#Regency coffee table

[martinworsterphotography]

Elegant Regency Burr Walnut Coffee Table

Add a touch of timeless elegance to your living room with this Regency Coffee Table in burr walnut. The exquisite grain pattern and classic design make it a standout piece that complements any sophisticated interior. Perfect for those who appreciate fine craftsmanship and antique furniture. Check it out at Canonbury Antiques!

Key Features

Material: Burr walnut with a stunning grain pattern

Design: Classic Regency style with elegant lines

Condition: Excellent

Dimensions: Perfect for a living room centerpiece

Buy Link: https://canonburyantiques.com/p/Regency-Coffee-Table-Burr-Walnut-1734756055/ For more details and to purchase, please visit Canonbury Antiques.

[groundonesix]

Italian Marble Mosaic and Steel Coffee Table

This gorgeous mid-century modern coffee table originated in Italy in the 1970s, and was imported to the UK in the early 2010s. is a stunning piece of furniture that combines durability and elegance in equal measure. The table features sleek, steel chrome legs that provide a sturdy foundation for the piece, while the iron frame to support this amazing marble mosaic tabletop.

Four polished solid steel chrome legs support a black iron frame, atop which sits a marble table top. The table top fits snugly up against the chrome legs creating a pleasingly sturdy surface for any living room centrepiece. 

The tabletop is made from quarry marble offcuts in various sizes and qualities and later filled with resin creating this mosaic effect which gives the piece a sophisticated, high-end look. A popular technique in mid-century Italy – and as such is a tessellated mix of yellow, brown, and green hues. The patterns on the tabletop with its natural beauty of the marble makes it easy to maintain.

The rectangular shape of the coffee table is both practical and stylish, providing ample surface area for drinks, books, and other decorative items. The overall design of the table is clean and minimalist, with clean lines and a sleek silhouette that would complement any modern or contemporary interior design scheme.

Overall, this vintage Italian coffee table is a beautiful piece of furniture that would be a great addition to any home. It combines the best of both worlds, offering both durability and style, and is sure to be a conversation starter in any living room or sitting area.

As this piece is from the 1970s, there is some wear to be expected - on the corners of the marble. But the overall condition is good, considering its age, and the chrome looks excellent.

Please note that the table can be dismantled, so we can flat pack and ship this internationally with ease.

CREATOR: Unknown

PLACE OF ORIGIN: Italy

DATE OF MANUFACTURE: c. 1970's

PERIOD: 1970 - 1979

MATERIALS & TECHNIQUES: Marble, chrome, iron.

CONDITION: Good original condition.

WEAR: Some wear on the four corners of the marble, to be seen in the photos

HEIGHT: 45cm | 17.7in

WIDTH: 140m | 55.1in

DEPTH: 63m | 24.8in

Request more information

[rcgality]

Living Room - Music Room

Idea for a medium-sized living room in the contemporary loft style with a music area, beige walls, a standard fireplace, and a tile fireplace.

[yeoldecorprusarium]

Crashcraft's vintage sets in Cluedo colors

✿ This is for the sims 2 ✿

Here are recolors I made of various Cashcraft sets for use in Éclaire. I recolored only the objects I thought I'd like to use in my game, so not all of the sets are present in full.

Please also note that I wrote cluedo colors, and not woods. No way in hell I was going to handpaint all that to change the wood grain, sorry.

What's included?

✿ 6 objects from the Magnolia Hill Dining set (buffet, china cabinet, curio, hutch, mirror and sideboard);

✿ 6 objects from the Regency set (tea set, dining chair, cabinet, sideboard, china cabinet and armchair);

✿ 30 objects from the Vanity Fair sets (armchair, canopy, cash register (req. OFB), chaise, coffee table, curtain, desk chair, end table, footstool, handbag, hat, 3 lamps, mirror, parlor chair, perfume tray, round table, sewing basket, sewing clutter, cutting board, desk, screen, sewing shelf, worktable, sofa, tall cabinet and vanity);

✿ 7 objects from the Victorian set (chafing dish, chair, painting, sideboards, hutch and table);

✿ 5 objects from the Vintage Charm set (alarm clock, bed, books and 2 lamps).

DOWNLOAD (SFS)

Meshes, swatches and previews included, files compressed and clearly named.

✿ I renamed the meshes to remove any special characters, so check your download folder for duplicates manually if you already have Cashcraft's sets in your game.

Credits: Cashcraft, @cluedosims.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Hi~~

I kinda here for the 6k

I am a huge fan of you btw.. I loved Ur eached and every batfamily plus Clark Kent stories

So can I get a sweet arranged marriage turn into love with Bruce or clerk ( can't pick between them)

I leave most decision upto you as I trust you just make it fluffy

And congratulations on your 6k. You deserve it

Thanks and bye

.⋆｡What is a Marriage｡⋆.

Bruce Wayne x plus size reader

It is your wedding day, a joyous occasion for all, except you and your new husband

Warnings: regency!au, arranged marriage, misogyny, mention of drug rings, fluff WC: 909

6k Bingo Celebration

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

For as long as you could remember, you were taught that you would marry a lord and a rich one at that. While your brothers would marry to carry on your family’s name, you would be responsible for another family, another home and any children that your husband saw fit to give you. You would belong to a man that your father believed would be the most capable of giving the entire family a chance to climb the social ladder. 

Part of you was excited for your debut upon the marriage mart. You dreamed of the gorgeous balls and beautiful gowns you would wear to catch the eye of a gentleman who would spoil you rotten with love and affection. Your mother’s sisters constantly told you stories of magical evenings with their future husbands as they began to court. 

Yet only a few before your debut, those dreams were stomped out by your father’s announcement that you would be wed to a man you had never met in a week’s time. Shamefully, your escape attempts though childish, were unsuccessful and only served to have your last remaining privilege of choosing your own wedding dream taken away.

And so, here you were, sitting at someone else’s table, eating food picked out by a stranger as you sat next to your new husband whom you’ve already forgotten the name of. This was definitely not how you pictured your Wedding Breakfast, alone save for your husband and his butler, your father hadn’t even the decency to let your mother attend.

You sighed and picked up the newspaper your husband had abandoned a few minutes ago. Your husband’s blue eyes flicked over to you but you ignored him. The smudged ink of the headline drew your attention; ‘Masked Vigilante Exposes Drug Ring’. It made you scoff.

“Is there something the matter?” His deep voice cut through the silence of the dining room, aggravatingly sending a shiver down your spine. You refused to look at him.

“This vigilante, it seems he’s doing a better job at protecting Gotham than the police. A damn shame they’re incapable of doing their jobs properly.” You flicked to the next page, pretending to read as you gauged his reaction. Would your husband punish you for swearing and belittling other men as your father would have done? You were met only with the soft clink of silverware and the footsteps of his butler.

“More coffee Master Bruce?” 

“Yes, thank you Alfred.” Bruce (what a modern name) cleared his throat and you finally made eye contact with him. “Are you a fan of this vigilante?” His voice tilted up like your brothers’ did when they teased you. 

You twisted the heavy ring on your finger, your stomach tight as you waited for the inevitable cruel punchline of his joke. “He’s doing something to protect people. I think it’s noble.” His lips quirked up and you couldn’t help but remember the brief peck you had shared an hour ago, your first kiss.

“Do you?” A flash of anger burned in your stomach as heat crawled up your cheeks. 

“Don’t patronise me.” Suddenly, his expression dropped. You watched him stutter over his words as he scrambled to explain what he meant. Alfred chuckled under his breath while he took your full plate of eggs and instead replaced it with some fresh fruit pastries. 

“I didn’t- I wasn’t,” his broad shoulders dropped, “I’m sorry.” He almost looked like a sad puppy like this, his head lowered, eyes wide with a genuine remorse, his fluffy brown hair hanging down along his strong cheekbones. You almost felt bad about your outburst, almost. 

“What is it that you want from this marriage? Children? A wife to obey your every whim? Who turns a blind eye to your indiscretions?” You hissed but he didn’t flinch, only taking a deep breath before he stood and rounded the table. Instead of pulling out the empty chair next to you, he knelt beside you, his hands taking yours.

“I want a companion, that is all. I know you had no choice in this marriage, and for that I apologise, it is not how I wanted this to go. But I can give you independence and freedom just by giving you my name and my wallet. I only ask that you humour me with trips to the city together, the opera, anywhere, as long as society sees us together.” He twisted your ring back so the bright purple amethyst sat right against your knuckle once more.

“I can do whatever I want?” 

He reached up and gently cupped your cheek. “I am your servant. Ask me for anything, and it is yours.” Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you nuzzled into his foreign yet comforting touch.

“And what if I ask for your heart?” 

“Then it is yours.” He said with a smirk and you couldn’t help but believe him. And as he leaned over to press a gentle kiss to the back of your hand and then to your cheek, you wondered if this was what your mother’s sisters meant when they said that you would just know if he was the one.

Perhaps you could be more than a commodity to be sold. Maybe Bruce could be more than the man who bought you. You glanced at the headline again as another feeling stirred in your gut. Perhaps, there was more to life than what you had been told.

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[charminglygrouped]

What's the deal with still-rooms?

Occasionally, in modern fiction set in the Regency era, you'll read of a female character making her own perfume, rose-water, or lavender-water by distilling flower petals (or something of that nature) in the still-room. In this context of course "still" is a shortening of "distill."

On doing some research, I think this is anachronistic. It's true that still-room offices such as making perfumes and medicines fell to the lady of the house and her daughters from at least the 17th century (1600s) and through the early 18th century (1700s)—but not much later.

Because of this shift, the figure of "the still-room" is used in writing of the 18th and 19th centuries to express anxieties about female behaviour and women's "place" inside and outside the home. But more on that later.

History

1600s - 1740s: perfumes, medicines, cordials, waters, spirits

In the 17th and early 18th centuries, many English manors contained still-rooms. Stephen Schmidt and Elaine Leong describe the contents of these rooms:

The stillroom was equipped with apparatus for distilling spirits, wines, syrups, and waters [...] and a waist-high charcoal brazier, or chafing dish, for procedures that required heating. The stillroom was attached to a stove room, a small chamber outfitted with slatted shelves and some sort of furnace, to which items were remanded that required drying or that needed to be kept dry during storage.

The 1696 book The accomplished ladies rich closet of rarities, or the ingenious gentlewoman & servant maid's delightfull companion, gives directions for "The Art of Diſtilling" (which includes recipes for perfumes and medicines); "Making Artificial Wines"; "Making Syrups"; and more.

Women would keep records of their recipes for various medicines (in the forms of cordials, pills, salves, poultices, &c.) in recipe books that were passed down for generations. Jayne Elisabeth Archer argues that "The stillroom (or 'distallorie') and the manuscript receipt book were two of the most important sites of female creativity in early modern England, and yet they have been largely forgotten to history" (p. 212).

The 1736 Dictionarium Domeſticum, Being a New and Compleat Houſehold Dictionary; For the Uſe both of City and Country provides instructions for distilling ale and creating medicinal decoctions, including some that claim to "provoke [...] womens Menſes" (i.e., potentially abortifacients!).

1750s - 1890s: pickles, preserves, desserts, tea, coffee

By the mid-18th century, however, still-rooms were no longer associated primarily with perfumes, spirits, and medicines. In Miss Sophia Lee's “The Chapter of Accidents” (1750), the days when culinary still-room tasks such as distilling spirits were considered as genteel accomplishments are described as belonging to the past. Governor Harcourt has kept his daughter uneducated and doing tasks which ought to be considered too low for her; when he says he means to let Lord Woodville marry her, Lord Glenmore replies:

Lord G. I thank your intention, brother; but am far from wishing the chief accomplishments of Woodville's lady should be the making cream cheeses, goats whey, and elder wine. Gov. H. Let me tell your lordship, women were never better than when those were the chief accomplishments.

What, then, did people use still-rooms for at this time? In short, they were considered as a branch of the kitchen, used in large estates to preserve food (by pickling, canning, making jellies, &c.), make light articles for the table (such as confections), and prepare coffee and tea.

A fictional biography written in 1754 describes culinary tasks being carried out in the still-room:

As great Care was taken to preſerve his Complexion, he was ſeldom ſuffered to ſtir out of the Nurſery or Still-room, where he became ſo great a Proficient in Female Knowledge, that, before he was Fifteen, he was deeply ſkilled in the Doctrine and Uſes of Pickles, Conſerves, and Jellies; underſtood the Value of Cambrics, Muflins, &c. could knit a Pair of Garters [...].

The Dictionary of Daily Wants, published c. 1858, tells us:

With cooking, generally the housekeeper has little concern. Her care of the table is confined chiefly to pickling and preserving; and in preparing confectionery, making ice-creams, arranging the dessert, &c. These preparations are all performed in the still-room, and with the assistance of the still-room maid.

Beeton's Book of household management (1861) says that distilling in still-rooms is mostly a thing of the past, but claims that some households still do it:

The still-room was formerly much more in vogue than at present; for in days of "auld lang syne," the still was in constant requisition for the supply of sweet-flavoured waters for the purposes of cookery, scents and aromatic substances used in the preparation of the toilet, and cordials in cases of accidents and illness. There are some establishments, however, in which distillation is still carried on, and in these, the still-room maid has her old duties to perform.

And The Century Dictionary, published c. 1890, gives us two definitions:

still-room, n. 1. An apartment for distilling; a domestic laboratory. — 2. A room connected with the kitchen, where coffee, tea, and the like are made, and the finer articles supplied to the table are made, stored, and prepared for use.

These tasks were not considered appropriate work for genteel women, but were rather the province of poor relations and servants. A servant in "The Chapter of Accidents" shows this change in attitude, with a gentleman disdaining to enter the still-room:

Mrs. W. Why, methinks you are grown mighty grand, or you would have come to the still-room to ask.

So, in the late 18th and 19th centuries, still-rooms still exist, and they are still used; but they are usually used by the housekeeper (and, in larger establishments, the still-room maid) for the making of pickles, preserves, desserts, tea, and coffee. The head cook and kitchen-maids are then employed in the kitchen with the more regular work of cooking.

(At the turn of the 19th century, we also see indications of still-rooms in estates being used to distill spirits. An account of the estate of James Moore, Esq., which is presented as very large, well-managed, and prosperous, reads:

His yard contains besides the necessary stabling for his horses, waggon, and cart lodges, barns, &c. a counting house with a dry warehouse attached to it; near to these is a large still room, with five copper stills, and without this room is a large horse mill to throw up the liquor into the back. These stills will run off 20 tuns of spirit or oil in 24 hours.

Distillers might also have their own businesses. See this 1806 account of a "distiller" of "liquors" having a "distillery" or "still-room" adjoining his dwelling. I think this "still-room" is quite a different creature from the one which ladies used to distill perfumes in, though.)

Looking back

Throughout the late 18th century and 19th century, any references I can find to still-room tasks as involving distilling herbs or making medicines are used to indicate that action is taking place in the past.

References in fiction

For example: a novel published in 1799 (The witch, and the maid of honour) uses still-room medicines to show that we are reading about the time of Queen Elizabeth. When a young woman's ear is scratched by a cat, the advice is to "take her into the ftill-room, and tell Vincent [the housekeeper] to put fomething to it"; they go to the housekeeper's room, and Vincent "[takes] down a vial" of some medicine (from her room or from the still-room, it's not clear) to use.

