#even the usual defence mechanism

[deepcoraldragon]

Bitzel perfectly summing it up

Like seriously, if you still follow him after everything, what is it gonna take?

[milla-frenchy]

Close-up

8k7 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 | masterlist Summary: Joel receives a script that takes him back to the memories of your love story. He realizes that out of protective instinct after the break up, he has not been honest neither with his own feelings nor with you Warnings: 18+ mdni. ex lovers reunited, angst, mostly Joel pov, Joel can act cold out of defence mechanism, he has trouble accepting his own feelings, pining, slow burn, pet names (sweetheart, baby), semi public sex, just the tip, soft!joel, oral (f), piv, creampie. Pic for mood only, reader has no specific physical descriptions. 

a/n:  this is written for @jolapeno 's dear-uary challenge (prompt here) thank you for this challenge Jo, and it was such a cool prompt 😍😍😍 Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing and for reading this one soooo many times 🥹😘💕 @/saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙏

I sent you a script, tell me what you think tell me more just read it, trust me

The informal messages between Joel and his agent, Will, were usual. They had known each other for a long time, they were friends, and Will had always found him perfect roles. 

So as always, Joel trusted him- even though the first page of the script, delivered to him by a courier, was not completely filled, making him wonder why. 

In the evening he put his cup on the coffee table, and lay down on the sofa, a soft light lamp behind his head. With his back leaning against the cushions, shirt, jeans, bare feet. Always the same ritual, always the same setup, when he was about to read a new script.

He started reading it, taking a sip of coffee from time to time, until his heart leapt in his chest as he got to a particular scene. 

He closed it and took a moment before rereading the first page, with the name left blank. 

It could only be you. 

That was the only explanation for getting a script without the name of the author on it. And there was no way the scene he had just read, so familiar, so intimate, could be coincidental. Or could be written by anyone else. He grabbed his phone and sent a message to his agent, unable to contain his annoyance.

that’s fucked up, Will

*Will calling*

“Yeah,” he grumbled as he picked up, without even trying to hide his feelings, then he got up to pace the room.

“Look, I know what you’re thinking, Joel. But she’s a great writer and actress, you know it. We’ve been looking for a good drama movie for a long time. This one’s perfect.”

“It’s… damn, Will, it’s our story, ok? Or a part of it, I don't know. Anyway I can’t play this. Can’t play me.”

“Joel, listen to me and think about it. No one would know. And it can be therapeutic.”

“Thera… jesus, you gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Joel sighed as he hung up and threw his phone on the couch. 

Why the fuck would Will do something so stupid and inconsiderate, giving him a script from you? 

At the beginning of his career, his agent sent him one project for a movie in which you were expected to play too. Joel confessed that you two had been together, and added “you don’t bring her up. Ever,” to end the conversation. So Will never did. 

Until today.

He sat back down on the sofa, resting his forehead on his fist, resisting the urge to throw the cup of coffee across the room. He was surprised by his own reaction, his nervousness. His anger. Barely able to control his emotions, he felt so weak, like his heart was about to tear in two again, swallowing him whole. He was affected, years later, as if it happened yesterday.

So, sure, a long time ago he asked Will not to talk about you anymore. But they might have been  friends, his agent might have known about you, but he didn’t know the details. Didn’t know how profoundly the break up had hurt Joel, how much you had gotten under his skin, back then.

And in Will's defense, it wasn't like you never saw each other again, at parties or ceremonies, under Will’s gaze who thought that it wasn't that bad, after all. It was years after your separation, now having the job that both of you dreamed about, talked about, sweaty young adults in a messy bed where he had just made you come.

Will wasn't aware that it was actually that bad. 

Because he didn’t know the way Joel looked at you, when you were together. He didn't know how sweet and caring Joel was with you. He didn’t know how much he loved wrapping his arms around you, and having you curl up against him. 

He didn’t know how Joel used to hold you firmly against the mattress, hands on your hips, lapping at your cunt to make you come again. Because he always wanted more, always wanted to give you more.

He didn’t know that pushing his cock in you was the sweetest, most intense sensation he’d ever felt. Even now, years later, he never felt something like that again.

Will didn't know any of that, had no idea how intense it had been. Because the only thing Joel told him was “you don’t bring her up. Ever.”

The first time you saw each other again, was in a place full of actors, agents, writers and directors.

You couldn't believe he was here, a few steps away from you. Of course, you knew you'd cross paths one day, but suddenly he was closer to you than he had been in years and you felt your heart racing. He was even more handsome than he was back then, if it was even possible. You knew what he looked like, you watched all his movies. In need of his voice, his smile, his gestures, his laugh. In need of him. 

But seeing him for real- not through a screen but in the same room, not some character but Joel, the man you loved more than anyone else, the man you would still call “the love of your life” in your thoughts -, was breathtaking, almost surreal. 

So you approached him, without overthinking it, but as soon as he saw you he gave you a subtle but firm shake of his head. The message was crystal clear - he didn’t want to talk to you, didn’t even want you around. 

It stopped your hesitant steps in their tracks, and the shy smile you had the courage to build instantly disappeared, and your gaze fell to the floor. Trying to control your breathing, to fight back the tears you felt welling up. 

If you had looked up right away, you would have seen guilt sweep through his eyes. But when you finally raised your head, seconds later, he was on the other side of the room. The only thing you could see was his back, which he undoubtedly presented to you deliberately, as if his glare hadn’t been enough to make a point.

All evening, you struggled to keep conversations going, to concentrate, to think of anything other than his dark stare, furrowed brows, and the way he shook his head at you without any hesitation. For years, you had been wondering what he had thought of you, after those years. You just got the most brutal answer to that question. 

The second time, a journalist had done some research and discovered that you attended the same university, graduated the same year. He took the opportunity to bring the subject as Joel was walking by. He probably hadn't seen you amongst all those people, because you were sure he would have gone the other way, otherwise. You didn’t have much choice than to kiss, feigning a friendly closeness that had never existed between you. You had been lovers, then strangers. No in-between. 

His scent, so familiar, invaded your nostrils. He always wore the same perfume, the one you had given him for a birthday. It surprised you but you didn't have much time to think about it, as he ended the hug quickly.

Joel's eyes were shifty when you looked at him, a fake smile plastered on his lips. Which could probably seem real for people who didn't know him, but not for you. Not even years later. You answered the journalist's questions as best as you could, until Joel leaned towards to give you a hug that was as neutral as his eyes on you, cutting off the questions. Then he walked away, leaving you facing the journalist who was delighted with the exclusive material and oblivious to the unspoken scene that had happened in front of him.

Joel thought back to those two evenings, after he’d hung up on Will and before he’d put the script away in a drawer. He needed to regain control of his emotions, and to do that he couldn't continue reading your words, at least for now.

He went to the kitchen for a fresh cup of coffee, and despite him trying, his mind wandered to lazy mornings where he would get up to make two coffees and then come back to the bedroom. He’d put them on the nightstand, before cuddling up to your warm body under the sheets, hearing you moan gently. Sometimes you would fall asleep in one of his shirts, and he loved smelling his scent on you, as if you were marked by him, somehow. It always made him feral, possessive. He didn’t know he had that side in him, until you.

You'd always grab his hand to kiss the tip of his fingers, before sliding them along your folds, feeling his cock harden against your ass and your pussy starting to drool. He would make you come with his digits, his lips against your ear, caged in his arms, then he'd slide his cock between your thighs and your soaked folds, just in time for your last spasms to squeeze his tip. Sometimes he would keep fucking you like that, lying behind you, and sometimes he would roll you on your back, taking his place between your thighs. Until he’d come, grunting, growling, his hair disheveled, and you often fall back asleep, his cock softening inside you, the cups of coffee cold on the nightstand.

He shook his head to think about something else and to resist the urge to take the script out of the drawer. Instead, he took a sleeping pill and went to bed.

The next morning he woke up groggy. He put on a t-shirt and sweatpants, poured himself a cup of coffee, and put aside his good resolutions. He didn’t need the script to think about you, anyway. Time never healed his wounds, he never forgot you or the pain he had felt when you’d left. His thoughts were always hurtful, possessive and raw.

Even years after the break up he couldn’t help but think about you when his wrist fucked his shaft. Even sometimes when he was in a relationship. He hated himself for that but couldn’t help it. He missed your cunt, your hands, everything. But he couldn’t accept the idea that he was simply missing you. 

He always thought that your bodies were made for each other, and you always breathed the same words. He knew you meant it, his cock buried in you, his eyes fixed on yours rolling to the back of your head and his ears filled with your moans, barely able to tell his name.  

Until it was over. 

He knew it could happen, you always told him that you'd have to leave for California one day in hope to live your dream, that you couldn’t do it in Texas. But he brushed it off, not wanting to believe it, not wanting to think about it. He hid it in a corner of his mind, until he had no other choice but to face reality. Until it hit him. That day, he realized that he wouldn’t get to wrap his arms around you for the rest of his life.

He lay down on the couch and started to read. And the more he read the script, the more he realized that you wrote only the moments that had really happened. 

The story, background, was slightly different, probably so that no one could ever make a connection to the two of you. But the moments were real, and it made him dizzy.

You wrote that dance in your small apartment, first for the both of you, that you rented after graduation. You worked as a waitress and Joel was a barista, and you two went to as many castings in Austin as you could, dreaming every day about being actors.

That night you put on some music and danced. He kissed your hand and looked at you. He felt warm. He loved you so much that his heart was aching. He made you spin and you laughed, and it was like a spring breeze in the apartment, filling his lungs with fresh air. When you stopped twirling you brushed his hair and then kissed him. 

The writing was pure and vivid and as he was reading your point of view he felt like his ribcage was suddenly too small to contain his heartbeats.

Over the next two days, he took the script out of the drawer regularly. Slowly touching the paper that already bore the marks of repeated handling, him  lying on his couch, taking his time before opening it. 

He read it all, and the sweetness, the sensitivity with which you described your moments moved him profoundly. The person he had loved, cherished, cradled in his arms, wrote that. 

All the intimacy, the love and care you both felt for each other were there. For several years he made everything to forget the good moments, to focus only on the ending to feed his bitterness, but the fact was that there had been so many beautiful moments. And he could read them, feel them again. Couldn’t deny them anymore.

Your words were so familiar, so true to your love story, that his anger slowly gave some place to something else: nostalgia. Finally allowing himself to miss you and what you two had. He was still wondering why you had written the script and sent it to him, but now he was ready to learn the answer. And he wanted to look you in the eye when he’d ask you this question. But he wasn't sure how he’d behave, when you met. Didn't know if bitterness or nostalgia would fill his heart.

So after two days of silence, Joel picked up his phone and sent Will a message.

Ok, set up a meeting

Because of your busy schedules you could meet only in two weeks. The delay was driving him crazy. 

He made a copy of the script, his copy, which he filled with annotations, dates. Underlining moments or words erased from his mind, out of grief, anger or self-protection.

He got hard several times, while reading some scenes. And sometimes anger would come back to creep into his thoughts, whispering to him that you never should have sent it to him, when your separation had been so painful for him. 

And Will was not the only one Joel said “you don’t…. ever.”

To you, it’d been “If you leave… you don't call me. Ever.”

That morning, as he got used to doing several times a day, he grabbed his copy of the script. He had handled it so much that the sheets were already damaged, some pages peppered with annotations. 

As he was reading, he remembered how you had loved to run your fingers over his jeans when you were watching a movie on your little couch. Playing with him, your hand going higher and higher, just to hear his breathing slow down, just to hear him murmur a needy and low “sweetheart, what are you doing?”, making you smile widely. Knowing that he would manhandle you two seconds later to be under him, pulling your panties to the side and pushing his thick length into you. He remembered the feeling of your breasts against his chest, how you whimpered in his neck while he was fucking you hard and deep. 

He was nervous the morning of the meeting. He took a shower, hoping to get rid of the fatigue and headache from the lack of sleep the night before. He put on a shirt and jeans and grabbed his car keys, put on some music when he started to drive, trying to change his mind, but it didn’t work, he was still anxious. He parked near the building. Once inside he found the meeting room and knocked on the door. He heard you say “come in” and took a deep breath before twisting the handle.

You were alone, sitting in a chair, and he quickly pushed aside the thought of how pretty you were. Joel immediately noticed your hands, pressed together nervously, before you stood up to greet him. He stopped when you walked towards him and your smile faded like that time.

“Wait,” he said, his hand raised in front of him, as he was trying to control his emotions. “I just… Why did you send it to me?” he added without any preamble, his tone harsher than he intended. 

“Oh… ok. Straight to the point, huh?” you said, sitting back down, and removing an imaginary crease on your sleeve, eyes lowered to the desk.

“I never…” you started to say, before stopping and taking a breath. “I think I needed to write our story down.” 

Joel’s sigh stopped you. You tried to keep a low and calm tone, not to show your anxiety. You knew that facing him wouldn't be easy. He had given you a glimpse of his coldness after the situation with that journalist.

“Joel, please, listen to me.” 

