#i know i am going to rage so hard when i go into my career

[99tech99]

bouncing on krennic’s and going completely dumb on it could fix everything for me

my darling anon. my beloved sister (gn) in christ.

wouldnt it fix us all??

2005 words of attempted pwp smut that, as usual, turned out very much plotty below cut

WARNINGS: reader being the pushy one for once, not virgin but inexperienced reader, unprotected p in v, way too much blushing, overuse of italics, also its a little purposely vague who reader is at first cause i want you to be like ah-ha! i knew it when i say who it is.

Frustrations

Your father was beyond intolerable and your spineless older brother was no better. You would never have expected to be allowed to join the ranks of the Imperial military, but your father had paid good credits for your various degrees at all the best universities across the galaxy. You’d think he would at least want you to put them use. But no, the mighty Grand Moff had no use for a daughter with any original thought or ambition. And Wulfric just stood there. He would apologize and sympathize endlessly later, you knew, but ever since he graduated the Imperial Naval Academy, he had stopped trying to defend you to your father to protect his own career.

You were so furious. You needed to do something to make your father just as irate. You’d pulled a fair number of juvenile stunts over the years, but you wanted something more devious.

You practically doubled over in laughter as a deliciously insane idea came to you.

Taking out your comm link, you sent a message to the Imperial Director of Advanced Weapons Research. Without waiting for an answer, you snuck out to your family’s landing pad and commandeered a speeder and flew to the ISB headquarters on Coruscant.

En route, you received a reply. Yes, I’m in my office. Then immediately after: May I inquire as to why you want to know?

Don’t go anywhere, was all you sent back.

“I HATE Tarkin!” you raged the second the door to Director Krennic’s office opened.

Krennic, seated at his desk, had looked up from his datapad in surprise at the interruption, but then chuckled. “I agree whole heartedly, my dear. Is there any particular—“

But you cut him off. You had marched straight to his desk and straddled his lap. You took his face in your hands and kissed him.

At first he kissed you back, hard, but then he pulled away.

“What are you doing Miss Tarkin?” he asked, slightly alarmed.

“What do you think? I want you to fuck me!”

He stood up, pushing you off his lap, and actually retreated a few steps. “Uh, not that I don’t want—That is to say, as enjoyable as—And not that I’ve ever thought about it—“ A pink tinge was growing in his cheeks. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. “Where is this coming from?”

You giggled. It was hilarious to see Krennic flustered. He was always suave and arrogant, domineering and ambitious, with outbursts of temper, but never was he caught off guard. You honestly felt rather proud of yourself for eliciting this reaction from him. Still, you knew Krennic’s little charade of self restraint wouldn’t last long.

“C’mon Krennic,” you protested with a coy smile, closing the distance between you two. “You hate my father too. Don’t you want to piss him off?”

“Almost always,” said Krennic, prying your hands away from his belt you were trying to unfasten, “but usually in ways I feel won’t result in him murdering me.”

You grasped the edges of that stupid, pretentious cape and tugged him close.

“I know you want me, Director,” trying your best to make your voice soft and sultry. “I can feel the way you look at me. But we’re always in public or with my family. You can’t take what you want. And now here I am, alone with you, begging you to take me. Are you truly going to refuse me?” You looked up at him through your lashes.

He licked his lips but didn’t reply. You hadn’t anticipated any resistance from him. Your expression changed from expectant to petulant and, spite of yourself, you stomped your foot in frustration.

“Fine!” You gave his chest a little shove and took out your comm link again and started dialing. “Do you know if the Chimera is deployed? Maybe Thrawn—“

“Oh, fuck no!” Krennic grabbed your comm from your hands and practically threw it across the room. “There are dozens of ways for you to get back at Tarkin. But if you really want to infuriate your father AND you want to relieve your own tension?” Krennic took you by the waist and brought you closer. “Tarkin would hardly take Thrawn personally and Thrawn wouldn’t have any idea what to do with you anyway. I’m the only one who can satisfy both requirements.”

You grinned and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Knew I’d get you with Thrawn.”

“Oh you did, did you?” You giggled as Krennic eagerly pressed his mouth to yours again.

“You have been looking at me, haven’t you?” you asked.

“‘Course I have. It almost seems disrespectful not to,” he replied between kisses. “You go to the trouble of looking so divine. Shouldn’t you be admired?”

Your hand wandered to his crotch, massaging the not insignificant bulge that was rapidly hardening under your touch.

“So you want me?” you asked, feigning innocence, and pulling back to look into his ice blue eyes.

Krennic laughed. “My dear there is nothing I want in the galaxy more at this moment than to have you coming completely undone on my cock.”

“But because we hate my father—“

“Because we hate Tarkin,” he finished with you.

You held his gaze for a moment, with the feeling that this was probably meant a little more than purely sex to both of you.

“So….?” you asked, referencing the fact that Krennic was still completely in uniform.

You cocked your head to the side, watching as Krennic took off his boots, pulled off his gloves, and draped his cape over the back of his chair before starting unbutton his crisp white tunic.

You feigned a huge, dramatic sigh. “Uniforms are soo tedious,” you observed.

“You could…help…?” Krennic began. But you had already untied the sash of your robes and merely shrugged them off, the lace and silk pooling at your feet. He was gazing open mouthed at you.

“What??” you asked panicking slightly.

His smile widened as he tossed the tunic onto his desk. “I don’t want to cast aspersions on your mother’s character, but it just seems impossible that you could be genetically related to Tarkin.”

You laughed. “Wulfric and I were tubies. Part of their prenup apparently, to ‘ensure the genetic purity of the Tarkin heirs.’ Fortunately for me, my mother’s genes were strong.”

“Flawless,” corrected Krennic.

“I already want you; there’s no need for flattery,” you said dismissively.

Krennic looked slightly hurt. “It’s not flattery. I think you’re prefect.”

Perfect? You tried unsuccessfully not to smile. “We have better things to talk about than my parents’ marital arrangements. And to do…So take off your pants,” you demanded.

“I don’t normally like taking orders from a Tarkin…”

“Do it!”

Krennic raised an eyebrow in mock warning but you could see he was extremely hard already. “Very well Miss Tarkin. I’ll…obey.”

The word sent shivers down your spine.

Torturously slowly, it seemed to you, he stepped out of his pants and tossed them onto his desk with the rest of his clothes.

“Now sit,” you said, gesturing to the chaise lounge he had in the sitting area of his office. Probably for this exact reason, you just realized.

He sat down, legs spread, dick on full display for you. You felt heat rising in your cheeks as you studied his cock. He was very big. You weren’t a virgin, but you would by no means call yourself experienced in this area. You tried very hard not to think about all the other women Krennic had been with in his office and how much better they probably were than you at all this. Butterflies rose in your stomach and for the first time you wondered whether this was still a good idea.

Heart beating rapidly, trying to maintain the pretense of feeling in charge, you knelt over him. You took his ridiculously thick cock in your hand and pumped it a few times. He groaned in satisfaction. You held his cock steady as you lowered yourself onto him. You whimpered slightly at the burn as he stretched you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Krennic moaned.

You slowly raised and lowered yourself a few times, getting used to the feeling of him inside you. Once you adjusted to his girth, you started moving faster.

Krennic leaned back, his hands locked behind his head. His eyes moved lustfully down your body, reveling in the sight of you bouncing on his cock.

Gods he felt so good. But that was all—you weren’t getting any closer.

Sensing your frustration, Krennic said, “Am I right in thinking that whatever amateur schoolboys you’ve been with haven’t been able to take proper care of you?”

“Yes,” you conceded, pausing as you felt heat rising in your face.

“But are you able to take care of yourself?”

You blushed furiously. “That seems a rather intimate question.”

“This is a rather intimate situation,” he countered. He waited. He really wanted your answer?

“…Um, sometimes,” you admitted, face still burning. “But this is different.”

Krennic nodded sympathetically, licking his lips again.

“Try this.” With his massive hands, he grasped your waist, guiding your hips into a rocking motion instead of just vertical.

You inhaled sharply at the new sensation.

“Better?” he asked.

You nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yes!”

You moved your hips faster, chasing your high. Soon your breathing became shallow as you felt a heat rising in your core. This was a new feeling, but you knew you must be getting close.

“Please Krennic?” you gasped.

He gave you a knowing smile. “Please? Tell me what you want, Miss Tarkin.”

“Getting close…”

“You’re going to have to use your words, darling. I know it’s hard to concentrate when you’re being such a good girl, riding my dick so well…”

Why was he making you think? He knew what you wanted, what you needed.

“Please Krennic,” you begged. “Please. I…I want you to make me cum!” It felt cheap and dirty and yet so fun to voice your desires out loud. Was Krennic turning you into a slut? Hopefully…

He smirked. “Ah. And if I do this…?”

His thumb found your clit and massaged slow, steady circles.

“Oh, fuck!”

You thought you might actually cry his touch felt so good. But he was still teasing you.

“Need more,” you panted.

“Why?” he asked.

“Krennic!” you whined.

“Do you want to cum?”

You nodded.

“Well then use your words, darling.”

Gods this was not fair.

“Wanna cum for you, Krennic! Need to cum for you!”

“Mmm good girl.” At last he sped his touch. It was all you needed.

Finally he pushed you over the edge. It was the most blissful feeling in the galaxy. The most intense surge of pleasure coursed through your whole body. You expected Krennic to stop, but he didn’t, so neither did you. Wave after wave seemed to crash over you—or was it one never-ending orgasm? You didn’t know and you didn’t care. Your brain was no longer working and all that mattered was that Krennic was giving you more pleasure than you would have ever imagined possible.

Finally you couldn’t take anymore. “Too much,” you gasped. You collapsed on top of him, still inside you, resting your head on his smooth chest.

“That’s my new favorite sound in the galaxy,” said Krennic after a moment, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“What is?” you asked, still breathing hard.

“The way you moan my name when I have you cock dumb and overstimulated.”

“Oh gods!” you laughed.

“So are you feeling better Miss Tarkin?”

“Immeasurably!” You rested your chin on his chest to look up at him. “I was a little busy, but I don’t think you released your tension yet though?”

Krennic smiled mischievously.

“Miss Tarkin, I hope you know what it is you’ve gotten yourself into.” In one quick, fluid motion, he sat up and reclined you onto the chaise so that his weight was pressed against you.

“I have hours of frustration to work out before I’m finished with you.”

**********

back to the masterlist! remeber reblogs are love 🫶🏼

tag list! message me to be added!

@znerac @msjackson1073 @empresskrennic @erebusbabylon @shelveddoll @perfecttimemachinestranger @allthebestscreennamesaregone63 @starlady66 @enaelyork @hottpinkpenguin @starwh0ers @nahoney22 @baskervilka @dinathalawriter @rawyld @doc-blue @sibolga @sparklebunny57 @thelastofarcadia @andrewcodymybeloved @zekesplayground @bi-grlsdoitwell @satrina-krennic @thrawnnn @erosmutt @nymphl @sithologist

[a-dash-in-the-middle]

Call centers for URGENT CARE AND HOSPITALS are hell on earth

I think talking to the wall might bring better results

[jungwnies]

f1 grid | comforting them

୨ৎ : featuring : all drivers on the grid ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : comforting your driver boyfriend after they had a bad race </3

୨ৎ : genre : romance & fluff (angsty if you SQUINT) ୨ৎ : tws : some are suggestive ୨ৎ : word count : 3902

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : a monday post cus.. why tf NOT

ʚ・red bull

max verstappen

acts like everything is fine, but you can tell by how quiet he is.

you guide him past media without a word, shielding him physically and emotionally.

cuts everyone off with a clipped “it’s fine,” but lets you stay close.

doesn’t speak much until you’re alone—just sits beside you, jaw clenched.

eventually murmurs, “it was shit today,” without looking at you.

you just nod and take his hand, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles.

you order food, dim the lights, and make him lay down while you run your fingers through his hair.

he melts slowly, letting the tension fall out of his body.

“you’re like my therapist,” he mutters.

“you’re like my emotional tax return,” you shoot back, and he actually laughs.

yuki tsunoda

starts off convincing himself it’s fine. “it’s okay, just racing. it happens.”

tries to brush it off with humor, but his eyes are a little too glossy.

sits stiffly, arms crossed, forcing himself not to cry in front of anyone.

when you ask if he’s alright, he shakes his head and says, “i don’t wanna talk about it,” voice tight.

but as soon as you wrap your arms around him, he lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for hours.

“i tried so hard today,” he mumbles into your shoulder, and that’s when the tears come.

buries his face in your chest, completely silent except for the way his arms tighten around your waist.

you stroke his back and whisper, “i know. i saw. you did everything you could.”

he doesn’t let go for a long time, just holds you like he needs you to hold the world together.

later, sniffling into your hoodie, he mutters, “don’t tell anyone i cried. but don’t go anywhere either.”

ʚ・mercedes

george russell

“well, that was a masterclass in how not to have a race,” he says, throwing his gloves on the table like he’s commentating his own downfall.

acts unbothered, sipping his water like it’s champagne. “at least i didn’t crash into a wall. small victories.”

makes a passive-aggressive joke about his strategy call, then follows it with “but it’s fine. i love character development.”

when you ask how he really feels, he smirks. “emotionally bankrupt, but thanks for checking.”

keeps pretending he’s over it, but you catch him zoning out mid-shower, forehead against the tile, just breathing.

when you hand him a towel and a soft “you don’t have to keep it together right now,” he just shrugs. “if i let go, i might not get back up.”

you sit with him on the couch, and he rests his head on your lap, finally letting you card your fingers through his hair.

“you make this day slightly less shit,” he mutters, then adds with a cheeky grin, “wanna really take my mind off it?”

you raise a brow. “that subtle, huh?”

he just smirks, pulling you down for a kiss. “come on. don’t make me beg. i’ve had a really bad day.”

kimi antonelli

throws his helmet a little too hard, then immediately panics like "oh shit did i just break it," while storming into the motorhome.

tries to act cool but ends up rage-snacking on chips mid-rant. "why the f—why do i even try?! i’m literally doing everything and the car’s like, ‘no ❤️’"

paces back and forth while voice-cracking through sentences like, "no, it’s fine. it’s cool. it’s just… my whole career. no big deal."

you sit there trying not to laugh because he’s got one sock halfway off and crumbs on his shirt but is fully spiraling like it’s the end of the world.

“am i washed at 18?! is that even possible?”

you calmly hand him a juice box and say, “you’re not washed. you’re dramatic.”

he glares, sucks on the straw aggressively, then slumps down next to you with a loud sigh.

“i hate being a prodigy. too much pressure. should’ve been mediocre and mysterious.”

you rub his back and say, “you’re allowed to have a bad day, baby genius.”

he blinks up at you, lip jutted out. “if i win next weekend can we get matching crocs?”

you nod. he grins. “sick. emotional support footwear incoming.”

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc

comes home way too quiet. keys in the bowl, shoes off, straight to the bathroom without a word.

you find him staring at the sink, toothbrush in hand, not even brushing—just zoning out.

“i don’t know what i’m doing wrong,” he says, voice low. “i keep trying and i still mess it up.”

you hug him from behind and rest your chin on his shoulder. he doesn’t flinch, just leans into it with a sigh.

“maybe i’m not good enough anymore,” he mumbles. “maybe they’re right.”

you turn him around gently. “you are good enough. more than enough. stop speaking to yourself like that.”

he blinks fast like he’s trying not to cry, then rests his forehead against yours.

“i just… hate letting you down. even if you say you’re not disappointed.”

you guide him to bed, tug off his hoodie, pull the sheets over both of you. he curls into you instantly like a kid.

“you’re the only part of the day that feels good,” he whispers against your skin.

then, quietly, a little mischievously, “maybe we can end it with something else that feels good?”

you laugh into his hair. “if you’re asking me to kiss it better, just say that.”

“i am. in a poetic way.”

lewis hamilton

he doesn’t storm in. he’s not loud. he just walks through the door a little slower, like the weight of the day is still sitting on his shoulders.

takes his time taking off his shoes, hangs up his coat carefully—like staying in control might keep the emotions at bay.

sits on the edge of the couch with his hands clasped between his knees, eyes distant. “you ever give everything and still feel like it’s not enough?”

you sit beside him without saying a word, letting him talk when he’s ready.

“i don’t mind the criticism. i’ve been through worse. but sometimes it’s like… no one lets you just be human anymore.”

he looks at you with tired eyes, soft but heavy. “i’m not asking to win all the time. i just want to feel like i did something right.”

you lace your fingers with his and lean your head against his shoulder. “you do so much right. more than most ever could.”

he hums low in his chest, squeezes your hand. “you always know what to say.”

eventually pulls you into his lap, buries his face in the crook of your neck like he’s finally letting himself rest.

“just stay close tonight,” he whispers, kissing your shoulder. “you’re the one thing that still feels steady.”

“you’re the one thing that feels like peace.”

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris

kicks his shoes off a little too aggressively when he gets home. “don’t ask,” he mutters before you even say hi.

slumps on the couch, arms crossed, hoodie up, eyes on the ceiling. “today was great. crashed my hopes, ran over my self-esteem, 10/10.”

you offer to talk and he just grumbles, “nope. don’t wanna. gonna repress it. very healthy coping strategy.”

pretends he's fine, scrolls on his phone like he’s not one second away from crumbling. keeps sighing dramatically every five minutes for attention.

refuses to cuddle at first. “i’m mad at the world. leave me in my hoodie cave.” but then two seconds later: “okay but like… you can sit near me. just not touching. but like… close.”

eventually ends up curled into your side, face hidden in your neck. mumbles, “today sucked. i sucked. everything sucked.”

you stroke his hair and he softens immediately. “you don’t suck. you’re just tired. burnt out. you need rest, not punishment.”

“you’re being all soft and wise, it’s disgusting,” he grumbles—but his hand’s gripping your shirt like you might float away.

you kiss his temple. “still want me to leave you in your hoodie cave?”

he pulls the blanket over both of you and whispers, “shut up. you live here now.”

oscar piastri

walks into the room and doesn’t say much. just nods once, drops his bag, and disappears into the bathroom.

you hear the water running—ice cold. he always showers when he’s overwhelmed. said it helps him “reset.”

when he comes out, hair wet, hoodie half-zipped, eyes tired—he looks a little more like himself again. still quiet. still distant. but thawing.

sits next to you on the bed without saying anything, just slowly reaches for your hand and starts tracing circles on your palm.