In 1849, Anne Manning published a novel about John Milton's wife, which she set in 1643: it contained 17th-century spellings, an imitation of a 17th-century typeface, and several references to a young woman performing still-room tasks (a child "came in with her Lap full of Butter-burs, the which [Mary] was glad to ſee, as Mother eſteemes them a ſovereign Remedie 'gainſt the Plague"; Mary lays "them out on the Stille-room Floor"; later, she spends “a full Houre in the ftille Room, turning over ever foe manie Trays full of dried Herbs and Flower-leaves,” as a prospective suitor speaks to her father).

Again, in 1857, a novel with archaic spellings (The Noble Traytour: A Chronicle), set in the court of Queen Elizabeth and featuring knights, earl-marshalls and such, gives us an emotional sick-room scene, which contains the sentence:

As for Dame Elizabeth, ſhe was in the ſtill-room brewing a caudle poſſit of grewel, for which a nice [i.e. neat, clean] maiden was grating ginger.

And an 1861 novel entitled My daughter Marjorie: 17th centuary, also stylised so as to resemble something published in the 1600s, describes an idealised young woman thustly:

She hath a ſweet voice, and toucheth the virginals with much ſkill, and is very apt in the ſtill room. She affirmeth there will be a superabundance of marygolds for curing in the fall, which is well.

References in nonfiction

Non-fictional writing also describes the making of perfumes and medicines in still-rooms as a 16th-, 17th-, or very early 18th-century thing. An 1812 description of “an Elizabethan country house” describes distilling in still rooms as a decidedly outdated habit for gentlewomen:

Among the rooms on that floor was one called the still-room, an apartment where the ladies of old much amused themselves in distilling waters and cordials, as well for the use of themselves and of their poor neighbours, as for several purposes of cookery.

Cassell’s Domestic Dictionary, published c. 1850, defines the term thusly:

Still-room.— The still-room in the old sense does not now exist. In the reign of Queen Anne [1702-1714] it was quite a common institution for an English lady to have what was called her still-room, in which were distilled perfumes, such as rose and lavender water, and cordials intended to be used medicinally for the benefit of the family, or to be distributed charitably amongst the poor. Even at the present time, in some large establishments, the still-room is to be found, though very different in the arrangement of its work to that of old times. In modern still-rooms the tea and coffee are sometimes made that are needed for the use of the family.

In The merrie days of England; sketches of the olden time we find a quote from Macaulay describing the lifestyle of country ladies and gentlemen in the 17th century:

The ladies of the houſe, whoſe buſineſs it had commonly been to cook the repaſt, retired as foon as the diſhes had been devoured, and left the gentlemen to their ale and tobacco. [...] [The country gentleman's] wife and daughter were in taſte and acquirements below a houſekeeper or a ſtill-room maid of the preſent day. They ſtitched and ſpun, brewed gooſeberry wine, cured marigolds, and made the cruſt for the veniſon paſt.

What does it all mean?

If still-rooms aren't used by ladies to distill things for medicinal or culinary purposes anymore, why is this practice so often referenced? Why is this particular usage of this particular room still present in the cultural consciousness, if you will, of the readers of 18th- and 19th-century England? Why is it iconic enough that it can be used to signal to a reader, "we're in the 16th or 17th century now"?

I think it comes down to a nostalgia about the (supposed) feminine behaviour of the past. This nostalgia was already present in the mid-18th century, and would continue until at least the mid-19th. To return to "The Chapter of Accidents":

Lord G. I [...] am far from wishing the chief accomplishments of Woodville's lady should be the making cream cheeses, goats whey, and elder wine. Gov. H. Let me tell your lordship, women were never better than when those were the chief accomplishments. Cream cheeses, quotha! no, no, making cream faces [that is, giving birth] is an accomplishment which the belles of these days oftener excel in.

In Governor Harcourt's opinion, the ladies of "these days" (i.e. the 1750s) are too educated, too divorced from homely household duties, too uselessly fine, and perhaps too mannish.

Of course, any idea about European genteel femininity is also perforce an idea about race; proper "femininity" always entails and defines "whiteness." Gov. H. puns that women these days are producing white ("cream") children, and yet are no longer capable of performing the necessary tasks to feed their (white) children, or tend to the practical upkeep of their (white / European / civilised / appropriately domestic) homes. White gentlewomen must be constrained to domestic servitude because they are the ones who create and police the environment in which the white race is created, raised, and educated; theirs is the power to advance or degrade the white race.

On the flip side, degraded, improper, abusive, over-sexualised relations between the sexes are what supposedly mark out non-European cultures as uncivilised, lower / lesser, an anterior stage in the evolution of humanity, &c. White women have to do [insert whatever the present writer wants them to do], or else we all might as well be savages, and so on and so forth.

But to return to examples of the figure of "the still-room" indexing the idea of "feminine accomplishment of past centuries." The Edinburgh Review, no. 222, for 1859 contains an article entitled "Female Industry," which begins with a history of female labour, and moves to consider the question of what kind of work women (including working-class women) ought to be doing today. The author complains about the completeness of the change that had taken place over the past “three centuries,” such that genteel women could no longer cook:

[W]e have therefore every reason to believe that our wives and sisters would be no worse for understanding the business of the kitchen. […] Well! is the art to be lost? or will an effort be made to recover it ? Why is it not a branch of female industry now to give such instruction, instead of leaving those departments of knowledge a blank […]? It may not be necessary or desirable for young ladies to spend so many hours in the still-room, among conserves and quackeries, as the damsels of three centuries ago, when kitchen cookery was gross and wholesale; and it might be better that they should learn from their mothers how to order and superintend the administration of food; but if their mothers have not the requisite knowledge, skill and ideas, it would be a great blessing to have a professional instructress within reach.

For this author, there's something about the still-room habits of the Elizabethans that went too far: their medicines didn't actually work, their practices were not scientific or modern enough, women were in them for too many hours at a time, &c.; but there is something about them that we should be trying to recapture.

The nostalgia of The merrie days of England is, as the title implies, more straightforwardly positive. The book opens:

How pleaſant are the ideas which are associated with "the merrie days of England;" and how ſtrikingly do they contraſt with our experience of the preſent time! Turn aſide for a moment from the records of the miſdeeds of haughty Plantagenets; the deſolating wars of York and Lancafter; the terrible misfortunes of the Stuarts [...]; and even amid theſe darker ſcenes of our hiſtory, abundant evidence is afforded that England was in truth "a merrie England."

It's very unusual, by the way, to see a long s (ſ) this late (1857)! Unlike the novels described earlier, this work isn't literally trying to present itself as something that was printed in the 17th century; but we still see its nostalgia come through in its typography.

In short, I think "the still-room" is often a kind of synecdoche (a metaphor in which the part stands in for the whole) for "the accomplishments of genteel women of prior centuries." The author can put this metaphor to use in whatever argument about female accomplishment that they like. The figure of the still-room, then, is one through which opinions, anxieties, laments, and advice about modern femininity and modern women's behaviour may be expressed.

Floor plans

So much for what was done in a still-room, and what they symbolised. Where was this room?

Sometimes, a still-room is described as being a room among other rooms on the lower levels (below ground) of a house; on other estates, it is a detached building.

Attached

Palladio Londinensis; or, the London art of building (1755) gives, among its list "Of Architectonical Axioms and Analogies," the following advice:

That the Kitchen be ſpacious and light, and as remote from the Parlour as poſſible, and to be under Ground; as alſo the Pantry, Bake-Houſe, Still-Room, Buttery, Dairy, and Servants Offices in general.

The plans for a "Villa, designed for the Right Honourable Silver Oliver" in 1789, has the following rooms in the "Basement Floor":

a. Butler's room: b. Servants' chamber: c. Servants' chamber: d. Wine, Ale, and Beer cellars: e. Room for bruſhing clothes, &c.: f. Servants' Hall: g. Houſekeeper's room: h. Still room: i. Situation for the Kitchen, Scullery, Larder, &c.

Holkham Hall, in the 1750s, had a horse-powered "pump" (illustrated at top left) that would bring water up to fill cisterns on the roof, from which it could flow as needed to the "laundry and dairy in the south-east wing, the kitchen in the north-east wing and the stillroom along the east side of the main house."

Detached

This seems less common, but still-rooms might also be a in a separate building.

A 1797 notice for the auction of a "SUPERB and CAPITAL BRICK MANSION, called GIDEA HALL, fitted up with great Neatneſs and Elegance, compriſing all the neceſſary Apartments tor a large Family," contains the following description:

The DETACHED OFFICES conſiſt of a Brewhouſe and Waſh-houſe, Laundry, and Bed-Rooms over for Maid-Servants; a Larder, a Still-Room, a Dog-Kennel, a Dairy, and Boiling-houſe, an Ice-houſe, a Dove-Cote, good Stabling for 25 Horſes, and Standing for Six Carriages, all lofted over, with Saddle Rooms, and Bed-Rooms for Men-Servants; a Court-Yard paved, a Drying-Yard, a Fowl-Yard, with ſuitable Buildings […]

Windows?

All of the rooms in that first floor plan have windows, but not all of those in the second one do. Dickens's "The Schoolboy's Story" describes Jane (a "wardrobe woman" who "took care of the boxes"; a "very nice young woman," "neat and cheerful," "comfortable and kind," tends to the schoolboys emotionally—so we can connect this again to ideals of femininity) "look[ing] out of her still-room window." If things have to be dried and boiled in this room, it makes sense that it ought to be well-aired.

So can I write my Regency-era heroine distilling things in a still-room?

Sure, if you want to make a reference to the idealised femininity of past (i.e., pre-Regency) eras, or make the point that your heroine (or her household) is eccentric or retro.

If not, I might suggest: sewing, knitting, tambour, embroidery, netting, flower arranging, the study of botany (she might keep a little notebook in which to draw or paint botanical illustrations or press flowers), drawing, painting, or simply taking a walk.

[itsharleystuff]

↳ II. 𝘍𝘐𝘓𝘓 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘝𝘖𝘐𝘋

Read part one here.

— 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dbf!Joel Miller x afab!fem reader (no outbreak au).

— 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.6k (once again, I’m sorry)

— 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: after your steamy encounter with Joel during your homecoming party, things between you have been stagnant. Although, fate seems to be on your side when both Sarah and your dad have to leave town for a short while.

— 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 18+ content (minors dni!), sex, p in v sex, Joel hits it from behind, blowjobs, some teasing, a bit of spanking, pet names (darling, sweetheart, honey), unprotected sex (pls do not attempt), cum eating, taking nsfw photos, Joel tries to be dom but fails, age gap (reader is twenty four, Joel is late forties), reader is kind of a brat, fluff and feelings (yes, this is a warning), alcohol consumption, brief mention of family death. Barely edited, sorryyy. No use of y/n.

—A/N: this can be read as a stand-alone but I suggest reading the previous part for a better understanding. Btw, there’s a couple of Easter eggs from the game in this! Also— I tried making a moodboard and I’m not sure how I feel about it. I’ll probably stick to gifs in the future, lol.

“I like Indiana Jones," you babble, taking a sip from your coffee without looking at anyone in specific. "I was twelve and in love with Harrison Ford..."

"Okay, so that's one movie we're definitely not going to watch." Sarah chimes in, lazily chewing on her scrambled eggs. "How do you feel about Robert Pattinson?"

"That depends," you reply, moving your head side to side in a contemplative manner, "are we talking twilight or Harry Potter?"

You hear your dad snort on the other side of the table and see Joel chuckling beside him. Sarah crosses both arms over her chest and raises a brow at them. “What's so funny?"

"Nothing," your dad clears his throat and side-eyes his friend. "Just thought you two were a bit old for those crappy vampire movies. Maybe watch-"

"Forgive me, but I don't think it's a good idea to take recommendations from either of you," you cut him off, leaning back on your chair. "You're both obsessed with die hard, think The Godfather is incredibly complex and in your spare time watch construction programs. We'll be fine on our own."

"Touché..."

It's been three weeks since your homecoming party, and ever since then it has become a habit to have breakfast together every weekend. Today, Saturday, it was the Miller's turn to cook, which consequently had you and your father sitting at their table. As of now, you and Sarah were discussing your movie night, which had to be postponed due to her road-trip to San Antonio— apparently, she and her friend Ellie were going to visit some college campuses there.

It's also been three weeks since that little, hot encounter you and Joel had in your kitchen. And, contrary to your better judgement, both of you were more than eager to spend some extra time alone. Things since then had been uneasy, specially when being surrounded by others; always worried that someone might notice those stolen looks you'd share or sense the palpable tension that rose when you would stand too close to each other.

You try not to think about it. Except when you do. A swirl of memories would come flooding your mind in the most inappropriate moments, creating that heat that made you remember exactly how his fingers felt inside you, his tongue between your folds, the sloppy kisses and that feral, hungry look in his eyes while eating you out, touching you like you were the most precious thing on earth.

"How about pride and prejudice?" the girl wonders, standing up to clean her dishes and snapping you back to reality.

"Shit, I love period dramas!" your dad shoots you a reproachful glare at your language, but you chose to ignore it. "As a matter of fact, most of my designs are inspired by the Victorian and regency eras."

"Oh, yeah," Sarah recalls, "I remember I read about it in one of your blogs. Dad showed it to me, by the way..." Joel clears his throat loudly, making her giggle.

Although she had mentioned it before, it was still kind of weird that he acknowledged your work. At first you thought it was merely because he wanted to connect with you somehow, but lately he'd been asking if he could see your new sketches and would let you borrow some old magazines he had around the house. Your best friend, Sophie, mentioned he might've been trying to show his interest in you subconsciously. And she was that one psychic friend who believed in zodiac signs and angel numbers, so you decided to believe her.

In that moment, your dad receives an incoming call on his cellphone; he excuses himself and heads to the living room. Your eyes lock with Joel's, and the fact that he was uninhibitedly staring back at you drew a smug smile on your face.

"Are you interested in fashion, Mr. Miller?" he sulks out a dry 'no', but you could see him fidget with his watch nervously. "Pity. I thought maybe you could model some of my male designs."

Sarah genuinely cracks up at your comment, slapping one hand on the table. "You want dad to pose for you? Seriously?"

"Why not? I brought my Polaroid camera, I can get some very nice shots." You were partially joking, but deep down you just wanted to see how he'd react.

"I mean, I know dad's got his charm with women, or so they keep saying-"

"No way anyone says that," he rambles.

"But the idea of him modeling is probably the funniest thing I've ever heard."

The fact was that you didn't want to take pictures of him so anyone else could see them. You wanted them exclusively for yourself. A couple of naughty Polaroids to keep around for whenever you were aching for him —which has been nearly every fucking night since your arrival—.

"It was a silly idea," you finally agree, shrugging. Joel stands to take his things to the sink. "Do you really have to leave for the weekend? You're like, my only friend here."

"Uh, about that..." she leans in towards you and you can practically smell a scheme on her. "Would you be mad if I gave your number to someone?"

You can quite literally feel the man standing behind you tense up. "Huh?"

"Yeah, like... To a guy." She moves in her place, but there's still no answer from you. "He's my English teacher. His name is Will and he's super smart, young, really funny and very handsome, I might add. I believe he can be your new male model." Sarah adds that last bit with a grin.

When you turn your head to see Joel, there was a deep scowl etching on his face, his body remaining still as a stone.

"I don't know... As friends, maybe." You weren't sure why, but the idea of meeting anyone new didn't really sound appealing.