You looked at him, and yet you had no idea how his name, escaping your lips, tore his heart apart. He never thought he’d hear it again, and the familiar intonation made him shiver.

“I honestly think it would make a great movie,” you said. “And you must think so too, since you’re here.”

“I don’t know why I’m here, honestly. Except that I want to know why.”

“Would you have preferred to discover it once the movie was out, your role played by someone else?”

His gaze on you, dark and possessive, made you freeze.

“No, I really wouldn’t have appreciated our story, my life, played by someone else, Jesus,” he growled.

He put his hands on his hips, a stance you’d seen him do dozens of times before, searching for words, and then he sat in a chair, pinching the place just above his nose with two fingers. Trying to stop the headache that was threatening to come again. It had started off badly, and he knew it was his fault. He was too stubborn, too cold.

“Who do you have in mind for the female lead?” he asked finally.

“Well… me,” you answered, without lowering your gaze that time.

“You?” 

A part of him, that he thought was gone the day you had left, woke up with a groan. He couldn't imagine the movie being made, you playing... well, you, and him being played by another man. It was unthinkable and made his jealousy and possessiveness stir painfully in his chest.

Unlike you, he hadn't watched your movies. He tried though, when he saw your face on a movie poster for the first time. He went to the cinema, but he walked out of the theater the moment that actor leaned toward you to kiss you. He couldn't stand to see someone kiss you, when he couldn't do it anymore.

“I’m the best person to play this character, aren’t I?” you said softly, interrupting his thoughts. “Just like you’re the best one to play the male lead. Look, I know you’ve been rumored for a role like this for years. I know you’re not opposed to it. So why not?”

“Because it’s not about playing a role here,” he sighed. “It’s playing in front of a camera, things we said, did, years ago. Intimate things that belong to us.”

“I changed some things, no one has to know it’s autobiographical,” you started to say, before he quickly cut you off. 

“I know it is. And so do you.” He walked over to the window to stare at the buildings in front of him. “When you leave someone, you don’t do that. It’s unhealthy,” he said, almost softly. Resigned. He turned to you before adding, “Why stir up something that died years ago?”

He didn't expect to face the sadness that clouded your face, and once again guilt seized him. You were sad, upset, and despite the bitterness he’d been feeling for years, he didn’t want to hurt you.

“Joel… I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you anymore,” you answered, standing up and walking towards him. You stopped a few steps away to respect his boundaries, before you'd see his body stiff. “I left because I had to follow my dream, and it wasn’t working in Texas. And you wanted to stay in Austin, to take care of Tommy. We ended it because a long-distance relationship would have been too painful, because I didn’t want us to be unhappy, barely seeing each other, not being able to feel each other often enough. So I left. And I told you all that. You knew it, you knew why.”

You took a breath, after formulating what was oppressing your heart, waiting for him to answer.

“Playing with feelings is dangerous,” he said in a low voice.

“This isn’t a game, Joel. I'm not playing. I’m sure it would make a great movie. And maybe we need to express all that, even years later.”

“Do you remember what I told you that day? The last day?”

“Of course, I do. You told me not to call you. You told me that if we had to meet again… then it would happen. Well, it's happening, Joel.”

He looked at you, confused, and headed towards the door, brushing past you lightly as he passed. 

Just before leaving, without looking at you, he said in a low voice, “my agent will give you my answer in a few days.” 

Once the door closed behind Joel, you remembered the day you left. 

In tears in your car, your boxes in the back, eyes fixed on the rearview mirror where Joel’s silhouette was getting smaller and smaller. Until you could no longer discern his clenched fists, his stone face. Until he was only a small dot, until he wasn't in your life anymore.

At that moment you were wondering if you had made a mistake. You kept wondering for years. To be honest, you still weren’t sure you made the right choice that day. You followed your dream and succeeded, but it cost you the love of your life.

You didn't know what to think about the meeting. It could have been worse, he could have left after two minutes of being there, you knew it. You could have said more, too, but you didn't want Joel to withdraw more into himself. And for sure, you couldn't have told him that you always thought of him when you were in someone’s else’s arms. That you tried not to let jealousy invade you when you thought of his personal life, knowing that you had no right to be. You gave up on that when you had left.

You knew what he thought, how he reacted. Now he needed time to process everything, and you just had to wait for his agent to contact you. You couldn't do more.

Joel got to his car in a blur. He realized where he was only sitting behind the wheel, too many emotions swirling in his head. Years without seeing you and it had gone by at the speed of light. He blamed himself for being cold, blamed himself for not being cold enough, and he was even more lost than before he saw you. He started to drive, the feeling of having mishandled things weighing more and more on his shoulders.

He took another shower when he got home, as if it could wash off his remorse and regrets, the words exchanged playing over and over in his mind.

“Joel… I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you anymore.”

“I had to follow my dream. You wanted to stay in Austin. To take care of Tommy.”

“You knew it, you knew why.”

Did he really start to believe that the events had happened differently, after you left? Had he really done it, to the point of omitting certain things, because he needed someone to blame, to keep moving forward? 

Had he really been that guy? Blaming you when there was no one to blame, just life and the choices that go with it, that we all have to do?

Had he really denied for years that you had left with a broken heart, too? That he had told you to never call him, after those wonderful years together? He felt like he was waking up with a monstrous hangover, and guilt gripped him. Truth is he let you down, and reality was hitting him hard.

Because you were right, you didn’t leave just like that. He didn’t want to acknowledge it for years, kept sweeping it under the rug, but deep down he didn’t forget it. 

And you were right, he hadn’t been able to prioritize your relationship. Couldn’t prioritize himself either. He had always been protective of his brother, but it reached another level when he came back to Texas after being dismissed. Tommy wasn't the same, and Joel knew that he would have constantly wondered if his brother was okay if he had left for California with you. Worried that he could be in jail after a fight, with no one to bail him out. Or that he could be drunk in an alley, alone, spending the night there. Or worse.

“I can’t leave Tommy here alone, with all his drinking and partying,” he told you, expression determined.

“But you need to think about your future, our future too, Joel,” you replied desperately.

Joel had probably hoped that you wouldn’t have left, that you’d have chosen him, until the end. And you probably hoped the same thing, too. 

Right person, wrong time. Fucking sad, but so banal.

So to forget that he was as responsible for the breakup as much as you were, he let his pain turn into anger, and he never let nostalgia set in, or his feelings show up. 

And everything blew up when you sent him that script and he started reading it. It was impossible to continue to deny the obvious, to keep thinking that his feelings were stronger than yours and that’s why you had left. It was impossible to forget that he had told you, “If you leave… you don't call me. Ever.” That he was the one who had cut everything off, once and for all. To protect himself, of course. But still.

So once you were gone, he did what he had to do, he took care of Tommy. Except that he started going to bars with him, at night. Drinking less than him, but still way too much. He took sleeping pills when he was obsessed with your absence, tired of squeezing your pillow way too tight in his fist, his jaw clenched with anger. He moved to a new neighborhood because he couldn't stand living in that apartment anymore where everything reminded him of you. 

When they were children and then teenagers, Joel and Tommy’s father taught them to work with their hands, and it helped them to find jobs on construction sites. And that he finally pulled himself together and helped Tommy the way he had to. It took him months, but he did it, and his parents would be proud of him, of them, if they saw their sons.

He worked hard, kept doing castings when his work allowed it, and eventually it paid off, even if it took time.

He thought about it all, and realized he needed to see you again before deciding on the movie. Needed to behave normally, to let go of his mask. So he asked his agent your number, then texted you:

it’s Joel. Are you still in LA?  I have some questions about the script can we meet again?  I am. When do you wanna meet? tomorrow night, my place? I’ll cook Sure!

He took a deep breath as he sent you his address. He let his emotions take over on purpose, to dispel the bitter taste in his mouth since you saw each other. Now he had to trust them.

The next day he started to cook during the afternoon, the dish that he hoped was still one of your favorite. He knowingly chose to invite you over to his place, to keep his mind occupied at least while he was busy in the kitchen. 

Once the dish was in the oven, he did a running session on his treadmill and showered. 

Anything to keep his mind busy.

You arrived right on time, a bottle of wine in hand.

“You still like the white?” you asked.

He did. Some things never changed.

As you approached the kitchen it smelled so good that you stopped there.

“Still one of your favorite meals?” he asked.

It was. 

You tried not to show that you were moved. Acts of service had always been his way of showing that he cared, and you weren’t expecting that when you showed up.

You sat down on a high stool in the kitchen and he opened the bottle of wine. You had a few sips, silently. Neither of you really knew what to say, at first. Then everything set into place, naturally, instinctively. A little shyly at first, bringing up things from your respective pasts, or present. You asked him how Tommy was doing, and he told you he was fine, that he was engaged to a woman named Maria and that they were going to be parents soon. You were happy for Tommy, sincerely. You had always liked him.

Joel was trying to act normally, to not pay too much attention to the ease with which you were chatting. How easily he opened up to you, telling you about his years in Austin, then his first ones in LA. His first roles, his doubts.

He was glancing at your hands when you weren’t looking at him. At your hair. 

He loved to see your eyes shine when you were talking about something that was important to you.

But above all, he loved to see them sparkle the first time he made you smile, that evening. It hit him, how much he missed it. Making you smile. 

His emotions were so familiar that his heart was beating a little too fast, like a horse freed from its reins.

And suddenly he wondered how he had been able to spend so many years without you by his side, when you had always been his sunshine, liberating his grumpy, reserved nature. 

A part of his brain told him that he was smiling a little too much, but he felt more alive during those moments with you than he hadn’t been in so long. 

Whether in a relationship or not.

And then he felt the atmosphere change, felt that you got nervous, an impression confirmed when you began to scratch your thumb. A habit that dated back years ago, and he'd always take you in his arms, kiss your thumb and tell you that he was there and that everything would be okay. Today, for the first time he couldn’t do all that.

“Are you ok?” he nevertheless allowed himself to ask.

“Yeah, it’s just… listen, I know you wanted to ask me about the script, but ehm... there’s something you need to know.” You took a deep breath before adding “there won’t be any movie if you don’t want to do it. If you’re not comfortable with it. I’m not saying this to put pressure on you, it's just… I just want you to know that your choice is completely free. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do it, for whatever bad reason.”

“I appreciate that you’re telling me this, thank you,” he said, in a tone you couldn’t quite define, half defeated, half tender. “Listen, I wanted to apologize.”

“For what, Joel?” you asked questioningly.

“Yesterday. I didn’t really know how to handle all of it. Honestly, I’ve been overwhelmed by a lot of emotions since I read the script. Including anger.” He didn't expect to tell you that, but the need was too much to bear. He needed to make things right.

“I know. I expected it to be complicated, after our two previous meetings,” you said, without animosity or bitterness. Just being factual.

He raised his eyebrows, as if to apologize, before continuing. “I wanted to apologize for that too. My attitude.”

“That’s your way of handling things, it always has been, I should have known. But I appreciate it too, thanks Joel.”

He nodded, then added “do you think we’ll be able to do it?”

“To do what?”

“Work together. To be coworkers on a movie?”

He saw your eyebrows furrow slightly, as you took the time to think before answering.

“Well… the evening’s going pretty well, right? You haven't shook your head at me yet, to show me the door.”

“Ouch!” he replied exaggeratedly.

“Too soon?” you asked, lips curled into a smile.

“A little,” he laughed.

He enjoyed it, that little moment. You’d had so many of them before. 

“Aren’t you afraid of what might happen?” he wanted to ask. 

“Aren’t you afraid of reliving things, that I’ll fall madly in love with you again and that the scenes we’ll shoot, my acting, will just express the reality of my feelings?” 

But he couldn’t ask you that.

He wanted to ask you if you had sent him the script because you still had feelings for him, but he couldn’t say that either.

“It’ll be a low budget movie. I mean, if we do it,” you said. There’ll be some outdoor scenes but not that many. Not many other actors either. It won’t be a long shoot.”

He nodded and said, “can I give you my answer in a couple of days?”

“Of course,” you smiled. “Thanks for the meal, it was delicious,” you said as you stood up. “You can text me if you have any questions.”

He thanked you and you complimented him on his house as you put your coat back on. His taste hadn’t changed. The rooms were simply decorated. As you walked toward the front door you glanced inside one of the rooms, and saw a table with a wooden sculpture on it.

“Oh my god, Joel? You still do the carving?”

“Oh… well… yeah. I never stopped.”

“Can I?” you asked.

“Sure,” he opened the door and you slipped through the gap, brushing past him lightly as you passed and you had goosebumps at the familiar scent. Still the perfume you had gifted him once. Reassuring. After all these years, instantly, it was there. Enveloping you. 

You approached the table and leaned over a piece he was working on, admiring the figurine that was being carved. A rodeo cowboy on a bucking horse.

“Wow, Joel… you were already very good at this back then, but now it’s incredible. The level of detail is mind-blowing.”

You looked at the shelves, covered with other sculptures. You approached them: bears, deer, wolves, rabbits.

“This is really amazing, you’re so talented. And… Do you still play guitar?”

