#but fuck I just don't know what to write anymore

[bi-writes]

hi! i was thinking if you could write an older!boyfriend simon x reader BUT reader is john price's daughter so is kinda of a forbidden and secret relationship !!!! they've been dating for a long time now until john finds out !!!!!

18+

"how is she?"

"doing well, john. but you don't have to worry about her anymore, you know that right? she's not yours to worry about."

"she is mine. i know she's not..." john huffs. "she may not be blood, but she's mine, yeah? so when i ask 'ow she is, you tell me, kate. can we agree on that?"

"sure, john. she's in georgia. her russian got very good. if you want to know my honest opinion, i think she'll be one of my best."

"well...i wouldn't stand for anythin' less."

"john?"

that voice is music to him. he turns, taking his hat off, and he laughs, genuinely, when he sees you. his whole face lights up, and you make your way to him. it's been months since you've seen him in person--even though he makes you send him constant updates about what you're doing and where you are, you find yourself missing this man and the warmth he gives off whenever you are in his proximity.

he's always looked at you so kindly. he's always taken care of you. whenever you pick up the phone, he's always answered.

"'ello, bug."

he crushes you in a warm hug. he puts a hand on the back of your neck and holds you to his chest, and the tension in his shoulders deflates now that he has you with him.

"hi, john. miss me?"

"well...you were the only one with sense in my house."

"you live alone, john."

"aye."

he pours you a hot cup of tea before he makes you tell him all about your new posting. most of it is classified, and you tell him that, but his face lights up when you talk about the new skills you're learning and all the opportunities that kate is giving you. his face scrunches a little when you talk about the more dangerous ops, but john never has the same regard for his own life.

the mess hall gets busy once dinner time rolls around. his men were not expecting you, and that much is clear when they see their captain even enjoying a meal in public and not secluded in his office. you smile at his sergeants, but when your gaze lingers a little longer on the doors, johnny just nudges you with his elbow.

"miss the big guy?"

"what? no."

"he had a long night last night," he wiggles his eyebrows at gaz, who just laughs a little. "i might need to try the whole brooding, scary look LT has got on. attracts the most bonnie things, fuckin' christ."

your plate flies when you stab at your food too hard. the cutlery clatters as it hits the floor, and you jump a little, swallowing.

"are you alright, bug?"

"huh? yeah, oh...yeah, just...fucking clumsy. i...i'm gonna...find the toilet."

the blood is rushing in your ears as you make your way out. you're vibrating, hot inside, and you feel him before you see him, even in your anger.

when he pulls you into the shadow of a nearby supply closet, you swipe the blade out of your boot and hold it up against his throat. even through the mask, the blade bites, and he hisses as you hold him up against the wall there.

"don't fucking touch me," you snarl, and ghost's eyes are bright and alive as he holds his hands up defensively.

"wot--"

"and don't what me," you snap. "actually, don't fucking talk at all, you cheating, manipulative, british piece of shit--"

"look so pretty," he murmurs, tilting his head to the side. "did you do y'r hair, baby?"

"i will kill you."

"'s olright. last thing i see'll be you."

"i'm not fucking kidding, simon!"

he bends a little, tilting his head, and you breathe out through your nose as he leans his forehead against yours.

"reckon ya spoke t'johnny."

you scoff. "told me all about your winnings last night, lieutenant."

"was no winnings, love, don't be so fuckin' naïve." simon swipes at the handle of the blade, curling his gloved fingers around your wrist and forcing it away from him. "y'r just mad cause y'r cunt missed me."

"don't flatter yourself, asshole."

"so if i pull your knickers down right now, y'won't be drippin', swee'eart?"

"that's irrelevant."

"'s not. turn around and bend over."

simon's sorry, so he eats your pussy from behind. he gets down on his knees, and the crack of them satisfies you immensely, up until you feel his mouth between your cheeks, tongue slicking up your folds. you brace yourself against the wall, palms flat against the concrete as he puts two gloved hands against your ass and spreads you wide to fit himself nicely there. he hums, groans, makes you whine as he slurps obscenely into your cunt, laving at the drip of you until the taste of you floods his mouth.

"simon..." you whimper. "tell me i-it's not true."

he presses a wet kiss to your ass, biting it firm.

"'s not true, love. promise."

"fuck your promises," you sniffle. "you're a professional liar."

"tha' 'ow it's gonna be, innit? not gonna trust me? believe me?"

you rest your forehead against the cool wall, and the shadow of him envelopes you when he stands. he grunts a little as he gets to his feet. his big hands squeeze at the curve of your waist, and you close your eyes when you feel his breath against your neck.

"i'm sorry, simon."

"for wot?"

"i just...i like you so much. so much."

"come 'ere," he murmurs in your ear. he pulls your hips back, pressing your ass against his pelvis, and you dig your nails into the wall when you hear his belt buckle and zipper. "my pretty girl. my pretty, pretty girl."

"i missed you s-so much, simon."

"i know, love. quiet now. someone'll hear."

it's not the worst place you've fucked. you've snuck quickies in the rec room. behind the mess hall. met up in filthy gas station toilets, fallen into the backseat of a car in the parking lot of numerous military bases. even once, you deigned to suck his dick in his office, and you had to hide behind his couch when john came in to ask about an op.

john had a rule. his men were off-limits. he should've thought about that before he hired a man straight out of your wet dreams for his stupid fucking task force.

you're weak. and simon is a man.

inevitable.

you're a mile into pound-town when someone interrupts. simon is cock-deep inside of you, pelvis up against your ass, one hand braced around your throat and the other squeezing your ass. your eyes are rolled back into your head, and there's drooling coming out of your mouth. it's hot, disgusting, filthy to let him have you like this, but it's been weeks since you've seen him, and the phone calls aren't enough.

you love talking to him. you love when he talks to you. he'll never be annoying to you, you'll never get tired of him, but the distances hurts. you want simon to be all around you--inside of you, against you, his voice in your ear and his mouth against yours and his warmth your only sheet, but you can't bring yourself to do more than this.

you're too afraid of disappointing people. you're too scared of simon's rejection. if your relationship is nothing but fun, nothing but sex, you can pretend it isn't real, but you're just lying to yourself now.

you babble, and it sounds like love, but then the hallway light blinds you, and familiar blue eyes nearly kill you.

"jesus christ!"

simon puts his body in front of yours to cover you, using a harsh boot to kick the door closed. you squeak, covering your face with your hands, and you groan audibly as simon pants against your back.

"fuck--" you gasp. "oh...fuck, fuck, fuck!"

simon buries his face into the crook of your neck, laughing a little.

"bloody hell," he breathes. "reckon we're fucked, huh, love?"

"it's not funny, simon! we're in so much trouble!"

"well..." he squeezes your throat gently, tilting your head back. "could still finish. no sense in pretendin' now."

"you are not going to come when he's probably waiting for us outside."

"i'm balls deep in my favorite girl," simon mutters. "could come just fine. just say the word."

"you're disgusting."

"mmm..." simon squeezes your hips. "keep talkin'. i like when y'talk t'me like tha'."

"fucking asshole."

"yeah...yeah."

"you stupid, immature, unhinged pain in my ass--"

"fuck."

well.

you're definitely never leaving this room.

[motorsportbarbie13]

Aftermath - Chapter 5

Aftermath - MV33 - Chapter 1 Aftermath - Chapter 2 Aftermath - Chapter 3 Aftermath - Chapter 4 Master List

When Lando leaves you heartbroken after you get tired of trying to make something out of nothing for far too long, Max steps in to help you pick up the pieces.

warnings: this chapter contains language and descriptions that illustrate abuse (mental and emotional). please don't engage with my work if you find any of the topics triggering. lando is, once again, an absolute asshole in this. i'd also like to point out that this is a character i am writing, i in no way am insinuating or implying the real lando is like this in any way.

pairing: max verstappen x leclercsister!reader

word count: 4k or something like that?

(Everyone say ‘thank you’ to @lestapiastrisgirl for beta reading and helping me through late night plot crisis so this can come out today!!)

f1.gossip.source posted

f1.gossip.source It's been months since @/Lando and @/MissLeClerc have been spotted togtether and we're starting to wonder...are they even together anymore?! Lando was spotted out alone in Monaco, looking annoyed at fans calling his name while his (ex???) girlfriend was papped out and about with none other than...Max Verstappen. Again. Rumors about the LeClerc sister and Dutch driver started to swirl right around the time her and Lando stopped being seen out in public...What do we think, chat??? Has little miss leclerc finally ditched the cocky British pilot for a new Dutch beau??? user029 maybe she got tired of having to parent her boyfriend??? user220 if it's true, she's really upgraded. 4 time world champion vs...what??? 4 time race winner. please. user0298 he never supported her art or anything, i'm not surprised she's moved on. max always looks smitten with her.

“Lando, you have got to get this under control.” The head of McLaren’s communications team hisses, her glare shooting daggers at the driver who’s just walked into the the hospitality building ahead of the race in Belgium. 

Lando glances up from his phone, face pale and eyes worried. “How the fuck am I supposed to control what the gossip pages post?” 

Marina throws her hands up in the air as she paces, her McLaren team kit wrinkled from lack of sleep thanks to the British driver. In the four weeks since your argument with Lando after Austria, things have only gotten worse. You’re still not talking to him and he still hasn’t figured out where the hell you’re living. You’re not staying with Charles and Alexandra or Jade, he’s been subtly watching both buildings. He knows you’re still in Monaco because you’ve been papped out with your family and friends but most maddeningly Max Verstappen. 

Everyone seems to have noticed you’re not living with Lando anymore, your appearances in his streams have dwindled down to nothing. Fewtrell has had to start banning people form his chat because they won’t stop asking about you and what’s going on. Everyone knows that something went down but you’re straight up refusing to behave like an adult and come back to Lando, where you belong and it’s infuriating. 

“You can’t, obviously.” Marina sighs, sitting down at one of the high top tables in the middle of the suite. 

Around her, the Thursday afternoon crew of engineers and communications people buzz, all prepping for their weekends. Everyone seems to be acting normal but Lando can feel their glares on his back as he walks through the building. They all know he’s causing the entire team grief by causing so much drama with you, taking the attention away from the decent start to the year they’d had before all hell had broken loose a few months ago. 

“But,” She continues, leveling a glare at Lando. “You either need to bite the bullet and release a joint statement with her announcing your breakup or you need to get her to the track this weekend and make a big show of a united front. It’s up to you Lando, but you need to do something. I can’t keep saying ‘no comment’ whenever we’re asked about the distraction this is causing the team.” 

Lando pulls at his curls, like hell he’s going to admit that you’d left him. He supposed he could go rogue and release a statement without you. That way he could control the narrative and try to get the fans back on his side if he made something up like a cheating scandal or something. The moment that the thought flutters through his mind, he forces it out. For some fucking reason, the fans seem to have a soft spot for you and it’s maddening. Lando knew there was no way he could get public opinion on his side, not with how he was getting ripped apart on socials right now. 

“We’re not broken up.” He bites out, taking a sip out of his water bottle as he contemplates what he can do. 

Marina glances up from her phone, brow lifted in question. “That’s not what it looks like here.” She turns her phone towards Lando and shows him a photo of you descending the stairs of a private jet that’s just landed in Belgium. In front of you, already down the stairs and waiting on the tarmac for you is your brother with Leo cradled in his arms. 

And behind you? A fiery rage burns bright and hot in Lando’s chest when he sees who’s behind you. 

Fucking Max Verstappen. 

The look you’re giving him makes his heart twist and for the first time since this entire thing began, Lando actually misses you. He misses the way you used to smile up at him like that, like your entire world revolved Lando and no one else. He missed the way your eyes would follow him around a room, how your body would center towards his. The way you looked at Max was how you used to look at him and it made jealousy twist violently deep in Lando’s gut just looking at the photo. 

“I’ll take care of it.” Lando spits before stalking off to the privacy of his drivers room. 

f1.gossip.source posted

f1.gossip.source Alexandra, Charles, and his little sister were seen arriving in Belgium this afternoon on Max Verstappen's private jet. It's yet another instance where the LeClerc sister was spotted without boyfriend Lando Norris, sparking new breakup rumors. Neither party has confirmed if they're still together, with McLaren PR insisting that the personal lives of their drivers are off limits. user019 honestly, I'm here for a LeClerc sister & Max relationship. >>>user028 me too. at least Max seems to actually like her, unlike Lando user0029 I mean, we all can see it. Why can't they just confirm it already??? user2333 fully on board the 'get her away from Lando train' ROOTING FOR YOU MAX!!! Get your girl!!! user029 my friend was out at the restaurant they were all at a few weeks ago and said that Lando crashed the dinner but left after a few minutes looking PISSED. >>>user029 honestly, Lando is kind of unhinged rn. get over her my man, move onnnnnnn!

“I can’t believe you got me to agree to come this weekend.” You grumble as you follow Max towards the paddock gates Friday morning before practice. 

“You’ve barely been to any races this year and it’s almost the end of July!” Max shoots over his shoulder, grinning like an idiot he’s so happy you decided to come this weekend. 

“I was at Monaco!” You protest lamely, shoving your elbow into your brother’s ribs when he laughs. 

“You live in Monaco, that doesn’t count Little Dove.” Charles chuckles, rubbing at the sore spot where you’d just assaulted him. 

“Whatever.” You mutter, rolling your eyes. 

After arriving in Belgium last night, you had gone straight to your hotel room, needing a bit of alone time ahead of what you were sure was going to be a stressful weekend. As usual, you’d been papped arriving on Max’s jet, which you were certain Lando had seen because the moment you had checked your messages in the SUV Max had rented for your little group, there had been a text waiting for you from him. 

I know you probably don’t want to see me and I get that. I’m sorry, from the bottom of my heart. Can we please get together this weekend and talk? Somewhere neutral if that’s what you want…

As you settled into the hotel room that was yours for the weekend, a war was being fought in your brain. On one hand, you didn’t trust a single thing coming from Lando’s mouth. Not a single thing. He hadn’t given you any reason to trust anything that he said for months, so why should you start now? But on the other hand…

On the other hand, you and Lando had so much history. His message seemed remorseful. You knew everyone in your life would kill you if you even entertained the idea of getting back with him but somewhere deep in your chest a little voice was saying maybe you should hear him out. He was finally leaving you alone, finally backing off, why did he have to pop up right when you thought you had finally gotten him fully out of your system?

You didn’t tell anyone Lando had texted you. Had been texting you all morning as well. You knew no one would understand. But you also hadn’t returned a single text either. The energy that responding to Lando would take was something that you just didn’t have today. 

Your little group is captured by photographers as you walk in, a few even call out your name asking where you’ll be spending your time this weekend. Since dating Lando, you liked to split your time between the McLaren garage and Ferrari but this weekend was going to be different. Your VIP pass had Charles’ face and name on the back, not Lando’s. You had credentials from Ferrari like normal but this morning, Max had also slipped a Red Bull card around your neck, telling you if you got sick of looking at all that red this weekend, you could spend time with him. 

“Are you going to come to the dark side this weekend and use those Red Bull credentials to whip up some gossip?” Max murmurs in your ear, watching as Charles trots off ahead of you after Leo. 

You bump your shoulder with his, rolling your eyes and laughing lightly. “Stop.”