She opened her mouth to say something but before she could actually do so, your dad walked in again. He appeared upset, gesturing nonsense and muttering impassively.

"What's wrong?" your tone comes out concerned.

"I have a meeting in Boston," he sighed, resting a hand on your shoulder apologetically. "Apparently it's urgent and I have to catch the next flight if I want to be there by nightfall."

"Oh, don't worry," you smile at him warmly. "I understand. Besides, I'm an adult. I can manage a weekend by myself."

He nods, still seemingly aloof. "I know but- I just wanted to spend some more time with you."

And of course you wanted that too, but saying it out loud could literally bring him to quit his job. He was always very extreme when it came down to you.

"What time d’you leave?" his friend asks him.

"Half past four. Why?"

"I can drop Sarah off at Ellie's and then drive you to the airport, if you'd like." Such a caring friend, Joel Miller. So selfless. Helping your dad out, attending his daughter's every special need...

"Yeah, thanks a lot, man. Take care of my little girl while I'm away."

You see his eyes gleam with a mix of unknown emotions, "Will do."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The last few days had been no less than torment for Joel. Each moment that went by in which he didn't get a chance to be near you had him losing his mind. Badly. And it wasn't necessarily a physical thing— not always, at least.

Every morning, he would wake up and go to work, knowing for certain that when he comes back home he'll find you hanging around with Sarah or sitting out on your porch with a sketching notebook on your lap.

He liked to guess what you'd be doing.

Would you be playing board games with his daughter? Watching a movie or baking desserts? Maybe you were thrift shopping with your dad or simply going to the mall. And later on, when he finally gets to see you again, you'd tell him all about it.

Joel also liked to imagine what kind of clothes you'd be wearing. One thing he noticed is that you never stick to one particular style or aesthetic. One day you could be wearing pastel sundresses with ribbons in your hair; the next one could be long, black skirts paired with basic tank tops and multiple necklaces, or even something more extravagant, depending on your mood.

Seeing you was an experience— one that he could never get tired of. It's like every time he sets his eyes on you there's a certain color palette that changes constantly, or the feeling of gathering all your favorite songs into one playlist and then hitting the shuffle button. He never knows what to expect. Hence why he had given up on trying to relate you to the silly things around; like seasons, animals, artists or foods. Instead, he started associating you with feelings.

You were creative, unique and incredibly fearless. In a way, you made him feel uneasy, excited, thrilled, confident and many more emotions at the same time. If he had to describe you in one word, he'd say evoking.

Oh, how you pestered his brain.

He hated how much he thought about you, and how little guilt he felt from it.

Right now he was sitting on the drivers seat of his truck, waiting at the airport's parking lot. You asked him if you could walk your dad to his corresponding gate and he agreed. The downside: it had started to rain, probably not too bad for your dad's flight to be delayed but enough for your clothes to get soaked on your way back.

"Shit, I'm sorry," you muttered, shutting the passenger's door behind you. “The seats are gonna get all wet..."

"Here," Joel takes off his jacket to place it over your shoulders.

It feels warm and it smells like him, "Thanks."

He starts the car without saying anything else, keeping his eyes glued to the road. You, on the other hand, could not stop staring at him. Now that no one else was around, there was no shame in admiring his side profile, the way his muscles flexed and his hands grasped the wheel. There was something inherently attractive about men driving, but- Jesus... This image had your mind roaming around dark places.

Suddenly, realization sinks in— you're alone.

Alone with him.

"I, uh..." he taps the wheel with his thumb, still avoiding your gaze. "I wanted to take you out for dinner. The weather kinda ruined it."

The corners of your mouth hitch up in a silly smile. "Too bad. I really didn't want to be alone tonight."

Joel hums, appearing somewhat distraught. In reality, he was fighting for his life. The clothes you chose to wear today were not fitted for the rain; denim mini-skirt, high pair of boots and a white top that complimented your upper body. He tried not to look at the raindrops rolling down your thighs or note how transparent your shirt has become, forcing himself to stare at your hands and the many rings that decorated your fingers, seeing there the one he gifted you.

"How about you come over to my place?" you suggest, trying to catch his attention. "I'll need a shower and a change of clothes but... Maybe we can do something afterwards."

His tongue darts out to lick his lips, still avoiding your gaze, "Like what?"

This time your voice goes lower, a smirk spreads across your face and something in your eyes flickers; a darker, sensual spark.

"Oh, you know..." your hand carefully comes to rest on his knee. His thigh tenses but he doesn't say or do anything to push you away. "Whatever you want."

He swallows hard, feeling the pads of your fingers run circles on his leg, your nails mildly scratching over the jeans in a way that raises goosebumps on his skin and eases his nerves.

"I've got a better idea," he says, keeping his tone calm —barely—. "Why don't you come to my house instead?"

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, "Sure, but- what about my clothes?"

And then he smiles cockily, as if this had been his plan all along, "Wear mine."

Well, there was absolutely no way you were going to turn him down. With a bit more boldness, you slide your hand a few inches up his inner thigh, still rubbing soothing patterns. His jaw clenched, but remained silent and apparently unbothered.

"Joel?" his name rolled off your tongue sweetly, in a way only you knew how to. He uttered a 'hm?' in retort. "Did you miss me?"

"I've seen you nearly every day," he answers playfully.

You laugh, stopping your movements and simply resting your palm there. "So... No?"

"Didn't say that, darlin'." The truck suddenly stops at a red light as he exhales heavily, giving in to you at last. "But I'll let you guess."

A push and pull game, like a cat chasing a mouse. Your smirk widens. "I don't think so. Not as much as I have."

His eyes scan your body from head to toe, the way you sit with your legs slightly parted, back laying flat against the seat and face turned towards him with heated cheeks and low gaze. Unexpectedly, your hand draws back from his lap as you start looking through your purse and a frown forms on his face, baffled by the loss of contact.

"Which is why..." you take the Polaroid camera out and see a whole shift in his eyes, like he's about to burst in laughter. "I brought this."

"No," despite his categorical denial, you still held the object up.

"You have a green light," he curses under his breath and you hold back a chuckle. "Just let me have one, please."

He sighs in defeat, "Why'd you want that?"

The rain had started to settle down but the air was still pretty cold, all that could be heard besides your own voices being the drops that crashed against the car.

"Cause you're handsome," he rolls his eyes sarcastically. "And I like you."

Hell, you were always so straightforward. It made his heart jump inside his chest, wondering if it was gonna burst out.

"You won't like me as much once you meet that Will dude," Joel prattles through gritted teeth, remembering his daughter's suggestion from earlier.

"The guy Sarah mentioned?" your brows furrow subtly. "Why? What's up with him?"

He yanks his head to the side, glancing over at you for a second, "Nothin'. Just thinkin' out loud." In spite of your puzzled expression, he decides to grant your wish. "I'll let ya' take it. But only if I get one in return."

Your lips purse in a smile, "As many as you like, Miller."

He doesn't say anything in response, but his grin doesn’t fade either and you managed to capture it on paper. The image slowly started to become visible and your first thought was how well it captured the whole 'Joel Miller' essence. It was a simple photo of him driving with one hand on the wheel and the other arm thrown lazily over the backseat. That denim shirt hugged his arms exquisitely, the rolled-up sleeves adding to his appeal. He was looking at you when it was taken, so you could see more than half his face— and the way he was grinning, you couldn't help but think he appeared so much younger when he did that. The entire thing felt so much like him: snuggly, blue, genuine and you absolutely loved it.

"There," you show it to him as he started to pull over. "Isn't it nice?"

"Just keep it to yourself, aight?" the man grumbles.

"F'course," with a spark of joy, you slide the photo inside your wallet. "Wouldn't want anyone else peeking at that gorgeous smile of yours. That's a treasure of my own."

"Shut up-" he rumbled, turning his face the other way and opening the door, seemingly flustered. And out of all the amazing things you've accomplished in your life, making this rugged looking man blush was probably your greatest pride.

When he helps you out of the car, holding your hand firmly and cleaving to your waist; you wanted nothing more than to kiss him under the pouring rain, wildly and unhinged, just like last time. But this particular spot possibly had too many curious eyes of which you were unaware of. He obviously doesn't need to guide you through his house, since you already know nearly every corner of it, except for one. His bedroom. And apparently, that's the precise location he's taking you to.

"Please excuse the mess," he says, placing one hand on the door handle, "I haven't had a woman in here for ages, so I'm afraid I probably won't live up to your expectations."

"Joel," you snort, "it's been a decade and a half since you last dated anyone. Trust me, my expectations are pretty low."

He scowls, squinting both eyes. "You didn't have to say it like that..."

It's honestly better than you thought. His bed is nicely done, brown bedsheets striking as warm and welcoming; the walls were painted a pretty, light shade of blue that matched the grayish curtains on the left. The drawers in front of his windows had a bunch of stuff scattered on top of them: a CD player along with a few music discs, some papers, a cap and a pair of reading glasses, batteries, one screwdriver and a framed picture of him and Sarah at the beach. Meanwhile, the nightstand simply had one lamp and an alarm-clock on it. Over the bed's headboard were one poster of a music festival, the image of a landscape and an advert of what you guessed must've been a club, that read 'tacos and beer" on it. The door to the bathroom was on the right.

Messy, yet tidy at the same time. Very Joel-like.

"No way..." you murmur, eyeing the guitar beside his bed. "All this time I thought it was a myth."

"What?" he asks from behind you.

"Dad told me you used to serenade girls back in college and that you wanted to become a singer." A giggle escapes your lips, unable to contain it. "I remember saying he was surely making it up, but..."

"I didn't- I mean..." he clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck and feeling his chest swell with your laughter. "Oh, shut up!"

"Make me." The lingering, mischievous smile on your face made his heart pound and blood rush. "Come on, Miller. Shut me up, I dare you."

His eyes darken, but you don't falter for a second. He doesn't move a muscle, solely watching as you took off his jacket and threw it to the bed.

"You dare me?" his voice goes drops an octave, following your every move closely. "That's rather bold of you, sweetheart."

"Mhm," without breaking eye contact, you start taking off your boots. "And yet you're doing nothing about it."

Joel starts walking towards you slowly, holding your gaze intently. Your hair was damp and your clothes were still wet; it didn't really matter that the air was chilly cause you still felt warm all over. He soon invades your space, cupping your chin in his big hand and lifting your head upwards.

"Well, you're awfully quiet now, aren't ya'?" his hot breath fanned across your cheeks, the gap between your faces being basically invisible.

"I'm just waiting for you to start singing some random song by Alabama or Johnny Cash," you scoff. "Like a good ol' Texan ma-"

He doesn't let you finish the sentence, abruptly crashing his lips into your own. Joel isn't delicate about it and the fervor with which he kisses you makes your body stumble a few steps backwards. Your shoulders hit the wall and he pins you against it as your mouths find a way to mold perfectly, at a much nicer pace than last time. You throw your hands around his neck and let your fingers tangle in the curls around his nape, tasting the fresh mint on his lips. His hands rest on your hips, chests pressed together as the temperature kept rising with each second that went on.

You part your lips in order to grant him deeper access, feeling his tongue slide past your teeth and meeting your own in an ardent, heated way. It was perfect, until he broke apart, looking down at you with an asserted confidence.

"You really know nothing 'bout country music," he says in between shaky breaths, beaming. "S'that what you wanted?"

"Yes," you manage to say.

"Then say 'thank you'," Joel indicates petulantly, stroking your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. "Go on, don't be such a brat."

You blink twice, your brain still buzzing with the sensation of mouth on you, barely capable of processing anything else. "But I want more..."

"You'll take what I give you."

Shit, when he said it like that- "Thank you."

"That's my girl," he straightened his back, opening the door next to you. "Now, get your pretty ass in the shower before you catch a cold, 'kay?" You roll your eyes and hear him chuckle. "There's clean towers under the sink. You can take some clothes from my drawers, or Sarah's if you feel like it. I don't think she'll mind."

"Understood." He can tell you're annoyed, which he finds funny.

"Don't be mad at me, angel." Joel tugs a strand of hair behind your ear. "Promise I'll make it up to you."

You nod distractedly, lost in the cocky spark on his eyes. "I'm not mad. Just hoping you fuck me real good if you're making me wait for it."

Your words almost make him choke on his own saliva. "Sweetheart, you're making it real hard for me to be a gentleman."

It makes your ego boost, in a sense. "I'll be quick. Can you get something for dinner, though? I'm starving."

"Shit, darlin', pick a struggle," he mocks as you enter the bathroom, "are you horny or hungry?"

"Oh, you jerk!"

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

6:15 pm.

You take a quick glance at Joel's alarm clock once you come out of the shower. It's been little more than an hour since your dad's plane took off. You hope the rain hadn’t made his flight any difficult, cause the weather turned out to be quite a blessing for you.

The cozy feeling of a nice, warm shower after being soaked under the rain was starting to settle in your bones, making your limbs relax. Then you realize, you smell like Joel. The scent of his soap, his shampoo, even his laundry detergent, is all over you. It's intoxicating in the most fantastic way possible, making your insides burn with a thrill of excitement. You took one on his flannels, —dark green with red stripes— and decided to wear it without anything besides your underwear. It was pretty big anyway, and covered just the necessary areas.

You slid your socks back on when all of the sudden you hear the faint sound of music from the floor beneath. Curious, you walk towards the noise, finding out Joel was in the kitchen, crouched down in front of the opened fridge. The CD player that you saw earlier on his room was now on the table, playing a melody that you recognized almost immediately.

"I like this song," you say, leaning against the wall. "That's Billy Idol, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he recalls, taking out a medium sized plastic box from the fridge. "Tommy made that mix. There's plenty of hits from past decades. I think you'll enjoy it."

The man finally turns around to face you and his face fails to hide his surprise. The way his prying eyes sweep your body in detail, taking his time particularly on your bare thighs, almost made you feel self-conscious if it weren't for that shadow of desire that crossed his eyes and the way his nostrils flared from a contained breath.

"How is he, by the way?" you ask, still on the subject. "Haven't seen him in a while."

"Who?" he clearly forgot what he had just said.

"Your brother," you call to mind, "how is he?"

Joel sets the box down on the table and drifts his gaze back to your face. "Fine, I guess. Last time we spoke he said he'd go to Dallas." He takes two glasses from the pantry and what it looks like a bottle of wine. "I-uh... There isn't any real food in here besides those strawberries and chocolates that this guy brought for Sarah. Should I order something?"

You shake your head and walk over to him, "This will do. Won't she get mad if we eat them, though?"

"Don't think so," he replies, pouring the red liquid into the glasses. "I'll blame you if she does."

"Oh, okay-" you cock an eyebrow at him and hold back a giggle. "Thought you didn't like wine."

"It's a fancy drink," he explains, "s'only for special occasions."

"Oh?" you take a sip from it, eyes boring into his. "And what's tonight's?"

Joel smiles conceitedly, jutting his chin out. "I've got you all to myself."

You snort, feeling the heat soar across your cheeks. He takes the snack box and with a sly gesture asks you to follow him into the living room, the melodic sound of the eighties tune turning to background noise as you do. The only lights on are the ones in the kitchen and the lamps beside the couch, shining a perfect light on his features.

"Come here," he calls, the leather squealing under his weight when he sat down. You set the glass down on the coffee table in front of the tv, going to sit next to him. "No, sweetheart," he grabs your waist and pulls you closer to him. "I meant here."

