#cherry press junket

[cowgurrrl]

A plea for tenderness

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Author’s note: bitch something came over me I have no idea what just happened also thank you to @pedges for helping me work out this plot idea I owe you my life

Summary: Things with you and Joel finally come to a head [7.3k]

Warnings: 18+ MINOR DNI, one bed trope, brief period talk, stress, implied anxiety, yearning, miscommunication, my first time writing smut 🤠 (please be nice), dirty talk. fingering, p in v stuff, Joel being a shit head, sub Joel if you squint really hard

"You've got to be fucking kiddin' me," Joel says as he turns on the hotel light. 

It's been a long day. You were due to arrive in New York City this morning, but a thunderstorm delayed your flight. Then canceled it. You maneuvered phone calls between airlines and your managers to get things sorted out. You were also getting recognized in the airport, and it turns out that a line of people wanting to take pictures with you was a security issue. You were trying to be nice and take the time to talk to everyone but with the turn the day had taken, you were overwhelmed and on the verge of tears. Joel and TSA agents had to be the ones to turn people away and move to a more secure location. By the time you landed in New York, it was dark, and you were both exhausted. All you wanted to do was shower, lay in bed, and sleep for as long as possible. You have to be up early in the morning for a press junket, and Joel has meetings all day before you two have to go out for a date night. So, when you walk into your hotel room and see only one bed, it feels like the cherry on top of your entire day. 

"Did Melanie book this room, or did you?" He asks, and you give him an annoyed look.

"You really think I would book us a room with only one bed?"

"Guess not," he sighs. You abandon your suitcases by the door and flop on the bed while Joel settles on the couch. You cover your eyes and take a deep breath. It's quiet, or at least as quiet as New York City can get. Your body aches from traveling, and all the stress it took to get here, and this situation is not helping. As far as the whole world knows, you and Joel can't get enough of each other. He can't just go downstairs to the front desk and ask for another room because he doesn't want to sleep in the same bed as his fake girlfriend. "What are we gonna do?" He asks like he's reading your mind, and you sit up to look at him.

His hair is sticking out every which way, and his shirt is wrinkled from falling asleep on the plane. He looks exhausted, and you can practically see the defeat weighing on his shoulders. Behind the fatigue in his eyes, you can see something heavier. He almost seems guilty. Guilty for putting you in this situation or guilty for not being able to do anything to fix it. You don't know. Your fingers twitch to reach out for him, but you curl them around the blanket instead.

"We're gonna take showers and get ready for tomorrow. That's about all we can do." You say, and he nods. You grab your suitcase and pull out all the toiletries and clothes you need for bed. Joel lingers on the couch, his hands tapping a rhythm into the cushions. You make a couple trips to the bathroom to get all your stuff set up, and when you come back out to grab your folded pajamas, Joel stands.

"I can sleep on the couch. If it'll make you more comfortable." He says, and a piece of you melts at how nervous he looks. You leave your clothes on the bed and walk over, covering his wringing hands with your own.

"You know that if you do that, your back will literally never recover, right?" You ask, and he chuckles. The air feels instantly lighter at the sound, and you smile. "Sleeping in the same bed for a few nights won't kill us. It's not ideal, but we can be adults about this. We'll build a pillow wall and everything if we really need to." 

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," you say. He looks like he wants to say something more, but he doesn't, and you suddenly become aware of just how close you two are. You can smell his cologne, and you're holding his big hands in yours, and it doesn't feel awkward or wrong. It actually feels nice. His thumb brushes against your skin softly, looking down at your joined hands as he traces a line into your skin. You slowly release his hand and step back. "I'm gonna take a shower." 

He doesn't say anything as you gather your things and walk into the bathroom, locking the door behind you. You look up at the ceiling and let out a shaky breath as you try to calm yourself down. You can barely hold his hand without feeling like your skin is on fire. How are you supposed to sleep in the same bed as him? He looked so relieved when you told him it was okay. You can't take it back now. You sigh and turn the shower on, hoping the water will wash away the stress from the day.

You try to avoid thoughts of your schedule for tomorrow and hum so you can't hear Joel's voice through the walls as you scrub your body. He's on the phone with someone, speaking in a gentle tone you've only ever heard him use when he's checking on you. It's the same tone he used to comfort you after the charity event and the one he used to apologize for the hotel room. You shake your head and turn off the shower, anxious to keep yourself busy so your mind doesn't wander. You take the time to brush and floss your teeth, go through your skincare routine, and nervously tear your nailbeds apart. You're surprised Joel didn't bang on the bathroom door for you to hurry up.

When you walk out of the bathroom in a shirt two sizes too big and a pair of bike shorts, Joel is hanging up some nice-looking shirts that will probably need to be ironed in the morning because of how wrinkly they are. He smiles softly as you carry the clothes you wore today back to your suitcase. Joel's bag is sitting open on the bed, and your eyes catch on familiar packages sitting on top of his stuff.

"Is there a reason you keep pads and tampons in your carry-on?" You ask, peering into his bag as you brush your hair. 

"They're for my daughters, snoopy." He says, closing the closet door and leaning against it like it's too hard for him to stand upright. You silently curse his stupid fucking Lakers shirt for stretching against the muscles in his arms.

"Oh," you say. How could you forget that the man kissing you against walls and sending you flowers is also a father?

"Oh,"

"How old are they?"

"Sarah is eighteen, and Ellie is fourteen."

"Wow." You gape. It's an involuntary response, and you want to take it back as soon as it leaves your mouth. Joel raises his eyebrows at you as he moves from his spot.

"What?" 

"Nothing. I thought they'd be younger."

"Are you about to shame me for being old?" He asks. He has a playful look in his eyes as he steps closer to you, and you flip your wet hair over your shoulder.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Miller. I just know that other people in the industry have kids later in life. Robert Downey Jr. was forty-seven when his first kid was born." You say, and he laughs, shaking his head.

"Well, that's definitely not me. I was a couple months away from turning twenty-three when Sarah was born."

"That's crazy. So, you were, what? About twenty-six when Ellie was born?" 

"I guess it would've been right around there, yeah." 

"What are they like?" You ask. 

"Well, Sarah's smart as hell. Gave me a run for my money when she was younger cause she'd have to teach me how to help with her math homework. She's also sweet and gentle. Wouldn't hurt a fly, and if she did, she'd probably cry about it for a month," he says, his eyes lighting up as he talks about her. You smile as you imagine a much younger Joel sitting at the kitchen table with a little kid, cursing under his breath about fractions. "Now, Ellie... Ellie is quick. Just as smart as Sarah, but she's a little more extroverted. She's never met a stranger and is probably the funniest damn kid alive, but if you tell her I said that, I'll never forgive you."

"And they get along?"

"For the most part. They're still sisters, y'know? They have little fights and whatnot, but they love each other."

"Sounds like you hit the jackpot." You say, and he smiles.

"Yeah, I guess I did," he pulls his phone out of his back pocket and scrolls through his photos, turning it around when he finds what he's looking for. He shows you a picture of two girls sitting on a nice-looking couch with guitars in their laps. One has long, dark, coily hair pulled from her face, and Joel's crooked smile tugs at her lips. Her legs are long and crossed in front of her, and a butterfly necklace hangs from her neck. The other is shorter, with cropped, wavy brown hair covered with a baseball hat and silver rings adorning her fingers. She looks focused, a familiar line creasing her forehead as she strums the guitar. He points to the girls and identifies them as Sarah and Ellie, respectively.

"They're beautiful." 

"Thank you," he says, suddenly shy. He tucks his phone into his pocket and looks down at you. "They, uh... they asked about you when I was just talkin' to 'em."

"Really?" You ask, and he nods.

"Asked when I was gonna bring you around. They think bein' an actor is way cooler than bein' a singer."

"I mean, obviously." 

"Maybe I shouldn't introduce you three. I have a feelin' you guys are gonna create a mini army against me."

"They sound like headstrong girls. I doubt they need me to start an army." You say, and you both laugh. 

"Would you... wanna meet them one day?" He asks. You chew on the inside of your cheek as you fight with your brain. Part of you wants to smile and jump up and down at the idea that he trusts you enough to introduce you to his daughters, but the other part wants to cry because this isn't real. But meeting his daughters wasn't in the contract. Neither was sending you flowers or offering to sleep on the couch.

"Yeah. One day." You say. He smiles and nods. The deep brown of his eyes twinkles as a slight blush rises to his cheeks. 

"Okay." He says as he turns from you to pull some clothes and toiletries from his bag, that smile never leaving his lips even when he leaves the room to get in the shower. You find yourself smiling, too, as you climb under the covers and mindlessly scroll through your phone. He doesn't take as long as you did, but he's still in there for a good few minutes before he walks out in a bleached Foo Fighters t-shirt and black sweatpants. You subtly watch him put his things away and get ready for bed, his back muscles entrancing you when he turns to plug his phone in. 

He lingers on the other side of the bed, nervous and unsure, making you laugh. You pull the blankets out from their tightly tucked corners and pat the spot for Joel to lie down. He pauses for another second before climbing into bed next to you. He smells like lavender and aftershave, and his hair is damp as he rests his head on the pillow. You put your phone away and reach over to turn off the light on your side of the bed so you can each get some sleep, but he doesn't move. You look at him over your shoulder when the light on the other side doesn't flicker off.

"You're sure this is okay?" He asks.

"As long as you stay on your side, Miller," you joke, but he doesn't so much as crack a smile. You sigh and lie down so you're face-to-face with him. "This isn't your fault. This is just one bump in the road. There's no reason to let it ruin our whole trip, okay?" You ask. He takes a deep breath through his nose, the gears in his mind working loudly before he nods.

"Okay." He says. He stares at you for another beat before reaching over and turning off his lamp, casting the room in total darkness. He lies so his back faces you, and you feel his body relax into the mattress. Surrounded by the city's sounds and Joel's breathing, your mind rests for the first time all day. Crooked smiles, gentle hands, and butterfly necklaces invade your dreams, and, for once, you don't bat them away.

A distant car's honk stirs you from sleep. You can hear birds chirping and subways screeching as the city slowly wakes up around you. Your muscles still ache from your long day of travel the day before, but you're comfortable and warm. The early morning sun shines on your face, and you grimace, burying your face into your soft pillow. But, when you move, a firm body moves with you, and you freeze, suddenly wide awake. 

Your eyes blink open, and you find yourself curled against Joel's chest, his Foo Fighters shirt close enough for you to make out individual bleach spots. Your hand is curled between your face and his chest, and you can feel how the air comes and goes from his strong lungs. One of his hands rests on the back of your head like he's cradling you, and the other is wrapped around your waist. You're totally enveloped in his warmth and his smell. 

How the fuck did this happen? When you fell asleep, he wasn't even facing you. Did this happen while you were sleeping, and if so, who reached for who first? You want to spiral. You want a reason. You want to find a way to wiggle away from him to protect yourself, but he's so comfortable, and you haven't slept that soundly in years. 

You slowly move so you can look up at him. His face is relaxed as soft snores leave him, and his damp hair has dried into the most perfect fluffy head of curls. That worried line he gets between his brows when thinking hard is nothing more than a wrinkle when he's like this. He's beautiful. Carefully, you take your hand from his chest and reach out to trace the line with your thumb. He doesn't stir or jump at your touch. You swear, he unconsciously leans into it.

Your fingers move across his face in quiet reverence. You trace his eyebrows, the curve of his nose, the dip of his cupid's bow, and his jawline with soft fingertips. It feels like you're memorizing his features lest he disappear right before your eyes. It feels like you're begging yourself to never forget how his hair falls over his forehead or how the scar under his jaw curves upward just so. It feels, for once, like you're not worried about what happens in the next five minutes because he's right here, and you need to count every single freckle before you can do anything else. 

He inhales suddenly, and you feel him start to stretch before he feels you. Your hand rests on his cleanly shaven jaw as he opens his eyes, at least four different emotions playing out behind them when he realizes what happened. Golden rays of sunshine filter through the curtains, making him look like someone's version of an ancient god. He opens his mouth to start to say something, but you lean in to kiss him before he can. 

His lips are soft and tentative against yours before his mind catches up with his body. Then, his hold on you tightens, pulling your body flush to his, and he kisses you like his life depends on it. You bury your hands in his hair as his hands come to your jaw to deepen the kiss. There's a little teeth and tongue as his arms rest on either side of your head, caging you in. It feels like he's everywhere and nowhere all at once. You need more. You squeeze his shoulders when he kisses a line from your lips to your jaw and down your neck, gasping when his teeth scrape against your skin enough to send electricity down your spine. He soothes the barely there pain with a soft kiss, taking his time to taste your skin. 

"Joel," you breathe. He kisses the shaky incantation of his name away as his warm hands slide under your shirt and skate up your ribs. Your back arches, and you press yourself closer to him, desperate for any kind of contact. His thumb barely brushes against the swell of your breasts when the grating default iPhone alarm sounds. You both jump and startle out of the moment. His hands leave you, and he shuffles to smash the off button. You do your best to get your heart rate down as he sits on the edge of his side of the bed with his back to you. It's dead silent, and for a minute, you think maybe it was all a dream, but your lips are still buzzing, and the skin he kissed and nipped and licked stings with the reminder that he was just right there.

"It's seven o'clock." He says, his voice cracking over the syllables, and you nod at the ceiling. He stands and moves to his suitcase to pull out some clothes, actively avoiding your eyes. When he disappears into the bathroom, you cover your face with a pillow and hope a meteor will rattle through the atmosphere and burn you from the earth because that would be easier to understand than whatever the fuck that was.

You're sitting on the couch with two hosts of the Today Show, a pretty pink dress flowing around you as you listen to them talk up your most recent project to go to theatres, but you're not all there. In the background of their questions and the hot lights beating down on you, you're going through every single movement that led to Joel Miller kissing the life out of you this morning. You're stuck on the minutes just before seven am when nothing mattered more than his body against yours. He left the hotel room without a goodbye while you were washing your face, and you won't see him until later tonight. So, you're stuck tracing the shape of Joel's nose into the hem of your dress like it's the answer to an important question on a final exam. 

"This movie has already sparked many beautiful conversations online about families and growing up. What can you tell us about what you took away from this film?" Hoda asks. You start something about how coming of age is scary, but you were really grateful to get to do this project. You praise the girl who played your younger sister and how well she portrayed that experience. You were going to say something about another costar or the director or something, but it all flutters out of your head when you think about Joel's hands on you. This is fucking pathetic, you think.

"I'm so sorry, I forgot what I was gonna say," you laugh the way they taught you to— good-naturedly and honestly but not too loud. Nobody likes a loud woman.

"That's alright. I think we all know where your mind is right now." Jenna, the other host, chimes in, and you raise your eyebrows. 

