#this promotion is not worth it darlings

[itstimeforstarwars]

Currently having a great time at work by completely giving up on giving a fuck :)

[sob-dylan]

i still haven’t seen longlegs. i haven’t seen i saw the tv glow. i haven’t seen in a violent nature. i haven’t done my creep/creep 2 double feature rewatch. i haven’t watched house of wax or saw or texas chainsaw massacre or ginger snaps or tusk or any of the other horror/thrillers i told myself i’d finally make time for in the past month (save for maxxxine, which was a bit of a let down). but i do have tickets to go see strange darling the day after it opens.

[hotchfiles]

— help me hold onto you • aaron hotchner

fem!reader, unprotected vaginal sex, a bit of angst.

      He knew he would be in trouble whenever he turned those keys. What he wasn’t expecting was how big the trouble would be. He had no idea he would open the door to three bags full of clothes and other things he left at your place as the months passed, waiting for him.

      “Darling? What–What are these?” He asks even though he knows the answer, hoping you want to at least talk about it before making any harsh decisions. You’ve been in a relationship for almost a year now and it works. It always worked.

      Normally you wouldn’t drink before an argument, still when he gets to the kitchen he sees you calmly sipping on a tall glass of wine, fingers tapping on the table, hair up, face clean but red, you were in your pajamas already, nothing like you probably looked hours before.

      “What’s the only thing I asked of you, Aaron?” You don’t move, don’t glance up at him, eyes focused solely on how the purplish red liquid moved in your glass, taking a big sip right after.

      Aaron sighs in frustration, he didn’t want this to become a fight. He was so tired. “I know, I’m sorry–”

      “Answer the question, please.”

      “Don’t make promises I can’t keep.” He takes his tie off quickly, suddenly feeling suffocated by the fabric surrounding his neck. That’s why your relationship worked, you knew he was busy and his schedule was unpredictable, so very early on you accepted it as it was, saying you wouldn’t be mad at him as long as he didn’t break any promises. If you’re not sure, don’t promise me you will be able to make it.

      First months he wouldn’t promise you anything, too afraid to break it, to disappoint you.

      He watches as you take the wine in a mouthful and refills the glass, the bottle now empty and starts getting frustrated, you’re a loud drunk and you’re surely already getting tipsy.

      This was the first time he slipped up, it didn’t need to be such a big deal, it didn’t avail to having his things right at the door as if he was getting kicked out. All the other times he promised he could take time off, he did it. Just–Teens were getting kidnapped, the team needed him.

      “We saved two girls today.” Low blow. But it was true, he wasn’t back in time because of that, he got on the jet instead of staying back to do that. To save two thirteen year old girls. Not some futile reason. It had to count for something.

      “I’m proud of you for that, Aaron. Are you proud of me? For the promotion we were supposed to celebrate with my boss? Or are our accomplishments only worth it when it’s about saving someone?” You raise your voice only slightly, the alcohol from the sweet wine getting to you slowly and then all at once.

      You always tried your best to keep your voice down when arguing with him, simply because he never raised his, and it could be an endearing feature if it didn’t look like he did it to look like the rational one, the right one.

      “That’s not what i said–”

      “I know what you said. You want to make the fact you let me down okay because you did a wonderful thing someplace else. That’s not how it works.” You open the second bottle of wine of the night, feeling his eyes on your back. “I want you to leave.”

      “You know this is ridiculous, you’re acting like a child.” Sore spot. You were a few years younger and that had never been a problem. But he couldn’t go back now, he could see the anger darkening your eyes, your knuckles turning white by the strength you’re using to grip on the edge of the table.

      “How am I a child?” You begin slowly and keeping your voice down, you get up finally from the chair you had been sitting, facing him directly, his instincts make him try to touch your arms, but you dodge it quickly. “We had an agreement. You broke it. Am I a child for not giving you permission to hurt me again?”

      He knows you’re about to snap, your chest coming up and down in rapid breaths, and he doesn’t feel particularly in the right, he knows he screwed up and he’s sorry, but your reaction is out of proportion to him, an exaggeration made to make him feel more guilty than he already does. “I said you’re acting like a child. The one time things don’t go your way and you’re packing me out?” Aaron almost feels the sharpness of a slap but he’s quick enough to grab your wrist. “See? proving my point.”

      “How many times do I have to accept you screwing up so I can be seen as mature?” You yank your arm out of his grip and go back to your drink, “Same times as Haley? How many times did she forgive you so you could go around and do it all again?”

      Lower blow.

      Hotch feels it right in his core and he’s angry at you for bringing up but more so angry at himself because you were right. Still, it is anger nonetheless that guides his next actions, quickly and firmly walking up to you, caging you against the table in sudden movements.

      Your breath hitches from the surprise, and your attempt to move is stopped by his roughed hands on your chin, firm but never close to hurting. “I’m not leaving.” You wince, not in fear of him, but of how easy he can make your mind go blank when he’s that close.

      His eyes go from your eyes to your lips, he notices your failed attempt to conceal the way you licked your lips, he glances at your chest, heavy breathing under your thin pajama shirt, nipples hardening against the fabric.

      Damn you for choosing wine.

      Hotch reads your mind almost, but his smirk doesn’t last too long displayed on his lips, your hands pulling him by the neck, a low groan followed by a “Fuck this” leaving your wine tasting lips just mere seconds before gluing to his.

      Eager to get your forgiveness, he is quick to follow your lead, both hands sneaking under your clothes, one down the waistband of your shorts, grabbing hard on the flesh of your ass, the other drawing soft circles on your nipple.

      You melt into the kiss, his lips, his hands, his scent, him. And you have no time to feel bad about it, pulled up to sit on the table, legs around his waist, you can feel how hard he is against your wetness.

      A pained whimper leaves his lips when you use the new position to grind onto him, needing something, anything against your clit at this point.

      Aaron sinks his teeth into your bottom lip to get your full attention, earning a loud moan in response, his hands travel your thighs and you pull his shirt out his pants so you can feel his skin under your fingertips, not bothering to unbutton them and working with what you got under it.

      His lips travel your neck and your collarbone, “I love you, so, so much”. His declaration comes in between kisses and the sucking of your skin, “Please don’t make me leave after this.” It comes in a whisper now, but he doesn’t stop, pushing your shorts down and sliding it down till it drops to the floor with your help.

      “Just shut up and take your pants off.”

      “You know I can only do one of those.” It makes you laugh and you sink your nails to the bit of fat on his side, the tiniest bit of annoyance at how easy he had you in the palm of his hand and how he didn’t even seem to know it truly.

      On the edge of the table sliding his hard cock into your folds was an easy feat, pants, shoes and his boxers long gone, his socks stayed on almost making him lose balance as he feels just how wet you are. He drops his head, forehead on your shoulder

      “Fuck—Oh my god, you are so wet, you’re always so wet for me.” It isn’t arrogant, it’s appreciative almost, you move his head so you can look at him, hot, sweaty already, cheeks so red as his eyes were glassy, the mix of lust and love and regret clear in his dark caramel irises.

      You kiss him once more, sweet, forgiving and he takes this as his sign to continue, pushing you down the table, Hotch holds your thighs for support, plunging his cock into your wet cunt with ease, bottoming out at the first thrust. You enjoyed the stretching pain and you never had the patience to wait.

      Lower lips between your teeth, you slide one of your hands to your clit, two fingers working your arousal, quickly replaced by Aaron’s calloused fingers. You arch your back and moan loudly, “Fuck, yes, and move.”

      It feels like an order and for Hotch it is one, he is delighted to oblige, maintaining the same finger moves on your clit and beginning to fuck your pussy, strong, firm and precise at first.

      “Honey, fuck—Please…” His begging is meant to warn you that if you keep clenching around him he won’t be able to control himself, you almost don’t listen, fingers working on your own nipples enjoying the high he is always able to get you in.

      “Aaron—I’m… Fuck, don’t stop, you’re so good.”

      The praising, the guidance, the reassurance, it makes the moans leaving his lips seem like whining, he enjoys it too much.

      “Yeah? Like this?” The way your hands try to grab him is enough answer to him, along with how tight your pussy is throbbing against him, you’re almost there, he can feel it.

      His movements on your clit get sloppier, the sight and sound of your wetness against his digits making him go insane. Your back arches once more and your whole body begin to squirm, the tight coil in your lower belly finally ripping, “Yes, fuck—“ You’re breathless, weak, but you still have it in you to edge him in, “Aaron, baby, cum for me, please.”

      He would be crazy to do anything but, so quickly you ask him and his hands are hoisting both your legs over his shoulders, getting a new, deeper position, it doesn’t take long for you to feel him filling you up, “I can’t live without you, you’re so, so good for me” His lasts broken words before letting himself go.

      You don’t move and neither does he, his dick softening inside you, his hands caging you in the table and his head dropped to his chest, both just trying to recover.

      “Aaron?”

      “Yes, sweetheart?”

      “You can stay.” He looks at you with nothing but love and happiness and gratitude, “But if you screw up again do not try fucking me into forgiving you, I’ll chop your dick off.”

      “You like it too much to do that.” His grin is sincere, feeling finally free to joke around you, he gets out of you and you whine at the loss. “See?”

      “Bite me.”

      “Gladly.”

[flangore]

❥ my sweet, my darling

feat.: Alastor / f!reader

summary: Your loving husband makes sure to keep an eye on you at all times — for the sake of your safety, of course! His shadows help quite a bit with that.

warnings: mildly controlling Alastor (but in a sweet way....)

It's not often that you explicitly go against Alastor's wishes.

For one, that is because your goals and interests usually align either way; whether that's through fate or through Alastor's careful observations and plans is not for you to know. Secondly, you're well aware there's a good reason as to why he'd prefer to keep you out of the V's territory entirely; Vox seems eccentric and intimidating on a good day, and, from what you've heard, his obsession with your husband borders on insane. Neither of you doubt for even a second that he'd try and hurt or kidnap you just to get back at Alastor.

Today, however, you really can't help but make an exception. It's not your fault that the antique shop you heard of is located just past the outskirts of Alastor's part of town, and while this would usually mean that you'll simply go there together, stop by it during a walk, that just won't work, not when the necklace you've seen there is supposed to be a gift for him.

He's bought you plenty of jewellery before, both for special events such as Valentine's Day or your birthday, and simply just because a bracelet made him think of you, a ring fit well with your favourite dress, a hair accessory matched the shade of your eyes. It's safe to say Alastor spoils you profusely, and the urge to do the same for him is overwhelming.

You're determined, certainly — and yet, your throat suddenly feels tight when you eye the street in front of you, various posters and LED signs promoting the V's, naked bodies displayed in every storefront's window.

This isn't your kind of area, really. While you're not a prude per se, you're already not looking forward to other sinners coming up to talk to you, hands touching you unnecessarily much, tones sultry purrs.

It's for Alastor's sake, though. You're fine with some pushy demons approaching you as long as you keep your goal in mind; and seeing him smile with true surprise and joy was going to be worth it a thousand times. Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself, taking one last look at the ominous sign, proudly claiming to have the wettest holes in all of Pride, you have been hiding behind.

It turns out your concerns are entirely unnecessary.

The very moment you step into the small alleyway, cringing instinctively in order to avoid drawing attention to yourself, shadow coils around your ankles, and a split second later you're back where you started, once more looking at the advertisement.

What?

Brows creasing, you move forward again; sure enough, you don't get further than a few metres before you're magically teleported behind the territory's border again. This is odd.

Two more attempts don't cut it, either. At this point, you're huffing, arms crossed in front of your chest, eyes narrowed unhappily, though, just as you raise your foot again, stubborn, the air around you shifts.

“It appears you're lost, dear.” Alastor's voice, sounding from behind you, tinged with amusement, really shouldn't make you flinch anymore, and yet you can't help but jump at his sudden materialisation, shadows curling around his limbs before finally fading into nothingness. “One would almost think you're doing it on purpose.”

“Goodness, you scared me”, you choke out, heart beating erratically against your ribcage. “I'm doing what on purpose?”

“Why, attempting to leave safe grounds, obviously.”

Ah. Right. Instinctively, you push your lips forward, hands now on your hips. You can't even deny any accusations. “Well”, you say, hesitating for a moment or three, “I was.”

Alastor leans forward, weight supported on his cane, eyebrows raised. “Is that so? I can only wonder why you'd endanger yourself this eagerly, darling.”

“That's a secret.”

“A secret?” His eyes sparkle, red glowing in the low light. “Colour me intrigued.”

“Well, I won't tell you.” You scoff. “Besides, I really doubt anything would have happened to me.”

“Is that so?” Alastor laughs, the noise so sharp that the contrast between it and the fondness in his gaze is startling. “Have you seen yourself, sweetheart? There were three men in the past five minutes alone, circling around you like vultures.”

The sudden use of the past tense makes you pause; you don't even bother to turn around and look for them, knowing you won't find anything that's left.

“Oh.”

“Yes, indeedy! Now, let's get you home, shall we?” Arms now linked together, Alastor is quick to lead you away from neon signs and bright LEDs; the one time you're about to be approached by a guy, seemingly blind to danger, to the reputation of the Radio Demon, his ears twitch backwards, the sound of his staff repeatedly hitting the ground the noise you decide to focus on instead of the quickly silenced screams.

It's quiet afterwards. Usually, you're able to enjoy the comfortable silence Alastor and you often settle in, proof of familiarity, though this time guilt gnaws at you, urging you to explain yourself, to prove that you didn't go against one of the few boundaries he has set without any important reason at all.

You'd hate for him to think that you don't take his concerns for you seriously. Your throat feels tight.

“I wanted to buy something for you.” The words leave your mouth quietly, though they catch his immediate interest nonetheless, scarlet gaze now focusing on your eyes, cast downwards. Still, he doesn't respond, prompting you to elaborate. “A necklace. I—, well. I thought it'd suit you.” The continued silence makes your chest ache. “You always buy me gifts that I absolutely adore; I merely wanted to do the same for you.”

Both of you come to a halt. A single claw moves underneath your chin, gently tipping it up. “I appreciate the effort, darling. Still, your safety is much more important to me than any surprise.” The warmed leather of his glove sends a shiver down your spine. “How about we go and take a look at it tomorrow, yes? I do promise to keep my eyes averted until after you've purchased it. Sound fair?”

That's not the point of a surprise gift. Nonetheless, your lips split into a toothy smile as you nod. “I'd love that.”

“Lovely! For now, I'm starved! How about I cook for us once we're back at the Hotel? What are you in the mood for, darling?”

i cannot tell you how huge the urge to write a long multichapter fic for him is....

[ceruark]

liquid courage

synopsis: aventurine leaves your drunk boss on your doorstep. notes: ceo! sunday x gn! personal assistant! reader. modern au (he's still an angel though, don't ask me how or why. the wings are important to me). fluff. cw: none! (implied aventurine/ratio, but nothing major) words: 3,147 inspiration: every kdrama ever

It was, for the first time in several months, a relaxing night.

After weeks of traveling between worlds and meeting with various business partners, you finally landed back in the place you called home: a rather luxurious unit in Golden Hour's finest apartment complex. It was far too big for one person and beyond what you dreamed of affording growing up, but it was necessary.

Not only were Golden Hour's Platinum Terraces a fifteen minute drive away from Dewlight Pavilion, but they also had the best security Penacony could offer. As the personal assistant of Halovian Corporation's esteemed CEO, you had a rather large target on your back. So, despite your initial hesitations, you'd agreed to live in the flashiest building in Golden Hour.

It wasn't like your wallet was suffering because of it. The astronomical cost of rent hardly put a dent in what the Oak Family deposited into your account every other week.

You sighed and stretched out leisurely on your couch, flipping through the channels until you settled on a showing of one of your favorite movies. You let it play in the background while you responded to messages from friends you hadn't had the chance to get back to during the trip. In between enthusiastic conversations and pictures of the fancy meals and hotels you'd stayed at, you scrolled through your social media accounts, grimacing at your feed when it recommended a picture taken of you without your knowledge.

It shouldn't have surprised you that being around Sunday constantly would put you under the same spotlight he grew up in. Heir to the Oak Family's fortune and beloved by Penacony's citizens, the only person on the planet who could complain about having more cameras shoved in their face on a daily basis was his darling sister. As his assistant, you showed up in almost every photo his fans snapped of him. Over the past four years, his fanbase picked apart everything about you: your appearance, your upbringing, your interests, and your lifestyle habits. You weren't quite sure what spurred them on— sheer jealousy at your proximity to him, or their infatuation for him extending to you— but they had all reached the same conclusion: you were rather unremarkable.

You were raised by your parents in a suburb about 30 miles out from Golden Hour. You performed well enough in university, graduating in the top percent of your class, but not as valedictorian. You managed to get hired at Halovian Corp out of college, and you'd been consistently promoted each year since then, moving from secretary to administrative secretary to personal assistant of a high-ranking director, until eventually, you ended up at Sunday's side.

Though your career was impressive, your life lacked intrigue that news outlets and Sunday's fans vied for. You didn't come from money, you weren't dating anyone famous, and therefore, you weren't worth thinking about. You preferred things that way, but it still didn't make seeing pictures of yourself floating around online any easier.

(Especially when people began overanalyzing how Sunday spoke to you in this video, or looked at you in that photo. Their theories had substance to back them up, and you didn't like to think about it. It took damn near two years to perfect the professional front you kept up with your gorgeous boss, thank you very much, and it had only been about a year since he started actually acting himself around you— you couldn't afford to start slipping up now.)

As you scrolled past a fancam of Robin, a message notification popped up at the top of your screen. You tapped on it, and raised an eyebrow at the sender.

Aventurine: hey. you in?

The IPC director was an unlikely friend, but after dealing with Sunday for years and becoming the unofficial point of contact between the IPC and Halovian Corp, you'd started seeing him often enough that you agreed to go to a bar with him one night when you were off the clock. He was good company, and the two of you kept in touch.

One day, after finding out you'd been talking with Aventurine outside of business ventures, Sunday was oddly insistent that he join you two on that night's excursion. You were hesitant to agree, given that Sunday and Aventurine were civil at best and downright antagonistic at worst. But, Aventurine had readily agreed to letting Sunday attend, so you said yes as well. The night had gone better than expected, and after a few more impromptu meetings, Sunday had started talking to Aventurine regularly as well.

You were glad to see your overly cautious boss make a friend, even if he would never admit that they were.

You: yeah, what's up?

His response was instantaneous.

Aventurine: great. let me in, will you?

Your eyebrows drew together. You'd mentioned you lived in the Platinum Terraces, but you'd never brought Aventurine back to your apartment. How did he know where you live?

You leaned off the couch and toward the coffee table to pick up one of the screens hooked up to the alarm system. You tapped a few buttons on the screen until the feed from the camera facing the hallway came up.

Aventurine stood in front of your door, talking animatedly to your boss, who was propped up against him. You couldn't see his face, but you didn't need to to know he was inebriated. He probably wouldn't be so close to the blonde otherwise.