His legs part slightly, making room for you to sit on his lap. Your smile broadened toward a soft chuckle, settling yourself on his thigh. Joel immediately gets his hands on you, one on your lower back and the other merely resting on your upper leg.

"So, who's this mystery man that's been giving gifts to your darling daughter?" he scoffs in response, reaching for a chocolate from the box.

"Honestly? No fuckin' clue." You hum in surprise, drinking from your wine. "She never involves with them, thank god, and once they meet me they never come by again."

"I see,” you muse, “you're the overprotective type," you bite on a strawberry next.

"I wouldn't say it like that..." he sees the sarcastic glimpse on your expression and holds back laughter. "It's a dad reflex, I can't control it."

"Right, sounds convincing."

You stretch your arm behind the couch, setting your elbow and laying the side of your face on your palm. His face is very close to yours but all you do is simply stare at each other; Joel's big brown eyes glimmer with infatuation. “Can I ask you a question, sweetheart?" he asks lowly. "Somethin' more serious."

You wince in confusion, but still nod, "Sure."

He inhales sharply, taking a couple of seconds to actually say what he meant to. “Why are you here?" your frown deepens at his words. "I mean- Texas. I know you said you wanted to make up for the lost time with your old man, but... I feel like there's something else you're not saying."

It takes a minute for you to really sink in on his question. You nearly gulp down the alcohol before setting the glass down, avoiding his ardent gaze.

"Honestly?" you sigh, "There's so much to unpack that I don't even know where to start."

"Try." Although he didn't sound harsh, the effort he was asking you to put in wasn't something of your liking.

"Well, first of all," you meditate, clearing your throat, "the city didn't feel like home since my mom passed. It made me realize how much I missed here." He nods comprehensively, caressing the exposed skin of your thigh in a reassuring manner. "And then there's this- fear. Yeah, I guess it is fear... I've managed to accomplish so much in such short time that it actually fucking scares me to go any further and see that-" you stop, sighing and shaking your head. "That I've reached my limit."

For a moment, there's just silence floating between you, all that could be heard were the rain and a song by tears for fears.

"Darlin', look at me," he asks softly but you can't bring yourself to do it, embarrassed by your confession. "Please, let me see those pretty eyes of yours."

And it's practically impossible for you to deny him anything. Specially when he asks so nicely, when his hand grabs the side of your face so gently— you give in, just like that.

"You're afraid to succeed because you don't know what to do with yourself afterwards. Is that it?" You nod faintly. "Can I speak frankly?"

"I have a feeling you will anyway-"

"Yeah. A bit of tough love, but you need’a hear it." Joel strokes your cheek sweetly and you get shivers from the affection in the action. "Sweetheart, I know what you're going through. Shit feels like it's either moving too fast or not moving at all. And I know how scary that is. Trust me, there's still plenty of time for you."

You square your eyes to his, "Sure, bet you were frightened when you were twenty four."

"Terrified," he spoke truthfully. "Everyone I knew was getting married, moving out or working their asses off."

"And you?" he grunts, taking a strawberry from the box. "What were you doing?" Joel eats the fruit patiently, simply staring at you silently. "Come ooon, don't play hard to get."

"Gotta promise you won't laugh."

It's a tricky business for someone who makes fun of everything, and yet you simply reply: "I swear."

"Fine," he rasps out in fake annoyance. "I used to make my own guitars and- sell 'em sometimes. I'd also teach guitar lessons and horseback riding."

Your eyes widen in surprise and something flutters in your stomach. "Shit, that's actually pretty cool!"

He groans, rolling his eyes at the same time, "I told you not to make fun of me."

"No, no- I mean it." You shuffle on his lap, resting a hand on his chest. "And you sound passionate about it... Why'd you stop?"

The man shrugs his shoulders, tightening his grip on your waist. "It went well for a couple years but I eventually had to get something more solid. More so after Sarah was born." He takes a deep breath in, the smell of his own shampoo on your hair hitting his nostrils and catching him off-guard.

"You should teach me," you suggest with a smug grin. "I always wanted to learn."

"What, guitar or horseback riding?" he wonders, suddenly nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck.

"Guitar. I'm pretty good at riding, if you must know." You feel him chuckle against your body, his facial hair scratching your sensitive skin.

"We'll see 'bout that," his voice comes out husky as he starts kissing along your jawline.

Joel's common sense jumped out the window long ago, but the string of self control that kept him sane all this time couldn't bear the weight of you wriggling on top of him, semi-naked and with his scent all over you. Something primal took over him, a glimpse of possessiveness that he didn't believe himself capable of feeling towards you specifically. He wanted you to wear that flannel around town so people would look at you and know who it belonged to; whose bed you've been visiting. He wanted you to smell of his cologne so other men would know that you weren't free for them.

Your fingers run through his soft curls, messing his hair while he grabs the back of your thighs and manhandles you onto straddling his lap. He nips and licks over all your vulnerable areas, making your breathing start to labour. How could he possibly know this well the easiest ways to have you so desperate this quick? Leaning into his touch, yearning for him even with the smallest action? He wasn't aware of the answer himself, he just knew.

Joel instinctively throws his head back when you tug at his hair and seize the opportunity to duck down and lay a sweet kiss on his forehead. His hands coast up your thighs, splaying his fingers on your ass to squeeze the flesh. You hold back a giggle, kissing the curve of his nose before catching his soft, soft lips on yours.

He slides an arm around your waist, pressing his palm between your shoulder blades to keep you as close as possible. You feel your nipples harden when his tongue ran along your bottom lip— tauntingly slow, until you allowed him full access to your mouth, letting him taste the sweet mixture of wine and strawberries on your tongue. But his vehemence didn't make you any less eager, kissing him back with just as much passion and vigor, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip and mildly pulling at it with minor strength.

The action ignites a fire within him, seeing you on top, feeling your fingers roam around his cheekbones and along his jawline like you knew just how much fucking power you had over him... It was a new sensation, a new kind of desire he didn't recognize at first.

Joel's lips were swollen and his own excitement was starting to feel evident underneath you, which created a blunt ache between your legs. He usually appeared so big and mean, with those broad shoulders and permanent scowl on his face. Now, though... He seemed like he'd let you do just about anything with him, to him— it didn't really matter as long as you kept staring at him like that; through heavy lids, eyes sparkling with a profound, desperate need that spoke without words, saying 'only you get to see this side of me'.

You start grinding your hips against his, rubbing your clothed core above his growing boner in small, calculated circles as you shore yourself up with a hand to his chest. He merely admired you from his position, letting you have your way with him; all the while his gaze reflected patience, like he could take over the situation any second but enjoyed watching you lead.

"Joel," you call his name, leaning forward to kiss his chin, moving your lips all the way down his throat and feeling the nice scratch of his beard. Your hands grab the collar of his shirt as you come up to whisper in his ear: "Stay still."

Panting, he narrows his eyes in confusion, "What?" Though you don't give him enough time to figure out your words, getting back on your feet and parting his legs further with a light thump of your knee.

He observes your every move quietly, amused by your confidence and determination when you drop to your knees in front of him. Joel's cocky expression doesn't sway, not even when you drag your nails across his inner thigh, inching closer towards his very visible hard on. However, his body betrays him, selling a whole different story. His muscles tense, his jaw clenches and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

"Stop being such a fucking tease," he hissed, refusing to place his hands on you.

"Or what?" you drawl, coming to rest your palm on his crotch. A simple, feathery touch that made his pulse accelerate.

"You'll regret it," he warns grimly.

"S'that so?" you start to unbuckle his belt, way too slow for his liking, tugging down the zipper of his jeans. "I think I can handle it."

He smirked, his hand slithers to the back of your scalp and forces you to lock eyes with him. "Don't test your luck, sweetheart."

You pout mockingly, doing exactly the opposite of what he was saying while dragging down the fabric just enough to free his cock. Your new found courage falters for a second, finally seeing him in all his size and girth. He was, by all means, a big one, the amount of precome oozing on the tip telling you just how much he loved being teased, despite whatever words came out of his mouth. The mere sight of it sent a new heated wave of slick between your thighs.

Joel mimicked your expression scornfully, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone, "Too big for ya'?"

"None of that," you wrap your hand around the base, not really applying any pressure; though the sole warmth of your touch was enough to give him goosebumps, "we'll make it fit."

"That's my girl."

With a chuckle, you lower your head to kiss the inside of his thigh, the pads of your fingers softly grazing the veins on his length. His whole body shudders, leaking onto your hand and letting out a subtle gasp as you spread kisses all along his shaft. Your eyes peer into his soul when you gently place your lips to the slit, tasting the salty precome as he calls your name in what resembles a desperate plea. In a swift move, you finally take the tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it and deciding to put an end to his suffering. He mutters a gruff 'fuck' when you attempt to take him farther, pumping what you couldn't yet fit and snaking your free hand under the hem of his denim shirt to caress the soft skin of his belly.

"Shit, darlin'-" you feel the heaviness of his palm simply resting on the back of your head, not pushing or forcing you in any way, but allowing you to adapt to his size. "The only way to get ya' to stop talking is with a mouth full of cock, ain't it?"

You hum in response and the sensation is completely enrapturing for Joel, his callused fingers tangle in your hair to ground him as he releases a shaky breath. It's a huge challenge to focus on anything else but him; your mind whirring with a familiar dizziness while you bob your head up and down his shaft, intoxicated by the taste of him, the smell of him and every sound that escapes his lips, making your clit throb with need and your arousal pool in your panties, uncomfortably sticking to your skin.

For Joel, it's overwhelming.

He's never really been the noisy type during sex but heck— you were doing it for him. He's a panting mess above you, his hips buck ever so slightly in tandem with your mouth, trying not to lose it entirely. Your spit drools down his dick and the way your dark, dilated pupils sparkle with lust as you hollow your cheeks around him pulls a groan deep from his throat.

"That's it, you can take it," he coaxes when your nose nudges his pubic bone, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat. "Good fuckin' girl, just like that..."

Enticed with the praise, you keep repeating the motion, sliding one hand to hold his hipbone for support and feeling his burning skin under your touch whilst the other plays with his balls to aid his pleasure. The obscene slick sounds mix in the air with his hoarse cursing, the rain and the faint music of kings of leon, sex on fire.

He looks so good from this angle, chest rising and falling with heavy, irregular breaths, head thrown back and both hands on you, keeping you angled for his cock. Drops of precum roll on your tongue as you keep changing the pace at which your head moves, tears welling in your eyes and jaw going slack. Shit, you're aching for him so bad that the only thing you can think of to relieve the need is squeeze your thighs together in order to create some friction. And it works, the action eliciting a moan from you that makes him fucking whimper your name.

"Bet your cunt's drippin' just from sucking my dick," he muffles a laugh that turns halfway into a sigh when you pay special attention to the ruddy, sensitive tip. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum-"

You can tell he is by the way his cock twitches in your mouth; his spine straightens at the heat gathering between his legs and he tries to pull you off against your will, uttering a warning that you chose to ignore. Joel's lips part in a throaty groan when he reaches his high, feeling the outline of your fingers digging harshly on his hip, your hand rubbing his length and your tongue lapping at his slit, taking in every single drop of his release until he's spent, right before pressing a soft kiss to it that makes him shiver. And hell— contrary to others, he tasted good; warm and thick, coating your senses.

His heart beats aggressively against his ribs and he loosens his grip on your hair, allowing you to get back on your feet while resting your hands on his waist. Although his eyes are barely open, he can quite literally feel your smile when you chastely kiss his lips. He chuckles breathlessly as you sit beside him, tugging himself back in his pants.

"We're not done yet," he says, grabbing the back of your knee and promptly engulfing your leg around his waist, maneuvering your body so that your back rests against the couch and he's crouched down, caged in the middle of your thighs. "I said I'd make it up to you and I will."

"Well, you've certainly got some stamina in you, old man," you poke fun at him, raising a hand to move those rebellious curls away from his eyes.

Joel smiles, caressing your cheek affectionately. "Always got somethin' to say, don't ya'?"

"Oh, Mr. Miller," you coo, enveloping your arms around his neck, "we both know just how much you love to hear me talk."

"Mhm," he leans down to kiss the corner of your mouth, "yes, I reckon you're right."

His big hand covers nearly half of your face as he holds you still, crashing your lips together. He kisses you deeply, vigorously, in a way that makes you wonder if you could possibly drown in a person's essence. His other palm slides between your bodies to start undoing the buttons of the flannel —his flannel— you were wearing. You can't help but whine when he draws back, watching you from above.

"Joel-" blood rushes through your ears and can feel your cheeks warm up as he takes in the sight of you, his fingers coasting down your throat and to the valley of your breasts, licking his lips when he sees your hardened nipples.

"You're fuckin' beautiful," he speaks freely, without holding back emotion, and it makes your heart skip a beat. "Such a sweet, sweet girl I can't get enough of."

"Then take a picture," you purr, "it'll last longer."

He stares at you through a measuring squint, a lighthearted smile forming on his face. "Since you insist." It takes a moment for you to realize what he means, until you finally recall that there's actually a camera inside your purse; one that he reaches for. "If I remember correctly... You said I could take as many as I like."

You lightly squeeze his waist with your thighs, feeling your whole body burn with anticipation. "I did say that..."

"Let's just pray your dad won't find these hanging around," he ponders, turning your face slightly to the side. "He'll have my head."

"And that would be terrible..."

He takes the Polaroid with one hand, the other coming to grope your breast as he backs off for a better angle, ultimately deciding to wrap his fingers loosely around your neck instead, purely holding you there. You glance at the lens, making your best "fuck me" eyes added to a cheeky smile, hearing him curse under his breath prior to snapping the picture.

"You've got the prettiest fucking tits I've even seen, sweetheart," he snarls, laying a palm flat over your lower abdomen while he waited for the photo.

"Has anyone ever told you you've got such a marvelous way with words?" he suppressed a laugh, safeguarding the picture on the back pocket of his jeans.

"Just a few women." Before you can even begin to act annoyed, he sets the camera aside and leans down to kiss your collarbones, the pad of his thumb kneading circles around your sensitive nipple. "Look at you, honey," he murmurs, "you're so easy to please... Or is it just because of me?"

You're panting, your back arching in response to his constant ministrations, every inch of your skin blushing under his attention. "I think it's-" you're cut off by the sudden need to swallow when he sucks a mark on the vulnerable skin between your breasts, "you."

His body vibrates with a laugh and you feel his hand palm your clothed sex, dragging his tongue over your delicate nipple, gently nibbling at it. You screw your eyes shut and let a single, fluttery moan slide past your lips when his thumb nudges your clit.

"So wet just from giving head?" Joel shakes his head in fake disapproval. "Who knew you were such a horny little thing?"

You are holding onto his bicep for dear life, fearing you might collapse into oblivion if you part from his body. His index glides across your slit over the drenched cotton fabric, making you squirm beneath him.

"You- you tasted good," you babble, mind all over the place. 

"Yeah?" his chest swells with pride, "you should taste yourself, angel," his mouth travels across your abdomen, "sweetest thing I've ever had."

It's pointless trying to conjure a response, you're simply too far gone by now. He hooks your legs over his shoulders and buries his head between your thighs, flattening his tongue against the bundle of nerves. You whimper, running your fingers through his locks and bucking your hips to meet his face.

"Please," you blurt out, "Joel, please..."

"What, sweetheart?" he asks, moving the underwear aside to directly touch your clit, fondling it as he watched your slick coat his fingers. "What do you want?" But you can't conceive an answer, all that could come out of your mouth were those pathetic, desperate moans. "Use your words."

