#like no i will not be putting cameras in my home and i will be burning candles thank you and i'm going to have a christmas tree and

[satellite-evans]

sweet nothing

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: Lando often finds himself running home to your sweet nothings <3

Word count: 1.2k+

Warnings: tooth aching fluff, self doubt, based on the Taylor Swift song

A/N:

I know I know, another Taylor Swift based song, but honestly I could not help myself lol hope you guys enjoy xxx

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

Lando knew the world would always ask more of him.

More speed, more podiums, more perfection.

It was never enough—no matter how hard he pushed, how flawlessly he executed each lap, how many times he stood on the podium drenched in champagne. There was always another race, another challenge, another voice questioning if he could be better, faster, stronger.

He had spent his life chasing milliseconds, his every move analyzed under a microscope. Every qualifying session, every tire strategy, every split-second decision picked apart by experts, fans, and critics alike. The cameras never stopped flashing, the media never stopped pressing, and the world never stopped waiting—waiting for him to falter, to crack under the pressure, to prove he was human after all.

It was exhilarating, yes. But exhausting all the same.

Some days, the weight of expectation settled so heavily on his shoulders that he felt like he might collapse under it. Some nights, even victory felt hollow, lost in the endless cycle of needing to prove himself over and over again.

But when he came home to you, none of it mattered.

Because you asked for nothing.

No questions about strategy, no discussions about points or standings, no expectations he had to meet. Just you—curled up on the couch in one of his oversized hoodies, waiting for him with that familiar, soft smile that made his entire world slow down.

The moment he stepped through the door, the noise of the outside world faded into silence. The cameras, the flashing lights, the headlines—they ceased to exist. Here, he wasn’t Lando Norris, the Formula 1 driver, the rising star, the man under constant scrutiny. He was simply Lando.

“Long day?” you asked softly, setting your book aside as he crossed the room.

He didn’t answer right away—just let out a slow, heavy sigh as he dropped onto the couch beside you, his body sinking into the cushions as though the weight of the world had finally caught up with him. His eyes, usually alight with adrenaline and mischief, were clouded with exhaustion, the telltale signs of another grueling day etched into the tension in his jaw and the furrow of his brow.

You didn’t need to ask for details. You already knew.

Without hesitation, you opened your arms, wordlessly offering him the one thing he could never find anywhere else—solace. And the moment he leaned into you, his body pressing against yours, his face buried in the crook of your neck, he let out another sigh, this time softer, more relieved. The kind of sigh that told you he had been holding his breath all day.

Your fingers found their way into his curls, threading through them with slow, soothing strokes. The steady rhythm of your touch was his anchor, grounding him in a way nothing else could. Not the roar of the engine, not the rush of a podium finish, not the validation of the world’s applause. Just this. Just you.

“Talk to me,” you murmured, your voice a gentle invitation, not a demand.

But he didn’t need to. Because with you, silence was never empty—it was full. Full of unspoken love, of quiet understanding, of a peace he could never quite put into words.

You never asked about his lap times or his championship standings. You didn’t care about the noise of the world outside these four walls—the pressure, the scrutiny, the endless cycle of proving himself again and again. All you ever asked of him was to simply be. To exist without expectation. To rest without guilt. To love and be loved in return.

He shifted slightly, his arms tightening around you as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. A silent thank you. A silent I love you. A silent I need this more than you know.

His voice was quiet when he finally spoke. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You smiled, tilting your head to press a soft kiss to his jaw, your lips brushing against his skin like a promise.

“Good thing you’ll never have to find out.”

Lando exhaled a quiet laugh, the kind of soft, sleepy sound that only you ever got to hear. It wasn’t the boisterous, camera-ready chuckle the world knew—it was something smaller, something sweeter, something just for you. He tightened his arms around you, burying his face deeper into the curve of your neck, breathing you in like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground. Like home wasn’t a place but a person.

You.

As the evening stretched on, neither of you moved much, perfectly content in the quiet, tangled mess of limbs and warmth that you’d melted into. The television hummed softly in the background, flickering light dancing against the walls, but neither of you paid it much attention. The real comfort was here, in the way his fingertips traced absentminded patterns against your arm, featherlight and soothing. A subconscious habit—like he needed to remind himself that you were real, that you were here, that this moment belonged to him and no one else.

Every once in a while, he would sigh, a deep, contented sound that made your heart swell. You knew this was rare—Lando allowing himself to simply be. No overanalyzing, no worrying about tomorrow’s practice sessions or race strategies, no weight of expectation crushing his shoulders. Just this. Just love, wrapped up in a lazy, sleepy embrace that neither of you wanted to break.

After a while, you nudged a small box on the coffee table toward him. “I brought your favorite.”

He peeked up, blinking at you sleepily before glancing at the box, the familiar packaging instantly recognizable. His tired features softened, his lips curving into the kind of smile that made your chest feel like it was wrapped in sunshine.

“You always know what I need,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, like he was too at peace to speak any louder.

You grinned, nudging your nose against his in a playful Eskimo kiss. “That’s my job.”

Lando chuckled, shaking his head at you in that affectionate way that made your heart flip. His arms tightened around you, his nose brushing against your cheek, his lips ghosting over your skin with the gentlest, most reverent touch. “Best job in the world.”

And he meant it.

Because what could possibly be better than this? Than coming home to you, to the way you just knew—when he needed quiet, when he needed a distraction, when he needed to be held without saying a word. Than feeling this overwhelming, all-consuming love in the simplest, softest of moments, wrapped up in your warmth, your laughter, your everything.

Eventually, he let himself sink further into you, his head resting against your shoulder, his fingers curling lazily into the fabric of your shirt as his breathing evened out. You felt the way his muscles fully relaxed, the last of his tension melting away, like you were the only safe harbor in a world that constantly asked more of him.

And you were.

The world outside could wait. The pressure, the expectations, the endless cycle of proving himself—it could all wait.

Because right now, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

Home.

And for the first time that day, he felt like he could finally breathe.

Because in a world that always demanded more, you were the one thing that never did.

And that, he knew, was everything.

[v6quewrlds]

V-DAY HEADCANONS, VARIOUS.

featuring⠀⁎⠀joe burrow, justin herbert, tee higgins, jalen hurts, andrei iosivas, mathew barzal, lewis hamilton, & mason mount.

summary⠀⁎⠀how they like to show/receive love.

author's note⠀⁎⠀not proofread bc fuck that. this is the most random assortment of people, but i hope you find some you'd like to read. moral of the story is that athletes have praise kinks. please remember this is just my opinion lmao. happy valentine's day <333

&.⠀⠀JOE BURROW⠀⋆⠀#9.

‎⸻⠀there's nothing he loves more than coming home to know that you're there. doesn't matter if you're cuddling in silence, building a lego set, or just being a comforting presence when he's watching film. he loves giving you quality time.

‎⸻⠀he can feel his heart flutter when he hears those soft words of affirmation fall from your lips. it's always reassuring to know that he's doing well both professionally and privately.

&.⠀⠀JUSTIN HERBERT⠀⋆⠀#10.

‎⸻⠀though he recognizes that the special dinners and the short vacations are special and have their place, there's nothing that brings him more joy than to see the way your face lights up for the small gifts. a new charm for your necklace, pastries from the bakery you love, a new pack of gum because he saw you were running low.

‎⸻⠀long walks on the beach, his hand in yours. during those moments nothing else matters but the inconsequential conversation you're having about the squeaky guest room door, the new candle scent you picked up at the farmer's market, the quality time is everything to him.

&.⠀⠀TEE HIGGINS⠀⋆⠀#5.

‎⸻⠀he's at his most romantic when it's just the two of you. he's rambling softly about how lucky he is, how much he missed you before he knew you, and how he'll do everything in his power for you. he's an active listener, gentle encouragement when you need it, words of affirmation even before you realize you need them.

‎⸻⠀scratch his back when he's drifting off to sleep and he's yours. it's not sexual in nature necessarily. he just needs the physical touch, the closeness, the warmth, your attention on soothing him.

&.⠀⠀JALEN HURTS⠀⋆⠀#1.

‎⸻⠀it's always when you least expect it. he's busy often, and you understand. so, the acts of service mean that much more to you. taking the trash on his way out, trimming the wicks on your candles, replacing your seasonings when they run low before you've noticed.

‎⸻⠀it always helps to know that you see him. you see the work he puts in. your words of affirmation echo in his mind whenever he feels himself wondering if he's enough. you make sure he knows he is, screenshots of random messages in a special folder in his camera roll.

&.⠀⠀ANDREI IOSIVAS⠀⋆⠀#80.

‎⸻⠀he doesn't want you to stray too far from him. he likes providing you with the knowledge that he's there, physically. his wants you to find comfort in his presence, your heartbeat stilling, your breathing evening out.

‎⸻⠀he's an athlete so he thrives off words of affirmation. he really can't help the rush of heat to his face, the way his shoulders relax, the way his eyes sparkle at your words.

&.⠀⠀MATHEW BARZAL⠀⋆⠀#13.

‎⸻⠀he knows he's not always the most perceptive. that sometimes you have to remind him to pick up his socks or make sure his underwear actually makes it into the hamper. but he does try to do those little acts of service for you. offering his help before you can ask for it, going out of his way to make your life even just 5% easier.

‎⸻⠀at the end of the day, mat just needs you. doesn't have to be fancy. he doesn't need the extravagant date nights or the fancy wines. even if it's just the two of you, a shitty romcom, and greasy takeout, the quality time spent with you is really all that matters.

&.⠀⠀LEWIS HAMILTON⠀⋆⠀#44.

⸻⠀he never makes a big deal out of it. it's always deceptively casual, almost as if he hopes you don't even notice. the gifts are near constant. a new bottle of almave that wasn't there before, your checking account altering you of a transfer. it even extends to the other people you care about. a new baseball cap for your dad, a spa day for your mother.

⸻⠀rich bitch hamilton will always find a way to get you alone. he'll whisk you away for a day or two to float on the mediterranean, eager to have that one-on-one quality time together.

&.⠀⠀MASON MOUNT⠀⋆⠀#7.

⸻⠀it's a priority for him to make sure that you can lean on him, especially literally. nothing makes his heart pulse quite like seeing you so physically comfortable with him. seeking out his touch, softly telling him he's too far, how could he say no?

⸻⠀he loves knowing that you love existing with him. that you're comfortable enough to enter his space so willingly. from cleaning his training bag to confirming his physical therapy appointments, the little acts of service just reaffirm for him that you see him, love him, and casually view taking care of him as part of your routine.

[vandal-flower]

Timeless Pining

Rin Itoshi x Reader.

Bring Your Plus One Event

Invitation Details: Rin Itoshi, is currently being flamed by the press for being #foreversingle. How to solve this, by inviting you, his childhood friend. Will the press get off his back, and will his friendship with you stay the same?

Warnings: Jealous Rin, Beef with Sae and Shidou. Sae and Shidou are besties.

"ITOSHI RIN FROM THE BLUE LOCK 11 HAS BEEN DECLARED TO BE #FOREVERSINGLE BY FANS"

Out of all the things Rin could have been accused for, this has to be the worst by far.

#RINWILLBEFOVEVERSINGLE.

It doesn't help that he has been compared to his brother and the intolerable Ryusei Shidou in the comment section.

saeitoshiontop < "I've seen Sae with more women than this man. Sae has only been seen with three so far, and one of them was his mom. 😶"

finaldae55 < "Don't tell me Shidou has more game than him 😭😭🤚"

myonlinefued12 < "Somebody get this man a girlfriend."

Someone replied < "I shall volunteer 🙋‍♀️"

Another replied < "Goodluck."

As much as he could ignore it, it did not help the fact that he was being deemed as the worst potential boyfriend, and an even worse potential husband in the soccer world.

And to be compared to his worst-excuse of an older brother, and the pink radioactive cockroach. Unacceptable.

Driven by his need for vengeance, he messages the one person who he trusts outside of the field.

Rin smiled to himself. His plan is sure to set in motion. Inviting someone like you will put everyone in their place regarding his relationship status and his ability to get a lover.

This might also be an opportunity to one up both his brother and the pink radioactive cockroach.

Rin was driving the car as you were getting dressed in the backseat. As promised, he got you a free outfit. It's amazing how he got all your measurements sizes as it fitted you well.

"Had I not known better Rinnie, I would have declined your offer and stayed home.", you joked, putting on your shoes.

"And watch my name go through the mud. Not a chance.", he gripped on the steering wheel as his mouth tasted bitter. "You don't like the thought of Shidou having more game than you?", you asked.