“Sure,” he answered, nodding at a guitar case. “I usually play in the dining room. My guitars are over there. This one needed a little TLC. I just got it back. It’s… well it’s the one you gave me.”

You looked at him, unable to hide the surprise on your face.

“You kept it?” you asked, trying to hold back your emotions.

“ ‘ course I did.”

You nodded, your throat tight.

“I should go, it’s getting late,” you said. “Tell me about the movie, ok?” You looked at him hesitantly, but when he leaned towards you and wrapped his arms around your torso, your eyes closed at the feeling, so familiar, before you pulled away, told him good night and left.

Driving your car, you replayed the images of the evening in your mind. Of course, you had felt his gaze on you several times during the evening. And sometimes you could see Joel again. Your Joel.

Did he think about you as much as you thought about him? Did he suspect that you had sent him this script in the hope of getting back in touch with him? Did he know how much you missed him, all those years?

You had wondered so many times if he had been thinking about you. You thought about the hug, as comforting as before. You missed him so much.

Two days later, he texted you

“I’m in”

He kept looking at his phone after sending the message. The read indicator appeared quickly, then the writing bubble.

“Great, I'm so glad! I’m sure it’s gonna be amazing!!”

He hoped it would be. Hoped it wasn’t a mistake. 

He had to leave LA for several weeks for a shooting, and the organization of the film was put in place.

You sent each other a few messages in the next few days. Then the messages became more and more regular, while remaining purely friendly.

Several months later, the day before the shooting started, he knocked on your trailer to say hello.

You had rehearsed some scenes with the crew, and everything was ready.

The less emotional scenes were shot in the first few days. He didn’t ask for it, but he was glad. Every night he came back to his trailer, played the guitar, and thought about you. 

Seeing you every day was a very strange thing that he had trouble to define. He was happy to see you every day, to see the person you had become. And sad that you were no longer his. Filming these moments with you was like constantly reopening a wound that had never really healed.

That night, he took out the script, and reread the scene planned the next day.

EXT. THEIR APARTMENT -- EVENING He parks downstairs at their apartment, it’s dark. He knows she’s back from a week at her parents’. He’s eager to get home and see her again, he’s missed her. He quickly climbs the outside stairs and unlocks the door. INT. THEIR APARTMENT -- EVENING He puts his keys on the hall cabinet, takes off his jacket and hangs it on the coat rack. We follow him as he walks in the apartment, until he sees her in the doorway of the dining room. He smiles, we see love in their eyes as look at other. HER Hey baby He goes to her, they kiss, he takes her in his arms. She closes her eyes. HIM I missed you, baby. He brushes her cheek with his thumb. HER I missed you too. She takes his hand and leads him to their bedroom.

He stopped reading there, before the next scene, that was the most intimate, the one that made him anxious just to think about.

“I missed you, baby,” he said the line. He brushed your cheek with his thumb, like he had done so many times before. His eyes were fixed in yours. He wondered if he was imagining what he was reading in them.

“I missed you too.”

You took his hand and you headed out of the frame.

“Cut, it was perfect, guys! Go get ready for the next scene.”

He picked up his water bottle and took a sip. He felt dizzy.

You were both wearing underwear and bathrobes. Waiting to shoot the scene.

“Ok guys, you’re ready? Great, let’s go.”

The scene was a close-up of both of your faces during a sex scene, at night. You lay down on the bed first, after taking off your robe. He took off his too and lay down between your thighs.

“Is this ok?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s ok,” you smiled.

“Action!”

You started to kiss, tongues quickly brushing against each other. His hands cupped your cheeks as he rolled his hips towards you slowly, careful that your crotches wouldn’t touch. 

It was overwhelming to feel you against him, your breasts against his chest, with only your bra between the two of you. It was a whirling moment, to kiss you in such an intimate scene, playing something that you had lived for real before. He groaned and slid his hand to the back of your neck to hold you as close as possible against him.

He felt you shift slightly, turning your hips to face his. He wanted to ask you what you were doing but he couldn’t. He was half hard from the moment he laid against you but now his cock was hard as steel. You pushed your pelvis forward and the tip of his cock nestled at your entrance, pointing against his boxers.

He could feel your wet panties through the fabrics.

“Don’t stop, baby,” you recited your line, and he growled.

He couldn’t believe you would act like that while shooting a scene, couldn't believe you were using him.

He pulled away to look at you and you murmured an unscripted “please.” Eyebrows furrowed, he nodded slightly. His fat head found its way, and his tip pushed your panties in.

It was hot, filthy, forbidden. So unprofessional, but he couldn’t stop. He recognized your moans, and the small team around you probably thought it was perfectly faked, when it was music in his ears. The music he thought he would never hear again. 

Your hands tightened on his biceps as you came. So quickly. He felt your walls squeezing his tip and he almost forgot to move, forgot the script, forgot you were shooting a scene. He pulled out, afraid he would come too, and faked his orgasm, neck tense and veins bulging, your hands caressing his hair at the back of his neck.

You said the next line “I love you, baby. I missed you so much.”

“I love you too,” was his.

“Cut!! That was amazing, great job!!”

There was a pounding on your trailer door as you got out of the shower. You quickly threw on a bathrobe and went to open it.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he growled.

“Keep your voice low Joel, damn… Come in.”

You closed the door behind him, searching for the right words, pressing your hands together. 

“I, huh…” you stammered.

“No! No, talk to me. Tell me. You can’t… you can’t do that and stay silent.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” he chuckled.

“Having you so close to me, against me… I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry. It was overwhelming.”

“Everyone could have seen, what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking, that’s the point, Joel! And they didn’t see, anyway.”

“Jesus christ you can't do that. You can’t just use me like that.”

“I know, Joel. I know, I’m sorry. It’s just…”

“What?”

You sighed, and that time he didn't try to rush you. You felt him soften, giving you time to find your words.

“I miss you, Joel.”

“No, don't…  Please, don’t say that.”

“I missed you the second I left and it never stopped.”

Hearing the tone of your voice and reading your eyes, this time he had no doubt that you really meant it. And he felt all the tensions in his body relax, as if he were freed from everything that had been oppressing him for years. You approached him slowly, eyes raised to his, and you slid your hand into his, and his large palm gently closed over it. You caressed his cheek with the other, and for a moment he shut his eyes, pressing his face against your hand.

“I miss you,” you said again and he rested his forehead against yours. He gently rubbed his nose against yours, before kissing your lips softly. He heard your breathing hitch for a moment, then you moaned slightly as you pulled away, just to look at him, Joel, not the actor, for the first time in years. He pulled you closer to him and brushed his tongue over your lips, as if asking for permission to push inside. Greedily, you slid yours to his, licking his tongue and lips, until he crashed his mouth against yours. His hands rested on your waist while yours moved up his back, pressing your bodies together. You whined when you felt his hard cock pressed to you.

You pulled away from him again, just to look at his face, and he wanted to pinch himself, just to be sure you were not some dream that would leave him disillusioned and alone when he woke up.

You took his hand and led him to your room.

“Undress me,” you said.

He pulled on the knot of your bathrobe slowly, making the two sides of the garment part, revealing the curve of your breasts that he caressed with his fingertips.

Your chest rose quickly as your eyes were plunged into each other, until he lowered them to your pussy. His heart was beating so fast that for a moment he was afraid it would explode.

He raised his gaze to yours, silently asking if you were okay.

“Yes,” you said. As if you knew he would want to hear it, that a nod wouldn't be enough.

He slipped his hands under the fabric of the robe and slid it down your shoulders. It fell to the floor, leaving you naked. So vulnerable, and yet you were the strongest woman he ever knew, following your dream by leaving for a city where you didn't know anyone. And made your dream come true.

But now you were here, in front of him. So pretty, so sure of yourself, of your desires.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said in a low voice.

He pulled you back, guiding you with his hands on your hips as he kissed you, until the back of your knees touched the bed.

“Lie down, sweetheart,” he said. The nickname was so familiar in his mouth, so normal. You did as he asked, moving back until your head rested on the pillow as he watched you, still standing at the end of the bed. Then he took off his t-shirt, unbuttoned his jeans and got rid of them and his boxers.

“Are you ok?” he asked.

“Yes,” you replied. “Haven't felt better in a long time, actually.”

“Me too,” he added, laying on the bed, his hand caressing your inner thighs that he kissed, then he spread them with his hands.

He ran his thumb over your folds, covering it in your wetness until he reached your clit and gently rolled it under his finger. You moaned, spreading your thighs wider. 

He leaned down, his shoulders taking possession of the space between your thighs, the scent of your arousal filling his nostrils. He licked a long stripe from your drooling hole to your clit, then placed his hands on the inside of your thighs, pressing your knees against the sheets, and you willingly let him do it, your hands sliding into his hair. He pushed his tongue into your cunt, growling against your folds. He never thought he would taste you again and an overwhelming feeling was running through his whole body. You were leaking into his mouth, down his throat and he pressed you against him, greedy for what you were giving him as your hips rolled towards him. His nose brushed perfectly against your clit, like it always did before. You clung to his hair as your moans were getting louder and louder.

"I'm so close, Joel," you murmured, hands lost in his curls. "Please, baby, please." 

“Take what you need, use me, sweetheart.”

“Oh my god, Joel… I’m gonna… I’m coming, fuck!”

He didn't let go of you, leaving his tongue buried in your pussy and his nose against your clit, gripping  your waist with his hands, as if they were in their natural place, your flesh welcoming them.

“Joel…” you whimpered.

“Another one, please, baby. Let me give you another one, ok?”

“I’m not sure if I can… I don’t know if I can,” you panted.

“Lemme try, ok?”

“Ok,” you whispered.

His tongue left your pussy, licking your puffy folds before teasing your swollen clit. His middle finger slid along your folds before he pushed it in you gently, immediately adding a second digit. His fingers pumped into you, making your wetness flow down to the sheets. He kept you pressed against the mattress, as he had done so many times, drunk on your taste and smell. His cock ached but he resisted the urge to grind himself against the bed, afraid of not being able to hold back and come on them.

“I can feel you clench on my fingers, you’re gonna be a good girl and come again for me?” he asked, before swirling his tongue over your clit again. “Thought about it so often,” he added, still pumping your drooling cunt with his thick fingers, then licking and sucking your clit.

“Yes, fuck yes,” you whined, just before you came on his diggits, clit pulsing against his tongue.

He crawled over to you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and smashed his lips against yours, your wimpers now disappearing between them.

“I wanna suck your cock, Joel,” you breathed against his lips, but he shook his head. 

“Sweetheart… I'd love it too but I’m gonna come the second you’ll take me in your mouth,” he said. “And I really need to feel you around my cock. All the way this time, not just the tip. You’re ok with that, baby?”

“Of course, need to feel you too.”

“Damn you’re so pretty,” he said, and kissed you.

He grabbed his cock in his hand, the tip leaking, swollen and red, and nestled it at your entrance, pausing there for a moment before thrusting in. 

“Oh fuck…” you whined, making him stop.

“No, no no, don’t stop, I’m ok. Need all of you, please,” you whimpered.

Like years ago, he would give you everything you needed from him. So he didn't stop until he bottomed out. 

“Shit,” he groaned, feeling his balls tightening, ready to explode. He was struggling so hard not to come, but his breath was hitching with every thrust since he felt your pussy around him. 

You kissed, hips rolling towards each other softly and slowly. He loved to feel you around him again, and again he thought that your bodies were made for each other. He was sure of it more than ever. He slid his arms under your shoulders and you licked his neck, right at his pulsating point, then kissed the thin and delicate skin crossed by its veins.

“I won’t last, baby, I’m sorry…” he panted.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, taking him deeper.

“It doesn’t matter, fill me, Joel, please, just like before,” you begged, making him grawl, and he placed his thumb against your clit. It was enough to give you soon another climax and you pulsed around his shaft, digging your fingers into his skin as you came once again. He thrusted in a few times before burying himself, balls deep in your cunt, and shot his cum into your core, filling it to the last drop, his forehead against yours.

“Fuck, sweetheart….”

“I know,” you breathed. “Just like before.” 

For a few minutes both of you were panting loudly, waiting to catch your breath.

Then you caressed his cheek and he kissed you until he pulled away and lay down facing you.

“Come here, baby,” he said, welcoming you against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, the way he always liked it so much. You stayed like that for a few minutes without talking. He just wanted to feel you against him, to hear you breathe slowly, to feel your skin against his. 

“I should have left with you,” he said suddenly.

You straightened up to look at him then said softly, “hey, no, don’t… Don’t hurt yourself by thinking that. You did what you had to do, and so did I. And we met again, like you said back then,” you added, and kissed him, then curled up in his arms again.

“We did,” he agreed, brushing your hair delicately. “So, that script?” he asked. “Was it to… like… get me back?”

“Of course it was,” you smiled against his torso, and he kissed the top of your head. 

“I’m happy you sent it to me, sweetheart.”