With his free hand he plays with your nipple, grabbing your breast with his entire hand. "I want you."

He tauntingly moves his fingers around your seam, refusing to go any further. "Say it again."

"I want you, Joel."

Cocky bastard.

He licks his fingers clean and starts getting off the couch, leaving you with a confused, dumbfounded expression that nearly makes him crack up.

"You didn't really believe I'd be fucking you on the couch, did ya'?" he teases, but all you can muster up is a barely audible 'oh'. "Come on, let's take this to my room. And don't forget to bring that camera of yours."

Mind still dazing, you obey his instructions, following him silently upstairs as he undoes the buttons of his shirt. For a second, he glances back at you, gifting a soft, reassuring grin before extending his arm to grab your fingers, holding your hand in a pure, intimate touch.

And just for that moment, you forget that he's actually your dad's oldest friend, that he's Sarah's father or any other thought of the sort. He's just Joel. Joel Miller, the only man that has managed to make you feel butterflies in the pit of your stomach, or that made you blush with merely a few compliments.

"Ask me to kiss you," he urges, taking the camera from your hands and carefully placing it on his bedside table, his eyesight fixed on you.

"Kiss me," you don't ask, you downright beg.

He does, though it's not like the previous times. He's tender, almost languid about it. His hands are on your bare hips while yours cup his cheeks; Joel's fingers reach to remove the flannel from your shoulders and moves his lips to the newly exposed skin, murmuring constant admirations. You feel your lungs clench and a tingly sensation on your lower belly.

"I'll take care of you, darlin'." You let the shirt slide down your arms and fall to the floor. "Gonna show you what you've been missin' out on by fooling around with those stupid boys." His words go straight to your core as he takes a step back to sit on the edge of his bed. "Take them off," he gestures to the last piece of clothing on your body.

You compel to his wish, stripping under his prying eyes while he lazily gets rid of his boots. His lips twitch in a smile when he sees the glistening mess he's made of you, promptly dragging you on top of him. Your hands lay flat on his exposed chest shortly before he switches positions, readjusting you on the middle of the bed.

"Joel, please just-" you whine when he keeps playing with your entrance, stretching you with his fingers. Your skin scorches with desire, knees weak from the growing heat on your lower body.

"Stop nagging, sweetheart," he grits through his own lust, his gaze impossibly dark. "I wouldn't want to hurt you."

"Joel, I'm too worked up, I-" you gasp when he curls his fingers inside you, hitting that particular spot that made your toes curl. "Fuck..."

"Come on, baby." He ducks down to kiss the skin behind your ear and his beard tickles nicely. "It's just the two of us now, feel free to be as loud as you need to."

His pants are undone and hanging loosely on his hips, the image being so blatantly erotic that only managed to get you more aroused as you fumble to get rid of his shirt. He chuckles at your eagerness, shrugging it out of the way and haphazardly kicking off his jeans and underwear altogether, discarding them on the floor with the rest of the clothes.

You take a second to revel on his naked figure, his tanned skin, broad shoulders and sturdy chest, the marked collarbones and every noticeable mole. His hair is messy from your fingers, a thin layer of sweat sticks some curls to his temples as his wild, hungry eyes bask in the view of your sopping pussy when he parts your shaky legs further. But the moment of appreciation is brief, both of you being edged and spurred on.

He maneuvers a hand to your lower back and aligns your hips with his, watching the way your hole drips for him, wetting his bedsheets. You're a panting mess beneath him, lightly scratching his shoulder-blades and biting on your bottom lip, looking up at him doe-eyed and all splayed out for him to take. Joel wants to tell you just how badly he's longed for this— how he's been yearning to have you so achingly bad. But right now, feelings overrun his thoughts, especially after hearing his name spilling from your lips, begging for him to take you.

"Relax, darlin'." Joel teases your slit with the head of his cock, rubbing it along your sex and coating it with your slick. Your head tilts backwards, dipping on his pillows, small whines keep spilling from your mouth. "I won't go easy on you."

"Great, cause I don't want you to-" your slurred words get muffled by the sudden feeling of intrusion as he finally buries himself in your cunt, letting out a filthy, guttural groan.

You close your eyes, feeling lightheaded and staggered from the way he was filling you up so nicely, the stretch being a tad painful at first, but the kind of pain that could only ever feel good. Then your whole body quivers from head to toe.

"That's it, you can take it," he mutters, peppering kisses to your chin and collarbones as he bottoms out. "Fuck, you feel divine-" The tight, warm grip you welcome him with resembles nothing he's ever had before. This is new, this is you.

You bear down on his cock, enveloping your legs around his waist and lifting your hips to encourage him. He holds you down with a firm grip around your neck, starting to set a pace with his hips as he draws out and then back in slowly, roughly, making your back arch. Your erect nipples brush against his strong chest and create a delightful friction that has you moaning louder than you could've expected. You're amazed by the way he thrusts into you, somehow mindful to hit every right spot inside you —needless to say that it was something that others could hardly manage before—, his pubic hair tickles the skin below your belly button, sending shivers down your spine that prompt you to drag your nails down his back.

"Look," he indicates, despite your inability to even think straight. "Look," he repeats harshly, using the hand that was on your hips to tilt your head downwards, forcing you to stare at where your bodies connected. It was obscene, the wet noises of your pussy and skin clapping against skin sounding purely pornographic. "Look at the mess you're making."

"Joel, I-" you can't form sentences properly, all your attention being focused on how good he's making you feel. "I'm so close, for god's sake..."

"Lemme help with that," he speaks breathlessly, pining your leg over the crook of his elbow to make his thrusts deeper, more precise. You cry out in bliss, feeling the heat expanding from your stomach to your legs. "Yeah, you're close, I can fuckin' feel it- fuck..."

Your walls flutter around him, squeezing his dick just right. He knows he's in too deep when you call out his name like it's the only word you can remember, when he wallows in the glorious view of your pretty face contorted in pleasure. He looses the grip on your neck and strokes your lower lip with his thumb, prodding you to keep eye contact as your orgasm washes over you. It's electrifying, a feverish kind of sensation that gratifies every nerve on your body.

He rests his forehead on your shoulder, overcame by the intense feeling of euphoria that your body was providing. You realize in that moment that the reason why Joel could fill that void so easily was because he kept prioritizing you above him. Your pleasure was his, too.

"Jesus Christ, Joel-" you mewl when he abruptly pulls out, “… Worth the wait.”

He laughs shakily, kissing your lips shortly. "Turn around, sweetheart. I want to fuck you from behind."

With a buzzing dizziness, you follow his instruction. God, right now you'd do just about anything if he asked you to. You notice movement from his part and patiently wait with your butt up in the air for him to stuff you again; instead, you hear the familiar clicking sound of the Polaroid camera.

"You fucker," you chuckle, "did you just take a picture of my ass?"

"Couldn't help myself," he groans, caressing the soft flesh before lightly slapping it. "You look too damn gorgeous." The hit on your skin burns nicely and you can't hold back the gasp that escapes your lips.

"Shit- do that again..."

You can practically hear his smile when he talks, "You into that?" he repeats the action with a little more force and the pain sends a shock of pure pleasure between your legs, your own fluids dripping down your thighs. "F'course you are, I should've guessed with that attitude of yours."

He plays with your swollen pussy, enjoying your tiny moans and the way your legs tremble as you fist the sheets underneath you, burying your face on his pillow when he spanks you again— this time so hard that it probably left a mark. But before the sting washes away he takes the opportunity to enter you in one swift move, holding your hips steady and trailing his fingers along your spine.

"That's my sweet girl," he praises a midst, starting to grind his cock inside you. "Taking me like you were made for it."

This is way more intense, the angle allowing him to hit deeper, harsher. His gruff moans become more frequent as he speeds up his pace, letting you know just how good you were making him feel. The sensation was purely fantastic, melting every thought away and just leaving Joel Miller to fill you in every sense of the word. His hands are never still, roaming your responsive areas, caressing the most sensitive and always taking care of your aching clit.

You might cry from the overwhelming ecstasy— the way his tip constantly hits the depths of your cunt with each relentless thrust has you seeing stars. Joel gets a thrill from the way you can't seem to get enough of him either, throwing your hips back to meet his unwavering pace, clawing at the pillows and moaning helplessly, pushing him close to his climax.

"Joel, it's too much..." you mumble. "Please, I can't-"

He hunches over you, kissing your nape to ease the overpowering sensations, "Yes, you can. You're a big girl, you can take it." And then your vision goes blurry, all you're able to hear being his disjointed, lewd moans; all you can feel is his hard, hot body flushed to yours, his cock twitching inside you and the wetness of your own body. "That's it, give me another one, baby- fuuuck..."

The buildup is so strong you nearly collapse, feeling yourself tremble as he chases his orgasm, fucking you through yours. His fingers reach your bundle of nerves and apply barely any pressure, which has you coming undone in seconds, absolutely soaking his dick and the sheets beneath you, chanting his name like a prayer. A string of curses falls from his lips as he pulls out and quickly manhandles your fucked out self to lay on your back. He exhales sharply through his nose, spilling his load all over your stomach without even touching himself.

You both stay there for a while, catching your breath and looking intently at each other’s eyes before he rolls over, going limp beside you. You stare blankly at de ceiling, suddenly feeling aggressively aware of your sticky skin covered in sweat and cum, the numbness on your lower body that will surely feel sore in the morning and all the marks he's left dispersed on you. You feel satisfied, fulfilled even. Joy bubbles up your chest and comes out in form of a giggle, one you're unable to hold back.

"What?" he asks, turning his face towards you with a half-smile.

"I don't know, I just..." you shake your head, still laughing. "I don't know."

He chortles in disbelief, holding out a hand to take some tissues from the bedside drawer and going to swipe his mess off your tummy and inner thighs. "Shit, I think I might’ve just fucked the sense out of ya'."

Joel sets himself between your parted legs, laying the weight of his upper body on top of you, resting his chin on your chest, eyes boring into yours. He looks so young like this, despite the greying hair and the small wrinkles, his beautiful brown orbs sparkle ever so brightly under your attentive gaze.

"What will your dad say when he returns and finds out his only daughter has completely lost her mind?" he jokes, cradling you in his big arms.

"Come on," you roll your eyes playfully, "we both know that if I had been in my right mind since the beginning, I probably wouldn't be in your bed right now." He doesn't reply, but his smile doesn't fade either. Joel nuzzles his face on the crook of your neck, kissing your pulse zone briefly before closing his eyes. You run your fingers through his hair, softly massaging his scalp in utter silence.

The wind was howling outside, rustling the tree branches, but at least it wasn't raining anymore. You can feel Joel's heart beating against your ribs, his deep breaths fanning across your shoulder and his unique scent all around you, on you. In spite of the cold air, your naked bodies are warm enough to stay comfortably in this position, at least for a while— however, there's something deep inside you that doesn't want this moment to end.

"Hey," you call him lowly and he hums in response, "can we order pizza?"

He nods faintly, "Anything you want, honey."

Anything.

If only.

"I'll call," you say. "Any specific requests?"

"As long as there isn't any pineapple on it, we're fine." You glance down at him, almost appalled.

"You don't like pineapple on pizza?"

"No. That's disgusting, come on."

"Oh, grow up!" he opens his mouth to retort, but when he sees your dismayed expression he can merely bark a laugh that you get infected with.

"Order whatever you want," he whispers in your ear. "But you'll have to promise something."

"What's that?" you raise an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Say you'll stay," he murmurs, slightly hesitant. "Stay here and spend the night with me."

The proposal takes you by surprise, so much that you actually stopped breathing. You ponder wether if you could or you should; because, at the end, what would a night really mean? What could possibly change?

Nothing, right?

Besides, no one had to know.

(...)

A few moments later you're downstairs looking for your phone, wearing nothing other than his green flannel. Joel decided to take a shower while you ordered the food and you chose to walk around the house, paying attention to the little details you hadn't quite noticed before.

Now that you see it, there are plenty of horse images here and there. Very Texan of Joel, you can't deny. Lots of pictures of Sarah growing up, some of him and Tommy and a good deal with your dad. None of his ex-wife. In fact, there's no proof that she even existed. You decide not too think too hard about it, since it was none of your business after all.

You pour yourself a glass of water and wander your eyes across the amount of pills he usually takes. Anxiety pills, painkillers, vitamins. What could possibly be troubling this middle-aged man so bad? Again, you decide to turn a blind eye and simply pick up the phone, expecting a message from your dad to tell you he arrived in Boston well and safe. Instead, you find that your direct messages in social media have new requests. Curious, you open them to see what the fuzz was about.

Hi!

This is Will

I don't know if Sarah mentioned me...

I'm her English teacher, haha

I hope you don't find this creepy, your profile popped up in my 'people you may know' section and since Sarah said she wanted to introduce us, I thought I might just say hi 😉

Honestly, with everything that went down you had nearly forgotten about Sarah's 'you should hang out with people your age' speech. And now that you were stalking his profile, he appeared to be maybe a couple years older than you— handsome in a boyish, intelectual way, if that made sense. Apparently, he studied in New York too, and lived in Queens.

Hi!

Yeah, I reckon she did

What's up, Queens? :)

You don't really expect a reply, not giving much thought to anything in the moment. Though, an involuntary smile twitches your lips when there's a quick message that reads "Not much, Brooklyn" and the writing bubble underneath.

After all, having a friend in Austin wouldn't hurt.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Garden of Secrets [30] - Lunaria

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Thanks so much to @theskytraveler​ for helping me with the chapter!

Summary: After arguments comes sincerity.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of trauma and violence, angst.

Word Count: 5000

Series Masterlist

 Any married couple would tell you that fights were normal in a marriage.

You knew that, but this whole silence was beginning to feel more and more like the end of the said marriage.

You and Benedict hadn’t talked to each other since the night of the dinner party at Lady Margery’s house, and you and Benedict were getting quite good at sharing the house without even talking about it. You wouldn’t have known he was actually staying in the house if you hadn’t paid attention to the occasional sounds of door closing and the footsteps.

You didn’t know when you had learned to recognize him from his footsteps alone, but apparently it had happened somewhere along the line.

You knew Benedict had left an hour ago because you had seen him pass through the garden from the window of the library. You had been so immersed in your book that you didn’t even notice the familiar carriage pulling in front of the house until you heard Teddy’s voice ringing through the hallway.

“Y/N?”

You turned your head and put your book down, then rushed out of the library to go downstairs.

“Teddy?” you asked as he ran to you, clutching a couple of flowers in his arms and you let out a laugh, then hugged him.

“Hello there,” you said and smiled at your aunt as you saw her at the end of the hallway. “And hello auntie.”

“Hello my dearest,” she said, coming to kiss your cheek. “We figured we could pay you a quick visit on our way to the pastry shop.”

“I’m glad you did,” you said and took the flowers from Teddy. “These are beautiful Teddy, thank you!”

“They’re from your garden,” he said helpfully and you nodded your head.

“Mm hm, I recognized them,” you said and held his hand so that you all could go to the drawing room. “Pastry shop then?”

“Yes and then we will go to the park,” your aunt said. “So that I can meet my friends and Teddy can play with his friends.”

“The weather is pretty nice,” you mused and turned to your maid. “Paula, could you bring some lemonade and biscuits please? Thank you.”

“Of course ma’am,” she said and left the room, and you hugged Teddy sideways as he sat beside you.