“i didn’t know how to talk about it without getting angry,” he admits softly. “so i didn’t.”

you nod and lean your head on his shoulder. “you don’t need to explain everything right away. i’ll wait.”

he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “thanks for not pushing me. i just… hate not being enough.”

turns to you with red-tinted eyes. “it’s stupid. it’s just racing. but when it goes wrong, it feels like i’m failing you too.”

you hold his face and say, “you never have to earn being loved. not from me.”

he presses his forehead to yours and whispers, “can i just stay here with you for a while?”

then, a small smile. “also i might’ve left my sanity in the ice bath, but at least you’re here.”

ʚ・aston martin

fernando alonso

he comes home calm, like always. keys on the counter, jacket folded neatly. but there’s a tightness in his smile when he kisses your cheek.

“today was… different,” he says. not dramatic, not upset. just honest. “did everything right. still fell short.”

you know when it hits him—it’s in the way he lingers at the window, watching the sky like it has answers.

“some days you feel time catching up with you,” he says quietly. “not just in racing. in everything.”

he doesn’t need you to fix it. he doesn’t even need a pep talk. just presence.

you sit beside him on the couch, thigh to thigh, and rest your hand on his. he doesn’t speak for a while.

then, softly, “i think it just hurts more when you still want it this badly.”

you turn to face him. “it’s not weakness to want. it means you’re still alive in it.”

he smiles a little, shakes his head. “you’re too poetic for me.” but he leans in, rests his head against yours anyway.

“you help me breathe on days like this,” he murmurs. “even if i don’t say it.”

then after a pause, he smirks. “also… i might require some very specific stress relief later. for mental health reasons.”

you laugh. “is that what we’re calling it now?”

“doctor’s orders.”

lance stroll

walks in without a word, drops his stuff, and immediately faceplants onto the bed—fully dressed, shoes still on.

groans into the mattress. “everything sucks. i suck. the car sucks. media sucks. people suck.”

doesn’t want to talk at first, just grunts when you ask if he’s hungry. “no. actually, yes. but i don’t wanna move.”

you bring him snacks and he eats them off your plate like a sleepy gremlin, mumbling, “you’re the only good thing today.”

flops his head into your lap and finally breathes properly for the first time all day. “i hate how drained i get. everyone wants something. i just wanna be here.”

you run your fingers through his hair and he closes his eyes, murmuring, “i think i used my entire personality quota at the track.”

“can we just stay in here forever? like… disappear? change our names? move to a mountain town?”

you smile and nod. “sure. i’ll pack the stuff.”

he grins sleepily, then pulls your hand to his chest. “you make everything feel less loud.”

then, quietly: “you’re my safe place.”

five minutes later, fully under the blanket, eyes half-closed: “also. i’d like to make out now. for comfort purposes.”

ʚ・williams

alex albon

walks in already scrolling tiktok, earbuds in, nodding like he’s totally unbothered.

plops onto the couch, legs across your lap, and shows you cat videos like he didn’t just get roasted by strategy and a five-place penalty.

laughs too loud at dumb memes. “this is healing. this is therapy.”

you let him vibe, let him chill, until you see that slight pause mid-scroll. his thumb hovers. brows knit. he doesn’t show you this one.

“people are brutal today,” he mutters, still staring at the screen. “like… i know i joke about it, but sometimes i wonder if they’re actually right.”

you take his phone gently, set it down, and crawl into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. “hey. you know they’re not.”

he exhales slowly, voice quieter now. “i wish it didn’t get to me, but some days it does. just a little more than i’d like to admit.”

you press your forehead to his. “you don’t have to be funny about everything. you’re allowed to feel it too.”

he nods, lips pressed together. then, soft as ever: “can you just… hold me for a bit? like properly?”

“always,” you whisper. and he lets himself be still. no jokes. just you.

carlos sainz

he comes in with that tired-but-trying smile, tossing his bag down gently like even that feels heavy.

“it wasn’t… great. but i learned something. that’s always the takeaway, no?” he says, already slipping off his jacket.

he talks himself through it out loud, mostly to you but partly to himself. “maybe i pushed too hard. maybe the strategy wasn’t perfect. but i didn’t give up. that matters.”

you nod and hum and let him vent until he runs out of words and just stares at the wall in thoughtful silence.

“can i have a hug now?” he asks suddenly, already walking over like he knows the answer.

wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face in your shoulder. “you’re the only place i feel like i can breathe after a day like this.”

you guide him to the couch and he pulls you into his lap, burying his face into your neck like it recharges him.

“even if i’m okay… i still need this. i think everyone does, sometimes.”

he starts to drift off mid-cuddle, fingers tracing your spine lazily, voice getting slower.

“i should just speak spanish. english is too much work when i’m tired,” he mumbles against your skin.

then whispers, “gracias por amarme incluso cuando me siento roto.” (thank you for loving me even when i feel broken.)

you press a kiss to his forehead. “always.”

“te juro que voy a mejorar. para ti. para mí.” (i swear i’m going to get better. for you. for me.)

ʚ・haas

ollie bearman

bursts into the room like he just won the race. “alright! that was a trainwreck. who wants to start the post-race roast?”

keeps making jokes like, “honestly, i think i invented new ways to mess up today. f1 history books: written by me.”

you raise an eyebrow and say nothing, just letting him go off while he rants about strategy, traffic, “and my stupid left foot that forgot how to brake.”

finally crashes onto the couch, staring at the ceiling with a dramatic sigh. “do you think i peaked at 17?”

you crawl into his lap and cup his face gently. “no. i think you haven’t even scratched the surface of what you’re capable of.”

he blinks up at you, smile faltering for just a second. “yeah? even after… whatever that was today?”

“especially after that,” you say, brushing a thumb over his cheek. “you care. you fight for it. that’s what makes you special.”

he exhales, the tension leaving his body all at once as he buries his face in your chest. “okay, now i’m gonna cry like a little baby, hope you’re ready.”

you kiss the top of his head. “already holding you. already proud.”

he peeks up with a grin. “can you say that again but like, with sparkles and dramatic background music?”

you laugh. “ollie bearman, you are a legend in the making.”

“that’s the energy. now kiss me before i start doing self-deprecating tiktoks.”

esteban ocon

comes home calm, too calm, like he’s holding everything in with white knuckles and discipline.

doesn’t speak until he’s showered, changed, and had a full 20 minutes of silence. then sits beside you and says softly, “he was better today. i saw it.”

you know he means another driver—someone younger, someone faster today—and you can hear the frustration in his restraint.

“maybe i’m not doing enough,” he mutters, barely above a whisper. “maybe i’m the weak point.”

you try to stop him, but he just shakes his head. “i’m not fishing. i just… feel it. and i hate it.”

he’s not angry. he’s just disappointed in himself. his brows stay pinched even when you’re stroking his hand.

“i’m scared that if i don’t prove it now, no one will believe in me later.”

you climb into his lap and hold his face gently, forcing him to look you in the eye. “you don’t need to prove anything to be worthy of love. or respect.”

he leans into your touch, eyes closed. “i want to believe that. i do.”

you kiss his cheek. “then start here. start with me. i’ve always believed in you.”

he lets out a shaky breath and whispers, “merci…” then rests his forehead against yours like he’s anchoring himself back to solid ground.

ʚ・racing bulls

liam lawson

walks in tossing his hat onto the kitchen counter and mutters, “well that was a steaming pile of absolute crap.”

jokes about it in that dry way. “should’ve just driven a shopping trolley. might’ve gotten better results.”

he’s pacing while he talks, voice calm but clipped. “not even mad at anyone specifically. just… the whole bloody universe.”

you lean on the doorframe, arms crossed. “want me to fight the universe?”

he smirks, shaking his head. “nah. that’s my job. but i appreciate the backup.”

doesn’t take it out on you at all—in fact, he’s more affectionate. keeps reaching for your hand while he vents.

“i know it’s just one race. i do. but it builds up, y’know? starts to feel like you’re yelling into a void and it’s all echo.”

you guide him to the couch and let him rest his head in your lap. “you’re allowed to yell. i’ll hear it. even if the world doesn’t.”

he sighs and looks up at you with that soft, slightly crooked smile. “you’re dangerously good at this, you know that?” “at what?”

“loving me out of a bad mood.”

then he tilts his head and adds, completely casual, “might need a little… extra cheering up later though.”

you roll your eyes. “that what you’re calling it now?”

he grins. “what can i say? i’m a man of simple needs.”

isack hadjar

bursts through the door like a tornado. “I AM RETIRING. I’M QUITTING. I’M GOING TO OPEN A BAKERY. OR JOIN A CULT. SOMETHING PEACEFUL.”

flings his bag across the room, misses the couch, and nearly knocks over a lamp. doesn’t even blink.

“do you know how humiliating it is to be passed like that? i was driving my heart out and the car was like, ‘no...NOPE..NOOOO.’”

keeps fake-dramatizing it like a one-man soap opera. “isack hadjar: the fall from grace – coming soon to a streaming platform near you.”

you play along for a bit until he finally plops onto the floor at your feet and just… sits. quietly.

“i was actually trying today,” he mumbles, not looking at you. “like properly trying. and it still went to shit.”

you sit down beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and he leans into you slowly like he’s deflating.

“sometimes i feel like people are just waiting for me to fail so they can say they knew it.”

you turn to him gently. “they’re not. and even if they were… you’ve already proven them wrong just by showing up the way you do.”

he rests his head on your shoulder with a sigh. “you’re annoyingly good at this whole ‘being nice to me’ thing.”

you grin. “want me to stop?”

“no,” he mutters, snuggling closer. “never. might need it tattooed on me actually. in comic sans.”

ʚ・alpine

pierre gasly

slams the door just a little too hard. doesn't say anything at first—just kicks off his shoes, throws his phone on the table, and heads straight to the kitchen for water like it personally wronged him.

“they don’t listen. doesn’t matter what i say. it’s like talking to a fucking wall,” he mutters, pacing like he’s ready to punch a pillow.

you try to say something gentle and he snaps a little too fast—“i’m fine, okay?” but it’s not sharp. it’s exhausted.

he keeps moving around the room, hands on his hips, jaw clenched. “maybe i should stop caring. maybe that’s the trick.”

you don’t respond—you just walk over and wrap your arms around him from behind. he tenses for half a second. then sighs.

“you always do that,” he mumbles, not pulling away. “just… hug me until i stop being mad.”

you press your cheek to his back. “because i know you’re not really mad. you’re tired. and hurt.”

he turns around and buries his face in your neck like it’s the only safe place he knows. “i hate that they make me feel like this. like i’m not enough.”

you kiss his hair. “you are. always have been.”

he holds you tighter, breath shaky. “i don’t say it enough, but… i need you. especially on days like this.”

then, muffled: “also if you kiss me again i’ll probably forget what i was mad about. just sayin’.”

jack doohan

in front of the team? stone-faced. cool. collected. “yeah, not the best day. we’ll move on. it’s fine.”

comes home? immediately sighs the second the door closes. rests his forehead against the wall for a solid ten seconds before moving.

tries to act chill around you too. “it’s just one of those days. happens. i’m fine.”

he is not fine. but he’s doing that thing where he says he’s okay while avoiding eye contact and changing the subject every 3.2 seconds.

“you hungry?” he asks, even though he’s barely eaten since breakfast. “we could order something. or not. i don’t care.”

you eventually pull him onto the couch, and he lets himself flop next to you, arms crossed like a sulky cat.

he won’t say it outright, but his knee is bouncing, his fingers are twitching, and he keeps glancing at you like he wants permission to crack.

“i just hate looking like i don’t belong here,” he finally mumbles, voice low. “like i’ve got something to prove every second.”

you crawl into his lap and cup his jaw, making him look at you. “you belong. you’re not failing. you’re learning. that’s what makes you good.”

his lips part like he wants to argue, but then he just exhales and wraps his arms around you like you’re the only thing holding him up.

“it’s stupid,” he whispers. “i didn’t want to need comfort today. but here i am.”

you smile. “i don’t mind. i like being the person you let your guard down with.”

he looks at you with soft eyes and the tiniest grin. “well… if i’m already emotionally vulnerable and pathetic… might as well make out about it?”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

I Know Places.

Synopsis - Jake always joked that he'd kill for you. One fateful day, he does just that.

Pairing - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Female Reader (Callsign - Ivy) - Bonnie&Clyde inspired au

Warnings - cursing. very near SA. mentions of abuse/assault. mentions of blood, gunshots and violence. mentions of suicide. please, do not read if any of these warnings will affect you.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 3.1k

Author's Note - i'm not sure what happened, because this was really fluffy in my head. it ended up kind of dark, but i'm rolling with it. i like writing a different side of jake. just in time for halloween too. this was written for @laracrofted 1989TGM celebration!! <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

You stand with your hand on my waistline

It's a scene, and we're out here in plain sight

I can hear them whisper as we pass by

It's a bad sign, bad sign

Jake's always had impeccable timing.

He'd tell you, later, that he sensed it. Just knew. Felt it in his gut, some sort of warning from the universe. He had to get to you.

The Admiral has you half bent over the desk in his office, fingers twisted into your underwear. He's trying to pull them down your legs when the door swings open.

You're paralysed, frozen with fear. The look on your face must tell Jake enough. He gets the message, understands your silent communication.

The Admiral stops. Backs away. As if putting distance between you will erase what he's been caught doing. Trying to do.

You expect Jake to yell, fight, throw The Admiral across the room by his collar. You expect blood, bruises, broken skin and bared teeth.

All you're met with is silence.

Jake strides across the room towards you. Fixes your clothes, smooths down your hair. Wipes the tears from your cheeks. He snakes a hand around your waist and guides you out of the door. Not a word said.

Something happens when everybody finds out

See the vultures circling, dark clouds

Love's a fragile little flame, it could burn out

It could burn out

"He'll ruin my career."

You're tucked into Jake's lap, legs slung over his hips as he holds you close. His rough fingertips run themselves up and down your spine, comforting and gentle. You inhale his musk, letting the familiarity fill your lungs.

"You didn't do anything wrong, baby."

"That won't matter."

The two of you are whispering, hushed voices bouncing off the furniture. You're alone together in Jake's living room. There's no one else around. You think he's scared he'll spook you. You're right.

"I worked so hard for this, Jake. I sacrificed everything to get into Top Gun."

"I know, baby."

"I can't lose it all."

He presses a tender kiss to your forehead, brushing your hair back from your eyes.

"What do you want to do? Report him?"

"Jake, you're not listening to me. He'll ruin my career."

"But he's the guilty one. Not you."

"Yeah, well. This is the way it works. Men can assault you and still play the victim."

You're frustrated, now. There's something bubbling, running through your veins. You can't put your finger on it. It feels like more than rage. Whatever it is, it's lethal.

You climb off Jake's lap and stand, pacing across the carpet.

"What am I supposed to do?" you murmur, tears threatening to spill.

Jake can't stand the wobble in your voice. It tightens something in his chest, pulls at his heartstrings. He was furious, before. He's just sad now.

"I'll do anything you ask," he tells you, standing up to cradle your face in his hands. "Anything in the world."

"I know."

And you do. That's what it's like, being with Jake. He loves so entirely, with his whole being. Every fibre of his heart belongs to you. It beats to the rhythm of your name.

"Just tell me what you wanna do, baby. I'm on your side. No matter what."

You lean up to kiss him, his lips soft and careful against yours.

"I'm not sure, yet. When I know, you'll know."

Jake sits back down on the couch, pulling you with him. You tuck yourself into his side, fitting there perfectly. He slings an arm around your waist and keeps you close, holding you a little tighter than usual.

Cause they got the cages, they got the boxes

And guns

They are the hunters, we are the foxes

And we run

"We should kill him."

You're strewn across Jake's chest, tangled in the sheets. Your limbs and hearts are intertwined, bodies drenched in sweat and lungs heaving.

"What?"

You sit up, pulling the comforter up and over your body slightly to combat the chill of the ocean breeze that's filtering through the open window.

"Let's kill him."

You look over to your boyfriend, waiting for the punchline. It never comes.

"Jake."

He turns to you, the most serious you've ever seen him. There's a look in his eye you've never seen before. It's dark. You're vaguely aware you should probably feel fear - but all you feel is anticipation.

"How many girls do you think he's done this to before you? How many will come after?"

You swallow, biting at your lips.

"He needs to be stopped, baby. You and I both know they won't fire him. He needs to be taken out of the equation altogether."

You realise, suddenly, that the thing you're worried about isn't the morality of the situation. It's the logistics. You don't want to get caught.

"Do you think we're smart enough to get away with murder?"

"Baby," he drawls, brushing his knuckles over your cheekbone. "We're a hell of a lot smarter than people give us credit for."

You know he's right. People underestimate both you and Jake. Everyone assumes he's nothing but a pretty face and toned muscles. That you're just his pilot girlfriend, seduced by his Southern charm and the fact that he's good in bed.

It seems like a challenge, now. You want to do this. You want to see if you can get away with it. You're already on the precipice of losing everything - why not go out with a bang?

"How would we do it?" you ask, leaning in closer to the blonde man next to you.

He thinks for a moment, running his fingers up and down your bare thighs.

"I say we make it look like a suicide. Shoot him in the head and frame it so it looks self inflicted."

You nod, processing.

"I think we should hold him at gunpoint first. Get him to write a confession, some sort of letter. That way, there's no confusion as to what happened."

"You're a genius," Jake grins, dipping down to kiss you.

He slips his tongue into your mouth effortlessly, sighing when he tastes himself from earlier. You straddle his waist and tangle your fingers into his hair, desperate to be close to him.

Both of you are high on adrenaline, buzzed on the anticipation of what's to come.

Baby, I know places we won't be found and

They'll be chasing their tails trying to track us down

'Cause I, I know places we can hide

I know places

I know places

Murder isn't as hard as you thought it'd be.

Careful planning. Airtight alibis. Reassurance and recon.

You and Jake have created the perfect crime.

The two of you show up to The Admiral's office on an evening you know he'll be working late. He's doing paperwork when you arrive.

You walk in first. Jake follows, and locks the door behind him.

The Admiral goes to speak, but you silence him with a handgun pointed at his chest.

"Speak, and you die."

He doesn't say another word.

Jake takes the gun from your hand and walks around the desk, pressing it into his superiors temple.

"We need a couple of things from you," he begins. "Just a favour or two."

The Admiral is sweating, pale and rigid. He looks scared. It sends a rush of adrenaline through you. You're enjoying this. Jake is too, judging by the beaming grin on his face.

"Grab a pen, and some paper. We're about to do some creative writing."

