#i don't want to talk about this here. i need so much time to process all of this.

[egophiliac]

Hi there! I really love your comics and how expressive they are. How do you go about making the characters in your comic so expressive?

thank you! 💚💜💚 I am REALLY bad at explaining things, so my apologies if this doesn't make a lot of sense, but maybe there's something helpful in here somewhere. :')

1. warm up! drawing is a physical activity, after all! so if I'm planning on sitting down and drawing for a while, I usually start off by taking a couple of minutes to doodle a bunch of circles and lines and random shapes, just to get my drawing arm goin' again and get back into the physical groove. just stuff like this:

and just do that for however long you feel like! you can kind of feel when your arm starts to loosen up and your strokes get more confident. it makes it a lot easier to get those swoopy big lines and gestures!

2. play around with how you use your lines! paying attention to the shapes that they're making will change a lot about how much force and life your drawing feels like it has. (no way is better than another, it just depends on what effect you're going for and how it looks as part of the larger whole.)

and you can also use lines against each other to get different vibes:

it's not really a matter of "you need to make sure all your lines are always doing this all the time", it's more like...being aware of it, and getting that into the general thrust of a pose, if that makes sense? like a lot of smaller lines of action, beyond the big one that goes through the spine.

(just gonna use my own art as examples, apologies)

if you have a good foundation of tension, then all of the little bumps and contours of a character's details won't get in the way of it, and it'll still come through.

and don't forget about negative space either! the spaces between things have their own interesting shapes too!

I don't mean this to come off as, like, all these extra things that you need to be constantly thinking about and stressing over. more like...just try different stuff and then see how it works and how it changes the feeling! if you find a good shape, see if you can exaggerate it and make it more interesting, and how that affects things! angles and shapes are a LOT of fun to experiment and mess around with, especially when you're going more cartoony. :D

3. acting!

just...spending a little time to think about what the characters are actually doing! (aka the "figuring out what everyone is doing with their hands" bit.) this is more a personal preference, but especially in multi-panel comics, I like to have them be in the middle of doing stuff. not just big actions, but smaller things -- like even just how they're sitting or standing -- so that it feels like we're looking in on the middle of a scene, instead of a couple of characters just standing around neutrally and staring straight ahead while talking at each other.

this probably sounds really obvious, but it is one of the most fun parts for me! I love trying to find some little action or something that they can be involved in, especially if it's relevant to their character or adds an extra joke. (for some reason this usually involves me being mean to Sebek) (I'm sorry)

it doesn't need to be everyone Always! Doing! Something! all the time, especially if starts becoming distracting (sometimes they do actually need to just be standing around neutrally and staring straight ahead, especially if there's a bigger action going on that you want the audience to focus on instead). but even just figuring out some kind of non-neutral pose for them to be in can add a lot and make it feel less generic!

3. thumbnailing!

this is, again, very much a personal preference; unfortunately, every artist really is different, and we all have different processes that work better for us. so I can only speak to my personal experience! but I find what helps is to start REALLY rough -- not so much as in messy, as in not trying to start right into actually drawing everything out. like, literally just starting with stick figures and :O faces.

it probably doesn't sound relevant when talking about Drawing Expressively, but I find it's really, really helpful to have already figured out what everyone should be doing (acting!) and what the overall general layout and flow of things should be, before getting into the actual meat of drawing the characters. like having a sketch for the sketch!

(good compositional flow is something I struggle with, and text layout especially, so this stage also helps a LOT with making sure things are fitting where I want them and staying consistent/not breaking screen direction/etc.)

then after that, I can go ahead and focus on getting those Shapes and Lines and Angles and all that, without having to think too much about the layout or where things should go!

(of course, the downside of that is that my thumbnails are usually way better than my actual drawings, alas alas.)

4. this is more philosophical, but...give yourself some slack. the stress of Making Things Look Good is, ironically, often the biggest problem. (see: thumbnails looking better than the actual drawings.) so...let yourself draw shittier and without regards to accuracy. make things just for yourself without thinking about posting or showing them to anyone else. draw stupid faces and wrong proportions because they feel better that way. focus on what's fun and not on getting a perfect end result. "draw expressively, not well", as they say -- you can always tighten up things like proportions and details later, if you really want to.

that's all WAY easier said than done -- god knows I haven't really managed it -- but even just aiming for that attitude really, REALLY helps. if your lines are confident, they'll look a lot more alive and expressive than lines that are exactly technically precise but have no rhythm in them. (this is why tracing photographs tends to look so weirdly stiff and unrealistic, by the way -- even if you're drawing realistically, you usually need to exaggerate and stylize a little bit so it doesn't look lifeless.) it's a balance between caring about what you draw, but also being willing to let things go a little bit.

↑ I hope some of this helps! I don't know if any of this was actually what you had in mind, let alone much of it actually made sense outside of my head. :') but hopefully you (or other people) will be able to get something out of it!

#art #twisted wonderland #(not really related but since that's what the examples are) #i'm so sorry most of my art advice boils down to 'SHAPES ARE FUN' #(they are though)

[hellcat8908]

Come Home Poly Batboys x Female Reader

Note: This is part 2 of Let Her Go

Warnings: Language

Over the last few weeks, the letters from Azriel and Cassian had piled up in a basket by the door. They sat unopened and ignored as you gave yourself the time to process the events of that night. It was no surprise that Azriel had learned where you were living, not that you were trying to hide anyway. The gossip around you and your mates had only worsened since you left. You first tried therapy, but they only seemed to be interested in details about your mates and not what you needed to work through, so you quickly gave up. Instead, you turned to journaling as a way to get your emotions and thoughts out and somewhat organized.

You currently sat in your favorite chair with your journal in your lap as you wrote out your feelings for the day. A series of harsh knocks disrupted you, causing you to leave your journal on the end table. You were surprised to see Rhys standing at your doorstep. You're tempted to slam the door in his face, but think better of it. "What are you doing here?" You ask cautiously. "I want to talk to you." He says, his voice sounding rough. "We have nothing to talk about." You answer. "I think we both know that's not true. Please, y/n." He says with a certain sadness.

"You said everything you needed to say that night. You made it clear where I stand with you." You say as his words come flooding back to your mind. You move to shut the door, but he stops it with his foot. "Please, I'm only asking for a few minutes of your time and for you to listen." He says pleadingly. Your anger rises at his words. "Only asking for a few minutes of my time and for me to listen?! No, you're asking for so much more than that. You're asking for me to relive the worst night of my life. You're asking me to let you in and open wounds that's that haven't had a proper chance to heal because I'm drowning in it. I have no one to talk to while the three of you have each other. So, no, you're not only asking for my time and for me to listen!"

He at least has the decency to look apologetic. "I'm sorry. I didn't think-" he starts to say, but you interrupt him. "That's the problem, you don't think, especially when it comes to me. You only think about yourself and your court. You're an amazing high lord but a terrible mate." You say as you let the anger take over. "I think it's best if you leave." You tell him. "I'm sorry." He says brokenly as he turns away. Once the door shuts behind you, you crumple to the floor, allowing the pain and anger to consume you as you fall apart. You let all the hurt and anger flood the bond so they might finally realize what they've put you through.

You manage to force yourself out of bed two days later. You make breakfast before grabbing the paper from the doorstep. Your eyes widen at the headline. You throw on some clothes and quickly braid your hair before making your way into Velaris. You don't bother knocking and let yourself in. You practically run to Rhys's office where you find him along with Cassian and Azriel. They stare at you in surprise. "What do you think you're doing?!" You demand as you focus your attention on Rhys. "What needed to be done." He says. "No! You stepping down as high lord is the worst thing you could do for this court!" You respond angrily.

"But the best thing I could do for us! You're tired of coming second to my court. Well, this is the solution." He replies. "It's not the solution! It's you overreacting!" You shout. "You're not stepping down as high lord! If you do, I will disappear without a trace, and you will never see me again!" You shout. "There is just no winning with you. Is there?! No matter what I do, it isn't right!" Rhys shouts. "Why does everything have to be so black and white with you?! All I wanted was for you to respect my feelings and stop treating me as anything less than your mate!" You shout before you feel the warmth of Cassian's arm as he pulls you from the room while Azriel stops Rhys from following.

Cassian carries you to the bedroom and blocks the door before sitting you down. "What the hell, Cass?!" You ask. "You tell me!" He says as he crosses his arms. "What is it going to take for you to forgive us?!" He asks angrily as he runs his fingers through his hair. He doesn't give you a chance to answer, "Those months of silence you're punishing us for are bullshit. You didn't speak up either. You never once addressed it with us or the ones gossiping. We just assumed you were ignoring it like the rest of us. You share just as much blame in this as we do." He says before storming out, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You sit on the oversized bed you all once shared. You run your fingers over the comforter. You curl up in the bed and allow a few tears to escape. You hold the pillow that smells of Azriel as you find comfort in it. You think about what Cassian said as you lay in silence. You zone out until a knock pulls you back to reality. Azriel opens the door, "is it ok if I come in?" He asks. He takes your silence as a yes and sits on the bed beside you. "Did you come to yell at me too?" You ask. "No, I brought you some tea and a muffin from your favorite bakery." He says.

"How did everything get so bad?" You ask, ignoring his offer. "A lot of things went left unsaid from all of us until it spiraled into something toxic." He says honestly. "Think we can ever get back to the way it was?" You ask. "Do you want to?" He questions in response. "I want it to be better." You answer honestly, "but I'm worried we won't be able to move past this." His shadows gently play with your hair, causing you to visibly relax. "All we can do is try." He says softly. "They hate me so much, though." You say as you choke back a sob. He wraps his arms around you, "Nobody hates you, princess. We all just need to calm down and discuss what needs to change moving forward." He says, always being the voice of reason to you.

#acotar #batboys #acotar fanfic #cassian x reader #cassian acotar #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #rhysand acotar #rhysand x reader #poly batboys #acotar angst

[drdemonprince]

Can you offer any (academic) writing advice for Autistics and ADHDers? You clearly write a lot and write very well and very clearly, so some insight into your process would be great. Personally, I tend to struggle with over explaining or over citing (cause I am always getting misunderstood) and that I get very fixated on not misrepresenting what my sources are saying to avoid feeling like I'm lying. All this is time consuming and makes it hard to say what I really want to say. Thanks!

Hi there! I've written an essay about a lot of this, here is the free link to read it on Medium:

Much of my writing process is inspired by the book How to Write a Lot by Paul Silvia, and it is specifically tailored to academics. The advice applies to people who write popular nonfiction or fiction just as easily, however. And he does have advice relevant to the self-editing and self-doubt you describe feeling.

The full piece gets into this more, but here are some of the stand-out tips:

Schedule a regular time to write every week and show up no matter whether you are feeling it or not.

Throw out all your magical thinking about what you "need" to be able to write. You don't need the perfect workspace, divine inspiration, the right pen, the right playlist. You just need to show up to write regularly, and do it

Editing, outlining, working with research notes, and drafting all count as "writing." Don't expect your initial drafts to be perfect or to equate writing only with getting new words on the page.

Try writing in public spaces to help get yourself in the mindset of explaining a concept to someone with a different frame of reference and type of expertise than you. Writing in a cafe or a public library can force you think and write in a more accessible way. (alternatively, you can pretend you are explaining the concept to a specific person in your life who you respect but who doesnt have all the same reference points as you -- sometimes this is called the "Grandma Test". Explain something like you are talking to your grandma.)

In addition to all this, I would add that you should read a lot of writing, both good and bad, especially work that isn't dry and academic. If all you read is journal articles, you'll write a journal article -- and most of those are hell to read, even for academics. read fiction. read bad wattsapp shipping. read substacks. read newspapers. read indulgent personal nonfiction in the cut or whatever. read reddit posts. notice what works and what doesn't. develop an ear.

and then write a lot! it took me 15 years to get good enough for anything i wrote to get noticed. you can expect to take many years to get comfortable developing your own voice, too. i dont know how far along you are, but even when you've made tremendous progress you'll only notice your flaws and feel the most turgid brain foggy moments. that doesn't mean you're failing.

also, to some extent you can embrace your citation-dense, precise manner of self-expression. we are living in a moment of maximalism and indulgent, long creative works. it's the decade of the 5 hour youtube essay and the 2 hour album. my 5,000 word essays do better than my 2,000 word ones. you should strip down unnecessary tangents and trust yourself and your reader a little more probably, but ive found that the more blatantly autistic and indulgent my writing gets the more the right people like it. a writer's flaws and their distinctive voice are kinda hard to separate. you're not for everyone!

good luck!

[aperrywilliams]

It Was Horrible Until It Wasn't (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

------------------ 

Author Masterlist

------------------

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Reader comes up to her apartment after Spencer walks her home from the diner, where they spend the last couple of hours. She is still processing the night and wonders if they will meet again. Another fortuitous event makes that happen. In which terms they will part ways again?

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Mention of guns (tests to carry a gun). Mention to Reader's ex. Some strong words? IDK what else. If I forgot something, let me know.

A/N: I got very excited after your reactions and comments to "If Anything, I Find it Educative." So this is kind of part two, from Reader's perspective. I'm not convinced about a series yet, even if I have some ideas. What would you like to see if it happens?

-----

Reader's POV

-----

As I open the door, a bunch of cardboard boxes scattered on the floor greets me. That reminds me that I haven't unpacked all my things yet.

I've only been living here for two weeks, and I'm still getting used to the idea that this is my new home. 

It doesn't feel like it yet. 

But the boxes will be a problem for tomorrow. Now, I only want to take off these high heels and this fancy dress and call it a night - a pretty eventful night.

Not only did I have to confront my ex with his new girlfriend, but I also had to pretend I was okay with it. But how did I expect to do that? Did I genuinely think two months would be enough to be outside again to prove I got myself up? 

How naive of me.

I make a beeline to my bedroom, not even bothering to look at the rest of the apartment.

Again, it's tomorrow's problem.

Retreating my phone from my purse, I plug it to charge over my bedside table as I strip from my clothes and go to the bathroom to do my nightly routine.

The entire time, my mind doesn't stop wandering. At some point, it settles on the girl I helped from choking. It was a total coincidence for me to be there. I only approached the bar for another drink when I heard that man rambling. I don't know why my ear perked up, but it did. When I look to find the voice's source, my eyes land on the man and the girl by his side.

He was talking as if the world would end if he didn't, and the girl only eyed him from head to toe, clearly not giving a damn what he was saying. I kept subtly listening to them while sipping my drink. The guy's voice had something enchanting. I would have heard him talk for hours if it were from me. It was a bad thing his interlocutor wasn't so receptive, and when she occasionally said something, it was a flirting remark that only made him uncomfortable. 

What a shame.

When I noticed her fighting to breathe, swatting her hands in desperation, and the poor guy froze on the spot, I knew I needed to do something.

I didn't think much of it and wrapped my arms around her torso to help her. It worked. The oyster she choked with flew into the air, and she could breathe again.

But the next thing I knew, her palm connected to the man's cheek.

The poor guy seemed so confused, and the people talking around didn't help either. What a shitty situation. And as the good citizen I am, I tried to do something about it, only to get lashed out by the same woman I just saved from choking.

Fuck it. 

Seeing the people's attention returned to them, I walked away. That wasn't my fight in the first place.

Returning from the bathroom, I hear my phone ding. It's a text from my friend Andie.

Andie: How did the gala turn out? Did you see him? He was with her, right?

Andie had insisted on me not going to the gala, although I repeated to her several times that it was okay, that nothing would happen, and that I couldn't hide forever.

Me: You were right. I wasn't ready.

It's a defeat I must recognize. I wasn't prepared to see them.

Andie: My girl, I'm so sorry. It must have been awful for you.

It was, but it doesn't mean the night was a disaster.

Me: It was horrible until it wasn't. I can tell you more tomorrow. Now, I only want to go to bed.

Andie: You have me a bit confused here, but okay. I'll call you tomorrow. Sleep tight; I love you.

I return my phone to the charger and slip under the covers.

It was horrible until it wasn't.

I keep thinking about that. And a smile tugs the corner of my lips. Since Spencer - the guy who got slapped by the oyster-choked girl - approached me at the terrace, the night wasn't that awful anymore.

Who would have thought I would end my night in a diner, dressed to the nines and spouting details of my messy life to a stranger?

-

Monday morning comes faster than I wanted. 

I spent my Sunday mostly unpacking boxes and tidying my apartment, and now, with a coffee in hand, I cross the hall to my office on the third floor of the FBI building in Quantico.

Some colleagues greet me as I pass by. I return them with a polite smile. I saw a couple of them at the gala on Saturday. I only hope they didn't notice the wreck I was that night.

On my desk, a pile of hundreds of manila folders are waiting for me.

This Monday will be a blast.

Dutifully, I reach for the first folder to start my work, as my ear perks up to two colleagues' conversation about the gala.

"Did you see them? Those hot chicks from Counterterrorism?" a male colleague says to another.

"Yeah. I heard one of them was hitting on Reid from the BAU. What a waste!" The other adds.

"And the lucky bastard wasn't able to take her home. His nerdy charm didn't even help him with that."

The mention of the BAU brings Spencer to my mind again. And I realize I don't even know his last name. 

I don't think I need to know, but I can't stop my fingers from typing 'Spencer FBI BAU' on my computer.

My findings make the conversation between my colleagues intriguing. They were precisely talking about Spencer, Spencer Reid, and the girl with him at the gala. Clearly, the incident did not go unnoticed.

I don't like the tone they refer to him, either. I do not know the guy well, but I'm sure he's way better than any of the men at the venue that night.

Are you hearing yourself (Y/N)? That kind of blind trust put you in this situation with your ex in the first place.

I shouldn't grant credibility so fast, but honestly? Spencer seems to be everything but a threat. The things he said, the way he spoke. Anyway, I should stop thinking about that if I want to finish some work. Yeah, that's what I need to do.

Drowning out the noise, I return to the opened folder and continue working.

Some would ask how a task as monotonous as the one I'm doing now could be appealing to someone. The appeal for me comes from how everything fits in the right places and serves a purpose. That's enough for me, even if some people don't understand it.

My ex didn't. And as him, many others.

I'm still fighting to ease the effects their judgments had on me.