Had it not been for the fact he was on the road, he would have lunged at you. But since he cares for you so much and has self-respect, he doesn't.

"I hope you stumble and fall."

"I hope you catch me as I fall."

What was he going to do with you...

The paparazzi swarmed the both sides of the building, like it was a red carpet event. Cameras flashing as each vehicle carrying the invited guest and their plus one.

As Rin existed the driver's seat, he was approached by a familiar pest in his life.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Rinrin. Hashtag, Mister Forever single.", a devilish smile was etched across Shidou's face, "it's a surprise you actually came, I'd be embarrassed if I were you."

Rin didn't attempt to hide his scowl, but instead went to the backseat of the car. Opening the door, he took your hand and brought you out. Giving the keys to someone nearby, then interlocking your arm with his, walking past a baffled Shidou.

For a moment the paparazzi went quiet, before the flashing of cameras grew louder along with the commentators.

Rin couldn't help, but smile to himself. Putting Shidou in his place felt better than he thought, and the proud feeling in his chest was evident of that. He won't admit that you accompanying him also contributed to this.

You winced with all the flashing, and without wasting a moment, Rin placed his hand over your eyes. "I'll guide you into the building, just trust me." And without any thought, you do as you are told.

Shidou smirked. He looked back at Rin and you, "What a lovely couple, wonder if it's genuine?"

Rin kept to his promise, unlike his older brother. You had very little to worry about while at the party, other than the looks from Shidou, all is well.

"I didn't expect you to show face Rin.", snapping out of his thoughts he looks behind him. There stood the world's best midfielder. The Sae Itoshi. He couldn't ignore the feeling in his stomach, whether it was anxiety or anger, he didn't know. He just didn't want him of all people to be here.

Rin glares at his brother, before turning away. He is better than this, he reminds himself. Taking note of his silence, Sae continues. "I see you brought (Name), good choice. Had I known better, I would have taken them for myself."

Rin snapped his neck back, the deadliest glare on his face. Anyone would have turned to dust if looks could kill, but Sae isn't just anyone. "If you want a piece of advice, tell them how you feel before the night ends. It the only good you'll do tonight after this stunt.", before Rin could say anything, Sae leaves, disappearing in the crowd.

Worried, Rin looks over to you. There you were, a smile across your face, directed to Shidou. As you laugh, Shidou looks over to Rin, and smiles. In a daze, he walks up to you and leaves while holding your hand, dragging you outside f the building.

"Hey, what's wrong?", you whisper to him. His brother's words echoed in his head and the smile on Shidou's face could not erase itself from his mind. Taken you for himself? Not a chance.

You were one of the only people Rin could trust in his social circle, and he won't allow his brother, the demon, or anyone to take you away from him like that.

You stop what you're doing, and laugh to yourself, catching Rin off guard. "Shidou told me you would be jealous if I talked to him, and to think I didn't believe him. Not to mention Sae giving you 'the talk'."

He gave you a puzzled look before connecting the dots. It was all plan to get him to confess to you. Ever since childhood, he was protective of you, but never thought it as love, but instead as friendship. But now that he thinks about it...His brother was right.

"To be honest with you, I liked you since we were kids.", you began, leaning on the wall of the building. "Even with your tongue sticking out, I thought it kinda cute, but now I think it's kinda attractive.", you joked. Or at least you thought.

The redness of your cheeks and how you avoided his eyes betrayed you. Rin stared at you, surprised at your words. Reconsidering his brother's words, he fakes a cough to draw your attention to him. "I thought the way you introduced yourself to me the first time was odd, but I...liked it."

You perked up, "What else do you like?". He looked away, but the pink on his ears told you more than enough. You wrapped your arms around his waist pulling him closer, before burying your head in his back.

"And I thought I was pining for you all this time. Turns out you had the same feelings for me. Don't worry Rinnie-poo, I love you too."

"You're insufferable."

"You love it."

He sighs to himself, before looking back at you.

"Of course I do."

Here ya go! Saw the new official art, and had to get to work. HAPPY VALENTINES 💝 💓 💖 💗!

My inbox is open. Check out my Rules.

[theemporium]

nicojack valentines blurb? 🫶🫶

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

“This is evil.”

You snorted a little, unable to help yourself even with the sight of your boyfriend pouting on your phone screen.

“No, like genuinely evil. It’s Valentine’s Day and I have two really hot partners that are being really hot hundreds of miles away from me. This is a crime.” 

Nico couldn’t wipe the fond expression off his face as he tilted his head into camera view. “We are proud of you though,” he said with a  genuine smile. “You’re playing so well, baby.” 

Jack narrowed his eyes at the way Nico was tucked up behind you on the sunlounger. “Do not try to sweet talk me, Hischier. You’re both half naked and sunbathing all day. I’m freezing my balls off over here.” 

Your expression fell. “I knew you wanted us to come to Montreal. We should have never—“

Jack’s pout instantly melted away to a softer expression. “No, baby, no. I meant it when I said I wanted you both to go somewhere for bye week. I’m just being dramatic. I promise I’m happy the two of you are having fun.” 

“I still feel bad,” you murmured, lips pressing together as you examined Jack’s expression like you were looking for a sign on whether he was lying or not. 

“Well don’t,” Jack replied, all bratty and huffy which made Nico beam a little. “Because you both are going to make it up to me when we are back home.” 

You smiled at his words. “Oh yeah?” 

“I expect to be spoiled rotten,” Jack said, his own grin starting to grow on his face. “I’m gonna be bringing back gold for you both. You need to match that.” 

Nico hooked his chin over your shoulder, eyes crinkling as he smiled at the younger boy. “It’s gonna be all about you for days, baby.” 

“And until then, I expect exclusive content. I have not received nearly enough photos from you both. And the ones you have sent, you’ve been far too clothed.” 

You snorted. “Well I’ve been trying to get him to stop wearing shirts when he isn’t even buttoning them but he’s being difficult.” 

“I’m trying to be respectful to the other people here,” Nico said, rolling his eyes but he didn’t look that put off by the suggestion. 

“Who cares about them? Your boyfriend is deprived over here.”

“Deprived and freezing his balls off,” you added with a grin.

“Fine, fine, whatever keeps you and your balls happy,” Nico replied, laughing at the way Jack’s face brightened. 

“Happy Valentine’s to me!” 

.

[tulip-room]

photograph - s.rintarou || wc: 410 || genre: fluff || masterlist || tags: suna rintarou is whipped, polaroids in phone cases, the miyas being trouble makers

syn. the miyas find out suna has a gf and then he goes to the lake with her

as most people know suna rintaro is never far from his phone. what most might not know about it the camera and film that are hidden on the top shelf of his closet just behind a popcorn bucket he got last year with the miyas. if they were to open his wallet or to take off his phonecase they would find photos of his girlfriend, well if they put the pieces together. the relationship isn’t hidden by an means…his friends are just kind of stupid. “hey, rin? i found a really pretty lake i want to take photos at.” there, the voice of his girlfriend. 

“yeah, sure.” his hands are in his pockets and his keys are jingling in his pocket. “we can go after school if you want.”

“thanks rin,” she leaves quickly after that. Always  busy and on the run to do whatever it is a teacher has asked her to do. he can feel eyes on him and he already knows what’s going to happen, he sighs and turns around to face just who he didn’t want to see.

“rin huh? is that your girlfriend?” the blonde one asks with a smirk on his face, like he’s a cat who’s backed suna into a corner.

“yeah,” he says without missing a beat. this causes the twins to pause in their own tirade and look at each other while he leads the way to class. 

“you can’t just! hey! get back here!” they chase after him although he doesn’t answer any of their questions. he fends off the miyas as much as he can and luckily he’s saved by the bell. 

with a sigh he leaves the class, finally free from the pestering and waits by the gate to walk her home. “you’re never here this early. were you waiting long?”

“no, let’s go to that lake. i bet we’ll get the best photos.” so while not many people knew what was behind suna’s phone case or just how many photos were in his wallet, they did know that he loved someone. it was clear in his voice and eyes, in the way he talked about her. the polaroids were just a nice touch. especially the one hanging over his bed from their first date. his arm wrapped around her shoulder and his lips pressed to her cheek. it’s clear she’s trying to push him off although it’s a weak attempt, there’s a wide smile on her face.

ness my darling :(( i love you so much, im so glad i talked to you in your inbox that one day and became friends with you. i can’t imagine what it would be like without you, i care about you sm and hope you’re taking care of yourself my love <3 @causenessus

find my other valentine’s here

taglist (gen fil out this form to be added) @hiraethwa @hatsukeii @cherrysurf @cheriisae @darthferbert @localgaytrainwreck @lale-txt @szyvrue @wyrcan

[shineon3]

A little something I wrote for the lovely @33max :3 (set in my wip mafia au)

Max hasn't seen his husband in a week.

One whole week.

A year ago, it wouldn't have mattered for him. He wouldn't have cared about Daniel's work or about being left alone for too long, would’ve probably been happy about it, even.

But that was a year ago.

Now, Max acutely feels the absence of his husband, feels the emptiness the older’s laugh usually fills, and even Jimmy and Sassy notice something is off after a while.

So he spends his days glued on the sim, the comforting, familiar routine of online races helping him clear his mind - and forget about the way Daniel had cupped his cock through his shorts and whispered sweetly “No coming while I'm away, baby, capiche?” in his ear before leaving for his trip.

Max groans, narrowly avoiding a collision. He can feel his cock twitching, hardening in his shorts, and he barely resists the urge to sneak a hand down to give it a small squeeze, because he knows Daniel will probably be watching through the house's numerous cameras, and Max wasn't ready to face the consequences of being a brat. He shudders, thinking about the last time Daniel had to punish him. It had been absolute torture. Daniel had put a cock cage on him, and Max hadn't been allowed to come for so long he felt insane by the time Daniel allowed him to.

Anyways.

Max spends the rest of his day like this, on the sim, trying to forget about how good it feels when his cock rubs against the soft material of his boxers, how much better it would feel if he was rubbing against one of their soft, expensive pillows instead, how-

It's tough, to say the least, but he manages to last another day, and he only had to change his underwear once, when the precum soaking it became a bit too sticky to be enjoyable.

Around ten pm, he decides he should probably make some dinner for himself. Jimmy and Sassy follow him to the kitchen, playfully running around his feet while he tries to cook some pasta and making him giggle. He's standing at the stove, slowly stirring the sauce, when he feels a warm weight press against his back. Arms wrap tightly around his waist, a firm thigh presses between his legs, and Max immediately relaxes, letting a soft moan out.

There’s only one other person able to get in their home, after all.

“Hi, baby,” Daniel’s voice is a low rumble whispered right against his ear, sending a shiver down Max’s spine. “Did you miss me, hm?”

Max makes sure to turn off the stove before he does something stupid, like leaving the sauce to burn while he rides Daniel right here on the kitchen floor. He turns around, finally, finally facing his husband, and grins so wide his cheeks start to hurt before leaning in to kiss Daniel senseless. They slot perfectly against each other, like two puzzle pieces, the brunette’s tongue immediately invading Max’s mouth as he melts in the older’s embrace. Daniel’s body is caging him against the kitchen counter, his thigh between Max’s legs providing the perfect amount of friction, and Max can feel his cock harden, leaking like a tap in his boxers. They make out for what seems like an eternity, until Daniel pulls away, hands tightening around Max, effectively stopping the blonde’s rabbiting hips, making him whine.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart,” Daniel croons, tucking his face in the crook of Max’s neck and peppering kisses there. “I want to properly take care of you tonight. You deserve it, my good boy.”

And then, Daniel does something that will never not be obscenely hot for Max. The brunette picks him up, just like that, as if he weighs absolutely nothing, and sets him up on the kitchen island, practically spreading him all over it. Max moans, his whole face feeling flushed, and he hooks his thighs around Daniel, pulling him closer. It feels like an out of the body experience, that he gets to have Daniel like this, and it makes Max a bit dizzy every time he remembers that this man, this handsome, dangerous man is his, just as much as Max is Daniel’s in all the ways possible.

“Daniel, Danny, please- I was good, promise, I was-!”

“I know you were, darling. You were so good for me, and I’m gonna give you your reward now.”

Daniel pushes Max’s thighs open, and Max lets him, all pliant for his husband. He doesn’t know what the older has in mind, doesn’t realise it until Daniel kneels in front of him, right in front of Max’s clothed cock. He mouths at the little bulge through the fabric of Max’s shorts, getting it slightly damp, and Max shakes on the counter, moaning so loudly he would feel bad for their neighbours if they had any.

And then.

