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#the permanent rain press
inthisdarktime · 1 year
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The Permanent Rain Press Interview with Sara Arrhusius | Young Royals Season 2
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Sara said Simon kissing Wille's upper lip was not intentional. EXCUSE ME? OF COURSE IT WAS!
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scatteredpiecesofme · 11 months
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The interview with Anna Peterson is coming soon 💛
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myheartstopperblog · 2 years
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Permanent Rain Press interview with Cormac Hyde-Corrin (Harry Greene in Heartstopper)
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My notes:
He started to get interested in acting when he was about 14, around the time he got diagnosed with ADHD
His mum is also an actress
He is a big fan of Quentin Tarantino and his films, also the actor Harvey Keitel
He would travel with his mum when he was a toddler because she had to shoot for a TV show in Newcastle and he appeared in the show for a scene
He's studying, with a focus with film and media production
He is most interested in the aesthetic side of filmmaking, how the lighting or editing or cinematography can change the meaning of a scene
He came back from school and his mum told him to audition for the part of Harry
Since Harry's parents are rich the backstory he thought about was that his parents weren't home much and he was sort of raised by nannys
Harry is an entertainer and wants his friends to laugh at his jokes and always picks on people for any little detail
He could see people that were like Harry in his school
Popularity is very important for Harry
His favourite scene to be a part of was the rugby scenes, and when filming the match against te other team they were told to calm down a bit because they were playing too well, when in fact their team had to lose
Christian, Sai and Otis were in the show but just as background (for now)
He really liked how they played with the bisexual lighting in the show
"It's just banter" is his iconic line and he says that it's a very British year 11 boy talk and very real and used a lot
They had The Shinning on the screen when they were shooting the cinema scene
He worked with the fight coordinator for when Harry and Nick fought
The cinema scenes where his last day on set
He likes One Direction and found it cool how he talked about Harry Styles in the show
Midnight Memories was his favourite song and he was sad when they seperated
The fight scenes where emotionally and phisically exhausting and tyring
He meditates and it helped him to switch from Harry to Cormac
Harry's fight With Nick was more of a shock to him than the one with Tao, because he still though that they were joking aroung
He would love to see more of Tao and Elle storyline in season 2
He wants to be a director and watched Euros working on set
He isn't a big fan of social media and thought that he was going to get a lot of hate
When Will threw the apple juice at him it got into his eye and once also in his ear, so he was a bit blind and deaf for few moments
He hasn't read Nick and Charlie and once he says it during the interview his mums says that she is buying it it right now
His favourite artist is Santan Dave
He is also interested in music and writes sometimes (but they are more like poems) and also piano
If he could be any ice cream flavour it would be caramel
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Important thread from Permanent Rain Press
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YAY @thepermanentrainpress you've done it again! 😁🎉 You do the BEST Young Royals interviews out there, hands down, nothing even compares. Looking forward to this one so much!!! 💜
8 Jan 8 pm CET everyone... 😁
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cantputitintowords · 2 years
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Netflix let them interview Edvin this time please🙏
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daylightsimon · 1 year
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🚨🚨there’s going to be a prp interview with tommy!! 🚨🚨
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themidnightcrimson · 13 days
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good morning ࿏ wm
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summary: in which you decide to get what you want first thing in the morning.
words: 3.9k
warnings: top!wanda, power bottom!reader, dubcon/noncon, breeding kink, cumstrap (r receiving), somno (r giving), blowjob on cumstrap (r giving), enhanced strap, brief choking, just imagining slutting top!wanda out like this woeidbsibfwioe its the power bottom in me
this fic is for 18+ only. minors dni. read with discretion.
masterlist.
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The room was cool and the bed warm by the time you woke up. Legs shifting smoothly under the crisp sheets, you could hear the faint chirp of a lone bird outside the window along with what sounded like a gentle spring morning rain shower.
Plat plat plat plat the rain softly tapped against the window and quietly onto the roof above you. It was a sleepy rain, an early morning rain whose clouds blocked the sun from glaring through your window. It made waking a little easier, a little more soft.
The other thing that made waking a peaceful experience was the warm body you were tangled up with. The soft, curled ends of light brown hair tickled your bare shoulder, and it was the first thing you saw in the dim room as you opened your eyes. Your head rose and fell slowly with Wanda’s steady breath. It was resting on her bare chest, the skin there hot against your ear. She always slept so hot.
Your legs were tangled with hers, your arm thrown across her torso. As you blinked your eyes awake, you tilted your head upwards to get an angle of her from below. The stretch of her jawbone, the mountain of her cheekbones just beyond it. Heavy eyelashes fluttered closed, deep pink lips pursed in her sleep. The crinkle between her eyebrows that was always there when she slept. She was starting to get a permanent wrinkle from it, and while she was embarrassed of it, you told her it was just the imprint of all the dreams she’d ever had right there in one wrinkle between her brows so she would never forget them. Wanda was always a deep dreamer, for better or worse.
The puffy comforter you shared rested right below her breasts, likely pushed down during her overheated sleep. Her hair was splayed over her chest, barely covering the peaks of her soft pink nipples. Her skin looked pale and soft under the dim gloomy morning light. You let your hand glide over the soft expanse of her tummy, fingers pressing into her flesh as you shift, waking up a little more. Letting out a silent yawn, you casually let your hand stroll further down beneath the blanket, being thrown off guard a little when your hand touches cool silicone between her legs.
It was Wanda’s new creation still left strapped around her hips via harness from last night’s endeavors. It took a lot of research and magical effort for Wanda to create her enchanted strap that functions like a biological part of her body. Using her magic, she enchanted the strap so that she can feel through it and cum through it. Let’s just say the first few tries once she perfected it could be described as very quick, hot, and wet on her end. It was the most mind-blowing feeling she had ever felt, being able to feel you inside. Even now, a few weeks later, she still warns you how sensitive it still is, which you could tell from the beginning because of how fast she came with you.
Wanda’s magic was very powerful—spontaneous creation. For that reason, she insisted on wearing a condom the first several times using the enchanted strap out of fear of accidental pregnancy, though you knew she secretly had a breeding kink. Finally, she stopped using condoms, but she still pulled out of you every time. It was hot, seeing her get so close to just doing it, to just letting go and planting her cum deep inside you. You could see it on her face every time. But every time, milliseconds before release, she pulls out and chooses to spill all over your tummy or back instead. Of course, that was also hot in its own right. But you desperately wanted her to cum inside. You weren’t sure if it was the risk or the ownership aspect of it, but you fucking needed it.
And you knew she wanted it too. She had a tendency to hold you down when she’s about to cum, almost as if she is about to force you to take her cum, which you willingly would take every single drop. You even told her in a heated moment of passion to cum inside you once, and she almost did accidentally. Hearing you say that made her orgasm immediately, and she had to frantically pull out right as she spurted all over your mound, making sounds you’d never heard her make.
And now, in the dim morning light with cozy rain coming from outside, and Wanda’s soft, warm sleeping body with her cock in your hand as you thought over all these times with the new magical piece, you wanted it.
But she was so pretty and peaceful in her sleep with her crinkled brow of dreams and her slowly rising and falling chest. You wouldn’t wake her.
Licking your lips, you shifted your body so that you hovered over her, taking great care in slinking down her body without moving the blankets or the bed too much. With the hem of the blanket resting at the back of your neck, you rested your elbows over her plush thighs, eyeing the strap that now sat right in front of your face.
Humming, you trail your fingers to the harness straps, fiddling with the fabric on her hips for a moment before you carefully let them trail to the base of her cock, taking it in your fist gently. Glancing back up to her, you saw the same image—her head resting on the pillow, turned to the side, sleeping peacefully like an angel. The warmth between your legs grew as you formulated the plan of your desires, licking your lips and coming closer to her strap.
You placed Wanda’s length in your mouth. It surprised you every time how big she was—an advantage she smugly gave herself when crafting her piece. Suctioning your lips, you began to swirl your tongue around the tip of the strap with a gentle but purposeful pressure.
It didn’t take long before your mouth ignited the spell within the strap, and her magic peered through the silicone in cracks that looked like molten lava in a crimson hue. That’s how you knew she was aroused now, and as you looked up at her again, she was still sleeping as peacefully as ever.
It took some practice for you to understand how to give your girlfriend a blowjob since it was your first time, but Wanda was patient and could get off with basically any touch you gave her with how sensitive the strap felt when she wore it anyways.
So you lowered your mouth further down on her strap that was warming up between your lips, keeping your hand on the base to keep it steady. Letting your other hand gently squeeze her thigh, you sucked her gently, wanting to make her feel good but not wanting to wake her up. It startled you when, as you took her entirety in your mouth so that the tip of her cock poked the back of your throat, Wanda’s legs twitched under you. It was only once and, looking up as you deepthroated her, you saw that the sleeping look on her face remained unchanged.
