#He’s won himself safe; For a While {Oscar} | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

goldsbitch · 2 months

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Just don't talk----

-ever.

p6 to Just don't talk

summary: Enemies to lovers on steroids. Lando gives everyone around him a hard time.

warnings: cursing, typos

He couldn't keep doing that. She sat back at the table, flustered as she watched him return too. Smirk on his face as if he'd just won the lottery. Why was it that he got what he wanted and also made her super horny? Was any of this really fair?

She was riled up, wanted more and had a hard time keeping this cool girl persona up. Cursed herself for always giving him what he wanted. He whispered and she danced like a trained puppy. This had to stop. There wasn't a cell in his body that deserved her attention or care. No. She downed a glass of wine sitting in front of her, that being her fourth glass. What the hell. Lando was just another asshole she hooked up with few times. While the sex was mind blowing, everything else about him infuriated her. He got away with all of his one night stands and she had to stay there and watch it with a smile. Not anymore. None of that tonight. She went to catch a breath for a moment. This is what he was making her do. Brough the worst parts of herself out. It was nice to fool around, but at some point it had to end. Was that moment here already? The best thing for her to do would have been to go home at that point. But she didn't.

Lando was over the moon, happy and excited. In his mind, he was already at Y/N's, or maybe even at his place, what the hell, why not, fucking her senselessly and receiving her heavenly devilish bite marks on all places where he could keep it somewhat secret. He came back to the table, shot a little smirk her way, as if he wanted to convey his plans non verbally. But his main goal to appear as if it was all normal, so he came back and finally joined the conversation. He had to bite his own lip to keep him from smiling.

His excitement transformed into a slight confusion when he saw her coming back from the outside and sitting right next to Oscar, just few seats away from himself. These two never spoke before, or at least not to his knowledge. So what was this about? It took him fifteen minutes of sitting on the other side of the table, watching his teammate having a chat with his secret hook up link before he got up and shamelessly moved over to join them.

Y/N and Oscar had actually spoken more often than Lando would know - since he rarely paid attention to Oscar when his job didn't require him to, and people surrounding Oscar. It's not that she would call them friends, but they were closer than most rookie drivers would be. Oscar's girlfriend was one of the few people around the paddock with whom Y/N could share her thoughts - when the team rivalry wasn't at its peak of course.

Y/N felt like some toxic thoughts were forming in her head once the adrenaline come down started, but decided to go for a safe option that might save her dignity after all.

She chatted with Oscar, asked about Lily and what she was up to. Oscar's dry humor made her laugh. Y/N wished she had a wholesome story to tell as he had. Just seemed so grounded compared to he recent turmoil of events. Now, dignity and peace was definitely not something that Lando would be concerned about. When his emotions got involved, he was an unstoppable force willing to bang his head to the wall like there was no tomorrow. His unhinged interviews were the usual result of that. Now, he was ready to cause a stir. He was not about to watch the two flirt without inserting himself into that situation.

He marched over, like the menace he sometimes was.

"So, since when are you two such chatty buddies?" he asked, bumping into Oscar in process. Y/N looked at him with a worrying look. What was his game plan? What if he exposed them? "Hello to you too," replied Oscar. "There is about 7 people of our age at this party, so that would be a factor playing in," he continued dryly and Y/N laughed a little. "You're right, there is a lot of adulting adults around," she realized. Lando was worried he might start to understand how Alonso felt. "Well, let me join the kids table then. What's the topic?" "Um, I was just telling Y/N about Lily's-" "Oh yeah, you have a girlfriend! One would almost forget, where is she anyway?" Y/N wasn't aprreciating how Lando interrupted Oscar. Judging by the younger driver's expression, it wasn't the first time. "Why would you even care," Y/N asked, well aware of how Lily disliked him. "I am just generally nosy, that would be all," he smiled and though Y/N would never admit it, she nearly melted. "Ha, my relationship? That would not interest Lando, right?," he told Y/N loudly and then turned to Lando. "Poor Lily, you almost scared her once with the rant about how relationships are pointless and hold one back anyway." Oscar was still bitter about that one night when Lando sort of lost it and his own anxiety broke away in a very aggressive form. Lando wanted to apologize anytime Oscar mentioned it, which was few times already. But there was always an audience. And this time it was the girl he was currently fucking with. Girl that was somewhat of an enemy. Not the ideal situation to reveal personal stuff.

"Boys will be boys, am I right?" he just blurted out and wanted to slap himself immediately. He wasn't the only one sitting at the table who wanted to do that. Y/N frowned and scoffed loudly.

"And this is who we call the feminist in F1..." "They really do, that must bother you so much, huh" he commented with cheeky arrows shooting from his eyes. Oscar wanted to go home at that point. Y/N was tired. Not even an hour ago, they were making out in the bathrooms and now he is just attacking, again. "I am very much looking forward to winning a race before you do," she said coldly. Oscar laughed a bit. It was that which truly sent Lando over the edge. "Not sure how, you can't fuck a stop watch." Lando heard his own words and hardly believed he actually said something like that, the combination of alcohol, jealousy and frustration making the worst out of him. Silence fell. She sighed so deeply one would think it was to be her last breath. What was wrong with him? "You're just a primitive fuck boy, aren't you?" "Great minds work alike, apparently." He turned his body, forgetting about the bite mark she gifted him with and flinched. She noticed his expression and saw it as a direct attack, him mocking her and belittling her. "Ok, that's it - Oscar, have a nice evening, if that is even possible in this company," and with that she got up and left, walking as quickly as was socially acceptable. Lando cursed himself mentally. His old habits of communicating with her not keeping up with his own personal growth. "Tell me why, you're the absolute worst version of yourself when she is around?" asked Oscar, while inspecting Lando's face. "I truly don't get it." "I don't either," he whispered softly and got up to chase after her.

"Leave me be!" she said quietly when he caught her, trying to avoid causing a scene. "Bathroom, now," he replied, understanding her intention. "As if, you asshole," she replied, completely misreading his intentions. Lando sighed. "Please, I just wanna talk."

There they stood, in front of the bathroom they'd left a mere half an hour ago. "You need to stop," she started, angry as ever. "Sorry, I didn't mean to - it was suppose to be a joke-" "You can't go around telling everyone I fucked someone from the paddock." "I didn't! I understand-" "No, you don't! You will get branded as a fuck boy, but I get branded as a slut! Our so-called progressive society is still ready to throw any girl that dares to have casual sex with her coworkers under the bus!" "But we're not coworkers..." Not that they particularly tried, but they knew each other more that an acquaintance would. Lando knew she wasn't talking about him. She didn't say a thing. A little slip up that might cost her. "Yes, we're not." "Y/N, did you sleep with someone from your team as well?" he asked quietly, not knowing why that thought made his stomach twirl. She did. Months ago. So what? It was a one time thing. A mistake - just like Lando apparently. "Why are you looking at me like that? You're proving my point. You're out there, fucking people left and right, nobody bats an eye. I do it once and I can see the word slut written in your eyes." He was taken back. "Was it recently?" Why was he asking her this question? "Whoever else I might have fucked doesn’t have anything to do with you, if I'm not mistaken."

She burned him with her look. He was looking back to the hall, where all the happy people sat. Could have been any one of them. Why was this bothering him? Could be any one of them. Was he just selfish? Could be any one of them. What if she screamed his name? She never had with him. Could be any one of them. "You're right, it does not have anything to do with me, and you do whatever and whoever you want. But it also does not mean that you fucking around should make me happy." His change of tone shocked Y/N a bit, making the anger leave her system. She admired his sudden honesty. She could never admit that the thought of him with that model made her almost throw up. Was this getting out of hand? "What is this about?" she asked, afraid of his answer. This time it was him taking a deep breath and looking her in the eye. "I don't know. Just wanted to say I'm sorry for being a dick." "You don't need to. Makes it easier to hate you back." "Do you think I hate you?" "Well, you're not exactly pointing in any other direction, aren't you!" He was about to interrupt her, but failed. "And no, fucking me against the door does not count."

Lando wondered when this night turned from a fun hot goofing around into this fail of a conversation. He was looking forward to touching her again. But all that suddenly went out of the window. Y/N gave him time to gather up a response. And when he didn't, she wished they hadn't talked at all that evening. They were just not good at it.

part 7

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@scopeiguess @leclercsluv @sulliamour @starmanv

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adventuringblind · 7 months

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Drive With You Forever

Chapter 12.5: Max and His Stamina

Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc x Lando Norris x Reader x Oscar Piastri

Chapter summary: Lando is a pain and Max takes everyone apart because of it

Warnings: sexual things ahead, very little description os said sexual things because y'all can use your imagination, definate Dom/sub things going on, rope, a lot of rope,

Notes: I wrote this with the intention of shamless smut, and then I ended up with this. I actually really enjoyed just writing the interactions between all five of them.

Previous <-

Masterlist

"This is you're fault Lando."

"Is not!"

"It definitely is."

"Pretty sure we wouldn't be here if you didn't antagonize Max."

"Is Max normally like this?"

"Only with Lando. We're innocent bystanders."

Having one person tied to each bed post is not how they envisioned ending their day. Max is nowhere is sight, and they've been waiting for him in nothing but undergarments for at least twenty minutes.

Three of them had no clue what they'd done wrong. Sure, Max had won another rave, but he'd very clearly said 'punishment' in his text after the race.

Lando had done a stupid thing a whispered in Max's ear while walking past one of his interviews. He'd yet to fess up what he'd said.

Charles is sitting with only one hand tied to the post because he'd done the other three. The other hand still has his phone to communicate with Max.

Consent is still important even if he's not in the room. And he was mildly worried that the female was going to panic that she'd done something wrong.

Oscar had only watched them do things like this and joined in a couple of times when he felt like he understood what was going on. One thing he learned early on is that Lando doesn't do what he's told unless he's in the mood to comply, and Max has less patience for that.

Charles is incredibly patient and can handle Lando. It's always shocking when Oscar sees him piss off the Dutch instead.

Oscar doesn't know where he falls yet. He's been going with the flow of things, and despite being the youngest, he quite likes telling people what to do.

"Os, Max wants me to go over rules with you while me wait." Says the Monegasque who is sitting comfortably with his knees bent.

Oscar shifts his gaze from the Brit to him. This looks much nicer than the one Lando had been receiving. "Didn't we already do this?"

"Yes, but he's being cautious."

"It's because of the Daniel incident." Says the female with no hesitation. She'd told him about it on their way to meet up at Max's hotel room a while back. They'd invited him in on something intimate for the first time, and she thought it best he knew.

They'd had discussions about everything prior. A few times, at least. But when he actually joined the first time, Max was incredibly hesitant. But he understood why and didn't take it as an insult.

"Safe words?" Charles quizzes him.

"Green for good. Yellow for slow. Red for stop." It's simple and universal for all of them. "No choking unless it's light for Charles and Lando. Don't put Y/N on her knees. Also, keep ties loose unless it's Lando. Make sure Lando communicates because otherwise, he'll let himself get hurt..." he thinks for a moment if he's missing anything.

"Anything you want to add to the list for yourself?" Asks the female.

"I've learned I don't like being hit or choked or things like that." He confesses. He's watched Charles and Lando get hit a couple of times and spanking is fun to give less fun to recieve.

"I'll add it to the list and make sure Max know as well."

They communicate so well like this. There is no shame and no secrets here.

"Lando, what did you whisper to Max to put him in a mood?" He asks. Both out of curiosity and for future reference.

"Possibly something about him not being able to take all four of us." Lando gives Oscar a cheeky smile. The other three collectively role their eyes.

"So we're here because Max has a point to prove." Charles shakes his head.

"You're not even completely tied up!" Complains the Brit.

"Max will do the other hand when he gets here, relax."

The girl pulls her knees to her chest. Her look is a bit distant, but not in an incredibly concerning way. “Max is on his way up.”

“Why do you look scared, chéri?”

She shrugs at the question. “Don’t want him to be mad.”

“Luckily for you, I think he’s only frustrated with Lando. He’s doing this as his podium celebration.” Explains Charles. She nods her head in understanding and relaxes a bit.

They hear the door unlock and Max leans in the opening of the of the room. He can perfectly see all four of them. “Everyone alright?”

Despite three saying yes, Charles begins to list off everything they’d talked about. “Os has the rules memorized now, Lando is still being petty, I couldn’t get my other hand done and needed to text you anyway, and y/n thinks you might be mad at her so reassurance is in order.”

Max makes his way over to them and gently takes Charles’ other hand. He uses the leftover rope to secure his once free hand. When he’s done he plants a kiss on Charlie’s head. “Thank you.”

Charles looks at Lando and eyes him smugly.

“So here’s what I’m thinking.” Max crosses his arms and stands at the foot of the bed. “I’m going to start with one of you, then add another, then a third, then Lando.”

“Why am I last?!”

Max shoots a glare at the Brit causing him to shut his mouth. “Because you started this. I could not let you off the rope at all.” Lando casts his eyes downward. Being last is better then nothing.

Max steps next to the female and unties Charles’ knots. He gently tugs them away from then kisses her wrists. “You’re not in trouble and I’m not mad at you.” Max pulls her into him and runs his finger across the bare spots on her body.

She sighs in content. Her body leans into him more just from the contact. Max could spend hours just memorizing her body, but he won’t torcher her. She’s done nothing wrong so there’s no need for it.

He’s got her finishing with just his tongue. The other three boys are now squirming.

Shockingly, Max goes for Oscar next. He unties his wrists and kisses them.

“Maxy, did I do something wrong?” Charles asks. It’s not whining, just confusion lacing his voice.

“Not at all, I just want things to be even, and you have been tied as long.” Max winks at him, and Charles nods in understanding.

"Perfectly honest, I have no idea what we're doing." Oscar trying to look confident but failing miserably. It doesn't help that Max is both tall and broad.

"Letting me take care of you."

Oscar hates it when his knees get weak. But he loves it when Max and Y/N are pulling him apart. Even more so as he gets to reciprocate.

To say that Charles and Lando are struggling would be an understatment. There is much more squirming then there was before.

Soon, Max is repeating his actions. Albeit more sweaty this time.

Charles had done his time and now is having his ropes untied and wrists kissed.

Charles definitely knows what he's doing as he's all over Max the second his hands are free. Charles is much more exploitative with his tongue than the rest. An advantage he uses over the other four.

It's not long until Max is picking him apart as well.

When four are heavily panting and all of them are shocked that Max is going to go another round. He eyes Lando with a cheeky smile. "Have you learned your lesson?"

Lando looks like he might cry if he doesn't have any physical contact in the next thirty seconds. He's begging Max to let him go.

When Max feels satisfied, he repeats his actions a fourth and final time. His kisses the Brit's wrists where he had been rubbing them against the rope.

Max takes his sweet time undoing Lando. His patience is immense. He's showing him just how good he takes all for them. It's meticulous, really.

Max almost collapses after everything. He didn't even know he could go for so long.

Charles disappears from the main room and comes back with towels for everyone. He passes them around and then helps Max move into something more comfortable. Practically putting on clothes for him, them covering him with a blanket. It takes thirty seconds until they can hear him snoring.

Charles sighs and shakes his head. "I hope you're proud of yourself, Lan."

Lando is still on the floor, catching his breath. He gives a thumbs up to show that he is, in fact, very proud.

Charles knows the routine and makes sure his three younger counterparts are taken care of. The female doing the same for him after she's done in the bathroom.

She hates it, but they'd learned their lesson after her first UTI.

Oscar and Lando are curled up next to Max. They leave no room on the bed for the other two.

"Max should start booking his own hotel rooms." She whispers over to Charles. "Maybe then we'll have a bigger bed."

Charles just laughs and drags her to the couch. It's not ideal, but it works.

Soon, the five are asleep. Much to the displeasure of a certain tall Australian who'd been trying to get a hold of any of them.

Next ->

Tags: @styles-sunflower @purplephantomwolf @boiohboii @reblog-princess-blog @jayda12 @faithm120601 @eugene-emt-roe @lpab @yaaadii @80sloverry @spongebeck3101 @eviethetheatrefreak @chanshintien @vellicora @hollie911 @pretty-little-bunny382728

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saywhatjessie · 9 months

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The field is flooded with players and coaches and fans and family and everyone is screaming and hugging and crying and it might be the best Jamie has ever felt.

He and Sam are clutching each other, screaming in each other’s faces that they’d pulled it off. They’d won the Oscar at the Espy’s or whatever Ted had said. Over Sam’s shoulder, Jamie sees Colin rushing up to Michael and they grin as they share a celebratory kiss.

Jamie doesn’t even think. He just reacts – primary objective: protect teammate.

“Sam!” Jamie screams. “Kiss me! Kiss me on the mouth!”

“What!?” Sam yells back.

There isn’t time to explain. People are looking at Colin.

He puts a hand on Sam’s face. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

Sam’s eyes are wide but he says “Oh. Okay!” and Jamie leans in and kisses him.

It’s quick. Nothing fancy. Jamie pulls away and pats Sam on the cheek. “Good lad.”

Sam nods, still looking confused but also too hyped up with their win to question him.

There. That should help. But more would probably be better.

They were rushed by more players, Richard coming up on his back and Isaac and Bumbercatch dogpiling on Sam.

Dani cannonballs into Jamie’s side and Jamie tries again. “Dani! Kiss me!”

“Si! Celebracion!” Dani reaches out and pulls Jamie into a kiss. “Football is life!”

“Football is life!” Jamie crows back as they jump around.

“Why are we kissing each other?” Jan Maas asks, even while everyone is still jumping and screaming.

“Celebration, innit?” Jamie asks, reaching up to Jan Maas’s neck. “Get down here you big Dutch giant.”

Jan grins, leaning down and kissing Jamie with way more enthusiasm than Jamie had expected. Jamie returns it, though – a kiss is a kiss.