"What the hell?" You muttered, rushing over to the door. Sunday hardly ever drank, and if he did, it was never enough to get him past the point of tipsy. You quickly undid the bolts and threw it open.

Aventurine and Sunday looked up at you. Amusement danced in the former’s eyes, and for whatever reason, he seemed to be very pleased with himself.

Sunday blinked slowly, adjusting his vision to the sudden disappearance of the door. His eyes scanned your face for a moment before his features lit up with recognition. His wings twitched a bit as he tilted his head to the side. The slightest of smiles pulled at his mouth, and your name fell from his lips in the form of a whispered question.

You flushed red. You suddenly felt very self-conscious of your Hanu themed pajama pants.

Your gaze snapped back to Aventurine, who smirked back at you. You ignored it. "What happened?"

"We went out drinking and someone—" He turned to Sunday, whose gaze still hadn't left you. "—got a little carried away."

"And you didn't think to take him back to Dewlight Pavilion?"

"I think you and I both know there would be consequences if he returned there in this state."

You grimaced. He was right. Undoubtedly, there would be paparazzi camped outside of the Oak Family's estate. There always was.

"Okay, you didn't think to take him back to your place?"

Aventurine moved his free hand to his chest in mock offense. "Bringing a drunken man home to my brilliant boyfriend who's already waiting for me in bed? You must be praying on my downfall."

You glowered at him, but before you could respond, the rustling of feathers caught your attention. You turned, watching your boss sway on his feet. He watched you with a frown, appearing more upset than you'd ever seen him.

"You don't want me here?" He pouted, and his wings fluttered dejectedly.

Your stomach flipped over, and you reached out to grab his other arm as he stumbled away from Aventurine.

"No, no, that's not it." He moved away from the blonde completely as you reassured him, leaning into your touch. You grunted as you struggled to keep him upright. "I'm just worried about you being somewhere you don't feel comfortable."

He hummed, leaning forward and nuzzling his face in your hair. "I'm far more comfortable with you than the gambler."

Aventurine watched the two of you, smugness rolling off him in waves. "Yeah," he laughed, "we can see that."

You were going to kill Aventurine. You were going to tuck Sunday into your bed, leave a glass of water and an Advil on the nightstand, and then you were going to hit the blonde with your car.

You shot him another glare before turning back to Sunday. You pulled one of his arms around your shoulders and wrapped one of yours around his waist to steady him. He turned bright red suddenly and you opened your mouth to ask him if he felt sick, but his wings started flapping again. This close, a few feathers smacked into your mouth, and you sputtered.

Aventurine's unrestrained laughter brought your attention back to him. You snapped at him. "Can you make yourself useful and get the doors for me?"

It took everything you had left in you to get Sunday into your bedroom and withstand Aventurine's teasing, but eventually, you managed to get there. You eased Sunday down on the bed, keeping a hand on his back to ensure he stayed sitting upright.

"Are you feeling sick?" You asked.

Sunday shook his head. He leaned over and rested his head on your shoulder. Fighting down another blush (you refused to give Aventurine more ammunition), you tried to pull yourself away from him, but he wrapped his arms around yours and held on.

"Sunday," you said, "I need to go get you water. Can you let go of me, please?"

His voice was muffled by your shirt. "Aventurine can get it."

Said man huffed, but he was too entertained to be truly annoyed, or to decline. "Sure I can," he agreed, before addressing you. "Where are your cups?"

"Top right cabinet," you answered, and he set off.

Sunday's head lolled to the side, rolling off your shoulder. His pout was still there, and it set your face aflame. "It's too hot," he complained.

And then he started to take his coat off.

Well, he tried to. His clumsy movements caused it to get tangled in his arms.

"Here, let me help you," you offered against your better judgment. You stood and reached behind him, carefully guiding his arms out of the sleeves. You turned around and walked over to your closet, hanging the coat on a nearby hook.

When you faced him again, he already had his shirt halfway off.

Xipe, give me strength, you thought to yourself, tearing your gaze away from his bare skin. Your gaze lingered on the wings sprouting from his lower back, which sat curled around his abdomen. When he managed to get the shirt over his head and onto the floor, he unfurled the second set of wings. They spanned the entire length of your bed and were much darker than the ones by his hair. He gave a few languid flaps before settling down, causing them to droop. You closed your eyes and pressed your palms against them. So much for keeping up your professional front. You had no idea how you were going to face him when he sobered up.

A choked gasp prompted you to drop your hands from your face. Aventurine almost dropped the glass in shock when he returned. 

"Well," he said as he placed the glass down on the nightstand. "Seems like it's time for me to leave."

You sent him one last scathing glare. "I can't believe you."

Faux innocence crept onto his face. "Whatever do you mean? I haven't done anything."

You crossed the room and shoved at him. "Out." You pushed him back down the hall and to the open front door. "Get out of my house."

"Wow. Eager aren't we?" He winked at you.

"Eager to get my revenge. Veritas will love the video I have of you drunk and blubbering about how much you miss him," you said. Then you slammed the door in his face.

As soon as the door shut, Sunday called for you from the bedroom. You'd heard him use a sickly sweet tone with clients before, but this one lacked the venom that usually accompanied it. It was like he was singing each syllable of your name, savoring the way each sound rolled off his tongue.

"I need to type up my resignation," you muttered to yourself. You could handle Sunday in the beginning when he was standoffish and paranoid, but there was no way you were making it through this.

You walked back to the room, willfully overlooking the way his hanging wings straightened up when you reappeared in the doorway. You stopped a few feet in front of him, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

"Hey," you said softly. "Let's get you to bed, alright?"

Sunday blinked at you, then looked down at the comforter under his fingers. "I am at the bed."

You snorted. "Well, we should get you under the covers."

His nose scrunched in displeasure. "No. It's too warm for that."

You sighed. There was no point in arguing with him in this state. "Alright, then. Lay down, and make sure to stay on your side. If you feel sick, there's a trash can right here by the bed. If you need anything else, I'll be down the hall."

You turned to leave, but his hand caught your wrist with surprising speed. He stared up at you with wide eyes. "Where are you going?"

You tilted your head at him. "Um, to bed?"

His brow furrowed slightly, the way it usually did when he was in deep thought. "But this is your bed."

"Yes, it is." You slipped your wrist out of his grasp, but he caught you again by the fingers. "I'm going to sleep on the couch. I won't be far."

The hold he had on your fingers was tighter than you thought. You pulled away, expecting to be freed, but tripped a bit when the rest of your body didn't follow your legs. He pulled you toward him and tumbled forward, falling onto the bed. He moved over and drew you closer to him, draping one of his wings across your waist and legs.

You didn't know if your heart had stopped, or was just beating so fast you couldn't feel it.

"Um, Sunday," you said, the rest of your words coming out as a babbled mess. You tried to untangle yourself from him, but he just clung on to you, refusing to let go.

"Please don't leave me," he mumbled.

You finally managed to put enough distance between you two that you could look him in the eye. "Sunday," you said, "you're drunk. You're going to regret this in the morning."

He frowned. "I will not regret something I've dreamed of doing for months."

In the end, it was neither. You were certain your heart was beating so hard it burst, and now you were dead. When you tried pulling away again, he placed a hand on your cheek, freezing you in place.

"Please," he whispered. "Just give me five minutes."

The desperation in his voice whittled away at the rest of your resistance. You settled down on the mattress, allowing him to hold you but not getting close enough for it to be considered cuddling. Staring at the ceiling in silence, you mulled over his words.

He was dreaming about cuddling, or intimate touch of some sort. It shouldn't be surprising that a twenty-seven year old man longed for that kind of companionship, but whenever other members of The Family had brought up him not having found a partner yet, he always shrugged them off. You figured it was because he generally wasn't interested in finding someone, but maybe it was just that he didn't want the rest of The Family involved in something as personal as his love life.

"I can talk to Robin about suggesting eligible suitors for you, if you want," you said. "We can even outsource their background checks to the IPC. Aventurine will be annoying about it, but I'm sure he'll agree to do it."

There was a long stretch of silence. Sunday finally spoke just as you'd begun to regret your words. "Why would you do that?"

You looked at him, confused. "You said you've dreamed of this."

"Yes," he said, "I did say that."

Was he really going to make you spell it out for him? Well, it had to be more embarrassing for him than it was for you. "If you desire... intimacy, it's only natural we start looking for potential suitors for you."

His eyes darkened, and a slight scowl pulled at his lips. At least this face was familiar: disappointment.

"I just told you I've dreamed of this," he muttered.

You nodded in agreement. "You've dreamed of holding someone."

"I've dreamed of holding you."

Oh. That complicated things.

You swallowed back a fit of nervous laughter. Your face felt like it was going to melt off. "I'm sorry." Your voice came out as hardly more than a croak. "I wasn't aware that's what you meant."

He leaned forward, eyes earnest. "Do you still want to look for other suitors for me?"

You considered your words carefully. "Not if it's something you don't want."

He hummed, then laid his head against the pillow. His breath fanned over your face as he spoke. It smelled like mint and whiskey. "Do you want to be my suitor?"

You pulled your gaze away from his lips and to his eyes. You didn't even know how your eyes got there. "I think you should ask me again when you're sober."

He studied your face for a long moment, then let his eyes flutter shut. "Fair enough," he said.

You laid there for a moment, allowing your heart rate to come back down and letting yourself take him in. His lips were slightly parted, even breaths slipping through them as sleep claimed him. His face wings twitched ever so often, usually followed by a twitch of the larger wing still wrapped around you.

You weren't certain how long you stayed there, just studying him, but at some point your blinks had grown heavier and you were fighting to keep your eyes open. You gave one last shove against Sunday's arm and wing to try and free yourself, but even unconsciously, his resolve could not be shaken. He huffed at the disturbance and buried his face further into the pillow. His wing tightened around you as he tried to curl in on himself, dragging you closer to him.

You sighed and rested your head on the pillow again. It was going to be impossible to get away from him now that his limbs were heavy with sleep. Knowing it was futile to try again, you let your eyes slip shut. You shifted into a more comfortable position, moving one of your arms to rest on top of the wing.

Five minutes, you lied to yourself. I'll try again in five minutes.

[mythicalmaven]

Beyond Boundaries - Oscar Piastri (PART EIGHT)

Masterlist

let's go chapter 8! :) Can't wait to start on chapter 9!

↳pairing: oscar piastri x female!norris!reader ↳word count: 4.6K ↳chapters in this series: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, ↳chapter warnings: friends to lovers, mutual pining, brothers teammate trope, bestfriend!reader, fluff, smut, NSFW, 18+ content (mdni!), fingering, masturbation, mutual masturbation, kissing, touching, sexual tension, talking about feelings,

↳series summary: Since Oscar joined McLaren as your brother’s teammate, you two have quickly become best friends. Recently promoted to be Oscar’s physiotherapist, you both relish the opportunity to spend more time together. However, as the new role brings you closer, you both realize you might be feeling more a little more for each other than just friendship

It had been about an hour since your moment, and you were currently fast asleep in Oscar's arms. You head was laying on his chest and he was gently tracing circles on your upper arm with his left hand, while he used the other to scroll through his phone.

He heard a soft knock on the door, before he heard his mom call out "Osc, darling, it's just me"

He looked down at the two of you, contemplating wether or not it would be smart to let anyone find them like this, cuddled up in his bed. But after all, it was just his mom and both you and Oscar were dressed decent enough again, to not catch any eyes.

"Yeah come in" he replied, making sure to keep his voice low, so he wouldn't wake you up.

His mom opened the door, greeted with the sight of her son, looking as content as possible. She smiled at him and leaned against the doorframe "Wanted to ask if the both of you wanted to come down to eat some breakfast together, but I think I know the answer already"

Oscar smiled at her, putting his phone down next to himself "I'm sorry you had to walk in on this. She was just sleeping so peacefully and I didn't wanna wake her up"

Nicole smiled again at them "You look happy, Osc. Don't waste the opportunity just because you guys are afraid of the consequences. It might be worth it"

A sigh left the younger Australians lips, looking down at you, curled up in his arms "Trust me, If it was on me, I would have taken the risk a while ago"

Nicole send Oscar a sympathetic smile "I'll make some breakfast for you and bring it upstairs"

"Thanks mom"

—————⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺—————

A few hours had passed, currently midday, when you made your way back towards Oscar's bedroom, about to take a shower. You had spend the morning with Oscar's sister Mae, playing board games with her.

As you opened the door, you were greeted by the sight of the Australian driver lying belly down on his bed, scrolling through his phone. You walked over to his bed, standing beside him. A cough left your lips softly to alert him to your arrival, causing Oscar to immediately switch positions, now lying on his back, looking up at you.

"Hi," he murmured, a small blush immediately making its way to his cheeks again. It was endearing how easily he got flustered.

Ever since the two of you had spent the night in his hotel room, Oscar found it impossible to look at you without feeling butterflies erupt in his stomach, constantly replaying what you had done together. It felt forbidden, yet so good.

Oscar looked you up and down, checking you out rather obviously. You were wearing a pair of shorts and a black cropped top, which wasn’t anything special, yet to Oscar, you looked stunning.

"You like what you see?" you sassed at him, a cheeky smile on your face, expecting to make Oscar flustered by catching him staring. But he did the last thing you expected.

He grabbed your arm with his hand and pulled you down onto him, before flipping you around and hovering above you. The sudden movement made your heart race, and the playful glint in his eyes told you he was in a teasing mood.

Oscar rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm on your skin. "And what if I do?" he whispered, his voice low and teasing. "Were you planning on doing anything about that?"

You gulped, the proximity and intensity of his gaze making your pulse quicken. Trying to maintain your composure, you shot back, "Maybe I'll just have to make you stop staring."

He smirked, his eyes never leaving yours. "Good luck with that," he murmured. His hands began to roam over your body, sending shivers down your spine. He squeezed your hip, causing you to gasp softly, and then moved his hand to your ass, giving it a playful squeeze.

Oscar's other hand raked through your hair, the gentle touch contrasting with the growing tension between you. You felt his breath on your lips, so close yet so far. Just when you thought he would kiss you, he pulled away slightly, a teasing glint in his eye.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your voice a mix of frustration and desire.

He grinned mischievously. "If I'm not allowed to stare, then you don't get a kiss," he teased, his tone playful but charged with sexual tension.

You rolled your eyes, feeling a mix of amusement and annoyance. "That's not fair," you pouted.

Oscar leaned in again, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours. "Life's not fair," he whispered before pulling back once more, leaving you on edge.

"You're such a tease," you muttered, half-joking, half-frustrated.

He chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "And you love it," he replied, his hand caressing your cheek.

The playful banter and the undeniable chemistry between you both made the moment electric. You knew you were in for a wild ride with Oscar, and despite the tension, you couldn’t help but feel thrilled by his playful antics.

Oscar chuckled and slowly pulled away, offering you his hand to help you get up. You accepted it, and he effortlessly pulled you to your feet.

"Thanks," you said, brushing off your shorts. "I actually came here to take a shower. Is that okay with you?"

Oscar gave you a look of mock indignation. “You don’t have to ask things like that. Everything you do is okay with me.”

You smiled, a little shy but also playful. "I just felt like I had to ask."

Oscar smirked, "Well, for the record, you never have to ask for permission to use my shower. Or anything else."

You rolled your eyes again, but a smile played at your lips. "Noted. Now, if you'll excuse me."

A little time passed as you grabbed your things and headed into the bathroom. You stepped under the warm spray of the shower, sighing in relief. But as the water cascaded over you, you realized you had forgotten your shampoo and shower gel on the desk.

"Oscar!" you called out, your voice carrying through the slightly ajar bathroom door.

Oscar walked over, standing just outside the door. "Yeah? Need something?"

You saw his silhouette through the crack in the door, the tension between you rising again. He quickly looked away, respecting your privacy even as his mind raced with thoughts. "Did you forget something?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"My shampoo and shower gel," you replied. "They're on the desk. Can you hand them to me?"

Oscar grabbed the items and brought them to the door. He pushed it open slightly, walking towards the shower cubicle, his eyes glued to the ground. "Here," he said, his voice a bit nervous.

You laughed softly at his bashfulness. "Oscar, you've already seen me naked. There's nothing you haven't seen before."

He swallowed hard, still looking at the ground. "I just didn't want to intrude if you didn't want me to."

You smiled, feeling a mix of affection and mischief. "I honestly don't mind. In fact, you can take a little peek, if you want"

He hesitated, his heart pounding. "Are you sure?"

You nodded, teasingly running your hands over your wet body. "Absolutely. Come on, Oscar. It's not like you haven't seen me before."

Slowly, he lifted his gaze, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of you. The water glistened on your skin, making you look even more stunning. He was starstruck, unable to tear his eyes away.

You decided to put on a show for him, pouring the shower gel into your hands and lathering it up. You spread it over your body, your movements slow and deliberate, making sure he could see every detail. Oscar's breath hitched, his eyes darkening with desire as he watched you.

You moved your hands to your breasts, caressing them sensually as you spread the soap. Oscar leaned back against the wall, his breathing becoming more labored. When you turned around to soap up your back, you took the chance to let your hands glide over your ass as well, to which he couldn't help but let out a low groan, his eyes glued to you.

Turning back to face him, you rinsed off the soap, the water cascading over your body. You looked at Oscar, your eyes locking onto his. His arousal was evident, a noticeable bulge forming in his shorts. You smirked, enjoying the effect you had on him.

You moved your hands lower, starting to touch yourself more intimately. Your fingers found your clit, and you began to rub it, throwing your head back a little and moaning softly as you did. Oscar's eyes widened, his breath coming in short gasps.

"You can touch yourself if you want," you said, your voice husky with desire.

He hesitated for a moment, but then his hand moved to his crotch, palming himself through his shorts. He let out a low moan, his hips thrusting slightly into his hand.

You continued to pleasure yourself, your moans growing louder. Oscar's hand slipped into his shorts, stroking himself more urgently. He was mesmerized by the sight of you, his eyes never leaving your body.

The tension built between you, the air thick with desire. Your movements became more frantic, your moans louder. Oscar's breathing was ragged, his strokes quickening as he watched you.

Finally, you both reached the edge. With a final, shared look of intense desire, you both came, your cries mingling in the steamy bathroom.

You looked at each other, a chuckle escaping your lips as you both came down from the high.

You glanced at Oscar, noting the mess he'd made in his shorts. "Maybe you should join me in the shower," you teased. "Since you, you know, made a little bit of a mess"

He grinned, still a bit breathless. "Maybe I should." He practically ripped off his clothes, stepping into the shower with you.

Without wasting a moment, he pinned you against the wall, his lips crashing onto yours in a passionate kiss. The water drenched both of you, adding to the sensuality of the moment. Your bodies pressed together, the heat between you intensifying as you lost yourselves in each other.

Oscar moved his hands down to the back of your thighs to lift you up in his arms, and pinned you back against the wall. You slotted your legs around his waist and draped your arms around his neck, slotting your lips back together.

