you I couldn’t be happier right now” he said 

“So you aren’t going to leave me?” I asked 

“Of course not I can’t wait to go through this whole journey with you I’m just sad I haven’t been there for you until now” he said 

Hearing that was such a relief but not at all what I expected. I’ve always been told things happen for a reason and this is one of those things I guess. Naturally Jude had a lot of questions so I told him everything like everything I know about the baby and how I’ve been feeling as he wanted to know how I’ve been coping. It felt so good to finally tell him everything and he seemed so genuinely happy which allowed me to actually think about how excited I am too as that’s something I’ve pushed away until now. 

After a long conversation we both went silent and just took a minute to take in what has just happened. As we sat there Jude’s hand made its way to my shirt which he lifted up slightly and just rested his hand on my tiny bump. I watched as the smile on his face got even bigger than it was before I could see him look at my almost non existent bump with so much love that it almost made me cry. This whole thing doesn’t seem anywhere near as scary now that I know Jude is here to support me and I already know he’s going to be the best dad if he loves our baby this much already. 

[sweatervest-obsessed]

okay so i'm thinking post!prison reid and reader break up bc he's not ready to be in a relationship after everything that happened in prison. they just don't get back together bc when spence is finally ready it's been a while and they both think it's too late and no one makes a move and they remain as friends UNTIL jj's love confession brings some feelings back onto the surface - reader finds out about it and (cue jeid and their weird, longing glances🥲) has a whole it's all really over moment and then there's distance between her and spencer until there's a confrontation about it and BAM a love confession and second chances😁😁

THIS IS SUCH A MESS but i hope you get my point</33

Um yeah so, absolutely. Some angst for you indeed. I love a convoluted and angsty fight, especially whenever someone is arguing in circles with someone else because they're both just so passionate but angry, anyways, heheh, enjoy!!

WC: 1.5k

TW: Arguing, mentions of violence, mentions of prison, mentions of guns, honestly if you watched CM then that is your TW.

“I just want to know why you’ve been so distant lately. I mean, this is the first time I’m speaking with you one on one in over a week, and it’s because I manage to catch you in the office at nine fucking pm Y/n.”

"So what do you want me to say, Spence? What could I possibly have to say to you? I'm pretty sure Jennifer said everything there is to say."

This caused Spencer to lose all of the oxygen in his body. It froze up. You weren’t supposed to know what JJ had said, no one was supposed to know what JJ had said. 

You and Spencer were in the bullpen of the BAU. Luckily for both of you, since it was so late, no one else was there. Neither of you were extremely public when it came to your relationship, which meant neither of you would have chosen to have this conversation fight in a public place, but no one else was around.

I want you to say something you're afraid to say. Something you'd never tell anybody. And you better make it good. Cause if it's not, it's going to be the last thing you ever say. What's it gonna be?

“How did you know about that?” He whispered. 

“JJ asked Garcia to go through the footage, apparently she wanted to make sure no one could ever access the audio from it.”

"Y/n I--" Spencer closed his eyes, his jaw set. He didn’t even know what to say at this point. You had both clearly made up your minds about this, yet neither of you wanted to see the carnage, the outcome of it all. So, instead, you chose to stand in the middle of the bullpen, fighting against one another.

Fighting for one another.

"I just don't understand why you're so upset about this."

“Spencer–you didn’t even tell me about it, I had to find out about it from Penelope, and who knows who else she told. You were afraid to tell me, yet that giant genius brain of yours can’t, oh I don't know, comprehend just a teeny tiny little bit why this makes me upset?" For the millionth time this evening, you scoffed. 

Something you would never say aloud, not even to your partner. Your deepest, darkest secret. Impress me, or I'll kill him.

"Y/n--"

Spence, I've always loved you. I was just too scared to say it before, and now things are really just too complicated to say it now. I'm sorry, but you should know.

"Fuck Spencer I have been in love with you since I first fucking joined this team." You gasped out. The air around your head got thinner and felt dizzying like you were floating through the air now that this was off your chest. "And I loved you when you asked me on a date. I loved you through Emily's death. I loved you when you asked me to move in with you. I loved you through when Morgan left the team. I loved you through Hotch leaving. I loved you through fucking Cat Adams. I loved you even after I came home one night and you were making out with her against our fucking door. I loved you through every single case and every single flaw. I loved you when you fucking relapsed a few years ago. I even loved you when you went MIA for weeks and then found out you were in a fucking Prison. And I still fucking love you now. But, instead of being together, you asked for a break."

"That's not fair..." He whispered.

"What? Respecting you and your boundaries? Knowing that you needed time to readjust after you had been released, and believing in your promise that once you felt ready to try a relationship again you'd come to me and talk to me about it? And then watching as you fall for JJ all fucking over again? With your stupid fucking glances. This isn't a goddamn tv show Reid, I can see when you both stare at one another across the room, I can see it."

"We don't.."

"You do. You both do. And then, you tell me that Jennifer fucking Jareau is willing to make her last words the fact that she has always loved you and has always been in love with you, and you---" Your voice froze, the sound cutting out. You looked straight at Spencer, not caring about the tears running down your cheeks. You watched as his hand twitched up. When the two of you were dating, Spencer used to wipe away every single of your tears. But now he wouldn't even lift his hand.

"I--what."

You took another breath, trying to calm down, and really think through your words. "This woman who has been your best friend for over a decade just fucking confessed her love for you, in a life-or-death situation, and you're telling me, that she just fucking made it up, pulled it out of her ass, or at least is telling you that she did and now the two of you are going to act like everything is normal and okay?"

"Y/n..."

"You were in love with her for years Spencer. And now, all of a sudden she confesses her love to you, and that changes nothing?"

"No, Y/n, it doesn't. It changes nothing. Does it hurt a bit? Yes. Does it change the fact that I love you? No." Spencer was trying to keep his voice level, hoping you'll continue to match his volume since he didn't want anyone to potentially stumble by and hear your argument. His hand reached for your wrist, but you couldn't bear to feel his skin against yours.

This caused you to let out a water laugh, tears sliding into your mouth, ugly but pouring down your cheeks. A waterfall of grief in all of its rawest forms.

"You still love me."

"Why-Why is that funny."

"I have been waiting to hear those words since you walked out of that fucking prison and the first time I hear it in years, it's because you're trying to justify loving someone else."

"That's not true."

Make it a million and one, you scoffed.

"I have loved you since the moment you first walked through those doors. You were in a pale blue pair of pants, and a black sweater--I remember it because Emily complimented the pants. I spend my whole life loving you and manage to never fully give you every single piece of love I have because there's simply not enough time in the world. I would kill for you. I would go to prison all over again if it meant you would be okay in this world." Spencer ran a hand through his hair, his voice strained. But his eyes never left yours. "Last week, when that unsub had his gun against your head, I fired before he even spoke, not because I assessed it was the right time or whatever fucking excuse I gave to Emily. I fired that bullet because if you died in front of me, I'd......The only thing I was thinking about the entire fucking time JJ and I were stuck in that room was how the fuck I was going to be able to tell you I love you one last time because I wasn't fucking smart enough to take my chance and say it to you every single day."

Your chest was heaving, but you didn't move towards him. It didn't feel right, it didn't feel real.

Spencer was able to take your hand in his, enclosing it between both of his, trying to get you to look at him. "I should have told you the moment I was ready to try a relationship again, but I thought you...I thought you had moved on because I wasn't worth waiting for."

This caused you to laugh again, eyes red from crying. "Don't fucking start with that shit Spencer.''

"I'm telling the god's honest truth."

"I waited for you throughout all of Prison. I waited for you through Maeve. I am still pathetically standing right fucking in front of you, waiting for you to hopefully realize that you still love me."

He kissed your hand. "And I don't deserve you at all for it."

"Do you still love her?"

"Y/n."

"Answer the question, Spencer. Or I'm done. I-I can't do this any longer, watching you....the way she looks at you just--"

Spencer pulled you into his arms, enclosing your body in his arms and kissing the side of your head. "I have always, and will always, love you Y/n Y/l/n. And I want to spend the rest of our lives proving to you that I would choose you, I want you, over and over again."

“That’s not an answer Spencer.” You whispered, rigid in his arms.

“I-I.” He closed his eyes. “I did. And I still do love her, but not like that. I haven’t been i-in love with her since the moment you walked through those doors.”

Spencer felt the weight of your head against his shoulder as you finally conceded and hugged him back, tightly. “Let's go home.” He muttered into your head, waiting patiently for you to hum in agreement. 

Neither of you moved though. You both stood there, locked eternally in the other’s embrace, enjoying the peace you felt for the moment, even though tomorrow was a new day, where you would have to sort through how you really felt about all of this. 

But tonight, you stood with your arms around your love, forever.

[basset-babe]

five times: the second.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

warnings: unsolicited sexual advances

word count: 3.7k+

a/n: apologies for the late update! i've been sleeping in so bad lately lmao also, please do know that my writing isn't abided by the series' consecutive timeline bcs i just tend take away scenes and themes through s1 to s3 where it would make sense with the fic idea in my head, but all still well within the bridgerton series (S3 SPOILER! also i do not hold any grudge towards lady tilley arnold tho she is the rendezvous love interest of ben in s3, just made sense for me to add her here in this context) but nonetheless, please enjoy the 2nd! ciao belle!

five times series: the first. the one point five. the second. the third. the three point five. the fourth. at last.

spring divider from @thyming and, again, pattern banner from @cafekitsune thank you!

second time.

As the noon sun cast a bright glow over the sprawling estate gardens, Miss Y/N and Benedict strolled along the cobblestone path lined with vibrant blossoms and verdant foliage. The sweet fragrance of blooming flowers mingled with the earthy scent of freshly turned soil, creating an intoxicating bouquet that filled the air. Birds chirped melodiously from their perches in the ancient oaks, their songs adding a gentle soundtrack to the tranquil scene.

Miss Y/N paused by a bed of delicate gardenias, her fingers brushing lightly over the soft petals as she turned to Benedict with a teasing smile. "Have you no other plans than to spend your time watching me procure my plants, Benedict?" she asked, her tone light but her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Benedict, standing a few paces away with his hands casually tucked into his pockets, returned her smile with a warm, earnest expression. "Actually, I find great pleasure in keeping you company and wandering through your beautiful gardens," he replied, his gaze taking in the lush greenery and the kaleidoscope of flowers surrounding them. In truth, his heart swelled with affection for her, every moment spent in her presence a cherished gift.

A few steps behind, the chaperone lingered near a stone bench, her attention seemingly focused on the distant horizon. Although out of earshot, her presence was a reminder of propriety and decorum.

Miss Y/N sighed softly, her playful demeanor tinged with a hint of exasperation. "We are chaperoned! I mean, probably out of earshot but still," she said, shaking her head slightly as a wry smile curved her lips. "You and your subtle art of flirting."

Benedict chuckled, the sound low and pleasant. "Ah, but where's the harm in a little harmless flirtation amidst such beauty?" he replied, gesturing to the surrounding garden. "Besides, your company is far more captivating than anything." His words carried the weight of his burgeoning love, though he struggled to fully express the depth of his feelings.

As they continued their leisurely walk, the leaves rustled softly in the gentle breeze, and the world seemed to slow, allowing them a few precious moments of stolen intimacy amidst the natural splendor.

"My subtle art of flirting," he murmured, stepping closer and carefully looming over a bed of blooming roses. "Or perhaps it’s not so subtle after all."

She glanced up at him, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "I would say it’s as subtle as a peacock in a library."

"Ah, so it’s quite effective, then," he said, leaning in just enough to catch the gardenia’s sweet scent.

"You are impossible," she said, shaking her head but unable to hide her smile. "Even when you called on me, you've brought a grafted rose to plant, of all things!" She laughed fondly.

"Well, I thought it suited you," he said as his voice softened, casting her a glance full of admiration. "A growing thing of beauty, requiring patience, care, and attention." His heart pounded in his chest, the metaphor echoing his own feelings for her.

The sun glowed warm through the greenhouse window pane. Peering from the vines, the sunlight dawned and cascaded over Y/N, rendering her breathtaking in Benedict's eyes. The golden light danced on her hair, casting a halo-like aura that made her appear almost ethereal.

Her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink at his words. "For an artist, you do have a way with words, Benedict," she murmured, a soft smile playing at her lips as she averted her gaze.