"You do?" You ask, a little nervous that they know something you don't. They both hum and nod.

"Does it have anything to do with coming into New York with a certain singer on your arm?" Jenna asks, and you feel yourself relax. You laugh and run your hands through your hair as you nod.

"You caught me."

"How is Joel?"

"He's great. I'm sure he'd be here with me today if he didn't have work. I'm just happy our schedules finally lined up for once."

"Now, we know he is famously very private, but what can you tell us about your relationship? How did you meet? What's it been like to date one of the most famous rockstars in the world?" Hoda asks, her chin in her hand as she stares at you. You smile and fidget with a ring on your index finger.

"Well, you're right about him being very private, so I don't want to give away too much because I kinda like having our little secrets too, but I'm really happy. It's been a little bit of a learning curve for both of us, but we've found something that works."

"That's it?! C'mon, you've gotta give us a little more!" Jenna exclaims, and you laugh, throwing your hands up.

"I'm not one to kiss and tell!"

"I guess we'll have to get Joel in here one of these days."

"Oh, good luck with that. His ability to dodge questions like the plague is one of my favorite things about him." You say as a picture of you and Joel kissing on the charity red carpet appears on the screen. You can't stop the blush from spreading across your cheeks, but you try playing it off as smiling too much.

"Look at you two! You really are a great couple, and we wish you both the best." 

"Thank you so much." You say. They dive back into promoting your newest movie before cutting to commercials. You give them both big hugs and thank them again before being whisked off to do more press. 

You spend the rest of your day answering the same four questions over and over again with your costars by your side. They make it a little easier to get through the day, especially when they tell embarrassing stories from set or play stupid games with you. You're able to take your mind off of Joel for a few hours when you're with them. You make plans to color-coordinate on the red carpet for the premiere because you guys play a family, and that's what families do. Lilly, the girl who plays your younger sister, asks your opinion on dresses and how to tell her stylist that she's hated almost every outfit he's put her in. You give her as much advice as possible and ignore the thought in the back of your head that you would've killed to have someone provide you with advice like this when you first started.

The day goes by faster than expected, and you're back in the hotel room before you know it. Except Joel isn't there when you walk in. Instead, there's a bag on the bed with his handwriting scrawled on a note beside it. Wear this tonight. I'll meet you at dinner -JM, under his initials, is the address of the restaurant where you're supposed to have dinner. You furrow your brows in confusion as you pull a little black dress out of the bag. It's your size, which you have no idea how he found out, but you're pleasantly surprised when it fits. The hem of the dress hits an inch or two above your knees, and the collar is lined with pearls. It's gorgeous and feels expensive as it clings to your body. You pair it with a pair of black heels before doing your hair and makeup.

It's not super common for people in the industry to still do their own hair and makeup, but you love it. You like the time and energy it takes to get yourself ready. There's something meditative about it, which you could use if you're going to make it through dinner. You take some inspiration from Pamela Anderson's makeup looks from the nineties when the public deemed her The Rockstar's Girlfriend. While Tommy Lee is a piece of shit, and Joel is nowhere near like that, you still like the aesthetic. When you step back from the mirror to take in your complete look, power and confidence surge through your veins. You grab your little black purse from the counter and saunter to the lobby.

Paparazzi snap your pictures leaving the hotel and getting into the car Joel sent for you, but you're not annoyed at it for once. You look good. The world should see it. You text Joel that you're on your way, the only communication you've had with him since this morning. You decide that the thing that makes this kiss feel so different and jarring from the others is that it wasn't for the cameras or the press. It was just for you two. You were alone in the privacy of your own bed, and you kissed him because you wanted to, not because you had to sell a story. But he kissed you back. He did more than kiss you back. You sigh as the car rolls to a stop, and the back door opens. Joel stands there in a tight-fitting black button-up shirt and nice slacks, holding his hand out to you. You take it and smile as he helps you out of the car, kissing your cheek once you're in view of the photographers on the sidewalk. 

"You look beautiful," he says, so only you can hear it, and you squeeze his hand. He escorts you into the restaurant, and you two are given a table in the back. It's all too similar to your first-ever date when you were ready to punch him and break a legally binding contract. You order drinks and mess with your earrings as you think of what to say.

"How was your day?" You figure is as good a place to start as any. He raises his eyebrows at you, and you just stare at him like you don't know what he's waiting for.

"It was fine. Got a lot of work done," he says. "What about you?"

"I did a lot of interviews. Got asked about you a whole bunch." You say as the waiter brings your drinks over. You thank him and watch him scurry away before Joel takes a big sip of his beer. 

"What'd you say?" He asks, and you shrug.

"I told them how deliriously happy we are," you say. He grinds his teeth and hums as he takes in your words. You drink your drinks silently until the waiter comes by to take your food orders. Joel must sense lingering eyes at the same time you do because he takes your hand and rubs affectionate circles into your skin. You reach out with your other hand to move his hair out of his eyes and mumble something about him needing a haircut. He hums but doesn't take his eyes off you. You vaguely recognize the look behind the irises and shake your head. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" 

"Like you didn't leave the second you got the chance this morning," finally tumbles from your lips. You expect him to get annoyed or frustrated, but he doesn't. 

"I had to." He says.

"Why?"

"You know why."

"I, obviously, don't."

"If I didn't leave when I did this morning, neither of us would've made it out of the room for the rest of the day." He says like it's common knowledge. You take a deep breath and lean forward.

"I don't believe you." You say. He shrugs, grabs your martini glass from in front of you, and takes a sip. You give him a look, and he smirks. This doesn't feel like a serious conversation anymore. This feels like a game.

"You think too much."

"Oh, is that what it is?" You ask, and he hums, handing you your drink back. You sigh and take a big swig. "You're infuriating." You mumble into the glass. He scoots his chair closer to the table and copies you, leaning forward until he's right in your face. 

"Then, why'd you kiss me this morning?" He asks, his breath fanning across your neck as he tilts his head. His voice is low and curious, if not the tiniest bit smug. 

"Lapse of judgment."

"That right?"

"Mhm," you hum. "Don't think I'd do it again unless I had to."

"Wanna hear what I think?"

"Not really, but I'm sure you'll tell me anyways."

"I think you're lyin'. You know exactly why you kissed me this morning."

"Yeah? Enlighten me, then." You challenge.

"I think you kissed me because you wanted to, and you never act on the things you want 'cause of that perfectly polished Hollywood attitude. And sure, you smile all pretty and keep yourself quiet, but I know you need an excuse to let that all go."

"And what? You're that excuse?"

"If that's what you want me to be," he says, moving so his mouth is right by your ear. "When's the last time someone properly fucked you, huh? Because I barely touched you this morning, and you sounded like you were gonna cry. Joel," he copies the way you said his name this morning, all breathy and desperate. His words shoot straight to your core, and the restaurant is suddenly too hot. You dig your nails into his hand, but he doesn't flinch. No, he has the audacity to fucking laugh. "I bet if I reached under that little dress, you'd just be drippin' for me." Approaching footsteps pull him and that dirty mouth away from you as Joel smiles at the waiter like he didn't just say all that to you. Your food is set down on the table in front of you, but you're not hungry anymore. Joel just stares at you with a shit-eating grin. You down the rest of your martini and clear your throat as you pick up your fork.

"I'm going to fucking kill you." You say quietly, and he chuckles.

"Do your worst, darlin'." 

It could be the ache between your legs or the agonizingly slow way Joel eats his dinner, but it feels like you're at the restaurant for hours before Joel finally gets the bill. What's worse is the New York City traffic you get stuck in on your way back to the hotel. You're about ready to get out of the car and just walk the rest of the way. Joel seems to think this entire thing is hilarious because he chuckles and puts a hand on your thigh, squeezing your skin. "Relax," he whispers, and your jaw clenches as you look at him. Cars honk at each other, and people yell loudly, distracting the driver enough for you to kiss his neck. Your hand rests on the other side of his neck, keeping him in place as you lick at the hollow of his throat. His grip tightens on your thigh when your hand travels down his chest, your fingers working to undo the top few buttons. Your nails lightly scrape over his chest, and a low groan rumbles through him, making you smirk.

"Where'd you go, baby? You were talking such big shit back at the restaurant. I thought you'd be able to handle a little teasing," he swallows hard, and you reach down to palm him through his slacks. He bites back a desperate noise and claws at your wrist to stop your movements. "Gonna cry for me, Miller?" You ask. The car stops in front of the hotel, and he sighs as he looks between you and the tent in his pants.

"Ready to run?" He questions. Before you can even ask him what he means, he grabs your hand, opens the car door, and basically sprints into the hotel, dodging paparazzi and doormen, making you laugh the whole way in. You keep running until you reach the elevators, both of you reaching to punch the button at the same time. You laugh, still breathless from the running and the complete 180 the situation took. Joel shakes his head, fighting a smile, as you giggle deliriously. "There's so much wrong with you."

"Me?! You're the one who made me run into the hotel lobby like a crazy person!" You say as the elevator door opens. He hums as he pushes you through the doors with his body, his lips ghosting over yours when he reaches to press the button for your floor. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him when you start moving. His hands rest on your waist, and he pushes you until your back hits the wall of the elevator, his finger tugging at the fabric of your dress. When the doors open, Joel grabs your hand again, and you two run down the hallway like kids until you screech to a halt in front of your door. 

Joel pats his pockets feverously as he searches for the room key, making you laugh. You lean in and work on the buttons of his shirt while he fishes for it, his Adam's apple bobbing when you kiss his sternum. The hotel key card shakes in Joel's hand, and he curses under his breath as he scans it again, desperately trying to make it turn green. The second it does, he pulls you into the room with him, pushing you against the door and kissing you roughly. His knee finds its way between your legs, pressing into your core in the most delicious way. You moan and reach for his belt bucket, your nails barely grazing his hard cock, making him hiss before gathering your wrists in one of his hands and bringing them above your head. "If y'do that, 'm not gonna last long enough to feel you," he says, his voice hot in your ear. You whine as he kisses down your neck, leaving love bites on any piece of skin he can reach. 

You grind your hips against his thigh, and you should be embarrassed by the sounds leaving you, but you don't have the mental capacity. Not when you feel this good. Joel releases your hands to push the hem of your dress up, up, up until he can get a full view of the black lace covering you. "Fuckin' Christ," Joel groans. He wastes no time pushing the fabric aside and sliding through your folds a second later. You let out a choked moan and lean your head against the door as he collects your wetness on his fingers. "All this for me, pretty girl?" He asks.

"Ah, Joel," you whine when he makes a pass at your clit, your fingernails digging into his shoulder. Your hips move against him, desperately searching for more friction. 

"I got you. 'S okay. I'm gonna take care of you, okay? Are you gonna let me take care of you, baby?" His voice is whiny in a way you've never heard before, making you dizzy. His middle finger teases your entrance, and you clench around nothing. "Need to hear you say it."

"Please, I need you," you sound desperate, your breath heaving from you as you stand there, almost shaking with anticipation. He doesn't move, and you feel like you're going crazy. "Jesus fucking Christ, Joel, please. I need you inside me." The second the words leave your mouth, he presses two fingers into you, sliding right to the knuckle in one motion. You moan loudly and drop your head to his shoulder as he slowly pumps his fingers in and out of you. You remember hearing once that guitarists have the best hands out of everyone else in the music world. You always thought it was a joke, but now that you're here with Joel's fingers buried deep inside you and his thumb pressing on your clit, you're inclined to agree. His long, rough fingers reach spots deep inside you that you can't reach yourself, and when they curl just so, stars explode across your vision. His name leaves your lips like a broken prayer as he moves his fingers faster.

"You're so fuckin' pretty like this. Takin' my fingers so well," he's babbling in your ear, which you should've expected based on everything you know about him, but his voice is intoxicating. You pick your head up off his shoulder and keen against him, your hips pushing into his hand. He takes the opportunity to kiss you roughly, all teeth and tongue, as the sound of his fingers moving against you makes you feel like you're burning from the inside out. "You gonna come for me, pretty girl? Gonna let me feel it?" He asks, ducking his head to mouth at your neck. He adds more pressure to your clit, a little mean about it, and you gasp, clawing at his shoulders as your vision goes white. Your walls pulse around his fingers, and sounds you didn't even know you were capable of leave your chest, but he doesn't stop, desperate to pull every bit of pleasure out of you. 

You pull the hair at the nape of his neck and beg him to stop, your breath catching in your throat when he thrusts into you again before pulling out. Without missing a beat, he pops his index and middle finger into his mouth, sucking every drop of your arousal from them. The look in his eyes is dark and completely blissed out as his tongue peeks from between his fingers. That is enough to send a zing down your spine, reigniting the fire in your stomach, and you hastily undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt and push it off his shoulders. He steps backward, and you follow him until his knees hit the edge of the bed, and he falls on top of it. You step back to take in the sight of world-famous, untouchable, tattooed, badass rockstar Joel Miller laid out in front of you, hard as a rock against his slacks and completely at your mercy. 

You reach behind your back and unzip your dress, letting the fabric and your underwear pool at your feet. You kick off your heels before crawling on top of him, his big hands immediately splaying across your waist as he sits up to kiss at the swell of your breast. Your hands pull at his hair when he takes one in his mouth, his tongue flicking over your nipple and making you see stars. "Fuck, you're so good at that," you moan, looking down to see him staring at you. He releases your breast with a soft pop before moving to the other, giving it the same treatment. You don't know what atrocities you suffered in a past life to deserve someone like him taking so much time with you, putting his own orgasm aside to pleasure you, but you’ll take it. "Kiss me, please." You beg. He quickly obliges and takes the opportunity to flip your positions so he's on top of you.

You reach down to undo his belt buckle and push his slacks and underwear down his ass in one fell swoop. He moans against your lips when you take him in your hand, twisting your wrist just enough to make him thrust into your fist. He's panting as he presses his forehead against yours, and a sick part of your brain thinks about teasing him.

"I don't have," he breathes, deflating slightly against you. "I don't have a condom. I didn't think this was gonna happen." 

"I'm on birth control, and I'm good if you're good." You say, and he nods.

"I'm clear," he swallows hard, obviously using every iota of his brain to stay focused. "Are you... are you sure?" He asks. You don't say anything. You just guide him forward and take a sharp inhale as he slowly pushes into you. He's an incoherent babbling mess and buries his face in your neck once he's fully seated inside you. The stretch is painful for a second before it blossoms into a white-hot pleasure at the base of your spine. 

"Joel,"

"Yeah?"

