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shitouttabuck · 14 days

Note

"picking a leaf/flower petal out of their hair, or brushing dirt off of their face" for bucktommy or buddie? 👀

everything’s growing in our garden

buck/eddie | 2k | read on ao3

It’s a Saturday afternoon and Eddie is muddy-kneed and sweaty in his backyard, grass stains all down his jeans and freshly-dug dirt clinging to multiple senses—gritty between his fingers, scent mellow and earthy, in through his nose and settling soft on the back of his tongue.

The fact that it’s a Saturday afternoon on his day off is only relevant when presented with the combination of factors that find him alone in his garden today. First, he’s a dad to a teenager who has much less embarrassing things to do than hang out with his father on a weekend. Second, his two closest friends are dating each other. Third, Eddie’s not dating anybody.

So here he is, carefully planting winter squashes in the stretch of soil he’s just worked, because this is a new phase of life for him and things are changing for the different. They’ll be okay, he’ll be okay, he just doesn’t want to—get left behind. Stagnate. Hence, gardening. Maybe a little on the nose in terms of growth metaphors, but hey, he’s doing it, and that’s what counts. He thinks.

He spent a few weeks struggling to put a name to the new anxiety, or anxiety-adjacent twist in his stomach that made itself known after Buck came out to him. Not that night—that night was surprise and joy and this almost debilitating tidal wave of love he tried to wrap Buck up in when he strode across the loft into that hug.

But the next day, when Buck texted him that Tommy agreed to meet for coffee and talk? Something uncomfortable wrapped itself around Eddie’s insides, a python-grip of pressure, and it’s only gotten tighter since.

He entertained the idea that this time around maybe it was him who was jealous, his friend and his best friend dating each other and having less time for him. Except that’s not anywhere close to true—sure, his Saturday afternoons are a little emptier, but neither Buck nor Tommy have lessened the time they spend with Eddie on the whole. There’s still Muay Thai and basketball, there’s still homemade dinners and beers and movies on the couch. There’s nothing to be jealous of—he still has them both in the same capacity he always has.

Which is when he plucked at whatever tendril of envy had him in knots, following it back to the root. Watching Buck blush like a teenager in the face of Tommy’s earnest smooth-talking. Tommy absently reaching for Buck’s hand and intertwining their fingers when he drops by the station while they’re on shift. The way Buck seems to unconsciously sway into Tommy’s orbit, like a Great Dane who’s forgotten they’re too big for lap-sitting.

Maybe the thing Eddie was envious of, then, is less the replacement of a friend and more the lack of any of this, any of the easy affection, in his own relationship. Marisol was nice, kind, fine, but Eddie—he doesn’t regret ending things because he so badly wants to believe in more than fine for himself.

Marisol had looked almost relieved that she didn’t have to pull the ripcord on their relationship herself, confirming Eddie’s inkling that there was pretty much no coming back after he asked her to move out not one day post-moving-in. It’s a memory that’s going to make him wince for several years at least.

He ended up naming the ache, yanking off the mask like a Scooby-Doo villain reveal to look it in the eye. Oh, he’d thought, smoothing away a smear of soot on Buck’s nose, realisation just late enough that his hands remained steady in their obliviousness. This is the easy affection, isn’t it.

Buck’s nose crinkled with amusement and the knot in Eddie’s stomach loosened for half a second before coiling tight again, uncaring of his revelation. And, he supposes, that’s fair, because it’s not like this knowledge changes anything. Eddie can’t believe in the Universe because that’s a quick jaunt to feeling personally victimised by all of it, this singularly unbearable tragedy of timing in particular.

He's not surprised it took Buck to make him realise he’s—not straight. He hasn’t even let himself think about it, not really. The fact that it’s Buck is enough to anchor him from the alarm of a sexuality crisis. Nothing about loving Buck could ever be that scary. Still, the rest of it remains only in the recesses of his mind. He’s—on his way. He just doesn’t think he can struggle through a—a complete identity overhaul at the same time he’s struggling to make his peace with the fact that Tommy makes Buck really happy, and Eddie can’t ever be someone who puts that at risk. That Eddie’s lost Buck before he even realised he wanted him this much at all.