Benedict, unable to resist the magnetic pull of the moment, reached out and gently touched a gardenia bloom, his fingers brushing against hers. The brief contact sent a subtle thrill through him, a spark of connection that felt both profound and delicate. "And I mean every one of them, you know," he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of sincerity and unspoken affection as their eyes met.

Y/N's breath caught slightly, her heart quickening in response. Her gloved hand now in his as he gently held it. The intensity of his gaze made her heart flutter, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade away. Her lady's maid, the estate, the very garden itself—all blurred into a distant background against the magnetic pull between them.

A gentle breeze stirred, carrying the intoxicating scent of gardenias and roses. Y/N's eyes widened slightly at the depth of emotion she saw in Benedict's eyes, a mixture of admiration and something deeper, something she dared not name yet. Her fingers, still intertwined with his, felt warm and comforting, a silent promise held in the delicate touch.

Her voice, barely above a whisper, broke the silence. "Benedict, do you ever, um, find yourself feeling, well, the same way I do in moments like these, when we're together?" Her eyes, tinged with vulnerability, flicked up to meet his, silently seeking a connection that transcended mere words.

Benedict's smile softened, his thumb lightly caressing the back of her hand as he leaned nearer to whisper, "Every moment with you, Your Grace," he said, his voice filled with a gentle ardor. "Your presence, Y/N, for if I revere you a dream, then I no longer wish to wake from my slumber."

Y/N's heart raced at his words, her cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of pink. She felt a rush of emotions, a blend of excitement and a tender vulnerability she had never experienced before. Her eyes widening in awe, "You speak as if I am something unattainable, a fragment of your mind," she said, a touch of playful skepticism in her tone.

Benedict's expression softened, nearing her as his gaze full of adoration. "Y/N," he murmured, his voice tender yet earnest, "you are not a fragment of my mind, nor are you unattainable. You are the very essence of my heart's desires, a beacon of light in a world of darkness." He reached out to gently cup her cheek, his touch conveying a depth of emotion beyond words. "To me, you are not just a dream, but the reality I never dared hope for. And I will spend every moment proving that to you, if you'll let me."

Meanwhile, the subtle clearing of her lady's maid's throat, positioned at a respectable distance, acted as a genteel nudge to observe the proprieties of their setting.

"Um, I, uh, apologize, Your Grace," Benedict murmured, his cheeks tinted with a shy flush as he took a small, hesitant step back, seemingly unsure of where to place his hands. "I… erm, it seems I, uh, forgot to, um, maintain my distance. Please forgive me," he added softly, his voice trailing off with a hint of uncertainty. "I, um, really didn't mean to, uh, make you uncomfortable." His eyes, a mix of nervousness and sincerity, briefly met hers before darting away, as if seeking refuge in the nearby foliage. "I'm, um, deeply sorry if I, you know, overstepped," he continued, his tone laced with a sheepish awkwardness as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unable to find a comfortable stance. "I… I suppose I just, er, got a bit carried away in the moment."

Y/N's cheeks flushed deeper as she felt a rush of embarrassment mingled with amusement at Benedict's sheepish apology. She averted her gaze momentarily, suppressing a nervous giggle before meeting his eyes, she reached out to gently place a hand on his arm. "Oh, Benedict," she began, her voice soft with a hint of laughter, "there's no need to apologize. I… I must admit, I too got carried away in the moment." She glanced around, half-panicked that someone might have witnessed their closeness, but finding the situation more humorous than anything. "It seems we both found ourselves swept up in the enchantment of the garden," she added with a playful wink, her laughter bubbling forth despite her attempts to compose herself.

Benedict let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing as he returned to a more respectable distance from Y/N. He couldn't help but smile at her laughter, finding solace in her lighthearted response. "Indeed, it appears the garden has a way of enchanting us both," he agreed with a soft chuckle, his gaze lingering on her with fondness. "I guess we ought to keep a closer eye on decorum," he mused with a rueful grin, a playful glint dancing in his eyes.

Benedict entered his studio at the esteemed art academy with a purposeful stride, the faint aroma of charcoal and linseed oil pervading his senses as he stepped within. The grand wooden door emitted a gentle creak as he pushed it open, revealing a space that, while seemingly cluttered, held a unique order characteristic of an artist's domain. It's been days since Mr. Bridgerton had paid visit to Miss Y/N; days since his apparent confession unreturned with an answer, hoping of the most favored "yes".

The studio was suffused with the soft, diffused light of late afternoon, filtering through tall, dust-laden windows. Easels stood in solemn ranks, each bearing sketches and paintings in various stages of completion. The floor was a canvas in itself, adorned with a mosaic of paint splatters and crumpled sheets of paper, silent testament to his countless hours of diligent work.

His gaze was inexorably drawn to the central easel, where his latest sketches of Miss Y/N awaited his discerning eye. Countless hours had been devoted to capturing her likeness, her features indelibly etched into his memory and transposed onto the canvas from myriad angles. The delicate curve of her jawline, the subtle arch of her brows, the enigmatic depths of her eyes—each sketch narrated a different story, a moment either observed or conjured from his imagination.

Benedict set down his leather satchel upon a nearby stool, extracting a well-worn sketchbook and a selection of fine graphite pencils. He approached the easel with a sense of reverence, as one might approach a sanctified space. The quietude of the studio enveloped him, disrupted only by the distant murmur of the academy's other activities.

As he perched upon the high stool before the easel, he paused momentarily, allowing his thoughts to drift back to his latest sitting with Miss Y/N. He recalled the play of light upon her hair, the subtle shifts in her expression as her thoughts wandered. With a deep, steadying breath, he took up a pencil, its familiar weight a comfort in his hand, and resumed his sketching. He became immersed once more in the intricate dance of lines and shadows, bringing her presence to vivid life upon the paper.

As he worked, Benedict would lose himself in the intricacies of her likeness, his mind consumed by the challenge of translating her beauty onto paper. Every stroke of his pencil would be deliberate, every line a reflection of his perception of her essence.

In this intimate space, surrounded by the tangible evidence of his devotion, Benedict would pour his heart and soul into each etch, striving to capture the true spirit of Miss Y/N with every stroke of his pencil.

"Someone seems smitten, don't you think, brother?" Anthony's teasing voice broke through Benedict's intent stare as he drew, jolting him out of his reverie. A faint blush tinged Benedict's cheeks as he glanced up, his hand pausing mid-stroke.

Benedict's older brother stood in the doorway, a playful smirk playing on his lips as he observed the tableau before him. Benedict chuckled softly, the sound carrying a hint of embarrassment. "I'm merely capturing her likeness as an artist," he protested, though the affection in his gaze betrayed his true feelings.

Anthony's grin widened, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Of course, dear brother," he replied, his tone dripping with amusement. "But one might argue that your portraits of Miss Y/N are a tad... shall we say, inspired?"

Benedict rolled his eyes good-naturedly, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Perhaps," he conceded, returning his attention to the paper before him. "But can you blame me? She's quite the muse."

With a knowing laugh, Anthony stepped further into the studio, his presence injecting a sense of levity into the room. "Indeed she is," he agreed, his gaze drifting to the scattered sketches of Miss Y/N that adorned the walls. "But do try not to get too lost in your musings, brother. The real Miss Y/N might start to wonder what's keeping you so occupied."

Benedict nodded, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Point taken," he said, his focus returning to his work. But as he etched his pencil into the paper once more, his thoughts inevitably drifted back to the enigmatic woman who had captured his imagination—and his heart.

"Oh, and a letter arrived. It's for you," Anthony handed as sealed letter, "from a Lady Tilley Arnold. Seems urgent." Benedict stopped as he looked at his older brother whose held a knowing look. "I am not one to pry for I am one with your contentment, brother, but it seems you have unfinished business?"

"It is not what you are implying, brother. We are done. Lady Arnold had bid me done then. It is probably purely audience." Benedict replied focusing back to his work.

"Then I shall leave you to it, brother." Anthony left the letter on the stool and stepped out the studio closing the door, leaving his brother with his thoughts.

After his brother's departure, Benedict found himself unable to shake the lingering thoughts about why Lady Arnold had sought his audience. Their relationship had long evolved beyond the realms of a passionate love affair, and any such intimacies had faded into the past. Instead, he now saw himself as a respectable bachelor, poised to fulfill his societal obligations and perhaps find a suitable wife.

Despite this unexpected shift in their dynamics, the unexpected summons from Lady Arnold had stirred a curious blend of nostalgia and apprehension within him, prompting him to ponder the nature of their current connection.

As Benedict retired to his townhouse for the evening, his mind buzzed with conflicting thoughts about the impending meeting with Lady Arnold. While he harbored no romantic, nor amorous, feelings for her, the prospect of their encounter tomorrow left him feeling decidedly uneasy. After all, he had been actively courting Miss Y/N, and the mere notion of being seen with Lady Arnold had the potential to ignite scandalous gossip.

But then a knock sounded. In the dimly lit parlor of Benedict's townhouse, a cloaked woman stood before him, an air of melancholy clinging to the elegant form. "Lady Arnold, good evening! Do come in." He moved aside as the women entered. "To what do I owe--" He was cut off as Lady Tilley spoke, her expression tinged with a mix of determination and vulnerability. "Benedict, I sought you out because I'm leaving London soon. I wanted to bid you farewell before I go."

Benedict nodded politely, though a flicker of curiosity danced in his eyes. "Of course, Lady Arnold. It's kind of you to say goodbye."

But as their conversation unfolded, Benedict couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Lady Arnold's visit than a simple farewell. Her demeanor seemed to betray an underlying tension, a sense of urgency that belied the pleasantries of their exchange.

"Lady Arnold," Benedict began, his voice laced with a hint of concern, "is everything alright? You seem... troubled."

Lady Arnold hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering uncertainly before she squared her shoulders, as if steeling herself for what was to come. "Benedict, there's something I need to tell you," she confessed, her tone serious. "Something I've been meaning to say for quite some time." Taking a deep breath, she forged ahead, her words measured yet tinged with emotion. "I... I've realized that I can't bear the thought of leaving without expressing how I truly feel."

Benedict's eyes widened in surprise, his mind racing to comprehend the implications of her confession. "How you feel?" he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lady Arnold nodded, her gaze unwavering as she held his gaze. "Yes, Benedict. I know the risks of me being seen here in your residence but it seems that you have not responded to my correspondence... I have come here to say that I've been thinking about us, about our past, and... I can't deny that I still feel something between us."

Benedict's mind flew to the letter he placed on his desk earlier the night he reached his townhouse. He didn't even want to open it knowing what it could contain. A rakish past he, quite possibly, no longer wants to open. Benedict, then, felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him, memories of their shared history flooding back with startling clarity. Yet, beneath the surface, a sense of unease gnawed at him, a silent reminder of the boundaries he had vowed to uphold.

"Tilley," he began tentatively, his words hesitant as he struggled to find the right response. "I… I'm not sure what you mean. Our past is just that, the past."

But Lady Arnold was undeterred, her resolve unwavering as she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But what if it doesn't have to be? What if we could recapture the passion we once shared?"

Benedict's heart quickened at her words, torn between the allure of nostalgia and the reality of his present circumstances. "I... I don't know, Tilley," he admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "Things have changed. I've changed."

Undeterred, Lady Arnold reached out to touch his hand, her touch soft and pleading. "Benedict, please. Don't you remember how good it used to be? Just one last time, before I leave."

Benedict felt a surge of conflicting emotions welling up inside him, his mind spinning with indecision. "I… I can't," he finally answered removing his hand from hers, his voice heavy with his conscience. "It wouldn't be right, just like you decided."

Lady Arnold's eyes gleamed with a mixture of longing and sorrow as she looked at Benedict. "Do you remember, Benedict," she began, her voice soft yet laden with emotion, "those nights we shared? How the world seemed to disappear when we were together? Every stolen moment, every secret touch… it was as if time stood still just for us." She took a step closer, her gaze never wavering. "The way we used to laugh, our whispers filling the darkness with promises only we understood. We explored each other's souls and bodies with such intensity, such reckless abandon. Every touch was a symphony, every kiss a sonnet. Our passion burned so bright, like a flame that could never be extinguished."