Mischief plays in Max’s pale blue eyes as he smiles down at you, enjoying the way your cheeks flush under his attention. Ever since the race in Austria a few weeks ago, you and the Dutch driver had been spending a lot of time together, all casual but he’d really begun to look forward to the nights you spent curled up on his couch eating takeout and watching bad reality tv with him. 

Before he has a chance to reply though, he sees the color drain from your face as you freeze in the middle of the sidewalk. Whipping his head around, Max searches for what, or more accurately, who has spooked you. He already knows who he’s looking for so when his eyes settle on the McLaren driver standing just outside the sliding glass doors of the McLaren hospitality building across the paddock, his stomach lurches. 

You had known you’d see Lando this weekend. How could you not? This was literally his workplace too. There was no way to avoid him, you knew that but you hadn’t expected to see him so quickly and before you had managed to work out how to respond to his text from the night before. 

Your brother is between where you stand and McLaren’s hospitality so he clocks Lando staring after you at about the same time as you and Max. Turning on his heel, he scoops up Leo and makes a bee line back to where you stand, utterly frozen. 

“Dovie.” Max coos in your ear, twining his fingers with yours in an attempt to pull you out of the state you’re in. “Hey, sweet girl, look at me.” 

You ignore him, gaze locked on Lando’s frozen frame. 

Charles steps in between you and Lando, instantly cutting off your line of sight. This seems to yank you back to reality and your brother snaps into action. “Shit. I’ve got a meeting in five minutes. I don’t want her alone.” Your brother sounds panicked, like the way you’re just staring blankly ahead is really freaking him out. 

So, he improvises. “Here, take Leo and go take a walk. There’s tons of open space on the other side of the paddock.” Charles presses the small dog into your hands and you drop your gaze away from Lando for the first time in several moments. 

Your gaze drops to where your hand is still clutched in Max’s larger one. The steady warmth from his presence grounds you, allowing you to pull in a full breath for the first time in several minutes. 

“No, she’s not going off on her own.” Max cuts in, tone sharp. “I’ve got some time before I need to be in the car. Come stay in Red Bull with me until practice, then you can watch from my garage, okay?” 

The force of his words leave little wiggle room for argument and Charles can’t help but smirk a little. He should have known Max would step right up to make sure you were taken care of. 

“Yeah.” You agree weakly, finally tearing your gaze away from Lando, who is still starting at you, light eyes sharp and observant. You can feel the way his gaze drops to where Max’s hand is curled around yours possessively. “Yeah, that sounds good.” 

Without waiting for Lando to get any more ideas like wanting to try to come talk to you, Max tugs on your hand. He knows you well enough by now to know that you need a distraction and you need it fast. “Come on, you said you wanted to stir up some gossip this weekend, well here’s your chance.” 

You laugh despite yourself, nuzzling your face into Leo’s soft fur. “I’m keeping the dog.” You tell your brother as you allow yourself to be led away by Max. All Charles does is nod, relieved to know that you’re in good hands while he’s busy. 

missleclerc posted

24,029 likes liked by maxverstappen1, charlesleclerc, redbullracing, and others missleclerc in my defense, I was kidnapped ☝🏻 maxverstappen1 whatever, you wanted to be there. >>>missleclerc lies. It was a hostage situation. >>>maxverstappen1 is that what the kids are calling it these days? >>>user299 chat, are they flirting in the comments??? WE CAN SEE YOU TWO charlesleclerc can't believe you subjected your nephew to this. please make sure you take a shower before dinner tonight. >>>missleclerc rude. user0209 ya know, I'm kinda here for this ship. >>>user987 did you see how utterly distracted Max was during the one interview where she walked past him? couldn't take his eyes off her >>>user0209 lando's gonna be crashing out after seeing that interview tonight >>>user3443 GOOD. bro deserves it

“I think you may need to roll me up to my room after that dinner.” You groan, rubbing at the food baby making your black leather skirt pinch painfully at your hips. 

After qualifying Saturday evening, when the boys were all finished with their media and team duties, Max had insisted that you, your brother, Alexandra and himself all go out to dinner. He’d wanted to insist it just be the two of you but he wasn’t blind to the gossip you two had stirred up in the paddock Friday afternoon so he’d figured bringing your brother and his girlfriend along would be a bit safer. 

“I think I ate my weight in spaghetti.” Alexandra groans beside you as you plod towards the front doors of the hotel. “Carry me up to the room please, Cha?” She coos, throwing her arms around your brother’s neck as if she can’t go on one step more.

 Charles laughs, snaking his arms around her waist and pulls her close, dropping a kiss on her forehead, a gesture so tender and intimate you have to turn away. Your gaze immediately connects with Max who is standing a few paces behind your brother and his girlfriend. A small smile tips up at the corner of his full lips when you make eye contact at him and your stomach swoops at the affection for you in his eyes. 

You’re imagining things, you think instantaneously. There’s no way Max sees you as anything other than a friend, after everything that you’ve endured while he’s watched. How could anyone like Max be attracted to someone who had spent an entire year drowning in a failing relationship? It was likely a pity smile, something he gives you because he feels sorry that you haven’t found what your brother has found in Alexandra. 

“There you are…” A smooth British accent interrupts your thoughts, jarring you out of your spiral. “You stopped answering my texts.” Lando says pointedly as he joins your little group in the lobby of the hotel. 

Your eyes shutter closed as you blow out a breath. You had been hoping to avoid this confrontation all together but it was just another nail in the coffin of why Max wouldn’t even want to begin to get involved with you in the first place. Why would he willingly want to be with someone who was still so intertwined with her ex still? You’ve spent so long with Lando, were so intertwined with him it would certainly be easier to just go back to him, wouldn’t it? Maybe he was all you deserved after wasting three years of your life. 

“I was at dinner, Lando. It’s rude to text during a meal.” You carefully control the tone of your voice, not wanting to instigate yet another public altercation with him. 

“Ah, yes. I’m sure the company was riveting.” His eyes flicker over to where Max stands, stiff and unmoving, the smile that he’d just been showering you with totally gone from his face. “So, what do you say, can we finally talk like two adults?” 

“She doesn’t want to talk to you, Norris.” Charles cuts in, voice sharp and short. 

“I think your sister can answer for herself, LeClerc.” There’s a challenge in Lando’s eyes that you don’t miss and you know you have about five seconds to diffuse the situation before it gets out of hand. Again. 

Placing your hand on Lando’s elbow, you tug him away. “If you promise to chill out and actually listen to me, we can go to the bar and get a drink. One drink, Lando. Can you do that?” 

If you had been looking at Max then, you would have seen the light flicker out of his eyes. He’s grateful that his hands are tucked away in his pockets when he hears your words because the way the ball up into tight fists would be embarrassing had anyone seen it. He wants to say something, anything, that might convince you to not walk away with him. He wants to tell you how he’s feeling, how this afternoon with you in his drivers room and then garage was the best start to a race weekend he’d had in recent memory. He wants to beg you not to go with Lando. 

But he can’t. He can’t because he still hasn’t worked up the courage to tell you how he feels. Max is stuck in this painful sort of limbo where you two spend time together and he craves any bit of attention he can glean from you but it’s not enough for him to risk your fragile state of being right now. He knows you’re still recovering from leaving Lando. Three years is a long time to spend with someone, even if the last year was as painful as Lando had made it for you. He knows you’re not ready for him to tell you how he’s feeling but he’s afraid if he doesn’t, you’ll go running back to Lando. 

While the internal debate about what to do with his feelings rages on inside, Max watches as a cat-like grin spreads slowly across Lando’s face. He’s won. Lando’s won and they both know it. 

“Of course, baby.” 

You bristle at the name but without the energy to fight him, all you do is roll your eyes. Max’s mask of indifference somehow staying in place when he hears the nickname, but it tears him up on the inside. He’s not sure how he manages it. 

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Thanks for dinner, Max.” Taking a step towards Max, you fold yourself into him, enjoying the way his arms come around your waist without hesitation. The hug is firm and he holds onto you for several moments longer than necessary. 

 “I can stay down here if you want me to.” He murmurs in your ear, his breath tickling the shell of your ear, sending a cool shiver of pleasure down your spine. 

“I’m a big girl, I can handle him.” 

“It’s not you I’m worried about.” He responds, looking down at you. You’re surprised to see a stark look of concern all over his face, like he’s genuinely worried about you. 

“Max, I’m fine. It’s just one drink.” 

But Max knows Lando. It’s not just going to be one drink. But what other choice does he have? Reluctantly, he releases you and takes a step back, forcing himself out of arms length. You instantly miss the grounding warmth of his body and fight to keep your expression neutral. 

Max watches you walk away, shoulder brushing with Lando’s and has to resist the urge to rub at the painful clenching sensation that wraps itself around his heart. 

“You don’t have to watch her leave.” Charles murmurs, standing off to the side with a worried looking Alexandra. They both share Max’s opinion that this is a bad idea but like Max, what else can they say?

Max scrubs at his face, suddenly so overwhelmingly exhausted that all he wants to do is climb into bed and sleep until the race tomorrow. “What am I supposed to do, Charles?” He throws his hands up in defeat as you disappear around the corner just as Lando’s arm slips around your waist. “I don’t have a single claim on her, she’s not mine to miss.” 

His stomach twists painfully at the thought of having to go back to his hotel room knowing you’re touching him. 

“She won’t go back to him.” Charles says with more confidence than Max can muster up himself. “She’s been doing so well lately and we all see it’s partially because of you, mate.”

“Don’t give up on her, Max. Not yet.” Alexandra offers quietly, stepping closer to Charles before reaching out and placing a hand on Max’s shoulder. “She’s stronger than we all think but she’s going to need your patience right now. It’ll be okay.” 

The way it physically hurt watching you walk away had alarm bells ringing in Max’s head. He hadn’t realized just how attached to you he’d become in the time since you’d left Lando and it terrified him. If you went back to Lando tonight, he had this gut feeling he’d lose you forever and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to endure that. 

Max barely sleeps that night, tossing and turning for hours trying to convince himself he hadn’t just watched you walk right out of his life again. He knew he was, once again, getting ahead of himself and that he needed to wait before going into full spiral mode but he couldn’t quite get himself there. 

By the time he’s downstairs in the hotel lobby the next morning, waiting for the car that Red Bull had hired for him, he’s exhausted and on the brink of biting someone’s head off. 

“You doing okay over there, Verstappen? You seem a little…irritated.” 

Max turns and has to stifle a groan. “Why can’t you just leave well enough alone, Lando?” 

Lando has the nerve to look confused, brows furrowing as he tilts his head to the side. “I have no idea what you’re on about, mate.” 

It takes every ounce of control Max has honed over the years not to punch the British driver square in the face. “Why are you so fixated on her now that she’s finally trying to get away from you?” 

Lando smirks, quick and ugly, before he shakes his head. “See, now that’s where you’re wrong Max.” He reaches over and pats at Max’s shoulder patronizingly. “I don’t think she really wants to get away form me anymore. Not after last night.” 

It feels like the breath has been sucked out of Max’s lungs at Lando’s words. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He hisses, heat creeping up his neck. 

“You’re a smart man, Max. Use that big brain of yours. I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Lando grins like the Cheshire Cat as he shrugs. “Oh look, my ride’s here. Good luck out there today, Verstappen.” 

Without waiting for a response because he knows full well he’s caught Max completely off guard, Lando saunters off, hands deep in his pockets, without a second look back at the Dutch driver. 

Tag list: @shelbyteller, @martygraciesversion381, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @linnygirl09 @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream @daemyratwst @dramaticpiratellamas @mochimommy2002 @llando4norris @iamaunknownsecret @maxivstappen @imlonelydontsendhelp @nina-or-anna-or-nora @a1leexxa @littlegrapejuice @sunflowervol18 @freyathehuntress @finn-dot-com @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @chirasama @lauralarsen @dr3wstarkey @saskiaalonso @rbv3rstappen @ilovechickenwings @guaaafiiburg @mcmuppet @mindless-rock @piastri-fvx @mel164 @schumi-angel @myescapefromthislife @supertrashbread @sunny44 @tinystudentblaze-stuff @sarx164

[bananayuyu]

just friends (1)

pairing: san x f reader

genre: smut, angst, a bit of fluff

word count: 10.4k

summary: could you really call this a friendship anymore? what was it really, when you spent nights curled up in the sheets with him, days fighting till your blood ran cold? this was more than anything you'd had with anyone; but what it was, you didn't know. you'd fight to keep it alive, for it held you together; but how much more of this could San take before he breaks?

warnings: MDNI, smut, blurred lines around consent, non-negotiated stuff, face slapping, choking, unprotected sex, rough sex, oral (f receiving), masturbation

a/n: should I write more for them? I'm kinda invested now, and I have thoughts. lmk <33

read it on ao3

Soft, hazy light floated in through the window, the slowly falling snow coating the sky and buildings outside. Downtown the streets were empty, only a handful of cars driving their way through the grey streets, not a face or head to be found anywhere in the cold, dry air.

In the short few moments of waking you were completely disoriented, used to the bright hot sun waking you sharply in the early afternoon, your morning. The gentle light reminded you of night, of those long summer days when you tucked into bed just as the sun was rising. It was a comforting light, but one that made you sleepy, and the air was colder than it should have been in the desert, this late January day.

You closed your eyes, pushing back under the covers, shifting over to San's side of the bed and wiggling your way under his arm. A groan followed; he hated being bothered when he was trying to get his all important rest, and you knew that, but the air was too damn cold in his room, and you couldn't stand it.

"Baby," he whispered, moving his head to kiss you on the cheek, before gently trying to extract your limbs from his body. You whined; the loss of contact made you shiver, and your naked body felt exposed even under his thick comforter, your feet so cold you were sure you could barely feel them. "Don't do that," he sighed, but you whined again, wrapping yourself around him a second time. "Baby, seriously-" he was cut off by you climbing over him, legs straddling his hips as you rested your head next to his on his pillow.

"It's cold," you sniffled, making it almost sound like you were crying, and fuck did that do things to him, things he couldn't explain. Already he could feel his cock twitch; your naked body wrapped around his, plush thighs pushing down on the sides of his hips and abdomen, your hot breath on his ear. It couldn't have been more than a few hours ago since you were in this exact position, screaming and crying his name as you came undone, and he couldn't stop replaying it, especially as you wiggled around on top of him, your thigh crazing his cock more than once and only adding to his arousal.

"Baby, I need sleep," he chided, trying to do what he knew he should, trying to be responsible. But he could never be responsible when it came to you; that was the problem. You drove him insane, had him wrapped around you so tightly, it would take the strength of a thousand men to pull him free.

"But I'm cold," you whined, snuggling more. You were still barely awake; last night had been a particularly crazy shift at the bar, and after pulling apart five fighting girls and dancing an extra two numbers to cover for your sick coworker, your body was grasping for every bit of rest it could find.

"You're pissing me off," he grunted below you, hands holding your hips firmly in place so you'd stop moving, stop making his body react in ways he so badly wished he could control.

"Ow," you dramatically whined, pretending those hands gripping into you felt anything but delicious and tantalizing. Heat was shooting through you now, his low, angry voice in your ear, and without even noticing your mind had already slipped into it's lustful, edgy space, one that it always seemed to drift to when he was around.