The depth with which you took her in your throat prompted tears to form in your eyes and saliva in your mouth. Sniffling, you kept taking her all the way in and then suctioning as you lifted your mouth from her, letting your tongue flick around her tip before deepthroating her again. You were slow and gentle, but she was hot and throbbing with magical arousal. You could even smell it on her now and, reaching down under the base where her slit was, you found that she was wet there, too.
Getting excited, you bobbed your head perhaps a little too hard, and she twitched again, this time letting her head sway to the other side. You paused, waiting for any sign of further movement or signs of being awake, but she was still deep asleep, the crease in her brow deeper now. You went back to sucking her off dutifully, and as wet sounds filled the air, Wanda moved again, this time arching her back. The movement sent her hips bucking up, which shoved her cock into your throat unexpectedly, causing you to choke on her girth.
Recovering, you continued carefully and watched as she twitched and squirmed in her sleep, somehow still staying deep asleep even as you could feel her throb faster. Her lips fell open at one point, soft gasps of air filling the quiet, dim room along with your wet sucking sounds. Her body heated up even more under your hands, and she started to buck her hips more.
Picking up your speed, you deepthroated her more and more, choking yourself on her strap while she grew even more restless. You knew she was seconds away from cumming, so you grabbed the base of her strap and sucked harder and faster. Finally, with a whispery, sleepy moan, and a more violent twitch of her hips, Wanda came in your mouth. You kept your mouth around her, feeling her warm cum gush at the back of your throat and ooze down it. You waited, letting her twitch and gasp and push out every last drop of cum before you finally swallowed it and took her out of your mouth. She was sweet to the taste with just a hint of metal, an interesting mix of her magic that reminded you of the taste of her real arousal.
There were many benefits to this magical creation of Wanda’s, one of many being that there was an unlimited supply.
Her cock now wet and shiny and slightly glowing, you carefully crawled back up her body and straddled her. She had almost immediately fallen back into utter stillness as soon as she came, except for her chest that was rising and falling much faster now. Biting your lip, you reached down and took her breasts into your hands, squeezing and letting your thumb roll over her nipples that were already rock hard for you. You could feel her cock, resting below your thigh, twitch and throb, basically vibrating with magic. All you could taste was her cum that coated the inside of your mouth, the taste still soaked into your tongue.
She just looked so pretty, even more relaxed now, having just helplessly cum in your mouth without even knowing it. Leaning down, you pressed a chaste kiss to her still lips before moving your mouth to her neck and pressing soft, wet kisses there. You let your hand grope her breasts for a moment before sliding it down and rubbing her tummy, lowering it further and further until you reached below yourself and took her strap in your hand again.
Still kissing her neck, and feeling her twitch once below you, you adjusted yourself over her cock and rubbed your throbbing, wet slit down her length, not letting it go inside. You remember the first time you did that, before she ever went inside you with the new strap, and she had prematurely came. She had been so embarrassed, taking off the cum-filled condom and tearing the strap off of her and getting up, but you’d found it so hot. You loved having this control over her. You loved knowing that you held this power over her, that you could make her cum so easily, that she desired you so much that she found it hard to even have any control. You wanted to tease her constantly, to degrade her and embarrass her by using her desire for you against her.
Wanda’s sleepy breaths hitched as you rubbed your warm, wet folds up and down her length, leaving a wet, sticky trail on the strap. She shifted under you, turning her head back to the other side. Her eyebrows creased deeper, her face contorting into a look of neediness as she subconsciously bucked her hips, pushing herself harder onto you. Chuckling, you gave her one last kiss on her neck before sitting up fully, unable to control yourself anymore. You wanted to get what you truly wanted out of her before she woke up.
Your breathing growing heavier, along with the rain pattering much harder on the window outside, you lined Wanda’s cock up with your entrance, letting it sit there pressed against it for a moment. You took a deep breath—her size still surprised you, and you still needed to relax and prepare yourself before taking her in. Thanks to the blowjob and how wet you were, there was enough lubrication for you to lower yourself down on her cock, feeling her slide right in and stretch your walls around her.
“Fuck,” you whispered as you stopped halfway, feeling a tinge of pain. Wanda shifted beneath you, which didn’t help, so you just took another deep breath and basically slammed yourself down on her, Wanda’s entire cock ramming deep inside you.
As if on cue, right as you let out a louder shriek than you meant to because of the way her cock hit your cervix, Wanda also let out a sleepy form of a moan, her head swaying to the side as her legs shifted under the blankets below you.
Placing your hands on her shoulders, you stayed still and felt her throb inside you as she squirmed, watching her eyes scroll side to side behind her eyelids. Biting your lip, you slowly lifted yourself off halfway before coming back down again, nearly seeing stars when she hit your deepest point again.
It was obvious that doing this wasn’t going to keep her asleep for much longer. She was still moving, eyelids fluttering, lips twitching as if trying to speak between her growing breaths. She was breathing faster now, redness blooming on her cheeks.
There was no point in being careful now. Grinding your teeth together, you rolled your hips, throwing your head back as she hit your sweet spot in your lower tummy. She was so big that her cock was basically all you could feel as you rode her, feeling pure pleasure bloom inside you as you anticipated the ending you were dreaming about.
“Mmmm-nnnn” Wanda murmured as she squirmed more beneath you, kicking at the sheets covering her feet and arching her back. “Ahhh…” She was starting to come to, being lured by your actions into an in-between state between sleeping and waking. She was arching her back off the bed and bucking her hips up into you, natural instinct to have more friction and be as close to you as possible coming through.
Power filled you as you stared down at the helpless witch, her cock lodged deep inside you, throbbing as you bounced on it. You bit the tip of your tongue and squeezed her shoulders, digging your nails into her skin as you rode her cock.
The feeling of your nails in Wanda’s skin was the one thing that brought her into awareness. Her eyelashes fluttered, mouth dropping open. Finally, her eyes opened fully, exposing those pretty irises that were usually green but were now a deep, sleepy crimson red from the magic she was subconsciously using.
A grin slashed across your own face, your tummy filled with excitement as you watched the look of confusion on Wanda’s once peaceful face. This was the second moment you were anticipating the most. Her eyebrows contorted in confusion as she stared up at you, her eyes blank with dumb sleepiness at first as her mouth let out heavy breaths. Then she blinked a few times, her eyes falling down over your body and to her own. She saw her cock, glistening with wet, appear halfway with every other bounce you made. She watched it appear as you lifted up, and then disappear again as you slapped yourself down on her lap.
Then she felt it. The tight, wet warmth. The squeezing of your walls around her. The more textured parts around your cervix, how much warmer and tighter you felt the deeper she was. Your lips smushed against the base of her cock when you had her fully inside. The ridges of your cunt massaging her length as you jerked up and down on her, the friction feeling like a white hot flame of pleasure with each stroke.
Her mouth fell open wider with a loud, startled moan, her hands immediately slapping onto your hips and holding them. “Baby!” she exclaimed in surprise, trying to blink the bleariness out of her eyes as you continued fucking yourself on her.
You giggled at her reaction, how she was confused but so turned on and so obviously overwhelmed by the feeling of you milking her cock as soon as she woke up, this being the very first thing her consciousness experienced this rainy morning. You felt her cock swell a little inside you, now that she was awake with her magic.
Her breathing turned into gasps, her eyes squeezing shut as she hissed through her teeth, her hips trembling as you slammed down onto them. “Fuck, baby, fuck, fuck,” she croaked, her voice sleepy and husky and burning hot in your ear.
“I always wanted to wake you up like this,” you whispered, scratching down her chest and over her nipples, causing her to let out the cutest little high-pitched whimper.
“Fuck,” was all she could whisper, holding your hips as they bounced up and down on her length.
You could see the sweat breaking on her forehead, the flush in her cheeks, the way her tummy tightened under your palm. She was getting close.
“D-Did you use prot-protection?” Wanda stammered, her brown hair starting to stick to her temples. She knew the answer. She could feel it, but she needed to ask anyway.
Chuckling, you let out a pornographic moan just to make her shudder and then said, “Nope.”
Wanda’s eyes widened a little in panic. She could already feel herself leaking a little, or maybe it was just your wetness, which was also dripping down her shaft and onto her thighs. Through the slight panic in your eye you could see the desperation, the idea she always dreams about sitting right there in her brain.
You purposefully clenched, and she bit her lip and threw her head back, her body lifting off the bed as she pushed herself into you. You gasped at the depth but used your strength to pin her hips back down to the bed.