Her voice faltered slightly, a wistful smile playing on her lips. "We were invincible then, weren’t we? Bound by nothing but our own desires. It was a love that consumed us, left us breathless and wanting more. Even now, I can feel the echoes of those nights, the way your touch could ignite something deep within me, a fire that no one else could ever hope to spark."

She spoke of memories shared, of passion ignited long ago, and hinted at desires yet unfulfilled. Despite his best efforts to maintain composure, Benedict found himself ensnared by her magnetic presence, a faint echo of their past intimacy stirring within him as she caressed his jaw.

As the tension between them reached its zenith, Lady Arnold's advances became bolder, her fingers trailing lightly along the curve of Benedict's jawline as she leaned in for a kiss. For a fleeting moment, their lips met in a passionate embrace, igniting a spark of longing that threatened to engulf them both.

But as quickly as it began, Benedict pulled away, a confused expression clouding his features. "I am afraid it has ended," he murmured, his voice thick with regret. "This... it no longer feels right." His words hung heavy in the air.

Lady Arnold's expression softened, a hint of sadness clouding her eyes. "I know things have changed, Benedict. We have changed. But those memories... they still linger. A testament to what we once shared, a rendezvous that defied everything and everyone."

She reached out, her fingers grazing his hand. "Tell me you remember, Benedict. Tell me that those moments meant as much to you as they did to me."

Benedict felt a lump form in his throat as Lady Arnold's words washed over him. Her memories mirrored his own, a testament to the bond they had once shared. He swallowed hard, trying to find the right words to respond.

"Of course I remember," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. "Those moments were among the most exhilarating experiences of my life. We had an affair, some rendezvous that was."

Lady Arnold's eyes softened at his confession, a flicker of hope igniting within them. "Then why can't we have it again, Benedict? Just one last time, before I leave. Let me carry that memory with me."

Benedict sighed, "Because things are different now," he said gently. "Our lives have moved on. What we had was rousing, but it's part of a past that no longer exists."

Lady Arnold's expression crumpled slightly, her hope waning. "But why?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Why can't we hold onto it, just for a little while longer?"

Benedict took her hand in his, his touch both firm and tender. "Because it wouldn't be fair to either of us," he replied softly. "I can't give you whatever temporary high you want, not when my heart belongs to someone else now. It would be a lie, a betrayal of what we both deserve."

Tears shimmered in Lady Arnold's eyes as she listened to his words. "I understand," she said finally, her voice barely audible. "I just... I had to try."

Benedict squeezed her hand gently before letting go. "I know," he said. "And I'm grateful for what we shared, Tilley, truly. But we both need to move forward, to find happiness in the lives we've chosen. You know it, this cannot be."

Lady Arnold nodded, her shoulders sagging with resignation. "I suppose this is goodbye then," she murmured, a wistful smile tugging at her lips.

"Yes," Benedict agreed, his voice tender. "Goodbye, Lady Arnold. I wish you all the best."

With a final, lingering glance, Lady Arnold turned and walked away, leaving Benedict standing alone in the dimly lit parlor. As the door closed behind her, he felt a profound sense of closure, mingled with the bittersweet pang of lost love. He knew he had made the right decision, but the echoes of their past would remain with him, a poignant reminder of a passion that had once burned so brightly.

taglist: @novausstuff // @pussyslayerhd // @amoosarte // @jupitervenusearthmars

again, please do send me a message or comment down if you would like to be added on the succeeding taglists for the five times series!

[fatesundress]

⭑ observations. tom riddle x reader

part ii here.

summary. you've been going to hogwarts for four months, and find this whole school-wide obsession with tom riddle a little bit ridiculous, and a little bit contrived. surely not all the rumours are true...

tags. smut (minors dni -_-), fem anatomy, fingering, reader who is soooo in denial, trying to worm into tom's brain like a parasite and failing miserably (me projecting), i think reader is implied to either be short or tom is implied to be tall, ooc tom because i am so far from the belief that he would ever just spontaneously hook up with someone but… it is what it is.

note. this is my first post so support is much appreciated!! god forgive me, i've never written smut in my life, and it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also, i tried my best to make reader fairly neutral, but it's late, and if i've fumbled over some description bc i'm sleepy i shall fix it in the morning ♡

word count. 5.1k

Your first observation is that nobody has Tom Riddle quite right.

He’s beautiful, yes (obvious, repetitive, shallow), and undeniably intelligent (being paired with him in Potions has proved that in a matter of weeks), untouchable (this one is a bit interesting), and, above all, unusual. The latter you like the most. It makes you feel unabashedly exceptional in all the very unexceptional gossip about him. No one ever uses that word to describe him. A rarity of charisma and charm — austere, refined, and clinically polite. Unusual has a negative curve to it that most people don’t attach to the elegant litheness of Tom Riddle, but your observations cannot be stated without the word.

It’s prompted and peddled by Selwyn’s much-too-enthusiastic vehemence in the wake of your first.

You narrow your eyes at her and say it again, no less certain than the first time. “Tom Riddle has not had sex with half the school.”

It’s a bit of a jump. Some necessary context is removed.

Riddle, once more, rarity of charisma and charm and austere blah blah blah, has been rumoured since you arrived this year from your last school to be some silent conqueror, oh-so nimble with his hands and nimbler even with his other appendages, and you — you’ve only been here four months and it’s laughable how many people believe it.

Backtrack to untouchable (this one everyone agrees is a primary characteristic of Tom Riddle, there’s no debate there) and the reason you find it interesting. Untouchable doesn’t exactly work if everyone in the bloody castle has been touching him this whole time. And it’s not as if he could hide it, not as if people wouldn’t be giddy to tell their friends of their exploits with the beautiful, revered Head Boy. And such exploits would be whispers among the halls in a matter of hours. You’ve considered this, with almost scientific determination, and it’s impossible. Tom studies all day, and when he isn’t studying he’s corralling Slytherin first-years away from forbidden corridors, attending to Dippet’s newest errand, escorting third-years to Hogsmeade, dining with the Slug Club, and — point is, someone would have noticed by now if he was disappearing into broom closets with a new lay every weekend.

But Selwyn shakes her head, because this rumour is such an integral part of Tom’s allure. He is, somehow, both untouchable and a master at touch. Distant until he isn’t, and then he can break you apart with practised, perfect hands. It’s all very mythical.

“Look,” she says, “maybe if I’d only been here four months, I’d think so too, but everyone else knows—”

“Maybe it’s because I’ve only been here four months that I have the objectivity to recognize how ridiculous you all are. He’s not a god, Selwyn, he’s a scholar, and an obsessed one at that — has it ever actually occurred to you he might not have had sex at all?”

This, now, is sacrilege. 

Selwyn gapes at you, and you shake your head in surrender before you burst out laughing at how offended she looks. “Fine, whatever. Consider the matter dropped. I give up.”

You don’t really give up. It’s very fun research.

Your second observation is that unusual is not an apt enough word for Tom, and maybe you don’t possess the vocabulary to think of one that is.

You’re in the Restricted Section. This is unrelated to your Tom research, and perfectly sanctioned, with a key granted by the librarian who you feel sorry to admit you have not remembered the name of, and the library, by all means, is still open. It’s a late Thursday night, but not past curfew. You’re there with a study partner you rather wish you weren’t — Gregory Godefrey, Gryffindor (the alliteration is nauseating), and the only half-decent fellow in your Ancient Runes class, but not especially bright. You feel more like his tutor than his partner. In short, the regular books on the topic you’re writing your end-of-term essay on are slim pickings, and thus — Restricted Section.

“So,” you say, “the scriptures might look the same, but they’re written in vastly different time periods, so the meaning has changed. If you were to charge a spell with one of Ashe’s runes now, there’s almost no doubt you’d get a completely different result.”

“I don’t get it,” Godefrey grumbles sleepily into his sleeve. “How’s anyone meant to use runes if they can just change like that?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Any magic can change, Godefrey. Half of the stuff we learn is based on intention and skill. Uagadou barely even uses wands — all of this is arbitrary.”

“My head hurts.”

“Then… just… just go to bed. I’ll finish up here and we’ll try again on the weekend.”

He grins with heavy eyes, lugging his bag over his shoulder and leaving you a packet of sherbet lemons you bitterly wish he’d pulled out sooner. “Wicked — you’re the best. See’ya.”

“See you…” you mumble, unwrapping one and popping it in your mouth.

You don’t stay for long, twirling the key to the Restricted Section around your finger as you tuck your books back into their shelves.

“It’s ten past curfew,” says a voice from behind you, all cool, measured authority, and you nearly collapse.

You stare up from where you’re grabbing onto your knees for balance, your heart halfway out of your chest.

Tom Riddle is there, his Head Boy badge somehow still glittering in the dim light of the library, and it’s only by the half-smile quirking at his lips that you can detect his words weren’t some sort of threat.

“Right, thanks.” You gather your breath. “I was just leaving.”

“Pity about Godefrey.”

You blink. Having worked with Tom in Potions since September, you’ve become perfectly adjusted to speaking to him… only about Potions. He indulges in polite small talk, he smiles freely, but your distance from him is the same as it is with everyone else, if only for the fact that, you suppose, you aren’t actively pursuing anything closer.

Oh. That is interesting — would he be so easily intrigued? It’s a bit cliché, but you suppose he is too.

You’re making an awful lot of assumptions from the words ‘pity about Godefrey,’ and then, you don’t actually have a damn clue what Tom could mean by that.

“Sorry?” you ask.

“Godefrey,” he repeats. “I assume you’re being made to tutor him.”

Right. He must have seen him on his way here. That would make sense.

“No, actually. It’s entirely voluntary — he’s my study partner for Ancient Runes.”

His chin lifts in some nearly imperceptible way, smiling still, and you know he’s a polished thing, an unusual thing, but it reads as an especially fake smile then. “Ah.”

… Oooookay?

“Well —” you start, a mechanical smile of your own forming — “curfew, then.”

The charm fixes onto his face like a damn ornament. You want to flick it away with your finger. “Of course. I’ll see you in Potions?”

You nod, leaving the key behind the librarian’s desk as you slink awkwardly away. Into the corridor. Off to bed. Yet another note to scrawl on the enigma of Tom Riddle.

You see him again first thing in the morning. You’re yawning into the archway of Slughorn’s stuffy classroom, eager to dump your bag over your table and empty the many contents necessary for today’s lesson. 

There’s one girl, the oldest of the Lestranges, who glares daggers into the back of your head every class. Tom is, as always, nonplussed, asking you about your morning as you both prepare your phials and ingredients. You can’t help but shake your head at him this once, a bemused smile on your lips as you glance between him and the Lestrange girl.

“Have I offended her somehow, or is it just that I’m paired with you?”

He laughs under his breath. “I daresay that is the offense.”

You can’t help it. You’re mumbling to yourself in amazement at the bizarre, borderline cultish devotion this school has to Tom Riddle. “Unattainable commodity that you are, Riddle…”

“Well," he begins, his smile small but his voice amused, “I hope you don’t think of me as quite that far outside your grasp."

You freeze.

Are you — have you missed something? Has your casual (really, very casual and not at all unwarranted or peculiar) research for the sake of dispelling Selwyn’s obsession skewed your memory of Tom? Has he always said things like this to you? Have you always read into them like this?

One of his eyebrows rises, and it might be his notorious flattery — but if so, he makes it sound like an obvious truth, and you stammer over the jar of foxglove in your hand. Then you look away, unscrew it, do well not to put too much weight on his words.

“Hm. I have no need for you to be within it, Riddle." You say it with all nonchalance you can muster. To spit it at him in some aggressive dismissal would be to treat it like a big thing. 

It isn’t a big thing. He’s talking to you like he talks to everyone else.

But you catch the barest flicker of disappointment on his face, a flash of something that might even be annoyance. Then, though, it’s gone, and he’s back to that same unshakable, confident smirk.

As the lesson proceeds,  he’s once again the sharpest thing in the room.

You watch for him in the library that weekend, a bit distracted while you and Godefrey study. Without your guidance, there isn’t much studying occurring at all. Godefrey is sort of skimming the pages of a textbook, yawning, as always, like he’s never had a good night’s sleep in his life, and you’re suckling sherbert lemons until the roof of your mouth feels raw.

“What was it you said about Calarook’s Method?”

Your eyes snap from the empty doorway to Godefrey’s face. “Huh?”

“Calarook’s Method.”