Oscar moved his hands down to the back of your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly. He pinned you against the wall, your legs wrapping around his waist as you draped your arms around his neck. Your lips found each other again, and the kiss was even more passionate and heated than before. His tongue explored your mouth, and you responded by biting his lower lip gently, eliciting a deep groan from him.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling on it slightly, which seemed to drive him wild. Oscar squeezed your thighs, holding you firmly as the kiss intensified, both of you lost in the heat of the moment.

Eventually, you both pulled away, panting slightly, eyes locked. "That was amazing," you whispered, your voice filled with genuine awe.

"Yeah, it really was," Oscar agreed, his forehead resting against yours as you both caught your breath.

The intensity slowly ebbed away, replaced by a tender, intimate atmosphere. You spent the rest of the shower together in a romantic way, taking the time to wash each other with gentle, loving gestures. Oscar carefully spread the shampoo through your hair, his fingers massaging your scalp in soothing circles. The sensation was calming, making you close your eyes and lean into his touch.

Once your hair was rinsed and clean, you both stood under the warm spray of the shower, hugging each other tightly. The water cascaded over you, washing away the remnants of your passionate encounter. It was a moment of pure closeness, just the two of you holding each other, no words needed.

In that embrace, you felt a deep connection, a bond that went beyond the physical. The worries and complications of your situation seemed to fade away, leaving only the feeling of being completely together, if only for this moment.

—————⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺—————

Later that day, you were relaxing on one of the loungers in the garden of Oscar's childhood home. Oscar had gone inside to due some chores for his mom while she and his dad were away picking up groceries. This meant you had a little time for yourself, which turned out to be perfect timing as Lily and Kelly both had asked you to FaceTime you in a group call once you had the chance. So you took the chance and pressed the call button.

"Y/n Norris!" Lily immediately started once they picked up. "Spill the beans!"

You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly what they were hinting at. "What are you talking about?" you teased back at them.

A loud laugh left Kelly's lips as she heard your fake innocence. "Girl, don't act like you don't know."

"Yeah! What she says! First of all, you're an idiot for snogging with him in public, but that's beside the point," you heard Lily say. "JUST GIVE US THE TEA! You two finally snogged and you didn't even tell us!"

"Well, it wasn't supposed to happen, though."

Another chuckle was heard from the other side of the line while Lily rolled her eyes at you.

Kelly was the one to speak up this time, a smirk across her face. "It wasn't supposed to happen? Keep lying to yourself, girl."

"Yeah, fine, I could have made the decision to not do it. But I was drunk, and then I apparently don't really have a sense of reasoning."

Lily smiled at you, a little cheekily. "But, spill the tea. First of all, is he a good kisser?"

You sighed, rolling your eyes again, not surprised by their curiosity. "Definitely" you said, chuckling a little at the wide eyes you got from the girls. "But we might have gone back to his hotel room afterward. We didn't sleep together, though. We just messed around a bit" you said, explaining broadly what happened between the two of you, obviously leaving out the too intimate details.

Lily wiggled her eyebrows at you knowingly "Was it good?"

"God, yes. I think 'good' might be an understatement. Honestly, might be the best I've had" you gushed cheerfully.

Kelly laughed at you and rolled her eyes a little "It's always the quiet ones that have hidden talents" she quipped, another chuckle leaving the brunettes lips.

"For real" you laughed "Can assure you that we legit had the best sex, I've ever had" you exclaimed, unaware of the slip up you just had.

Lily then looked at you questioningly "I thought you just said you didn't have sex"

"Oh" you muttered, realizing you just misspoke "Well, we didn't in his hotel room" you said, clenching your teeth together.

Kelly and Lily both giggled at you, finding it incredibly entertaining that you misspoke, but also got curious about what actually happened "But, that kinda means that you guys hooked up twice in I would say, less than 48 hours?"

"Ehm.. three times actually" you uttered, covering your eyes with your free hand "Four if you include just making out as well"

"Oh. My. God. Norris" Kelly snickered "You honestly keep surprising me every single day"

"I can't help it okay, it just happened"

"Well, you technically could help it, you just didn't want to" Lily deadpanned, a laugh immediately replacing the fake seriousness, before adding "So the conclusion is; you guys are in love with each other, but refuse to get together because of certain reasons, yet you can't keep your hands to yourself"

"Yeah, you could say it like that"

The conversation continued like that for a while, until you noticed that Kelly's mood shifted a little, getting a bit more serious. "Are you planning on sticking with your decision of you two not getting together, by the way?" she asked, a sigh escaping her. "Because, you know, I'm all for having a bit of fun together without strings attached. But as far as I know, Oscar is madly in love with you. Wouldn't it be a bit sad to lead him on like that? Don't you think he'll might get the wrong impression if you start hooking up more often?"

You felt your heart break a little at the thought, not wanting to hurt him in any way, but you still had to make up your mind about it. You let out a soft sigh, spilling your honesty to the girls. "To be honest, I really don't know. Up until yesterday, even though I've been in love with him for a while now, I was still convinced that I had to stick to it, but things kinda changed this morning after we had sex and now I'm not so sure."

Lily shook her head at you, a small grin on her face. "And if I interpreted you correctly, it didn't feel like 'casual hookup sex', or did it?"

You remained silent for a while, thinking about what to say next. "Not really, no," you spoke, the words leaving your mouth hesitantly. "We might have accidentally said 'I love you' to each other at the end."

"Y/n, we really love you and we stand by you most of the time, but I think I can speak for the both of us if I say that you really have to talk to Oscar about this. And then I mean, explicitly," Kelly said, gaining an agreeing nod from Lily.

"I think you should, yes," Lily added, the grin on her face turning into a more caring look. "You really should make up your mind about what you want because it's not fair to either of you, honey."

"Like, don't get me wrong, friends with benefits can work if there are no feelings involved. But you are in love with each other, one of you is bound to get hurt if you keep this going."

You nodded, agreeing with the both of them, unable to really use your words for a reply. Stuck in a war with yourself on how to tackle this dilemma.

"We obviously can't decide what decision to make; you have to do that yourself. But I do think that you at least should talk to Oscar today. He deserves the clarity as well, you know?"

"How can I give him that if I don't even know myself?"

"I think that just talking about it with him might give you the clarity that you need."

"Maybe you're right."

—————⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺—————

At about three o' clock in the afternoon, Oscar's family and you had gathered around the garden table, some snacks and drinks on it. Oscar's dad had picked up Oscar's grandparents, who were staying over for a few days. They were honestly such a cute couple and it was evident how good their bond with Oscar and their other grandkids were, it was honestly delightful to see. It made you warm and funny, thinking about the bond Lando and you shared with your grandparents as well.

You had been talking about basically everything and nothing. Sharing some stories of Oscar when he was younger, as well as about how you gained your interest in your job field. It had led you guys to the current subject of discussion, your current position as Oscar's physio/trainer.

"So, darling, how long have you been Oscar's physio for?" his grandfather asked you.

"Well, I worked as a medical assistant at McLaren for about a year before this, so I already worked alongside him every now and then already. But I only started working as his personal physio since the start of this season" you explained, looking over at Oscar for a second, before redirecting your gaze towards his grandfather "And since the GP here in Melbourne, I also took over the role of his previous trainer, Kim. He was able to get a different position that fitted better with his personal life, so I got offered to take up that role as well, which I gladly accepted"

Chris laughed at his son "Don't be too soft on him tho! He could use a little bit of strictness" he joked "Otherwise he'll get lazy, won't you Oscar?"

Oscar rolled his eyes at his dad and send you a smile, delighted that his grandparents seemed to enjoy your company very well "She's doing a good job" he complimented you "I'm glad she got it. How awesome is it to be able to work so much with your best friend"

"Oh" Oscars grandmother chuckled "Sorry, darling. I thought the lovely girl was your girlfriend."

Oscar turned beet red "N-No! She's not my girlfriend, Nan."

His grandmother looked at you and then back at her grandson "Your eyes say something different, darling. You look at her as if you want to marry her"

"Mom, don't tease the boy" Nicole told her mom, trying to keep her in check a little "They just have a very close friendship"

—————⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺—————

The sun was setting over the ocean, casting a warm golden hue across the beach. The waves lapped gently at the shore, a soothing backdrop to the weighty conversation you knew you needed to have. As you walked beside Oscar, the sand soft beneath your feet, you felt the tension between you, an unspoken understanding that this was a pivotal moment. When you reached a small, secluded ledge overlooking the sea, you both sat down, the air thick with anticipation.

Oscar turned to you, his eyes reflecting the colors of the sunset. "We need to talk about us," you said, breaking the silence. Your voice was steady, but your heart raced. "I think it's time we figure out what's really going on between us. We deserve clarity, both of us."

He nodded, looking down at his hands. "I agree. It's been... confusing. But amazing," he added, glancing at you with a small, sad smile, before speaking up again "We need to make a decision. A firm one. If we decide not to date, we can't keep being intimate. I don't want anyone to get hurt."

You sighed, feeling the weight of your words. "Yeah. We need to be honest with each other."

Oscar reached out and took your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. "So, let's weigh it all out. The pros and cons."

You smiled faintly. "Okay. Pros first."

He thought for a moment, then started, "Well, we're obviously attracted to each other. And we care about each other. I love spending time with you, whether it's working out, watching movies, or just talking. And... I'm in love with you, but you knew that already" he said, his voice breaking. "I love how you challenge me, how you're always there with a smile after a tough day, how you get my stupid jokes. I love how we can talk for hours about everything and nothing"

Oscar took a deep breath, his voice a little unsteady due to the amount of emotions he was feeling at the moment "I love how it feels when I'm with you, like this morning, when we were together... it was perfect. It meant everything to me."

A tear rolled down his cheek, and he wiped it away quickly, but not before you saw it. "I'm in love with you too," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But... the cons."

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "There's the fact that you're my client. My job is to keep you in peak physical condition, and dating could complicate that. There's also Lando. He's my brother, and you're his teammate. If things went south between us... it could get messy."

Oscar looked down, his expression pained and his eyes watery "I know. I think about that too. But what if it doesn't go wrong? What if we make it work?"

You shook your head slightly, feeling the familiar fear creeping in. "It's just... it's a lot of pressure. What if we hurt each other? What if we can't keep it professional? What if it's wrong?"

Oscar's eyes were misty, and he swallowed hard, another tear slipping down his cheek. "I'm afraid too. But the idea of not being with you... that scares me more." He reached up and gently cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. "Does this feel wrong?" he whispered, leaning in to kiss you softly, full of love and tenderness.

The kiss melted your fears away, if only for a moment. It felt right, in the best way possible, but the anxiety lingered. You pulled back slightly, resting your forehead against his. "It feels perfect," you admitted, your voice trembling. "But that doesn't make it any less scary."

Oscar nodded, his hand still on your cheek, tears still flowing. "I know. But maybe we can take it slow. No labels, no pressure. Just... see where it goes. Keep it a secret, if that helps."

You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of doubt, but all you saw was sincerity and hope. "Taking it slow... I think I can do that. But we need to be careful. We need to communicate, be honest with each other."

"Absolutely," he agreed, his voice thick with emotion. "We'll make sure we're both on the same page, every step of the way."

You took a deep breath, feeling a sense of cautious optimism. "Okay. Let's give it a shot. But remember, no labels yet. And we keep it between us."

Oscar smiled, his relief palpable, though his eyes were still glistening with unshed tears. "Deal." He leaned in and kissed you again, this time with more certainty, sealing the promise you had just made to each other.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, you both sat there, hand in hand, feeling a mix of excitement and fear. The future was uncertain, but for the first time, you both felt ready to face it together.

After a few moments of quiet, you felt Oscar shift beside you, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. "About this 'taking it slow' thing," he began cautiously, "what does that mean for... intimacy? Like, when we're alone, can I kiss you or hug you whenever I feel like it? Or does 'taking it slow' mean to you, that we avoid that as well?"

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. "Of course, you can. I love it when you kiss me, or hug me. It makes me feel loved"

Oscar smiled, a bit of the tension easing from his face. "Good. Because I really enjoy it too."

Feeling a mix of shyness and cheekiness, you added, "And just to clarify; for me, 'taking it slow' only applies to us not having a label and not telling anyone yet. It doesn't apply to... you know, the more intimate stuff. Like what we did this morning or in your hotel room."

Oscar's eyes widened slightly, a small smile spreading across his face. "So, you're okay with...?"

You nodded, your cheeks flushing. "Yes, I'm totally fine with it. I actually want that. Just because we're taking it slow in terms of labels and keeping it a secret, doesn't mean we can't enjoy being close to each other."

Oscar let out a relieved laugh, pulling you into a tight hug. "I'm so glad to hear that. Because honestly, I don't think I could keep my hands off you."

You laughed, hugging him back tightly. "Good. Because I don't want you to."

As the stars began to twinkle in the evening sky, you both sat there, wrapped in each other's arms, feeling a new sense of hope and possibility for what lay ahead.

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[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

imagine: it’s been years since Eddie and Steve have seen each other. Eddie still keeps in touch with the Party, with Robin and Nancy and Jonathan and Argyle, but for whatever reason, neither him nor Steve have made a massive effort to stay in touch. Eddie can’t help but feel like he maybe had missed out on something, that he’d been too quick to leave, too quick to write it off as unimportant, meaningless, a fleeting crush. It’s okay. It’s fine now.

Because Eddie has the life he’s always dreamed of. He travels the world, gets paid to play his guitar in front of crowds that scream his lyrics back at him, dates celebrities, and sees things he couldn’t have even imagined back in that Hawkins trailer park. He doesn’t regret much. He can’t, when everything has led him here.

He’s just released his third studio album and it’s been a commercial and critical success. He’d tried something a little different with this project, something a little outside his comfort zone. He’s never been known for his love songs, but he couldn’t help himself this time. He just had so much he’d never had the chance to say until now.

Eddie loves the Grammys. It’s a fun night, full of fellow musicians who care deeply about what they do. He’ll never get used to being in the same place as his idols, the voices he used to listen to when he’d dream of getting the hell out of small-time, small town Indiana.

He’s got a date on his arm this year, a handsome actor who’d just had a film premier in Venice. Eddie loves the attention, knows the fans are speculating about which songs on the new album are about Rob and their relationship. It’s not hard to act like they’re in love; Rob is beautiful, tanned and golden and smiling big for the cameras. It’s easy to fuel the rumors, to make eyes at each other like they think no one is looking. Eddie lives for this kind of thing, loves to put on a show. He kisses Rob right there on the red carpet, like he doesn’t care who’s watching them, like he just can’t help himself.

He’s up for a whole bunch of awards tonight. Album of the Year, Song of the Year, Best Metal Performance…. Eddie’s skin is buzzing, a dull thrum of excitement just under the surface.

Halfway through the ceremony, Eddie wins his first award for his performance in Las Vegas earlier in the year on tour promoting the new album. He doesn’t have a speech prepared, hadn’t wanted to jinx anything by over-preparing, and now he’s nervous he’ll forget someone and not have another chance to tell the world how he’s gotten here.

Eddie’s smiling big when he takes the stage. His face feels stretched, his cheeks hurting. He feels like his body can’t hold all his excitement inside him, all the feelings of love and amazement that threaten to burst through his skin.

He thanks Wayne and the Party first, clutching his trophy in his sweaty fist. They’re the ones that really got him here, the ones that made him believe he was worth saving. The ones that made all this possible.

Then he thanks his management. His agents and producers and tour managers, all the people that make the logistics of touring possible, that give him the ability to do what he loves.

There’s one last person to thank. His PR team had told both him and Rob to lean into the relationship, to embrace the spectacle, and there was nothing Eddie loved more than performing for a captive audience. He looks out into the crowd and finds Rob smiling up at him from his seat. He looks perfect, tan and beautiful, and it reminds Eddie of someone he used to know.

“And to the man who’s inspired every song on this album,” he feels his lips spread into another smile, sees the camera from the corner of his eye and imagines how goofy he must look on screen. He wonders who might be watching, if the person he’s been thinking about for the last ten years even knows he’s winning an award right now. “Stevie baby, thank you, darling.”

There are confused grumbles from the crowd and for just a second, Eddie doesn’t understand. But then he glances at where Rob sits in the crowd, his smile plastic and forced, and he realizes what he’s said. The wrong name. The name of a ghost. The name of a person who only exists for him in his memories.

Eddie’s legs feel numb. His chest starts to ache and his hands feel hollow. Horror spreads through him as he hears the music start to play. The presenters gently usher him backstage, push him toward the darkness, away from the cameras. He stands there out of sight for several moments, frozen, rooted to the spot he’s been left in, before a familiar figure steps into his eye-line.

“Eddie,” Rob says, sounding both surprised and irritated. “What the fuck?”

the question pounds my head, what’s a lifetime of achievement if i pushed you to the edge but you were too polite to leave me? do you miss the rogue that coaxed you into paradise and left you there? will you forgive my soul when you’re too wise to trust me but too old to care?

part one

[bridellashiper]

My Darling Dove

Paring : Bridget x VK! reader

Genre : Fluff/comfort

Fandom : Descendants: The Rise of Red

promot : being a VK isn't easy, nor is being related to Hook, especially when a group of VK'S who think their tough shit starts making trouble towards yourself beloved girlfriend, who just so happens to be the sweetest girl this school has met.

''My dove, I...'' Your voice trailed off as your pink haired sweetheart came into view. Green paint colouring her clothes and face. And the smell was horrible. The paint smelt old and crusted, and the paint itself looked even worse, it looked like a old worn out faded colour of green

You sighed inwardly, you knew how humiliating it was for Bridget, yet she always managed to pull through and forgive.

It was one of the reasons you were so drawn to her, she was sweet, too sweet for her own good but you'd make sure she knew when to stop being so nice to everyone.

''Uliana...I tried, again, today with the cookies but...'' Bridget muttered, attempting to smile but it did little to conceal how she truly felt, and your heart ached for her. You'd already told Uliana there was no need to be so harshly rude towards her.

''Come now, dove, let's get you cleaned up and you can tell me all about it later on, yes?'' You felt guilty, guilty because you'd tried your best in the most subtle way possible. But your effects never seemed to work. No matter how little or subtle they were.

''Oh, no, honey, it's okay. Really I'm fine, it's just a little paint...she'll come around, eventually.'' You hummed dryily and shook your head, taking her hand in yours and lifting in gesture as if you were helping her climb stairs.

''You'know, you don't have to do..this, right? I'm a princess, I can do it myself.'' Bridget giggled softly, a slow but warm crimson blush coaxing her cheeks as she smiled at you.

You brushed off her concerns with a wave of your hand and grinned. ''Please, I'm the sister of Hook, my dove. Everything we hooks do is to charm and impress our lovers.''

Bridget laughed, a sound like tinkling bells that always made your heart feel lighter, even in moments like these. But behind her laughter, you could still sense the lingering hurt, the weight of the day pressing down on her delicate shoulders.

You led her to the washroom, where a basin of warm water awaited. Gently, you dipped a cloth into the water and began wiping away the remnants of the day—the streaks of green paint that marred her soft skin, the smudges that stained her clothes.

The task was tender, almost reverent, as you worked in silence, the unspoken understanding between you two growing stronger with each careful stroke.