Then, Max feels his cock twitch in the safe confines of his underwear, kick kick kicking until it blurts out rope after rope of cum, soaking the soft cotton with all he had saved for Daniel. He whines, embarrassed, his hands flying up to hide his face. He can hear Daniel getting up, the older’s hand brushing against his hip before carefully pulling Max’s hands out of his face.

“Baby, fuck- That was so hot. You couldn’t keep it in, could you, sweetheart?”

Max whines again, heat spreading through him at his husband’s words.

“That’s okay, darling. Daddy’s gonna take care of you now, ‘kay?”

Daniel scoops him up in his arms, making his way to their bedroom, and Max curls up against his chest, looking forward to the rest of what the brunette had planned for them.

[princessrazzledazzle]

What Twst Wonderland Characters Would Do For Valentine’s Day

Riddle: Never really celebrated Valentine’s day back home because of his mom, but always dreamed of it. At NRC, he throws a extra special unbirthday party with pink and red hearts everywhere. He also makes sure to be nicer and less strict, he even gives his dormmates little cards, and personalized ones for his closer friends.

Trey: Always loved Valentine’s day because of all the cute pastries he and his family would make. At NRC, he does the exact same, baking for the unbirthday party and some special treats for his close friends.

Cater: Posts things like “Who tryna be my valentine” on magicam while trying to look as cute as possible he never gets a valentine . He wears only red and pink whenever he’s not in uniform and he’ll give out little cards to people he likes.

Ace: Always thought the holiday was pointless and corny, but loves free candy, so he never complained…well he does complain about the cringey couples and make fun of them. He’d give one of those heart shaped lollipops to his friends.

Deuce: Only really likes the holiday for the candy, makes sure to at least write his mom a card, even if he has to send it by mail. He also gives little cards to his friends with heart shaped lollipops.

Leona: Couldn’t care less about Valentine’s day. He’ll eat a couple candies and a few cookies, but that’s it.

Ruggie: Also couldn’t care less about Valentine’s day, but always makes sure to get his grandma something, always a handwritten card and some flowers.

Jack: Pretends not to care about the holiday, but always get something for his family and close friends, then denies the fact he actually likes Valentine’s day.

Azul: Used to hate it when he was younger because he would be the only person not to get a valentine, but after he met Floyd and Jade, they do something special together every year I might talk about that later Ever since he started running the Monstro Lounge, he puts all sorts of Valentine’s day specials and deals on the menu.

Jade: Doesn’t really care for it, only celebrates it with his brother and Azul because he secretly doesn’t want to see Azul all sad and lonely ever again. Always plans out what they’ll do for the holiday.

Floyd: Actually loves Valentine’s day for all the wrong reasons. He’s the type of person to tell couples to switch their phones. He also loves all the heart shaped treats, always having liked festive foods. Always makes sure Azul is having a blast doing whatever it is they’re doing with Jade. In charge of decorating the Monstro Lounge and does a pretty decent job.

Kalim: LOVES Valentine’s day. Goes all out, giving cards to any person who just so happens to make eye contact with him. Makes special cards for his dormmates and friends. Dresses in only red, pink, and white the whole day.

Jamil: Doesn’t like the holiday, never really celebrated it unless you count Kalim forcing him to dress up with him a form of celebration.

Vil: Enjoys the holiday. Does yearly Valentine’s day posts on magicam and also only dresses in red, pink, and white and makes the entirety of Pomefiore to do the same. Gives expensive gifts to those he cares about, though some of his presents are passive aggressive.

Rook: Probably one of his favorite times of the year. Thinks of it as a celebration of all kinds of love, platonic to romantic. Literally only speaks in poetry the entire day and will give handwritten poems to people he likes to stalk.

Epel: Hates it. Thinks the holiday is for girls and refuses to participate…except for some cards and cookies for his grandparents.

Idia: Never really celebrates it unless you call playing otome games all day as a celebration. Occasionally he’ll look at his surveillance cameras and make fun of the cringey couples, then gets sad because no one has ever loved him like that. Gets something for Ortho that he’ll like.

Ortho: Finds the holiday cute and enjoyable. Gives little cards and candies to his friends and a special present for Idia.

Malleus: Doesn’t celebrate the holiday in Briar valley, but finds it interesting that there’s a day dedicated to all different types of love. Wants to make it a official holiday in Briar Valley when he becomes king.

Lilia: Also didn’t celebrate Valentine’s day, but finds the couples both amusing and oddly adorable. Gets something for Malleus, Silver, and Sebek.

Silver: Only knew about Valentine’s day because of the story books Lilia would read to him. Finds it interesting and hopes to have a romantic partner one day.

Sebek: Does care for the holiday and also only knew of its existence through story books. At NRC sure to get something very extra and unnecessary for Malleus, so the whole school can see how loved his Waka Sama is and how he is his best knight.

[storkmuffin]

Matz Lego Live 2025.2.13 Liveblog

@fallenstarhwa and @iriswashername this is for you!!

First off, you know they picked the 13th of February to do this lego live thing, very deliberately right? They're avoiding Valentine's day.

We open on Hongjoong muttering to himself while looking at his phone. It's always so funny to me that content makers are just as much serfs to the data farm as the ordinary people who watch their content. Hongjoong is wearing what looks like a hooded raincoat indoors, and a knit cap under that. I guess it's cold in this hotel. I've found that to be generally true of the West- Koreans keep things warm indoors, but westerners don't as much. Also there is a giant mirror in front of Seonghwa's bed. I can already hear the fanfic pens sharpening. Seonghwa comes to sit (plop, actually) next to Hongjoong. He is also wearing layers and a knit hat indoors. Definitely cold. The glasses he has on are very cool but they also are very grandpa, and given their height difference and Hong Joong slouching they look like dad and son.

Hwa is checking angles, making sure the lego boxes are lined up properly, that the link to internet is working, the camera is on, busy busy busy, and HJ is just ... diddling his phone on his lap making mouth sounds.

Immediately, Hongjoong causes banging. He pretends the banging didn't happen but Hwa doesn't cooperate. He looks for the thing that fell, and sees nothing on the floor, so then he silently wonders if someone knocked by staring at the door. He looks almost ready to stand up. Apparently when someone knocks it's Hwa's job to go open the door, because he doesn't say anything to HJ about the 'knock.' This is finally when HJ sheepishly says, No, it's not anything, it's my phone. Hwa looks at the phone in HJ's hand, clearly wondering how did that thing in your hand make a noise so far away from it, but he's just too busy doing the set up. HJ leans back from his seat to pick up the second phone that's fallen to the floor from the arm rest. HJ keeps talking but Hwa doesn't say a word until the set up is working.

Hwa is a sweetie. He really for some reason REALLY REALLY wanted to make legos with HJ and it's finally happening so he messes up his opening comment. He says, It's been a million years... and then realizes, Oh this is the first time! HJ is just a kid - he actually just echoes what Hwa says, no brain, just amplifying, until he confirms that this is the first time they're doing legos.

Then Hwa notices their outfits match. "This is so exciting!" he says, about their matching, and HJ pouts, You're copying me again. They are not looking at each other. Hwa says that he has to keep the glasses on because he looks ugly without, to which HJ says that he knew Hwa would wear the glasses, so he left his own behind. .... HJ. Dude. TELL HWA HE'S PRETTY. what are you DOING.

Hwa explains the legos they are about to make to the audience, adding in a little bit that says, I tried to reflect HJ's tastes even though he told me that he likes whatever I like - and HJ is like I did not say that!! Then Hwa explains in painstaking detail about Anakin and Asoka and how having an apprentice is not the same as having a brother (it's not 형 it's 스승 and 제자!). HJ has no idea wtf he's talking about or anything about Star Wars. At all. Okayyy. (I'm judging him in Nerd.)

They're unboxing the Legos with Hwa narrating like he's trying to sell them on the home shopping network. There are thumb grooves to make the boxes fun to open! and so on. HJ is trying really hard to not be mean about all this dorkiness, and mostly succeeding. The first crisis point is when Hwa shows off about how environmentally friendly the packaging is now, no plastic!!, until he opens his own smaller lego and realizes... it's still fully plastic. HJ covers his face to laugh.

Hwa will assist HJ on putting HJ's lego together. HJ side eyes Hwa to ask how much of a time commitment this is going to be, to which Hwa says it'll be about an hour.

Then HJ tells us, the audience, that this is not his lifetime first encounter with Legos. Hwa is surprised enough to turn to look at HJ, and acts betrayed. (뭐야...). He gets over it pretty quickly and goes right back to selling the legos on the home shopping network. The dialect tonality is coming out so strong right now. Is it because he's excited? LOL

As HJ begins unboxing the pieces, he just hates them. His mouth sours. He hates the legos as they come out, whereas Hwa looks fondly at the plastic pieces like they are his offspring hatching from the foam covering their egg cluster. Then HJ says that by nature, he hates the kind of thing where he has to follow a pre-set recipe and order. Hwa, holding the pre-set recipe and order book in his hand, stares off into the distance.

This is going to be a very long evening.

Hwa hazards, "So you just wanna make something new??"and HJ says no, with this sort of thing you have no choice but to follow. Hwa smiles just the tiniest bit, because he had been plunged into an icy bath just a moment ago and now he's back out of it.

HJ says he wants to experience the 'time killing' culture of Legos, then says that since beginning his Lego habit, Hwa has gotten angrier as a person (joke). If Hwa had done something similar, HJ would immediately go NO I DIDN'T but Hwa smiles in an exasperated way and then asks, rhetorically, Shouldn't it be the opposite? and lets HJ explain that he was joking. They are so different.

Then HJ spills everything and they disppear for a while, to pick up all the pieces, muttering. Hwa lectures - belatedly - about how you have to open stuff carefully.

HJ keeps signalling how much he hates Legos already and he hasn't even fit two pieces together. He says "This is a valuable experience" - singular, the one time, never again, etc. is implied. "You're doing great!" Hwa says, "You've already made half of Asoka!"

HJ doesn't like being Hwa's student. "It's been a long time since I've learned something from Hwa. It feels... complicated."* Hwa doesn't want him to drop out, so he says, "All you need for lego making is to be fastidious and alert." HJ says he's neither of those things. HJ says this is like getting behavioral therapy to learn calmness.

*What HJ says is it feels 오묘하다 to be taught by Hwa, which literally means Mysterious, but I'm choosing a different word.

But HJ gets the hang of it by the 10 minute mark - he says, "I just have to follow the instructions!" like this is a discovery (Why is he 4 years old?). And then they are side by side, looking down, chatting in a leisurely way about their visit to Como. They look just like me and my knitting circle when we work on individual projects side by side, talking.

HJ kinda talks about himself a lot. See. This is one of those things that makes me think he's ND. Hwa says things to him about him, and HJ answers with more information about himself, but doesn't ask Hwa anything. When Hwa makes an encouraging comment - Oh you're on page 2 already? -HJ is like I am good at this sort of thing because I studied hard in school. But Hwa just indulges him like HJ is his grandson - Oh what a smart boy, Kim Hong Joong, he says, absolutely soullessly but not with any sort of sarcasm, while making his own lego. And HJ just keeps talking about his strengths - he can stay put and work on something for a long time! And Hwa keeps agreeing. "Yes! That's why you're so good at composing."

Basically, Hwa is gentle parenting HJ into staying put and making this lego thing, doing something he doesn't like (Following a strict recipe) about an IP property he knows nothing about (Star Wars) because Hwa's fans (and probably Hwa himself) wants him to make legos with someone while on this tour. LOLOL.

HJ says he has set up a composition station on the bed in his hotel rooms (Hwa: And not because you just want to work in bed?) then he tells a story about packing harmonicas and a whole second bag of composition equipment. Hwa spills things, and blames HJ (Now that I'm with you I'm spilling things!) to which HJ as per usual shoots back (No, spilling things is just your nature).

I saw an anti-Ateez post on the Korean internet, and the person said HJ was the reason she couldn't get into Ateez. HongJoong stans, cover your eyes: She said that she's noticed when a leader of an Idol group with a lot of members is short, their egos tend to be bloated, and felt HJ was a prime example. 4 minutes into actually making legos, HJ is congratulating himself - I am talented at this! - and Hwa says, Oh you're definitely talented at this! Half a second later, literally, HJ makes an alarmed mouth sound and Hwa says, "Why, did you mess up?"

Hwa keeps HJ talking about the harmonica. HJ says he can play a song on the harmonica, and starts singing it. Together, they start singing Donna e Mobile from Rigoletto and not remembering what it's called, and I'm having that experience of being a ghost, where I'm screaming IT'S RIGOLETTO!! RIGOLETTO!! DONNA E MOBILE!!! but the people I'm screaming at can't hear me.