"I need you to move," you say. He moves back slowly, and you feel every inch of him before his hips thrust forward. He sets a dizzying pace— slow and languid at first but quickly shifting to rough and frantic. Your nails rake down his warm back, leaving red scratches on his skin as he fucks you. He's bordering on whimpering as he thrusts into you harder, and you gasp when his thumb grazes your clit. "You sound so pretty when you're fucking me. I can't believe I've gone this long without having your cock inside me. You feel so fucking good." You mumble in his ear, and he keens at your praise, something you store in your mind for later. 

You open your mouth to say something more, but he draws tight circles around your clit, making your pussy clench around him, and the thought flies from your brain. It takes one more hard thrust to push you over the edge, stealing the breath from your lungs and clinging to Joel like he's the last lifeboat in a storm. Joel curses and presses bruises into your hips as he comes inside you, the feeling of it stealing the breath from your lungs. 

His movements still, and his cock rests inside you as you both slowly float back down to earth. Joel presses sweet kisses to your jaw, your cheeks, your forehead, and your nose before finally kissing your lips. He tastes like you and the martini he stole earlier. You take in a shaky breath, not realizing that you hadn't been breathing, and ground yourself in the feeling of his sweaty body against yours. You trace patterns into his back, and he hums at the feeling, making you smile. You stay like that for a few minutes before he finally gets the courage to carefully slip out of you and run to the bathroom to get something to clean you up. He kisses you when you whine at the sensitivity and even tosses a water bottle from the mini bar on the bed, calling for you to drink it as he finishes up in the bathroom. He's gentle in how he cares for you, way more gentle than any other person had been with you. 

When he comes back out, naked as the day he was born, you smile and make grabby hands at him. He doesn't hesitate to climb back into bed with you and unapologetically wrap you in his arms. You rest your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat as he runs his fingers through your hair, occasionally pressing kissing to the crown of your head or your temple. Then, just like the whole reason this started, you fall asleep on his chest, feeling safe and wanted for the first time in years.

#one for the money two for the show #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel tlou #the last of us x reader #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #tlou smut #rockstar!joel #rockstar!joel miller #tlou au #the last of us au #I don’t know what happened either #I did warn y’all though

[andmineisyellow]

Press junkets and promotional material aren't for fans. The studios want fans to feel included, but at the end of the day, their biggest priority is to make money, To do that, they have to get as many eyeballs looking at their screens as possible. And the sooner Bridgerton fans realize this, the better off we will all be.

Netflix is not particularly worried about losing hardcore shippers/fans of the show. Those are the people they know will be watching. Netflix is focused on the people who watched the show once when it came out (the majority of the audience) and need to be reminded of its existence.

Every sneak peek, trailer, and interview is strategically timed to get seen by the most people possible. Let's say the trailer had been released in the last 7 days. It likely would have been drowned out by the new Star Wars show trailer, the House of the Dragon posters, the Beetlejuice teaser, the release of the X-Men show, and The Sims movie announcement just to name a few. Not only does that mean they would be losing out on some social media buzz, but that also means that when entertainment news sources like Entertainment Tonight cover the show, they'll have to share the airtime with those other shows. Even Bridgerton's leading lady has an entire other show she's putting most of her energy into. I do not like to defend Netflix, but in this case, maybe a team of PR experts knows more than a bunch of random people on the internet, especially given the success of the over the last 2 seasons (plus a spin-off).

It's absolutely fair to have criticisms regarding aspects of Bridgertons's marketing, especially when it concerns diversity, equity, and inclusion. But people are acting as though not getting a teaser trailer is some kind of personal attack against their ship or their fandom, when the PR team is probably ignoring most of that so they can focus on people who still need to be sold to.

I don't know, instead of thinking about promo as something we are owed (because we are very much not), consider it like the bonus features we get on a DVD. It's the cherry on top, not the ice cream.

#bridgerton #polin #bridgerton season 3 #netflix #season 3

[violettduchess]

Clavis with hyacinth? 👀

A/N: This is the FINAL fic in my 500 Follower Celebration.

To both anons: I hope you don't mind I combined/tweaked these two requests because they fit together so nicely.

Hollywood AU, Clavis and f!reader

fluff, angst, kisses

Word Count: 4518

Your arms ache as you wipe down the splotchy navy blue counter for the umpteenth time that day. Even though the sun is trailing its last few rays across a pastel sky, a glance at the clock reminds you that you still have 20 minutes to go before your shift is done and you can close. You narrow your eyes in a fierce glare but the clock keeps right on ignoring you, a cold, cruel taskmaster.

“‘Scuse me, lady, could you turn it up?” The customer sitting at the far end of the counter in front of the mounted TV gestures with his fork, bits of cherry pie still clinging to the prongs.

You paste on your most accommodating smile. “Of course, sir.” Your sore feet carry you to the other end of the counter where you kick the small step-stool into a better position before standing and manually raising the volume. The remote had decided it would escape its life of servitude in the tiny diner and had disappeared weeks ago. Your boss was too stingy to buy another so that left you as the living, breathing channel changer and volume controller. 

Taking a minute, you lean back against the counter to see what the customer wants to watch. 

“Entertainment Today with a rare interview with elusive Oscar-nominated actor Chevalier Michel. We talk about his newest movie, “The Fall of the Brutal Beast”, which is already generating Oscar buzz, and get exclusive details about his upcoming wedding to supermodel Belle! Stay tuned!”

You roll your eyes subtly as you turn away from the screen, walking to check on the coffee machine. Any story claiming to have an exclusive with the notoriously press-wary Chevalier is probably bogus. “An interview” is likely a couple of sentences that the actor would repeat almost verbatim to every reporter on the press junket, if he did any promotion at all. It is this very exclusivity that heightens his mystique, that makes fans rabid for any crumb of information about the method actor. God, when the news broke that he was actually engaged to the bright and bubbly Belle, it was as if someone had dropped a boatload of chum into shark-infested waters. An absolute media frenzy.

Your watch makes a beeping sound, making a grab for your attention. Nearly 8 pm. That curves your lips into a genuine smile as you begin the process of making a large Cafe Mocha, iced, with whipped cream and a dusting of cinnamon. You’ve just finished tapping the final bit of cinnamon on top when the front door opens, bringing with it a tall man in jeans, a lilac and gold button down shirt, black Ray Bans, and a white baseball cap with the red rose of the Rhodolite Wellness Center on it. He slides into his usual spot at the very end of the counter, away from the TV, and you head over, sliding his regular order in front of him. He flashes you a grateful smile which grows even larger when you dip into the glass cookie jar and fish out one of today’s freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies.

He glances around the nearly empty diner and then removes his sunglasses, tucking them into the V of his shirt. His brandy-colored eyes meet yours and your heart takes a tumble inside your chest. 

“And? Did you watch it?” He bites into his cookie, managing to grin even as he chews.

Your smile tells him all he needs to know but you answer anyway. “I sure did. It was hilarious. The bit about your experiment gone wrong in 10th grade chemistry had me rolling."

There it is, that thousand watt smile you have come to love so much. You and about a million other fans. He takes a sip of his coffee, watching as you go about your business of tidying up, getting ready to close the diner. Cherry Pie leaves a ten on the counter and heads for the exit when he stops, doing a double take.

"Hey wait a minute! I know you. You're Clavis Lelouch!"

Clavis makes eye contact with you first and you give a small shrug. He comes in right before closing so that he doesn't draw attention but sometimes it's unavoidable.

"Guilty," he says with a short laugh.

Cherry Pie wipes his hands on his dirty jeans before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone.

"Could I get a selfie?"

You watch out of the corner of your eye as Clavis graciously nods, getting up to go stand with the man. He gives his signature crooked smile and Cherry Pie grins from ear to ear as he takes the picture.

"Thanks man," he says as he looks at the picture proudly. "My buddies aren't going to believe I met Chevalier Michel's brother!" 

Inwardly you wince, but Clavis's smile remains, unmoving as a mountain in a storm. This is not the first time he has been lashed with the name “Chevalier” and it certainly won’t be the last.

"Have a great night," he manages but Cherry Pie is already out the door, posting the picture to all of his social media accounts. 

At that moment the chef pops his head around the corner.

"I'm heading out. You'll lock up? Oh hey Clavis."

Clavis slides back onto his stool and gives the chef a two-fingered salute.

"Hi Yves."

"Yeah, I'll lock up. See you Evie."

You hear the familiar sound of the diner's back door closing before you sigh, walking to turn the Open sign around to Closed before heading back over to your favorite customer.

"You better get going. If Pie Crust posts where he was when he took that selfie you're bound to get hounded by fans."

Clavis's gaze is focused on his drink. "Or paparazzi wanting to know about the damn wedding." He says it quietly but you feel the swell of his words, raw and tender and bruised. Pushing aside the straw, he lifts the glass to his lips and finishes the sweet coffee in several gulps. You've asked him in the past why he drinks coffee so late. He claims he doesn't sleep much anyway. Somehow that also strikes you as sad.

“Hey,” he says, his voice suddenly lighter, brighter, like a spotlight switched on to drown out the darkness. “I wanted to talk to you about something. Can I walk you home? You’ve mentioned you don’t live far from here.”

Surprise trips your heart yet again and you blink, momentarily wondering if you misheard. “But….what about your car?”

“I had my driver drop me off.” He slides a $50 on the counter and you know by now that he will refuse to take any change. The ridiculous amount of money left over is always tip for you. 

“Alright, let me just finish closing. We can go out the back.”

He slides his Ray-Bans over his golden eyes, a cloud blocking the sun, and smiles.

*

The walk back to your apartment complex is exceedingly awkward. This is the first time you have ever been with him outside the diner and it feels like without a counter between you, you aren't sure what to do with yourself. Your limbs feel loose and uncontrolled like a puppet whose puppeteer has gone too lax with the strings. 

Clavis is no help. He keeps his head down, probably out of force of habit, and follows your lead, for once quiet when you wish he wouldn’t be. You feel a slight twinge of embarrassment when you open the rusted gate of your apartment complex. There is a tiny courtyard with a few scraggly palm trees and a meager water fountain that looks like the Trevi….if someone had removed the tridents and horses and beaten up Oceanus.

Cheap blue and gold spotlights, badly hidden in the bushes, shine on the fountain and the chipped cement bench in front of it. You sit down pointedly on the bench, not about to actually ask a world-famous comedian inside your cluttered apartment, no matter how well you two get along. He follows your lead and settles down beside you.

"It's almost dark, you know." You nod toward his sunglasses and he reaches up, removing them with one hand. Why that movement makes your heart skip a beat is beyond you. Silently you tell it to pull itself together, focus on pumping blood and not falling over because Clavis removed his sunglasses in a movement as smooth as glass.

"This city is never dark," he mutters as he looks up at the sky which is slowly growing dim, but never quite enough that you can see the stars well. 

You study his profile, the sharp line of his cheekbones, the point of his chin, those impossibly long lashes framing eyes the color of liquid gold. His brother may get all the attention but anyone who doesn't see the beauty in the man seated next to you is blind. 

He finally tears his gaze away from the sky, and drops it to his hands which are fiddling with his sunglasses.

"So you know that Chev's premiere is in a week."

"Everyone knows that." Critics were practically salivating at the chance of seeing the great Chevalier Michel on screen again after the huge success of his last film, a modern interpretation of Richard III which earned Chevalier rave reviews and several high-profile awards.

Clavis opens and closes his sunglasses, his fingers moving with an almost elegant finesse, a stark contradiction to the comedian whose comedy relies heavily on silly pranks and self-deprecating anecdotes.

"I have to go. It's good publicity for the special and Sariel, being the good manager he is, suggested rather strongly that I don't show up to this alone, seeing as how it's also they’re first official outing since…." He stops for a second, as if he can't quite form the word without it getting caught in his throat. He tries again. "Since the engagement to Belle." 

Hearing the supermodel's name brings a rush of images to mind, glossy photos of her and Clavis, the model and the funnyman. They were photographed everywhere, at all times, but no matter what they were doing, no matter how candid the shots, he was always smiling. Because he loved her. It was as clear as Maldivian waters how much he did. Whenever he had given an interview and had been asked about her, there was a luminous shine in his eyes. The pride he felt when she was on his arm at a premiere was written in the lines of his body, the curve of his arm around her. They were envied and idolized and everyone wanted to know more about the "Clavelle" love story.

Until, like so many fantasies, it fell apart, an explosion of glitter that turned to ashes at his feet when Belle met Chevalier. 

They became the number one news item for months, the media painting Clavis as the broken-hearted clown who was forced to make way for the love story of the century. The world's most eligible bachelor, a man who had never shown any interest in anything other than his craft, falls for the beautiful, brown-eyed girl-next-door with her gentle laugh and million dollar smile. Never once was Chevalier painted as a villain for stealing his brother’s girlfriend. He was a star of the highest caliber, shining his light down from a distance none could touch. 

Now, months later, the premiere would mark the first time all of them were in the same place at the same time. 

Clavis removes his baseball cap, running a hand through his twilight hair. You fight the tingle in your fingers that wants to smooth it down again. 

"Anyway Sariel thinks if I show up with a date it'll keep the media from continuing with the "sad brother" angle." He finally stops messing with his glasses and fixes his gaze on you. "I think he's right and I want you to be my date."

Your brain is filled with the sound of screeching tires as your heart yanks hard on the hand brake.

"Huh?" is your eloquent reply.

He laughs, but you see the way he is playing with the brim of his cap, fingers restless as dragonflies darting about a pond. He is as nervous asking you as you are shocked to hear it.

“I…..I like you. You listen and you’re really nice and you make a killer coffee. And while some attention is great, they won't push too hard about our story. The press isn’t as interested if I bring someone who isn’t famous. No offense.”

“None taken,” you say automatically, staring at him. The silence stretches out, like taffy. Thinner and thinner, longer and longer. Finally you break it.

“What if….do they ask questions? About how we met?”

He shakes his head, his eyes bright and eager when he realizes you are considering it.

“We’ll walk the red carpet, no questions or interviews. Just pose for some pictures and then hurry inside. Watch the stupid movie and then poof, we’re out of there. I’ll be going on tour soon anyway. No other public appearances like this lined up so it’s a one-time deal.” He looks so earnest, leaning toward you, his gaze wandering your face, searching for that one word he is hoping so hard you will utter.

How can you say anything but….

“Ok. Yes. I’ll do it.”

*

Why oh why did you agree to this?!

The wall of flashing lights. The photographers screaming like birds of prey, their voices thunderous and insistent, a drumming that never stops. A dress that costs more than your annual rent poured over your body. Shoes designed to look good first and ask questions about comfort later. Your hair smells like product, your skin feels like rubber under all the makeup. You feel unreal, like a doll someone props on a shelf, still in its box. A beautiful display. 

Panic rears its ugly head, jaws unhinged, ready to swallow you whole.

And then you feel his arm wrap around your waist. A hand press reassuringly into your side against the sequins of your dress. A touch that is solid. Real. 