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

Follow @millafics and turn notifications on for fics updates

@littlemisspascal @pascalsanctuary @survivingandenduring

npt: tagging those who showed interest in the wip wednesday post, love you ❤️

@thundermartini @mermaidgirl30 @magpiepills @iknowisoundcrazy @itwasntimethatdidit40

@joelmillerisapunk @604to647 @baronessvonglitter @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @sawymredfox

@grav3yardbb92 @schnarfer @iamasaddie @noisynightmarepoetry @arcanefox207

@yxtkiwiyxt @sunshineispunk @tuquoquebrute

[sheep-from-rad]

Hi! Sorry if this is weird or anything, this is my first time sending an ask lol

But I just finished reading your writing about the singer/influencer reader and omfg I love your brain. Like imagine the reader did a cover of/wrote like spit in my face by ThxSoMch or Cigarette Ahegao by Penelope Scott (love her sm btw-) cause just imagine the GUILTTT

Imagine the Batfam listening to their music and just hearing the bitterness in their voice as they sing “Screwing everything up, doing everything wrong, In my defence I wasn’t supposed to be around this long, so” HGDECANZZKNFBVD

Anyway, I love your writing and I hope you have an absolutely amazing week! Take care of yourself too- drink water, eat some food and try to get some sleep ml <3

Nah anon you're cool. I love reading asks. ALSO credits to Luludelulusramblings, they made the originally made Influencer reader. Batfam belongs to DC as usual. Singer reader post: here

You know, in the Art History year 1901-1904, Picasso started the Blue Period where he only painted in the shades of Blue. It started due to the death of his friend, later his financial struggles, and of course the current state of the society. Blue Period art was so good but so doleful and depressing that no one wants to hang it in their house. Singer! Reader started their career covering mainstream songs, band songs, maybe even vocaloid. 

Their blue period started months before they planned to leave the manor. It was a simple cover of MARINA’s ‘Are you satisfied?’ A lot of burnt out overachievers ate that cover, even Tim himself. The song is basically the reader questioning the Wayne last name. Sure it was a goldmine to others but to them it’s a ticket to misery. One song cover turned into many song covers, enough to make a long playlist to play at 3 a.m. when you’re about to have a breakdown. 

The whole playlist? Batfam avoids it because it reminds them of the times they could have been giving you love but they didn’t BUT at the same time they can’t really avoid it. It became like those guilty pleasures playlist. Damian loves and hates reader’s ‘The Family Jewels’ cover because it reminds him of the fact that he and the reader are basically on the same boat. They were just children who needed attention and love. He got that attention and love immediately because of the whole league of assassins backstory. He won’t admit it but the weight of the role weighs like tonnes of iron on his shoulders. 

Jason, Bruce and Cigarette Ahegao will roll together so much. That man has twice the amount of trauma Bruce had and his coping mechanism sucks. All the aggressiveness was just a coping mechanism, underneath he’s a man with conflicted feelings and those years of being dead and suddenly being resurrected didn’t help. Let’s face it Bruce is a tired man who lives a double life. He's a man who dresses up like as a bat making sure the city is safe but he can't cover all grounds. The neglect on reader was unintentional but neglect is neglect.

Dick with reader’s cover of ‘Stressed out’ by Twenty one pilots, no explanation needed. ‘This is me trying’ by Taylor Swift with Cassandra, Stephanie, and Tim. Cassandra and Stephanie being raised by villains and Tim being an overachiever to have his parent’s attention. His parents being always away and realizing he basically did the same thing to the reader by making them feel invisible. 

Double guilt if they left the playlist on autoplay and ‘Daddy issues’ plays. Any version but I think the original fits the bill. Reader ends their blue period with a cover of Mother Mother’s ‘Burning Pile’ basically saying ‘Yeah fuck it, it’s over. I’m burning it, I’m leaving it, I’m closing the chapter’. But to the Batfamily, it meant renewal and turning a new leaf, an invitation to make things better.

[parfaitblogs]

illicit affairs ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you want more than spencer reid can give you. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: angst (18+ for suggestive content) tags: relation(situation)ship. s7 spencer. mentions of past intimacy. unrequited feelings. spencer's not the best person ever. kinda fade to black & unhappy ending (welcome back june parfaitblogs). reader has kinda bad self-worth. word count: 2.5k a/n: soooo fucking cliche man chases the girl after she leaves. im sorry. except im not. so sorry for whatever ooc thing spencer reid does in this. except it isnt ooc. tell me he didnt have a whore phase in s7. u cant. im sorry this is soooo dialogue heavy LOL.

Fractured shards of your soul scatter this apartment. 

This Godforsaken green-walled, quaint apartment, that you had spent so much of your time in. Nights, not days, because his days were spent yearning for an engaged woman. His nights, however, were reserved for you. Most of them, at least. Some of them. A few of them. Not many of them at all, actually.

It was a little embarrassing; how much of yourself you were willing to disrespect for some attention from a man who probably didn't think much about you outside of your presence inside his walls. But then he would touch you, and he would kiss you, and all self-deprecation will go out the window. For he is so gentle, and he knows every single crevice and button to press on your body like he speaks its language. 

Embarrassing.

It started innocently. A night spent with him after you had been broken up with, resulting in one awful decision that led to the other. Crying in his arms, to kissing him, to having sex, which he was rebutting all up until it actually happened. Rambling about transference while still leaving open-mouthed kisses down your neck, shaking his head because you two should not be doing this. 

A week later you went back to him. You were sad, in your defence, and Spencer Reid was your friend first. He was good at distracting you, you learned. You would cry, and thus, he would make you come to forget about it. Like clockwork. 

At some point it changed from a coping mechanism, to an emotional necessity. You stopped thinking about your broken heart, and instead about how good Spencer was to you. Which might've been your biggest mistake.

You were not to him what he was to you anymore. 

And maybe he knew that. A laughable idea, because Spencer Reid, who could be slapped in the face with a poster that said I am in love with you in big bold letters, would still be oblivious to it all. But maybe he knew.

You had to ask this time to come over. Maybe pathetic, how much of your self-worth you relied on whether or not a man you weren't even dating wanted to see you. How much of your world had crumbled around you because it had been two weeks and he hadn't spoken to you outside of discussing a case. 

It was definitely pathetic how small you felt as you sat in the corner of his couch, a glass of water you didn't really want to drink encased in your palms, condensation seeping into your skin. In your defence, it didn't usually go like this. Usually, it took you all of three seconds to get insidehis apartment before he started kissing you. Why wasn't he kissing you?

You could hear the faint sound of shuffling behind you, glasses clinking together and ceramics settling on the marble countertop. The only other indicator Spencer was even there was his irregular breathing. Irregular from what, you didn't know. 

Another beat of silence passed, and with it, your patience. You set the glass down on the coffee table — something he would’ve scolded you over if not for the thick layer of tension between you two.

"Did you not want me to come over?" You regret the words the second they're out of your mouth, and they uncomfortably pierce the air, only to be followed by another thick blanket of fucking silence. You had already said it — you might as well commit. "Spencer?" 

You lifted your gaze from its fixated position on your lap to find him standing still in the kitchen, a bowl in his hands, still damp from its time in the dishwasher. 

"You know you're always welcome here," he replied when you had locked gazes. 

"That's not what I asked," you said, readjusting your body, chest pressed up against the back of the couch, chin resting atop its ledge. You watched as he dried the bowl and put it away, his shoulders deflating, before he turned back to face you. 

"I do want you here," he said, but even with the finality in his voice, you were sceptical. 

"Are you sure?" you despised the insecurity that seeped into your tone.

He stilled again, and even with the distance between you two, you could see gears turning behind his eyes, coming up with a response that wouldn't break your heart, probably. Because he knew.

He could lie. Say that yes, he is sure, and he does want you in his apartment right now, and he wasn't simply entertaining your own desires. Desires that he seemingly had grown tired of. But you would figure him out immediately, and maybe he knew that as well. Stupidly smart Spencer Reid thinking ahead, frustratingly so. 

Instead, he said your name, in an awfully cautious tone. Maybe lying would've hurt less. He took a step around the kitchen counter, ever so slowly closing the distance between you two. 

"It's okay if you don't want me here," you tell him, forcing a reassuring smile and stopping him in his tracks. "You're not forced to amuse me."

"Do you think that's what I'm doing?"

"Yes. You've hardly said a word to me, and I've been here twenty minutes," you rebutted. 

"I told you on the phone that I had some maintenance chores to do." Okay, true. "Once they're done, I'm all yours."

You shouldn't say anything. You knew that. The words on the tip of your tongue would cause an argument, and he had just technically promised to do what you both knew you had come to do, and after two weeks of hearing nothing, any attention from him was good attention. You shouldn't.

But you did. "Are you really?"

His eyes closed and a harsher breath of air expelled through his nose, his hands flexing by his side as he took a moment to respond. "What does that mean?"

"Are you really all mine?" you cringed even as you asked the question. And, you already knew the answer. 

"What do you want my answer to be?"

You could scream. "That isn't fair, Spencer."

"Do you want it to be yes?"

You didn't want to answer that honestly, too afraid of the rejection that was sure to follow. "Does it matter?"

"Yes, this is a relationship, and relationships need communication—"

"—A relationship?" you repeated back to him, incredulously. "You think this is a relationship?" 

Fingers dug into his eyes, and his shoulders sagged further. "What is it, then?"

"Convenient." The word stung even you, despite being the one to have said it. 

Or maybe it didn't hurt him. For he responded, in an achingly calm tone, "Explain that to me."

"Don't use profiling techniques on me," you countered, and he watched as your walls shot up around you. 

"Asking you to explain something to me isn't a profiling technique," he said, taking another step towards your residence on the couch.

"No, but the tone of voice you're using is."

"Would you rather I yell at you?"

"No—Spencer," you stammered so frustratingly in an attempt to come up with a response, emotions taking authority of your brain functions. "I come here when I'm sad, we fuck, I go home. That's all this is. That isn't a relationship."

"I could argue what a relationship legitimately is."

"Please don't."

"Okay," he agreed with a short nod. "Do you want more out of this arrangement, then?"

"Can you give me more if I do?"

His silence was answer enough, and so slowly but surely, you were untangling your limbs from themselves on the couch, and planting your feet on the floor.

"Where are you going?" he asked as you stood up.

"Home," you replied, curtly, and he watched in a still silence as you left. 

The slam of his apartment door was loud, and it echoed throughout the hall. Feet pattered against the stairs as you descended them, quickly, because your tears were forming fast and you were attempting to beat exposure to the outside world before they started to fall down your face. 

But the universe had other plans for you, and your named reverberated throughout the final staircase you had to descend. Your lips pulled into a line in an attempt to neutralise your expression, and you turned at the base of the stairs.

"You want more with me," he said, admittedly a little breathless from chasing you the way he did. 

"Glad you could deduce that one, Doctor."

A frustrated huff left his lips. "Stop shutting me out."

"I'm not doing this here," you replied, taking another step back — that he matched, stepping down a step. "Spencer."

"No, we are. If you are going to walk out of my apartment, then we're having this conversation here."

"I don't even want to have this conversation," you argued. 

"Yes you do."

"You don't know me."

"Yes I do." When you opened your mouth to argue again, he was quick to cut you off. "You want more with me, but you're too scared of me rejecting you, so you're brushing it off as something unimportant, in hopes that I'll forget about it so things can go back to what they were before."

"God forbid."

His lips pursed. "Can you be an adult about this?" 

Your heart stuttered uncomfortably in your chest, and he stared expectingly at you for minutes. Minutes that you let pass, your breaths shallow as you stared up at him, boring holes into his own eyes. Then, "Are you going to reject me?" 

"Yes, but—"

Oh.

Somewhere your name was said once, then twice, but it all sounded far too distant, submerged underwater, maybe. Your brain muddling with every single thought it had ever conjured up in all your years of living, to the point where you couldn't even figure out if the tears burning your eyes were actually there, communications in your brain on lockdown. 

You were detached from your own body as a hand was placed on your shoulder, your eyes flickering over to Spencer's face, which was an alarming amount closer than before. It was his hand, you figured, which meant he was watching you have this breakdown, and suddenly the thought of being like this in front of him was far worse than anything he could've said to you. 

"Okay," you said, almost breathlessly, stumbling back a few steps, nodding your head, and blinking away the tears all at once. "Which is fine, by the way. Because this isn't a relationship. And we agreed on casual sex, so really, you're not doing anything surprising, and I should've expected this. Yeah."

"Can you please look at me?" You hadn't even realised your gaze was flitting around the place until he said it, and you forced your eyes to rest on his face again. "Yeah, there you go. Hi. Deep breath."

You took in the gulp of air, despite it still being shallow from your onslaught of emotions, matching your rhythm with his own. He repeated the act a few more times, until you had settled into less violent gasps, and he was sure you were grounded with him again. 

"You back with me?" he asked just in case, his voice horrifically gentle, and you wordlessly nodded your head. "Can we talk about this, now?"

"In your stairwell?"

"I don't think you want to walk all the way up to my apartment again," he said, and he was correct; you didn't. "I would reject you. That's true."

"Which you're allowed to do," you answered, quietly. 

"I am," he agreed with a nod. "If that isn't okay with you, then tell me. We can call this off right now."