"So fucking dramatic," he sighed, still holding your hips hard, trying desperately to stop you. But your body had a mind of its own, and even if you'd wanted to stop it you wouldn't have been able. Your hips ground down onto his, as much as they could with him limiting you, and you felt the hard length of his cock under your right thigh, shifting yourself slightly to rub it up and down the length of your slit.

Immediately you both groan, the feeling electric. The room was still so dim, both of you still so sleepy, but your bodies woke themselves up; there was nothing either of you could do to stop it.

"Stop it," San growled in your ear, but you couldn't. It felt too fucking good when the tip of his now rock hard length hit your clit. His hands shifted up to your waist, trying what he could to limit you there. But it only freed up your hips more, and immediately you pushed them down even harder, nearly accidentally slipping him inside you.

"I said, stop," he spat, grabbing your hips again and lifting them off him slightly, making your movements awkward. You kept grinding, trying to find some friction somewhere, whining at the lack of it.

"Baby," he said again, trying to get your attention. "Are you not fucking listening??"

"Mmghfm," you mumbled beside him, pushing yourself up by your arms a bit to try to get leverage for your hips. You wanted to push them down again, hump the length of his cock till you couldn't move. But San had other plans, his anger boiling up so quickly he had little time to think. As your face rose above his he took his right hand from your hip, reaching up and slapping you hard, all breath leaving your lungs in shock. Grabbing your neck with the same hand, he moved you face to face with him, staring deep into your eyes and squeezing down ever so slightly.

"I said stop, did you not fucking hear me?!" he spat, an almost crazed expression on his face. You gulped; you'd never seen him quite like this, and he'd never done that before, that being physically striking you. You wondered for a moment in the haze of your head if it was okay, what was happening; but all the same you felt your pussy clench hard, the ghost of an orgasm washing over your core even if nothing was touching you down there.

"Are you trying to fucking piss me off?!" he continued, your blank expression giving him nothing. It was so unclear to him sometimes what the hell you wanted; him, not him, nothing at all, everything? He could only give you so much, and he knew deep down it was never enough for you. But sometimes you stared at him so blank, like now, as if you didn't have a care in the world. As if none of it mattered, not him, not life, nothing. His grip on your neck wouldn't cease; he couldn't find it in himself to let up, because last night he'd specifically asked to be left alone, desperately needing the rest that you'd been so selfishly stealing from him all month.

"Sannie, please-" you tried to grab at his hand on your neck, but it only made him squeeze harder, your head feeling light in an instant. "San, san-" you were pleading now, tears actually brimming in your eye, genuine panicked tears that did nothing to make him feel bad for you. They only shot right down to his cock, already hard and leaking, and he lost his head completely, giving in entirely to the feelings inside.

He flipped you over in an instant; the comforter was nearly thrown off the bed, still draped over only half of your joined bodies, the cold making goose bumps rise on your arms, your nipples peaked sharply. His hand was still on your throat, and now he held you down onto his pillow, lining himself up as fast as he could and slamming into you hard, making you call out in shock and pain and pleasure.

He'd had it with you, with always doing what you wanted, always waiting around for when you wanted it. He was taking what he wanted now; using you just for his own pleasure, in a way he knew he'd completely regret later, a way that was unfair, disrespectful, unkind. He knew it, even then as he slammed into you stroke after stroke, the lewd noises of skin slapping filling his room, but he couldn't stop himself. He felt too good, too powerful. He felt like he was taking something that was his to take, that he'd been holding back from for an eternity. He was surprised he'd managed to wait this long.

And how was he supposed to hate himself for doing this when the look on your face screamed pure bliss? You were so wet, your cunt flushed and ready for him, and even though your moans sounded twinged with fear, he knew you were fucking loving this. He was hitting your cervix repeatedly, and your legs were shaking uncontrollably as you came, the feeling barely reaching your head with the lack of oxygen. You body had never felt better; writhing and struggling against him was getting you nowhere, of course, but you'd always seemed to fall easily into fighting with him. You'd never done it in this way, so physically, but it felt right all the same.

You came two times in quick succession; as he flipped you over he saw a wet patch on his sheets, a dark chuckle exiting his mouth. He shoved your face down into his pillow, pulling your ass up towards him. The bun you'd put your hair in last night hung slightly to the side, messed up by your night of sleep, smalls strands escaping and hanging messily around your neck and cheeks. He grabbed onto it, fingers lacing through your hair as he slammed back into you again, your moans even more desperate and pathetic as you tried to make sense of it all.

It only took a few hard strokes for you to come again, the angle so deep you felt like you were being ripped open from inside. Trembling and spasming around him, San felt fucking amazing, dropping your head to place both hands on your hips and fucking you harder than he ever had, his head thrown back in disbelief and pleasure.

He came hard, the feeling shuddering through him, the muscles of his stomach clenching hard. There were tears and snot covering your face, now cum dripping out of your cunt as he pulled out, letting your body slump hard against the bed. He quickly pulled the covers over you both, collapsing beside you, your bodies sticky with sweat and already shivering. But despite the frigid air, the sex had taken it out of you; you both fell into a deep slumber within minutes.

When you woke again, it was to San's hand running through your hair.

"Hey, it's 4:30," he whispered, but there was urgency to his tone, because he knew just how bad this was.

It took you a moment to wake up, yawning and stretching in the warmth of his bed, stickiness still clinging to your skin. "What do you mean, 4:30?" you asked, the light in the room even dimmer than it was the last time you woke.

"4:30pm," he sighed, holding his phone screen to you.

"Fuck, fuck," you muttered, jumping up, nearly sprinting to his bathroom to relieve your screaming bladder. You were supposed to be to work in fifteen minutes, which you knew was not going to happen; still, you were determined not to be too late. You could text your boss any number of excuses, and were sure she'd forgive you. You were one of her more reliable employees, and she'd let this shit slide with you before. But you'd tried not to make a habit of it, even if sometimes you got caught up in the things in life that really made your heart happy. Your art, your friends, the boy you were fucking. Your work was chaotic; never the same day to day, and the rest of your life had to follow suit. It was just a part of this work, this life you'd chosen for yourself. You wouldn't give it up for anything.

With a quick swipe of a damp towel you washed your crotch, wiping free as much of the remnants of your frenzied fuck earlier as you could. You didn't have time to think of it now, frantically pulling out your hair tie and brushing your hair with your fingers, splashing water in your face to freshen up. You'd have to slap on some makeup at work today, which should be fine if everyone else showed up for their shifts on time. There was always some performer or server running in late, always someone in the dressing room begging to borrow makeup or bobby pins or hair spray. You tried not to let that be you, but shit happened. For some god forsaken reason you'd slept in so late, and it pissed you off even if you tried to not care.

Busting out of the bathroom you ran over to your bag, flipping through to check that you still had your makeup, wallet, keys. You grabbed for the clothes you had set out for yourself yesterday, slipping on the loose sweats and one of San's hoodies, not even bothering with a bra or underwear. You hoped the clothes would stop your shivering, but the room was shockingly cold still, and seemed only to be getting colder.

"Do you have any long socks I can borrow?" you asked San, picking up your head and finally actually looking at him, his face a confusing mixture of concerned and distant. He reached into his dresser and tossed you some, black and thick and definitely too big. But you'd need them today for your short walk, if the temperature inside was any indication. You snatched your phone off his bedside table now, pulling up the chat with your boss, shooting off a quick and uninspired text. I'm running a few minutes late today, I needed some extra rest after last night.

No problem, I'm sure everyone's running late cause of the snow. See you soon, she responded.

"Snow..?" you asked to the room, almost forgetting where you were.

"Yeah," San sighed, staring past you out the window, his 10th floor apartment giving a stunning view of the frigid city outside.

"Fuck," you muttered, shaking your head. You were planning on walking the only five blocks to the bar, like you always did. It never saved any time to get an uber or take the subway.

"Do you have to go?" he asked.

"Um, of course," you replied, looking in his direction with furrowed brows.

"The weather is awful, can't you just stay home for a night? Do they really need you...?" he drifted off, running a hand through his hair and sighing hard.

It was he, now, who must have wanted to piss you off.

"Just cause I don't work a 9 to 5, 100k salaried job, doesn't mean I'm not important at work," you snapped, moving to your bag again to put your phone inside, zipping the top closed.

"I didn't say-"

"I know, but I know what you're thinking. But the thing is, on days with shitty weather more people come into the bars and clubs and shit. So I'm very much needed tonight. Especially with Tina still sick. I have to go," you bit out, a deep sigh of your own escaping you.

"You're gonna freeze out there," he mumbled, eyes tracing the shape of you.

"I'll be fine," you sighed, shaking your head, but you feared it yourself. It was only five blocks, but you had no coat with you, no gloves or hat or scarf. And your trusty sneakers might not fare so well in this weather; you'd never tried wearing them in snow, because it hadn't snowed on a day you worked in years.

"I-" San started, hands resting on his hips. You noticed now, finally, as you set your packed bag by the door to his living room, that he was still naked.

"You're gonna freeze in here if you don't put on some clothes," you said, looking at him confused.

"Y/n, we need to talk," he sighed, turning around to face you head on, his beautiful body lit in shadows by the faint light of the room.

"That sounds serious," you joked, looking down to your bag again. "But I gotta go, I'm sorry." You grabbed it, slipping it over your shoulder, turning towards his bedroom door to open it.

"No, please, baby, I need say this now," he replied, walking behind you to hold the door closed, caging you in with his body.

"San, what?" you huffed, frustration bubbling in your throat.

"Was what just happened, you know, okay?" He stumbled over his words slightly, hot breath coming out of his mouth and fanning past your ear.

"Yes? What- why are you asking me that?" you replied, turning around to face him with a bewildered look.

"I just, I fucking slapped you and chocked you and- we've never talked about it, I-"

"It was fine," you muttered, turning yourself around again to exit.

"No, don't give me that," he responded, hand back on the door to keep you from leaving.

"Stop, let me go," you spat, trying to push against him.

"Y/n," he growled, his own frustration clear in his tone.

"I'm gonna be late," you replied, still not looking at him.

"It was fine?? Fine?? That's what you're fucking saying to me?!" he nearly yelled, smacking his hand against the door harder than he intended. You jumped, a visceral reaction; you bumped right into the hard wall of his body, nearly causing him to fall.

"Will you stop acting like a fucking man?!" you yelled back, stepping away from him and the door, catching your balance against the wall a few feet away.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," he sighed, shaking his head, looking at you with upturned eyebrows.

"Get a hold of yourself," you said, softer, looking him up and down. "And put on some damn clothes, it's freezing."

You stayed put as he did, pulling on an outfit almost exactly matching yours, sweats and a hoodie. The air was tense between you now, not that it hadn't been almost the entire time you'd known him. But you'd never seen him lose control of his composure quite like this. You weren't scared, because with him you couldn't be; you were pretty sure you'd never be truly mad at him, even if he treated you in ways that made him deserve it. But he really never did, that's why you trusted him; you didn't know it on the surface, nor even three of four layers down, but buried deep within the depths of yourself there was a part of you that had marked him as safe, as good.

If you'd ever take the time to sit down and talk to that part, maybe you'd understand yourself better, the changes in you the past year. But instead you continued to throw yourself into your creative work, as you always did, cause it always worked for you before.

"How are you not shivering in here?" you finally asked, biting at a hangnail on your middle finger. Your whole interaction with him had left you a shaking mess, and you felt like you couldn't move from your spot, eyes glued to him and his every movement.

"I don't run cold, like you," he responded, moving to his closet without looking at you. Out of it he pulled a large navy blue jacket you'd never seen; a true winter coat, you realized. It was long enough to probably reach down to your ankles if you wore it, puffy and thick, clearly very warm. He then reached into a shelf in the closet, pulling down a pair of gloves and a black beanie, turning around to walk back to you.

"Come here, let me put these on you," he said, throwing the jacket and gloves on his bed, pulling the beanie over your messy hair.

"I can do it," you grumbled quietly, reaching for he gloves, but he grabbed the jacket, holding it out for you to slip into. Then he squatted all the way to the floor in front of you, zipping up the coat from the bottom, careful at the top not to snag any of your hair in the zipper.

"Thanks," you said. It was flat, and so was your expression, but he knew he was doing the right thing. There was no way you would let him walk you to work; he'd tried convincing you of that many times, only causing argument after argument.

"Are you coming back here tonight?" he asked, standing back and crossing his arms, as you picked up your bag again and moved towards his door.

"No, I'm going and staying at Tina's, we've got so much editing to do," you responded, finally opening the door and stepping into his living room; he followed you quickly, catching up to you.

"Isn't she sick?" he asked.

"Yeah, but we've got to get our current manuscript turned in by Tuesday morning. We have no choice," you answered, walking towards his front door.

"Wait, just give me a minute," he said as you reach for the door knob, hand outstretched in his comically big gloves.

"San-"

"I hate when you don't answer me straight," he says, interrupting you.

"Huh?" you ask, giving him a look of genuine confusion.

"Are you mad at me because of what I did? How rough I was?"

"Do I look mad?" you responded, head turning to the side.

"I hate when you do that," he sighs, shaking his head.

"Do what?" you snap, frustration boiling up again.

"Avoid my questions, give me vague answers," he says, hands on hips.

"I'm running late for work, god, I'm in a fucking rush! Why the fuck is that hard to understand?!" you scream, hand back on his doorknob in an instant.

"That's not why you're avoiding my questions, and you fucking know it," he replies, walking over to his kitchen. Out of his pantry he grabs chocolate coconut granola bar, your favorite flavor, stalking back to you as you open the door.

"Take this," he says, holding it out to you as you face him, your body halfway into the hall.

"They have food where I work, you know," you drawl, a scowl on your face.

"Not food that you like," he sighs, putting the bar in your pocket himself.

As he stands back up in front of you his face is hard, eyes unreadable and shiny, his hair sticking up lopsided. His hoodie is dwarfing his wide frame, his sweats hanging loose on the lower half of his legs. He looks uncertain, maybe almost scared, nothing like the sharp, glasses-wearing, utterly confident man who'd walked into your bar a year ago, his suit fitted and smooth and his smile easy.

"What if this isn't enough for me?" he said, his hands coming to rest in his pockets.

"Sannie..." trailed off, the urgency of needing to leave still tugging at you.

"I hate when it's like this," he says, sighing.

"Me too," you squeak, tears threatening to come. Your period must be due to arrive any minute, if you're crying that fucking easily. He walks forward, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead and hugging you tight, before turning you around and beckoning you forward, the rest of your day ahead of you.

"Hey girl, you good?" Sasha asked as you passed by the dressing room, nearly running to put your bag in your locker.

"Yeah, one sec!" you called to her, clumsily undoing your lock, shoving your bag inside. You ripped off your giant puffy coat, hanging it on the hook, desperately flinging off the rest of your clothes and grabbing your dressing gown. Then you unzipped your bag, grabbing your makeup, and rushed back to the dressing room out of breath.

"Did anyone call out?" you asked as soon as your reentered, sitting down next to your favorite coworker, her wig and eye makeup already set.

"No, everyone else is already here, surprisingly," she drawled, leaning closer to the mirror to start her lip liner. "Why are you late, miss thing?"

"I slept till like 4:30, accidentally," you replied, hastily zipping open your makeup bag and grabbing what you'd need for the night. You were covering Tina's number first, a circus inspired routine to Britney Spear's song, and your costume would do most of the work for you. All you needed was lashes, some bright lipstick, and powder, so that the floodlights didn't wash you out completely.