“Baby,” she breathed, her eyes barely open. “Baby, get up.” Her voice grew breathy with quickness. “I’m gonna cum. Get up.” She slapped your hip a few times to make you get up, but you kept riding her.
“No,” you purred, leaning down closer to her face and smirking. “You can easily push me off if you want to.” You watched her, struggling to keep her eyes open, her body moving with your bouncing, look up at you with such a strong mix of horror and desire on her face. You waited, but she only continued to struggle beneath you, not making any effort to use her magic or strength to push you off. “So why don’t you?”
Wanda whined, throwing her head back and closing her eyes as if just looking at you was going to make her bust. Her nails dug into your hips as she trembled, looking like the pleasure was turning into pain as you continued to ride her. There was no way she would actively deny you. She could stop herself all she wanted when it was her in control, but if you were going to take it from her, she couldn’t not acquiesce.
“Baby, please,” she murmured through gritted teeth, tears forming in the corners of her eyes from the struggle to keep herself from cumming. You knew she could stop it if she wanted to—you didn’t have her physically wrangled, and even if you did, her magic could put an end to it immediately. “Please, get up, I can’t hold it.”
Grinning, you slam your hand over her throat, and she gasps, choking slightly as you squeeze her throat. “You’re so cute like this,” you whisper, “Begging me to stop. You’re the one who can’t control yourself.”
Tears were falling down her cheeks now. “Please, please,” she begged, her eyes squeezed shut. “Please, baby, I can’t—I can’t hold it—I’m gonna cum, fuck, please…”
“Do it. Give me all your cum,” you hiss, riding her harder to the point where the bedframe slams against the wall. Wanda, choking on the pressure of your hand around her throat, trembled and violently twitched below and inside you as she tried her hardest to hold it. But she was hot to the touch, and so were you, and your cunt felt so good squeezing around her cock, and you were taking complete advantage of her which she found to be so hot, and she hadn’t been able to stop dreaming about breeding you for weeks now, and it was all too much for her to even stop it.
“Fuck, baby, fuck, get off, I’m gonna… fuck, fuck fuck!”
Wanda’s nails dug into your hips as her words turned into incoherent babbles, her mouth falling wide open and her body lifting completely off the bed as she finally lost all control. You tried to watch her as long as you could, but your eyes fluttered closed when finally you felt her cock give one last hard twitch before loads of her burning hot cum went gushing deep inside you, splashing the wall of your cervix and filling your tummy all up.
The feeling made you cum, shivering on top of her and squeezing around her which only prolonged her orgasm even more. Wanda saw flashing images of you pregnant, which had been fueling what she thought was fear for weeks now, but she was learning just now that that fear was pure fetish. She tugged your hips down onto her and pushed herself as deep inside you as possible as she loaded you with her cum, surprising you with her strength as she kept you in a complete hold.
After a few moments, when she had filled you with all she had to give, which was a shocking amount this time because of how long she had held it, and you were limp against her chest, recovering from your own orgasm, Wanda finally relaxed, letting go of your hips and closing her eyes.
“Fuck,” she breathed, panting as sweat rolled down her tear-streaked face. You were quiet for a minute, relishing the feeling of a full tummy of Wanda’s cum, her cock throbbing gently in your cunt. You were so glad she’d enchanted that strap.
Finally, you hummed, looking up at her. She looked dazed and fuzzy-minded, her eyes hooded and cheeks blushing red from embarrassment. She sighed and grinned sheepishly, placing her hands over her face. You smirked. “That was a lot better than cumming on my tits, right?”
Wanda breathed. “Well, good morning to you, too.”
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heartstoppernews · 2 years
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We chatted with Cormac Hyde-Corrin about Harry Greene and #Heartstopper, including Harry's values, separating himself from the character, One Direction and notable scenes, filmmaking, and he reacts to tweets.
Source: The Permanent Rain Press
Date of Publication: May 21 2022
Link: https://youtu.be/UsoyLZEHlEA
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inzaynety · 2 months
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ice, ice, baby! ⤫
➢ summary: your boyfriend seeks warmth the same way every time
➢ content: zayne x reader; 1259 words; fluff; one (1) suggestive joke if u squint; cold fingers lol; can be read as gn!reader
➢ notes: my first fic in a long time, i missed writing. hope you like it <3
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Despite the nature of his evol, Zayne doesn’t do too well in the cold. 
You’ve seen it when getting caught in the rain where his hair and clothes were drenched and a seemingly permanent scowl was on his face. He was very quick to usher you both to a hot shower and didn’t even let you leave his side until he deemed himself warm enough. 
You’ve encountered it when he would pick up your drink orders and as he places your iced beverage down in front of you, he retracts his hand to clench and unclench before drying it off on a napkin from the condensation. He sits down across from you and you pretend not to have seen anything when he looks like he wants to put his gloves back on.
You even noticed it when he would lounge on the couch after a long day’s shift wrapped in a blanket, bundled in with a comfy sweater you purchased for him as he nodded in and out of sleep. This was one of the rare times that you had been the one to tell him off about getting a good night's rest. 
Of course, you adored his actions. They were endearing for a man of such stoic nature and you’d be damned if that all went away. All except one, however. 
You’re both relaxing on that same comfy couch, a show in the background that is nothing more than background noise to the rain hitting against the glass of your apartment. Zayne has you in his lap, his hands resting comfortably on your waist as you lean back on his chest as you feel his fingers tap your sides occasionally. There wasn’t a set rhythm or anything as he was doing it idly. 
No words are exchanged through the muffled sounds of rain and TV show characters for a good amount of time, so you decide to nestle further into him, leaning your head on his shoulder.
“Sleepy?” He asks in a low voice. His actions don’t stop but it has you feeling content with your position even more. So you nod. He hums in response and brings his arms to wrap around you more. You’re about to fall asleep until you feel the sharp iciness right on your skin. 
You jolt in his hold and reflexively grab his wrists. His fingers had slipped under your shirt and you had lost the barrier protecting you from the unpleasant cold. 
“Zayne!” You narrow your eyes at him after whipping your head around. A hint of a smile is threatening to break on his lips but he knows he can’t let that through. Not if he wanted to see a deeper furrow in your brows.
“Sorry, I thought I could warm up a bit faster.” He doesn’t seem apologetic when he brings you back to him to place his hands and fingers in the exact same spot. You squirm but he doesn’t let you go, only rubbing the skin as he gradually gets warmer and warmer. 
You huff and take it upon yourself to turn in his lap to come face to face with him. Zayne only looks up at you expectantly. You don’t say anything just yet but you do take one of his hands and lift it up to cup in both of your own. Just like that your expression grows concerned. 
“Is your evol acting up again? I told you this would happen if you didn’t take that nap during overtime.” Zayne chuckles and shakes his head. He loves that you care about him even if you needed to show your annoyance first. 
“Not anymore that it already is,” is what he says. It’s not really an answer to his nearly freezing temperature and it definitely doesn’t assuage your worries. 
“But—“
“I swear.” He says firmly, looking you right in the eye. You don’t question that any further. 
“Okay, then why not use your gloves? Or the blanket over there?” You say with a lilt and it lightens the mood a little. “I was so close to sleep, you know?” 
Zayne smiles gently, bringing one of your hands with his now even warm one to his lips. He presses a kiss to the back of your hand before wrapping his arms around you once more. But there is a slight look of confusion on his face. 
“What do you mean?”
“Hm? Don’t those help you warm up much quicker? That’s how your coldness goes away, right?” Now you had gotten confused. 
At the sight of you he laughs again and shakes his head. He brings a hand to the back of your neck and you brace yourself, but are met with no cold whatsoever. His palm is warm. 
“What are you talking about? I always use you.”
“What?” Now it was your turn to be confused. “You don’t. Not when you get cold like this.”
Zayne looks amused. “Name an instance where I don’t.” You think to yourself and come back to the same scenarios.
“When it rains, you immediately take a hot shower when we get home,” Zayne looks like he’s expecting more to the answer.
“Am I alone?”
No, he takes you with him. But you assumed it was to save water. That and well, other things. But as you’re about to answer that you see that he’s serious. Like he’s waiting for you to realize something. Have you missed something?
You try to think back. Those rainy days happened more times to the both of you, more than one might think, so there was even a routine had another one of those days come. You’d rush all the way home and try not to leave too much of a trail of water to the bathroom before stripping down and hopping into the shower. 
You did recall always standing in proximity, heck, he would keep his hands resting on your legs as you sat in the bathroom counter whole towel drying his hair. There was no a moment his hands were keeping your close. 