"And what?" you asked, ugly emotions clawing their way up your throat again. "Go back to how things were before?"

"Well, yes—"

"—No, Spencer!" you snapped, and he seemingly hadn't expected it. At all. "I can't go back to normal with you, not after this. Sex is fucking intimate, and it is scary, and you have seen me at my absolute worst and still slept with me these last few months. You have seen parts of me I refuse to share with anyone, because I trusted you."

"I didn't force you to do that," he countered. "You showed me every single side of you on your own accord. So do not paint me to be a villain."

"I'm not trying to," your voice was desperate, and if you weren't so busy using your hands to talk animatedly, you might be tearing out your hair by now. "I just—I don't get it. How was it so casual for you? How can you go back to what we had before all of this like it's nothing?" 

"All of this was never anything serious. We agreed on that."

"No. No, don't explain what this was to me. I know what it was. Answer the question."

How was he so calm? His eyes searching your own now tear-filled ones, but the crease in his brows was the only indicator of any emotion, for his body was alarmingly relaxed. 

He exhaled, "I don't know what to tell you. What do you want to hear?"

"The truth."

"I don't have feelings for you," he said, voice so curt you wondered if it was the way he said it, or what he said, that shattered your barely mended heart. Again. 

"Which is fine," you repeated the phrase, because maybe if you said it enough, you'll start to believe it. 

"So, do you want to call this off?" 

"We should."

He only nodded in agreement; a violent reminder that you weren't imagining the things he was saying to you. This wasn't a bad dream, and he was actually telling you the relationship you had built up in your head wasn't real. 

"I don't want to," you murmured, voice pathetically small, shrinking in your shoes beneath him. "I really like you, Spencer."

"Which is why we should call this off," he reasoned, and you wanted to scream.

"Are you going to be even a little sad if we do?" He parted his lips, and a beat of silence passed. And then you were stepping back, puffing out a strained breath of air, nodding your head in understanding. "I should go."

"You won't talk to me if we call it off," he said before you could get too far from him. When you turned to look at him again, he added, "Will you?"

"No."

"Then yes. I'll be sad."

"Because I won't talk to you?"

"Yes."

You stared at him for a beat longer. "Not because you won't have a fuck buddy anymore?"

"You were never just a fuck buddy," he said, exasperated, the phrase sounding foreign on his tongue. Sorry for exasperating you.

"No. But I'm not enough to like, right?" 

He said your name, and stepped off the staircase he had been residing on, lowering the height difference between you two. "You are enough to like."

"Not to you!" "I am not the only man in the world."

The bottomless pit in your stomach grew larger, only because to you he was. To you, he was everything. And you felt things far too big, and the realisation that he had never and will never see you that way was a world-shattering discovery. 

You sighed, lowering your gaze to the floor. "We never should have started this."

"I agree." 

"I'm gonna go."

He opened his mouth, then closed it, seemingly deciding against arguing with you any more. He merely nodded his head, and forced a smile. "Yeah."

"Bye, Spencer."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[whathorselegs]

Headcanon that Kunikida started his ideal partner list in college because he actually develops crushes on people really easily and always falls for them hard.

He never acted on these crushes because he was too shy and clueless when it came to romantic feelings. So it usually led to his heart getting broken when his oblivious crushes eventually started dating someone else.

Originally, it was never intended to be a checklist of qualities his ideal partner was supposed to have. It wasn't even about an ideal partner. It was about understanding his feelings and trying to control them too.

He started making notes about what he was attracted to, stuff like dimples, shiny hair and soft hands. Qualities like being kind hearted, just and understanding. Whenever he noticed his heart fluttering Kunikida made a note of it and starred qualities that he noticed he would fall for often.

It became a way of shielding himself from his own feelings. At first in a mostly healthy way, he was able to reason whether he actually liked someone for who they were or whether they just had one of those smiles that fried his brain.

But the more he added, the more it changed from a list to understand himself, to a list of things a person must be. Because for all he understood his attractions better, he couldn't stop them forming and he was still terrible at ever acting on them. If a person only had three or four of the qualities on his list then he'd try to talk himself out of the crush. Convincing himself that his feelings weren't valid and he needed to get over them.

So now, Kunikida has a list of ideals for his partner, one he is as strict about fulfilling as he is with all his other ideals. One that deep down he knows is ridiculous and has gotten out of hand. Yet, it is a defence mechanism he is not able to cope without.

Besides, it's done him some good. It was through this list that he realised that gender plays almost no part in whether he's attracted to a person or not.

[agi-ppangx]

to feel wanted (bang chan x gn!reader)

hurt/comfort i think???, very self indulgent, channie is here to stay an: this is the aftermath of me procrastinating on uni stuff, have fun reading it😽

“why would you say that?”

you blinked a few times, tilting your head to the side. did you say something wrong? 

“what do you mean?” you mumbled, taking a sip of your coffee. you grimaced, feeling it taste more bitter than usual. 

“you said we’re not close,” chan elaborated and you nodded. you did say that, yes, but what was so wrong about it? “i don’t wanna make it about myself, but it hurts, y’know?” he added, making you freeze. you looked up at him with a bewildered face and it almost made chan apologise, but he couldn’t drop the topic now, not when he finally worked up the courage to broach it with you. 

“i don’t think i understand,” you said with a forced smile, huffing gently to lighten the mood around you two. you hoped he’d just say “yeah, forget it”, but it seemed to seriously bother him as he searched for the best way to voice his concerns. 

“i know you don’t have a lot of close friends,” chan started hesitantly, not sure if it won’t hurt you. you frowned but nodded nonetheless, aware of your nonexistent social life. “but saying that we aren’t close? c’mon,” he sighed. you dropped your head, stirring the straw in your coffee a few times. your cheeks burned and your breathing became erratic. you took another sip of your bitter drink. 

“it’s just… easier for me,” you started quietly, not daring to look him in the eyes. you reached out for a napkin from the dispenser, desperately trying to busy your hands with something, anything just to not focus entirely on the conversation you never wanted to have in the first place. “i always do this, it’s like some kind of… defence mechanism or something. at least that’s what i tell myself.” chan glimpsed at you with a concerned look on his face, straightening his posture. 

“so… what does it mean exactly?” he asked, observing as you folded and unfolded the napkin. you took a deep breath, preparing yourself for the vulnerability.

“throughout my life i learned that people don’t really like me. they tend to think i’m rude or weird and they never want to talk to me after they meet me,” you shrugged your shoulders. “i’ve always been the kind to get attached really quickly, so it hurt me whenever they left. so now i just kind of… gaslight myself into thinking that people don’t care about me and that i’m not close to anybody.” chan observed you intently as you spoke almost nonchalantly about your struggles. he stayed silent as you put the napkin away and just stared into the table. 

“you know i’d never leave you, right…?” he whispered, not exactly sure how he should feel. he was hurt, of course, because for the past few months you two had known each other he considered you one of the closest people in his life. you made him happier, like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day or a cup of warm tea on a winter evening. why couldn’t you see how important you were to him?

you finally made eye contact with him, looking for any type of sarcasm in his sight, but instead you were met with softness, gentleness, love. 

you nodded silently, blinking rapidly as you felt the tears sting at the corners of your eyes. you couldn’t open up fully just yet, but you wanted to believe him. you wanted to know what it’s like when someone genuinely cares about you and is willing to keep up with your odd traits and strange personality.

you wanted to feel wanted. 

taglist !

@lynlyndoll @iyenbread @flooo71 @skz-streamer @inniescandy-01 @hannahhbahng @prettymiye0n @ggsez31 @laylasbunbunny @like-a-diamondinthesky @axel-skz @kittymaryam-thebrowniefairy @l3visbby @skzhoes @minhosbitterriver @astraystayyh

[novlr]

How to write loneliness?

Loneliness is a universally shared emotion that shapes the psyche of your characters and the world they inhabit. It’s a silent force that can drive and change your characters, adding layers of complexity and pathos to their development. Here are some quick tips to write about characters experiencing loneliness.

Behaviour

May avoid social interactions.

Often choose to isolate themselves.

A lack of enthusiasm for activities they once enjoyed.

May appear distracted, distant, or aloof.

Neglect their personal appearance or living space.

Overuse technology or social media as a substitute for real-life interaction.

Engage in one-sided conversations with pets or inanimate objects.

Have a rigid routine that keeps them isolated.

Live vicariously through fictional characters in books and on TV.

Resist attempts by others to engage with them socially.

Interactions

Conversations may be brief, superficial, and lacking in depth.

Avoid eye contact and physically withdraw in social settings.

Miss social cues or respond inappropriately during interactions.

Exhibit envy or resentment towards those with strong social connections.

Overly formal or distant, even with friends.

React negatively to offers of companionship or help.

Express a cynical or negative view of relationships and friendships.

Display relief when social interactions are over.

Deflect personal questions and redirect the conversation.

Have a small social circle but lack a true confidant or intimate relationships.

Body language

Slumped shoulders or lowered head to avoid drawing attention.

Minimal or restrained gestures during conversations.

A fixed or blank expression, showing their detachment.

Fiddle with objects or their clothing as a self-soothing behaviour.

Cross their arms or legs defensively when approached.

Sit or stand at the edges of a group, physically distancing themselves.

Might have a nervous tick or habit when faced with social interaction.

Exhibit slow or lethargic movements, suggesting a lack of energy or interest.

Have a personal bubble they are reluctant to let others penetrate.

Usually the last to arrive and the first to leave social gatherings.

Attitude

Express a philosophical or poetic view on the nature of solitude.

Have an air of resignation or acceptance of their loneliness.

Harbour a secret hope of finding connection, but feel it is unattainable.

Quick to criticise or judge others as a defence mechanism.

Have a deep internal world that is rich and complex, contrasting with their outer displays of loneliness.

Believe that they are fundamentally different or disconnected from others.

Have a strong sense of self-reliance, seeing it as a necessity.

Demonstrate a fear of rejection or abandonment that prevents them from reaching out.

Heightened sensitivity to the pain of others, stemming from their own loneliness.

Experience moments of clarity or creativity when they are alone.

Positive story outcomes

Find strength and independence in solitude.

Experience personal growth and self-discovery.

Form a meaningful connection that alleviates their loneliness.

Gain a deeper understanding and empathy for the loneliness of others.

Use their time alone to develop a skill or pursue a passion.

Find that solitude allows for reflection and the development of a clear perspective.

Inspire others to appreciate their own company and find peace in solitude.

Become a catalyst for change, helping others to overcome their loneliness.

Create a work of art or literature that expresses their feelings and connects with others.

Their experiences of loneliness make their relationships more meaningful when they do occur.

Negative story outcomes

Become increasingly detached and withdrawn from the world.

Develop mental health issues such as depression or anxiety.

Make poor decisions due to a lack of guidance and support.

Grow to resent others, leading to conflicts and misunderstandings.

Spiral into destructive behaviours as a way to cope.

Experience a sense of hopelessness about ever finding connection.

Become distrustful of others, hindering potential relationships.

Lose touch with social norms and struggle to reintegrate into society.

Overlook or sabotage potential opportunities for companionship.

Leave a lasting impression of sadness and regret in the narrative.

Helpful vocabulary

Forlorn

Sequestered

Estranged

Abandoned

Reclusive

Isolated

Adrift

Detached

Solitary

Alienated

Despondent

Forsaken

Lonesome

Marooned

Melancholic

Ostracised

Remote

Unaccompanied

Vacant

Withdrawn

Yearning

Bereft

Disconnected

Outcast

[johnpriceslamb]

hihi could u maybe do an arthur morgan x fem!reader??

i was thinkin about the reader being really upset about something and which arthur (being that kinda person) he noticed quickly, they walked to his tent for then the reader to be comforted by arthur morgan (he isnt good at comforting but he tries real hard,, take ur time ofc! we love u-🎀

𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓪𝔀𝓷,

❥ You’re sad. Arthur finds out and comes to comfort you.

𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓒𝓔𝓔𝓓 ! ꒰ female ! reader . hyper-feminine ! reader . reader is mentioned 2 be physically shorter than characters mentioned below . crybbie reader sorraiiii . Karen’s a meanie pants but she loves reader . 1.1k wrd count. ꒱

❥ Arthur Morgan x female ! reader

You’re sensitive.

You don’t mean to be, but sometimes you take what people say a bit too seriously.

It’s not a bad thing to be sensitive, but you’re in a gang. A gang filled with murderers, thieves, criminals, whatever. You’re prone to being teased and made fun of- even more likely due to your soft nature and demure figure.

Usually, you spend your time doing chores or assisting Pearson with cooking. What you lacked in strength and courage to be able to hold a gun, you made up with your skills in being able to feed the gang actual food, instead of.. the usual stews Pearson made.

From then on, you gained the honouring title of ‘Pearson’s assistant.’

Then again you’d much prefer being referred to your actual name.

“—‘n I’m just sayin’..” The woman in blonde stirs her spoon in the stew you made, mindlessly blabbering about.

Karen was a sweet girl, she really is. But sometimes, she enjoys talking. A bit too much.