“Oh.” You sink boredly into your seat, twirling your quill between your fingers. “It revolutionised the usage of runes globally. She incorporated — um — a much simpler means of translating the scriptures for different methods of magic.”

“Ohhhh, I remember now. Did you write that down?”

“Yes, Godefrey, I wrote it down.”

The final hour before curfew dwells agonisingly longer than it should. It feels like three, at least, until you’re packing your things and bidding Godefrey goodnight, tired legs dragging you down the corridors.

And then you straighten. You stand tall. (You’re absolutely normal about the sight before you.)

Tom smiles at you as he turns the corridor to approach.

“On patrol?” you ask in a friendly tone.

You’re… friends, right? Being someone’s Potions partner for four months qualifies as some degree of friendship, does it not? After all, he did say not to think of him as too far outside your grasp. That was a line if you’d ever heard one, but — you could be Tom’s friend the way everyone is his friend: wholly detached until you were needed.

“Leaving detention,” he answers with a timbre to match.

Your eyebrows raise at that.

“Leaving the second-years I watched in detention, I should say.”

You shake your head. “I should have known.”

“And you?”

“Studying again.”

“Ancient Runes?”

“Mhm.”

“...With Godefrey?”

“That is the concept of a recurrent study partner, yes. It’s recurrent.”

He doesn’t look very much like he appreciates your sarcasm.

“So, then,” you mutter, clearing your throat. “Curfew, I suppose.”

“You performed well in Potions today,” he says after you. It feels like the sort of thing someone says when they don’t want someone to walk away.

You bite your cheek between your teeth — such assumptions will get the better of you. Such assumptions will lead you down a path of crude, obsessive analysis (though you suppose you’ve been doing that all this time, haven’t you?) where you think, in some unspooling knitwork, that there are really only a select few reasons he could want such a thing. Your mind draws to the irresponsible conclusion, as he walks toward you again, a new glint in his eyes, that it’s exactly the sort of thing someone says before rumour has it they disappear into the nearest broom closet with the one they approach. This, you’ve decided an observation ago, Tom Riddle does not do.

“Thank you,” you say carefully. “So did you.”

“We make for a good pair, don’t you think?”

Crude, obsessive analysis. “Slughorn certainly does.”

“And I am asking you.”

He stops a respectable, inviting space before you. His weekend attire is a grey jumper and black slacks, his dark hair in its regular, pristine waves, hands laced behind his back. Everything about him is a request to be met, and not to step forward and close the distance himself. Close the distance, pristine waves, inviting space — you’ve lost your damn mind. You sound like Selwyn. The sugar of a whole packet of sherbet lemons has rendered you imbecilic. You’ll be off to bed, then — sleep this absurdity off.

“Of course, Tom,” you say with a polite smile. “It’d be hard to disagree with the grades I get in that class.” You grab onto your bag to have something to do with your hands, to perhaps signify you’ll be making your exit now.

He seems a bit amused to have to contort himself through the specifics of his meaning. “I was referring to our… rapport.”

“Rapport?”

“We work well together. We communicate efficiently.”

We communicate efficiently? Damn if you couldn’t suddenly make sense of the rumour he’d be applying for the DADA post in the future — that one was definitely true.

“Yes, we do.”

He steps closer. “And I remain far outside your grasp.”

You blink, and there’s a stark, sinking feeling as your eyes drift over the unmarred ivory of his skin, his jaw, his throat, his — no, absolutely not his hands — and you let yourself wonder for the first time if the rumours, albeit exaggerated, have even a shred of truth to them. One exploit, perhaps, to satisfy his endless curiosity. Something academic, like — oh, God, like the way you’ve been studying him for weeks. His hands carving a path down someone’s body to etch it in his memory, another skill added to his arsenal, a new way to work his fingers without a wand, a new way to work his mouth without a word.

It’s only a moment that you wonder it. Some flash of pictures in your head. It is, nonetheless, a moment far too long, and one you don’t know that you can return from.

Tom looks at you from under his eyelashes with an expression that suggests he's the only one in on a very funny joke, and the air is… different. Thick like the Potions room but in a way that’s entirely unfamiliar, not cloudy with the steam of cauldrons but hazy with the proximity of him, cologne and quill ink and something you can’t catch because you’re trying too hard to breathe it all in at once.

But he steps forward again, and seems to say in the slow way he moves, that if you’ll let him, he'll place a hand on your shoulder, and if you’ll allow that — well — then he'll move that hand up to gently frame your cheek. And then, and you no longer consider yourself at all versed in the realm of Tom Riddle, but you think you know what’ll come next.

You allow all of it. You know very well in advance you’re going to allow all of it.

And still, like it’s a surprise, you shiver at the feeling of his hand on your cheek, at the gleaming, certain look in his eyes. Your gaze flickers to his lips for just a second (a fleeting, tiny second you pray fruitlessly he doesn't notice) but his lips curl into the barest of smiles. Something so like him, small but unrestrained, like it never had any hope of growing bigger, but then — you’ve seen the way he grins at you sometimes when you say something stupid in class — you know he’s capable.

“You know what I'm going to do, I assume," he says quietly. It's not a question, per se — more of a statement, and he keeps his eyes fixed firmly on yours as he says it. He's so close you can feel the warmth of his breath. And then he leans in so slightly it might be imperceptible if you weren’t staring, holding your damn breath. “Are you going to let me?"

“I..." You're humiliated to find you are actually struggling to speak. His lips are so close to yours you can feel the ghost of them, can imagine what they might feel like on you. Your mouth is very dry. “We’re… friends, right?”

His voice only wavers for a moment, even as his lips inch ever closer to yours. His voice is tauntingly low, and there's an intimate sort of smile there, a chastising, humorous gleam to his eyes. “Friends," he breathes, and then his lips do close that short distance, and you feel the barest trace of his mouth against yours — his lips, soft and supple against your skin. A moment's kiss. Gone as quickly as it came. “Should we be friends?”

You gape at him, breathing far too heavily for such a chaste kiss, and you imagine your eyes are blown wide, and you lick your lips for a reminder of his taste but it isn't enough. You don't think before standing on your toes to find his lips again. Of course, Tom is stood impeccably straight, his chin almost pointedly jutted so that he can look down at you, and you actually — it's horribly embarrassing — you groan, or whine, or make some sound of blatant discontent at the fact that your kiss doesn’t reach him.

To his credit, his laugh is a very small one. Had it been the other way around you would have been far less forgiving. “I suppose the answer is no, then?" he says, with the implication that the next move might be yours.

“Tom," you as good as hiss (really very foolish of you to use the word forgiving to describe Tom Riddle), “you're being... you're being mean." And you refuse to make the first effort again, even though you probably appear to be a train wreck, your chest is heaving, and you... you want him.

“Am I?" he asks, and he tilts his head to the other side, almost as if to get a better look at you. “How so?" You think he's enjoying himself far too much. But he remains where he is: close enough for you to reach him if you would just yank him toward you and be done with it, and far enough away that you can't take that step without giving him the win.

You stare at him for a long moment, and then with teeth gritted so tight you might chip one, turn to walk away. Tom makes some very hollow, annoyed sound at your stubbornness, and thank god you feel him behind you: soft, lulling, not so immovable as you. 

You stop. His fingers brush your hair to the side. His mouth hovers over the skin of your neck. You shudder.

“Tom..." you sigh, half-exasperated, half-sighed, half-surrendered, but he doesn't answer or stop or do so much as acknowledge your mumbling. He only presses forward, until his breath is right by your ear and his lips, soft, gentle, are against the junction of your exposed neck, and you feel his mouth, the gentle pressure of his lips against your skin... so tender, so light that it doesn’t feel at all like something merciful.

It feels singularly, purposefully cruel.

Your third observation (if you can manage the thought) is that Tom is driven by your reactions. Every little mewl, every shudder, every gasp, he wants more of. He wants whatever you're willing to give him, and you suspect it wouldn’t be hard for him to take it all. Every movement of his hands, his mouth, his — oh, oh no — his tongue, abide by whatever you respond to most. He draws in patterns. He stops. Appreciates the speed of your pulse on the curve of your throat for a moment and then tastes it again. It doesn't seem like he particularly cares what he gets out of it. The intrigue for him is having the proximity (he greatly enjoys that you’ve allowed him it) and capacity (that, you think, he’s always had) to make you fall apart.

He's spinning you then, so you're pressed facing the wall, his chest against your back, and the way he whispers against your skin makes you shiver. You dare to think he feels it, his chest heaving against your back, his breath warm and steady by your ear. And as he kisses you you can't help but imagine what might happen if he were just a few inches lower, if he were to sink to his knees, kissing the soft flesh of your chest, and down, and down, and down…

Your eyes flutter closed, and it's clear you like what he's doing by the sound that escapes you — something loud enough for him to stifle your mouth with his palm. Perhaps a little too much. Perhaps you’ll be embarrassed about it later. But right now his tongue is brushing against your skin again, and there’s something very dizzying and hot that starts with his mouth on your neck and works its way down until it's a challenge just to stay standing. You wonder if he can tell just how weak in the knees you are right now, whether that only makes him push forward, and —

And that must be it. He must know, because you think you're trying to say something but you can't form the words, and he has to feel the reverberations with his teeth bracketing little violets on your neck, he must feel the way your legs buckle, how you're held up only by the weight of him behind you.

He must know.

He pushes forward, his fingers bury in your hair, and he pulls your head back slowly — not necessarily to expose you further, but to better see your face. Your eyes lock with his over your shoulder, and there's that hunger there, lips swollen with the print of you... and his voice, when he speaks, is as if he's only barely stopping himself. “Do you want me to stop?"

You shake your head before you think he’s actually finished the question, swallowing the cotton-dry feeling in your throat. No, no — him stopping is the very last thing you want — you feel entirely rational and not at all melodramatic in saying you might just die if he stops. You want more, and he's looking at you like that’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

He bites down gently on your neck, and you gasp as your knees finally go out from under you (you almost think he planned for this with how quickly he catches you), and you wonder if he'll do something you can't bear; if you'll be reduced to a mewling, drooling mess before he's finished with you.

Your fourth observation — which really is the last one you can muster before it starts to melt into something else — is that you make him human in the only way he can understand: panting into him, fingers in his skin, white-hot and damp at the centre of his obsession. The object of his affection. You make him understand something more singular than ambition. 

Want.

And then his spare hand is dipping past your skirts, and you dig your fingers into his wrist — the combination of the hardness pressed against your back, his hands marking a path to forbidden territory, his finger curling into your mouth as his lips continue their assault on your neck — it's too much. It’s deliriously, disastrously not enough. Your vision is starting to blur.

His fingers stop at the curve where your thighs part and you bite gently down on him to quiet the noise that wants to escape you. He hums against your throat, continuing to kiss and lick and bruise you. You're dazedly aware of the cool air on your thighs as your skirts halo your waist, the heat inside, the shudder as his fingers find your core, and carefully begin to circle you. You feel self-consumed, immolated, devoured and spat out again. You feel like you're still falling, and Tom is the only force that keeps you standing.

He draws in slow, expert patterns — and you think, nonsensically, somewhere very distant where you still have sense, that they can’t be expert, he must have read something or observed some — oh. He’s pushing the thin fabric aside until his fingers are pressed directly against your flesh, and he makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat as the evidence of how much you need this soaks his fingers, as they begin to sink in without resistance. Oh. Right. You don’t remember exactly what you were saying. 

You gasp at the feeling of having him inside when they finally curl into you. 

His finger is pulled from your mouth with a small pop, and you can’t even really muster the capacity to be embarrassed by the lewd, wet sound of it. He watches you over your shoulder, at his fingers vanished between your legs, at the drool clinging to the digit he’d quieted you with. He’s smiling into your neck now, proud and grateful all the same.

“Mine,” you think he murmurs, but it’s more something you feel than hear, some vague, hazy consonants pressed to your throat. It would be very like him, so you decide that yes, that’s probably what he said. And there’s something funny about it — the idea of being his — about what it means for him to want you so badly that he says it out loud. It feels a little bit like he’s yours, too.

Tom’s breathing is harsh, the fingers inside you moving as if they have a will of their own. Every muscle in your body constricts and squeezes around them; every cell, every neuron, comes roaring to life; and you’re fucked. You’re so completely fucked. His teeth scrape against you again, wholeheartedly pleased. This is what he wanted to see — the utter loss of you — when you are nothing but sensation, barely aware of your limbs as they slump against him. Tom is it; Tom is the only thing you can think of.