"That's not like you," Sasha said, switching to the other side of her lips, her hand working quickly and methodically to create the perfect line.

"Yeah, I don't know," you replied, with a deep sigh. You couldn't find your lash glue anywhere, and it was stressing you out more than it should have, seeing as there were probably hundreds of tubes of it in the very room in which you sat.

"You okay?" she asked, clicking open her lipstick and screwing it up.

"Just stressed, I hate being late," you said, finally finding the glue at the bottom corner of your bag.

"Julie moved Tina's number, so you're not on until after Jax," she replied, turning her head in every direction to check her finished face.

"Oh, that's nice," you said, your normal tone slipping into flatness again, as you shakily put glue onto the lashes you'd use for tonight.

"Girl, seriously, you good?" Sasha asked, turning to face you entirely.

"I think so," you replied, never able to keep things from her.

"Is it that man you're seeing?" she asked, making you roll your eyes and audibly scoff, sighing deeply.

"How fucking typical of me," you responded, shaking your head.

"What did he do?" she asked you, chin coming to rest on her hand.

"Nothing, just, he's the reason I'm late, that I overslept," you said, and suddenly the memory of everything that had happened just hours before wouldn't leave you. It especially wouldn't leave your body, the memory of your limbs and muscles of your core replaying it for you, as if that was something you needed right now.

"Well, well, well, I hope the sex is good still, at least," Sasha replied, with a brief chuckle. "It's still that same guy, right, the businessman?"

"He's in tech, Sash," you said, leaning forward yourself to place your lashes carefully.

"Oh, boo, they all look the same. Coming in here in those ridiculous suits. I always wonder how much they cost, probably more than my entire wardrobe," she laughed, shaking her head.

"I know, it's ridiculous," you sighed, but just then a bit of guilt ran through you as you thought of San's apartment, and of the trip you took to wine country in the fall, of all the fancy outings and luxuries you've been able to experience on his dime.

"He isn't hurting you or anything, is he honey? I know you said you fight a lot, but it hasn't turned physical, right?" she asked now, and immediately you could tell she read something was off in your last response. She really had a way of doing that, not just with you but with everyone, and it could feel really damn exposing.

"No, no, nothing like that. Things were just weird earlier," you sighed, not wanting to elaborate. "We bicker a lot but like, in a fun way. Earlier it was, I don't know, just fucking weird. I don't know why it's stressing me out, we're just friends."

"Friendships can be the messiest of all relationships, don't you think?" Sasha responded, and you looked over to her, only one lash on. She was just a few years older than you, but sometimes you felt like she was your fairy godmother, or a beautiful genie who'd escaped into the world. She was too wise for you; in comparison to her you were a little larvae, still barely developed at all. "You tell me if anything really bad happens, okay hon? I can't have anyone mistreating you," she said, standing from her stool and wrapping her dress around herself, tying the tassels on the side.

"You know I would, I couldn't keep it from you if I tried," you said, leaning towards the mirror to do your other lash.

"Okay, good. I'll have to leave you soon, I think," she replied, sighing and leaning down to place an air kiss by your cheek.

"Okay, break a leg," you responded, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze.

"Sasha, Bibi is almost done!" comes a call from down the hall, and soon Ilya, the stage manager, was sticking his head through the open door, beckoning her.

"Yes, darling, I'm coming," she said, sauntering out of the room, leaving you alone in the tiny room, with nothing but your reflection for company.

Tina's number went well, just as it had last night; it was more dance focused than any of your recent acts, but you enjoyed the opportunity to move your body more. It had been dance, first, that attracted you to the stage, and though you'd found so many other avenues to express yourself creatively over the years, you missed it. You wrote so much now; songs for others, for yourself, and of course the musical you and Tina had been slaving over for six months, desperately hoping that this could be the thing to finally break you into the world of show business.

The walk to Tina's apartment was easy, too, just as your walk earlier had been. The streets were cold and the snow was still falling, but the breeze was blowing everything sideways, and if you stuck to the right side of the buildings you barely felt it at all. It was now almost one in the morning, the downtown streets still empty, but the restaurants and bars were bustling with activity. You stalked up to Tina's building, a huge, grey, nondescript mass of concrete, and buzzed your way up. Her key sat on your chain right next to yours; a bright green sticker stuck to it so you could tell them apart.

When you entered she was laying flat on the couch, her laptop perched in front of her face, the only light in the room.

"Hey," she mumbled when she saw you, your makeup still on, hair in a rough bun again, San's jacket dwarfing you entirely.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" you asked, taking the two steps it took to reach her. The place was tiny, and she shared it with her girlfriend Maya, who had the beginnings of what might be a hoarding habit. There wasn't an inch of free space, save for some of the floor. Even that had stacks of books on it, boxes of half finished art projects, and more plants than one could count.

"Fucking terrible," she muttered, and you went to turn on the one lamp by their tiny kitchen so you could get a good look at her.

"Oh gosh, you look miserable," you said as you sat down next to her, her cheeks flushed so red, her eyes glossy with past tears.

"I keep throwing up," she said, staring over at the glass of water on the coffee table beside her. "I can barely keep down water."

"You said you just had a little cold," you scolded, placing your hand on her forehead, her skin fiery under your palm.

"I didn't want y'all to worry," she said, voice small.

"Is Maya sick too?" you asked.

"Yeah, but not quite as bad as me. She hasn't puked yet," Tina replied.

"You definitely have a fever, it feels bad," you said, taking your hand to feel her neck and chest too. "You should go to urgent care if you can't keep anything down."

"You know I'm not gonna fucking do that unless I'm literally dying," she replied, eyeing you.

"I know it's expensive, but it's your health, Titi," you said.

"I'm not going," she said, her words final.

"Have you been taking Tylenol? Or Ibuprofen? Drinking fluids, eating well, resting?" you asked.

"I'm trying. We ran outta Tylenol earlier today."

"I'll go get you some more," you sighed, opening your phone. "The Walgreens at the corner just closed, shit. It says they open at 6am tomorrow, I'll go get you some as soon as I wake up."

"Thank you honey," she responded, tears welling in her eyes.

"You gonna be okay?" you asked, looking down at her.

"Yeah, yeah, I just need to get some sleep. Maya was sleeping so soundly, I didn't wanna wake her. That's why I came out here. I'll go though, I need the rest," she replied, closing her laptop and placing on the coffee table, sitting herself up. Her face scrunched up in pain, her right hand rubbing at her left shoulder, and you knew she was feeling the aches of a fever.

"I'm worried about you, has it been this bad since Thursday?" you asked as she stood, shakily.

"I'm fine, it's only been the last two days. Don't waste your energy worrying, it'll be okay," she said, crossing the room towards her bedroom. "Goodnight," she said as she turned her head to you, before carefully opening the door knob to avoid any creaking.

"Feel better," you said, and she nodded at you, disappearing into the other room.

"Hey, you okay?" your twin answered, dozens of voices muffled and choppy coming through in the background.

"Yeah, sorry, I know you're at work, do you have like two minutes?" you responded, sighing in the darkness of Tina's living room. It was now almost two a.m., but you were pretty sure Micah was working nights this weekend, and you'd be able to catch her. Thankfully, you were right.

"I'm supposed to go take a break soon anyway, so yeah, lemme get out of here," she responded, the sounds of the hospital echoing and changing as she began walking down the hall to the break room.

"Okay," you said, waiting for the noice to die down. Then, once it did, "It's my friend Tina, she's really sick and I just don't know how serious it is. She said she hasn't been able to keep any food down all day, and she's been sick since Thursday."

"She got the flu?" your sister asked through the phone.

"I don't know, it's something. She had a bad fever when I got home, she just went to bed. She looked so bad though, and was hobbling around like an old lady. She was in so much pain."

"How bad's her fever?" she asked you.

"I don't know, we didn't test it," you sighed, knowing what was coming.

"Y/n...."

"I know, sorry, it was dumb for me to even call. I just wasn't sure what to do, it freaked me out..."

The line hung quiet for a moment, but you could hear her breathing, and it sounded almost labored.

"Does she have a thermometer?" she asked, and you stumbled up to the bathroom, combing through their drawers as quietly as you could.

"It doesn't look like it," you sighed, turning off the light as you exited.

"Well go get one tomorrow, and take her temp, and if it's ever 103 or above, take her to urgent care. Or if she can't keep down food again for another day. Try to get fluids in her, if you can. Water, broth, gatorade, tea, whatever she'll take. Of course do Tylenol, or Ibuprofen, or both if she needs it. If her fever isn't too bad, she should be okay, she just needs to rest," she said, the string of sentences coming out fast in a single breath.

"Okay, thank you," you answered her, sighing again. "Don't let me keep you, I know you're busy," you added, not wanting to add any more irritation to her day if you already had. You sometimes found it hard to know what exactly it was about you that irked her, but you always knew there was something. Even if she never said it, even if she always said she loved you, you felt the deep simmer of some other feeling coming from her, ever since you left home. Maybe it was the fact that you called so infrequently now, having done so since you moved for college. When you did call it was almost always something like this. But you couldn't help it; she was the only person you felt sure would always answer you, no matter what was going on between you two. Because that's how she was, that's how she'd always been. She was way more dependable than you, and everyone in your life had shoved that down your throat since you could remember.

"It's okay, tonight's not too crazy thankfully," she responded, her tone neutral. "I've been meaning to call you cause there's something I want to discuss, but I don't think we have the time right now. And I'm assuming you want to get to bed soon," she finished.

"Uh, yeah, I guess I should," you replied.

"I'll call you tomorrow. Well, Monday probably, I gotta catch up on sleep," she said.

"Yeah that's fine, I'll probably just be at home writing," you answered her, sucking in a breath.

"Okay, call me again if your friend gets worse. Or honestly, just take her to urgent care if it seems that bad. Don't chance it with health stuff," she replied, sounding more like your mother than someone your exact same age.

"Okay, I will. Thank you. Love you," you signed off.

"Love you too," she said, and you pulled your phone from your ear, ending the call.

You fell asleep fast and deep on Tina and Maya's couch; you were so used to it by now, over here at least once or twice every week, and the low hum of the refrigerator just feet from you had become a comforting source of consistent noice, drowning out the occasional chaos that accompanied this part of town. You resolved to get medicine for your friends tomorrow, try to make them some food, and then head home to work on the manuscript yourself. Tina was obviously in no place to help you, and if you holed up in your room and really focused, you should be able to finish the editing, no problem. Though you felt uneasy, you fell asleep fast, wrapped up in all three blankets you found draped over the back of the couch.

Early in the morning you were woken by the bang of a door; Tina was running out of her room, stumbling to the bathroom, doubled over the toilet and retching up every little bit of water she'd managed to get down the previous night. The room was so dark; their apartment only had one small window in the kitchen, and they liked to cover it in a little curtain to black out the room at night. Your head ached from the sounds, your body wracked with exhaustion. You grabbed your phone from the table beside you to check the time, squinting painfully at your screen, reading 6:59. It had been a long, long time since you'd been up at this hour, and every time it happened now your body screamed at you. You had your routine down perfectly; asleep by four or five in the morning, awake by noon or one in the afternoon. Last night you'd had little to do, without Tina to keep you awake, so you'd fallen asleep a bit earlier than usual. But still, that had only been a few hours ago. And you were someone who needed eight or nine hours a night, it was non negotiable.

Another painful wretch came from the bathroom; you tried to sit yourself up, your limbs feeling like lead. "Tina, is that you?" you called out, and got a groan in response, and then another empty, painful sounding sound.

"You okay?" you asked, stumbling over in her direction, almost no light to help guide your way.

"I don't know," she murmured, her voice thin and weak, her entire upper body draped over the seat of the toilet.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry," you said, rubbing her back with your hand, kneeling down next to her.

"You shouldn't be here, I'm gonna get you sick," she squeaked, another heave making her body jerk.

"Don't think about that Titi, I'm here to help you. You're both sick, that fucking sucks," you said, hand still moving over the thin material of her shirt.

Just then you heard a door creak open again, followed by soft footsteps and a deep yawn.

"What's going on?" Maya asked as she entered the bathroom too, the three of you now taking up nearly all of the available space.

"She's still puking," you said, looking up at her, her curly hair flying in every direction, illuminated by their tiny night light.

"Fuck, babe, maybe you should go to the hospital," she said, a hand rubbing over her cheek.

"I don't wanna," Tina squeaked again, breathing slow and steady next to you, her grip on the toilet still severe.

"Tina," Maya said, but she knew as well as you there was no convincing her.

"I'm feeling a little better, I think the wave of nausea has passed," she said beside you, her voice sounding a little stronger.

"How are you doing?" you asked Maya, turning to face her more.

"I actually feel okay, just tired. I haven't gotten this puking at all, for some reason," she said, yawning again. "But I'm fucking wrecked, I feel like I could sleep another eight hours," she said, moving around you to reach down to her girlfriend.

"You should, y'all need rest," you said, giving them space. "I'll go get you guys some more meds and stuff, you both try to get more sleep."

"You don't have to, I know you must be exhausted," she responded, her kind eyes coming up to meet yours.

"Yeah, but I'm not sick like y'all. I'll be fine," you said, stepping out of the bathroom as Tina finally stood, Maya helping her walk to the sink.

"I need to brush my teeth," Tina mumbled, making a disgusted face as the taste of her own mouth, quickly pulling out her toothbrush. In another few moments you helped them both to their room, again feeling over your friend's forehead to see how she was faring. It felt better, a bit, but still warm. But you were so exhausted, your mind still nowhere to be found, and it was hard to feel anything. You left their room, closing the door carefully, and made your way back to the couch. You opened the tiny window in the kitchen; the light was soft, just like yesterday, bits of snow still falling through the sky. Their apartment was on the third floor, and closer to the ground you could see the snow collecting in the gutters, on the dead patches of grass, on the tops of the awnings lining the street.

You tried to pull on your shoes, zip up your coat, get yourself ready to face the air. But with the weather and your lack of sleep you just couldn't muster the courage, even as you knew your close friend was suffering so badly, and wouldn't accept any help unless you all but shoved it down her throat. The idea sprung in your mind, and you pushed it away at first; no way should you ask him for such a big favor, even if you could be pretty sure he was awake. Even if he was the only person you knew in this city who was guaranteed to be awake right now. You'd left his apartment in such a strange place only fifteen hours ago, and since then ignored the one text he'd sent. Please be careful, it's probably icy out there.

You hadn't meant to ignore him, but you were always off your phone during work. He knew that. And when you'd arrived here last night, things had been hectic. Tina was sick, and you were exhausted. Surely he'd understand? Of course he would. He always did. And as you shivered in your sweats and hoodie, in his hoodie, you thought, fuck it.

The call rang and rang, and when he didn't answer you quickly ended it, smacking your phone onto the stack of books beside you. Something like anger lanced through you, followed by hot, sickly shame, bubbling up from the pit of your stomach and making you feel nauseous. You didn't know why you'd expected him to answer, and now you knew you'd have to be a fucking big girl and go get the damn medicine yourself. You felt ridiculous for having called him; even more so for feeling angry at him not picking up. He didn't owe you anything, especially after last night, and besides, you always went days without seeing him or talking to him, anyway. Tears of frustration threatened to come, and you made a mental note to pick up some pads at the store too. You'd definitely be needing those soon.