“How is uncle?” you asked your aunt and she heaved a sigh.

“He is alright.”

“Any um…” you trailed off and stole a look at Teddy before clearing your throat. “Any letters?”

“None,” she said with a smile. “I told you, there’s no need to be worried.”

“Seems to be engraved in me by now.”

A maid walked in, carrying a tray and made her way to you to place three glasses of lemonade as well as three plates of biscuits on the coffee table. You thanked her as Teddy grabbed his glass, then took a huge sip.

“Is Benedict home?” he looked up at you and you heaved a sigh, then shook your head.

“No my sweet, he left an hour ago.”

“When can I make more sculptures?” he asked and you tried to smile.

“Whenever you want,” you said. “Is it alright if I help you though?”

“Not Benedict?” he asked, his brows furrowing slightly. “But he knows so much about art.”

You nodded your head.

“Benedict has been working on a new painting lately,” you whispered as if giving him a secret. “He’s a bit busy but we can do it together?”

He thought for a moment, then his head whipped up.

“I could teach you!” he said as if the thought just hit him and you let out a laugh.

“Exactly!” you said, “It would be fun!”

“Benedict is working on a new painting?” your aunt asked and you looked up at her, then nodded your head.

“Yeah,” you said. “He’s been…he’s been busy.”

She raised her brows, her eyes searching your face as if she wanted to see whether you were telling the truth but the gong of the clock on the wall made her turn her head.

“Oh I’m going to be late,” she said and got up from her chair with you following her suit. “We’d better go, come on Teddy.”

“Alright,” Teddy pushed the biscuit into his mouth, making you bite down a smile and he came to hug you.

“I’ll see you later,” you said, pressing a kiss on top of his head before you hugged your aunt. She hugged you back, then pulled back to look at you better.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Your stomach did a painful flip but you managed to offer her a small smile.

“Of course,” you assured her. “I’m fine.”

She heaved a sigh and kissed your cheek.

“We’re having tea as soon as possible.”

“Works for me,” you said and watched her and Teddy walk out of the drawing room to make their way downstairs. Your smile dropped and you let out a breath, then sat back down on the sofa again.

“Great,” you muttered to yourself. “Today should be fun.”

                                                                      *

 Towards the afternoon, Lottie had sent you a note, asking you to join her for a picnic but you had written back, saying you weren’t feeling your best. It wasn’t a lie at all, you really didn’t want to see anyone, instead all you wanted was just burying yourself into the covers and ignore the outside world.

But apparently you wouldn’t be so lucky.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice the approaching footsteps while you laid on the sofa, your gaze fixed on the fireplace until someone cleared their throat by the door, making your head whip up.

“Josie?” you asked and pushed yourself up off the sofa to stand up. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to see how you were, obviously,” she said and entered the drawing room. “Not well as I can tell.”

You rolled your eyes. “Did auntie talk to you?”

“No, why?” she asked. “Should she have?”

“No, it’s just—” you motioned vaguely at outside. “She came by for a visit today with Teddy.”

“And?”

“And nothing,” you said. “She seemed worried about me for some reason.”

“Could the reason be that you were staring into nothing like a corpse by any chance?” she asked you and you shot her a look.

“I was just in deep thought, don’t dramatize it.”

She frowned slightly, then shook her head.

“Anyway,” she said and went to the armchair to sit down. “Has there been any other letters sent from hell and its biggest demon?”

“Auntie says no,” you muttered, pressing your palms into your eyes before lowering your hands. “But I don’t know. I’ll have to talk to uncle to make sure.”

Josie hummed.

“What about you?” you asked. “How have you been?”

“I’m fine,” she said without so much as any hesitation and you tilted your head.

“Josie.”

“What?”

“Come on,” you said. “Don’t do that to me at the very least.”

“I really am fine,” she said. “I’m married now, he cannot do anything to me. The days he would threaten to either sell me to a brothel or send me to the madhouse are gone.”

A shiver ran down your spine. “But if they speak to anyone—”

“Andrew is a respected lord who inherited his respectful father’s title and wealth,” she said. “Father is a no one. There’s nothing he could say that the ton would believe over our word.”

You started pacing in the room.

“I suppose,” you said. “But even if they do come here, we’re not telling Teddy.”

Josie shook her head fervently. “Of course not. He will not know or talk to them.”

You could feel the tension coming back to your muscles as the throbbing in your wrist returned, and you rubbed at it, gritting your teeth.

“Why doesn’t he just die?” you spat. “He was coughing like crazy when uncle took me and Teddy in years ago, he spends most of his days drunk, why doesn’t it just get to him already?”

“Trust me, I’m looking forward to that day,” Josie said. “I’ll celebrate it.”

“If he so much as tries to get Teddy like he said in that letter—”

“He’s not going to do that,” Josie said. “None of us will let him.”

You massaged your temples and huffed out a breath.

“What did Benedict say?” she asked you and you turned to look at her, then pursed your lips.

“That’s not important right now.”

Josie sat up straighter.

“What?” she asked. “Wait Y/N you have told him, haven’t you?”

“No because I don’t need to,” you said. “I can handle it if they come here.”

Josie gawked at you in complete silence, then a dry laughter spilled from her lips.

“You’re jesting,” she said. “Surely you are jesting.”

“Why would I tell him?”

“Why would you not tell him?” she hissed at you, jumping on her feet. “What are you going to do if father decides to come here? And the staff hasn’t been told—”

“I’ll tell them.”

“And if he walks up to Benedict on the street?”

“I doubt father even knows I’m married,” you said. “There’s no reason for Benedict to—”

“There’s every reason for him to know!” she said. “If you don’t want to give him the details, fine! But you need to tell him especially if they decide to come here, you know what father is like—”

“I can handle father.”

Josie threw her hands up in exasperation. “Have you gone insane?!”

“I don’t need Benedict’s help,” you said tersely, shrugging your shoulders and Josie heaved an impatient sigh.

“If you’re doing this because you two had a small lover’s spat…”

You narrowed your eyes at her. “Josie.”

“You had a fight, is that it?”

“That’s not important.”

“It is important if you’re going to make stupid choices because of it!” she snapped. “If it were any other time, you know I wouldn’t push you to do anything but if mother and father are in fact coming here, you’re going to need all the support you can get.”

You scoffed. “Sure, let me just go and cry to Benedict because what? Father is coming here?”

Josie raised her brows. “How’s your wrist?”

The anger rushed through you so fast that you didn’t even have the chance to remind yourself it wasn’t Josie you were angry at, just the memory itself and how it managed to make you feel helpless every single time.

Not to mention, your and Josie’s fights would always be fiery, ever since you two were little.

“Fuck you, I’m not going to listen to this,” you growled and Josie’s gaze turned into a glare as you walked past her toward the door.

“No?” she asked, making you whirl around on your heels before you got to the door. “If you don’t want people to ask you questions, maybe don’t act like a little girl throwing a tantrum.”

“I’m not!”

“By keeping the one person who you’re actually close to in the dark?” she snapped back. “The one person who can actually protect you as far as the ton and the law are concerned? For God’s sake, you’re married—”

“It’s a sham, Josie!” the words left your lips before you had the chance to stop them. “Wake up, will you? It’s a sham, it’s not real! None of this is!”

That got her to stop talking and if you weren’t so exhausted by the nervousness and anger rushing through you for days now, you would have stopped talking as well but you were nearly hysterical at this point.

“We’re not in love,” you said, breathing fast. “The only reason why we got married is because people saw us together, alright? He knows it, I know it, even goddamn Anthony knows it! And everyone around us is so gullible that they believed we were in love because what? We pretended to be just to spare their feelings? Honestly Josie, I’d expect you of all people to be smarter than that—”

“What?”

The different voice that reached into the room came from behind you from the door and you turned around to see Lottie staring at you in shock. Your breath got caught in your throat and you swallowed thickly.

“Lottie…”

“Your butler let me in, I wanted to see if you were alright after your note but—I—” she stammered, tears rushing to her eyes. “You both…you all lied to me? All this time?”

“No,” you said quickly. “No it’s just complicated, I didn’t mean—”

“Excuse me,” she said and turned around to rush downstairs, a curse leaving your lips before you rushed after her.

“Lottie- Charlotte!” you called out as she stepped outside with you following her. “Please, can we just talk?”

“That rumor Lady Whistledown mentioned,” she said, turning to look at you better. “That was true?”

You ran a hand over your face. “It’s not exactly—”

“Y/N,” she insisted and you heaved a sigh.

“Things between me and Benedict are complicated.”

“But you didn’t get married because of love?” she asked. “You got married because someone saw you two together, unchaperoned?”

You paused for a moment and she raised her brows.

“Y/N?”

“…You could say that,” you admitted after a beat and shook your head. “I know how it sounds, but we didn’t want to upset you—”

“Thank you so much for that,” she said with a sad laugh and you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“Lottie…” you said, following her as she walked to her carriage. “I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

She looked at you for a moment, then swallowed thickly.

“I’d say you didn’t want me to find out in any way,” she muttered and got in the carriage before you could say anything else, then the coachman drove away, leaving you there.

You groaned, that heaviness in your heart getting even worse as you watched her carriage disappear into the road and dug your fingernails into your palms before you looked up at the sky and let out a scream, the birds in the nearest tree flying away. You huffed out a breath, then turned around to see Josie leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, and her brows raised.

“I’m glad you got it off your chest I guess,” she said. “Now, want to tell me what the fuck that was about?”

                                                                      *

It took you almost an hour to fill her in on the details of everything that had happened. Even if you still felt incredibly bad for how Lottie had found out, -and how you had kept it from Josie- it still felt sort of relieving to actually share it with someone. Josie sat beside you on the stairs that whole time and it was only when you had finished telling her everything that she heaved a deep sigh, leaning back on her elbows.

“Fuck.”

“Mm hm,” you said. “Sounds about right.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You scoffed a laugh. “Look me in the eye and tell me you would have let me marry him if you knew why that wedding was happening.”

“Of course I wouldn’t have let you!” she said. “That’s exactly why you should have told me!”

“And then?” you asked. “You know how the ton would have been like.”

“Who cares about those idiots?”

“A scandal would have affected uncle and auntie as well, Josie.”

“Scandal or not, I think uncle and auntie would want you to be happy.”

“I am—it’s not…” you massaged your temples for what felt like the hundredth time today. “It’s complicated.”

“It really isn’t,” she said. “If he forced your hand—”

“He didn’t force my hand,” you cut her off. “No more than I forced his hand at least. I wanted to kiss him, he wanted to kiss me…It’s only because people saw us together that it got to this.”

“And you’re sure he didn’t plan this?”

“I know he didn’t,” you said. “Trust me, I’d love to be able to blame someone but Benedict is not to blame.”

“Neither are you.”

You clicked your tongue.

“I don’t know about that,” you said. “I could’ve walked away.”

“So could he,” she said and you heaved a sigh, then shrugged your shoulders.

“I don’t know,” you repeated, running a hand over your face. “God, it feels like I haven’t slept in years.”

Josie bit at her lip, deep in thought before she turned to you.

“Clover?”

“Hm?”

“Technically speaking, this marriage is invalid,” she said. “No consummation.”

“So?”

“Would he apply for an annulment?”

Your heart dropped to your stomach but you frowned, shaking your head.

“I don’t think so.”

“Would you?”

“I’m not going to apply for annulment,” you brushed her off and she sat up straighter.

“Then we could leave whenever you want, you can come with me and Andrew and Bess—”

“I’m not going to do that Josie,” you said and she scoffed a laugh.

“Why not?” she asked. “If you’re worried about a scandal…”

“That’s not why,” you told her. “Not really.”

“Does it have something to do with the fact that you kissed him?” she asked and you shot her a look.

“Don’t,” you said. “Seriously. It was just desire and I’m pretty sure anything he may have felt for me is long gone after that fight.”

“And yet you want to stay for some reason because you want to make yourself suffer?”

You heaved a sigh.

“No I—I’ll think about it,” you lied to her. “After this whole mess is over.”

“Alright,” she said and stood up. “I’d better go but are you going to be okay?”

“Sure thing,” you said, waving a hand in the air before standing up as well. She pulled you into a hug, then kissed your cheek.

“I’ll kill you if you hide things from me again,” she said, drawing a chuckle out of you before she walked to get in the carriage. You lingered there for a moment as the carriage drove away and you shook your head slightly, then walked back into the house.

                                                          *

You were still so tense that you couldn’t even bring yourself to have dinner even if you would be all by yourself. Benedict was still outside, so even though you knew there was no way you could get a wink of sleep, you still went to your bedroom. The sky was dark already, your room only illuminated by the moonlight and the flames in the fireplace. You took out the pins in your hair, then massaged your scalp and heaved a sigh before putting the flowers Teddy and your aunt had brought you on the windowsill so that you could air dry them, but as soon as you did, the carriage by the stone road caught your attention, making you frown.

Ah.

That had to be Benedict.

You had just placed all of the flowers when the knock on the door reached you and you looked over your shoulder.

“Come in?”

Benedict opened the door and stepped inside, and you frowned at just how rigid his whole body looked.

“Can we talk?”

“About?” you asked and he took a deep breath as if reminding himself to be calm.

“Did you do it on purpose?”

“You might want to—” you started but then the idea hit you, making you stop for a moment. “Ah. Lottie?”

“Yeah,” he said. “So did you?”

You gawked at him and scoffed a bitter chuckle. “Why would I do it on purpose, exactly?”

“Because you’re angry at me for some reason?”

You could feel the anger rushing through your system so you gritted your teeth.

“Contrary to what you seem to believe, I don’t go behind people’s backs when I’m angry at them.”

He raised his brows, disbelief etched in his features.

“Sure,” he said. “So it was what, a coincidence?”

“Well you seem to have all the answers,” you bit back. “I’m sure you can answer that on your own as well.”

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“Why would you tell Charlie that?” he insisted. “She’s angry at me and Anthony because apparently you decided to tell her he knew as well.”

“Oh well that’s devastating,” you deadpanned. “Because I spend all my days trying to make sure everything I do makes Anthony’s life easier—obviously I didn’t know she was here! She’s angry at me too, or has it escaped your notice?”

“Then how did she—”

“Because she was apparently there when I told Josie, but I didn’t know.”

Benedict stared at you. “Wait, Josie knows as well?”

“Lapse in judgement, we were having an argument,” you said and Benedict blinked a couple of times.

“Y/N, I thought we agreed we would keep it to ourselves,” he said. “We told everyone—”

“I have more to lose than you if it gets out, Benedict!” you snapped. “You don’t have to remind me what I already know!”

He took a deep breath as if reminding himself to be calm.

“We’re married,” he said, motioning between you two. “We need to be on the same page on things like these.”

“Oh now you remember we’re married?” you asked with a bitter laugh. “You can act like a bachelor and spend a whole night partying and doing God knows what without so much as letting me know—”

“I did let you know!”

Your voice rose before you had a chance to stop it; “Oh sorry, how nice of you to invite me to the party as a second thought!”

“I already told you nothing happened!”

“That’s not the point!” you snapped back, “The point is that you told me we would talk and we didn’t because you were too busy having fun at a party!”

Benedict shook his head. “You told me it wasn’t important!”

“Because you—” you started but your body automatically flinched back when Benedict’s hand shot up to run it through his hair, a gesture you had seen him do over and over again but in the heat of the argument, it was enough to make the rest of your sentence get lost in your throat.