He leans down, his mouth right next to your ear, the anchor in a sea of turbulent waters.

“Look at me, Bright Eyes. Just look at me.”

You turn your head, your gaze locking with his and ah, there he is, the same man who drinks his overly-sweet coffee while regaling you with side-splitting stories about his first gigs in seedy bars and smoky rooms. The man who once listened as you complained about your feet hurting and showed up the next day with a pair of cushy sneakers he swore he just happened to find in some leftover swag bag in his closet. The man who notices every other customer in the diner and makes up outrageous origin stories about them under his breath just to get you to laugh. Who truly wants to know everything about your sleazy cousin back home, your neighbor’s foul-mouthed parrot, and why it’s a crime to put ketchup on scrambled eggs.

He smiles and the bright lights melt into the background. The voices blend together becoming a subtle roar. He fills your vision and in this alien world, he steadies you and guides you, expertly, to safety.

You lean into him as you step inside the dark doorway to the theater where the movie will be screened and he keeps you pressed close to his side. Only when you are led to your seats does he remove his arm. You feel the loss of his touch so keenly, so suddenly it nearly takes your breath away….and makes the moment when he reaches for your hand, threading his fingers between yours on the armrest between your seats that much easier to accept. 

It's for show, you tell yourself. Nothing else. Performance, like everything in this town. 

And yet, the feel of his hand in yours warms your heart like the glowing embers of an autumn fire. 

The lights go down, blanketing the audience in darkness. No one can see your joined hands now.

And yet, throughout the entire two hour saga, neither of you makes the first move to unlock your fingers and separate.

*

Behind the plastic, oversized, obnoxiously green potted plant is the perfect place to hide. Your mascara runs down your cheeks in black rivulets.  You feel like there's a stone pressing down on your chest, your lungs barely able to expand and contract.

You know it was wrong to have left Clavis there, but when faced with humiliation, the ur-alt part of your brain said to run. And run you did.

It had gone swimmingly. The movie was brilliant. Begrudgingly you had to acknowledge that Chevalier was incredible. And Clavis had kept your hand in his the whole time. Your first premiere was a dream.

Until it began the slow descent into grotesque nightmare.

All it had taken was one producer who recognized you. A man, with whom your interaction was limited to a daily cappuccino, lowered the Gucci sunglasses he had been wearing indoors and yelled, "Yo! Waitress? Diner on Lakewood? That you?"

That had turned the heads of not only several glittering dresses and overpriced suits, but one head of white blond hair and an Arctic gaze. 

It swung over to where you were standing, your hand on Clavis's arm, and you found yourself flattened under the heavy hammer of judgment in those cold blue eyes. Chevalier arched one beautiful brow and said before a room of admirers, his cool voice projecting across the crowd:

"Really, Clavis? A waitress?" 

His tone was hard with icy disapproval and something edging close to contempt. 

Around you others began to buzz, flies circling something offensive, something rotten. Their expressions burned into your mind, some disgusted, some partially curious. You could have handled them all if not for the flash of embarrassment that you caught on Clavis's face, lightning illuminating the sky of his features just a second before he slid his plastic smile in place and words of droll apathy rolled from his tongue.

But you had seen it, that look. He was embarrassed by you and it hurt, stung like salt in the open wound that lightning had burned across your heart. And so you had turned on your fancy heel and you had run.

And now you're hiding behind a fake plant, trying to stop the pain of hot humiliation running through your veins.

You don’t know how long you have been hiding there, trying to gather the courage to just walk away, when one of the large, plastic leaves is pulled back, leaving a tiny cloud of dust motes in its wake.

“Hi.”

You look away, unable to meet his gaze. 

“Bright Eyes,” he says as he reaches out, tentatively taking your hand in his. This time there aren’t butterflies in your stomach, but the warning, angry hum of a swarm filling your mind. 

He feels the change in you and drops your hand. Again silence as the man who talks for a living searches for the right words. 

“I’d like to show you something,” he finally says, his voice gentler than you have ever heard it. “Please?” He holds his hand out one more time. You should reject him. You should walk out of there with your borrowed dress and cheap earrings and pretend you had never agreed to this charade.

But his eyes…..warm pools of melted gold, rich with hope that you will trust him one more time, draw you in, a moth to a golden flame. You wonder if Helios himself had gifted Clavis with those eyes, those twin flames that seem to burn you right to your core.

For the second time that night, you slid your hand into his and let him guide you.

*

He leads you away from the crowd, from the pack of glamorous wolves, through a maintenance door, to a stairwell of cement and iron, a utilitarian thing that leads you up and up and up…..until finally another set of doors, which he bursts through, you just a step behind him.

Your heels step onto gravel, your eyes are filled with an endless sky, muted by the glow of city lights. He turns, illuminated, and smiles.

“Better, right?”

He leads you to the roof’s ledge and drops your hand.

“Clavis, be careful!” He has perched himself onto the wide, cement border, and the sight of him with nothing behind him, just bright lights and cityscape, has you moving forward, hands held out in a gesture of instinctual protection. As you come close, he reaches for you, taking your hands in his and with a smile brighter than the famous Hollywood sign, he pulls you close. 

You stare at one another, the sounds of the city floating up around you, the night sky wide and welcoming. Holding his hands feels good, like a key turning and unlocking a door with a satisfying click. You wonder if tonight something has unlocked between the two of you.

His thumbs move slowly over the tops of your hands.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs. “I’ve told you before he’s a real asshole.”

A sad, wobbly laugh leaves you on an exhale. “Lucky me got to see it firsthand.” You raise your gaze to his now and are surprised at the concern in his expression, the way his head is tilted, empathetic. 

“I’m sorry I embarrassed you.” The words are quiet and you feel the shame bubble up again, hot and undeniable. “I should have just told you no.”

His thumbs stop moving over your skin. He squeezes your hands for a moment as the warm wind stirs his dusky hair.

“You did not embarrass me, Bright Eyes. He did. He’s my brother and he has the nerve to–” Clavis stops speaking, letting the angry, bitter thing that had flared up fade away instead of elaborating and adding fuel to a fire that never quite burns out. He sighs and you feel the urge to touch his face, to soothe the lines of exhaustion you see there. “You,” he continues, “could never embarrass me.”

And then his hands pull gently, urging you to step closer. He’s tall enough that sitting, even with you in heels, you’re face to face. He releases one hand, reaching up to brush back your hair, wild strands that escaped your careful French twist. His eyes rival the neon glow of the city as they travel your face, his expression soft in a way you’ve never seen before. 

He leans towards you.

“Are you sure?” Your words stop his movement, just inches away from you, quiet but solid as a wall. “He’s right. I’m just some waitress in a crappy diner on the edge of town who makes good coffee.”

A slight smirk, the one you have seen in many of his routines and publicity shots because it is so alluring, so captivating.

“Someone who can actually make good coffee is so hard to find,” he quips softly and you laugh, a breathless sound of nervousness and wonder. His grin widens at the sound. “There you are.” He nudges your nose with his. “Now, can we get on with the business of me kissing you?”

“If we have to,” you murmur and you feel the way his hand squeezes yours, the startled, delighted laugh that escapes him. 

“You’re lucky you’re so lovely….” he sighs, his voice low and warm and just for your ears. He trails off and then without warning closes the distance between you and kisses you.

Your diner sells every type of pie imaginable. So many varieties of cookies, muffins, doughnuts and pastries. You’ve tasted them all. And not one of them comes close to the sweetness of kissing Clavis Lelouch. Despite his initiating things, his kiss feels almost shy.  HIs lips are pressed against yours, cloying and warm, yet chaste. His arms wrap around your waist and pull you even closer. You slide your hands over his shoulders and then drape them around his neck. 

The gentle kiss breaks like stardust and you sigh happily, your whole body thrumming with something exciting and sweet, like possibility has injected itself into your soul and lifted you up out of a mundane existence and given you wings. When you open your eyes, you find him watching you, his breathing quick as he shakes his head ever so slightly.

“What’s wrong?” Worry prunes your feathers, anxiety stands ready to clip your newfound wings before you even take flight.

"I just-" He stops, his gaze moving over the planes of your face like he can't take you in fast enough, like a thirsty man gulping water, afraid it will be taken from his grasp at any moment. "I'm kind of a mess, Bright Eyes. The things I joke about, the family drama and how I feel about him and always trying to live up to what people expect…" The words tumble out, too fast and all at once, a pitcher spilling all of its content as it falls to the ground, about to break.

You tighten your arms around him, stop him from crashing.

"Hey…." You lean forward, touching his forehead with your own. "Everyone is messy."

His golden-hour eyes close. "There's a lot of baggage that comes with dating me. I don't know why you'd want to." His voice is barely a whisper, almost lost in the muted sound of traffic far below.

You nudge his nose with yours, getting him to open his eyes. What he sees is your smile, the one that brought him back to the diner again and again and again.

"Because you're the best tipper I've ever had," you answer wryly.

Again he laughs, pulled from the shadows of his own mind by your humor, your light. He slides off the ledge, keeping you within the circle of his arms.

"It's not going to be easy," he murmurs as he leans down, his lips brushing yours in the lightest of kisses.

"So what," you whisper back, head tipped back, eyes already closed. Again his lips touch yours, light and sweet and quick.

"You're not worried," he says against your lips, the words warm and soft.

"Not in the slightest," you manage before you rise up onto your toes and press your lips firmly to his, forcing him to accept the fact that all the monsters he thinks he is sheltering don't scare you in the least. You grasp the back of his neck with one hand and part your lips in invitation. Let me in. Let me love you.

He accepts and on his lips you taste the sweet thrill of a new beginner, his tongue and yours writing the first words of a new chapter for you both. 

As you hold each other under the glow of bright lights and dim stars, you find your heart lifting with joy.

Maybe in Hollywood, some dreams really do come true.

🎥

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @atelieredux @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesroseforclavis @somekidnamedkai @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @ikehoe @redheadkittys @themysticalbeing @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @queen-dahlia @moonstruck-writing @scorchieart

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen clavis #ikepri clavis #clavis lelouch #clavis x reader #hollywood au #fluff #angst #first kiss #500 follower celebration #violettwrites

[thrashntreasure]

Ep74 Turning the Tables o/ Nelson Aspen! (Hollywood!)

Top o' the mornin' news to ya! Coz we're joined by Nelson Aspen, THE iconic, award-winning, Entertainment reporter (plus actor-singer-author-fitness guru)! Who joins us- fresh from clearing the table of Breakfast TV- to share stories from the stars' dressing rooms with his own ultimate rock star rider. Plus, we dig into some Cherry Pie by Warrant, before Nelson introduces the boys to The Boy Friend, but is he a keeper?! That's for Evan to decide! Plus, we chat press junkets, childhood memories, favourite cinema, artistic integrity, and HEAPS more!

www.nelsonaspen.com -- www.twitter.com/nelsonaspen Pick up Nelson's latest book from Amazon! https://www.amazon.com/Your-Home-Castle-Lister-Pandemic-ebook/dp/B0BC4KQ13Z/

#Nelson Aspen #entertainment news #reporter #news #Sunrise #GMTV #Ryan Reynolds #Rihanna #Gossip #Celebrity Gossip #Celebrity Tea #NYC #Warrant #Cherry Pie #The Boy Friend #Julie Andrews #Sandy Wilson #Music #Comedy #Broadway #Metal #Heavy Metal #Musicals #Critique #Reviews #Musical Theatre #West End #Aussie #Podcast #Commentary

[whatisonthemoon]

How the Moonie Media Apparatus Bought Chris Matthews’ Soul for a Pittance (2007)

WIOTM note: The following is a post from the Scooby Davis blog about the Unification Church (source)

"[Jack] Welch sincerely believed that all liberals were phonies. He took great pleasure in "buying their leftist souls", watching in satisfaction as former Democrats like Russert and MSNBC’s Chris Matthews eagerly discarded the baggage of their former progressive beliefs in exchange for cold hard GE cash."(quote found via Mercury Rising).

Being someone who follows the media, I knew that Welch had an influence on Russert's political views. I didn't realize he got his rocks off by buying the souls of people on the left. I seriously doubt that Welch reads this blog, but if he did, he might be sad to find out that Chris Matthews's media whoredom cherry had been popped a long time before he was supposedly corrupted by Welch. By the time Welch got to Matthews, Tweety's soul had been bought and paid for by Sun Myung Moon for a pittance. Sometimes I wonder which is worse: someone who never had principles (e.g., Karl Rove) or someone who once acted like a human being and then lost his way when the price was right. When I look at the Moon controversy, there are a number of people who initially took a principled stand against the anti-American megalomaniac but who changed their tune because either, 1) Moon dumped billions of dollars to help the American right; or 2) because they wanted to line their pockets. An example of the former is former Senator Robert Dole. In the 1970's, Dole was justifiably troubled about Moon's activities and his attempts to corrupt the American political system. In 1976, Dole held a public forum in Washington in which survivors and the families of victims of the Unification Church spoke about their nightmarish experiences with the cult. In February 1979, Dole held congressional hearings on the threat of cults in which discussion of Moon's pernicious activities were a prominent feature. Carlton Sherwood, a prominent paid apologist for Moon, credits Dole with setting into motion the investigations that led to the imprisonment of the cult leader for tax evasion:

For all practical purposes, this one letter [that Dole sent to the IRS calling for the investigation of the Unification Church's tax exemption] set into motion all subsequent events which, five years later, would result in the conviction and imprisonment of Moon." (Inquisition: The Persecution and Prosecution of the Reverend Sun Myung Moon, pg. 53)

That all changed in the 1980's. After attempts to evangelize America in the 1970's were an abysmal failure, Moon pretty much figured that his messianic vision didn't play in Peoria (or anywhere else in the United States) so he kept a low profile and dumped a few billion dollars into a right-wing media empire. Apparently,

Dole knew which way the wind was blowing because he let bygones be bygones and lent Moon credibility by appearing at the Messiah's "Tear Down the Cross" Washington prayer breakfast in 2003

Moon and his underlings have covered their bases with a two-pronged media strategy: 1) Subverting journalism by becoming part of the media with the Washington Times, UPI, and Insight magazine; 2) Undermining media independence with Moonie front groups that give large conference fees to mainstream journalists.

The 1992 Frontline documentary on Moon addresses this:

Narrator: Besides paying for his own media, Moon sought to influence legitimate press outlets. One vehicle was the World Media Association. [Moon's right hand man Bo Hi Pak]: " And the founder is Reverend Moon, who is deeply concerned for the world media, particularly in the battle against communism all over the world; who sees that the role of the media is so vital and so important for the salvation of our civilization." Narrator: The World Media Association sponsors all-expense-paid conferences and junkets for journalists all over the world. As Bo Hi Pak told public station KQED in 1984, the Unification Movement used the association as a weapon for a larger crusade. Pak: "But is a total war. Basically war of ideas. War of mind, the battlefield is the human mind. This is where the battle is fought. So in this war the entire thing will be mobilized, political means, social means, economical means and propagandistic means, and basically trying to take over the other person's mind. That is what the third world war is all about--the war of ideology."