Bridget watched you with wide, adoring eyes, the blush still staining her cheeks. ''You know,'' she murmured, ''I don't deserve you, Hook or not.''

You paused, looking into her eyes, the intensity of your feelings threatening to spill over. ''Do not say such nonsense, Bridget. You are worth more than you realize. And you do deserve me, just as much as I deserve you.''

She bit her lip, her gaze dropping to the floor. ''But I always seem to mess things up… Uliana, the others… I'm not sure I fit in.''

You set the cloth down and cupped her face, forcing her to meet your eyes. ''Bridget, My Darling girl, listen to me. You are perfect just the way you are. The others, they may not see it, but I do. You are kind, patient, and forgiving—things that are worth more than any skill or talent. And if anyone fails to see that, then it is their loss, not yours.''

A tear escaped her eye, trailing down her cheek, and you caught it with your thumb. ''But… I want them to like me, too. I want to be someone they can rely on, not just a burden.''

You sighed, your heart aching for her. ''Oh, my dove, You are not a burden, Bridget. You're a blessing. And if they can't see that, then they are the ones who need to change, not you.''

She nodded slowly, her resolve hardening even as a vulnerability shone in her eyes. ''Maybe… maybe you're right.''

You smiled softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. ''I know I am. Now, let's finish getting you cleaned up, and then we'll use that cook book of yours to make something deliciously sweet, Hm?''

Bridget's smile returned, more genuine this time, as she leaned into your touch. ''Okay, Honey. Thank you.''

As you finished cleaning her up, you both sat down on the small couch in the corner of the room, the day's weight slowly lifting. You knew this wouldn't be the last time Bridget faced such trials from Uliana, but as long as you were by her side, you'd make sure no one hurt her again.

[chrisevansonly]

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐭2 | 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬

✯social media au

✯lando norris x female reader

✯a glimpse into life as new parents

✯here is a little requested pt2 to promoted! sorry i’ve been a bit slow recently, i’m just working through some stuff, i’m working through requests as well, and they are open if anyone is curious!

ynnorris

liked by landonorris, mclaren, danielricciardo and 1M others

surprise surprise, everyone meet sasha marie norris. lando and I are very excited to introduce her to you all, I am very tired but it was totally worth it. mommy and daddy love you so much♥️

tagged landonorris

see 456,000 comments

username congratulations!!

username oh sasha is such a cute name 🥹

mclaren congratulations to you both, we can’t wait to see little sasha at the track🧡

liked by landonorris and ynnorris

danielricciardo oh man im crying, full on sob fest rn

>landonorris welcome to my past 48 hours mate😭

charles_leclerc congrats you two! can’t wait to meet her!

>ynnorris ♥️

username please they’re going to be the best parents😭

landonorris i love you both so much, thank you for bringing her into the world, you’re a rockstar baby❤️

>ynnorris I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you, i love you lan♥️

landonorris

liked by ynnorris, martingarrixx, carlossainz55 and 2M others

i’ve been incredibly lucky to experience watching my wife grow our little girl for 9 months before bringing her into our lives. i don’t know anyone else stronger than her and someone who loves with her entire soul. y/n i love you so much, thank you for giving us the gift of a daughter, I’ll continue to love and support you and sasha for as long as i’m here❤️

tagged ynnorris

see 545,000 comments

username UGLY SOBBING

username so i’ll just like drink bleach?

username😭😭

ynnorris lando baby i love you so so much❤️

>ynnorris i’m sobbing right now and it’s your fault

>landonorris im sorry darling, be there soon❤️

carlossainz55 when he has a way with words 😭

liked by landonorris

username i just know he’ll be the best dad ever

ynnorris added to their story!

*comments disabled*

ynnorris

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, lilyhme and 998,000 others

uncle charles is watching sasha for a few hours which means lando and I get to have a little date🩷

tagged landonorris

see 104,000 comments

username i need charles and sasha content rn

username “uncle charles” 😭😭

charles_leclerc willing to babysit anytime, sasha is so cute❤️

>ynnorris you’re the best🩷

>landonorris just remember she will not root for ferrari

>charles_leclerc we’ll see about that mate

username y/n is literally gorgeous🫣

charles_leclerc

liked by arthur_leclerc, ynnorris, landonorris and 2M others

uncle charles on duty, there’s a whole lot of snuggling and sleeping happening over here, we have a little ferrari fan in the making 😉

tagged ynnorris, landonorris

see 234,000 comments

username charles is in his uncle era

username why is this the cutest thing ever😭

landonorris babysitting duties revoked

>ynnorris i’m sorry what was that?

>charles_leclerc yeah lando what was that?

>landonorris 😑😑

ynnorris oh char these photos are so stinking cute!!! thank you for watching her🥺🩷

>charles_leclerc i’ll send you all the photos i took, i’d be happy to watch her anytime❤️

username why does the world want me in pain 24/7?

ynnorris added to their story!

*comments disabled*

[kachowden]

hiii i love your writing so much and i’ve been deprived of jessie so my brain keeps feeding me scenarios that i desperately need you to write FOR INSTANCE: jessie using his special android abilities to spy on darling (like hacking home security, their cellphone, fun stuff <3) and maybe he sees darling in some.. compromising positions, either with other people or on their own.. idk i just need more of him please i’ll take crumbs

Yandere Android x Reader <3

Tw: Stalking, Generally creepy behavior, NSFW themes, Masturbation, Jessie is a freak, Happy Valentines Day

<>. <3 .<>

It was a slow day, even by Jessie’s standards. In a fit of anxious motivation the night before, Jessie had finished a months worth of calculations for the company and was now left with nothing to do.

Especially since his favorite worker wasn’t present today.

You had been given a paid day off due to covering for 4 other workers during the holidays.

“I need the extra pay for my cat. His allergies are acting up again.”

He was happy your work got recognized, he just wished it had been another bonus. Or maybe a day in the rest lounge. Not at the apartments. Away from him. Physically anyway.

Though he’s sure you knew he would’ve given you a bonus regardless of you actually getting any work done.

Doing a quick scan of the days schedule, noting happily, though with less enthusiasm than usual, that he had no meetings today. Which meant no interruptions and no visits to his office.

Privacy.

And of course with that privacy he’d partake in his favorite past time, typically only during weekends.

Watching you from the comfort of his monitors.

Every apartment building has a series of cameras, that only few humans were aware of. Mostly as a way of monitoring the behaviors of coworkers and looking for signs of poor mental health.

If a worker showed signs of poor health, mental or physical, they were automatically removed from the schedule until they recovered or were deemed fit enough to come back and not hinder work.

Of course if the worker decided, they could resign from coming back completely.

He feared the day that ever happened to you though. He didn’t think he would last long without you in the building. He barely lasted the weekends as it was.

That wasn’t important right now though.

Right now he just needed some B75 TLC time.

1-4-3-7

With ease he typed in the memorized address and dorm number of your apartment complex. It was as easy as doing software scans, given how often he checked in on you.

All with your health in mind of course.

Clicking through the few firewalls he smiled anxiously when the screen showed Cam 1. Your living room.

It was hard not to zoom in on various items in your home, even if he had seen them dozens of times before. And memorized their exact location.

Not that was hard for him to do.

A few portraits. A single Vase with wilted flowers from a promotion party months ago.

A cat bed where your- lovely- hairless cat layed, glaring at where the camera was despite Jessie knowing for fact it couldn’t see it.

It didn’t remove any of the chill that permeated his synthetic skin.

His switched to Cam 3, your home office. The camera was already zoomed in from a previous- visit, and as he slowly zoomed out he paused briefly. Those weren’t what he thought they were right? He knew they were yours. Of course he did.

But why was your underwear on the floor??

His synthetic skin was burned a deep cerulean blue. You weren’t a messy person by any means. And typically any article of clothes he was lucky to find was typically in your bedroom. Where there was no camera.

With shakey hands, he fooled himself into believing it was a glitch, and finished zooming out.

Jessie’s voice box glitched when he choked.

There you were, his precious, hardworking, diligent worker, leaning back in your desk chair doing-

“Ah..fucken hell..”

He forgot there were speakers.

Scrambling to plug himself into the monitor his ears flooded with the sounds of you playing with yourself.

Every lewd, beautiful sound registering and imprinting itself onto his hard drive.

The blue of his senors glowed and blinked warnling. Various pop ups appearing in his vision, warning his system that he was overheating, though he merely pushed them away, his eyes entirely unblinking as he stared at the screen.

He felt dirty. Disrespectful in a way.

But he had never felt more alive either.

And god he could not look away. All his sensors were tuned in. He couldn’t hear, or see anything but you.

The only motors that were functioning anymore were his fans and arms. Which was proven when he felt a new pressure on his-lower half and his eyes snapped down to register his hand palming against his office issued jeans.

A loud whirring sound filled the room as his fans tirelessly worked to keep the android from malfunctioning.

His artificial eyes dilating non stop before he leaned back in his large directors chair, hands finally moving to unbuckle his jeans.

A glitched moan poured from the bots lips as he carefully stroked his already unbearably hard cock.

The logistics of an android having a functioning dick was unimportant at this specific time.

Jessie watched in morbid fascination as you fucked yourself to your computer screen. He couldn’t entirely make out what you were watching, but the faint blue glow on one of the individuals was unmistakable

Holy fuck were you watching android porn?

I mean yeah androids practically dominated the industry but you had made your stance on bots very clear. Yet here you were, touching yourself to a video of- was one of those his model??

“Fuck Y/n…” The whine that poured out would’ve been embarrassing if not for his already melted shame.

His receptors took in every detail he could while his hand satiated his growing need.

God he picture it so perfectly.

Your thighs cupped perfectly in his hands, his sensors taking in the softness of your skin, taking in the heat of your very alive being. Feeling you bounce on his cock- fuck or even fucking him against his desk instead.

He gasped and moaned lewdly at what his eyes began projecting in-front of him. You looked so fucken pretty. And you’d feel so fucking good too.

The new upgrade he got would come in handy.

His hand grew quick, timing his release with your own, just to feel a little closer as one of his hands frantically shuffled through a desk drawer, yanking out a coffee stained uniform shirt. your coffee stained uniform shirt specially.

Jessie shakinly held the fabric up to his nose, inhaling deeply with a gargled moan and hunched back. His hips rutting up into his hand once he threw himself back in the chair.

Fuck he was so close- if you just-

“Mm fuck-!”

He cried out when you finally finished, relishing in your labored breaths, his own glowing release staining the mahogany desk and floor.

He panted with no breath, fans on overdrive as he tried to calm himself down, quickly plugging himself into a nearby adapter to reset and power off.

His energy sources were horrifically depleted. He needed to rest.

“I’ll clean up tomorrow…when Y/- B75 comes back….”

Famous last words moment

[crooked-wasteland]

The Anti-Bojack: Anti-Intellectualism and the Death of Substance

In the blog essay “Staging Philosophy: the relationship between philosophy and drama”, Kristen Gjesdal opines on the home of philosophy. Many today would consider philosophy a relic of a bygone era with names such as Keikegaard, Voltaire, and Neitzsche. Many don’t know, however, of the close relationship philosophy has always held with the arts. Gjesdal mentions Ibsen in the article, discussing how many playwrights of the time were avid students of philosophy and how many philosophers regarded the arts highly. Nietzsche spoke of social leaders, specifically the religious leaders of his day in Beyond Good and Evil when he wrote, “Men, not great enough, nor hard enough, to be entitled as artists to take part in fashioning man.” Frankly denouncing the power and influence held by the religious men which he felt was more appropriately left in the hands of artists. In fact, Nietzche considered art the definition of culture and hence why he says that artists are the ones who should be responsible for shaping society and defining what it means to be “man”. As such, the expressions of art, poetry to cinema, is a definition of man and inherently a philosophy.

Bojack Horseman is an openly philosophical series that plays with existentialist schools of thought. Having liked several tweets endorsing the comparison of her work to that of Raphael Bob-Waksberg, Vivienne Medrano demands her work be valued the same way. From being favorably compared to Bojack Horseman to being praised as the “Anti-Bojack”. Which begs to question, what does that even mean? First let’s discuss the Philosophy behind Bojack Horseman, then compare the tweets Medrano liked and her series to that of Bojack directly, and then study the overlapping themes and why Medrano’s style of writing makes her storytelling a mockery to the art.

Existentialism in particular has been the darling of the theater for about the last 150 years, though generally ridiculed by “proper” society. For a philosopher to be labeled a nihilist or existentialist was often a denouncement of their school of thought, often for their general rejection of fundamental social structures like ethics. In 1942, writer Albert Camus published his essay The Myth of Sisyphus, rebranding traditional existentialist concepts as Absurd philosophy.

Camus begins his work poised with the question of suicide and whether life is worth living at all. He argues that life is inherently meaningless, an idea originating with Kierkegaard, but while the latter sided with finding purpose in constitutions like religion, Camus argues that religion itself is a philosophical suicide. In the Routledge encyclopedia of philosophy by Charles Guignon, he writes of the criticisms levied against existential and absurdist philosophies in a society awash in moralist anti-intellectualism. He opens this section by saying, “Existentialism has been criticized from a number of different angles. One line of criticism holds that the emphasis on individual freedom and the rejection of absolutes in existentialism tends to undermine ethics; by suggesting that everyday life is ‘absurd’ and by denying the existence of fixed, binding principles for evaluating our actions, existentialists promote an ‘anything-goes’ view of freedom that exacerbates the nihilism already present in contemporary life.” Which comes from this negative misreading of nihilism.

In their video Nihilism: Are We Missing the Point, youtuber Michael Burns of Wisecrack tells an anecdote of his time in grad school where he paraphrases his professor as saying, “This idea of the constant misreadings of Nietzsche’s writings on Nihilism leads to, his words, angry seventeen-year-old atheists.” Which tends to be the issue when discussing concepts such as nihilism, existentialism and absurdist philosophy. Nietzsche, the credited father of the school of thought, is often taken out of context or his views distorted by society’s sensibilities. For one, the quote given earlier extends further into a condemnation of religion by saying, “Such men, with their "equality before God," have hitherto swayed the destiny of Europe; until at last a dwarfed, almost ludicrous species has been produced, a gregarious animal, something obliging, sickly, mediocre, the European of the present day.” Which many an angry seventeen-year-old and moralist has seen as an endorsement of the might-is-right philosophy that nihilism is credited with.

To a lesser extent, Camus writes in The Myth, “I must say what counts is not the best living, but the most living”. It feels like it should be rather straightforward then, the concept of the thought. More equals better, and Camus practically says as much when he later writes “Why should it be essential to love rarely in order to love much?” However, if one follows the first quote to its natural conclusion, he continues, “The most living; in the broadest sense, that rule means nothing. It calls for definition.” His wording may come off confusing as the essay is translated and the theories involved are dense, but Camus clarifies that “most” could mean the sheer number of experiences or the depth of the experience. He is not saying one or the other is the correct answer, but that both are equally valid ways to live one’s life. The focus, then, is not on directing anyone how they should live, but in the manner they should do so. He says, “It is not up to me to wonder if this is vulgar or revolting, elegant or deplorable … Suppose that living in this way were not honorable, then true propriety would command me to be dishonorable.”

Camus, and even Nietzsche, argue that truth is the only ultimate value. It throws back the moralist dilemma by arguing that living to a code of ethics or values when one is not truly that sort of person is to live reprehensibly. Better is it to live authentically “without appeal” as Camus says, than it is to live the lie of following the rules.

Thomas Polzler from the University of Graz in Austria wrote a 2014 article titled “Absurdism as Self-Help: Resolving an Essential Inconsistency with Camus’s Early Philosophy”. Personally, I fundamentally and adamantly disagree with his assessment that there is any sort of inconsistency in Camus’s writings. Camus’s books of The Stranger, The Plague, and The Fall are not inherently inconsistent, but depict his philosophy in layers.

Like water painting, Camus starts with a thin veneer of color, a loose and almost detached protagonist in Meursault from The Stranger. He is a man aware of the absurd as an individual, the story maintaining the focus of a man living aware his life means nothing and thus seems to have an almost neurodivergent disinterested in the world beyond himself. What he feels in the moment is all that matters, so when he commits murder out of feeling uncomfortable from the heat of the sun and the painful blinding of the light, he is then juxtaposed with the ethical society he exists simultaneously within and outside of. Meursault is held up as a sociopath for not wishing to see his mother’s body the night before her funeral and smoking by her coffin. Because he does not cry at her passing, he is deemed a danger to society. Because he goes on a date to a comedy picture the day after, he is denounced as a menace. None of which has anything to do with the man he killed. The trial highlights the absurdity of ethical society and how the moralists demand the appearance of values over actually having them.

In fact, the trial of Meursault closely resembles that of Bojack and Sarah Lynn. The end of season 3, Bojack and Sarah Lynn go on a cross-country drug-fuelled bender to apologize to people Bojack has hurt in the past, stopping at the Griffith Observatory where Bojack has a profound revelation. He talks about living in the moment and how neither the past or future really matters at all. What you did and your legacy don’t matter if you cannot exist now. It is this moment that he realizes Sarah Lynn is not responding. It isn't until season 6 that it is shown that Bojack waited before calling the police and thus played a hand in Sarah Lynn's death. He is taken to civil court by Sarah Lynn's mother and step-father and made to pay them a fine for his involvement. However, is it really justice when Sarah Lynn's mother exploited her in the business and never once supported Sarah Lynn for what she wanted and what her dreams were, or even just who she was? Can one argue that it is justice when Sarah Lynn was sexually abused by her step-father throughout her childhood? Yes, Bojack does have responsibility in Sarah Lynn's death, but so do her parents. The absurdity of it all being that in no way could there ever be justice for Sarah Lynn.

Brief mental health sidebar. While I have to expressly disagree with Polzler’s reasoning, I do agree with his conclusion. Philosophy and especially Absurd existentialism are powerful tools in the journey to self improvement. It is both the line from Bojack where Diane says "That's the thing. I don't think I believe in 'deep down'. I kind of think all you are is just the things that you do." And Dr. Wong in Rick and Morty when she says, “You seem to alternate between viewing your own mind as an unstoppable force and as an inescapable curse. And I think it is because the only truly unapproachable concept for you is that it's your mind within your control … You are the master of your universe.”

It may be shocking to know that Medrano was not a fan of Dr. Wong, considering the scene all about telling and not showing Rick’s problems. However, this is after two and a half seasons of witnessing Rick’s shortcomings and Dr. Wong is not telling Rick’s problems, but rather identifying the solution. In both the words of Diane and Dr. Wong, who we are, comes down to the choices we make. There is no moral argument being made with either of these comments. Bojack asked Diane to tell him that he’s actually a good person deep down. That he means to be good, that despite his actions he doesn’t want to hurt anyone and that his bad behavior is the fault of his emotionally unavailable and narcissistic parents. So really, he isn’t a bad person. Whereas Dr. Wong calls out Rick’s behavior as a choice because Rick knows he is making these choices.