“No… well, what about cold drinks? You always have your gloves on right away afterwards.” He does, but he’s sighs inwardly at the fact that you never notice that he reaches out to hold yours first, after wiping his hands on the napkin. Zayne always realizes that you flinch subconsciously but hold his back and it’s because the stark contrast of temperature surprises you. That’s why he puts his gloves on. Though, he does notice how much faster he warms up after your touch. 
He says as such. You’re taken aback. Really? Your face gives it away, He nods.
It’s like he can see how the cogs turn in your head as you can’t believe how you’ve missed the hidden adoration he holds for you. You know his little gestures of affection, but your focus on them really did cover up the obvious. Your face flushes and your cheeks feel warm so you think to cool them down with his cooler hands, lifting them to your face.
Zayne obliges and watches as you close your eyes in embarrassment. 
Your voice is small. “I’m sorry, I didn’t notice.” He only responds by pulling you forward to rest your head over his shoulder. He nuzzles himself into your neck and sighs. 
“There’s always something else going on in that brain of yours; I don’t mind it. Just," he pauses, lifting his head to press your foreheads together. He closes his eyes before softly finishing his thoughts.
“Stay here with me a little longer.”
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oepionie · 1 year
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— "HIS COMPLETE DEVOTION" malleus draconia
SYNOPSIS: "Don't touch me! I have a lover!" - After accidentally getting hit in the head with a powerful spell, Malleus is left delirious and confused. You try to help him but he doesn't seem to recognize you.
Character/s: Malleus Draconia x GN! Reader
Tags: Fluff, Established relationship, Malleus is a loyal dragon, Reader is part of the gargoyle appreciation club, Mentions of nausea, He keeps a locket of you aww
A/N: This prompt/idea was requested by a friend!
WordCount: 800+ | 💌Masterlist | PART II HERE
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Green lightning began to strike and forsake the grey sky. Every student on campus could hear the wind howling through the thick dripping rain, a sinking feeling of dread permanating through the atmosphere.
The aged concrete walls shook from a shrill scream, the anguished cry echoing out through the hundred chambers in the castle.
"YOUNG MASTER!" Sebek drove his fingers into his scalp, screaming as thick tears dribbled down his flushed face. From his reaction, you'd think he was the one who got hurt instead.
Lilia tutted and carefully inspected Malleus' head. The young prince was laying on the ground writhing in pain. Lillia pressed his thumb against the dragon's temple, examining the Fae's reaction.
Sebek and Silver surrounded the two, ensuring that no one could get past them. Malleus was in a vulnerable state right now, he had to be protected at all costs.
"The spell was quite powerful however it's not serious. Other than some temporary mental confusion, he should be fine." Lilia muttered, helping Malleus stand up. The young prince stumbled around for a bit, almost as if he was intoxicated.
"Malleus!" You threw the doors to the dorm open, running over to the group. It's only when you got closer did you notice your lover's spinning eyes, glazed over as he blinks at the blank concrete floors. Worried out of your mind, you rushed over to him.
"Tsunotarou! I heard what happened…are you okay?" The fae appeared a little puzzled. You stood before him and he fixed his gaze on you, confused and...disgusted?
With a hint of hesitance, you reached your hands up to cup his cheeks. Only to gasp when Malleus glowered and grasped onto your wrists, ripping your hands off of his face.
Silence fell over the room as he dropped his grip on your arms, allowing them to hang limply by your sides. Everyone gawked at Malleus as if he had just grown two heads.
Malleus? Malleus rejected your affection? The Malleus who waits outside your dorm an hour before classes just to walk you to school? The Malleus who once caused a week-long storm just because he couldn't sit next to you in class? Your Malleus?
You felt your heart sink. They say drunk words were sober thoughts. Did Malleus secretly despise you?
"Listen here-" Malleus snarled, his unfocused eyes flashing a luminous emerald green. The radiance and illumination hypnotizes you for a while. A kaleidoscope of green and blue swirling around the gems that were his eyes.
"No matter how alluring you look-you can't tempt me. I-" Malleus lurched forward, nearly falling over. You ran to catch him but he pushed you away, stepping back blindly. He raised a finger at you. "I-I already have a lover!"
"Yes-That's…me?" You blinked, confused out of your mind.
Malleus only scoffs at you, shakily taking a few steps towards the entrance. It was clear that his head still shook and ached from the spell's blow. Sebek was quick to stop him, holding Malleus steady. "Young Master! Where are you going?!"
"To my-my treasure. My darling prefect." Malleus slurred, leaning against Sebek for support. He continued his rambling. "It's Thursday- We have a club meeting."
"Tsuno-I mean-Malleus, today is Tuesday." You piped up, pressing a hand against his back. With shaky legs, he pushed Sebek off and turned to glare at you.
"Silence. It is not."
Lilia laughs hysterically, doubling over and grabbing onto his knees. Oh, this was comedy gold for him. Shaking his head at his father, Silver strode up to Malleus and placed his hand on the young prince's shoulder.
"Malleus, you're still delirious. Why don't you sit down."
Both Silver and Sebek started to guide the woozy fae onto the couch. You followed suit, taking a pillow and placing it under his head. He turned to face you, his head spinning, a loopy snarl and glare on his face.
"I...I already told you- I have a lover." He groans into his hands, nausea washing over him like waves.
The fae begins frantically rummaging through his pocket. He yanks out a little locket in the form of a heart, holding it up for you to look at. He hands it to you with an arrogant smirk on his face.
"See?"
"O-Oh?"Gently taking it into your hands, you flipped the metal cover over to see a picture of you inside.
It was a photo from your very first anniversary. You were wearing a flower crown made with roses Malleus grew himself, it was one of the many gifts he gave you that day.
Though only your head and neck could be seen in the picture since his coat had almost completely engulfed you. It was a chilly day and Malleus graciously lent you his coat after you had forgotten to wear one.
You stared at the photo fondly, shutting it close before handing the necklace back to the fae.
"Your partner must be lovely." You whisper softly and Malleus sighs, lolling his head back to stare at the ceiling lovingly.
"Oh. They are much more than that."
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PART II | Likes and Reblogs are greatly appreciated and really motivating on my end!
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inthisdarktime · 1 year
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Yes, we are finally getting an interview with Inti with The PRP.
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He will forever be my favorite side character.
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from-the-clouds · 1 year
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savior complex - joel miller x f!reader
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masterlist | song inspo | gif: @joelmjller
All the skeletons that you hide Show me yours, I'll show you mine
summary: Joel shows up at your doorstep, battered and bruised. Despite the bad blood between you, do you have the heart to turn him away? Enemies to lovers. Takes place pre-television series/game. Was written as a companion piece/prequel to my other joel fic, but can be read on it's own. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, dirty talk, implied age gap. Enemies to lovers. Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, implied death of a family member, canon-typical suffering! Descriptions of injuries, blood, stitches (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: I haven't seen the enemies to lovers trope written for joel yet, and I'm also obsessed with the trope of a character showing up at their enemies house because they don't have any place to go. So maybe this is a little self-indulgent. Special shoutout to @ay0nha for letting me talk to you about this fic! Please enjoy, I'm really proud of/excited about this one.  ♥
“What do you want?” 
The ice in your own voice comes as a surprise. You weren’t sure you were even capable of sounding so cold, but it’s probably a good skill to have nowadays. Plus, he’s probably the last person you expect to see, and certainly the last person you want to see standing in your doorway.
“I need your help,” he says. 
You snort, lips pressing together in a bitter smile. “Uh-huh.”
It’s so dark in the hallway, you can barely see his face, but you can imagine what Joel might look like, lines etched in his face from the permanent frown he’s always wearing, particularly when dealing with you. You’ve known him a handful of years, here and there, and you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen him smile….or laugh…or display any emotion other than irritation, or indifference. 
The breeze from your open window shifts your curtains to the side, lets a sliver of light from the full moon pan over him, and you can see him clearly, just for a second. 
He’s covered in blood. 
It’s hard to see exactly how much, but it’s all over his face, his shirt, and accompanied by dirt and grime. One of his hands hangs limp at his side, his opposite clenched into a tight fist. The breeze dies down, the curtain falls back into place, and he’s cast once more in shadow. 
Crossing your arms, you lean against the doorframe. Anyone else, you’d help without question. At one point, you would’ve let him in willingly. But it had been months since you’d last spoken, and you had no intentions of ever seeing him again.
“Why should I help you?” 
He lowers his eyes, looks at the floor. When he answers, his voice is strained. 
“Because I have nowhere else to go.”
The more your eyes adjust in the dim light, the more you can see. Tattered clothes, rain dripping from the tips of his salt-and-pepper curls, his eyes dull. You wonder if he’s trying to make himself look like a kicked puppy, petulant and pathetic, but it doesn’t really seem like something Joel would do.