Colin and the rest of the players have joined their huddle by the time they pull away, so Jamie figures it’s safe to stop kissing people for now. Colin can’t out himself why they’re all climbing on each other could he?

Cries go up and they’re all singing “Richmond Til We Die”. Ted comes in and does his celebration dance and they all lose their minds.

And in the news the next day, no one’s talking about Colin or kissing or anything but Richmond coming out better than anyone thought they would.

And Jamie forgets all about any kissing that might have happened in the heat of the moment.

That is until their first win of the following season when Jan Maas swoops down and kisses Jamie again on his startled mouth.

Jan is grinning as he pulls back. “Celebration, yes?”

“Cheers,” Jamie says, breathlessly. Jan claps him on the shoulder and moves to kiss Dani, who responds with the same kind of joy.

Jame shrugs. Well, in for a penny.

“Richard!” Dani grabs at the small Frenchman before he can run past. “Kiss me!”

Richard smirks and says something in French that’s probably very dirty but Jamie doesn’t care because he doesn’t understand it.

He does immediately shove his tongue in Jamie’s mouth, though, which Jamie probably should have expected.

He’s laughing as he shoves Richard away. “You prick.”

Richard just winks and moves to jump on Zorro as he passes.

“What the fuck?” Colin asks, looking shocked as he points after Richard.

“Oh, hey Colin!” Jamie grins. “Care for a smooch?”

“What is happening?”

“Come on,” Jamie teases, wiggling over to him. “Kiss me. Michael won’t mind.”

Colin just blinks as Jamie puts a hand on his waist. “Am I dreamin’?”

Jamie winks. “Flatterer.” And he kisses Colin.

Colin’s a little too shocked to kiss back but Jamie’s not broken up about it. It must feel like a dream to kiss Jamie Tartt.

He pulls away with a dramatic ‘Muah!’ and claps Colin on the shoulder as he takes off for the dressing room.

This was the first draft of my Jamie starts kissing people to protect Colin fic, before I decided it would be funnier from Sam’s POV, but I’m still attached to this bit so here you go.

#Oops I wrote a thing #Ted Lasso #Jamie Tartt

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herohimbowhore · 6 months

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Max Verstappen: The Legend Begins

The Legend Begins by Mawr and Silverberg is a song I once briefly heard in a show years ago. For some reason, I was like “Okay I’m gonna add this song to my music library.” I don’t think I ever listened to it after that day.

So, for years it just sat there, another song I once thought I would like, but never listened to. I’m not going to say I stumbled upon the song and thought it was perfect for Max. No, I was going through my library for inspiration when I listened to this song again.

While I could have gone for something a little more mainstream, there’s a handful of Taylor Swift songs that could easily be used for Max, this song felt perfect.

When I say perfect, I mean for 2020s Max, not the Mad Max era or baby Max, but the current Max.

The Legend Begins perfectly encapsulates Max at this moment as he continues to cement his legacy and dominance in Formula 1.

Never get to a point where

Where I'm ever gonna quit, no

I'm always pushin' harder

To be a champion, you need to have a champion mentality. With three on the grid this year, they all have this same mentality of never quitting. We could spend hours dissecting that and how it differs in each of them and which non-champions have that mentality, but this is about Max.

Max in 2023 is an undeniable force. He is winning everything. If you were to bet on Max winning, you would win that bet.

But despite winning everything and having both championships in the bag, Max is not quitting. He keeps pushing harder and harder. Taking that extra step in every race.

Max could be 20+ seconds in the lead and have the win in the bag, but he is still going to push for that fastest lap. If you're clear by that margin, the safe choice would be to just keep on pace and take the victory. But Max Verstappen is going to push, he's going to take that extra pit stop for fresh tyres, and he is going to take the fastest lap point.

Nothin' here is gonna stop me

Nothing's gonna bring me down, no

You gotta step on some heads when you reach for the crown

This verse could be analyzed in many different ways for Max and over his different eras.

Purely basing it on the 2023 season, it's Max getting booed by fans. (sidenote: booing is a very nuanced subject. the argument could be made that it's present in most sports but there's a difference between booing an individual and a team. then there's the matter of sports culture, expected codes of conduct, etc. however, I am strongly against booing during national anthems.)

Booing or criticism in general can be disheartening and bring people down. For criticism bringing someone down, think of Lando in Qatar when Oscar was doing better than him and won. Then he was asked by Nico Rosberg when he would win. And you could see that Lando was critical of himself and "down" that weekend.

But with Max, it's not bringing him down. When asked about it, Max said, "In the end, I'm the one bringing the silverware home."

He is beating everyone, and it is inevitable that he'll take the silverware home.

No you can't believe your eyes

But time is hard to take, yeah

Watch me show the world that I'm one of the kings

No rival, no pressure

No force on this earth

Never keep me from what has been mine since this birth

When the 2022 season came to an end, we thought that Max couldn't possibly dominate more. There was an expectation that Ferrari and Mercedes would get their cars right and close the gap. And when the 2023 season started, Ferrari and Mercedes weren't there, but Aston Martin was there and so was Sergio Perez.

But one by one, the rivals fell away. His teammate has spent more time in the midfield than fighting Max for wins. Aston Martin fell apart halfway through the season. Mercedes and Ferrari seemingly alternate on which weekends they'll be good and most of the time strategy or pit stops prevent them from being challengers. McLaren is on the up, but even they are unmatched for Max in the end.

No you can't believe your eyes:

A repeated phrase this entire season has been: "Well, he can't win everything." No one has wanted to believe that we would go this entire 2023 season with just Max leagues ahead of everyone else.

Never keep me from what has been mine since this birth:

The story around Max has always been when he'll win a championship, not if he'll win a championship. He has always been inevitable.

From the moment he skipped F2 to sign with Toro Rosso to winning his first race with Red Bull in 2016 to fighting for the championship, it has always been a matter of when.

This is where the legend begins

At the end of the day, this is just the beginning of Max Verstappen and the stories that will be written about him in the annals of F1.

Max was dominant in 2022, and he’s gotten even more dominant in 2023. Unless Red Bull have a major fuck up, they’ll still be at the head of the pack. Red Bull as the one team to get the car right, doesn’t have the same disadvantage as other teams trying to close the gap. So, at the very least, until the regulations change, we’re looking at a Red Bull/Max Verstappen era.

#max verstappen #formula 1 #f1 through music #the legend begins

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thecryingprophet · 3 months

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Chapter 11

Piero started advancing once again.

"What are you about to do? Can't you see you've already won?!" Oscar shouted at him, but he kept walking.

He got one step away from his brother and put his leg back, ready to kick Oscar right on the face.

But suddenly Oscar jumped on him and started hitting him.

Piero finally surrendered, squirmed away from under Oscar and then stormed outside.

Everyone was silent until Oscars dad spoke to Kevin:" sorry if Piero scared you, he's spent 2 years in prison and only recently came out, so he still has to adjust..."

"That's no excuse to break my nose!" Oscar exclaimed while looking at his bloody hands and shirt.

"Don't act like you didn't throw the first punch!" His father reprimanded him

Oscar sighed "at least can one of you bring me to the doctor?" He then looked at his sister "Maria please, he's your fiancè too...

Maria nodded "let me help you get to the car"

Kevin and jonah were left at the farm, along with the rest of Oscars family.

They sat in silence on the couch for almost a whole hour until Oscars dad spoke, looking at the clock: "Oh...it's time to feed the chickens!" Before quickly leaving the room.

Oscar and Marina didn't come back until evening.

When they did Oscars nose was bandaged.

As soon as he entered the living room he looked at Kevin and Jonah and spoke:" it's too dark outside to drive safely, i think you two should spend the night.

Kevin, you can sleep in the guests room, as for you, Jonah, you can sleep with me".

They both nodded in agreement, then a voice was heard:"what happened to your nose?".

To ask was a young man, around the same age as Kevin, he had messy dark hair and was still in his pajamas.

"I had a fight with your dad...nothing out of the ordinary" Oscar chuckled.

The young man didn't seem to be bothered and silently started climbing the stairs to go back to his room.

"Tomas, why don't you stay with us for a bit? You're always alone in your room..." Maria tried including him.

He turned around, in that moment Kevin noticed the deep sadness in his eyes, as he said:"i don't feel like it..." and went back to his room.

"Since his mom left him he's not been the same, he didn't even finish school" Maria explained.

Kevin was saddened by his presence, he reminded him of an unfortunate period he had went trought when he was around 15 years old.

He turned to Maria "why did his mom leave may i ask?".

Maria sighed "she couldn't deal with a husband like Piero and found another man...Tomas never had a good relationship with his father too, so now he feels abandoned"

"And what about Piero, why did he go to prison?" Kevin pushed himself further

"Failed insurance fraud" maria explained

#oc #ocs #oc lore #writing #witers on tumblr

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back-and-totheleft · 1 month

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"I have children, so of course I worry about climate change"

Oliver Stone is late. The 77-year-old director has come to the Netherlands to promote his latest film. But until the last moment, the American, known for Wall Street (1987) and JFK (1991) and Natural Born Killers (1994), left his Dutch distributor nervous. Would he show up?

At previous European screenings, Stone sometimes canceled at the last minute. But on Monday morning the moderator reassures the room of waiting journalists: Stone is now really on his way from his hotel to the press conference at the Tuschinski Cinema in Amsterdam. Half an hour later than planned, Stone arrives – blue shirt, checked jacket, laborious walk – and takes a seat behind the microphone together with his producer.

It is not surprising that many journalists from various media come to his visit. Stone not only won three Oscars, he has also been quite controversial in recent years. He interviewed Russian President Vladimir Putin for 20 hours for a four-part documentary series in 2017. He also spoke to former Kazakhstan leader Nursultan Nazarbayev for an eight-hour documentary released on his 81st birthday. In both films, Stone was criticized for being too nice to the autocrats and not addressing alleged human rights violations.

Stone's recently released documentary on nuclear energy is also not without controversy. The director came up with the idea after reading the book A Bright Future (2019), a plea by two scientists for nuclear energy as the main solution to the climate problem. Studios and Netflix saw no interest in a film adaptation, so the filmmaker himself looked for investors and released the film on streaming services in 2022.

Thanks to the Dutch pro-nuclear energy organization WePlanet, it will still come to 13 Dutch cinemas for a one-off screening. The founder of WePlanet found Nuclear Now 'very impressive' and managed to convince a distributor to release it. Anti-nuclear energy environmental organization Wise is very critical of the film. “It is an advertising film for the core lobby, in which no critics have a say,” the organization says.

Stone appears not to be an easy man at his press conference in Tuschinski. He becomes irritated when a TV journalist admits that he had not seen his film beforehand. When the moderator cuts off Stone's long answers because she has promised the journalists present that she can ask two questions each, he barks at her. “You made up those fucking rules! Bad rules.” Stone sighs. “Fuck, these Dutch people.”

When Trouw meets the director an hour later for a one-on-one interview, the filmmaker fortunately appears milder. “Have you seen the movie?” he asks. After agreeing, he nods friendly. "Well done."

Stone delved into the Vietnam War for his films, had conversations with Putin and asked who 'really' murdered John F. Kennedy. Why a documentary about nuclear energy now? The director has been fascinated by the subject since Al Gore's climate documentary An Inconvenient Truth (2006), he says. “That was a powerful film. And I have children, so of course I worry about climate change.”

But while the former vice president extensively discusses the need for much more wind and solar energy in his film, he is less vocal about nuclear energy as a solution. “I wondered why,” Stone says. When Stone read A Bright Future, he got the idea that people are far too negative about nuclear energy. “That fear is because people confuse nuclear energy with nuclear bombs,” Stone thinks. While nuclear energy is relatively safe, he says. Only a handful of major accidents have occurred worldwide throughout history, with Chernobyl being the worst. Fukushima often comes second, “and that wasn't even a nuclear disaster, but a tsunami and an earthquake.” No one died directly from radiation from the Japanese nuclear power plant, says Stone. (Fukushima was indeed a nuclear disaster, caused by a tsunami and earthquake. Although no one died from nuclear radiation, cancer patients from the region later demanded compensation, ed.)

Stone became increasingly amazed while reading A Bright Future. Because people are concerned about nuclear waste, while fossil fuel emissions cause more damage, he says, for example in the form of countless deaths due to air pollution from coal-fired power stations. Stone wanted to do for nuclear energy what Al Gore did for climate change. “I wanted to put it back on the agenda. Not as the only solution, but as part of the energy mix.” Solar and wind energy are on the rise worldwide, but 80 percent of energy still comes from fossil fuels. “I am in favor of any way we can reduce CO2.”

A common thread through all his films, he says, is that he doesn't like it when "governments hide things and lie, especially when it comes at the expense of people's well-being." Just as he does not believe that John F. Kennedy was murdered by a loner, Stone also sometimes leans towards conspiracies in Nuclear Now. Nuclear energy became much less popular after a boom period in the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s. According to Stone's film, major oil companies would have played a significant role in this, by financing and disseminating research on the dangers of radiation to human health.

He also explains why, in his opinion, companies such as Shell do not invest in nuclear energy, but do invest in wind and solar energy. Because nuclear energy always works, unlike solar and wind energy which are dependent on the weather, allowing companies to continue offering their oil and gas as a backup.

Stone is quite skeptical about solar and wind energy. “After twenty years and trillions of dollars spent on the renewable craze, we're still nowhere. That is depressing: as if you are going to war without results.” Global energy demand is still growing, which means that the absolute amount of fossil fuels burned is not falling sufficiently. Joel Scott-Halkes of pro-nuclear energy organization WePlanet, who also attended the interview at Stone's request, provides additional criticism. “If you wanted to run the Netherlands on wind energy, you would have to fill up the entire country,” he says.

The environmental organization Wise criticizes Nuclear Now because the film is selective in its criticism of renewable energy and leaves undiscussed disadvantages of nuclear energy, such as the high costs. “That's the worst argument!” Scott-Halkes breaks in. “These high costs are due to years of opposition from environmental groups!” It is believed that it is due to the many protests that it now takes so long to build a nuclear power plant.

Other criticism from Wise, for example, is that solar and wind energy take up too much space, according to Stone's film, but he does not mention that panels and wind turbines can be built on roofs and the sea. “We only show facts in the film,” says Stone. And also: “We only have an hour and 45 minutes." Addressing all the critics with all the technical objections would make the film 'too tiring' for the audience. And the negative voices about nuclear energy have been discussed enough in recent decades, he believes. “Why let the same people speak again who have been making the same arguments since the 1970s?”

It is no surprise that Stone's film is warmly received by the core lobby. This week the American travels to Brussels to tell MEPs about the need for more nuclear energy. But what about the financing of the film?

In an earlier interview with the American magazine Jacobin, Stone denied that energy companies had contributed in any way. Even now he denies this. The film was paid for by “rich individuals,” says Stone, “people from Silicon Valley.” Yet one of the “executive producers” (an honorific end credits term, often used for backers) is Stefano Buono. He turns out to be the CEO of Newcleo, which develops nuclear reactors. Newcleo appears large with its logo at the bottom of the credits, and Bueno writes on LinkedIn that he is 'proud' that his company has 'financially supported' the production and distribution of Nuclear Now.

“Yes, he became involved in the film later,” Stone admits when Trouw asks about this. A producer, who is also there, now joins the conversation. “Buono joined when the film was already finished.” Stone says his money was 'more for the distribution side', and not for the manufacturing process. Isn't something like that still a conflict of interest - creating a journalistic story for which the industry itself helps pay? “You're right,” says Stone. He acknowledges that he was also surprised when he saw Buono's name in the credits, and places the responsibility on his other producer. The CEO of Newcleo has had no say in the content, promises Stone again.

When asked, Buono says that he did indeed become involved when the film was already finished. But his share was not small: his company is said to have paid about 20 percent of the entire film budget.

This financing raises questions about the integrity of the film. These are reminiscent of Qazaq, the documentary about the former leader of Kazakhstan, which showed a financing trail of five million dollars linked to the government. Stone now says that he was only an interviewer on this film, and had only limited involvement. “The director denies [the government money trail] and says there is no evidence.”

During this confrontation, Stone remains surprisingly calm – much calmer than he did to the moderator an hour ago. He himself says that his films about Kazakhstan and Russia are important now. “The war in Ukraine needs more explanations, all we have is the standard American explanation.” But didn't his controversial documentary about Putin also lead to significant damage to Stone's image in the West, making it difficult for him to finance his films, as the British newspaper The Independent states? Nonsense, says Stone. In any case, money would not influence his choice of which films to make. “I don't need money – I'm a successful director. I'm going to go out and do what I think is right.” He is still 'very proud' of his Putin film.

But Stone is most proud, looking back on his entire career, on his feature films and not on his documentaries. “Those are my children.” And then the director hints that it is not easy to get such a really big film off the ground.

Yes, there is a documentary about Brazilian President Lula in the pipeline. But Stone also wants to make at least one more feature film. He has the subject, but he does not reveal it. It has to become – again – something he 'worries about'. The question remains whether Hollywood will support the controversial filmmaker for one last time. “I might not get the chance to make it.”

-Interview with Oliver Stone by Maarten van Gestel, Trouw, March 19 2024 (translated from Dutch)

#oliver stone #nuclear now #dutch #the netherlands #clean energy #trouw #nuclear energy #brussels #climate change

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criticalbennifer · 7 months

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Hullo! I've been wondering for a really long time if Ben's career as a serious actor (mr i won 2 Oscars, I miss him) is over? His past few movies haven't done really well, I'm not sure about Air, (didn't check the numbers)

Matt on the other hand has been extremely successful, in perhaps not the lead roles but ben's BO collection still pales in comparison

What are your thoughts?

I don’t think it’s over. Not yet.