The difference between Rick and Bojack is the level of personal awareness and responsibility. Rick knows he has the power to change, but simultaneously so miserable but is so afraid of change that he turns himself into a literal pickle and risks his own death over confronting his own choice to stay the way he is. It is easier for him to justify his lack of trying by simply claiming this is just what it means to be as smart as he is. Whereas Bojack feels helpless. Bojack was not set up for success as a child, his success was never validated by his mother and thus he never valued himself, and every time he tries to change he has no internal fortitude to keep from backsliding at the first sign of defeat. Rick knows everything that is making him miserable is himself. Bojack externalizes his misery and thus also externalizes the solution to his problems, which is why he lets himself return to square one whenever things don’t go his way.

Absurdism is the recognition that life is meaningless and thus we have two choices: Live or die. But these concepts are not so straightforward when discussed. To live, in Camus’s philosophy, is to live authentically to oneself. That may sound like Rick’s situation of accepting things as they are, but that is only true in the case of the individual genuinely wanting to be that way. Authenticity is a dichotomy consisting of both how we behave and how we feel. In the case of Rick he lies, cheats, manipulates, and behaves cruelly towards his family. However, it is implied and later revealed that Rick genuinely cares about his family, but is too afraid of experiencing loss to really let them in. So he’s abusive and insulting, keeping his family at an emotional distance that keeps them around, but never too close, making Rick miserable. He really wants his family, so his feelings are at odds with his behavior. So in reality, him claiming “this is just how things are/who I am” is just as weak an excuse and removes agency over oneself as Bojack saying “It’s because my mother was never there for me.”

The actions both Rick and Bojack partake in are what Camus would call a philosophical suicide. Concisely put, to commit a philosophical suicide is to remove one’s sense of agency in their own life. How can one claim to be living when they have no effect on anything including themselves? You would exist in a void no different than a dreamless sleep. Your actions are meaningless, your thoughts are meaningless, your feelings are meaningless because you are a passenger to the act of living. Everything else has power, everyone else can influence you, so you may as well be nothing. Camus includes religion in this section of his philosophy, as living for something other than yourself is the same as not living at all. And this encompasses Ethics.

There is a massive difference between being kind because you are supposed to, and being kind because you want to. This delves further into living inauthentically and how that mere act alone results in misery. Even if one is to behave in a way deemed “right” without making the choice, they will inevitably become resentful. There is no such thing as faking it until you make it. One has to actively choose and change themselves on a fundamental level to find happiness, and that takes work. Just as Dr. Wong says, “It’s just work. And the bottom line is some people are okay going to work and some people, well some people would rather die.”

Which gets to the main point.

Medrano’s liking of a series of tweets calling Blitzo the Anti-Bojack has both infuriated and confused me. I suppose that I should be embarrassed at the latter since it's obvious both Vivienne and her fans lack basic media literacy. It’s actually rather spectacular just how badly they misrepresent the situation of the characters in the narrative. I can only break this down comment by comment.

For one, Bojack’s entire character is that he doesn’t intentionally hurt others. He has his reasons that fundamentally comes from a weak sense of self associated with a child who never had the emotional support he needed growing up. Those aren’t excuses, those are the reasons. Bojack has an unhealed inner child who wants to be a good guy, but he is so caught up in his self-loathing and resentment that he doesn’t do anything about that inner child. Instead he indulges these immature emotions through self medicating with drugs and alcohol, lashing out, promiscuity, and careless spending. These are the symptoms of the problem, the problem does lie in past trauma. The issue is Bojack doesn’t see the solution as himself, but someone or something else. In my post comparing Bojack and Todd’s relationship to Blitz and Moxxie, I pointed out how Bojack and Blitz treat their “closest friends” exactly the same by verbally abusing them and tearing down their abilities. While not always consciously intentional for Bojack, it is to keep Todd feeling codependent on Bojack and thus never leaving him which is abusive and manipulative. For Blitz, the narrative says it's because he is aware of his behaviour and is intentionally pushing Moxxie to be better, which is abusive and manipulative.

My point herein being that these are the same people. There is no Anti-Bojack happening here. If anything, Blitz is more malicious in his abuse seeing as he appears actively aware and intentional in how he mistreats Moxxie. Bojack is abusive towards Todd, but in a way that is a reflection of Bojack. And the series acknowledges how Bojack's inability to be alone actively harms his other relationships. Not just Todd.

In one way, however, Blitz absolutely is the Anti-Bojack. Blitz externalizes the source of his behavior to a character failing on Moxxie's part. And the series reaffirms and justifies Blitz's abuse as okay.

The other misconception of this post is thinking that an explanation is an excuse. Creative Screenwriting did an interview in 2019 with Raphael Bob-Waksberg’s process and philosophy of writing Bojack Horseman, quoting him for the title of the article, “Characters should be understandable in their vulnerabilities.” What Medrano’s fans fail to do, fundamentally, is understand. Their opinions and twitter orations are so barren of understanding that one must ask if they simply choose to ignore what does not serve their narrative or if they really are just incapable of comprehension.

They see Blitz’s mother’s death as a reason for his attitude more than his behavior. His behavior then necessitates that it needs to be excusable. As such, Blitz cannot actually make mistakes. Things happen by chance rather than a deliberate choice on any of the characters’ behalf. The fire in Oops wasn’t a mistake made by Blitz, if it is anyone’s mistake, it is the no-named imp who lit the candle before getting to the room. Blitz didn’t intend to bump the other performer, he just happened to turn at that moment. His mistake, then, is one that only makes sense on a metanarrative aspect. His mistake was deciding not to confess his feelings to Fizz. Which… no. As novel as the concept of the butterfly effect was in 2015, the fundamental nature of something inconsequential being attributed to a disaster negates blame. No one is going to blame the butterfly for a hurricane. Similarly, Blitz’s decision to not confess has nothing to do with the fire, in fact the fire itself is not even his accident. His contribution begins and ends with accidentally bumping the other imp; a situation that would have been entirely harmless if not for another character’s unrelated decision made off-screen.

Additionally, Blitz is a heinously insufferable individual who has been nothing but insulting and abusive to his “friend” throughout the series. He sexually abuses Moxxie in Harvest Moon by touching his penis against his will. He threatens to rape Moxxie and Millie in Murder Family. Blitz humiliates Moxxie through emasculation by masculinizing Millie over Moxxie, mocking Moxxie’s anatomy through his weight and genital size, and degrading Moxxie’s hobbies and abilities. Often without any prompting whatsoever and for Blitz’s own personal enjoyment. Blitz simply is a malicious individual, and at one point the series seemed to know that. The issue isn’t that Blitz is an awful person, it’s the lack of acknowledging that fact. The fans and Medrano conveniently ignore who this character is and what he has done to justify him instead of seeking to understand him. This is a running theme throughout the show.

I also briefly compared the scene in Oops to Herb and Bojack in this post, but I didn’t focus so much on the characters and more the metanarrative reason why Bojack worked and Helluva Boss didn’t.

Here, let’s look at why Bojack went to see Herb: Because Herb told him to. Unlike the scenario between Fizz and Blitz where they didn’t see each other for fifteen years and then conveniently run into each other and just so happen to be spotted by Crimson and Striker who, for some reason, know all about Fizz and Ozzie being a thing and they just keep Blitz around because … he’s the main character. Sure, one could argue both Crimson and Striker have a personal thing against Blitz, makes you wonder why they didn’t, you know, do anything to him? No torture or revenge of any kind, he’s just there now. Conveniently tied up and kept with Fizz instead of literally anything else they could have done with him. There is no internal logic to the characters as to why things turn out this way. As seen in the Mammon episode, it's a metanarrative compulsion to make sure Blitz is in every episode regardless of whether it makes sense or goes anywhere, or not.

Another sidebar, but the fact that so much of the series is not able to be explained within the narrative and requires an understanding of how Medrano and her team formulate a script is a huge issue. It removes the ability to properly dissect the characters as individual people and necessitates a reading of them that is how Medrano wants the audience to think about them. When it comes to the character dissections, it is effectively impossible to have a complete or coherent reading in regards to the literary philosophy of the Death of the Author. You have no story or character if you remove Medrano. The world as a whole completely falls apart unless you inject it with her metacommentary and narrative intention like one would preserve a corpse through glycerin. There is absolutely no substance here. And the longer she goes on, trying to compile the whole show into a coherent narrative of its own is like building a skeleton with a human ribcage, an ostrich spine, an elephant skull and the lower half of a barbie doll.

Bojack calls Herb after finding out he is dying from cancer, Herb tells Bojack to come visit him. He refuses to talk to Bojack any other way, and Bojack is compelled to go by his guilt, not ego. Herb calling him to his house obliterates Bojack’s ego, this is Herb’s home and he is the one being summoned. This is where Herb has the most power compared to, say, over the phone. This is not only a move of superiority on Herb’s part, but an act of submission on Bojack’s. Herb forces Bojack to come to him. Once again, this is what power dynamics look like. But, despite the resentment and awkward bitterness, he does want to see Bojack.

I don’t know how many times I can articulate this. Herb is the one in control and he is the one who wants to see Bojack and he is the one calling the shots. Not at all comparable to Fizz being kidnapped, forced to interact with Blitz and then wholly reliant on him due to the narrative in order to facilitate this forced reconciliation. Herb and Bojack are people with complex feelings and agendas. Blitz and Fizz are two dolls being smashed together and held in place by the will of a childish god.

Second, the reason Bojack calls Herb is because he feels guilty, not for abandoning Herb but because he betrayed Herb. He told Herb he would stand with him and walk off the show if they tried to fire his friend, but according to Bojack, he was a coward and didn’t keep his word. He feels guilt for that, he regrets it. But when he apologizes to Herb for it, Herb corrects him. It isn’t because Bojack didn’t keep his word, like the horse man thought, it was because he thought the betrayal was more important than their friendship.

He’s a coward, but not for staying on Horsing Around. He’s a coward because he didn’t believe in their friendship. They were together for years and Herb thought that meant something, but Bojack avoiding Herb and never reaching out to him showed how little their friendship meant to him. And it wasn’t because Bojack didn’t care, Herb knows that. And that fact is necessary to understanding the sequence. Bojack didn’t value the friendship because he thought he was valueless. He avoided Herb because he thought Herb would never forgive him, because that is how little Bojack thinks of himself. Him calling Herb is the active display of him still not forgiving himself, so he needs Herb to do it for him. And Herb knows all of this.

“You know what your problem is? You wanna think of yourself as the good guy. Well, I know you better than anyone else and I can tell you that you're not. In fact, you'd probably sleep a lot better at night if you just admitted to yourself that you're a selfish goddamn coward, who takes whatever he wants, and doesn't give a shit about who he hurts. That's you. That's BoJack Horseman."

Bojack has no value in himself, leaving him extremely fragile. So he took what he wanted, he took their relationship and defined it for both of them. He ran away, protecting himself while determining that this is what Herb would want, and left Herb alone and powerless even in his closest friendship. Which is why Herb demands Bojack come to see him, it’s Herb reclaiming his power in the relationship. And all of this only has any meaning if you clearly define the fact that Bojack apologized for the wrong thing.

There’s an alternate universe where Bojack doesn’t go back and apologize at all, and he and Herb rebuild their friendship anew in Herb’s last days and they simply, quietly agree to start over. Because that’s not off the table. Herb still values the telescope. He still values their friendship. Bojack, once again, takes it away. And Herb, a dying man, fights viciously to keep hold of it. Him not forgiving Bojack is not wanting his friend back, if anything, it’s because he desperately wants Bojack back that he won’t forgive him.

The telescope isn’t just a metaphor when it breaks. It's the symbol of their friendship the entire time, and the physical actions taking place over it are a screenshot of what happened. Bojack took their friendship and left with it. But it meant something to Herb, and you would only know that by how he fights over it now. And when it breaks it shows that, because of Bojack and his cowardly need to run away from his problems, their relationship is now, finally, beyond repair. Not because Herb didn’t forgive him. It wasn’t over when Herb didn’t forgive him. The telescope is literally on the shelf the entire time.

Bojack ended it, not Herb.

But just like Bojack, Medrano and her fans believe that forgiveness is the end all of the story. It’s why so many people were not invested in Fizzarolli and Blitz makeup. Because Fizz just forgiving Blitz makes everything they went through meaningless.  It strips the characters and what they went through of depth and nuance in a single moment. It also validates Bojack's general mindset in the belief that one moment can fix a systemic problem. In this case, Medrano isn't the Anti-Bojack, she just is Bojack.

The issue between Herb and Bojack wasn’t the job, or even the time. It was Bojack. And it is the failure of Bojack identifying the part of himself that resulted in this outcome, and not making the choice to do anything different that results in the end of everything. Maybe Herb would never have forgiven the Bojack who left him. But that’s why Bojack needed to be a different Bojack. And he wasn’t.

Wrapping this back around to the start of the essay and how Absurdist philosophy plays into Bojack intrinsically, Herb says exactly that truth to Bojack. That if Bojack was only honest to himself and lived authentically, maybe he would be able to sleep at night. Because being good is less important than being real.

This reminds me of Jean Baptiste Clamence from Camus’s The Fall. A Frenchman in the seedy center of Amsterdam, a city encircled by canals like the rings of hell. He spends his nights in the bar just outside of the red light district, drunk off his ass, it is uncertain if he is actually telling his story to anyone at all. Over the course of four nights, he tells his story of his fall from grace. His self exile to Hell after being unable to cope with his guilt. He tells so many stories of himself, egotistically claiming he has the lost panel of the Ghent Alterpiece in his apartment, the piece titled The Just Judges. 

Even his name is a plea for repentance. John. Baptist. Clemency. He claims to sleep with Judges looming over him. Words endlessly flow from him and he confesses his sins.

It’s when he fesses to witnessing the suicide of a young woman in Paris that he explains why he ran away to Netherlands. He says how she called for help after jumping into the water, but he quickly fled the scene, hearing the splashing below become eerily silent. One could argue that he couldn’t do anything. In the Paris winter, the freezing water of the canal could kill them both, let alone the dangers of trying to save someone who is drowning. The main concern being the victim drowning their savior in a frenzied panic of keeping themselves above the water. It could be said that he did the only thing he could. However, he knows she was aware he was there, so she called out to him specifically when she came to her senses. No one witnessed the incident or knew he was there but her, and no one could fault him for doing nothing.

But he feels the guilt in himself, and thus runs away.

Jean-Baptiste, Bojack and even Diane all have the same mentality. They fetishize their misery and trauma, making themselves important through the loops of suffering they inflict on themselves. Thinking that because the events happened to them, it must mean they are somehow special. That their damage meant something out of all the other people on this planet who suffer. That because they felt alone and responsible, they are a mythical chosen one selected from the masses to do something. They find value in the negative self-image they have, their pain being their purpose.

Because if it didn’t matter, why did it happen to them?

This is where I normally would keep just ripping apart the arguments, but frankly, there isn’t one anymore. For one, the original poster just blatantly lacks any fundamental understanding of Bojack as a series since the entire premise of the show is every season Bojack tries to change.

On a narrative basis, the lack of intentionality on Blitz’s part absolves him from needing forgiveness. Fizzarolli forgiving him holds no weight because Blitz didn’t intentionally set the fire, he didn’t see Fizz in the explosion when he ran away, he didn’t not try to see Fizz in the hospital and then Medrano puts the cherry on top about how Fizz’s life is actually better because of everything that happened. It’s equal parts boring and vile. The conflict is artificial, the resolution is repulsive and contrived. There is no depth to these characters and Medrano actively removes depth, either because she herself lacks the ability to comprehend it or because she knows her fans are incapable of doing so.

Also, let's just not comment on how this line explicitly overshadows Fizz's trauma. Everyone knows you don't end an apology with "but". That negates the whole apology. This is literally "I'm sorry you got hurt and I can never make that up to you, BUT my mom's dead so you don't even know what it's like being me and feeling responsible for that."

While the writers of Bojack sought to make their characters understandable and thus empathetic, they at no point excused or retconned the behavior. The writers on Bojack didn’t do anything to justify their characters in order to control how the audience felt about them. They were showing that the characters were well rounded, had reasons, why they had those reasons, what core memories made them who they are today. And the audience had the choice in how they responded to the characters. Medrano needs her audience to feel the same way about her characters as she does in order for the story to work, because she has never put forth the effort of actually telling this story.

One does not need the interviews with Bob-Waksberg to understand his cast and their story. Everything a viewer needs to know can be found in the show proper. There are not huge points of context happening just over there, off screen, between episodes and relegated to background details. Everything relevant to these characters and their stories is in the show. That has not and at this point never will be the case for Helluva Boss. So in many ways, yes. Helluva Boss is the anti-Bojack.

That's not a good thing.

[rhysdarbinizedarby]

Couch surfer in his 30s. Oscar winner in his 40s. Why the whole world wants Taika

**Notes: This is very long post!**

Good Weekend

In his 30s, he was sleeping on couches. By his 40s, he’d directed a Kiwi classic, taken a Marvel movie to billion-dollar success, and won an Oscar. Meet Taika Waititi, king of the oddball – and one of New Zealand’s most original creative exports.

Taika Waititi: “Be a nice person and live a good life. And just don’t be an arsehole.”

The good news? Taika Waititi is still alive. I wasn’t sure. The screen we were speaking through jolted savagely a few minutes ago, with a cacophonous bang and a confused yelp, then radio silence. Now the Kiwi ­ filmmaker is back, grinning like a loon: “I just broke the f---ing table, bro!”

Come again? “I just smashed this f---ing table and glass flew everywhere. It’s one of those old annoying colonial tables. It goes like this – see that?” Waititi says, holding up a folding furniture leg. “I hit the mechanism and it wasn’t locked. Anyway …”

I’m glad he’s fine. The stuff he’s been saying from his London hotel room could incur biblical wrath. We’re talking about his latest project, Next Goal Wins, a movie about the American Samoa soccer team’s quest to score a solitary goal, 10 years after suffering the worst loss in the game’s international history – a 31-0 ­ignominy to Australia – but our chat strays into ­spirituality, then faith, then religion.

“I don’t personally believe in a big guy sitting on a cloud judging everyone, but that’s just me,” Waititi says, deadpan. “Because I’m a grown-up.”

This is the way his interview answers often unfold. Waititi addresses your topic – dogma turns good people bad, he says, yet belief itself is worth lauding – but bookends every response with a conspiratorial nudge, wink, joke or poke. “Regardless of whether it’s some guy living on a cloud, or some other deity that you’ve made up – and they’re all made up – the message across the board is the same, and it’s important: Be a nice person, and live a good life. And just don’t be an arsehole!”

Not being an arsehole seems to have served Waititi, 48, well. Once a national treasure and indie darling (through the quirky tenderness of his breakout New Zealand films Boy in 2010 and Hunt for the Wilderpeople in 2016), Waititi then became a star of both the global box office (through his 2017 entry into the Marvel Universe, Thor: Ragnarok, which grossed more than $1.3 billion worldwide) and then the Academy Awards (winning the 2020 best adapted screenplay Oscar for his subversive Holocaust dramedy JoJo Rabbit, in which he played an imaginary Hitler).