Around lunchtime, stopping the papers review, I pick up my phone to check my messages. Yesterday, I promised Andie I would have lunch with her today, so I'm checking for her confirmation and a place to meet.

Just in time, a text comes. She is free right now and suggests a restaurant just outside the building.

"Hey, girl! I'm glad you made it," she greets me as I spot her on one of the tables.

"Of course. I promised I would."

Lunchtime is only one hour, so we order quickly and go straight to the matter.

"I can't believe the son of the bitch decided to go and show off his new conquest," Andie huffs.

"Not that new, considering she has been sleeping with him in what used to be my bed at least a month before I discovered it," I correct with an annoyed look.

It's good to say these things without crying my eyes out anymore.

I tell Andie more details about how it went to share a space packed with mutuals around us and try to stay composed.

"But at some point, I just couldn't. So I retracted to the bar. I only wanted to grab a drink and be alone."

Andie nods in understanding.

"I don't blame you. So you were at the bar when you crossed to the girl to whom you did Heimlich?"

Yesterday, by phone, I told Andie the main facts regarding that, and after laughing for a solid five minutes about the whole ordeal, she made me promise to reveal more details in our lunch meeting.

That's why I'm describing what happened piece by piece.

"She slapped the guy? And she yelled at you? What a bitch! But I don't understand why he apologized on her behalf."

"Honestly? I didn't understand it, but it made sense after talking with him. The guy felt responsible, even if it wasn't related to him. It was the fact that someone had to do the right thing," I explain, with my eyes fixed on my water glass, recalling Spencer's words from that night. 

I can't help but feel some fondness for his genuine worry. Andie raises an eyebrow and hums.

"The guy made a good impression on you, I see."

Andie's tone is teasing, and I know exactly where she is heading.

"Come on, don't start with that," I warn her. I'm not thoroughly annoyed, but I'm not in the mood for teasing. Andie scoffs.

"I'm just saying it's good to know there are men out there that give hopes up. That's all!"

"Sure," I mumble, not very convinced by her explanation.

The rest of our lunch follows a similar tone. When I finish telling Andie about Spencer walking me home, I know she is biting her tongue to say something to taunt me, but she holds back and opts for a question.

"Do you think you'll see him again?"

I ponder my answer. I don't know, although I remember Spencer asking, 'See you around?'

That doesn't mean we agreed to see each other again, even if I said, 'Sure, why not?' 

Did Spencer mean that? Did he want to see me again?

"I don't know. Maybe. We both work in this building, so there are chances, I guess," I shrug. Andie narrows her eyes.

"But do you want to?"

That's a question I don't know how to answer, so I take some seconds to think about it.

"Let's say I'm not opposed to the idea."

A reply that could be an understatement. But not I'm telling Andie that.

She doesn't press on the matter, though. And I'm grateful she doesn't.

Now it's time to go back to work. We walk out of the restaurant to our building and separate ways at the elevator. Andie continues to the eighth floor when I hop off on the third.

Returning to my desk, I continue checking the folders piled on my desk, and my mind only focuses on that, knowing if I don't, there is no chance of getting this stack finished.

----

A good thing about the week progressing is nobody talking anymore about the damn gala. It's been a nightmare since Monday when everyone had to mention something about it. That included comments about me facing my ex there. 

Of course, it was public knowledge I was dating an agent of the Criminal Investigative Division. Also, it became public knowledge he cheated on me with his current girlfriend from Counterterrorism.

But finally, it is Thursday, and everything seems to have returned to normal, so much so that the amount of work has increased exponentially. That's why I'm still at the office at seven pm.

I only assume it's time to go home when my boss pokes out of his office and calls for Andrew, one of our coworkers who distributes files and memos to the other departments.

I turn around, and it's only me at this hour. My boss notices the vacant office and is now talking to me.

"I guess I have to ask you to do this. Can you go to the sixth and drop this to Aaron Hotchner's office? I would have waited until tomorrow for Andrew, but this must be at his desk today."

I don't think I have a choice, so I pick the folder, promising to drop it before going home.

With my coat and purse, I grab the folder and stroll to the elevator.

I have been working here for four years and know every financial detail of each Quantico department, but I still need to recognize all department locations in this facility. So, floors are just floors, except the eight where Andie works.

Arriving at my destination, I walk into a bullpen, where I can see a lot of desks and offices. And just like my floor, it is almost empty. Anyway, I see one of the offices with lights on. My instinct tells me that's the place I'm looking for, and the plaque at the door confirms my suspicions: SSA Aaron Hotchner.

"Come in," a voice comes from the office when I knock.

Peeking inside, a stern-looking man is glancing in my direction. "Can I help you?" he asks with a slight frown.

"Yes, sir. I'm with the Finance Division, and my boss asked me to bring this to you," I explain as I reach out to hand him the folder. When he grabs it, realization washes over the man.

"Of course. Thank you very much-" Agent Hotchner trails off.

"(Y/L/N)," I supply, knowing he wants my last name.

"Thank you very much, Agent (Y/L/N)."

Weird. 

Everyone in the finance and administrative department refers to each other only by last name. We use the 'agent' thing mainly with those who do the fieldwork, and we are used to that.

"You're welcome, Agent Hotchner," I smile politely, ready to leave the man's office. He nods approvingly.

"Hotch, sorry for interrupting you, but I'm ready with my report. I thought you wanted it-"

A man talks, entering abruptly at the office. He stops in his tracks when he sees Agent Hotchner isn't alone.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were with someone. I can come back later," he apologizes.

Wait. I know that voice. 

I turn, and I see Spencer standing there. His eyes meet mine, and I feel my cheeks burn. He doesn't say anything but doesn't tear his eyes from mine.

I don't know how many seconds pass, but it's enough for Agent Hotchner to intervene.

"Reid?" he calls Spencer's attention.

"Uh?"

"The report. It's okay; you can give it to me," he tells Spencer, not without subtly bouncing his gaze between us.

"Oh. Okay." Spencer approaches Hotchner's desk, but he still directs glances at me. I want to say hi to him properly, but it doesn't feel okay knowing the man in front of us is undoubtedly his boss. I don't want him to feel uncomfortable. So, I take that as my cue to leave.

"If you excuse me," I tell Agent Hotchner, signaling my departure. Spencer looks at me, and I give him a subtle smile.

"Of course. Thank you again, Agent (Y/L/N)."

"To you, sir. Have a good evening."

I walk down the stairs to the open bullpen and toward the elevator.

Before I can push the go-down button, a voice calls my name. It's Spencer's.

"(Y/N), wait!"

I turn and see him trotting towards me.

"Hi!" he says once we are face to face.

Now I feel bad. Spencer comes here to say hi, and I didn't greet him properly just two minutes ago. 

"Spencer, hi. I'm sorry, I should have said something there, but I didn't know if you wanted him to know- I mean, I supposed he was your boss, and I-"

What's wrong with me? 

Why can't I explain myself without stumbling with my words?

"No. No. Don't apologize. It's okay. I should have told you something, too. But I didn't expect to see you here."

"Me neither. My boss sent me here instead of one of my coworkers, who left early. I didn't know this was the BAU floor. What a coincidence, uh?" I play cool, shifting my weight from one foot to another. Spencer nods in agreement.

"Totally. It's good to see you, though. I hoped we could cross paths again."

Isn't it weird that his words have produced a funny tingle in my stomach right now?

"Is that so?" I half-breath, noticing his cheeks turn a shade of pink.

"Yes. I mean, I truly enjoyed talking to you that night," he sheepishly admits.

I more than enjoyed it, Spencer.

"Yeah, me too."

Silence sets between us. And it's time to make a decision. I could say I go home and leave him with a lukewarm 'See you around,' or say I'm leaving, but before doing so, give Spencer my number so we can talk soon. Or...

"Are you busy right now? I'm heading home now, but if you can and want, we can go for a coffee."

Wow (Y/N). Very smooth. I like you smooth.

Spencer's eyes widened, and I wondered for a second if my offer was too straightforward.

"If you have plans, it's okay. We don't have to," I relent.

"Oh, no. I don't. And I would love to go for a coffee with you," Spencer hastens to say. I release a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"Yeah?"

"Sure! If you wait for me just a second, I'll pick my things from my desk, and we can go."

----

This time, it's my turn to pick the place.

It's a small coffee shop in the middle of Virginia, just mid-way between Quantico and my apartment.

As we get on the train, I ask Spencer about Agent Hotchner.

"Hotch? Well, he has been at the unit for twelve years now. Gideon, a former agent, told me once he didn't expect Hotch to last long in the BAU. But he proved him wrong. Indeed, Gideon left, and Hotch stayed. Honestly, I can't picture the BAU with another unit chief."

There is a fondness when Spencer talks about Hotchner. I can tell he sees him more than as a superior.

"What about yours?"

Now is my turn to talk about my boss.

"Agent Williams? He is a bureaucrat from head to toe. He had just transferred from another administrative department when I joined the financial division four years ago. At that time, he had ten years working with the FBI. The guy is a genius but lacks social skills. I'm not judging him; I'm a bit like him. But in his position, he needs to make politics, which involves talking and convincing people."

The conversation with Spencer flows so well and easily that I'm as impressed as I was the night of the gala. 

When we reach the coffee shop, we sit facing each other. After ordering our coffee, we start talking about our coworkers.

"So Garcia is our technical analyst. I have to say she is like the team's heart. Besides her outstanding skills, her compassion and care are something out of this world," Spencer admits, and again, I feel the fondness in his voice.

"She seems very special," I add. Spencer nods.

"Very. I don't know what it's like to have a sister, but if I had one, I would have liked someone like her.

So he doesn't have a sister. Does he have brothers, though? We have yet to talk about our families, so this is the first piece of information I get about it.

"What about the guy who came to check what was happening with your girl at the gala?" I ask, and Spencer scoff.

"First of all, Ashley isn't my girl. I think she made it pretty clear that night. And secondly, the guy in question is Morgan, the culprit of why I was with Ashley in the first place."

That's interesting. I want to know more about that.

"How is that?" I ask, sipping my coffee.

Spencer tells me how Morgan insisted they talk to the girls - Ashley and her friends - and how he reluctantly followed him.

I'm about to make a not-so-kind remark when Spencer gets ahead of me.

"I know it may seem like he is a thoughtless person, but he truly means well. I can't entirely agree with his tactics most of the time, but he's right when he tells me I should enjoy more and work less."

"It's safe to say you weren't 'enjoying' that much there," I quip, air-quoting the word 'enjoying.' Spencer chuckles.

"Yeah. Honestly? I have more fun when Morgan kicks doors down in our field chases than when he tries to play wingman for me."

What? Kick doors down?

"Wait a minute. Are you telling me that the FBI had to spend thousands of dollars in repairs for third parties last year because of him?"

I know I'm being dramatic. It's impossible that just one agent destroyed that amount of dollars by kicking doors. But still.

Spencer's eyes widen.

"What? No! I mean, yes. He does that, but thousands of dollars? Last time I checked, doors are not that expensive."

I roll my eyes. That's not the point.

"Okay. I know it's not only Agent Morgan's doing, but did you know the buro's budget had increased by 4% last year due to refunds for field operations? And did you know 70% of that increase refers to agents shattering private property?"

Now, I sound like my boss. Great. I became what I swore to destroy.

Spencer looks at me with amusement. I narrow my eyes to him. "What?"

He clears his throat. "Oh. No, nothing. It's just - well, it's fascinating to hear you talking about - uh - numbers."

I can't help but snort. "Come on, how fascinating that can be?"

Spencer grins. "If anything, I find it educative," he parrots my words from that night, and we fall into a fit of laughs.

"Yeah?" I muse after the laughter subsides. Spencer nods, still a smile gracing his face.

Gosh, that smile.

"Well, I can talk about numbers all day. But I'm sure you don't want me to 'fascinate' you that much."

Spencer hums, faking be pondering his options.

"Don't tempt me. I like to know and talk about everything. But before returning to numbers, I want to ask about your coworkers. I already talked much about mine."

Even if there is not much to say, indulging him with an answer is only fair.

"What can I say? In my area, there are three: Anthony, Leah, and me. We were four then, but Andie was promoted to the eighth floor a year ago. Anthony is a good guy, a little inexperienced, but very eager to learn. We don't have a very close relationship, but he's my protegee at work. Leah is very clever and has enough experience, but sometimes she is not present, making things a little tense between us. Andie is rightfully my friend. We got to the bureau simultaneously, and although she doesn't work with us anymore, we are very close."

Spencer is looking at me with full attention. It's odd to talk about this kind of thing with someone. I don't like to talk about my bonds in general. It makes me feel vulnerable. But for a reason that I still don't get, with Spencer, it feels right.

It's night already, and we are in our third coffee.

"Do you usually drink this amount of coffee daily at this hour? I try to cut off my dosis after lunch, but sometimes I just can't," I point as I stir the spoon on my coffee. Spencer hums.

"I drink a lot of it at any time of the day, every day. It's worse when we are on cases because that shitty coffee at the precincts should not even be called coffee," he scoffs, pouring half of the sugar pot into his cup.

I have already noticed the amount of sugar Spencer has used in his two previous coffees; this third is not the exception.

"I'm sorry, but I have to ask," I say as my eyes dart to his sweet liquid. He follows my line of sight and chuckles.

"I love coffee, but I don't like its bitterness. I know it doesn't make sense, but for me it does."

"Fair enough."

After that, our conversation stumbles to lousy sleep habits.

"Ray hated it. Even once, he told me I purposely got up in the middle of the night to annoy him."

Spencer's brow furrows.

"Ray is your ex?"

Shit. I don't realize I'm talking about him.

Why do I have to mention him? I hate how ingrained he is still in my life.

"Yeah, Raymond. No wonder why things didn't work out between us," I try to joke because I don't want to cry about it anymore.

"An example of a man," Spencer follows my lead, and I'm grateful he doesn't look at me like people usually do when I talk about it. There is no pity. There is no that look saying, 'Oh, poor girl who got cheated on.' It's like a whole understanding. It doesn't make me feel like a failure. And that's a change—a good one.

I chuckle. "Hell, he is."

It's getting late, and it's time to part ways, even if I don't want it. Hours pass quickly with such good company.

"We should get going. It's late," I point as I glance at my phone. Spencer nods in acknowledgment, signaling the waitress to get the check. He is about to fish his wallet when I stop him.

"No. Don't do that. I invited you."

Spencer scoffs, opening his wallet nonetheless. 

"No way. You invited me the other night. You can do it next time."

Next time, uh? I want to say something teasing, but the waitress returns with our check.

We are outside the coffee shop now. I adjust my coat as Spencer does the same with his suit jacket. The night is chilly, and the contrast with the warmth of the coffee shop is evident.

"Can I walk you home?" He offers. I have my doubts about that. It's not that I don't like the idea; I just don't want to use more of his time.

"You don't have to. Really," I shake my head.

"Please? You already said it. It's pretty late," he insists, looking at me with dog puppy eyes. 

Why is he doing that? He is testing my resolve.

"You know I can take care of myself, right? I'm a certificated FBI agent. I can't carry a gun, but sure I could manage," I argue in a teasing tone. Spencer chuckles.

"I know you are. And I'm sure you could. Even though, why no to prolong our evening for fifteen minutes long?" I raise an eyebrow.

"So you really like my company, uh?" 

I'm sure I see a blush creeping his cheeks, and it's endearing.

"I like your company. I thought I made it pretty clear the other night?" he probes. And I don't know how to respond to that.

The truth is quite curious. Teasing Spencer seems so natural sometimes, but now I don't know what to say.

I decide not to say anything and nod, motioning for us to start walking.

Spencer follows me, and we walk in silence for the first block. Then, I feel the need to continue our conversation. I want these fifteen minutes to be as good as the previous two hours.

"Did you know that I used to carry a gun? Although it took me three failed tests to do so."

Spencer looks at me, surprised. I take that as my cue to tell that story.

Once I tell him how I finally managed to pass my shooting test, he starts telling me how he also failed his test a couple of times.

"So you saved your boss life shooting an unsub?" Spencer nods.

"But I really aimed to his leg, not his head," he adds, and we burst into a fit of laughter.

Without realizing it, we are already in front of my building. The laughter subsides when we notice where we are.

I clear my throat. "Well. Uh-thank you. Again," I say, referring to him walking me home.

"No need," Spencer says. "I had a good time today," he adds, smiling. 

I can't help but feel my cheeks burn. Spencer casts his eyes to the ground.

"Me too," I admit, biting my bottom lip. "I - uh."

Why am I so nervous right now? Just say what you want to say!

"I - uh. I'd really like to do this again. I mean, you know, maybe next time could be something planned?"

Spencer's eyes flick to mine. I would say he didn't expect me to say that.

"I would love that," he says, keeping eye contact. And for a moment, I think the breath leaves my lungs. Those eyes are something I didn't see in my life before. I can't describe it, but it's enough to make me speechless.

"I guess it's here when I ask for your number?" Spencer's voice is the one that brings me out of the trance.

I chuckle, mid-embarrassed by my absorption moment. I gesture for him to give me the phone. Spencer does it, and I advert his piercing gaze to focus on typing my number. Once done, I return the device with a playful smile. Jeez, I feel like a damn teenager.

A snort leaves Spencer's lips when he sees the name I used for my contact.

"Really?" He asks. I nod, chuckling.

"It's safe to say you won't forget who I am," I confirm.

"Bet I won't."

"Good. Now I'm going to come up," I gesture to the building. "Good night, Spencer."

"Good night, (Y/N)."

I turn to enter the building, and although I can't see him, I feel him standing there in the cold night until I disappear into the elevator.

Once I cross the threshold of my apartment, a ding comes from my phone. Frowning, I pick it up.

Unknown number: Are you free on Saturday at midday? We could go to lunch. Let me know. Good night. SR.

I bit my lower lip. And after typing a reply, I start my night routine before bed.

Oh, boy. What are you getting into (Y/N)? 

Whatever it is, it feels so good.

-------------

A/N 2: As always, I'm excited to know your thoughts about this one!