Benedict’s hand froze in the air as the sudden panic rushed through your veins, the flash of various memories shooting through your head but even through the haze of absolute fear, in some corner of your mind you knew.

That was then, not now.

That was not going to happen again, not with him.

Benedict stared at you before he held up his palms, all the fire of the fight and anger gone from his gaze.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice so gentle and soothing that your throat tightened. “I promise you.”

You blinked back the tears and nodded. “I know.”

“I would never—”

“Benedict, I know,” you cut him off and let out a bitter chuckle. “I believe in you on that at the very least, trust me. It just used to happen a lot whenever anyone moved too fast around me, it’s involuntary.”

Benedict swallowed thickly, his eyes searching your face before he very slowly lowered his hands as if trying not to make any sudden moves. The panic retrieved from your body like a wave at the shore and you heaved a sigh, then leaned back to the wall before slipping down to sit on the floor.

“I can leave you be if you’d like,” Benedict said softly. “Do you want me to go?”

You scoffed a dry laugh and patted the spot next to you. Benedict lingered there for a moment, then made his way to you to sit down on the floor beside you, leaning his back to the wall while you pulled your knees up to your chest, resting your chin on them.

“But you…” he paused for a moment. “You know I would never, right? Really?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I know. I don’t know how, but I know.”

“Okay.”

You stared at the moonlight spilling over both of you through the window before you ran a hand over your face.

“Benedict?”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to get an annulment?”

That made him turn to look at you better, his brows furrowing as you shrugged.

“Technically speaking, this marriage is invalid,” you quoted Josie. “We never consummated, so…We could get an annulment.”

He stared at you. “Do you want to get an annulment?”

“I asked first.”

If it were any other time, it would have made him smile at the very least but not this time.

“No,” he said. “But I won’t force you, I’ll never force you into anything so…Do you want one?”

You shook your head.

“No,” you admitted. “No I don’t.”

A silence fell upon you and he leaned his head back to rest it against the wall before stealing a look at you.

“So this is marriage huh?” he asked and you felt a sad smile curl your lips.

“Yeah,” you said. “A never-ending emotional torture.”

“Well you did warn me, so…” Benedict mused and you nodded your head.

“I really did,” you murmured, twisting your wedding ring around your finger. “Jesus I’m exhausted.”

A bitter chuckle climbed up his throat.

“I know the feeling,” he rasped out. “Can you um—can you sleep at night? Because I can’t.”

“Not at all,” you said. “And I can’t really focus on anything. Can you?”

“I need to,” he said. “I need to be focused on something all the time, otherwise…”

“What?” you asked after a beat and Benedict shook his head.

“It’ll catch up to me otherwise.”

He didn’t need to specify what it was, you knew it very well because it was the same thing that had been twisting your heart for the last two weeks.

The wave of pain that was so strong that if it managed to get to you, you weren’t sure you’d be able to stand.

“It’ll turn into hate one day,” you said, your voice determined as you nodded your head to yourself. “It will. It’s a marriage, it has to turn into resentment and one day we will wake up and we’ll hate each other.”

He tilted his head. “Do you really believe that?”

“I want to believe that,” you said. “I hope it does turn into hate, I’m better at it.”

“Dear God, it would be so much easier,” he murmured and you nodded.

“Exactly,” you croaked out as the burning in your eyes came back but you bit at your tongue, fixing your gaze on the wall.

“Can I ask you something?” Benedict asked and you glanced at him.

“Sure.”

“I’ve always wondered if you…” he trailed off. “Do you regret it? That night at the gazebo?”

“Do you?”

“I asked first,” he quoted you, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips and you smiled back, then shook your head.

“No,” you said. “Do you?”

“Not a single second of it,” he stated and a nearly hysterical giggle escaped from your lips.

“You know, Lord Easton said something the other night,” you said and sniffled. “And I have a theory about this whole thing.”

“I’m listening.”

“Call it artist and muse, call it desire, whatever it is,” you said. “I’m beginning to think maybe it was fate.”

“You don’t believe in fate,” he said and you thought for a moment, then shook your head.

“Well, I don’t but think about it,” you said, wiping at your nose with the back of your hand, then turned sideways to see him better. “We kept tempting fate even if we knew we weren’t supposed to and—be completely honest with me, can you imagine yourself being married to someone else?”

He grimaced. “Not without a shudder and a nightmare to go with that idea.”

“Exactly,” you insisted. “Even after everything. So we’re—we’re not star-crossed, we’re not each other’s promised but maybe we’re something else completely different than all that.”

“Like what?”

“Maybe we’re just doomed to torment each other.”

He blinked a couple of times as if trying to wrap his mind around it and you sniffled again.

“Does it not make sense?” you asked, sitting up straighter, your eyes locked in his. “Neither of us regret that night even if it would make perfect sense if we did, both of us could walk away right now, a luxury no other couple in the ton has, and yet…”

“Yet here we are.”

“Yeah,” you muttered. “Yet here we are. Doomed to torment each other, in this life and beyond.”

He hummed. “That’s a relieving thought.”

You turned to shoot him a look of disbelief. “The idea of being tormented is relieving?”

“Compared to the idea of not having you?” he asked. “It is. I can take the torment from you, just not…just not your absence.”

A silence fell upon the room and you rubbed at your eyes, then dropped your hands to your lap.

“Well then I shall haunt you,” you managed to say. “Even after death, like in those awful stories. If we are to torment each other, we will not be free of each other. Dead or not, no absence.”

A sad smile crossed Benedict’s lips and he held up his pinky.

“Do you promise?” he asked and a teary laugh climbed up your throat, then you looked up at him.

“What?”

“Do you promise to haunt me?”

You blinked back the tears before they could blur your vision, then stuck your nose in the air.

“Do you promise to haunt me back?”

Benedict tilted his head. “Do you want me to?”

“I do,” you said without any hesitation and hooked your pinky with his. “Whoever goes first will haunt the other. Deal?”

There was no sign of hesitance in his eyes, only determination as he smiled slightly, making your heart skip a beat.

“Deal.”

Chapter 31

[elixirfromthestars]

WELCOME TO MY CAFE! ˖°.₊˚☕⊹♡

I miss interacting with fellow writers and readers, so I decided to host my own little writing challenge ♡ Between juggling grad school prep and an internship, I wanted to do something to keep me connected to this lovely community, so welcome everyone to my cozy little cafe :) 

The writing challenge starts today and closes on September 29th (National Coffee Day). I will be reading + reblogging every fic. The masterlist will be posted at the end. (if you see this anytime later or can’t make the deadline do not fret, if anything below inspires you, you are welcome to write and tag me and I will add your submission to the masterlist♡)

Below are the rules, prompts, and guidelines ♡

who you can write for: all marvel characters are welcome / any fictional sebastian stan or chris evans characters are welcome too (any characters they’ve portrayed based on real life people will not be accepted though!!) (please keep it to x reader fics only!!)

some general guidelines: Below I’ve provided a number of different prompts and songs for inspiration ♡ Anyone can use them and mix and match however you’d like!! If you use any please let me know somewhere in the post! If none of them below inspire you, to stay within theme please include either a cafe or coffee somewhere in the fic :) 18+ fics are welcome, just please add warnings! Any length of fics are welcome, but if it’s over 500 words please add the “keep reading” option. If you write something as part of a bigger series please write your submission as a standalone ♡

˖°.₊˚☕⊹♡ This is a sweet and cozy little cafe, but of course, there is always a possibility of rain. If anything below inspires an angsty fic, then by all means go ahead and write it! Your submission does not have to include fluff! 

what is not accepted: no dark fics, anything involving minors, incest, rape, noncon/dubcon 

how to enter: please tag me and use #elixirscafe when you post ♡ i’ll leave a like to let you know I saw it and reblog it once I read it :) if i haven’t responded to your post send me an inbox or dm please and thank you! 

Happy writing! My inbox is always open for any questions or comments!! ♡  

What table are you sitting at? 

♡ Coffeeshop AU 

♡ Soulmate AU 

♡ Bakery AU 

♡ Regency Era AU 

♡ Western AU

♡ Neighbor AU 

♡ Pen Pal AU

♡ Small Town AU 

♡ Royal AU

♡ College AU

Would you like a sweet treat?

🍩 ༄ؘ “No, I’m not letting you go. It’s too early to get out of bed.” 

🍰 ༄ؘ Saying I love you for the first time.

🍪 ༄ؘ “ Would it be alright if I borrowed your sweater? It smells like you.” 

🍫 ༄ؘ  “ You...you learned how to cook my favorite meal?”

🧁 ༄ؘ “ I’m not going to get sick, you baby. Just let me hold you.” 

🥧 ༄ؘ  “ What else do I need when I have my whole world in my arms?”

🍮 ༄ؘ “ I’m only doing it because you’re cute.” 

🥯 ༄ؘ “ Could you hold my hand?” 

🥞 ༄ؘ “ I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” 

🍞 ༄ؘ “ I like hearing your heart beating when I put my head on your chest.” 

🍯  ༄ؘ “ Why don’t you tell me what I can do to make your day better?” 

🥐 ༄ؘ “ I’ve tried to forbid myself from falling in love, but now I can’t help it.”

Do you like the music in the cafe? Which song should I play next?

˖°.₊˚☕⊹♡ Feel free to use the lyrics below, the entire feel of the song, or any other lyrics in the song! The playlist is below in case you want to go through and listen to the songs while you write ♡

Apple Cider “ And I don’t even like you that much. Wait, I do, fuck. Call me at midnight. Let’s give this a try.” Beabadoobee

Apple Juice “ Don’t let goodbyes come too easy. Love me, just let me know that you need me.” Jessie Reyez

Apple Pie “I found you under an April sky, and you feel like city life, apple pie baked just right. Home is wherever you are tonight.” Lizzy McAlpine

August “ And I can see us twisted in bedsheets. August slipped away like a bottle of wine.’Cause you were never mine.” Taylor Swift

Bubble Gum “ Sorry I didn’t kiss you, but it’s obvious I wanted to.” Clairo

Caramel “ Love like a landslide, I kiss you goodnight. It used to be easy.” 5SOS

Cardigan “And when I felt like I was an old cardigan, under someone's bed. You put me on and said I was your favorite.” Taylor Swift

Chai Tea “ I love sippin’ chai tea, with you across from me. I love hearing your voice, talkin ‘bout nothing.” Audrey

Champagne Problems “ You had a speech, you’re speechless. Love slipped beyond your reaches, and I couldn’t give a reason.” Taylor Swift

Chocolate “ I need more time off with you to turn you on. And I want to wake up without the alarm. A thousand eyes on me constantly, but I just want you.” Ziggy Alberts

Cinnamon “ It’s a slow cinnamon summer. Your spell is pulling me under. Rowing in a wooded hollow. Showing me the moves to follow.” Jome

Coffee Breath “ Make me fantasize,'bout you baby. And you smell so sweet, like fresh-picked daisies.” Sofia Mills 

Coffee Cup “ So we’re swapping our cups, and after a while, we’re swapping a glance. And I can think nothing better than starting the year with a drop of romance.” Anthony Lazaro

Espresso “ Now he’s thinkin’ ‘bout me every night, oh. Is it that sweet? I guess so. Say you can’t sleep, baby, I know. That’s that me espresso.” Sabrina Carpenter

Grapejuice “ I was on my way to buy some flowers for you. Thought that we could hide away in a corner of the heath. There’s never been someone who’s so perfect for me.” Harry Styles

Honey + Tea “Girls like flowers, clever poetry. That old adage doesn't work on me, but conversation and a cup of tea. Boy, you had me at philosophy.” Mōzi

Milk & Honey “ So come meet me in the garden, where the angels sing. We’re mixing up milk and honey, soft lips divine. Slow cherry and lay me down, oh, she’s coming to set me free.” Jessarae

Pancakes for Dinner “ I’ll try to hide the way I feel, but I’ll just wanna shout. What do I have to lose right now?” Lizzy McAlpine

Thin Mints “ If you let me lova ya like I wanna, write you all the poems like Whitman. You can take my Thin Mints, if you let me love ya like I wanna.” Evan Crommett

Too Sweet “ I think I’ll take my whiskey neat. My coffee black and my bed at three. You’re too sweet for me.” Hozier

playlist for the songs above can be found here: 🧸

to my lovely mutuals, please don’t feel pressured to participate or share, just thought I’d share this with you all ♡  

@peteyprecious616 ♡ @malum-forev ♡ @rosepetalsinwinter ♡ @inkedreverie ♡ @nickfowlerrr ♡ @missraion ♡ @pocolottie​ ♡ @sweetiebarnes ♡

[burningvelvet]

On November 8th 1820, Claire Clairmont wrote some satirical stories in her journal about Lord Byron and Percy Shelley—they were written as ideas for caricatures (the Regency era term for what we would now call editorial cartoons or comic strips):

Wednesday, November 8th.

Caricature for Albé. He, sitting writing poetry, the words “Oh! faithless Woman” round the room, hearts are strewed, inscribed, “We died for love of you.” Another—he catching a lady by her waist, his face turned towards her, his other hand extended holding a club stick in the act of giving a blow to a man who is escaping. From his mouth,

“The maid I love, the man I hate

I'll kiss her lips and break his Pate.”

Three more to be called Lord Byron's Morning, Noon and Night. The first: he looking at the sky, a sun brightly shining—saying: "Come, I feel quite bold and cheerful—there is no God.”

The second towards evening, a grey tint spread over the face of Nature, the sun behind a cloud—a shower of rain falling—a dinner table in the distance covered with a profusion of dishes, he (with a Wallup) says—“What a change I feel in me after dinner; where we see design we suppose a designer; I'll be a Deist—I am a Deist."

The third—evening—candles just lighted, all dark without the windows (a cup of green tea on the table): and trees agitated much by wind beating against the panes, also thunder and lightning. He says

"God bless me, suppose there should be a God—it is as well to stand in his good graces. I'll say my prayers to-night, and write to Murray to put in a touch concerning the blowing of the last Trump."

Pistols are on the table, also daggers—bullets—Turkish scymitars . . .

Another to be called “Lord Byron's receipt for writing pathetic History.” He sitting drinking spirits, playing with his white mustachios. His mistress, the Fornaria, opposite him drinking coffee. Fumes coming from her mouth, over which is written "garlich;" these, curling, direct themselves towards his English footman who is just then entering the room and he is knocked backward. Lord B. is writing, he says.

"Imprimis, to be a great pathetic poet. First prepare a small colony, then dispatch the Mother, by worrying and cruelty, to her grave; afterwards to neglect and ill-treat the children—to have as many and as dirty mistresses as can be found; from their embraces to catch horrible diseases, thus a tolerable quantity of discontent and remorse being prepared, give it vent on paper, and to remember particularly to rail against learned women. This is my infallible receipt by which I have made so much money."

The last his death. He dead extended on his bed, covered all but his breast, which many wigged doctors are cutting open to find out (as one may be saying) what was the extraordinary disease of which this great man died—His heart laid bare, they find an immense capital “I” grown on its surface—and which has begun to pierce the breast—They are all astonishment. One says, “a new disease.” Another. “I never had a case of this kind before.” A third what medicines would have been proper, the fourth holding up his finger (A desert island.)

Caricature for poor dear S. He looking very sweet and smiling. A little Jesus Christ playing about the room. He says:

“Then grasping a small knife and looking mild

I will quietly murder that little child.”