But as you stood you saw your phone lighting up again; he was calling back, only a minute later, and you snatched it up to your ear after hitting answer.

"Hey," you said, voice groggy and whiny coming through the phone.

"You okay?" he asked, his own voice low and grumbly.

"Yeah, sorry, I don't want to bug you, but Tina is like really sick and she's run out of all her Tylenol and stuff, and I know the Walgreens that's just down the corner at 4th should have it, I just don't know if I can make it down there right now. I'm fucking dead." The words spilled out of you, a deluge of exhaustion and worry and desperation.

"You want me to go get some for you?" he asked, sighing in clear annoyance, even if he was trying to cover it up.

"Maybe," you answered, an almost whine, pushing the palm of your hand into your right eye socket, trying to alleviate some of the pain you felt there.

"What else do you need?" he asked, and you heard the beep of his tea kettle through the phone.

"Uh, a thermometer, if they have it, and something for her stomach too maybe, cause she keeps throwing up. And she needs fluids, so like gatorade, or something, whatever they have," you answer, trying desperately to remember every little thing your sister had told you last night.

"Okay, I can be there in probably like twenty minutes, that okay?" he asked.

"Okay," you sighed through he phone, a tiny bit of relief hitting your system.

"No thank you?" he asked, chuckling, but it stabbed right through your heart.

"San-" you started, taking a deep breath. You weren't going to let something so little trip you over the edge into arguing. "Yes, sorry, thank you. I really appreciate it. I'm just really worried about Ti, but she won't go to urgent care you know, cause she doesn't have insurance, and I'm just so out of it, and it's snowing-"

"Baby, I know. I'll be there soon," he said, cutting you off.

"Sorry," you said, taking in a breath to keep yourself from rambling again.

"See you soon," he said, before ending the call, your phone still stuck to your ear when he did.

When he arrived it was with more than you had requested. A huge bottle of Tylenol, Ibuprofen, Aleve and Motrin were in the bag, along with anti-nausea meds, gatorade, vitamin water, saltines, two different kinds of thermometers, and some plain applesauce. You sat in a stunned silence looking at it all, still barely awake on the couch. After letting him in you'd collapsed back on it, nearly passing out as he rubbed soft circles on the small of your back. You didn't know how much time passed; but then Maya had woken, opening the door, and the two of you shot apart quickly, like two opposing ends of a magnet.

She was eternally grateful for the care package he'd brought, and assured you that she was feeling much better, and could take care of Tina just fine. She beckoned you to leave; she too was worried you had already caught something from them, and told you to go home and rest, get some more sleep, and again thanked you for coming over. As you and San left she was brewing some coffee, and the familiar smell of your friends' apartment was back to normal, making it easier for you to leave.

As you walked the hall to the elevator you noticed his gaze; taking in the dirty carpet, and the bullet hole in the side of the mirror. Yes, you'd had to tell him, someone did shoot their gun into the side of the elevator on New Year's. He tried to keep his face neutral, but you could see the shock and worry and confusion written all over it, just in the tiny twitches of his eyebrows and crinkles by his eyes. Again, it almost made you feel sick; you'd seen the look he'd given your friend's living room when he'd first walked in, staring from wall to wall as if he couldn't believe how small it was. Their whole place was probably the size of his bedroom alone; he was rich, how rich you didn't know, but he had a giant apartment and nice clothes, friends with big houses and not a care in the world about money.

That was not you, nor your friends. You weren't broke by any means, and certainly knew many people who had it worse. But you all skated by with just slightly more than you needed, trying to save the little extra that you did have. You never knew if you were a novelty to San, because of it; maybe he'd never really known a girl like you, who didn't have all that he had, who got by with just enough and the support of her community, not a huge paycheck or rich parents to fall back on. And maybe if you were honest with yourself, he was the novelty, to you. You'd never known anyone like him, growing up in a town so small it had only one high school. Maybe you were using him for the awe of it all, the chance to see how the other half lived, see into this life everyone seemingly dreamed about. It certainly wasn't what you wanted, but you couldn't deny there were pros. It just made something in you feel so strange, that he obviously felt uncomfortable in that apartment building you'd just exited, the building you felt more at home in than almost anywhere else.

"Woah, hey," he said, as you tripped hard over a crack in the sidewalk, running into him and nearly pitching forward right onto your face. He grabbed you, helping you stand up, and stopped in his tracks, turning towards you.

"Sorry, I'm so fucking exhausted. I need sleep," you said, bags under your eyes proving your point, the gentle snow still falling around you.

"Come to mine, it's closer," he said, and your eyes blinked at him, wide and unsure. His place was technically closer, you thought, from the exact intersection you stood at. Closer by one block. Was this an excuse, a way of trying to get more time with you? You couldn't be sure, staring up at his chin, stubble peaking through.

"Really?" you asked, eyes big and pleading. When he nodded, you continued. "Will you carry me?"

"On my back I will," he said, sighing and shaking his head, almost regretting what he'd just said.

As he walked the blocks to his building the air was surprisingly cold, the two of you clinging to each other for any amount of warmth you could find. You were silent; your breaths were visible in the air, the snow fall less but the temperature more severe it seemed, today. Your head bobbed against his shoulder, arms wrapped round him tightly, and with your legs you could feel the strength of his lungs, expanding his ribcage in and out, in and out, the strength of his body never ceasing to amaze you.

"Will you put me to sleep, when we get home?" you said in his ear, and it might have sounded perfectly innocent to anyone passing by. But San knew what you meant by that, a chuckle escaping him.

"Sure, dear," he responded, and you chuckled too, high-pitched, his grip on your legs tightening. He was supposed to be mad at you, or at least, pressing you to talk to him again about what had happened. He rationalized that it wasn't the right time; you truly did need more sleep, and maybe once you woke rested this afternoon, he could start that conversation. Maybe he'd even have that other conversation with you, the one he knew should have happened a full ten months ago. But as he thought about those serious exchanges he couldn't get the image of what he was about to do to you out of his mind, and even in the frigid air he felt a tightening in his pants, hoping his arousal wasn't too fucking obvious to anyone walking by.

You didn't even notice the freudian slip you'd had, and neither really had he, for it happened so often between you two nowadays. Home. When we get home. That place was a home to you, just like Tina's and Maya's, just like your own little room. San had taken notice when it first started happening, the little mentions making his heart flutter and jump, his gaze soften as he looked at you. You'd never balked afterwards, never gave any indication that you hadn't meant to say things you said.

Home. We. I'd love to. Don't stop. I need you. I want you. Please, Sannie, please.

In his mind, it was all falling into place; he'd played the long game, dated the girl who said we're just friends, and made it a year. She loved him, she obviously did, but she wasn't one who would say something like that so easily. And he was okay with that; he could wait, this last year had proved it. You were slipping now, though; your hard exterior was melting away, the distance you kept between you two shrinking and shrinking more. The bickering had only increased with that, but what couple didn't fight? He was obsessed, he had known that just a month in with you, and there was nothing in the world that could get him to leave, even when his friends and brother mocked him for sticking with you without a label. You're being played, bro. He'd heard it a million times. But they'd never known what it was to be buried inside you, what your skin smelled like, the sounds you made when you trembled and whined. They didn't know how magical you were on that stage, how the room lit up in wonder, how every pair of eyes turned to you and couldn't turn away. They'd never heard you talk about Rocky Horror, or your favorite manga, or all of the productions you'd been in since the age of five; they'd never watched you dance, heard you sing, read the beautiful poetry you'd whip up in minutes. They didn't understand how motivated you were, how brilliant, how utterly perfect for him.

And you had little idea about any of this, too; you were just twenty-three, just a girl in a big city, just someone too passionate about art to do anything else with your time. You didn't see it for yourself, that big successful future. But you kept trying. It didn't even feel like trying; it was just what you wanted, to perform for a crowd of people for work, to spend your free time wrestling your creative energy into stories and songs you actually liked. There wasn't any space for a partner, in all that. You'd told him that. But you'd also started spending the night after your hookups, started calling him for help sometimes. You went on a weekend trip, together. Just friends. It was getting harder to defend it anymore; but the thing was, none of your other friends pressed you. It was your business, your messy, immature business. They trusted you, with just about everything, because they could. You were a good friend, always there to help, always there to listen and soothe, to distract them when they needed it. None of them worried for a second that your thing with San was spinning recklessly out of control.

You were silent the rest of the way to San's place, taking in your surroundings through hooded eyes, your body slack against his. His building had an actual lobby, and he nodded to the man behind the counter, the man who recognized you without a second glance. Couches, tan with maroon pillows, surrounded a large low table, and behind it sat a coffee bar, a large bookshelf stocked with books and games, and the door to the gym. The elevator was sleek an unstained, not a scratch in sight; certainly no bullet holes. The carpet on his floor was short, black, and perfectly maintained, soft enough you could probably comfortably sleep on it. It was such a change, just five blocks south and three blocks west, this strange city you called home a mixture of literally everything.

It didn't take long when you got home for him to undress you; it was comfortable now that he'd run the heater for a bit, and though there was still a slight chill in the air, you didn't notice it with his hands all over you. His lips found yours, kissing you sweetly, gently, waiting for your body to open up to him. A swipe of his tongue made you moan, jaw falling slack, and he moved in to kiss you deeply, still gentle in his approach. He worked down to your neck, chest, and then nipples, sucking them softly, humming at the feeling. Your moans and whines were pathetic with sleepiness, your arms barely even skating through his hair or holding onto his shoulders. Stood in the comfortable air of his room you nearly fell back, San's arms coming around your back to help you down gently, laying you flat on his navy-blue comforter.

You spread your legs for him immediately; his kisses started at your knee, coming closer and closer to your aching core, his hands wrapped around your perfect thighs. This tongue found your slit, the taste sweet and intoxicating as always, and he swiped it up slowly, carefully brushing over your sensitive button and making you jerk and moan. Your thighs came up beside his head as he started working you, licking slow half circles over your clit, your back arching off his bed. You didn't understand; this had never felt good with anyone else, but when San went down on you your whole body gave in, and you had the quietest, sweetest orgasms, ones that always sent you into a perfect slumber. He continued his careful motion; it was just the thing that felt good to you, licking slightly over the hood of your sensitive spot, the stimulation not too much, but not too little either.

It took quite a few minutes, but soon he'd worked you up enough that your thighs started shaking, opening up now to push your center into his face, relishing the friction. Now he could slide his fingers in, put two inside your soaked cunt and curl them up and back, the two points of stimulation just what you needed. You started trembling almost immediately; it wasn't much longer till he felt the walls of your pussy clenching down on him, watched your stomach clench and release in ecstasy. You didn't come hard, certainly not as hard as you did last night. But it was long, your body riding out every bit of it, his fingers and tongue working you with perfect consistency. You shook and shook in front of him, moans weak and needy, your eyes closed and body already succumbing to sleep. He slowed his movements as you did, helping you ride out the last of it, then pulling himself out and off of you when you made that sound that meant enough.

You curled up on your side immediately, San scooping you up to place you more comfortably, tugging back his blanket. You were asleep before your head hit the pillow, before he tucked the comforter up to your chin and placed a kiss on your temple. You wouldn't remember any of this when you woke in a few hours, but you'd be damn thankful for the rest, your next few hours of sleep guaranteed to be deep.

And as San stood he couldn't think for a second about those serious, responsible conversations. They left his mind completely as he walked to his bathroom, turning on his shower. They were no where to be found as he wrapped a hand around his aching length, and finally gave himself some relief, some pleasure. All he could think about was the taste of you, the feeling of your thighs crushing his head, the huge ego boost he got every time he made you come like that. You'd let it slip several months ago that no one had ever come closer to doing what he'd done a hundred times; he felt like a fucking god now, each time your sweet tangy cunt was in his mouth, making him forget everything. He rubbed himself fast; he came hard, pent up and needy, frustration making his nervous system taught and sensitive. Cum coated the side of his hand and part of the wall in front of him, and he shuddered at just how intense it was; it was then that it all came crashing down, the conversations, the feelings, the way you'd talked to him last night. He finished washing his hair, his body; stepping out of the shower he felt shaky, satisfied, and totally unable to think straight.

He had to do it, he had to. Even if you'd try everything you could to reject the conversation. How could you not see how perfect he was, too?

[joelmillerisapunk]

MILLLLAAAAAA I have not known peace since reading this

First of all, the tension. The history. The forbidden desire just simmering under the surface, waiting to explode. Every single moment had me gripping my phone like it owed me money.

The fact that they had all this unresolved emotion and then bam—thrown into the most intimate scene imaginable??

This was SO intense, so raw, so emotional—and the way it all came back to them in the end??? Like, she wrote the script for him. She was always going to find her way back to him.

I am never recovering from this. EVER I am crying in the club, hiding in the bathroom, sobbing into my pillow. okay favorite parts timeeeee - and this is my live reaction so excuse every emotional rollercoaster I hit here....

-> WAHHHHHH FJSDKJSDKLJF already killing me goddamnit He closed it and took a moment before rereading the first page, with the name left blank. It could only be you. That was the only explanation for getting a script without the name of the author on it. And there was no way the scene he had just read, so familiar, so intimate, could be coincidental. Or could be written by anyone else. He grabbed his phone and sent a message to his agent, unable to contain his annoyance.that’s fucked up, Will*Will calling* -> OKAYY I SEE HOW IT IS YOU WANT ME TO CRY ALREADY HUH? “It’s… damn, Will, it’s our story, ok? Or a part of it, I don't know. Anyway I can’t play this. Can’t play me.”

-> WHAAAA I CANT DO THIS I CANT BUT I WILL IM SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP He didn’t know how Joel used to hold you firmly against the mattress, hands on your hips, lapping at your cunt to make you come again. Because he always wanted more, always wanted to give you more. He didn’t know that pushing his cock in you was the sweetest, most intense sensation he’d ever felt. Even now, years later, he never felt something like that again. Will didn't know any of that, had no idea how intense it had been. Because the only thing Joel told him was “you don’t bring her up. Ever.” -> she is so relatable omfg I would be doing the same You knew what he looked like, you watched all his movies. In need of his voice, his smile, his gestures, his laugh. In need of him. But seeing him for real- not through a screen but in the same room, not some character but Joel, the man you loved more than anyone else, the man you would still call “the love of your life” in your thoughts -, was breathtaking, almost surreal.  -> SOBBING EXCUSE ME SIR? WTF YOU DOING SHAKING HER OFF LIKE THAT NO SIR NO SIR So you approached him, without overthinking it, but as soon as he saw you he gave you a subtle but firm shake of his head. The message was crystal clear - he didn’t want to talk to you, didn’t even want you around. It stopped your hesitant steps in their tracks, and the shy smile you had the courage to build instantly disappeared, and your gaze fell to the floor. Trying to control your breathing, to fight back the tears you felt welling up.

-> my good goddddd im dying over here i am not okay sos help me He shook his head to think about something else and to resist the urge to take the script out of the drawer. Instead, he took a sleeping pill and went to bed.

->idk Milla, i think you write the most beautiful things and you really wanna make my heart fall out of my ribcage. The writing was pure and vivid and as he was reading your point of view he felt like his ribcage was suddenly too small to contain his heartbeats.