Tom is, inexplicably, upsettingly good at this.

“Look at you," he says softly. And his touch changes; it becomes slower, more deliberate and careful.

You’re trembling hopelessly. The way you coil and collapse under his touch is just further encouragement. He doesn't even bother to speak anymore, only pants, his eyes half-lidded, his lips swollen and slick when they attach to your throat again. Your whole body is on fire, and he's the one setting you alight — there is not a single inch of you that is not alive with the feeling of him, and you can barely breathe through the slow, heavy rush of it. 

You think you cry at the divine curve of his fingers carving inside you, slow and soft and then intense — when you grip his arm for more friction, and one of his hands is coming up to wipe a tear away but the feeling flares in your abdomen and you're only half aware of it, really — you think your eyes have rolled back. You think you've gone somewhere else. 

He keeps you just on the precipice, just shy of losing control, just far enough to leave you craving for more.

“To—Tom," you sob, gasps cleaving his name in two — you're on the brink of something incomprehensible, building inside you to something you can't help but think is about to shatter, your eyes clenching shut as you grip him so hard you're certain your fingers will leave marks. “I'm gonna—"

“I know," he breathes against your neck, hands running a familiar path along your body; he's so very, very proud that he's made you like this. He just barely bites into the spot above your collar, curls his fingers, and then you’re falling — something unfurls inside you and can’t be collected, something hot and depthless that your hands can’t clutch at from where they’re clinging so desperately to him — and you think, coming down from it with trembling, debilitating ecstasy, that he looks very much like he’d be proud to make you like this over and over again.

You're flattened, and that triumph in his eyes — the absolute satisfaction of seeing you this way, of knowing that that he's the one that did it to you — that feeling fills your mind and makes you collapse even more, makes you want to melt and flow into liquid at his feet; to give in, do whatever he says, even if all he says is just be like this for him.

He slowly removes his fingers as you come down, and your eyes are blinking for focus when he turns you around, his thumb coming up to brush over your bottom lip and you sigh at the taste of yourself as he pushes it inside your mouth. His other hand brushes away the damp, stray hairs that have fallen across your face, almost reverently, a silent worship as he takes you in, appreciates everything you just gave him.

He smiles gently at your half-blinking, half-vacant expression, his thumb still in your mouth; he watches you for a long moment in silence. His eyes are heavy-lidded and he's got a small quirk at the corner of his mouth as he pulls his thumb away and swipes it once more over your lip.

You're still not quite sure you can find words. Still not sure they'd form right as your tongue darts over the residue of Tom's finger and you flush impossibly hotter at the feeling of your own arousal on your mouth. Tom fixes your hair behind your ears and it doesn't seem like he's ready to stop taking you in in this state — your hair wild,  lips swollen, throat bruised and dress askew — and he leans in so tenderly it startles you, pressing a faint, almost imperceptible kiss to your forehead.

“Tell Godefrey he’ll be needing a new study partner. I think you’ll find yourself committed elsewhere." And with that he turns on his heel, perfectly composed, and disappears into the darkness of the midnight corridor.

Oh God, you think, and you’re too stunned to even react as you watch him vanish. It takes you a moment before you regain your senses, and you can only just manage to sputter out a breathless, miserable sigh into the air before you.

You are so completely, utterly fucked.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

in an "Emily ends up in hell too somehow" AU, and things have been busy since THAT happened-

but Charlie finds time to looks over one day like "wow i feel like I've only ever seen your wings folded up these days... oh! you haven't been flying much lately! you know you can whenever you want to don't worry about me- i'd LOVE to watch you and Vaggie get some good swoop swoops in!"

Vaggie's like "babe i can just carry you. you can come for the swoop swoops too"

naturally Charlie is just "!!!" excited bc getting wing uppies from her dad is one thing, but the idea of going for a fly with the two angels who are happier down in hell (with HER) than they were up in heaven is just so "!!!!!!!!!!" she cannot WAIT

Emily has the most nervous, guilty smile on while listening to this.

Vaggie notices, asks what's up, and Emily (also bad at lying out right) (also good at not saying things) quietly admits that

she can't fly anymore

(THIS WONT BE SAD LISTEN I SWEAR THIS WILL BE OKAY)

there's a silence so quiet they can all HEAR IT when one of Emily's feathers detaches and falls softly to the hotel floor

Emily goes on: it's not a big deal compared to what else they're all dealing with- (Charlie's horrified face says otherwise) -but every day Emily's been here down in hell her wings have worked less and less and now she can't even glide with them- which is fine! most people in hell get on fine without wings, right? It's, one of the big differences between here and heaven, and- well Vaggie was fine without flying for years, so really-

-but it's not fine to Charlie it's not fine it's not fine- she's not fine with this, she's not OKAY with the idea that being in hell has to HURT every angel in her life somehow- she's not okay with being so busy Emily didn't even feel like she could even MENTION THIS-

Vaggie is grabbing their hands and reminding them both to breathe okay? Hold on, slow down, let's check what we're up against here before we all go rushing into any guilt or blame or whatever

(vaggie is already happy to blame heaven for whatever this is and maybe scream up at that damn distant light from rooftop until she blows her voice out, but she can't do that while Emily's smile is still frozen determinedly in place and Charlie is shaking like a leaf, so-)

So it's let's all sit down and, brushing Emily's hair over her shoulder while Charlie clings to her hands and, it's Vaggie quietly asking her fellow angel is she can unfold her wings

the stiff, ginger way Emily slowly spreads all six of them giving lie to that brightly brittle smile

the words that slip out now, as Vaggie's hands gently run through dulled feathers and the bases of Charlie's horns press into feathery bangs as Charlie leans in and Emily slumps, wings limp in Vaggie's steadying hold

(the difference between wings just being gone, taken- and coming back- but always working and whole while Vaggie had them, and this, this gradual failure like a wind dying down, a light fading out, the wrongness of wings that felt heavy and air that passed over them like nothing, not catching and holding or lifting but just feeling hollow, an emptiness pressing her down- trapping her- only she didn't feel trapped she didn't she didn't this was the right choice to make and she made it-)

(Sera up in heaven, hesitating hesitating, all hosts of heaven's divine armies and powers at her command and her little sister down in hell, playing hostage with herself for the lives of sinners-)

(it was all Emily could do and she was GLAD to do it, but)

(maybe creation thinks she wrong for it- fine, let her be wrong like Vaggie was wrong like Charlie could NEVER be wrong- maybe there's a price and a pence for a seraphim who strays too far from heaven's light- even Lucifer hadn't LEFT. even Lucifer had just been caged...)

the black marks on Charlie's cheeks look like tear tracks as she listens, and Emily can't look at them as she wipes them all away. she can't look and still keep smiling

Behind them, Vaggie sighs.

"Emily."

and it's a stiffening in the shoulders at hearing her own name because Vaggie is pragmatic and practical and a realist and she wants things to work as best they can so she faces the flaws in them head on- hopeful words and songs dredged up only when Charlie and now also Emily needs them- but even then she doesn't pretend hell is all rainbows or heaven is full of mercy, and whatever she says next Emily maybe doesn't want to hear and maybe has been holding her breath for without knowing it, desperate to at least know and breathe out-

"Your wings," Vaggie says, running a hand over the tip of one "Do you know how to preen them?"

Emily blinks.

(she has a lot of eyes to blink with, so it takes moment)

"...preen... them?"

she says the word like she's never used it before- and she HAS, actually, just not- never in a sentence about wings, specifically

Vaggie tugs gently at one wing, tickles the back of Emily's neck with pulled free feather- one of the long ones- as Emily turns to stare at her and Charlie leans in further to crane around goggle at those six seraphim wings

"Preening." Vaggie has a small smile on, a little dry, mostly soft. "It's not really a thing up in Heaven, right? We- the Exorcists only did it right after Extermination day, to get ride of the blood and stuff, settle all the feather's that flying round in Hell had ruffled."

"ONCE a year?" Charlie, sounding a little stuffy, but mostly now just shocked. "We clean yours twice a DAY or else you start getting twitchy about it! Dad spends half of every EVENING fixing his!"

Emily sitting up between them, heart thumping- "Wing cleaning? I didn't, is that normal?"

"Down here it is." A shrug, Vaggie's own wings spilling down her back in example. "Hell doesn't play nice with an angel's wings."

"So- so mine, are they-"

"They're fine. A mess sure- but yeah, they're fine."

There's so many feathers on the floor just from Vaggie's light and tender touches of inspection and Emily still can't get the lump out of her throat-

Emily letting go of Charlie to pick up one of those lost feathers, and NOW her hand is shaking.

"Are you sure? They, it's like they're falling apart..."

"Molting!" Charlie scoops up some feathers too, hugs them to her chest and flops over backwards, bonelessly. "You're just molting... unholy FUCK."

Charlie pressing the feathers to her face to muffle something that might be a scream or a laugh.

Vaggie patting her hell princess girlfriend's lashing tail- "I freaked out about molting the first time too, remember babe?" - "I THOUGHT THAT WAS BECAUSE OF ONLY JUST HAVING GOTTEN THE WINGS BACK AND TRIGGERED TRAUMA AND- UGGHGHGHGHG!" - Vaggie chuckling, smiling as Emily runs a finger tip over the frayed edges of her own lost feather, scooting in and draping herself and her own wings over the other angel as the shakes get bigger, as Emily finally lets out a slow, shivering breath

a small whisper, into the side of Vaggie's hair, bending under the weight and snugged in Vaggie's arms circling secure around her waist "I'll be able to fly again? Once this, the molting is over?"

"You'll fly," a squeeze and the first tears squeezing out in answer, "We're gonna have to start preening all of them too-"

"Which we WILL have time for!"

Charlie swinging upright, eyes blazing, arms scooping both angels close.

"I don't care if the damn hotel catches on fire AGAIN- wing care first, catch up on everything else LATER!"

it's around now Emily tries to giggle and maybe lets out a sob instead. Charlie kisses her damn bangs, Vaggie nuzzles her wet cheek

"We'll imp some of my flight feathers to yours for now, okay? Get you in the air again tonight, get the wind in your feathers, at least just a little. You'll feel better after a bit of swoop swoop time."

"I- Imping...?"

"Pull off mine, stick 'em on you."

"Wha- but what about- you?"

"I'm due for a molt anyway, don't worry. A few days more without flying is nothing after three years-"

"Vaggie."

(Charlie, chiming in lovingly and KNOWINGLY)

(Vagige's eye roll and full bodied sighhhhh making Emily giggle for real this time) "Fiiiiinee sweetie, I meant that I'll be happier seeing her in the air again, more than I would being up there myself right now. Happy?"

(Charlie smug, Charlie melting, Charlie smooching Vaggie's bangs too) "Very. VERY happy~"

"Me too."

(Emily grinning to herself inside her snuggle chaggie sandwich of hugs) "You two sure know how to make Hell a happy place, don't you?"

"Charlie has a whole song about it." Vaggie points out, and it's all three of them shaking together, laughing, after all the dramatic and permanent pains they've faced- here's ONE that turns out to be simple, something fixed with a slight change in schedule plus a few freely given feathers

and isn't that nice, for a change

[leonenjoyer69]

And with a crack, the ticking stops

Haiiii hai hai :33 psychotic break Elias, based off that one Hyde panel (under the cut) bc I've been exploring expressions a lot lately and someone brought it up on my server :3

And ig new AU/opportunity to be mean to him, bc other ideas that came from this? Elias is mentally linked to his mindscape pocket watch. The ticking fluctuates based on his mood/mental state, getting quicker and louder when he's panicked or in danger, and when it breaks, so does he :33

Mind Jekyll broke it in his usual attempts at breaking Elias down, but he didn't expect Elias to actually snap. He fluctuates between frantic, panicked dread and complete apathy, and also finds it much harder to cry now, as Robert's repression kinda rushes in.

Elias can fix it of course, but even when it's mended, there's still this lingering wrongness, like something's missing. He has short moments of apathy when in control, where he grows distant, kinda staring off, but can mostly feel again. He also grows very defensive and attached to his real pocket watch, and is 10x worse with his mindscape one.

I have a lot more on this, but I feel kinda bad yapping under the art more, so ig if anyone wants to know more, just send an ask :3 there's,,, a lot lmao.