The upshot is that the Moonies received journalistic legitimacy by becoming part of the media and by transferring vast amounts of money to the media elite through Moonie front groups. One of those corrupted by this easy Moonie money was Chris Matthews. To Matthews’ credit, when the Moon-owned Washington Times was established in 1982, Matthews--who was then the assistant to then-Speaker Tip O'Neil--refused to grant the Times any legitimacy by not credentialing their operatives (reporters). Matthews quipped at the time, "We work hard enough responding to legitimate press inquires." It was a principled move.

To Matthews' discredit, when he had the chance to pocket Moonie money by according the Moonie media apparatus undeserved legitimacy, Matthews took the money. Fast forward to 1989 (after Matthews left government service and was Washington Bureau Chief of the San Francisco Examiner). The Unification Church paid Matthews $2500 to speak at a conference for the Moonie front group, the World Media Association. Mathews' descent into media whoredom is recounted by James Whelan, the former editor of the Washington Times (who resigned as editor of the Times in 1984 after Moon reneged on his promise not to impose his sectarian agenda on the Times) at a conference that addressed cults and the media (click here and watch 57:35 to 1:00:25 for Whelan’s take on Matthews). To show how Matthews did a complete 180 regarding the Moonie media, the Washington Times--the rag that Matthews had previously dismissed as pseudo-journalism--began running Matthew’s syndicated column in the 1990's. Matthews was a consummate media whore by the time he met up with Jack Welch.

Addendum: James Whelan on journalists who are paid to go on Moonie junkets (click here and go to 1:09:37)

They (the Moonies) are subverting our political system. They're doing it through front organizations--most of them disguised--and through their funding of independent organizations--through the placement of volunteers in the inner sanctums of hard-pressed organizations. In every instance--in every instance--those who attend their conferences, those who accept their money or their volunteers, delude themselves that there is no loss of virtue because the Moonies have not proselytized. That misses the central, crucial point: the Moonies are a political movement in religious clothing. Moon seeks power, not the salvation of souls. To achieve that, he needs religious fanatics as his palace guard and shock troops. But more importantly, he needs secular conscripts--seduced by money, free trips, free services, seemingly endless bounty and booty--in order to give him respectability and, with it, that image of influence which translates as power.

Related articles and notes

From WIOTM note on Inside Moon’s Washington:

The relationship between Jesse Jackson and the Moonies began in 1976, when Jesse Jackson wrote a column in the Moonies NY-based newspaper ‘The News World,’ the year it launched. That said, through the 80s, the Moonies/CARP actively protested events that Jesse Jackson was involved with, including pro-Sandinista rallies. By 1989, as this article expounds on, Jackson was paying the Moonies for marketing for his campaign at Global Image Associates.

Quote from Robert Parry in ‘Secrecy & Privilege: Rise of the Bush Dynasty from Watergate to Iraq’:

"In 1976, Moon's search for growing influence in the United States seemed to be following the KCIA script. Moon started a small-circulation newspaper in New York City that featured a column by civil rights leader Jesse Jackson. Moon promoted the anti-communist cause through front groups which held lavish conferences and paid speaking fees to academics, journalists and political leaders.

On Arnaud de Borchgrave, Editor-in-Chief of the Washington Times and Friend of Gladio Terrorists Washington Post: Church Spends Millions On Its Image (1984) Moonstruck: The Reverend and His Newspaper

#media #chris matthews #news #liberalism #democratic party #u.s. politics #democrat #politics #front groups #front organizations #national prayer breakfast #carlton sherwood #world media association #Bo Hi Pak #moonies #unification church #unification church in the united states of america #unification church in the united states #american church #unification church in usa

[destinyc1020]

Random question but does anyone know if Zendaya had her own house in Atlanta when they filmed NWH or did Tom and her live at the same rental while filming? Or maybe they eventually did while filming. That house was beautiful from what you could see, huge and had a pool. And in his Cherry press junket interviews it looks like he was at her house in the same room a lot.

They each had their own separate houses in the same lot.  

But I'm sure they were visiting each other often lol. 😏

I'll never forget that time Z did an IG live with Darnell and Law, and she proceeded to clarify why she and Darnell were each in "separate rooms" of their house lol.   I knew then that something was up lol.  😏😅🤣

If you're not hiding anything, you don't have to be worrying about little things such as why Darnell is in a separate video stream than you lol. 🤣

[ptergwen]

heartbreaker

warnings: angst, swearing, drinking, and smut OK WOW

summary: never have i ever with your ex and current boyfriends is an interesting experience

a/n: excuse me for taking such a long ass time on this but super big shoutout to whoever requested it for being patient <3 i’ve been trying to write what y’all would actually be interested in so don’t be shy tell me what you want to read!! also italics are flashbacks and as always i hope everyone enjoys hehe

-

“never have i ever...” harry purses his lips and looks around at your table, “cheated on schoolwork. successfully.” everyone easily takes a sip of their beers, except harrison. you snort and tilt your bottle to where he’s sitting across from you.

“haz, how are you the only one?” “because this div used to copy all my shit in year eleven, and i’d be the one to get in trouble for it.” he elbows tom’s side, tom nudging him back. “should’ve turned yours in first, bro.” rolling his eyes, harrison bends the rules of the game by sipping his drink.

their silly bickering makes you realize how much you’ve missed hanging out with the boys like this. it makes you realize you how much you’ve missed the boys in general. the last time you even saw tom, really saw him, was for a catch up lunch. you had to rush it because he was in between onward press junkets.

before that was the day he left to film cherry, almost a year ago. it’s not at all something you like to remember. dwelling will just set you back, and you’ve come too far to let that happen. as far as one can go when the person they gave their whole heart to breaks it.

now you have luke, and tom has anyone in the world he wants. it’s a new relationship. you’ve only been seeing luke for about three months. you met him while buying some post-breakup ice cream. he randomly started a conversation with you on the line. you bonded over your hatred for chocolate and ended up trading numbers. since you’re slowly getting more serious, you invited luke to the pub tonight.

the meet the friends stage is an important one, and it’s not often that one of your closest would be available for it. tom’s thoughts and opinions still mean a lot to you. you’ll always love him, even if it’s not in the same way you once did. you know he’ll always love you right back. that’s why he did what he did in the first place. that’s what he told you, at least.

you spot luke searching for your table in the pub not too much later. sitting up straighter for him to see you, you wave him over. none of the boys knew that he was coming tonight, so you’re a bit nervous about what they might say. you just hope they’ll like each other as much as you like all of them.

“hey, y/n.” luke leans down and kisses your cheek. you smile up at him, scooting over in the booth to give him room to sit. you’re in between him and tom now. it’s pretty metaphorical if you think about it. “hi. good day?” “yeah, and super busy. i’m luke,” he reaches out his hand for any of the boys. harrison gives him a friendly shake. you haven’t noticed the way tom has been looking at you this whole time.

it’s like he wants to say something, but he’s biting his tongue.

harry shakes luke’s hand, then tom. he uses a firm grip paired with his signature lips pressed together smile. “good to meet you, man. what do you do again?” “i’m in journalism, so mostly chase people around all day.” tom clicks his tongue in a way that sounds like he approves. you’re not exactly sure what’s going through his head at the moment, but it seems to be good things so far.

“he’s just taking the piss. your writing is seriously amazing, luke. don’t downplay it.” you lean into the arm he outstretches across the back of the booth. he lets his hand move to your shoulder and pulls you in closer.

tom stares down at the floor. his leg bounces next to yours, one of his nervous habits you’ve become familiar with. picking up on his brother’s mood change, harry clears his throat to change the subject.

“let’s keep playing never have i ever. we were enjoying that earlier.” “great, i’ll go get everyone another round,” harrison volunteers himself and takes off for the bar. that was obviously his way of escaping the sudden awkwardness that came about.

you tap tom’s foot lightly with your own, making him look up at you. “doing okay over there?” “‘’m fine. my jetlag picked a bad time to act up, is all,” he lamely excuses himself and shifts the tiniest bit away from you.

you’ve seen jetlagged tom plenty of times, and this isn’t him. something else is clearly on his mind. you’d call him out on it and have a heart to heart, but it isn’t your place to do that anymore. you’re both still adjusting to the whole friends thing. it’s going to take time to get back to how close you were, especially with different boundaries in place.

harrison comes back with fresh beers and sets them down on the table. each of you grab one. tom immediately chugs half of his without bothering to wait for the game to continue. you’re not in the mood to watch him act like this, so you turn to face luke. that only encourages him to drink some more. harry is the one who steps in and pulls his bottle away.

“easy there, alcoholland. you gotta save some for when we play.” “right.” tom wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes already glossy. this isn’t how tonight was supposed to go.

“speaking of,” harrison starts, overly cheerful to make up for the way his friend is behaving. “it’s my turn.” “go for it,” you force a smile at him and swish the beer around in your glass. “this’ll definitely be good. never have i ever gone skinny dipping.”

the heat that rises to your cheeks gives you away before you can take a sip. with a shit-eating grin, tom snatches his beer out of harry’s hand. “gonna need this back, baby bro.” you shyly pick up your drink, tom and harrison being the only others who are guilty. harrison clinks his glass with yours, then you’re both gulping down your poison.

luke playfully raises his eyebrows at you when you’re finished. “i’m sorry, y/n, but i have to hear this story. you went skinny dipping?” cockiness absolutely oozing out of him, tom cuts in. “we went together, actually. i can help her tell this one.”

you spare everybody the explicit details of what happened, but it isn’t hard to guess them. tom is thankfully mature enough in the moment to not reveal much. now that luke knows the story, it feels like there’s tension between him and tom. he’s just too nice to let it show.

taking notes from tom, you impulsively finish off the rest of your drink in hopes of clearing your mind. you earn looks of concern from everyone except the man of the hour. he’s enjoying messing with you.

“that was a fun night, huh?” tom smirks at you. you close your eyes and rub your temples. sensing how off everything is, harrison leaves the table again to get you another drink. he sure has a talent for that.

you’re not sure why tom has to be such an ass tonight of all nights. you’ve already told him about you and luke before, actually he was the first person to know. he should’ve expected to meet him at some point. maybe then, his coping mechanism wouldn’t be getting drunk and making both of you look stupid.

“you okay?” luke nudges your shoulder with his hand. you give him a tight lipped smile. “yeah. sorry about all of that.” “no, it’s fine. i’m a big boy.” he glances over at tom, who’s poking harry’s cheek with a spoon. jesus christ.

harrison brings over another beer for you and a water for tom. you take your drink and push tom’s over to him. he decides to be immature and drops the spoon to switch your glasses. drunk tom is a child.

“are you serious right now? you need to learn when to cut yourself off.” you switch them again, taking a sip of your beer before tom can take it from you. he huffs and drinks his water like you said. you’re only doing this because you care about him. he’s probably too gone at the moment to understand that. if he’s going to think you’re a buzzkill for helping him out, oh well.

“so, babe,” luke makes a point to stress the word, “how about you do the next round of the game?” he leans into you again. you still haven’t taken your eyes off of tom.

“sure,” you agree absentmindedly. “um, never have i ever...” tom smiles lazily at you when he notices you’re looking at him. you forgot that drunk tom is also cute, but you’re not supposed to think that way anymore. not about him. you clear your throat. “never have i ever given myself a really bad hairstyle?”

everybody takes a drink this time, tom finishing his water. you’ve styled your hair in so many awful ways so many times, but only one comes to mind. it’s technically tom’s fault.

-

“come on, y/n/n, let me do it. i’ll even say please. please?” tom all but begs you for the third time. you look up at him from your phone to see him making puppy eyes at you. saying no to those is physically impossible.

you’ve been on hold with your hair salon for almost half an hour trying to make an appointment. they’re normally never this busy, but you really need to go. a person can only let their ends become so split.

for some reason, tom decided he wants to be a hairdresser today. he keeps offering to cut your hair for you instead. you’re not so sure you trust him with scissors, but he won’t stop asking about it unless you let him try. plus, this could be interesting.

you end the call with a sigh. perking up, tom grabs your hands. “so? that’s a yes?” “don’t make me regret this, tom.” he pulls you off the couch by your hands and leads you straight to the bathroom.

“should we wash it first? i think that’s what they do.” he turns on the sink, then goes into the shower to get your hair products. you lean back against the counter and watch him set up. you’re starting to feel kind of nervous about this. tom is usually good at everything he attempts, but something as permanent as a haircut, you’re not sure about.

“relax a bit, darling. you’ll be fine.” tom ruffles your hair with his fingers, making you crinkle your nose. “if it looks bad, no i won’t.” “it’s just hair.” he gets a towel off the rack and drapes it around your shoulders. you look at your hair in the mirror one more time, then lean back so your head is under the faucet. “you’re the one who uses a bottle of hair gel every day.”

“anyways,” you can hear the eye roll in tom’s voice. “let me know if the water’s too hot or too cold.” “nah, it’s good.” he opens your shampoo and squirts some into his hand. “see, i know what i’m doing.” you hum in response, tom’s fingers combing through your hair to make sure it’s wet enough.

you lift your head up from the water so tom can do the shampoo. it feels good, like you’re getting a massage but on your scalp. tom notices your small smile as he eases you down to rinse it out. “enjoying yourself?” you open an eye to see a smug look on his face. “for now, yeah.”

after all the shampoo is gone, tom starts with conditioner. he pulls all your hair to one side and runs through it with a brush a few times. you’re honestly impressed he knows what he’s doing. he must have learned from watching you do your own hair. he puts in the conditioner and twirls a loose strand of hair around his finger, letting it sit for a bit.

“i’ll admit it, you’re actually good at this,” you reach up and poke at his chest. tom pokes your cheek back, then gathers all of your hair again. “mm, thanks. you should let me do your hair for you more often.” “that’ll depend on if you can cut it.” with a chuckle, he lets the ends of your hair fall under the water again.

your hair all washed, tom helps you stand back up. he takes the towel from over your shoulders and uses it to scrunch your hair up. it falls over your face. you know he’s trying to do it so it stays in place, but that’s not what’s happening.

“i’ll do this part, babe,” you laugh to yourself and flip your head over. “pfft, yeah, i was totally gonna try that next,” tom jokes, searching through a drawer for scissors while you wrap your hair. he opens and closes them before dropping them on the counter.