Waititi playing Adolf Hitler in the 2019 movie JoJo Rabbit. (Alamy)

A handsome devil with undeniable roguish charm, Waititi also slid seamlessly into style-icon status (attending this year’s Met Gala shirtless, in a floor-length gunmetal-grey Atelier Prabal Gurung wrap coat, with pendulous pearl necklaces), as well as becoming his own brand (releasing an eponymous line of canned ­coffee drinks) and bona fide Hollywood A-lister (he was introduced to his second wife, British singer Rita Ora, by actor Robert Pattinson at a barbecue).

Putting that platform to use, Waititi is an Indigenous pioneer and mentor, too, co-creating the critically acclaimed TV series Reservation Dogs, while co-founding the Piki Films production company, committed to promoting the next generation of storytellers – a mission that might sound all weighty and worthy, yet Waititi’s new wave of First Nations work is never earnest, always mixing hurt with heart and howling humour.

Waititi with wife Rita Ora at the 2023 Met Gala in May. (Getty Images)

Makes sense. Waititi is a byproduct of “the weirdest coupling ever” – his late Maori father from the Te Whanau-a-Apanui tribe was an artist, farmer and “Satan’s Slaves” bikie gang founder, while his Wellington schoolteacher mum descended from Russian Jews, although he’s not devout about her faith. (“No, I don’t practise,” he confirms. “I’m just good at everything, straight away.”)

He’s remained loyally tethered to his ­origin story, too – and to a cadre of creative Kiwi mates, including actors Jemaine Clement and Rhys Darby – never forgetting that not long before the actor/writer/producer/director was an industry maven, he was a penniless painter/photographer/ musician/comedian.

With no set title and no fixed address, he’s seemingly happy to be everything, everywhere (to everyone) all at once. “‘The universe’ is bandied around a lot these days, but I do believe in the kind of connective tissue of the universe, and the energy that – scientifically – we are made up of a bunch of atoms that are bouncing around off each other, and some of the atoms are just squished together a bit tighter than others,” he says, smiling. “We’re all made of the same stardust, and that’s pretty special.”

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We’ve caught Waititi in a somewhat relaxed moment, right before the screen actors’ and media artists’ strike ends. He’s ­sensitive to the struggle but doesn’t deny enjoying the break. “I spent a lot of time thinking about writing, and not writing, and having a nice ­holiday,” he tells Good Weekend. “Honestly, it was a good chance just to recombobulate.”

Waititi, at right, with Hunt for the Wilderpeople actors, from left, Sam Neill, Rhys Darby and Julian Dennison. (Getty Images)

It’s mid-October, and he’s just headed to Paris to watch his beloved All Blacks in the Rugby World Cup. He’s deeply obsessed with the game, and sport in general. “Humans spend all of our time knowing what’s going to happen with our day. There’s no surprises ­any more. We’ve become quite stagnant. And I think that’s why people love sport, because of the air of unpredictability,” he says. “It’s the last great arena entertainment.”

The main filmic touchstone for Next Goal Wins (which premieres in Australian cinemas on New Year’s Day) would be Cool Runnings (1993), the unlikely true story of a Jamaican bobsled team, but Waititi also draws from genre classics such as Any Given Sunday and Rocky, sampling trusted tropes like the musical training montage. (His best one is set to Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Tears for Fears.)

Filming in Hawaii was an uplifting experience for the self-­described Polynesian Jew. “It wasn’t about death, or people being cruel to each other. Thematically, it was this simple idea, of getting a small win, and winning the game wasn��t even their goal – their goal was to get a goal,” he says. “It was a really sweet backbone.”

Waititi understands this because, growing up, he was as much an athlete as a nerd, fooling around with softball and soccer before discovering rugby league, then union. “There’s something about doing exercise when you don’t know you’re doing exercise,” he enthuses. “It’s all about the fun of throwing a ball around and trying to achieve something together.” (Whenever Waititi is in Auckland he joins his mates in a long-running weekend game of touch rugby. “And then throughout the week I work out every day. Obviously. I mean, look at me.”)

Auckland is where his kids live, too, so he spends as much time there as possible. Waititi met his first wife, producer Chelsea Winstanley, on the set of Boy in 2010, and they had two daughters, Matewa Kiritapu, 8, and his firstborn, Te Kainga O’Te Hinekahu, 11. (The latter is a derivative of his grandmother’s name, but he jokes with American friends that it means “Resurrection of Tupac” or “Mazda RX7″) Waititi and Winstanley split in about 2018, and he married the pop star Ora in 2022.

He offers a novel method for balancing work with parenthood … “Look, you just abandon them, and know that the experience will make them harder individuals later on in life. And it’s their problem,” he says. “I’m going to give them all of the things that they need, and I’m going to leave behind a decent bank ­account for their therapy, and they will be just like me, and the cycle will continue.”

Jokes aside – I think he’s joking – school holidays are always his, and he brings the girls onto the set of every movie he makes. “They know enough not to get in the way or touch anything that looks like it could kill you, and they know to be respectful and quiet when they need to. But they’re just very comfortable around filmmakers, which I’m really happy about, because eventually I hope they will get into the ­industry. One more year,” he laughs, “then they can leave school and come work for Dad.”

Theirs is certainly a different childhood than his. Growing up, he was a product of two worlds. His given names, for instance, were based on his appearance at birth: “Taika David” if he looked Maori (after his Maori grandfather) and “David Taika” if he looked Pakeha (after his white grandfather). His parents split when he was five, so he bounced between his dad’s place in Waihau Bay, where he went by the surname Waititi, and his mum, eight hours drive away in Wellington, where he went by Cohen (the last name on his birth ­certificate and passport).

Waititi was precocious, even charismatic. His mother Robin once told Radio New Zealand that people always wanted to know him, even as an infant: “I’d be on a bus with him, and he was that kind of baby who smiled at people, and next thing you know they’re saying, ‘Can I hold your baby?’ He’s always been a charmer to the public eye.”

He describes himself as a cool, sporty, good-looking nerd, raised on whatever pop culture screened on the two TV channels New Zealand offered in the early 1980s, from M*A*S*H and Taxi to Eddie Murphy and Michael Jackson. He was well-read, too. When punished by his mum, he would likely be forced to analyse a set of William Blake poems.

He puts on a whimpering voice to describe their finances – “We didn’t have much monneeey” – explaining how his mum spent her days in the classroom but also worked in pubs, where he would sit sipping a raspberry lemonade, doodling drawings and writing stories. She took in ­ironing and cleaned houses; he would help out, learning valuable lessons he imparts to his kids. “And to random people who come to my house,” he says. “I’ll say, ‘Here’s a novel idea, wash this dish,’ but people don’t know how to do anything these days.”

“Every single character I’ve ever written has been based on someone I’ve known or met or a story I’ve stolen from someone.” - Taika Waititi

He loved entertaining others, clearly, but also himself, recording little improvised radio plays on a tape deck – his own offbeat versions of ET and Indiana Jones and Star Wars. “Great free stuff where you don’t have any idea what the story is as you’re doing it,” he says. “You’re just sort of making it up and enjoying the ­freedom of playing god in this world where you can make people and characters do whatever you want.”

His other sphere of influence lay in Raukokore, the tiny town where his father lived. Although Boy is not autobiographical, it’s deeply personal insofar as it’s filmed in the house where he grew up, and where he lived a life similar to that portrayed in the story, surrounded by his recurring archetypes: warm grandmothers and worldly kids; staunch, stoic mums; and silly, stunted men. “Every single character I’ve ever written has been based on someone I’ve known or met,” he says, “or a story I’ve stolen from someone.”

He grew to love drawing and painting, obsessed early on with reproducing the Sistine Chapel. During a 2011 TED Talk on creativity, Waititi describes his odd subject matter, from swastikas and fawns to a picture of an old lady going for a walk … upon a sword … with Robocop. “My father was an outsider artist, even though he wouldn’t know what that meant,” Waititi told the audience in Doha. “I love the naive. I love people who can see things through an innocent viewpoint. It’s inspiring.”

After winning Best Adapted Screenplay Academy Award for JoJo Rabbit in 2020. (Getty Images)

It was an interesting time in New Zealand, too – a coming-of-age decade in which the Maori were rediscovering their culture. His area was poor, “but only ­financially,” he says. “It’s very rich in terms of the ­people and the culture.” He learned kapa haka – the songs, dances and chants performed by competing tribes at cultural events, or to honour people at funerals and graduations – weddings, parties, ­anything. “Man, any excuse,” he explains. “A big part of doing them is to uplift your spirits.”

Photography was a passion, so I ask what he shot. “Just my penis. I sent them to people, but we didn’t have phones, so I would print them out, post them. One of the first dick pics,” he says. Actually, his lens was trained on regular people. He watches us still – in airports, ­restaurants. “Other times late at night, from a tree. Whatever it takes to get the story. You know that.”

He went to the Wellington state school Onslow College and did plays like Androcles and the Lion, A Midsummer Night’s Dream and The Crucible. His crew of arty students eventually ended up on stage at Bats Theatre in the city, where they would perform haphazard comedy shows for years.

“Taika was always rebellious and wild in his comedy, which I loved,” says his high school mate Jackie van Beek, who became a longtime collaborator, including working with Waititi on a Tourism New Zealand campaign this year. “I remember he went through a phase of turning up in bars around town wearing wigs, and you’d try and sit down and have a drink with him but he’d be doing some weird character that would invariably turn up in some show down the track.”

He met more like-minded peers at Victoria University, including Jemaine Clement (who’d later become co-creator of Flight of the Conchords). During a 2019 chat with actor Elijah Wood, Waititi ­describes he and Clement clocking one another from opposite sides of the library one day: a pair of Maoris experiencing hate at first sight, based on a mutual suspicion of cultural appropriation. (Clement was wearing a traditional tapa cloth Samoan shirt, and Waititi was like: “This motherf---er’s not Samoan.” Meanwhile, Waititi was wearing a Rastafarian beanie, and Clement was like, “This ­motherf---er’s not Jamaican.”)

With Jemaine Clement in 2014. (Getty Images)

But they eventually bonded over Blackadder and Fawlty Towers, and especially Kenny Everett, and did comedy shows together everywhere from Edinburgh to Melbourne. Waititi was almost itinerant, spending months at a time busking, or living in a commune in Berlin. He acted in a few small films, and then – while playing a stripper on a bad TV show – realised he wanted to try life behind the camera. “I became tired of being told what to do and ordered around,” he told Wellington’s Dominion Post in 2004. “I remember sitting around in the green room in my G-string ­thinking, ‘Why am I doing this? Just helping someone else to realise their dream.’ ”

He did two strong short films, then directed his first feature – Eagle vs Shark (2007) – when he was 32. He brought his mates along (Clement, starring with Waititi’s then-girlfriend Loren Horsley), setting something of a pattern in his career: hiring friends instead of constantly navigating new working relationships. “If you look at things I’m doing,” he tells me, “there’s ­always a few common denominators.”

Sam Neill says Waititi is the exemplar of a new New Zealand humour. “The basis of it is this: we’re just a little bit crap at things.”

This gang of collaborators shares a common Kiwi vibe, too, which his longtime friend, actor Rhys Darby, once coined “the comedy of the mundane”. Their new TV show, Our Flag Means Death, for example, leans heavily into the mundanity of pirate life – what happens on those long days at sea when the crew aren’t unsheathing swords from scabbards or burying treasure.

Waititi plays pirate captain Blackbeard, centre, in Our Flag Means Death, with Rhys Darby, left, and Rory Kinnear. (Google Images)

Sam Neill, who first met Waititi when starring in Hunt for the Wilderpeople, says Waititi is the exemplar of a new New Zealand humour. “And I think the basis of it is this,” says Neill. “We’re just a little bit crap at things, and that in itself is funny.” After all, Neill asks, what is What We Do in The Shadows (2014) if not a film (then later a TV show) about a bunch of vampires who are pretty crap at being vampires, ­living in a pretty crappy house, not quite getting busted by crappy local cops? “New Zealand often gets named as the least corrupt country in the world, and I think it’s just that we would be pretty crap at being corrupt,” Neill says. “We don’t have the capacity for it.”

Waititi’s whimsy also spurns the dominant on-screen oeuvre of his homeland – the so-called “cinema of ­unease” exemplified by the brutality of Once Were Warriors (1994) and the emotional peril of The Piano (1993). Waititi still explores pathos and pain, but through laughter and weirdness. “Taika feels to me like an ­antidote to that dark aspect, and a gift somehow,” Neill says. “And I’m grateful for that.”

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Something happened to Taika Waititi when he was about 11 – something he doesn’t go into with Good Weekend, but which he considered a betrayal by the adults in his life. He ­mentioned it only recently – not the ­moment itself, but the lesson he learnt: “That you cannot and must not rely on grown-ups to help you – you’re basically in the world alone, and you’re gonna die alone, and you’ve just gotta make it all for yourself,” he told Irish podcast host James Brown. “I basically never forgave people in positions of responsibility.”

What does that mean in his work? First, his finest films tend to reflect the clarity of mind possessed by children, and the unseen worlds they create – fantasies conjured up as a way to understand or overcome. (His mum once summed up the main ­message of Boy: “The ­unconditional love you get from your children, and how many of us waste that, and don’t know what we’ve got.”)

Second, he’s suited to movie-making – “Russian roulette with art” – because he’s drawn to disruptive force and chaos. And that in turn produces creative defiance: allowing him to reinvigorate the Marvel Universe by making superheroes fallible, or tell a Holocaust story by making fun of Hitler. “Whenever I have to deal with someone who’s a boss, or in charge, I challenge them,” he told Brown, “and I really do take whatever they say with a pinch of salt.”

It’s no surprise then that Waititi was comfortable leaping from independent films to the vast complexity of Hollywood blockbusters. He loves the challenge of coordinating a thousand interlocking parts, requiring an army of experts in vocations as diverse as construction, sound, art, performance and logistics. “I delegate a lot,” he says, “and share the load with a lot of people.”

“This is a cool concept, being able to ­afford whatever I want, as opposed to sleeping on couches until I was 35.” - Taika Waititi

But the buck stops with him. Time magazine named Waititi one of its Most Influential 100 People of 2022. “You can tell that a film was made by Taika Waititi the same way you can tell a piece was painted by Picasso,” wrote Sacha Baron Cohen. Compassionate but comic. Satirical but watchable. Rockstar but auteur. “Actually, sorry, but this guy’s really starting to piss me off,” Cohen concluded. “Can someone else write this piece?”

Directing Chris Hemsworth in 2017 in Thor: Ragnarok, which grossed more than $1.3 billion at the box office. (Alamy)

I’m curious to know how he stays grounded amid such adulation. Coming into the game late, he says, helped immensely. After all, Waititi was 40 by the time he left New Zealand to do Thor: Ragnarok. “If you let things go to your head, then it means you’ve struggled to find out who you are,” he says. “But I’ve always felt very comfortable with who I am.” Hollywood access and acclaim – and the pay cheques – don’t erase memories of poverty, either. “It’s more like, ‘Oh, this is a cool concept, being able to ­afford whatever I want, as opposed to sleeping on couches until I was 35.’ ” Small towns and strong tribes keep him in check, too. “You know you can’t piss around and be a fool, because you’re going to embarrass your family,” he says. “Hasn’t stopped me, though.”

Sam Neill says there was never any doubt Waititi would be able to steer a major movie with energy and imagination. “It’s no accident that the whole world wants Taika,” he says. “But his seductiveness comes with its own dangers. You can spread yourself a bit thin. The temptation will be to do more, more, more. That’ll be interesting to watch.”

Indeed, I find myself vicariously stressed out over the list of potential projects in Waititi’s future. A Roald Dahl animated series for Netflix. An Apple TV show based on the 1981 film Time Bandits. A sequel to What We Do In The Shadows. A reboot of Flash Gordon. A gonzo horror comedy, The Auteur, starring Jude Law. Adapting a cult graphic novel, The Incal, as a feature. A streaming series based on the novel Interior Chinatown. A film based on a Kazuo Ishiguro bestseller. Plus bringing to life the wildly popular Akira comic books. Oh, and for good measure, a new instalment of Star Wars, which he’s already warned the world will be … different.

“It’s going to change things,” he told Good Morning America. “It’s going to change what you guys know and expect.”

Did I say I was stressed for Waititi? I meant physically sick.

“Well…” he qualifies, “some of those things I’m just producing, so I come up with an idea or someone comes to me with an idea, and I shape how ‘it’s this kind of show’ and ‘here’s how we can get it made.’ It’s easier for me to have a part in those things and feel like I’ve had a meaningful role in the creative process, but also not having to do what I’ve always done, which is trying to control everything.”

In the 2014 mockumentary horror film What We Do in the Shadows, which he co-directed with Jemaine Clement. (Alamy)

What about moving away from the niche New Zealand settings he represented so well in his early work? How does he stay connected to his roots? “I think you just need to know where you’re from,” he says, “and just don’t forget that.”

They certainly haven’t forgotten him.

Jasmin McSweeney sits in her office at the New Zealand Film Commission in Wellington, surrounded by promotional posters Waititi signed for her two decades ago, when she was tasked with promoting his nascent talent. Now the organisation’s marketing chief, she talks to me after visiting the heart of thriving “Wellywood”, overseeing the traditional karakia prayer on the set of a new movie starring Geoffrey Rush.

Waititi isn’t the first great Kiwi filmmaker – dual Oscar-winner Jane Campion and blockbuster king Peter Jackson come to mind – yet his particular ascendance, she says, has spurred unparalleled enthusiasm. “Taika gave everyone here confidence. He always says, ‘Don’t sit around waiting for people to say, you can do this.’ Just do it, because he just did it. That’s the Taika effect.”

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Taika David Waititi is known for wearing everything from technicolour dreamcoats to pineapple print rompers, and today he’s wearing a roomy teal and white Isabel Marant jumper. The mohair garment has the same wispy frizz as his hair, which curls like a wave of grey steel wool, and connects with a shorn salty beard.

A stylish silver fox, it wouldn’t surprise anyone if he suddenly announced he was launching a fashion label. He’s definitely a commercial animal, to the point of directing television commercials for Coke and Amazon, along with a fabulous 2023 spot for Belvedere vodka starring Daniel Craig. He also joined forces with a beverage company in Finland (where “taika” means “magic”) to release his coffee drinks. Announcing the partnership on social media, he flagged that he would be doing more of this kind of stuff, too (“Soz not soz”).

Waititi has long been sick of reverent portrayals of Indigenous people talking to spirits.

There’s substance behind the swank. Fashion is a creative outlet but he’s also bought sewing machines in the past with the intention of designing and making clothes, and comes from a family of tailors. “I learnt how to sew a button on when I was very young,” he says. “I learnt how to fix holes or patches in your clothes, and darn things.”

And while he gallivants around the globe watching Wimbledon or modelling for Hermès at New York Fashion Week, all that glamour belies a depth of purpose, particularly when it comes to Indigenous representation.