-------------

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @levi-of-starz @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #aperrywilliams #amanda perry williams

[theminecraftbee]

just revisited scs, and was wondering if pearl still joins hermitcraft in season 8 as she does? and if so, what are three's thoughts and feelings on this? if we go by hermitcraft rules, it'd have to had voted her in, and it does care about pearl in some capacity due to her link with martyn and jimmy so it'd want her somewhere safe, but is their relationship still rocky at that point? has it gotten better? and how does it evolve through their time on hermitcraft? is boatem still a thing, or do three and pearl give each other more space?

sorry if you've answered something like this before, but i'm curious

so here's how it goes in my head, although as always, anyone is free to have their own headcanons for it:

so by season eight, given the messy timeline i've created, three has had some time and distance. additionally, i like to think that it and everyone else DID keep up their promises to stay in contact. pearl and three's relationship will probably never be as close as pearl and grian's, but pearl is TRYING and three is willing to give her a shot when they're not standing right next to each other and she isn't in the middle of grief as much, so they form a tentative bond.

pearl doesn't join season eight because of three; three doesn't invite her. however, i'd like to think that pearl, maybe on the prodding of "her friends are actually talking to her again", has tentatively started doing her own builds again and showing them off and something like that dragon build of her blows up. so when names are being floated for season eight, and someone's already floated gem as a possibility, someone says pearl's name. and three doesn't know. three doesn't know if they'll be able to handle each other living on the same server. but it's now been at least a year and a half since scs and with scs's messy timeline probably longer, right. three is much more self-assured and has a better idea of who it is. and like, it thinks about it, but maybe pearl gives away she's still living on evo in a call, and three thinks about it, and...

the thing is: three had needed someone to say "you can come here when you run away" two years ago about the same thing. it can at least try.

this is to say: pearl joining hermitcraft is not three's idea or three's invitation. but three gives her its endorsement, and eventually its vote. pearl joins in season eight. three and pearl then proceed to try to completely avoid each other for like, at least a month. i don't want to take pearl and impulse bonding away from the world, so i think maybe pearl still bases near there, but the friendship groups in three's timeline are a little shifted ANYWAY, even if they're similar, so we can shift people around a little. maybe three drags mumbo off to go follow iskall and etho into the shattered savannah. god, can you imagine, actually, that would be hysterical.

but the thing is, even though the hermits spend a lot of time alone, they also spend a lot of time together, and like... three IS friends with impulse. and it is Conspicuous that they're avoiding each other, and they can't do it forever. it's pearl who screws her courage to the sticking place first and invites three to help her with an interior room of her build. three, not actually quite good enough at emotions to recognize "here come do an interior, thing i know grian hated but you like" as the very deliberate olive branch it is but good enough at emotions to know it probably shouldn't avoid, accepts.

and it goes... well. it surprises both of them how well it goes, actually. maybe it shouldn't; they've been in contact after all, and they've had time to soothe and process their relationship. they part back to their own bases again with the promise to do it again, and they do not avoid each other for the rest of the season. they don't seek each other out, often--they're not quite ready for that--but they don't avoid each other, either.

it's not perfect. pearl still sometimes looks at three like she's looking at a dead man. three still sometimes wants to scream when she does.

but there are many times, now, when they can forget how they met in the first place, and just chat about build pallets and pranks and shapes and llamas and everything else together.

that's close enough to healing.

#answered #solving counting sheep talk #THANK YOU FOR THIS. I HAVE THOUGHTS.

[viciousvortexx]

Some of my Vergil NSFW headcanons

things i think he would like doing woohoo and other +18 stuff.

⋆ ･˳ . ⋆  ⭒ ✿ ⭒ ⋆･. ˳ . ⋆

★ Vergil isn't so experienced as it seems, if you think about it, he only had sex once or maybe twice, but he haves a sort of natural talent to learn things fast.

★ Loves to cover you with kisses while his hands squeeze and explore all the soft spots in you.

★ Vergil is a man that knows what he wants, going for it with determination to take his partner, he's got game, strong hands grabbing you firmly, tracing patterns along your skin to mark you as his together with deep slow kisses that takes your breath away, lefting no room for objection.

★ Teases a lot by rubbing the head of his cock right on your entrance, penetrating just the tip here and there to pull it off again and see you squirm underneath him. Vergil is patient, and to see his partner begging and rolling the eyes with so little drives him crazy. "You want it so badly, hmm, little one?”

Ps: of course he won't force you to do something if you really don't want to, he's respectful above all.

★ Often his dirty talk is whispered and you probably won't see his face while talking since it'll be buried on your neck or between the legs.

★ Isn't too loud (unless when close to finish that his voice gets more loud and urgent), but moans and grunts a lot, husky and gutural mixed with heavy pants and gasps.

(bro did you ever see this man in battle and how much he growls? you really think he won't have any clear reactions?)

★ Sex is an important connection you share with your partner, it's not just about the lust, Vergil loves positions where he can exchange glances, doesn't like positions that you're too far from him, he needs to look and touch his mate.

★ Challenges to take him deeper into your mouth with a confidant taunt, chuckling amused till you almost engulfs him entirely, what causes the blue one to tremble and gasp. “Do you think you can swallow me whole, darling?” 

★ As much as he likes to dominate, he likes to be dominated, loves it when someone tries to tame him because of the thrill of a challenge, Vergil will be pleased to be at your mercy while ordering him around (finds it amusing, yet arousing) but doesn't like things such as humiliation and degradation, this also applies when the roles run with him dominating the partner, Vergil doesn't want to go too extreme and maybe end up bringing back some painful memories, love is new for him but not suffering.

★ All the process of lovemaking is important, he'll take his time to the begging of the foreplay till the aftercare, having sex with him is something that takes hours (and doesn't happen so often).

★ Speaking of aftercare, his favorites are a warm bath in the tub together and cuddling under the duvets with your bodies still naked and pressed against each other, Vergil discovered this is precious to him after he got older, probably didn't care about this when was younger.

★ He eats you out by holding your thighs to your chest, burying his face between the legs and savouring it with hungry long licks and sucks, nuzzling his face into it and growling pleased to feel you coating him from nose to chin, intoxicating all of his senses, the taste of your body, the soft delicate flesh on his hands, your natural scent, the sight of his lover completely helpless while melting on his mouth while whimpering his name fills Vergil with satisfaction.

★ Loves to receive sensual lap dances as a foreplay, the room should be almost dark with music playing in the background, placing his arms over the back of the couch while watching you sway over the tight bulge inside his leather pants, but eventually will grab your hips with need and join in the grinding. “You needy little thing, hmmmph...”

★ Haves a "horny cycle" from time to time, Vergil never really tells you when it's happening, but you learned to identify it by his increasing body temperature, unwanted erections, and the sticky  behavior because needs attention and doesn't want to ask for it (feels ashamed to follow you around like a lost kitten, it's kind of cute and you know it's not his fault). When finally gives in to his needs, he'll use the devil trigger to breed you since it's a demon thing, also, the chances of pregnancy always increase with the DT.

★ Likes to do some cock warming while reading late at night, the feeling of being wrapped and close to each other just to relax a bit goes well with a good book. “I'm sorry darling, it wasn't my intention to move.”

★ Loves to knead on your breasts or any other soft spots while spooning, mostly, Vergil doesn't do this with sexual intentions, but because he enjoys to be this intimate when comfy enough, it also helps to relieve the stress.

★ Pins your hands on top of your head when doing the missionary position.

(i like to imagine this together with my other headcanon about how Vergil is a good listener and enjoys to hear the others talking about something they like or about their day.)

★ Bratty behavior can turn him on very easily, Vergil likes it when his mate tries to defiance him.

#devil may cry #vergil sparda #vergil #vergil headcanons #vergil sparda headcanons #devil may cry headcanons #writing

[scraemoo]

My love goes out to the fandom and Forever enjoyers. I'm so fucking sorry.

#qsmp #forever player #vent in tags #why can't this be just a nightmare #i don't want to talk about this here. i need so much time to process all of this. #i will look into it to have a better image of tge whole situation #if we're no friends don't await any answers from me about this #im so sorry. #qforever

[icewindandboringhorror]

Found a very cool pastel cat sweater at the bins but I have literally nothing that matches it well, so I always struggle to make outfits with it lol

#ootd #pastel #I really really want to SELL CLOTHES I keep talking about selling clothes.. its just such a process..hhhhhhh #Because you have to take pictures. edit the pictures. list them somewhere. write descriptions. choose a price. advertise the fact you listed #it somewhere. Repeat with literally hundreds of items (since I get bulk clothes at the bins and etc.). I have a lot of cool stuff that I thi #nk people into similar styles would want to buy. and I always need money to fund art and healthcare expenses and eventually moving to a diff #erent place someday. replacing broken electronics. etc. etc. So a wise decision is 'well sell a lot of the old clothes you have'. It is so #difficutl with my specific functioning issues though since it's such a long process and also packing things up. taking them to the post offi #ce etc. takes timing since I always have to be driven by roomates and stuff. etc. etc. #I think the way I was considering getting around this was to sell clothing in 'packs' like.. A pack of 5 or 6 matching items the same shade #of pink. or all green items with flowers so it's the same 'nature theme'. Or even selling full outfits or something. so that way I can kind #of bundle items. Instead of the effort of photograohing and listing literally 50 individual items. Turn them into 5 packs of 10. Or 10 packs #of 5. etc. ? But I think I never got too far with that because I was uncertain how that'd actually go over in terms of whether people would #buy groups of items instead of just individual. Especially whole outfits or something like. I think you'd get a wider audience giving people #more individual choice to choose seperate things instead of putting them together and going 'this is just what you get' or etc. #but I could also see it being cool. You already have some guaranteed stuff that matches. They have a theme. Especially if it's something you #like. Love brown themed mori kei items? here's 5 of them already together. etc. etc. etc. #ANYWAY. Came to mind because as much as I love anything with cats on it that's a light color. I also am chronically warm natured due to my #health issues so I overheat immensely if I wear sweaters. even in the winter I don't wear that many layers lol. So a sweater like this is ju #st impratical for me outside of taking one or two outfit photos with it. but I don't think I could ever actually wear it even if I really wa #nt to. But it's nice! and very cool!! so a good candidtate for selling. Give it to someone who would be happier to have it than I would in #the sense that maybe they could actually WEAR it lol. #ANYWAY... rhgh #everything......... difficult.......... whye #Also sweater is too hot for me and doesn't match anything I own even though it's perfect and I love cats..... whye....... cruele world #self

[magentagalaxies]

fucking love it when one of my professors brings up kids in the hall in giving me feedback, not in a pandering way but in a "this is an observation i've made about their work and how you could channel this aspect in your own comedy to get yourself out of your comfort zone and play with new things"

#shoutout to my improv teacher fr #we were talking about how i don't use dynamic physicality and movement as much in my characters #and she brought up how so much of their characters are very physical and encouraged me to play with that #and also specifically character temperament and emotions and stuff bc i have a specific range i play in #and it's funny even tho i personally think my comedy style is most like bruce #and scott in a lot of ways has these uninhibited moments i wish i could throw myself into #in terms of character range/voice/temperament/emotion? i'm playing heavily in the scott zone rn #and my professor was like ''that's great but also i wanna see you play a bruce girl'' #we also had a whole conversation about gender and kith and how gender plays into my improv or is absent from it a lot of the time #and holy shit erin my improv teacher wins cis ally of the day award she was so respectful while also having good feedback #(her feedback was low key ''be more overtly trans even if it makes cis people uncomfortable'') #bc like. i'm very overtly trans in my standup rn like you know how aubrey is #but in improv? sure i play many characters regardless of gender but that's the thing. it's ''regardless'' of gender #so i sort of default to being neutral so that others can project onto me. it's sort of ''idgaf i'm chill'' which in itself still is radical #but it gives ''cis allys'' who don't want to deal with gender an outlet to just project onto me in a way that i could own much more #anyway the way i process feedback is often by repeating it to someone else so like. this didn't need to be a post this is for me #but idk if you're following along with my comedy journey (or even if you just want to hear my professor reference kids in the hall!) #maybe this is of interest to you. in any case i'm very excited to play with all this stuff much more #and i definitely feel confident in my comedic identity and trans identity and most of all my trans-comedian identity #and i'm excited to see how i grow from here

[witchwhaat]

.

#maybe i'm dramatic but i'll literally never forgive my uni for making me stay with that thesis supervisor :))))) #the whole process of choosing a supervisor was a circus and then when i tried to change it i wasn't aprobed for some stupid petty reasons #that don't even concern me #and now i'm stuck with a supervisor who i don't like can't communicate with and i'm 100x times more stressed bc of that #and i have to work in a way that's uncomfortable to me and which does NOT work for me i hate it here #like normally i would have already stopped wiriting hours ago but i can't :'))) bc i need to write more :'))) #which surely is such a good idea to write some bullshit just so i hit a words count he wants :'))))) #*it wasn't approved #arghhhhh #it would've been so much better for me if i just ended up with the supervisior i wanted! #my supervisor is not even interested in the topic i chose and he doesn't know anything about it! the supervisor i wanted to choose does! #sorry i'm just very frustrated with how it all turned out and i just want to go to sleep but i still have like at least 2 oages to write #agnes talking

[wrecking]

edit: i ended up just ranting abt like the current vibe™ in the tags... sorry abt that but like also whatever i don't care anymore

#d #my food therapist really said the most real thing on planet earth when she said i'm meeting me at the same time everyone else is #i feel like a cringey overzealous emotionally dumb teenager who's a total embarrassment to everyone around me while i'm trying 2 say fuck i #cuz like this is the first time in my entire life i feel like i get to actually explore my identity and do like normal young people things #and i feel just. so so exposed in the sense that everyone is watching me make a fool of myself without a single shred of self-awareness #and it makes me so fucking mad cuz like i'm finally happy with myself!! i'm finally starting to feel like a fully formed person #instead of a 2d projection or an object or something monstrous hiding in the shadows because that's how i've spent until now imo #and like. it's hard to emotionally make peace with the fact things in my social life are changing because like. there's some part of me #that thinks that maybe if i stayed in that miserable place that maybe i wouldn't have any of the problems i have now #and like my life is a lot better. and i know that and i wouldn't change a thing. but like emotionally i guess i'm just #processing it as a fault of mine to have changed bc it's changing my relationships to others #and this isn't about any one specific thing like i've been having lots of small growing pains with a lot of ppl in my life rn i just am lik #there's a lot happening to me rn emotionally so i feel like everything i do is a fuckup and i'm just bracing for more people to go ig #which might happen or it might not and tbh either is ok at this point. i need to do this in order to live i think #idk why i'm even rambling about this i just have a lot of thoughts and i want to share them i guess. not like it does anything but like #what else is this app for at this point lmfao i barely even want to talk on here anymore because i feel like everything i say on here is #just pointless. i'm thankful i have a strong support system rn cuz genuinely i don't know what i'd do if i didn't like #i feel like everything is so much more emotionally Big to me on E and it's kind of hard trying to figure out how to manage it #like i'm basically finally getting to be me. for worse AND for better. and i just am like. insecure on some level i guess #not even over my appearance tbh i've kinda made peace with that. moreso my personality and what things i share with others #this whole post is so wholly unnecessary but i feel like i'm going to go insane if i don't get this out of my head #i've genuinely been avoiding talking about my emotions or my private life on here because i don't exactly feel safe on here anymore #which is like great. love it when my primary outlet for like. socially interacting with people casually gets compromised i love it #i literally softblocked like 30 ppl off of here so i could talk abt my weird sex stuff and my body and my deeper thoughts with ppl i trust #and then i still am too conscious about it! this always happens when i make a blog for myself to talk on #maybe i'm just not meant for talking abt things

[mishapen-dear]

i've learned how to draw from complete strangers. like just. little internet tutorials, or seeing how someone draws a nose or a jawline and copying them, or watching speedpaints on youtube and learning what the hell an overlay layer was from that. like sure i've learned a lot of my ability from a few studies and experiments, but my perspective rules? colour theory? shape language? i only knew to study and experiment with those Because of all the tutorials i've seen. the second-most given art advice (beyond "practice") is "see what your favourite artist is doing and pick out what you like about their style!" and! idk! there's something so beautiful about how we're all strangers, but there's so much community in the art community? there's so so many strangers who took time out of their own lives to make flesh clouds or anatomy guides or explain perspective rules, and I wouldn't be where i am today without them. i cannot explain how grateful i am to those people, and how happy i am that so many people fucking. share. sometimes i think about a rose drawing tutorial made by some 15 yo that i watched when i was 12. it was pretty basic im not gonna lie, but i drew roses like that for years. I still draw roses like that when i want to spent a little extra time on them. i saw some artist talking about using thin lines so they'd have to get better with their linework rather than relying on the juicy thick lines, and i copied them and can now wield linewidth like a beast (when. i want to . which is not often). i've watched so many speedpaints that render skin in so many different ways that its all boiled down to the one method i use. neck width. hair physics. hair shine or lack thereof. eyes, pupils, mouth. fucking noses and the million variations. clothes???? idk i am like 100% rambling at this point but it's so fuckin nice to look at my art and see the ways i've been shaped by the kindness of other people

#mishapen rambles #i am completely incoherent tonight and thus it is Text Wall time #i bet id be really good at writing an essay rn im so fuckin verbose #anyway this is why i LOVE it when people talk about their creative processes #do you create things? want to talk about it? PLEASE DO #there are people who will see it and will learn from it #even if youre 'not good enough' i swear 12 yo me beginning artist baby would have had no idea how to spot a single one of the mistakes #you're agonized by. again ive now surpassed the skill of that rose tutorial but i still think about it a lot and how i couldnt see any erro #it's stunning to show a non-artist a piece you're not happy with and they're just. amazed #i once drew a real Shit Pile worthy face in front of my dad and one of his work friends and they were blown away by how fast i made it #idk just hey here's a love letter to everyone who shares anything about their creative process #ilu you're doing great and are a vertebrae in the backbone of this community #this all goes for writing too but the circulated writing tricks seem to be. trendified? more often than art tips #hey fun fact you can use 'said' as many fuckin times as you want i prommy #you don't always need whatever big fancy phrase or detailed description #if it hurts to write just don't write it #you will get so much farther with two sentences than a three paragraph slog #this mishapen dear is full of too much love for the creative community and all the people who never knew her but still taught her

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 17: Alone

Summary: Your pack has left on their first deployment since you joined them, leaving you alone on base.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,866

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, ANGST, anxiety, fear, nightmares, PTSD, trauma, just super depressing overall.