“wanna sit? i don’t know how long this’ll take.” “oh, god. sure.” tom easily lifts you up by your waist and sits you on the counter. you giggle a little at the gesture. he’s full of surprises today. “there you are, m’lady. let’s get started.” he takes the towel off your head and squeezes your hair out with it one more time. pouting, you grab a few strands. “i’ll miss you guys so much.”

”stop it, i’m not even cutting that much off,” tom groans and stands in between your legs. you put your hands on his shoulders. “that’s the plan, but knowing you, you’ll end up giving me, like, a mohawk.” “you think i know how to do that?” your legs wrap around his waist, scooting yourself closer to the edge of the counter. “i hope not.”

tom wraps an arm around your waist and gives you a wicked smile. you probably should’ve asked him to section off your hair so he could cut it evenly, but it slipped your mind. he splits your hair in half the best he can and picks up the scissors. you’re facing him, so you can’t see what he’s about to do in the mirror.

“i’m gonna count to three, okay? one, two, three.” tom takes half of your hair and starts cutting it in a straight line, which is already a problem. it ends up creating this weird zigzag look that can’t be saved by just him. he realizes his mistake after he’s already holding your hair. “oh, shit..” he puts down the scissors and covers his mouth with his free hand. your eyes go wide. “what? what did you do?”

“i- i, um, we can fix it,” he tries, backing away before you freak out. you hop off the counter and turn around to see what happened. it’s long in the back and too short in the front. how did he mess up this bad in not even two minutes? you gasp and touch your disaster of a haircut.

“tom, what is this? it looks... i don’t even know what to say!” you spin back around, pointing at your half cut hair. he winces when he sees it again. “i’m so sorry, y/n/n. i thought-“ “no, you didn’t! you thought nothing! your mind literally must have been empty.” you sit on the floor with your head in your hands, tom crouching down in front of you.

“look at me, darling.” he puts a hand on your back. you scowl up at him. “it’s really not that bad. you’ll figure out a way to make this work.” “you’re so helpful,” you mumble, leaning your head forward so it’s resting on his chest. you’re being dramatic. he was trying to do something nice for you, and it’s not like this was on purpose. tom rubs circles on your back, you nuzzling your cheek into his shirt.

“should i leave the other side, or would that be worse?” “i can do it for you.” “absolutely not.”

-

“i could only wear my hair up for months because of you,” you laugh to tom, warming up to him again from the memory. he puffs some air out of his cheeks with a smile. “be happy you didn’t ask for bangs.” “that’s because i’d never be able to pull them off.” tom messes with your hair so it’s over your eyes, you pushing his hands away with a breathy laugh. “not true.”

luke shifts in his spot next to you to remind you he still exists. you glance over at him and move your hair out of your face. “um, what was yours?” “i dyed my hair orange once. ginger definitely isn’t my look,” he jokes. it seems like he’s just trying to compete with tom now. you muster up a small chuckle for him anyway.

“tom, you haven’t gone yet,” harry points out, picking up his glass. tom considers the fact for a second. “true, but it’s not much fun if i don’t get to drink. can i get another since i’m behaving?” he juts his bottom lip out at his brother. harrison lets out a long sigh. “mate, i really don’t feel like getting up again. take a break.”

you slide your beer over to tom without a second thought. “you can share mine.” he looks at you like you said something wild. “are you sure we should do that?” he’s clearly referring to luke and how he might take it. at this point, it doesn’t matter to you. luke has been acting off since you started playing, and you’re not going to let him ruin your time with your friends.

you shrug your shoulders and tap the glass. “i’m the one who suggested it. drink up.” he hesitates, but takes it.

“ok, never have i ever gotten kicked out of somewhere.” harrison shakes his head and harry rests his chin in his hand, bummed he can’t drink. luke raises his hands up in surrender. that leaves you and tom. you know exactly what he’s thinking about right now. he takes a sip of your beer and hands it back to you, you finishing off the rest of it.

-

tom brought you to a super fancy restaurant for date night. it’s one of those places that has their own dress code and mood lighting. here you are, sat across from him in your most uncomfortable pair of heels and picking at course three of your meal; a bland salad. tom isn’t thrilled with it either, so you don’t feel too bad.

you rarely get the chance to go out for dinners like this because of tom’s ever-growing schedule, so you’re giving this place a try to make up for it.

“i wanna ask if they have dressing, but i’m scared i’ll get yelled at,” you murmur to tom, stabbing a piece of lettuce with your fork. he bites his cheek. your look of disgust makes a giggle slip out of him. “try holding your breath so you don’t taste it,” tom suggests, fiddling with a button on his jacket to stall from eating.

you take a big gulp of water in hopes of cleansing your tastebuds. tom looks at you from over his cup, doing the same. it’s so hard to take this seriously. “i know you wanted to take me somewhere nice, baby, but this kinda sucks.” you whisper the last part. “you’re right. i’ve heard great things about their dessert, though.”

“we’d find out if they didn’t take five years to serve us every course,” you laugh a little too loud at your own joke. an older woman with diamonds around her neck shoots you a glare. tom finally cracks, joining in your laughter over the situation. your waiter comes back at that moment, and he’s less than pleased by the behavior from both of you.

“is everything okay over here?” he asks sharply. “we’re, uh, we’re fine. thank you,” tom hides his laugh with a cough and makes an overly serious face. your waiter places a check on the table. “we didn’t ask for this yet,” you tell him politely. “i’ve heard several complaints about you two throughout your meal, so i’m going to have to ask you to leave.” he explains, handing you a pen to sign the check.

tom’s fake serious face is now a real serious face.

“you can’t-“ “let us pay for what we had, and we’ll be on our way.” you take tom’s arm from across the table. he would’ve pulled the ‘do you know who i am?’ card without you stopping him. your waiter walks away and goes to serve someone else.

“i can’t believe they’re kicking us out. this is so unfair,” tom complains, but gets out his wallet. he grabs the pen from you to take care of everything. “to be fair, we were being pretty annoying. we didn’t even like our food,” you try to reason.

tom does his signature and leaves money on the table. he’s going to be sulking about this the rest of the night. you stand up with your arm still linked in his and walk him over to the exit. he squeezes you closer to him on your way to the car.

“that was disappointing,” tom speaks again once you’re in the car. he rests a hand on your thigh. you put yours on top of his. “and funny. the only thing is, i’m still hungry.” “yeah? how about we go for burgers?”

you’re in the mcdonald’s parking lot eating your second dinner not too much later. it’s a lot better than your first. your heels are kicked off, your feet on the dashboard while you and tom eat and listen to your favorite songs.

tom steals one of your fries and shoves it in his mouth, sticking his tongue out at you after. that earns him a flick from you. “you have your own fries, weirdo!” “yours taste better somehow. here, i’ll trade you.” he lifts the bun off his burger so you can have his pickles. he knows you so well.

“can i tell you something?” tom asks all of a sudden. you stop eating and turn down the radio with a nod. “i know this isn’t as cool as fine dining, but i’m happy we get to have these moments together. wish they could last a little longer,” tom admits to you while staring out the window. you bring his hand up to your lips and kiss it.

“i’ve had so much fun tonight, and every night i spend with you. i don’t care about some gross rich people food. the only thing that matters is is being together, okay?” tom grins at your words, then leans forward and presses his lips to yours. it’s a short but sweet kiss. it’s a kiss that says the words he doesn’t have. “love you, y/n. thank you.” “i love you.”

-

you and tom are doubled over, giggling like kids with your heads bent together. you’re both pretty buzzed from your drink. you try to get yourself together, but he makes eye contact with you and you bust into another fit of laughter. even harry and harrison join in. it’s nice to finally have all of you getting along.

“i think it’s time to head out,” luke announces, moving to get up from the booth. you turn to him and wipe under your eyes. “oh, ok. i’ll text you later?” “you’re not coming?” he sounds more bitter than surprised. “i’m gonna get a ride back with tom when he’s ready to drive. it’s too early for me.”

luke fully sits himself back down and places his almost full glass in front of tom. all the boys are looking at you, but you have no idea what‘s happening. “why’d you do that?” you ask just to him. “i’ve changed my mind. i’m staying for another round of the game.”

you have a bad feeling about whatever he’s going to say. he’s been salty about you and tom all night, as if he didn’t know you’re still friends. it’s not like him at all. not the him you thought you knew, anyway.

“never have i ever,” luke intentionally directs the question at tom, “broken up with the most amazing girl so i could make shitty movies and fuck models. i wonder who’s done that.”

everyone stays silent. you could swear you’ve just been knocked sober. tom gets up from the table without a word, not bothering to wait for harry and harrison to move. he ignores them telling him not to go and steps over them. he’s out the nearest exit of the pub before anyone can stop him. you want to go after him, but you’re stuck in the middle of the booth.

your ‘boyfriend’ put his jealousy before your feelings for the last time tonight.

“what the fuck, luke?”

-

“are you sure you have everything? you remembered all your stuff from security?” you hold tom’s hand impossibly tighter as you get close to his gate.

he leaves today to film cherry in the states. you’re dropping him off at the airport like you always do, but something feels different about this time. it seems like a more permanent goodbye.

“mhm, it’s all here.” tom squeezes your hand back. you stop walking when you reach the sign that has his gate number on it. this is it. the last time you’ll see him for who knows how long? he stands his suitcase up off to the side and moves so he’s in front of you.

his arms are around your neck now, hugging you so close. you wind your arms around him so there’s no space between you two. he rests his chin on your shoulder, letting out a breath. “gonna miss you so much, baby. fuck, i hate this.” “it’s okay, tom. we’ve done it before. we’ll be okay.” you’re trying to convince yourself and him.

he pulls back from you and holds you by your waist. you stay flush against his chest, grabbing on to his hoodie. you don’t trust yourself to look at him right now.

“y/n, i can’t keep doing this to you,” tom says into your ear, his voice oddly steady for such a big thing to say. “doing what? you mean your job?” your fingers play with his hoodie strings. “i’ll be fine. i always am.” “that’s the thing. i don’t want you to just be fine all the time.” he can’t be saying what you think he is. you shake your head against him.

“you should be happy. it’s not fair that i make you settle for less.” “tom, stop.” you move off of him completely, your throat getting tight. “we’ve already talked about this. you do make me happy, even if it’s from another country sometimes. i don’t care.” he takes your hand again.

“this is something i’ve been thinking about for a while, honestly. it’ll be good for both of us.” “i- what are you trying to say?” tears are already clouding your vision. tom lets go of you. “we need to break up, y/n.”

you can feel your entire heart shatter into millions of tiny little pieces. this isn’t happening. not now. not ever. he’s not leaving you so easy.

you’re crying in the middle of the airport for everyone to see, and tom isn’t too far behind you. “i thought you loved me,” you manage to get out. tom chokes back his tears and wipes yours instead, his thumbs running over your cheeks. “i do, angel. i love you so much that it’s hurting me to say goodbye.” “then why can’t we make it work? please,” you lean into his touch for probably the last time.

“because you deserve more. i’m away all the time, and there are things i can’t give you. you deserve someone who’s here for everything.” tom’s fingers trail down to grab your chin gently, you looking up at him with bloodshot eyes.

“i want more for you, y/n.” “i have you. that’s all i want, tom.” neither of you say anything for a good minute. tom almost gives in, you can see it. you whimper when he grabs the handle of his suitcase instead.

“this is because i love you. i... i need you to understand that.” his voice is soft. you wish he could’ve done this way earlier since he was planning on it. “it’s all happening so fast.” tears are dripping down your cheeks and chin. you want to reach for tom, but there’s no point. his mind is made up. an announcement plays through the airport that tom’s flight is boarding.

“i really don’t wanna leave you like this, but i have to go. i’ll call you after i land, okay?” who are you to stop him now? “o- okay. be safe.” tom presses a kiss to your forehead, letting it linger for a few seconds. he puts his hood up and turns around. you watch him walk to his gate. this is the first time he’s left you without looking back.

you start making your way to the parking lot as soon as he’s gone. it takes everything in you not to scream and sob the whole way back. none of this feels right. if you both still love each other, you should be together.

after the longest walk of your life, you get back to your car. you break down all over again.

-

“i’m trying to help you, y/n. it seems like you forgot what he put you through,” luke scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest. you can’t believe how he’s acting. “let’s talk about this somewhere else. sorry, guys,” you smile awkwardly at harrison and harry. harry waves you off. “it’s okay. we understand.”

luke gets out of the booth, you following behind and leading him over to an empty corner in the pub. your smile fades. “that was fucked up, luke. we didn’t end things for his career. you know that.” “not officially, but it definitely helped.” does he not realize how crappy that sounds? like you were holding him back?

“you’re wrong. i told you exactly what happened. everything you’re saying is some weird story you made up in your head.” “then he should’ve said that for himself.” you throw your hands up in the air. “you made him fucking uncomfortable! i would’ve left, too.” luke laughs bitterly. “he’s really good at that, you know. leaving.”

“he did it because he loves me. fuck you for joking about it, like it wasn’t something that took me a really long time to get over. it’s sad that my past makes you jealous.” there’s a beat of silence before luke says anything. “do you still love him, y/n?” you both already know the answer. “well?” “yeah. yeah, i do.” you push past him and go out the door tom left from. luke doesn’t bother following.

you’re ready to start searching for tom, but he ends up being right outside. he’s leaning against the side of the building. his head snaps up when the door opens. “didn’t mean to scare you.” you walk over to him. he sniffles and shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “‘s alright. rather you than someone else.” “tom, i’m-“ “don’t apologize.”

“i have to. the things luke said to you were really gross, and i hate that i didn’t stop him.” you take a step closer to him. “you couldn’t have predicted anything he said.” tom gives you a tight lipped smile. “he’s... not the kind of person i thought he was.” “he’s a bit of a dick, to be honest.” you giggle a little at that. you’re just relieved tom isn’t taking this too hard.

“so, he didn’t pass the friends test. i guess that’s okay since things are kind of over between us.” tom finally meets your eyes, furrowing an eyebrow. “why? what happened?” “i cursed him out. said some pretty mean stuff.” he holds out an arm for you. you let him put it around you, instantly settling into his warmth. you’ve needed this.

“you can do better. he seemed too boring for you, anyway.” you shrug your shoulders with a small smile. “i wanted to talk to you about that. i’m not really sure how to say this, so i’ll just... say it.” tom’s heart is beating so fast you can feel it next to you. “yeah?”

you turn to face him, his arm still around you. “i haven’t stopped loving you. this is bad timing because you’re about to go film uncharted, and it’s out of no where, but i thought i should tell you. it might not mean anything now-“ “come with me.” you’re both shocked by each other’s words. you laugh in disbelief, tom nodding to urge you to say yes.