I just wish he’d pick better or riskier parts. In the parts he does pick he looks/sounds so sleepy or absent in every role. A lot of the time it seems like he takes a role, psychs himself out, and then gives up. Or he picks projects where he doesn’t (have to) try too hard. He picks safe things which wouldn’t be so bad if they were in better movies. The Accountant?! It’s fun but…

He can do good work. He was great in Tender Bar but the movie was just average. He’s good in background roles where he’s not the focus (and maybe he thinks no one will notice him?) like Last Duel or Shakespeare in Love. A lot of people liked him in Boiler Room? I didn’t. He and it were trying too hard to be another movie.

I’ve heard he’ll pick a movie, get on set, then pick apart or rewrite the script. He knows he picked a poor script (because he just wants to work?) and then gets embarrassed and tries to fix things while in motion. So maybe he thinks he’s too good for the parts he picks? But why doesn’t he just pick a great script from the start? Maybe that’s why he’s a better director. He can nitpick things to his hearts content before he gets on set - by then he knows what it is and what he wants. He has a “I know what’s best personality”

He’s not playing “just the dad” roles yet where he’s in a movie for an honorary 5 minutes so I think he’s still got time to do great work if he wants to. About 5 more years maybe? 7? 10? I think the pandemic and now these strikes has interrupted a flow he might have been on. His tabloid life often also gets in the way of his career. I think he and Jlo are trying their best not to be tabloid fodder, and they’re doing ok with that. If it wasn’t for that upcoming album people are eager to dissect, ( and that stupid Apple interview where she had to open her big mouth-inviting all of the intrusion in the first place) they’d be doing even better. I don’t think ‘bennifer’ should get in the way of things like last time, despite a targeted smear campaign he may/may not be a part of

There’s a lot of great/interesting or promising movies out this year. Was he not offered any of them?

I wonder what roles he’s turned down?

Air did pretty well. Not great-it did open against the Mario movie.

#ben affleck

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petersshirts · 3 years

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Too Long | bucky barnes

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: you and Bucky have grown close over the last year, but when he disappears, you really start to worry

warnings: none, pure fluff!

words: 1,9 k

A/N: um, I’m back?? tfatws inspired me for this, and I hope you like it! it’s been some time since I wrote something, so feedback would be greatly appreciated!!

6:00 a.m.

the loud ringing from your alarm woke you and you slowly blinked, trying to figure out where you were and what was going on. after a few seconds, the realisation hit you that it was a normal work day and it was time to get ready for work. you groaned and slowly stood up to make your way to the bathroom.

it was still dark outside but you could hear the sirens on the street - new york city never slept. just like you for the last week. in the kitchen, you made yourself a big cup of coffee to survive the day. for the last few days, nightmares hunted you. and you knew exactly why.

for the next thirty minutes, you quietly got yourself ready and finally walked out of the door of your apartment, trying to ignore the door that you passed on your way downstairs. but the pain in your heart and the name in your head couldn’t just make you forget.

Bucky.

your neighbour, who was just a stranger when he arrived a year ago. but over time, you got to know the quiet man who sent you smiles that made your stomach churn. whenever he laughed, it felt like you just won an Oscar. his laugh felt like music to your ears and made you happy because you had made him happy.

you had never really thought about more than a casual friendship between bucky and you when he had suddenly disappeared a week ago, everything changed. you were worried sick because you knew his history as the winter soldier, and even though he had assured you many times that he was fine and he wouldn’t fall back into his old pattern, you still worried. not really because you were worried for the people around you, but because of him.

you knew that bucky hated to talk about his time as the winter soldier and the way he found his way out. to talk about steve. you had never met captain america but when he disappeared to find another, happier life, bucky was broken. he couldn’t understand why his best friend had left him behind, all alone to himself. at this point, bucky had been mentally stable due to his time in Wakanda, but it still gave him nightmares every night.

and you were the one to stop them. whenever he had a nightmare, he came to your apartment with the key you gave him for emergencies. he slipped right next to you in bed, enjoying your presence more than he would admit. on your part, you were just happy that he trusted you that much to show his vulnerability.

but there was never more than that. and you actually never thought that there was more than that, until he was gone. last tuesday, you knocked on his door for your weekly movie night, but there was no answer. you started to panic, because it was very rare that bucky was not home. maybe he went out, but since he didn’t have any friends other than the old guy he had met on the street, you doubted that.

you called him twenty times, but there was no answer. the panic was rising in your chest, your mind already imaging every single way he could have been hurt or compromised. you got the spare key from your apartment, but when you entered his place, there was no bucky. everything looked just like it always did, a few clothes on the chairs and sofa, but nothing out of the ordinary. there was nobody you could go to to ask for help. so you just went back home, hoping that he would just knock on your door with a smile on his face, saying sorry that he’s late because he went to the supermarket to get some snacks for movie night.

but he didn’t come. every day, you knocked on his door, called him but no answer. it was slowly driving you nuts and you were missing him like crazy. and by crazy you mean not just like a friend. you realised the change quite quickly because the longing in your chest was nothing you had ever felt before. it felt like you were missing a part of yourself and everywhere you looked, you saw him.

bucky was everywhere. in your ruffled up sheets, the musky scent still clinging to your pillow because you refused to wash them and get rid of his smell completely. his sunglasses on your table or the extra blanket you had bought for him for the sofa so he wouldn’t be cold. he had only chuckled at that and pressed a small kiss on your forehead, mumbling a small thank you.

now, a week later, you felt completely hopeless. you didn’t know why he at least called you, this wasn’t a good sign at all. you cared for bucks so much, it frightened you. never before had you had this feeling with a boyfriend for two years, never had you felt so desperate to have him back in your arms.

on your way to your office, you tried to ignore all the horrible thoughts in your head, but it was quite impossible. bucky was everything to you. there. you admitted it. I am in love with bucky barnes.

and you could never tell him. you could never say to him that he was so special to you, that you wanted him in your apartment full time, you wanted to get him your own towels and a workspace. tears started rolling down your cheeks, a sharp pain filling your heart. you had no idea how you should handle this situation.

for the whole day at work, you tried to smile and talk to your co-workers, trying to ignore the horrible feeling in your heart, it felt like bucky himself had stabbed you. when it was finally 4 pm and time to go home, you wandered through the streets, trying to take as much time to go home as possible. because there was nobody waiting for you anymore. you bought yourself some food at your favourite deli and finally opened the door to your apartment complex, your eyes fixed on the floor.

you completely ignored the door you had knocked on so many times and made your way to your place, fumbling with your keys but before you could open the for yourself, it was opened from the inside. you looked into two familiar blue eyes and your heart stopped for a second. you just stared at bucky, not knowing to react.

„you - you’re alive!“ and in the next moment, you fell into his arms pulling him close to make sure that this was not a dream. that he was really here. bucky just chuckled and stroked your hair, smelling the familiar scent of coconut that had slowly but surely become his home. suddenly you pulled away, and checked his face for any injuries but exhaled after a short time because you didn’t see any injuries.

„where have you been? I was worried sick!“ you closed the apartment door behind you, trying to fight the urge to just take one more step and press his lips to yours. bucky stared at the ground, trying to find a good explanation for his sudden disappearance. everything just went so fast when sam called him with the super-soldier serum, he completely forgot about leaving you a message or even call you. but the 104-year-old man forgot his phone at his apartment and since he didn’t remember your phone number, there was just no way to call you. even if that was the only thing he wanted to do. to hear your voice, telling him everything was okay. that he would come home, come back to you.

„I’m so sorry love, but Sam called me to help him with a mission last week. I left in a hurry and left my phone at home. we went to Europe so there was no way to reach you.“ Bucky looked at you, hoping that you would forgive him. he knew he was an idiot to just leave unexpected, but he had also thought that you were just friends. but for the last week, the way he had thought about you changed. he didn’t want to be just friends.

you just grumbled something and walked past him, trying to sort out your thoughts. you were really happy that he was back and safe but also didn’t know how to act around him anymore. it felt like there was some tension in the room that never been here before.

bucky watched while you paced through the living room, a worried look on his face. he just wanted to hold you, whisper sweet nothings in your ear and enjoy your presence. he never wanted to leave your side again, to protect you from all the bad things in this world.

„what’s going on?“ bucky’s voice ripped you out of your thoughts and you looked up, bucky still a few meters away from you. you just sighed. there was no way you could tell him how you felt. he would never feel the same way and just look at you weirdly. you were just friends.

„it’s nothing.“ you mumbled, but bucky knew that it was not just nothing. he stepped forward, now only a few centimetres in front of your face. you sucked in your breath because he had never been that close to you. his blue eyes were watching you, trying to understand your body language. your eyes wandered to his lips and you quickly averted them back to his eyes, but bucky had seen it. a small smile wandered on his lips and he slowly put his hand on your waist, pulling you even closer.

your eyes went wide but before you could say anything, his lips landed on yours. in shock, you opened your mouth and bucks lips entered your mouth, his eyes closed in pleasure.

this is happening. this is really happening.

you closed your eyes in pleasure, a little moan escaping your mouth. bucks heart jumped at that sound, knowing that he had done something right. that he wasn’t the only one feeling this way. after a few minutes of kissing, he slowly pulled away, a glint in his eyes. you could only smile at him and kissed his chin, a small giggle escaping your lips.

„if you haven��t noticed, I’m crazy about you.“ bucky mumbled, his fingers wandering over your mouth, your nose, your brows. he watched you with fascination and the butterflies erupted in your stomach, a warm feeling settling in your gut. you kissed his fingers lovingly, your eyes shining just as much as his.

„and if you haven’t noticed, I’m in love with you.“ at these words, bucky couldn’t stop smiling at you. this was real. you liked him back. no, you loved him back, this broken man with all his flaws.

„Really?“ his voice was only a whisper now, his eyes searching for the truth in your own. you just grinned even more and nodded. „yes, you dork. but don’t you run away like that again, you scared me so much!“

„Never again.“

Bucky engulfed you in a hug and you just stood there together, enjoying each others presence, the both of you not believing their own luck.

It had been too long since there had been that much love in your lives. And it would never change, just get bigger and better over time.

Feedback is appreciated!!

Taglist:

@ive-got-more-wit // @lou-la-lou // @loxbbg // @seanna313 // @underoos-shield // @supernatural-strangerthings-1980@ixchel-9275 // @thejourneyneverendsx // @sideeffectsofyou // @teenwolfbitches2 // @mywinterwolf // @alex—awesome—22 // @wronglanemendes // @tomshufflepuff // @awkwardfangirl2014 // @embrace-themagic // @ophcelia // @xxtomxo // @undiadeestos // @peterpumpkinparker // @twilightparker // @h-osterfield // @suncityparker // @holland-peters // @fratboievans // @spiderrrling // @revengingbarnes // @hollandroos // @naturallytom // @tomhollandd // @parkerpeterparker2004

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel #avengers #marvel cinematic universe #the avengers

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clockwork---heart · 11 months

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"...I like girls."

"...I think."

#He’s won himself safe; For a While {Oscar}#open #dash comm #local straight boy adds to the discussion #everyone clap for oscar

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seasonofthewicth · 3 years

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nobody does it like you do - act 1

I'm finally back with some more rowaelin! I started this fic in november last year and wrote the first 10k in 24 hours, but from then on this fic was a struggle... Thank you so, so much to @morganofthewildfire for sharing so much of your time to help me with this, this fic would not be here without you 💗 I'm so happy to have finally finished it and can share it on here. I hope you enjoy

CW: past drug abuse, minor character death, violence

7.7k - masterlist - ao3

When her agent sends her the script it’s not the first time she’s heard of Rowan Whitethorn, his name is written at the top under the heading director, which itself is under the big red text reading confidential. He’s been at this stuff for a while now, directed a couple of movies that popped up on her radar but that nothing ever came of for her, and he’s well known in the business.

He was even nominated for an Oscar a couple of years ago, and she watched the ceremony with Lysandra, slapping the bills into her outstretched hand when he didn’t win.

His movie had been far too fucking raw for him to have won, she knew that, a tale about a group of kids who witnessed a murder and how it stayed with them and fucked them up into adulthood, but it had stuck with her nonetheless and she’d put her money on him anyway.

She reads the section of script Dorian has sent her, tucked up in bed with a glass of sparkling water and her most comfortable sweater, leaning back into the mountain of expensive pillows she had Elide buy for her and pondering how so much money could end up so uncomfortable, and she knows it’s something special.

She realises she wants this role, almost to an uncomfortable degree, when she’s about five lines in. The heroine is bratty and rash, but serious and pained in a way that makes her completely fleshed out and Aelin wants to play her, wants to be her and embody her in a way that takes her out of the pit she’s in.

She hopes this could be what gets her out of it.

Aedion had tried to pull her out, gods bless him, dropping by her apartment every morning for weeks to check up on her with a coffee in his hand, topped with cream and two sugars the way he knows she likes. Each morning he let himself in with her spare key, the one she gave to him the day she moved in, wanting him to be able to let himself in whenever he wanted but also knowing there was no one else she wanted to give it to.

She would have given it to Sam, would have given everything to Sam, but he’s gone and she’s left sitting here, wondering how to salvage what’s left of her reputation.

What reputation she had even managed to build after starring in one mediocre TV show and a handful of low-budget movies. She knows deep down, and in a way her brain likes to remind her of when she’s at her lowest, that the main reason she isn’t a complete nobody is because she’s Evalin Ashryver’s daughter. Her therapist tells her every time she bothers to go to a session that having a famous mother doesn’t mean she’s a failure and that she has to recognise each of her successes as her own. She nods along every time, but she doesn’t believe her. What has she managed to accomplish truly on her own?

It hasn’t been made public yet that Rowan Whitethorn is involved in the film, she only knows because Chaol wrote the whole script himself and texted her to let her know when he signed on to direct. She’s known Chaol since she was eighteen and took her first solo trip to Rifthold, drawn to the lights of the big city and the almost magnetic pull of the heart of the industry. He’d stumbled upon her in a club she was far too young to be in and had pulled her out, sending her home in a cab that he paid for. Looking back she was grateful for his attempt to avoid what she knew later was an inevitability.

She had cursed him when he told her she’d still have to audition, but she gets it. She hasn’t exactly behaved in a way recently that makes people want to take a chance on her.

Stumbling out of clubs, eyes as wide as saucers and high as a fucking kite isn’t the kind of star casting directors are desperate to hire, but she’s trying to be better. She’s promised those around her that she’ll be better, and she knows that the only reason she hasn’t ended up in rehab is that she has an incredible therapist and a highly persuasive manner of dealing with her friends and family. The only reason they’ve taken that chance on her is time, and she’s grateful for that mercy.

She turns the page, hitting the final line for the third time. Chaol’s script is so good she’s read the few pages she’s been sent over and over.

She only reads scripts in physical copies, takes the time to print them out using her shitty printer that belongs right back in 2008, and she knows it’s wasteful but she allows herself that small luxury of the crisp paper in her hand as she delves into each new world. Her character is in the middle of a teary monologue that she knows exactly how she’d do, the way she’d halt her breath and choke out the words-- it’s not her character. Yet.

The audition is next week, and she’ll work her ass off to make sure she’s ready. Her usual pre-audition ritual involves taking up far too much of Lysandra’s time to practice reading the lines and filming herself time after time, take after take, and watching it back in the unholy hours of night until she’s happy she’s made an improvement.

Or at least that’s how she used to do it, nothing has made her want a role like this in a long while. She worries as she bites her lip, that wanting something this much means she’s getting over Sam. That maybe one day she won’t think of him and hear the pounding in her ears, won’t feel the lightheadedness that comes with a memory of their time together. Worries that if she forgets the sounds of his screams she’s failing him somehow.

She takes another sip of her sparkling water. It’s poured into a wine glass so she can at least pretend she’ll get the relaxation she craves. Alcohol was never one of her vices but she finds it’s better to be safe than sorry. It’s unhealthy as far as coping mechanisms go, but she’s been worse so it’s going down as a win.

Chaol told her some guy called Brullo is casting this one. She’s never heard of him, which is kind of rare. She’s been on the periphery of this bubble for pretty much her entire life, following her mother around her own movie sets and sitting on the wooden directors chair when her legs still dangled off the side, but if he’s like any other casting director in Adarlan she knows how to impress him.

When she reaches the last line of the part of the script she’s been sent, her mind wanders again to Rowan Whitethorn.

He’s the kind of director up and coming actors can only hope to one day work with, even though she’s pretty sure he can’t be much more than thirty, he’s built himself to a level where he can be choosy with his projects.

It's a well deserved privilege. Each of his works has stayed with her after watching, his style is gritty and dark, but grounded in a way that leaves her empty each time after finishing.

She wants this, and she buries the guilt she feels for that. Sam would want her to want this. She deserves it, or at least she hopes she can come to.

Dorian books her a mid-morning flight so she doesn’t have to wake too early before the audition, he’s a damn good agent and one she definitely doesn’t deserve with his seemingly endless patience, but she’s continuously grateful for him.

Aelin styles herself for it, ties her hair back and leaves the makeup to a minimum in a way that she hopes shows them she’s right for the part, that she can be the insecure little girl who experiences far too much. She knows she doesn’t have the sheltered innocence the character has, but she’s an actress and this is what she does. Aelin pretends for a living.

He’s also booked her a room in a pretty nice hotel for the night, she’s not sure whether he’s used her meagre acting funds or the funds from the account she knows he mom throws money into every month. It’s an argument she and Evalin have had repeatedly, she wants to stand on her own two feet, but she never protests too hard. The account kept the roof over her head when she was too busy snorting her life away to consider where her next paycheck would come from.