There’s a moment in his new movie where a Samoan player realises that their Dutch coach, played by Michael Fassbender, is emotionally struggling, and he offers a lament for white people: “They need us.” I can’t help but think Waititi meant something more by that line – maybe that First Nations people have ­wisdom to offer if others will just listen?

“Weeelllll, a little bit …” he says – but from his intonation, and what he says next, I’m dead wrong. Waititi has long been sick of reverent ­portrayals of Indigenous people talking to kehua (spirits), or riding a ghost waka (phantom canoe), or playing a flute on a mountain. “Always the boring characters,” he says. “They’ve got no real contemporary relationship with the world, because they’re always living in the past in their spiritual ways.”

A scene from Next Goal Wins, filmed earlier this year. (Alamy)

He’s part of a vanguard consciously poking fun at those stereotypes. Another is the Navajo writer and director Billy Luther, who met Waititi at Sundance Film Festival back in 2003, along with Reservation Dogs co-creator Sterlin Harjo. “We were this group of outsiders trying to make films, when nobody was really biting,” says Luther. “It was a different time. The really cool thing about it now is we’re all working. We persevered. We didn’t give up. We slept on each other’s couches and hung out. It’s like family.”

Waititi has power now, and is known for using Indigenous interns wherever possible (“because there weren’t those opportunities when I was growing up”), making important introductions, offering feedback on scripts, and lending his name to projects through executive producer credits, too, which he did for Luther’s new feature film, Frybread Face and Me (2023).

He called Luther back from the set of Thor: Love and Thunder (2022) to offer advice on working with child actors – “Don’t box them into the characters you’ve ­created,” he said, “let them naturally figure it out on their own” – but it’s definitely harder to get Waititi on the phone these days. “He’s a little bitch,” Luther says, laughing. “Nah, there’s nothing like him. He’s a genius. You just knew he was going to be something. I just knew it. He’s my brother.“

I’ve been asked to explicitly avoid political questions in this interview, probably because Waititi tends to back so many causes, from child poverty and teenage suicide to a campaign protesting offshore gas and oil exploration near his tribal lands. But it’s hard to ignore his recent Instagram post, sharing a viral video about the Voice to Parliament referendum starring Indigenous Aussie rapper Adam Briggs. After all, we speak only two days after the proposal is defeated. “Yeah, sad to say but, Australia, you really shat the bed on that one,” Waititi says, pausing. “But go see my movie!”

About that movie – the early reviews aren’t great. IndieWire called it a misfire, too wrapped in its quirks to develop its arcs, with Waititi’s directorial voice drowning out his characters, while The Guardian called it “a shoddily made and strikingly unfunny attempt to tell an interesting story in an uninteresting way”. I want to know how he moves past that kind of criticism. “For a start, I never read reviews,” he says, concerned only with the opinion of people who paid for admission, never professional appraisals. “It’s not important to me. I know I’m good at what I do.”

Criticism that Indigenous concepts weren’t sufficiently explained in Next Goal Wins gets his back up a little, though. The film’s protagonist, Jaiyah Saelua, the first transgender football player in a FIFA World Cup qualifying match, is fa’afafine – an American Samoan identifier for someone with fluid genders – but there wasn’t much exposition of this concept in the film. “That’s not my job,” Waititi says. “It’s not a movie where I have to explain every facet of Samoan culture to an audience. Our job is to retain our culture, and present a story that’s inherently Polynesian, and if you don’t like it, you can go and watch any number of those other movies out there, 99 per cent of which are terrible.”

*notes: (there is video clip in the article)

Waititi sounds momentarily cranky, but he’s mostly unflappable and hilarious. He’s the kind of guy who prefers “Correctumundo bro!” to “Yes”. When our video connection is too laggy, he plays up to it by periodically pretending to be frozen, sitting perfectly still, mouth open, his big shifting eyeballs the only giveaway.

He’s at his best on set. Saelua sat next to him in Honolulu while filming the joyous soccer sequences. “He’s so chill. He just let the actors do their thing, giving them creative freedom, barely interjecting unless it was something important. His style matches the vibe of the Pacific people. We’re a very funny people. We like to laugh. He just fit perfectly.”

People do seem to love working alongside him, citing his ability to make productions fresh and unpredictable and funny. Chris Hemsworth once said that Waititi’s favourite gag is to “forget” that his microphone is switched on, so he can go on a pantomime rant for all to hear – usually about his disastrous Australian lead actor – only to “remember” that he’s wired and the whole crew is listening.

“I wouldn’t know about that, because I don’t listen to what other people say about anything – I’ve told you this,” Waititi says. “I just try to have fun when there’s time to have fun. And when you do that, and you bring people together, they’re more willing to go the extra mile for you, and they’re more willing to believe in the thing that you’re trying to do.”

Yes, he plays music between takes, and dances out of his director’s chair, but it’s really all about relaxing amid the immense pressure and intense privilege of making movies. “Do you know how hard it is just to get anything financed or green-lit, then getting a crew, ­getting producers to put all the pieces together, and then making it to set?” Waititi asks. “It’s a real gift, even to be working, and I feel like I have to remind ­people of that: enjoy this moment.”

Source: The Age

By: Konrad Marshall (December 1, 2023)

[byeoltoyuki]

my kind of fighter

↳ Pairing: Felix x Reader

❧ Genre : Fluff / friends to lovers / smut

❧ Words : 2k

❧ Summary :  “Are you sure I can’t punch him in the face?” “Yes.” “What if I just break his nose a little?”

A seminar, a great invention according to your manager, to learn new things, meet new people and spend some quality time with selected colleagues. A great moment to strengthen the bonds between you. It did sound like a great idea, but only theoretically. What if you found yourself among a bunch of arrogant, narcissistic assholes? Not that great anymore, was it?

It wasn’t your first seminar; somehow you always ended on the list and fortunately for you so did Felix, the only reason you hadn’t snapped. Felix with his bright smile, cute freckles and his just too lovable personality; nobody could possibly resist this man and you were definitely not an exception. Despite his rather boyish look, he could be bitchy and incredibly straight forward – just what you needed to appreciate him more. Did you mention that he was also hella good looking? No? He was. Sadly.

Now, unfortunately for you, the two of you weren’t the only one on the list, Mike, your colleague who also happened to be a piece of shit, was on the list. Out of the three of you, he was definitely the one enjoying this seminar the most; after all he had a bunch of new people to impress, to brag about his skills, his projects (that weren’t his in the first place).  Your dislike for Mike wasn’t a new thing, you weren’t hiding it and Felix knew the extent of your hatred better than anyone.

“This project got us a big client! Quite frankly I’m impressed with myself.” You heard Mike talking from the corner of the room, frowning at his words. “I’m sure I’ll get a nice bonus and a promotion.”

You scoffed at the audacity of this man and averted your eyes from his disgusting face for the sake of your sanity.

“Relax.” Felix whispered as he leaned closer to you. Maybe to make sure you wouldn’t snap out of nowhere or maybe he just wanted to be close to you and give you some comfort (his presence did help you to relax half of the time). Or maybe both. “It’s Mike, you know how he is.”

You took a deep breath, counted till ten in your head and then looked at Felix. “I know but I still want to punch his face. And maybe break his nose too.”

Felix couldn’t stop himself from imagining the scene and chuckling. What a sight it would be. And a lot of trouble too. “As appealing as it sounds, it’s a no.”

“Are you sure I can’t punch him in the face?” You asked again, trying to do your best puppy eyes (as if it could work on Felix).

“Yes.” “What if I just break his nose a little?”

“Y/N.” “Fine! Whatever.” You huffed and turned to look back at the people in the room, avoiding Felix’s eyes on purpose, pouting.

Felix shook his head, quite amused with you. He knew, of course, that if he didn’t object to your wish, you would have done it and damn the consequences. He couldn’t let you do it. “Oh no.” You groaned, noticing that Mike was done bragging and was walking towards you. Even with Felix’s comforting presence, you tensed, knowing that you couldn’t avoid the man and his bullshit.

“Felix! Y/N!” Mike called for you, too cheerful for your liking. “Why are you standing by yourself? Come on! I have some really nice people to introduce you to!”

Whoever considered Mike interesting and believed his bullshit wasn’t worth your time in your opinion, but you forced yourself not to comment.

“We’re fine here.” You finally replied, trying not to sound too annoyed.

Mike cocked a brow at you, clearly unconvinced but it didn’t fazed him that much. He stood by your side and didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around your waist. “Come on, you need to relax, darling.” The nerve, you thought. This was also why you hated Mike with all your guts. He believed he owed everything and everybody; he believed he could touch any woman without consequences. You hated his touch. You hated his scent. And you hated it even more when you felt his hand getting lower, dangerously close to your butt.

“Sorry Mike,” Felix started to attract Mike’s attention on him. If Felix wanted to throttle him, he didn’t show it, but you knew better. He was definitely holding back. “But Y/N and I already have plans. We were about to leave.”

Mike didn’t reply for a moment. He watched Felix, frowning with clear displease but finally let go of you. He stepped back, his eyes going back and forth between you as you neared closer to Felix. “I’ve been wondering for a while but…” He smirked as he stared knowingly at Felix. “Are you guys fucking?”

“None of your fucking business!” You finally snapped, blood boiling, ready to jump at him and finally break his nose. Whether Felix liked it or not.

Before you could do something that would definitely feel good for you but attract even more unwanted attention, Felix grabbed your hand and pulled you against him, holding your hand tightly in hope to calm you down. The gesture only made Mike’s smile grew wider.

“Guess you are.” He commented, “Aren’t you a lucky man.”

Luckily for you or him, you weren’t sure about who was really the lucky one, he left the two of you alone. You pushed Felix away, fuming with rage. You knew, of course, he was right holding you back but in a moment of pure hatred, you couldn’t think straight.

“I can’t believe you stopped me.” You yanked your hand from his gentle yet strong grip.

“He’s not worth the trouble.”

“So I have to deal not only with his bullshits but also with his disgusting behavior?”

“Y/N…”

“Don’t bother. I’m going back to my room.”

*** The moment you got back to your room, you disregarded all your clothes and went straight to the shower, wanting the hot water to wash Mike’s scent from your skin and erase his existence from your mind. It did help. To some extent. But with this shower came also the realization that you hadn’t been very nice to Felix. He was looking out for you and in your anger you didn’t see it. You promised to yourself to apologize later.

Later came sooner than you expected.

You were scrolling through your phone, wearing the oversized t-shirt you brought in your bag, relaxing when someone knocked the door.

You hesitated, wanting to be left alone, yet your curiosity got the best of you.

“Hi.” Felix said, smiling sheepishly at you as you opened the door. But his smile slowly vanished from his face as he noticed what you were wearing. He gulped, trying not to stare, trying to keep his eyes on your face. He cleared his throat. “Can I come in?”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, instead you moved from his way to let him in. It was your chance to apologize for your behavior but your voice got stuck in your throat as you silently observed him.

“I’m sorry for earlier.” He apologized, taking you completely off guard.

“What?” “I shouldn’t have stopped you. Especially not after he touched you.”

And yet, you knew he was absolutely right stopping you from getting in trouble. You watched him for a moment, watched as he clenched his fists before releasing a long sigh.

“You’re not the one who should be apologizing.” You finally said as you got closer to him. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m sorry.”

Felix shook his head and took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I should have let you stand up for yourself. Mike will never learn. Not until someone teaches him a lesson.”

You stayed this way for a moment. Felix didn’t let go of your hand, not that you minded, quite the opposite. His gentle touch was more than welcomed and made your heart beat a little faster.

After a moment, Felix took another step closer to you, your bodies so close to each other, you could feel his warmth.

“You know that I would always fight for you, right?” He said, eyes locked with yours. He was looking at you with so much intensity, with so much longing, you could melt right on the spot. You were always close to him. But this? This was new and too overwhelming. You averted your eyes from him face and gulped - Felix was having none of it. Gently, he grabbed your chin and made you look at him. “Y/N?”

Was he trying to kill you? Because, you thought, he was doing a rather good job. “Yes.” You managed somehow to say but didn’t sound as confident as you were supposed to.

Felix hummed, satisfied but didn’t let go of your face, his eyes on your lips. “I really want to kiss you right now.” He admitted

Did you want him to kiss you? The answer was on the tip of your tongue but you held back. Crossing the line was dangerous, you knew it and he had to know it too. And yet, he didn’t seem bothered, so should you?

“Say something, please.” He begged, hopeful.

It was pure madness, there was no other way to describe what you were about to do, but you couldn’t deny your own feelings. Because yes, you wanted to kiss him. You wanted him to hold you in his arms. You wanted to feel his lips, his touches, everything.

“Fuck it.” You cursed under your breath, pulled him by his collar and crashed your mouth against his.

Felix didn’t hesitate, not even for a second; he wrapped his arms around your body and pulled you fully against him, lifting you lightly from the floor. Just like you, he wanted to feel all of you, he wanted to know your touch, your taste, everything you were willing to show him, to give him.

“Fucking finally.” He groaned against your lips.

The kiss was just everything you had ever imagined. Needy but sweet. Desperate and yet controlled. Butterflies erupted in your stomach as you poured all your feelings, all your needs into the kiss.

Felix lifted you from the floor, wrapping your legs around him as he carried you to your bed, lips never leaving yours. He broke the kiss only to drop you on the bed. He stilled and admired the view before him. Your t-shirt was barely covering your body which made him realize that you wore absolutely nothing underneath. He licked his lips, memorizing every part of your body, every curve, every mole, every little scar. You were perfect and he couldn’t wait to explore you, to make you his.

“It shouldn’t be allowed to look so good.” He whispered and quickly got rid of his shirt, exposing a perfect skin and abs; you couldn’t wait to trace your lips over his body.

“Look who’s talking.” You giggled and wiggled your brows playfully at him.

Felix got on his knees, grabbed your ankles and pulled you to the edge of the bed. He didn’t hesitate; he kissed your right ankle while having his eyes on you, watching you like a prey, watching as you inhaled sharply. His lips trailed from your ankle to your calf, to your knee, leaving loving kisses here and there. He was so delicate, so sweet, turning you on even more. He was so close yet so far from where you needed him most.

“Felix.” You pleaded

“Hm?” He smiled against your skin. 

“Are you going to make me beg?” You asked and regretted almost instantly your question as Felix looked at you (looking too beautiful between your legs) smiling too proudly for your liking. He liked the idea.

He pressed another kiss to your inner thigh. “So tempting.” Yes, it was and you would absolutely beg if it came to that because it was Felix, the sweetest person on earth. Because he was your comfort person. Because you wanted to give him everything he wanted.

“But, as tempting as it sounds,” He started and gave a light lick to your pussy, just to have a taste. He groaned. “I don’t think I can resist your sweet pussy, love.”

Thank god, you thought.

Felix didn’t hesitate any longer and dove in. He licked, he sucked, he feasted on you, already addicted to your taste. How did he manage all this time to resist you was a mystery even to him. Now that he had you, now that he had a taste, Felix knew, there was no way in the world he would let you go. There was no way he would allow another one to touch you.

“Felix.” You moaned and arched your back in pure bliss. But you still needed more, wanted to feel more.

“So sweet.” Felix hummed in satisfaction, memorizing now not only your taste but also your voice, your sweet and lovely moans.

Felix pushed at first a finger inside you, then quickly added a second one, thrusting them in and out, watching how your pretty moans got louder, how you rocked your hips wanting to feel him deeper inside you.

“Fuck, fuck.”

“Look at you, love.” Felix purred, “So eager, so wet. And just for me.”

“Just for you.” You managed to say in your dizzy state. You could barely hear him. You could barely think when he was reaching all the right spots.

His tongue, his fingers were all you needed to fall apart, to come completely undone with one silent scream.

Felix rose from the floor and while staring at you, eyes filled with lust, he licked his fingers, taking his time – you almost came once more with the sight. He knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“I’ll never get enough.” He admitted

You wanted to taste him too. To mark him. To pleasure him. Before you could do any of that, Felix disregarded the rest of his clothes and joined you, hovering over you, pushing your legs apart a little bit further.

You always knew that Felix was beautiful, but now that you saw him fully naked, his warmth enveloping you, you knew that beautiful wasn’t the right word to describe him. Unable to say anything else, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him for a needy, wet kiss, softly moaning into the kiss as you felt him against you.

Felix slowly eased inside you, inch by inch, stretching you.

“Fuck love, you feel so fucking good.” Felix growled, his voice sounding deeper than ever. He stilled and took a moment to pepper your face with kisses, to kiss your jaw, your neck while giving you a moment to adjust.

Nothing and nobody could compare to Felix, not then and definitely not now. Not when he was gently thrusting into you, setting a slow, loving yet deep rhythm, making you whimper and moan his name, begging for more. The world around you simply ceased to exist as he kissed you, loving you with his every thrust, with his every kiss, with his fingers working their magic on your clit, slowly bringing you to a shattering release you were sure you had never experienced before. Maybe he was that good, or maybe with Felix, everything felt different.

“Can I say it now?” Felix asked, growling as he sought his own release. “I love you.”

Your heart leaped up for joy. You kissed him fiercely, letting him explode inside you as you poured your own feelings into the kiss, hoping he could feel just how much you loved him back.

Felix fell on top of you, head resting on your breast, his warm breath tickling your sensitive skin. You ran your fingers through his locks.

“I love you too.” You whispered, “In case you doubted.”

Felix lifted his head to look at you. He gifted you with his sweetest and brightest smile you had ever seen. How could you not love him?

***

Despite the few hours you managed to sleep, you felt happier than ever, filled with new energy – enough to face the face and fight the world if needed. Felix, by your side, mirrored your expression as you had breakfast on the terrace of your hotel. The weather was lovely and so was your sight.

“I think, this seminar was useful, for once.” You admitted between two bites. “I can’t even complain anymore.”

Felix chuckled fondly. “I’m sure you’ll find something to complain about.”

Felix was absolutely right. You would.

“Wait-“ Just when you were about to stuff your mouth with your yummy pancake, you spotted Mike getting to a table by the window. You frowned, taken aback. He was alone which was so out of character, but maybe it had everything to do with his swollen nose. You gasped loudly and dropped your fork. “No way!” You pointed an accusing finger at Felix. “His nose was mine to break!”

Felix tried to look guilty but one look at your pouty face and he burst into laughter. “Sorry.”

It was hard to feign being mad at him when he looked at you like that. Who could possibly be strong enough to resist his pretty smile and his eyes? Definitely not you.

“I promise; next time I won’t hold you back.” He swore. “I’ll try not to.” He quickly added.

“Sounds like a plan.”

[timetoletmyimaginationfly]

My Comfort

Nanami Kento x Reader

Photo Credit: Marilou

(Song Inspiration: Blames on me by Alexander Stewart)

“Kento-kun! Welcome home!” you greeted happily. Nanami sighed. It was another long day at work. He loosened his tie and rolled his sleeves halfway. You walked up to him and kissed him softly on the lips. You looked at his condition. His beige jacket was dirty and slightly torn. Cursed spirits blood was splattered on his clothing. His face was dirty and you noticed a small cut on his face.