“for real? you want me to go?” “i wanna work on us, and i’m not making you wait any longer. i was stupid for ever giving up. we can figure everything out, and it would only be for the summer-“ now it’s your turn to cut him off, your lips crashing into his. his eyes flutter closed as he kisses you back. he grabs your arms and both of you pull back to catch your breath.

tom kisses you again, this time softer. you smile against his lips. “god, i’ve missed doing that. i really, really love you, y/n.” “i really love you, tom.”

and just like that, he put the pieces of your heart back together.

#tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland fluff #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland blurb #tom holland angst #peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker imagine #marvel #mcu #spiderman #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction

[tomdutch]

https://rosyparkers.tumblr.com/post/658262646492151808/if-we-get-the-bad-ending-im-going-to-commit-a

Where the fuck is this pic from? I know it's photoshoped, but the way his hands are isn't photoshopped, so where was this from?

an interview from the cherry press junket, i don’t know which

#the tone of this is so… i don’t like it 😐 #masked vigilante #answered

[angelic-holland]

Alice’s Masterlist

Series

Blurbs 

Commission Info

✼  - 1k notes! 

Fluff

Dirty Shirley 

- you’re an actress in Endgame and have a little too much to drink for your 21st birthday.

Fooled Around and Fell In Love 

- Tom is a photographer, you’re a single mom, and Tom is falling for you in your little bookstore. 

Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy 

- Tom and his boyfriend get dressed up, go on a fancy date and dance the night away. 

Oh, Fiddlesticks!

- In a world where the first word your soulmate says to you is tattooed on your skin, your soulmate is left wondering who uses the words ‘oh fiddlesticks’. 

The Mitten Tree

- You just want to give the children at Saint Paul’s a great Christmas, what happens when a celebrity you aren’t expecting is thrown into the mix?

Not Like This 

- You and Tom aren’t meant to be, not according to fate, not according to the rule that dictates who your soulmate is. Will that stop you from falling for each other?

Smut (18+)

Dinner Party  ✼

- A dinner party with the cast of Far From Home, with a smutty twist. 

Unexpected  ✼

- You didn’t know your best friend feels the same way about you, until you’re forced to share a bed in a hotel one night. 

Know Your Enemy 

- You hate the son of the CEO of your father’s rival company, right? 

So It Goes 

- You’re sick and tired of other college boys. Tom shows you how a real man should treat you.

Good For You 

- You and Tom get a little riled up after a premiere.

Teach Me 

- Boxer!Tom teaches you how to defend yourself, you end up on top of him.

Happy Birthday Tommy 

- You make sure your boyfriend has a great birthday, including a special treat from you.

Video Games  ✼

- Tom plays video games and you try not to distract him, although he doesn’t last very long. 

Good Girl 

- You tease Tom, he decides to tease you back.

Lesson  

- Tom teaches you a lesson. 

Switching Things Up 

- You normally let Tom take control in bed, here’s what happens when you change things up. 

Long Night 

- You and Tom use a remote control vibrator at a premiere. 

Night and Day  

- Tom decides to punish you, it’s a shame you seem to enjoy it. 

Getting Even 

- You come without permission, Tom teaches you a lesson, one day at a time. 

Cherry Knots  ✼

- You’re just a stranger in a bar, trying to stay as anonymous as possible.

Familiar  // Navigate  ✼

- You’re a famous Youtuber and your fans figure out you and Tom are dating.

Arcade 

- Being friends with benefits can be tricky, especially when one person catches feelings before another does. 

New Girl, Old Feelings 

- You and Tom take your friendship to the next level.

Pretty As A Polaroid Picture  ✼

- You and Tom really like the gift Harrison bought for you.

Try Again 

- A sequel to Dinner Party, you and Tom mess around at dinner.

Wasabi ✼

- You and your lab partner decide to ditch a party and have one of your own.

We’ve Got Chemistry  ✼

- Tom teaches you how to use a vibrator.

Eighteen (mini-series) ✼

- You ask the tattooed boy you’re tutoring to be your fake boyfriend, imagine your surprise when it turns into something more. 

Best Friend’s Brother  ✼

- You’re Harry’Holland’s best friend, what happens when you have a crush on his brother, Tom?

A Touch of Cinnamon

- You own a bakery, Tom owns a record store. You’re neighbors, just neighbors, right?

Watermelon Sugar  ✼

- Tom gets jealous when you seem to be paying more attention to your favorite singer than him. 

Feel Your Love

- Tom loves to be blindfolded.

Your Shirt

- You can’t wear Tom’s shirt after sex, neither of you seem to mind much.

Counselor in Training

- Tom is supposed to help train you be a counselor at Camp Pine Islands, what happens when he finds you alone in the showers one day?

Call Me Angel

- Tom is lonely, craving a connection he hasn’t been able to find in meaningless hookups. He stumbles across your profile on a phone sex website, a little bit too eager to talk to the girl in the Spiderman t-shirt. 

Figure This Out (coming soon!)

- Tom is a hopeless romantic who writes songs for girls he falls in love with. You’re just a bartender who is great at keeping secrets and manages the bar where Tom performs his love songs. 

Threesomes +

Just Desserts (Tom, Jake, Sebastian, Mackie, reader)

- You have some fun after the Far From Home premiere.

When Two Becomes Three (Tom, Jake, reader)

- You and Tom decide to bring a third into the bedroom. 

Cover Me In Your Love (Tom, Jake, reader)

- Tom and Jake treat you for being such a good girl for them.

Four’s A Crowd But Baby I Like to Party (Tom, Sebastian, Mackie, reader)

- Tom surprises you after comic con. 

Good Boy (Tom, Jake, reader)

- Tom is a good boy for you, Tom is a good boy for Jake. Can you and Jake work together to put him back in his place?

Do Not Disturb (Tom, Laura Harrier, reader)

- Tom and Laura invite you up to their hotel room. 

Tutors (Tom, Jake, reader)

- You and Jake teach Tom a thing or two. 

Office Hours (Tom, Jake, reader) // See Me After Class  ✼

- The escapades of Professor Jake, teaching assistant Tom, and you.

Let’s Play (Tom, Jake, Harrison, Zendaya, reader)  ✼

- Tom wants to show everyone what a good girl you are.

It Will Last Longer... (Tom, Harrison, reader)

- You and Tom invite Harrison into the bedroom, a sequel to Pretty as A Polaroid Picture.

New Seeds In the Melody (Tom, Harry Styles, reader)  ✼

- Tom surprises you by inviting your favorite singer back to your hotel room.

Angst 

What We Deserve 

- Tom shows you that you deserve so much more than you believe you do.

Puzzle Pieces 

- Tom and you are two pieces of a puzzle, you fit together perfectly. Right?

When the Levee Breaks

- Tom loves you, but you don’t love Tom. Is there anything you can do to fix this?

Halo Effect

Y/N just wants to save her little sister. What happens when a handsome stranger promises her so much more? 

Wildflowers and Vanilla

You and Harrison get high and fool around. 

Misattribution of Arousal

You run into a cute boy while on a jog, you’re not mistaking adrenaline for attraction, right?

Penny For Your Thoughts...

- You try to make Harrison jealous. It works out for both of you. 

Craft Store Secrets 

- You and Harrison do some last-minute Christmas shopping. 

Take A Seat

- You and Harrison reveal a little more about yourself during a party. 

The V Word

- You and Harrison have always been close. Close enough to ask him to take your virginity? 

Lonely Blue Eyes

-  You’ve always gotten flowers from the florist across from your flat, a small way to keep your place lively and happy. When he notices you’ve stopped coming by as often, he makes a surprise visit. It turns out he has exactly the shade of blue you’re looking for.

Jake Gyllenhaal

On My Mind

Y/N’s been tasked with interviewing Jake Gyllenhaal during a press junket for his new movie. What happens when she runs into him later than night at a bar?

Princess Party  

- You and Peter get to know each other at your dad, Tony Stark’s, party.

Thick Thighs Save Lives 

- You find out your boyfriend is Spiderman. Cue earth-shattering sex.

Do You Want Me? 

- You don’t need Peter to tutor you, but you want to spend time with him. 

Touch Me 

- You and Peter try to sort through your feelings. 

Dear You

-  A mysterious boy in a red and blue suit leaves you letters on your windowsill. Will you finally find out who the boy behind the mask is?

Church 

- You and MJ fool around in church. 

RA on Duty 

- You like your roommate. She likes you. It should be easy. Right?

Too Late 

- Peter loves Ned. Ned loves Peter. Is it too late for them to tell each other? 

**

Special shoutout to @honeymoonparker for making these headers for me! 

#tom holland #my masterlist #tom holland smut #tom holland one shot #tom holland imagines #tom holland blurbs #tom holland x reader #tom holland x ofc #tom holland series #tom holland writing #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader insert #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader fic #mcu mj x reader #michelle jones x reader #michelle jones smut #michelle jones x reader smut #michelle jones x reader oneshot #michelle jones x reader imagine #peter parker #peter parker oneshot #peter parker imagine #peter parker drabble #peter parker blurb #jake gyllenhaal smut #jake gyllenhaal #harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield smut

[madmadmilk]

Was it maybe possibly E (I think that’s her name beginning letter) or was it O or someone else? Like I’m confused on who they claim to be whether it be someone in the public or nah. Lol

lol no, it’s no one we would know publicly. (so let’s please not spread that rumor). but i always wondered if they were covering it up? though, after talking to her, she told me that she worked on the set of Far From Home in NYC as an assistant. she and tom met through Z (???) and tom liked her, ‘hooked up’ with her, then she ‘hooked up’ with harry, not sure if she ever told ‘tom,’ but they made it ~official~ and she was there in venice, there for the london press junkets, bali press.... and supposedly helped out on the ‘Cherry’ set. 

tbh it was so wild cos her blog was private, but i followed her to see what she would say and stuff. and she would just REBLOG FROM YOU GUYS, like–– from anyone in the tom/spider-man fandom and be like ‘i’m in the corner’ or ‘you can see my head there lol’ or ‘we f***ked before this’ in the tags. 

i was probably just playing along with someone’s fantasy... but the EXTENT they went to ‘prove’ it to me...... was ..... bonkers

#i just watched it like 😧 #she was harmless to everyone else? i guess? #i'm not trying to make her sound like a bad person or anything #i just want you guys to know that i've been behind my laptop like 😳 #spilledmilk #Anonymous

[liltimfrance]

Hi, this might just be a coincidence, but have you noticed that during the festivals tour for BB, Timothée wore a lot of floral-printed outfit? First, at TIFF, there was the infamous HA budding black and white suite on the red carpet and the A. McQueen embroidered rose harness shirt for the press junket. Then, at SSIFF, we had the cherry-blossom-printed blue suit. And, during LFF, he wore the AMCQ suit with fully-bloomed flowers prints. Him liking the Lohanthony post reminded me of that.

Hey Anon,

You got me a interisting thing, actually I had noticed that last year already, but didn’t gave much thought cause we already too ‘’angry’’ when they found out about Lily last year, wich didn’t change much, or actually got worst. But since they really don’t care apparently, and this is what supposed to do, they have to live their lives, I thank your for your message, it kinda gives @mrchalamet-mrstyles more evidence for her timeline, and yes I believe that was rather suspicious and a coincidence (Must believe also in HS style that time, I don’t refute the idea either, but c’mon, was way too much flowers for a season) 😏💕

[my-love-peterp]

A Part of Your World pt. 2

Word Count: 1505

Fic Summary: So this is a work based lightly on the movie First Daughter. It’s a Reader Insert sorta. If you’ve never seen that movie, you should absolutely watch it if you have the opportunity. Peter Parker/Stark!Daughter fic. Rating may change depending on if I’m feeling the smut route (I probably will). Expect updates once a week (as soon as I figure out what day would be best to do it on. They may be more frequent here at the beginning just because the story is really flowing right now. Thanks!

Chapter Summary: I don’t really have one because I’m impatient and I’m taking my partner to see Hozier in a few hours. But Peter does exist in this chapter. Surprise.

Warnings: none! maybe language, I’m honestly not sure.

If you would like to be tagged, reblog/comment/message me and I’ll start tagging you in future chapters. 

“I’m too sober for this,” (Y/N) said, plopping down on to the horrifically springy, undressed mattress that was on top of a wooden bed frame. Her bed frame now, she firmly reminded herself.

“You don’t even drink,” Morgan responded, a lot less winded and emotionally drained than (Y/N). She’d always admired her sister’s ability to remain unruffled in the midst of tense or new situations. And yeah, maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to ditch the elevator and take the stairs to her new home for the year, all the way up on the sixteenth floor. But she couldn’t stand the feeling of brushing shoulders with what felt like hundreds of people who stared and lifted their phones to take pictures, or to see one girl turn to someone else and hit them to get their attention and not so subtly pointing to her and Morgan when they had it.

“Yeah, well, maybe I should start,” (Y/N) answered noncommittally. She flopped down on to my future roommate’s bed right across the room. She hadn’t taken the time to read their profile as she’d been emailed it. She wanted to go into this experience blind. And yeah, with her father’s resources and connections, she could’ve known every single aspect of the mystery roommate’s life if she’d wanted to. But (Y/N) wanted to go in blind. Be a normal kid for once. Especially with Mom doing what she was right now.

Suddenly, the door burst open behind them. Lugging in a mini fridge and two bags, Happy grunted and panted as he nudged his way inside. Morgan sat as if to help him but as soon as he saw her move to sit up he barked, “No, no stay where you’re at! I’ve got this, it’s nothing.” His red face indicated he was definitely lying. But nothing came between Happy and his pride.

“It’s not every day,” he said, pausing to pant after setting the fridge down on the countertops, “that your goddaughter goes off to college.”

“Yeah you’re right Hap, it’s not every day that a girl is escorted to her dorm room by her family’s Forehead of Security. Or has to avoid reporters pressing their faces against their lobby windows. Or has the seclude herself until her mother and father and their Secret Service protection detail can join them, since no one was currently on ‘daughters watch’,” (Y/N) made air quotes with her fingers, grumbling about the debacle that had occurred earlier today.

“I don’t trust him,” Morgan remarked from her couch as (y/n) scrambled to get everything she could possibly fathom needing in her dorm room packed into her father’s latest invention. It was basically a play on Dum-E, but with storage that the robot packed her things into itself, to maximize storage efficiency.

“Well, of course, you don’t trust him,” (Y/N) replied, “He’s on the Bachelor. That’s like, a parade of red flags right there.

“(Y/N),” Morgan scoffed, scandalized, her head popping up and over the back of the blue cushions, “it’s the Bachelorette, not the Bachelor, we’ve been over this. Plus, we personally know someone on this season, you should be watching!”

“I’ve seen Pietro make enough stupid decisions in my life to know that this doesn’t rank in the top three, and as such, I will not be acknowledging it.”