Jake orchestrates the letter. Gets him to write exactly what you need. Notes down the brutality, the arrogance, the abuse of power. He makes him recount every incident, not just yours. You're there for what feels like hours, as his shaky hands move the pen across the paper.

Finally, he finishes. Dots the I's and crosses the T's. Jake chuckles.

"Wonderful. And for the last part of this joyous evening were having together, my girlfriend is gonna shoot you."

The Admiral chokes on his breath. Looks to you with fear in his eyes. Finally, you think. He understands how it felt.

He goes to open his mouth, but you stop him.

"Don't beg. Don't plead. It's pathetic."

"We made up our mind weeks ago," Jake adds. "You're not going to deter us now."

You smile at your boyfriend, giddy over the way he's protecting you, saving you, loving you.

"I'm going to enjoy this," you whisper.

You take the gun from Jake and press it to The Admiral's temple. You know the silencer will muffle the noise - you really have thought of everything.

You click off the safety, and lean down so your mouth is next to his ear.

"This is for all of the women you hurt."

You pull the trigger.

He dies instantly.

Lights flash and we'll run for the fences

Let them say what they want, we won't hear it

Loose lips sink ships all the damn time

Not this time

In another life, you and Jake could have been actors.

You're all called into the briefing room the next day, gathered together in confusion.

Admiral Simpson stands in front of your class - pale as a sheet, dark circles bruised under his eyes.

"There's been a situation, and we want you to hear it from us," he begins. "I ask that you all keep this to yourselves, where possible. Don't talk to any media, don't gossip, don't spread rumours. Understood?"

When you all nod, he continues.

"The Admiral is dead."

The room goes silent. Jake's hand finds yours under the table. To anyone on the outside, it looks like a boyfriend supporting his girlfriend. To you, it's something different.

It feels like time stands still. The world stops turning, suspending you in the present moment. Eventually, Rooster speaks.

"What happened?"

Beau clears his throat, swiping his hand over his face.

"He took his own life."

There are whispers now, hushed and clipped. Everyone is in a state of shock and confusion. Everyone, except for you and the blonde man next to you. He squeezes your hand tightly, refusing to let go.

"Of course, there will be an investigation. But, it seems pretty obvious to us what happened. If anyone in this room has been effected by the actions of The Admiral that have come to light... please, speak to me, or any other of your superiors. Thank you. "

He exits the room, leaving all of you in palpable silence.

"What the fuck?" Payback mutters. "What did he mean, 'actions that have come to light?'"

"There's rumours," Phoenix begins. "He had a... soft spot, for young female pilots. People have been whispering about it for months."

Suddenly, all eyes are on you. You're the only other woman in the room besides Natasha, and she clearly wasn't involved.

"Did he ever... try anything with you, Ivy?"

"No," you're quick to answer. "No. Thank God."

The room breathes a collective sigh of relief.

If only they knew.

they take their shots, but we're bulletproof I know places

and you know for me, it's always you I know places

in the dead of night, your eyes so green I know places

and I know for you, it's always me I know places

A month later, you snap.

Jake comes home to find you frantically shoving clothes into a duffel bag, sweat dripping down your back.

"Baby," he tries, cautious, like he's approaching a spooked animal. "Baby."

You turn to face him with wild eyes, fear radiating off you.

"What's wrong, angel?"

You look at him incredulously.

"What's wrong? What's fucking wrong? We killed someone, Jake! That's what's wrong!"

"He wasn't a good guy."

"That doesn't matter. That doesn't make it right."

He cradles your face in his hands, eyes never leaving yours.

"Talk to me. What's going on? You've been okay. We've been okay. I thought we were processing, moving forward."

"I was. And then today, I just... can't. It was murder, Jake. Premeditated murder."

"Listen to me," he demands, tilting your chin up so your eyes are level. "He was an awful, awful man. The world is a better place without him. We saved so many women from a horrible fate, baby. We did a good thing."

You inhale carefully, and exhale a shaky breath, leaning up to press a kiss to his bitten lips.

"Yeah?" you ask, unsure. "We did save people, didn't we?"

"We wouldn't have done it without just reason, baby. We're good people, you and I. We both know we are."

You nod, looking for any signs of insecurity in his eyes. You don't find a single speck.

"You're right. Fuck, you're right. Sorry if I scared you, Jake."

"You scared me because I thought you were leaving me," he chuckles. "Wondered what I did wrong."

"Nothing," you're quick to reassure, tangling tracing your fingertips over the features of his face in a featherlight touch. "My God, Jake. I've never loved anyone as much as I love you. You're it for me. You're my forever."

Jake leans down, pressing his lips to yours firmly and surely. It's as if he's telling you everything he feels without using any words. He pulls you into him, winding his arms around your back and tugging you closer.

"I've got you, baby. No matter what happens. It's me and you, always. I love you."

"I love you too, Seresin. Always."

They are the hunters, we are the foxes

And we run

Just grab my hand and don't ever drop it

My love

"Let's run away."

You're taking off your shoes by the door when Jake comes bounding down the stairs, buzzing with energy.

"Hmm?"

"Let's run away, baby. You and me. The open road. We can go anywhere we want."

"Jake," you laugh. "Are you drunk? What's happening?"

"Not drunk. My head's clearer than it has ever been. I've been thinking, while you were gone."

"Thinking about...?" you ask, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning up to kiss his rosy lips.

"Getting out of here. This place is full of bad memories and old ghosts. We can start afresh somewhere new."

"Like where?"

"Anywhere. Literally anywhere. We don't even have to stay in America. We could go to Europe, Australia, Canada? The possibilities are actually endless."

"What's triggered this?" you murmur. "You okay?"

"I'm always okay when I'm with you," he smiles. "But.... I can just feel it, you know? I can feel everything piling up. There's a weight on my shoulders, and on yours too. We can let that go. I know we can."

"You're right, about the weight. I haven't relaxed in months."

Jake slides his hands under your shirt, tracing his fingers up and down the bare skin of your back.

"I know," he murmurs against your lips. "I think there's something better out there for us."

"Where would we go? Like, serious talk, what are our options?"

"I know places," he winks.

"What places, Jake?" you try to chide, but you're smiling.

"We can go to my mom's, first, in Texas. Just to touch base. From there, I mean it when I say literally anywhere, baby. Wherever you wanna go, we can go. You've always wanted to go to Italy, right? We could go there. Or I have a high school friend in Perth - we could go there."

"I wanna go somewhere with good food. Kind people. Beautiful views. A little sunshine wouldn't hurt either."

He's grinning at you, white and blinding. His excitement is contagious, settling into your bones.

"Imagine it, baby. Me and you, on the beach all day. We could surf, swim, go grab some lunch, then surf and swim some more. Go home, make dinner, sit out in the yard and listen to the ocean waves. Do it all again the next day."

You can't wipe the smile off your face, practically bouncing on the soles of your feet.

"Okay."

Jake stops in his tracks, still and rigid.

"Really?"

"Really. We can go right now, Jake. I don't wanna be here any longer."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Fuck, I love you. Let's pack our shit and go, baby."

Jake kisses you with fervour, dipping you backwards like you're in a movie. You squeal, gripping the nape of his neck for balance. He picks you up and spins you around, twirling you like a fairytale.

"What about everyone here?" you ask, forehead pressed to Jake's.

"We'll miss them, and they'll miss us, but we'll all be okay."

He's right. These people are your family, but they'll understand. You have to do what's best for you.

"Do you really wanna go as soon as we can?"

"Yeah, Jake. I meant it. We can start packing right now."

He wraps his arms around your middle and carries you upstairs, throwing the closet doors open while you grab your suitcase.

Baby, I know places we won't be found and

They'll be chasing their tails trying to track us down

'Cause I, I know places we can hide

I know places

The sun beats down on your skin, warming you up from the outside in. There's a breeze whipping through your hair, carrying salt from the ocean into the car. The sunroof is down, allowing you to breathe in the fresh air.

Jake's hand slides across the centre console and onto your thigh, thumb rubbing circles into your bare skin.

"You okay?"

He's looking over at you, taking his eyes off the road for a split second.

"I'm good, baby."

He smiles, the grin reaching every feature of his face, lighting him up.

You've been on the road for months, stopping and starting however and whenever you please. A motel here, a beach apartment there. You've lost count of how many states you've travelled through, collecting postcards in each one.

You'll settle down, eventually. You've been making a list of your favourite places you've visited, ranking them as you go. You'll most likely buy a place in your top choice. But not yet.

For now, you're content with the open road. The convertible car, all your belongings in a suitcase in the trunk, roof down at every opportunity. You like not staying in one place for too long. It weirdly suits you.

Jake's never looked happier. He glows, smile lines creasing the corner of his eyes. He laughs so often, and you never get tired of the sound.

You glance down to the golden band on your left hand, smiling softly.

"What are you thinking about?" your husband asks, squeezing your thigh.

"Vegas," you beam. "Never did I think I'd be married by an Elvis impersonator in a bright blue chapel."

"I'm the epitome of class, baby. You know this."

Both of you are grinning, chuckling gently.

"We did the right thing. Leaving."

"Yeah, we did. I'm glad I believed what you said."

"What did I say?"

"That you knew places."

He traces a love heart on your skin with his thumb, over and over again.

"Told you, baby. I know places."

[devouredbyflame]

Hi everyone,

I’ve been MIA because I’ve taken a step back from social media for a second due to *gestures vaguely* everything. I think Tumblr is where I’ll stay for now and I don’t foresee me leaving permanently unless there’s something going on that I don’t know about here, too,

Anyway, I was pulled to post this, as well. I don’t normally post many of Loki’s channeled messages here and that seems to be mostly what Loki’s been wanting me to write and post on my blog for a while so I haven’t been posting much here.

I’ve found some time ago that Loki’s words tend to make no sense to me when I type them and I don’t normally know why He wants me to post what He posts. I will usually go back and read them after a little while and find his words to become more clear and perhaps a bit… ominous considering everything that went on.

I wrote this for Him a few days ago right before shit was starting to go down in my country. Things took a turn yesterday and it wasn’t great. I read it now and realize that a lot of what is going on that people tend to worry about is a distraction from the bigger problem. And we have to ask ourselves what the distraction is about that the leaders are striving so hard to prevent us from seeing? I don’t have the answer to that.

Yesterday, the orange man was announced to be attempting to gut federal funding for federal grant and loan programs and hysteria ensued in particular around higher education (which is what my career is in), even though what he wants is illegal and would cause a riot. Which is, arguably, what’s going on. A distraction - a way in stewing up anger and rage over things that probably won’t happen to make sure we don’t pay attention to what’s actually going on. It’s a fear tactic, a play piece. It’s something that Loki has been warning me about for some time and now I finally understand why and how it is working to the advantage of those who wish to stay in power and keep us on our toes in absolute fear.

The message I wrote that I will post below was written on Sunday morning and yesterday, when shit began to truly hit the fan and panic ensued was Tuesday. The timing is uncanny and the message is, too.

Mostly, the overarching theme here is: be prepared. Be prepared for anything. Be prepared for the times to come and the times that have not been here yet. The tower is falling - it has not yet hit the ground. Things are moving now and things are underway that will help us see the truth behind the lies and deceit that are plaguing the governing bodies of the world. Brace yourselves for when it has fallen and realize that there’s no end in sight - not the normal kind of end where everything doesn’t begin again. But it’s all a part of a cycle of change and there has to be a new beginning after.

What happens after - time can only tell. That’s where Loki seems to be in all of this. Not in the chaos, but the decisive knowing that all of this is a game of the worst kind possible.

Loki knows games more than anyone - but He also knows how to win games and cut through deceit. He is the truth speaker and He who untangles knots and weaves words.

Anyway, here is the post I speak of. Take what you will from it:

[palmtreesx3]

Act 4 - Going All the Way

Queening (Steve's Chapter)

<- Previous Chapter || Next ->

Series Masterlist

Get in the mood for this installment:

Series Playlist

Queening Mood Board

Summary: (10.6k)  Steve’s phone call with his dad does not go well, and the aftermath of that call impacts way more than Steve himself. Steve has to realize a few things, only one of which is that he’s got people there to pick him up when he’s down, but the most important is that relationships don’t have to be conditional. As everyone rallies behind Steve, a revelation comes in the form of a stranger on a bench, and that chance meeting starts a few wheels in motion behind Steve’s pretty head. Can he fix what he’s done when he was down and out? Can he patch things up? Is this the end of the road, or can he go all the way? Buckle up, and enjoy this angsty chapter of Get Off. 

Warnings: it's a sex shop and generally just NSFW so 18+. Heavier topics are explored, depicted or mentioned including prejudice and anti-gay bias, heavy binge drinking as escapism, depression and a blink of thinking better off dead, controlling parents, overstimulation and some dashes of neurotypical behavior you can catch if you blink slowly enough. There’s also the ongoing sexual innuendos and explicit discussion of body parts, as well as implied p+v intercourse, and the holy grail of pussyeating. 

"What the hell is going on, son?" his father's voice bellowed through the phone. "I just heard from a colleague that you're working in some... some pornographic store downtown! In town for business and he could have sworn he saw your lookalike walking into the place, but then you turned around and he knew it was my own flesh and blood. How goddamned embarrassing, Stephen. Do you know how embarrassing that conversation is to have over a business dinner?"

Steve winced at the tone his father took, a visceral response he’s had since childhood. A tone he knows well and somehow still cuts just as deep as it did when he was thirteen. "Dad, it's not like that. It's just a job. It’s…it’s retail, s’all it is" he stammered, attempting to diffuse the tension. To deflect. To play ball. 

His father scoffed, "Retail job? Don't play games with me. I've spent years paying for whatever you need, trying to get you scholarships for sports which you squander away with your shitty grades, and this is what you end up doing? Sitting on your ass for a few years and working in some seedy place, peddling who knows what!"

"It's not like that at all. It's just a store, and we sell lots of things, not…not just that stuff, Dad." Steve tries desperately to explain, slipping right back into it - the role of a boy trying to find any excuse to satiate a father that could never be pleased. Like the time he was a shameful teenage boy being told he’s worthless as he stood in the entryway of the house, barely over the threshold, all because he passed the ball and let Sammy Curtis sink the game winning shot instead of taking it himself.

"That stuff” he interrupts with a scoff. “Is this what I raised you for? I expected you to have a respectable career by now. Thought this move to the city was going to give you some fresh choices, not this... this filth!"

Steve was not ready for this. Half his hangover was still hanging on for dear life. Just a moment ago things were…not this complicated. He was eating a raw bagel talking about…you…with his friend. Even when that was the thing that felt complicated it wasn't really, was it? It was simple, and easy and… Now he’s struggling to find the words to defend himself, especially hard long-distance, though he also guesses he should be grateful it was - he wasn’t forced to see the rage and disappointment behind his father’s eyes this particular time."Dad, it's just a job. We needed work, and this opportunity came up. It doesn't define who I am. I just…it shouldn’t matter that much." 

“Just a job? Stephen? What do you mean just a job?” At that, Steve can hear his voice slip into a deeper register. He knows the face that goes along with this. He knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that his father is going to try and ruin his life. It’s not much of one, but it’s his, and he can just tell that he’s about ready to pull the rug out from under him. 

“You're 25, for God's sake! When are you going to get a real job, a job that befits the family name? Do you think your mother and I worked so hard for you to end up in some disgraceful position like this? Galavanting around a city and being a part in all this promiscuity. Goddamnit, at this rateI bet you even associate with the gays. Don’t you?"

He feels his body tense and wince as those words spill out of his fathers mouth. His eyes flit to his friend, sitting on the couch, legs tucked up under her and perched there watching one side of this debacle unfold like a deer in headlights. Forcing a smile at him, an awkward smile of encouragement, none the wiser about the hate his father is spewing about people like… about her. Tears welled up in Steve’s eyes thinking about it and Robin sees them - or at least she thinks she does - and her eyebrows furrow in concern. But before she can be sure, he turns around refusing to show his vulnerability right now even to her. He bites his lip to stifle the visceral response he had to his dad’s prejudices about his friend. "Dad, I'm doing my best. I'm trying to make a living and figure things out. It's not as easy as you think."

His father's tone softened with a hint of disappointment unlike the frustration and anger that has been flowing out of him since the minute Steve picked up the phone. In almost a plea, he says "You're embarrassing us, son. This is not the life I envisioned for you. You need to reconsider your choices and start acting like an adult."

After a brief silence, his father's voice returned, this time laced again with frustration - the softness that just fell was all an act. This is the hammer Steve was expecting, and it’s falling. Right now. "Enough of this nonsense. You're coming back home. I've arranged for a position for you in the firm. You'll start immediately. Stability, respect – those are the things you need. Not whatever you're doing in that disgraceful place."

Steve ran his free hand through his hair, shaking his head but not really knowing what to say. Dragging his hand back down his face, he felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The pressure to conform to his father's expectations had been a constant weight on his shoulders for his entire life and this is not the first time this conversation has been had. This time feels different though. Before he hadn’t had anything to call his own - not as much to lose. This stupid apartment and the life that they’re living, it’s been good. Maybe the best thing that he’s ever had. And it’s been his. Before, his dad just wanted control. This time, he wants to control him and strip him of the actual identity he’s been working so hard to understand and build. "Dad, I... I need some time to figure things out here. I can't just drop everything and come back."

His father's tone grew more insistent. "Time? You've had enough time, and look where it's gotten you – working in a place like that! It's time to put an end to this foolishness. You're coming back, and that's final."

Steve hesitated, torn between his desire for independence and the fear of his dad. He takes a deep breath and finally responds "I appreciate your concern, but I need to make my own choices. I can't just give up on everything I've built here."

"Built? You call this building a life? What have you accomplished, working in that... that den of immorality? Come home, and I'll set you on the right path. It's time you take responsibility for your future." 

As his father continued to insist, Steve’s yearning to forge his own path and avoid any that looks remotely like his fathers continues to intensify. He’s tuning out the insults at this point, desperate to find some sort of life raft to hold on to as he drowns in his fathers disappointments. It’s only then, that he finds it. The lifeline. The realization that he's got miles between him and his father now. He’s not coming home later to ground him or impose punishments on him. He isn’t relying on their money to pay bills. His mind is racing a mile a minute, and nothing…not one fucking thing he can land on points to any reason that he has to comply with his father. He isn’t depending on him for anything anymore, so why does he owe his dad anything at all?

"I'll think about it, Dad," And with that, he hangs up, knowing full well that he won’t think about it for another goddamn second. 

And that day, Steve called out of work. 