A/N: I'm so ready for these next two chapters, you have no idea. Things are happening, things are gonna happen, it's just...so good. You'll see 🤭. They're pretty heavy chapters emotionally, but don't worry fluff will be coming very soon. I won't leave you hanging too much for too long.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“We'll only be gone for a few days. A week at most. Dr. Keller will take you to and from meals and anywhere else you may need to go. If you need anything, contact Kate. We'll call when we can.” 

He leaves you with a kiss to your forehead. You’re forced to stand there and watch his back as he boards the plane, the ramp closing and sealing you off from them. They all looked guilty, as if it was their fault they had to leave, as if they were suffering as much as you at the idea of parting, even just for a short period of time.

You don't sleep that night. You lay in your bed and stare at the ceiling until far too late when you decide to abandon it for John's room instead. You slip under the covers, disrupting the immaculately made bed as you surround yourself with his scent. You’re on edge, the barracks far too quiet, far too empty. Every little sound has you tensing, holding your breath. The door is locked, yet it’s not the same without your pack there to protect you. If you scream, no one will hear you now. 

You manage to fall asleep at some point in the early hours, your mind plagued with horrible nightmares of monsters devouring and tearing you apart. 

You wake with the sun, dragging your feet back to your room. You miss the quiet sounds of your boys getting ready in the morning after their workouts, taking extra care not to be too loud. Now you wish for it. You want them to be loud and wake you, because then they’d be here with you. The hallway feels too empty, the barracks too large. You’ve spent plenty of time alone in the barracks, but it’s never felt like this. They’re not just across base from you, they’re probably in an entirely different country. 

You stare at their closed doors, all four of them feeling like voids knowing the rooms behind them are empty. Even Ghost’s closed door feels particularly empty. 

You shuffle into your room, locking the door behind you as you get ready for the day. You’re not quite sure what you’re going to do, now that you don’t have them around. You suppose you could just go about your day as you usually do while they’re at training, except you won’t have their inevitable return to fetch you for meals to look forward to. 

It’ll be days before you see them again. 

If you see them again. 

You force that thought back into the recesses of your mind. You won’t entertain it, not now while you’re still trying to process the fact that they’re gone. Even if it is a possibility. 

You’re sitting on your bed when the knock comes, clutching your phone in your hand. You don’t want to be without it, in case they call. You don’t want to miss a chance to talk to them, especially if it’s your only chance. Or a call from Kate telling you something happened.

You open the door, Dr. Keller standing in the hallway with a small smile on her face. It doesn’t feel strange having her in this space, even with the rest of your pack gone. She’s been here before, and you trust her. 

“How are you doing?” She asks as you step out of your room, closing the door behind you. 

“I don’t know.” You say, letting out a sigh. “I couldn’t sleep last night.” 

“I don’t blame you. Feels strange, being alone here, huh?” 

You nod. “Yeah. It’s too quiet. Too empty.” 

“I bet.” You follow her out of the barracks and into the cool morning air. “Let’s get some food in you and then you can take it easy for the rest of the day. I know this is a big adjustment, and it happened rather suddenly.” 

“Was gonna happen eventually, though.” You say. “For the three months I was with the CIA, they drilled it into my head that their job would always take priority over everything else. Still sucks.” 

“It does. Separation is hard for everyone in a pack, even if it’s short term. Add on the stress of their jobs and I can only imagine what it’s like.” 

“I’m trying not to think about that.” You say. 

“I think that’s the best thing you can do right now.” She squeezes your arm. “Come on, we’ll get the food to go and we’ll eat in my office. I usually do that anyway. It’s much quieter than the mess.” 

You get your breakfast, following Dr. Keller to the medical center. You are silently glad you won’t have to eat in the mess without the protection of your pack. The stares from the others might have been your tipping point, and without Ghost to scare them off, you’re sure it would have only been worse.  

“Make yourself at home.” Dr. Keller says, letting you into her office. “You can sit at the desk to eat, if that’s more comfortable. I don’t mind.” 

You take her up on the offer, sitting in the chair across from hers at the desk. She moves some papers out of the way before taking a seat herself. It feels almost strange, being so informal in her office, but then again, she’s always been more laid back with the formality between the two of you. 

“If there’s one thing I miss, it’s good diner food.” Dr. Keller says as the two of you begin to eat. 

You stare down at your porridge for a moment, having gotten used to the change in food over the last almost nine weeks. “I miss a lot of things.” 

“Would you ever want to go back and visit America?” Dr. Keller asks. 

You shrug. “I don’t know.” 

“I’m sure they’d take you, if you asked.” She smiles as you stare up at her in surprise. “I don’t think there’s much they wouldn’t do, if you asked. They care about you a lot.” 

“I’m starting to realize that.” You say. 

“Good. It’s reassuring to see such strong, natural bonds forming between all of you, despite how the situation came about. You’ve made a lot of good progress already, even with the few bumps in the road.” 

It falls silent between the two of you as you eat, finishing your breakfast. Your stomach churns with anxiety, hand closing around the phone in your pocket as if it might ring at any moment. It makes you sick, the thought of what they might be doing, what might be happening right at this very moment. 

“Can I ask you something?” You break the silence, needing to take your mind off your swirling thoughts. 

“Of course.” She says, looking up from the papers she’d been looking through. 

“Since I’m your only patient, what do you do all day?” You ask. 

She smiles. “I do a lot of things. After our sessions I log the notes I take and read over them, I make sure your medical chart is up to date, I read through a lot of studies and journals on new research and methods that may be helpful, I talk to colleagues all over the world, including here on base, and I sometimes go around the medical center and sit in on meetings and classes to keep my skills sharp.” 

“Do you ever feel like you’re wasting your skills here?” 

She shakes her head. “No. Before I took this job, I was caring for sometimes over one hundred omegas at various institutes. It was a high stress environment with long hours. While it was fulfilling work, there’s a high turnover rate for Omega Specialists in that field for a reason. Being a private doctor is a bit of a relief after that, and truthfully, the pay is considerably better.” She folds her arms on her desk, leaning forward. “It’s no less fulfilling than working at institutes. It’s nice to have the time to put together the best care plan for you and your needs.” 

“It is nice having an Omega Specialist to myself.” You say. “There were several at the institute, a lot of students doing their residency. They weren’t always...good at their jobs. A lot of them were just going through the motions, doing what the more experienced specialists told them to do.” 

“Unfortunately that’s rather common with residents.” She says. “Most of them don’t make it past residency. Like a lot of specialities in medicine, it takes a certain kind of personality to succeed as an Omega Specialist. Not everyone has it in them. I wish more schools and programs would take notice earlier before they get to their residencies and steer them down a different path.” She smiles at you. “Now my question for you. Would you rather hang out in here today, or would you prefer to go back to the barracks? You won’t hurt my feelings either way, nor will you be a bother.” 

You think about it for a moment. While your knee jerk answer is to go back to the barracks, what are you going to do? Sit alone in the silence and worry until it makes you sick? Sit in the rec room and watch TV alone and worry about your boys until the next meal time? As much as you want to be alone, you also don’t want to be alone. 

“I’d...like to stay here, if that’s okay?” You finally say, making your decision. 

“More than okay.” She smiles. “Make yourself at home, do whatever you’d like. Watch YouTube videos, dig into some books, take a nap. You won’t bother me in the slightest. You’re always welcome to hang out in here.” 

You look over the titles on the bookshelf, picking one that looks interesting before settling on the couch. You spend the day with Dr. Keller, relaxing in her office and going to meals with her. It doesn’t calm the anxious thoughts by much, but at least the loneliness is abated a bit. 

You return to the barracks after dinner, debating whether you should sit in the rec room or just go to your room. The rec room feels too open, too exposed without the safety of your pack, so instead you choose to retreat into your room, locking the door behind you. 

You let out a sigh, your shoulders slumping as tears gather in your eyes. Another night without them, another night without the safety and comfort of their presence around you. Another night knowing they’re not on the other side of the wall, a knock or a yell away. 

You fight the panic starting to bubble as you get ready for bed, your mind swirling with thoughts of something happening, someone breaking in, someone taking advantage of their absence to get to you. You know it’s an irrational fear. Most of the alphas on base ignore your existence, aside from the couple incidents you’ve had with them. The most they do is stare, though that’s to be expected as an omega. 

What if they’re holding back something more sinister, though? What if the only thing stopping them is your pack? This would be their opportune moment. 

You’re shaking, eyes wide in fear as you stare at yourself in the mirror. Sure, you’ve learned a few ways to defend yourself, but could you really utilize them? If the moment called for it, could you defend yourself enough to get away? Where would you go? Dr. Keller won’t be in her office all night. Could you run and seek protection from another medical professional that was still working? Could you find a different high ranking official on base and hope they’d help you? Could you go for the guards at the gate and hope they help you? 

Or would it be safer to run for the woods? Try to lose whichever alpha decided to attack you and hope you don’t get lost in the trees? You would just have to survive the night, and Dr. Keller would notice you missing come morning. What would she do, though? Call Kate? It’s not like the guys could just come home and help you. Would Kate even tell them something happened and put them at risk of getting distracted? What if something happened to them because of you? 

You turn the shower on as cold as it will go, stepping under the spray in your pajamas. You sink to the floor of the shower, letting the cold water snap you out of your panic and prevent you from distressing. No one’s coming through the door, no one’s going to try and hurt you. 

Your teeth are chattering by the time you reach up to turn the water off. Violent shivers rock your body, your hands and feet numb. You take deep breaths, feeling more awake and aware than you have since yesterday. 

The panic has dropped to almost nothing, your shaking now due to the fact you’re freezing. You strip out of your wet clothes, leaving them in the tub as you wrap a towel around yourself. You’re still shivering violently as you change into warmer pajamas, opting for one of John’s shirts and sweatpants. 

You slip under the covers of your bed, piling every blanket you own on top of the covers before tucking yourself against your giant bear. You won’t sleep, but at least you’re not panicking anymore. 

The days begin to blend together without the routine of your pack to keep you steady. Dr. Keller comes to get you at the same time as you expect for your breakfast, and then you spend all day with her, sitting in her office, keeping yourself occupied while you wait for an inevitable phone call. It will either be your pack calling to check on you, or it will be Kate with bad news. 

You’re not sure which is worse. The anticipation of a call from your pack letting you know they’re all alright, or the dread that it will be Kate telling you something happened to them. 

You’re still not sleeping well, the anxiety and the worry you might miss their call meshing with the nightmares that were already plaguing you before they left. You’re exhausted and strung out, the worry beginning to eat you alive. You’re constantly on edge, every little sound close to sending you spiraling. 

Your thoughts have slowly shifted from missing your pack to ruminating about the fact they might not be coming back. It’s a risk you’re well aware of. The kinds of things they do put them at risk, every deployment carries the risk of one, or all of them, dying. One thing goes wrong, one small freak accident and your entire pack could be taken from you. 

You’re not sure you’d survive that. 

Most omegas don’t. 

“Still nothing?” Dr. Keller asks as you sit there, staring at your phone for what must have been an hour at least. 

You shake your head. “Nothing.” 

“Sometimes no news is good news.” She says. “I know you’d prefer to have any news at all, though.” 

“I can’t stop thinking...what if something bad has happened?” You say, fingers trembling from gripping your phone so hard. 

“Kate promised she’d call if something happened, right?”

You nod. “Yeah.” 

“She’s a woman of her word, I can say that much. I’m sure they’re fine. They’re very capable soldiers. They wouldn’t be in Spec Ops if they weren’t, much less on a highly specialized team.” Dr. Keller stands up, moving to the closet. “It’s still hard, not knowing where they are or what they’re doing. I remember when my brother told our parents he was enlisting. Our mother cried for a week straight.” She pulls a pillow and a blanket out of the closet. “I still don’t think she’s completely forgiven him. It’s hard for omegas when someone leaves the pack, even temporarily, especially if you can’t have constant reassurance that they’re alright.” 

Your brows pinch in a frown at her words as she kneels on the floor beside the couch. “Your mom was an omega?” 

She nods. “And dad was a beta. Wound up with two beta children, though I don’t think mom complained much about that. We grew up in a big pack with lots of people around us. I think mom would have been worse off if it had just been her and dad.” She sets the pillow on the couch, gently prying the phone from your fingers. “Come on, lay down.” She directs you. 

You do as she says, laying down on the couch, resting your head on the pillow. She covers you with the blanket, tucking it up around your neck. “Is that why you’re so good at this job?” 

She smiles, setting your phone on the arm of the couch above your head. “Maybe. I think it gave me more empathy for omegas and the struggles you face every day.” She gently squeezes your arm. “They’ll be alright. They’re probably just as worried about you, as you are them. But, you need to get some rest. You don’t have to sleep, just laying with your eyes closed will help.” 

You tilt your head, glancing up at your phone. “What if I fall asleep and it rings?” 

“Then I’ll make sure you get a chance to answer it.” She says, squeezing your arm again. “I promise. Get some rest.” 

You let out a breath, not wanting to risk falling asleep, but you close your eyes anyway. It doesn’t stop the thoughts from coming on, the nightmarish images the anxiety feeds your brain flashing before your eyes. What if they’re lying dead somewhere right now? What if something’s happened to Kate and she can’t tell you? Would you ever find out? Would you ever know? 

Despite the anxiety prickling through your body, the warmth of the blanket begins to lull you into a false sense of security. Perhaps it’s the sheer exhaustion from your lack of sleep over the last couple weeks, paired with the exhaustion from your constant worrying, but you find yourself slipping between sleep and consciousness as you lay there on Dr. Keller’s couch. You don’t mean to, but you can’t help it as you begin to drift off to sleep. 

Screaming. It’s loud, piercing your ears. Something’s holding you, hands clutching at your form desperately. It hurts, nails biting into your skin, fingers gripping too hard, yet you don’t care. 

“You won’t take her from me! I won’t let you!”

You’re crying, sobs wracking your body as you cling just as tightly to the form holding you. 

Hands grab at you, squeezing and pulling, trying to free you from the constricting grip around you, but it won’t let go. You cling to it just as desperately, afraid of what will happen if you let go. 

You know what will happen if you let go. 

“She’s no daughter of mine.” 

The words bite into you, slicing through your skin straight into your very soul, the prickling pain of your own flesh and blood rejecting you making your skin crawl. How could he just let you go like that? How could he turn against you so easily, over something you have no control over? 

Pain erupts across your entire body. Something snaps, your ears ringing from more screams. You’re being pulled away from the safety of the hold around you, your body going cold as the warmth around you disappears. Hands close around you, fingers ripping into you as you're torn from your mother’s hold and into the unknown. 

“Easy, easy.” 

You’re gasping, breathing wheezing as tears choke you. 

“Deep breaths. In and out, nice and slow.” 

Your breath hitches, catching painfully in your chest. 

“You’re alright, you’re safe.” 

You force your eyes open, blinded by tears as something is tucked into your arms. You squeeze the bear against your chest, hiccuping as you fight for control over your emotions. You’re on the couch in Dr. Keller’s office still. You’re not at what was once your home, not stuck in the nightmare you’ve lived over and over. 

Slowly breathing becomes easier, your sobs quieting to sniffles. The tears still spill down your cheeks, dampening the fur of the bear in your arms. 

“You’re alright,” Dr. Keller says, rubbing your back gently. 

You slowly push yourself up to sit, pulling your knees against your chest. You press your palms into your eyes, trying to get the tears to stop. Dr. Keller shifts her position, sitting next to you on the couch. 

“How long have you been having nightmares?” She asks quietly, watching you as you try to calm yourself. 

“Since my heat.” You say, voice rough from crying. You wrap your arms around the bear again, holding onto it tightly. 

“You haven’t said anything about it.” She says gently, shifting slightly so she’s facing you. 

“I didn’t want to.” You say quietly, shame burning through you. She’s not reprimanding you, yet you can’t help but feel like you’ve done something wrong. “I shouldn’t be having them, I mean...it’s not even that bad compared to...compared to what the others have gone through. The kinds of nightmares they have.” 

“It might seem that way to you, but trauma is still trauma. It might not be the worst thing someone else has gone through, but it is the worst thing you’ve been through.” 

Her words give you pause. You’ve never quite thought of it that way. The kinds of things your pack does, the things they’ve seen, the things they’ve done, are far worse than anything you’ve experienced. The things you’ve experienced may pale in comparison, but they’re your experiences. No one else’s. 

“If you want to talk about them, that’s what I’m here for.” Dr. Keller says, leaving things open for you to decide what to do. 

You don’t have to tell her. She won’t force you to do it. She won’t force you to do anything, to say anything you don’t want to. It might be nice, though, to let someone know, someone neutral, someone who won’t tell anyone else. It might be nice to finally put into words the things that are eating you, have been eating you. 

You lay back down, curling up into a tight ball on the couch. You hug the bear close to your chest, letting it ground you. “My nightmares, they’re always about the day I left for the institute.” You start, taking a shaky breath. “I haven’t had them in years.” 

“You were sent early after your presentation, right?” She asks. 

“The day after.” You answer. 

“Being sent to an institute can be traumatic when done within the normal time after presentation. I can’t even imagine what being sent that soon was like.” She lets out a breath. “Sometimes when we go through something traumatic, the brain and body hold onto it, because we don’t feel safe enough to process it in the moment. The brain can hold onto it for years, until we finally feel safe enough. Then the brain can start to try and heal from that trauma without us even realizing it.” 

“You think that’s what’s happening?” You ask. 

“It’s possible. Going through your heat successfully, being claimed, building close bonds with your pack, all could aid in helping you finally feel safe enough to process that trauma. Things usually feel worse as the brain works through the trauma, which could be why you’re having nightmares about that event suddenly.” 

“Is there anything that will make them stop?” You ask. 

“There’s some things we can do together that might help the process. I’m more than happy to help you with it, if that’s what you’d like to do. If you decide to, I think it will be a good idea to set up appointments at least twice a week, at least at first.” 