HJ keeps soliciting praise from Hwa ("I'm doing great!") and Hwa just automatically affirms.

The chat is trying to tell HJ what the song is but those bitches are all getting it wrong. I am biting down on my teeth so hard because I can't keep shouting La Donna e Mobile!!

Hwa spills more pieces and HJ attacks him. He gets overexcited so he stutters- What-what-what were you saying about like psh! like about the spilling?? to me??? Hwa is a lot like San in that he suddenly says Zen master things: Everyone makes mistakes, but the key is to not be defeated by them. I feel like this shows a perfectionist streak, to have to defend dropping a lego piece with this sort of weighty principle.

They gossip like old biddies about San. San kept saying the steaks in room service of every hotel is delicious, but when Hwa double checks with HJ the answer is sometimes a meh. HJ says San just likes beef.

HJ completes a portion of a piece then wants praise (again) (He's kind of a handful, isn't he?). Hwa says, You mustn't give up, there are so many cheering you on. HJ says, You said this would be over in half an hour. Hwa retorts, I said an hour. HJ really doesn't like Lego. LOLOL

Hwa keeps checking in on him- you're having a fun right? I'm so pleased to hear you're having fun - and HJ affirms, but his comments say otherwise. He keeps declaring himself DONE and FINISHED when he evidently isn't.

At the 27 minute mark, Hwa is done with his. HJ drops something else, and Hwa automatically consoles him to no response. HJ, when he's not praising himself or soliciting praise, sings snippets of song. This makes him just like San, who just starts singing when there's nothing else to do. I think Hwa is worried HJ will drop out of this project, so he's lathering him in praise. "Oh such great observation skills!" But HJ still doesn't like it. He wants to know if there's competitions for finishing legos as fast as possible. LOLOL. Hwa doesn't know.

Hwa starts to actively, aggressively help HJ put the thing together. "My mouth is drying out," HJ says, because he's having a rough time. Hwa's soft power is unparalleled. He's totally forcing HJ to do this and I'm CRACKING UP.

Oooh! HJ finished! He flips open the lid of his spaceship back and forth, now soliciting praise from the audience. Once the toy is complete, HJ makes mouth sound effects like he's 4. Zzzyoooong ~ etc. He's literally 4.

Hwa says, You finished the first one.

HJ gets up immediately.

Hwa: YOU'RE NOT LEAVING RIGHT? COME BACK.

HJ goes to get the second bag and slumps in his chair. He hates this so much. YOU DO IT NOW TOO, he commands Hwa as the second baggie full of legos comes out. "I am," Hwa says, very calm.

What is Hwa getting out of forcing HJ to do this? This is a weird kink.

They're talking nonsense about flying cars, about how technology can come out that you think is impossible, and then HJ signals how much he's not actually enjoying this: What about machines that make legos for you?? Hwa, very calmly ignoring this, the 700th hint, says, That already exists. But he's not missing out on the hints. He starts to act as a surgical nurse to HJ, finding the next piece he's going to need and handing it to him one right after the other like it's in the surgical theater and they're saving a life.

HJ hates this so much. He reads his favorite line of the manual so far. "Hey they're letting me know that I'm halfway through!!" Hwa is honest and brings down the reality hammer: "This is not the halfway point." (There's a lot more to go.) HJ is CRUSHED but Hwa is amused. HJ can't stop now, even if he hates it. Hwa is pleased.

It's only a quarter of the way done.

HJ starts to rebel. "I'm going to just go by feeling!" Hwa says no - "You can't go by feeling. I told you." He starts pre-making pieces to hand over to HJ to fit into the in progress piece. HJ is playing drums, rapping, drinking, sighing, making mouth sounds. "It would have been a disaster to pick a bigger one," Hwa admits.

HJ wants Hwa to let him stop. "You're feeling frustrated, aren't you??"

Hwa, very calm, very pleased, says No, not at all.

What...

What is this kink?

This kink of forcing a person who hates Legos to make a Lego with you even as they actively hate it??

HJ tries to trick himself into going on. "I like it! This is good! It's great!"

That was the last of his energy though, because HJ just puts his head down on the table. He wants to leave, but the force of Hwa's power is such that he can't, so he wants to exit the room by going inside his subconscious. Hwa is busy, making HJ's lego for him. "You're not sleeping, right?" he asks. HJ's head pops right back up. "No! No! I'm thinking [about making the Lego]!" he says.

HJ gives up. Hwa is making the Legos, so HJ reads the comments by those in the chat. Meanwhile, there's a piece missing, and Hwa looks for it. HJ finds it for him on the table. Hwa says, "Lego never makes an error. All the errors are my own."

Why is Hwa making Buddhist koans out of lego? LOLOL

He hands the lego making back to HJ, because making HJ make the legos is his kink. HJ is trying so hard - talking himself up, rapping, singing, writhing around - to keep his mind on these lego things that he hates.

I'm scary when I concentrate! he threatens Hwa, as he accepts his fate. You're not intimidating in any way, Hwa says, helping him. He's back to lathering HJ in praise - You're talented at this! I believe in you! HJ is putting the lego together with all the joyless but concentrated detachment of a factory worker putting semiconductors together.

"Are you so very bored?" Hwa asks, laughing.

This is so his kink and I don't understand but it's very perverse.

HJ protests that he is having a wonderful time. Then he says, as Hwa continues to be his surgical nurse, "You make a good assistant. You were born to assist me!" Then he segues into a military role play, where he's the tough commander and Hwa is his solicitous subordinate. Hwa plays right along, smoothly transitioning into the tone and affect of 'military' as seen in media. Hwa's dialect is coming out strong. HJ is talking 'down' to Hwa, using 반말, because he's the "general" in this little play whereas Hwa is speaking 존댓말 in response. All while in the larger context Hwa is forcing HJ to do this thing he doesn't like. This is fucking kinky. This is giving, also, Captain Hook and Mr. Smee, where Smee was the top. You know what I mean right? HJ is being played so hard. I can't believe KQ staff are letting this happen to him. Is it OK that I'm watching this?

Hwa, what are you doing, you weird pervert!?!?

SO they have finished one of the wings. Hwa says, to be encouraging, You just have to make one more! but HJ is like, Why does the fucking spaceship have two wings?

HJ doesn't want to snap the pieces together anymore. He says, I'll find the pieces and you assemble it.

AND NOW HWA IS THE GENERAL AND HJ IS USING 존댓말. Hwa's voice gets louder and lower and HJ turns into a little high pitched bird.

THIS IS THE KINKIEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN

WHAT IS HAPPENING

HWA IS SO HARD RIGHT NOW.

FUCKING LEGO IS MAKING ME WRITE RPF FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE

I AM LOSING IT.

I'm suited to this! HJ says, happily. Being what? Being Hwa's submissive assistant? Do you even know what you're saying, HJ? Was this Hwa's big picture all along???

They entirely stop talking for long moments as Hwa is fully in the zone, having HJ play the attentive assistant to him, while he makes Legos. This is Hwa's sexuality, apparently. I mean I said he was queer but like, he went ahead and invented Lego Queer. I have been listening too much Ateez music because I'm fully hearing in my head Seonghwa singing I'm the one in my zone, 다른 애들은 삐약 as I'm watching HJ hover at Hwa's elbow as Hwa makes the rest of HJ's lego.

HJ starts cheering like an American cheerleader at Hwa making the lego.

LEGO QUEER KINKY SHIT.

이건 무슨 일이야 indeed.

What is it with these Ateez guys and their need to make speeches about life lessons? HJ, completely unaware of the Lego Queer Kink Dungeon in which he has found himself, jabbers on about how he is learning important Life Lessons from building this lego.

Hwa is putting stickers on the lego, and HJ is just stroking him by praising him every step of the way. HJ needed Hwa's praise to stay engaged in the lego making, but Hwa was actually just dosing him with the behavior he wanted HJ to do. That is, Hwa wanted HJ to praise him as he made legos. What's happening looks the same but what's actually going on is entirely different.

Hwa has completed the lego. HJ claps. Not because he liked it, but because he's so happy it's over. Hwa - I SWEAR TO GOD I'M LIVE BLOGGING THIS - Hwa POINTS THE PHALLUS SHAPED SPACE SHIP WITH THE TWO THINGS SPREAD OUT TO THE SIDE, HOLE FACING FORWARD, AND SHOOTS HIS LOAD AT THE CAMERA.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

i'm

I'M CRYING

I'M....

박성화 너 뭐하는거야????????????????????????

AND THEN HE GIVES IT TO HJ WHO ALSO SHOOTS HIS LOAD.

야 박성화! 성화야! 야!!!!!! 너! 너너!! 너어어어어어어!!!!!

You shouldn't shoot this at people, Hwa says, after collecting the bullet.

THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID.

Hwa has a cruel streak if this is anything to go by. Look at poor little HJ who clearly had no idea what sort of video he was making. He's crushed, drained, overwhelmed. Hwa on the other hand is shooting load after load at the camera.

His aftercare is cold as shit too. He asks if HJ would ever make Legos again. When HJ responds with the loudest silence of all time Hwa just tells him what's next on the agenda - they are gonna make a small lego in HJ's composition room. HJ immediately says no. There is no shelving and no space. Hwa doesn't argue. He is just going to bide his time to get what he wants. Like he did this time. Then he summarily orders HJ to go.

가 he says. Just Go. Not go and rest or go and wash up or go and sleep. Just. Go.

HJ mumbles something about including San but Hwa had no answer to that because he got what he wanted. He's done.

Park Seonghwa is a Lego Queer Dom and he's A BRUTE

[kteezy997]

Beyond Business-part 13//t.c.

He told you not to look at posts about him and Kylie online. But something possessed you to look. It was something obsessive inside of you.

After the A Complete Unknown premiere in Paris, he and Kylie had a ‘secret’ date with loads of paparazzi to capture them entering and leaving the restaurant and the hotel afterwards.

It hurt you to see him holding her hand, leading her through the crowd of flashing lights and photographers shouting at them.

Kylie wore a black, skintight jumpsuit which showed lots of cleavage. She seemed to be almost posing for the cameras, smiling directly at one of them. She looked so proud to be on Timothée’s arm.

You couldn’t help but think that that should be you. That she didn’t deserve him, even if they were just pretending. You hated seeing it. You had a horrible feeling inside when you saw them together. You didn't recognize your Timmy.

He didn’t even have to kiss her or look her, it was just the simple fact of her touching him, sitting close to him in the car, it just made your skin crawl. Maybe you were too jealous for this to work.

At least you had a couple days to clear your head before you saw Timmy again. You decided to go home, to see your parents, have a home cooked meal with your siblings. You needed to come down to earth, out of Timothée Chalamet’s orbit for just a moment.

Your first night in your parents’ house, he tried calling you. But you weren’t ready to talk. You couldn’t be his girlfriend at this moment, or his assistant.

He left voicemails and text after text, “baby call me please.” “need to hear your voice.” “miss you so much. I wish you were here.” So many sweet things. But you couldn’t give in. You loved him, of course you did. But you had been feeling way too much and needed a break from it all. You felt like you didn't know yourself anymore.

……..

In all, you spent a week away. You let Timmy know that you needed a vacation, and he granted you the time off. But that was all the conversation was about. You didn’t let it get any more personal than that, despite his desperate attempts.

You knew that he was probably hurting too, with you going away so suddenly. But you did your best not to think about it.

But it was finally time to go back. You felt refreshed, and level-headed about the situation. You were ready for whatever was to come.

You knocked on his door on your first Monday back to work. There was no answer. You waited a moment, then let yourself inside. “Timmy?” you called. There was no sign of him, or any sign that he had been roaming around the apartment at all that morning.

The place was unkempt. Take out containers and beer bottles scattered about. You started to really worry. You called his name again with no response.

You checked his bedroom, and there he was, sleeping like a rock.

You shook him, gently, “Timmy, it’s time to start work for the day.” you whispered.

He grumbled, clenching his eyes, then opening them. He sighed when he looked up at you. “You’re here, finally.”

“Are you okay?”

He scoffed, “Fuck no, I’m not okay.” he raised up in the bed, his eyes red and more tired looking than ever. "My girlfriend leaves me high and dry for a fucking week. Do you not understand how bad I need you?”

“I do. But I needed time to take care of myself.”

“Well, what happened?”

“I couldn’t stand the pictures of you Kylie on your romantic date in Paris.”

He rolled his eyes, “I’ve told you not to pay attention to any of that.”