Robin couldn’t even argue with him. After the receiver hit the wall, she could tell that it was worse than she expected the minute he turned around and she could see his eyes glistening. She also was confused as fuck, because she swore she also saw him smirking just a little bit, but she was not going to poke the bear. She let him storm off and slam the door to his room. She didn’t bother him even though everything inside of her was screaming to go knock on the door and make him talk about it. Make him listen to her. She wanted to tell him he wasn’t anything that his father probably just said he was, but they’ve had this conversation before and…damnit she was working really hard at knowing boundaries - trying to read the room and figure out when she needs to shut up instead of rambling incessantly at all the wrong times. She thinks that this is one of those times that people need space, so she acquiesced. 

She makes a full pot of coffee, sets out some more food and the bottle of aspirin from the medicine cabinet and leaves it all out on the kitchen counter for Steve for whenever he emerges once she’s gone. Subtle. Not every way to help has to be in your face, she tells herself. I don’t need to meddle. He’ll let me know if he needs anything. Right?

Robin’s walk to work that day was quiet and dreary. The weather outside, overcast and air thick with that feeling that comes before the clouds break open and pour down on you. Seemed fitting. 

It took Robin five whole minutes after she got to work and put her stuff away before she meddled anyway. She picked up the phone once, and quickly set it down - thinking better of it. But immediately picked it back up against her better judgment and called you. As your answering machine picks up and your message plays, dripping with sarcasm and coyness asking your caller to leave a message after the beep, the realization hits then that she has no idea what your schedule is and it was a dumb idea to call you. Dumb dumb dumb. Steve’ll be pissed anyway. 

As the silence settles on the other end of the line Robin’s eyes widen in panic. She meant to hang up, call back later, pretend this didn’t happen at all and play it off as a wrong number. But she’s pretty fucking sure she just said that out loud instead of in her head. “Dumb dumb dumb. Steve’ll be pissed anyway.”

She hung up faster than the devil can fly, slamming down the phone and rattling the display case. The commotion drew Murry out from the back office, shirt pulled up and scratching at his stomach. “What’s got you all worked up Red? Little lost without your other half? Where is he anyway? Finally ruined his perfect attendance because of a wicked hangover, didn’t he? Make sure you tell ‘em he’s not eligible for the Perfect Attendance award this year, nowwww–ohhh something is off about this... What is it Red?.”

So for the next hour, Robin tries her best to summarize what it’s like to have the Harrington’s as parents and what just happened this morning. At least what she knew, because Steve hadn’t shared anything that his dad had said on the other end of that line. “Red, thank God you talk so fast, otherwise that story would have taken up your whole shift. Shit.”

That coaxes a chuckle out of Robin, which makes Murray smile. “Listen, that guy sounds like a Grade-A Asshole. No wonder Steve’s wound so tight…Makes so much sense actually. But this ain’t your fight. Steve’s gotta deal with this demon on his own and he has a funny way of showing it, but he knows where to find the people to help when he needs them. I’m sure of it. He’s not that fucking stupid.” 

“Yeah, see you’re wrong there Murray. He does absolutely think that he has to do everything on his own. Even when he knows we’re here, he won’t… he won’t ask for help. He won’t talk about it. He…thinks he deserves it.” 

It ended up being a slow day, not many people wandering the streets with the off and on drizzles happening all day long, so Robin used that time to bring Alex up to speed after she popped in the shop after work. 

Alex found the story surprisingly relatable. She grew up in a house with rich, successful parents just outside the city in the suburbs. Her parents hosted lavish dinner parties for business partners and she grew up in a way that seemed an awful lot like the Harrington house, other than the fact that they didn’t disappear on her for weeks on end. Her parents, however, were disappointed in her. Unlike Steve’s story, they were not pissed at her skill or her work ethic, her dreams or aspirations. No, they were pissed and disappointed at who was calling the house late at night and giggling on the other end of the phone. Who was picking her up for a night at the movies, or who she was driving off to meet under the swaying trees in the park. The boys she was dating were not good enough for the family - not a “strong enough merger of families” and then when she brought home a girl…well that was a horse of a different color all together. 

Five hours later, Robin and Alex are standing outside of their favorite pizza place in the neighborhood, thinking that a pie and some beers might just draw a sulking Steve out of his cave of self-loathing for the night. They haven’t heard from him all day, and Robin, despite thinking she should maybe let him be for a while, still decided to try and call home to check in on him. When he didn’t answer, Alex offered up a simple explanation, “Rob, he’s probably just sleeping it off, or not in the mood. It’ll be fine.”

Pies and six packs now acquired, they walk side by side the rest of the way back to the apartment, ready for whatever their friend might need. 

“Honey, we’re home!” Robin exclaims, as they barrel through the door. But she stops dead in her tracks seeing the counter laid out with all of the supplies, perfectly arranged exactly how she left them that morning. “Steve? Y’okay?”she shouts down the hallway, on her way to tap at his door before she hears Alex call her name from the living room, beckoning her to come. 

When she arrives, what she doesn’t expect to see are the crushed cans of High Life strewn all over the coffee table, an ashtray so full that she knew he had to blow through most of the pack he has tucked away from when they drink, and the half emptied bottle of Whiskey sitting at the foot of the couch. He didn’t even bother with a glass, she knew it. He spent the day trying to drink away the awful things that sorry excuse for a father said to him straight from the bottle. 

His shoes - the Chucks, the ones he’s been wearing lately - they’re not by the door. Neither is his jacket, so she knows he left and went somewhere. 

But then a high pitched beeping sings from the kitchen, and Robin immediately knows that Steve’s Tamagotchi is hungry…he left, but he forgot his keys. That stupid drunk idiot got locked out. 

All the strings Robin has been holding together all day come loose. They unravel like a dangling thread on a handknit sweater and Alex is pretty sure she hadn’t taken one breath since she started rambling. “Ohmygoddoyouthinkhe’sokay? Whatifsomethinghappenedtohim? Ican’tlivewithmyself. Howdoweevenfindhim? OhmygodI’mgonnahavetotellthekidshe’smissing. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.” 

“Robin.” Alex calmly speaks.

“Ifhe’sdeadI’mblaminghisdad,Isweartogodhe’sasgoodasadeadmanhimself” 

“Robin.”

“Jesus,weshouldcallthehopsital? Ormaybethepolice. Yeahwegottacallsomeone. Ohmygod.”

“ROBIN!” Alex finally screams, two hands on her shoulders now shaking her into some sense of reality. “You’re spiraling. You can’t be spiraling. We have to think.”

“Yeah. Yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just….”

“Rob, I know you’re worried. We’ll figure it out. Okay?” Alex slides her hand along Robin’s cheek, around her neck and tugging her in for a deep hug, trying to get her to reset, regroup…focus. “Babe, first thing….why do you think he would leave?”

Pulling back, she assesses the situation. Eyes darting around the apartment, closing her eyes so she could think. Just then they pop open looking at the mess on the coffee table. The beer. That was the last of the beer. 

“He was out…” she whispers. “I bet he ran out of beer. That was all we had, and it looks like he polished it off.”

“Okay then. Let’s go for a walk. Check some places where he might get some beers - maybe the corner store you guys go to? See if anyone has seen him, okay? Sound good babe?” Alex’s tone is cool, calm. Her eyes are caring and concerned not just for Steve but also for Robin. She’s being so soft, and even in her panicked haze, Robin notices. 

“Al…Thank you. I needed that.”

With a soft kiss on her temple, Alex grabs Robin’s hand and tugs her towards the door. “Now don’t forget your keys, either, you maniac. Let’s go.”

It’s three pit stops and two meltdowns from Robin on the sidewalk curb later that they find him. It’s honestly the first place they should have looked, but at least they were on the right track. 

Steve did, in fact, get raging pissed that he was out of beer. The cashier they recognize, but don’t know his name, told them as much - mentioned that their friend came in angry and stumbling, grabbed a pack of beer and left it in the middle of the aisle when he rushed out of the store grumbling to himself. It seems as though dear Stevie also forgot his wallet. 

The next place they thought to look was The Hideout. Robin thought that maybe he’d come looking for her, begging for some cash so he could replenish his stash. Pay no mind to the fact that it was past closing for a weeknight and Robin was long gone, at this point they were absolutely certain Steve had no idea what time it even was. Half expecting to see him leaning on the door of the shop, or passed out in a slump on the front stoop, when they came up empty handed again Robin needed to cry.

Head in her hands, leaning on her knees as she sits on the curb, Alex tries to stifle a laugh at how splotchy faced and snotty her beautiful girl is right now. “Baby,” she says, pushing back her hair “Baby…let’s think, kay? is there anywhere else Steve feels safe in this city? Who else does he feel safe with other than you?”

The revelation comes quickly. 

Head popping up with a renewed sense of confidence in their search for their missing and probably sloppily drunk friend “I bet he’s at Bennys.” 

And after a 10 minute walk that is the most silent Robin Buckley has ever been in her entire life, she lets out a breath that she may or may not have been holding the entire time when the door to Benny’s swings open and she takes in Steve with his forehead on the bar. Hopper is standing behind the bar polishing glasses with an irritated scowl and right in front of Steve stands a Joyce, hand right on top of his with sad, concerned eyes that flit right to the girls who just sounded the bell. 

Pitiful. The look Joyce was giving him was pity. And if Steve were coherent enough to realize it, he would be completely ashamed to be receiving it from anyone. Steve was shitfaced drunk out of shame and disappointment and whatever feelings of inadequacy he was shielding away from everyone else in his life, but at least he was safe. Thank Christ he had the decency to come to Benny’s, where at least Joyce would take care of him - make sure he doesn’t do anything else stupid. 

“Steve!” Robin yells, rushing over to his side “Steve, we didn’t know where you were. And you left your keys. I was so worried. We thought you were dead, I swear….well I thought you were dead. Alex was much more rational, but…” 

A groan falls from Steve’s throat as their attention turns to Joyce. She opens her mouth to speak but Hopper interjects before she could even get a word out. 

“Your buddy here is a fucking mess. He’s lucky this is Rick’s third stop on his daily tour of downtown dive bars. Recognized the bastard and drug him over here after he got kicked out of wherever they were before this. I honestly don't know where. Ricky’s always so drunk I probably shouldn't even be serving him by the time he gets here anyway.``

“Steve, honey.” Joyce’s honey soft voice stirs him “Your girls are here. Rob and Alex, they’re here for you, baby. Let them help you, okay? Y’cant stay here like this.” She says as she rubs his hair back and tries to soothe him awake. 

“He’s been drinking straight ginger ale for at least an hour. He thinks it's mixed with whiskey but I just couldn't. It was easier than him and Hop arguing ‘bout it.” she says under her breath, just out of his earshot. 

After agreeing to let him sweat it out for a bit longer, Joyce passes the girls a drink while they wait and slides another ginger ale in a rocks glass in front of Steve with a wink.  With soft voices they talk about what has unfolded today just loud enough to hear each other over the din of the jukebox playing “Hunger Strike” in the background. 

Shit. 

As she hears the deep roll of his voice on Eddie Vedder’s verse she’s reminded of you, and remembers the cryptic message she most likely left you on your answering machine. Even though the boy is sitting there in the flesh in front of them, his eyes now open enough to see the whites of them, his stare is vacant and he hasn’t looked this way since… well. Ever. Robin has seen him through some pretty serious shit, and he’s never looked quite this detached. 

“I’m worried about him, girls.” Joyce coos. 

With a nod in agreement, she asks for the only thing she can think to do next. “Joyce, can I use your phone? I gotta call someone who might be able to help.”

Alex’s eyes go wide and she winces, “You sure that’s a good idea, Rob? I mean, I see where you’re going with this, but he’s gonna be pissed, isn’t he?’

Seeing the look of confusion on Joyce’s face, Robin grabs the phone and continues “It’s..a girl. He’s fine. It’ll be fine. I don’t care if he’s pissed about it at this point. We need help and… I might have already left her a message earlier in a panic. Oh - Hey!” interrupted in her rambling as you answer the phone on the first ring. “Yeah, yeah I’m so sorry about that weird message earlier. It’s been a… day - a real bad one. We need some help. We’re at Benny’s, and…it’s just - Steve. We need help with Steve, can you come?”

Of course you will. You were there to help as soon as you could. And just like Robin and Alex assumed, Steve was pissed. 

“I'm just saying Stevie, you didn't have to be so mean to her. She came because I called. Didya really expect the two of us to be able to drag your sorry ass home without calling in reinforcement? Have you seen my arms? They're basically twigs!”

“I wasn't trying to be mean to her. It was you guys. I was pissed you called her…cause I didn't… It's embarrassing. She didn't need to see me like that. I know you were trying to help. You can barely carry a damn grocery bag, so I get it, its just… I was pathetic.”

“Well. You said it, I didn't.” Robin shrugs, kicking her feet up on the stool next to her by the register. It's been a few days and they're at least able to poke fun a little bit at the whole thing. Steve and Rob had a long talk after he was able to shake off a two day long hangover that he spent in the dark, shades drawn - crackers and some Pedialyte by his bedside. 

Steve eventually spilled his guts to Robin on the fire escape while she smoked, his throat still too sore from the pack he inhaled in his drunken rage that day. He wouldn't even look at her when he told her about how his dad was talking about… her. Told her that there's been a lot of terrible, downright rude things that his dad has done and said over the years that he's made an excuse for or ignored, but that…that disregard, that intolerance he showed for someone that Steve cared about. That when it comes down to it, Steve loved. That was the last straw. He couldn't turn a blind eye anymore. 

He didn't feel he owed his dad an explanation. If he really thought Steve would show up this weekend with his bags and his Beamer ready to put on a suit and head to the office alongside his dad on Monday, he has another thing coming. 

Murray saunters into the storefront then “Before I finalize this schedule, ya sure you're gonna show up on Monday, dude? Last chance to turn in your notice and go shadow daddy dearest, because if you no call no show me on this schedule next week consider this bridge burned.”

“No way in hell, Murray. I'm fully committed to your dick shop. I'll sell anything you dream up over spending one hour in a building full of pricks like my dad. Don't care how much the salary is or how big the guilt trip.” 

“Well in that case, Steve, it sounds to me that where your dad works is the real dick shop, huh? We…deal only in one way tickets to pleasure town here.” 

“Touche” Steve gives Murray a pow pow with his finger guns before walking through the dangling beads hanging at the entrance to the break room. 

Emerging twenty minutes later (and five minutes late from his break) Steve is unsurprised to find Alex spread across the length of the couch. “What are you two assholes doing?” 

“Hi Alex, thanks again for saving my life and ensuring I don't die in a ditch or need my stomach pumped from alcohol poisoning and ensuring that my most magnetic and caring roommate and best friend didn't have a stroke while I was missing. It's nice to see you again. I am forever in your debt.” Alex mocks with a deep voice meant to imitate his while Robin cackles, slapping her thighs. 

“Smash or pass” she deadpans. “Julia Roberts.”

“Pass” Steve and Robin say in unison. 

“Really?” Alex pops up in surprise. 

“I guess I just don’t get the appeal with that one. I like her movies, though, just…don’t wanna see her bush. No rolling in the hay with her for me.” Robin says very matter of factly. 

“Yeah, for me” Steve quips pointing right at Robin. “Reminds me too much of this asshole right here. Can’t even think about it.” 

Madonna. Demi Moore. Sharon Stone. Liv Tyler was a unanimous smash. An hour went by throwing out names and shouting out whether or not they were fuckable before Alex’s bisexual ass snuck in Brad Pitt.

“Bleh, pass. That's a dick.”

“Smash.” Steve's eyes go wide. Did he just…

“Stevie boy, did you just smash Brad Pitt?” Alex is literally on the edge of her seat at this point. Robin's jaw is just about on the floor. He's waving her off “That…that's not.. I mean. If I were I guess…he’s a good looking guy, s’all I’m saying.”

 “You would like the golden boy type shit. I'm more of a ruggedly handsome older man kinda bisexual. I bet you'd smash Patrick Swayze too, handsome. UNLESS…are we talking Interview with a Vampire long hair type Pitt because…”

“This is too much for me!” Robin is shouting as she starts pacing. 

“Robbie, I’d expect a little more tolerance from you. I’m disappointed.” Steve pokes fun. “Anyway, you do have the late shift today, so I’ll save you from thinking about me boning Brad Pitt and get out of here.”

“Ew. Steve. No. You and Pitt? You’re definitely bottom. He’s batter dipping the corn dog, not you.”

Raising his middle finger in the air, he gestures behind him to the girls as he walks out the door. 

After grabbing a coffee, Steve swings into the record store to browse for some new vinyls. The guy at the front desk is starting to get to know Steve, and he likes that the guy is comfortable enough to make recommendations or pulls a vinyl or two to save for next time Steve comes in. It makes him feel memorable. He’s little more than guy at the record store to Steve, but yet guy at the record store cared enough to think about him and what he might like even when he’s not here. 

It’s stuff like this, that he hasn’t really experienced until he moved here to the city, that makes Steve feel less than insignificant. Who would have thought that coming to a city filled to the brim with more people than he knows what to do with would make him feel more seen than a small town where everyone knows your name ever did. 

He grabs his bag, filled with three new recommendations from guy at the record store, and he’s heading for the door before the cashier yells out “Oh damn, bro. I almost forgot. Someone left this for you. It’s already paid for, so don’t worry about it, but she said you gotta hear this one.” Steve reaches out to grab the bright red sleeve and turns it over twice before slipping it into his bag. “Yeah thanks dude. See ya around.” 

He lies to himself when he thinks that the brisk pace he is walking on his way home is because the nights are turning colder in the city and he wants to get home. He lies to himself a second time when he says he wants to keep moving so he takes the stairs two at a time instead of waiting on the elevator. He lies to himself for a third time, pretending that he’s not really in a rush even though he doesn’t take off his shoes and jacket before he makes a beeline right for his record player all while unwrapping that vinyl he knows that you left for him. 

The whirring of the player and the zap of the scratching needle connecting with the plastic make his brain start to buzz and he’s done lying to himself when he thinks that he was so fucking stupid when he shouted at you - drunk out of his mind or not, he has been expecting you to never speak to him again, so…you leaving this for him might just mean…

In the time of chimpanzees I was a monkey

Butane in my veins and I'm out to cut the junkie

With the plastic eyeballs, spray-paint the vegetables

Dog food stalls with the beefcake pantyhose

What the fuck did she leave me? He thinks, as he lets the record spin and listens, patiently. Waiting for the hook. Waiting for the bass drop. Waiting for those deep drum rhythms he likes so much. Waiting for the lyrics that are supposed to hit home.

Oh. 