“What are we gonna tell John?” 

She gives you a look. “Well, I’d advise telling him the truth. I think you should tell your pack about your nightmares. They can at least offer you some comfort and understanding. Of course, that’s entirely up to you and what you want to do.” 

You let out a sigh, getting comfortable on the couch again. Dr. Keller adjusts the blanket over you, squeezing your arm gently. 

“Think about it.” She says. “We can talk about it more after they get back and things have settled back to normal again.” 

You’re brushing your teeth when the call comes. You quickly spit into the sink, not even bothering to rinse your mouth before you’re answering, anxiety twisting your stomach into knots. You hadn’t even checked the screen to see who was calling. You’re just anxious to hear from someone after days of silence. 

“Hello?” 

There’s a beat of silence before the voice on the other side responds, the audio distant and slightly garbled, but you hardly notice. 

“Hi, sweetheart.” 

You fight back a sob, your inhale shaky as relief floods through you. “Alpha.” The title slips through your lips before you can even catch it, your body nearly vibrating at hearing John’s voice after so many days. 

“I’m here. We’re all here.” He says, distant voices sounding in the background. 

A smile tugs at your lips, happy tears blurring your eyes as you collapse on your bed. “Missed you.” 

“I know, we’ve missed you too.” 

You move to your bed, flopping down on the mattress in relief. “You alright? Is everyone alright?” 

“We’re alright. Few bumps and bruises, but nothing we haven’t had before. How are you holding up?” 

The urge to spill the truth to him is strong. You’ve been depressed and worried and there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by that you haven’t panicked about something. You’ve been having horrible nightmares and haven’t been sleeping. There’s an ache in your chest that won’t go away, and you’re afraid it might kill you if you don’t see them soon. 

“I’m alright. Sad cause I miss you a lot.” 

“I know, sweetheart.” There’s a sound on the other end, something you can’t make out and the line buzzes for a second. For a moment you’re worried you were disconnected, but John’s voice cuts through the noise again. “We’re finishing up here soon, and we’ll be home in a couple of days.” 

You can’t help but sigh in relief at his words. They’re alright. They’re all safe, and they’re going to be home soon. You’re going to get to see them soon, touch them again, smell them again. “Hurry back.” You say, your voice shaky with emotion. 

“We’ll try, sweet girl. We have to get going, but we’ll be back before you know it.” 

Saying goodbye doesn't hurt as much as you expect it to. Maybe it’s the relief from hearing their voices, from knowing they’re really alright paired with the knowledge that they’ll be home soon. Two days doesn’t seem so far now that you know that’s all that stands between you and seeing your pack again. 

You roll over in your bed, pressing your face into the pillows. Nothing smells like them anymore. Not their shirts that they scented before they left, not your pillows or stuffed animals. The couch in the rec room, and even John’s bed have started to smell more like you. 

The first thing you’re going to do when they return is get a big whiff of each of them, even if you have to tackle Ghost to do it. You want to refresh their scents all over everything, roll around in them until they’re the only thing you can smell. 

For the first time in days, you manage to sleep that night. It’s not much, but it’s a deep, nightmare-free sleep, aided by the relief from the constant anxiety that has plagued you. 

You update Dr. Keller the next day on the news of your pack’s imminent return. You elect to spend the afternoon in the barracks instead of her office, the building suddenly not seeming quite so empty now that you know they’re coming home soon. You clean up John’s room, making his bed again after you’d made a mess of it trying to sleep. They’re all going to be tired when they return, and you want to help them in any way that you can. You pick up your room as well, even though you know you likely won’t be spending much time in it for a while. You’re going to latch yourself onto them and not let go until the ache in your chest has disappeared. 

You bristle when the knock sounds at your door. You glance up from where you had been sorting the clothes you’d stolen from the guys from your own so you can get them to scent them again. You’re not expecting a knock yet. It’s too early to be Dr. Keller coming to get you for dinner, and she would have announced herself like she has been, if it was her. 

That means someone else is in the barracks. Someone you don’t know. 

Your mind races as you try to think of who it could be. You don’t know many others on base, and certainly no one that would enter the barracks just like that, unless it’s an emergency. Is there an emergency? You’re almost certain if there was an emergency on base, then there would be alarms going off or something. There’d be some sign that something was happening, but it’s quiet outside, or at least, there’s no noises you’re not expecting. 

The knock comes again, louder and sharper. Whoever is on the other side is obviously not going to just go away. You debate calling Dr. Keller, telling her someone is outside your door, getting her to help you on this, but instead you grab your phone, holding it in your hand as you move towards the door. 

You unlock it, holding your hand on the handle in case the person on the other side tries to force their way in. They don’t, so you open it slowly, just enough that you can see out. There’s a soldier outside your door. A woman. You don’t recognize her, but then again you don’t see many women on the base, and you don’t pay much attention to the other soldiers. 

Maybe you need to start paying more attention. 

She’s a beta, you can tell just by looking at her. She’s wearing scent blockers, keeping her scent from projecting into the barracks to erase the fact she was here. 

She says your name, staring at you with hard set eyes. “General Shepherd is waiting for you.” 

It takes you a moment to process what it is she’s saying. You’ve never met any of the higher ups on base. The person with the most authority you’ve met is John, but you know he’s only a Captain. There’s others above him, but you weren’t any concern of theirs, so you have never bothered to meet them. Even in your time with the CIA, the person with the most authority that you met seemed to be Kate. You hadn’t even been given names of anyone higher up than her. 

Apparently something’s changed. 

Something in the back of your mind begins to tingle. Something isn’t right about this. You should have called Dr. Keller, or even Kate. You shouldn’t have opened the door so recklessly. 

“But, I’m not supposed to-” You begin, unsure of what to do now. 

“It’s a direct order from your superior.” The woman cuts you off, her tone sharp and impatient.

You’re not a soldier. The only superior you have is John and he’s certainly not behind this. 

You wouldn’t dare say that out loud. Not right now. 

“Okay, okay.” You say, stepping back slightly from the door. “Let me just get some shoes on.” 

You close the door, staring down at your phone. You debate calling Dr. Keller or even just sending a text, but you don’t put it past the woman outside to barge in if you don’t hurry. You can feel the panic rising, the thought of someone invading your space so carelessly making the back of your neck tingle. So instead you slip on a pair of shoes, shoes you know you can run in, before you open the door again. 

She’s still standing in the hallway, stiffly at attention. Her gaze pierces into you, making your skin crawl. You close your door behind you, slipping your phone into your pocket. She doesn't say anything as she turns on her heel, walking down the hallway towards the door. You follow behind her, having to walk quickly to keep up with her. You’re reminded of your early days on the base when you would be escorted around by Ghost. 

You’d take those times back over this right now. 

Your palms start to sweat as you leave the barracks, dread starting to fill your stomach as you realize how much of a mistake you’ve made, leaving with this stranger. She could be taking you anywhere to see anyone. You’re not even sure General Shepherd is a real person. 

The thought of being led blindly into a room of alphas like a lamb being led into a den of hungry wolves nearly makes you panic, your steps faltering just slightly as you debate running. You could make it to the medical center quickly from here if you sprint the entire way. Would she chase you if you took off running? Would you get in trouble? Would the guys get in trouble if you did? 

You don’t want anyone to get in trouble. 

Especially not with this being the first time you’ve been on your own. They’ve put a lot of trust in both you and Dr. Keller in their absence. If you get into trouble while they’re gone, that might change things. You could ruin everything you’ve built by misbehaving. 

The woman leads you to a building you haven’t been in before, leading you down a clinical-looking hallway to a door. She pauses in front of it, turning to face you. You stare at her, still on edge. What if this is a test? What if they’re testing you to see if you’d just blindly leave with a stranger while they���re not there to protect you. 

You’ve made a big mistake. 

The woman holds out her hand, and you stare down at it dumbly. “Your phone.” 

You continue to stare at her hand for a moment, trying to swallow the nervous panic rising within you. You don’t have much of a choice now but to obey. Your hands are shaking as you pass your phone over, the woman pocketing it before she opens the door. 

It’s bright inside, the LED bulbs burning your eyes. You’re uncomfortable and uneasy, a dangerous mix for an omega, but the person inside doesn’t seem to care. He stands from his seat, towering over you. He screams alpha before his scent even hits you. You’re thrown back into the memories of your father, the way he carried himself, the way he stood. Back straight like a rod, hands clasped behind his back, face pressed into a stern line. 

He’s in uniform, decorated with more patches and pins than you could put a name to. Army, you think, judging by the color of his jacket. It looks like General Shepherd is a real person after all. 

You try not to flinch as the door clicks closed behind you, sealing you in this room with an unknown alpha. Though it’s only one, you still feel like the helpless lamb standing before a hungry wolf. 

No one will hear you scream. No one will care. 

“My name is General Shepherd.” He says, his voice gruff and laced with authority. “I am the acting commander of Task Force 141.” 

You’re not sure if you should say anything, or even bother introducing yourself. He probably already knows you well, even though you’ve never met him before in your life. 

“I was one of the driving forces behind the omega initiative, and I decided the 141 should be one of the first to participate. I also signed the approval for you to be assigned as their omega, did you know that?” 

You shake your head. “N-No sir, the CIA didn’t give me any names.” 

“Good.” His lips twitch in what you assume was supposed to be a smile. It doesn’t ease your nerves any. “They weren’t supposed to. I’m sure you’ve learned that confidentiality is everything in this line of work.” 

“Yes, sir.” You try not to flinch under his gaze, piercing and probing. The back of your neck is tingling, every single instinct in your body screaming at you to run, to escape, to get somewhere safe. 

“I came here today to ensure your pack was doing as they were instructed. I’m impressed with what I’ve seen so far. You’re getting along well with them?” 

You nod again. “Yes, sir. There were some...bumps along the way, but we all get along fine now.” 

“Good.” He closes the file on the table, taking a step closer to you. You fight the urge to take a step back, not wanting him to invade your space while you’re so vulnerable. “The success of this program is imperative to the future of the military and its functionality. You’re doing important work here with the Task Force.” His hand lifts, slowly pulling the collar of your shirt to the side so he can see your mating mark. 

You fight the urge to lift your hands and wrap them around the back of your neck, the instinctual urge to protect yourself nearly winning out as he stares at your mark. Your heart is pounding in your chest, the fear-driven adrenaline making your fingers tremble. Half a second and he could scruff you, half a second and he could overpower you. 

No one would know. No one would care.  

“I’m satisfied with what I’m seeing so far. Of course, the true measure of success will be their efficiency in their current task.” He steps back away from you, moving back to the table. “How have you been adjusting to them being gone?” 

“It’s been difficult,” You say, breathing for a second to collect yourself. “But I know separation can be a rough adjustment at first.” 

His lips twitch again in a twisted smile. “You’re a smart girl. That’s why I chose you for this position. You’re doing good work. Your efforts will change the course of military history, hopefully for the better.” 

Something about his words don’t sit right with you. 

You’re trembling as you exit the room, led out by the woman that had brought you to the building. Your breaths are heavy as you try to keep a grip on the anxiety threatening to overtake you. Your hand is trembling uncontrollably as she give you your phone back, your knuckles going white as you clutch it to your chest. You’re sweating, the cool air chilling your skin as you step outside. 

You barely remember the walk back to the barracks, numbly following the woman as she leads you back to your safe space. It doesn't feel so safe anymore, now that she’s breached it. She entered without permission, breaking that trust that’s so sacred to packs. 

She doesn't even seem bothered by it. 

She pauses outside the door to the barracks, staring down at you. You fight the urge to race inside and lock yourself in the safety of your room before she can change her mind and enter again, or take you somewhere worse. You stand your ground, meeting her gaze. 

“Thank you for your cooperation.” She says, as monotone as she had been the first time she spoke to you. 

You finally realize what it was that made her seem so off to you as you think over her words. 

She’s American. 

“Thank you for escorting me.” You say politely, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Have a safe trip home.” 

You quickly enter the barracks, speed walking down the hall towards your room. You want to burrow under your covers and hide until the guys return and you can feel safe again. You pause in front of your door, staring down at the handle. The back of your neck is prickling again, anxiety burning hot in your veins. Your hands have begun shaking again, clinging to the phone still pressed against your chest. You fight the urge to hyperventilate as you stare at your door, half of your brain telling you to run and the other half stuck, staring in shock and disbelief. 

Your door is ajar. Open just a crack, just enough to be noticeable by looking at it. 

You always close your door. You always ensure it’s shut every time you leave the barracks, even when the guys are home. You remember shutting it before you followed the woman out of the barracks. You remember distinctly listening to the click of the handle as you pulled it shut behind you in the quiet of the barracks. 

You stare at the gap, the line of the frame visible. It’s open. Your door is open. 

Someone was inside your room. 

Taglist:

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx

@protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @thatonepupkai

@redwites @kattiieee @141trash @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg

@beebeechaos @konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff

@smile-child-13 @anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60

@evolutionarry @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @linaangel @codsunshine

@thriving-n-jiving @slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows

@ttsbaby01 @heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10 @cassiecasluciluce

@darling006 @sheep-from-rad @ohgodthebogisback @willow-sages @scythemood

@daniblogs164 @mirzamsaiph

#call of duty #call of duty fic #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #a/b/o #omegaverse #x reader #john price x reader #captain price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #tf 141 x reader #poly 141 #task force 141 x reader

[javiscigarette]

Teacher's Pet, part II

Joel Miller x virgin f!reader

Summary: Joel gives you a few more lessons and a few more feelings start to surface. (Picks up right where part one left off so I recommend reading that first!)

Warnings: unbalanced power dynamics, virgin!reader, neighbor/bff/more experienced! Joel, age gap, oral (m!receiving), fingering, thigh riding, dirty talk, ungodly amount of pet names, unprotected sex, virginity loss (it's the real deal this time), he's back and more annoying than ever but still just as sweet, disgustingly fluffy at times, reader has hair he can run his fingers through but no other physical descriptions, no use of y/n

w/c: ......10.5k I am so sorry

a/n: It's here! I kept changing my mind with how I wanted this to go so hopefully I landed on something good. I'm absolutely still blown away by the amount of love and support you guys gave on part one :'))) you are all incredible. Hoping and praying this one lives up to everyone's expectations

Part One

my masterlist

"Well, excuse the fuck outta me" he huffs, but the feigned offense  is betrayed by the way he’s positively beaming down at you.  "I'm about to give you the best fuckin' lay of your life, and here you are makin' fun of me." "The best fuckin' lay of my life? I haven’t even had one lay. Don't exactly have anything to compare it to." "Yeah, well, trust me. Best you're ever gonna get.” "That's some big talk, cowboy. Let's see if you can live up to that."

Getting on your knees for Joel Miller wasn’t exactly on your agenda for today. 

Not that you’re really complaining. 

He doesn’t look bad from this angle, you have to admit.  His chest looks broader from where you are on your knees in front of him, if that’s even possible. His hair is messy and tousled from where your fingers pulled and tugged with a pretty red flush spreading down his neck and chest, and the soft curve of his belly looking positively sinful. 

“First lesson is how to take a man’s pants off,” Joel starts. “Think you can handle that? Or do you need a demonstration first?” 

You scowl up at him, his words pulling you out of your transfixation on his body. 

“Shut up,” you hiss. “I can take your pants off.” 

He grins and raises an eyebrow. 

“Yeah? Go on then. Show me.”

You roll your eyes but take a steadying breath, trying your best to calm your pounding pulse and trembling fingers as you reach up for his belt buckle. The metallic jingle has your heart fluttering in your chest, and you make quick work of the rest, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans until they’re hanging open in front of you.

You stop for a moment and glance up at him. He’s looking down at you, a soft encouraging smile playing on his lips. 

“S’okay, baby. Keep goin’,” he murmurs, nodding his head once. 

You give him a small nod and a tight swallow around the lump in your throat, dropping your gaze back to the task at hand. Gently, gingerly, you hook your fingers in the waistband of both his jeans and boxers, pulling them both down simultaneously. 

A tiny, barely audible gasp escapes you when his cock springs free and bobs heavily in front of you. 

“Jesus Christ,” you whisper, too stunned to stop the words from slipping out. 

“Just Joel if fine, actually.” 

You barely even register his jab and you definitely don’t have the bandwidth to come up with any kind of witty comeback right now, your mind too busy processing the sight before you. Sure, you’ve seen plenty of dicks before, the internet can be a magical place. But this, in person, up close and so real, is an entirely new experience. 

He's big, thick, heavy, and long with a slight upward curve. The tip is flushed a deep pink, shiny with smeared precome with more beading at the slit. A few thin veins run from his base to his tip up the length in a twisting pattern, the dark hair at his base neatly trimmed. And he’s hard, so much so that it looks nearly painful and your stomach flutters know that you're the one who did that to him.

"You can touch it, y'know." Joel says softly after a few moments of silence. "It ain't gonna bite."

"Oh my god" you groan, bringing up a hand to scrub down your face as he pulls you out of your awe. 

"Again, just Joel is fine."

He laughs proudly at his own joke and you drop your hands in your lap and stare up at him in disbelief. 

"Oh c'mon! You walked right into that one, no need to get all-"

He cuts himself off with a hiss, the air escaping between his teeth and his head falling back as your hand wraps around him, squeezing just a little too tight to be pleasant. He staggers half a step backward, hips jerking away from your grip.

"You were saying?'' you ask sweetly, grinning up at him.

"Fuckin' christ, woman. You're tryin' to get me off not break it off"

You loosen your grip a little but keep your hand still and look at him with expectant eyes, waiting for further instruction. It's not that you don't know what to do, you just don't know how to do it well. How to do it for him.

You want to do well for him.

The realization should alarm you, scare you even. But you find it only spurs you on, only makes the want burning inside of you even more potent and pressing. You want to make him moan, gasp, make his body writhe beneath your touch. You want him to be breathless, shivering, and panting with pleasure. You want to make him come undone, just like you did for him.

"Okay" he starts, clearing his throat and taking a deep breath. "Lesson two is learning what he likes. Everyone's a lil different, but the basics are the same."