“Oh fuck off, Timothée, and put yourself in my shoes! How would you like it if some other man was parading me around across the world? Do you really think that I want you to be with another woman half the time?” you didn't want to raise your voice at him, but you couldn't help it.

“It’ll come to end eventually, I swear it will! I’m sorry that you’re upset.” he calmed down, reaching to grab your hand.

“Do I not have the right to be?”

“Yes, you do. I just don’t know what I can do about it right now."

“You can choose. It’s her or me.”

“You know that I choose you.”

“No. It’s me or her. You don’t get me in private and Kylie Jenner in public. Not anymore. I don’t want to be anyone’s secret, not even yours. I can't keep putting you before myself.”

“Please, don’t do this.” he pleaded, his eyes becoming glassy.

“I love you, but I can’t let you consume me like this. I can’t work for you anymore.” The tears were coming, you sniffled.

“I don’t give a shit about you being my assistant, I just want you.”

“If you break it off with her.”

“I-"

You shrugged, “See? You can’t give her up. I don’t know if it’s the fame or the sex,-"

He cut you off sharply, “I don’t have sex with her!”

“She is sex, Timothée. It’s about how masculine you are if you’re dating her. That's what it's all about. People take you seriously now that you’ve bagged her.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

“I’ve had time to think about this, that’s all. And I think I understand. You’ll never have a normal relationship now. It’s not for you, Timothée.”

“Why do you keep calling me by my full name? Are you..." he looked down, swallowing hard as a tear fell from his swelling eyes, “are you breaking up with me?”

You gasped, hearing the words out loud was something you hadn’t prepared for. You put your hand out, wanting to soothe him, to run your fingers through his hair, to hold him. But you couldn’t. Slowly, you retracted your hand. “I just don’t see how it could ever really work. Not if you’re involved with someone else. I want someone who doesn’t have to hide me.”

Timmy took a deep breath, nodding, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” he put his head on his hands.

You wiped your own tears away, “I’m going to go now.” you said.

He looked at you again, “Okay.”

As you started to walk out of his bedroom, he spoke again.

"Y/n, I want you to know that everything I've ever said to you was real. I love you. You've meant more to me than you could ever understand. So, thank you."

February 16, 2025

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @lixzey @bitchyunknownuser @ducktapebar @aoi-targaryen @yukideadinside @elloise0 @thatoneweirdgirl17 @mel-vaz @sammy-halpert @iwishchalamet @that-one-fangirl69 @jindongdongie @briefkittenearthquake @imnotoverlyobsessive @timhalchala @heatherpi @iconic-jedimullet @pmak2002

[bitchinbarzal]

Left in the cold | C Keller

summary: after a fight about clayton’s intentions with a woman at and event his anger has him making the worst decisions.

-

Clayton’s jaw was tight as he stood in the middle of the team charity event, his grip on his drink firm. You had been arguing for most of the night, hushed, forced smiles in front of donors and cameras, but the moment the last handshake was over, things started boiling over.

“You could’ve at least pretended to be in a good mood” you snapped under your breath as the two of you made your way toward the exit.

Clayton scoffed “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I needed to put on a performance while my girlfriend is acting like I’m the worst person in the world”

“Maybe if you actually listened to me instead of getting defensive, I wouldn’t have to!” you shot back, slipping into the passenger seat of his car with an angry huff.

The drive home was tense, Clayton’s hands tight on the wheel as you sat rigid in your seat. The event had been important; funds raised, PR boosted but none of that mattered when you were fighting like this.

“You were flirting with her, Clayton” you finally said, voice quieter but cutting.

His knuckles went white on the steering wheel “Are you kidding me? She’s a team sponsor, Y/N. I was being polite”

“Polite is one thing. Laughing at every word she says, letting her touch your arm, leaning in like she’s the only person in the room? That’s something else”

Clayton exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw locked “You’re being ridiculous”

That was it. That was the last straw.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and snapped “Pull over”

He shook his head, still staring straight ahead “No”

“Clayton, pull the damn car over!”

With a sharp jerk of the wheel, he swerved to the side of the empty road, tires crunching against gravel. The moment the car was in park, you threw the door open, stepping out into the cold night air.

“Are you serious right now?” he called after you, following as you stormed a few steps away.

“Yes, I am serious!” you yelled, finally turning to face him “I am so tired of feeling like I have to fight for your attention!”

Clayton groaned, raking a hand through his hair “Y/N, you are the only person I care about, and you know that”

“Do I?” Your voice cracked “Because I don’t feel like I do!”

His breath hitched, and for the first time that night, something softened in his face. But then, just as quickly, the anger came back, washing away whatever moment of understanding had flickered between you.

“You know what?” he muttered, turning on his heel “I’ve had enough of this”

You watched in disbelief as he got back into the car, slamming the door shut. Your heart pounded in your chest as he started the engine, expecting him to sit there, cool off, maybe argue some more.

But then the car started moving.

“Clayton!” you shouted, stepping toward the road. But he didn’t stop. He didn’t even hesitate.

You watched as his taillights disappeared into the night, the sound of the tires fading until there was nothing but silence.

Clayton barely made it a mile before regret hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Shit” he muttered, slamming his hand against the steering wheel.

He pulled a sharp U-turn, his mind racing. He never should have left. Never should have let his anger get the best of him. You were standing alone on the side of the road, and he had just driven away.

But when he got back, you weren’t there.

His heart dropped. He parked haphazardly, jumping out of the car, scanning the area “Y/N?”

No answer.

His stomach twisted as he pulled out his phone, calling you. Straight to voicemail.

Panic settled in his bones. He tried again. Nothing.

He checked every nearby street, every corner, calling your name into the night. He flagged down a passing car, asked if they had seen anyone walking—no luck.

After an hour of searching with no sign of you, he drove straight to the police station.

Filing a missing persons report was one of the most terrifying things he’d ever done. The questions felt like static in his ears. When did you last see her? What was she wearing? Does she have a history of disappearing?

Clayton ran his hands down his face, feeling sick “No,” he answered hoarsely “She doesn’t just disappear”

Another hour passed. Still nothing.

Desperate, he pulled out his phone, texting the team group chat:

Clayton: Has anyone seen Y/N?

The three dots appeared almost instantly, and then a text appeared.

Logan: She’s at your place, man. She showed up like an hour ago. Didn’t say much, just asked for the spare key.

Clayton exhaled sharply, relief flooding him so fast he felt lightheaded.

Without another word, he bolted out of the station, driving home faster than he probably should have.

When he opened the front door, you were curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, staring at your phone.

The moment you saw him, your eyes flashed with something unreadable—relief, anger, exhaustion—all at once.

“You left me” you said softly.

Clayton swallowed hard “I know”

“I had to walk back alone. I had to find a way home alone”

“I know,” he repeated, voice cracking. He moved toward you cautiously, guilt weighing him down like lead “Y/N, I—”

“Do you even understand how scared I was?”

His stomach twisted “Yeah,” he admitted “Because I was terrified too. I went to the police station. I thought—I thought something happened to you”

You looked down at your hands, exhaling shakily.

Clayton knelt in front of you, resting his hands on your knees “I messed up. I let my anger get the best of me, and I left when I never should have. And I swear to you, Y/N, I will never, ever do that again”

You studied his face, searching for something—maybe sincerity, maybe just proof that he meant it.

After a long moment, you whispered “You really scared me, Clay”

His throat tightened “I know”

Silence stretched between you before he finally reached for you, hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure if he had the right anymore. But when you leaned into him, letting him wrap his arms around you, he knew he wasn’t too late.

“I’m so sorry” he murmured into your hair “I love you, and I’m so damn sorry”

For a while, you didn’t say anything. But then, finally, your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.

“I was so scared”

It felt like his heart was breaking in his chest and he couldn’t stop it.

[ivystoryweaver]

Perfect Fit Volume 3 (with poll)

Read Volume 2 || Perfect Fit Masterlist

Pairing: Nathan Bateman from Ex Machina x f!reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: Will the real human please stand up

Content: MDNI, NSFW, you are responsible for your reading. (more below the cut) Nathan Bateman should be warning enough

Content/Warnings: not beta'd, violence, tw self-harm, blood, angst, sci-fi horror elements, gaslighting, language, soft Nathan

✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧

PREVIOUSLY on "Perfect Fit"

"It's okay, sweetheart. Look..." Nate reaches for the knife embedded in Nathan's stomach. Instead of yanking it out, he cuts deeper, dragging the knife across his abdomen, all while you scream for him to stop.

A wave of nausea roils throughout your body as he peels back a bloody layer of skin to reveal...machinery.

In fact, past the initial layer of skin, there's not much blood at all.

Your vision blurs and the world goes black.

✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧

You come to in Nathan's bed. Haunting gray light filters in through the skylight, the rhythmic patter of rain soothing you, even as thunder rumbles in the distance.

Rubbing your bleary eyes, you swallow thickly, parched with thirst. Pushing off the bed, you try to steady yourself before glancing around to make sure you're alone. Of course, with video cameras everywhere, you're never truly alone.

You tiptoe to the kitchen for a glass of water, hoping to clear your head so you can think.

"Feeling better?" Nathan...or someone in the shape of Nathan voices from right behind you.

Shrieking in surprise, the glass slips from your hand, shattering on the kitchen floor. Backing away slowly, you flinch when Nathan reaches for your elbows to steady you.

"Careful, babydoll, don't step on that."

"Don't touch me," you hiss, barely dodging the glass as you jerk away from him and put some distance between the two of you.

His hands shoot up in a surrendering pose. "I'm not gonna hurt you, sweetheart. You know this."

"I don't know," you whisper, your previous horror returning full force. "I don't even know who you are!"

Calling your name, he sidesteps the glass and reaches for you once more.

"Please...just let me go home," you plead. "I don't want to do this anymore."

He stops then, adjusting his glasses which have slipped down to the end of his nose before his hands land on his hips. "Home? You are home."

"No," you whimper, backing further away, shaking your head emphatically. "You can't keep me here. I'm going home. I have...friends. Family."

Nathan relaxes, folding his arms over the breadth of his chest as a sadistic smile turns up the corners of his mouth.

"I've done it," he chuckles, mostly to himself. "Holy shit, I've actually done it."

"W-what?" You ask him, dreading the answer.

Wetting his lips, he doesn't deny you what you seek. "You care about me, don't you? Maybe even love me?"

Pressing your mouth closed tightly, you remain silent, hoping he will explain.

"Even if you don't, you have to know how I feel about you...right?"

Taking two bold steps toward you, he grips your arm. But before you can scream or try to escape his grasp, he presses down on your wrist as if pushing a button. Sliding his thumb down to your thumb, he moves the digit in a counterclockwise position.

At that moment, your skin...opens. But there's no blood. No cut. It simply lifts away from your body. Nathan pushes the skin upward, like a panel covering circuitry. And it is. There, underneath your skin: metal, gears, wires.

Even though you feel no pain, you moan out a desperate, horrified cry.

"Shh, it's okay," he attempts, but you interrupt him, once more demanding to know what he's done to you.

"When did you do this?" You cry. "What did you do to my arm?"

"Sweetheart, it's not just your arm." He nods up and down your whole body.

You pass out again.

✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧

You come to in Nathan's bed.

Nathan sits in a chair in the corner, hand toying with his beard, simply watching you.

As your bleary eyes blink open, he holds your gaze, dark eyes shifting in what might appear to be concern. But you know better.

Realization hits you like a freight train and you gasp, yanking up your sleeve to check your arm for wires or circuitry. You sit upright in bed, touching yourself all over, trying to figure out...

"What did you do? What happened to my arm?" You demand, scrambling to the other side of the bed and standing up. "Did you make me pass out or something?" Maybe something worse. Maybe he...shut you down.

"Oh god, oh my god," you moan, fighting your apparent reality, the shock of it forcing you to double over, bracing yourself on the bed with both arms extended.

"Sweetheart, it's okay, calm down." Nathan rises and eases toward you slowly, hands held in a supplicating fashion.

You shrink away, horrified.

"It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you." He eases down on the edge of the bed as you collapse there beside him.

"Why?" You wail, burying your face "Why did you do this?"

A wrinkle forms between his eyes as his glasses slide down to the tip of his nose. "You mean, stab Nate? You're worried about him." It's not really a question, "Babydoll, he's being repaired, he's fine."

"What is wrong with you?" You whimper, thrusting your arm toward him. "Show me again. Show me whatever the fuck I am."

Holding your gaze steadily, Nathan slowly reaches for your arm, brushing his fingers along your skin. You flinch at first, horrified by the notion that he'll reveal the machinery that lies beneath.