So. Things are changing, things are different, and Eddie has to keep moving. He still has Buck and Tommy in the same capacity he always has. He just has to come to terms with wanting more and not being able to ask for it. Letting yourself want is a slippery slope, because believing you can want and believing you can have are two different things. He’s allowed to want, but he’s not allowed to have. For now, he digs his hands into the soil, deliberate and reaching. In four months, he’ll have winter squashes. Buck will teach him that delicious soup recipe they tried last year. Eddie won’t be stuck in this moment forever.

The backdoor squeaks something awful when Buck slides it open jerkily. Eddie looks up, surprised.

“Hey,” he says, scratching at his nose. “What’re you doing here? Thought you had a lunch date.”

“I did,” Buck nods, flopping himself down on the lawn beside Eddie. “Finished early. I texted you, but I guess your phone’s inside.” He eyes Eddie’s dirt-streaked hands. “Thought I’d come see what you’re up to anyway.”

“Gardening,” Eddie tells him helpfully, and he grins.

“And here I thought you were just playing in the mud.”

Eddie flicks the dirt on his hands at Buck. He just beams up at Eddie, afternoon sun washing him the kind of golden that makes Eddie’s breath catch a little.

“What’re you planting?”

“Squash,” Eddie says, shaking the brightly coloured packet of seeds at him. “How’s Tommy?”

Buck blinks at him. “You saw him, like, two days ago.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Eddie says, sinking his hands into the raked soil for something to do. “Like—how’s dating him going?”

“Oh,” Buck says, brow scrunching for the barest second before he nods. “Good. It’s—I really like him.”

“Good,” Eddie breathes, gut-snake squeezing and squeezing inside him.

They’re quiet for a minute, bird song and breeze winding around them, and then Buck asks, “Do you, uh. Do you talk to Tommy about me, too?”

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks, studying the dirt before him.

“Like. Do you ask Tommy how things are going with dating me?”

Eddie huffs a laugh. “No. No, I don’t. Why?”

Buck shrugs, picking at stalks of grass. “Why not? We’re both your friends.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?” Buck sits up.

Eddie tips some more seeds into his palm before depositing them into the next hole. “No, it’s not. Buck, you—obviously it’s different.”

“But why?” Buck presses. “I know your friendship is, like, foundationed on macho men stereotypes, but c’mon. Neither of you are capable of not, I don’t know, talking about more sensitive stuff, I guess.”

Eddie sighs at the dirt.

“Why is it different?”

“It’s different ’cause it’s you,” Eddie says. He doesn’t need to look at Buck to know he’s slow-blinking in confusion.

“W-why? You don’t think you have to put up some kind of front—with Tommy?”

“Why is this bothering you so much? Do you want me to be talking to Tommy about you?”

He finally looks at Buck, his life-ruiningly pink mouth ajar in surprise.

“N-no. Just—I don’t know.”

He’s wearing the same hang-dog expression he had been when he’d bodied Eddie at the pick-up game, half-surprise, half-misery. Eddie sighs again.

“Are you—are you worrying about something between the two of you? Because I don’t have to be in the middle of it, but that doesn’t mean you can’t tell me. That doesn’t mean I’m not on your side.”

“There’s no sides,” Buck shakes his head. “I wouldn’t make you pick anyway.”

Eddie groans and shoves Buck back down, flat on his back with big muddy handprints on his crisp blue shirt. “I’m always on your side, you idiot. Tommy’s great, but I’ve known the guy… what, two months? You’ve been my—for six years. You’ve been—it’s different.”

“Oh,” Buck grins, bright and broad, “is that why it’s different?”

Eddie ignores him. “Is there something going on, though? Did something happen?”