The sun had just barely begun to trickle in through the windows, and the watch she’d made herself showed that it was just past 6:15. Why she had procrastinated packing last minute, she couldn’t tell you. Maybe it just felt like the end of something fragile. Or whatever. Her watch caught the first true rays of sunlight and bounced refracted light straight into her eyes. (Y/N) winced but paused to admire her creation. The main metal straddled a fine line between her father’s favored cherry red, and the more toned down rose gold that was all the rage just a few year’s ago. Accented along the outside of the watch frame were little webbings of ice blue, too intentional to be called marbling but too non-descript to look like a spider’s web. Every other accent on the watch was a pearly white.

All of a sudden, Morgan’s phone started blaring the most awful noises she’d ever heard, causing (Y/N) to jump what felt like five feet in the air. She could hear Happy’s exasperated voice shouting into his receiver even halfway across the room. It seemed that she and Morgan were late for fittings and makeup for an impromptu morning press junket.

Those were happening more and more frequently these days, ever since her mother resigned as CEO of her father’s company, relegating it back to him, which he handled begrudgingly, and running for the US Senate. That was ten years ago. Now, her mother, Pepper, was the current frontrunner for the presidency. As if her life wasn’t high-profile enough as one of two daughter’s of the most powerful couple in the world probably.

It seemed that, due to Pepper’s skillful negotiation tactics, dozens of political prisoners were being released back to the United States today. And that meant the mother of all press conferences. On the day that she was moving into her new home for the next several months.

(Y/N) and Morgan were then harried about to get ready by FRIDAY, and AI program her father had invented long ago, in the form of the original JARVIS. Unfortunately, his coding and learned personality were lost when an earthquake struck southern California and shook the Malibu mansion off its cliffside seat and into the murky depths below. Okay, that may be a bit dramatic, but sue her, something needed to spice up the story of life in perpetually sunny SoCal.

Within thirty minutes she and her sister were presentable and ready to head down to where Happy was waiting in the car.

And to make a long story short, (Y/N) had managed to not only nearly knock down the lectern on the stage where her mother would be speaking shortly, but in the fall, she twisted her ankle all the way around. Nothing was broken, campaign medical staff had assured her, but any dummy would know that that footage was right then being broadcast on every phone, StarkTech or otherwise, throughout the nation. So in reality, her ego was bruised and battered more than her ankle was.

What got to her the most, though, was her constant characterization as cold and unfriendly. Of course, the reputation was probably well deserved, as she’d spat in a reporter’s face when she was just fifteen years old. But over time, she’d learned how to stop engaging, how to tamp down her temper. She’d learned that, when her mother was that age, she was quite the spitfire herself. Aunt Peggy would always tattle on her.

So it stung to know that she’d made progress in order to become a more ‘press-perfect’ daughter, just for them to turn around and make jokes about the stick up her ass or that she’d been replaced by an android of her father’s own creation.

And now here they were, hours later, as her mom had to make one last campaign stop before taking the presidential shoes off and trading them for her mom sneakers.

“...I’ll just uh… go get more of the bags from the car then,” Happy stammered, quickly excusing himself from the room.

Silence, comfortable and relaxing silence, filled the space between (Y/N) and Morgan. Of course, you could still hear the bustle of the New York streets below, but her floor seemed to be deserted.

(Y/N)’s eyelids began to droop, growing heavy after such an early morning, but she was abruptly shaken awake by a crashing sound outside her door, that only got louder as the door swung open.

In tumbled a brunette boy with wavy-ish hair and a toothy grin-turned-grimace. His hands were full of what looked like salvaged electronic parts. “Sorry about the noise,” he gasped out between breaths, “I didn’t want to make more than one trip and it seems I overestimated my grip.

Behind him wheeled in a huge suitcase. A few steps after that and an older lady stepped inside. His mother, (Y/N) assumed. Standing up from her spot on her unmade bed, she approached the woman, asking if she needed a hand. She was swiftly turned down and told to relax but (Y/N) didn’t miss the flare of recognition in the woman’s eyes as she put two and two together.

(Y/N) quickly spun around as the boy dumped all of the metal pieces and wires on to his desk before turning to face her and sticking out his hand. “Nice to meet you! I’m Peter. Peter Parker. What’s your name?”

(Y/N) grinned back. She hadn’t had to introduce herself in a long time. But something nagged her from the back of her mind. Peter Parker sounded awfully familiar.

#peter parker x reader #fic recs #reader insert #peter parker reader #peter parker x stark!daughter #stark!daughter #stark!daughter x peter parker #The First Daughter AU #college peter parker #college!au

[sarinataylor]

Joger ask: how would they cope with Roger having a crisis about the fact that John has written hit singles including their biggest ever hit and he has yet to pop his a-aide cherry? Is he rubbish? Is he really just a pretty face? He knows he brings lots of musical input & the sonic volcano & ‘the girl for everything’ for the band but really, who is he kidding? And John can’t deny that he aced his degree or does the finances or wrote hits... Thankfully Radio Gaga comes along and all ends well...

hmmmm ok. this got? long. very ramble-y. apologies

so like. roger is so fucking proud of john y’know???? and it’s not john’s songs being more successful than his which is cutting deep (because, well, commercial success is somewhat ehh to roger now that they’ve already made it big. the music he’s writing and creating, off on the side, is more about the music than anything else), it’s that he didn’t see it coming

100% did not see aobtd being a hit. hated recording it with his drums taped up, and thought the whole thing was a waste of time which.... it obviously wasn’t because john’s latest royalty cheque was big enough to have even freddie blinking in surprise

and. well. roger’s kind of always been the one with his finger on the pulse, so to speak. roger was riding the early waves of punk before the sex pistols had so much as looked at a safety pin and thought, “hmm, i wonder”. and his ability to keep up with, stay just one step ahead, of the trends has been invaluable in the past and now.... he might be slipping behind?

because even though he fucking hated half of the lines in ymbf he... he knew it was going to be a hit in the US. that sort of soft poppy feel, with a funky little bassline? the american’s eat that shit up in spades. of course it was going to be popular.

but, yeah, he didn’t see aobtd being a hit and now he’s starting to wonder if maybe the reason he isn’t writing hits isn’t because he hasn’t been trying to appeal to the broader audience, hasn’t been trying to write songs that will get massive air time or be played in clubs, but because he’s got no fucking clue about what people want anymore

‘girl for everything.......... except knowing what people want’ doesn’t, uh, sound as good

and it’s not? it’s not a Big Deal, not really. he just gets a little quieter about voicing his opinions on tracks because, well, maybe he doesn’t actually know what the fuck he’s talking about?

and so, hot space

brian’s losing his gd mind arguing with everyone and everything because he feels backed into a corner, freddie isn’t playing the peacekeeping role he usually does, john is being Just a Little Bit of an egotistic shit, and roger is........... not getting involved. which works kind of awfully because both brian and john take his silence as tacit approval of their position, which boils over into a lot of misunderstandings about just what it is roger thinks about what’s going on in the studio

(and mostly what roger thinks about what’s going on in the studio is that this album is going to be a Fucking Disaster because instead of ripping apart one anothers songs and building them back up stronger all they’re doing is ripping into one another and calling it creative differences)

and he tosses up a couple of songs and lets them do what they will with them (and oh my god if you haven’t listened to action this day performed live???? do urself a favour and do it oh my god i fucking hated that song until i listened to it live) because well. they probably know better than he does at the moment, because he doesn’t quite trust himself. and tensions are high enough that inserting himself into the cockfight when he isn’t actually Sure about his opinions just seems an unnecessary risk.

and. uh. hot space...................................................... does as it does

and john is pretty mortified about the whole thing because.... ???? all of that work and fighting and it’s flopping which is. made all the more worse by brian’s oh too casual sympathetic comments during the press junket, and then even worse by the way that roger. doesn’t seem surprised?? because. well. even when it was a love song written about roger roger was honest about what he didn’t like about it, but now there’s a whole fucking album that john pushed really hard for and roger a) didn’t like it and b) didn’t tell him

he thought they respected one another more than that. he thought they were more secure than that. 

which sort of........ simmers uncomfortably between them as they gear up for the tour and sort of. explodes when roger starts making suggestions for changes to some of the songs for the live performances that. annoyingly sound much better and why didn’t you bring this up when we were recording the fucking album, roger (look aight atd sounds SO MUCH BETTER LIVE, IT’S BEEN MONTHS AND IM STILL SHOOK)

and roger’s sort pussyfooting around it because oh well... you know you and freddie really wanted to this one as a sort of concept album..... and brian and i didn’t want to interfere...... (brian: very much did want to interfere) ............ so ya know................ it’s not really my style so i didn’t wanna stick my foot where it doesn’t belong.........

and john’s like???? its music what the fuck are you Talking About? you know music you know what sounds good and what doesnt and it’s not like you’ve ever been shy about voicing your opinions before, so forgive me if im a bit confused about the sudden reticence 

regardless, it’s Not a Big Deal. no really. roger will insist this til the day he dies

and things calm down? they take a break and, as they are wont to do, the tensions of the band slowly start slipping from john and roger’s day to day lives? like, when they’re not living in close quarters and feeding off of the energies that brian and freddie and mack and everyone else is putting out. it’s just them, yeah? 

but anyway, roger’s still been writing music and ha enough for a new solo album so he’s like. yeah. think imma do that and john’s a bit taken aback because? fuck, you’ve been busy then you said you didn’t have much of anything for hot space??? and roger’s like. uh, yup. been busy. busy bee, me. ya know. while ur out painting the shed i gotta keep myself occupied somehow

except. well. john’s obviously lending a hand with bass and mixing, and brian’s in and out too, so’s freddie and. it’s freddie, actually, who picks up that roger had been working on the beat of  I Cry for You (Love, Hope and Confusion) back in the studio when they’d been working on hot space which.   doesn’t make sense, because he definitely hadn’t shown them it to them which is odd, because roger usually shows them everything he writes in case they want it for queen? 

and then brian chimes in because, actually, he recognises the lyrics for killing time? 

and john is like what the FUCK is going on because this is just? weird? 

so john ends up lowkey cornering him at home in a totally not cool sneaky fashion (read: he gives him a fucking mindblowing orgasm and then is like [head propped on roger’s chest] SO)  because???? ofc he supports rog’s solo career but also? why didn’t he share what he was writing with him? what’s going on? music’s always been a language they’ve shared, even if they tended towards different dialects, and now it... well it doesn’t feel very good that roger seems to be inching him out of something that john knows is so very important to him

and roger’s like huh no idea what you’re talking bout. been really busy writing recently. shame though, means i might not have much for the next queen album

and john’s like? do you want to leave queen, if that what this is about?

and roger’s horrified because what the fuck no i’m just not sure i’ll have much to contribute is all which has john like?? because. it’s roger of course he’s got something to contribute what the fuck are you talking about

but roger’s like oh well ya know nothing im really writing at the moment is much of our current style so. that’s cool, though. that’s fine

but john is confused bc well. hot space was a bit of a failure so they’re probably headed back to more consistent waters so that’s not a problem, and hey, maybe if roger had injected a bit more of his style into the album things might have been better right?

ANYWAY basically john’s like yo my man like. if u dont wanna write any material for the new album that’s? fine ig? but we kinda Need You to be a little bitch about the things u dont like because.... things work better when ur being a nitpicky little bitch than when ur being silently supportive of me :) though that was sweet

and rogers like oh i was 100% not being supportive of either u or brian’s bullshit tbh i just. disco isn’t my forte ya know i didn’t wanna chat shit ab smth i know nothing about like, god, imagine if you’d listened to me about aobtd????????? 

which. john’s like. i? i mean, i did. fuck sake, the whole thing got rewritten to be about our dog (steve) bc u made a joke about it? i.     i did listen to u about aobtd

and john has honestly NO IDEA what any of this is about? because roger has an awful tendency to sit on things until they’re Much Bigger than what they were to begin with. like, john’s actually not great at that? he’s not very good at hiding that he’s angry or upset, not for the long term. roger’s a lot better at it in the worst kind of way, because unless you pick up on it right at the beginning by the time you’ve figured out something’s wrong it’s months down the track and so many micro interactions or events have been tacked onto the Original Problem that it’s a sprawling mess of “i dont want to communicate that im feeling vulnerable about something so instead im gonna try and turn my vulnerabilities into armour” - like deciding to turn all of your writing, not just the stuff that won’t fit on your main project’s albums, into solo material because your solo stuff doesn’t have to be successful 

but also, ok fine. 

and so he sort of? lets it go? because tbh once roger latches onto something, when u havent go in there early enough? your best bet is to just wait for him to.... get over it. which he generally does. he doesnt have the patience for decade long grudge matches, not really.

and then it all comes to a head when brian writes and shows them all machines (or: back to humans) which obvs came about from an idea of roger’s and. well. freddie thinks its amazing, john is nodding along even as he sends him small little side eyes and well. fuck it, right?

and so the next week he comes in and slams down the first rough draft of radio gaga, the music heavily influenced by I Cry for You (Love, Hope and Confusion) which freddie had been complaining about being used up on a solo album 

and then he goes home and tops the hell out of john, the end.

#lo talks #joger hc's #headcanon asks #Anonymous

[destinyc1020]

i dont think zendaya changed like u said i feel like she just matured thats all. i feel the same thing happened with tom, not in social media but in general, in interviews he used to be i dont more energetic i feel like hes calm down a bit ever since the onward press junket and the cherry one (though that one was from home so i dont count it) hes just, idk, more grown up like now. his voice even got deeper i feel.

Yep 💯

[greenorangevioletgrass]

I could not fall asleep for the life of me last night so I decided to scroll through the harry holland tag on Tumblr (mainly videos) and then that lead me to looking at pictures of Tom Holland from like 2018/2019 vs now and holy guacamole Tom was such a smol bean back then and now he's such a beef stick. Like, how is 2018/2019 Tom the same as 2021 Tom? They have to be 2 different people. Like there's no physical fucking way someone can get bitch slapped by puberty that fucking hard to turn from being a smol bean to a beef stick. Beans and beef are from two completely different food groups like how the fuck is that possible. And then. AND THEN Tom has been promoting Cherry WHICH IS A FUCKING FRUIT while wearing mainly yellow and I remember you calling Tom freaking BANANA BOY a few days ago, so now I guess he's A FUCKING FRUIT NOW!?!?!? Someone either needs to take that boy (bean? beef? fruit?) AWAY from the Marvel farm ORRR take him TO a farm and teach him his basically food groups. Holy fucking cow dude.

holy fucking cow is yet ANOTHER food group separated from the lemons and bananas and other yellow fruit tom seems to be channeling in this CHERRY press junkets 🤣

#ask ava #youre batshit nonnie i love it #ANOTHER!!!