"It's okay," he says so softly, he almost sounds sweet. "Nothing's wrong with your arm. You're okay. Does it hurt?"

Your face crumples as you jerk your arm away. Swiping at falling tears, you wonder what kind of a mad genius Nathan had to be to create you - to invent a being with such emotions, who could cry and be nauseated at the thought of your own existence. Climbing off the bed, you back toward the door before bolting suddenly toward the kitchen.

Nathan's athletic build and peak conditioning should allow him to catch you in no time, but he doesn't quite make it before you locate a steak knife. Slamming your arm down on the kitchen counter, palm up, you rake the razor sharp metal across your flesh. Crying out in pain, you gasp as your flesh opens, warm, fresh blood flowing all over your arm and pooling on the counter.

"Jesus," Nathan hisses, wrenching the knife from you hand and tossing it into the sink. Gripping your arm, he helps you raise it up in the air with one hand while reaching for the nearest kitchen towel with the other. "What the fuck are you doing?" He wraps the towel around the cut, as tight as you can stand it. Tighter, even, restricting the flow of blood, despite your wail of horror at the searing pain.

Your body shakes with sobs, and you're barely able to stand. As Nathan secures your arm, you collapse against him. He gingerly eases you down to the floor, his back supported by the cupboard, pulling you against his chest, rocking you gently.

"You can go home," he utters in a choked whisper. "You didn't have to...fuck - you didn't have to..."

"Just show it to me," you sniffle after several minutes. "Show me what I am, just show me." Your eyes blink up at him so brokenly, big, heavy tears rolling out of the corners.

Nathan touches his forehead to yours. "Show you what, sweetheart?"

"That I'm a machine," you whimper, twisting his soft white t-shirt in your unwounded hand. "What you showed me before."

Shaking his head, he pulls back. "What the fuck? You're not...why would you say something like that?"

"I fucking hate you," you seethe, attempting, but failing to twist away from him, "Stop fucking lying!" You pound your fist on his chest. "You showed me - there are wires in my arm!"

"No, baby. No." His dark eyes soften, as soulful and serious as you've ever seen them. "You've been asleep for hours. You passed out, so I put you to bed. I took Nate downstairs and started running diagnostics and repairs. I came back to check on you thirty minutes later and you've been asleep ever since," he explains. "You woke up asking what happened to your arm. I think you had a nightmare."

"Another trick," you cry, too overwhelmed to fight him anymore.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he insists. "There's nothing wrong with your arm, except that now there's a huge fucking cut. Which we need to get stitched up."

He gives you a moment to let his words sink in before attempting to gently haul you up to your feet. "Come on. I'll take you downstairs. I'll show you that Nate's okay and we'll clean up your arm and stitch it up."

"No," you whimper, twisting away from him. "If I'm...real, then take me to a hospital. Take me now."

Pressing his lips into a thin line, he stares you down for a full thirty seconds before finally granting you a nod. "Okay. But it'll take some time. I have to call for the chopper and we both need warm clothes." He motions to your arm. "I need to wrap that up tight so you don't fucking bleed out."

You can go downstairs with him and possibly be trapped forever. Or you can depend on him to fly you out of here. Either way, you have to trust him.

✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧

Since this IS a choose your own adventure, after all...

✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧

Nathan Bateman masterlist | Main Masterlist

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[babybearnation]

Poly Mick, Callum and Marcus x gn reader at uni?

thank you anon for feeding me the content i desire most - also, once again, my experiences are wholly british

mick schumacher x callum ilott x gn!reader x marcus armstrong (university au headcanons)

cw: suggestive

mick is an engineering major, callum is a business major & marcus is a sports science major

the 4 of you are somehow both the smartest yet the most chaotic quartet known to your university

like yeah, you're passing all your exams, but on the other hand, you four almost always end up breaking something, trespassing on accident or being so loud that the noise complaints are deserved

a big mistake was made when the four of you were put on the same floor of your accommodation for first year

the three of them would casually hook up until you complained about the noise they made (especially callum who was a whiny mess)

at this, marcus offered for you to join in, knowing fully well that all three of them found you attractive and would not mind at all if you decided you wanted in on the fun

and who were you to say no?!

the four of you start dating not long after your arrival on the sexual scene and then the noise complaints come from everyone else instead of from you (the noise comes from you this time lol)

you never actually get in trouble for these noise complaints though because you're too charming and all the staff love you too much to see you kicked out of the accommodation

parties held in your accommodation kitchen are unsurprisingly common and its also very common to find marcus making out with one of you in his lap in some random corner (usually callum)

all three of them pass every exam and assignment, and if you do as well, you can expect plenty of drunken or sexual shenanigans to occur in lieu of a celebration

if you fail, however, you can expect all of them to comfort you, sharing how close they were to failure and promising you that this fail doesn't mean anything to them, nor does it reflect on your self worth

clubbing nights as a quartet are not that uncommon, especially when combined with mick, callum & marcus' friends

the four of you are proper clingy and literally everyone can tell that the four of you are together from the way you are on the dance floor (why yes, you are sandwiched between the three of then as you dance together)

nights out with them and their friends usually ends up with someone walking into a lamppost and then being sick on the way home

hangovers are a bitch for callum & marcus, but mick doesn't get them so he'll comfort the two boys either with your help or whilst comforting you, depending on if you get hangovers/how bad they are

exam season is a nightmare because mick gets grouchy, marcus gets snippier than usual and callum goes quiet and, depending on how you are, it can create some friction and even some fights

you once had a fight with marcus that resulted in callum and mick kicking him out before they comforted you and wiped away your tears

eating all three meals of the day together is pretty common for the four of you, especially as you know how easy it can be to fall into bad eating habits during exam season

if someone can't find one of you, they look for the other three bcuz you're almost always together

maccies dates are not at all uncommon because of how close it is to your university campus - why pay exorbitant prices for a snack in the refectory when they could just go get a full meal for a tiny bit more after a ten minute walk?

you four are known for being the loudest, proudest quartet ever because you will always show up to the others events to support them and, especially if marcus is on team support, it'll be loud as all hell

graduation? yeh, everyone can tell when its one of you four walking across the stage because the people in your relationship will cheer and holler whereas your friends will wolf whistle and make silly, university-forged jokes

celebratory kisses that get captured on camera and used for future graduation ceremonies are definitely on the agenda for your four as well

© all rights to babybearnation 2025.

[neithriddle]

“You wanted to be an actress. You’re getting your wish. It’s a blessing.”

And a curse, you think before you can stop yourself.

It's the title!!!! But I believe in Aegon and sunshine (I'm beign delulu, I know you will break my heart😭😭😭).

“Maybe you’ll meet a guy on the music video set, like a camera dude or a boom operator or something, and then you can finally have a real boyfriend and stop fantasizing about your elderly engaged agent!”

I doubt it.

Baela, you can't understand our fantasies. You have Jace (no offence to him, well... maybe a little! 😔🙏🏻)

When he passes you a venti-sized iced vanilla latte, his right hand is shaking.

“You okay?”

Aegon flashes a grin. “Too much caffeine.”

enough with these, I don't want to believe that Aegon has some neurological disease as others have already said, I might start to cry just thinking about it😭😭😭😭

Aegon hovers nearby until the actor casually mentions his husband, then Aegon slides his sunglasses into his suit jacket and wanders off to pet the long-haired and ill-tempered exotic cats.

ahhdhahaja, i know he was jealous, i just know it 🥹🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Aegon opens the door, and then he has crossed the room and is kneeling down on the floor beside you in his black suit, and he’s completely mystified because he’s never seen you this way before, and he’s half-reaching for you but he’s also hesitating, not knowing if you want to be touched.

Too much for my poor heart, you will pay my medical bills between physical and mental pain!!!

“Aegon, no, I can do it. I don’t want to lose the job. I’ll do whatever they want. Aegon? Aegon, please, I don’t want to give up, I don’t want to go home a failure—”

“Don’t talk,” Aegon says, low and violent. “Let me handle it.”

Sunshine baby, i want to put in my pocket and never let a creepy man near your☹️☹️☹️

Aegon sighs deeply and kneads the area just above his right eye with his fingertips, as if he has a headache.

I will gaslight myself into believing that is only a harmless headache, yep, absolutely 💯

“You’d almost break your knuckles?”

He glances at the back of his hand as if he had forgotten about the damage incurred there: clotted blood, subterranean bruises. “No, that was just for you.”

My ship is sailing ⛵️ 💖

Aegon furrows his brow at you impatiently. “Do you want to come or not?”

“Well yeah, but it can take a while. So I’ll just do it myself later.”

“Shut up and put your legs over my shoulders.”

I will leave this here and no comment (I giggled and kicked my feet, my ancestors would be ashamed of my I just know ngl 🫣🫣🫣)

A Curse [Chapter 4: Beverly Hills]

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap relationship, entertainment industry misogyny, lowkey sexual harassment, emotional distress/panic attack, Maroon 5, some shouting, minor injury, Sunshine and Aegon share an apple.

Word count: 5.8k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

Baela has made you breakfast. On the kitchen counter is a plate holding a single slice of wheat toast with a transparently thin smear of peanut butter. You’re already nauseous; the smell of toast in the air is enough to make your stomach lurch and the caustic burn of acid rise in your throat. In their vase, the sunflowers are perky and radiant, like the nuggets of gold that beckoned settlers to the West Coast in the mid-1800s, the hope, the possibility, the indomitable dream.

“I don’t think I can eat anything,” you say.

“Try,” Baela insists, pushing the plate towards you. Jace isn’t shuffling around lackadaisically or sprawled across the orange couch; he must still be asleep. “You aren’t going to make a good impression if you’re all woozy and retching everywhere. You don’t want to look half-dead when you meet Maroon 5, do you?”

“Oh my God.” You chuckle languidly, rubbing your forehead. Your eyes ache; you’ve barely slept. “I completely forgot they’re going to be there.”

Baela grabs a can of La Croix out of the refrigerator and sets it down beside your toast. “You’re that freaked out about the bathtub thing?”

“I guess so.”

“You wanted to be an actress. You’re getting your wish. It’s a blessing.”

And a curse, you think before you can stop yourself. You nibble at your peanut butter toast reluctantly. “I shouldn’t complain.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Baela says.

You crack open the La Croix and take a sip: icy, sharp, oddly dry, Strawberry Peach, pretty awful. “It could be a lot worse.”

“Yeah, it’s not like it’s a Harvey Weinstein situation.” And in her tone is a quiet condemnation: you don’t belong here, you don’t have what it takes.

“What are you doing today?” you ask to distract yourself.

“Gym, the farmers’ market, practicing French.” Because Baela is leaving for Paris in a few weeks, and her agent didn’t even have to forge her a resume to get her the part. “Maybe you’ll meet a guy on the music video set, like a camera dude or a boom operator or something, and then you can finally have a real boyfriend and stop fantasizing about your elderly engaged agent!”

I doubt it. Nonetheless, you smirk weakly as you nurse your La Croix. “Let’s hope he’s not a hobosexual like Jace. We’re running out of room.”

“Hey,” Baela says as she admires your sunflowers with a soft, fond smile. “Jace isn’t so bad.”

“No,” you agree. “No, he’s not.”

You are standing on the sidewalk outside your apartment building when Aegon rolls up in his white Chrysler Sebring convertible, just a few minutes shy of 8 a.m. Hair stylists, makeup artists, and costume designers will reinvent you when you get to set, so you are dressed for comfort: an olive green floral sundress with large buttons down the front, your trusty TOMS wedges, just a blur of eyeshadow swept across your lids with a fingertip so you don’t feel naked, sparkly gold Bold Moves by Huda Beauty. Aegon is already blaring Lose Yourself and rapping along loudly, wearing his aviator sunglasses and flashing gang signs, his sandy blonde hair brutalized from the wind:

“I’ve got to formulate a plot, or end up in jail or shot,

Success is my only motherfuckin’ option, failure’s not,

Mom, I love you, but this trailer’s got to go,

I cannot grow old in Salem’s Lot,

So here I go, it’s my shot,

Feet, fail me not,

This may be the only opportunity that I got…”

“I told my dad you drive one of these,” you say as you climb into the Sebring. “He said they’re super unreliable.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Aegon replies. “But I have lots of money and very few responsibilities, so repairs aren’t a problem. And it cruises so smooth.” When he passes you a venti-sized iced vanilla latte, his right hand is shaking.

“You okay?”