“No,” Buck shakes his head, sobering a little. “Not really. I really like him, I just—I don’t know if there’s… a future, you know? We’re both having fun, but I-I just don’t know how to have that conversation with him yet. Or… if he’s on the same page and it’s all okay.”

“Oh,” Eddie says. He turns the trowel over in his hands. “How come—what makes you think there’s no future with him?”

“There could be,” Buck amends. “I just—there could be something else.” He glances at Eddie and hurriedly adds, “I think there’s already… I think… you know?”

“No,” Eddie says truthfully. “But you know, which is all that matters.”

Buck exhales softly. “Right. I’m just—I think I know what it’s supposed to look like. And Tommy is fucking—wonderful. I just—he’s not what my ending looks like.”

He looks up, meeting Eddie’s eyes, and there’s something in there just as vulnerable as the night he quietly told Eddie it was a date. Eddie doesn’t know how to translate it, bowled over by the wave of frustration at not being fluent in every one of Buck’s languages.

Except—he might still be, because all that’s there is this—expectation, a weighty, desperate hope for understanding. Like Buck’s waiting. And behind that, the steadiness of the safest place Eddie’s ever known.

“It’s different for me, with you and Tommy,” Eddie begins, “because it’s you. I can—I can listen to you talk about dating other people because—I know that, I’m used to that. But—listening to Tommy talk about what it’s like dating you? When I’m just—too late—”

He doesn’t know if he cuts himself off or if he’s interrupted by Buck’s ragged inhale. Either way, he’s silent, filling up the next little hole with soil.

“Eddie—”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have—” Eddie mumbles. “I can’t—Buck—”

Buck sits back up and grabs him by his shoulders, turning him so they’re face-to-face. “Eddie.”

“I can’t,” Eddie says again, voice hoarse with emotion. “I’m—I haven’t even begun unpacking it, Buck.”

“Okay,” Buck nods. “Okay. I’m not asking for anything. Just—do you mean it? That’s all I need from you. Tell me if you mean it, Eddie, please—” His chest is heaving like he’s run ten blocks and not just been sprawled on Eddie’s lawn in the afternoon sun.

And the thing is, Buck asks for so little. He thinks he does the opposite, but everyone who’s ever loved Buck knows: Buck asks for so little. And he deserves the entire fucking world. So Eddie can spare one terrifying truth.

“There could be something else,” he echoes Buck’s earlier words. “And it’s—it’s already… it could be a really good fucking ending. I’m… I need some time to… but I think it could the right ending. For us.”

Buck swallows audibly, eyes bright when he ducks his head and nods. “S’much time as you need.”

Something in Eddie relaxes, stops constricting, takes a deep, gulping breath. He blinks quickly to stave off whatever emotion this is, sinking his hands into the last mound of dirt.

“They’ll be ready by September,” he tells Buck, a little thickly.

“September,” Buck nods. “Good month. Summer end. We can make soup.”

Eddie turns to him. “Not too long away?”

“Nah,” Buck says, hand coming up to cup Eddie’s face. Eddie freezes, but Buck’s just using the pad of his thumb to oh-so-gently brush away a smudge of dirt on Eddie’s cheek. He keeps holding Eddie’s face for a moment more before dropping his hand, shifting to examine Eddie’s neatly planted rows of squash seeds. “Besides. They’re, uh. Worth waiting for.”

“I hope so,” Eddie says softly.

Buck nudges his shoulder against Eddie’s, companionable and cross-legged beside each other in the grass. “I know so.”

#this is. i dont know!#911 #buddie #911 fic #buddie fic #nina writes

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after-witch · 2 months

Text

Yandere Overhaul first time having sex headcanons

Title: Yandere Overhaul first time having sex headcanons [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: Headcanons for yandere Overhaul's first time having sex with reader.

Word count: 1000ish

Notes: Kidnapped reader, dubcon, descriptions of sex, reader is afab

Preparing For Your First Time

Your first-ever kiss was impulsive. It was the first truly intimate skin-to-skin (well, lip-to-lip) contact and it took you both by surprise.

But this? This is not impulsive. This has been put onto his schedule, both the flat calendar he keeps on his desk and on his phone. He has, he says, cleared out the afternoon through tomorrow morning. You’re not sure if that’s flattering or not.

The schedule is not the only thing that’s been pre-planned.

Overhaul gave you a checklist. Brush your hair. Brush your teeth. Shower–three times. Once to rinse yourself off, another to scrub with soap and rinse. And another scrub and rinse, for good measure.

He’ll be doing the same, he told you, as if that lessened the feeling of shame. When he saw how your hands trembled holding the list he tilted your chin up with a gloved finger. “You’re not… dirty, darling. But one can never be too careful. You understand, don’t you?” And you do, of course. So you head into the shower and force away nagging thoughts.

There’s a silky white nightgown waiting for you when you step out of the shower. That doesn’t surprise you: it’s how he prefers you dress at night. What does give you pause is the small vial sitting on top of it… a perfume. A scent you used to like from before. He stopped letting you wear scents when you came here. It’s a gift–one that makes you smile from ear to ear. You put a little behind your ear and relish the scent of it.

Continued:

Your First Time Together

He leads you into the most sacred of places: his bedroom. His bed is just as you imagined it. Black sheets, freshly pressed. Standard pillows in cases that you’re sure are antimicrobial. It would kill the mood, so you don’t ask.

Your stomach starts to do awful flips as soon as he gently directs you to sit on the bed. Is this the right step forward? What if he hates it? What if you hate it? Are you even supposed to want to do this with him? But to answer that last question would undo the protective web you’ve built up around yourself over so long, and you force it away

Overhaul gently pushes your shoulders down so that you’re propped up on his pillows.

“Stop thinking so much.” Gentle, firm. An order, all the same. “You’ll worry yourself into hysterics.”

Yes, you will. So you smooth over all the worry and guilt and remind yourself that Overhaul, that Kai knows best. Always.

Yet that knowledge doesn’t stop the oppressive flutter of your stomach when he crawls on the bed and lifts up the hem of your nightgown. He leaves it on you, bunched up around your hips; the soft fabric tickles your thighs.

He takes off his own clothing, however. You watch as he neatly folds them and places them in a laundry bin against the wall marked DIRTY. A bin next to it is marked CLEAN.

When he returns to the bed, you finally get your first sight of his erection, pressed up against his stomach, covered in the thin clear material of a condom. Your heart hammers. It’s happening, isn’t it?

It’s then that you notice–he hasn’t removed his gloves. “What about…” You ask, looking at his hands.

“I need them,” is what he says, with a tone that means it’s not to be questioned.

Still, you squeak out a “But–” before he crawls onto the bed and gently pushes your legs open wider.

He ignores your utterance.. A smile is on his face. “You’re so sweet, aren’t you? My angel. Now try to relax, it will make this easier. I know it must be… anxiety-inducing.”

There is some small part of you that wants to snap back. To tell him that you’re not all sweetness and nightgowns,, that you’ve had sex, for fuck’s sake, just not like this. Not with him. Not under these circumstances.

But that isn’t what Overhaul, what Kai wants, and you don’t want to ruin everything. Really, he’s right, isn’t he? You do think too much. It makes things too complicated.

So you lean your head back and go quiet and he takes that as a sign to begin. His gloved finger goes inside you too quickly, and your breath hitches.

“Relax,” he says. It makes you think, abruptly, of when he takes you into the clinic. The tone he uses when he’s about to stick you with a needle. Relax, relax, relax.

Another finger begins to rub your clit. It’s meticulous and practiced and feels almost clinical. Your breath begins to stutter on cue, you feel yourself getting warm and wet, but it’s like your mind is blank even as the pleasure builds and builds.