Soy un perdedor

I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me?

(Double-barrel buckshot)

“Maybe I should just move home and take a stupid job with my dad like he’s been telling me to do since junior year of high school.”

Murray hears the boy complaining as he walks through the door with three giant boxes stacked on top of one another. “Casanova. Hey!” Setting them down he snaps both his fingers right in Steve’s face “We’ve been over this… focus on my dick shop, not your dads. I got new goods, get your sweet ass over here.”

He waves Steve and Robin over to the front window, and they dutifully follow. Ripping open the boxes with a rusty pocket knife he pulls from his tube sock, Murray rambles about the boxes filled with a new Latex fashion line he was checking out at the expo. He shoos Steve off to grab the mannequins from the back storage room so they can set up the window display. “Make sure to grab the dudes with the biggest packages back there, Stevie-boy!” before looking at Robin curiously, asking her to spill the details and explain the pivot back into full on self-loathing Steve took. 

“Ah, the lady friend? She gave him that? Sassy. I think I like her. If he doesn't want her…” wiggling his eyebrows, Murray is quickly cut off as Steve re-enters the floor.

“Doesn’t want who?’ Steve says, male mannequin under each arm. 

“Oh, nothing. I gotta go get some lunch. I’ll grab the plastic girls on my way back in and you two can play dress up.” 

“Hey Stevie, whaddya think?” Robin’s got one of the black latex outfits held out in front of her as she tries anything but effortlessly shaking her hips to the beat of the song playing overhead on the speakers. The would-be seductive dance is cut off when her face lights up, running off to the break room with the package in hand.

“I don’t like that look Robbie. What are you doing?”

Shaking the beads dangling from the door frame to announce her re-entry, Steve’s eyes glance up before doing a double take. Robin stood there, leaning into the wall looking as casual as she possibly can (which isn’t that casual, honestly), standing in a full head to toe black latex catsuit. If Steve could have, he would have taken a polaroid if not just to gift to Alex as a thank you, or apology. Whatever she needs most from him - he’s not too sure at this point. Robin arches her back like she’s posing for a centerfold and it’s not long before the two of them are deep in a fit of laughter from her antics. 

Except something goes wrong. The fit of laughter soon lets up, but Robin still can’t catch her breath. Steve is breathing deep, grinning again and shaking his head at her, and while she’s happy she’s coaxing out a laugh and a smile she hasn’t seen from him in over a week, her chest is getting tighter by the second. 

Looking at his friend's pallid face, his eyes dart around thinking while she starts wheezing for air. “Rob…are you...you’re not allergic to latex, are you?”

She shakes her head no adamantly but quickly backtracks, realizing that no, she can’t be sure she’s not allergic to latex. Holding up her hands between the two of them, her wrists are ballooning up around the seam of the catsuit sleeves, body swelling up making the suit stretch over her skin even tighter. She starts to claw at it, trying to get it off, but it’s so slippery and tight, and suctioned to her sweaty skin that it won’t budge and her panicked expression locks on to Steve’s. 

“You didn’t know you were allergic to latex? What the fuck Robbie?” 

“When was I supposed to find out, huh? Not like I’ve been carrying around condoms since I was 15 like you, you asshole!”

“So what…that’s not… What about a balloon? Haven’t you ever been around a fucking balloon before, Rob?”

“Steve, I'm poor. We didn’t buy balloons for birthday parties. I didn’t get….extra…shit. I…no. I can’t remember …ever having a…. balloon.” She’s sucking in breaths between words as much as she can. “Steve, help. It’s….I can’t…”

Walking down the street, Murray is on his way back from grabbing his sandwich, when he spots the flashing lights on the street ahead. What he doesn’t expect is to see those flashing lights belonging to an ambulance pulled up outside of his store. Dropping his sandwich into the grimey gutter, he’s absolutely dumbfounded at the sight before him - Robin laid out on the stretcher, clearly naked and covered with a white sheet and his new inventory in shreds on the sidewalk after the paramedics had to cut it off of her. “Oh for fucks, sake. I didn’t literally mean you should play dress up, Red.” 

It takes the paramedics another 20 minutes to get her settled and breathing from an oxygen tank in the back of the rig and explain the situation to Murray and Steve. Her reaction was bad, so they should expect her to be down and out for at least three days until the swelling goes down and she can recover her breathing enough to function normally. Murray storms off into the store grumbling about Workers Comp paperwork and throwing his hands in the air while Steve stays back, readying himself to climb into the back of the rig and ride with his friend before she stops him. 

“Listen, dude. I’m clearly not gonna be home tonight, and you don’t need to worry about me. Don’t you dare think you’re gonna sit and keep watch at my bedside. This is definitely the only time in my life my tits will look this big, so I’m not about to invite you in. Alex gets clear first dibs before the swelling goes down.” 

Steve grimaces, scrunching his nose up in disgust “Ew, gross Robbie. Stop talking to me about your tits.” 

“Whatever. All I’m saying is, maybe take advantage of the empty house? I know she sent you a message loud and clear with that record but I still don’t buy that she won't give you a shot to explain. Call her. Please?” 

All he can do is nod as she pats his hand and smiles. He backs away so they can close up the rig and watches as they pull off, lights flashing with his swollen raspberry of a friend in tow. 

Murray ends up closing the shop early that night, saying he’s had it up to here with both of them and he just wants to go see Hop and Joyce for an ice cold drink. Before Steve could even respond, Murray’s finger is in his face “NO. You’re not invited this time, buddy. I don’t wanna see your face until tomorrow. And you have the late shift. I don’t wanna close and I think you two owe me.”

“Owe you?! What the heck, I didn’t do anything, man. Robin, she is the one that -”

“No, you listen here. Your moping and loathing is getting irritating. I like you, unfortunately. I’m not sure why, but I like you Steve, and you’ve been fucking annoying since you let your dad get in your head. And whatever is going on with this lady friend, you better fix it.” He pokes Steve right in the chest - hard.

“Is she a girl, or a woman, Steve?” he says, and Steve remembers their chat about Steve’s choices. Why they never seem to work out and how he keeps going for the wrong kind. 

“She’s … she’s a woman. Obviously. She doesn’t want to put up with my bullshit.”

“Fix it, Steve. Thank me later.” 

He had two beers before he worked up the nerve to pick up the phone. He probably would have had another, but he thought better of it considering the last time he saw you. More like the last time you saw him because he doesn’t fucking remember a lick of it. An apology probably wouldn’t go over very well if he was shitfaced again all because he needed some liquid courage to get the balls to call you up. 

It took three, long, agonizing rings for you to pick up, your voice suddenly some sort of beacon in the night for him. He was silent for a beat too long, and just when you went to hang up muttering “whatever asshole, prank call someone else next time” he finally was able to whisper out your name just loud enough that it traveled through the phone line and made it to your ears. 

“You got my record?” 

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“I deserved that… and it’s actually good.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

“I know. Can I see you?”

And to his surprise, you agreed. You asked him to meet you outside, so you can walk to the cafe together. Promised in a way that had him believing it would all be fine - that you’ll figure it out from there. So he’s sitting on the bench outside of his building waiting, legs bouncing up and down uncontrollably mind weight down from anticipation, nerves and his least favorite piece of baggage, self-doubt. 

“You look like you’re waiting on something, boy. Don't wait too long, or you’ll end up looking like me and still never finding what you’re lookin’ for, ya know?”

Steve chuckles and nods. He thinks he does know. And God, he doesn’t want to spend his life chasing an idea and running away every time he gets close because he’s sure he’s not good enough for it. He doesn’t want to be sitting on a bench when he’s 80 lamenting about how he used to look good, had the good hair before it all fell out and turned gray, would get the girls and throw the parties, could pound back a six pack like it’s no big deal, how he was the former Keg King - King Steve. Like that all means anything at all. None of it did. It was all bullshit. 

“I’m Steve” he says, holding his hand out and reaching across the bench. The man reaches out accepting his grasp and introduces himself as Robert.“You live here too?” he nods back at the apartment building. 

“Sure do. Me and my little rascal Dart.” and Steve notices the small dog laying quietly at the man’s feet. 

“What you said before…I am waiting on something. Someone actually. But…I think I’m mostly waiting on myself.” 

“Ah, yes. That’s the age old problem innit? We’re always late to our own party. Been in this city for decades and it’s all the same. Young kids like you are lost until they find what they’re looking for, but some of ‘em, they never find it. No one leads ‘em to it and they forget that it’s even worth lookin’ for along the way.” 

Steve nods, a little solemnly, at the wisdom the old man is sharing. Resonating just a bit closer to home than the old man probably knows. But then he sees a flash of you from down the sidewalk, your jacket wrapped tight around your body, a tentative smile on your face when you see Steve waiting for you like he promised. 

“Ah,” the man laughs a hearty laugh. “She looks like she’s worth waiting for though, my boy. You should go.” 

“Maybe I’ll see you around.” Steve says with a bright smile, and it’s genuine. Maybe she's worth it? Or Maybe Steve will see the old man again. He's not sure which he meant, actually. Maybe…both. 

The walk to the cafe seems to go on for eons. After an interaction teetering on awkward, feet pushing at invisible rocks on the pavement and tentative smiles, you both head in that direction side by side, stealing glances for a block or two before either one breaks the silence.

It seems like both of you have let the dull drone of the city take up enough space in the night and you finally speak up at the same time. 

“I am sorry for being such a mess.”

“I'm sorry for being a bitch.”

“No. No.” You cut him off. “Yeah you're right. You were a mess and you were kind of a dick about it. I'm not gonna excuse that. But you were a mess, and Robin and Alex were worried for good reason, obviously. You were a mess because something happened and I can't be mad at that. I can be frustrated with how you handled yourself…how you treated people who were just there to fucking help you, man, but at the end of the day, you were going through some shit and…I held it against you instead of helped. And then I got you that record and…”

“I…yeah I should not have drank my problems like that. I shouldn't have. I was an idiot. I am an idiot. That song is…not that far off. Might be my theme song, actually.” He holds back a small laugh to himself. “I do stupid shit. That's not new. But…I wasn't mad at anyone until -”

“You sure seemed mad, Steve.”

“I was…it's just. I guess I'm realizing now I wasn't actually mad at anyone but myself and my dad until you showed up.”

“Correct. You made that loud and clear.”

“Oh. I -” silence falls over them for a few steps, Steve finally looking over at you in a way that makes you feel like he's looking into you not at you this time. “I think I finally understand. Can…can I try and explain? Once we get there?”

You nod. And you let him. 

Like a floodgate, the honesty Steve holds back on a regular basis flows out the minute he starts. Tucked in the back corner of the cafe, a steaming hot chai in front of you, a black coffee with cinnamon and nutmeg there in front of him, he tells you how growing up actually felt for him. Not just the my dad is an asshole version but how it really affected him. He says it out loud and admits the way his dad made him feel. Tells you stories about all the sports and the winning and the popularity that was never what he wanted anyway. Tells you how his dad has spent his whole life grooming him to be a mini-version of Mr Harrington, and that's the absolute last thing in the world he wants to be. He just wants to be Steve - whoever that is. 

And he cries. He cries when he tells you about the phone call. You notice it's not at the mean things his dad says to him, the names he's called or the put downs about his life that break him down - it's when he tells you about the disdain in his dads voice when he berates him about being friends with the gays. How he couldn't look at Robin after the way his dad talked and how he felt more shame in that moment than any other. Not ashamed that he’s friends with Robin. Not in a million years, but more from the idea that his dad - no anyone - would be lucky to find a friend half as good as Robin is, so who the fuck cares who she loves, right? Jesus Christ. Shame that someone he loves has to live in a world where people like his dad exist. 

You both need a refill before he can get through the hard part, though, the part where he hurt you. Steve motions to your empty cup asking if he can get you more and before you know it, comes back a short time later with two new steaming mugs and plates of assorted pastries and snacks balancing on top. I didn't know what you'd like, so I got it all. 

Something tells you that even if you don't actually say it, Steve would know for next time. He'd know that you're a sucker for their blondies and like to snack on their homemade caramel corn because even as he's spilling his guts he's paying attention to you, and from here on out every time you meet Steve Harrington at the cafe, he'd have your drink and a plate with a blondie on it waiting for you every single time. 

Then, Steve tells you about that day. About how he remembers chain-smoking inside the house and how he knew Robin would fuck me up for it but I didn’t care. He recalls for you how he sat on the sofa with the whiskey bottle muttering to himself about the things his dad said, trying to figure out why this man thinks he can still push his grown son around. He tells you he remembers leaving to get another 6-pack when he ran out but that was the last of it. He doesn't remember much of anything or how he got to Benny's. Hop had told him, and he makes sure to remind him every time he's seen him since that he was pitiful watching Steve being drug in by the drunkest man on the block. Never thought I'd see the day anyone was more drunk than goddamn Rick, boy. Sure proved me wrong. 

And when he gets to the part where his friends show up, when you show up, he looks downright ashamed and worried. With a deep sigh, falling from his lips, he tells you that the next and only other thing he remembers from that night was you walking through the door. With his head lain on the bar, vision completely sideways, what he saw was a fucking angel walking into the bar. Thought he was hallucinating or maybe even finally out of his misery and you were coming to bring him towards the light, until his brain made you right side up and he realized who it was. 

He didn’t remember the yelling, but Robin told him later how big of a douchebag he was when all he did was start yelling at you and making one hell of a scene. Hearing Robin tell him about how he shouted and asked in such an accusatory tone What are you doing here? made him wonder if he was no better than his dad in the first place. Sounded an awful lot like him in the moment, at least. 

You think he looks like a kicked puppy as he explains the rest. “I - I don't expect you to say anything. Or do anything. I don't expect you to forgive me or…” running his hands through his hair you can tell he's trying to pluck up some semblance of courage. 

“The thing is, I was mad when my drunk brain finally registered that you were there, and you were there to help. Because I didn't want that. Help sure…I fucking needed help. You saw me. But you….” His swallow is so loud it's audible. 

“I was embarrassed I didn't want you to see me like that. I… “

Reaching across the table you gently touch his forearm and it gives him enough courage to finish what he has to say. 

“I didn’t want you to see me like that, because I like you too much…Like, the real kind. And I feel so stupid saying it out loud, because I thought that if I showed you how broken I was, you’d see that I wasn’t worth it. Maybe you don’t think I am in the first place and that’s fine I can be just your friend. S’probably all I deserve, honestly.” 

He chances a look at you just then, and when it’s not a scowl or indifference he feels safe rough to continue. “Before I didn’t know why I was being such a jerk and I figured it was just because - I am a Harrington, after all. But, I understand why I did it now. I understand that even though I did it wrong, I was trying to protect you from me, and I was trying to protect myself from… ”

Scooting your chair closer to Steve, you push his wild and windswept hair back so you can see him even when his head is hanging low. His eyes flit up to yours and there’s no pity in your eyes. He was expecting pity at the very least, but it’s not there.

“Steve, who says I need to be protected? Especially from you?”

He doesn’t expect your fingers to find his on the walk away from the cafe. He doesn’t expect your touch to be soft. He doesn’t expect it to stay longer than a second - maybe just the gift of something fleeting. But it is. It does. Your fingers hook into his and they don’t pull away, holding on to him and his limp hand before he can even process what he’s being given. Fingers hooked and coaxing him to just let go and embrace it. Fingers he accepts as he laces his with yours, and they stay that way for the entire walk back to his apartment. 

—-

A nod of the head with a huge grin spread across his face, Robert welcomes Steve back to the building, still perched on the same bench he walked away from a few hours ago. Maybe Dart needed to go out again, or maybe Robert never left, but in that moment, Steve thought about everything the old man said to him earlier. He’s done with waiting. Waiting has gotten him nowhere. Hiding his feelings has gotten him nowhere. The only person standing in his way is himself. 

Your name falls from his lips softly, but there’s something there that wasn’t there earlier in the shop. It’s more sure of himself, almost confident. The predictable thing to come next was a goodnight kiss on his front stoop, and you’re thinking that maybe after all this time and him finally admitting that he’s into you, you’ll get what you’ve been wanting since that night in the back seat of the cab, or when you felt your tummy flip sitting across from him eating that ice cream. Poised to lift up on your toes to close the distance, instead he surprises you when he tugs your arm and pulls you inside the front door to his building with a grin. 

And you got that kiss. Oh God, did you get it. 

When the door closed to their apartment, Steve turned around to look at you. There was a heat behind his eyes as he slid your coat off of your shoulders for you, and a yearning hiding there when he looks up at you from below as he crouches down to help you slip off your shoes. Rising back up in front of you he’s close. So close that his lips are just barely apart from yours and the heat of his breath tickles your cheeks. The pair of you are so close that there’s barely any space between your bodies when you suddenly find your back pressed up against the door behind you. 

Lips finally touching, slow and just barely you breathe out “Robin…” 

“That’s not my name, honey.”

And you laugh. A sweet thing that makes Steve’s insides twist and turn.

“She won’t be home tonight. There was some latex…She’s fine. I’ll explain later.”

The kiss you finally get is sloppy, but in the best way. There’s no time for chaste kisses here, pillowy lips slotted together and moving effortlessly between one another. He adjusts your chin with the tips of his fingers so that he can gently caress the line of your jaw, following it back down and up again as he slides his fingers through the base of your hair. His grip there is tight, but not painful, Possessive but not overwhelming. It’s like he’s got something he wants so desperately and he’s afraid to let it go. 

He gently touches your upper lip with the tip of his tongue, coaxing you open further for him, letting his tongue follow the outlines of your teeth before letting his dance together with yours. He lets out a small sigh as you continue to nip at each other's lips and play with how you both respond to one another's kiss. The sigh makes your mouth crack open in a smile, cheeks drawing up with the grin and encouraging his kisses to explore elsewhere. Small pecks start on the corner of your mouth and then your cheeks, right on the apple of them as their pulled taught by your smile. 

Moving down towards your jaw, your neck, they get more and more salacious the lower they get. Red and pricking, a bruise is blooming at the spot on your neck just under your ear where he settles in to suck and kiss at your skin while the whimper that falls from your lips as he does it and your fingertips running through his hair and scratching at his scalp keep him grounded - barely capable of holding it together as is. 

When you ask him what he wants, the answer he gives you is not one you expected. Sure you expected him to want to dote on you - after all, he’s attentive like that on any given day, so Steve being a giver in the sheets was almost…a given? But when his gasping breaths punctuate each word that comes out of his mouth Can you … I want you to ride my face? was a pleasant surprise. 