-> ooooof THIS IS BUILDING UP OMG OMG OMG SMDFKSDA “Who do you have in mind for the female lead?” he asked finally. “Well… me,” you answered, without lowering your gaze that time.

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

THE ENTIRE INTIMATE SCENE HOLY SMOKES IM DIZZYYYY

-> I have no thoughts just thots my brain empty but this is delicious “I can feel you clench on my fingers, you’re gonna be a good girl and come again for me?” he asked, before swirling his tongue over your clit again. “Thought about it so often,”

AND THE END AHHH IM SOBBING

Close-up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It could only be you. 

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

that’s fucked up, Will

*Will calling*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until today.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until it was over. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ok, set up a meeting

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel, please, listen to me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You knew it, you knew why.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anything to keep his mind busy.

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

“You still like the white?” you asked.

He did. Some things never changed.

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

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

It was. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whether in a relationship or not.

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

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

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

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

“For what, Joel?” you asked questioningly.

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

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

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

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

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

“To do what?”

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

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

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

“Ouch!” he replied exaggeratedly.

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

“A little,” he laughed.

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

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

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

But he couldn’t ask you that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh… well… yeah. I never stopped.”

“Can I?” you asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“ ‘ course I did.”

You nodded, your throat tight.

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

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

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

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

Two days later, he texted you

“I’m in”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I missed you too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this ok?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s ok,” you smiled.

“Action!”

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

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

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

He could feel your wet panties through the fabrics.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you too,” was his.

“Cut!! That was amazing, great job!!”

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

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

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

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

“I, huh…” you stammered.

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

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” he chuckled.

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“I miss you, Joel.”

“No, don't…  Please, don’t say that.”

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

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

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

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

You took his hand and led him to your room.

“Undress me,” you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you ok?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel…” you whimpered.

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

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

“Lemme try, ok?”

“Ok,” you whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, need to feel you too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, sweetheart….”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you for reading 🙏

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[thisisjustfanfic]

{A sneak peek?}

In the fic I'm writing where the reader (you) lives in a big house with all the boys. I keep thinking about Rafayel having a rough night with you. Just a long drawn out edging session where he gets you to the brink and then draws you back. Playing a sick game of catch and release.

He doesn't like to see you cry, but you look so pretty when you do. Especially when those tears are accompanied by the nonsense babbling of his name and broken pleas. "P-please...please..."

You don't even know what your begging for anymore, only that it makes him smile and speak so sweetly to you when you do. "Such a good girl. So cute for me. C'mon cutie, one more. You can give me one more right? Fuck, let me taste you again."

Rafayel is, of course, nice later. Sitting with you in a bubble bath and running lotion on your sore backside. But during the heat of it? Oh, he can be downright mean.

After that night, Sylus gets his hands on you. And even if its days later, you're anticipating more torment from him. If playful Rafayel can be so devious, then what can Sylus "my bedroom is a sex-dungeon" do?

What does he do?

"Oh kitten, he was so mean to you wasn't he?" He'd purr, pushing into the mattress and running his large hands over your things, your hips, your stomach. "Shh...no need to ask. I'll give you what you want."

He's slow. Methodical. Holding the back of your head while he fucks you slowly in missionary. Keeping your face close to his just so he can feel your breath on him. He draws it out only long enough to get you panting. Eyes glazed over and clinging to him.

They're desperate in different ways. Turn your brain off and melty in different ways. Both good. Both good.

[animentality]

I know x reader fans have always existed, and I don't generally mind them.

however I feel like the way they've overtaken fandom analysis/ shipping culture is an indication of the general decline of fandom communities.

they are normies, guys. I'm sorry.

it's not a slur, it's just a fact.

normies infiltrated fandom spaces because of covid.

they come in and just want to thirst after a particular character... and that's like. fine. of course it's fine it's always happened.

but they don't seem to actually care about the character being in character. nor does it really require any analysis of that character's motivations or story, or their relationship with others.

I know not everything HAS to relate to canon. like duh, we are here to make our own canon.

but come the fuck on. I go into a tag and it has a character tagged being some dommy daddy when that character is nothing like that in canon... and there's this line between making a character act a certain way bc that's your fetish, and completely ignoring who that character is entirely to the point where you could just replace their name with anyone else in any other show, and it wouldn't make a difference?

like that's... normie shit. it's people who do not think deeply or passionately about that media, it's just them having this surface level grasp of the physical attractiveness of the character.

and again. I'm not saying these people are stupid or whatever, just that the overabundance of this watered down ass content is an indicator of how much fandom has changed.

fans are not the socially awkward introverted queer voyeurs anymore, who enjoy fantasies and daydreaming about being someone else because of this disconnect with the self, or this fear of others that leads you to seek human connection in fiction.

they're the people who do just fine with other people ... and I'm not gatekeeping fandom from people who aren't socially awkward or anything.

but they come here, and they do shit like say you can't like this ship bc it's morally wrong .. you're not allowed to thirst after an 18 year old that makes you a pedophile... I'm 15 and I'm allowed to lust for Gojo but you a 25 year old woman, aren't allowed to write itafushi fanfiction.

go back to taxes and your job!!!

like that drives me fucking insane. these people want to insist they're not normies but they then go around insisting that being over 20 means you need to Work and Be a Normal Adult... bitch.

adults make fandoms. not you fucking children. you don't know how to build communities, you barely know how to make friends.

attacking people who like the same thing you do? is that what you think community building is?

oh this poor generation. anyway.

they come here and are disgusted by weird fetishes and obsessions. and by people sharing sexual headcanons or ideas about sexuality that make them uncomfortable because they've never ever been counter culture, they've never felt the need to go against the status quo.

they're cis straight girls/women mostly, whose mothers basically fuel the ya spicy romance booktok industry.

they're just younger and think it's trendier to be "in a fandom" than a fucking book club.

they're modern day bodice ripper fans... which again

would be so fucking fine, if they weren't doing the youth version of karening the fuck out.

and flooding the fandom with both hyper criticism of how you conduct your business AND an aggressive market for just imagining yourself with a character.

like fandom was originally just hyper passionate freaks.

they discussed movies and TV shows like life and death. they were fucking nuts but in the way where they needed to seek one another out, to share in this joyous sensation of being a freak obsessed with something beyond the point of reason.

now?

now it's like ... oh.

Sally from Bio thinks your love of Gaara is super creepy when you're 19. like what, are you a pedophile? why are you imagining him getting married to Naruto? are you a fucking pedophile who gets off to teens making out? they need to check your hard drive!!

like ok Sally.

ok.

I just think x reader is such a strong indicator of what kind of fan you are.

and if a fandom is mostly x reader... then it can't be that popular. it can't be a proper community.

how can it be?

it's as watered down and generic and bland as a marvel movie. it's stripped down of anything unique. it is pruned of controversy and humanity.

you are literally stripping yourself down into a non character.

you're not truly projecting yourself into a character, because the you that you read about is nothing. a placeholder. you are a passive observing robot who exists only in the form of a faceless and personality less entity.

and I don't get it.

what's the point then?

isn't fiction about realizing something about yourself or others

if your only manner of engaging is stripping yourself of personality... is it engagement at all?

or is it just more mindless consumption?

just watch law and order, man.

watch the good doctor or some shit on lifetime.

there's shows with passionate fanbases who theory craft and endlessly obsess with relationships and world building, and then there's shows with x reader only content and you know exactly why now.

[haveihitanerve]

BUS! I know I came back to land for a reason…

Also- for-word: um. Be prepared? Its not innocent. At all. Not about a bus. Um. yeah. Don't watch around people. Yeah. thats all the advice i can offer. Now go off into the world Penelope Jemima B. D. And show the world who you are 😭

(the amount of distress i had while watching this is insane) anyway:

Idk what AJ and Tom were saying at the very beginning but cuteness 

“You're gonna fucking love it.” Tom is an iconic king but also AJ and Sam laughing at his dumb little jokey intro will always be the cutest thing to me

“Hopefully in that order…” yes please lol

“BUS!” AJ really enjoyed that- gorgeous cackle, 10/10. Sam doesn't know what to do with that and Tom has just reverted to repeating it bc… wow

“First murder.” “last murder” goodness gracious what lmaooo

Toms little pat on AJ’s back as they started the scene 😭

AJ awkwardly scooting away as Sam comes closer but also moving closer because he needs to at all times be touching them 😭

“You don't see young people reading anymore.” Ok idk if its intentional or not but every time we get a scene like this in any way sam always starts insulting young people for being on their “tablets and iphones” and etc etc, and i don't know if its an actual grievance that he has at this point lmao(even tho we as fans connect to them thru this but wtv lol) or if hes mocking old people for their grievances and either one works for me really lol i just wanna knowww

Sam: Good book? AJ: *every book ever created ever in the history of ever leaves his mind* yeah yeah, uh u-yeah uh its the-the the- the sexbook. Yeah thats such a good book AJ, i agree

“Quite a coincidence.” AJ: *blinks, not sure what to do with that information just casually dropped with nothing else* wha-what Sam: *smirks* Tom: *offstage* :D 

Sam: I wrote the sexbook Tom: *oh did you??* *legs crossed, hand over mouth, classic tom pose that slays every. single. time.*

“Arthur big dick” Tom shaking with silent laughter, AJ almost caving with a laugh, Sam laughing as he says it. Idk shared laughter means a lot to me

“Name five of them.” No thats foul- because AJ couldn't even think of one and now you’re making him come up with fivvveee titles sam??? Thats loowwww XD

“Big Dick 1, 2, 3 ,4 and 5.” The groan of the crowd lmaooo- they really wanted to hear AJ come up with creative titles lol

Tom’s disappointed nose pinch in the corner XD

“Im just gonna fangirl here real quick-” yes AJ! Yes! Finally we are represented!!

Sam: You're a girl? *slowly removes his hand from Aj’s shoulders* AJ: *did not think that far ahead, nor that it’d be commented on* ye-yes? Sam: ah.*contemplates* this is much creepier than I thought it was LMAOOOOO (Toms little grin shaky laugh in the corner 🫠)

“I just feel like your writing- it just really gets to the heart of- of the sexual experience.” truly, inspirational work Sam

“Didn't like it.” Silence as AJ just stares at him. :| yes. Do continue. 👀

Tom and AJ’s laugh as Sam just doesn't answer XD

“He-hello?” AJ sounded genuinely concerned for Sam lol

“Where did you go?” “the sea.” regrets it before the words are even out- XD

The way they both broke, shook for a few seconds, and then straightened in sync is insane

Its like a fricking switch was flipped holy shit- laughing- then suddenly sitting upright and focused again lol wow

Toms little giggling in the corner omfg-

“Are you getting off? Whe-where are you getting off?” He heard the joke and immediately corrected lmaooo

“Well, turn to page seven!” “Ahhh!” “Ahhh!!” the whole finger pointing and like “hahahaha i knew you'd say it you shit” is amazing and i adore it

“How old are you?” Has to clarify for the scene, i appreciate it sam lol

“32. How-how-” “okay.” “okay.” yeah maybe its better not to clarify sam’s age- seeing as hes been at sea for 60 years yet was clearly an adult when he wrote the book and- lets not get into it

“Im actually getting off at the next stop-” “mhumhmh” AJ and Tom’s little smiles at his dumbass joke ahhhh i love

Also- side note- his book gets off already at page seven??? Thats pretty early right? Or am i tweaking? Actually its a book about sex called Sexbook so nevermind, ignore me

“Im actually a writer myself.” “oh really? What have you written?” “big vagina 1, 2, 3.” Sam completely folds at that, and Tom’s little smile as AJ smirks, proud of himself ahhh such dorks :) 

“But i haven't- *breaks* i haven't released any yet because *voice shakes with laughter* im too afraid. *sam casually dying in the background trying not to laugh* Im too afraid of showing my work *breaks again* cause i will be judged.” The hand to the heart is truly my favorite thing XD

“Jemima.” Sam: *shit what was my name again* AJ: Arthur B. D. Sam: *thats right thank you* Arthur B. D. WOW!!! AJ remembered a name!!! Brilliant. 

Brilliant stagecraft of leaving the bus AJ, adore

Tom gets to be in a scene now! Yay!

“Boys…” Sam thought he could sit down and relax- nope! AJ is trying, but, yep he has to stand again too lol

Tom unbuttoning his shirt just to reveal a shirt underneath is a power move holy shit-

“As the united kingdom communist part we just cant take that.” Tom squints at him: mmmhmmm. *shakes head because he does not like that* Sam: *does it back equally as passive aggressive* mmmmmhhhmmm

“Us fine upstanding, british *lacking a very substantial british accent* communists that we are.” 

I see Tom is trying to revive Xavier???? Or smth…

“Oh what did you just stutter to me?” His strut-

AJ’s tongue in cheek smile as he approaches-

That chin tilt???????? Oh ma my my-

“How did you get my name so wrong?” ahh how quickly the mighty fall😔

“Magnus o. Puss.” AJ’s almost break at the name lmaooo

“Cause i have a full magnus full of o puss.” Sam’s breaking of character so completely that he just covers his face in shame lmaooo XD

“You just wiped your nose.” “Sorry.” “you're wearing a jumper.” wow tom- just insult everything about him i guess XD AJ: 😔sorry…

Aj trying to escape the scene. Tom: don't just sit down and cry! No mercy…XD

“Flatmate.” “oh!” AJ’s relief lmaooo

Tom: I’m the other flatmate. :/ keep trying buddy, one day you'll join the scene again lmaooo

“Get on the couch.” “how was your day?” “how was your day?” “how was your daaaay?” the way theyre actually sitting really close together with Tom almost leaning against Sam’s shoulder 🫠

“You know, my writing,” “We’re big fans.” Tom casually interrupts to clarify and support- and like- i know its for the scene and they’re building a really quick relationship- but AJ actually is a writer/director and they do actually watch his stuff-😭- anyway-

Sam and Tom’s continuous looks at each other “Oooooooh!”

“Its from your time.” THERE WE GO!!! SOME OLD JOKES!!!! “Oh yeah, just us two 65 year old women with our 32 year old flatmate!” lmaoooo they're all women and not one of them originally meant to be XD

“Well we were five.” “At first it didn't do much for us.” I would hope not Tom, but thanks for clarifying…

“As we matured-” “as we matured-” “Like our bible-” “like our bible-” im loving this casual repetition they have going on, wonderful

“It was spiritual but also exciting.” “like cocaine.” “like cocaine.” Sam would know… and still with the repetitions XD

“That would be convenient to the plot.” I love how Sam feels the need to say this aloud and not just subtly hint at it- because knowing the two idiots he’s on stage with- sorry, chaos demons- they would totally let him try to build it up like that, and then never actually get the plot going in that direction lmaooo

“Oh my gosh.” Sam and Tom both cracking at his gasp- now drum roll, will Aj stick to the plot or is he throwing in a curveball???