“Please?” 
He’s in pain, you can read it on his face, and you wonder if it’s because of his injuries, or because of how horrible it must be for him to beg you for help. Historically, it’s always been you in his place, needing something – and if it didn’t serve his interests, he’d leave you in the dust. Joel never made exceptions, no matter the circumstances, despite how long you’d known one another. With that to consider, you have every right to turn him away. You should feel satisfied, seeing him so desperate. You wished you could feel satisfied, but you didn’t.
“Fine.” You let him in. What is it about him that always makes you cave? 
Pulling a chair away from your small kitchen table, he staggers behind you, favoring his right foot, bracing himself on any surface he walks past – the doorframe, the countertop, the table, until he finally lowers himself into the chair.  
You cross the room. It takes most of your bodyweight to shift the couch in the corner of the room away from the vent behind it, and you kneel down. Air conditioning and heat are a thing of the past, but it’s got other purposes now. Using a blade of the knife you always keep handy, you’rable to pry the metal grate away from the wall, to pull out a tin tackle box that you haven’t had to touch in awhile. 
Joel’s still at the table when you return to him, breathing labored, and you flick on the lights. He blinks, his eyes are on you, you can feel the way his body is pinched with nervous energy – like a starving feral cat that’s been trapped in a cage, and still can’t decide if it trusts you yet. As if you’d ever done anything to hurt him. If anything, you should be scared.
“Alright,” you say. “Let me take a look at you.”
His eyes have shifted away from your face, but, too proud to cast them down, he’s glaring at some fixed point behind you, glazing over. He doesn’t want to register what is actually going on. It doesn’t stop you from the task at hand, and you begin to take inventory of his injuries.
“So what happened?” you ask. He’s got a black eye forming, several small cuts all over his face, one of which is slicing through his bottom lip, causing it to swell.
“It’s none of your business,” he quips.
“It’s precisely my business, if you want me to be able to actually help you.” 
“A deal went wrong,” he said. “I was in someone else’s territory. They said rather than turning me into FEDRA, they’d let me off easy.”
“This is being let off easy?” you ask, then cluck your tongue. 
Joel doesn’t answer. 
“And that?” you eye the bump forming on his opposite temple. 
“It’s nothing,” he says, even though, when you graze a thumb over it, he swallows hard. 
“You’re gonna need to be more specific.”
“Got uh, shoved into a brick wall.”
You slide two fingers underneath his chin, using light pressure to tilt his face towards you. “Look at me.” When you’re staring at him like this, studying him closely, you’re forced to acknowledge how handsome he is. Even battered and bruised, it’s the dark, sad eyes, sharp jawline, long lashes that draw you in. He’s hardened by the world he’s been surviving in for twenty years, like everyone is, but he wears it well. You’d never tell him that. 
“Any blurry vision, dizziness?” You aim your flashlight in his eyes, and his pupils constrict. 
“No,” he says. You study him a moment more, and know what to look for. But you don’t find anything of concern.
“Well, I don’t think you have a concussion,” you say. “But I’ll keep an eye on it…..What else happened?” 
“Got me with a knife.” That is what you’ve been the most concerned with since he’s stepped inside. There’s a dark stain blooming on his shirt, just below his left ribcage
“I see,” you say, stepping back. “Take your shirt off.” You open the tin that you left on the table.
It’s full of medical supplies, ones you’d pocketed from the QZ hospital the last few years working there. It’s not easy to sneak them out, nor is it entirely ethical, but you’ve gotten pretty good at it, and now have a decent sized stash built up in case of any emergencies. You’re still deciding if Joel Miller’s well-being is worth the waste of supplies it’s going to be.
When you turn back to him, he has unbuttoned his shirt, but is struggling to shrug it off his right shoulder, where his arm hangs limp at his side. 
“I….” he manages….”I can’t move my arm.”
“Sit up,” you instruct, and he does, which gives you room to slide the rest of his shirt off his shoulder. You immediately notice the obvious deformity. “Looks dislocated.” 
He nods, looking at the floor. “I was trying to defend myself.”
The idea of him, outnumbered and outmaneuvered, a position he’s so rarely in, is unpleasant. He might be an asshole, but because of it, he always comes out on top. There’s something almost comforting about that kind of consistency these days, and it’s tough to stomach the idea that he doesn’t have superpowers, he’s just another person. You’re not sure why you still hold him in such high regard.
You can’t dwell on it. Especially because what’s more pressing is the cut below his ribs, a few inches in length. It’s still bleeding, but not severely. It’s not a stab wound either, even though it’s deeper than you’d expected, but there’s no internal organ damage.
You take a clean cloth and place it over the wound, guiding his left hand overtop it. “You’ll need stitches.” You slide your hand from underneath his, ignoring the warm weight of his touch. “But we need to stop the bleeding. Apply pressure.” He does, and winces.
“You don’t have anything for the pain?” you ask, raising your eyebrow. 
“Front pocket of my shirt,” he says. You fish out a pill. Oxys. You’re not sure how strong they are, and you don’t want to encourage the habit, but this might be a case where he actually needs one. 
There’s a glass of water already sitting on the table, and you grab it, standing over him. Neither of his arms are free to accept the offering.
“Open up.”
He glowers at you like a defiant child. 
“Are you serious?” you tilt your head. “Come on.”
Reluctantly, he opens his mouth, and you tilt your hand to drop the pill in and lift the glass of water to his lips. 
When you’re done with that, it’s time to work on his shoulder. You had done this a few times before, even once to your mother, who had also been a doctor. Med schools didn’t exist anymore, but you didn’t need a degree now to provide care, at least not in this QZ…just experience. And your mother had taught you everything she knew. Before your part of town fell to the virus, she’d even had you reading her old textbooks. So you felt like you were only missing the degree.
You pull up a chair to face him, so close it’s touching the corner of his own, and sit, carefully taking his injured arm and bending it upwards with one of your thumbs in the crease of his elbow, your opposite hand wrapped around his wrist until his forearm is resting against your chest. 
It’s way more intimate than you want it to be, but you don’t have much of a choice. His jaw is set so hard you think he might crack a tooth. “So sometimes, if you relax your muscles enough, you can actually get the shoulder back into place that way.”
You release his wrist and reach out to knead the muscles around the problem area - his chest, his shoulder, in between his shoulder blades. He tilts his head back in the chair, his face pinched. 
“It’s okay,” you say softly. “Just don’t hold your breath, that makes it worse.”
Joel hates this, you can tell. How often does he have to rely on someone so much to help him, that he lets them touch you like you are, lets them see him vulnerable? 
As much as you can, you avoid eye contact, looking down. You didn’t need to see him shirtless before to know that he’s muscular – not perfectly cut, but that isn’t really your thing, anyways. He looks good enough that your eyes are being drawn to places they shouldn’t be, down his torso to the v-lines dipping into the waistband of his jeans. He clears his throat, and you turn to find him watching you. You hope he can’t feel the way your heart is hammering against the back of his hand. 
It’s been a few minutes that you’re trying to get him to relax, but he can’t seem to. You should’ve known that this method wasn’t going to work for him of all people.
“Okay, I’m just going to try to move your arm a bit, see if that’ll work instead.”
He nods.
“Just keep breathing,” you instruct. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.” you slowly guide his elbow forward, still keeping traction. 
He hisses. “Relax,” you soothe. It’s hard, despite the bad blood between you, to resist the urge to be warm, gentle. To reassure. It’s in your nature, it’s part of your job.
Eventually, and with a little patience, you’re able to get the joint to move back into place, and you check to be sure Joel is able to move it on his own. He can, even though it’s sore. You fashion him a sling made out of an ace bandage. 
“You’re probably gonna be a little sore for a while, so take it easy.” It’s probably a useless instruction to give because you know he won’t take it easy. 
He has a sprained ankle, and you wrap it up, elevate it. There’s a near-perfect footprint left behind in dirt on the skin there. Like someone had stomped on his leg hoping to break it. You’re glad they failed.  
Next is the stitches. There’s a few cuts on his body that need one or two, but you start with the big one. The wound has stopped bleeding, so you disinfect it, pull out your tools, and begin working, bent over him. Every time the needle pierces his skin, he tenses. You wonder if the one oxy was enough, or if it hardly touched the pain because he’s using them so often.
The entire time you’re treating him, you’re trying to be as clinical as possible. You’ve got to focus because if you think too much about him, you think about the last interaction you shared, and how pathetic you’d been. And the fact that he’d thought to come to you of all people for this makes your head spin. It’s not supposed to. You aren’t supposed to feel these things for him. You aren’t supposed to owe him anything.