“You ain’t really uh.. fit for all this.” She gestures to camp.

Ouch.

You shrink in the log you sat upon, meekly fiddling with the utensil in your hand. You get where she’s coming from, but nevertheless you still took it to heart.

“Karen!” Mary-Beth softly hits her upper arm, a scolding tone picks on, “C’mon, lay off it.”

She shrugs. “‘M just saying what everyone wants to hear. It’s like seeing a fawn amongst a pack o’ wolves.”

She’s blunt. You’ve known her for a while, considered her as a friend. And you knew well enough that she does not sugar coat things. You’re not sure if you should take what she said as a compliment or not, but regardless you still feel a bit embarrassed at the fact that you didn’t really fit in.

“H—Hey,” You feel yourself crumble at the fact that your tone took on a higher pitch as a defence mechanism and the stuttering which makes her point stand even more bolder, “I’m.. I’m trying, okay?”

Karen looks at you with a demeaning expression. That’s all it takes to shut your pretty little mouth up.

Then, she lets out a soft giggle.

“C’mon girl, y’know I was just jokin’. You just sit there and look pretty for us.”

You take this as an opportunity to leave, going on with your day but with a heavy heart.

You find yourself near the lake which is situated just right beside the camp, staring off at the distance with a long look. You know Karen was just playing around, but you still can’t help that little sharp pang in your heart.

You don’t notice the approaching steps from behind. You hear the sound of fabrics scrunching together as they squat behind you, a warm hand lays gently on your shoulder.

“Hey.”

You tilt your head upwards, eyes landing on the loyal enforcer of the gang.

“Hi,” You whisper back. Unconsciously does your head lay on his chest, and almost immediately do you feel better being in Arthur’s embrace.

His arms wrap around you, a gentle kiss is placed on the side of your head. He lovingly looks at you, cold eyes which softens at the sight of his sweetheart. It falters a bit when they see those pretty eyes glimmer in the light.

“Y’alright?” He asks with a tone of concern. His arms tighten at the sight of your vulnerability.

“Mhm.” You meekly nod, feigning your expression with a soft smile, “I’m fine.”

“Mm.” His upper eyelids cover half of his eyes. His expression was almost lazy, dog-like. “No use lying to me, sweetheart. Yer lips quiver when you do.”

You almost melt at how lovely his voice sounded.

“C’mon,” He gestures for you to stand up. He lends you a hand for you to aid yourself onto your two feet, a hand rests upon the curve of your hip to guide you to his tent.

“Where we goin’?” You ask shyly, leaning into his touch.

“My tent. We’re goin’ to talk.” He replies blankly.

You don’t say anything until you’ve reached his tent. He guided you to the edge of his bed, allowing you to sit. He sizes you up a few times, quietly admiring you for a moment before sitting next to you, knees touching.

“What’s wrong, hm? Why’s gotten my girl so down?” Your hand unconsciously grabs onto his to squeeze, fiddle around with. He wants to chuckle at your puppy-like neediness but forces himself not to.

“..Just some stuff Karen said.” You meekly explain, fiddling with his fingers, “Said ‘m not really fit for.. any of this.”

“She said that?” He says with a frown, scratching at his strong jaw.

“Mm,” You nod.

“‘Reckon she’s right.”

“Eh?” You almost pout at how immediate he was to agree.

“Hey, c’mon. I ain’t even get to finish. I mean, she’s right. You don’t fit in. You’re too good for any of this.” He explains himself, biting his lip to prevent himself from doing anything to you. Your eyes did a lot to him, unbeknownst to you.

“Way too good.” He mumbles, lovingly rubbing circles on your little palm.

“You really think so?” You ask with a shy smile.

“I know so.” He nods, leaning in to press a little kiss on your forehea. He leans back to peer at your face again.

“C’mon, I know you.” He sighs, “Don’t let Karen’s words get to your mind. Even if you don’t really fit in, yer still one of us now. Y’hear?”

You shyly nod. With just one nod down to his lap do you immediately crawl towards him, cuddling up to him like a bug in a leaf.

[tealmagicmoon]

I wanna talk about Puppet and Eclispe’s abusive friendship because it IS abusive.

These two hot messes trigger watchers defence mechanisms constantly.

Let take their main unhealthy coping strategies shall we.

Eclipse:

Self-isolation (both physically removing himself from people, relationships and situations as well as emotional removing himself from a situation)

Defensiveness (being a dickhead so he can either get more control over a situation usually in the form of makings people uncomfortable or self-conscious.

Puppet:

Self-deprecation (talking bad about herself to elicit sympathy from others so she doesn’t have to address the issue at hand and can make others do it for her)

Saviour complex which she uses Manipulation tactics to get what she wants.

They get each other stuck in negative loops a LOT. In practically every episode Eclipse Isolates himself which triggers puppets saviour complex so she uses manipulation usually glass lighting and guilt ripping with a slide of humiliation. This triggers Eclipses defensiveness which then triggers Puppers self-deprecation which makes Eclipse to feel bad so he get even more defensive and the loop continues.

Another example is from the resent episode:

Puppet’s self-depreciation, suicidal thoughts and her phrasing mades Eclipse’s feel guilty and took him by surprise which triggered Eclispe’s defensiveness. Eclipse being rude to her then triggers her more which triggers eclipse more and we’re in a loop.

Their a mess your honour and I love it. Suck amazing writing I’m obsessed. <3

[brujamala-aka-gigi]

random messages from the tarot

pick a pile, who knows, maybe there's something of use here...

pile 1. pile 2. pile 3. images are from pinterest dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

Pile Number One

Solitude will help you comprehend some kind of harm made (by yourself or my others). This is a point where a more solid understanding of feelings is needed, in order to process extreme emotions which might be understandable, yet their chaotic manifestation is doing nothing good for them. Don't feel weirded out or overwhelmed about feelings of nothingness, it is a common occurrence after periods of emotional stress, and nothingness itself it's and opportunity to create and grow from it. You might feel as if something did not bring the prosperity or the success you expected, but it wouldn't be wise to let your emotions block your ability to analyse how to channel your potential properly.

Running away from problems is not as useful as looking at them from a distance. Challenging your defense mechanisms will bring you closer to abundance, both material and spiritual. Loosing control is never ideal, but usually when that happens it's because you are not being realistic with what you are actually responsible for in your life. Things might not go our way, but they go the way the go for a reason.

Pile Number Two...

Remain cautious with impulsive actions, specially when you can't explain how a thought or a feeling got in your head in the first place. There's plenty to learn and plenty to teach, but this won't be fruitful unless it's in the company of others. Open your mind to new opinions and new ways of nurturing your thoughts. Although there might be a sense of balance in your life, take into consideration anything that could ruin it, and be prepared to act accordingly. It's a good moment to establish boundaries, not only for others but also for yourself.

Whenever faced with conflictive people or situations, be aware of how valuable someone's words by seeing how the act. Trust your gut if you feel like there are missing pieces of information, yet don't allow yourself to become paranoid. There's trust worthy people near you, but you have to be willing to let them grow alongside you. You are about to approach a new journey of self development once you become less cynic when it comes to people, which is fine sometimes, but don't let that be a defence mechanism to remain in your comfort zone.

Pile Number Three...

There's a lot of potential for you to become a higher version of yourself, but a lack of opportunities might got you thinking that it's not an option. Even when the opportunities are not there, and injustice is present, don't loose focus of what constitutes your true essence. Frustration will make you isolated, as this is not true to who you are. But during this periods of justified anger, new ideas will be born and will guide you towards new perceptions of success.

Protect what's pure to yourself and be ready to fight for the spaces you know you deserve. Many misunderstandings will come from your energy being blocked and people taking advantage of it. You can have the certainty that this moment of your life will end well. Learning experiences like this are meant for us to show ourselves our own strength, and to test how much we've learnt. As long as you remain conscious of your true nature and your personal power

Don't fear your own potential, and don't fear new responsibilities when it comes to others and yourself.

pssst... check my blog for more p.a.c. readings and stay tuned for an ask game <3

｡ ﾟ ꒰ঌ ✦ MASTERPOST & PAID SERVICES໒꒱ ༘*.ﾟ

[ddejavvu]

ok so personally, Im usually so adverse to romantic interactions that even if I click on that someone is genuinely pursuing me, ill ignore it or pretend they arent. maybe a defence mechanism? idk BUT it does make for the most rabid situations and thoughts ever ever ever

imaging best friend!James and reader maybe getting into the situation in which they have to share a bed sometime. maybe its a group vacation or something. in my head - James potter is a serial humper in his sleep sometimes. hes a big guy in all aspects, and he also cant help but wanna cuddle with you to sleep!! but that also means he wakes himself up a couple times by grinding softly on u, and he feels so bad, but thankfully youve never woken up cus of it. separately, youve also learnt to not mention that you can quite clearly uh..feel him some mornings when ur both drowsy, pressed together n still groggy. and you, oh so conveniently also never mention that you kinda like how it feels. but, hey-ho.

its the middle of the night, and as usual, James is spooning you from behind, he has to be bent a little to fit his head in ur hair, and hes pressing his entire body against ur back. the air still smells of washed-off sunscreen and sea salt, and theres a fan going in the corner of the room. and this time James wakes up to YOU humping HIM. im talking, his breath hitches and everythingggg until he realises ur sleep. ur asleep and grinding back on him and ur breathing is all stuttered and he always guessed youd be a little quiet but ur little noises are so breathy and holy shit ur wet????? theres no way you get this wet.. until James realises that hes propped himself up on his arm and is just staring down at where ur moving ur hips on him and he tries to snap himself out of it by waking u up. ur still groggy but absolutely mortified when he tells you "yeah bug, you uh- y'got a little excited 'bout me in ur sleep, huh? s'okay yknow, its okay :]"

and he 100% offers to help you out. even when u say that friends arent suppose to do that, AND also mumbling about how guys normally didn't really make girls cum and mentioning abt how you always hear people say its too complicated, he just brings up how you just grinded on his lap in ur sleep, and that felt good, so, how can it not be allowed? its just a friend helping out a friend! :) and that he can definitely get u off, he'd be sooo good at it!! the only way this goes in my head is that not much shuffling around is done, all that changed is that ur on ur back now, and hes licking his bottom lip into his mouth as he looms over you slightly from ur side, his hands moving down and down. he'd definitely be tilting his head and "yeah, this part feels really good, yeah? yeah" all nodding and smiling n shit. 'best friend' James from that point on, takes any opportunity to 'help you out', he'd transition into using more than his fingers too. he was in love with you before this but now???? hes a goner.

babe thank u for blessing me with these cause i did NOT feel like writing today so i let you tell me a story and it was amazing <333

this post is 18+, minors dni.

james potter sleep slut is canon in my mind... just the way he wakes up with his big beefy arms wrapped around you while his hips move?? mhm. and he wakes up and is like ohshitohshitohshit but he doesn't wanna let go!!! so he just tries to dial himself back in, but he most likely needs a minute in the bathroom to compose himself </3

no but if you feel it in the morning.. you don't wanna point it out 'cause what if he says something like 'oh sorry i'm just really sensitive' or 'sometimes the wind makes it do that' LIKE NO. YOU WANNA KNOW IF IT'S REALLY BECAUSE OF YOU. so you just keep quiet, but in the early morning when he's sleepily begging for fivemoreminutes and isn't quite in tune with his body yet, you're definitely hyper aware of his hard on digging into your thigh or butt or hip or belly or whatever <3

when HE wakes up to YOU grinding on HIM he's mindblown.. he knows he likes you, he knows you're pretty, but he marvels at how amazing you look while dragging your hips back against his, like how could you look this amazing??

but he feels even worse watching you than he does accidentally doing it in his sleep, 'cause this isn't an accident!! he's not catching you in the act by mistake anymore, he's just watching you grind on him and getting all worked up about it, which in turn is only making him more hard. finally he decides to just wake you, smoothing your hair away from your face and kissing your cheek, murmuring your name softly until you finally rouse. and when you're blubbering sleepily at him 'why'd you wake me?' he just smiles like :] oh you were having a wet dream :] just wanted you to know :] and you're !!!!!!! WHAT !!!!!!!

you're instantly apologizing a million times but he's reassuring you like no no no!! it's okay bug, really!! happens to the best of us <3 but if you want some help w that i can help you!! i mean i've got the facilities, trust me. just say the word and we can make your dreams come true :]

you're just instantly terrified. you're shaking your head, sitting up like no, that's not what friends do. and- and it's hard! to make a girl- y'know... and he's like ?? no it's not ?? i promise i won't have a hard time with you bug.

so once you've suggested that he won't be able to do it.. he's gonna do it. he'd never ever force you to do anything against your will but the only excuses that you have are that friends don't do that (and they totally do!!! james is right now!!!!) and that it would probably be hard for him, and nothing about you not wanting it. so when he finally gets it out of you that yes you want it, but no he won't be able to help, he's gonna go to town. he begs for a chance to prove you wrong and you should have known with his super competitive nature that challenging him would be dumb, but i mean. worst case scenario he can't do it. you're already expecting that. why not??

so he tries, rubbing your pretty little clit and stroking over your folds before dipping between them, only a little upset that you're already wet because it means that he can't get you all worked up first, he can't kiss the slick out of you, he can't suck on your neck until you're wet, it's already there </3 but next time for sure, for now he's very excited about just being able to touch you

your cunt is warm and wet and everything he's ever dreamed of, but he's too nervous about overstepping to ask to eat you out, so he doesn't.. but in future, it's coming.

but he absolutely soaks in the moment, humming and cooing and crooning at you about how good it feels, asking you every time you whimper if it feels nice, if he's doing it right, if you think he'll be able to finish you off. and it's so intoxicating having him that close that you absolutely have to use all of your willpower to not kiss him while he hovers over you. he guides you through your orgasm and brings you down gently, absolutely the perfect lover, and he even asks if he can lick his fingers clean. he's like wouldn't think it was weird, would you, bug? I can clean 'em off? and when you nod he sucks them clean, humming at your taste and grinning giddily at you.

now you have a helper ! he will not leave u alone. bed sharing is a must now, and the more you sleep together, the more horny you are for him, and the more you wake up in the middle of the night, and the more he 'helps you out', and it is a cycle that you couldn't break if you tried, not that you'd ever want to.