“Do I look that bad?” he asked curiously with a raised eyebrow. You giggled and shook your head.

“Go shower, I’ll keep dinner warm,” you said. “I’ll pick out your pajamas too.” Nanami smiled. But once you turned around, he frowned. Today was bad. A young sorcerer was killed. All because he couldn’t make it on time to the scene. He wonders if he’s even worth it as a sorcerer.

The burden grew heavier and heavier. As months passed, you noticed how distant he was becoming. It worried you.

“Kento-kun, I made your favorite,” you said. Nanami nodded as he took his shoes off.

“How was work?” he asked when he entered the kitchen.

“It was good,” you answered. “I might get this promotion.” Nanami couldn’t help but smile. You were perfect. You were the perfect girlfriend. You worked full time at a well known company and worked your ass off to be the best. And outside of work, you always made sure the apartment was clean and dinner was out on the table. You were more than he could ever ask for. He felt that you deserve better. And the thought of it hurt.

“Do-Do I do well?” he asked. You were caught off guard with his question. You wondered what he meant by that question. Since you were quiet for a while, Nanami just sighed and walked past you. However, you held on tightly to his wrist.

“Kento-kun,” you called. He could’ve just ignored you, but he could never ignore you. Even when he was distant, he still can’t bear to spend a second without you. His heart was racing when you gave him a smile. “You never talk to me about work. But I bet you always do the best that you can. I know that you always do your best.” He smiled, spirits feeling a bit uplifted.

“Thank you, darling,” he said. He walked closer to you and cupped your face. He stared at you, the face that he loves to look at. You were beautiful in his eyes. He kissed you passionately. You melted and wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him back. “I love you. I love you so much, darling.”

“I love you too, honey,” you said. The two of you stood there, foreheads resting on each other. “When things go down and when it gets tough, just know that I’m always here cheering you on. Supporting every decision you make.”

“Even…Even if…” The topic of possible death came up every now and then. Both of you hated it. And when it gets brought up, you have a hard time falling asleep at night. Scenarios would constantly play in your mind throughout the night. Nanami would wake up the next morning to see you with tear stains down your cheeks.

“Even if you have to risk your life,” you said as tears formed in your eyes. “I’ll still support your decision even if I don’t like it.” You couldn’t help but cry in his chest. Nanami hugged you tightly. “I missed you. We haven’t spoken like this for a while.” Nanami felt so much guilt. He didn’t mean to do this to you. “I thought—I’m sorry.”

“You wanted to leave me?” he asked.

“It’s-It’s not that but…” Nanami pulled away. He bent down to your height and cupped your face to wipe your tears away. You held his wrists tightly. “God I’m horrible.”

“No,” he said. “You’re perfect. I’m the one that’s horrible. I’m the one who can’t even make it to the scene on time that caused a young sorcerer to die. I’m the one who can’t be strong enough to prevent another young one from massive injuries. I’m the one that’s weak.” You watched tears flow down his eyes. This time, you cupped his face and wiped his tears away. “I thought of the same thing. Because you deserve someone so much better.” You shook your head.

“You’re perfect, Kento,” you said. “You’re not weak. You’re strong. I can never imagine being in your shoes. You come home with your head held up high. You work so hard to become strong. You still come home taking care of me even when I tell you that I’m okay. You deserve more than me.” Nanami pulled you in for a tight hug.

“No, I only need you,” he said softly. “Only you. Tell me that I’m great again.” You smiled.

“You’re not just great, Kento-kun. You are amazing. You are strong. You are brave. You are wonderful.” Your words alone helped Nanami let the tears out that he’s been holding in for months. You couldn’t help but feel the pain that he must be feeling. You hugged him as tight as he held you. You kept him in your arms for as long as he needed it.

“Thank you, darling.”

“Anything for you, Kento-kun.” After a while longer, Nanami pulled away from the hug and gave you soft kisses all over your face.

“You’ll still love me if I stop being a sorcerer again?”

“Silly, I fell in love with you before I knew you were one,” you said with a giggle. The two of you wiped away each other's tears and smiled. “I want you to do the things that make you happy. Things that make you feel complete. Remember, I’m always here to support you. I promise you that.” Nanami nodded.

“Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome. What do you wanna do?”

“Shower with me and then eat dinner with me. Don’t leave my side for the rest of the evening.”

“And the weekend?” Nanami chuckled. He knew you missed him as much as he missed you.

“For the rest of my life,” he said before giving you another heated kiss.

[dearmura]

new hair, who dis?

☆ cw. some swearing, (not beta read)

☆ pairings. idol! Ni-Ki × fem! reader

☆ synopsis. Jokingly replying to Ni-Ki's latest post, you expected to be left on sent for the rest of life. Instead, you get a reply back...you're joking right?

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

You sigh to yourself for the nth time that past hour, scrolling mindlessly in utter boredom. An image posted a few days ago catches your eye, one of Ni-Ki with his new blond hair. You scoff, could the company make it any more obvious they're having a comeback?

As much as you loved the new look, you couldn't deny your love for his previous Oreo hair. With a pout, you repost the picture, captioning to your few followers how much you hate hybe for changing his hair

As your eyes shift to the clock, you hiss, realizing how unproductive you're being

Peeling yourself away from your pillows, you shuffle your way into your kitchen, practically dragging yourself to your fridge with how lazy you're feeling

Grabbing a bottle of water, you bring it to your lips, about to take a sip when a buzz is heard from your phone

Not having any human interaction that day, you opted for checking the source, guessing somebody messaged you. Not to your surprise, it was nobody, but rather a notification indicating enhypen had made a new post

With enhypen's lack of content in-between promotional periods, you were thrilled to see an update. Shuffling back into your room, you lay back on your bed, clicking the post

You mentally squeal at the image of Ni-Ki posing for a selfie, double tapping your screen with so much enthusiasm one would've thought he'd come to life if you did so. In the midst of your fangirling, you came up with quite the stupidest, most delulu idea ever. To be fair, you had nothing to do, what else could a girl do to keep herself busy?

Opening up your dms, you search for Ni-ki's profile. You're hopeless, really

You scoff at yourself

Clicking on his profile, you conjure up quite the worst first message ever, failing at an attempt to be funny

Wait...have we met before? Cuz you look a lot like my future boyfriend

Before you back out of it out of pure cringe, you click send, immediately throwing your phone to the other side of your bed. You knew that idols don't even open their dms but the embarrassment lingered, nevertheless

After a few minutes of self-hatred, you open up your phone again, too bored to continue staring at the ceiling. Taking another sip of water, you hear a second buzz

You spray water all over your bed at the notification before your eyes. You slapped yourself to make sure you weren't seeing things, unfortunately, the sting on your skin confirmed your greatest fear that you were, in fact, not in a nightmare

I've got to admit, you've wooed me with that one

You scream into your pillow in pure embarrassment, avoiding the situation you got yourself into for a second

Your heart clenches once more when you hear another dreadful buzz

Leaving me on seen now? I thought you were interested, darling😞

You almost scoff at how dumb you looked right now. Nevertheless, you begin typing to not upset him further

If you're a hacker, this guy isn't even that famous, it's not worth it

You joke in hopes of lightening the mood, more for yourself though

Ouch

I come in peace

You giggle to yourself, still not processing your chat with THE nishimura riki

Sorry bub, if it makes you feel any better, I love your new hair, its almost as pretty as you

Almost

You don't know where all this confidence came from but all you know is that you're very obviously flirting with a literal idol. What have you done with your life...

Never thought I'd like being called pretty but here I am

He answered back wittily, making you scoff

Just as you're about to respond, your phone notifies you of a follow request...from him?

How about we make this our little secret, yea?

He texts almost immediately after the notification. Not entirely believing the current situation, you reply

Enough messing around

If you're gonna hack his account, just enjoy your followers and leave me alone

Rather than a text, you receive an image as a reply. A selfie. Of Ni-ki. One you know for a fact he's never posted on any socials

Yea? And what if I told you I wasn't a hacker, princess?

You almost cry, realizing your stupid pick up lines and attempts at jokes were actually received by the real Ni-Ki. Hesitantly, you accept the follow request

Yes, you were embarrassed, but who were you to pass up the opportunity?

Thanks babe😘

He texts back teasingly

Your story from earlier that day pops up with a reply underneath, knowing immediately you were screwed

Wait what happened to liking my hair, princess???

You really hurt my feelings:(((

Blushing in embarrassment for the nth time that day, you couldn't help but want to shrivel up into a ball and die already

Oh God

I'm so sorry

I didn't expect you to see that

I really like your hair

It looks really good on you

Fuck I'm sorry

You panic, tears coming to your eyes, hit with the realization you just offended your idol. Before you could beat yourself up further, you hear another buzz

No worries princess, I like my old hair better too:((

Though I am still a little hurt

Don't think I'll forgive you for that one love😞

Maybe if you take me out I can leave it behind us...

You practically cry at this point. Was he trying to flirt with you? And lowkey asking you out? Knowing you weren't in the right state of mind, you ignore your thoughts, opting for leaving this problem for future you

I uh need to go to bed

Good night, I hope I didn't bother you

You mentally curse at yourself for how stupid you sound

Oh love you could never bother me if you tried

I'll be expecting a reply on that offer next time;)

Sweet dreams angel

Next time? God you were about to throw up. You quickly like his message before throwing your phone, utterly flabbergasted at what just happened. You squeeze your eyes shut, praying what just happened was some weird dream

Fin

Author's note: Wrote this for a drabble request but clearly got too into it🥹🥹

[liminalpebble]

Stray: Part 7

Masterlist link

Stray: Part 7

His human came home that evening slightly late, but absolutely elated. Loki felt his heart swell to nearly bursting when he saw your smile. You breezed in and immediately lifted him and kissed him on the nose, then snuggled him close and kissed his velvety head.

“Oh, Loki. I've had such an amazing day!” you said flitting around, putting groceries away and kicking off your heels, nearly dancing with joy. “Mr. Mullen called me to his office and he's giving me a chance! He even apologized for being such an ass before.”

Good, Loki thought with a devious smirk. I guess he does value being in one piece.

He watched as you stroked the lovely purple cardigan then reluctantly took it off, placed it on a hanger, and smoothed out the delicate fabric with care.

Sweet mortal! Loki thought, You needn't be so careful with it. It's not some great treasure...just a token. I would get you hundreds of them, one for every day of the year, in every color. I would see that you never feel cold again.

But then he remembered the kind of creature you are, grateful for everything, expecting nothing, treating every good thing, person, and gift as something precious. He watched as you took a professional outfit out of a Mullen's Department Store bag and laid it out on the sofa. The crisp new fabric of the pencil skirt was a sharp contrast to the threadbare upholstery.

“Well Loki, what do you think? I've never had to buy office clothes before. I'm not sure about it but Tammy helped me pick it out.”

“Meow”. I approve! Very classy...but you'd look so much lovelier in an Asgardian court gown with a crown upon your head. That would be more befitting your beauty.

His human chuckled, and seemed to only understand his affirmation. “Thank you. I'm so glad you like it. I have a feeling you have great taste,” you said as you massaged between his ears until he purred with satisfaction. Sitting, you gathered him more closely into your arms, meeting his lovely, rare eyes and said, “You know...ever since I found you, everything has gotten better. I mean...not just the good luck of a promotion and meeting Henry. Just...you make every day better. I was so alone before. Thank you, little kitten. You're so important to me.”

You stroked his back and all he could do was purr as he floated on your praise. He had never felt such sheer pleasure from bringing joy to another being. Loki had also rarely ever been praised for anything either...mostly told to shut up or stop. He was ecstatic, bursting at the seams. He longed to reveal himself to you and finally ask you to spend your lives together on a grand adventure, but how could he? How would you believe him? How would you take it?

Come on, Loki ,he encouraged himself, you're the god of mischief. Scheming is what you do. Do it for a glorious purpose this time.

Patience was never his favorite thing, but he was determined to try it for his sweet human. The younger prince of Asgard felt an unusual pang of anxiety. Loki rarely faced anything in his long life that presented a true challenge or obstacle; but here it was before him. You were worth it, he decided. For you, and only you, he would find a way.

----

That weekend you didn't receive a call from Henry. You did, however receive a letter in your mailbox in that same lovely handwriting on green and gold paper.

Darling,

I know there is Fall Carnival is this weekend at that lovely orchard outside of town, and I have never attended such an event before. Would you be my date for the day? Meet me in front of your building at 3 pm on Saturday and we'll have a splendid day together.

Sincerely,

Henry

Reading the note, you couldn't help smiling so wide your cheeks hurt. What an odd man! Sending courtly letters instead of calling like a normal person. It was incredibly charming, though; idiosyncratic in a way that inclined you to trust him. You guessed he wasn't so perfectly confident after all, if phone calls scared him. You couldn't blame him though. They scared you too.

So on Saturday, just before 3 pm, you kissed the little cat goodbye, then swung out the door in the one nice pair of jeans you owned and a sturdy raincoat, excitement and anticipation crackling through your bloodstream.

----

Loki's irrepressible Cheshire cat grin unfurled across his face as he turned to see you hurrying toward your front door. You couldn't believe how handsome 'Henry' he looked; like an English country gentlemen, with his perfectly coordinated leather boots and coat. Evaluating your own ratty hiking boots and dated parka you felt like slinking away in embarrassment, but it was far too late for that.

Still, he kissed your hand like a princess and said, “Darling! Thank you for joining me today. You look absolutely lovely!”

“Henry...I look like I'm going hiking...and possibly like I'm living in a tent. I feel terribly under-dressed next to you.”

He looked genuinely concerned for a moment. “Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel self-conscious. I'm sure we'll be equally muddy by the end of the day, in any case,” he paused, looking deeply into your eyes, “and I'm sure you look lovely in anything at all.”

“You, sir, are dangerously charming,” you quipped, scrunching your nose in that adorable way you often did. You couldn't know how the little habit always made him fall to pieces.

---

At the orchard the carnival rides were in full frenzied swing. The hundreds of multi-color bulbs painted swaths of pulsing color around the makeshift amusement park and further into the fields beyond. The rusty omnipresent hue of old machinery blended into the natural coppery-colored remainders of autumn foliage. You walked through the crowd, each holding cups of warm cider and talking between languid steps and steamy sips.

“You know, in all the years I've lived here,” you said, “I've never come to this carnival. Thank you for giving me a nudge to do it.”

“My absolute pleasure,” he assured you. “I've never been here either.”

You just observed his lovely patrician face for a moment until he finally noticed and said, “What is it?”

You grinned and stopped in your tracks, “Uh...nothing...it's nothing...just. You seem like some kind of incredibly fairytale prince...the way you talk, and your fine clothes and gifts and...and leaving letters instead of calling. How did you know my address, by the way?”

“Ah...well...Janet helped me out with that one. She said it was very romantic and was happy to be in on it,” he said with a shy grin.

You chuckled knowingly, “Well it is, and you are incredibly disarming, but you already know that. And she's still so young. Her whole world revolves around romance. Life hasn't taken that from her yet. I hope it doesn't.”

You both continued walking but he tilted his head to observe you. Some unspoken sadness flickered across your face; some history of aching rejection he had yet to discern. It was a scar, and he wanted to kiss it.

“What? Don't you think romance makes life worth living?”

You scoffed at him, assuming he was being sarcastic, but his eyes were completely innocent and sincere. “Well...I don't know. I never counted on it or looked for it. There were always more practical concerns. I figured if I told myself I didn't want or need it, it wouldn't hurt so much to never have it.” You shrugged. “It just always seemed like something meant for other people, not me. So I looked for joy and meaning in everything else,” you said looking around thoughtfully, “...in kindness, in the things I get excited about learning, in the small beautiful parts of life. Even on the bad days I try not to take anything for granted.”

“Wow,” he said, “are you some kind of saint?”

You raised and eyebrow at him and said, “I assure you. I'm far from it.” And I'd like to show you personally how far from it I could be, you thought and then pushed it away just as quickly.

“I have sad and weak and angry days. I have days where I want to scream and jump out of my fucking window. I often feel alone and...different. I wonder what's wrong with me that I don't let anyone get too close.”

He considered this. “ You are different, and it's wonderful.” He realize he was staring. It was making you uncomfortable, so he changed tact slightly, reorganizing his thoughts. “Well, it's no great mystery, right? You've dealt with being hurt and disregarded by the people who were supposed to love you. That's a deep wound, and now your impulse is to survive...but maybe...just maybe, you could thrive while you're at it?”

You gave him a cautious grin, “That's a lovely thought...here's to hoping. I haven't felt hope for awhile, but it's making an appearance lately,” you said, toasting his your little paper cup with his and downing the last sips of your hot cider. When you both drained your cups, you were surprised to see Henry suddenly crumple his cup, throw it to the ground, and shout “Another!”. He quickly realized from the startled faces around him that his Asgardian gesture of appreciation must not be a universal one. “Oh,” he said with a chuckle, picking up the little cup; throwing it and yours into the garbage can. “I'm terribly sorry! Force of habit...it's a Scandinavian thing.”

You giggled a musical irrepressible laugh, and he felt himself go weak under its spell. He wanted to hear you laugh like that as often as possible. You pointed a finger against his firm chest stepped slightly closer, so the icy clouds of your breath mingled in the crisp air, “You are a delightfully odd man, Henry. I like you. I...I really like you,” you said, making eye contact. He met your gaze so intensely that you forgot to breathe. His hand curled around yours resting it against the soft leather of his coat. “I like you too, darling. So...so much. I know it's cliché and makes me sound utterly insane but I feel so comfortable with you...like I was meant to know you my whole life.”

You were stunned for a moment; partially because you felt entirely the same way, and partially because that did sound utterly insane. While your mind struggled to wrap around what he had just said, he massaged your hand gently and exclaimed, “My god! Darling, you're absolutely frozen. I should get you some gloves next time.” He untied his large wine-red scarf from his own neck and wrapped it around yours, then bundled your hands carefully in the draping ends.

Loki longed to kiss you in that moment. He wanted to kiss you so badly it ached within him every moment he didn't, but he found he couldn't, which puzzled him. He had never had any hesitation with kissing anyone before. Loki had never known the experience of nervousness or self-consciousness in romance...until now.

Why! He shouted within his mind You idiot, why aren't you kissing her right now?

Then a smaller voice within his mind piped up; an uncertain voice of his younger more insecure self, Because, what if I don't deserve her?

You were disappointed. He could see it clearly in your eyes. You wanted it just as much as he did, and the liminal silent tension was wearing on your both.

You couldn't bring yourself to initiate a kiss he might not want, so instead you wrapped your arms around his lanky waist and snuggled into his chest affectionately, whispering a simple “thank you”. Loki paused for a moment, stunned by the gesture, amazed to have you in his arms. Suddenly he gripped you very tightly, as if afraid you might drift away like a perfect dream upon waking. He felt a tear roll down his cheek in the icy air, first warm and then cool against his skin as he enjoyed the weight of you against him, close to him.

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