Aelin throws herself backwards into the crisp white bedding on the hotel room bed and takes a deep breath. The only luggage she brought with her is a carry on slung somewhere by the door and the room feels too empty to sit here and wait for the car that’s arriving to take her to the studio in just over an hour. If she sits here and waits the nerves will only build, and then she’ll itch for something to take the edge off.

She picks her phone up to text her cousin.

Jet lag from a 2 hour flight. Who would have thought?

Aelin waits two minutes for a reply, locking and unlocking her phone as she sits there, but one doesn’t come. Aedion’s probably at a training session and not checking his phone. Aelin runs a hand through her hair, careful not to dislodge the pins she placed carefully in it this morning, she needs to stop using him as her crutch. She knows he doesn’t mind, but it’s not right either way.

She needs to get out of this room.

The streets of Rifthold are busy and crammed as she meanders down them, clutching the takeout coffee cup she bought from a vendor with a stall at the side of the road.

People pay her no mind as she walks, the oversized shades hide her eyes that she knows are a dead giveaway for her membership of the Ashryver line. Even if she didn’t wear them, everybody else here wants to be someone, and so far she can still blend in if she tries.

She sends a text to the assistant organising the audition, it’s kind of shitty of her but she keeps it brief because she can’t remember their name, letting them know the car isn’t needed anymore and that she’ll make her own way there. She needs the stroll through the streets to clear her head.

Aelin needs to nail it. She hasn’t felt the twisting of desire so sharp in her stomach for a long time and the only way she’ll manage it is with a clear head.

She alternates her breathing with sips of her coffee, the taste is bitter but she keeps drinking. She pulls her phone out to check the directions to the studio.

Spontaneous isn’t a word Aelin would use to describe herself anymore, any longing to go with the flow died the minute she lost control. It’s safer now to plan, to make sure she won’t lead herself astray.

Brullo is a man in his mid forties, with dashes of grey seasoned through his muddy brown hair, and kind lines around his eyes as he smiles and shakes her hand. Aelin wipes the sweat off her palm on her jeans before clasping her hand in his.

The audition goes about as well as she can hope for, she remembers every line, and the other casting director is fairly natural reading the lines for her to act against. Aelin swallows back her tears after she finishes, trying to keep what dignity she can to end the audition when there’s snot threatening to run down her upper lip. It was a brutal scene to start with, but if she can pull this off she can surely manage the rest.

Brullo’s expression is carefully guarded as she leaves, giving nothing away, but Aelin thinks she did a good job, which is all she could have ever hoped for.

She’s staring at the tiled floor, mulling over Brullo’s parting words, thanks Aelin, our people will be in touch, when she hits something hard and warm.

She’s too busy dissecting those eight words to register exactly who it is with their hands clamped around the top of her arms, steadying her as she stumbles, but she looks up and her gaze meets that of a pair of striking, green eyes.

The man gripping her is easily over a head taller than her, broad and strong enough that she fights back the shiver that wants to roll through her at his touch. He’s staring down at her, the strong planes of his face drawn into a deep frown, with his strangely coloured eyebrows pulled in.

They’re a kind of silver that matches his short cut hair, and it shines in the fluorescent light of the hallway in a way that it can only be natural, but she’s never seen a shade quite like it.

“Sorry,” she manages to stutter out, still thrown from the vulnerability of her audition.

“It’s alright.” His voice burns through the words, his accent rolling in a way that raises hairs down the back of her neck. He flashes her a dangerous grin and she steadies herself. She knows what that look means. She’s used to the male attention, and as much as she hates to acknowledge it, she knows her looks are an element of how she’s got as far as she has. That and her family’s name.

The decision of whether to register in the guild as Aelin Ashryver or Aelin Galathynius was one she had spent hours deliberating over. Did she want the level of independence Galathynius would give her, or the reputation being an Ashryver would bring?

The man releases his grip on her shoulders, but not before running his hands down her arms until he reaches her wrists which he releases with a light squeeze. She takes an almost imperceptible step back, leaning back to breathe some air into her lungs. All she ends up doing is filling her mind with this man’s smell, inviting and intoxicating, a delicious combination of pine trees and snowy winter mornings.

“I don’t usually go around slamming into people like this,” she tells him, letting some of her snark slip through. He’s said two words to her so far but she knows he can take it, and she wants to play.

His grin becomes even more wicked and it truly is a sight to see. This man is built like a god; broad, muscular shoulders stretching the white button up he wears and she spies the dark lines of a tattoo threatening to slip past his collar.

It’s been a couple of months since her last mindless hook-up, and this man would more than do. The mischief glimmering in his eyes tells her he’d know how to make her gasp and beg.

“Slam into me anytime.” His words are a sensual croon and her mouth drops open slightly, but he sidesteps her before she can manage to speak again, nodding towards the door she’s come through. “Good luck with whatever you were here for.”

With that he’s gone, leaving her to turn and watch the way his grey slacks pull against his thighs as he walks away from her.

Aelin tries not to think too much about the outcome of the audition, and flies back to Orynth in economy class with a sleep mask tucked over her eyes lest she be recognised when all she wants to do is curl up in bed and be alone for a bit. That or get fucking wasted, and she can’t do that.

She tries far too hard to forget about the man from the hallway, forget about the way his voice had rumbled deep in her chest and the tug in her belly that his words had sent through her.

She begs Elide to come to a bar with her, and she agrees. Aelin needs to pay her more, maybe change her title from publicist to publicist-come-part-time-therapist-and-life-saver. Aelin’s not sure she has the budget for that really.

Elide would smack her if she knew Aelin’s thoughts. Would scold her for looking at Elide just like an employee as if they weren’t childhood friends and Elide hadn’t been there holding her hand through the whole Sam thing. As if she, Lysandra and Aedion hadn’t been her only reason for being here now.

A bar might be a risk, but she can sip her sparkling water while she browses the small selection of men that Orynth has to offer.

She enjoys the easy conversation she has with Elide, chatting about what their friends have been up to, even though most of them are mainly Elide’s friends at this point. After Sam she stopped speaking to everyone but those who were necessary. She couldn’t manage any more than that.

“You should come with us next time,” Elide is saying as she sips her own lemonade. Aelin knows Elide would normally choose a crisp glass of white wine over a lemonade and her sobriety solidarity touches her heart.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, noncommittal.

The look Elide wears tells her she’s debating pushing the issue for the millionth time against the risk that Aelin would pull back again. She hates that she does this to her friends so she sighs.

“Text me next time,” she tries. “I’ll see if I’m free.”

Elide offers her a thankful smile, and Aelin returns it, trying to tell herself this is what she needs and that she shouldn’t just stay locked up thinking about Sam.

There’s a dark haired guy at the bar catching her eye, his jeans are far too tight and his shirt is ridiculous, but she can see the body beneath and his face is striking. Elide notices her stare and smirks.

She likely knows why Aelin invited her out tonight, but doesn’t mind. Lorcan’s probably waiting for her at the home they share, waiting for her to come back so they can be in love. Aelin hates the bastard, except she doesn’t. She introduced her friend to the tall, dark and grouchy hockey player at the wrap party for the shit teen movie she did a couple of years back, and she’s big enough to admit she wants what they have.

She had what they have.

What’s left in her glass slips down her throat easily in one mouthful and she promises to text Elide tomorrow before slipping out of the booth and over to the guy at the bar.

“You going to just stare at me all night?” She asks with a sly smile. “Or did you plan on doing something about it at some point?”

His smile makes him look even more attractive.

“Maybe I was waiting for you to make the first move, a beautiful girl like you can be intimidating.”

It’s a shit line and she rolls her eyes, but tugs him into a cab back to her place anyway.

“Please.” Her voice shakes as she begs. “Please don’t do this.”

The man in front of them scoffs and Sam squeezes her hand, his palm rough against her own.

“Aelin, baby. It’s okay, just do what he says.”

He lets go of her hand and turns back to the guy in front of them. His face is covered by a black mask, only two slits show her the dark brown of his eyes. She can barely look away from the knife he holds out in front of himself, it’s pointed at Sam but that doesn’t make her feel any better, it makes her feel worse in fact.

“Your wallet,” the guy demands.

Tears are rolling down her cheeks, fat and hot, as she fishes around in her bag for her purse.

“Just dump the whole thing,” the guy growls, irritated, but she’s pretty sure she’s going into shock and she can’t focus. Can’t breathe.

Sam’s voice is steady by her side as he throws his own wallet onto the street in front of them.

“Alright, man. We’re doing everything you say.”

“Hands up.” The mugger’s voice is sharp. “Don’t fucking move.”

She raises her arms straight in the air, trying to control the way her hands are shaking and the attacker ducks down to grab their things.

She lets out a tiny whimper and feels Sam spin to her, his eyes begging her to trust him. No, she shakes her head.

“I said don’t fucking move,” the guy yells and lunges for Sam.

His scream cuts the night air and she whirls, hands dropping into the air between them as he drops to the ground. The mugger takes off, sprinting down the empty street and she falls to her knees by Sam’s side.

In the dark, the pool spilling out across the floor by Sam’s side just looks black, but she knows that really it’s red. She’s not stupid. His face is twisted in pain and her hands flutter around his torso before she manages to pull back the flap of his jacket.

There’s a hole in his white t-shirt and now her jeans are wet where she kneels.

She needs her phone, needs to call someone who can make this all better, but her phone is gone.

She presses her hands against his side and his eyes shutter closed as he gasps. His breathing is stuttered and uneven.

“Sam. Sam, no,” she cries. “I’ll get help. You’re okay.”

“Aelin.” He raises a hand to press against her cheek, and the blood on it is sticky and warm.

“No, Sam. No, stay with me.”

The scream that tears through her throat will hurt tomorrow but now she barely feels it. “HELP!”

His breathing becomes much quicker as she presses on his side and screams again.

She knows abstractly that she’s crying, tears and snot streaming down her face as she desperately presses her hands against his side.

There’s a strong arm around her waist, tugging her back and away from Sam, and she screams one word over and over.

“No, no, no, no.”

There are people here now, leaning over Sam, leaning over his body.

“NO.”

Aelin gasps as she launches up in her bed. The sheets are stuck to her clammy skin and her head flies to the side. The guy is gone, the side of the bed he occupied when she fell asleep now cold. Good.

She lives it over and over in her dreams, sees the dark street more often than not, feels the phantom warmth of his blood down her legs. Wakes screaming herself hoarse just as she did that night. She doesn’t normally let people stay the night. Even when Aedion tried for the first few weeks after the fact, she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t turn her brain off for even a second. Every time she closed her eyes she was back on that street, begging and pleading for him to open his eyes.

She grasps at her side for the switch of her bedside lamp and flicks it on. Her room is cold and empty and she hasn’t had it in her to decorate past the basics so it’s plain and impersonal when she looks around, trying to calm her breathing.

She checks the time. 6:25am. Not bad, she must have managed about six hours of sleep last night, and it’s more than she usually gets.

There're a few texts waiting in her inbox, including one from Elide, and she expects it to be a request to let her know that she got home safe but it’s not.

Call me as soon as you wake up.

Sent at 6:02am. Elide is a chronic overworker, no matter how much Aelin begs her to stick to a 9 to 5 schedule, but she couldn't imagine her friend any other way. The smiling emoji at the end of the text lets her know it’s nothing she needs to panic about, so she takes a moment to scroll through her other messages. It’s unusual for her to wake up to so many.

She clicks on her conversation with Dorian, the only message she can see, his most recent one, just says Aelin. He has sent her nine messages while she slept, and she scrolls up to reach the first one.

Aelin, you did it. You booked the Rowan Whitethorn movie.

Her heart pounds in her chest, running into overdrive as she processes the words on her screen.

She got the part. She fucking did it.

This is one of those moments she knows she’ll remember.

Dorian has forwarded over a number of contracts and official things but she ignores them in favour of dialling Elide’s number.

“Aelin!” Her friend’s voice is breathy when she answers. “Congratulations, I knew you could do it.”

“Thanks, El.” A pause where she takes a deep breath in. “I can’t believe it.”

She falls back onto her mattress, pressing a fist to her lips as she smiles, eyes closed, almost giddy as she listens to her friend talk.

“They’re putting a press release out today at 12:30, announcing you and the male lead, who I haven’t found out yet but I will.”

“Oh my gods,” she sighs, covering her eyes with a clammy hand.

“I know,” Elide laughs.

She allows herself one tear as she stares up at the white of her ceiling.

This is big, she can feel it.

Later her phone buzzes as Elide sends her links to two different articles breaking the news.

Fenrys Moonbeam and Aelin Ashryver to star in new Chaol Westfall drama. More to follow.

Rowan Whitethorn signs on to direct The Crescent City, the latest project from Chaol Westfall (Throne of Glass, The King’s Hand & more).

She presses the phone to her chest as she lets out a sigh of relief.

It all moves pretty quickly from that point.

She’s on a plane back to Rifthold the next day and Chaol has sent over the whole script for her to read on the plane, bypassing Dorian completely even though that’s how it normally goes and she knows the two are like brothers.

Chaol was the one to introduce her to Dorian, and they kind of took her under their showbiz wings in the first few years she began to get really serious about acting.

They gave her the inside scoop, having been in the industry for a few more years than her. Chaol writing and making movies and Dorian doing all the background stuff like contracts and negotiations and exposure. They took her to their wrap parties that everyone knows are just networking events and introduced her to some of the big names in the industry without so much as batting an eyelid, and she knows she owes them a lot.

The script is phenomenal, and she has to try and hide the tears that form when she reaches the end, it probably wouldn’t be the best start to the project, being photographed crying on the plane on the way to start shooting. It really is some of Chaol’s best work, and she sends him a text when she lands that says fuck you, I hate it, but his reply lets her know he knows she’s joking.

It tells the story of her character, Feyre, and how she’s dragged into selling drugs to pay for her mom’s hospital bills. Along the way she meets Fenrys Moonbeam’s character, Rhysand, the glowering bad-boy who’s well established in the gang and together they see some shit and do some shit but manage to get out together. The topics are kind of cliché and over done, but Chaol has managed to add a level of originality to it that makes it really special.

It’s heavier on the romance than Rowan Whitethorn’s previous projects, but it’s gritty enough that she can see why he’s signed on. It’s going to be hard, she knows this, and it will really push her to her limits trying to embody the range of emotions her character goes through. But she wants it, and she will make her performance incredible if it fucking kills her.

There’s a niggling part of her brain that reminds her that she’s surrounded by some big names on this project, names that are big for a reason, and she can’t let them hiring her be a mistake.

She sends Chaol a follow up text, wtf are these names btw???

He ignores her.

When she’s in the car taking her to the apartment the studio is renting out for her while they film she decides to take a little trip through Instagram and look up her new co-star. Fenrys is a household name by now, a couple of years in after his debut, but it can’t hurt to know a little more about her leading man.

f.moonbeam01 comes up as the first option when the types the three letters f e n into the search bar and he has over eleven million followers.

Shit.

Not that she needs a reminder but it slaps her in the face that this is actually big. Aelin only has a few thousand followers herself and Elide has already told her to prepare herself for that to rise.

His Instagram is a mixture of mostly photos of himself, some selfies and some professional shots, and he’s obviously gorgeous. His deep brown complexion playing well against his golden curls with a straight strong nose and flawless white teeth. He’s definitely leading man material, and she can tell just how charming his grin is even through a screen.

There are also promo pictures for all the movies he’s involved in at the moment, there are at least three projects he has coming out this year. Damn.

His most recent picture is a screenshot of the article announcing their casting, and he’s actually tagged her in the photo along with Rowan himself. She hasn’t seen the tag until now, it’s normally Elide’s job as her publicist to tackle the professional side to her social media, but there’s 6.4 million likes on the photo.

Again, shit.

She can’t help herself from clicking onto Rowan’s account, rowanwhitethorn is a pretty simple handle. He only has 27 posts, most of them are behind the scenes shots from projects, one with his classic director’s chair that has his surname printed across the back in thick white lettering, and a few pictures of different cameras and pieces of equipment.

There’s only one picture of him on there, and it’s from 2017. He has his back to the camera and the sunset behind him lends a shadow that covers all of his features. Very artsy she muses to herself as she double taps the screen to like it, he probably won’t see anyway, the notification will probably get lost in the ones his account no doubt gets from his 2 million followers. The only thing she can gather from the photo about his physical appearance is that he has pretty broad shoulders.

She’s tempted to google him, wanting to know what he looks like, but she feels a bit too much like a stalker, and she knows she’ll meet him in a couple of days anyway so she leaves it and pulls up her emails to reply to the seemingly endless list of forms she has to fill out and send back to Dorian.

The apartment she’s living in for the next few months is modern and airy, with clean lines and bright decor. Aelin likes it, and while it’s not hers in the same way as her home back in Orynth, it’s far better than a hotel room that lower budget movies tend to shove actors in. Another reminder that this time is different, there’s a bigger budget than she’s used to, bigger names than she’s used to, and she can’t fuck this up. There’s more eyes on her now than ever before.

She sends Elide a picture of her new bedroom and her friend just replies with a bunch of exclamation marks and she forwards the picture across to Lysandra too. Aelin wanders through to the kitchen, wondering if anyone bothered to stock the kitchen, not that she can’t do groceries herself, it would just be nice. She’s delighted to find a fridge full of fresh produce and gets about making herself a dish of pasta and veggies.

She tucks herself in front of the big television, munching away as she watches some National Geographic documentary about whales and it helps to take her mind off the fact that this is her last night of peace for a while. She’s trying not to get too in her head about it, there’s a fine line between knowing it’s a big deal and freaking the fuck out about it, and she needs to stay on the right side of that line, needs to keep herself in check.

If she allows herself a moment to relax, a moment to sink into the situation and bask in the opportunity; she’s excited.

And depending on how well this movie does, she knows she may not have another night like this one. Somehow the thought doesn’t seem to scare her.