“Is it convenient to the plot?” Tom looks like he doesn't want it to be- just to annoy Sam lmaooo

“And i looked out the window temporarily-” *almost breaks* Aj- i love you, but there are more casual ways to let this further the plot, you know that right XD

“Well this sounds perfectly plausible.” After he and Tom just destroyed any way it could be plausible

“You've cracked my code did you?” we get a snippet of Aj’s delightful laughter, beautiful

“Pass the torch up. There you go.” AJ: *finger point of “clever”* lol

“You cant go off again back to sea.” “..okay.” AJ’s break at the easy agreement lol-

AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW i did not expect a cute hug scene!!!!!! Yay!!!! 🫠💗

Ok- i will be honest- i really though Aj was going in for a kiss at first- and i kind of believe Sam thought so too with the whole “i always wanted a daughter” to solidify its purely sweet and not romantic just in case aj gets any more ideas lol

Sam’s “oh!” and hunch drop into Big Dick because he thought he was Tom’s assistant??? And not big dick, but here he is again lmaooo

Tom’s little vibrating act made AJ fold and i think its wonderful XD

Tom climbing on a chair because he needs to be taller ofc, classic

“You could look, im not wearing underwear.” Sam, not only looking, but doing the appreciate, yeah head nod is crazy

“Im everything you fear.” AJ interrupting his build up to monologue to snort is priceless

“You were just a lowly intern-” Hang on a fucking minute sam- Tom is how old???? That was 60 years ago- i don't care how young and lowly he was- he was at least a teenager which makes him a seventy something yead old man- y'know what its better not to ask

“Even you couldn't… open it.” Tom freezing in place in an effort not to laugh, Sam’s head hanging in disappointment, and AJ just having the time of his life 

THEM GENUINELY JUST LETTING/MAKING AJ WRITE THE ENDING OF HIS SEX BOOK ON STAGE IS THE BEST AND CRAZIEST THING EVER WHAAAAAAAT

Tom’s little head drop forward like “what are you saying aj? Oh you're doing this? Okaaay…” 

“Penelope.” sam. Sam. sammy. Samuel. Its Jemima. 

“Im trapped in a vagina.” Tom, AJ, and Sam all cracking at the perfectly set up joke, classic

“How is he doing this?” Sam not helping at all and making AJ come up with it XD

“He says it just- hes a ghost.” AJ has given up lmaooo

“Astral penetration.” AJ BREAKING FULLY, FOLD ON STAGE, MID STAGE!!!!

“Magnum o, full stop, puss.” Sam checking his watch to see how much he has to speed this up lmaoooo

“Hell die inside of that vagina.” *both break* XD

“Im in my office on another floor…” Tom really wanted to be in the scene and they keep forcing him out XD

“Hes astral penetrated me-” Sam fully folds on stage too- he knew, he just knew AJ would make it weird- specifically made it so that they were established as daughter-dad relationship- and yet AJ still found a way LMAOOOO

“Don't make me call security.” “Call security! I don't care!” “Security.” “JA. I am secure.” Tom baby im just not sure thats what he meant XD

“Im just going to put this out there: we have several copies.” lmaooo Aj come on!

“But then your friend would die inside wouldn't he?” AJ: *HAHAH FUCK YOU!!!* “ahh fuck.” Sam is impressed lol

WHERE DID HE GET THE SWORD?????

[drenched exit] sam: awww come on! *disappointed as though he didn't help set it up*

[door closes with a moist SMACK] Tom: *smiles because hes proud of himself*

“You've been meditating inside a big member!” why do they keep making it worse better

[juicy splash] Sam: *makes sound of disgust and disappointment*

“Its perfectly natural!” You tell ‘em king!

Physic powers?????

“You-you've pinned it to the wall.” … aj… theres no emoji or anything to convey my expression rn, but i assume its the same as yours so… yeah…

“You must challenge him.” AJ: *breaks fully because he did not expect sam to just appear behind him while hes being tortured?? by a man rubbing his own nipples*

“Feel the tension!” i feel the tension alright😭

Aj having to laugh mid battle (real) because  w h a ha t???

What is going on😭😭😭

OH MY GOD WHAT???? SAM ESCAPED THE VAGINA????

pleasedontkisspleasedontkisspleasedontkisspleasedontkisspleasekisspleasekiss

“That vagina was so acidic.” Sam please don't say things like that while you're dying in AJ’s arms- XD

“Im so happy i met you on the bus that day.” You mean literally that morning?? Or did i miss a time jump?

“The big vagina 4. *moans*” Death. 

aj helping tom up from the floor😭🫠

AND, SCENE!!! wow. That was… wow. Ok. Um. So. If you couldn't tell, i got very distressed towards the end. Like very. It was very good though, kinda what i expected. I’m sad Luke isn't there but glad he wasn't because it would have been so much worse 😭 but uh. Yeah. that was fun! So… hope you enjoyed???

@snek-of-eden you were so right, the chaos is unmatched and wow. Thank you!!

@dawn-speckled

[kanansdume]

You started these tags with "oof" and I went back to re-read the second part of this post and... yeah, oof is about how I feel, too. Oh how hopeful I was for something good to come out of that show, BOTH shows actually since I was looking at Mandalorian season 3 as well it seems.

This post is already a little long, so I'll put the rest under a cut, but tl;dr is that I think you're giving the people writing in the Mandoverse SO MUCH more credit than they deserve and they'll likely never do anything good or creative with these characters again.

I don't think that making Sabine a Jedi had anything to do with Sabine at all. A lot of people have pointed out that Sabine is acting like a bratty teenager despite being literally 30 years old and that she feels a lot like an ANAKIN stand-in so that Ahsoka can figure out her feelings about Anakin through her relationship to Sabine. We know that the Rebels Search for Ezra storyline got combined with Ahsoka's show and that they weren't originally intended to be the same story. So it makes sense that Ahsoka likely HAD a padawan-figure originally who was probably a new character and that they just replaced that character with Sabine when things got combined, regardless of what that would mean for Sabine's character.

Sabine doesn't even grow or learn anything by the end of the show. I've see people try to argue that when she left Ezra behind in order to save Ahsoka that it showed she'd grown from when she abandoned everything to save Ezra, except... she's literally just making the same choice for a different person. Thrawn is LEAVING and the whole point of jumping onto his ship is to try to STOP HIM or something, and instead of doing that and helping Ezra, she runs back because one person's life is at stake and now Ezra is alone on that ship and Sabine never has to face the consequences of her own actions. Personally, that doesn't feel like any actual growth to me or like she's learned from the mistake she made by going to get Ezra. The narrative itself doesn't even seem to think that it WAS a mistake she needs to learn from, which leaves her character with literally nowhere to go.

If they were going to bring her back to Mandalore as a leader, they probaby would've been EMPHASIZING her connection to Mandalore rather than basically erasing it. It would've made more sense to leave her family ALIVE, even just ONE of them, to give her more of a connection to that cause. But no, aside from her wearing the armor, there's absolutely no indication she gives a flying shit about Mandalore or its people anymore.

So even if they DID start pushing Sabine in the direction of being a leader again, I wouldn't like it. THIS Sabine should never lead anybody ever. THIS Sabine is a selfish piece of shit who is willing to unleash Thrawn upon the galaxy just to get what she wants. REBELS era Sabine was awesome, and had the makings of a great ruler. REBELS era Sabine had learned mercy and patience and selflessness by the end of the show, while THIS fucking Sabine is impatient, impetuous, irresponsible, and selfish. Nobody should EVER allow the Ahsoka show version of Sabine anywhere NEAR a leadership position, and if they try to do it, it'll just be unbelievably bad writing. Perhaps hilariously bad writing, it could be amusing to see them attempt to make that claim, but it'd still be bad.

And, as you mentioned, they've already put Bo-Katan in as the leader of Mandalore for the THIRD TIME and, ostensibly, destroyed the Dark Saber. There doesn't seem to be any real planning around who gets put in as the leader of Mandalore, to be honest, it just kind-of flip flops and goes to whoever they deem most convenient in the moment. Sabine was being set up for it for a minute until they decided it would be problematic with what they wanted to do with her later in Rebels, so they threw it at Bo-Katan with no good reason. Then they took it away from Bo-Katan in The Mandalorian so that they could set Din up to take on leadership of Mandalore except that then they decided they didn't really like that so they abandoned all of that set-up and tossed it back at Bo-Katan because, hell, she's already there isn't she, might as well just give it back to her because THAT'S satisfying to see! So, sure, MAYBE they'll give it back to Sabine and take it away from Bo-Katan AGAIN later on, maybe Bo-Katan will die fighting Thrawn and so Sabine gets put back in as an option, but I don't have a single ounce of belief that it'll make any sense or feel in any way satisfying.

For all that the Mandoverse is focused on Mandalorians in the extreme, I don't feel like they're writing them all that well or care all that much about giving these characters good strong narratives. Sabine is just the latest in a string of terrible writing choices for their Mando characters.

Sabine Wren is not just the true wielder of the Darksaber, but the only one who should’ve been chosen to rule Mandalore and I will die on that hill.

The entire point of Sabine’s whole arc through the show is that she is learning JEDI VALUES, that she’s learning that the Mandalorian way has its place, but it also has so many flaws and that it’s what has led Mandalore to fight itself into dust. She’s impatient and distrustful and learns to listen with Hera about Fulcrum. She’s more inclined to kill someone out of anger until she learns the value of mercy and second chances from Kanan with Fenn Rau. She tries to pretend her problems don’t exist and won’t truly face them until she learns to wield the Darksaber with Kanan and then goes to make amends with her family. The entire episode with her familiy shows how Sabine brings together everything she’s learned: she waits and listens to her family’s grievances, understanding exactly how her actions impacted them, and then she shows mercy to Gar Saxon rather than killing him after her win like a true Mandalorian would.

Having Bo-Katan claim that the Mandalorian way is a way of MERCY, when we’re intentionally told and shown that Sabine’s willingness to show mercy explicitly goes against her Mandalorian upbringing and teachings and was something she learned from Hera, and from Kanan and his Jedi teachings, is really insulting. The Mandalorian way, as shown through Rebels, is NOT one of mercy, that’s the entire point. Sabine recognizes that, recognizes that that’s what’s caused them so much misery, caused them to turn on each other so much that their planet hasn’t ever had the chance to heal and regrow.

Bo-Katan even says IN THIS EPISODE that Sabine represents the best of what they have been in the past as well as the best of what they could someday become. That Sabine is a true leader.

To have Sabine turn around and say that the Darksaber came to her, after she EARNED IT, for the FIRST time since Tarre Viszla she truly EARNED the Darksaber, just so she could pass it on to Bo-Katan, someone who once gleefully helped set a village on fire after the people she was helping subjugate tried to resist?

I’m sorry, but no.

Sabine Wren is Tarre Viszla’s true successor. Not just as the wielder of the Darksaber, but as Mandalore’s uniter, as its truest ruler. Sabine Wren has the patience and mercy and wisdom of a Jedi with the passion and mettle of a Mandalorian warrior. She has learned to listen as well as she fights, and she has learned how to appreciate different points of view and how to bring them together to create a whole greater than the sum of its parts.

The Darksaber came to her because Sabine Wren always had the capacity to use it to fulfill Tarre Viszla’s vision, to unite Mandalore, to save it from itself, to make it more than it is. The Darksaber came to her specifically because Sabine has the greatest ability to lead Mandalore into a peaceful future.

[animation-by-jam]

[Vent]. My thoughts. I'm not indigenous, so I can not relay the experience as if I could, and their voices matter more than mine. My heart goes out to the people of the letter. I'm writing as a fan who wants to just let out my feelings.

I don't know if it's just me. But I don't know if I can watch another rtvs stream with the whole crew until the rest of them issued their apologies over what happened or actually do something about the hurt they caused. It's obvious by the fan reaction that they're not just friends on the internet anymore and can't just shield themselves to be awful with criticism. Especially over fucking racial discrimination critique.

Especially Mike. Like everyone's initial responses and apologies at the time were bad, but man, that one was just REALLY BAD. Like if it wasn't limited to a discord server, the average rtvs viewer would have just been appalled by the comment and done worse reputation wise level bad. Not even the most dedicated sweep under the rug fans could argue that wasn't good. (Though I did scroll to read the entire situation, and few people tried). But, nope. It was bad. I still don't understand how he could go immediately to a 100 with that. I could give him the benefit of the doubt and say he probably had a shitty day (gamer moment level of exuse. I can't defend that), or idk he was just too aggressive with wanting to defend his friends. But, at the end of the day, that's an excuse, and the words were still typed and caused hurt. The action was still taken, and unfortunately, even *if* he feels terrible over it, he can't take it back. What's done is done, and just make up for it now.

But like I said, even with other mods and members doing the work behind the scenes. And I really hope to god that they do actually address this shit publicly. The longer it could go on, the more people will feel so betrayed (rightfully), and the more fans it will reach to demand something. Like this isn't the hlvrai days anymore rtvs, they have fans that can donate thousands to charity and sell out merchandise within hours. They want to unify the brand together? so they have to GET IT TOGETHER. Act maturely next time. If they aren't able to properly rectify a situation with a problematic sponsor or collaboration in time, then just apologize and listen to people's suggestions. God damn. How hard was it to read a letter that wasn't attacking them. And if anything, they tried really hard to give them so much benefit since it was from Fans. And even if not from fans, still don't treat indigenous people like this (common sense, no?). I know some of the crew are white and, or at this point, privileged to do what they can and probably never had to deal with the unique oppression indigenous people do as most humans never will. But, still. They have to get over it. Read the letter and understand it, and stop trying to act like any criticism is the end of your world/jobs. It will be if most of them don't learn from this incident.

[theprettynosferatu]

State of The Blog, February 2025, or As I Type This

CW: Politics, general downer.

I promised myself I wouldn't write about this. Guess this post makes me a liar, aside from a humble kink-maker. I also promised myself I wouldn't complain, and that I won't do. Things are fine. Texts are being written. The smut is flowing, even if slowly- or less rapidly than either of us would like, dear reader.

Now... shit sure is fucked, huh? Not the most eloquent way of putting it, I know. But who has time for rhetoric these days? And I'm not even American! But I happen to know that a large portion of my little corner o'smut here hails from the USA. I have lived there myself. I have, perhaps, something of a romantic streak when it comes to what America could be. Sadly, it's not what it could be that we have to deal with.

Things are moving quickly. This is not by accident.

As I type this, the richest man in the world has gathered an unfathomable trove of data from the US government. Illegally, of course, but it appears such things no longer matter.

As I type this, information on gender and trans issues is being erased from government websites.

As I type this, self-ID is no longer a thing for my non-binary and transgender American friends, acquaintances and readers.

As I type this, ICE is raiding workplaces, schools, churches.

As I type this, someone has lost funding for life-changing research.

As I type this. the US is getting into a trade war on three fronts. All casualties in this war will be, as is always the case, the working people. On all sides.

The casualties of all these things will not be heralded. They will not the announced or published. They will be silent, in the form of people rationing medicine they need to live, getting sick from the cold and not being able to afford a doctor, perhaps choosing to not go on anymore in a world that seems to scream in their face that they don't matter, they are not wanted, they are Other.

You are shocked and traumatized because that's the point. To shock you into paralysis, so you won't have the bandwidth or time or energy to react- your reaction is what they fear.

I am nothing important. I make stuff to get people off. What right to I have to say anything to anyone who is really suffering? What the fuck can I do? Provide some escapism? Perhaps. It is useful, insofar as burning out on doomer shit helps absolutely no one. I'm nowhere near a front line, so to speak. Perhaps I'm being delusional thinking I am contributing something worth fuck all to people, but hey, I can do delusion. Or hope. It's hard to tell them apart sometimes.