Joel’s fist curls so tightly into itself that his knuckles turn white, fingernails leaving crescents in the skin of his palms. “Kind of feels like you’re making this as painful as possible.”
You smirk slightly. “Don’t give me any ideas.”
He sniffs, and you glance up to see him looking down at you, the ice that had been in his gaze before has thawed.
You squint at him, try to act indifferent, and turn your attention back to the stitches. “Don’t worry, I’m almost done.” 
“Thank fucking-”
“Shhh, you’re distracting me.”
His hand relaxes slightly as you keep working, slow and methodical, silence casting like a spell. 
“Why me?” you ask, finally.
“What?”
“Why did you come here? To me?” you pause. “It’s been forever. You’ve got Tess, right? Couldn’t she help you?”
Joel rubs his aching shoulder. “I didn’t want to scare her,” he answers. “And…I know you’re used to handling this kind of thing.”
“Uh-huh,” you say. “I am.”
One of you should probably acknowledge what had happened. But it won’t be me, you think.
“There,” you tie off the last stitch, and cover the wound with some gauze and a waterproof bandage. “You’ll probably need antibiotics. I’ll try to snag some from the hospital tomorrow.” 
Once you’ve fixed the most pressing issues, you focus on cleaning all the cuts and bruises on his face, his torso, cleaning and wrapping his bloodied knuckles. It’s probably been at least two hours since he arrived when you finally draw away from him, your surgical gloves snapping as you pull them inside-out, and off your hands, discarding them on the table, which is now littered with bloodied gauze, bandage wrappers, and medical supplies. You wish you had more ice packs than just the one for his shoulder and ankle, since he could use them just about everywhere, but it’ll have to do. 
“Could use a drink after all that,” Joel says, looking at his hands, flexing his fingers. 
“Don’t push it,” you answer, scraping the mess off your kitchen table into a bin. It dawns on you that you do have a half-empty bottle of bourbon sitting in your cabinet that’s surprisingly good. “But now that you mention it….” 
He snorts, the closest thing to a laugh you’ve ever heard. 
You pour a few fingers of whiskey into two glasses, sliding one across the table to him. Neither of you clink glasses, but you do eye each other over the rims of your cups as you take the drink in one go.
Joel places his empty on the table. “I should get out of here.”
“In your shape, it might be better to wait for light.” As much as he won’t admit it, you know he’s still weak, not in his right mind, and vulnerable to any FEDRA agents working the streets. “But I have to sleep, I’ve got work in the morning.”
Surprisingly, he doesn’t fight you. 
You curl yourself up on the couch, that is old and worn but still surprisingly comfortable. Joel sits at the table awhile more, and has one more drink. After all the activity of the night, you’re out within minutes. 
Joel drags himself over to the bed, which you’d never offered him directly, but he assumed to take since you were on the couch. He doesn’t think he’ll sleep, but he can’t sit upright in your uncomfortable kitchen chair anymore. Every part of his body aches. Your bed is in the corner, neatly made, even though it’s just threadbare sheets and a blanket. His never is, and he finds it ridiculous you must waste the time at the beginning of your day for something like that.
He sprawls across it, surprised at its comfort. A breeze coming through the open window drifts your curtains to the side, and he catches a glimpse of the full moon. Between the liquor, and the pills, the pain has subsided enough that he’s able to relax a little. The sun will be up soon. He just has to wait…
— — — — — —
The next thing Joel hears is your voice, muffled by the buffer of your front door. He looks at the clock next to your bed, it’s early in the evening. The sunlight trickling through the gaps of your curtains is golden, a slanting orange glow in the corner of the room. The window is closed. Fuck. Did he really sleep all day? He uses his good arm to shield his eyes from the offending light before stretching. 
Sheets on top of him rustle, he must have climbed under them at some point the night before.
It feels like he’s been hit by a freight train, and he groans. Pain drips through him, settles in his shoulder, his side, his head. His mouth is dry, and he sees a full glass of water next to him, two white pills. He couldn’t remember you leaving that morning, but it had to have been you who left them there. Who else would it have been? Without thinking, he indulges. 
There’s a note scrawled on a scrap of paper underneath the pills. He picks it up with his free arm, the other one still wrapped in a sling. 
– Take pain meds
– Ice shoulder, eye, temple, ankle
– Change dressing
– LEAVE
The last word is underlined twice. He exhales, letting his head drop back against the pillows, until it snaps to attention….you’re still outside, but your voice has gotten louder, more animated. You’re talking to someone….no…..you’re raising your voice at someone. He can’t make it out through the door, and for all the bad things he could say based on the nature of your relationship, he knows that you don’t often lose your temper. 
‘I think you should leave,’ he catches the end of what you’re saying and is immediately jolted out of the fog of discomfort, leaving your note on the bedside table.
He’s crosses the room, ignoring the protest of pain from his ankle, hears a man’s voice respond, but just a snippet – ‘stupid fucking bitch’ – and he’s throwing open the door, nearly trampling you, since you’re pressed against the threshold with your arms around your backpack, eyes wide. 
When Joel follows your gaze, he spots a man about your age standing a few feet away, chest puffed out and chin up. 
“Joel,” you say, and he’s taken aback by your tone – relief. He’s never heard you say his name like that. Somewhere, in a small part of his brain he doesn’t want to acknowledge, he thinks he might like to hear you say it again. 
“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” the guy tilts his head back to look up at Joel, giving him a once over, and steps backward in consideration. 
Instead of correcting him, you say nothing. 
“What’s going on here?” Joel asks, and you lower your arms, move your shoulders back, standing up straighter as you turn to look at him.
“Ben was just leaving,” you say. 
“Sounds like a good idea,” Joel answers. His hand instinctively comes to rest on your shoulder – reverent, protective. He knows he’s in no shape to get into a fight right now, but he’s significantly larger than the other man, and figures that alone will be enough of a deterrent.
Ben notices, and nose curls into a snarl, rolling his eyes. “Fine, whatever. He’s like…old enough to be your dad,” he mumbles under his breath.
You don’t answer, just stare with contempt as he retreats down the hallway. Once Ben has turned the corner, you step into your place, Joel’s hand falling from your shoulder. 
“Who was that?”
“Just some guy from work,” you say, sounding uninterested, dropping your backpack onto your kitchen table.
“How often does he–?”
“Let’s not get into it,” you shake your head as you pull open the curtains, sunlight casting warmth all over the room, specks of dust glittering in the air. But he wants to know more. He’s tried to ignore all the suffering that isn’t his own since the world went to shit, but he’s at least aware of how dangerous it is to be a woman, living on her own.
“I didn’t think you’d still be here, did you sleep all day?” 
Joel doesn’t answer.
“You probably needed it.”
You disappear into the bathroom, and Joel sees a rush of light through that door, the creak of a window opening. “I brought the antibiotics, they’re in my bag,” you say when you exit, hands on your hips. “You’re not feeling feverish, are you?”
Joel shakes his head no, and sits back down on the bed. 
“Well that’s good,” you go to the counter. “Hey, if you need to shower here, it’s probably better because I can dress your wound before you go. I was actually thinking today about how you would definitely fuck it up if you tried to do it youself.”
He rolls his eyes at the insult, but answers. “That’s fine.”
You’re making yourself something to eat. He notices a polaroid on your bedside table. It’s two kids – a girl and a younger boy, her arms around him – their lips curled into identical smiles. When he looks closer, he realizes the girl is you. 
Please? My brother is sick, he’s in a lot of pain, you had said, on your knees in front of him, swallowing hard. Your fingers were curled in his belt loops, the cold steel button of his jeans pressed into your chin, so close he thought it might leave a permanent mark. In one of your hands was a wad of credits, only a couple short of what he’d asked you for in exchange for the pills. I’ll do anything you want me to.
Of course he wanted you, how could he not? He wondered if you knew that already, and were just trying to take advantage of his weakness. Or maybe you were just that desperate. It didn’t matter either way. He can’t do it. Not like this, he thought. 
No, is his answer.
He stepped backwards, away and you still tried to cling to him. Sensing his reluctance, you continued to talk.  Joel, whatever you want. I’ll do whatever, please…it’s nothing. Eventually, he slipped from your grasp, and you fell back to your heels. He left you there, and he didn’t look back.
The memory is burned into his brain, and has followed him to sleep more times than he’d be willing to admit. He swallows hard, and you’re standing in front of him with an opened jar of applesauce and a spoon against your lips. “Are you looking through my shit?” you ask. 
“It was sitting out.” 