Aegon flashes a grin. “Too much caffeine.” He whips away from the curb and drives towards the interchange of the 405, five chaotic lanes that fly northwest towards Beverly Hills. He is wearing his haphazard suit again, his jacket too big and his tie too skinny, reminding you of the Jehovah’s Witnesses who used to come proselytizing to your parents’ house until one day Tripp got fed up and told them you were Satanists. That is apparently sufficient to get a family on some kind of blacklist. Mom was mortified.

You are slurping your vanilla latte—very slowly, so your queasy stomach will not rebel—and trying to think of how to bring up the new scene situation when Aegon gets a call. Eminem vanishes from the Sebring’s speakers, and Aegon unplugs his phone from the aux and lifts it to his ear.

“Hello?” Aegon is merging onto the 405, crossing dotted white lines until he reaches the High Occupancy Vehicle lane along the concrete barrier. “Hey, Brando. What’s up?” A pause. “Why, what’s on Monday?”

You look over at Aegon: one hand on the steering wheel, hair whipping in the wind, black sunglasses that the early light glints off of, thoughtful creases etching into his forehead and around his eyes as he listens, endless blue sky above and miles passing anonymously below. It’s the morning of Thursday, July 3rd, and you have known him for three weeks, and you—who once made Mason wait months to do anything more than kiss you—think that if Aegon laid his palm on your thigh right now, only a whisper-thin layer of cotton between you and the warmth of his palm, it would feel not just good but right, safe, destined, and your drumming heartbeat would turn calm like the sea after a storm, and you would believe you were capable of anything he asked for.

I don’t want him to think I’m weak. I don’t want him to be disappointed in me.

“Right, yeah, I have to go to that,” Aegon says. There’s a lull as Brandon asks him something. “Because they keep trying to get Steve to do his own stunts and I don’t want him to end up with a broken back like Brendan Fraser. Uh huh. Sure. Oh, and remind Steve that he’s invited to the charity gala thing. Yeah. I don’t know, call Aemond and ask. No, I don’t want to call him, that’s why I’m telling you to do it. Okay. Cool, thanks. Hey, I have no idea when we’ll be done with the Maroon 5 thing so no need to wait at the office, you can take off at three or four or whenever. Sounds good. See ya.” Aegon hangs up and glances at you. “You’re invited too, by the way.”

You startle; your thoughts had been drifting. “Invited to what?”

“The gala in a few weeks. It’s to raise money for UNICEF. All my clients are invited.”

Just like they’re invited to his wedding in Turks and Caicos, you think, and you are hit by another pang of nausea so strong you put your latte down in the cup holder next to Aegon’s drink, something topped with whipped cream and a swirl of chocolate syrup. “I’d love to go! It’s like grown-up prom!”

Aegon shakes his head, but he’s smiling. Again, you are mulling over if and how to mention the new scene—does he already know? will he think I’m complaining?—but now traffic is thick and a Tesla cuts Aegon off, and he is focused on driving and reading the directions on the screen of the GPS mounted on the Sebring’s windshield, and you don’t want to distract him, and when he plugs his phone back into the aux there is a Red Hot Chili Peppers song that comes plucking out of the speakers as the mid-70s breeze ghosts across your skin like feather-light fingerprints: She Looks To Me.

The mansion is perched on the cliffside of Bendict Canyon, red-gold earth that glows under the rising sun, gnarled trees and shrubs twisting skyward from arid soil. The circular driveway is already crowded with trucks and vans, along with a few BMWs and Range Rovers. Aegon parks his convertible near the end of the driveway and then walks with you into the building: mid-century modern, glass walls and sand-colored marble floors to match the accents of amber and warm teak wood, jewel-tone velvet furniture and shag area rugs, statues that pretend to be gold and plants made of plastic. There are attendants brushing exotic cats, Ragdolls and Himalayans. There are people picking over trays of fruit and sandwiches, and others setting up light fixtures and placing marks on the floor with tiny Xs of white tape. You imagine yourself standing on them, and your knees and ankles feel weak as you toddle in your wedges.

Dan is here, and he parts a sea of assistants and sound technicians to cross the living room to greet you and Aegon, beaming and energetic and showing no indications of deception or malpractice. You watch as he and Aegon chat and laugh at each other’s jokes, tales of their most disastrous filming experiences, and you think: If Aegon trusts him, shouldn’t I?

Dan waves Maroon 5 over, and you meet the band but even as it’s happening you can feel yourself not committing it to memory, your skull too full of rattling anxiety, fog-like doubt. They are here to tour the set, but they seem halfhearted about it, and soon they find an excuse to leave; the band is filming their scenes on a different day and presumably have more interesting things to do. If I had millions of dollars, you think distractedly, I would want to be on a film set every day of my life. You are also introduced to the male actor, and he is very attractive in a tan, gym rat, California sort of way, and he seems perfectly polite as well. Aegon hovers nearby until the actor casually mentions his husband, then Aegon slides his sunglasses into his suit jacket and wanders off to pet the long-haired and ill-tempered exotic cats.

A copy of the script is placed in your hands and an assistant leads you upstairs to a small bedroom filled with racks of clothing and a station set up for hair and makeup. The costume designer and stylists work on you, and you make small talk so you won’t think too much about what’s about to happen and start hyperventilating. The first scene, blessedly, is fully-clothed: blush pink Prada ballgown, four-inch heels, your updo gracefully falling loose, dramatic fake eyelashes and inky mascara tears snaking down your cheeks, a screaming match with your supposed soon-to-be-ex lover. You and one of the makeup artists chatter about favorite eyeshadow palettes as she paints your skin like a canvas: a base of matte pink Love Letter by Anastasia Beverly Hills, the sheen of dusk-colored Brink by Natasha Denona.

When you’re ready, the costume designer says: “I don’t think they need you quite yet. You can stay in here, if you’d like.” She smiles, believing she is doing you a favor. “I know you actors need your space to get into character.” And then before you can think of how to protest, she herds the stylists out of the bedroom and you are left alone with the poltergeist of the near-future, cold pockets that make you shiver and the racket of furniture being rearranged in other rooms. You leaf through the script and then, when your hands start shaking, leave it on the low platform bed with a geometric print blanket.

Knowing you shouldn’t, you go to the racks of clothing and paw through garments until you find the lingerie for the bathtub scene: all black lace, all semi-transparent, and while clever camera angles and post-production editing will conceal anything elicit from the audience, there will be no such discretion here. And even if only the essential crew is present for the scene—though there’s no indication it will be a closed set—that’s still a cinematographer, a key grip, a camera operator, a sound technician…and Dan the director, of course.

Your family’s words come rushing back to you, a chorus of skepticism and caution and an underlying conviction that no one could want you for the right reasons:

If she wants to embarrass herself, let her.

Well, be careful, darling.

Who knows what his intentions are.

Men can be so creepy.

You walk towards the bed in a daze and then sink to the floor, backing up until you hit the mattress, hiding there in the small shadow, a sanctuary from the daylight that is flooding in through the glass walls. You feel like you can’t breathe, like your vision is going dark, like the chambers of your heart are splitting open, and yet you know from all your father’s stories of people showing up at the ER erroneously believing they are dying that this is all in your head, and you force yourself to take deep, slow breaths so you won’t pass out.

I can’t do this.

But you have to.

Everyone’s right. I’m not the kind of girl who makes it in Hollywood. Not exceptional enough, not bold enough, not beautiful enough, not willing to do what it takes.

But you’re not ready to give up yet.

There is a knock at the door. “Hey, you camera-ready, sunshine?” Aegon says from outside.

You press your curled index fingers just beneath your eyes to try to stop them from watering. “Yeah. Two minutes.” But your voice cracks, and now he knows something is wrong.

“Are you naked?”

You sniffle. “No.”

Aegon opens the door, and then he has crossed the room and is kneeling down on the floor beside you in his black suit, and he’s completely mystified because he’s never seen you this way before, and he’s half-reaching for you but he’s also hesitating, not knowing if you want to be touched. “What happened? What’s wrong with you?”

“I think…um…” Another sniffle. “I guess I’m just a little freaked out about the scene they added.”

Aegon is confounded. “What scene?”

You reach up onto the bed behind you and fumble around until your fingers grasp the script. You give it to Aegon and he hurriedly skims through the pages. When he stumbles across the scene in question, he goes entirely still and his murky blue eyes turn dark and hard and focused in a way you’ve learned is rare for him.

He asks without lifting his gaze from the paper: “When did you find out about this?”

“Yesterday night. Dan brought the script to my apartment.”

Aegon looks at you. “He showed up at your house?”

“Yeah,” you whimper pathetically.

“Did he touch you?”

“What? No, nothing like that. He stayed in the hallway.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m sorry. I kind of assumed you knew.” A pause. “And I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Aegon, still clutching the script, stands and bolts for the bedroom door.

“No!” you beg in a whisper, lunging after him and grabbing his empty hand. “Aegon, no, I can do it. I don’t want to lose the job. I’ll do whatever they want. Aegon? Aegon, please, I don’t want to give up, I don’t want to go home a failure—”

“Don’t talk,” Aegon says, low and violent. “Let me handle it.” And before you can reply, he has ripped away from you and is through the doorway, down the staircase, into the living room where people are gathered under bright lights and making last-minute adjustments to furniture, décor, equipment. Exotic cats lounge on the velvet sofas. Your faux lover paces in a flawlessly-tailored white suit; he smiles when he sees you, then it swiftly dies.

Dan is chortling with two other men and leaning against a wall. Aegon rages to him, shoves him so hard Dan stumbles, strikes the wall two inches from his face. Aegon’s knuckles come away bloody; there is now a dent in the wall marred with a stain of crimson. An assistant screams; everyone in the room is gawking.

Dan is not just stunned by irate. “What the fuck, man?! That’s coming out of her paycheck!”

“How about we take it from your life insurance policy?”

“What is your problem?!”

“No, you know what you did!” Aegon shouts, and Dan is bigger than him but Aegon is seething, fearless, unrelenting, giving him no space. He balls up the script and pitches it at Dan; it bounces off his temple. “You knew any changes to the script were supposed to go through me and you hid this, and that’s fucked up, and it’s not happening. Take the scene out.”

Dan throws his arms wide in disbelief. “You said no nudity and no sex scenes, and this is neither. I didn’t con you, man.”

“Don’t act stupid. You went to her house and you sprung this on her and you thought you could get away with breaking the rules, and maybe you’ve done this before and no one stopped you because it’s just innocuous enough for you to have plausible deniability. But you’re not going to do it to me, and you’re not going to do it to my girl.”

“You think I need her?!” Dan yells, as if it’s preposterous. “She’s a nobody, she’s nothing special! She should be down on her knees thanking Baby Jesus that she’s on this set right now. You think I don’t have ten other actresses I could call?”

“So call them,” Aegon says. “But you’ll have to reschedule the shoot, and I know you’re paying a thousand bucks an hour for this place.”

“Hey dumbass, I spent over a thousand dollars on wine last night—”

“And I will never work with you again. And neither will Aemond, or Helaena, or Daeron, or any of our people.”

For the first time, Dan looks uncertain, stymied, wary. He studies Aegon as his crew avert their eyes awkwardly. On the sofas, the Ragdolls and Himalayans lick themselves and swish their fluffy tails. Aegon glances back at you. Your eyes are wide, glossy pools of pleading.

I don’t want to lose the job. Please, please, don’t make me give up on the dream yet.

“Look,” Aegon tells Dan, now level and diplomatic. “Do the right thing. You fucked up, you own it. Take the scene out and we’re cool. You get your music video shot on schedule. We get the originally agreed-upon terms. Everyone goes home happy. You’re a very talented director and I’ve only ever heard great things about you. I’d hate to have to start correcting people when they’re singing your praises.”

There is a long stretch of silence, and then Dan chuckles and holds up his hands as if surrendering. “Fine, no problem, we’ll axe the scene. It was just an idea, and maybe I got carried away. That was my bad. I had no idea you’d be so touchy about it.”

Aegon smiles, thin and tight and ingenuine. “I’ve been known to be sensitive.” He holds out his right hand; blood drips from his knuckles. An assistant drops to the marble floor and scrambles around wiping up the mess, viscous and scarlet. “No hard feelings?”

Dan shakes Aegon’s wounded hand. “No hard feelings.” Then he marvels at the blood in his palm and an assistant descends to disinfect him. Another moves an abstract painting so it covers the damage to the wall.

Aegon returns to you, and your pulse is slow and hushed, and your breathing is effortless, and you are transfixed; you cannot look away from him, you cannot believe he’s real. “So, uh,” he says, quietly so the rest of the room won’t hear. “No need to worry about that anymore. You want to take ten minutes to chill and get in the zone, and then we’ll get started?”