The nerves in your gut twist almost painfully, the anxiety of it all getting you half a second away from tapping out. 

But your decision is set in stone when he drops his hand to yours where it’s wrapped around him, giving a light squeeze before he starts to gently guide your movements. 

"Start slow,” he starts, a light strain tainting the edges of his voice. “Nice and gentle. Wanna work up to it."

You nod and watch, focused intently as if you were actually a student in class as the head of his cock disappears and reappears in your fist. His hand covers yours nearly entirely as he drags it up and down while you try and memorize where he squeezes a little tighter, when he swipes his thumb over the head. 

“Can give a little twist at the top,” he murmurs, voice low as he demonstrates what he means. “There you go, baby. Just like that,” he sighs when you do the same. 

Once satisfied, he removes his hand, letting you take control. You continue to pump him, trying to replicate the movements he just showed you. His cock is a warm, heavy weight in your hand, twitching and pulsing every now and then when you twist your wrist just right or swipe your thumb over his head like he showed you, collecting and spreading his precome to ease your strokes. 

Your confidence builds with each stroke and soon enough you start to experiment with your pace, switching between faster and slower. He gently rocks his hips in time with your hand, unable to resist thrusting forward just slightly.

The fire inside you burns even hotter at the shaky breath that he lets out above you, heat spreading through your veins like wildfire before settling low in your belly, your core aching and pulsing with it. 

"This good?" you ask concerned, your voice barely above a whisper. 

He lets out a breathless chuckle and looks down at you with heavy lidded eyes.

"Yeah, honey. Real good," he rasps, a small smile spreading across his lips.

You match his smile, biting your lip and basking in his praise, a warm, gooey feeling spreading outwards from your heart to the tips of your fingers and toes. It's like he has a direct link to the inner workings of your brain and body with how effortlessly he can make you melt, with just a soft, easy smile and a few well chosen words.

"Should I...do you want my mouth?" you ask, glancing between his flushed, leaking cock and his hooded eyes.

"God yes, baby. J-just start slow. Lick the tip, get a feel for it. Don't try to take too much right away," he instructs, his voice constricting more and more with each word. 

"So I shouldn't try to fit all of your giant cock in my mouth on my first go?" you quip, raising a brow.

"Please don't" he chuckles. "Don't want ya pukin’ all over the place. Might kill the mood," he adds with a grin.

You shake your head and let out a light laugh, the sound trailing off into a content hum when he brings his hand to the top of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, dull nails scratching lightly at your scalp.

"You're ridiculous," you sigh, leaning into the touch.

"You love it."

You do, so, so much.

"Now c'mon. You've got work to do," he teases, his hand gently tugging at your hair.

You comply easily enough, leaning forward and tenderly swiping your tongue across the slit, licking up the precome that's gathered there. He hisses, a rush of hair pushing past his clenched teeth as  his cock twitches in your hand, a fresh bead of precome forming. 

With your confidence renewed by his reaction, you do it again, pressing your tongue flat against the slit and swirling it slowly around his swollen tip all while your hand still works him at a steady pace. 

Emboldened, you take it a step further and close your lips around him, sealing them around the head to give him a slow, experimental suck. The groan he rewards you with has sparks shooting down the length of your spine.

"That's it. Good girl. Just like that," he pants, fingers tugging and tightening in your hair.

His praise washes over you in another wave of warmth, a feeling akin to a full-body shiver that has goosebumps breaking out over your skin. It strokes your ego, pride and confidence filling you as his soft moans and grunts fuel the fire burning in your belly.

Encouraged by the way he’s already falling apart, you take him a little deeper. It’s only a few inches but your lips are already stretched wide, a slight ache already settling in your jaw from how wide it's being forced open. 

You keep your tongue flat against the underside of his cock while you start to bob your head, trying to match the pace of your hand. But the motions are new and unfamiliar, your movements clumsy and uncoordinated and when he hits the roof of your mouth, your gag reflex kicks in forcing you to pull off quickly, coughing and sputtering.

"Easy. Easy," Joel soothes, his fingers scratching at your scalp again. "Try to breathe through your nose. And don't don't force it, yeah? Feels good, just the way you were doin' it."

"Sorry," you apologize sheepishly, looking up at him through your lashes.

"Ain't nothing to be sorry for. S’your first time. It takes practice. Now, c'mon. Try again. Nice and easy. And if this man tries to-"

But you're not in the mood for another Joel Miller Life Lesson, especially when he’s about to mention the other man who's name you can barely even remember anymore. 

Thankfully, his words dissolve into a groan when you take him back in your mouth, your lips wrapping around his sensitive head, tongue flat where it slowly glides down the underside of his cock as you take him deeper. 

The ache in your core is quickly growing more and more incessant. You can still feel the ghost of his fingers and tongue on you, your inner thighs wet and sticky with the memory. And the sinful sounds he’s making, whispered curses between breathy moans and grunts, are not exactly helping your case. 

You manage to take a little more, his thick cock stretching your mouth wider, forcing your jaw open even further. You gag slightly around him again but you’re determined to push through it this time. YOu squeeze your eyes shut and breathe in harshly through your nose as saliva dribbles past the tight seal of your mouth and drips onto your hand, your fist diligently pumping what you can't take.

He responds with a low, guttural groan, his hips jerking forward, chasing after the sensation of your throat convulsing around him. 

You're still only a little over halfway down and it's a quick realization that you'll never be able to get it all down your throat. Maybe you can try and practice, but it’s practically a pipe dream to even think about getting his whole cock into your throat without choking to death on it.

But that's a problem for another day. 

For the next time. 

For now, you hollow out your cheeks and suck as you pull back, tongue swirling along the underside until his cock leaves your mouth with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting your swollen, spit-slicked lips to his glistening tip. 

You use your hand to spread the wetness, mixing it with the precome that's leaking steadily from the flushed head. The smooth glide allows you to speed up your pace as you look up at him through your lashes, trying to gauge his reaction.

He's staring down at you with hazy, lust blown eyes, his jaw hanging open, panting heavily.

"How am I doing, Professor?" you tease with an innocent smile. A lazy grin slowly spreads on his face in return.

"You’re a fuckin’ natural, baby," he mumbles, his hand moving from where it's tangled in your hair to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over the apple of your flushed cheek, "My good girl."

And maybe, most likely, the words slipped out unintentionally, the heat of the moment forcing out things that he doesn’t really mean. But all the alarms and sirens in your head warning yourself to not fall too deep into this trap that is Joel Miller with his pretty words and sweet praises and soft smiles are all dead silent right now. There’s not a single part of your brain that’s trying to resist him right now. You doubt you could even if you wanted to. 

Because he just called you his girl. 

His.

To say you’re fucked would be the understatement of the century. 

You hum, pressing your cheek into his palm, wanting, needing, craving more. More of his touch, his taste, his warmth, his cock, his praise. So you take him back in your mouth with a renewed determination, spurred on by his words, wanting to prove to him that he's right, that you are his good girl. Determined to show him that you can make him feel good, that you can please him, that he'll want more of you, need more of you.

And judging by the way his grip on your hair is almost painful, his thighs trembling as he holds himself still, fighting the urge to jerk his hips forward and shove his cock down your throat, you'd say you're doing a damn good job

"Makin’ me feel so good, baby. So fuckin' good," he pants when you take him a little deeper.

You whine quietly around him as you press your sticky thighs together. White hot heat pooling low in your belly, your neglected cunt throbbing and aching, slick, wet, and messy. 

You squirm in your spot, rubbing your thighs together and grinding down on nothing in desperate search for the slightest bit of friction. You pray that the movement is subtle enough for Joel not to notice. 

As if that’s possible.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Joel starts, his tone annoyingly saccharine and condescending as he smirks down at you. “Did we forget somethin’ important?” 

Another small whimper is all you can muster, too focused and preoccupied with the way his thick length is filling your mouth, the weight and taste of him on your tongue dizzying and addicting. 

“Well look at that,” he coos, his hand leaving your hair and sliding down your cheek to cradle your  jaw. He swipes swiping over your bottom lip that’s stretched around his length, smearing the spit that’s gathered there.

“Think I finally found a way to shut ya up. We should’a done this a long time ago. Woulda saved me a lot of headaches,” he chuckles, the sound dissolving into a sharp hiss when you dig your nails into the tender skin of the back of his thigh, hard enough to leave a mark.

You pull off his cock with a wet pop, jaw aching as you glare up at him. 

"I'd shut up if I were you" you warn, the threat of your words completely lost in the breathless, desperate way they leave your mouth. "Just one good chomp is all it would take" you add, clicking your teeth together for emphasis.

But Joel's face just splits into a grin, a full blown, infuriating smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. 

"Biting huh? Now that’s a little kinky. Didn't know you had it in you, sweetheart."

"Shut up," you snap, but it still lacks any real heat, not with the way your lips are twitching at the corners, fighting a smile, your eyes undoubtedly sparkling, your heart definitely leaping out of your chest at the way his eyes are boring into yours.

"Careful, sweetheart. Might have to knock you down a whole letter grade for that type of talk. Gotta respect your professor ‘n all, y’know."

"You're insufferable," you grumble.

"But yet, here you are, still on your knees."

"And I'm gonna get up and leave if you don't stop talking."

"Leave before or after you chomp my dick off? Cause I'd really like a heads up for that, if ya could."

"Jesus fucking christ, Joel!" You huff, rolling your eyes so hard it actually hurts. "Do you ever just shut the fuck up? I'm literally on my knees right now with your dick in my mouth and you're still finding ways to piss me off!"

“What can I say? It’s a special talent of mine,” he says with a nonchalant shrug, the smug smile on his face making you want to genuinely bite his dick off now.

You drop the wet hand you had wrapped around him and start to move to your feet.

"You know what, I'm just gonna go. Maybe I'll call my coworker. He's not nearly as irritating as you," you huff, pushing yourself up onto shaky legs, your knees stiff and sore. 

But you can't even take one step before he's grabbing your waist, his large, warm palm resting firmly on the swell of your hip. His fingers flex, his grip tightening, not enough to hurt, but it's enough to halt you in your tracks. You're not particularly fond of the way your heart skips a beat in your chest, the way you can feel goosebumps breaking out all over your body from just his touch. 

He pulls you in closer until your chest is pressed against his, hard, wet cock pressed against your bare thigh.

"You really think you’re gonna leave with your pussy drippin' all over the place like that?” he says, his voice seamlessly switching from teasing to low and rough as his dark, hungry eyes bore into yours. “You're about to ruin my floors with the way you're leakin' right now, baby. Wouldn’t want that, now would we?” 

Your cheeks flame with embarrassment from how easily he was able to see your desperation, and with anger at how right he is. 

"Shut the fuck up, Joel," you mumble, giving him a weak push at his chest. "I'm not leaking I-"

The rest of your sentence stays lodged in your throat when his free hand slips between your thighs. Two deft fingers drag through the slick mess, collecting your arousal and spreading it around, a soft, wet, obscene sound filling the space between you. 

You don't even think to stop the high pitched, breathy whine from escaping your lips when he slides a thick finger inside you with no warning, your pathetic sound dissolving into a moan when he immediately follows it up with a second one, his palm pressed flat against your clit.

"Not leaking, hmm? Sure don't seem like it, baby," he purrs, his voice a low, rumbling drawl, his warm breath fanning across your cheek. "Feel that? How easy it was for me to get two fingers in ya?"

"Fuck," you whine as you dig your nails into the bare skin of his shoulder, hanging on to him and desperately searching for any semblance of stability as you try not to sway on shaky legs.

He crooks his fingers in you, fingertips digging into the spongy spot on your front wall that has your knees buckling, tiny stars dotting your vision momentarily as a rush of arousal gushes out of you, a pitiful whimper falling from your lips. Joel chuckles, low and dark and the sound shoots straight to your neglected clit, a bolt of lightning arcing down your spine.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he murmurs, nosing at the sensitive skin below your ear, the faint scrape of his beard against your cheek sending a shiver down your spine. 

The feeling of him removing his fingers is a cruel, sudden jolt, the emptiness and lack of pressure and friction has you keening, a needy, impatient noise bubbling up from your throat.

He's moving before you can complain though, stepping around you to sit on the edge of the bed and then promptly pulling you down onto his lap. You let out a small squeak of surprise as he forces you to straddle his thigh, pulling you down until your aching cunt is seated firmly against his bare skin. The position has his cock pressing against your hip, a drop of precome smearing against your skin.

"Fuckin' soaked for me, honey,” he drawls, his fingertips dimpling the soft skin of your hips. “And to think you were about to leave without gettin' what you came here for.” 

You can't even speak, too enraptured with the feeling of his strong muscles flexing subtly under your hypersensitive clit. So you ignore his teasing and just grind down instead, past the point of desperation. 

But he would never let you win that easily, would he? 

He laughs and tightens his grip on your hips, stopping your movement and holding you in place.

"Ah-ah, not so fast, baby. Let's talk about the terms first."

You give him the best glare you can muster while suppressing a needy whimper. 

"Terms?"

"Yeah. Terms. Of all this. Like if this is a one time thing, or if we're gonna be havin' regular...lessons," he replies, his hands slowly sliding up your waist and coming to rest on your ribs, his thumbs stroking the undersides of your breasts. 

"If you're gonna go out with this guy," he continues, his thumbs brushing over both of your nipples. "Or if I'm the only one who's gonna get to see this," he says, leaning forward, his warm breath fanning over your skin. You bite your lip, holding in the soft, needy moan threatening to spill out when his lips press to the hollow of your throat.

"If I'm the only one who gets to have you like this. If I'm the only one who's allowed to touch you. To kiss you," he says, punctuating his last word with a kiss to the center of your chest, his hands squeezing the swell of your breasts, his tongue flicking out and licking at your nipple.

"Or do you plan on letting him have you too?" He asks, the tip of his tongue swirling around your nipple before closing his lips around the pebbled peak, sucking it into his mouth, his teeth lightly grazing it before he pulls back. "'Cause I'm not too keen on sharin', baby."

You take a deep steadying breath, trying to clear the thick haze that's clouding your mind and focus on his words, his questions about the fucking terms. 

And you do think about it, about your coworker who's been nothing but so sweet to you, who doesn't get on your nerves in under a millisecond. The coworker, Micheal, you think, his name finally returning to you, who doesn't tease you and play games and leave you a panting, needy, dripping mess. 

And while he is really such a perfect gentleman, he isn’t the one that’s been there for you, listening to you complain about all the shitty things that have happened to you in the last year. He isn’t the man that lets you use him as a punching bag whenever you’re frustrated, has never been the calm, reasonable voice that challenges the anxiety that overwhelms you and threatens to pull you under. 

Michael has never held you when you've cried, never helped you cook dinner after a hard day at work, never fixed the flickering light in your bathroom. He certainly has never dropped a key to his front door in your palm accompanied by a lopsided smile and the words just in case ya need anything. 

Michael isn’t the one who’s been the one to pick up your pieces and put you back together, so gently and tenderly, making you even better than you were before.

It's useless, trying to avoid it. Trying to push it down, bury it, ignore it, how you've been feeling and what you want. 

It’s Joel.

All of it. 

You want Joel. 

All of him. 

You've wanted him since the day you showed up on his porch with a six pack. You've wanted him all those times you watched from a distance as he fixed something in your house, so capable and competent, casually waving away your slew of thank yous. You wanted him every single time he invited you over for a movie night, sitting close enough to you on his couch that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him. You wanted him every time he made your blood boil and your eyes roll so hard you swore you could see the back of your brain, and every time you genuinely thought you were going to smack him. 

And now, you have him.

Right here, naked and hard and underneath you, your pussy leaking on his thigh. 

The answer is so painfully obvious, the words falling from your lips before you even have a chance to process them.

"M'not gonna see him," you finally manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Want this. Want you."

Joel hums, indicating that he heard you. But again, he would never let you win that easily. 

"Speak up, baby," Joel says, releasing your nipple with a soft pop, his eyes dark and intense, a predatory, feral glint in them. "Can't hear you."

And it's infuriating and annoying, absolutely maddening. And it's the last straw.

You're not sure if it's the frustration, or the pent up desire, or the heat burning inside you, or the fact that Joel's still hard, and still leaking precum against your hip, as your cunt slides against his thigh, but you break.

You absolutely shatter.

"I want you!" you practically shout, hands balling into fists where they're resting on his shoulders. 

"You, okay? You! You and your stupid, fucking, annoying ass, and your dumbass pickup truck, and your stupid, charming grin, and the way you always call me 'baby', and 'honey', and 'sweetheart'. It drives me fucking insane!  And the way you're always fixing shit, and being so fucking helpful and sweet and you always, always make me laugh, and smile, and there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by in the past year that I didn’t think about you and I can’t get you out of my fucking head, not even for a single fucking second.” 

The words spill from your lips in a breathless tirade, and it feels good, freeing. It's like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders, like a great burden has been taken off of you. 

But the feeling doesn't last long.

Silence stretches between you and it's suffocating, oppressive, and you feel like the walls are closing in on you, panic rising in your chest.

Your cheeks burn, nauseating embarrassment and humiliation coursing through you as you realize the full weight of what you just word-vomited all over him. Your chest heaves, and you hang your head, unable to bring yourself to look at him.

But then, a bright laugh sounds through the otherwise quiet room. And your eyes snap to Joel's face, only to find him smiling.

He's fucking laughing.

"Joel!" you scold, a mixture of mortification and confusion washing over you.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" he placates, but the laughter in his voice doesn't help to ease your nerves. "I didn't mean to laugh, it's just...I just can't believe how dense you are."

The daggers you shoot at him are truly deadly. 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Do you think I just go around callin' everyone 'baby' and 'sweetheart'?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"I..." you stammer, trailing off as his words sink in. 

"I mean, my southern charm is one thing,” he says, obnoxiously wiggling his eyebrows. “But you’re seriously thick if  you think I'm like this with anyone else.” 

You stare blankly at him, trying to process what he’s saying. 

“Do you think I let all the neighbors just use me for free handy work, think I cook dinner with all of them, think I keep a stash of everyone’s favorite snacks in my pantry, give everyone a fuckin’ key to my front door? And you think I just go around agreeing to sex lessons to anyone who asks?” He rambles, squeezing your hip. 