Another. Himself and God Almighty. He says:

"If you please God Almighty, I had rather be damned with Plato and Lord Bacon than go to Heaven with Paley and Malthus." God Almighty: “It shall be as you please, pray don't stand upon ceremony."

Shelley's three aversions: God Almighty, Lord Chancellor, and didactic Poetry . . .

Sources: The Journals of Claire Clairmont edited by Marion Kingston Stocking, Harvard, 1968, Archive.org. “The Lord Byron / John Polidori relationship and the foundation of the early nineteenth-century literary vampire” by Matthew Beresford, University of Hertfordshire June 2019. Byron: A Biography by Marchand, Vol. II, 1957.

[artsybridgerton]

Hello there! I read that you wanted to write a Benedict Bridgerton x reader so I want to request that for you :)

you can write anything but I wanted that they meet for pure case and that reader is a really cheerful, happy and clumsy person lol

idk if regency/modern, feel comfortable to choose!

thank you in anticipation and have a good day/night! 💟

Hi @shoyooss! Thank you for the request! So I tried my best but i think it came out a little cringy.

Could be the fact that i couldn't think of how a cheerful/happy person is, probably cause i've never been that myself but hey, i gave it a shot :D

I hope you like it even a little and i apologize for everything you will read on my blog :D

Thanks for trusting me tho <3

with love, Essy<3

p.s. the pigeon part is actually based on true events in yours truly's life :)

_______________________________________________

warnings: my mediocre writing lol

modern au

Pieces of paper

You’ve been looking for a job with no luck but recently you started working in this bar as a waitress, with no experience at all. You may or may not have lied on your resumé with having years of experience.

It was a busy morning and you were told to stay outside of the bar to welcome in the customers other than that you were also in charge of keeping the pigeons away from the people eating and the plates that were yet to be taken inside to be washed.

As you were fighting off the pigeons your coworker came to you.  “Hey, when you’re done with that, help this man with his order ok?”

“No problem!” You smiled at her as you quickly ran inside leaving the customers fend for themselves. “At Least they didn’t poop on me!” you thought to yourself.

Taking a tray you approached the counter to bring the order to the customer: a cappuccino, a glass of orange juice and avocado on toast. As you turned around to accidentally bump into a tall man spilling the customer’s coffee on him.

He yelped slightly. “Wow, that coffee was hot!”

“I am so sorry sir, I didn’t see you!” You reach for your rag wanting to try and clean the stain on his shirt but by doing so you accidentally let go of the tray you were holding with both hands making everything fall on his feet. 

“Great heavens!” you immediately crouch to clean up. “Sir I will personally hand wash your clothes if you let me, I'm deeply sorry!”

“It’s fine miss” He smiled and also crouched to help you clean. 

“Well you could always say it’s a fashion statement!” You say trying to make the situation less awkward. At that he chuckled a little. “Really sir, let me at least offer you some coffee, i mean it! The whole breakfast perhaps? Lunch? Is dinner more of your liking?”

“Well that escalated quickly, I might just assume you want to ask me out” He joked and slightly moved closer to you while you were looking down putting the food back on the tray.

“Wou-would you want me to?” Panic-flirting was an ability you developed recently but now you directly head-butted him when you looked back up to him so he lost his balance.

“Sir! I didn’t mean to do that! Would you like an ambulance?” You panicked.

You help him back up. Only now you got a good look at his face and thought he was actually very handsome.

He let out a laugh in confusion. “Miss, really everything is fine, don’t worry” He cleaned himself off. 

“I’m y/n, this is my number, i will gladly pay whatever damage i caused to your person sir” you say as you write down your contact on a piece of paper. 

“Benedict” He offered you his hand to shake. 

You shaked his hand, keeping eye contact, almost mesmerized by his eyes.

“Miss, I'm still waiting for my order!” The other customer yelled.

“Oh shit right!” You were woken up from the trance and went back to the counter to retake the order.

In the meantime, Benedict ordered a cup of tea and sat down to enjoy it.

Some time has passed and you were now cleaning up the tables.

As you passed near Benedict’s table he stopped you and handed you a piece of paper. “My number.” You look at him confused. “You still have to offer me a meal, dinner? was it?” He winked. 

You couldn’t help but smile at him as you accepted the paper.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Gorgeous 1937 English Regency/Art Deco estate in Atlanta, Georgia is stunning. It has 5bd  7.5ba & is listed for $4.750M and it’s already under contract.

What a classy entrance hall. Love black & white checked floors. What a graceful staircase.

Very formal sitting room, but it looks very comfy. 

Lovely wood paneled den.

Beautiful formal dining room, and I mean formal. Look at the fireplace.

Gorgeous big kitchen with a window seat that even has a coffee table, plus a side chair like a living room.

Elegant bedroom.

Plus a updated vintage en-suite.

Secondary bedroom and bath is just as lovely.

All of the bedrooms are big, bright, and airy.

This room is not only a wine cellar, but wine tasting room, as well.

This is the most fantastic room in the house. It’s a ballroom on the top of the roof.

Look at this bar. Can you imagine entertaining up here?

This is fabulous.

Look at this beautiful weather vane on top of the house.

I’m surprised that they have a fountain rather than a pool, though.

The home is on 4.4 lush green acres.

https://www.redfin.com/GA/Atlanta/3655-Paces-Ferry-Rd-NW-30327/home/24621498

[groundonesix]

Round Lucite and Glass Coffee Table

Round coffee table with lucite base in the manner of Charles Hollis Jones. The brass base supports three lucite leaf like pieces that on their return they support the round bevelled glass top.

The round shape of the coffee table is both practical and stylish, providing ample surface area for drinks, books, and other decorative items. The overall design of the table is clean and minimalist, with clean lines and a sleek silhouette that would complement any modern or contemporary interior design scheme especially if accompanied by a curved or a corner sofa.

As this piece is from the 1980s, there is some wear to be expected. But the overall condition is good, considering its age.

Please note that the table can be dismantled, so we can flat pack and ship this item internationally with ease.

CREATOR: Unknown

PLACE OF ORIGIN: USA

DATE OF MANUFACTURE: c. 1980s

PERIOD: 1980-1989

MATERIALS & TECHNIQUES: Glass, Acrylic, Brass Plated

CONDITION: Good original condition

WEAR: Wear consistent with age and use. Some patina on the brass frame and a light wear on the lucite and glass surface, as seen in the photos.

HEIGHT: 39cm | 15.3in

DIAMETER: 97cm | 38.2in

Request more information

[snowbellewells]

Tag 9 People you want to get to know better

{I wasn't tagged, just thought this looked like fun when it crossed my dash this morning. Hope you don't mind if I've tagged you!}

Last Song: "Come Be My River" - Josh Baldwin

Favourite Colour: Yellow (followed by green)

Last film/show: The Nanny (is it weird to admit I have the whole series on dvd?)

Sweet/savoury/spicy: Savory (salty, tangy, love all of that!)

Last thing I googled: Are the Bridgerton iced coffee and creamer flavors still available?

Last Book: Cards on the Table by Agatha Christie

Relationship status: single

Current Obsession(s): Agatha Christie, still OuaT and CS, this one unfinished vampire Killian/Emma/Graham love triangle mystery romance ff (I NEED to know how it ends!!), Regency romances, Georgia research for upcoming girls' trip

tags: @booksteaandtoomuchtv @kazoosandfannypacks @xarandomdreamx @jennjenn615 @belovedcreation @beckettj @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @jrob64

[dangerpronebuddie]

Kiss Me Once Cause You Know I Had A Long Night 26/?

43. Wrapping your legs around your lover's body as they lift you

Summary:

He looked way too good to be sitting around Buck's apartment. He was wearing that tan flannel with the sleeves rolled up that always made Buck a little bit insane, and ripped jeans. The one pair Eddie owned that exposed just enough skin to make Buck feel like a lovesick regency woman in need of a fainting couch or a fan.

(inspired by this gorgeous fanart by @demonmojo )

(read below!)

Buck tossed his keys on the table and sighed. Another dead end date. He was this close to just giving up. No one he went out with compared to-

"Hey, Buck."

Buck jumped in surprise and looked at the source of the greeting. Eddie sat on Buck's kitchen counter, a beer beside him and a soft smile on his face.

He looked way too good to be sitting around Buck's apartment. He was wearing that tan flannel with the sleeves rolled up that always made Buck a little bit insane, and ripped jeans. The one pair Eddie owned that exposed just enough skin to make Buck feel like a lovesick regency woman in need of a fainting couch or a fan.

"Uh, hey," Buck smiled. "Didn't know you'd be here." Eddie texted him an hour ago saying his date ended early, and Buck replied his did as well. He couldn’t expect it to last when all he talked about the whole time was either Eddie or Chris.

"Neither did I, honestly," Eddie shrugged. "But then you said your date was awful too, and well... Thought maybe we could be miserable together."

A pang of jealousy struck Buck by surprise. Eddie went out on a date with a dispatcher Linda set him up with, and he went out looking absolutely gorgeous, in Buck's favorite outfit. Buck always wondered how it would feel to slide his fingers beneath the rips on those jeans. Tonight was no exception.

The thing that really caught Buck's attention, though, was the fact that Eddie looked far from miserable. If Buck wasn't mistaken, he looked... hopeful?

His soft smile and even softer eyes made Buck just a little brave. He crossed to the counter, fitting himself right between Eddie's spread thighs, and fisted a hand in his shirt to pull him into a searing kiss.

Eddie responded immediately, his warm, callused palms cupping Buck's face as he returned the kiss. Buck splayed his palm on Eddie's ribs in an attempt to get closer. Sitting on the counter gave Eddie a height advantage Buck wasn't used to, and he found himself leaning further into Eddie to deepen the kiss. Eddie's thumbs pressed on Buck's chin, coaxing him into opening his mouth wider, welcoming his tongue.

Eddie pulled away all too soon and looked into Buck's eyes, his coffee brown irises shining in the warm light. "What was that for?" he asked breathlessly, his thumbs swiping across Buck's cheek bones.

"I don't want to be miserable together. I want us to be happy together," Buck said softly. "I only went out tonight to try to get over you, but Eds... there's no getting over the love of your life. I spent the entire night talking about you and Chris, and the more I did, the more I wished I was with you." He brushed their noses together and smiled. "What do you say?"

Eddie's breath hitched in his throat. His soft smile grew into a beautiful beam, so wide his eyes crinkled. "Deal."

Buck leaned in and kissed him, the taste of happiness on his tongue intoxicating.

Eddie ripped away from him, like it took every ounce of willpower to do so. He tried to lean in again, but Eddie held him in place. "I love you, Evan."

"I love you, too, Eddie. So much," Buck grinned before surging forward and capturing Eddie's lips in a bruising kiss. Eddie hooked his arm around Buck's shoulders as Buck teased the seam of his lips open. Buck trailed his hands down to Eddie's thighs, doing exactly as he'd envisioned and sliding his fingers into the rip near Eddie's inner thigh.

Eddie made a soft noise and tangled his fingers in Buck's curls. Buck pulled him to the edge of the counter and danced his fingers further up Eddie's thighs.

"You really have a thing for the jeans, huh?" Eddie smirked against his lips.

Buck trailed kisses down the column of his throat. "Maybe." he murmured. Eddie wrapped his legs around Buck, locking his ankles and pulling him closer. "Hang on," Buck said in a husky whisper. He lifted Eddie into his arms and carried him towards the stairs.

"Don't you dare drop me," Eddie said as he moved to Buck's neck.

"You know I wouldn't," Buck said, holding him a little tighter.

"I know you wouldn't," Eddie said softly.

[crotchety-old-emu]

OLITDP chapter 24 references

as i mentioned in my author's notes of the chapter, there's a few references that i would like to share with those who are interested in them. you don't need to know about them to understand what's going on in the story, obviously, but perhaps it's nice to have some visual aids to go with some of the things that are happening.

if you haven't read the latest chapter yet, and you want to remain spoiler free, it's best to skip this post (or perhaps come back to it later). you can find chapter 24 of our love is these days' piano here!

so here's a short list of things that might be interesting - but definitely not necessary - to know about chapter 24:

penelope's dress at the trowbridge ball is a silvery sea green. the one i had in mind was kind of like this one, from the season three behind the scenes pics. nicola looks stunning in green, especially with the red hair. i found beatrice knight's regency color compendium, a stunning overview of all the fashionable colours of fabric in the regency era, with some fantastic descriptions of how they were made and when they were worn. the willow/sea green colour shown on this page is exactly the hue i was picturing while writing.

lady trowbridge's decorations: i spent days and days researching how lady trowbridge might showcase her wealth and peculiar tastes during this ball, but honestly, i didn't find much info about ballroom decorations and i didn't want to make up things that definitely could not have happened. so i settled on things that i was already fairly certain of were pretty decadent for the era: pineapples and ice cream. after reading up on ice cream in regency times through several sources, i came across the website of ivan day, who is a food historian and has worked on some bbc regency costume dramas. he had a very insightful youtube video on how ice cream was made in those days. in it, he makes one of the ice cream pineapples i mention in the story. ivan day's actual website is under construction, but i found a photo of moulded ice groups, as they were presented in regency times, on another page which was taken from his. it includes ice cream shaped like a swan (which may have been parmesan flavoured, which apparently was a popular ice cream flavour back then).

another food decoration that both eloise and penelope mention is a flummery solomon's temple. i found out about these through watching the bbc documentary pride and prejudice - having a ball, which talks about accurate representation of balls during regency times on television. the part of the doc i'm linking to is the part where ivan day reveals a solomon's temple and explains that this would be a staple on all upper-class tables in those days. the white bits, if i'm not mistaken, are milk-flavoured, the brown is chocolate and/or coffee, the pink is coloured with cochineal.

he also has a page on solomon's temples on his blog, which has a very amusing short clip of how exactly these jellies moved. if you watch it (highly recommend), i'm sure you'll understand why eloise would think it was a good thing to comment on. ivan day himself describes it as:

Because it is made of flummery, which is a kind of opaque milk jelly, the central obelisk wobbles and cavorts in a most entertaining manner, while the four little cones shake, rattle and roll in a very naughty way.

the dance: i must have watched at least fifty different dances that were popular at the time - shoutout to regencydances.org, which not only has a very extensive list of dances, but also a youtube channel and animations showing what the dances would have looked like. i based penelope and anthony's dance on the northdown waltz - which granted, only became a thing from 1820 onwards, so it's technically an anachronism for them to be dancing it. it simply was the only dance that best fit with how i wanted the scene to go. you can find an instruction video on the northdown waltz here. anthony, in this case, would be the red rectangle, penelope the green ellipsis. here's a clip of actual people performing the dance, so you can kind of imagine what it would have looked like. i always knew anthony's confession would happen during a dance, my main inspiration for that was this scene from becoming jane. if you've seen the film, you undoubtedly know exactly which scene i'm talking about without even clicking the link. i remember that when i first saw this part of the film, i stopped breathing for a minute, because it was just such an intense moment, which was exactly what i wanted for anthony's big moment.

there you go, some insight into the tiny things mentioned in the latest chapter that you might perhaps enjoy knowing more about. hope at least some of you found it interesting!

also, i want to mention: i am not a historian, i don't claim that my fic is historically accurate, not in the very least. i try to stick to period-appropriate things, which i do as much research for as i can. but some mistakes will have slipped in there, i am very much aware. so if this is a particular pet peeve for some of the history buffs among you, i apologise.