[emotional-piece-of-meat]

Since all batfam members struggle with the chronic “face with subtitles” case, I wanna rank them, depending on how frequently and demonstratively they use it.

10. Alfred: a raised eyebrow for all occasions conveys the whole range of emotions. Nobody knows whether a blank expression is a consequence of his personality or professional deformation, and they all are too scared to ask.

9. Bruce: this autistic blob cannot express his emotions through his face for his dear life. He surely overplays as Brucie, don't get me wrong he is good at masking, but naturally he is not really expressive.

8. Cass: uses her body language to communicate, so she can express emotions though her face pretty well. However, she is really out of touch with her feelings so most of the time she feels “nothing”, so she just copies whatever her siblings do.

7. Tim: has a pretty narrow range of emotions he shows, usually annoyance and disappointment. Specifically makes himself extremely hard to read due to upbringing and circumstances, even though he can be a diva or at least play one.

6. Barbara: has a professional side eye, but mostly keeps her emotions to herself. She differs from the rest of batfam in the superpower to convey her feelings with words through her mouth, so she does not use her face much for communication.

5. Jason: was more expressive as a child, now hides most of his positive emotions. However, he is very demonstrative with the negative: he thinks you are shit and he is not ashamed to show you that, furthermore he will make sure you know that.

4. Dick: the boy was taken out of the circus, but the circus could not be taken out of the boy, and now it is everyone else's problem. He is fully able to control his facial expressions, but it is so much funnier when he doesn't, so he chooses to be happy.

3. Damian: thinks he is extremely good at hiding his true feelings, maybe even as good as his father or grandfather, but actually he is not. He is a child after all, and children tends to be easy to read, but he keeps to stubbornly deny his involvement with children and people with emotions.

2. Steph: she does it on purpose purely for shits and giggles, because being annoying is a defence mechanism at this point. Naturally, her face is expressive but not that expressive, she often exaggerates it just to mess with people.

1. Duke: these are not subtitles, this is a one-man show, and you'd better watch carefully. He puts his whole soul into this performance, the range of emotions he demonstrates through his face is so wide, it's not a simple comment, it's a whole ass essay.

[changbinsboobs]

Can you do skz as husbands next ??

Skz as Husbands series : Chan

Ohhhh boy...ya'll are not going to like this. Idk if i myself am shocked or not surprised...but literary ALL of the cards are BAD, and i kept on drawing and drawing more hoping at least one good will come out but...🥲 sadly all of them are pretty weird.

That being said i am reading current energy not current energy, and im not getting AT ALL vibes from chan for wanting to get settled down anytime soon. All of his focus is on his career and goals and ambitions etc and theres just no place left for a family.

So i guess it makes sense that all of the cards are really negative as it's just not his time now. I do feel potential in him tho (after some therapy and probably retirement).

Im just gonna go ahead and start with the 9oS which tells me that being a husband and the head of the family will put IMMENSE pressure on him with which he cannot deal with. I think he makes it much bigger in his mind and lets doubts, paranoia, stress etc get the best of him and im seeing him actually having pretty hesitant thoughts on marriage for that time being just for that same reason. I think he's a guy that sees this as a very serious job (can imagine him picking that up from his dad) and its nothing to be taken lightly and as i said it gets very twisted and exaggerated in his head and takes the best of him. If he were to get married right now, he would change very quickly from what his s/o has seen from him and take a huge turn for the worse and put forward his shadow side. Im seeing lots of toxic coping mechanisms too which very conveniently leads me to the next card.

The 3oC usually a nice card but not in this case, especially because of the heavy display of alcohol - im seeing him wanting to escape the crushing weight of his responsibilities and looking for that escape in the face of alcohol & shady friends that may be just too immature and bachelory-mindseted and have a bad influence on him. I can see him missing for nights on end, which also relates to the 5oP as well and him giving...no having to be forced to give the bare minimum, and him even struggling to do that, and twisting it all to look like the victim. But more on that card at the end. So as i was saying im seeing him being very absent a lot of the time, not only because of work but because he's out and about with his friends. Im not really getting cheating from the cards - but im getting heavy vibes of a similar setting where temptation is just around the corner and him just living as if he had no family back at home waiting for him. This - once again very conveniently ties to the next card😂

Which is the 5oW. Im seeing lots of fight, probably initially starting because of his prolonged missing and eventually moving on to different things. Im seeing fights escalating very quickly, starting very quickly, being very exhausting and very damaging. To the relationship, to both their mental health and to some random objects nearby👀

With The Fool im seeing him being way too immature for something like this at this current point and it shows pretty well on the card - he's just not in the right state of mind for this chapter of his life and if it were to happen it will bring out his unreadiness and immaturity forth even more - to show where he has to work on to be ready for that next stage.

And back to the 5oP again, aside from him having to be forced to give the bare minimum and him even failing at that - he very skillfuly turns it out to look as if he's the attacked one, as if he's the bullied one, as if his wife's the one who's starving him and making him out to be the bad guy and he just feels really bullied by the whole situation and behaves that way and expresses himself that way so i would say - a huge victim complex.

Overall i would say this reading was more of a "chans toxic defence and cooing mechanisms if he were put into the corner" reading, which is kinda sad cuz that doesn't really give much insight as to what he would be like as a husband cuz what we just saw wasn't really chan but his "alter ego" that protects him in a way. Yk we all have that one side of us that takes over as if on autopilot when we feel threatened in any way. I think that would be the same for chan, and if he were to feel comfortable with the idea of marriage and feel ready for that, the reading would be way way different. But i find future readings to not be much of my thing cuz thats way to unreliable cuz energy can change in so many ways, theres so many different outcomes... but we'll see how the other readings turn out and if all the guys have weird current energies that don't really answer what they'll be like as proper husband i may try a future reading.

[beifong-brainrot]

Using the Avatar state scenes as an example and saying this is katara relationship with aang is so vile 🤦‍♂️

https://www.tumblr.com/sunandmoongobrrr/662596151677190144?source=share

Ugh this take again. It honestly always exhausts me to see this because the thing about Aang going into the Avatar state is that it is, at it's core, a defence mechanism. Aang goes into it in life threatening situations, or otherwise, incredibly distressing situations. I've even pointed out its similarities to panic attacks:

Katara is an incredibly empathetic person, and she is able to emphasise with Aang's pain. Because a) she's just that type of person and b) her and Aang share the trauma of genocide and loss.

Katara's interactions with Aang when he is in the Avatar's state aren't based around tempering his anger, but providing comfort and reassurance. It almost seems that Katara just reminding Aang that she is there and that she cares is usually enough to calm him which makes sense. Because, at the core of it, Aang's greatest pain, likely the root of most of his nrgative emotions is that he is the last airbender. His people are dead, have been dead for ages. He is alone, the last of his kind, and it destroys him.

Aang: [To the winged-lemur.] You, me and Appa; we're all that's left of this place. [Looks at the lemur.] We have to stick together.

Enter Katara, who reassures Aang that she is with him, that she cares, that she won't leave him. Because she sees that he is hurting. She hugs him as normal people hug their friend when they are upset, and later, when their relationship is more established, it's just enough for her to make eye contact with him and remind him that she's there.

Katara : Aang! I know you're upset and I know how hard it is to lose the people you love. I went through the same thing when I lost my mom. Monk Gyatso and the other airbenders may be gone, but you still have a family. Sokka and I! We're your family now!

And I truly don't think Katara does this out of a sense of obligation or fear. She does this because she sees her friend, and later, romantic partner, is hurting. And she knows that pain intimately. So she offers her comfort. Of her own free will, because she cares.

Katara : Do you remember when we were at the air temple and you found Monk Gyatso's skeleton? It must have been so horrible and traumatic for you. I saw you get so upset that you weren't even you anymore. I'm not saying the Avatar State doesn't have incredible and helpful power ... but you have to understand ... for the people who love you, watching you be in that much rage and pain is really scary.

I think the emphasis on "the people who love you" is important here. Katara isn't afraid of the Avatar state itself. She is saddened and scared for Aang, because she knows he is in pain. And he is someone she loves, be that platonically, or romantically.

Side note; I always found it so cool that when Aang went into the Avatar State in the Avatar State episode and wreaked havoc on general Fong's base, Katara, who was literally in the middle of it, remained completely unharmed.

See, the theme with Avatar is that holding onto anger and pain can be incredibly self destructive. We see this, of course, with Zuko, but also with Aang and Katara.

Of course, we're shown how one's anger affects others, but we also see how painful it can be on oneself. Which is a very poignant theme that isn't often explored.

This is what Aang was trying to communicate to Katara in The Southern Raiders. And this is what people like this, who commented under OP's post don't get.

Oh, something crazy? Like for example going against her entire morality and do something she might regret for the rest of her life? That type of crazy? Hell, look at how strongly "The Southern Raiders" ties back to "The Puppetmaster", an episode about a victimised Southern Waterbender driven to near madness by her grief pain, and rage.

Aang isn't stopping Katara from feeling anger, he's trying to make sure she doesn't do something that will weigh on her and compromise her morals and ideals, because he knows how important they are to her.

Aang: The monks used to say that revenge is like a two-headed rat viper. While you watch your enemy go down, you're being poisoned yourself.

Hell, he even supports and believes in her, letting her take Appa and believing she would make the choice right for her. Which she did, in the end.

Aang: I wasn't planning to. This is a journey you need to take. You need to face this man. But when you do, please don't choose revenge. Let your anger out, and then let it go. Forgive him.

And no, I don't think he was trying to save face, since he has never had a problem disagreeing with Katara before, for example in the Avatar State episode, where he followed his sense of duty as the Avatar, despite acknowledging and valuing her criticisms of the matter.

Aang and Katara's relationship is one of mutual support, particularly in helping alleviate each others pain, since they are both genocide survivours, both lost a parental figure to the fire nation, both value their cultures and desperately try to perserve them etc.

I think some excellent aymbolism of this can be in how Aang tries to help Katara with her dismay and discomfort around losing her mother's necklace, something she's expressed was very valuable to her due to her loss. First by making a symbollic replacement, and then risking himself by retrieving the necklace from Zuko.

I also genuinely enjoy that in both of these instances, Katara put the necklace on herself? Like it would be so easy to just make a cliche meaningful scene where Aang puts it on her and "proposes" but theres almost something more appealing to me of Katara taking the necklace from Aang and putting it on completely on her own.

Katara does not need Aang to calm her down when she's angry, because, with the exception of the Southern Raiders, her anger is usually benign squabbling which is completely normal 14 year old behaviour. Wheras for Aang, his anger usually rears its head on rare occasions when he's in deep distress.

But Aang is there to comfort Katara, to bolster her confidence, to support her, make sure she's having fun almost whenever she needs it.

These are just a few examples of Aang providing comfort to Katara.

These actions may not be as bombastic and awe worthy as Katara ripping Aang out of a state of deity like power, but they are nonetheless important to Katara and make a big difference.

Aang and Katara's live language with each other is providing comfort, in any way they can. Be it by alleviating anger and pain, making the other feel good about themself, or connecting over the horrific genocides that brutally deprived them of their loved ones. You know, just normal couple things 💗

And this is where I could slander Zutara, but I'll simply tactfully say that Zuko... prioritised things other than Katara's comfort and happiness.

Also, incredibly rich that one of OP's examples of Aang going into the Avatar state out of anger was in the comics. OP neglected, however, to include the scene leading up to this where Aang is extremely calm and nonconfrontational until Zuko grabs Katara and refuses to let go of her despite both Aang and Katara telling him he's hurting her and then attacking Aang after Aang knocks him away from Katara.

Like hun this is not a good look.

And another point I'd like to raise is this persob in the comments who apparently watched the show blindfolded.

why are we still here just to suffer etc etc. Like have you folks even watched the show why do you have beef with a twelve year old who commited the crime of loving a girl his age. If you're that fucking upset about it you can just not have him do that in your mind palace you don't have to pick violence.