Lysandra calls her as she’s waiting for the car to arrive to take her to the studio, it's day one of their table read today and she’s tired. She spent all of last night tossing and turning, unable to shut her mind off and panicking over every single detail of how this day could go.

She’s lucky it’s only a table read, she’s not sure even a professional make-up artist would be able to cover the dark circles under her eyes.

“Hello, you.” Lysandra’s voice is cheery through the phone and Aelin smiles, she’s really missed Lysandra and hasn’t taken nearly enough time to seek her out during her recent whirlwind. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

They had texted since the news dropped, but with Lysandra shooting a campaign for a brand she can’t remember somewhere over in the Southern Continent they haven’t had time yet for a call.

“Thanks Lys,” she says as she gets into the back of the sleek black car that the studio has sent for her, tucking her small black backpack onto the seat next to her. It’s all she can use at this point, any other bag just makes her think of that night.

“How’s it going? Have you met everyone yet?”

Lysandra runs in these circles of A list celebrities and Aelin wouldn't be surprised if she already knew Fenrys. She met Lysandra when they were teens; years before her first show for Victoria’s Secret, years before she was walking for people like Gucci and Prada, and they stayed close when they were both living off cheap ramen and thin strands of hope. Aelin likes to tease her about hanging with a lowly C-lister like herself but Lysandra is always quick to quip that she’s maybe a G-lister at a push.

That could change.

“I haven’t met anyone so far, but I’m literally on my way to meet everyone now.”

“That’s exciting, you’ll have to let me know if Fenrys Moonbeam is really that good looking in person.”

“So you don’t already know him?” she asks, teasing. Maybe Lysandra doesn’t know quite everyone.

“Oh you know, apart from every week-end when we hook-up, we’re not really that good friends.”

Aelin laughs, mostly to herself, knowing that somewhere out there that probably is a story that’s cropped up in some cheap tabloid. She knows there’s probably some dating rumours about herself and Fenrys already even though she’s still yet to meet him. It’s just how it is, she knows this, has known this since she was old enough to read the stories about her parents’ messy divorce.

“What does Aedion have to say about that, hm?”

“Oh, he joins us obviously!” Lysandra’s laugh is bright and loud through the grainy speaker.

No-one is more desperate for Aedion to propose to Lysandra than Aelin, not even the magazines, desperate for a scoop of the golden couple, quarterback for the Rifthold Ravens and the world-famous supermodel.

“I think I’ve heard enough, thanks,” Aelin laughs as the car pulls through security checks at the studio. “Lys, I have to go, I’ve just got to the studio.”

“Okay, good luck! Promise you’ll call me later though and let me know how it goes.”

She needs to make sure she puts aside a minute to catch up properly with Lysandra, she’s been slacking recently and she knows her friend misses her. She misses Lysandra too, and Aedion. Maybe she’ll stay with them for a couple of days when she gets a break from filming, she can probably see them far more often now that she’s in Rifthold too.

“I promise,” she agrees. “Tell Aedion to make sure he spoils you from me.”

Lysandra snorts, “Oh he does, I’ll pass it along anyway though.”

“Means a lot. Love you, got to go.”

Lysandra’s returning love you is sincere, but she cuts off the phone as the car comes to a stop outside the plain brick building.

She readies herself in the back of the car, pulling down a deep breath to center herself, she can do this.

The girl leading her to the room doesn’t speak other than to tell Aelin to follow right this way, and she’s grateful, she’s not sure she could speak right now without vomiting all over the dated linoleum flooring.

She needs to get a grip, and fight the urge for a hit that strikes her when she’s nervous like this. It could make her fears disappear, at least for a moment before they all came crashing back down ten-times worse the minute the high faded. There is a reason she packed that shit in, and she knows her nerves will pass. It’s been a while since she’s done any of this, her last movie read was pre-Sam and no matter how hard she tries to push it down, there’s a lot of pressure on her for this to go well.

The girl pauses outside an unassuming white door and holds a hand out to gesture for Aelin to go in. She rolls her shoulders back, holding her head high before she steps into the room. If all else fails she’s still Evalin Ashryver’s daughter and to some people that is something to be proud of.

Fenrys Moonbeam is the first person to catch her eye when she steps into the room, and it seems he’s done some stalking too because he ends his conversation by the food table with some others she doesn’t recognise and bounds straight over to her with a grin.

“Aelin Ashryver,” he says, his voice deep and smooth like velvet. “I’ve heard of you. It’s a pleasure.”

“You have?” She’s both surprised and not at the same time as she holds a hand out for him to shake.

He bypasses the hand she holds out and tugs her into his chest, wrapping both arms around her and knocking her backpack off her shoulder.

“I have,” he says as he bends down to pick her bag back up. “Sorry about that.”

She shakes her head. She needs to stop acting like a bewildered school girl meeting the Queen, she needs to remember that she has second billing for this movie thanks to Dorian.

“Don’t worry about it.” Aelin finds a smile and plasters it on.

Someone calls for everyone to take their seats and she notices the name placards spaced out in front of each chair. She locates her own and it's surreal to see her name printed there, Aelin Ashryver, between Fenrys and another actress playing her sister called Manon Blackbeak. She’s even less known than Aelin, and she only feels slightly guilty for how much that relaxes her.

Aelin knows how this goes down, they sit opposite the production team, the director and all the executive producers and she realises that she’s opposite the sign that reads Rowan Whitethorn.

She slides into her seat, Fenrys and Manon chatting over her head as she does, and she spots a male slipping into the chair opposite her. He’s wearing a slim-fit forest green henley and dark jeans, his shoulders are just as broad as they were in his Instagram photo and here there’s no shadow across his handsome features.

She can’t deny that he’s attractive, she knew it the first time she saw him. Her stare locks onto the man from the hallway after her audition and he smirks at her as if they have a secret. And maybe they do, but now she’s realising that he’s her boss, and a little voice in her head that sounds suspiciously like Elide is whispering to her that opportunities like this don’t come around everyday.

She owes it to Sam and she owes it to herself not to fuck this up, but the look that Rowan Whitethorn is sending her across the table makes her think she could risk it all.

It takes them three hours to run through it in full, and she’s happy to see she’s not the only one with a tear in her eye at the end. Rowan doesn’t cry, but he hasn’t looked at her since before they started and each time she read a line she avoided looking at him. She knows there were a couple of times where he nodded along with her expression of the lines. She’s ignoring it.

This is what she lives to do, they’re not even filming yet and she feels like she’s right where she needs to be. It’s cliche but she breathes easier when she acts, the air feels lighter when she takes on a new personality and feels all the things she’s told to feel.

It takes away the restlessness she feels when it’s all just down to her, being told how to feel is far easier.

Her therapist tells her she has both anxiety and PTSD, but she feels like giving it a name doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. She knows a diagnosis can be a relief for some, but to Aelin, what she feels is far too messy to be summed up in four letters. Her life has simply become the before, and the after, even though what each of those contains is a complete fucking shit show.

There are two Aelins; pre that night and post that night.

The Aelin from before that night doesn’t exist anywhere but in her own memory.

Once the run through is completed and basic notices are given by the producers, things like call sheet distributions and health and safety, the occupants of the room begin to mingle. She sees him make a beeline for her, and she swallows. She’s not ready for this.

“You look surprised to see me.” His voice is as hot as it was the last time she saw him, the slight rasp in his throat and his accent. Gods, the accent.

“You don’t look too surprised to see me.” She tilts her head at him because she feels way thrown off, like he has all the power here. Which he does. But like, she can play it cool. Fake it ‘til you make it, right? “Maybe had a little google search?”

He shakes his head at her, biting his lip kind of like he wants to laugh, and she bristles. She needs to level the playing field.

“Says you.” He’s definitely laughing now. “I saw you liked my photo last night.”

“What about it?” She shrugs, hoping her acting skills are up to it. He only tilts his head to the side as he takes her in.

“Do you think I didn’t know who you were in the corridor? I’m the director.” And fuck him for saying it like that, full of an easy confidence that in any other situation would have had heat pooling in the floor of her stomach. “Brullo discussed the casting with me.”

Right. Of course.

She’s not sure what to say next. Honestly? She kind of wants to flirt with him, but fuck.

Instead she hums a laugh, not really caring whether he thinks it’s sincere or not, and looks absentmindedly around the room instead of back up at him. He reaches a hand out to brush his fingers down her arm, looping them round the bones of her wrist and squeezing slightly like he did the last time before letting go. Her eyes snap back to his.

“Just between you and me?” he asks and the smile he wears is far too hot for her to deal with right now. “I think we made a good choice.”

“Thanks,” she says, but it’s a little too breathy. A little too dazed for having spent such a short amount of time in his presence. She’s aware that she needs to be careful, they are very much not alone in this room right now, and she doesn’t need to start any rumours that would destroy her chances of escaping this without a scandal.

She’s here to do a job, and she’s going to do it well. She doesn’t need any distractions.

He leaves her soon after that, and his parting remark of “have a good first day, Aelin” sticks with her, and she tries not to replay the way his voice had wrapped around her name.

Manon Blackbeak is watching them from across the room, and she arches one perfectly shaped eyebrow at Aelin. She ignores her; let her think what she wants, she’s surely professional enough not to gossip to any press, and stomps over to where Fenrys is chatting with one of the producers. It seems like a good enough place to start.

#rowaelin #rowaelin au #rowaelin fic #throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #nobody does it like you do #ndilyd #im so nervous to post this lol #hope you all enjoy #cw: past drug abuse #cw: minor character death #cw: violence

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commander-diomika · 3 years

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[Image ID: Screenshot of a tumblr reply from user @weareallfromearth saying “Holy shit I would V much like to know what you’d do with ZolfWilde.” End ID]

This was in response to me tag rambling that if Alex “I don’t Actually Have That Much Experience in Courtship” Newall and Ben “I just Realised I’m Too Straight For This” Meredith don’t know what to do with Zolf/Wilde, they should hand the ship over to me.

*rubs my gay little hands together.*

I initially characterized them offhandedly as Enemies-to-Lovers but that’s not quite it, is it? On reflection I would say it’s more of an Opposites Attract situation.

Oscar Wilde, as re-imagined in the RQG universe, is a homme fatale; a dangerous, attractive man, skilled in encouraging people to underestimate him, wearing different masks, never quite being able to trust or be trusted by anyone.

There is NO personal/professional line for Wilde. He lives his work, and his work is subterfuge and interpersonal manipulation. (whether or not he started this way in his field as a journalist, or was forced to become this way by the changes in his world, is another post.) He is a person who either cares very deeply what people think of him, or is has decided that manipulating what people think of him is the way to get what he wants, and from the outside it makes no difference.

Zolf Smith does not care what people think of him. He isn’t even skilled at being kind and empathetic to people he cares about; he has no time for emotional manipulation or genuine charm. He doesn’t even have a fantastic grasp on his OWN feelings, let alone other people’s. He’s grounded, disinterested in frippery or appearances. Which is why Zolf and Wilde started out so deeply at odds with one another.

Despite the differences in the interpersonal approaches, they have plenty of common ground.

They are both deeply dedicated to a cause. They care about their work to the exclusion of all else. They are both pragmatists who have their own internal moral code, and are willing to bend or break other people’s rules in order to get the job done. They are fundamentally good people. Despite their rocky beginnings, they can respect each other because of these things.

And they might have maintained their mutually disdainful, begrudgingly respectful working relationship and that could have been the sum total... Except then the world fell apart. The Meritocratic organisation was initially compromised, then disintegrated. The blue vein plague isolated everyone and made it even harder to trust supposed allies. The Cult of Hades was on everyone’s ass making their life difficult, the other PCs disappeared off the face of the planet. Zolf and Wilde ended up in a situation where they had no one else they could trust.

Familiarity breeds contempt, but maybe if the contempt is already there, it builds Something Else. Wilde was stripped of his magic in a way that made it much harder for him to keep people at a distance and (pardon the pun) project the illusion of the debonair playboy. Zolf would have had the chance to see through Wilde’s masks, and get a better understanding of what parts of Wilde were a calculated tactic, and what was his genuine self.

Whatever betrayal transpired that gave Wilde his scar and hardened him, Zolf was privy to. He was either there and saw it happen, or he was close enough in the aftermath to see Wilde properly vulnerable for the first time in their friendship. Hell, maybe Zolf was the one who rescued him and patched him up. That was a chance for Zolf to realise that this insufferable man is a friend who he cares about deeply. At this point, he’s cared for awhile, but has been too wrapped up with his own spiritual difficulties to have space to admit that to himself.

And Wilde, oh Wilde, he’s desperate to be seen and known and loved, but he’s never allowed himself. He’s never felt SAFE to. He doesn’t let people get close, treats every conversation as a battle to be won. His safety and his power lies in being admired, but never loved. So even as trust and fondness for Zolf blossoms within him, he won’t for a second allow himself to hope that the fondness is reciprocated

With all that out of the way, this is my version of events.

Wilde is a slut (affectionate), and Zolf is gray-ace, so if there’s any bridging of that gap in terms of physical intimacy, it has to be from Zolf’s side. Giving canon a tender massage into place, that first instance of Zolf grabbing Wilde by the collar changes. (This happens on the Vengeance after Zolf has taught Wilde to steer the ship). Zolf drags Wilde down to say “I’m glad to see you perked up.” That moment now involves a whiskery kiss on Wilde’s cheek, and the man would be absolutely FLOORED by it.

I’m talking slow-mo glittering lights as Zolf stomps off blushing, unsure what just came over him; Wilde touches his cheek in bewilderment for a stretched moment before realising he’s completely agog, and he let go of the wheel for a dangerous length of time. Every interaction, every moment they’ve spent together over the last two years is flashing before Wilde’s eyes and a new context is being applied rapid fire. I’m talking the italacised oh kind of moment.

(on top of Zolf being witness to The Betrayal, throw some other moments of almost-intimacy into said flashbacks. I’m talking late nights, Zolf doing his gruff-yet-kind caretaker thing, cooking for Wilde, maybe sharing quiet and rare downtime with Zolf reading a Campbell novel on a couch in Wilde’s office)

Wilde is realising, “Oh this is allowed, oh this is reciprocated, this is possible.”

And of course they don’t talk about it, because what’s a slowburn if they immediately go and TALK about their feelings? No, the kiss goes completely unremarked upon, and Wilde continues to needle and tease and get under Zolf’s skin, except now with an added warmth in his eyes because he finally gets it. He finally understands that Zolf cares, that Zolf loves him, he’s just not the kind of dwarf that knows how to express it.

And Zolf, frustrated by feelings he can’t express but is beginning to understand, can hear the undertone of “haha, you looooove me,” shining through Wilde’s deliberate antagonism. They continue their time on the Vengeance just a little easier and closer to one another.

And we continue on to the death/resurrection arc, and Wilde’s spirit pushes for Zolf to open up about his feelings, because if not when he’s literally past death’s door, then when? When Zolf finally manages his “I need you,” it’s like a dam has broken for both of them. The second collar-grab and “We’ll go on a holiday or somethin’,” is now followed by a full kiss on the lips, not particularly erotic but passionate, (it’s the epitome of kissing someone to shut them up) and Wilde makes a surprised and delighted squeak that he would be glad he can’t quite remember when he returns to land of the living.

Once returned, Wilde might not remember everything that his spirit said or did, but he remembers the kiss. The comfort and ease that the two of them share in 179 (Eat Drink and Be Merry) is there, only instead of the two characters still being in a place of questioning their feelings for one another, it’s been answered.

Whether or not this relationship is sexual in nature is kind of up to you and what kind of fan works you like to read/write. I think there are wonderful scenes to be written an explored in many directions.

Wilde allowing himself to enjoy sex for intimacy and closeness instead of using it as a tool/ Zolf not being one for sex but Wilde’s never slept more soundly than when he’s being held in Zolf’s arms/ Zolf realising that the unfamiliar feeling he’s been struggling to express is the desire to rail Wilde til he cries/ Wilde realising that if his partner doesn’t want it from him, he’s actually quite content without sex/ The two of them being mean, antagonistic bastards to each other while fucking but Make It Kink (of the trusting and RACK kind). There really isn’t a single bad interpretation.

So really, I’m not doing anything different with them other than reading between the lines, giving canon a little nudge, and sticking the landing. This isn’t to disparage the concept of queer platonic partners. (I’ve got one!) or to talk shit about Ben or Alex (I DO respect their craft).

It’s just to say I find these two characters , and everything they’ve been through, PAINFULLY romantic, tropey, and delightful. I’m looking forward both to how Ben and Alex play the QPP, the fanworks I’m gonna read and hopefully write, and the inevitable tragedy that you KNOW Alex is gearing up for.

#zoscar #zolfwilde #RQG #rusty quill gaming #zolf smith #RQG Oscar Wilde #hank talks #rqg podcast #rqg meta #feel free to reblog #and to talk to me about it

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13atoms · 3 years

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Deep Focus: Chapter 1 [Tom Hiddleston x Reader]

Summary: Tom’s a successful porn director with a romantic streak which proves very popular with his female audience. His resident porn actress and business partner has been with him through thick and thin, the two of them growing completely inseparable, even as her own career starts taking off.

But working in such close proximity is intense, and burgeoning feelings threaten to complicate their professional relationship.

Mature, smut, porn director!AU, ethical porn production discussion, porn-star-and-coworker!reader. Friends to lovers, slow-ish burn. [7.7k]

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There was such a style to everything Tom wrote, everything he directed. A sincere passion that you suspected was always meant to be used elsewhere. You wondered if his craftsmanship was ever appreciated, on the other side of the screen, as strangers got hot and bothered watching each meticulously designed frame of his vision come to life.

Sure, it was porn. But Tom directed it like he could win an Oscar for ‘hot lifeguard pounded poolside’. This was his livelihood, his passion, and it was a damn shame he wasn’t award-season eligible.