You snatch the photo from his hand so quickly that one of your nails knicks his thumb, shoving it in your back pocket and jerking your head towards the bathroom. “Hurry, I can’t be up late like last night.”
The shower feels nice, even if the pressure is shit and the water is cold. He still has blood caked under his fingernails that he can’t seem to fully eradicate even after scrubbing them against his palms. He slips back into his jeans when he’s done, and he notices a clean shirt has been left on the bed when he exits. 
“You done?” your voice calls. There’s the sound of a book snapping shut, your weight shifting on the couch. “I want my bed back.”
Joel grunts an affirmation, and you round the corner with the tin of medical supplies from the night before, discarding what you were reading on the foot of the bed. “This’ll take two minutes. Let me see.” Pausing in front of him, you press your fingers, a little experimentally, along his ribs, peering closer to examine your work. “Oh, this looks good. It should heal nicely.”
“It doesn’t feel good.”
“Uh-huh, but it’ll get better. Give it time.”
He sits down while you shimmy out of your flannel shirt. You begin to work, quietly, quickly, and at first, he tries to look away, at the top of the bedside table where you’ve placed a bag of antibiotics and a fresh glass of water. The note that was there earlier, with instructions on how to take care of himself in your absence, that also told him to LEAVE, is gone. He gives in and turns back to you, knelt between his legs like it’s nothing, pressing an adhesive bandage across the wound. 
He’s not sure why he had expected you to be cruel. You should be cruel, he knows that, but you aren’t. Your touch is confident, firm, and surprisingly tender. It must be muscle memory, he thinks, because he’s never known you to be sweet. Maybe he hadn’t been paying close enough attention.
“There,” you say, pulling away. “Now, I’d recommend changing that once a day at least, if you can. Take an antibiotic once a day, and make sure you do the full course. Ice your elbow, eye, ankle, all that every couple hours. Also, you should really use a sling for at least a month-”
“No.” He knows he won’t do any of those things, can’t really afford to between work, life, and resources.
“Suit yourself.”
“I will.”
You don’t scoff or roll your eyes at him or try to convince him why he should, and it’s like a peace offering. I could fight you on this, because I’m smart, but I won’t. It’s everything you’re saying, but you’re silent, and you sit on the edge of your bed a foot or two away, poking your fingers into the laces of your boots, untying them. 
“I’m sorry.”
Joel says it before he can stop himself. He can’t remember the last time he’s said those two words.
You balk at him. “For what?” 
Everything. “Your brother.”
“Oh,” you say, focusing back on your feet, pulling them out of your boots and pressing your thumbs into each arch. You shrug, shake your head.  “Yeah, well….I’m just glad he’s not in pain anymore.” 
“Yeah.”
“...And at least it wasn’t….you know…” The infection. 
He nods, takes a beat.
“I should get going,” Joel says, his hands on his knees. “The next time you need something-” 
“Uh-huh,” you cut him off tersely. “Right.”
“All I’m saying is that I owe you one.”
“You really think I believe that, coming from you?” You snort, shake your head, and reach to pat his leg in a patronizing way, until his hand lands atop your own. He thinks it might make him feel better, to see if your reaction to his touch gives anything away. But it doesn’t. Everything about you is rigid, cool. 
“I’m sorry….about that night,” he decides, purposely changing the subject. “But I don’t make exceptions.”
“Right. Then, I guess I’m a fool for doing this,” you gesture towards him, with your free hand - all the work you’d done. 
Joel shakes his head no, fingers tightening around your hand, clasping it hard. He’s sure, or at least he hopes, somehow, you can see it. That this isn’t a jab, that he means it. 
I’m sorry. 
You look down at where his hand is squeezing yours, and he watches your throat work once. 
“No,” he begins. “You just have every reason to hate me.”
A wistful smile crosses your face, but it’s hard to decipher what it means. To him, you’re still unreadable, even staring right at him. Most people avoid Joel’s eyes at all costs, but not you. You slide your hand out from underneath his, and he thinks for a second you’re going to retaliate. His body is facing yours, his hair is still damp, dripping onto his bare skin. It doesn’t stop you from placing your hands on either one of his shoulders, and learning forward. 
The white tank top you’re wearing clings to every curve of your body, except where it’s shifted off your shoulder, revealing a black bra strap. It’s intoxicating to have you this close. You must be able to hear the way his heart picks up, thuds heavy against his ribs, being so close to him.
“You think I hate you…” you say quietly, voice a low murmur, tilting your head, studying him. “That’s why you want me, isn’t it?”
This is why he’s never liked you. That uncanny ability to stare right through him, crack open the camera, spool out the film. 
“Isn’t it?” you prompt, when all he can offer is silence.
Of course it is. It is always easier when hate is involved. Hate bolds the blurry lines, boils everything down to its simplest point – that’s all that this would be, just two people trying to escape, if only for a little bit. And you, he’s sure, would make it so easy. 
“Yes,” he answers, though he’s not sure if he believes it. In this case, hate is just another medium to channel energy through. Passionate energy. True hate, maybe, would be your indifference. And neither of you are indifferent.
“Well….” you lean forward, your lips are nearly touching. He’s still frozen. “Maybe I do hate you.”
It’s a beat before anything happens, a few seconds of uninterrupted eye contact, your eyes have darkened, pupils wide. 
He pounces on you, ignoring the scream of soreness through his body as he cups both sides of your face, his tongue already scraping on your teeth, swallowing the surprised noise you make, which he finds ridiculous because what did you think was going to happen, talking to him like that?
But you can’t be that shocked, because your arms have tightened around his shoulders, you’re pulling him closer, he’s pulling you closer. A tightrope, about to snap. 
He wraps himself around you protectively, you feel so small there, he’s aware how easily he could break you, but he won’t. Or at least…he’ll try not to. 
You break away first. “Fuck.”
Your lips are full, wet, flush, parted, and you’re panting. He pulls you back against him, and you oblige, much more pliant this time, letting him claim you. Two sets of hands fumbling for purchase. 
“I do want you.”
“Then have me.”
He pulls you onto his lap, still sitting on the edge of the bed, and it’s shameful how easily you move there, settle your weight across his hips. You’re warm, so warm…too warm. His skin pricks.
Your hands thread into his hair and tug, it’s heavenly. He’s not used to being touched like this.. Grinding down, you find him already already rock hard – he has been since you were knelt in front of him cleaning his stitches, but he’d been trying to ignore it – and he moans. “You like that?” 
He hums into your mouth, agreeable. Yes. 
Joel wants to touch you, won’t be satisfied if he can’t, and he tugs at the hem of your shirt. You pull back, just for a split second to pull it over your head. It takes him a moment, but he still remembers how to unclasp a bra with one hand, and you’re bare before him. All he has to do is run a calloused palm up your spine and you’re arching your body closer, until he can mouth at your breasts. 
You sigh as he cups, squeezes, pinches. Latches onto one of your nipples and grazes his teeth over it, watching you closely….your eyes closed, head falling back, murmuring. Yes.
What he wants to do is to lift you up, spin you around, and press your back against the mattress. He wants to spread you open across the bed, put his head between your thighs and lave at you like a man starved. He wants to hear every way you can cry, moan, whimper his name as his tongue works your clit, fingers in your cunt, washing over him. Of course, he’d go gentle at first – not too gentle – but gentle enough, work you up. He wants to dangle you over the ledge, hold you there until you’re begging to be let go. And after you finally come, pulsing around his fingers, he’d wrap your legs around his hips and fuck you into the mattress until you do it again. After the first time, he thinks, it’d be even easier to get you to do it again. And again. Would you face his steely gaze head on, eyes fluttering? Would your nails scrape track marks down his back? Would you stifle a moan by sinking your teeth into the pulse point on his neck? He wants to- no, needs to know.
But he’s weak right now, and can’t do any of that. He’ll settle for what he can get.
Your fingers are twisting the button on his pants. “Come on,” you murmur. 
“You shouldn’t want me,” he warns.
“I know.” But I still do.
Your hand is down his pants, and he shifts his weight backwards to wiggle further out of them. It’s far more hurried than either of you deserve. You don’t even attempt to tease him through his boxers first, your hand wrapping around him in one swift and confident movement. 
Hissing, Joel sees you duck your head, feels the press your lips against his neck, his cock jumping in your grip as you run your thumb over the head, pump him once.
“You’re so big,” your voice is all breathy and soft, the sound of it has him growing even more frantic. He tugs at the loops on the side of your jeans. 
“Take these off.”
Yes. There’s no protest.
It’s torture when you leave his lap, for the brief time you do, his gaze tracing the curve of your ass as you wriggle out of your pants, then your panties, and when your return to him, he holds you closer.