Now surprising him, you not only agreed, but were confident about it. “Always wanted this. No…no one would let me.” He tells you as he breathes into you, chest heaving, foreheads touching. He barely notices as you pull the top of your dress down and work it over your shoulders, then the swell of your breasts. He only registers your exposed skin as you guide his hands down to your waist so he can hold you steady as you step out of it. 

Coaxing him backwards towards the sofa, you tap his shoulder and tell him to sit down on the floor, back against the furniture, as you make a show of removing your bra. He does as you ask, unable to tear his eyes away from your supple skin and perfectly peaked nipples, making a mental note that later he absolutely has to get his mouth on them. As you shimmy down your underwear in front of him, you pause to add a kiss to the top of his head before dropping the garment directly in his lap.

He bunches them up in his hand, sliding them into his front pocket for later as you settle over him, “Y’know…they call this Queening?” perched there on your knees, you’re fully undressed and slotted above his face so casually. 

“Mmmm. Makes sense.” He says, against the seam of your pussy and your thighs, making you vibrate with his words and his gentle hum. 

“R’mind me to tell you why one day.”

“Mmmmhmm. Sure thing.” In a haze, he reaches around you, fingers digging into your supple ass and pulling you closer. Forward and over, just where he wants you. The perfect position where he can use both his mouth and his nose - just like Robin told him he should.  Head moving subtly left to right, he tests it out, tip of his nose gently nudging your clit left to right and right to left and his warm breath teasing your wet, glistening folds. You let out a gasp followed by a small breathy little uhh, that has his ears ringing and he’s happy. Pleased with his position, he slips his tongue out and traces you with it, before returning with a big, firm lick - tongue flattened and wide making sure you touch all of you in one pass. Those big hands wrap further around you, now snaking over the tops of your thighs and this time tugging you down. Down down down and there’s nowhere else to go. 

Now you’ve had some fine oral sex before. It’s a non-negotiable for you when it comes to relationships: If a man is worried about tasting your clit, you don’t want him. You’re worth more than that. You’ve even done this a time or two, but Steve nestled between your thighs, under you like this fully clothed and pulling you into his face further despite there not being anywhere else to go is otherworldly.  

Other times you’ve found yourself in this position were tactical. A position change, a new angle, just for fun, a lazy guy. But being perched on top of Steve Harrington’s face is making you feel like a true goddess. You were about to give him a history lesson and tell him why this is called Queening and instead he’s proving it to you. Making you feel just like one.

Between smooth glides of his tongue, Steve sucks at your lips, your clit, the seam of your thigh. Once you’ve settled and allow yourself to fully relax over top of him, he releases his bruising grip - perfect tiny crescents left behind in their wake - and uses those free hands wherever he can reach. Sliding up your spine, ghosting over the peach of your ass, along the curve of your backside and between them, too. 

You’re not quiet anymore. You couldn’t be if you tried, and if you weren’t muffling the sounds coming from him with your thighs, you’re pretty sure the symphony of both of your moans would be enough to tip you over the edge. Since his are busy elsewhere, your hands find their way to your tits, rolling your nipples between your fingers and throwing your head back in pleasure as you start to absentmindedly grind on his face. 

He lets you bask in your pleasure for a while before tugging you out of your daze, hands covering the small of your back, pulling and angling you forward so that your hands fall to the arm of the sofa behind him. Now, leaning over him, soft and subtle grinding returning like muscle memory, he takes the opportunity to slide his fingers in from behind, just alongside his mouth. Thick digits slipping inside, scissoring alongside the wet muscle of his tongue, nose nudging your clit between deep rolls of your hips against him, he notices the twitching of your velvety walls first, followed by the shaking of your thighs. 

Freeing his hands, he finds your legs again, if only to hold you down to ride out your climax, combating how badly your sensitive body is trying to pull away, just slightly. The work he’s putting in on your pussy is paying off tenfold when you tremble and shake above him. Unable to move from the vice grip he has on your legs, you have no choice but to cry out and let him lap at you, drink you up until you're overstimulated and begging him to stop. 

Limp and satiated, you easily fall into his arms as he moves up between you and the couch, pulling you into his lap. Your head lolls forward has he grabs your cheeks to look at you “Y’feel good baby? Y’feel like a Queen?” 

You nod, dazed but eager and happy as he lifts you and stands. Legs wrapping around his hips while he peppers you with kisses that taste like your own pleasure, he carries you down the hallway to his room. 

Kicking open the door, he stalks over to his bed and tosses you onto it without a second thought.  Looking up at him with big doe eyes, he knows he’s done for. He can’t move fast enough as he loosened his belt and tugs down his pants. Crawling over you on his bed, he nudges that nose against yours again to get your attention. “You wanna? We don’t have to y’know?”

“Steve Harrington, I want to so bad, I’m gonna make you forget your name.” 

TAGLIST: @livsters @katie-tibo @johnrichardpapen @angywritesstuff @k-k0129 @tisthedamngoldrush @middle-of-the-sky @thebrazilianatheist @mochminnie @micheledawn1975 @falling-throughthe-hourglass @rafaaoli @ash5monster01 @gabessock @onyxslayss @scoopshxrrington @superblysubpar

[piratefalls]

oh my god this got obscenely long. you're welcome?

list one. list two. list three. list four.

Any Beat of Your Heart (Gets Me Through the Night) by stellarmeadow

Alex throws out the first pitch at the Opening Day baseball game, but things go horribly wrong.

kiss me once 'cause you know by ninzied

Of all the things they’ve been to one another—sometimes-rivals, reluctant allies, tediously cordial seatmates at international events—Henry never thought that he and Alex would end up being something like friends. (In which Alex sort of moves in and they don't talk about what it means.)

Mr. BodyPillow by inexplicablymine

“It is hard enough trying to get a date out here when all I really want is to curl up with someone’s head on my chest and play with their hair” “I could do that for you sweetheart” _______ Two boys cuddling on a couch right on top of each other because they are in fact very gay™. Inviting over a complete stranger for cuddles because you are touch starved might be the worst idea Henry has ever had, or the best.

Little Moments by politics_and_prose

Five significant moments in Alex's political career and one in his personal life.

The Case Of The Fucking Curse by everwitch

Henry gets inflicted by a deadly royal curse. The only way to break it is to have sex with a person who possesses the correct physical compatibility, so the crown puts out a desperate plea for people meeting the right criteria to enter a screening process. You’ll never guess who turns out to be the final candidate at the end. Or: the most wholesome Fuck Or Die you’ve read in your life.

You Got Me, and Baby I Got You by princebutt

Alexander Claremont-Diaz, charismatic center for the NHL's Dallas Stars, is completely and utterly smitten with the posh British librarian he met by complete accident. Tonight is the night, and he's got a plan to completely woo Henry and get his man.

cowboy like me by stutteringpeach

Alex was looking for money tonight. And with Henry Mountchristen-Windsor, the gorgeous young heir to the Windsor Group, he sure as hell found it. If Alex is looking to charm someone out of their millions, it might as well be someone he’s going to enjoy stealing from.

but if you could see us from a distance, you'd know i've always been so close to you by anincompletelist (soldouthaz)

Objectively, standing half-soaked from rainwater with a stitch in his side and an uncomfortable, raging hard-on outside his worst enemy’s door is not Henry’s finest moment. It’s not even on the list. -- or, henry is afflicted with a curse-gone-wrong that stipulates that only his sworn enemy, alex claremont-diaz, can touch him.

(did my love aid and abet you?) by alasse

That night in Kensington Palace, Henry told Alex to leave. Eleven years later, Alex watches on the news as Henry comes out, and abdicates. A story of what came before, and what comes after.

It’s been eleven fucking years, and Henry is finally free.  It’s been eleven fucking years, and Henry is finally out.  It’s been eleven fucking years, and Alex Claremont-Diaz still hasn’t learned how to be normal about Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor.

it's a scene (and we're out here in plain sight) by annesbonny

"I don’t want us to be in the press for anything other than how good I am at polo, and how charming you look in that shirt.” Henry just wants the Fifth Annual Okonjo Foundation Polo Match to run smoothly, but that's harder than it seems.

lover, tell me if you can by loyaulte_me_lie

Henry has a wobble on their first anniversary. They practise healthy communication and everything ends happily.

Debasing the Prince (And Other Inappropriate Decisions) by orphan_account

Henry in a suit and tie turns Alex into a combination of the heart-eyed and drooling emojis. He can't help it that the goddamned prince of England looks glorious all dressed up. So he meets him in his bedroom and does super inappropriate things with the tie and the prince. This is basically Tale of the Debauchery of a Prince™.

Soon You'll Get Better (Because You Have To) by wafflesandkruge

Two nights after the shooting, Henry receives an email with a pre-recorded video from Alex. He gets one every night, and although it breaks his heart to see Alex happy and alive, he's terrified of when they'll stop coming.

(when you look like that) i never ever wanted to be so bad by hipsterchrist

“How many times have I told you now?” Henry asks, voice still quiet. “In the bedroom, we’re equals.” Alex knows a door left ajar intentionally when he sees it.“ But we’re not in the bedroom, are we?” he mutters. Henry smirks and turns away. Alex nearly falls over trying to follow the loss of Henry’s hand on his face. “It certainly would seem that way,” Henry says, loud and clear, leaning against the wall again. “And so I will have to insist on some degree of deference. Do you think you can manage that?” Or, Alex has a fantasy involving a tack room and Henry's polo uniform, and Henry is all too happy to fulfill it.

if i ever saw you try to be a saint by inmoonlightigetseasick

He turns back, waiting for further instruction from Luna when Henry actually gets up and approaches him to talk. “I must apologize about the hour,” he says, faking sincerity so well Alex recants his doubts about Henry’s acting chops, “this was my fault, I have a shoot for a music video later today and after that I’m on a flight back to jolly old England as it were, loads of publicity for the latest album.” “You sound like a busy guy,” Alex says, with a small, tight smile, “sure you’ll have time for our little movie?” “I will make the time,” he says, his eyes are a bottomless blue, they shine, deceptively truthful, he turns to Luna, “I cannot tell you how great an honour it is to be considered for this role. What you’ve done here,” he gestures to his script, “I think it’s amazing.” Alex hates that Henry is right. -- AU in which Alex is an up-and-coming actor slated to star in in-demand director Rafael Luna's highly anticipated queer coming-of-age film. For Alex, keen to share his own bisexuality with the world, it's the perfect project to be his true starmaking vehicle -- but for one thing-- his nemesis Henry Fox, a wildly popular rock star, might end up playing his love interest.

searching low in the night by saltfics

“Just say it's okay. I just need to hear you say that.” Henry steps outside for just a second, but when Alex goes to find him, he finds only empty streets and an excrutiating feeling of dread in his place.

whenever you're ready by perfect-porcelain (tedddylupin)

“Pez. Please, will you stop tagging me in TikTok thirst traps?” Henry asked as he stepped into his friend’s car. Pez lowered his Gucci sunglasses on his nose, looking at Henry without anything obscuring his vision and just laughed before pushing them back up with his middle finger. “Don’t fucking lie to me, I know you love them.” Or: the one where Henry falls in lust with a TikToker making pottery and leaves drunken thirst comments

hold me close (when the cameras are off) by viciouslyqueer

Henry Fox is a very well-known model. It’s hard to name a magazine he hasn’t been on the cover of, or a photographer that isn’t ready to drop everything just to book a shoot with him. Now he’s barely smiling, slightly parted lips, yet somehow still looking kind as the photographer behind the camera takes picture after picture. His pristine blond hair is delicately styled so it doesn’t fall out of place, and the cherry blossom flowers next to him and beige background give him an angelic look that makes people in the studio stop what they’re doing just to watch. He looks beautiful. Alex hates it. — When models Alex and Henry have to pose together for a shoot, Alex realizes he might not hate Henry after all.

it was you he gave me by coffeecatsme

The tattoo artist traces Alex’s thigh with a gloved finger as she grabs the needle, brows furrowed as if she’s trying to make sense of the lettering. “This is beautiful,” she says, awe in her voice. Alex feels a sort of pride surge through him. “Who’s the poet?” Alex smiles. “If I tell you, can you keep a secret?” Or, Alex finds a pen in their sex toy drawer and Henry finds a use for it.

yours for the afternoon by railmedaddy

“Another day then, tomorrow? Or Saturday, I can do Saturday, I’ll give you my number,” Hunter says, starting to reach for Henry’s phone. Henry knocks it off the table and prays it doesn’t crack. Christ. Is he going to have to leave the coffee shop to get rid of Hunter? He bends down to pick his phone up and when he rights himself, Hunter is waiting expectantly with his hand out for Henry’s phone. He drops it into his bag under the table. “Very kind of you Hunter, but I’m really quite booked up and—" “Sorry I’m late, sweetheart,” comes a drawl Henry vaguely recognises. OR Henry is quietly minding his own business in his favourite coffee shop, when he’s rudely interrupted by an insufferable man attempting to flirt with him. He’s rescued by none other than Alex – a fellow cafe regular who he’s long admired from a distance – posing as his date.

Háblame dulce by QueenKatelynTheAristocrat

"Alex gently drew Henry back to the waking world on a lazy Tuesday morning in their brownstone with a kiss, a cup of Earl Gray, and the words, “Hoy, hablamos español.” Also known as: Henry is learning Spanish for Alex, and Alex is happy to help him.

5 Times Alex Went Viral (+1 Time Henry Did) by clottedcreamfudge

Alex downloads TikTok on a Saturday and by Monday he's completely obsessed. Henry is clearly a little bewildered by this, but he doesn't seem to mind when Alex starts singing sea shanties and trying - with limited success - to harmonise with himself in the shower. *** aka FicTok (aka ‘Five times Alex tested TikTok trends on Henry and one time Henry got his own back’) (aka 'Five times Alex made life hard for Henry and one time Henry just made Alex hard' - you can blame ifyoustay for that one)

Slide, Crawl into the Shades of Light by Mags (sparklepocalypse)

Eventually, they part long enough to buckle their seatbelts, and then the car eases forward in the direction of Kensington Palace. Alex reaches across the seat and cups Henry’s cheek. “You’ve been biting your lips again,” he notes, rubbing a thumb over the rough skin. “When we get back to the apartment we should run a bath, and maybe after, I can make you some tea.” Henry smiles – and it nearly reaches his eyes – and covers Alex’s hand with his own. “That sounds wonderful,” he murmurs. “It’s been a long week.” (Post-movie; Alex and Henry doing that transcontinental couple life thing, and Henry's had a shit week. Alex gives him several orgasms about it.)

A Tiny Shred of Hope by cmere

Henry reacts in the immediate aftermath of his first kiss with Alex.

Most Cordially Invited by aldiara

In which a formal invitation is extended, a royal mirror is defiled, and Alex cusses a lot.

The Bet by bleedingballroomfloor

Looking back at it, it's all Nora's fault. Or, the time Henry and Alex bet on who can last the longest without sex.

Play Me a Song by allmylovesatonce

Every night, like clockwork, Alex's upstairs neighbor plays the piano for two hours, giving Alex the motivation to sit and do his own work so that he can listen. One night, he leaves a letter for his neighbor to thank him for the music. When his neighbor comes to his door to thank him for the note, he finds it's the same cute guy he's been running into in the lobby.

Speak for Yourself by LolaLand (Lola_di_Penates)

Alex could have walked out of the Williamsburg apartment at any time. Instead, he decides to sign up to twelve months of Henry. OR Alex makes a rash decision and Henry inexplicably runs with it. (The "accidental housemates" AU that literally no-one asked for).

london bridge has fallen down by indomitablelove

Alex can feel the eyes of the room on him as Shaan approaches his side. Then, Shaan quietly murmurs in his ear. They’re words he’s thought about before, distantly wondering about what might happen when they were finally uttered. How their lives might change. There’s nothing that can prepare him for the reality of it though, nothing that can prepare him for how his breath hitches when Shaan speaks. ‘London Bridge is down, Sir.’  --- Queen Mary is dead. Henry doesn't know how to feel.

i wouldn't stop for red lights by matherine

There are flowers on Henry’s desk when he comes into work. They’re pretty, really – chosen by someone who knows him, because there are hydrangeas and white roses and daffodils, and certainly not enough baby’s breath for the bouquet to have been cheap. Not that Henry would make assumptions, nor that he’s the sort of person that would look up the cost of a gift, but he knows who put it here. Even before he looks at the little card attached to a rose’s stem, he knows, because he gets flowers every April 15th.

Water over Blood by happinessofthepursuit

5 times a member of the British Royal Family was in love with Alex + 1 time they loved Henry

The Prince of Sex: A Collaborative Nightmare by aceinadeck, fairycat, ifigo, MaikkaPakka, ohgaywarden, Princess_Nales

"Alex is waiting for his lover Phillip, when he arrives in the bedroom Alex's jaw drops. Philip is wearing a pair of tight leather pants the outline of his massive horse cock is clearly visible and Alex can't wait to have it pump thick squirts of warm cum inside him and his butt." *** It started as a joke, something that Pez found in the depths of Real Person Fiction on Wattpad that none of them really wanted to explore too much. But he brought it up as a drinking game, something that would get all of them absolutely wasted since this was the first time they were able to get together in almost four months.

An Open Heart by absoluteaudacity

"But, and I hope you’ll forgive me for taking so long to get to the point, they listened and hugged me and told me they loved me no matter what. I gather they feel very guilty that I felt I had to keep my sexuality a secret. Mum had to stop Dad from going straight down to Buckingham and yelling at Gran; I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry. They’ve agreed that we’ll keep it to the family for the moment but they’ve made it clear I have their support if I ever want to come out publicly. We’re a long way from that, I think, but at least I know the way is partially clear for us. At least I don’t have to pretend anymore."

It's Getting Hot in Here (So Hot!) by Celaestis

Henry’s firm and unwavering belief in Alex’s hetrosexuality does wonders for their relationship. He can coexist with Alex in the same lobby for entire half-minutes at a time while checking for post, he can make solid eye contact during glances in the hallway. Alex is still the most beautiful man he’s ever beheld, and maybe Henry’s hook-ups are tending towards the Latino types more than they ever did in the UK, but still. Alex is straight. Henry is fine about it. Really.

i'd fall to pieces on the floor if you weren't around by karish

Suddenly, Alex feels like he’s gonna throw up and he feels cold all over. Because this sounds like a goodbye. It sounds like a suicide note. Fuck. God. Please no. AKA: Alex wakes up to find a note from Henry and jumps to the worst possible conclusions.