Anyways! Other shots and the tgs panel under the cut!

Yes, it did start out as just a head shot, as honestly all my best full body drawings do 💀

Also the base colored one doesn't have the exclusion layer, so it isn't washed out :3 also close up on the expression bc it's so silly

Also I love pen so so much guys pen is so amazing I love it :3

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Aita for splitting on my boyfriend?

I've been dating my boyfriend C for 2 years now. And this past month has been ROUGH. It started with him working extra late shifts for almost 2 weeks, the first week wasn't bad he was tired and I understood but quickly he became distant. And he never wanted to tell me when he was working. And suddenly it seemed like the 8 hours 12 to 8 or 2 to 11 pm shifts turned into 9 am shifts with the lack of contact from him. I'd tell him I'm worried about him, ask if he's okay, if I upset him and that's why he seeks to avoid me before and after work and he'd brush me off and say "I'm fine babe, I'm avoiding you, I'm sorry I made you feel that way" and he'd stop and be attentive to me for a few hours. And then the 2nd week came and it got worse and he became even less active and I'd ask him what's up, and tell him that my feelings were starting to get hurt more because now it feels like he's just avoiding me, same thing would be said "I'm sorry babe, I didn't mean to make you feel that way" and then he'd turn around and lag on me for hours. This was a pattern for the rest of week two and each day I told him how I felt, it seemed like he ignored me harder. And for context I have bpd, and it gets triggered when I feel ignored and shut out. And I had been managing it for those 2 weeks but all those feelings built up and Friday night, it popped. He did the same thing to me. From 9 am that day to 8 pm, he only texted me 4 times. And then I just snapped at him. I told him I felt ignored and shut out, and I needed space so I removed him from my socials online. I told him that I felt like he was doing this to me on purpose and I expected different from him but that was done bc no matter how much I told him I was hurt, it seemed like it drove him to ignore me more. Lo and behold after this splitting episode, he ignored me more. This time I didn't blame him. So I texted him again and told him I didn't want to break up but I still stood by what I said I loved him and wanted to work things out in a few days. Got ignored again, I texted him 2 days later asking to meet. Ignored again, I texted him the next day asking to meet again that same day, ignored again.

Sunday rolls around and I text him that I'm worried about him and asked if he could at least text me if he's okay. And he said he's fine and just didn't want to talk to me at the moment, I understood, I fucked up, so I apologized to him and told him I loved and then he told me he "had work". this isn't true before he ignored me he told me he ONLY had 1 day off which was that Sunday, they can't force him to work 7 days straight. But I didn't call him out in it and just wished him a good day. Ignored again

The Monday after I had gotten a package in the mail for him, before all of this I bought him somebody and skin and hair care stuff. I went through the stuff to make sure everything was right. I wrote up and good and proper apology to him and explained why I snapped and again, told him how sorry I was and that I loved him, and pasted it into Google notes and I shared it with him. Then I had my mother drop it off to him. I texted him once again to tell him that the stuff was waiting outside for him and that I loved him and to at least bare minimum communication-wise to let me know if he at least got the package and it was safe. But once again, I got ignored hard.

It's been 9 days since the splitting episode and I've tried to apologize many times and I've given him space after the Google note thing but he's still ignoring me hard. So I'm wondering, am I really that much of an asshole to deserve this treatment?

What are these acronyms?

[moe-broey]

MEANWHILE. In another realm. I've revisited Alear's FB's

I FEEL LIKE. Alfonse's problem isn't so much that he's emotionally guarded, despite, you know, being extremely emotionally guarded. It's that He Isn't. Like. At the same time.

Consistently, without fail, Alfonse puts himself in situations where he's amicable and helpful. Their C support consists of Alfonse helping Alear see to her own odds and ends, having been brought to Askr with nothing but the clothes on her back. A common situation! He gets her a ring case to put all her rings in. So here, he's helping. And when Alear shows him the rings, and tells him the lore/significance of the rings, he takes an interest -- because of course he would! That sort of thing is right up his alley. And so he's not only amicable enough to be approachable, he's also showing interest in the things she's interested in, and having a spirited conversation about it.

Their B support consists of more of the same, just getting into the details of how Emblems work. HE DOESN'T REALIZE IT YET. But he's bonding with Alear. This goofy ass motherfucker doesn't realize this is literally how friendships are formed. Like I'm convinced he's thinking they're just talking lore and stuff and it's a casual conversation between casual allies and surely nothing emotionally charged will come out of this. He's just being friendly (without NECESSARILY becoming Friends) and there's nothing more to it, there Will be nothing more to it.

A support.

She voices A Problem. TWO things about Alfonse. 1) He was built in a lab to be a fixer (juries still out on his methods/solutions) and 2) He takes things SO personally when he relates to it. PVP enabled he's going to fucking get your ass about it. He is sooooooooo emotionally distant Up Until you fucking provoke him (AND THIS. ISN'T EVEN ENTIRELY TRUE. BC WHAT HE DOESN'T REALIZE IS GENUINELY BONDING OVER SHARED INTERESTS COUNTS TOWARDS BECOMING INVESTED IN THAT PERSON which is HOW he ended up in The Situation in the FIRST PLACE).

Which leads to him "helping" (POORLY.) (Because in all of this he IS still wired to help people)

Which just pisses him off even MORE, believing he has the Correct and Inevitable perspective and desperately wants to get Alear to see it the same way, doubling down.

(Bro I am going to hit image limit again before even making my point..... AUGH)

Alear's next lines, "That's true, but won't keeping my distance mean I appreciate them less while I have them?" / "Is that how you see your relationships with Heroes? With me?" / "No matter how much time we spend together, you'll always keep me at arm's length for when I have to go?"

Here, I think Alear is expressing to him she already sees him as her friend. I don't think Alfonse picks up on it though, trying again to get her to see his side of the issue -- as if, in his mind, they're just debating and not having an emotional conversation.

Alfonse's next lines: "Consider it from my perspective. If I am too attached to you, and you leave, I could lose my will to fight." (ALFONSE. ALFONSE. COME ON MAN.) (LIKE. Idk man if you're saying shit like that I think it's too late. It's so over for you.)

THIS ONE THOUGH. I THINK. PLEASE staywith me but it is the root of it all

Euden's (named Milo here lmfao Milo jumpscare) next line: "Do you not feel the same way about us?"

Alfonse's lines: "My apologies, but no. The forming of friendships is a thing I don't take lightly." / "It's true that I rely on the assistance of Heroes summoned from different worlds when fighting, but that is wholly different."

Alfonse lines (continued): "I have a duty, and can't afford such hurt. So if I grow close to someone, I do so accepting the potential consequences."

AAAAUGHHHH WHAT IS MY THESIS. WHAT THE FUCK AM I TALKING ABOUT. I HAVE MORE CONNECTIONS TO MAKE. AND FOR WHAT‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

SOMEHOW. His Book 1 (p sure they're from Book 1) lines to Kiran that go, "I suppose we don't know much about your world. And how rude of us to not ask until now!" / "What? Your world has buildings that scrape the sky? And what do you mean by 'cars'?" / "Like wagons... that run without horses... and are made out of metal? Fascinating." <- THESE LINES. Combined with his smiling sprite. TO ME are a direct parallel to his C and B Alear conversations, HOW, he's taking an interest in Kiran and without realizing he's growing a fondness for them.

Something SOMETHING about his cognitive dissonance about how he can be friendly without "being friends", how he's afraid of caring too much when it's clear he already cares at least a little ESPECIALLY SHOWN. In how, Alfonse doesn't realize he could have hurt Alear's feelings until she directly states it: "I understand. Still... it makes me sad."

ONLY THEN he gets his panicked(?) sprite, replying, "I apologize for upsetting you." It's here I think he finally realizes, OH. THIS IS. An emotional conversation and not like a debate of ideals and I feel bad for hurting you. BECAUSE!!!!!!!! HE'S COME TO CARE ABOUT ALEAR!!!!!!!!! IN ALL OF THIS!!!!!!!!! Whether he's fully aware of it or not, whether he LIKES it or not, he cares about her feelings and wants to make it right. Into, expressing (again that PVP "Well I took that personally" reaction he has): "I suppose it's just that, when you talk about the Emblems, how you worry, I feel as if I'm hearing my own voice."

Which S support, sets up for a resolution and mutual understanding peace and love all is well with the world 👍

ALSO the parallel to Euden, since this is the very start of what would be analogous to support conversations (side story content unlocked by powering up the character), Euden takes Alfonse's response to him in stride -- since, there's no real emotional stakes. Aside from, Euden wishing they could be friends (since he's just built like that), but ultimately giving Alfonse space and respecting his feelings about it. The Point: While they've been working together, Alfonse hasn't Quite developed that fondness yet I don't think (esp from what I remember from the main plot of the crossover event, which is next to nothing LMFAO). It develops later!!!!!!

If I hadn't hit image limit I would insert the What the FUCK are you two talking about meme here like. What the fuck AM I talking about. Can someone else make this post actually I don't think I'm qualified 😭😭😭😭😭😭

MAIN POINT.

I look at Alfonse and I go I think I hauve covid.

[youaintnothinbuta]

hello i am back ! thank you sm for your last post, i really enjoyed it!! anyways i have fallen down the jd rabbit hole. could i request a jd x reader where reader is very affectionate but jd is hesitant bc of veronica (he saw her suicide but moved before he knew it was fake and feels super guilty) then reader starts to get a little more distant because of the lack of reciprocation on jd's end. anyways this is gonna go on for too long, could u make it end with reader finding out what happened and reader comforts jd, and he just suddenly melts from the affection. (IM CRYING THIS DOES NOT MAKE SENSE I'M SORRY )

Summary: ^^

Pairing: Jd x reader

Warnings: mention of suicide, pretty much all warnings that come with anything heathers related. also probably typos and grammatical errors cos I’m tired

Word count: 774

Request something here !

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Relief washed over you when you heard the familiar creak of your window opening. Looking up, you found your boyfriend, Jd, gracefully climbing into your room, a mischievous glint in his eyes as always. He got comfy beside you in your bed, snuggling up as he pulled your diary towards him, trying to peek.

“No.” You snapped it closed and popped it on your bedside table, telling him off.

“You’re really never gonna let me read that thing?”

“Maybe one day, when we’re 40 and I randomly find it after having forgotten about it for years.” You replied.

Jd laughed with a little shake of his head.

The evening went by much per normal, him climbing back out your window to head back to his own home, “I’ll see you at school,” he says as you shut your window behind him.

You let your body sit heavily on your bed, sighing. He had never been the most affectionate, you figured that was just the way he was. But lately he’s been even less affectionate. He’ll still let you be touchy with him, cuddling him and kissing on him but everything on his end has pretty much dissipated. Not even an arm around you as you walk together anymore. It felt like this big wedge was being driven through the middle of your relationship, and he -for some reason- wasn’t noticing it.

Another week or so passed, and the distance between you two had grew exponentially. You couldn’t entirely blame him, for you somewhat adopted this mindset of ‘if he wants to be distant, fine, I can be distant too.’

But it had gone on for too long now, and had gotten worse than you ever thought it could. You barely even talked at school, you just sort of sat together in this weird unresolved silence.

You had had enough. One evening you got yourself out of bed and marched yourself over to Jd’s house, not planning on leaving until you figured out what his deal was.

“Jd, I can’t do this anymore.” You wasted no time, immediately speaking as you crawled though his window, startling him.

“Y/N—”

“What are we doing?” You stood in front of him, arms crossed.

“What?”

“What are we doing? You and I. What is happening?”

His confusion was evident, his voice a mix of curiosity and bewilderment, “What are you talking about?”

“Jd, don’t be a dick. You're distant. We barely talk. You haven’t even held my hand in a month. I feel like I've lost you. Have I done something wrong?”

Jd's sigh carried a weight, his figure rising from the bed. “Y/N, I…” he hesitated, the words escaping him reluctantly, “My ex— she hung her herself in front of me. It haunts me. I just feel guilty and I'm terrified that I might drive you to the same point.”