“I knew you’d be so fucking good for me.”
“Did you?” It's playful, breathless, your arms around his neck. The lightest he’s ever heard you. 
You’re wet, already dripping onto him, and he dips a finger between your thighs, sliding it through your slickness, dipping into you just so, enjoying the noises you make before withdrawing. It’s a shame he can’t take his time. He’s too impatient. One of his hands he uses to guide his cock to your cunt, and the other he uses to steady your hips. His head drops to watch himself sink into you. 
The stretch of him inside you makes your toes curl, you’re already pulsing around him and he hasn’t even given you everything.
“Fuck,” Joel whispers your name when he feels you around him, all-encompassing and overwhelming. “So fucking good.”
You’re whining, but it’s unintelligible, your head bobbing into an enthusiastic nod, teeth snagging your lower lip. When he’s reached the hilt, you pause only for a moment before you begin to move on your own accord. Experimental rolls of your hips, not drawing back far at all, keeping him deep inside you, rutting and writhing with no reprieve. He thinks he might come right then and there, it’s been so long, and it’s you. This young, pretty thing who – if this whole fucking world hadn’t gone to shit – wouldn’t have looked twice at him before. It’s just another injustice – that you’re going to let someone like him ruin you.
You begin to bounce on him, dragging yourself along his length. “That’s a good fucking girl,” he groans. “Just like that.” 
“It’s so…fuck, Joel, you feel-”
“I know.” He answers, partially in agreement, and partially to shut you up. If you keep saying his name like that, it’s not going to end well. 
He tries as best as he can to answer your hips with ruts of his own, but it’s sloppy, erratic. The whole thing is, and he wants to curse himself because it really shouldn’t be, just like he shouldn’t be thinking about what he’ll do differently next time. 
It’s the first time he’s been with you, so he doesn’t know what it feels like when you’re getting close, but you’re throbbing and pulsing around him, your breathy pants and soft sighs start sounding more desperate. 
You’re so fucking wet he can hear it, can feel it seeping out, dripping down his balls onto the mattress. He realizes one of his hands is just clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm, trying his hardest not to come before you do. All he wants is to give you something, a chance to make up for everything that he’s taken.
“More,” you murmur, you don’t even seem to remember, or care, that he’s hurt. That you’d spent hours the night before after he’d been torn apart, putting him back together. “More, please.” 
His lips quirk into a boyish smile, something you’ve never seen before. He likes you like this, begging, desperate, sweet. “Don’t laugh,” but your lips are quirking, too, and you fucking nuzzle against his beard to hide it.
“I’m not - fuck.”
The shower was useless, he’s already sweating again, but so are you, and he trails his tongue across your neck to taste it, then unclenches his fist, moving it between your legs. He takes your clit between his knuckles, circling it carefully, steadily, while his cock keeps hitting the same, soft spot over and over again. 
You can’t get enough. “Harder, Joel…please.”
Of course, he obliges. And he’s lucky, because he doesn’t have to do much more. You slow, legs shaking, and you’re suddenly so tight around him he can’t move. “That’s it, baby, come on, so fucking good…” he would, is, saying anything to feel you. His name is a mewl on your lips, the rubber-band snaps, and you come around him, pressing every part of yourself against the hard line of his torso. He aches, it’s the sweetest torture he’s ever known. 
He knows, because he’s going to fuck you through it, has to, that he will not last any longer. 
“Where?” he pants, and you’re still peaking, gasping, grabbing. 
“Inside me,” you answer. “Please, inside me.”
He’s too lost in the moment to consider the consequences. Doesn’t care about them at all. When he comes, you groan at the feeling of him fucking you full, cunt still squeezing him, not as tightly as before, but still apparent.
The last bit of arousal is still waning, and he leans back to lie on the bed, pulling you with him. You fall to his chest, hands pressing lightly to adjust your position, suddenly aware again of the wound beneath his ribs, the bruises on his shoulder, settling so you’re pressed against his side, his arm still loose around your waist.
Neither of you say anything for a long time, and he notices your legs are trembling. 
We shouldn’t have done that, he wants you to say, as you should. But you show no signs of remorse.
Before all this, when he was a different man, he would’ve helped clean you up after. He would have soothed you in the aftermath; stroked your hair, peppered kisses along your neck, your cheeks, pulled you close so you could fall asleep in his arms. He can’t now, because you’re smart and you’d know what it means, but the guilt gnaws at him. 
When you sit up, pulling your shirt back over your head, sliding on your panties, and walking towards the bathroom, he imagines you think you’re doing him a favor. You are, in a way. Or maybe, you’re resisting the same impulse that he is.
You return a few minutes later, wrapped in a tattered robe, and climb next to him on the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows, then looking down at him. Between the combination of being tired, stiff, and fucked-out, he still hasn’t moved. 
“Don’t you think Tess is worried about where you are?” You bend your knees back and cross your ankles. 
“She knows I can take care of myself.”
Your eyebrow quirks. Can you? Joel turns away and stares up at the water-damaged ceiling panels.
“You should probably go.” 
His head snaps back towards you. He thinks of every person over the last twenty years he’d said the equivalent to after sex, and wonders if it made them feel as nauseous as he does hearing those words from your mouth.
The feeling fades – only a little – when you reach over to press your palm to the side of his face, cupping his cheek, before tenderly moving a piece of damp hair off his forehead, nails scraping against his scalp.
He lets his eyes close just for a beat, before nodding and sitting up. “Thank you,” he says, and he’s not sure what for. All of it, he supposes.
“Uh-huh,” you roll over, reaching to grab your book that had fallen to the floor at some point during your coupling, while he pulls on his clothes, laces up his boots, and takes the antibiotics from your bedside table.
Joel takes one last look at you, already engrossed in your reading, and then walks to the door.
“You know where to find me, if you need anything.”
You look up, nod, and he’s gone.
— — — — — —
part ii
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myheartstopperblog · 2 years
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Permanent Rain Press interview with Tobie Donovan (Isaac Henderson in Heartstopper)
youtube
My notes:
The Lion King is his favourite movie
He went to Bath Theatre Academy and graduated in 2020
He loves to sing and musical theatre was always his number one passion, and before Heartstopper his plan was to get a degree for it
Him and Alice talked about his character (Isaac Henderson) and how they wanted to keep a few similar things between his character and Aled Last
In his head (not canon!) Isaac is the oldest of three kids and has a mum and dad, the dad could be an english teacher or has a connection to books just like Isaac and they bond over that
He describes Isaac as the friend that you would miss if he wasn't there but also wouldn't notice them if he was there, that he's a protector
Hi favourite scene to be a part of was the bowling and arcade scenes
"I wanna believe in romance!" Is his iconic line and he recreated it hehe
The "antiseptic wipes" scene was shot a few times because him, Kit and Joe would keep laughing
He had a javelin double (whose name was Tobie as well) and he helped him understand the sport a bit more
His most favourite scene that he wasn't involved in was the party scenes in episode 3
Alice sent Tobie a list of books that they thought he would read but Tobie was the one to suggest Radio Silence
He thinks that Isaac is nonconfrontational, conflict of any sort is one of the worst things that could happen to him
He thinks that Isaac knew about Nick and Charlie before anyone else
If season 2 happens he would love to go to Paris and shoot a scene in a bookshop
He would also love to explore more of his home life, his family life and his queerness
They also talk about Alices tweet that said that Isaac was supposed to give out acearo vibes and that he would be honoured if his character got to bring that representation into the show
He thinks that Issac would have felt a bit uncomfortable (not in a bad way) if he was at the milkshake scene because everyone was on a date, and Isaacs favourite milkshake would probably be something weird (like bubblegum)
Issac's message to Tao and Elle saying that he's sick and can't go to movie night was him giving them like a "date" night, he definetly wasn't sick
He really likes the Mean Girls musical and hus favourite character is Karen
He is a fan of Sex Education and Young Royals (his favourite character is Simon)
He is also a fan of The Eternals and he loved the part where Phastos kisses his partner, he cried when watching that and it gave him hope and thought that he could also be a superhero
He loves the Marvels films and his favourite one is the second Captain America film
He is a massive fan of Harry Styles, Doja Cat, Megan Thee Stallion,...
And if he could be any ice cream flavour it would be mint choc chip (same answer as Corinna)
He is such a bubbly and happy person! He just puts a smile on your face!
Corinna Browns interview notes
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The interview with Tommy will be out today!
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YES!!! Just saw that we're getting another Permanent Rain Press interview with Sara Arrhusius!!! 💜🔥🌈 Can't wait!!!
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They're such a remarkable human, I love them. 🥺
THANK YOU @ThePRPress for this!!! 💜
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