Your brain is reeling as you try to wrap your head around everything. 

"Well...no” you stammer, your brows pinching together.  “But…"

"How many other girls you seen me bringin' home? Huh? How many other girls you see me with?"

"None" you admit sheepishly.

"Mhm. Because I don't. Not since you moved in next door."

You frown, confusion clouding your features. You open your mouth to speak but Joel cuts you off.

"I like you, baby," he admits with a sigh. "A lot. Maybe too much. But I wasn't about to lose you as a friend just because I'm crazy about you. And if being your friend is the only way I can be close to you, then I'd take it and die a happy man."

You can only stare at him, the words he just spoke bouncing around in your brain, and a warmth blooms in your chest, your heart fluttering wildly in your ribcage.

"Are you kidding me?!" You exclaim suddenly, hitting his shoulder.

"Hey! Ow!" he barks, his eyes widening as he grabs his shoulder. "The fuck was that for?!"

"You've been trying to sleep with me for a whole year?!"

"I wouldn’t say trying," he says with a casual shrug. "Just waiting. Wanted you to take the lead but you’re a little stubborn, baby."

You scoff, glaring at him, not missing the way his lips twitch at the corners, the way his eyes sparkle with amusement.

"So, the reason why I haven't been able to catch a break the entire time we've known each other, has been because you've been trying to get in my pants? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Well, that part is just natural. You're just too easy to get riled up. And that’s not my fault."

You open your mouth to argue with him but his sliding over your hips to palm at your ass and his lips are ghosting over the shell of your ear, his beard scraping against the sensitive skin.

"But no, I can't deny that I like it," he rasps, his breath warm against the side of your neck. "The way you get all fired up and angry, your face all flushed, your chest heaving. Mmm, it's nice. You look real pretty when you're all worked up and pissed off," he whispers, his lips curled in a smile when he presses a kiss to the spot below your ear before pulling back to look at you. 

"Why didn't you tell me,” you say, voice softer now, the rough edges of your tone smoothed out by the feeling of his lips on your skin.

"Didn't want to make it weird. Didn't want you to think I was some creepy old man and ruin our friendship" he explains with a small shrug. "But then you came over here tonight askin’ for a sex lesson, which was not easy by the way, acting like I wasn't already about to burst outta my pants as soon as you asked. Thought for sure you were onto me. But then you started going on about that douche canoe Michael-"

"Joel."

"And then I got jealous and pissed, and figured it was time to cut my losses and just enjoy it while I can, but-"

"Joel."

"Then we were kissing and you were touchin’ me and you're so fucking sexy and-"

"Joel!"

"What?"

"Just kiss me, you idiot" you breathe, and before the words are even fully out of your mouth, his lips are on yours, crashing into you with enough force to knock the air out of your lungs.

It’s bruising, searing, all consuming.

His fingers dig into the meat of your ass as he pulls you forward, the seam of your pussy dragging deliciously against the strong muscles under warm skin. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair, and tug, the base of your spine tingling when he groans softly into your mouth, and you grind your hips against his, the wet heat of your cunt grinding into his thigh, pulling another soft, low sound from his throat.

"Fuck" he groans, pulling away just far enough to press his forehead to yours, his breath coming in quick, sharp pants, his chest heaving. "Baby, are you still okay with this?" he breathes, voice ragged and gravelly.

You look at him as if he's grown a second head.

"Are you serious?"

""I...well, I was serious when I said I'd be fine with being your friend, and I don't want you to think I'm tryna pressure you into anything."

You can't help but roll your eyes, the soft, endearing side of Joel coming out at the worst possible time.

"I literally just admitted that I've had a crush on you for months, and now I'm sitting on your lap, soaked, and grinding on your thigh and you're worried I don't want this? I think you might be the dense one here."

He grins, wicked and wide, a flash of sharp teeth, the dimple in his cheek deepening.

"Guess so," he says, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

You don't respond, and instead choose to silence him by pulling him into a kiss, licking at the seam of his lips and sucking his tongue into your mouth. He groans softly into your mouth, and you swallow the noise, rolling your hips again, chasing the sweet friction that's sending a delicious heat through your veins.

"God, baby," he breathes when he pulls back for air, hands on your ass gripping and guiding you against his leg, encouraging your movements. "Makin' such a mess, ain't ya?"

You bite your lip, nodding as a wave of arousal surges through you.

"Yeah, you are. Soakin' my leg, sweet girl," he says, his eyes flicking down between you, watching as your pussy drags along his thigh, coating him in a shiny, slippery sheen.

"Fuck, Joel, please" you whine, your hips jerking and rolling against him.

And that's all the encouragement he needs.

In the blink of an eye, you're on your back, Joel hovering above you, a wild look in his eyes.

"Don't worry, baby," he says, his voice low and husky, and he trails his fingers over your hip and up your ribs, his touch light, teasing, barely ghosting across your skin and it's almost ticklish, making you shiver. "M'gonna take care of you. Gonna make you feel so good."

Your heart thunders in your chest, and your cunt throbs, your arousal leaking out of you. It feels like you’re about to crawl out of your own skin, the desperation growing with every passing second. 

He trails his fingers down your sternum, and over the flat expanse of your stomach, goosebumps breaking out across your skin in his wake, the muscles under your skin rippling and twitching at the soft, fleeting touches.

And when he reaches the crease of your thigh, you let out a shaky, trembling breath, and he chuckles softly, his lips curling into a crooked grin.

"Eager, are we?" he teases, dragging his fingers over the slick flesh between your legs, gathering the wetness pooled there before slowly sliding a single thick digit inside you. "We're gonna get there, baby. But gotta make sure you're ready first. Don't wanna hurt you.”

You whimper, your walls fluttering and clenching around his finger, and your hips roll forward, seeking friction, wanting, needing more.

Joel curses under his breath and groans softly when your wet, warm walls constrict around his finger. His cock leaks and twitches where it’s pressed against your thigh, and you whimper, both of you caught up in an endless cycle of keying each other up. 

"Please, Joel" you beg, and the words come out soft, pleading, and desperate. You should probably be embarrassed at how quickly he's reduced you to a begging, quivering mess, but the way his eyes go dark, and his pupils blow wide, makes the embarrassment worth it.

"Please, what, baby?” He prods with a devilish smirk. “Use your words"

"You're such an asshole" you snap, but the venom in your voice is diluted with pleasure as he slips another finger inside you.

"You keep saying that. What d’ya want me to do about it, sweetheart? You want me to stop?" he taunts. 

"No!" you cry out, reaching down and grabbing his wrist with an iron grip when he starts to pull out. 

"Then tell me what you want, honey."

"Fuck you,” you mumble weakly. 

"Mhm. Okay, honey" he drawls,  his thumb moving  to circle around your clit as his fingers curl inside you, still pumping in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace. . "I'll just wait then. Take my time. Tease your pretty little pussy until you can't stand it. I'm in no hurry, baby. Gonna take all night, if that's what it takes. I've waited this long."

"Joel, please" you whine again, the ache between your thighs turning to an unbearable burn.

"Tell me what you want,” he repeats casually. 

"You," you try with a needy whimper.

"Me? You got me, sweetheart. What else?"

“Oh my fucking god can you please just fuck me? Or do I have to spell it out for you, old man?"

"There she is," Joel says with a laugh, his grin splitting his face "There's my girl"

And then his fingers are gone and you whimper at the sudden emptiness. But before you can protest much more,, they're sliding back in, this time joined by a third.

Your hands fly to his shoulders, gripping him, nails digging into the soft flesh of his muscles.

"Oh fuck" you pant, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he starts pumping his fingers again. 

"Gotta get ya ready, baby" he breathes, and his lips are ghosting along your jawline and up the shell of your ear, his breath warm.  "Such a tight little pussy, but we'll get you nice and open, don’t worry.  Then I'm gonna sink in ya, fill you up real nice. Take real good care of you, baby. Fuck you nice and deep, make you forget your name. Would you like that? Hmm?"

A strangled moan is all you can manage in response. His words, filthier and more deranged than any you've ever heard him speak before, sending your brain into overdrive. 

You can’t help but roll your hips, and bucking, and gyrating, meeting his thrusts as his fingers pump in and out of you, the lewd, wet, sloppy sounds filling the otherwise quiet room, and the coil in your gut is threatening to snap.

"Joel, Joel, fuck, oh fuck" you chant, your hazy and thick with pure arousal. It drips down your spine and flows through your veins, liquid heat burning, searing, and  scorching you from the inside out. 

You manage to open your eyes long enough to look down and see the tendons flexing in his wrist, the muscles and veins in his forearm bulging as he works you, his face brows pinched in concentration as he focuses on your reactions. 

"Oh shit, honey," Joel curses breathlessly, a smug grin stretching across his lips as he feels your slick pooling in his palm. “So messy, baby. You gonna cum? Hmm? Gonna be a good girl and lemme feel your sweet little cunt clench and drip even more around my fingers?"

You whine, throwing your head back against the pillows as he thrusts his fingers into you, the heel of his palm rubbing deliciously against your clit. Your fingers scrabble for purchase, desperately seeking something, anything, to ground yourself. You settle for the firm muscle of his arms, your nails biting into his skin and leaving bright red marks that'll undoubtedly leave little half-moon bruises later

"Fuck, yeah, c’mon, sweetheart, lemme feel. Give it to me."

You come with a cry, the dam breaking, the tension in your gut exploding outward, a wave of euphoria crashing over you, washing through every inch of your body. Your legs tremble and shake, and Joel works you through it, his fingertips nudging that spongy spot inside you, dragging his thumb across your throbbing clit, milking you through the aftershocks, and when you start to come down, you're panting and breathless, your chest heaving.

You look up at Joel, and his eyes are blown wide, the deep, rich brown of his irises nothing more than a thin, dark ring around his dilated pupils. There are no words, at least none that you can manage to articulate at the moment, so instead you let out a breathless laugh, and a contented hum, a smile spreading across your lips.

Joel grins, laughing, and he leans down to capture your lips in a chaste kiss.

"Good girl" he breathes against your mouth, his words a low, rough rumble that has you keening. "That feel good, baby?"

"Fuck, yeah" you sigh, melting into the matress. 

"Good,” he says before pressing a kiss to your forehead then pulling back to look you in the eyes again. “ Think you're ready for me now?"

“Mhm,” you murmur with a lazy nod. “Want you, Joel.” 

Joel laughs, the sound sweeter than it’s ever sounded before.. "You've got me, sweetheart. You've had me. Always will."

"That's awfully fucking sappy," you tease breathlessly, threading your fingers into his soft dark hair. 

"Well, excuse the fuck outta me" he huffs, but the feigned offense is  betrayed by the way he’s positively beaming down at you.  "I'm about to give you the best fuckin' lay of your life, and here you are makin' fun of me."

"The best fuckin' lay of my life? I haven’t even had one lay. Don't exactly have anything to compare it to."

"Yeah, well, trust me. Best you're ever gonna get.”

You scoff and roll your eyes, raising a brow at him. 

"That’s some big talk, cowboy. Let's see if you can live up to that."

Joel barks out a laugh, the sound coming out more like a snarl, his eyes flashing with something feral, predatory, and dangerous at your challenge.

And then he’s abruptly pulling his fingers from you then  bringing them up to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste the slick coating his fingers. The sight nearly puts you into cardiac arrest.

"So fuckin' sweet" he murmurs, his eyes slipping closed momentarily, and a low, satisfied hum rumbles in his chest. It's downright obscene, the way his lips wrap around his fingers, how he licks and sucks, cleaning your arousal off of them. 

"Joel," you breathe, your voice nothing more than a shaky exhale.

His eyes snap open, and he gives you a lopsided smirk. 

"Sorry, baby,” he starts, pulling his fingers from his mouth and wiping them on the blanket underneath you. “Can’t help myself. Just had to taste ya again. Gonna have a hard time not doing that every time,” he finishes with a sly smile. 

Every time. 

The words are like a shock of electricity shooting through your veins, setting your blood ablaze. Every time. As in multiple times. 

How the fuck is this real? 

He  stupid smirk is still glued to his face as he leans over to rummage around in the drawer of his nightstand. Your brows furrow when he pulls out a condom and goes to open it. 

"I...uh..." you start, but the words die in your throat.

"What's wrong?" Joel asks, his smug expression immediately morphing into one of concern.

"I...well...it's just, I'm- I'm on the pill… We can use a condom, but...it's not necessary…just wanted to put that out there. In case, you know…you didn't wanna use one. Since it's not...like, not entirely necessary,” you say quietly, casting your eyes down to where your fingers fiddle with the edge of the blanket. 

"Ahh, I see,” Joel responds, all too pleased. “You just want me to raw dog it, huh?” 

"Wha-no! Oh my god, Joel, you are so fucking embarrassing," you groan, covering your face with your hands. 

"S'okay, honey, don’t be embarrassed. It is all part of the full Joel Miller Experience anyway,” he reassures you with a sickeningly sweet tone.. 

"Oh my fucking god, I told you not to say that ever again,” you groan, shoving at his shoulder, which only makes him laugh. And you can feel yourself smiling too, despite how irked you are.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop," he relents, still laughing a little. "If you really don't want me to use one, I guess I can make an exception, just for you"

And it's as if he knows that you're about to lash out at him again, because he leans down and presses his lips to yours before you have a chance to say anything, all the fight in you draining away as soon as his mouth is on yours.

"You tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispers when he pulls back. “Or if I do anything you're uncomfortable with, or if you just need a break. You let me know, okay?"

You nod.

"Promise?"

"I promise, Joel. Please just get on with it."

"Impatient" he breathes, but  kisses you again nonetheless, soft, slow, and tender. And when he pulls away, his eyes are searching yours like he's looking for any signs of hesitancy. But all he sees is the same raw desire reflected back in your wide, eager eyes. 

You see the exact moment that the last vestiges of his self-restraint disappear, his gaze growing darker and hungrier as he pushes himself up to sit back  on his knees, one  hand around the base of his cock, the other  on the inside of your thigh as he tenderly spreads you open and settles himself between your legs.

He teases you of course, dragging his length through your folds, letting the swollen, leaking tip catch on your clit before sliding back down to nudge at your entrance. You whimper, and try to grind against him, but his hand is firm, holding your hip still, not allowing you any friction.

He hushes you softly, his thumb gently stroking the soft, delicate skin where your hip meets your thigh. "Just let me do what I need to do, baby. Let me take care of you.” 

"You're evil," you whine, squirming underneath him.

"Yeah, well, that's a matter of opinion" he grunts, your breath hitching when he lines himself up and finally, finally pushes the blunt tip of his cock inside you.

Your lips part on a gasp, the feeling of his thick head stretching you open, the slight burn of the intrusion, a mixture of aching and pure pleasure. And you can feel his eyes practically burning holes in your skin, drinking in every little reaction, every flutter of your lashes, every twitch of your brow.

"How's that?" he asks, his voice tight and strained. He looks just as wrecked as you feel, his jaw tight, a sheen of sweat already on his brow, the muscles in his forearms bulging with the effort of restraining himself.

"More," is all you manage to rasp out, pushing your hips up, trying to get him to sink deeper.

Joel grunts, and then obliges, his eyes screwed shut in concentration as he tries to feed you only a little more of his considerable length. You can see him chewing on his lip, his nostrils flaring, a slight tremble in his thighs, his fingers digging into your skin.

"Jesus fuck, you're tight" he grits out, his chest heaving as he tries to regain some of his composure. "I-I didn't…fuck, I didn't think- shit. God fuckin' damn, baby"

You smile a little, the corners of your lips curling upwards. It's the first time you've ever seen him truly at a loss for words, and it's a very welcome change. 

You reach up and card your fingers through his hair, his eyes fluttering closed, a sweet sigh escaping his lips at the feeling.

"I can take more," you say softly.

Joel shakes his head, his brow furrowed. "Not yet."

But you don't listen. Not that you ever really listen to him. 

Your impatience gets the best of you and you push yourself further down the bed, forcing another inch of his cock inside you, your walls fluttering wildly around him as you let out a low moan. 

"Ah fuck, honey," he groans, his eyes flying open.

"C'mon, Joel. More. Please," you beg, grinding down on his cock, taking just a little bit more with each roll of your hips until his fingers dig into your hips so hard, you're sure they'll leave bruises.

"Baby stop fuckin' movin'" he hisses, his grip tightening even further. "Please."

You can hear the strain in his voice, and you can feel him trembling above you, the muscles in his arms and shoulders flexing and tensing.

"Why not?" you pout.

"Cause m'tryin' not to fuckin' come right now, alright?" he grunts, his teeth gritted. "So please, just stop. For a minute."

"You can't possibly be serious," you breathe, a smile creeping on your face again. "You're not even all the way in yet."

He glares down at you, his eyes narrowing. "Not my fault you're fuckin' tight as shit. It's like your cunt is tryin' to strangle me."

You giggle a little, the sound coming out breathy and light. You don't miss the way Joel's cock twitches at the sound.

"You're being so dramatic," you sigh, rolling your hips again.

"Fuck, honey, please," he begs, his eyes pleading, and the sight is almost enough to make you stop teasing him.

Almost. 

You can't help the devilish smirk that crosses your face as you bring your hand up to his cheek, stroking your thumb across the stubble on his chin. He lets his eyes fall closed again, leaning into your touch. 

"This isn't very 'best lay your life' behavior."

"I will fuckin' strangle you," he mutters, his eyes still closed, a smile playing on his lips.

"Is that part of the Joel Miller Experience too? Because I don't remember seeing it in the brochure. Was it next to the premature ejaculation section? Or maybe the-"

The air is knocked right out of your lungs, cut off mid-sentence when Joel pushes forward. He keeps it slow but unrelenting, sinking into you in one smooth, fluid motion. You cry out, your back arching off the bed, eyes screwing shut as your fists twist in the blanket underneath you. 

It's more than overwhelming, it's absolutely mind melting the way he buries himself completely, stretching your walls, forcing them to make room for him, to mold perfectly around his length. You gasp for air between harsh pants and weak cries, the sensation of him filling you up, so much bigger than you expected, so much thicker than his fingers. You squirm underneath him, trying to get used to the feeling of his tip pressed against your cervix, the pressure building deliciously as the ache radiates from your core through your belly, to the tips of your toes.