“No, I can go right now,” you tell him.

“Okay.” Aegon turns to Dan. “She’s ready.” Then he points at the male actor. Aegon probably doesn’t mean it to, but it comes out sounding like a threat. “You ready?”

The actor nods frenetically. “I’m ready!”

“Great,” Aegon says, and he steps out of the shot, and you step into it, and by the time the camera rolls you aren’t you anymore. You are a woman who desperately loves the man in front of her—instantly transformed from a stranger to a soulmate—and you are betrayal and jealousy and loss and wrath, and while your pink Prada dress is formal and wondrous your body is ever-contorting to be weak, vulnerable, breaking as you realize he is leaving.

Then you are clawing your way up the staircase in a heavy fur coat that seems to swallow you, then you are in a bedroom making unanswered phone calls in a lavender silk nightgown, then you are in the kitchen shattering plates and glasses in a neon green mini-dress, then you are in a leopard-print robe petting the exotic cats in the living room, then you are drowning in the swimming pool in a black empire-waist evening gown. Aegon follows you around the mansion and stands wordlessly in corners, chomping on his Juicy Fruit gum, holding the towels that assistants bring him against his knuckles; during every wardrobe change, he waits just outside the bedroom door.

The shoot isn’t done until after sunset, and you thank everyone profusely before you leave: the crew, the male actor, and especially Dan. You still need him to promote and release the music video, and assuming he doesn’t hate you after Aegon’s outburst, he’ll be a valuable reference.

When Aegon speeds his Sebring out of the mansion’s circular driveway and onto winding cliffside roads presided over by the towering shadows of palm trees, the first thing he says to you is: “You are never working with that man again.”

“Okay,” you agree immediately. And before you can say anything else he has put his phone to his ear. Faintly, you can hear ringing, and then a voice that you think you recognize as Brandon’s.

“Hi,” Aegon snaps. “What do I pay you for?”

“Aegon, please don’t be mad at him,” you say quietly. He’s driving very, very fast. The streetlights race by in a blur, the night wind tears like talons through your hair.

Aegon ignores you. “Why was her address on the stuff we sent to the Maroon 5 video people?” A moment passes. “No, it clearly wasn’t redacted because Dan Sacco showed up at her apartment last night. Yeah. That’s what I’m saying. Well, open your email and find out.”

“Aegon, he’s supposed to be off work right now. He’s at home, I’m fine, it’s not important.”

“Shh.” And then, after a long pause, Aegon says to Brandon: “Oh. I get it. Okay, yeah, my mistake. Sorry about that. Enjoy the 4th tomorrow, I’ll pay you extra for this conversation. Alright. You too. Bye.” Aegon sighs and looks over at you, as if he’s asking for forgiveness. “I mislabeled the PDFs. Brando thought he sent them the redacted one but he actually sent the original. He should have double-checked anyway, he usually does, but I was rushing him to get it out because I was trying to make sure you got the job. So…it’s my fault and I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine, Aegon,” you say softly.

“It’s not fine.” And you don’t have the opportunity to correct him because Aegon is scrolling through his contacts, and despite his earlier aversion to calling his brother Aemond, soon Aegon is recounting what happened and warning Aemond to never work with Dan, never recommend him to actors, never sell him a script, that Dan is dead to all of them as soon as the music video is officially released.

Aegon merges onto the 10 and heads east towards his office in Elysian Park. You don’t wonder why he’s not taking you south to Harbor Gateway, because you don’t want to go home yet. It’s well after 9 p.m., and the freeway is vast and open, silhouettes of skyscrapers and palm trees, reflective green signs indicating routes to Pasadena, San Bernadino, Santa Ana, San Pedro. Under the streetlights that arch overhead, you can see that the knuckles on Aegon’s right hand have turned violet and maroon, bruises down to the bone. When he reaches Downtown, Aegon’s Sebring takes the 110 north, and you are reminded of the route you drove to Elysian Park on the day you first met him, a girl with no prospects that he believed in anyway.

Aegon doesn’t hang up the phone until he’s at the curb outside the half-duplex he rents, a blinking blue neon sign that reads Targ Talent Agency in one window. He rests his wounded hand on the back of your seat when he twists around to look as he’s parallel parking. In the lobby, he goes to the minifridge behind Brandon’s desk and gets two green glass bottles of Perrier, passes you one of them, continues to his office and collapses into his chair, staring up at you as he swigs his Perrier and drops of condensation fall down onto his suit. He thumps his shoes up onto his desk, characteristically littered with gum wrappers and manilla folders and loose papers, framed photographs and his recently-acquired ceramic bowl of Honeycrisp apples. You are still standing.

“That happens sometimes,” Aegon says after a while. “Just so you know going forward, because I failed to make it clear before, script changes always go through me. I negotiate with the other party and if any modifications are approved I tell you about them, not the other way around. And unless you’ve cultivated some kind of working relationship with them, directors and producers should not be reaching out to you personally.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

You aren’t really sure. “I guess I should have known better.”

Aegon smirks, tired and cynical. “I told you this place is a curse.”

“You tried to warn me,” you concede.

“Do you believe me now?”

“No. I still want to be in Los Angeles.” I still want to be here with you.

He considers you, his head tilted thoughtfully to the side. “You did a really good job today, sunshine. Despite everything.”

“I hope so.”

He gives you a wry half-smile and takes another gulp of his Perrier. You haven’t opened yours yet. You are wearing your street clothes from this morning, TOMS wedges, unceremonious olive green sundress. Your hair is still damp from the scene in the pool and smells like chlorine. Aegon sighs deeply and kneads the area just above his right eye with his fingertips, as if he has a headache.

“Aegon?” you say, and he looks up at you. “Thank you for what you did for me.”

“I’d do it for anyone.”

“You’d almost break your knuckles?”

He glances at the back of his hand as if he had forgotten about the damage incurred there: clotted blood, subterranean bruises. “No, that was just for you.”

You set your unopened bottle of Perrier and your purse on his desk. Then you step out of your wedges, reach beneath your sundress, hook your thumbs under the waistband of your panties and pull them down to your ankles. You kick them away and leave them on the scuffed wood floor with your wedges. Aegon is watching you, his lips parted and his dark blue eyes amazed, as you walk to his desk and sit on the edge, pluck a Honeycrisp apple out of the bowl there, and take a large, famished bite. When saccharine juice spills down your lips, you don’t wipe it away.

Slowly, Aegon’s own mouth blooms into a smile. “I was wondering if it was mutual.”

He stands, harvests the apple from your hand, buries his teeth in the wet yielding flesh in the same place where you bit it. Then he lets the apple tumble to the floor as his hands rise to your face and he kisses you, and if you once discovered that this was easy with Mason then here it is instinctive, necessary, sheltering, and you have never felt so safe, and you have never been so sure of anything. You are unfastening the large buttons that run down the front of your sundress. Aegon is shrugging off his suit jacket and opening his shirt, his chest and belly soft and warm, no distance between you as you lie back across the desk and Aegon climbs on top of you, tasting like apples and Juicy Fruit and night air. Folders and papers cascade in a flurry. The bowl of apples is shoved off the ledge and shatters. Photographs are knocked to the floor, their glass panes splintering.

You are afraid only once, when Aegon unclasps your bra and tosses it away, but then he’s touching and kissing you there, lips and tongue and teeth, and his need is so palpable, and you can’t believe you ever considered scalpels and stitches. “I knew you were perfect,” he whispers against your throat, and when his war-torn hand travels between your legs you are already slick and starving, and you tell him you can’t wait.

You glance down as he rummages around in a drawer of his desk and eventually—seconds that feel like an eternity—finds a few condoms in silvery wrappers. “I’m sorry you have to use one,” you say, breathing heavily as you lie beneath him, not wanting to ruin this. “I’m sorry I’m not on the pill or—”

“I’d wrap up anyway. I’m serious about the no kids thing.”

And then he’s easing himself into you, and it’s better than it’s ever been because you’ve never wanted it more, and you’re trying not to moan too loudly because you don’t know if there’s anyone home in the other half of the rundown little duplex, and when your eyes flutter open you see flashes of the mint green walls, beams of headlights raking across the windows, gleaming emerald shards of your Perrier bottle that has tumbled to the floor and broken there, hemorrhaging a sea of carbonated water. It’s not a climax but a plateau so high you can’t think, can’t speak, your fingers in Aegon’s hair and your hips moving with his, your legs linked around him and his voice in your ear, is this okay for you, is this good, and you are nodding and gasping and letting him take you to a place where you can have everything, magic that usually only exists on pages and screens.

Aegon finishes—too soon, with some embarrassment—then pulls back and is alarmed to find tears on your cheeks. He wipes them away with his hands, bewildered, concerned. “What are you doing? Don’t cry, sunshine.”

You laugh shakily. “I’m fine, I swear, it’ll go away. I just get emotional.”

“Always?”

“When it’s good.”

Aegon kisses you, sweet and slow, and then he climbs off the desk and flings the condom somewhere, grabs your hips, drags you towards to him. You sit up when you realize what he’s doing.

“Oh no,” you say. “Wait, no, you don’t have to. Don’t worry about it.”

Aegon furrows his brow at you impatiently. “Do you want to come or not?”

“Well yeah, but it can take a while. So I’ll just do it myself later.”

“Shut up and put your legs over my shoulders.” He yanks you closer and you fall back onto the desk, now damp and slippery with perspiration, and you are grinning up at the ceiling, astonished and euphoric and a little sheepish, not expecting it to work but then being overwhelmed by him, coaxed into it like tumbling down the crumbling wall of a canyon, plummeting into inevitable and effortless gravity, the earth disintegrating beneath your clawing fingers when you try to catch yourself. Then Aegon takes your hand and shows you that he is hard again.

“More,” you plead in a whisper, and you go with him down to the floor, careful to avoid jagged flecks of glass and fragments of the shattered ceramic bowl, and you are helping him roll a new condom on because he’s taking too long and you can’t wait, and you’re both laughing as you straddle him, and then it becomes something quiet and slow and indelibly heavy, imprints in sand that eons of waves could not wash away, and afterwards you lie together on the floor for a long time, not saying anything, not tethered to reality, drifting in a bone-weary mirage of nightscape chemicals until the sun will rise and paint the world in color again.

You get up and start looking for your wedges. You have to shake them to get pebbles of green glass out. Aegon, still lying on the wood floor, watches you; you smirk guiltily. “I should probably go home soon. I have to be at Cold Stone tomorrow morning.”

Aegon seems surprised. “You’re working on the 4th of July?”

“Only until 6:30. Then Baela and I are going to see the fireworks.”

“And you’re driving to work, right? Not walking?”

“Right,” you promise.

Aegon groans as he drags himself to his feet, pulls on his suit and misbuttons his shirt, surveys the damage done to his office and runs his hands through his disheveled blonde hair. He shakes his head and looks a little sad, vacant, meditative. Does he regret it? you worry; but then Aegon turns to you and smiles. “Let’s get going.”

The long-gone daylight has been replaced by streetlights and headlights and coils of neon, glowing through the darkness like manmade stars, young synthetic constellations. As the Sebring sails down the ghost town of the 110 at midnight, Aegon passes you his phone. “Listen to whatever you want.”

You scroll through his Spotify playlist; there are five hundred songs, lots of Alanis Morissette and Pearl Jam and Third Eye Blind and the Red Hot Chili Peppers. You remember listening to one of their songs on the way to the mansion in Beverly Hills this morning; Aegon must really like them. You choose another Red Hot Chili Peppers song at random, one you’ve never heard of before, Hard To Concentrate. The hypnotic guitar chords spill from the speakers, and as you gaze dreamily over six abandoned southbound lanes, you can see on the periphery of your vision that Aegon keeps glancing over at you, his hair flying in the wind and his bruised right hand resting on the steering wheel.

Aegon parks illegally in a fire lane on the curb outside your apartment. “Hey,” he says when you open the passenger’s door, and you stop and return to him. “I’ll see you soon, alright?”

You check the analog clock on the dashboard, a black box of green numbers. It’s just after midnight on July 4th. You murmur as you kiss Aegon one last time, your lips curled into a smile: “Happy Independence Day.”

Then you float up the concrete steps and into your apartment building, higher than the sun at noon.

[3416]

saw cabaret on broadway today and lowkey can't stop thinking about it. an actual masterpiece and SUCH a cool experience and atmosphere in that specific theater like wow

[s-ccaam-era-crepe]

this was the arts and crafts btw <3

[melit0n]

Heard we were doing some Orb Posting! I think I'm a bit late, but we ball