Wedding Talk by maritinkerbell

“You know, H, I’m not sure anything is going to give me greater pleasure than forcing all your homophobic cousins to smile and make nice while I put a fucking ring on it.” OR An upcoming family wedding leads Henry and Alex to discuss marriage for the first time.

Little Secrets Grow Up To Be Big Lies by DracoWillHearAboutThis

Henry meets Alex in a café as he's hiding from the Crown, the media and the public in general. But Alex is charming and alluring and draws him in right away. Alex also has no idea that he's a Prince.

Give Me Comfort, Give Me Help by dwell_the_brave

“I’ll be back by Thursday,” Philip promises, giving Martha a hand up the jet’s steps. She gives them a brief wave from the top of the stairs before disappearing. “Make sure you don’t ski off a cliff!” Bea calls after him as he follows his wife into the jet. He waves a hand dismissively at her and then withdraws into the darkness of the cabin. That’s the last thing any of them say to him. - Philip dies, and Henry becomes heir.

i could be a better boyfriend by bananzie

It wasn't that Alex didn't like telling people about Henry—quite the opposite, actually—it was just that no one ever believed him when he did. An AU in which Henry is one of England’s most famous rugby players, Alex met him during an exchange year, and they’re so in love it’s sickening, but no one believes him.

Just like that. by myheartalive

“I’m so glad my subpar sexual encounter has fed the brain worms. Something’s got to keep the little guys going.” Henry’s more relaxed now that he’s teasing Alex, and looks a lot more like his normal self. It feels a little easier to talk to him, to actually say what he’s thinking. “It’s just… I realised if that was me, I also wouldn’t know how to do it. How to find your…” “Prostate?” “Yeah. That.” — When Henry comes home from a date frustrated by the guy’s lack of expertise, Alex starts having thoughts. And then, because he’s Alex, he sticks his big foot in his even bigger mouth.

Kinda think that I might be his type by kiwiana

“Bea.” He clambers onto his knees, grabbing her hands in his own. “Bea, take me to Thanksgiving with you.” Bea blinks. Blinks again. “What?” “Bea, I could terrorise your gran until she’s begging you to stay single forever.” Or, Alex agrees to be his friend's fake boyfriend for a weekend. He is not prepared for his friend's brother.

until next wednesday! if you want me to tag you in future lists, let me know!

[sweetpiccolo-blog]

Not in this universe (ANGST)

RBR! Sebastian Vettel x Reader

Warnings: Angst, tiny bit of blood, verbal fighting, a sad ending : (

Words: 1 k

“My biggest mistake was listening to you today. My quali lap went to shit!” Sebastian lashes out and kicks a box in his driver's room. You stand there and watch his childish behavior. “No. Your biggest mistake was NOT listening to me. If you had went to box for wets like I told you, that pole would have been yours.” You tell him calmly yet sternly with your hands folded. He looked at you like he wanted to strangle you with his mind.

For context: Seb and other nine drivers got into Q3. Unfortunately in the middle of it, it started to rain. You still had some time to make a fast lap with new wet tires and heat them up to claim pole position for tomorrow's race. But of course the stubborn German had none of it and continued to fly on the track in mediums with no care. You tried to reason with him but then he got into a puddle and spun on the track. For a moment you lost your breath. He went into gravel, causing a red flag, completely stopping the session. Thanks to that, his teammate got pole - which made Seb´s blood boil with rage.

“The session was ending! It would be useless!” He said. “You could have crashed Seb! I'm trying to help you.” You stepped away from the wall which you were leaning on and approached him : “Why the hell would I try to sabotage you!?” You frown your brows at him. “Because you hate me! You are trying for a revenge…” He spits out in accusatory tone.

You are taken aback by this. “Seb what the hell?? You seriously think I am that petty?”

He looks you in the eye and approaches you. He is quiet. The Red Bull driver looks you up and down and gets closer. You are creeped out by this and slowly back away from him. “... say something…” You whisper weakly. Still nothing until you are forced to hit a wall with your back. “God.” he smirks “... you are so pathetic.” You look for some sort of reassurance that the Seb you know, is the one in front of you. But with no luck. Suddenly you are choked by his hand and forced to look at his stern face. “You are the best mistake in my life.” What? What did he just say? “A mis-mistake…?” You try to say. “ I shouldn't have begged you to be my engineer. I thought having a quick-witted and patient woman like yourself would be a perfect choice. Turns out… you are a stealthy backstabber.”

At this moment your eyes started to burn and well up with tears. Where is this coming from? Why is he so mean? You only ever wanted the best for him. “stop- '' You plead in a quiet raspy whisper. “Why should I listen to you? HUH? I give you a platform to build your dream career on in a masculine environment and what do you do?” He whispers harshly into your ear. “ I didn't do anything wrong…” You struggle against his grip. “Wrong. You make me fall for you and then you make a tantrum when I try to fight against the feelings.” Oh not this. Not the past. You already talked about this. You beg him to stop talking about this and by now the tears are rolling down your cheeks. “- Seb…please” “Please what? I have a job to do. I cannot get distracted by anyone. I tried to deal with it my own way… That's why you tried to make me crash today.” he says through gritted teeth. He lets you finally go and you gasp for air as you fall on your knees and it is hard to breathe through the tears. Your neck will definitely be bruised. He crouches down in front of you. 

You look at him with spite and say : “Why don't you just fire me if you hate me so much?” He looks you dead in the eye. “I don't hate you. I never had. I couldn't even if you told me to.” 

You look at him confused as ever. You want to storm out of that stupid room and never come near him. At least that's how you felt at that moment. Your mind is completely drowned in thoughts that you don't even register the German kissing you. Your eyes shed tears and your soft lips melt with his. His stubble scratches your skin and that's when you realize what's happening. You bit his lip and he swiftly pulls away from you. His hand goes to his bloody lip and when he sees the blood on his fingertips . If you weren't terrified you would admire his beauty: dilated eyes, bloody lip, heavy breathing, messy hair… He is breathtaking but also scary.

Seb licks his cut. He can't believe it. The taste of metal on his tongue makes him wake up from his anger and that's when he looks at you. He is back.

“Im so sorry…” you shush him , not letting him finish his apology. Standing up , you make his gaze follow you to a med kit. You rummage around and find a wipe and some alcohol. When you approach him, his eyes look up to you as if you were some kind of angel. You sit down in front of him and softly lift his chin up. You start working on his little injury and he doesn't even move. His eyes full of adoration follow you. You finish your little work and set the things aside.

Sebastian grabs your hands in his and with a small voice questions you : “ How can YOU not hate me?” 

You slowly kiss his forehead and brush his cheek. “I could never… even if you tried your best to make me hate you. I know you pushed me away because you care about me and I will do whatever you think is the best for us.” He tries to make you stay “But what if I want you? What if I need you?” You smile at him sadly “I cannot fulfill that wish of yours. Maybe in another time or in another universe. But not here and not now.”

You give him a final kiss on top of his head and then leave the room. You know if you turned back, he would hate you for giving in. So you leave the garage and go to the hotel, while you think about how you will handle tomorrow's race…

[lavenderhorns]

there's a lot of rage swirling around inside me right now I think, just at how things have ended up where I've done all the "right" things that everyone says you should do, gone to college and followed every bit of resume and cover letter advice, and have gotten literally nothing from literal hundreds of job applications. this feeling of being stuck and unable to move forward in life is certainly not a new one to me but it's been amplified so, so much by the fact that I can't find anything for work and am stuck at my dad's place slowly getting more fed up with him each day. there's a lot of anger in watching all my friends struggling with these same issues, about 3 of my 25-ish friends in town have jobs, previously 5 but two of them just got laid off, one when the entire building of 250+ people was unceremoniously canned. there's a lot of simmering fury in how everyone over 30, from friends to family to strangers to people literally working for the career service attached to the government, that just ignore the labour issues going on not just in general but also specific to my province, yknow how unemployment for people my age without that "2+ years work experience required" is approaching 20%, a number that would cause stammered outrage in any of these people if it actually applied to them, but is just quietly ignored when it only applies to the younger generation I guess. like, what is even the emotion that comes from "jobs are so heavily ingrained in society in capitalism that not having one will kill you in many ways BUT you're not allowed to have one no matter how hard you try" aside from just. I'm so goddamn angry, even though I don't like being angry. and there's really nowhere to direct this anger aside from vaguely in the direction of society and established norms and the government, and there's really nothing I can personally do to drag myself out of this situation. I can apply to thousands of jobs and make the most perfect resume ever, but at the end of the day it's not me who decides if I get the job. it's up to whatever shitty ai garbage program is throwing 99% of applications in the shredder to somehow notice mine which then passes it onto an uncaring hiring manager who just picks the person with the most experience and ignores the other 99 resumes the machine spat out because just about every single job here gets hundreds and hundreds of applications because, get this, no one my age is fucking able to find any work! and throughout all of this I'm just doing my best to deal with the creeping dread of slowly feeling that depression (that I don't like thinking about how close got to killing me back in high school) start to rear its head again because it's getting less and less easy to see any sort of future for myself like this. and this is all on top of the canadian housing market meaning I'm never gonna actually own a home, and every bit of daily necessities has been ruthlessly price gouged to 400% of what it was a few years ago and blamed on "inflation" while rent has skyrocketed because landlords imagined a bigger number, and while just about everyone in the country is angry at the PM because of all this it's terrifying to know that the general population political lean is worryingly conservative, as if that isn't the fucking cause of all this. all while I desperately want to transition more and figure out my personal style and dress the way I really want as if that wouldn't kill any and all chances of possibly making it through a job interview assuming I ever even get one.

and like, things aren't all bad for me right now. I'm not actively going broke yet, I have a wonderful long distance partner, I've been getting better at cooking and digital art and meeting even more local friends (many of whom are trans), and in terms of coming into my own as a person I feel like I've finally been settling into who I am.

but like, it kinda pales in comparison to the job market trying to kill me, yknow?

[aichi-division]

𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐚'𝐬 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐢𝐫𝐬

Narrated by Shouta Takeda

Part 1: The beginning

Talking about my past is something I'm not used to. I don't think it's really an interesting topic, I mean, I don't think talking about a guy who was always abused by his family and never had a shred of luck in years is something entertaining for the public... shit, I'm sounding like a victim again.

Anyway, maybe this is an opportunity to express what I always tend to hide. I think my colleagues and friends deserve some kind of explanation as to why I am the way I am.

I lived most of my childhood in the downtown area of Tokyo. My family owns a major home appliance company, so you understand, they shit money. Having a lot of money necessarily implies complying with certain guidelines and standards. A bad management of the family economy implies a bad image to the public and my parents were very aware of this issue.

Yes, now you may wonder how someone like me could live such a luxurious life and end up a bum. The answer is quite simple, I broke the rules. Breaking things is something I've always been good at, honestly. My sin was to choose a path that my family despises. My mother, especially, could never look me in the eye after I confessed to her my interest in the arts.

"We raised you to be a Takeda, to be a future leader of our companies. You're so fucking ungrateful."

My parents and siblings have a very simple way to solve this type of problem. It's like when they serve you a menu you don't like at the restaurant. You just throw it away, stand up and walk away. Clearly I was able to pursue a career in the arts, but the cost was losing my entire family.

I was discarded as a piece of trash with no future and with the money I was entitled to by inheritance, I paid for my studies, lodging and any other stupid expenses that came my way. What I didn't see coming was my own inability to excel at the one thing I loved in this life.

Competing against a host of artists who clearly had greater talent and capabilities was something I had never considered. It was like a direct punch in the face. Honestly, it didn't hurt to lose my family, but it did hurt to give them the reason and satisfaction of my failure.

It is an indescribable rage, as if there were fire in my veins and I could not breathe without feeling like breaking everything. From there, everything began to fall into a hole, infinite, dark, impossible to get out of.

In all that chaos, I made several friends with the same bad luck as me, although they were burdened with something I didn't have at the time: addictions. I started with soft drugs, weed, nicotine…. But within a few months I was relying on methamphetamines, cocaine and starting on a path to heroin.

It's not something I'm proud to talk about. It was a hard time, where many times I behaved like a maniac. I convinced myself that the only way to be happy was through those syringes. It took me a long time to realize that reality was far from the mental construction I had of myself.

There was a time when things, our society, the norm had changed quite a bit. Women in power, competition, a new order of which I could understand little, as I was too stoned to realize it. I was living in a haze, in slow motion, living one second at a time, while everything was going to shit.

And it was there that I met the people to whom I owe my life: Issey and Eiji.

They found me in the Aichi district, who knows how, sitting on the sidewalk, humming some song while going through the worst hangover of my life. When they approached me, I really thought they would be one of those punk kids with their urge to beat up bums, pure Clockwork Orange style. What a surprise I got when I realized that they actually wanted to talk to me and recruit me in some so-called rap battles and I don't know what the fuck.

"I like your voice, do you know how to rap? It's not very difficult, you just have to have a good use of words and use a mic to…" Issey kept talking, so energetic and genuine that he sounded like a walking sunshine that would burn any bitter person like me.

“I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, kid.” I said, trying to decipher something that made sense out of all that monologue.

I think in the meantime, Eiji whispered something about me being a drug addict and that they shouldn't come near me, but Issey was very persistent. I actually smile every time I remember that moment. Things have changed a lot since that day.

Issey and Eiji became what I could really call a family. Being older, I had to take responsibility for their well-being and that forced me to change many aspects of myself, starting with rehabilitation.

The light of those two children made me realize a completely different path from what I had proposed and, above all, an opportunity to be a better version of me. I really hope that if Issey and Eiji read this, they know that I love them dearly and that I am very grateful and proud to be able to be their leader.

...ugh, I got sentimental again.

Anyway, I started living life again, starting all over again. I met a lot of people, started and ended relationships, fought a guy for a condom…. I think I'm at my peak.

I know this is the first part of a series of memoirs I should write later, but I think this pretty much sums up the road I've traveled to be who I am now. I'm not a cool guy, far from it.

But I am grateful for what I have.

[cmtcahrule]

No Words. Part 1.

For those of you who can't or won't watch.

Yes, we were living in Cayman the last three years. We went back to LA for the summer. And everywhere for the summer.

Island life has been grand…it’s just time to wrap it up and get back to reality.

It’s Swiss Family Robinson here.

But you have the LA itch? Yes, I have the LA itch.

We can always find any way to justify anything. Mom needs to go back and you guys are going to be happy wherever you are.

Oprah��s been my idol my whole life.

Modeling is so interesting. You don’t have an opinion or a voice. As with TV, you can drive it.

I never enjoyed doing the red carpets. I leave that type of journalism up to you.

Did you ever think you should be the person on the other side….like the person walking the carpet? Honestly when I was in college, there was an acting job that came through the modeling agency, but I have never wanted to be an actor. I don’t understand this. Why are we sitting in trailers for 12 hours when we could be really productive? It didn’t make sense for me to be distracted (by acting).

I thought I was going to wait to open the bakery until after I did The Today Show for 10 years. Thank God I did not wait until I was 55 or 60 to do it. Because you cannot pull 4-5 all nighters per week when you are that age.

I can contribute my television career and success to 30% talent and 70% bribery. I would go in and bomb an audition and come back with Monster Cookies and then I would get a call back because of the cookies.

In my 20s, when I wasn’t raging, I would come back home and bake dozens of cookies.

I am passionate about JIF peanut butter. I am passionate about Helmann’s Mayonnaise. We are not fucking around with these products. We have integrity.

We have been in talks to open up in LA. Talks to open up at The Grove. The Palisades Village. Maybe we will do that when I have more bandwidth some day but right now I am tapped out.

You are managing all of these businesses from afar? I mean I am on an airplane every few weeks.

I told my agent to give me anything except anything related to pop culture. Everyone is voodoo dolling you right now. That is the dream of so many girls and people wanted you to do it and you said no. Give me a war instead. I will volunteer to go cover a human rights foundation before I will go on a red carpet.

Did you meet your ex husband Armie in the industry from doing industry interviews? He was not even working at the time. He wanted to be an actor but he was not doing the things to be an actor.

Regarding Tyler: He would never hang out with me because he was with his best friend Armie.

We met through our mutual friend Tyler. It was love at first sight. For sure.

Regarding their meeting: It was good for Armie because he had to work for something.

Ambition is important. I know you want to do something so do something. Either go back to college or go to acting class. I am not interested in someone who is complacent.

I think it was hard for him at the time because I had a boyfriend who was very successful and doing a lot which is the hottest thing to me because I love ambition.

It was a good motivator. So you motivated him to get his ass up and work….as Kim Kardashian would say?

Since he was with you when you were opening up BB, was he supportive and was he helpful? Because he was so young, he probably had even less of an idea on what to do. He wasn’t the business man behind the operation to say the least. 

I’ve always been an independent person who does what I want. If I am with somebody, that is how things are going to go. I do whatever I want when I want however I want.

[raes-trying]

life update

not that i really have anyone to update... but yknow.

i'm still as depressed as ever. even more anxious than normal. i have not been very good at taking care of myself. however i do feel like i have just a smidgen more of my life figured out.

school/career

i planned out my next three semesters of college classes and if everything goes planned, i'll be graduating a semester early in decemeber 2026! i have no doubt i'll pass all of the classes, however i am afraid of not being able to get into the classes i need. there's only about 60 seats open in the classes i need, which feels low, but i don't know how many accounting majors need to take those classes. i register for the fall semester next friday, so hopefully that goes well.

i have started looking for internships for the summer of 2026. it is very difficult lol. i applied to one in my hometown, but there are not many options available in my college town. right now at least. i really don't feel like moving and i don't want to have to pay rent when i'm not living in my apartment, so hopefully i'm able to find something (and actually be offered a position) somewhere close. i should really talk to some of the internship coordinators on campus but i am scared. there's also an accounting career fair in the fall that i'll need to work up the courage to go to.

emotional

i've been in a very low place recently and i have become increasingly more aware that i need to seek out help. it's really hard though. i'll go through these bouts of depression where i can still function, but it constantly feels like i'm hanging by a thread. i can go to school, i can go to work, but anything that i'm not required to do? i just can't. i wait for the very last moment to get out of bed in the morning. i go days without showering. i don't do anything except lay in bed pretty much. i don't really feel anything. but that usually only lasts a few days or at most two weeks at a time. and then i'm out of it for a few days or weeks, but i still just struggle to feel emotions other than anger or nostalgia.

god my bursts of anger have been getting worse. i used to be able to usually keep things to myself and not act out in a bout of rage, but lately i have been genuinely crashing out. it could be a lot worse, but i'm afraid it may get to that point. whenever i'm around anyone, like my boyfriend, i can usually keep it contained so not to worry them. however i let it all out when i'm alone. i yell. i slam doors. i hit my cat. i'm ashamed to admit it, but i do. i slam my head against the wall. i throw things. and i don't feel like myself.

the weather has also been getting to me. we've had a few nice days here in wisconsin, but they don't last. it was 80 degrees out on one day (which is actually too hot for me) and three days later there was a winter storm. and while i do enjoy the nice weather, it makes me feel weird. nostalgic i guess. just smelling the warmer air and hearing the birds and feeling the sun on my skin takes me back to last spring when i was still living on campus and when i actually had friends. i miss it. i didn't appreciate it enough.

looking ahead

realistically, i know i am not in the right place to be setting goals. i told myself i was going to lock in when the new year started and we have already completed three months and i have made zero progress. i'm hoping june will be my fresh start.

my fuckass roommate will be moving out and even though i'll technically be in the same space, i'm hoping i can make it feel new. i'll reorganize. maybe i'll actually decorate. i didn't want to put anything on the walls because it all felt so temporary and it wasn't worth it to me. and while it is still going to be temporary, i need to reconnect with my space and make it feel like home and not just where i sleep.

i need to start getting out and enjoying life more. i still feel very stuck.