The names would make you wince, as you saw them uploaded to the site, thumbnails and previews drawing in viewers by the million with their shots of heaving bodies and glistening sweat. Tom never called the videos such crass things. Not in his scripts. You would get copies titled ‘Romantic Night In’ or ‘Office Love Affair.’ He was a fan of sugar-coating what would be inside those innocuous white pages, a veneer of respectability which Tom insisted upon, regardless of how obvious the true nature of the videos was. But once the videos were sold, it was out of his hands. Your face contorted mid-faux-orgasm would be plastered across the site, and everyone involved would try and forget what happened.

Ignore the comments.

Keep moving.

You often wondered how Tom wound up in this place, with his sharply tailored suits and polished shoes, eloquent and educated, his words almost poetic as he directed mid-budget porn in hotel rooms and his studio day-in, day-out.

Then again, he never seemed particularly bothered by it. He gave each shoot his full attention, his full boundless enthusiasm and all the professionalism he could muster. You wondered how he balanced it, sometimes, the creative drive to press on with trying to be creative and shoehorn romance into films knowing that, ultimately, it was porn.

He had interviewed you like a real director might, talking about your life and experience and ambitions, almost apologetic when he had finally choked out ‘could you undress’, barely glancing at your naked form before he hired you as his first employee.

You asked him early on, while watching him try and assemble a fake restaurant-date set in the studio, complete with faux windows and an extra playing a waiter, why he bothered when three-minutes of good quality fucking footage would make him the same amount of money. He’d given you a strange smile, the wrinkles beginning to appear at the corners of his eyes, and shrugged.

“I make what I’d like to see.”

The words haunted you later, as your rather attractive co-star bent you over the white-cloth covered dining table and you allowed mewls and groans to escape your mouth without a second thought. Trying to avoid the muted blue of Tom’s eyes behind the cameraman.

Despite your reservations when you first started to work for him, Tom had won you over. His gentler, more romantic approach to pornography had a loyal following. Both of your pseudonyms garnered huge numbers of views across various platforms, and Tom was keen to cultivate a collection of female-friendly porn. Against all the odds, it was working.

And you loved working with him. He was a great director, and inspired writer, and a genuinely brilliant boss. He made sure you saw royalties, good pay, that everyone you worked with was screened and tested, always keeping you safe. Always.

Each time he called a wrap, passing you a robe and offering a meek congratulations on your performance, you found yourself more and more pleased you had wound up working with him.

“You really do have a talent,” he’d told you one day, distracting you as you discussed a new script in his office.

You were sat opposite him, Tom’s glasses perched on his head as he watched you read, your feet resting against the leg of his desk. You’d come in to your shared workspace to try some costumes out, to discuss new scenes, still recovering from a thoroughly exhausting shoot the day before. There were still light bruises around your wrists, and you caught Tom glancing at them worriedly each time your long-sleeved shirt slipped.

“I love that you’re such an actor,” he continued, hands tapping the desk as he spoke, “like, a real actor.”

Your eyes drifted across the script, scanning it with your bottom lip between your teeth. He always appreciated your input, wanting the ‘female fantasy’ in a lot of his work, and he’d timidly shown you some ‘student-professor’ script he’d been working on. He was like that, embarrassed in a way which you wouldn’t expect from a man with his considerable experience in adult entertainment. He was assertive, certain, even stern where it counted. But with just the two of you together, dancing around what was sexy and what wasn’t, he seemed desperate to avoid saying anything you might perceive as too ‘crude’.

“What do you mean?” you’d chuckled, still flicking through the first draft.

He only entrusted you with such early versions of his work – but that made sense. Your careers were symbiotic, tied to one another with an unspoken pact. He directed everything you were in, and you were in everything he directed.

It made sense.

“You don’t just… I don’t know. You never make my scripts seem silly. Or cheesy. You… you really try and make them feel real. I could write anything, and you’ll deliver the lines well. I was overseeing auditions earlier and... I just kept thinking none of them were you. I think you might be the best in the business.”

You rolled your eyes, offering him a disbelieving smirk, and he scoffed.

“I’m serious! I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The weight of his words settled heavy in your chest, and you turned back to the script, frowning as you flicked through the loose-leaf pages. Tom fidgeted behind his desk, unhappy with losing your attention, but you ignored him.

“Here. If you want the fantasy to be believable, I think he needs to lock the office door. Make a show of it, you know. Cover my mouth,” you comment dismissively. Tom already has as pen in his hand, making notes. “It could be hot, maybe ‘Don’t make a sound or you can’t cum’, something like that. As if there’s other students in the corridor outside.”

Nodding, Tom dutifully wrote down your words, mouth slightly open in realisation as he listened.

“Don’t make a sound…” Tom repeated, and you felt yourself blush.

“Not… not that exactly,” you backtracked, “you’re the real writer! I just think, there needs to be some build up. A remind of the power dynamic. Him going straight to oral is a bit… fast. That could happen in any old plot, you know?”

You felt his eyes on you, looking up from the paper to spot Tom leaning back in his chair, a distant smile on his face.

“You really are the best,” he praised, “that’s great. I’ll do rewrites tonight.”

For a moment, you let his words hang heavy in the air. Then you blinked back at him, a slight frown pinching your forehead at his strange mood. He was calm, for once. Tom was usually a ball of enthusiasm, and you wondered if your dismissal of his words earlier had done something to hamper his spirit.

“It’s always easier to critique,” you dismissed, “I love the script, it’s great. I really think it’ll be good. Hot. Maybe I can wear a Britneyschool girl costume, or something?”

He frowned a little, pinching the bridge of his nose at the thought.

“No, weird. We’re going for University student, just… a nice pair of jeans or something.”

“Don’t they wear suits where you went, posh boy?” you teased, loving how it riled him up. “I’ll try and dress like a smart person.”

“You are smart, don’t give me that.”

You rolled your eyes, loving how you managed to fluster him, putting the script back on his cluttered desk as you reached for your bag. This was how your meetings always went, a few hours of notes, some teasing, and a hasty retreat once Tom told you the next shoot day you had to attend. You still had a few hours of social media to do for the last video you’d shot together, notes from Tom, and you lamented the sight of the sun setting outside of your shared office. You’d hoped for at least a bit of natural light today.

“I’m serious, you are!” Tom asserted, and you ignored him purposely as you shut down your laptop, preparing to take it home.

“Yeah, I know, whatever. Don’t work too late!”

“Rich coming from you,” he sighed, “it really doesn’t matter if we send that last edit late.”

“It matters to me! I’d quite like to get paid this week, you know?”

Tom sighed. The two of you tried to produce a couple of videos a week – one for Tom’s site and another to sell to a third party. It didn’t leave either of you with much free time, both of you left in the tiny office at all hours as you worked to keep up with demand.

“Very true. But I’d rather you got some sleep, you know I can help if you’re short on money,” he offered, shuffling papers on his own desk.

He was always quick to jump to an offer to help, and you tried to ignore the fondness spreading through your chest at his eagerness to look out for you. That gentle protectiveness which coursed through Tom was enough to make you melt.

He was one in a million, that was for sure.

“I’m fine, Tom. Thank you though, I’ll ask, if, y’know –”

“Do! Any time. Actually…”

Tom cut himself off, typing something into his phone, and your pocket buzzed with a notification.

“Get yourself a nice dinner.”

You checked your phone to see a transfer from Tom. It wasn’t a crazy amount, but too much for just dinner, and you huffed performatively as he grinned at you.

“No! Don’t be ridiculous –”

He barely made more than you, and you were certainly doing perfectly comfortably.

“Royalties are really good this month. That old break-up sex video is trending again, apparently.”

You smothered a smile. It was hate-fucking, as you’d told Tom a hundred times. That was the title. You could still remember the look on his face the day you’d filmed it, his twitchiness, the unknown male actor who had slightly scared both of you with his sheer size as he stepped into the studio. The male star had fucked you like you’d broken his heart, hands on your neck and hips bruising yours as he pounded into you, and you’d be a little alarmed at how little you had needed to act in his domineering presence. He’d been muscular and tall and assertive, almost injuring you with his enthusiasm, and the shoot had ended with you a sweaty mess, struggling to walk, eyes watery.

You had ached from the moment Tom helped you up from the bed, a protective body between you and your costar as you watched the man collect his clothes and his paycheck. The footage had been great, you’d watched Tom edit it, but it had been your first taste of Tom’s protectiveness. The actor had never returned, and Tom had bought a hot water bottle for the office, pressing it into your lap as he brought tea for the pair of you, loathing how you winced as you moved.

He’d taken you out for dinner that night to celebrate a good edit, but you knew the real reason. That neither of you wanted the other to be alone. It had been a lovely evening, a restaurant then a bar, without a break in laughing conversation the entire night. It hadn’t been a date, but if it had been a date, it would’ve been the nicest date you’d ever been on. In those moments, you wondered if Tom was really cut out for the industry. If you were.

As much as Tom hated the film, it was hot. It had propelled your studio into the spotlight, and it paid a significant chunk of your rent.

“Thank you,” you smiled to him, wracking your mind for anything else that needed discussing before you headed home.

Maybe you’d get takeaway. That would be nice.

Tom cleared his throat.

“What are we shooting tomorrow, by the way?”

You looked up at his words, frowning a little at the realisation you hadn’t been given a script yet. It was unlike him, to be so unprepared. Usually everything was organised weeks in advance. With a glance at the shadows under his eyes, you decided not to tease him about it.

“We’re shooting tomorrow?”

“This week… we’ve only got one video. I was just thinking something simple, I haven’t called a costar yet, but we don’t have to if you don’t want to –”

It was your paycheck on the line as much as Tom’s, and you wondered how the hell you’d forgotten.

“Do we have a camera crew?” you frowned.

“No, not yet. I can call though. Or I could just do it myself, if we’re not doing anything too complicated?”

You thought for a moment, leaning against the open doorframe as Tom started to pack up his own desk, nimble fingers tapping across his keyboard.

“Solo?” you suggested, stifling a laugh as Tom blinked and tilted his head to face you.

“I missed that, love?”

“Solo. Like ‘hot female solo’ or something?”

He smiled slightly, closing his laptop lid.

“That’ll do well, I’m sure. Do we need anything costume-wise? Props?”

Toys. He meant toys. You smiled at his refusal to call a spade a damn spade.

“I’m sure we can find everything here. It’ll be nice to do a simple shoot for a change,” you enthused, holding the door for Tom as he moved to turn off the lights, lingering nearby as he locked up the office.

“Yeah. Single-shot, no camera-man either.”

“Cheap,” you sighed, as though it was the sexiest thing in the world.

You did the books, and avoiding having any more costs this month sounded great.

“Yeah,” Tom smiled, falling into step beside you as the two of you left the warehouse studio.

He looked ready to say something else, but changed his mind. For a second the two you stood by the exit, words trapped beneath your closed lips as the early evening air enveloped you.

“Do you need a lift home?” Tom finally offered.

“No. No, I’m good. Thank you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, yeah. Usual time. Twelve?”

“Perfect.”

He reached an arm out, ready for you to walk into his embrace, and you froze. The moment was over as soon as it started, his arm retracted, and you could only stare. His hand found the curls at the back of his head, scratching there, a blush dusting his cheeks in the harsh fluorescent lights of the car park. You could kick yourself as you watched the bob of his Adam’s apple, the clench of his jaw. He felt awkward. You contemplated hugging him, but the moment had passed. Instead you rocked on your heels for a second, before turning to leave.

“Bye, Tom!”

“‘Night! Look after yourself, don’t forget dinner. I’ll see you – ”

He cut himself off as you walked too far away, and you could have kicked yourself for the sadness in his final syllable. You sighed as your feet fell against the pavement, your whole walk home haunted by the awkward shuffle of Tom’s hands as he went to hug you goodbye.

You were surprised by how difficult it was to brush off that awkward memory. As you ordered and ate dinner, you were reminded of Tom with every bite, that he’d snuck aside part of the company’s petty cash budget to give you dinner. That both of you had gone home, separately, to separate empty houses and empty beds.

Had he wanted to go for drinks? Wanted company? You had come to accept a long time ago that the man was your closest friend. He would be the person you called in an emergency, a shoulder to cry on. You liked to think he’d lean on you the same way.

Despite that, you spent limited time together outside of a professional context. You never met up on weekends, or casually called. Of course you didn’t. He made a career out of seeing you naked, watching you fake orgasms for other men. As you readied yourself for the day, you reminded yourself that of course, he would be nice to his only full-time, very lucrative actress. To his business partner.

As you’d queued up the company’s social media posts the night before, you could only think of Tom behind the camera, orchestrating each photo and clip you uploaded.

You couldn’t help the grin which split your face as you walked into the studio, bag flung over your shoulder, overpacked with everything you thought you could possibly need. Tom greeted you, emerging from his office with a smile.

Before you could overthink it, you walked into his arms, giving him very little choice in the matter as you greeted him with a hug. In his surprise you felt his body stiffen, his arms slowly wrapping around you, and you were momentarily gobsmacked by the muscular form he seemed to hide behind those suits.

He was a little more dressed down today, smart black jeans and a button-up white shirt, unruly hair sticking up like it did when he forgot to brush it. He looked better than yesterday, like he’d had a good night’s sleep.

“Good morning,” he chuckled, bemusement clear in his voice.

You pulled back from the hug, a little embarrassed at the affection until you saw the smile stretching across his face, reaching his eyes. Suddenly the previous night, worrying you had inadvertently rejected him, seemed to be erased.

“Morning! What have you got for me?”

The studio space was cleaned, but empty. The camera stood in the corner as Tom lead you further into the room, his office door open to the side of it, and you frowned at the emptiness of the space.

There were tape marks on the floor where sets were usually assembled, conspicuous without the usual hive of activity buzzing around some piece of furniture you would be thrown onto or fucked against. There was nothing.

“I didn’t know what you wanted to do,” Tom was saying, his gentle voice booming in the empty space, “we don’t have a script or anything so… I’ll leave it to you.”

You bit your lip.

It was more freedom than you were used to, less direction, less to build the fantasy where you could forget you were ultimately in a warehouse with just your business partner. It was… nothing. Tom said your name quietly, and you nodded, stepping back to assess the space.

“I’m just thinking,” you reassured him.

Had the studio always been this quiet? You tried to remember a shoot day where it had been this silent, this calm, without the stress of lighting people or cameramen or scripts being thrown around. You could hear every step Tom took as he walked towards the camera, the wheel-mounted tripod creaking as he moved it across the floor, checking batteries and SD cards while you stood in place, your bag still hanging from one shoulder.

Noticing your frozen stance Tom frowned across at you, nothing but gentle concern in his blue eyes and the fine lines around them.

“I was thinking something kind of minimal, maybe cosy?” he offered, “Maybe an armchair? Something like that?”

You thought about it for a moment, crossing to the corner of the room to finally set down your bag.

He was finally getting into ‘director mode’, growing more energetic by the second.

“I’m thinking we just frame it on you, no distraction. Single take, if we can.”

You nodded silently as he crossed to the storage cupboard he’s overeagerly labelled a ‘props department’. It was stacked high with fabric and furniture and lingerie, tubs of various exotic sex toys near the door. Tom stepped straight past them.

There was a mattress in the props room, materials to build a bed, and you pondered on the idea for a moment.

“We could keep it really simple, maybe?” you suggested, “Find a warm background. Or just use white. Try and get one twenty minute shot, or something.”

You reached for lube without thought, collecting the near-empty bottle of body oil beside it too, as you perused the options in front of you.

“Remind me to buy more of that,” Tom mused, sparing a glance to the bottles in your arms before standing beside you to peruse the options.

You nodded silently, your free hand rifling through bagged silicone toys, slightly in a daze as you picked out a few options. There was a slight blush dusted across Tom’s high cheekbones as he turned to see your arms full of dildos. You smiled as it took him a second to find words, and wondered how the hell he’d chosen to start a porn studio in the first place.

“Colour co-ordinated,” he commented, and you smiled, picking out yet another pink toy from the pile.

“Naturally,” you smiled, “I think that’s everything? Could we drag a mattress and pillows out?”

He nodded silently, already moving to manoeuvre the double mattress leaning against a wall in the props room. You rolled your eyes before helping, knowing he was being a gentleman, or whatever he called it. You called it putting his back out.

He rejected your help, so you grabbed as many pillows as you could, following him back into the main studio, privately smiling at the dramatic grunts he made trying to move the mattress. He tossed it to the ground with a grunt, shoving it into the corner of the room, before pausing again.

You dropped everything down on to it, toys, lube, pillows and all.

And then both of you waited.

It was so strangely intimate, just the two of you in the room, the strange nature of your relationship weighing heavy after last night’s miscommunication. Suddenly there was nothing you wanted to do less than take your clothes off.

“White sheets?”

“Hm?” you hadn’t processed what Tom said, too wrapped up in your own world, frowning down at the bare mattress.

“I was thinking white sheets.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

He was off, assigned another task, and you almost envied his distraction as you slowly sorted the pillows how you wanted, gathered the toys absentmindedly. Before Tom came back from the props closet you made yourself scarce, catching sight of his slim outline through the doorway. Facing away from you as he rummaged.

In the single bathroom of the studio you cleaned anything that would be going inside of you, avoiding your reflection, trying to shake off the odd nervousness coursing through your veins.

Why? It had been years since you felt this way before a shoot. Before you’d met Tom, even. Sure, shoots could be exciting, exhilarating, intimidating, but this self-consciousness, this self-doubt… it had come from nowhere.

You pressed your forehead to the mirror, closing your eyes, breathing deeply. The tap running sounded like a waterfall, the silicone under your fingers felt alien, the air almost claustrophobic as you wondered what the hell was wrong with you.