"That what you wanted, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice strained and gruff, one hand still gripping your hip as he presses the other into the mattress by your head, holding himself up. "Is that enough for you?"

You struggle to find words, but you're not even sure if there are any in the English language that can convey just how good it feels.

"Uh-huh," you nod, blinking rapidly as the edges of your vision start to blur. "Fuck, Joel. You're so fucking big, oh my god."

You hear him chuckle, and he presses a chaste kiss to your temple.

"Not too much though, is it? Cause you were begging for more just a second ago. Thought you could take it, sweetheart," he croons, nuzzling his nose against your cheek.

"No, no, 'sgood, " you whimper, the words slurring together as he starts to grind into you. "F-fuck. Joel. Shit, that feels so good. Holy fuck.

"There's my good girl," he murmurs, pressing more kisses to your cheek and your jaw, trailing down the column of your neck. His lips brush against the sensitive skin, his breath hot against you. He lets you get used to the feeling, cursing under his breath and trying to think of anything else but the tight, wet heat convulsing around his cock.

"Doesn't hurt?" he asks with a sudden tenderness, his voice vibrating against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

"No," you sigh, finally starting to relax around him.

"Good. You gonna let me know if it does, right baby? Or if you need me to stop?"

You nod weakly. "Mhm."

He kisses you then, a soft, languid, and lazy drag of his lips against yours. He slides his tongue along your lower lip, and you let him in without any hesitation, parting your lips with a breathy sigh. He takes the opportunity to swallow down every little sound that spills from your mouth, kissing you with a kind of reverence, a kind of tenderness, a kind of patience and passion that makes your heart feel like it might beat right out of your chest. 

He pulls away leaving you even more breathless and dizzy, your lips tingling and swollen. And you're not sure if it's because of the kiss or the way he's stretching you so fucking wide, but your fucking drunk on it. 

He kisses you once more, on the corner of your mouth, his lips curling up into a smile when you nuzzle against his cheek, seeking out more.

"You still with me, honey?"

"Yes, yes, I'm here," you answer, your voice sounding far away, distant and dreamy. Joel chuckles, the sound making you smile. 

"You wanna keep going, sweetheart? Or d'ya need a minute?"

"I'm good, I'm good," you assure him, trying to lift your hips a little. "You can...keep going."

"Alright. Let me know if you change your mind, okay?"

You nod and then close your eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath as Joel pulls out, just a little, his cock dragging along your walls. It's another wave of overwhelming sensation, your entire body shaking. But it's nothing compared to the feeling when he pushes back in. The same full, aching, almost painful stretch, except it's somehow even better this time, your walls gripping him tighter, pulling him in, trying to keep him there.

"Fuck, oh my god, oh my god," you cry, your breath catching in your throat, your eyes fluttering open to look up at him. "Oh, Joel, fuck."

He's hovering over you, his brows furrowed in concentration, the muscles in his arms, chest and stomach flexing and contracting as he moves above you.

"Good?" he asks, a slight sheen of sweat on his brow, his eyes hooded.

You answer with a nod, followed by a long, low moan when he starts to slowly pull out again, pushing back in a bit faster this time. He builds a rhythm, the slick drag of his cock filling you up again and again, each thrust a little deeper, a little harder, a little faster.

"You're taking it so good," he pants, his hips snapping against yours with a particularly hard thrust, the force of which has you keening and crying out his name. Your walls clench around him, a gush of slick pouring out around his cock as you subconsciously try to pull him in even further.

"God you're so fucking tight, baby. Fuckin' soaked too, dripping all over me. Fuck. So fucking wet and perfect," he groans, his voice sounding strained, almost like he's in pain. "Such a good fucking girl."

You can't do anything more than just lay there and let him fuck into you, the sounds that spill from your lips a mix of moans, whimpers and desperate little cries. Your brain feels like mush, all thought processes reduced to a single loop of his name, your lips chanting it over and over.

And Joel's not much better, the only coherent words out of his mouth a string of praises, calling you his good girl, telling you how well you're taking him, how fucking tight you are, how heavenly you feel. His hands are everywhere too, caressing, stroking, kneading, squeezing, leaving no inch of your skin untouched.

He finds a steady rhythm and you know it's not nearly as hard as he could go, not by a long shot, but every thrust and drag of his cock hits you so deep and so hard, it's a miracle that you don't shatter beneath him. And the sounds, god the sounds are so obscene, the slapping of skin against skin, the wet, squelching noises of him pounding into your dripping cunt. It's a chorus of pure debauchery, music to both of your ears, only adding to the building pleasure. 

And just when you start to think that it can't possibly get any better, he hits a spot deep inside you that has your body bowing, a strangled cry tearing from your throat. You clamp down around him and he curses, his hips stuttering, his rhythm faltering for just a moment.

"There it is," he grunts, and you can hear the smug smirk in his voice, the absolute bastard. "Right there, huh? That the spot?"

He doesn't wait for you to answer, pulling almost all the way out, and then driving back into you, hitting the same spot dead-on. And you keen and wail, your body thrashing wildly as a new wave of ecstasy washes over you.

"Yes, yes, yes," you chant, clawing at his back, digging your fingers into his shoulders.

"Yeah, I got ya," he husks, leaning down to suck and bite at the skin just below your jaw. He keeps pounding into that spot, making sure to hit it every damn time, and your vision starts to blur again, black dots dancing at the edge of your eyes.

You don't even realize you're about to come until it's crashing into you, a sudden and violent wave that threatens to tear you apart. And Joel can tell, from the way you start to shake, the way your walls are clamping down around him, the way your legs lock around his waist, and the way you're desperately gasping for air, that you're right there.

"There you go, sweetheart," he coos. "You're so fucking close aren't ya? I can feel it. You gonna come on my cock? Huh?Gonna let me feel that tight little pussy coming all over me?"

"Oh god, Joel," you sob, tears welling in your eyes, his words alone pushing you even closer.

"I know, honey. I know. Just let go, baby. C'mon, that's it. You can do it."

And then he's snaking a hand between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing rough, tight circles against the swollen bud, and the pleasure reaches its peak, the coil in your belly snapping, sending you careening off the edge. Stars burst behind your eyelids as the most intense, powerful orgasm of your life tears right through you. Every muscle in your body tenses and contracts, the rush of blood roaring in your ears as white-hot bliss erupts throughout every fiber of your being, your walls pulsing wildly, gushing slick around his cock.

He's there with you every step of the way, murmuring praise in your ear, fucking into you and grinding his cock against your cervix, prolonging your orgasm, extending it for what feels like an eternity. And then you're boneless, spent, and helplessly limp, barely aware of the way he's still rutting against you.

"So good, baby," he rasps, his voice sounding wrecked and broken. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

And then you feel him start to swell and his thrusts become erratic and you know he's right there with you, teetering on the edge, ready to fall. A few more pumps of his hips, his pace frantic and uncoordinated before he pushes himself back up on his knees and pulls out of you with a hiss. He jerks himself for half a second before spilling all over your belly and your cunt, hot, thick ropes of cum splashing against your skin. He grunts and hisses through clenched teeth, a few last drops spilling out onto your pussy, his cock throbbing against you.

You feel completely and utterly destroyed, every part of your body buzzing and tingling, still trembling. And your head feels stuffy and foggy, a hazy, peaceful kind of bliss settling deep in your bones.

Joel slumps down next to you, breathing heavy, a low, rumbling groan escaping his lips. You glance over at him, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of your lips. He's a sweaty, disheveled mess, and the sight makes your heart ache and swell, a rush of warmth flooding through your body.

He notices you looking at him and turns his head to meet your gaze, his own satisfied smile matching yours. You can't help but laugh, the sound bubbling out of your throat and spilling past your lips in a breathy giggle. Joel's smile spreads even wider, his eyes sparkling.

"What's so funny?" he asks, propping himself up on his elbow and rolling onto his side.

"Nothing, I just," you giggle again, and it's almost a hysterical kind of laugh, a nervous kind of relief flooding through your body. "That was…"

Joel chuckles, brushing a lock of hair out of your face, his fingers trailing across your forehead.

"Yeah, it was," he says, his voice a low rumble.

"And I…I just really like you, Joel. A lot. I don't know. I guess I'm just happy."

His face softens and he stares at you for a moment, his expression so fond and tender that you forget how to breathe for a moment. He leans down and kisses you, his lips gentle and warm before he pulls away. 

"I guess I like you too," he murmurs, his signature smirk playing on his lips. "I dunno about a lot, but-"

"Shut up, you ass" you giggle, slapping his shoulder. "I'm trying to have a moment."

He hums delightedly and presses another kiss to your forehead."M'kay, you have your moment. I'm gonna clean you up, alright?"

You pout but let him go, letting the afterglow of your climax envelop you until he returns a moment later with a warm wet cloth. His touch is tender, gently cleaning between your legs and then wiping the cum from your belly. You're still shaking, every touch sending little aftershocks through your body.

"So," he starts, tossing the cloth into the corner of the room before looking at you expectantly. "Best lay of your life?"

You laugh, your heart bursting at the seams, your cheeks starting to hurt from smiling so hard. 

"Not even close."

Thank you for reading!! I apologize in advance for any errors I do not enjoy editing!!

tagging those who asked and who might be interested:

@shewantstoknow @pedritoferg @khindahra @wand-erer5 @akah565 @thereaperisabitch @first-edition @lilyevanstan1325 @lovelyjess69 @elliesswearjar @iloveenya @harriedandharassed @c2ss1e @paleidiot @starry-eyes-love @lola8888673 @saguchiya @milla-frenchy @cayleejz @missyorkswhore @farrowroyale @abbyandersonsragdoll @glimmering-darling-dolly @katiexpunk @worhols @thecasualnope @ahintofkiwistrawberry @lulawantmula @sawymredfox @prismaticpizza @serenadingtigers @venturawriter @kyloispunk @millercontracting @jjhayhay20 @bitchesuntitled @bean-is-reading @lvl-2005 @kamcrazy123 @covetyou @survivingandenduring @pinkiec6-rubi @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @pedroshotwifey @perfectlyfreeanalyst @plsdontmisfire @lokigonnakmsforbucky @kr-ickl3

I will not tag ageless/faceless (no pfp) blogs. If you asked to be tagged and weren't you either did not have an age/pfp or Tumblr wouldn't let me :(

#joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #the last of us #tlou fic #joel miller #pedro pascal characters

[queenofthearchipelago]

What gets me the most about the wwdits finale is that while Nandor didn't know that Guillermo had Derek turn him into a vampire, he literally knew everything else.

He knew that the Van Helsing blood would fight the vampire cells and he knew that the only way to fix that was to drink human blood. He knew that Guillermo wouldn't do well as a vampire, at least that he wasn't ready and he didn't even hesitate to try and fix it for him. He instantly reached for the Djinn, and when that didn't work, he very intelligently made up a vampire tradition that would allow Guillermo to have a choice.

And when Guillermo couldn't go through with what was required to make that choice, Nandor essentially said, I know you. I know you can't kill him, not like this, and I know you want me to do it for you because you need me to do it for you.

And after it's done, Nandor tells him he knows it was hard but he thinks Guillermo made the right decision for himself. It's been 13 years, but he isn't ready. And then Nandor walks away to give Guillermo the space he needs to process all of that.

In this episode Nandor proved beyond all doubt that he is the smartest vampire here. He's the oldest and he's not been careless about his choices with Guillermo. He kept telling him that "He was getting around to it." But that was clearly to avoid saying that Guillermo wasn't ready yet.

And despite that, he's clearly been thinking about it. That, hey, when I do eventually turn him, because we both want that (Nandor doesn't want to lose Guillermo to old age and Guillermo does ultimately want to be a vampire), I'm gonna have to figure out how to combat the Van Helsing blood with the vampire cells.

And when it came down to it, he knew just what to do to make Guillermo human again. He knew that killing Derek would only age Guillermo by a month, not kill him.

Nandor has been paying attention this whole time. He's smart. He knows a lot more than he ever let onto before. And despite his anger at first, he did the kind thing.

I look forward to where this relationship goes from here. Because it isn't going back to how it was before. Guillermo can't just go back to being a frustrated familiar. Nandor can't go back to pretending his protectiveness is dismissal. Nandor proved here just how much he cares by throwing out all vampire tradition (as he's done before, but never like this). And Guillermo was at the mercy of a community he so desperately wanted to join but simply couldn't do it.

I don't know who they are after this, but I hope it's more honest and emotional. I hope they actually talk about what it is to be a vampire, and how does Nandor do it. I hope they talk about why Guillermo wants this so badly. I want them to talk about why does Guillermo want this with Nandor so badly, because it's clear to everyone this is more than a regular familiar and master relationship. I want them to talk about what Nandor is hoping for after all of this. To know that Guillermo isn't ready, and maybe he'll never be ready, but he doesn't want to lose him. So what does he want?

They subverted all the tropes so hard that I genuinely don't know where we go from here. Somewhere new, I suppose. What a thrill

#wwdits #wwdits spoilers #nandor #Guillermo #nandermo #nandor the relentless #thoughtsfromthequeen

[harrysfolklore]

Tom meeting reader at an event and he’s just flirting the whole night and ends up getting her number

i watched the golden globes and got inspired to write this! i hope you like it <3

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

If there was an award for "most nervous person in attendance" at the Golden Globes, you'd have won it by now.

Award shows never failed to make your stomach feel in knots the entire time, specially when you were nominated, like tonight.

The Great had been a huge breakout role, a period drama that had captivated audiences and critics. Now, you stood among the nominees for Female Actor in a Television Series – Musical or Comedy at the Golden Globes, and you could feel your heart pounding as the moment of your category being announced approached.

"Love, are you okay?" you heard a voice calling for you, turning your head you realized that it was Dua (yes, the Dua Lipa) who was sitting next to you.

"Just a bit nervous," you told her with a small smile, "I think I'll head backstage for a minute, I need a breather."

She assured you with another smile and you made your way backstage, a commercial break started just on cue.

You had rehearsed your acceptance speech a dozen times in case you won, and also had a pep talk ready in case you didn't, yet the nerves persisted. You knew you were competing against some big names, and whatever the result people online would have something to say.

Your train of thought was interrupted by your body colliding with someone, almost dropping your clutch in the process.

"Whoa there, careful," a voice chuckled, catching your arm.

"Sorry, I didn't see where I was going," you said, your cheeks flushing from embarrassment, of course you'd run into someone in classic romcom cliche style.

"No harm done. You alright?" he grinned and you recognized him, it was the man who had been flooding your Tiktok for you page for the past month, Tom Blyth, "I'm Tom, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, I'm YN," you smiled back, "And yeah, I'm okay. Just a bit nervous about my category. Oh you're presenting it, aren't you?"

"I'll have the privilege, yes," his charm effortlessly showed, "And just so you know, I'm rooting for you. You were phenomenal in The Great, one of my favorite shows I watched last year."

Your nerves seemed to ease a bit, his presence and charm making you relax. There was something about him that felt comforting, even though it was your first time meeting him.

"Thank you, that's really nice," you smiled at him, "But I don't want to get too confident, the other nominees are just as great."

"Honestly, I'd bet my hat you're taking that Golden Globe home tonight."

Tom squeezed your arm gently and you smiled again, and before another word could be exchanged, a crew member's voice echoed through the backstage area announcing that the show was back from commercial break in 30 seconds.

"Well, looks like it's showtime" Tom glanced towards the exit, then back at you. "Knock 'em dead out there, YN. You got this."

"We'll see."

With a final wink sent your way, you parted ways. You returned to your seat and tried to enjoy the ceremony as much as you could, your nerves still in the back of your head but your interaction with Tom making you feel more at ease now.

"And now, presenting the award for Female Actor in a Television Series – Musical or Comedy, please welcome The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes star, Tom Blyth!"

You heard the host say and you knew t was time, and once again a wave of nerves and uncertainty filled your body.

The crowd erupted in applause as Tom stepped onto the stage, his confidence and charm shinning through.

"Good evening, everyone. It's an honor to be here tonight among such incredible talents," Tom smiled, "Here are the nominees for Female Actor in a Television Series, Musical or Comedy."

A video played showing all the nominees but you felt like your mind was numb, you didn't even realize it had ended until Tom's voice was heard again.

"And the Golden Globe goes to," he paused for suspense, and you could see a small smirk making its way to his face as he read the name, "YN!"

Time seemed to freeze, you tried to process everything as you heard the applause from the crowd and those around you congratulating you and before you knew it, you were on stage taking the award from Tom's hands and giving him a quick hug.

"I told you." He quietly whispered in your ear and gave you a wink, a moment that the cameras had caught.

You gave your speech, thanking your cast mates, directors, family, friends and the rest of the nominees. Once you were done you headed backstage with a proud smile and your newest award in hand.

The night went on and you definitely enjoyed every minute of it, mingling with other actors and thanking everyone who approached to congratulate you.

Once the ceremony wrapped up, you headed to the after party, you were sipping on a fruity drink by the bar when you felt a presence behind you.

"Hey, can I steal a moment with the newest Golden Globe winner?"

You turned around noticing it was Tom, he had changed to a different suit and you couldn't help but think that he looked really handsome.

"Sure, what do you need, president Snow?" you laughed, feeling a newfound confidence around him.

"How about your number? I'd hate to lose touch with Hollywood's latest sensation." Tom flashed his charming smile again, taking you by surprise and making your entire body feel giddy.

"Smooth, Blyth. Very smooth." Blushing furiously, you playfully rolled your eyes.

"Well, when you really really want something, smooth comes naturally."

And just like that, after winning a major award for your career and feeling on top of the world, you found herself exchanging numbers with Tom Blyth, excited to see where that would take you.

#tom blyth x reader #tom blyth fanfiction #tom blyth imagine #tom blyth blurb #tom blyth x you #tom blyth fake instagram #tom blyth social media au #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #tom blyth fic #harrysfolklore #tom blyth fluff #tom blyth smut #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow smut #social media au #tom blyth au #tom blyth story #1k