I can't tell you to fight. I can't start preaching about the importance of community. I can't tell you what to do. It's not my place, and it's not my expertise. I'm not here to play armchair resistance, and neither are you. You are here for kink, and so kink I shall give you.

But I couldn't do the State of the Blog and let this go unremarked. As futile as it may be, as stupid as it sounds (and I am aware of the ass I'm making out of myself here), I just wanted you all to know you ARE wanted, you CAN handle this. Shit is bleak. But it won't be bleak forever, because YOU won't let it. The dawn is in your hands. And when you need a break and want to read smut, I'll be here.

Oh, and before I go, just in case anyone isn't clear:

Fuck off fascists.

Fuck off transphobes.

Fuck off xenophobes.

Fuck off racists.

Fuck off real sexists.

Life is not on your side, you absolute dogfuckers. It never has been, and it never will be.

[edward-munson]

I don't care | S.H.

Summary: Taking care of Steve after he was attacked by an army of demobats seems like a lot of work, only because apparently he doesn't like you.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x f!reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of injury, allusion to smut

Word count: 2.2k

☆°•○♡

"You want them spicy or not?" You ask Steve as you make nachos for dinner for both of you.

He's lying on the couch, on his back. He still recovers from the attack of the demobats. His neck is almost fully scarred, but the bites on his stomach and his sides are still painful. You've been laying low together for close to two weeks.

Your friends didn't want to make you team up with them to find Vecna and kill him. Not that you're not brave or strong enough to do so. But you're still pretty new to all of this and someone had to stay with Steve. So you didn't even bother opposing the idea, even though he's not your biggest fan.

God knows why, he never told his reasons. And your friends didn't know either. Maybe Eddie did, but he wouldn't open his mouth about it.

"I still think this is really unnecessary. I'm not a fucking child" He complains as he walks past the kitchen door, leaning against the sink.

With crossed arms, he looks at your food. You made chilli beans, guacamole and cheese sauce for the spicy nachos. You look up at him, trailing your eyes on his neck for an instant before raising an eyebrow to him.

"You can't even hold your own weight, Harrington. Stop being a crybaby".

Steve scoffs at you, but doesn't move an inch from his position. "Jesus, I wish we had another plan".

You drop the spoon you were using, turning your face to look at him. "I'm only doing this because they asked me to. Get off your own ass".

You leave the kitchen, walking out to the bedroom you were sleeping on. You were staying at his house. It's not like there were other options, but you couldn't refuse to stay there when he's alone and barely walking. Well, he can walk. The worst part is that he needs rest because of his wounds.

The past two weeks you've been quite getting along. Not that much, really. It's not like you were friends. Probably more like close acquaintances. Because obviously, he was the one pushing you away.

You didn't leave your room for a while, you were too annoyed to eat, and since it was dinner for the two of you, it didn't feel like you should eat anymore. You decided to spend your time watching something on the TV, which would easily make you get bored.

And then you would read books, or write stuff. It's been pretty tough lately since Vecna appeared. Max almost got killed and now she was staying at Dustin's house. The other kids were coming back to Hawkins to help, maybe Eleven might be able to do something about that.

You actually wished you were doing something fun. Like, taking a trip to the beach or snowboarding since it's fall and the weather has been cold. Your thoughts were pushed back by a knock on the door. Steve didn't open it and you didn't mention doing it either, so he just stayed there.

"Sorry I was an idiot" His voice came out muffled through the closed door. "I know I've been cranky and annoying".

You only opened the door after a couple of minutes, not exactly sure if he was still there. But he looked up from the floor at you. "You used to be nice. I mean, way before this curse happened".

He stayed quiet, because you were right. But what else can he do if the world was turned upside down (almost literally) again? And you almost got them killed once, not on purpose of course.

You were also the one to get too close to Robin and he hated seeing his best friend sharing her friendship with someone else. Because up until then, he was the only one she was the closest he had to a friend, even though he had a strong relationship with Eddie too.

None of it was your fault, but he grew annoyed over you. He couldn't lie to himself and say you weren't too kind and helpful. But he started to become extremely unenthusiastic over you through the year.

"A lot has happened since then. I'm trying to live up to the fact that we're against another monster again" Steve leans an arm against the doorframe, but refuses to keep his gaze at you.

"Which isn't my fault, by the way. Not to mention I'm the one who pulled you out of the watergate before you were eaten".

Another few seconds of silence, which was followed by a sarcastic nasal laugh. He shook his head and hung it low to the floor.

"Oh, you want a prize for that? Because I remember clearly when I didn't ask for your help!" His words were harsh, even if not intended.

But now you were the one who didn't know what to say. Until you feel the bitter taste on your tongue.

"Guess I should've let them rip your skin apart, then".

He saw the door shutting in front of him, cursing himself for being extremely idiotic and insensitive. He almost felt like punching his own face for that.

Steve heard you talking to Eddie that night through your walkie talkie. It was a little bit hard to hear because the reception was static for you. But you could listen to Eddie and God, you missed him and the others. It started to become unbearable to live with Steve. He heard you lament the whole situation, complaining about the way you were treating each other.

He was bitter about the things they were going through. He was angry he couldn't have done more. And he was taking it out all on you. He couldn't face another apology on the same day, because he knew he didn't deserve to be forgiven. Not right now.

The next day, he made breakfast by himself. It took you by surprise, but by the time you were up, he had already eaten. And you wouldn't want to eat with him either. You remember Nancy saying the bickering was just "sexual tension" but you knew it didn't have anything to do with that.

Even though you felt your ears burning from the thought, you couldn't deny to yourself that he was pretty charming. And seeing him shirtless whenever he would change the gauze made you feel weird. God, his hair was always pretty while yours looked like a bird nest after waking up.

The day seemed to have lasted longer since you haven't exchanged a single word to each other. He was focused on watching movies, playing video games and listening to music. He was getting bored out of his mind, but there wasn't much he could do being injured.

You, on the other hand, went out to do some errands. In fact, you didn't care you left him alone. You were getting tired of staying inside. So you went to see Max, and invited her to eat at Burger King. She seemed to feel better to do something like that too. Everything seemed pretty fuzzy lately.

Will, Mike and Eleven were pretty close to Hawkins. Thanks to Argyle who thinks he's a speed racer, and Jonathan who encourages him to drive long hours so they can arrive as soon as possible.

It was almost 7 PM when you came back home. You've finally had some fun after a week. You obviously couldn't be going out since they still haven't found Vecna and he knows about you too. The man in front of you seemed pretty pissed that he didn't see you were out until he woke up two hours ago.

"What? Don't give me that father look" You dropped your backpack on the floor and followed upstairs.

He's got a whole show prepared and he wasn't feeling like he would regret it this time.

"You know you can't just fucking go out and yet, you still do" He walked behind you, like a mother scolding a child.

"Yeah, dad. I know so. But here I am, back in pieces" You turned on your heel to look at him before closing your door.

Much to your dismay, he was faster this time, holding it with his right foot and right hand. Even injured, he was still stronger than you.

"No, don't push it. You can be an easy target for him, you know that?"

You huff, dropping your arm to your side. "Look, Harrington. I'm an adult, and I'm very aware of what I do or don't do. So please, just stop making a scene and leave me the fuck alone".

Steve couldn't even stand arguing with you anymore, it was so tiring. But he knew he would blame himself if something ever happened to you out there. He couldn't let this happen to you, even though you've been annoying him for whatever reason.

He took a step towards you, his hands balling into fists. The way your eyes were boring into him in an unamused face irritated him even more.

"Look, honey" His tone was purely sarcastic and you felt it not only in his voice, but in his demeanor too. "You know you're putting yourself at risk doing that. If I'm not fucking sure you're safe as well, I won't live with that".

At each passing second, you could feel him walking to you, but you couldn't walk back. You couldn't run from him, you couldn't get away from him. You wouldn't, you didn't feel like you wanted to.

"And not just because of my friends, they sure would kill me. But because I couldn't lose another person" You feel his breathing hitting your face, his eyes flicking as he looks at you.

He looks down at you with such intensity, it's crazy how there's a magnetic pull towards him.

You hold his gaze, feeling a cold shiver down your spine. He didn't look like he was about to snap at you, even though his tone was a bit loud.

He furrows his brows when he sees your lip curling into a smirk. "Well, Steve" His fingers move by the sound of his name, you always call him Harrington. "I thought you didn't care if I died or not".

This time, he was the one to smirk at you. "Honey, I don't remember saying I never cared about you".

Your stomach sank at that. Because now as you think of it, it comes crashing down as a realization that he never really said anything related to that. He truly never spoke about it.

"Doesn't seem like it"

"You see, this is why you annoy me so much" His nose bumps into yours, but he still gazes at you like he doesn't mean to avoid eye contact.

"Yeah? Then you should–" He doesn't let you finish your sentence.

Steve crashes his lips against yours, his hands flying down your hips. He feels your immediate reaction as you don't correspond right away. For a few seconds, he thinks he's done the wrong thing and almost regrets it, until you grab him by the neck with both hands. You wrap your fingers around his neck, your fingertips grazing the nape of his hair.

Your lips are smacking his lips in a hurry, while he runs a hand to cradle your face. He slips his tongue into your mouth and holds his breath when he feels your tongue moving in sync with him. He doesn't want to admit this is what he wished he could've done before.

Steve has been so stressed lately that he could only think about defeating Vecna. He didn't realize how much you were willing to take care of him these weeks. All he knew was that he also had to take care of you. And this is why he became so angry when you left without him knowing.

Especially because if something did happen to you, he would feel the regret of being an asshole to you.

He rips a low whimper from you when he gently grasps your lower lip by his teeth as he heaves against your mouth. You're both too absorbed into your own feelings, leaving grunts and gripping each other everywhere.

His fingers were digging your skin every time you would kiss his jawline and he was growing eager. He didn't want to look like he was trying to take advantage of you, only noticing now how much you also wanted this.

He then roughly pulls your shirt off, watching as your chest is quickly rising and falling. And his eyes sparkled when he saw your cleavage for the first time like that. Your bra perfectly hugging your round big breasts.

Steve didn't wait any longer, holding your waist and pushing you back against your bed.

That night, he pounded on you just like you dreamed about. He slapped his hips against your ass just like you wished someone would one day. The air was filled with sounds and lust.

You didn't even notice when your friends arrived right after he had an orgasm. You didn't have time to get dressed, only getting caught when Robin opened the door to you both naked. He didn't have time to remove his condom. She saw you naked. And worse. She saw her best friend naked.

And you thought it was going to be awkward, until Eddie turned the awkwardness into "I knew these idiots would fuck".

The night was all about this. They decided to leave the Vecna subject for the next day.

[ladysomething]

for the fic ask game, the scene of charles with penelope but from max's pov? always wanted to know what was going on his little brain (though we could kinda guess 😭😭)

loving wygig so far! :)

wellll I can't write it out completely but it would've been something like this:

I hope it's going okay with Kelly and Charles, and I hope Charles doesn't hate me anymore

I really wish Charles and I could eat the yummier food, I can't believe we're stuck with greens and plain brown rice

oh the motorhome smells so lovely with Charles and kelly and Penelope in there

hey is that -

oh god oh my god oh my god I want him so badly I want him to have my children why isn't that my baby that he's holding right now oh god oh my god

ok Jesus max get a grip, you've just TRIPPED, have some dignity for god's sake

oh NO kelly NOTICIED, FUCK

don't look at him, don't look at the baby, don't think about how you want to get him pregnant so badly -

oh hey wait kelly where are you going with Penelope bring her back right now??

play it cool max

why the fuck did I just say I brought Indian, I literally already said that

Charles thinks I'm an idiot

I am an idiot

will he ever like me

will he ever have my babies

no max stop it

how is this playing it cool

now JEAN-LUC has noticed, fuck my entire life

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

I didn't want to update this post, but I'm doing it anyway, and it's long. Be glad I'm putting a "Keep Reading".

The point of this post isn't that your local fascist can be anyone. The point of this post is that y'all can't recognize dangerously bigoted rhetoric for love or money. The point is that the people who have been raised to know when things are getting dangerous have been sounding the alarm bells for... I don't even know how long. I heard the first alarms in 2018 with Marjorie Taylor Greene's antisemitic dogwhistle-filled Facebook post about space lasers causing wildfires, and people have only gotten more vocal about what they've been seeing since then. We have been getting very loud, and a lotta y'all haven't been listening or have been falling headfirst into the rhetoric yourselves - your bigotry isn't righteous just because you believe in universal healthcare or whatever.

You can read all you want about Hitler's rise to power, or Mussolini, or any other of the I-don't-even-know-how-many authoritarian regimes, but that doesn't do jack shit unless you understand the rhetoric and when it goes from off color remarks to blaming a country's problems on groups of people. Bigotry is baked into the fucking foundations, and a lotta y'all know it but can't recognize it.

The point isn't that the sweet old lady who runs the community center can also be a rabid bigot and still be a bastion of goodness in the community, it's that some of us have been taught that it doesn't matter what that sweet old lady does once she mentions offhandedly how she wishes conversion therapy wasn't so looked down on anymore, or how the Jews have all the money, or how killing disabled people isn't a bad thing because they don't contribute to society. But no one listens when we point out that, with those beliefs unmasked even once, her being in charge of the community center is dangerous. Does that make sense? It doesn't matter who's saying what or whether you agree with them on other things or how nice they are if they say something like that and you know what they mean.

And a lot of us have been saying just that. Yet, now that the worst is happening, all the people who wanted to write us off are posting their revelations as if all of us thought Nazis and other rabid bigots were a mythical big-bad instead of the people who murdered our families and would gladly shoot us dead right along with them.

“I never understood how the Nazis rose to power until this year-“ don’t say that like we’re all in that position. Some of us have always known how it happened because we never had the luxury to not understand

[namig42]

Thinking about my life right now trying to find the will to write music for my degree, but realizing I would much rather be a writer instead of a composer right now.

Fuck. What do I do.

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

As if I wasn't already exhausted enough this morning...

It's been brought to my attention that people are taking my fanfics, editing them, and sharing them around. I don't have the words to describe how not okay this is. If you don't like something about my fanfic, then I'm sorry to hear that, but there are a lot of other fics out there you can read instead.

I put time and effort and care into my writing, as does every writer. To take my work without permission and change it feels like someone just punched me in the gut. Frankly it makes me not want to share my work at all and to take down all the writing I do have up, because why should I share anything with people if all they're going to do is decide it's not good enough and they're going to do what they want with it and make it "better"?

And before anyone comes at me, this is not what a transformative work does. This is not the same as fanfiction. I'm fucking exhausted from working two eleven hour shifts over the weekend so my brain is not working so someone smarter and more articulate than I am can explain why. I'm tired.

This genuinely makes me want to take down all my works and not share anything new. It's very simple, kiddos: Don't like it? Don't read it. You will miss out on some fanfics that way, just like you'll miss out on some films, or books, or TV shows. I've missed out on really good fic, novels, films, etc, for the same reason. We all do. It's a part of life. Stuff will sometimes have things in it that you don't like. Skim those parts, fast-forward those scenes, grin and bear it, or just go and read/watch something else.

Normally I would make this post unrebloggable but I worry other writers in this fandom might experience the same thing and not realize it. So people are welcome to reblog this. Anyone who's an ass on it will be blocked, no second chances.

Just. Don't do this guys. Holy shit don't do this. What the actual fuck.

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah