#it's just me holding back and trying not to say that this doesn't happen in the book

[sanguineterrain]

hi sanne!!! my mind has been rotting with assistant!reader x dick, and i literally can’t get it out 😭. i'm in love with your writing and reblog everything! thank you so much, have a great day!!

cute idea! I gave it a little twist ;) hope u enjoy!

dick grayson x gn!assistant!reader. flirting, secret identities, sparring.

****

Bruce Wayne is evasive on a good day and downright invisible on a bad one.

So when you see him down the hallway from his office, attempting to escape without being caught, you nearly trip on your feet trying to catch him.

"Mr. Wayne!"

His shoulders rise with tension. You pity the guy, you really do. Being a gazillionaire is tough.

"Mr. Wayne! Mr. Wayne, Sharon has been hounding me about the charity dinner. Please, if you could just go to this one dinner... you haven't been to an event all month."

And you're getting the brunt of it from all of WE's clients.

Bruce turns, his smile looking more like a grimace. "Hn. Hello. A dinner? I was sure I had a shareholder meeting that day—"

"All month? B, what happened to the two event minimum? That's your rule."

The new voice comes from behind you. Dick Grayson walks down the hallway, wearing jeans that probably cost as much as your monthly rent.

"Mr. Grayson," you say, nodding primly. "How are you?"

You shift the files in your hands as they start to slip. Dick is quick to catch them, balancing the stack.

"We've been through this," he says with a smile. "You know you can call me Dick."

Yes, you've been through this. Every time Dick shows up to Wayne Enterprises, he tells you to call him by his first name. And every time after that, you call him Mr. Grayson.

"Right..." you say, taking back the files. You turn to Bruce. "Mr. Wayne, if you would just consider the dinner..."

Dick gives Bruce a severe look. "B, this is ridiculous. You're such a stickler for rules and yet—"

"Oh, look at the time." Bruce scoots past you and Dick. "I've got that meeting with Lucius. Where does the day go? Please tell Sharon I'll get back to her."

You can't understand how a guy whose biggest exertion is made by playing tennis at the country club can slip through your fingers so fast. He's around the corner before you can blink. You sigh.

"Don't worry," Dick says. "I'll get him to go. And I'll get one of my siblings to tag along to make sure he doesn't duck out early."

You smile briefly. "I'd appreciate that, Mr. Grayson."

"Dick. So!" He trails behind you as you make your way back to your office. "Do you have any plans for tonight?"

"Working."

"O-kay..." Dick jogs ahead to hold the door open for you. You push through, trying not to frown. "What about tomorrow night?"

You toss your scarf on the hook. It ends up on the floor. You ignore it.

"Still working."

"How 'bout I ask B to give you the day off then?"

Now it's your turn to give a severe look. "If you're implying that I'd be obligated to go out with you in return for a day off, you've completely misjudged my character, Mr. Grayson."

"Whoa, okay." He holds up his hands. "You're right, that didn't come out right. How about I get him to give you a day off, no strings attached?"

You dump your files and sit at your desk. "That's at your discretion."

"Hey." Dick leans on your desk, puppy eyes at full power. "Maybe we've gotten off on the wrong foot. Did I do something that put you off? I'd like you to tell me if I have. I hope the fact that I'm Bruce's son isn't stopping you from being honest."

You put down your pen and look at him. "Look. You seem like a nice guy, and you're handsome with a rich dad to boot. But I'm just not available, okay? You're looking for someone to go to Tahiti with. I respect that. But I'm not that person. I'm just not interested in that."

"You think I'm handsome?"

You sigh and open your laptop.

"Right! Sorry. Not the point." Dick sinks into a crouch next to you. He pulls the oddest poses sometimes, like he's made of rubber bands. "Okay. You're not looking for a trip to Tahiti. Got it. I don't take many vacations anyway. So how about having a friend?"

"And why would you want to be my friend? I'm just some assistant."

"Well, I..." Dick scratches his neck. "I like you. Is that so hard to believe?"

Very. But okay. You can throw him a bone.

"I guess not," you say.

Dick frowns. "You don't believe me."

How does he do that?

"Can I please get back to work?" you ask, only a little worried about being rude. "I'm sorry, I'm just very busy."

His face falls briefly before he stands and nods.

"Of course. No problem. I'll see you around? And I'll get B to go to that dinner."

"Thank you."

You don't notice his lingering looks, or the fact that he picks up your scarf and places it on the hook on his way out.

****

3...17...64.

The safe clicks. You smirk. Easy peasy. The hotshots always use their own birthdays for combinations. Predictable. You bet Bruce Wayne does the same.

It's a blessing that you were able to duck out early today. Bruce gave you the rest of the afternoon off. You suspect that was due to some outside meddling.

You take out the files from D.A. Colson's safe. You always say that if crooked district attorneys don't want their documents stolen, they shouldn't put them where anybody can find them.

...Maybe you were too harsh with Dick. He's sweet, no doubt. It was nice of him to get you off early. But you kind of feel like he'd take issue with the fact that you spend your weeknights breaking and entering.

"You know, cracking safes is already Catwoman's shtick," a voice says behind you. "You might wanna find a new gimmick."

A thrill shoots through you. You toss your head as you turn, leaning against the open safe.

"Catwoman steals diamonds." You hold up the documents. "I just steal files."

"Files from the district attorney," Nightwing says, crossing his arms.

"The dirty district attorney," you correct.

"I'm supposed to let you off on a technicality?" He sounds amused.

Your shrug one shoulder, a little coy. "You could. I hear you're the nice one."

He laughs. Nightwing has a pretty smile. It's the first thing you'd noticed about him.

"Oh, yeah? Anything else you've heard?"

"Plenty. But I'm in a bit of a hurry tonight, Wing. As much as I enjoy our little chats..."

You dart to the window. Nightwing easily blocks your exit.

You're not quite sure what overtakes you when you run into Nightwing. Ignoring the fact that he manages to be the one to chase you almost every time (and what a chase it is), there's a tension between you. Or maybe it's just one-sided on your part. It certainly doesn't help that he's got a nice smile and bouncy hair.

"You know I can't let you go," he says, hands on his hips. "Put it down."

And he's extremely good at what he does.

"Make me," you say.

He never uses his escrima sticks, which you know is a courtesy to you. But that doesn't mean you can't hold your own.

"Alright," Nightwing says, smirking slightly.

He takes three steps, blocks your immediate kick, and takes the documents.

Something swoops in your belly. You kind of get why Catwoman exclusively fights Batman. Once you go bat, you never go back.

"Got them," he says cheerily. "Now what?"

You throw a glass bird tchotchke at him from Colson's desk. He catches it with his free hand, but it's enough of a distraction for you to slide into his legs. Nightwing stumbles less than you would like, but you push him down against the desk.

He grunts as he hits the wood, then rolls you over in the next breath, hands catching your wrists.

"Stealing... makes you no better... than Colson," he says, hair falling over his mask. All of him is pretty, really. It's too bad he's so firmly on the blind side of justice.

"If these documents are released, Colson will win his case and bury his own crimes in the process. Is that what you want? Another crook in court?" you ask.

Nightwing frowns. "You know that's not fair. We can't toss a case for the sake of putting Colson behind bars. And if we pick and choose whose lives to play with, what gives us the right to carry out justice?"

"I dunno, Wing," you say, a little breathless. Nightwing's hips are politely shifted off of yours, chest to yours. "Seeing you go rogue would be kind of exciting."

You can tell he's glaring at you. "Not in your dreams."

"Been in my dreams, have you?"

You gain enough leverage to push Nightwing off of you. He's back on you immediately, trapping you against the wall.

"How is doing something like this not crooked?" he asks.

You scoff. "It's for charity. I'm donating residents to the county jail."

You twist in Nightwing's hold and land a kick. In the three seconds he's distracted, you grab the documents. No sooner do you do that does Nightwing tackle you. The documents slip out of your hand.

"I can do this all night," he says, knee wedged between your legs. "Might as well yield."

"Yield? You're not even playing at your full strength, hotshot."

He smiles. "No, I'm playing nice."

You roll your eyes. "Well, play fair."

And then you jump out of the window.

Your tuck and roll isn't the worst but it's not the best. Especially when Nightwing neatly lands a few feet away without a wince.

"Showoff," you say.

"Give me the documents," he says. "I want to put Colson away, too. But this isn't how to do it. He's still a civilian, and his client's life matters."

You get up and wobble on a loose brick on the edge. Stupid historical buildings.

You're desperate. If he keeps this up, you're bound to land yourself a night in the police station and lose the documents.

So you dust yourself off. And you stop. Right at the edge of the roof.

"Okay," you say.

Nightwing takes a careful step forward. "Okay?"

You toss the documents to him. He catches them in surprise.

"You're surrendering?" he asks.

You shrug. "Like you said: you can do this all night. And I guess there are better ways to catch Colson. More permanent ways."

He tilts his head. "You're not gonna kill him, are you?"

"No! Jesus, man. Ye of little faith."

"I'm just trying to understand why you surrendered."

You sigh. "Because you always win anyway. You're a better fighter than me. And I'm cornered. I just feel like cutting my losses early. You're a lot more convincing than Batman."

"Is that so?"

"Oh, yeah. I much prefer you chasing me."

"Uh-huh." He nods towards the building. "Come on, then."

"Okay, sure."

You take a step. And you fall.

The brick is loose under your foot. It doesn't take much for you to keep going.

Panic surges through you, but that only solidifies your acting.

"Wing!" you cry, toppling over the edge.

"Shit!"

Nightwing lunges and grabs you by your waist, then uses momentum to haul you both to safety. His cheek against yours for a moment, body pressed to yours. It really is a damn shame he's such a Boy Scout.

You knock him in the stomach and snatch the documents, then separate from his grip. You watch his face contort in realization as you land and bolt.

"That wasn't playing nice or fair!" he yells, landing on the opposite side.

You're already gone, laughter echoing.

#dick Grayson x reader #dick Grayson x you #Nightwing x reader #Nightwing x you #Nightwing fanfiction #nightwing x y/n #dick Grayson fanfiction #dick Grayson imagine #dc fanfiction #batman fanfiction #inbox #blurb

[auteurdelabre]

A LITTLE SUN PART 7 (part I) Dieter Bravo x f!Reader

rating: 18+

tags: SMUT. Penetration, Oral (m and f receiving), use of 'daddy' (but you ain't into it), use of 'baby', Dieter being Dieter, fluff, like such tooth-rotting sweetness its almost gross, idiots in love, pregnancy, talk of pregnancy body changes/self esteem, love love love, family issues, mentions of parental death.

a/n: Tumblr is dumb and won't let me post the entire chapter. ARGH. So below is part one.

series masterlist

You stir early the next morning, feeling strangely warm. You blink slowly awake, starting when you see realize you're not alone in the bed. Someone is behind you. 

You glance over your shoulder to see Dieter wearing his sleep mask over his eyes, one that says "#passedout”. Something he got in a gift back from some airline launch.  His arm is draped over your midsection, his gentle snores stirring the hair at your neck. He’s still partially dressed in his clothes.

A mixture of joy and confusion overruns your body. You feel your son flutter under Dieters’ palm splayed protectively over your midsection. 

"Dieter? Are you awake?" 

He doesn't reply right away and you don't press it. He must have gotten in pretty late judging by the state of him. Odds are he's exhausted and you want him to catch up on his rest. Something must have happened with Mia to have him jetting home all of a sudden.  

You consider slipping out of the bed, but the feeling of Dieter's body curled around yours makes you feel so cared for. His cologne and the scent of faded cigarettes surround you and while it should repulse you, there’s something about it that soothes you. You settle in, snuggling back against him and dozing lightly. 

Not long after Dieter begins to stir, his squinting eyes blurry and taking in your figure still in his embrace. 

"Morning baby," he murmurs, voice deep with sleep. Without thought he presses a kiss to your bare shoulder. "Sleep okay?"

You stir groggily, stretching. You want to be gentle right back to him but you don't understand why he's home all of a sudden. You're worried something happened. 

"Dieter what are you doing here? What happened to Germany? Is Mia okay?"

"Mia's fine," he assures you. 

"Then why are you home?"

"I realized I didn’t really wanna go to Germany," Dieter says simply, as if the answer were obvious. "I’ve been travelling so much this year and I just wanted to sleep in my own bed. Funny to find you in it."

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “I was gonna change the sheets before you got back. Your bed is just so much comfier.”

“Don’t I know it,” Dieter grins. You go to get up, but still when his arm remains draped over your waist. “Relax. You can stay.”

“I shouldn’t,” you say quietly.

Mia.

“You should,” Dieter insists, “especially since I brought you back a gift.”

You twist up into a seated position in the bed, your hair wild and your eyes sleepy. Dieter thinks he can see your nipples through your sleep shirt and he does everything in his power not to touch them.

He pushes himself out of the bed, padding out to his suitcase and returning moments later. You take in his mussed hair and full mouth and try very hard not to imagine how both would feel under your fingertips.

"For your birthday," he tells you handing you the small box before crawling back under the covers, sitting next to you. He sees the goosebumps breaking out over your bare legs and he throws the comforter over you, pressing your sleep warmed body against his.

You’re still staring at the box.

"I got it before I left,” Dieter prompts, holding back a yawn. “It’s from Prague.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

He gives you a look before rolling his eyes. “Just open it.”

You do, feeling your breath leave you when you see the simple but gorgeous tennis bracelet resting inside. Brilliant diamonds are encrusted over the intricate design, offset by a delicate lobster clasp.

"Jesus Dieter," you breathe holding the bracelet up to the light and watching it sparkle. "It's stunning."

"Least I could do for my baby mama," Dieter says, trying to hide the pleased grin from his face.

"This must have cost a fortune."

Dieter shrugs. He hates talking about money so you don't press it. You consider telling him you can’t accept it, but he looks so delighted with your awe that you can’t help but give a breathless giggle as you thrust it at him.

"Can you help me put it on?"

"Now?"

"Yeah now," you say holding you wrist out to him.

"This isn't the sort of thing you wear all the time," Dieter tells you as his wide fingers struggle with the delicate clasp.

"This is the nicest piece of jewelry I'll ever own," you state firmly. "I'm gonna wear it every fucking day, not hide it away in some box and only take it out on holidays. Beautiful things like this are meant to be enjoyed."

Dieter hums a response, fingers ghosting over your wrist as he secures the lobster clasp. His fingers linger on your wrist, tracing the soft skin there. He feels his chest grow warm when he sees the smile on your face as you twist your wrist to see the bracelet from all angles.

“Thank you so much," you say, smile so wide you feel like it'll split your face. "I love it."

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, a hand coming to cup your cheek before he can stop himself. You lean into his touch, eyes unfocussed before you seem to snap back to yourself. You pull back, eyes on your lap.

“Wasn’t Mia upset you left?”

“At first,” Dieter shrugs, snatching his hand back. He tells you that he told Mia he had to do some last minute interview back here that he forgot about. That he would join her in a few days..

But that’s not the truth.

As soon as you hung up on him all Dieter could think of was that you were here alone on your birthday and he couldn’t get back here to you soon enough.

Mia had seen it so clearly in the anxious way he got his belongings together, the way he was already scrambling out of line and telling her he was leaving. Before he could kiss her cheek and slide by her, Mia had taken his hand in hers stopping him.

"Dee, this is ridiculous.”

"What?"

"You just got off the phone with your PA and you're beside yourself." 

"It's just the baby," Dieter lied. "I'm concerned."

Mia suddenly looked anxious. "Is she hurt? Is the baby hurt?"

"No not like that, it's just it's her birthday and I wrote the fucking date down wrong and it's her first birthday alone without her dad and I should be there you know? I just... She's pretending that she's fine but I can hear it in her voice. She's upset."

Mia had a strange look on her face as she watched her boyfriend card his hands anxiously through his tousled hair.

"That has nothing to do with the baby, Dee." 

Dieter flushed, wishing he had something to take the edge off. He looked at Mia with a wince, seeing the wisdom in her light eyes. 

"Dieter, it's so obvious you're in love with her."

Dieter swallowed and Mia watched as he absently picked at a loose thread on his sweater. His soulful eyes darted back to her face, emotional. 

"Mia, I wasn't lying about how I feel about you."

"I believe you," Mia nodded, giving him a sympathetic look. "Really, I do. But I'm no one's second choice.”

"You weren't a second choice," Dieter insisted honestly. "I really like you."

"Is that why we haven't slept together yet?"

Dieter couldn’t meet her eyes. "I didn't want to rush things like I usually do."

Mia gave him a stern look, her hand squeezing his. 

"Dee." 

How could he explain that it didn't feel right going to bed with Mia knowing that you were somewhere in the world without him? How could he explain to his girlfriend that being with her felt like cheating on you even though you’d made no attempt at reciprocating his romantic overtures?

"She doesn't feel the same as me," Dieter finally admitted, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He felt pathetic saying it out loud. 

"Even if she doesn't Dieter, it doesn't stop how you feel about her." Mia swallowed. "Be honest, right now if you could be anywhere, where would it be? Here with me going on a romantic vacation? Or back in LA with her?"

Dieter couldn’t even blink before he was assaulted with the image of you snuggled up against him on the couch at home. Your head nestled against his chest, the sensation of your warm body pressing against his. 

Mia could already see that he was a million miles away as he considered this. The twitch in his hands as he reached for his phone told her everything she needed to know. Dieter finally focused back on Mia and his large eyes were glossy. 

"I need to go."

"I know."

Dieter paused, eyes going owlish in his face. "Do you hate me?"

"Not at all." Mia gave him a genuine smile. "You were a wonderful boyfriend in so many ways. You never pressured me to do anything, you were supportive, and you were caring. That's how I know you'll be a great dad."

Dieter felt tears prick the back of his eyes. He gathered her into a tight hug, his chin on her shoulder. Mia shot him one of her cryptic smiles before kissing his cheek gently.

“I had a really nice time with you, Dee. Hopefully we work together again soon. And if I can be honest, I think she’s awesome. And contrary to what she says, I think she’s the one that brings out the best in you.”

And then she was gone. Heading back into the line loading onto the plane as people shyly came up to ask for her autograph. The last thing Dieter remembers is the soft smile and wave she threw him before he was running out of the airport.

Home to you.

And now you’re here in his arms and he knows he made the right decision. Even if this is all it ever is; you in his orbit, nearby. You look at the bracelet a moment longer before your eyes are back on his face.

"Did you come back because of my birthday, Dieter?"

Dieter feels his heart begin to pick up the pace as he stares back at you.

"And what if I told you that I did?

You say nothing at first, but your eyes go soft.

“I would say I’m really touched,” you finally murmur. “And I would say that this is all I wanted for my birthday.”

“A bracelet?” Dieter jokes, even as his breath leaves him.

“No,” you say with an indulgent smile. “You here with me and Bubble.”

He fights every urge in his body to kiss you because that’s not what you need right now. Right now it’s a sentimental moment. You’re mourning your father, you’re feeling emotional and he doesn’t want to capitalize on that. He doesn’t want to turn your vulnerability into something about him and how he feels.

Instead he balances his forehead against yours, his large palm falling lightly over your stomach. Both of you have your eyes closed, but Dieter can imagine what a picture of domesticity this is. Both sets of eyes closed, foreheads touching, his hand on your belly. It makes his heart swell with a different kind of love.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

When you finish showering and pulling on a summer dress that covers your bump you head into the kitchen, following the sound of buzzing and Dieter swearing. When you come around the corner you try not to laugh at the sight of him standing at the blender with blue lumps all over his clothing.

“Dieter what the fuck?”

"I wanted to make you a smoothie like Petra does but I've never done it by myself before and the stupid fucking thing exploded all over me."

Your hands go to his collar, swiping some of the yogurt and berry mixture from his cheek. You pop it into your mouth and hum appreciatively.

"Mmm blueberry, my favorite,” you grin before moving him out of the way with a gentle tap of your hip against his. He watches you place the blueberries and everything else into the blender. He feels like a moron when you affix the lid before starting to blend it properly. 

“So what do you feel like doing today birthday girl?”

“Dieter you’re here and you already got me the nicest gift,” you tell him over the hum of the blender. “I don’t need anything else.”

“Pffft,” Dieter rolls his eyes. “Birthday’s are a chance to get spoiled.”

“I’m already spoiled and my birthday was yesterday.”

“Don’t care.”

“I think you should give Magda and Petra the day off.”

“That’s not a gift for you.”

“They work hard to keep this place up, Dieter. And now they have to take me into account.”

“Fine fine. They can have the day off with pay. Now either you think of something you want or I’m gonna decide for you and it’ll be something fucking insane.”

You gurgle a laugh, pouring your drink into the waiting cup. You take a deep pull, blue coating your upper lip as you look thoughtfully off into the distance.

“Okay. I know what I want.”

Two hours later the two of you are walking into the oldest cinema in LA. He’s wearing sunglasses and an old baseball hat. You’re wearing a beanie and oversized glasses as well.  He fights every impulse to take your hand in his, deciding he is content just with the sight of your bracelet dangling off your wrist. It glints in the sunlight along with the ring from Ireland you’ve never taken off.

Dieter loves seeing you in the bracelet. Loves seeing the jewelry be bought you wrapped around your wrist and digit. Loves that pieces of him touch your skin every day.  "Two for braune Augen please," you tell the bored looking girl behind the counter. She doesn't even look up from the till just rings you up and hands you two tickets.   “I didn’t even know this place was still around,” Dieter marvels as you enter the lobby. 

“Little known gem,” you tell him. The two of you line up for popcorn. The smell of the theater takes Dieter back to when he was a child, going to the movies with his mother.

Dieter buys the popcorn and red vines at your prompting, trying his hand at an Irish accent again to throw off the boy working the concession stand looking at him curiously. Thankfully this hole in the wall theatre is ancient with soiled red carpets and old seats that creak when they lower themselves into the near empty theatre.

"This stuff is terrible for you," he chides as you find your seats and throw a handful of popcorn back munching happily. 

"Talk to me when you stop smoking."

Dieter doesn't say anything after that. 

The house lights dim and the movie begins. Dramatic strings sound out as a bleak image of a man standing in a field with a gun is shown. He starts talking to the camera in German, the subtitles telling the bizarre story of a toy maker. 

You make it maybe twelve minutes into the film before you're passed out against his shoulder, breathing softly. 

"I didn't know you liked German surrealist films," Dieter murmurs.

When you don't answer he looks over at you, seeing your sleepy face. 

"Sleepy girl," Dieter murmurs with affection.

He thinks about rousing you but finds he enjoys the sensation of you leaned up against him in the darkness. It's like a date. 

You wake up around the midway mark of the film with a start. When Dieter grins over at you, you pretend like you’ve been awake the whole time.

“Woah the filming is so good,” you say holding in a yawn. Dieter’s lips twitch in amusement.

“Mhm.”

You plop back onto his shoulder and he holds in a chuckle when your snores kick up again.

The movie is good, but your presence distracts him. Why did you want to come here? He's never known you as an art house film fan. He watches a moment longer before it suddenly hits him. He realizes now why you’re here in this little theatre in the middle of the day.

Because he told you he misses it. That his mother used to take him and that it reminds him of her.

You did this for him. It’s your birthday and you did something for Dieter.  He takes your limp hand in his, lacing your fingers with his own before resting both on his knee. You continue to sleep on beside him. 

Finally the movie ends and the soundtrack is all high pitched strings which bring you out of your nap. You raise your head, thankful you didn’t drool.

 “That was good,” you tell him with a sleepy purr to your voice. “Better than I thought it’d be.”

Dieter is looking at you from the corner of his eyes, his head bowed. The house lights have come up and the few patrons that remain have left. The cinema is empty and Dieter can’t find it in himself to move.

“You brought me here because I said ages ago that I missed going to the movies. And because it reminds me of my mom.”

You shrug, caught. Your cheeks pink as he continues to stare at you, not speaking.

 “You’ve done so much for me,” you tell him before the moment can grow too heavy. “I just wanted to do the same. Now let’s go, I gotta pee.”

Petra is one of the most patient people you know. She'd have to be working for Dieter. From the moment you move in she's over the moon, offering baby name suggestions and telling you that she'll make anything you want from scratch pushing her shock of red hair from her ruddy face. 

It doesn't matter if it's ice-cream with pickles over lemon flavored crackers, she'll make it delicious and she'll make it from scratch before serving it to you with a very proud expression. 

Magda is a scream. She's been working for Dieter as his cleaner since before her hair was a solid white mass of frizzy curls. She spends most of her time smoking European cigarettes and doing sporadic dusting in between stories about her latest Tindr date. 

The two women like to take their breaks together, both chain-smoking outside by the pool while they complain about real estate prices. 

You love them both immensely.  

You've known them since you started working for Dieter, but you've never really interacted. You were always so busy with you job and they with theirs. 

But now that you're stuck indoors most days they've become a lifeline to you. Perhaps mother figures as well since you haven't spoken to yours since you moved out. 

You think about calling her every once in a while. When the baby moves or your muscles ache. But you don't. You can't be the one to give in first because what she said about everything was hideous. 

Besides, Magda and Petra love being mother hens. Petra likes to knit in her spare time and almost every week when she sees you there are little baby booties or jumpers waiting to be hung in the nursery wardrobe. 

Magda massages your shoulders even when you tell her she doesn't need to. She just waves your anxious hands away and tells you in a heavy accent: "I do same for my daughter when she is pregnant."

You adore them both so much that when they aren't around in the house you try to make your own smoothies, washing your dishes and chastising Dieter if his clothes don't make it in the hamper. 

And he fucking loves it. 

He loves having you there tutting behind him, reminding him to wipe toothpaste off the mirror and to sweep his toast crumbs off the counter so he doesn't add to Magda and Petra's labor. 

He loves that you care enough about everyone for it to matter. That you fit into his home like you've always been there. 

Sometimes it drives him crazy when you're there at his elbow complaining that his laundry hamper is overflowing or some other trivial matter. But for the most part he secretly loves having this domesticity with you. That he craves you in a totally new way when you scrub at a stain in his shirt so Magda doesn't have to. 

None of his other partners were like this. All were eager to be waited upon, many not even bothering to learn the names of his staff.  

"You should give them a raise," you tell him one day over dinner when it's just the two of you digging into the veggie pasta Petra prepared. "Neither of them have had one in a few years." 

Dieter slurps up pasta, nodding in agreement. 

"Okay."

"Okay?" You look at him, brows raised. "Just like that?"

He has pasta sauce on his cheek when he answers. 

"You want me to fight you on it?"

"Not particularly."

"Good," Dieter nods, scooping up the last of the sauce with his garlic bread before popping it into his mouth. "I trust you. I know you'd spend our money wisely.'

And then he gets up from the table with his plate cleared as if he hasn't said something completely momentous.

You watch him rinse it under the tap and place it in the dishwasher before announcing that he's going to paint for a few hours.  

You remain sitting at the table staring after him for several minutes. Our money. Ours. As if you were a real couple. As if you were his wife. 

I trust you. I trust you. I trust you. 

Later that night in your guest bedroom you bring yourself off twice to thoughts of him. You can't explain why tears stream down your face as you do. 

When he’s not in interviews, filming commercials or prepping for his next film project with his acting coach, Dieter spends some of his free time in the art studio. He's very insistent you not go in there, especially when he’s working, citing that you'll break his concentration and creative flow. 

You respect his space and carve out your own routine within his sprawling home. Walks in the neighborhood, swims in the pool, reading by the fire and evenings spent with Dieter on the couch watching bad reality TV or documentaries.

You also like to spend some of your free time working on the nursery. Sometimes he offers his own suggestions, but he sees how much you enjoy this little project and he tries to give you as much space as possible. 

When it's finally finished you show him proudly pushing. Open the door much like he did for you only a month earlier. He walks in, expecting to hate it, but instead is overwhelmed at the cozy atmosphere you've curated. 

The carpet is a plush white and blue pattern that feels like butter on his bare feet. The walls are a warm cream and the ceiling has been painted to look like a celestial morning sky. Oversized tufted chairs are at the side under a gauzy curtain that makes the whole space feel safe and cozy. The crib is a beautiful white, beautifully carved with small triangles etched in the design.

“To match your tattoos,” you tell him with a grin.

It’s nothing like Dieter thought he’d want, but the second he walks in he’s overwhelmed by a sense of peace and tranquility. The exact environment he’d want his son growing up in. He thinks he might just want to hang out in here to meditate.

"It's beautiful," he says in awe. "He'll be so happy here."

"Yeah, he will," you say with a gentle smile. 

Weeks later you and Dieter lay on his bed, both of you enthralled by the Netflix show projected on his large TV. In recent weeks you've taken to doing this. Dieter returning from work late and finding you on the couch.  At first he would fall down next to you, talking about that you were watching.

Then he began to suggest watching in his room on his bed. Nothing funny, he claimed, he'd suggested it just because it felt better on his back. He gave you plenty of space, both of you leaning back against the plush pillows.

Then you started crawling under the sheets because you were cold. And then he was cold. Then he decided that snuggling under the sheets was better. You'd wanted to deny him at first, but he's always so warm and he fit so nicely against you that when he pulled you against him you simply snuggled up against him.

Now he comes home and just holds out his hand for you, waiting for you to nod and then helping you to stand. And every day he kneels in front of you and kisses your belly just above the navel. Then he takes your hand in his and guides you to his room before collapsing next to you in his huge bed.

You've burned through all the seasons of Below Deck. Now it's Selling Sunset.

"Without Christine what's the point?" He grumbles.

"Totally," you agree through a mouthful of ice cream. "And there are never enough of the houses!"

Sometimes when the TV goes off you're already asleep snoring softly. On those nights Dieter watches you, hand grazing your cheek. Sometimes he just wants to hold your belly and fall asleep curled around you.

Sometimes if you're both still awake he asks you to run your nails through his hair and you do, giving the odd little tug and smiling when he gives muffled groans. You do it now, eyes on the screen and your hand carding through his curls.

A commercial comes up on the screen and Dieter groans, throwing a pillow at it.

“Boo! Get this asshole off my TV!”

It’s a teaser trailer for the movie he and Mia filmed together; The Rogue Duchess. Dieter in his regency gear, Mia with her fluttering eyelashes.

 “Haven’t heard you mention Mia much lately,” you observe as you watch her pretty face on screen.

“We’re cooling things off,” Dieter lies, his eyes on the television. “

 “Really?” you try not to sound too pleased by the news. “I’m sorry Dieter I know how much you like her.”

“S’fine,” he shrugs, not looking the least bit upset.

You do your best to hide your delight.

Halloween is just around the corner and Dieter swans into the house after his latest meeting with Diane. He looks run ragged. You wish you could have been there to see what she said, but of course you’re kept in the dark. The only thing Diane sends to you are bi-monthly checks. 

“She thinks now that Mia and I are officially over that I have to rehabilitate my entire image,” Dieter groans as he throws himself onto the couch next to you. “I need to start a charity and some other shit.”

“Is that really such a bad idea?” you muse looking up from your crossword puzzle. “Starting a charity could be a wonderful thing.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” he gripes, slapping the pillow next to him aimlessly.

“You could fund amazing research,” you tell him, shaking your head at him overlooking this. “If I had your money I’d be setting up research into the cancer my dad died of. It’s way underfunded.”

Dieter says nothing, but he nods. You don’t know that he’s actually listening to you. You go back to your crossword puzzle.

“I gotta practice some lines,” Dieter sighs as if he has the worst job in the world. “You wanna help me with them?”

“Of course. Gotta earn my keep around here somewhere.”

“No you don’t,” Dieter says, pouting over at you. “You’re only job is to relax and make our baby.”

Our baby. You hate the tingle that goes through you at the words. Especially when it isn’t your baby at all. You’re a womb rental, that’s it.  You go quiet for a moment and Dieter looks momentarily down at his hands.

“Have you called your Mom lately?”

“No,” you frown. “Why?”

“I just know you miss her.”

"Yeah I guess," you whisper in a croaky voice. "Every fall we'd go to this Boo at the Zoo thing."

"Boo at the zoo?"

"Yeah in Oakland. You dress up and there's contests and you can see the animals and... My mom and I just liked going to see all the costumes and..." You trail off, overwhelmed by the memory. 

"We can go," Dieter insists, already bringing out his phone. "I'll get tickets-"

He pauses when he sees the cringing expression you wear. Realization hits him and he lowers his phone. 

"It's a you and your mom thing."

"Yeah." Your head drops forward when you nod. 

Dieter wants to give you everything. Wants to take away this pain. Wants to erase the lines between your eyebrows as you swallow your tears. But he can't do anything right now aside from supporting you. 

"How about we watch a scary movie?" Dieter suggests. "Make popcorn and all that shit?"

You give him a watery grin. "Yeah that sounds great."

Not even an hour later the popcorn rests half-eaten on the coffee table and you sit with your head on a decorative pillow in Dieters lap, half asleep. Dieters hand runs up and down your spine subconsciously as he loses himself in the film. 

"Dieter do you really think Rosemary's Baby was the best film to watch?"

"I heard good things." 

Your eyes keep drifting shut. Dieters couch is so comfortable and the feel of his fingertips running along your spine is so relaxing. 

"I can't believe how hard it is to stay awake," you murmur. "It's not even ten."

You shift your head on his lap, murmuring slightly when his fingers move to card through the hair at your temples. 

"Mmm, feels good."  

Dieter gazes down at you, thumb drifting over your cheek, pushing your hair behind your ear as he watches your eyelids flutter closed. Your light snores begin and he wants the moment to go on forever. 

I love you. 

The thought has been brewing in his mind for months. This unspeakable but oh so palpable feeling he carries with him. The one he swallows every time you smile at him over breakfast or snuggle up to him at night.

The movie ends a short while later. You're zonked out, snoring louder. Dieter bends over to kiss your temple. 

"Time for bed, baby."

"M'fine," you argue with a yawn. "I'll just sleep here."

He smiles as you groan when he slides out from underneath you, pulling you gently by the wrists to a standing position. 

"C'mon baby mama, we're going to bed."

You make a face, grunting in irritation. He wraps his arm around your back, helping you sleepily walk to the bedroom; his bedroom. Your eyes are still closed even as he pulls back the duvet and you snuggle underneath. 

He crawls in bedside you, watching as you slowly spin to face him, your hand going to your belly. 

"Thanks for the movie," you mutter. "S’good."

"Any time," he promises, pressing a kiss to your cheekbone.

You smile at the rasp of his beard against your face. He pulls back, head on his pillow just watching you. 

“Baby?”

Your eyes flutter open, pupils blowing wide when you see how near he is. “Yeah?”

He blinks rapidly, his eyes darting to your mouth and then back to your sleepy gaze. He moves forward slowly, inching there and waiting for you to pull back. You don’t. Instead your head tilts forward at the same time, your mouths meeting for a sweet and tentative kiss that has both your pulses skyrocketing.

His nose drags against yours as you break apart, nudging your face to the side and allowing him access to press sloppy kisses up the column of your neck. He nibbles and tastes along your pulse point as you whimper until his mouth captures yours in a searing kiss, the petal soft of his lower lip slotted beneath yours. You respond in kind, hand fisting his t-shirt, mouth taking everything that he’ll give you.

“So sweet,” he whispers, kissing you again, pushing your body into the mattress.

“Shouldn’t,” you murmur uselessly, even as you drag your tongue along his lower lip, wetting it.

"Please, baby," he groans against your lips, hands sliding up the bottom of your t-shirt to cup your heavy breasts. "Wanna make you feel good."

His hands move over the globes of your chest, his cock twitching as you moan at the sensation. He breaks away from your mouth only so that he can tilt back and marvel at how big your tits have gotten. You wear such oversized clothing he can rarely tell. But tonight they swell in his hands, heavy and full and fucking perfect. He slides your t-shirt up, seeing your breasts exposed for the first time. The sight is enough to make his knees buckle. 

"Fuck," Dieter groans, extending the u. "You look so good."

He pushes your t-shirt up higher, wanting to look at your chest more in the semi darkness. You allow it, raising your hands above your head, allowing him to peel the shirt from your body. You watch as he drinks in your naked upper half, dark eyes round and awed. 

He looks at the full of your breasts, the sensuous curves of your body, the swell of your abdomen. 

Mine. 

The thought is fleeting, way in the back of his caveman mind. That your body is his, full of his child. That his body is yours, meant to protect you. But it drives him forward, bracketing your torso with his forearms. He has to arch slightly, afraid of putting too much pressure on your stomach.

"I need to taste."

You let out a piercing gasp when his mouth latches to your left nipple, sucking it into his scorching mouth and flicking the nipple with his tongue. His hand worries your other nipple into a point, sending sweet jolts of pleasure through your core. 

"Fuck, yes Dieter!"

You can't even fight it. You don't want to. You just lay back, allowing his lips to trail between the valley of your breasts before he's doing the same with your other nipple, moaning deliciously when you're hands card through his hair, holding him in place. 

"Suck harder," you beg, feeling your hips starting to grind against his front. "Please!"

Dieter moans in response, his hips gyrating against yours as he obeys your husky order. You feel your nipples being alternatively sucked hard, liquid heat pooling between your legs. 

"Fuck... Fuck Dieter that's so good," you whimper, eyes slammed shut. "Don't stop!"

You feel him grinding his hard cock between your legs, the two of you fully dressed and yet writhing as if you were naked. All that's exposed is your tits, chilled when not covered by Dieter's needy mouth. 

But it's the sound he's making that has goose bumps breaking out over your body. This low, needy hum of carnal satisfaction that makes your toes curl and your legs quiver. Your thighs tighten around his hips, your clothed pussy desperate for the friction of his cock through his sweatpants. 

Fuck, you're going to come. 

The realization hits you just as your back begins arching up beautifully for him. And he must know because his fingers and mouth are still sucking and flicking at the same tempo. 

"Yeah baby," he groans between sucks, thrusting his hips against yours. "You come for me just like that."

An orgasm suddenly overtakes you, causing you to rut against him, crying his name as you come. It makes tears spring to your eyes as your body twitches, jerking from the almost painful pleasure that releases as you let out his name in a cracked whimper.

He kisses you, tasting the sound of his name on your lips as you rut against him, hands grabbing his shoulders for purchase. A moment passes where all you can hear is your own panting breaths. Dieter watches you lean lightly up on your elbows. 

"Did you-"

"-Yes."

"Just from-"

"-Yeah."

You feel strangely embarrassed at this truncated exchange. You've never come just from some guy playing with your tits before. It makes you feel over eager and insecure, cheeks flaming and eyes going around the room. But Dieter's eager voice cuts through your discomfort, his large palms cupping your breasts again. 

"Fuck, that was so hot, can we do it again?" 

Your gaze flicks back to Dieter. He's excited, grinning crookedly as he continues to knead your breasts lazily. 

"You think I could make you come even faster this time doing it?"

Insecurities fall from your shoulders like an unwanted jacket. You beam, laying back and sighing dreamily up at him. 

"Let's find out."

You wish you could say that your sexual excitement for Dieter waned after that, but if anything it just stoked the fires. With Mia out of the picture and Dieter looking at you with those sultry gazes it’s not long before you’re dreaming up more excuses to touch him.

A graze of your hand over his when he hands you a fork at dinner. Snuggling up a little tighter to him during movie nights. But he’s gotten busy so he’s more tired than usual. Reshoots are necessary for the film and he has a commercial shoot as well. He comes home late, tired and wanting nothing more than a shower and a sleep.

You still join him in his bed but it’s only so he can hold you tight, breathing in your shampoo as he drifts off. And honestly that’s fine with you because you’re coming to count on his warm arms around you, coming to rely on the way he calls you baby and runs his fingers down your spine.  

You love it.

“I’m so done with this fucking costume,” Dieter seethes, tossing off the cloak as he walks into the house one evening. You glance up from your newspaper, about to say something when you feel yourself transfixed.

He’s wearing the regency outfit from the movie. He’s angry though, not even noticing as your breathing grows shallow and your cheeks get hot.

 “Didn’t even give me a chance to change before they’re striking the set. I had to get a car home looking like a fucking butler.”

He growls, looking up at you seated at the bar. Your drink from this afternoon remains untouched at your elbow and he feels irritation flare within him.

“You didn’t even drink the smoothie Petra made you,” he grunts, irritable. “You’re supposed to. It’s got all your nutrients.”

He tugs at the cravat around his neck in frustration at the world but you croak out his name, hand raised.

“No! Leave it.”

“Leave it?” Dieter says with a sharp laugh. “No fucking way. It’s-“

He’s about to say something more but you’ve come sauntering over to him, chest flushed and your eyes glassy. You gently press his back against the wall.

“Hand.”

He holds out his hand in confusion and watches you in awe as you take it, letting him help you to your knees on the cold, marble floor. And suddenly Dieter has an idea of what you’re doing, but he’s not quite sure.

When your hands gently rub up his thighs and come to stop at the waistband of his ornate pants you see the bulge of his hardening cock and you smile in satisfaction. 

"What’re you-“

"Let me," you murmur, eyes gazing up to his face. "Please?"

"You're asking me if you can suck my cock?" Dieter says it in breathless awe. "Are you serious?"

You are. You find you're so eager to give him the pleasure he so easily offers to you anytime you want it, especially when he’s dressed like something out of a Jane Austen novel.  Your very own rumpled Mister Darcy.

"Jesus," Dieter whimpers, watching you on your knees for him. In a million years he never thought he'd see this. You sitting there with your mouth parted, asking to suck him off. He goes to shrug off the jacket and tug off the cravat but your hand goes to still him. 

"No," you say gazing up the length of him. "Keep it all on. Please."

Dieter breaks into an oily grin as he realizes the reason for your sudden ardor. His mind travels back to that day on set.

I saw how you were looking at me earlier. This costume do it for you, baby mama? Should I bring it back with me later?

He widens his stance, unfastening his trousers and lowering them. You watch in anticipation as his cock is freed and you hold in a sigh at the sight of it. Large, thick and practically throbbing for you. It twitches when you drag your tongue along the slit.

"Spit," Dieter says huskily.

For some reason you’re taken back to the awards show where he spat his gum into the napkin. You could laugh at the role reversal. 

"C'mon baby," Dieter says gently when you hesitate. "Spit on my cock."

You don't know why but those words in his rasping baritone sends a new flood of arousal coursing through you. You tilt your head, mouth pursed. Dieter watches as your saliva drops onto the head of his cock. 

"Fuck yeah," Dieter growls, his hand coating himself in his pre come and your spit. "Wanna make sure it's nice and slick for you."

You moan, eyelids fluttering at the words. And without pausing you take the head into your mouth, never breaking the eye contact you hold with him. He gives a soft whimper in his throat at the sight of his glossy cock sliding into your mouth and throat.

“So good,” Dieter gasps, his hands on either side of him against the wall.

You grin around his cock, hollowing your cheeks and are rewarded with Dieter’s legs going rubbery. Something is missing though to make this fantasy perfect for you. You pull off of him, your hand going to stroke him as you speak.

“Say your lines.”

“Huh?”

“Say the lines,” you order breathlessly, giving little kitten licks to the head of his weeping cock. “The ones from the movie.”

Dieter looks fucked out as he gazes down at you.

“Why are you here?” you prompt before urging his cock back onto your tongue.

Dieter takes a moment but then he understands, grinning widely. You watch as before your eyes he transforms from Dieter into the rogue.

“You know why,” Dieter pants, thrust shallowly into your mouth.

He grins broadly when he sees your eyelids fluttering. You’re turned on out of your mind, looking up at his handsome face in his white lawnshirt and cravat. He’s so sexy, his hand coming to cup your cheek as you swallow his cock.

“I need you,” Dieter growls, eyes fixed on yours. “So much I can barely breathe.”

His thrusting is increasing, watching as you begin to squirm on the floor. You’re getting off to this and Dieter finds himself inching towards his orgasm at an alarming speed. Your eyes are rolling into the back of your head as you continue to suck him.

“You see what you do to me?”

Your panties are soaked and your head is bobbing along his length for what feels like a very brief time before he’s spilling down your throat, murmuring to himself how good you are for him, how sweet your mouth is.

He’s trembling, his cock twitching a moment as your eyes crack open to glance up the length of him. He’s staring down at you in what seems like awe. He pulls himself from your mouth, letting his cock hang heavily between his legs, slick with your saliva.

"Fuck that was hot," he tells you, pressing a full-lipped kiss to your mouth when he pulls you to a stand. "Your tongue is better than any drug."

You want to laugh at his version of sincerity but instead you just giggle, shaking your head. He grins and kisses you again before his voice turns stern.

"Now are you gonna drink your smoothie?"

Now you do laugh, a loud roaring thing that has Dieter smiling in confusion at you. 

"Are you really standing there trying to be authoritative with your pants around your ankles and dick hanging out, Bravo?"

Dieter gives a barking laugh at that before he tucks himself back into his boxer briefs and pulls up his crushed velvet pants. 

"Now that I know you prefer sausage in your mouth I'll remember that for your future meals." 

He's giggling and out of the kitchen before you can properly admonish him.

[Personal Diary D. Bravo – 32 weeks]

Her smile

Her hair

The way she smiles when she reads

When she taps her pencil when she does crosswords

Her mouth. Her fucking mouth.

When her brow scrunches just as she’s about to come.

How smart she is.

How kind she is. Such a big heart.

Mom would have loved her too.

“Jenga?”

You cry out with a laugh as Dieter brings the box over to the coffee table one rainy afternoon.

“You said you wanted to play a game, so I thought this would be a good one,” Dieter explains.

Magda and Petra are chatting in the kitchen over a cup of coffee that Dieter ordered in. Some fancy place with a fancy name you’ve never even heard of.  He calls them over, insisting that they join in the game.

With an employer like Dieter Bravo they’re never really sure what awaits them at work, but Jenga surely wasn’t it. They grin widely, both older women seated across from you and Dieter.

“Alright you played before?”

“Of course,” the women answer in unison, watching as Dieter puts the rectangular pieces of wood atop one another, creating a tower three by three. You watch with interest, trying to figure out your first move.

“So the first person to knock over the Jenga tower loses,” Dieter says despite everyone already knowing the game. “And the first person that loses needs to make dinner.”

“I always make dinner,” Petra says with a pout.

“Oh, right,” Dieter says scratching his beard thoughtfully. “Okay… first person out has to… go run in the rain for two minutes?”

“And I will have to mop up?” Magda says flatly. You know she’s irritable because she hasn’t had her customary cigarette thanks to the rain.

“Oh shit,” Dieter nods, looking thoughtful.

“How about we just play?” You say rolling your eyes. “Winners get bragging rights.”

It turns out Petra and Magda are very competitive players. They don’t smile or chat between rounds, they just focus on the bleached wood rectangles before them. You and Dieter exchange looks of amusement when they swear in another language under their breath.

“There,” Petra says, breathing a sigh of relief when she manages to pull a wood piece without sending the tower flying. She glances up at you. “Your turn.”

You nod, taking a deep breath and smiling nervously. Dieter brings up his phone surrepticoously recording you. You’re all focus, your eyes narrowed as you pull the center piece slowly with your pinched fingers.

Dieter forgets that the sound is on with his phone and when he snaps a photo it makes an obnoxious clicking noise, distracting you into knocking the entire tower down. Dieter takes a series of snapshots despite this, chuckling at your horrified and then amused expression.

“Guess I lose,” you say with a giggle, pushing at the wood blocks.

 “Such a good sport,” Petra says with affection. 

“Especially since Dieter is cheat,” Magda offers. Dieter fakes being horrified as the group of you laugh. You start to put the pieces away, gently batting Magda’s hand away when she tries to help you.

“You do enough around here,” you tell her firmly. “Let me clean up.”

“Your mother raised you well,” Magda says, giving the crown of your head a kiss before she and Petra move back into the kitchen.

“Thanks Mags,” you say gently, not wanting to ruin the moment.

But all it does is remind you of your own mother who isn’t here, the mother who disowned you. The mother who hasn’t attempted to call you once since this whole ordeal. 

Dieter watches all of this, his dark eyes calculating.

32 weeks

Craving

sexsexsex

Anything Taco Bell has on their menu

Missing

My mom

Baby is size of napa cabbage.

 [11:03am] MOM: I told you I have no interest in your money. 

The text comes through when you’re lounging in bed one morning, feeling tired from your third trimester hormones and the vomiting you thought you’d left behind in the first trimester.

You slowly sit up in bed looking at your phone in confusion. You re-read the message trying to understand what she’s talking about.

[11:22am] ????

[11:23am] I got a call from the bank not long ago. My mortgage has magically been paid off? 

You pull on a robe, your eyes widening. You’re confused and you need to speak with Dieter. You search the entire house, calling out for him.

Magda and Petra are nowhere to be found at the moment and so you continue to scream out for him, texting his phone only to see that he’s left it behind on the kitchen counter.

Dieter is gone.

--------------------

PART 2 OF THIS CHAPTER HERE

--------------------

taglist: @caramilena @lovely-vamp-princess @annieispunk @lu62 @getitoutofmymindwrites @noisynightmarepoetry @lizzie-cakes @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @missladym1981 @tammythr @swankyorange @jupiter-soups @dontknow446 @fluffygoffpanda @doblasftcisco @sunnysinbar @dinomecanico @eff4freddie @fancypants1215 @moel-jiller @picketniffler @khxna @spookyxsam @fancypants1215

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dividers by @silkholland

#dieter bravo fic #dieter x reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #pedro pascal #smut #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo smut #the bubble fanfiction

[tealeavesandtrash]

Wolfstar Micro Fic - @wolfstarmicrofic Promt: Bodyguard - 351 words

“You’re a little shit, you know that?” Remus mutters, jerking Sirius’ chin to the left and then the right, triple-checking for any cuts or bruises. There's not so much as a scratch  -  rumpled hair and a blood-stained shirt, but it’s not Sirius’ blood so Remus doesn’t care. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

Sirius smirks up at him, eyes sparking with a mischievous glint because he is a little shit with no impulse control and a penchant for starting fights he can’t win. “Isn't it your job to make sure that doesn't happen?”

“Yes, but you’re making it very hard. Look up. Do you feel dizzy?”

Sirius bats Remus away, “I’m fine. Can’t say the same about your face though.”

Remus hasn’t had the chance to think about himself, but he’s pretty sure there’s a sizable bruise blossoming across his cheek and nose. “Your father doesn’t pay me to care about my face.” 

Sirius pushes himself to his feet, grabs a damp cloth from the en suite and stands in front of Remus. One hand cradles the side of his head and gently dabs at Remus’ cheek with the other. “I care about your face.”

Remus watches quietly as Sirius meticulously cleans up the dried blood, wincing when he presses a little too hard on a cut and Sirius quickly draws back. “Sorry,” he whispers.

Remus shrugs him off. “Why the hell did you try to start on that guy anyway?”

Sirius’ demeanour shifts instantly, grimacing at the memory. “He started it.”

“I watched you lunge at him out of nowhere.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“You can’t go around trying to start turf wars.”

“He insulted someone I care about, okay?" Sirius snaps, "Not a big deal.”

“Who?”

Sirius holds his gaze intently, something unreadable in his expression. His eyes flicker down to Sirius’ lips, just for a moment. They’ve been playing this game for as long as Remus has worked for the Black family - sidelong glances and feather touches, but never anything spoken.

“I think you know,” he whispers, hot breath close enough Remus can feel it on his lips.

#remus lupin #wolfstar #sirius black #marauders #micro fiction #oneshot #complete #wolfstar fanfiction #marauders fanfiction #maddy writes #modern au #bodyguard au #remus x sirius #wolfstar microfic

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Sore. || EJ x Reader. You took a pretty big fall on a mission, and it's got Jack worried about you.

“How are you feeling?” Jack’s voice is level, but you can sense the concern and worry in it regardless as he bends over you.

“I’m fine, honey. I promise.” You try to assure him, but he doesn’t believe your words. He settles down next to you in bed, holding you close and staying by your side so he can monitor you. 

You’d taken quite the fall during your mission yesterday, and Jack has been on edge since it happened, worried that something more serious could’ve happened to you, especially with all the bruises becoming visible on your skin.

“I’ve got nothing to worry about with a doctor like you by my side, Jack.” You whisper into him as you curl up into his chest.

Laying on your back has grown too painful from the bruising and soreness settling into it, so you’ve been spending the majority of your time curled up with Jack to comfort you. His arms circle around you, extremely gentle and careful as he pulls you closer to him, trying not to cause you any more pain than you’re already feeling. You can feel the anxiety seeping out of him, his body tense in concern. You make a weak attempt at massaging his back as you hug him, and it settles him out of his thoughts enough to curl around you.

“I promise I’ll be okay. I already feel way better than yesterday.” You soothe him with a few kisses to his temple and he can’t help but sigh into you.

“I just wish I’d been there to save you. To prevent it from happening.” His voice is unusually quiet, and it makes you hold him tighter.

“But if you hadn’t caught me you would’ve just blamed yourself. You’ve already done so much for me honey, you got me all patched up and checked out, and you’ve been taking such good care of me.” He wants to argue with your words, but he finds himself unable to.

He knows you’re right. If he had been on that mission and failed to prevent your fall he would’ve just blamed it all on himself and gone into another spiral of self-loathing which wouldn’t be helpful for either of you. Jack just can’t stand the thought of you being so hurt, especially when it’s a work injury. He knows you’ll be fine, all of your vitals are great and your pain is decreasing as the days pass, but his anxiety just won’t leave him.

Jack curls further into your arms, and you grasp onto him tighter, stroking his hair affectionately as time passes you both gently. You’ll be okay, you both know it, but you also know that Jack’s greatest fear is losing you, and a fall like that is going to have him scared for a little while. He’ll do his best to care for you, though, just as he always does, and you’ll eagerly accept his care and repay him with all the love and affection you can give him, just as you always do. Jack moves to press some affectionate kisses to your lips, trying to force his love and emotions for you into them. You return them in kind, sighing as you melt into his body, his hands gently roaming your skin, avoiding all your majorly sore spots. He doesn't know what he'd do without you here, loving him the way you always do, and he doesn't want to find out.

You’ll just have to get used to Jack’s developing penchant for trying to increasingly make your work gear more and more safe, to the extent he asks you if it would be unreasonable to add a punch of padding and bubble wrap to your work uniform. He says it out of love and concern, he promises.

#I fell down the stairs yesterday and I am writing this for some comfort #got a sick ass giant bruise that looks like a tank on my back now #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta scenario #creepypasta scenarios #eyeless jack scenario #eyeless jack #eyeless jack headcanon #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack headcanons

[bosbas]

Chapter 8: this is falling in love in the cruelest way

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 3.4k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, heavily going off of book canon, me stirring the pot (im sorry)(no im not), PINING!!!!!!!, anthony being very much in love with his wife

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

A/N: guys i'm sorry but this picture is INSANE. the THIGHS??? HELLO? i am looking respectfully.......👁️👁️

June 5, 1816 – And yesterday, much to this author’s surprise, Lord Barlow reportedly proposed to Lady Montclair! This proposal comes unexpectedly after the Duke’s promiscuity with Miss Barrington at the Bridgerton ball a few weeks ago. Given the fact that Miss Barrington has been compromised, it is incredibly shocking that Lord Arthur Barlow would do something like this in polite society. Luckily, Lady Montclair remains a single woman and swiftly rejected her former beau’s proposal. But this only begs the question: why did the Duke propose? Is Lady Montclair simply too alluring to pass up, or is something else amiss between Lord Barlow and Miss Barrington? 

“Oh, thank God,” muttered Colin under his breath, his eyes quickly scanning Lady Whistledown’s column as he sat on a bench in the garden. 

“What’s that you’re reading, brother?” asked Anthony, ears perking up at Colin’s scandalous language, even if it was just between brothers. 

Colin felt a slight blush forming on his cheeks. He hadn’t realized he was speaking out loud, having been too caught up in the news that you had finally received a proposal from Lord Barlow. It was a lovely day out, and Anthony, Benedict, and Colin were in the gardens of Number 5 Bruton Street after a round of fencing. 

Of course, once Francesca had come outside holding a copy of Whistledown to read in the gazebo, Colin had stolen it out of her hands and abandoned his brothers in favor of catching up on the ton’s happenings. Though no one should have been surprised by his interest, really, given that you were the main topic of most of the gossip sheets nowadays. 

“Nothing,” Colin answered quickly, trying to recover from his blunder. “It’s bizarre how invested one becomes in Whistledown while living here. Is this what every summer is like when one isn’t traveling for half the time?”

“In essence, yes,” answered Benedict, still jabbing at the air with his épée as Anthony stared at him amusedly. “What does she have to say today?”

“Lord Barlow proposed to Lady Montclair yesterday,” said Colin, a slight edge to his voice. “And he looked a sight while doing it, too, apparently.”

Benedict dropped his foil, turning around to fully face Colin with a shocked look on his face. “And what did she say?” he pressed, intrigued about the outcome of this curious development. It was practically unimaginable that the Duke had proposed to you after defiling another lady in the ton, and Benedict hadn't considered him capable. 

Anthony clapped him on the back, smirking at Colin as he did so. “Well, did you not hear the man say, ‘thank God’? Obviously, she said no.”

Colin crossed his arms, immediately defensive. “It wasn’t that obvious! She could have said yes, and my ‘thank God’ could have been because she would’ve finally left me alone. Duchesses have a lot to do; I doubt she’d find the time to be irritating while attending to her duties in the country.”

Benedict and Anthony gave their brother unimpressed looks, watching amusedly as he squirmed under their gaze. 

“I assure you, brother, that there was absolutely no possibility of that being the case,” said Benedict jovially, earning a snort from Anthony. 

But before Benedict could laugh, too, Colin lunged at him, épée in hand as he glared playfully at his brother. Finding himself unarmed, Benedict yelped and ran toward the house, citing a very important painting to attend to before sprinting back inside. 

Turning to Colin, Anthony smiled curiously. “So, it’s true, then? What Daphne said?”

“What did Daphne say?” asked Colin innocently, dreading the conversation that would follow.

“Don’t be daft. That you love Y/N.”

Colin rolled his eyes, letting out an impatient sigh. “I don’t love her; that’s ridiculous, Anthony! A mere two weeks ago, we absolutely despised each other. I hardly think I could love her now.”

But even as he said those words, Colin questioned whether he actually meant them. Could he love you? He hadn’t ever felt this way about anyone, but then again, no one had ever vexed him quite like you. Though lately, he had been finding the line between irritation and fascination to be quite blurred. So blurry, in fact, that he was having trouble seeing a line at all. 

Having clearly overheard part of the conversation, Gregory ran up to his brothers, laughing hysterically as Hyacinth chased him. He stopped and let his sister catch up, smiling evilly at the older Bridgertons “Colin loves who, now?” 

Hyacinth arrived a few moments later, panting heavily. “Y/N, of course,” she stated while trying to catch her breath, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“What? What do you mean? Why do say that?” pressed Colin. Why did everyone in his family seem to think that he loved you? Surely they saw the two of you bickering incessantly, right? Your feud was so famous it had even made it to Lady Whistledown’s column. Colin couldn’t understand how anyone could think he had so much affection for you. 

Hyacinth raised an eyebrow at her older brother, unamused. “Colin, I am not an idiot. Though perhaps you might be,” she added brightly. And before Colin could respond, she quickly turned to her eldest brother. “Now, Anthony, could you please tell Gregory to give me back my quill?” she begged.

Gregory, scoffed, glaring at his sister. “I’d only borrowed it for a moment! And I only did so because Hyacinth hid mine! Anthony, she’s being unreasonable,” he whined.

Anthony affectionately patted them both on the head and flashed a faux sympathetic smile. “I rather think both of you are being quite the nuisance right now.” 

At times, Anthony found himself slipping into the role of a father figure to his youngest siblings. It was an unspoken duty he assumed after their father's passing. Yet, it was important to occasionally remind them that he was still their brother.

Hyacinth responded with a frustrated groan, her teeth grinding audibly, thoroughly vexed with her brother. However, the sight of Gregory's smug smile reignited her fury, and she immediately charged at him. Despite being older than Hyacinth, Gregory wasn't foolish enough to underestimate her, and he took off in a panic, screaming as he tried to outpace his deceptively quick sister.

Colin shook his head in amusement as he watched the antics of his youngest siblings. “Were Daphne and I truly like that?”

“Worse,” said Anthony flatly, but he couldn’t mask the warmth and fondness interlaced in his words.

At that, Anthony began to turn back toward the house. “Well, I must be-”

“Wait!” interrupted Colin. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had stopped his brother, other than the fact that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the possibility that he could love you. You, the person he supposedly hated. The person who certainly hated him. 

But, as always, Anthony was the right person to talk to about this. He would know what to say. Though it was well known that Anthony was completely smitten with his wife, Colin remembered a time when the pair seemed to dislike each other fairly intensely.

After a few moments of charged silence, Colin met Anthony’s expectant gaze. Swallowing his pride, he spoke up. “Purely hypothetically, and simply out of curiosity, when did you fall in love with Kate?”

Anthony smiled, amused. “Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, putting a hand to his chin. “As long as it's purely out of curiosity,” he teased. “It wasn’t like I simply fell in love with her one day, Colin.”

“Yes, but if you had to pinpoint a moment?” pressed Colin, slightly exasperated. If anything, he needed to know if he had experienced that moment himself.

Anthony’s gaze softened, and he suddenly saw a lot of himself in Colin’s uncertainty and pause when it came to a woman who profusely vexed him. “I found Kate in the library the night after we played Pall Mall for the first time,” he recalled fondly. “We were at Aubrey Hall for the country party and it was raining outside quite loudly, a terrible storm. She was huddled underneath a desk because she was scared of the storm. I very quickly realized I couldn’t hate her anymore. Not properly, anyway. Not when I just wanted to sit on the floor with her and protect her from the storm, and anything else that might come her way.”

His voice had softened as he spoke about his wife, recalling the moment he truly knew there was no way out. Anthony had tried to deny it to himself after, but his protests simply held no conviction after that night. 

“You never told me that,” said Colin thoughtfully, not missing the glint of emotion in his brother’s eyes as he talked about his now-wife. 

“Yes, well, the real challenge was getting her to love me back,” he said, coming out of his musings. “And that didn’t happen for quite some time after that. It was rather premature of me to declare my love for this woman while I supposedly hated her and was still technically courting her sister.”

It was truly a wonder that he and Kate were married now. But when it was meant to be, it was meant to be, Anthony supposed. Something that was proving to be particularly true of you and his brother. If Colin, who had a deep-seated need to be liked by anyone and everyone, could fall in love with you, the only person who didn’t actually like him, then surely it was meant to be.

Colin, still deep in thought, chewed his lip nervously. “And how did you get her to fall in love with you?”

“We were caught in a… compromising position. She had been stung by a bee and I… Well, I’m sure you recall,” said Anthony, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically shy as he remembered the circumstances that allowed him to marry his wife. “It’s far easier to get a woman to love you when she’s already your wife,” he finished sympathetically. 

Colin choked back a laugh. “Unfortunately, I can’t very well put Lady Montclair in a compromising position, can I?” he laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

“But Colin, I thought this was all hypothetical,” teased Anthony, playfully punching his brother on the shoulder. 

Colin cursed under his breath, rolling his eyes in annoyance as Anthony continued laughing at him. “Never mind. I’m off to find Eloise,” he muttered, patting the eldest Bridgerton on the back and leaving him free to go dote on his wife. 

After speaking with Anthony, Colin had a renewed sense of purpose. He had to find out why you hated him. He was so utterly exhausted of hating you and of having this tiresome charade of fighting with each other at every available moment. At this point, he didn’t particularly care who in the ton liked him or not. Colin knew he would happily take the entire ton’s wrath for the rest of his life if it meant you loved him.

But he needed to know just how unrealistic his hopes were. Eloise would be the best–and perhaps only­–person who would know. 

Colin found his sister practicing needlepoint in the sitting room, focused intensely on the material in front of her. It was unclear whether she was trying to sew the fabric or her finger, given how often she was pricking herself as she attempted to thread the needle. 

“El!” he called by the doorway, pausing when he saw his sister grimace after pricking herself once again. “I can return later if you’re busy.”

“No! No, please interrupt. Thank heavens,” gasped Eloise, grateful to be able to do something other than draw her blood. 

Colin laughed, amused, and suddenly felt a tad sheepish. Was he truly about to ask about you? To ask about you to Eloise, who would no doubt hold this over his head for the rest of eternity? But he had to know. He had to ask, at the very least. 

“I was just…I was wondering if you knew why Lady Montclair hates me,” he asked, clearing his throat awkwardly. 

Eloise let out a snort. “Well, I can’t imagine she’d be hard-pressed to find a reason why, given how you treat her.”

Seeing her brother’s crestfallen face, Eloise immediately sobered. Standing up and walking toward him, she placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “I thought you disliked her as well,” she said in a questioning tone.

“Of course I do,” clarified Colin quickly. “But she hated me first and I still don’t know why. I thought she might have said something to you, given how close the two of you are. Do you know at all?”

Eloise clicked her tongue in sympathy, looking at Colin with concern. Perhaps his feelings did run deeper than anyone thought, and the recent dancing and promenading were more than just Colin being his usual charming self around you. “I’m sure I have no idea, Col. But you could always just talk to her.”

Colin shook his head, smiling sadly at his sister. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? She doesn’t usually seem very eager to speak with me.”

Sure, the two of you had been getting along recently. But that had only been twice. And was that really enough to undo the weeks of hatred?

---

It was a particularly delightful Wednesday afternoon, and you found yourself feeding the ducks at Hyde Park as you watched Isabelle and Charlotte skip rocks across the pond. Though you loved Louis to bits, it was a lovely feeling to have both of your sisters home with you. There was simply something about being out in society that he could never quite understand like them, though not for lack of trying. 

After lunch, you, Charlotte, and Isabelle had managed to sneak out of the house just as the post-meal discussion grew rowdy. It was not unheard of to have such lively discussions in the Montclair household, and you frequently even enjoyed them. But there were some days, like today, that you frankly just wanted to have a quiet afternoon with a baguette and about a dozen ducks. Luckily, your sisters had decided to join you, and the three of you had set off toward the park in search of a flock of birds to feed.

It seemed that the ducks had taken much more of a liking to you than to your sisters, and they had grown disinterested in the endeavor. Charlotte and Isabelle had opted to give you their remaining bread and take a stroll around the mostly empty park, and you couldn’t say that you were complaining. Coming from such a large family, it was a rare luxury to have an afternoon largely to yourself. 

A while later, after most of the ducks found themselves happily full, you spotted a stumbling figure making its way toward you. As you turned to your sisters with a questioning look, you were disappointed to find them in deep conversation facing away from you, neither one of them noticing you. 

As the figure neared, you realized who it was: Nigel Berbrooke. Your heart skipped a beat and you felt your stomach drop, unpleasant memories of him and his disgusting words flooding your brain. You had no desire to speak to this man, and you looked around for anyone you could speak with instead. But you had not brought a lady’s maid, and everyone else was too far to intervene.

“Lady Montclair,” said Nigel, with what looked to be an attempt at a seductive smile on his face. 

You stood up from your crouching position rigidly and turned to face him. You were unable to form any words, discomfort far outweighing any other emotion you were feeling. This had to be his first time back this season after his absence, you thought. You hadn’t seen him at any events since the Danbury ball, and you rather thought you would have noticed him, looking as vile as he did now.

His nose was a tad more crooked than on the night you had met him, and the bags under his eyes were ghastly. But perhaps it was just your perception of him, knowing what you did about who he was.

“Mr. Berbrooke,” you settled for saying, nose crinkling as you caught a whiff of the pungent smell of alcohol emanating off of him.

“A promenade?” he asked roughly, reaching for your hand without permission. “It’s a lovely afternoon, it would be a shame to waste it.”

“Oh, Mr. Berbrooke, we were just about to head home,” you pointed your head toward your sisters, panicked. 

Isabelle and Charlotte were far too immersed in their conversation to look like they were ready to head home, but you prayed that Nigel’s inebriated state would distract him from this.

He growled at you, clearly displeased at your rejection. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you, Montclair. Your dowry, as well as your other…assets, are far too good to pass up,” he slurred, very obviously staring at your chest. “It’s a shame Colin’s gotten to you first.”

You were scandalized, opening your mouth to chastise him, or to scream for help, or anything that could get you out of this situation, really, but he cut you off before you could say anything. 

"I've heard Lord Barlow abandoned you, and truth be told, it's hardly shocking," he taunted, his voice laced with disdain as he regarded you with a sneer. "You insist on playing the coy maiden, denying every man what he craves. It's the only reason they’re after you now, you see? They want what you didn't give Arthur. And it appears Colin has taken the lead in the chase, the lucky bastard."

His words brought you crashing back down to reality. Of course, he was colluding with Colin. You had conveniently overlooked that fact as you found yourself becoming bashful in his presence, feeling secure, even desiring his company after these recent days. A surge of bile rose in your throat.

You felt tears prickling in your eyes, and you were impossibly angry with yourself for forgetting the very reason you despised Colin Bridgerton. How could you have let yourself forget? He was still the same man you overheard at the Danbury ball, and you were too embarrassed to admit that his charm had worked on you. 

You were disgusted with Nigel and Colin, but also with yourself. You were more than this, you chided. How could you have let this happen? The two men were clearly no good, and you had unwittingly allowed yourself to be ensnared, much like you had with Lord Barlow.

“Excuse me,” you said roughly, dodging Mr. Berbrooke’s outstretched hand as you ran toward where Isabelle and Charlotte were standing, propriety be damned. 

“On va chez nous. Tout de suite,” you said to them urgently, practically begging as you tugged on Isabelle’s hand (We’re going home. Right now). 

Charlotte looked at you, confused, and then noticed you glancing nervously at Nigel as he approached, angrily staggering over to you as his face contorted into an ugly scowl. 

“Ah, I’m terribly sorry Mr. Berbrooke,” Isabelle said firmly, “but it seems we have to go.” 

Not waiting for a response, your sisters hooked their arms in yours and hurriedly walked back from where you came. They’d be damned if he let anything else happen to you after what happened with Lord Barlow, and they were not about to waste any time.

Nigel only grunted, displeased, but let the three of you go without protest. Both of your sisters’ husbands were very powerful men, and Nigel was not so deluded as to forget his place in society.

“Y/N?” Charlotte questioned softly once you were sufficiently far away enough. 

But you were too embarrassed, tears streaming down your face as you choked back sobs. How could you have let yourself fall for Colin’s charm? You knew exactly who he was, and you had ignored it anyway. It didn’t matter that he made you feel safe and that the two of you had more in common than you cared to admit. He would never respect you, and you could never love him. 

Nigel had come at just the right time, you thought sullenly. Right as you were thinking you could finally overlook your rivalry with Colin, right as the memory of why you disliked him in the first place was fading. And thank heavens he did. You would not be taken for a fool again, by Colin or by Lord Barlow or by anyone. 

—

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#bridgerton #colin bridgerton #colin bridgerton x reader #enemies to lovers #colin bridgerton imagine #colin bridgerton fanfic #colin bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #colin bridgerton fluff #colin bridgerton angst #colin bridgerton x enemy!reader #bridgerton x you #colin bridgerton x you #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton angst #lost in translation #lost in translation: writing

[urne-buriall]

sotw is so close to my heart and i admire you and your writing so much. the snippets you posted are so good and it’s so interesting to think about what could’ve been! something that is so interesting to me in the fic is sam and dean’s relationship. i wonder every time i read sotw what the future holds for their relationship?

this is a feast of a question. I'll tell you what I know:

there's just over a week between when Sam leaves and when he's set to start school. just before he's due to go back (and just after Dean rescues Zeppelin), he gets a call from Dean. at first he assumes Dean is calling to make amends for John and try to woo him back home one day, same old story. but Dean says he's broken from John, intends to become Sam's guardian, and also he's gay and dating Cas. honestly all the John stuff is more real and relevant to Sam in that moment. the gay thing is a surprise but Dean's pretty much like, "if you have questions just talk to Charlie, she knows" and I think Sam is pretty much in the best environment in that regard

the first time Sam comes home is, logically, Christmas. Dean and Cas just got the new farmhouse in November. part of Sam wanted to stay at school, because it feels weird going "home" out of tradition or comfort when this isn't your childhood home and everything's changed and he doesn't know what he feels. I also happen to know that Cas is the one to pick him up at the airport, unexpected because Dean got called away last minute with something unavoidable. and it's kind of good because Sam gets to ask and find out for himself that Cas doesn't think of Sam as encroaching on their space. that it was part of the conversation from day 1 that this was Sam's home too

and you know. YOU KNOW how excited Dean is to show all this stuff to Sam! the lights he put up, and a tree, and he's made a WHOLE BUNCH of food. like, it's a modest house that needs a lot of work and he and Cas are just scraping by, but he's made sure Sam's room is nice and there are presents for him and I think for the first time, Sam actually sees that Dean wants his approval. and when he finds out Dean is actually making plans to leave town and visit Sam in California for his birthday, he's surprised by Dean and understands just how much he's grown and changed without John around

they also have a conversation about John. to put it to rest. obviously Dean hates that but Sam insists he doesn't want to be kept out of it, that he was always affected by it to even if he wasn't allowed to be made part of it and understand what was going on. he wasn't actually left out of it, ever, and I think when Dean gives in and agrees to talk about it just this once, he realises how deep it went. and how Sam didn't even always have the connections that Dean had to other people in town, and that there were reasons Sam felt isolated. and Sam would ask the big question, does he think John's dead? (Dean doesn't know.) does Dean want him to be dead? (Dean never wants to see him again. but it doesn't comfort him to think of John dead rotting in a ditch.) (Sam, like the rest of us, doesn't seem bothered by this prospect.)

and, of course, a word about Dean and Cas. that first night Sam is home you just know Dean won't fall asleep and is whispering to Cas all the things like: "do you think he's doing good? he seems good"; "do you think he likes the place? maybe I should repaint his room"; and "is he okay with us, though? for real?" and on this Cas is able to assure him that on that drive from the airport, the only question Sam really asked was if Dean was finally happy

(he is)

#ask #spirit of the west #thank you for the kind words!

[whatthebodygraspsnot]

"i told you, you would eventually start begging" :iancheeky:

"I told you, you would eventually start begging." + "Come on, please, do it" (from anon)

Ian may be the love of his whole life, but god damn is he a stubborn bitch.

Mickey's known this about him since the day they met. And even now, a decade later, this man is still sticking to his guns, yappin' about how he's in complete control when it comes to their sex life - how he'd never, ever, evvvver stoop to having to plead for something in bed, let alone beg. All those times it's happened in the past were just an illusion, apparently. Something he's never done.

Ian's a stubborn motherfucker.

And the only one worse than him is Mickey.

Ian groans in frustration, his top half squirming where he's been bound at the wrists and tied up to the top of their headboard.

No touching. No manhandling to get his way.

If he wants something, he's gonna have to use his words.

"Ugh...Mickey..."

From his leisurely slouch over his lap, Mickey grins up at him. That's right. It's starting. "Lookin' a little antsy there, Tough Guy..." he teases, "There somethin' you wanna say to me?"

Because he's gonna have to. Mickey's tied him up and turned him on without even touching him. And now they play the waiting game, Ian's cock hard and red and damn near twitching as Mickey makes a loose circle with his fingers, barely even brushing over him with each slow, teasing hover up and down.

He's showing him what could be. If he tightened his hold. If he was actually stroking over him and not just pretending with feather light touches.

He's playing dirty and he knows it and it's driving Ian fucking insane.

"Mickey..." he huffs, his hips trying to chase after it but getting nothing - just fucking up into the air as he bucks. It took a while to get here, but the wait was definitely worth it. "Fuck - I fuckin' hate you..."

Mickey grins. "No ya don't." That's funny though. Poor guy. "You're just finally realizing how much you need me, ain'tchya?"

Another sway of his hips upward, and then Ian's bottom half is collapsing back into the mattress, his frustration clear. "Why the fuck are you doing this to me..."

But, "Ain't doin' shit to you, sweetheart," Mickey says and it's true. "Told ya exactly what you need to do to get it, didn't I?"

"Ugh-"

"Didn't I?"

Ian exhales loudly, his head falling backwards to lean against the headboard. Stubborn bitch.

That's fine. Mickey's got all night.

And it's about time he ups the ante anyway.

The pop of their bed springs as Mickey leans over his lap has Ian looking back down, his strung out curiosity getting the best of him.

And fuck, the way he watches with those blown pupils... How his lips part in a heavy breath, waiting as Mickey makes a show out of letting drool pool and then drip right onto the head of his cock... Christ, you'd think his spit has some kinda magical powers or something.

"Oh..." Ian breathes out, from high up in his lungs. "Shit..."

They both watch it dribble down the side of his aching dick, and Mickey just knows that shit feels crazy right now. The tease of something wet and warm tracing all the way down to his balls, but never giving any pressure like he wants. A little prep, but for what?

Ian's cock pulses between them. The chain of his restraints pulls above his head. And oh...his tiny voice... "...Mick..."

"Mm...?" Mickey hums, smart enough not to fall for the change in his tone right away. He's known to do this. Ian's stubborn and greedy, but he's also a manipulative little brat if he thinks it'll get him what he wants.

So Mickey waits... Slips the loose ring of his fingers back up and away, so loose that he doesn't even get spit on them.

"Mick..." Again. Small, again. "I don't hate you...like I said I do..."

Mickey doesn't look up at him. Doesn't need to see those big faux doe eyes right now. "I know that, darlin'..."

"I don't-..." he shifts against the bed, fighting the way his hips try to buck up into nothing as Mickey blows a stream of warm air into his lap, getting his spit to glisten. "I love you..."

He's doing a decent job at trying to baby his way out of this. Sounds all cute and innocent and everything. Mickey could really fall for it and give him everything he wants, if he didn't hear the desperation in the fringes of his voice like that when he says it.

"Love when you touch me..."

Mickey can't help the grin that pulls to his face - knowing and amused. There it is. "That right?"

"Love it-..." he shifts on the bed again, trying to get himself closer to some friction. "Love when you jerk me o-....oh fuck..."

Ian's mouth drops open for good as Mickey drools all over his cock again, his eyebrows lifting with his heavy blink.

It's hot, Mickey's gotta admit. Even if it's torture.

Probably because it's torture.

A moment of silence, filled with heavy breaths as they both watch Mickey's spit drip down the side of his cock. He can practically hear his heart hammering away from here, poor guy...

Ian's chest rises as he fills his lungs, pressing the side of his face into his elevated bicep. It's to hide his groan of desperation, probably, but there's simply not enough coverage. "Come on..."

Any time now. "'Come on' what...?"

"Mickey..." He buries further into his arm, clearly trying to save face. But... "Please..." he finally begs. "Please - just fucking do it..."

It's got a rush of victory sweeping through Mickey's chest. Because there it is. Fucking finally. "Ohh, that's what you been wantin' this whole time?"

"Fuck..."

"What..." Mickey teases, and then after what feels like forever, finally closes the circle of his fingers so he can slowly stroke Ian's poor neglected cock. "Like this?"

And holy shit, you'd think he was fucking him with how immediately Ian's entire body tenses up, a moan slipping desperately through his bitten lips. "F-... Fuck!" Nice and slow. "Yeah - fuck... Please, Mickey..."

"'Please' what?"

"More..." He's already trying to fuck up into Mickey's hand, all the spit making it sloppy and wet. "Please - feels so fuckin' good..."

A war of attrition. And as usual, Mickey's come out on top. "Told ya you'd eventually start begging..."

Now, he'll take a little video - proof for the next time Ian's stubborn ass starts yappin'.

[ send me a smutty one-liner ]

#gallavich #ray writes #hehe hoohoo #smutty one-liners

[johnslittlespoon]

leaving bikeriders anon here again i’m going crazy over the back and forth constant neither of them saying anything out of nervousness of it all like of COURSE it would take them forever to actually get together there would have to be an honest to god crisis a completely off-kilter situation for them to get together they’re so bad at communicating. also have not been able to get the thought of them running into each other by chance at a bar across town and even though bucky showed up with people he just ends up at a table in the corner with gale the whole night. gale jokingly asks if john is even old enough to drink which turns into a whole thing where john suddenly has to prove to gale that he CAN drink and he IS old enough and is Definitely Worthy of gale’s attention. anyways!

HIII i'm still ON one about this too dw

exactly my goddd the back and forth would be physically painful to write/read honestly lol the flirtation and the sexual tension!!

ur so right smth absolutely wild would have to happen, or one of them would have to slip up, or there'd have to be an argument where feelings are blurted out in anger/hurt, orrrr, in relation to your idea at the end which i'm going clinically insane over bee tee dubs:

john is so offended by the insinuation that he's too young to drink even if gale's joking, made worse probably by gale throwing in a kid– "you old enough to be in here, kid?" with the corner of his mouth quirking up a bit.

john puffs his chest out and tries not to let the one beer he's had slur his words, goes "'course i am" all huffy, rolls his eyes, reaches for gale's full shot glass while holding determined eye contact and tips it back without a second thought, really has to clench his fist in his lap for a second when it threatens to come right back up, not used to anything quite so harsh.

it's not gale's intention to egg him on like that, john's just bristly, a messy college kid used to bulldozing his way through life, never turning down a bet or challenge, has maybe been watching a pretty girl hang off gale's other side on top of everything and wants to prove that he can be exciting and mature too.

john ends up drinking too much, taking whatever shots the others in gale's group pass him for their entertainment until gale shuts the next person who tries down with a pointed glare, slides the shot glass away before john can reach for it, says "alright, we're cutting you off" when john whines out a complaint, leaning heavily against gale's side.

the night ends with gale helping john out of the bar because john's friends leave long before he does. he gets john out to the parking lot out front, gets him situated on the back of his motorcycle, keeps a hand on his shoulder and asks where home is, and john's like, "oh, no, can't go home like this buck, dad'll gimme a shiner" and gale's jaw clenches hard, but it's not the time to get angry.

he's at a loss, because he's not gonna bring john home to an environment he's had a faint suspicion isn't the greatest since they met (however that might have been, that's shit for me to plot out later lol) but bringing him to his house seems like a bad idea, but he's also not sure what to do and john's friends don't seem the greatest to just leave him with a borderline stranger. so what else is there to do?

"am i gonna have to tie you to me, or are you gonna hold on tight?" he asks as he climbs on the bike in front of john, and john giggles out a "y'can tie me to wh'tever y'want," filter completely gone from how sloshed he is, and gale looks to the sky and says a silent prayer because jesus fucking christ. what.

i'm like 99% certain that alcohol would be involved in a feelings confession, probably that night when it slips out from john's lips, so drunk he doesn't even realize it. nothing would happen that night, because gale's trying to be a responsible adult and he wants to make sure john's not just saying shit, but he's also quite forward, so he'd bring it up in the morning after he's brought john a water and some painkillers, and john would go so red and he'd drop his head into his hands and whisper an "oh my god" because he can't believe he's slipped up so bad.

and then yk. feelings–talk ensues. john is so mortified, he wants to die. gale is so enamoured but trying to be realistic about things. etc etc i'll flesh it all out eventually when it's time to start writing it >:)

#leaving bikeriders au #<- for other posts set in this au/future fic <3 #i already know this au is gonna be stuck in my brain for a while #i'm not gonna be able to shake it loose till i finish the dog fic and then get to writing this one lol #buck x bucky #buckbucky #johnslittlespoon asks #johnslittlespoon brainrot

[neet-elite]

↳ EVENT 01. Whitney Worship

Pairing: Whitney / F!Reader Genre: Smut 18+ WC: 2,652 Warnings: OOC, body worship, general worship, older whitney, fingering, established relationship, consent checks, praise kink Prompt(s): 05 — worship Wanna take part in the event?: CLICK HERE!!

A/N: YAYYYY thank you so much bby for being my first event request eee!!! my biggest fan MWAH smooching u sm right now. so happy i get to start this event off with something soft and loving <3 sending u so much love, thank u sm for your kind words and for always supporting me!!

(also i really want some more soft whitney content... u cant convince me that this man wouldn't absolutely dote on you the older he gets </3)

Deep in the recesses of his mind, he's always felt this way about you. A bit difficult not to, his heart stuttering from the first moment he met you, blindsided by how much he wanted to be yours— enough that his need remained buried under layers of dominance and control for years to come. But the stubborn little boy you learned to love was incapable of expressing his emotions correctly, in a way that could ever truly be understood; and yet you loved him anyway. Even through all the harsh words, the endless name calling, and the straight up abuse he had you suffer through, you loved him. How you're still by his side is beyond him, a twinge of hurt in his chest burrowing down to his tummy, soothed only by the cute little mewl you instinctively know to let out in encouragement. Describing himself as thankful doesn't even do his emotions justice, and words of praise even less so— though still he tries.

This is the least he could do in return for all those awful years he subjected you to. A gentle promise spread across the pad of his thumb, rubbing tenderly up and down your hip for you to giggle at. And God, what a pretty sound that is. You can hear how it tugs at his heart, can't you? Surely, because he can barely hear himself think over the loud thump in his chest. How even the comparatively innocent touch of his free hand squeezing at your waist is charged with intent, the way your pretty lashes flutter under him as his nails drag up and down your exposed skin so lightly that it must tickle causing his breath to hitch. He can't help but mumble a pitiful pretty, and pitiful is correct, because he's so fucking down bad for you that it's insane. Should be illegal, if he had anything to say about it. Pouting down at you when you whisper his name, followed by a sweet thanks that God he just wants to drink up, biting down on his bottom lip to try and hide the wide smile your dulcet tones bring out of him— but it's no use. Of course you can see right through him. Always have, only now he's not so afraid to hide his true nature.

That being his complete and utter adoration for you and your pretty little body, soft skin hot under his rough hands; it's nice, yknow. To just touch you like this, ignoring the underlying hint of greed shown in the tent in his underwear in favour of rewarding you simply for existing. Because you deserve to be treated like the best thing that's ever happened to him; because you are. And he needs to do right by you now, make up for his past mistakes with his tongue poking against the inside of his cheek in faux playful annoyance over your holier than thou position beneath him. The bottom truly holds all the power, don't you, love?

"I meant it. Too fuckin' pretty, s'annoying." He smiles, toothy and genuine when you smile back up at him. And he does mean it, fuck does he mean it. Leaning down a little to give your forehead a little kiss, trailing his lips down to your cheek only to place another, smiling against your skin when you giggle at his barely there touch grabbing at your waist to keep you in place for him to press a few more kisses at the corner of your lips in a teasing manner— a hoarse be patient crawling up his throat when you try to wiggle free to give him a proper kiss, but he soon gives in to your cuteness anyway. Letting his tongue poke out just a little against your lips, chest vibrating with a satisfied hum he moans down your mouth when you reciprocate the lewd action. But still, he'd like to take his time. Making out with you so slowly, still letting his hands roam up and down your naked body with purpose, as if mapping every possible inch of you in the event that you were to ever leave him— the thought of which has him kissing you deeper in a silent beg for you to stay. See, I love you.

Running his wide open palms up to your tits, letting himself cup them as delicately as possible as if he were afraid that anything stronger would have you shattering beneath him; a far cry from his younger self, he internally cringes at the memory. But in his kiss there lies hope. Hope for a better future, to become a better man for you. And that starts here, with every suck of your tongue inside his wanting mouth, every drop of shared saliva down each others throats, and every grope of his big hand against your tits. The other rests idly at your waist, dipping down just to playfully pinch at the fat of your thighs; one of his favourite places to be between.

He pulls away from your lips when he feels you do the same, enamoured by the string of saliva still stretched between his lips and your own as if it were an extension of you, and by that he means deserving of all the love he can muster. When you simply stare up at him with those big puppy eyes he has to bury his face against your chest just to hide the creeping heat on his cheeks, content enough to turn his attention to your tits with one getting palmed by his hand, and the other receiving his mouths tender treatment. Surely you won't complain about his cowardly hiding if he were to devote more time to pleasing you, right? Lapping at your nipple like a kitten, savouring every sigh, hiccup, and moan you make while he busies himself with indulging in your taste. Worshipping every inch of you as he shuffles his body closer between your legs, gasping into the feeling of his rock hard cock rubbing against his underwear which rests heavy at your cunt. Not that he has any intention of doing anything about it, because loving and doting on you is pleasurable enough for him, slurping and sucking and pinching as a means to communicate: I'm sorry, let me make it up to you.

Because he's never really been the best with words, opting instead to pop off of your pretty tits with a loud smack! only so that he can see how cute your expression gets when you feel his hand travel further south, ghosting over your skin just to have you shiver into him, make you feel as good as you've treated him, yeah?

"Dunno what I'd do without you," He sighs, almost whispering from how sincere his words are. "Wanna show you how much y'mean to me. S'at okay?"

Instinct begs him to attach slut on the end of his question, but your wide eyes and rushed gasp in shock of how soft he's being convinces him not to.

You take a moment to reply, and in the meantime he takes to running a single finger up and down your already sopping slit. Proof enough of how much you love him, and yet still he feels the need to earn your affections again and again, sorry remaining at the tip of his tongue regardless of how often you remind him it's okay.

But when you give him a sure nod he's immediately filled with boyish confidence, determined to prove his worth for as long as he needs to in order to properly apologise to you, and then to revere you as you rightfully deserve. He knows he's got his work cut out for him, but he's nothing if not stubborn when it comes to you, for better or for worse.

"Thank you." He whispers this time, finally allowing his fingers to stretch your folds open for him to gawk at. Hearts in his eyes and all, fuuuuck, he has to fight with himself not to tug his boxers down and just shove his cock in right there and then— because he's meant to be worshipping you. But you make it incredibly difficult for him to focus on anything other than how fraught with sheer desperation he is for you, distracting himself from his more indulgent thoughts by thumbing at your clit, clenching his teeth at the sweet little sounds his fingers touch out of you. Reaaaally taking his time, perhaps a bit too much so when your lower half wiggles under his thumb. Inwardly, he laughs at his previous words of patience; don't you know that he's trying to love on you?

"Need it that much, huh?" He gently taunts, though there's no malice in his words. Just amused domesticity, a certain warmth to his tone borne out of complete admiration for how... Well, if he's honest with himself, how perfect you are— in every respect! Every fibre of his being just begging to be allowed to worship you for the rest of his life, to have you see yourself the way he sees you.

You once again nod up at him, pretty pleading eyes coaxing him to fall further into you, to rub meaner circles against your puffy little clit like he's done plenty times before; except you're asking for it now. And there's no greater feeling in the world than to have his prayers answered as your slick coats his fingers in anticipation for his praises.

"All right then, pretty girl. Ask and you shall receive."

And true to his words, he slides his fingers down your slit and dips into your cunt. Just a little, and only one finger. The lazy pace of his actions frustrating even him, but he knows it'll all be worth it. Has to be, especially when you're huffing so cutely back at him given all his teasing thus far, jus' a little more he promises you, unsure if he's even telling the truth when you mewl all pretty and shit— God you're gonna be the death of him. Torn between teasing you all night, prolonging his prayers until the sun comes up, or giving you the release you're so desperately seeking, every squeak of the bed below your movements hypnotising him further. All he wants to do is make you feel good, praise your body to the high heavens, kiss every single inch of your skin and whisper sweet nothings against your cunt. A simple ask, really, considering you're more than wanting him to do exactly that.

So he follows through, lazily pushing a single finger inside of your warm little hole and he practically melts himself from the heat wrapped around his digit. How soft and fuckin' tight your little cunt is around him, the slow nature of his loving tonight allowing him to experience you in a whole new way; something more akin to appreciation, rather than the days of greed in the past.

"Feel okay?" He checks in with you, though there's really no need. He can tell from a mile away that your scrunched up little nose means you're having fun, but it's nice to ask anyway. If only to boost his own ego, or to show that he's serious about changing for you. "You feel— I mean, fuck. Always feel amazing," He swiftly corrects himself, chewing on his bottom lip out of habit while curling his finger inside of you, gently pulling it out and pushing back in— a slow enough pace to give you a little relief whilst also keeping you on that edge he'd like you to be at. "Always have, best cunt I've ever fucked." He's being sincere, but he cringes at the crass way his praise comes out anyway. That is until he takes a look at your face, peeling his gaze off of your finger swallowing hole for just a moment, and he bares witness to the lewd look you've now adopted.

Fuckin' praise slut, he should have known it all along, but having confirmation in the form of your rolled back eyes from a single fucking finger was worth the wait. You're worth the wait, and he can only hope that he is too when he picks up the pace. Just a little, encouraging you to writhe around a bit more, cooing down at you so sweetly in stark contrast to his usual self.

"Look so pretty like that," the finger inside of you buries deeper, curling consistently against your sweet spot until you're practically clawing at his wrist for some respite— but it doesn't come. Not out of spite, but out of love for you, he continues crooking his fingers against your squishy insides because he knows what that whine means. Gushy little cunt wrapped so tight around his finger, sucking him further in despite your desperate whines for a break. All he does is hush you tenderly, tongue between his teeth in fear of snapping and reverting back to his old manners when you look so fucking perfect with his finger inside of you, his eyes flickering between your pretty face, heaving tits, and your shiny with slick cunt.

"C'mon—" He seethes, brows furrowed in concentration of praising you, getting you off on his hand would be the highest compliment, he thinks. "Let me make you feel good, jus' give in, 'kay? He encourages, a sinful smirk tugging at his lips when your mouth falls open in a silent gasp.

Got you, he thinks to himself. Cock twitching merely from getting you off, from making you moan his name all high pitched and pretty like that while you gush around his finger, soaking through to the bed sheets below when he starts finger fucking you again to help you ride your orgasm out nicely. And the whole time he's thanking you. Softly rubbing up and down your side, occasionally groping at your tits, tugging at your ass while your insides convulse around him. Thank you, he sighs. "Thank you for trusting me."

"Thank you for sticking with me."

"Thank you for letting me see you like this."

"Thank you for believing in me."

"Thank you for cumming on my hand."

And even as he removes himself from you he's still worshipping you, practically eye fucking you as he shifts his weight down, ending up half laying on the edge of the bed to tug you closer, hands firmly wrapped around your thighs so he can sniff up and down your slick soaked slit. Vulgar as always, but it doesn't matter when he's so pussy whipped it's almost laughable, right? Maybe he should feel ashamed about how much he wants you, embarrassingly acting like a dumb dog when faces with your cunt like this— salivating from your scent alone. But upon sticking his tongue out flat against your slit to lap up all your sweet juices he figures it doesn't really matter. It couldn't matter when you taste this fucking good, cock leaking fat globs of precum from just a single suck of your clit. He quickly runs a hand through his hair, flipping his fringe up and out of the way for easier access to your sweet soaked cunt, he's serious about this, don't you know?

"Jus' cleanin' y'up." He slurs against your hole, wincing with you when you complain about how sensitive you are.

But that's okay, because if you cum on his tongue (which he's hoping for, fuck he wants you to gush in his mouth please—) then he'll just help you clean up again. And again. And again. As many times as he needs to until you instinctively know how worthy you are of worship, and how he loves you just oh so much.

#500 event! #i hate that this is technically an “aged up” writing but yknow #HES ALREADY AN ADULT ITS OK #dol smut #whitney the bully #degrees of lewdity smut #dol fanfic #degrees of lewdity fanfic

[ellieslittleburrow]

Requested by : @mymelodymia 🪷🪷

Summary : Reader has POTS, she faints and Ellie and Joel are there to help(after almost shooting her)

Pairings : Joel x adoptive daughter!reader/ Ellie w adoptive sister!reader

Warnings : Pots, fainting, Joel's rifle and fluff...boo

A/N : I had to read the request like, 5 times everytime i wrote something and everytime i read this i just burst into laughter because "tess expired" i'm sorry i can't it's so funny to say it like that 😂

-----

It's been a few hours since the....incident with Tess. Your feet are sore and you feel like a cloud of fog is starting to envelop your brain. You...you're not feeling very good.

"Can we stop?"

"No." The words come out of Joel's lips bitter. Too bitter for you to argue with.

But you...you're not feeling so well..Your heart...You can't breathe and....You feel like you've lost control of your body and it's too heavy for you to l...l...

Figures turn into silhouettes...and your body follows as your backpack hits the ground, and just like that, the world fades into darkness...

----

"Oh shit-"

Joel and Ellie both spin around at the loud thump behind them, Joel's rifle being lifted to rest against his cheek.

"Wh...Lily!" Ellie's initial reaction is to make her way over to her friend, but Joel pulls her back, the force of the pull sending her staggering back.

"Hey-Sh'es unconsciou-"

"She might be infected." Joel argues, stepping forward, slow as he prepares himself to shoot.

Ellie being Ellie doesn't listen. She sprints towards your unconscious body, "she's still breathing." She remarks, noticing the very subtle heaving of your chest. "It's not the first time she acts this way. She's not infected." Your friend speaks, kneeling before you as she pulls up your shirt, sleeves, pants...checking for any injuries.

"And you couldn't have said that earlier, Ellie?" The old man grunts and the girl sighs, considering. "I didn't-i didn't-"

"Whatever, just loosen her boots and her belt." He instructs and Ellie complies, but stops when he taps her shoulder.

She twists her head, looking back to meet the butt of Joel's rifle. "Hold this and prepare yourself." He nudges her, motioning for her to step back. And as she does...She realizes the advantage she's just gained...she giggles.

"You know that i could shoot you right now?"

Joel slowly looks back, annoyance apparent in the pursed corners of his lips. "Good luck finding yourself back to the fireflies, then."

Ellie chuckles, readying herself as she watches Joel check your pulse, tapping your cheeks gently but firmly in the process and just then....

------

Your eyes fall open and....the trees are passing by in a neverending cycle....you...you feel awful...

"You look awful."

Your eyes follow the voice, only to meet a pair of worried eyes. "Joel..?" You manage to whimper...and he nods.

"What happened? How often does this happen?"

Huh...You try to sit up but your body is unresponsive...Maybe just...lay there for a while.

"I...i'm not s-s-sure i just..." You go quiet when Joel stars pulling up your clothes. "What are you doing?" You'd move but you can't-

"I have to check for wounds-stop squirming."

"Joel-i'm not infected. This happens to me from time to time i just faint-stop-" You groan when the realisation hit you that he will simply not listen to you. You just sit back and wait, supressing the grin you're fighting off as Joel unconsciously rubs your leg, his face turned away as he plans for the next move.

But you've already caused enough trouble, so you just abruptly sit up, readying yourself to talk when Joel gently pushes you back.

"No, you have to lay down for a little while longer, your head must be banging right now."

You groan at Joel's remark, rubbing your forehead in response.

"She could take a nap!" Ellie suggests, ignoring your eyes as she recognizes your head shakes, meaning absolute refusal. Which is exactly what happens next, as you groan and wave your hands no. "No no no i-i don't need that, i don't-really." You argue back, causing Ellie to roll her eyes before she makes her way over, dropping to her knees as she takes ahold of your hand.

"It's okay...it's no bother." Her tone melts into a sweet one, one that is soft enough to put you to sleep. "You need to rest, just a little nap and then we'll get going." She twists her head back, looking for Joel's approval.

And as her back is faces you, you turn to Joel for comfort, watching as his eyes converse with hers. "Not a bad idea, a little nap and then we're back on our feet." His eyes seem empathetic enough for you to believe. And relief slowly travels all the way around your body, loosening the tightness around your muscles.

And so for the next few hours, you find yourself forcefully and gently pushed to the ground as Ellie convinces you it's time for you to rest again. It's...stressful, feeling like a burden but the constant comfort and reassurance sure are making up for it!!!

-----

I hated writing that middle part omg!!!! Like, you're unconscious, how can you know wtf is happening in the meantime?????? Anyway, I hope this was a bit comfortiiing 🥀🥀🥀❤️❤️❤️

#daughter!reader #father figure fic #adoptive father troop #daughter x father #joel miller x daughter!reader #joel miller x platonic reader #joel miller x daughter #joel miller!father #father fic #father figure #sister x brothers #sister!reader #sibling fic #daddy issues but it's serious #adoptive family #ellie tlou #ellie x fem reader #ellie x platonic reader

[mappingthesky]

“why am I always your second choice?" + planymphia 🤭

i am SO glad you asked for this anon, bc i've had something along these lines in the works for a while now.. this isn't exactly that, but here's something very close and very angsty:

There's so, so much that Nymphia loves about Jane, but right now, as Jane is storming through the apartment, there are a few things that Nymphia hates.

Nymphia hates that Jane is hurting. She hates that she's so angry she doesn't want to be touched or spoken to, that something has her shutting the door and turning on the shower and standing under the hot water until it runs runs cold. What Nymphia really hates more than anything is that she doesn't know what's wrong. That Jane has twisted her mind into tight, angry knots, and won't let Nymphia close enough to untangle them.

Nymphia sits in bed, sort of nauseated by the whole thing. There's something that unsettles her about seeing Jane, bold and unabashed and fearless Jane, so distressed. She feels helpless against it, like she's watching a storm cloud darken the sky and doesn't know the right words to quell the rain.

When Jane finally shuffles into the room she's wet-haired and puffy-eyed and silent. Nymphia's heart sinks. She knows what's going to happen next: Jane will be quiet. She'll keep her back turned while she pulls the t-shirt over her head, towels her hair, chews on her cheek. The conversation goes exactly like she thinks it will: Nymphia says something like 'baby', and it sounds like a plea, even though she hasn't asked anything yet. Jane doesn't respond, and Nymphia tries again, because she's never ready to give up on Jane.

"Hey," Nymphia crawls to the end of the bed, "what's wrong?"

"I'm okay, Nymph." Jane's voice is thin and flat and wholly unconvincing.

"No you're not." Nymphia's voice is tender and dripping with worry. "Talk to me."

Jane finally turns, not meeting Nymphia's eyes. "It's fine, babe. I don't want to talk about it."

Not with me, Nymphia thinks, because she knows what will happen when she presses. Jane's going to say something like-

"I'm good, I promise. I think I'm gonna call Saph, or Morphine, or something, and then-. "

"Jane," Nymphia hears her own voice, desperate and hardened, interjecting. And then she doesn't know what's going to happen next, because this hasn't happened before. "Can't you talk to me about this?"

Nymphia keeps trying, "I'm here, I'm listening," but Jane's already shaking her head and starting, "Nymph-".

"No," the words that have been collecting in a hard lump at the back of Nymphia's throat suddenly shift free, coming out hard and firm and desperate. "Don't shut me out on this, Jane. Please."

Jane's mouth twists and she catches her tongue between her teeth, looking like she's desperate to escape. "Just give me a few minutes with them, okay? I'll be off the phone in ten minutes and then we can just-"

"Why can't you tell me what's going on? No really, Jane. Why?" Nymphia's voice is strained, and then she feels sort of terrible because she's supposed to be comforting Jane, but her own eyes are prickling with tears when she says, "don't you trust me?"

Jane's sigh is the sound of heartbreak, and then she crosses the room to sit on the edge of the bed. Her hand finds Nymphia's shoulder and her eyes search for Nymphia's face, but she's turned away and twisting her face to hold back her tears.

"Baby," Jane smooths her hair, tucking a long, dark strand behind Nymphia's ear. "Of course I trust you, you know I do."

Nymphia sniffles. "So why can't you just talk to me about this? Why is it always someone else? Why am I always your second choice?"

"Hey. Look at me." Jane's hand moves to the small of Nymphia's back, eyes pointed with guilt when she finally faces Jane with downturned, watery eyes. "You're never my second choice, alright? Never. I never want to hear you say that again."

Nymphia chews on the inside of her cheek. She knows, and still she doesn't. Jane's expression is heavy with concern and sharpened with guilt and after a while she can't look at Nymphia anymore, because it hurts that she's the reason Nymphia thought, even for a second, that there was anyone Jane could ever put above her. The feeling slices through her, cutting deep enough to expose what she's really thinking.

"It's hard for me. To talk about this stuff," Jane says. Its a start.

Nymphia peers over, thinking for a while. "It's hard for me too," she offers quietly. "You know that. But I tell you everything, Jane."

"I know." One corner of Jane's mouth lifts into the hint of a smile, a break in the clouds. "I envy that about you, y'know. How you can just say how you're feeling."

"It's not so hard with you," Nymphia sniffles and picks at her cuticles. "Not for me."

"I'm glad, baby. You can always tell me how you're feeling." Jane says. It's a bit ironic, almost a cop out. The question Nymphia doesn't ask hangs heavy in the air. She doesn't have to say anything, Jane knows.

"I don't know," Jane says after a while, a bit tentative, her hand softening on Nymphia's shoulder. "Saph, she's gotten me through a lot. Seen the worst of it, I guess, and... well, you know how she is."

Nymphia nods, because she does know, but it's not enough. "I just want you to be able to talk to me like that. You know you can, don't you? I would never judge you."

"Yeah, I know," Jane nods, eyes unfocused and somewhere far off. "I guess.. I just get so angry sometimes. I don't know why. I don't want you to see that." There's something more ghosting behind her lips, and Nymphia doesn't think she's going to let it out. And then, Jane surprises her. "I don't want to scare you," Jane splits herself open, her voice almost a whisper.

Jane sounds so small, so vulnerable when she says it that Nymphia can't stop her bottom lip from curling into a pout. Its true, what Nymphia says when she reaches out to touch Jane's face, when Jane's eyes meet her own:

"I'm not afraid."

Jane looks back reverently. In her eyes, still red and puffy, there's a hint of a glimmer. A ray of light piercing through the darkened sky. "You promise?"

"Promise," Nymphia holds out her pinky, kissing her thumb when Jane links her own little finger and does the same. "I hate to tell you this, but you're not as scary as you think. Can you tell me what's wrong now?"

Jane sighs and flops back on the bed. And Nymphia's there - watching, coaxing, waiting. Nymphia's always going to be there. Knowing this, Jane finally lets it happen - the surrender of her entire self, the soft parts, the ugly. It happens, and when she's done talking about it and there are tears staining her cheeks and she's starting to feel just a little bit lighter, she looks over. Nymphia is still there, still loving her, and looking at her with an unexpected smile that says something like you can't scare me off so easily.

#she writes #planymphia #it would be nice if i could write something casually and not turn it into a novel but alas #prompt

[celticcrossanon]

BRF Reading - 24th of April, 2024

This is speculation only

Cards drawn on the 24th of April, 2024

Question: Does King Charles want Prince William to reconcile with Harry, and if so, why?

Interpretation: King Charles wants the arguments and tension between the brothers to stop because he can't cope with it (this is 'Don't make my last years a misery' territory).

Note: A lot of this reading is nothing new, but rather confirmation of what we already know or suspect.

Card One: The World

The World is a card of endings, of something coming to a successful conclusion. It usually involves looking back over what you have done and noting the successes and failures before you move on.

As an answer to my question, the energy from this card says yes, The King does want Prince William and Harry to reconcile. He wants the hurts/tensions/disagreements between them to be over, done with, finished, and for them to move on into a new relationship where they support each other or at least give the appearance of supporting each other.

As an answer to why, this card tells me that King Charles sees the failed relationship between the two brothers as a sign of failure on his part, and it is something he wants to fix before he 'moves on' to another plane of existence. I think that King Charles has been reviewing his life lately and he wants his last years to be with the illusion or reality of a happy, supportive family around him. I also think that he is quite upset that Prince William will not 'forgive and forget' to give him that illusion/reality.

Card Two: The Eight of Swords in reverse

The Eight of Swords is about being stressed mentally. You are in a situation and you can't see a way out. When it is reversed either the situation is a lot worse than the upright card, or you can finally see a way out of the situation.

I think both of these meanings are true here. When King Charles looks at the situation with his sons, he feels like the Eight of Swords in reverse - trapped, unable to do anything, almost victimised - and the situation is worse than he though it would be. This is giving him a lot of stress as he doesn't want his sons to be fighting.

He thinks he has a found a way out of the situation - his sons forgive and forget, make up, and he has no more stress. This completely ignores the hurt and the invasion of privacy that Harry has inflicted on his brother and his family, but for some reason The King is not taking that into consideration.

The energy of this card reminds me of when victims are told to forgive their abusers because otherwise they are bad people/they are holding onto anger/they are destroying themselves etc, and no one ever holds the abusers to account for what they did to the victim or says that the abusers should be the ones begging for forgiveness.

Card Three: The Five of Wands

This is a card of conflict, rivalry, competition, and arguments. The card shows Jason and Medea facing off against a green dragon that guards the golden fleece. I see Jason as Harry, Medea as Meghan, and the dragon as William, the Prince of Wales. The dragon is just doing its job, guarding a treasure that was given into its care (Prince William protecting his family and, in the wider sense, the monarchy), and Jason and Medea come along and try to kill it to gain its treasure (Harry saying horrible things about Prince William and his family because he is trying to wrest his brother's 'treasure' from him, said 'treasure' being his position as the heir). In the myth, Jason succeeds in killing the dragon with Medea's help, but I don't think that is going to happen here.

The conflict between Harry and Prince William is because Harry wants to be in Prince William's position - to be the heir. Harry is aided and abetted by Meghan in his actions. These actions involve everything he can think of that will 'kill' his brother, so he can take over his brother's role, including attacking his brother's family. This is not news, it is confirmation of something that we have seen for quite some time. This card is confirmation that there is conflict between the brothers, it is initiated by Harry and supported by his wife, it works through the media and PR (wands are PR), and that it will not stop until Harry has gained his 'treasure' - the position of The Prince of Wales, heir to the throne.

It is this situation and the vicious media articles that come from this conflict that is creating stress for King Charles and that he wants to end by having the brothers reconcile. I have to say here that given the gravity of the situation and the hurt that has been inflicted upon Prince William by his brother, I think that asking Prince William to forgive and forget and make up with Harry is a rather stupid idea. I can understand The King's desire to have an end to the conflict but I don't think reconciliation is the answer, or even possible. This competition is all one sided, from Harry, and shows no sign of ending until he is either defeated or he achieves his goal of being The Prince of Wales (and, eventually, King).

Card Four: The Two of Wands in reverse

The Two of Wands is a card about planning, making plans. When it is in the reverse, those plans are not happening. The energy of this card is of plans that The King has, and wants to carry through, that are now impossible to implement because of the rift between his two sons. As for what those plans are - the Two of Wands can be a card of leaving home. The picture on the card shows a red haired man, Jason, who for me symbolises Harry, standing outside the cave of Chiron, which for me represents the BRF. In the upright, Harry has left the BRF - he is outside the family. In the reverse, as we have here, this situation is undone and Harry is returned to his family. For me, this seems to indicate that King Charles has plans to return Harry to the bosom of the BRF and that those plans are impossible to implement while there is antagonism between Harry and Prince William.

Card Five: The Ten of Cups in reverse.

The Ten of Cups is the happy family card, the card of emotional contentment. This can be a real state or, occasionally, it can be an illusion - looking at something through rose coloured glasses.

In the reverse, this state of a happy family, real or illusionary, is not happening. There is no harmony in the family, and instead the family is full of conflict. This is the reality that for whatever reason The King is refusing to face. He is trying to create this illusion/reality of a happy family and he is not facing the fact that the actions of his younger son have irrevocably shattered that happy family image and it can not be brought back.

This card tell me that the reconciliation that the King wants will not happen. The family will not be reunited and the the conflicts and competition of the Five of Wands card will continue.

This card shows a wedding on Mount Olympus, the home of the gods, which represents a royal wedding. The energy from the reversed card is almost as if King Charles does not want to admit that Harry and Meghan's royal wedding was a mistake? He doesn't want to see his son in a broken marriage or admit that his son has a broken marriage? I can't quite make the energy out - maybe sympathy for Harry in his marriage? Or The King thinks that if Harry is separated from Meghan, then everything will go back to being OK between him and Meghan (the Five of Wands tells me this is not the case and that at this point in time Harry will continue his one sided competition with his brother with or without his wife).

If Harry and Meghan do separate, then I feel that King Charles will blame everything on Meghan and say everything is her fault, and that is not what happened.

Underlying Energy: The Hanged Man

The Hanged Man is a card of inaction, of contemplation, of seeing things from a new perspective, which fits in with the energy of The World card of King Charles reviewing his life. It is also the card of sacrifice, of having to make a sacrifice or be a sacrifice, which for me resonates with his wish that his son 'sacrifice' (ignore) his hurt and the effects of his brother's attacks on his family, and make up with his brother who is continually attacking him. Finally, the Hanged Man is the card for Neptune, the planet of illusion and delusion (among other things), which tells me that The King's wish for reconciliation between his sons is an illusion that is not happening.

The Hanged Man is a card of inaction, and that is The King's position here. He can not take action and force his sons to reconcile, instead he should sit back and let them play this out between themselves instead of trying to force them together in the name of brotherly love. The Hanged Man's inaction sometimes brings a new perspective on things. It might be time for King Charles to find a different way of looking at the situation between his sons and how he would like that to be resolved.

Conclusion:

The King does want his sons to reconcile. His sons' fighting is causing him a great deal of stress and anxiety. Having them reconcile would remove that stress. He appears to have been thinking over his life and he seems to feel that the actions of his sons reflect on him and are a failure on his part. Removing the conflict would fix that failure, remove the stress that is caused by Harry's actions, and bring the conclusion that he appears to want - a happy family.

Unfortunately, Harry is attacking Prince William with a set goal in mind - to steal his brother's treasure/become The Prince of Wales - and he is unlikely to stop until this goal is achieved. The competition is all one sided, it stems from Harry and Harry alone, and for this reason it is unlikely to stop until Harry lets go of his need to be better than his brother (which in my opinion will only happen after a lot of reputable therapy, if at all). Until Harry changes, the King's wishes for a reconciliation and a happy family are going to remain a rose coloured illusion.

The King has plans that he wants to implement, plans that appear to involve having Harry returned to his family, and these plans can not be implemented with the situation between the brothers as it is. This is another reason he wants his sons to reconcile - so he can move forward with those plans.

The message from the cards is for King Charles to spend more time thinking about this situation so that he can see it from a different perspective and stop pressuring one son to sacrifice himself, his principles, and his family, for the sake of his rose coloured illusion of a peaceful life surrounded by a happy family.

[seramilla]

Imagine Vaggie needing proof and when she's looking at the results of the tests that show she is Carmillas daughter she just stares for a long long moment and then she slowly looks up at Carmilla and chokes a bit before eventually asking what this meant...if this meant Carmilla had wanted or loved her and Carmilla just can't help but hug her close and whisper how she had been so wanted so so loved

"Show me."

"What?" Carmilla asks, trying to calm down, and allow Vaggie to calm herself down, as well.

"Show me the results. I need to see with my own eyes. Please!"

Still wiping tears from her eyes, Carmilla complies, and after rummaging around in her bag for a moment, pulls out a few leaflets of paper and hands them to Vaggie. The papers look so...boring and clinical. With a bunch of numbers, symbols, and indices that hold no meaning to Vaggie.

Except the result at the bottom, which is abundantly clear. Probability of parentage: 99.999997%. Vaggie's not a math person, but that seems statistically significant. Basically a certainty. Undeniable.

Vaggie places the papers down on her lap in front of her. She's visibly shaking now. Pushing them further down the bed, she seems to want to get them as far away from her as possible. Her head starts to spin, as she realizes her breathing is labored, like she's hyperventilating. Carmilla seems to recognize it too, because she's by her side in a fraction of a second. A large, strong hand is placed securely on her back, saying, "Breathe, mi querida."

Vaggie wants to tell her to stop calling her that. The test may be undeniable, but she's not...she's not this woman's darling. Not her mija, not her daughter, not anything. They just met barely a month ago. This woman doesn't know anything about her, has no right to be this affectionate, this parental, or...whatever else she feels entitled to.

"Please, stop," Vaggie begs, pleading with Carmilla, and pushing her hand away. "Please, Carmilla."

"I'm sorry," Carmilla says, a huge lump evident in her throat by the way her voice cracks. "I just wanted to...to comfort you."

"What, like a mom would?" Vaggie asks, her voice full of mirth she hadn't realized she'd been harboring. "We may be related, but I don't even know you! You almost left Charlie and me to fend for ourselves during that last Extermination! Now I'm just supposed to let you hug me? Treat me like I belong to you? Like you care?"

"What? No! I didn't know! That's not--!"

"What is it, then? Huh?! What kind of mother puts herself in a position to be killed when she's pregnant? Was I that expendable to you? Did you even care if you survived? If I did?"

"Vaggie, stop it--"

"Did you even want me in the first place?!"

"STOP!"

Carmilla's voice is so loud, it practically shakes the walls of the hospital room. Vaggie shrinks away, folding her small body in on itself out of fear of the woman losing control right in front of her. She covers her eye, expecting to be hit, like Adam or her commander would do sometimes. Her body is tense. She's bracing for it. But when nothing else happens, she opens her eye again, wondering at the impact that never comes.

Instead of an overlord, or a demon standing there, she sees a tired, defeated woman, using every bit of strength she has not to collapse into a heap on the floor in front of her. Carmilla is still crying. She looks back at Vaggie, and takes a few tentative steps toward her. When Vaggie doesn't protest, but looks up at her instead, full of an ache she didn't know needed to be filled, Carmilla collapses on the bed.

Carmilla doesn't ask permission. All of Carmilla's better judgement has already left her body, so everything that comes next is out of pure instinct. She needs Vaggie to understand. If Vaggie would only listen, she would know how much--how long she'd been--

"I'm sorry," Carmilla says, taking Vaggie into her arms, crying openly and longingly into the little angel's soft hair. "I'm so sorry. There's never been a day--a moment that's gone by that I haven't thought about you. Worried about you. Wondered where you'd gone and if you were okay."

Carmilla cradles the back of Vaggie's head tenderly, pulling her closer into her chest, where she used to hold her other girls. Where they'd always felt safest.

"You were always wanted. You were so, so loved. I...we cried for you. Grieved for you. Mourned the person we never knew. Please, Vaggie, believe me. We wanted you so, so much, mija."

Vaggie's not sure if she believes her. Not sure what to think. This is all too soon...too sudden...too much of a shock to her system. She's not even certain if she's in her right mind at this moment.

The emotion in the room is intense. Maybe it's the adrenaline of the last few days, or the pain medications finally kicking in. Whatever the reason, Vaggie grips Carmilla's shirt tightly. So tightly, her nails start to pierce fabric. She sobs into Carmilla's shoulder. Carmilla's shirt is soaked with her tears, but the older woman doesn't seem to care, and holds the fallen angel through it.

#hazbin hotel #carmilla carmine #vaggie #odette hazbin hotel #clara hazbin hotel #ask #anon #fan theories #vaggie carmilla related au

[666writingcafe]

Some Time Later

Lucifer (The Angel)

I've been assigned to patrol the woods alone this afternoon, and I have to say, I'm grateful. I don't get to be by myself very often. Some of that is due to choices I've made; after all, I've taken six angels under my wing, pun half-intended.

But there's something on my mind that none of them would be able to understand. Or rather, a person.

The Demon Prince is trying to fix the relationship between our realm and his. Originally, Michael was going to be the representative that went down there, but it got assigned last minute to me. After spending time with the prince, it makes me wonder if Michael would feel the same about him as I do if he were in my place.

The prince is kinder than some of the angels. I originally dismissed it as him simply practicing diplomacy, but he seems genuine in his efforts to get to know me as a person. He doesn't care about titles, instead focusing on character. Despite my less than stellar behavior when we first met, he still insists on becoming an ally.

Not just the Celestial Realm's, but my ally.

"I don't know what happened back there. I haven't felt that way about him in a really long time."

Great. Someone else is in the woods. I hold back a groan, knowing that I'll have to confront them. So much for my alone time.

"I think this place is doing weird things to all of us." Another voice.

"Did something happen to you, too?" The first voice...it sounds familiar.

"I feel like I'm behaving more like a demon than a human. First, there was the cover story for our appearance that I pulled out of my ass, and then I very nearly went all Asmo on Simeon when we were looking for Belphie earlier."

"Like, are we talking sexually? Magically?" The second voice sighs.

"Magically, Satan. I'm pretty sure having sex in the Celestial Realm is akin to heresy." I mean, they're not entirely wrong. But that's not important right now.

Satan...that's the name I've given to the anger that's become a permanent fixture inside my head. At first, it was just an emotion, but then it started talking. Or rather, screaming. At first, its noises were incoherent, but then I started hearing words in a voice that was not my own.

A voice that sounds eerily similar to the first trespasser.

"We have to get out of here," he tells his companion. "There's no telling what will happen if we..." He trails off as his eyes meet mine. Immediately, he tenses up, appearing to freeze in place.

"What's wrong?" Satan maintains eye contact, and the human follows his gaze. "Oh. This is bad. Really bad."

I step out of my makeshift hiding spot, making myself fully visible to them.

"Well, this is rather interesting," I remark, putting on an air of authority. "I should capture the two of you and not release you for a good long while."

"Please don't," the human quickly replies. "We don't mean any harm. If you can just help us find Simeon, I'll promise we'll be out of your hair." They seem terrified, but at least they're moving. Satan, on the other hand, hasn't budged an inch.

"If I was Michael or Raphael, your pleas would mean nothing. Thankfully, I'm only interested in talking." I focus my attention on Satan. "After all, it's not every day one sees the physical manifestation of their wrath."

"I was there even back then?" Satan whispers, confirming my earlier suspicions.

"You've been around from the moment I took Mammon in." My statement shocks Satan. "Your presence implies our separation at some point in the future. Assuming that you're a demon, that means that I must have fallen all the way down to the Devildom, correct?"

After a moment's hesitation, he nods his head.

"Along with the five angels you consider part of your family."

"Six," I correct.

"One doesn't survive the journey. Not entirely."

"What do you mean, not entirely?"

"If you knew who it was, then you'd end up altering the timeline," the human interrupts. "As it is, you know way more than you should."

"That's one way of looking at it, I suppose," I tell them. "I see it as preparing for the inevitable." They groan at my response.

"Barbatos is going to kill me," they mutter. Before I can question how they know the prince's butler, they take a deep breath and look straight at me.

"We can answer any questions you have, but you need to help us find Simeon. Not your Simeon, but ours. He and Satan got in a heated argument, and he went off in the opposite direction to hopefully try to calm down. Is there a spot here that he feels comfortable hiding in? One where he feels he won't be found easily?"

"There is a place, but it's a bit of a hike from here."

"Good enough. Let's go."

#obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mc #obey me satan #obey me simeon #4/23/2024: edit to correct numbers

[extasiswings]

I'm so curious your thoughts on this - all the PR and interviews with Oliver, Ryan and even Lou confirming these buddie related things and queer storylines for Eddie and Buck - why now? I believe in buddie canon, but it's so odd that they are no longer playing things close to the chest? Is it because they're trying to keep buddie fans? Or attract more viewers with the promise of it?

For the "why now," I think it's because they know that Buddie canon is happening and they're taking advantage of finally being able to speak their minds openly instead of being actively silenced. As to your two suggestions, I don't think they've ever needed to talk about Buddie-related things in PR to "keep" Buddie fans, and the show has gotten an influx of new viewers just from making Buck explicitly queer--the things they say in interviews imo aren't a factor. I also highly doubt it's any sort of targeted PR strategy, because to me it really sounds like Oliver just talking off the cuff about things he's probably been holding back sharing for years.

As to the "is it odd" of it all--Yes and No? It's not entirely out of the question for people who have worked on a show and had a terrible experience to spill the tea somewhere down the line. It's not common, because most people still want to work in Hollywood and don't want to burn bridges, but there are times when circumstances align to make it possible (like someone gets outed as a horrible person to work with in a very public fashion and then people who have worked with or under them can jump in like "yeah, I worked with them, worst experience of my life, they suck."). Or sometimes years later the cast of something might look back and go "oh yeah, XYZ." On rare occasions, someone who has been fired from a show might air all the dirty laundry because they're pissed. (Grain of salt, it's also hard sometimes to differentiate between what has been actively shared vs. info that is generally just an open secret?). For Oliver to say what he did though when Tim, for example, has been hedging about "oh it just felt like the right time" tells me that a) he feels secure enough right now to throw Fox under the bus by implication and b) he probably doesn't care if he ever works for another Fox show. Which! I can't blame him!

I will say this is a unique situation in that usually when bts issues like this come to light a show isn't still airing, at least in part because it's historically been rare for a show to move networks like this (especially while also keeping the entire cast and crew the same), but clearly Oliver in particular feels comfortable with what he's doing and no one is stopping him so I'm here for it.

#chapel talks #anonymous

[doe-eyed-fool]

Fallen {Chapter Twenty Eight}

Alastor x (Fem)Reader

Warning: Kidnapping, Violence (Vox hits reader), Threats Of Dismemberment/Torture (nothing actually happens tho)

A groan left me as the world finally came back into view, maybe a bit too fast, I shut my eyes tightly and tried to fight off the nausea I felt. I inhaled deeply a few times before slowly opening my eyes again.

I was somewhere I didn't recognize, it looked like a empty room. Nothing but a door ahead of me, and a small window on the wall to my right. It was the only thing lighting the room.

I tried to move, but was quickly stopped by a slight tug. I furrow my brows and look up, my arms had been raised above my head, and my wrists tied together by cuffs, held up by chains that were securely tied to the hooks in the ceiling.

I gasped sharply, it was muffled however, by the rag tied against my mouth. I tried my wings next, but the joints were cuffed as well, preventing me from flapping them.

My breathing became forced and erratic as panic finally set in fully. I tugged harshly at the chains, trying to free myself, but it was of no use.

My legs felt weak as well, I tried to move them, but they were about as useful as my arms, despite not being tied down.

What the fuck was happening!? Where was I!?

Suddenly the door to the room opened, and in walked a familiar looking overlord. "You awake?" He asked before flipping the light switch on. "Good...Now we can get to know each other." He approaches me and crouches to my level.

"I know we've met before. But I think we should start over, we're gonna be seeing a lot of each other from now on so..." He chuckles darkly.

"The name's Vox, nice to meet you."

"Aw, don't look so scared." Vox said with false pity. "I'm not gonna hurt you. Not yet anyway." He smirks. "I'm just gonna keep you here until your little boyfriend shows up. That asshole has been screwing around with me for too long. It's about time I put an end to that radio fucker, and you, are just what I need to do it."

I furrow my brows, I was worried of course and no doubt scared for my own safety. But now I was angry too.

"Wanna say something?" Vox tilts his head, he reaches for the rag at my mouth and pulls it down. "Go ahead then."

"You think just because you kidnapped me, that Alastor won't tear you apart?" I ask. "You underestimate him, if you believe that." Vox laughs at my words. "If he doesn't want you loosing a few limbs, he will come here and behave. If he doesn't, well, that'll be one thorn out of my side."

"Don't you dare hurt him. I don't care what happens to me, you can do whatever you want, but do not hurt Alastor." I say, tugging at the chains slightly.

"Oh, I don't need anything from you. Though, my associate might. I'm sure you've heard of him, and I'm sure you know how popular his films are." He could only mean Valentino. Oh god...I would rather die...

"You won't get away with this. Alastor will come here and rip you limb from limb. And telling from this kidnapping act, you like to play cheap. I bet that's why you're doing this. You can't match up to Alastor."

Vox delivered a harsh slap to my face after that. I failed to hold back a yelp as my head was forced to the side from the blow. I could feel the sharp sting blossoming in my cheek.

"Keep talking shit, and I won't be so forgiving next time." He stood up fully and looked out of the window. "I tried to get that dumbass hell hound to bring you here. But I guess he fucked off somewhere."

Hell hound? Did he mean Liam? Liam was in on this? I guess that would explain why he was at the hotel in the first place.

"Anyhow! I feel like we should start moving things along now. I'm sure he's noticed you're gone, so, how about we give him an idea of where you are. Speed things up, you know?"

"Let's see...maybe I could send him a finger or two? Or maybe one of those pretty eyes of yours?" He grins wickedly. I tried not to let my fear show, but it was clear by the shaking of my hands and shoulders. Vox's eyes trailed down. "That'll do."

I follow his gaze, my eyes falling upon my necklace. I gasp and try to move away as he reached down. "No! No, stay away!" I yelled. "Relax, will ya? I'm just taking the necklace. What? Did he give it to you? How cute." He says bitterly before grabbing at it. "No!" I cry just as he ripped it from my neck.

And just like that, my true form was revealed...

"What...the fuck!?" Vox exclaims.

If I wasn't panicked before, I definitely was now. My true form, my angel wings on display for Vox to witness. This wasn't good. This was the absolute last things I wanted to happen. What would he do to me now that knows? I couldn't look at him, I kept my eyes glued to the floor as I drew ragged breaths.

Vox then began to laugh.

"Fucking really!?" He cackles. "Well no wonder he likes you so much! You're an angel! Oh that's priceless!"

Vox's laughter died down slowly. He crouched back down and grabbed my chin, jerking my head up to face him. "You are both so fucked..."

"Alastor!" Mimzy shouts, before dodging a person being thrown her way. "Damn it Alastor! Calm down, you're making a mess of things!" She calls up at the now titanic sized radio demon. Tendrils grown from his back, were the cause of the randomly tossed objects and unfortunate demons in the way.

This had been going on for several minutes. He was beyond frantic, beyond worried. He wasn't thinking clearly, he was far too distraught for that.

"Don't you tell me to calm down!" Alastor yelled back. "Y/nis missing!"

"Well you're not gonna find her all worked up like this! Get down here and use your head!" Mimzy demanded. Alastor knew she was right, though it didn't make him any less frazzled. He did as she said however, and returned to his normal form.

Now it was just them in the empty longue. Alastor did feel a little bad about causing such a commotion in Mimzy's lounge, of all places. He let his anger and worry get the best of him, and it controlled his every movement. Blinded him from what was going on around him.

He was so upset by this...and he was scared...

"Where could she be?" Alastor's voice cracked slightly. "She wouldn't have just left on her own..." Mimzy didn't like seeing Alastor like this. She was worried too, but she knew it was nowhere near what he felt. "Isn't there any way of contacting her?" She asks.

"You know I don't own a cell phone. She doesn't either..."

Mimzy narrowed her eyes. "Isn't she from the modern era? Why doesn't she have a phone? You know what, never mind. Let's just stay calm and focus alright? Is there any place she might go to that you know of?"

"Other than the hotel, no." Alastor answers. "Alright, let's start there." Just as Mimzy said that, her phone rang. She looks at it then to Alastor. "Speak of the devil." She answers it. "Hello?"

'Hey, Mimzy? Is Alastor with you?' It was Charlie on the other end. The two had exchanged numbers the last time Mimzy had visited the hotel, to see Alastor.

"He is." Mimzy tells her.

'Well, a package showed up for him here at the hotel. It's pretty weird looking...We didn't want to mess with it. But I think it's from VoxTek, which is why it's weird. Alastor isn't really tech savvy you know?'

Mimzy hold the phone away from her to speak to Alastor. "It's Charlie, she says you have a package at the hotel, from VoxTek."

The loud screech of a record skipping made Mimzy wince. Before she could get a word in, Alastor had sunken into the shadows and disappeared. She sighs before speaking into the phone again.

"He's on his way. A word of advice, when he shows up...stay out of his way." Rage couldn't even begin to describe what Alastor felt the moment he opened that package. It was small, small enough to hold the necklace along with a few white feathers inside.

Vox knew...and now, Alastor wanted nothing more than to rip his soul apart, for even daring to lay his filthy hands on his beloved.

He should have known. Of course it was that bastard. Of course he would do something like this. Alastor swore right then and there, that he would invent a whole new form of pain, when he got his hands on that flat-faced motherfucker.

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