Tom was done making the bed when you got back, frowning at his phone until he heard you re-enter the studio space, quick to look up and see if you were happy with his set. You felt hyper-aware of him, of every movement he made, a clean towel and toys cradled in one arm as you took in the space. It was a simple premise, just a clean fitted sheet pillows in a corner, a clear space for you in the middle. You knew it would look good on screen. You knew this was an easy job.

You felt sick to your stomach.

“Do you want to face the camera? Or kind of, not acknowledge it?” Tom asked, speaking again as you forgot to reply, too caught up in your own mind. “Maybe if you ignore it that’s more… voyeuristic?”

“Sounds good,” you responded, kneeling to prepare your space. This was autopilot, your day job. You could do this.

“Right.”

He sounded a little put out by your response, but moved the camera anyway, switching to a knee-height tripod. You stood, stepped back to give him space, and frowning at the sudden headrush. You blinked, catching yourself staring at the flex of his arms as he moved the heavy equipment. You didn’t realise how long you had been staring into space until Tom called your name a second time, crossing into your personal space.

“Are you okay?”

Tom’s voice was so soft you wanted to cry, fingers hovering beside your bicep, his gentle eyes demanding for you to meet them, daring for you to lie while his face is so close to yours.

Somehow, the guilt of his worry made you feel worse.

“No, I’m…I’m being stupid. Sorry, just tired.”

“Did you not sleep well?”

“No, I, uh, I slept fine. I’m not sure. Just not really feeling it.”

His face fell, but you knew he wasn’t disappointed in you. He thought he’d done something wrong. Immediately you were talking, doing anything you could to soften his guilt.

“It’s my job, though. I can do it. This is great Tom, I think it’ll be a good shoot.”

“Sweetheart –”

You sighed, eyes falling to the mattress, before forcing a smile.

“Let’s get this over with!”

He looked like he wanted to argue with you, but you forced yourself to move, pulled your feet from the floor with far more effort than it ought to take. There was some comfort in rummaging through your own bag, that piece of home, something private from the studio. You found the vibrator you’d brought, a pink bullet you used almost exclusively at home, fully charged that morning. Behind you, Tom snorted in amusement.

“Nothing here is ever charged,” you shrugged off his stare, knowing damn well you didn’t have to explain yourself.

You wanted to explain anyway though. Just in case, Tom thought anything he did wasn’t enough. He seemed perfectly fine with the criticism, though you knew he was making a mental note. He always did, then you had something to say.

Trying not to make a big deal out of it, you stripped to your underwear, folding your clothes neatly and being careful not to show any self-consciousness in your posture. You’d never been ashamed or embarrassed before now, and you weren’t about to start. Even if it was just you, and a very well, fully dressed Tom. Vibrator clutched in your fingers, you finally sat on the damn mattress.

He was the other side of the camera now, somehow both distant and a few feet away. You found yourself staring at your body in the monitor, just watching. Tom’s voice broke you out of yet another daze, and you wanted to pinch yourself. Why couldn’t you do it today?

“We don’t have to do this today, if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay I just… I forget it’s just us sometimes, you know? There’s such a production and so many people and at the end of the day…”

Tom smiled, a relief on his face that told you he had been feeling it too. That this was weird.

“I know what you mean. If you’re uncomfortable…”

“Just give me a second to warm up, we need to make something, after all.”

You stretched, not really sure why, moving a little around the nook Tom had created, shuffling pillows and practicing where you wanted to lie back, watching a monitor as Tom played with a soft lighting, twisting and turning to find the most flattering angles you could.

As he shuffled things around, Tom nodded to the spread of toys you’d set out. You’d added your vibrator to the pink line up, perfectly organised on the white towel.

“Do you want those in shot?”

You shrugged.

“Might be hot?”

He nodded silently. You moved the toys in to the frame, trying to blink away the cloud which had settled in your mind. The world felt foggy, your arms like they were moving through treacle, and you knew Tom had noticed.

As he prepared two directional microphones, you tried not to feel claustrophobic. The audio from the microphone he was pointing towards your pussy would be almost grotesque, and you fought not to shuffle further from it as you imagined Tom listening later, headphones in, as he balanced the levels between your moans and the wet sounds of you fucking yourself.

Fuck.

Why was this so different to a regular shoot?

You’d done solo shoots before. With Tom. And half-a-dozen other crew, you reminded yourself.

You caught sight of his curls above the monitor, face serious as he set everything up.

“Speak?”

“Testing, testing,” you spouted off nonsense until he offered you a thumbs up, happy with the audio.

Then there was nothing else to do.

He stood, looming over the equipment. And you looming over you.

“What’s the plan?” he asked, smiling at your frown. “You’re in charge here, I’m just the camera guy.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing he was trying to put you at ease.

“You’re the director,” you reminded him, knowing how he preened himself under the title.

You were impressed that his eyes had only roamed down your body once as he took in the shoot, glancing at the indulgent layout of toys, double checking the monitor, one headphone in. He had that stance he always adopted when he was directing, and you knew it was his favourite moment in any of this. The moment everything was pinned on him.

It happened so quickly you almost missed the moment he knelt down, blinking in surprise as his face remerged at your level beside the camera.

“Then my direction is: enjoy yourself. Forget I’m here. Let’s show them something real.”

He must have seen your shock, because it made him smile.

“Real?” you questioned, and he nodded firmly.

“I’m serious.”

For a beat, both of you were silent, his eyes meeting yours over the body of the camera.

“If you can,” he offered, “I understand it’s not always…”

You interrupted him with a hand, smiling your understanding of what he was saying, and dismissing it in one motion. The silence dragged on, and you decided to push this forwards. If you were done by lunch, Tom would probably insist on taking you somewhere nice.

“I don’t know if I should use – ” you ghosted a finger across the biggest toy, worrying a bottom lip between your teeth, “Simplicity might be key.”

“Do what you want, darling. What feels good.”

You nodded mutely, and for just a second you saw doubt flicker across his face. This was new territory, and even you weren’t sure if this was a step too far.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah. If I’m… actually… it might take a while. Let me know if I’m taking too long.”

“Take as long as you need, darling. I’ve got nowhere to be.”

Tilting your head at him a little, you realised abruptly just how intimate this was. Moreover, that you wanted it anyway. That you were about to make him watch you cum. Make him hear you, smell you. He couldn’t touch, but he could watch.

And that was enough for you to perform.

Tom gave you a countdown, red lights peppered your field of view, and he was recording. He had taken a seat on the floor behind the camera set up, one headphone in to monitor audio, waiting.

You stayed sat up, back arched a little as your hands began to caress you own body, keeping on eye on the monitor while your face was out of the shot. You rubbed along your thighs, across your stomach, teasing at the lace of your bra and the elastic of your underwear each time you passed them, trailing your fingertips. It didn’t really feel like anything, doing this to yourself, but you knew to tease the camera. Tom would cut out anything too slow.

Your gaze remained firmly on the screen as you began to make your touches firmer, more deliberate, dragging lines into your skin and flirting with the camera. You admired the soft skin of your breasts as you started to shift your bra, enjoying the stiffening of your nipples in the monitor until –

The screen went black, and you immediately glanced at Tom, frowning as you lost the visual of yourself. He met your questioning gaze sternly, eyebrows furrowed, and you remembered his direction.

“Enjoy yourself.”

With nothing left to look at you closed your eyes, feeling the blood rushing to the surface of your skin, the sensitivity of your breasts as your fingers idly danced across them. You shoved your bra down unthinkingly, wanting to feel more, rubbing at the heaviness of your breasts and wincing as you enjoyed the pleasure and pain of pinching at your nipples, teasing them to attention. You glanced your nails across them, feeling it in your core. You didn’t want to wait anymore. Fuck the cameras.

It was hard to let to, to stop the delicious feeling of your fingers on your own breasts, but you forced yourself to free one hand, shoving off the bra, desperate to feel yourself without it. You knew you were grimacing, it wouldn’t be sexy, but you didn’t care. That was Tom’s problem.

You needed to touch yourself.

One hand reached below the waistband of your underwear, seeking out your clit, guided by a familiar ache. It was all you could focus on, your other hand forgotten, cupping your breast, the sensation vague and lost as your fingers found your clit. The sensation overwhelmed you as you shifted the hood, your body beginning to produce wetness. The room was a little cold, the air relieving against the heat of your bare skin, making your nipples peak as you leant back into the nest of pillows behind you.

You felt your stomach tense, a bolt of electricity tensing the muscles up and down your body as you brushed across your clit a little too hard. Your middle finger probed your pussy experimentally, slipping inside of you, quickly joined by a second as you played with the wetness there.

One, two, three pumps of your fingers inside you was enough for you to gasp, your eyes still closed against the bright lights as focused on nothing but feeling. No more fucking around.

You reached for your vibrator, hand knocking against the thick silicone toy lined up beside it, writhing as you pressed it against the fabric covering your clit. You cycled through the settings as fast as you could, still desperate for more stimulation.

More. It was on the highest setting. You wanted more.

Without moving the vibrator you shoved your underwear off, huffing as you kicked them away, not caring where they landed. The tip of the toy nudged against your clit exquisitely, and you froze.

There.

You thought about Tom watching you. The hot blood coursing through your body, the line up of toys just waiting to be shoved inside of you. The sensitivity of you clit as you held it against that perfect point. The air against your dripping, aching pussy. The muscles starting to clench, the rhythm of your body. Building, building, you didn’t fight the feeling.

This was what you wanted.

That warm familiarity of the vibrator on your clit, the runaway train of your thoughts, it was enough to drive you over the edge. You hadn’t realised the keening, groaning noises you were making until you heard them, pleasure leaving your lips as an afterthought.

You felt empty.

Blindly you reached out, sticky fingers finding the shaft of a toy you wanted, a smaller one you could take right now. A dollop of lube in the palm of your hand was all it would take, a few pumps of the toy enough to coat it, the excess lubricant smeared on the sheets. You didn’t care. Not your problem.

Without conscious thought, you were still rubbing yourself, two fingers absently making circles against your clit as you fidgeted to be able to take the dildo. You didn’t bother preparing yourself anymore. You were wet enough, and you wanted the stretch.

Needed it.

Needed to feel full.

You shoved the toy into yourself, gritted teeth and your spare hand grasping at your breast, giving the nipple a sharp pinch to interrupt the overwhelming feeling of that silicone pushing inside of you. Your walls were stretched open, a gasp reaching your ears as you felt a nudge against your cervix.

It wasn’t enough. You felt wild, desperate, as you sloppily pulled the toy from yourself and shoved it back in, clenching down and still needing more.

Your fingers found a larger toy, arousal and lubricant smearing across your body as you discarded the dildo which you had just been fucking yourself with, leaving it somewhere on the mattress, forgotten in favour of the bigger option. It was thick. Maybe, in your right mind, you wouldn’t have considered it. But instead you coated it in lube, squirting the clear liquid on to the tip and rubbing it down the toy, focusing on nothing but the need pulsing through your pelvis.

On the emptiness inside you, begging, pleading to be filled. It hurt, how much you wanted to be stretched out, to feel something pounding into you. You felt animalistic, desperate for anything. The last of your conscious thought was occupied by the need in your clit, the demand for friction, and you just didn’t have enough hands. It was impossible to think. When you finally sank down on the fake cock, leaning back, legs apart, gaze focused on nothing but your own swollen pussy, it was a relief. You gasped, then sighed, pushing another inch of the toy inside you. You felt stretched already, split in half, but you kept going. With each thrust, you took the silicone further inside of you until you felt the dull ache of the toy going too far.

Finally, that emptiness felt sated, and you stayed still, too stuffed to risk moving and too blissed out to care.

But you needed more.

Each bear down made the toy threaten to shift, and you didn’t have the brain power to thrust and pay attention to your aching clit. You moved gingerly, grabbing a pillow to straddle, holding the toy inside you as you hunted for your vibrator.

You couldn’t even lean too far to reach it, you were so full it ached. And it was delicious.

With the smooth plastic finally in your hand you leant back, ready to bring yourself to another orgasm. With a blink, you realised there was a tear tracking its way down your cheek, and you smiled to yourself.

And then you accidentally looked forwards. Your eyes met Tom’s. The camera. The lights. The switched off monitor.

You wanted to cry.

He was watching you directly, with those sharp blue eyes, one finger resting along his jawline, his usual calculating, wide stance replaced with one knee hugged to his chest as he sat on the concrete floor. He was watching you.

You. Stuffed full, straddling a pillow on the bed Tom had fucking made, covered in a mix of lube and your own arousal. That strange feeling from earlier came back full force.

God. He had seen you actually come. Without acting or cheesy lines or clever angles to hide the worst of your O-face. You could pretend to come, tell your male co-stars what a good time you’d had, follow direction, anything. But this was too real. And it was just you and Tom. In the corner of a huge studio, bright lights and cameras and –

Had he called cut? You wouldn’t have heard. Did he realise you’d lost control? That you had forgotten you were supposed to be acting and been so desperate and –

“You’re doing amazing.”

You smiled at him weakly, gasping as the toy inside you nudged your cervix as you fidgeted. You didn’t realise that you were awaiting direction until he spoke.

“Another one?”

His voice was a little throatier than usual, though you supposed he’d been quiet for a while. His eyes kept drifting from your face, and you wondered if he felt as uncomfortable as you did.

You nodded silently, closing your eyes, listening to the increasing pitch of the vibrator as you turned it up to its maximum setting.

The minutes stretched on as your orgasm built, little raises and falls of your hips accompanying that insistent buzz of your favourite vibrator, the toy inside you starting to ache as it stretched you apart. It was impossible to forget that Tom was watching you now. That his piercing gaze was on you. As a matter of professionalism, you tried to avoid looking up. You ignored the camera, fucked your body in the way you knew it would respond to, only half-faking it as you came a second time.

You moaned and groaned and gave the camera an indulgent few seconds of overstimulation, the vibrator pushed against your clit to make you writhe and shake. You pulled yourself off the dildo in a mess of arousal, played with yourself, showing off how stretched out you were.

Fingers swirling in the arousal inside of you, you sighed in relief when Tom called, “cut.”

Dropping the toy, you pulled your legs together, ignoring him for a second as you took deep breaths. Taking stock of your body, the residual pleasure and pain and stickiness. A lot of stickiness.

Tom took pity on you, shifting a softbox so you had a clear path out of the corner you were hemmed into.

“Go and have a shower,” he told you, the most softly-spoken command you’d ever heard.

Nonetheless, you followed orders. On weak legs, you indulged in as long as shower as you dared, cleaning up and then just… waiting. Trying to avoid the real world. When you finally opened the door, wrapped in a robe, you found your clothes folded outside. Tom was nowhere to be seen, but you thanked the universe for him anyway.

When you re-emerged you were fully dressed and feeling a lot more like yourself again. And, actually, quite proud of yourself. Tom’s busyness told you everything had been recorded properly, equipment moved and the mattress bare, leant against the wall.

“All good?” you asked, more to announce your presence than anything. He stopped moving, offering you a gentle smile.

“Perfect! I think it’ll be great. Do you want to go get lunch somewhere? To celebrate?”

Predictable as anything. The thought made your heart swell with fondness for him, his head tilt and excitement, his strange place here.

“I think I’ll just go home,” you tried to smile apologetically, but you could still feel the ache inside you, the dull oversensitivity of your clit against your underwear.

The embarrassment and excitement fighting in the fit of your stomach.

Tom nodded, clear understanding on his face. He held the door for you on the way out.

“Are you coming in tomorrow?” he asked, quietly, like you might run off if he asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you then.”

Your bedroom fell silent as the vibrator stopped, the battery finally flat. You whined in disappointment, desperate for another orgasm. Your fingers replaced it instantly, rubbing, desperately pulling more wetness from the arousal weeping from you, but you were too oversensitive.

Panting, vision blurry, your thighs aching, you blinked away tears. You glanced at the nightstand. Tom hadn’t text you.

When you woke up the next morning your phone was dead. You’d forgotten to charge it last night, and leaving it in your room to charge offered a strangely peaceful morning. You had a few hours before you would be expected at the studio, and no work to do before then.

You indulged in spending time getting ready for the day, making a decent breakfast, doing a few chores you’d been putting off.

Processing what had happened yesterday.

In the clear light of day, you wondered if you ought to be embarrassed for the way you’d completely lost yourself at the shoot. The more you thought about it, the more you thought about it, the more you rationalised at you’d just followed Tom’s direction. Done what he’d asked. It had been intense, for sure, but you’d done what he’d asked. If anything you regretted the moment he’d had to speak, losing your nerve. You hoped he didn’t want pick-up shots today, you weren’t sure your body could take any more.

You thought about the night before, clearing up the scattered clothes and charging the vibrator you’d left strewn beside your bed, more ashamed of the images which had been conjured by your overactive imagination in the late-night privacy of your bedroom. You hated that everything you imagined was involved blue eyes. Distinctive curls. Pulling buttons from smart shirts and kissing along sharp cheekbones. Poor Tom. He didn’t need you overstepping that mark. And yet when you had closed your eyes, imagined you were under those lights again, all you could imagine was Tom. His creative gaze. Listening to the smoothness his voice leant to everything he said as he instructed you even more intimately than usual.

As you switched your phone back on, you forced the thoughts from your mind. They couldn’t follow you to the studio. The two of you had built something good. Something successful. The studio was doing well, you were both saving money away for the future, building your brands. You couldn’t screw that up now by imagining him like that. He trusted you. You trusted each other. Relied on one another.

You wondered if he ever fucked other actresses.

#lord forigve me for i have have rpf x reader #13atoms #fic #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston fic #tom hiddleston imagine #this is a weird one #i think 2 more chapters maybe #lmk what you think!