The room fell into a stunned silence, your mind grappling with the enormity of his confession. Your mouth opened to speak, only managing to stutter incoherently. Before he could continue, you closed the gap between you, enfolding him in a heartfelt embrace. Silence enveloped the room, broken only by the sound of your steady breaths. “I had no idea,” you whispered softly, your voice carrying a mixture of sympathy and understanding “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Jd choked out, unsure exactly of what the emotions his brain was trying to process were. You shook your head against him slightly, still holding him in a hug, “I can’t imagine how heavy that must feel.”

Jd winced, beginning to cry into your shoulder, tears starting to flow without reservation. That was the first time anyone has ever acknowledged how much pain he has experienced, ever. Your touch was a silent reassurance to him that he could let his guard down.

Amidst his quiet sobs, you murmured calmingly to him, “Shh, it's alright, Jd. You're not alone anymore. I'm here for you.” Your voice was a steady presence, comfort in a way he’d received from no one except his mom when he was a kid.

As his tears subsided, you held him a little tighter, your fingers tracing soothing circles on his back. “You don't have to be afraid with me,” you whispered, your words carrying the weight of your sincerity. “I'm not your ex, Jd. I just want to see you happy.”

His grip on you tightened, his vulnerability a testament to the trust he was beginning to place in you. He gave you a watery smile. “Thank you,” he managed to whisper, his voice raw, “you wanna just stay here tonight?” He asked. You nodded, getting comfortable in his bed.

A/N: LMFAO I’m so sorry this is SHIT but I had already left it sitting in my inbox so long and I didn’t wanna keep u waiting any longer. I kinda gave up with the end so sorry I hope it’s okay I tried to stick as closely as I could to the request 😭🫶🏼

[imyourbratzdoll]

Hi can you write Chris angst with happy ending, where the reader is younger than him and not from the US, Chris and reader have a fight and he says something he didn't mean, bc the reader didn't have anyone to go to so she went to chris' mom's house and tell her about the fight. Thank youu!

hello! I hope you enjoy this, this was probably the longest thing I've written as well, haha. thank you for sending it in!

warning - angst, happy ending.

the gif I use isn't mine, dividers by @newlips and @firefly-graphics

While Chris is away at work, I usually stay at his house, which he says is mine. I make sure it’s spotless before he comes home. I look after Dodger and take him for walks. When I know Chris will be home, there’s always a hot plate of food ready for him and a nice cold beer. I have to admit. It was hard to get acquainted in a country I didn’t know that well. I was thankful for Lisa as she helped a lot. 

The hardest thing about dating a well-known actor was the fans once they found out I was much younger than Chris. It was on, they’d try and make my life a living hell, and they made sure it was known I wasn’t deserving of a man like Chris Evans. But to them, no woman was unless it was themselves.

Chris has been distant lately. We used to talk all the time while he worked. Facetime, calls, texts. You name it, and we did it. But recently, he’s stopped. I receive one-word answers now and no good morning or goodnight texts, no I love you’s during the day. Just nothing…

Today, I cleaned the whole house, took Dodger to his usual dog park, fed him and made dinner. Making myself look presentable for Chris. The front door slams open as I finally sit down and start a movie while cuddling Dodger. An irritated Chris storms through, and he places his things down before turning towards me. A sneer appears on his face.

“So this is what you do all day? Just sit on your ass and watch tv?” Ignoring what I’m about to say, he stalks over to the kitchen and swings open the fridge door, grabbing a beer before popping the cap off and gulping most of it down. I slowly get up, feeling my chest tighten at his words. No hug, no gentle greeting. Just bitterness, like black coffee without the milk and sugar.

I give Dodger a small pat before heading into the kitchen, where Chris is drinking a second beer, leaning against the counter and glaring at the hot food on the stove. I nervously pick at my nails, carefully walking towards Chris and placing a soft hand on his arm. My mouth opens as I’m about to speak, but Chris’s head snaps toward me, and the harsh glare on his face causes me to flinch back.

“Can’t you just fuck off already?! You’re always fucking here! Always fucking texting and calling me! You’re so fucking clingy. You called me during work and interrupted a scene! You sit around here all day and do fucking nothing! I do all the fucking work, and I can’t even come home and get a fucking break!”

“I–I…” I try to blink away, the tears forming. Chris backs me into the table as his harsh words pierce through me. Spit flying from how angry he is.

“You– you what?! Huh?! GET OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!” I can’t even feel my heart breaking as I take off. I don’t see Dodger running into the room and practically tackling his dad whilst barking. Everything is a blur, and I quickly run out of the house, not even daring to take a car, as that’ll just add to Chris’s hatred. 

I’ve been running for a while, not knowing where I’d end up as I didn’t have anyone. My feet managed to take me to Lisa’s house, and I anxiously waited at the front door after knocking, thinking that maybe coming here wouldn’t be a good idea. I mean… What if she hates me too? What if I’m just a burden and I should just leave and never turn back, but before I can turn and try and find my way, the door opens.

“Y/n?” Lisa’s eyes widen at the sight of me before quickly ushering me in. I didn’t even notice I was crying or that my feet were bleeding, “oh dear, what happened?” I’m so spaced out that I don’t notice her leading me over to the couch and sitting me down. As Lisa returns with hot chocolate, a blanket is wrapped around my shivering form. Once she sets it down, she looks me over and takes my hand. 

My mouth opens and closes for a while as I try to find the words. “I– uh, Chris… He came home….” I slowly take a sip of the drink in my hand, even though my stomach is in knots, and I feel like I’ll throw up at any minute. Lisa patiently waits for me to continue, knowing I need some time for my head to wrap around all of it. “He’s been distant lately and– and he came home, said something about how I do nothing all day, and then, he disappeared to the kitchen. Already two beers in when I reached him….” I break out into a sob. Lisa’s hand connects with my back and gives it a rub. 

“He– he, uh, said a lot of things… Mean things, and he told me to get out, so I ran, and this is where I ended up. I’m so sorry, Lisa. I’m bothering you.” I go to stand, but she quickly pushes me down before giving me a motherly hug. 

“You’re never a bother, dear. My son shouldn’t have said or reacted like this, and I’m sorry for how he’s treated you. Now come on, let’s run you a bath and then you can sleep in the guest bedroom.” She stands, holding her hand out, and once I grab it, she leads me to the guest room before she heads into the bathroom, running the bath for me. Once she thinks it’s perfect, she comes out and informs me, and I head in. I strip down and hand her my clothes before relaxing in the tub.

As I sit there, the day catches up to me. A tear falls, and then another, until a full sob leaves my lips. I place my head into my hands at the feeling of heartbreak. My hand runs down my face. The stress of it all is visible on my face. I’m broken out of my daze when there’s a knock on the door, “I’ve placed a clean pair of clothes on the bed. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask, dear.” I mutter a thank you, deciding to get out and sleep the pain away.

I dried off and changed into the clean clothes put out for me before crawling under the covers, regretting sleep as my night was filled with nightmares. Waking up every two hours, sweat covering my forehead as a new nightmare has appeared. Soon the sun rose, and so did I, even more exhausted than I was before, slowly rising from the bed and pushing the covers off of me. I leave the room and head down to where Lisa is.

I stand in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I wish her a good morning. She spins, and her eyes widen at my state before she rushes over, “oh dear.” Her arms wrap tightly around me, I want to cry, but it feels like there’s nothing left. “Come, sit. I’ve made breakfast.” For a while, we talk and get things done around the house. It’s around the afternoon when we hear a knock on the door. Lisa lays a hand on my knee, excusing herself before going toward the front door.

My heart starts to race as I hear his voice. He seems to be pleading with his mother. I slowly stand before making my way over there, placing a gentle hand on Lisa’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Lisa, thank you.” She looks at me, and I nod, turning toward Chris as she leaves. His appearance is horrible, bags under his eyes, his eyes are bloodshot and puffy, and tears are rolling down his face. 

“What do you want?” My arms cross, knowing I look just as horrible as him. His heart breaks even more at the sight. He goes to reach out, but I flinch away, and Chris feels his world shatter. 

“I– I made a mistake. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t in the right, and I took it out on you, baby. I’m so so sorry. Please forgive me.” At this point, big fat tears were leaving his pretty blue eyes. He continues to plead, beg, anything and everything, but my heart hurts too much to forgive him.

“I, uhm… think we should take a break for a while. It hurts too much to forgive you right now….” I bite my lip hard, trying not to break out into tears. “I’ll come to pick my things up later….” Chris’s mouth drops open as he begs for this not to happen, but my mind has been made up. The distance was one thing that went on for months, but the fight that’s what pushed this.

Chris watches as Y/n packs all of her things, both hearts breaking. Chris regretted everything the minute the words left his mouth, hell, even when he was distancing himself. Dodger hasn’t come close to him since then, but the moment the dog saw you, he was all over you, licking you and giving you attention. He hasn’t left your side since. Chris felt his world slipping through his fingers.

God, he wished that he had talked to you. He wished he talked about how stressed he was instead of distancing himself, and he wished that he didn’t let his co-workers or fans get to his head about how you were much younger than him, that you were taking him for granted. That one day, you’d look at him and realise you could do so much better, god. Chris wished he could go back and slap himself for being so stupid.

Once you got everything, you started to head out the door. You were saying a long goodbye to Dodger before you stood and looked at Chris. You get on your tippy toes and place a gentle kiss on his cheek, pulling back and looking into his eyes. “I will always love you, and I’m sorry it had to end this way.”

A tear fell from the pair's eyes as one lover walked away from the other, not knowing they wouldn’t meet again for another couple of months.

During the time they were apart, Chris retired and decided to give therapy a try. Every day, he regrets it, choosing to spend time with family, not once looking for a relationship because he felt a piece of him was missing. Right now, Chris was at the store picking up some food. His relationship with Dodger took some time to heal. 

Y/n, well. She decided to go back home for a while, needing to be around her family as she was so heartbroken. Just recently, she moved back to Boston because even though being with her family was lovely, she felt as though Boston was her home, but she still was missing a piece of her. Right now, she’s at the store because her fridge is empty.

The two soulmates didn’t realise they’d meet again.

Y/n goes to reach for a tub of ice cream, and at the same time, so does Chris. Their hands touch and they quickly jerk them away.

“Sorry”

“No– no, I’m sorry.”

Brows furrowed as the voice sounded familiar. They turned to look at each other, and that feeling of emptiness was suddenly filled when their eyes locked. Chris’s face goes red as he gestures to the ice cream, and Y/n grabs it whilst also grabbing another and carefully handing it to him.

They stand awkwardly for a moment, both trying to figure out the right thing to say.

“So… How’ve you been?” Y/n decides to start it off simple, feeling her heart hurt from how much she’s missed him, not the him she unfortunately saw but the one she fell in love with.

“Yeah, good, good. I– uh, retired and started therapy. How have you been?” Chris rubs the back of his neck as Y/n’s eyes widen. 

“You retired?” He nods, explaining that he thinks it was time and that he’s been spending more time with his family. “I’ve– uhm. I’ve been good. I decided to move back, as you can see.” They and everyone else can feel the awkward tension, the ex-couple not knowing how to react. 

Chris clears his throat before gesturing, “well– it was good seeing you, I should.” Y/n nods, agreeing. They start to separate ways for the second time, and god, is it heartbreaking for the two. At the same time, they turn and face one another before their items are dropped, and they move toward each other, Chris opening his arms and scooping her up as their lips meet.

It looks like something out of a movie to outsiders but to these two. It was like the piece that was missing was finally found.

They pull back for air, and their eyes are full of tears. “I’m so sorry. I’m such a fucking idiot. I never stopped loving you, and I should’ve talked to you instead of being an ass.” Y/n wipes the tear that falls from his eyes. Leaning forward, she places another kiss against his lips.

“I forgave you a long time ago, bubs, and I did say I will always love you.” We stare into each other’s eyes for a while until we both break out into laughter. 

“We’ve become one of those cheesy romance movies, haven’t we?”

“Yeah, yeah, we have.”

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[suxkami]

YEARNING FOR COMFORT , ,

ft . freminet + gn reader

genre : mostly angst + a sprinkle of comfort

summary : you and freminet were supposed to have a friendly hang out session today , but something seems off about him . . .

administration note : hi there ! I know it's been a while since i've posted on here but I'm back ! this is just a silly freminet oneshot i decided to do for him bc he's one of my favorite characters so far in fontaine so enjoy ! :] (im praying this doesn't flop so please enjoy)

warnings : not proofread + emo freminet /j ?! + slight trauma dump from freminet (but comfort from reader in the end <3) + sibling crumbs for you lot + quite short

word count : 1.0K

written by pio on the 9th of september 2023 , !! DO NOT COPY OR STEAL !!