Aang is a genuinely amazing character who deserves so much more than what his haters say. It's fine if he's not your fave character I just don't understand why people have to be dicks about it.

Genuinely the only good thing I get from examining this type of bullshit rethoric is that it lets me inspect Kataang more closely and find new things I genuinely love about it.

[romcomxdd]

What if Mav didn’t get custody of bradley?

Maybe Goose and Carole never got around to officially naming Pete as Bradley’s godfather. and by the time Carole knew she was dying, it was too late. Maybe her death was so sudden none of them had a second to think about it until she was already gone. Basically there was no legally binding documents saying that Mav was the next in line to be Bradley’s carer.

But when Carole did die, and Mav applied for adoption almost immediately, he was deemed as an unfit carer, on account of him moving for work all the time. And of course he couldn’t say that Ice would be there to look after him as well because of DADT.

So Bradley was fostered by another family, just until Mav was able to settle down and prove he was able to look after a kid. Or that’s what he thought.

For the first few months it was okay, Mav was allowed to visit Bradley whenever, and the new foster family were okay with that. Until one day, bradley mentioned his godfathers boyfriend (Ice), and the family freaked.

They told Mav he wasn’t allowed to come by anymore, or they’d get a restraining order on him, go the authorities or something like that. They also quickly began the official adoption process of Bradley. Telling themselves that ‘there was still time to “fix” the kid, make him unlearn the homosexual tendencies he must have picked up from Maverick and Ice.’

Mav was devestated, understandably, as he couldn’t even say goodbye to Bradley. The family told baby Rooster that Mav was glad to get rid of him. That he had told them that he never wanted to see Bradley again. This kinda fucked the kid up, doubling his already present trust issues. First his dad, then his mum, and then the man that he had begun to think of as his second dad.

As soon as the adoption reports went through, the family moved across the country, just to be safe, and Bradley grew up with them.

Over the years he ended up with a shit tonne of internalised homophobia, and transphobia if that’s how u head canon him.

Anyway, after a few years Bradley began to stop thinking about his ‘old’ family so much, and grew up with his ‘new’ one. Maybe they turned out to be kinda abusive, or toxic, or Bradley could just never really connect with them.

The one thing he could vividly remember was his dads love of planes (whether it was Goose that he was thinking of or Mav, it’s unsure, maybe a mix of both). How he would talk about flying with that twinkle of wonder in his eye. So Bradley became a navy pilot, following in the footsteps of his dads. He cut contact from his adoptive parents and progressed rapidly in the ranks.

Bradley got with Jake at one point, after doing A LOT of self discovery, but ultimately broke up with the texan, as a self defence mechanism he had put up after Mav ‘ditched’ him. Another part of the breakup was his still present internalised homophobia.

But basically, Bradley got into top gun and everything, and ended up at the events of TGM as usual. but imagine how much deeper the angst would be between him and Mav, and the misscomunication and oh so much toxic masculinity and them refusing to talk about their feelings.

uhm yeah hope you enjoyed yet another fic idea that i’ll never write :]

[softshuji]

𝟎𝟐:𝟏𝟗𝐀𝐌 | 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐔

Title: Baby's Breath

Summary: Rindou wishes words were easier for him, but he loves you, and he's determined to show you, in the only ways he knows. Link to master list here! REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

cw: afab! Reader, mentions of sex, some suggestive content, reader and Rin are married, lots of kissing, petnames (pretty boy, Princess) some light praise, mentions of infidelity (not from rindou or reader), rin is a cute husband.

Rindou has never told you he loves you. 

The words are too thick and heavy in his mouth, the red colouring on his cheeks too apparent, especially in the way it curls towards his ears and neck. He wants to, of course he does, but he knows that the words are often thrown around, without merit, that simply telling you he loves you doesn’t prove the fact at all.

So no, Rindou has never told you he loves you and every time he thinks he’s coming close, the metal sheet slams down on his chest and the corrugated wall of his defences rises from his bones. It’s a mechanism perhaps, to shield himself from the things he doesn’t understand, the things he fears. He can never be hurt if he never loves, so why love anyone? 

Rindou has never told you he loves you, but he wakes up before the sun has fully climbed the sky to watch the weak and watery sunlight paint your skin. The clouds shift and cloak the room in darkness again and Rindou presses a feather-light kiss to your back, your shoulder, the hollow dip in your chest. His deft fingers tuck the hair behind your ears and you frown in your sleep and roll over, taking him with you as he presses his forehead, his cheek, to the place where he thinks your heart is. He smells the lingering perfume on your skin, hidden underneath layers of sleep and sex and resists pressing a kiss to your flesh again and again, wondering if you can hear that soft and unsteady drum of his heart.

When you wake, he makes coffee, leaving it hot in the pot as he dresses. He watches you fiddle with the jar of honey or jam and gestures towards it, relishing in the way your eyes trail down his biceps and shoulders as he pops the lid.

He holds back the smirk as he usually does. He likes that you think it’s a secret when you stare at him and lick your lips, and he flushes against his will, as he always does at your boldness.

‘Thanks Rinny,’ you say, your lips brushing over the corner of his mouth and Rindou shrugs as if it’s no big deal, his heart clamouring against his ribs. He wonders one day if he’ll get over it, if the novelty of having you as his wife will ever wear off. He’d have thought it would by now, five years into a happy and stable marriage, but he hopes it doesn’t. He hopes, as embarrassing as it is, that the excitement and wonderment of being your husband never leaves, that he’ll get to wake up to that new feeling every day, make love to you like it’s the first time every time, kiss you like he’s 19 again and there are endless springs ahead of you. God Ran would have a field day if he knew that. 

Rindou has never told you he loves you but he picks up flowers as he leaves work almost every weekend, scouring the aisles for chocolates and cards and sweets and when the cashier swipes him through she asks if it’s a special occasion. He replies that it is, that the occasion is just that he wants to show his wife he loves her. Even if he can’t say it, he adds it as a mental afterthought. And when he comes home, you run and jump into his arms and he pulls you close, inhaling the scent of you, pressing his face to the curve of your neck. 

‘These are for me?’ You hold the bouquet of forget-me-nots and daisies, baby’s breath and carnations, and your heart  softens as it always does. ‘Did I miss something? What’s the occasion?’

‘Can’t I just get my wife flowers?’ He says and pulls you by the hips till your chests are touching, lowering his head till his lips meet yours. Every kiss is passionate, tender, soft. His hair curls forward, tickling your cheeks as he bites down on your lips, his tongue gentle and tentative in your mouth, running over your bottom lip as his hands slide around you. 

‘I love you,’ you whisper against his mouth, and he kisses you deeper, harder in response, like a dying man given water in the desert. You know he’s smiling from the sudden flex of his jaw in your cupped palms and it’s all the answer you need. 

Rindou has never told you he loves you but he leads you to his studio by the hand, plugs the headphones in and watches your face as he presses play. It’s a sacred thing, this moment of yours, where he shares the thing he spends so much time on, the thing that keeps him up late some nights. But it’s very much worth it when you smile for him, your head bobbing in time to the beat, and Rindou blushes from his neck to his ears when you tell him how great it is, how proud he ought to be of himself. He says it’s no big deal, as if you hadn’t noticed the shadows under his eyes getting deeper with every passing hour, hadn’t noticed him chew on the end of a pencil as his brows crease in concentration.

It’s funny actually, considering the person he was before he met you. The kind of man who assumed that all he ever really needed in life was his brother to return home to, as if the silence of a penthouse wasn’t deafening and the tick tock of the wall clock didn’t constantly remind him of just how lonely he felt. 

I only need Ran, he’d say to himself over and over, a mantra, a litany, a prayer kept tucked under his pillow at night. He’d shift his hand towards the cold side of his bed, the linen unwrinkled, smooth and untouched, and even as he pressed a cheek against the cotton, something inside him would cave and he’d curl around a pillow and stare at a spot on the carpet, hoping to conjure some warmth for the prickling that settled along his skin, a sensation that no amount of alcohol was ever able to get rid of. He’d wonder, fleetingly, if he deserves such comforts after the things he’d done.

Except now, he curls around you, and his nose buries itself in your hair or the crease at the nape of your neck and the thin chain he wears kisses the dip between your shoulder blades, and he’s so close that you can feel his breath on your chin. And maybe, just maybe, in moments like that, he feels a little less lonely, a little less cold and even though that anxiety of being undeserving still punches a hole in his chest, he knows you’re there, a beacon as bright as the sun.

And you realize, as he murmurs against your skin, how long it’s taken to get to this point. That there was a time in which he’d shrugged it off, the kindness, the tenderness, the soft touches. When he’d flinched as you cupped his face and traced the cut of his cheekbones and lips, and you’d wondered at what manner of horrors he had seen to react to you like that. When he had tried to push you away and you’d refused to move, had still held out your arms for him to come back to when he was ready to accept that he deserved to love and be loved too. 

You turn around to face him and he frowns at you, at the cold rush of air that comes from the separation of your limbs tangled with his. You hold his face and press a kiss to his lips, the curve of his chin, his throat, your fingers brushing back the loose hair escaping his ponytail. 

‘You’re a pretty boy you know that?’ you say, your voice sluggish and heavy with sleep, your forehead dipping to touch his. ‘The prettiest boy there is.’

His lips part in surprise and you have the visceral urge to kiss him again and again again till your lips are sore and you’re entirely spent. You think his lips might actually be your favourite thing about him. 

He tuts under his breath and feigns annoyance, his voice tinged with embarrassment and when he says, ‘go to sleep Princess,’ it is with mirth and a hint of love, a pinch of the multitudes he has for you.

Rindou has never told you he loves you but his hand is on your back when you jolt awake at 3AM, clutching the sheets and gasping for air, your heartbeat so fast it makes you dizzy. When the nightmares are frequent and harsh and it’s hard to shake the terror of being out of control, Rindou is there, his lips close to your ear, a hand rubbing soothing circles against your skin. 

‘Shhhhh…,’ he says as you get your bearings, and you hold onto him, your fists tightly clenched with anxiety. His hair is still matted to his forehead, clinging to his shoulders and tufts stand on end from where his cheek has been pressed into the pillow. ‘It’s okay Y/N.’ 

His voice lulls you, and you focus on his heartbeat under your cheek, the tears free flowing and fast, and he doesn’t mind that you cry on him at all but rather strokes your hair till you sag against him again, your breath evening out as you’re pulled back into sleep, a murmured "that's my girl," that you cling to.

He won’t mention it when you wake, but the gentleness is there all the same. A hand on your lower back, a kiss to your temple, the softness in his actions all the more apparent. You like that he doesn’t bring it up, that he trusts you enough to deal with it in your own way, but is there all the same. 

And over time you've noticed the way he softens around you, how on guard he is with others, a snake poised and ready to bite, the tough shell melting away the minute you’re alone, the way he instinctively leans into your touch when you brush an eyelash from his cheek. It’s all so familiar, so comfortable. He doesn’t mind that you’re opinionated and strong, that you talk for hours but rather inclines his head in your direction as he listens, and his eyes pierce into yours with such intensity that your hands will fidget with the hem of your shirt and the hairs on your neck prickle with embarrassment. 

In those rare moments when you find yourself saying something he doesn’t agree with, he steps forward and silences you with a kiss and you’re torn between indignation and softening against him, and the latter always wins over and your hands will find purchase on the planes of his stomach as his abs flex underneath you and Rindou knows he’s won again, as he always does.

So even though the three words are heavy and thick in his mouth, and he wants nothing more than to have the courage and ease to say them, he can’t. Or rather doesn’t. He knows the words are often thrown around without merit or credibility, that it’s something anyone might say at any time. He’s seen it before. A man mutters the words against a woman’s neck as her legs clench around his hips, conveniently forgetting he has a wife at home he says the same thing to, and Rindou’s lip curls in disgust as Sanzu leads them through the club. Something inside him feels sick and nauseous and he blocks the sound of them out, focusing instead on the plush carpet underneath his feet and he thinks of you, and wonders if you’re waiting for him to come back home.

So no, Rindou has never told you he loves you, but he does. He really does, and he hopes you know it all the same, that his actions speak for him, enough to say what he’s too afraid to. Maybe one day he might have the courage to do so, he hopes that you wait and believe him till then.

a/n: I think I actually wrote this more than 6 months ago btw, but I was looking through my docs and realized I hadn't posted it yet. I'm proud of it even now, it's just so self indulgent and cute. I hope you all like it (and my love of course, for you!)

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @mxnjiros @islascafe @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @snakegentleman @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @bejeweled-night-33 @ranscutedoll @the-travelling-witch @orchid3a @rottingreveries @qiiuusoup-xo @hoetani @sinfulseashell @welcome-to-the-internet-it-sucks @nikokopuffs @obitohno @tetsutits @burnishedcrown @sweet-seishu @sin-and-punishment @keiskyutie @mochimiyaas @theaonlax @bertholdts--butt (if you'd like to be added, let me know!)