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cafedanslanuit · 3 years

Text

♡ f l u f f v e m b e r 2 0 2 0 ♡

♡ week one — kageyama tobio | long-distance relationship

♡ summary — getting into a relationship with kageyama was close to impossible, that you knew. nevertheless, that didn’t stop you from developing feelings for him and eventually becoming more than friends. he was constantly training and didn’t have a lot of time to spend by your side, but once kageyama found himself remembering your laugh on his way home, he decided to do whatever it took to make the relationship work.

♡ playlist

the moon song - beabadoobee & oscar lang home - bruno major blueberry eyes - max & suga

♡ masterlist ♡

Every morning, Kageyama wakes up at the same hour. He puts on his running shoes, grabs his phone, keys and earphones and hits the streets. It’s been his routine since he started playing volleyball. While he ran, Kageyama preferred to keep his mind focused in his steps, the weight he was putting on his heels and toes, his heart rhythm and his mind replaying the sets he had done the day before. He didn’t see running as something he did before he trained, but as part of the training itself. Kageyama was very adamant against listening to music or a podcast during his morning runs.

Everything changed after he met you.

Kageyama puts on his earphones and goes through his mail inbox. Like most days, he sees your name on his most recent unopened email. He downloads the audio attachment and presses play before shoving his phone back to his pocket.

“Good morning Tobio!”

His lip twitches upward.

“So, you must be sleeping right now. Which sucks! Because I just got home from work. Yes, I got safe, don’t worry. Mika and her boyfriend dropped me at my place right now. Remember Mika, my coworker? Yeah. Hey boyfriend always picks her up when we have shifts until one in the morning and they drive me home. I’m kind of tired right now.”

Kageyama hears a long yawn on your side, followed by a thud that he imagines it’s you laying on your bed.

“Let me put on some music,” you say, and a few seconds later he listens to a tune he thinks he’s heard before. “Today’s classes were just okay. I got a grade back but it wasn’t what I expected.”

“But, what can you do?” Kageyama mouths along with your voice.

“Work was also okay. Mika and I spent most of the night talking, she had had a small fight with her boyfriend and asked me for advice. It wasn’t really a big thing, you see…”

The next few minutes, Kageyama listens to you ramble about your friend and her boyfriend, but he has to admit he is paying more attention to your voice than what you were saying. He imagines himself watching you talk and the expressions he had seen you make the first time he had seen you. The tip of your tongue sticking out between your teeth after you laughed at something you shouldn’t have laughed about, the slight pout on your lips as you talked about something you didn’t like or the attentive way your eyes fixated on him while he talked about volleyball.

“Anyway, I know you don’t really care about this,” you say. “But it’s really nice to imagine you listening to me talk during your morning runs. Is it already cold there? I hope you put something on if it is. Not trying to tell you what to do. I know you, more than anyone, take your health very seriously, but I guess I can’t help but worry,” you chuckle. You stay quiet for a moment, and Kageyama basks in the comfort your silence provides.

His mind goes back to those Sunday nights when he’s watching past games on his laptop while he’s face timing with you. You are usually taking a cup of coffee, trying to forget you’ve only slept five hours after getting home from your shift at the bar. You know he has to get to bed in a couple of hours so he can get enough rest for this Monday practice, so you treasure those small moments when the time difference and both your busy schedules let you share a moment. Kageyama’s eyes are fixated on his laptop and you take the opportunity to revise some of your lessons, most of the time finding out there was a paper due next week you had forgotten about.

Every once in a while you take a look at your phone and see Kageyama’s dark eyes glued to his laptop. You bury your nose on the Schweiden Adlers hoodie he sent you last month and even if your boyfriend’s smell has almost completely worn off, you still find comfort in wearing his clothes.

When Kageyama comes back to his house to get ready for training, your voice is no longer in his ears. You always made sure not to surpass the usual time he spends running. He takes a look at the dual clock on his phone and realizes you must be still in class, so he refrains from sending a text and hops on the shower.

The fourteen hour difference between the both of you had seemed like a wall impossible to climb. Not only that but his intense training schedule plus your uni classes and your part time job also took most of your energy and it was a rare occurrence that you could sit in front of a computer at the same time.

But the connection was something he had never experienced before. He had been invited to a foreign university overseas for a tournament. The day before it started, the team had gone to the campus to get to know the facilities, and after they were done, Kageyama had left them to buy something to drink from a vending machine. Not being able to find any, he asked for directions and took the elevator to the cafeteria, not noticing someone carrying a couple of books under their arms standing next to him.

Now it seemed almost fate to remember how the elevator malfunctioned and he had to spend the next two hours with you. After pressing the Emergency button and being told it would be a while, you introduced yourself with a smile. He wasn’t really enthusiastic about getting to know each other but it all changed after he mentioned he was there because of a volleyball tournament. Kageyama can still remember your eyes widening and the questions that followed, all centered about his true passion. A few minutes later, you were sitting on the floor of the elevator, while he explained in broken English every position in volleyball and what they were supposed to do. Even though you hadn’t played any sports seriously outside of school, the fact this guy was talented enough to get invited overseas to play had spiked your attention, and you asked question after question so you could understand more about volleyball.

“So the setter is basically the key player, right?” you had asked, while he scribbled on the notebook you had lent him so he could explain.

Kageyama tried not to smile. He really did.

After you asked him about the tournament schedule and wrote down the name of his team, you promised you would do your best to make it to the game. Kageyama had never really cared about people coming to his games to watch but, once he had won the first game as was leaving the court, his eyes unexpectedly met yours and he saw you waving at him for the bleachers with a smile. He nodded at you and as he disappeared through the gym door he thought maybe someone going to see his games wasn’t so bad.

One week later, Kageyama’s team had won the tournament, and since you had asked for his number while waiting inside the elevator, you offered to buy him something from the cafeteria after the final match. This time, he took the time to listen to you ramble about your career, and how enthusiastic you were about it. He didn’t understand most of the things you talked about, most of your words sounding foreign and new to him. But the one detail he did recognize at first glance was the way your pupils dilated while you spoke. Your hands moved faster than usual as you tried to explain, and you even used the salt shaker on the table as a prop to help you out. The glimmer in your eyes was the same nature as the burn he used to feel in his chest whenever he talked about volleyball. You promised to stay in contact and gave him a small but tight hug when it was his time to leave. He hoped you didn’t notice the pink tint on his cheeks before you went away.

Your love confession came two months after he was back in Japan, followed by the longest and hardest conversation the two of you had ever had. He explained his strict training schedule and you talked about your university increasing the hardness of the classes you took and how little time you had left. A long silence filled the room, and you realized maybe you should have kept the confession to yourself. It was never going to work. There were too many impediments so maybe it would have been better to push down whatever you felt. In the end, you two weren’t supposed to meet and--

“I’d like to try it.”

You can still remember the blush on his cheeks and furrowed eyebrows after blurting out those words. You smiled brightly at him and nodded, enthusiastically.

“I’d like to try too.”

It had been one year and six months since then. To find someone who not only understood his crazy schedule but was passionate about their own work felt surreal to Kageyama. Your plan was to finish your career in your home country and then move to Japan. You had been auditing the Japanese classes at your uni and taking a part time job to be able to support yourself as you settled in a new country. All of those changes meant less time to be able to talk with Kageyama as much as you did before. He assured you he understood, even if he would never admit out loud he missed you as well.

The situation prompted you to find other ways to feel close to him, hence why Kageyama woke up almost every day with a new audio file from you. You went from talking about your day to making him listen to music and even took the chance to practice your japanese. His English listening skills had also gotten better in the past year, all thanks to talking with you and how you would slow down your pace and repeat yourself if he ever needed to. While you recorded your audios after work, he usually recorded his after practice while he walked home from practice. Even if he was always a little worried about the length, you always made sure to send him messages about how happy you were to hear his voice while you ate your lunch or walked to your job after your classes.

Kageyama finishes his shower and comes back to his room. He gets ready in less than ten minutes in silence, knowing he doesn’t have any time to spare if he wants to get to the practice in time. Winter break is a month away, and he wants to give his best before he’s forced to step away for a couple of weeks. He has never liked holidays stepping in his routine, but he knows there was nothing he could do but endure and wait for his training to resume.

Before he leaves, Kageyama checks his phone again and opens the newest email.

Congratulations! Your flight booking is confirmed.

Okay, maybe he is looking forward to winter break after all.

#kageyama x reader #haikyuu x reader #fluffvember #fluffvember 2020 #kageyama tobio #kageyama tobio x reader #hq x reader #hq kageyama #kageyama #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq!!

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shuxjodie · 3 years

Text

Did Shuichi Really keep his distance from Jodie for her Safety?

We all know Shuichi would have done that but are there any clues in Manga?

Yes!

ch-337

Here it is shown that Shuichi is keeping an eye on Mouri agency after Vermouth stole the files Kogoro solved. FBI was keeping an eye on him because they thought vermouth was also targetting him.

But it had another purpose.

Ch- 342

Here vermouth clearly says that behind stealing the files had another purpose. That is to know the number of FBI agents, their address and the mean to contact them. Through them she figured out about the plan too. And she came at the port two hours ago and made them fool by disguising like Jodie.

Now Shuichi was there at the Mouri agency too, but he made sure that Vermouth won't notice his presence at all. She was clearly surprised and scared as well, when she saw him. 👇

Now Shuichi did that because, Vermouth would lower her guard while on her mission. She was nearly killed in NY because of Shuichi. So she wouldn't have taken risk to face him alone, especially after her boss warned him that he is a person they should fear from. So she would have called other members of BO for help, maybe even Gin. But since she thought that she will be facing Jodie, she didn't.

It was unplanned that Shuichi would show up. As per Jodie's plan, she will lure out Vermouth at the port and there her colleagues will be waiting to capture her. But FBI agents were fooled by Vermouth 2hours ago. Shuichi and Jodie didn't know about this. But since capturing took time, Shuichi went there to check.

So Shuichi getting exposed to Vermouth wasn't part of their plan at all.

Now this question arise-What if Shuichi did that only so that they can easily capture Vermouth.

The answer is yes!

Then what's so special about Jodie?

Now~

Ch-354

Just because he worked with some agents doens't means they're close. Here while capturing the serial killer ( Vermouth disguised) he worked with other agents too. And Camel also worked with Shuichi when they were about to capture Gin. Korn knew about Camel. Then why didn't they target Camel or anyone in those two years but him?

Before targetting anyone, one needs to confirm if they are investing their time in correct place. The closest people are targeted so that they will be easily captured. The closed ones can be manipulated easily using the reference of personal connection. For example, Mary was lured out by Vermouth, because MI16 agents spotted Tsutomu, her husband and wanted to confirm his identity. Since the relationship is personal, it comes to an emotional level for the target as well. They'll give in more easily, without any resistance ( as Shuichi said in ch-897👇) for their closed one's safety. And it's very unlikely, the agents he worked with will fall for the trap as they are trained and professionals. So capturing any FBI agent is no easy game. Now, the closest people are targeted because it's on an emotional level which is why they're easy to capture. Also it doesn't guarantee that Shuichi or anyone will give in that easily if the people captured, ain't close.

Ch- 897

From what Shuichi says, we can clearly say that Jodie was Bourbon's prime target as she won't waste time to investigate if she starts to doubt his death.

Now we know that from ch-342, Jodie said- "Shuu", infront of Vermouth. So Vermouth would have got an idea that they're close. In Japan, to call someone using their first name, one has to be really close. And she calls him using a nickname.

Gosho makes other FBI agents use Japanese honorifics, even if they are foreigners. James and Camel address almost everyone using Japanese honorifics( Akai-kun, Akai-San, Jodie-kun, Jodie-San), and in latest chapter of serial murder case of FBI agents, the two snipers were addressing Jodie as "Jodie-san". It's most likely Gosho makes everyone follow Japanese way to address others except Jodie and Shuichi. They don't do that with each other and with other FBI agents. But they address people with Japanese honorifics other than agents.

And after Shuichi faked his death, Jodie's reaction made it clear for everyone. Vermouth got the proof, while she cried in the car and when Bourbon investigated, it became specific. Even bourbon suspected if they were in a relationship. It was Bourbon's assumption that he made on the reaction he saw.

Now this question arise- Why bourbon targeted Camel? Mainly because he was spotted with James and Jodie near the Bank. Bourbon didn't know that he worked with Shuichi 2 years ago. But as I said just because one worked with other, don't make them close and after that incident they didn't work together either. Since Camel was also with Jodie in Beika mall, he investigated his reaction too.

Now what can we assume from this part about Vermouth?

What if she would have tried to investigate the close people of Shuichi after his cover was blown up? Well she did that with Jodie, then why not with Shuichi, whom they desperately wanted to kill in those two years.

Let's have a look-

By disguising and infiltrating anywhere to investigate as much as she wants also include to know who are the people Jodie was close with, the places she visits, people she meets, hobbies etc. Well she can hide her real face to investigate in surroundings. This makes it easier for her to conduct investigations and leaving no clue behind, as no one could find the actual person who was carrying out the investigation in the first place. So, Vermouth suspected Jodie when she in NY not when she was in Japan. In japan, FBI would have used codenames instead of actual names. And it was after Sharon Vinyard's death when Jodie kept her eyes on Chris Vinyard. So, Vermouth would have grasped that she was being monitored so shy must have investigated Jodie in NY. But fortunately, she didn't find anything about her relationship with Shuichi.

Ch-1048

Now what she did in Mary's case? At first when BO knew about Tsutomu Akai, Vermouth would have investigated about him, his whereabouts, his family etc. And since she planned to lure out Mary from the beginning and infiltrate MI16, she would have tried to get information about Tsutomu's voice, how he generally behaved, the way he communicates, his body language etc, from surrounding too. As a top class actress, who won Oscar, she won't leave these important matters. She visited Dr. Aride a few times before she wanted to kill him so that she'll get enough information about how to play him. So she would have collected enough of information, so that she can disguise herself as Tsutomu successfully, in order to infilter MI16, without leaving much room for suspicion. The fact that he met no one in those 17years and the excuse of head injury makes it easier for Vermouth though. But becoming total different person will definitely lead to a big threat as she would be infiltering a National Intelligence Agency. So she needs to be careful to match her personality with the actual Tsutomu as much as possible.

Detective Conan- The great detective turned small

Now because of this, the mystery behind that why Shuichi chose to sit at the back instead of driving himself gets solved.

They were already in USA so capturing Vermouth was easier than foreign land but they didn't have any proof against her. So Shuichi let her drive keeping himself hidden at the back. Just like-why not follow her? It was safer as he didn't reveal himself but he was still with her.

But since Shuichi already had this information that she'll head towards Japan, so he didn't drive himself to catch her then and there. In Japan they had this plus point- they can catch her with proof, that is while she try to eliminate Sherry. So they will get a solid proof against her.

Well this special was a remake of the first CANON episode. So technically, this scene should match with the actual story. And it does!

Vermouth knew about Jodie in NY.

Shuichi got lead that they should carryout their further mission in Japan, that is after Akemi's death.

And lastly he was there with Jodie but Vermouth didn't get a clue about his presence at all because in the Halloween party, she was shocked to see Shuichi.

So isn't it fare to question that Vermouth would have tried the same with Shuichi? Disguising herself to keep her identity safe while investigating about him, that is, to gather information about him, his close people,his family etc. But she never found anything. As I said trapping close people to lure him out will be the most easiest way out. But BO had no idea whatsoever.

Now there is this question- How Vermouth knew about Masumi? It was bourbon who knew about her because he met her 4 years ago when she met Shuichi on station, when he scolded her( Ch--936-938). So Bourbon must have informed about her to Vermouth. Mostly after Conan was kidnapped and Subaru, Bourbon and Masumi chased the culprit to save him.(ch-800) Vermouth had no idea who is Masumi when she went to kill Mary.

Now she used her disguising capabilities to-

Investigate Jodie's identity and find information about her.

She also collected information about the members of Akai family after Tsutomu disappeared. Then she lured out Mary to kill her so that she'll infilter into MI16 as Tsutomu. She would have tried to collect information about his personality too.

So, she would have definitely used her disguising skills to investigate about Akai Shuichi! But she never found anything about his closed ones in FBI.

So we can clearly say that breaking up with Jodie had another purpose(as everyone expected). Jodie's safety and so that he won't get blackmailed either to surrender. It's the same reason he kept distance during those two years except they started working with each other on Vermouth's case but he still tried to hide himself during their mission. Because in those two years they never targeted Jodie.

Well Shuichi started dating Jodie when he just entered into FBI, as Gosho said. At that time he was 24-25 and then Jodie was 20-21 so she clearly wasn't a FBI agent at that time. But when he broke up at 27, maybe she got newly into FBI or she was still training in Quantico. Well she would be 23, which is the minimum age to get into FBI. So FBI agents would not have known anything about them. And once Gosho said that Shuichi would take his girlfriend on long drives so maybe they didn't visit crowded places that much. Which decreased the amount of getting information about them even more.

Now in between Vermouth arc and Kir arc, why BO didn't targeted Jodie? There are many reasons not to do that-

Shuichi wouldn't have stayed in same place after getting exposed, as BO would target him. So they would have thought he and FBI went back to the States.

Mostly FBI would have returned to States as they didn't have permission to conduct the investigation in Japan at that time.

Since FBI would have no lead to pursue BO in Japan, they would have left Japan as clearly in Kir arc, Gin was surprised that FBI showed up at the end.

Since Gin and other members were shocked to see Akai Shuichi near Mouri agency, so it's clear that they didn't have that much idea if FBI agents were still there in Japan and would track them down. They didn't have any backup plan nor they expected this in the first place.

That's how it gets settled that why Jodie was never targeted before but after Shuichi's fake death.

So Shuichi did keep his distance from Jodie, for her safety and it's proven from manga!

❤

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