. . .

today, you felt like it would be a great day to go out with your friend freminet, you had felt like you two hadn't hung out for a while since last monday, so why not try talking to him?

although yes, it was common for him to be an introvert most of the time and you knew that pretty much from the beginning when you two first met. it wasn't like him to be distant from people for longer than 3 days, not a whole week.

you couldn't help but feel as if something was wrong. . .

you asked lyney when you saw him out in public,

"ah! , yes of course I have! but uh. . . lately he's been seeming a little off. . . like as if he's not himself "

well at least now you knew he wasn't dead.

you decided to ask lynette about freminet as well,

"yes, but freminet has been avoiding occasions such as eating, me and lyney's shows, and also sleeping." she said,

huh? he's been. . . skipping meals and sleep? did you hear that right?

now you really needed to see him and have a proper talk.

a few hours later, you arrived at the house of the three siblings. you knew that the two of the three were out hosting a show at the Debord hotel, so it just had to be freminet in the house. besides, you knew he wasn't a fan of being outside that much. so he had to be in here.

you knocked on the door, to which at first, the doorknob didn't twist. but when you called out, the door opened after a while of silence.

there stood freminet at the door, you could only see him a little because he was hiding his face behind the door. "Y/N. . .?" he whispered. "freminet. . ." you said his full name which meant you were serious with a hint of sadness in your eyes when you saw him, a frown found it's way on your face.

he looked so pale, the dark circles under his eyes, and his slow. . . very slow figure that was barely holding onto the door. "what- what happened. .?" you whispered, but soon freminet would cut you off. "uh, please. . . please don't tell my siblings about my state. . ." he said. "how long have you been like this fremi. . .?" you asked, "can i come in?" you asked, that last question took him a while to answer before opening the door enough to fit you inside. to which he quickly shut the door.

he gestured for you to follow him into his bedroom upstairs, but you quickly interrupted him. "aren't you hungry?" you asked him, that made freminet's stomach growl quite loudly. indicating that yes. . . he was in fact hungry, "i uh-" "no, you're eating. now." you protested, almost talking to him in a mother like tone.

. . .

it was quiet between you two while you made freminet something to eat, as he sat there waiting at the dining room table with his legs propped up straight and his arms off the table like you two were in the setting of a strict family household at dinner time. the sound of the kettle boiling, the stove being used, and the sink being used to wash some vegetables. you broke the silence when you noticed him at the table, and the sound of your voice nearly made him jumped from how silent it was before.

"you know, you don't have to be so formal just for a meal when around me." you said, it seemed to make freminet's tense figure relax a little. "I don't want you feeling like you're back in the house of hearth again. . ." you sighed, continuing to chop up the vegetables you were prepping after you washed them. but then. . . you heard the sound of. . . sniffling? or maybe it was sobbing?

you snapped your head to look back at freminet who was crying a little, it actually shocked you a bit. this was the first time you've seen him cry in years. but it pained your heart a little, you quickly walked over to him and pulled a chair from the table and sat next to him. rubbing his back soothingly and shushing him, "hey, hey. . . it's alright, im here." you said. comforting him throughout his sibs, "why're you crying?" you asked. freminet quickly wiped his tears and acted strong as he didn't even realize he was crying in front of you. "father says that people who cry are like broken toys. . ." he said, "Y/N. . . am i, broken to you?" he asked you. your heart only softened at this question, "you're not broken to me or anybody else, don't think that." you said, " i think. . . lyney and lynette are broken too. . . like me." he said.

thats when you turned his head to face you, "freminet, look at me." you said. "to me, you're strong, brave, and so amazing when it comes to being independent!" you said, "you will never be seen as a broken person to be, rather, somebody who can be fixed by somebody." you said. your hands were on freminets shoulders as you looked at him deep in the eyes, your words seemed to have some sort of affect on freminet as he stared at you in awe yet also in a daze. "I- well-" freminet stuttered a little from his crying as he sniffled a bit again, wiping his eyes with his nightshirt long sleeve as he looked at you again. "you think so?" he said, "yes of course!" you said. his face now relaxed a little as he was still forming tears from his eyes whilst looking at you.

"thank you, Y/N." freminet said, "for everything..." he said with a faint smile. "i really needed some comfort from somebody like you.."

"don't mention it, now. wait here while i make your food before your stomach grumbles even louder." you said before walking back into the kitchen, right in time when the twins came back from their performance. . .

[murder-cookie-dust393]

Can we get some more Creme Brulee Cookie content, that cookie's a power house in my team- I was thinking since there were hints about him and Linzer Cookie being in a past relationship, what if y/n Cookie did like CB but didn't pursue him bc of his history with Linzer?

I have requests from late December, how embarrassing. I'm such a bad writer for not feeding you guys for like 3 months-

Old Photos

Tw: murder

You dejectedly sigh as you stare at the ceiling of your room. Thoughts filling your mind: negative ones. You didn't like the thought of Linzer with Crème Brûlée. But who were you to interfere? She was clearly more valuable to him than you ever could be. Even if you were his biggest supporter.

But it still hurt. You wanted to be with him. Cheer him on for his performances; ensure he was well cared for. Sure you could do so as his friend. But you wanted to be much more than friends.

You didn't have the place to interfere. You shouldn't interfere. It's wrong.

Those sentences repeated in your head as you lay on your bed. You wanted sleep to overcome you, but your mind seemed unwilling to let go though. You needed to move on. There was no point in clinging to a future that wasn't even possible.

Until you hear a distant knock, from your front door. You turn your head in the direction of the hallway, before slowly rising from your bed and walking out the door. You glance at the living room clock: 2:43 AM. Who would be knocking on the door at this hour?

You saunter to the door, looking through the glass. Your eyes widen slightly: it's Crème Brûlée. What was he doing here? You open the door, and immediately you're encased in a hug far too tight.

...Was your desperate mind imagining his embrace? Oh, how pathetic you are.

"Crème Brûlée? What are you doing here?" You utter, your voice scratchy from not getting out of bed for the last 3 hours. Why was he holding you so harshly? Did something happen?

"I love you. I swear, I can't believe you looked at my photos from three years ago." He bluntly states, his tone almost seemed as if he was offended. His hair brushes against your cheek as he buries his head into your shoulder.

"What?" You blink. Absolutely frozen. Did your mind just manifest your biggest wish in front of your face?

The door is still open, the cold breeze freezing your body only in sleeping clothes. He speaks once more, now his tone less brash and more soft, "Darling. My darling. Linzer is hardly a thought in my mind now. I've realized you are much better suited for me." His head nuzzles your shoulder, holding you against him.

"Wait. Wait. Does that mean..." You trail off, not having the confidence to even say it. It's impossible. Your life had never gone right when it came to love, so why would it go right at this moment?

"I love you. I've loved you for the last 3 years. Now stop hiding from me." He nudged you over the couch, not giving you a moment before coddling you. He should become a koala at this point.

You wanted to say more. It doesn't matter though. You were too ecstatic to even begin forming words. Finally, your mind calms and you fall asleep: exhaustion taking over. He was warm. Like you imagined him to be.

An hour passes by, before a sudden grin forms on the usually quiet Crème Brûlée. He caresses your head gingerly, loving the feel of you in his grasp.

"Finally, you've come to realize. I should have killed that terrible Linzer earlier, otherwise, we would have been happier earlier. No matter, we can be where we were supposed to be...together." He closes his eyes too as he continues to snuggle you.

You were too blinded by your love to notice why Linzer never was over at his house since three years ago.

——————————————————

Wow! I got this one done in one sitting. I'm so proud of myself. Usually, it takes multiple sittings to do requests. My attention span is non-existent.

- Celina

[minkkumaz]

Ok hi wow I was supposed to ask for some sunoo hcs (as your bf) but like..I have a bnd req now too !! I was wondering if you could write smth for woonhak where he confesses to yn, right? and then yn rejects him bc of some issues she has w herself idk…but dont get me wrong she does like him! so now what is woonhak left to do ? (ofc they still end up together < 33) (like maybe it could be a mini smau..if you could but it could also just be a nice little fic or smth) this is what i was thinking abt when i saw the heartbreak girl fic you were working on 😭 i wonder what woonhak would feel after that rejection yk? how would it affect his seemingly happy and cheery personality ? (also im so sorry if this is long atp im rambling but if youre too busy a few sunoo hcs would be just fine)

REJECT ME SO I CAN MOVE ON

rejecting your best friend woonhak was quite literally one of the most difficult and complicated thing in your life. you loved him, but there were so many personal obstacles in the way.

PAIRING kim woonhak x fem!reader WC 0.7k TAGS adults dni. friends to lovers. slight angst. fluff. reader needs to fix herself but woonhak comes to the resue. readers problems aren't specifically mentioned. OMI NOTE oh my goshness i'm so sorry this request is very long overdue, i've been so busy. i hope this is okay though lovey.

after he told you those special words, confessing his undying love to you and how much he cared, you didn’t know what to say. woonhak was your best friend in the entire solar system. even alien marshians couldn’t have a relationship as close as what the two of you have.

which is why it was even harder to let him down like this. it was impossible for you to give him the love he deserved when you had so much shit going on in your head. the situation made tears sting your eyes, as you had to watch his loving face drop to an unreadable expression.

this was a roadblock in your friendship, because even after you tried to get things to go back to normal, he couldn’t face you quite the same.

you figured it was about time to have a conversation with him about what has been bothering you, but it makes you sick to even think about. because even if you told him, he might not understand.

it made you feel even more selfish when jaehyun had to ask you what happened between you guys, and why woonhak hasn’t come out of his room for some time. how his normally bright and cheery demeanor was suddenly cold and distant.

this made you realize that you had to talk to him about things. to clear it up and make it right. you were sick and tired of letting him believe you weren’t also madly in love with him.

taesan snuck you into their dorms late at night, there was a soft glow from the cracks of woonhak’s door that shown down the hall. you thanked him profusely before making your way to his room and knocking on the door.

“jaehyun leave the food at the door.” he groaned out.

“woon it’s me, y/n. let me in please?” you found yourself almost begging,  hoping he’d open for you.

a short silence was interrupted by the sound of footsteps and the doorknob unlocking. you opened the door and followed in behind him. he looked tired, his eye bags more prominent and hair just slightly messier. if the thought of him ruining himself over your rejection broke your heart, this sight shattered it.

“do you need something? it’s kinda late you usually don’t come over until the day.” he mumbles.

“we need to talk about this. talk about us..” 

“there’s nothing wrong with us y/n, we’re best friends remember?” he tried to reassure you.

“that’s the problem woon, i hate seeing you like this knowing that you have feelings for me and–”

“it’s over y/n, just let it go.” he interrupts, falling backwards into the comfort of his bed. you lay next to him and stare up at the ceiling.

“i hate seeing you know you have feelings for me and i like you too, but there’s so much shit going on in my life that i don’t think you deserve to deal with that.” you exhale, feeling a weight be lifted off of your shoulders. theres a dip in the mattress when woonhak quickly gets up to lean on his arm.

“wait you like me back?”

“i might’ve loved you for longer than you’ve loved me, woon. it killed me to reject you but i knew i had to.”

“y/n.. you know how much i care about you, i’d do anything to help you.” his gaze softened at your eyes visibly starting to tear up.

“it’s so hard woon, i can’t do it by myself but you already have so much on your plate.” you sniff, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

“you mean the most to me y/n. even if we stayed friends, i wouldn’t be able to see you hurting like this and not break my back trying to help you.” you giggled at his comment.

he took his hand to wipe the tears that fell from your face, you whispered a small ‘thank you.’

“let me take you on a date. maybe we can forget about all these hard things together? and even if things get more difficult i’m right here with you.”

“thank you.. i’m sorry i made things so hard for you. you look like shit.” you joke between stuffy nosed laughs.

“don’t forget you made me look like shit, how was i ever supposed to stop loving you?” he pouts.

“trick question, you were never supposed to stop. because i love you too.” 

“i didn’t want to make an effort to try the impossible anyways.” woonhak smiled at you, fixing the hair that clung to the wet patches on your face before kissing your tears away, “let’s feel better together, yeah?”

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