[droughtofapathy]

You've talked about the elphaba-ifcation of musical theater and how everyone's a belter now, is there any musical that has come out recently that you would like to see become the blueprint of musical theater in the way that Wicked/Elphaba did? (Doesn't have to be realistic)

The healthiest musical theatre environment has variety above all else. There needs to be space for as much diversity in all aspects as possible. While it would be nice to have more up-and-comers all modeled after Tesori, or a resurgence of soaring soprano scores like Guettel, I'd be hard-pressed to name one contemporary musical theatre piece that I'd want to see become a major blueprint in the way that Company or Hair or even Rent was.

Ideally, I'd like composers and lyricists to have the willingness to accept criticism and make difficult changes/cuts like Shaina Taub demonstrated with Suffs. I want to see more strange art for strange art's sake like Dave Malloy does. I would kill for more shows like Ahrens and Flaherty's earlier works (specifically Ragtime and Once On this Island). There should be a greater emphasis on using lyrics to advance a story and develop character relationships and not just evoke a mood. I am tired of entire shows full of park-and-barks. One or two at thematically appropriate moments is great, but a whole show full of belting about nothing makes me want to set fire to something. So many of the concert stagings I see for up-and-coming works are just a series of solos and a musical needs to be about collaboration and communication. We don't have any creative teams* that will one day be in the same breath as R&H, Kander & Ebb, Sondheim, etc. A lot of new writers are hitting the Broadway stage and fizzling out, partially because they don't quite know how to write for musicals. It's different than putting together an album or a song cycle.

In looking at the new musicals that have premiered on Broadway in the last few years, I don't know that a single one of them will have a lasting relevance in ten or twenty years' time. We're seeing how shows that were revolutionary at the time don't always age well with Hamilton, which is an objectively well-constructed show. Part of the reason is that LMM, for all his personal faults, has a deep appreciation for those who came before and you can see that influence in his work. Moulin Rouge (which is not a good show) might pull in audiences for the spectacle, but as those jukebox songs get older and older, and running costs get more and more expensive, it's going to fall off real quick. Movie musicals helped to make those like R&H and Learner & Lowe household names. Movie musicals today? Yikes. Sure, you could say that sixty years later, My Fair Lady might be a little dated, but it still holds up, and it's lasted this long. There are timeless and universal themes in shows like Carousel and The Sound of Music that prop up the dated gender roles or of-its-time ideals. Absolutely no one is still talking about La La Land**.

I do want more Guettel because he is the only one right now actively writing soaring soprano scores, but he's an acquired taste and not commercially viable. I want to see more Taub and Malloy and other writers who remember that they're writing for theatre. And I want books to become important again. The books these days have been so bad, but no one is willing to put in the work to fix them.

*(And I have a whole rant about how P&P were actually detrimental to musical theatre as a whole, but been there, done that. I'll just say that every time I've unknowingly encountered one of their songs in a concert, I've had the same thought: "gee, this is bad. Who wrote this? Why are these lyrics absolute shit?" I'm glad they have a lucrative career in film these days and I hope they never leave because I don't want them back in the theatre.)

** Wait, okay. Total honesty, but I didn't know P&P were part of that music team. I just picked a random movie musical that was all the rage when it premiered and then fell off in a year. I had to look up the writers and uh, yeah, that tracks.

[ya-killin-me-smalls]

Taking notes so hard. i got an opportunity to go to a university and meet a professor and stuff but my parents . Yeh. So i couldnt go. I'm taking notes so hard here this is so helpful dude. I know connections are like the most important thing ever i think. But as of right now, i cant get them. I'll try to talk to professors and lecturers when I get the chance. Though I do have anxiety i find it a little easier to talk to people older than me... sometimes. i dont live in america also, so yeah. I genuniely think hell is waking up and going to high school every day. i will not get into it because like you had said once your asks are not a confession box, LOL. trips over and dies

I mean I don't mind if you wanna talk about it, that message was more directed towards people trolling and being weird. either way if your parents are anything like mine, ie hovercraft-esque and controlling, there isn't much you can do before you're legally an adult besides build up your own self confidence. once you hit adulthood you gotta buck the system HARD. my older sister didn't do it so we still had to like put phones and laptops in our parents room at night when I was 21. my workaround was setting up a mobile hotspot before turning the phone in for the night, then using an old phone and sitting in the corner of my room to reach the network since my dad kicked that one off the wifi. it was spotty and sucked but I did it for months and overall I won. then I signed a lease without telling anyone (didn't move out), dated guys that my parents didn't approve of (don't recommend this one they sucked), snuck out of work early to hang out at bars, got in road rage incidents, traumatized my father back via screaming matches (which I also won), and eventually I think they realized I was serious about not being told what to do. 19-22 is by far the worst time to be alive but by 23 I was coasting and I still am mostly

that was a tangent. anyway yeah teachers now and professors later. if you participate a lot in class, even if you're wrong and trying your best, most professors will like you. physics 2 prof bumped me by a whole letter grade because I really did try my best and he knew I did, I'm just dumb as fuck at math. went from a C- to a B-. professors have by far been my most helpful contacts though cause I've gotten several letters of reference, research opportunities, and career/academic guidance from people that know a lot more than me, but I put in the work to have a close relationship with them

anyone who's a dick to you now is either gonna live with a lot of guilt or regret later on in life, or they're gonna peak in highschool and their life will only go downhill from here. the great thing about being in hell now is you can only go up as long as you keep moving forward

[90sbutterfly3]

No Contact

In November 2020, I chose to have no contact with my family (mom, sibling, etc.). My dad died in 2016 from cancer.

The reason behind this is a bunch of things, from the way they talk to me and treat me to even feeling like an only child.

Now, there have been a few times since then that my sister reached out and tried, but once my nephew, who is her son, passed away, I never really spoke to her again.

I tried relating to her since I lost a son, too, when she called with the news, but I should have kept quiet. She said that I didn't need to go through the trouble to go since I had my 2 kids and lived in another state. I felt it was in a tone I wasn't welcome, and with only one car that my husband needed for work he couldn't get out of, and no one offering help and me not comfortable asking, I didn't go. Perhaps I should have tried hard to get there. we shall never know.

I haven't talked to my two brothers since November 2020, after two different hurricanes around that time.

I was the youngest of 4, with my brother before me, 9 years older than me.

The following is the last I spoke with my mom through email after simply sharing pictures of my kids through Messenger and then being questioned why on Messenger.

(Reasons why. Wed, May 8 2024, 5:30 AM)

Reasons why.

You asked why.

Where should I start?

Honestly I feel like I shouldn’t need to explain myself but here we are.

Most of my life I was told sorry didn’t want to bother you since you have kids or sorry thought your sister called you whom also forgot about me.

Did you know throughout my life I have been jealous of Denise because she had a mom that checked on her every day and if she didn’t call mom, mom actually worried about her?

Oh sorry I had Adam so I was left alone.

I mean like what logic is that? Denise had kids along with pets,Tony had Jacob and Joe had his pets. Why am I different?

November 2020 is where I will start I was on the verge of a mental breakdown, career stressing me out had babysitting issues every time I turned around and an extended family that didn’t understand what I was going through.

We were homeless with two kids living on my brother n laws living room for the kids. Couldn’t go back to were we were living do to mold.

So yes I walked away from all of it with my kids. Adam got an job opportunity in Galveston with his company and we decided to take it.

From there we lived in a hotel then moved from there 3 times now settling here.

From gillis to ragely to lake Charles to Texas we have moved 5 times.

My extended not ever helping.

It was just the four of us most of the time. The two kids, Adam and I.

My extended?

Judging me that I didn’t help mom I am sure.

Joe calling me at one point fussing about mom and the kids when mom should have called me directly. I haven’t talked to Joe since because he is not my dad and I am not a kid.

Sorry my priority is my kids over mom.

Tony. He isn’t the brother I grew up with. Tony told me once after I graduated high school to not cause trouble with mom and dad they are to old. What a hypocrite. Most fights that I listened to growing up were from him starting it. I don’t feel safe around him and didn’t when I last saw him unwillingly and mom left me with him and my two kids. Yes I am sour about that.

I am a very logical and simple person that as a.d.d. and anxiety. I don’t play games with people.

I am not going to pretend that we are a happy normal family. 

Denise once told me that she no longer as a older brother then the next week it was expected to act like it never happened. I was always confused by this.

I don’t say one thing and do another.

I don’t know how mom found out I have been back on many occasions to lake Charles. Perhaps it was common sense. 

OR

You or my siblings seen me and couldn’t be bothered to come to me seeing I didn’t see you. Most hurtful I must say.

Someone reported back to you of such information.

Either way no matter the answer before yesterday and since Denise communicated with me before Michael Scott died anyone could have called me. My phone was open. No one did though.

I don’t respond well to random questions on messenger I would rather you call me. Talk to me but none of you have ever done that.

It’s a two way street and I gave up some years ago with me being the only one trying to communicate.

Last time I talked to Denise she told me to not go through any trouble going to Michael’s funeral. She told me this several times in a tone that I took as I wasn’t really welcome. At the time we had one car and Adam worked 7 days a week most of the time still does. No one called me offering a ride or called me asking why I wasn’t there. I haven’t ever talked to Denise since. 

I haven’t talked to my brothers since November 2020. 

I was mostly raised as a only child with siblings in and out only ever causing trouble and a dad that was gone two weeks.

I refuse to talk about dad I have made my peace with him years ago.

I will say this:

Did you know I asked dad once before he sick why won’t either of you call me why do I always have to call. He told me that mom is the way she is, in the tone of it’s just the way it is.

When it comes to Adam I find it insulting that he is judged upon his family and I am given the tone none of yall like him. Adam is not his family. No I don’t communicate with them they are his family and his problem not mine.

Reasons why. Why?

Perhaps it’s because I don’t want to bother. I don’t want to deal with the questions, fussing and undertone of y’all being mad. Which is why I stopped asking for help when yall couldn’t ever help. 

Before any of you try to say well you could have gone to Denise’s. Splitting my little family up wasn’t an option for me. 

Why after all these years do you want to bother now? Why do you now care? 

I think logically. And answering you in messenger would have been to much.

I will say this once. Yes I am bisexual. No I didn’t ever act on it and won’t ever. No reason to thus no point in explaining this or “coming out”. No good would come of it. Yes Adam knows.

I have tried to move on, put it in my past for the kids and keep the communication open for the kids. So any of you can still see them grow up. I tried talking to mom in video calls and it was like pulling out teeth. Why bother?

I have long ago accepted that I am the black sheep of the family.

After this I am done. Don’t bother calling I blocked everyone yesterday.

I have nothing more to say.

(her response May 8, 2024, 7:22 AM)

I am sorry you still have all this  angry in you for me and your sister and brothers. You need to get help. Don’t you realize we reacted to you because of your attitude towards us. 

 As for not helping you, you didn’t ask. I was going through a lot getting over losing Don. I still struggle some days. And now Michael is gone. He finally got himself clean when the accident happened. .

  Hurricane Laura did a lot of damage to the house. I stayed 6 months at Dee’s. But I am home. The house is so much better but I still struggle. I have had knee surgery twice. But get along on my own fine. 

  Please get over your problems Anne, life is too short. Please believe me, I love you and the kids so much. I miss you. Thanks for the pictures, they look happy and well. When you come into Lake Charles, please call. That’s all I ask. 

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

Since then, I haven't spoken to any of them because I finally gave up. I haven't gotten any messages, emails, texts, or calls, although, for a while, they were blocked; I am positive I could have found a way around it.

Now, though no one is blocked, I don't care anymore. I just want peace and to move on. I wish I could call them and talk about my kids, but I know I can't without being questioned and talked to like I was a teenager.

Most of the time, it plagues my mind if no contact was the right decision. If everything is my fault and it is all in my head.

I would like to think it was what I thought was best for my kids and to live happily with my husband.

It feels good to journal this here. I stay to myself and help take care of my family besides writing, FNaF graphic novels and diamond painting now.

Thank you,

Until next time, Ann

[snoopysfriendwoodstock]

what's ur full ttpd song ranking and why?

omg… this will be long lol

1. who’s afraid of little old me? - taylor has tried “female rage” a couple times now and it always falls flat bc she has to be the victor/mastermind of all of it. mad woman & vigilante shit just kinda suck! FINALLY in this song she sort of admits defeat? i find it really interesting to hear her reflecting on her career & her own view of herself and the public perception of her without her feeling the need to throw a “but i’m okay! and actually i’m winning!” in at the end. also the vocals and theatrics are soooo good i just love it <3

2. the smallest man who ever lived - that ENDING. this takes me back to some very classic taylor songs, especially the dear john bridge or last kiss bridge and as a speak now girl i can’t get enough.

3. the prophecy - both people who love this song and people who hate it reduce it down to “she’s sad she doesn’t have a boyfriend” but imo this song perfectly captures the ACHE of being someone who just always has a little ribbon of loneliness running through them. it’s that dark middle of the night place you can’t let yourself go to. and it’s PERFECT.

4. so high school - i don’t have a lot to say here but this is the song she’s talking abt when she says she’s putting narcotics in them. i love it so much. do that impression you did of your dad again ❤️

5. but daddy i love him - i love her delusional ass! also the “i’m having his baby” line is soooo funny sorry!

6. guilty as sin? - there’s a reason this one’s a fan favorite! it’s just soooo good. there’s nothing wrong with a sexy song.

7. so long, london - “i’m just mad as hell cause i loved this place” is such a taylor line. so simply devastating. i think she got away from just very simply stating her emotions/feelings in her newer albums but this song has soooo many lines that go back to that form of writing that she’s so good at. “stopped trying to make him laugh” is another one that really hits.

8. loml - this hits my favorite genre of taylor swift song that is just so sad it’s almost like oh my god you have to stop… what a valiant roar! what a bland goodbye!

9. the black dog - ik i’m kind of a broken record at this point but “i just don’t understand how you don’t miss me” is SOOOO taylor. very early taylor! and i love the idea of taylor swift having someone’s location on her phone. she is sooo pathetic she’s just like me!

10. the bolter - songs used to be STORIES!

11. the alchemy - i can’t explain it. it just scratches my brain really well. i love how it soundssss

12. fresh out the slammer - i LOVE the chorus on this one. and i love when it slows down at the end and gets kinda weird.

13. clara bow - i LOVE this song. i love how haunting it is i love “you look like taylor swift” i love how pessimistic it is as an album closer. it feels like folklore again w/ hoax as the last song. she said we are NOT in change/long live/begin again/clean/new years day/daylight hours anymore we have LOST hope. in fact it’s super interesting compared to change/long live that are all optimistic about the industry/making a name for herself bc now she’s realized there were other taylor swifts before and there will be other taylor swifts later.

14. how did it end? - another just absolute fucking banger of a sad song. the commentary on fame/the public/her fanbase hits.

15. i hate it here - unfortunately this song is sooooo me it’s not even funny.

16. i can do it with a broken heart - who is this “nobody” that doesn’t know she’s miserable? i love this song it’s so funny. “i cry a lot but i am so productive” is a lyric that was necessary for society

17. my boy only breaks his favorite toys - this song grew on me SO much. it’s so pathetic i love it.

18. florida!!! - this song rocks so hard. i think taylor & florence’s voices compliment each other so much

19. the albatross - i love her voice on this one. she’s here to destroy you!!!

20. the tortured poets department - i love this one i’m sorry. i love the sound i love that it feels like she’s trying something new i love how cringe and desperate it is. also lucy dacus mention!

21. peter - i wish i understood this song the way a lot of people do but it’s simply not my favorite! i do love the way she keeps repeating “you said you were gonna grow up then you were gonna come find me” in the chorus. don’t listen to this & never grow up back to back. it’s not funny.

22. down bad - hated this one at first but it has REALLY grown on me. i love the alien abduction metaphor! “i might just die it would make no difference” is like come on girl get up

23. i look in people’s windows - love this one, don’t listen to it much. but never skip when it’s on. her voice is gorgeous and i loveee the writing on it

24. the manuscript - again, i don’t choose to put this one on much but holy shiiiitttt… now she eats kids cereal? and can only sleep if it’s in her mother’s bed?

25. cassandra - i love the idea of this and it has some great lyrics but i feel like she didn’t quite get it off the ground? i love the bridge. it’s like ALMOST there. cassandra is my favorite mythological figure so maybe i just had really high expectations.

26. imgonnagetyouback - this will for sure rise in the rankings soon bc i’m finally getting it. it’s so fun, just not as good as a lot of the anthology tracks.

27. fortnight - i don’t love this one, but the chorus is really catchy. & post malone’s verse is the best part, that gets stuck in my head all the time.

28. thanK you aIMee - god this song is so funny. “everybody knows my mother is a saintly woman but she used to say she wished that you were dead!” i’m just kinda sick of these kind of songs from her if that makes sense?

29. chloe or sam or sophia or marcus - i’m waiting for this one to click!!! i’m sure it will & there’s parts i REALLY like but i skip it every single time

30. robin - i’m sorry it’s a skip from me. it’s beautiful but i’m never ever wanting to hear it. it’s sweet! but not for me

31. i can fix him (no really i can) - idk the rhythm and tempo of this song doesn’t work for me. it sucks bc her voice is so sexy on this one & i love the pathetic aspect but i always skip. it’s not as bad as my least favorite on other albums tho <3