You can feel yourself starting to lose control. Your thighs tremble so much you’re worried he might stop, your breath comes out heavy, and sweat begins to bead at the back of your neck.

You orgasm on his gloved fingers and he lets you ride it out, clenching his digit, before he removes it. He pulls off both gloves (he hides his distaste, at least you think so, and it makes your heart flutter) then tosses them into the DIRTY bin, and leans over to retrieve a clean pair from his nightstand.

Then he’s leaning over you and you finally feel the warm, firm press of his cock lining up against your entrance.

It hurts at first. Uncomfortable with a dash of pain–you feel too full, too tight. Enough to make tears prick at your eyes. But not for long. He did prepare you, after all, and it’s not long before the uncomfortable tightness gives way to a more pleasurable friction.

You want him to come undone. To look vulnerable. But he doesn’t, despite his thrusts getting faster, despite him pressing his palms against your wrists to keep you in place as he begins to grunt softly above you.

“Relax,” he tells you, when he catches you staring. “You’re doing so well for your first time, aren’t you, angel?”

You want to correct him, but you know of the few options you have in a moment like this, it would be the worst one. So you nod and bite down a whimper when he thrusts particularly hard.

He’s in control, even now. Like always. It was silly to think you’d see him come undone above you, even like this.

He finishes inside and kisses you for the first time during the whole evening during his afterglow. He coos at you, gloved fingers holding your chin, praising you for how well you did.

After he pulls out, he quickly disposes of the condom in the DIRTY bin, along with his gloves. New ones get snapped on.

He goes to the bathroom and returns with a clean rag and a bin of water, so that he can clean you up. He tells you to roll over on your side, explaining in calm detail what will happen now. “You’ll be sore,” he says, “and it might feel a little funny. Don’t worry about that. It will pass. It won’t be as strange the next time.”

All you can do is pretend he’s right and listen to your breath hitch as he wipes you clean.

You stare at the bins pushed up against his wall. DIRTY, CLEAN. Which one would he put you into, if he tossed you over?

#yandere overhaul #yandere chisaki kai #yandere bnha #yandere mha #yandere #afterwitch headcanons #afterwitch writes

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femmefatalevibe · 11 months

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Femme Fatale Guide: How To Cultivate Self-Discipline

Know Your Why: Always Keep The End In Mind

Keep Small Promises To Yourself. Make Them Non-Negotiable.

Create And Consistently Log Your Progress

Take Temptations Out Of Sight

Find Indulgences To Help You Focus On Your Goals

Know Your Why: Always Keep The End In Mind

Decisiveness drives discipline. You need to clarify and define your goals. State them clearly with their authentic purpose in mind. If you seduce this end goal into your life, what desire are you truly fulfilling? Ex. If you want to lose 10 pounds: Is it to feel healthier? Look better in a bikini? Fit into a certain pair of jeans? No matter how superficial, identify the genuine reason why you want to achieve a certain goal. Whatever reason elicits a visceral and emotional reaction. Sometimes, especially during a busy work day, your reason could be as simple as wanting to lessen your anxiety and ease into a more relaxed state. Any purpose that resonates. Once you have an emotional response tied to a goal, it becomes infinitely easier to motivate yourself to take small steps towards achieving it. Where energy goes, energy flow. Simon Sinek goes more in-depth with this concept in Start With Why.

Keep Small Promises To Yourself. Make Them Non-Negotiable.

Think of performing self-discipline rituals as confidence-building exercises. This action helps you trust yourself, establishes a sense of integrity, and builds self-confidence. For example, if you stick to your meal and workout plan for 5 days a week, you build trust in knowing you're more powerful than your cravings and are capable of taking good care of your body. If you complete a project on schedule (personal or professional), you prove to yourself that you’re efficient, build confidence in your ability to finish tasks you start, and self-affirm that you follow through on your ideas. Finishing that book this month reflects confirms that you value yourself enough to expand your mind, learn, and expand your knowledge base. Eventually, through enough consistent repetition, these rituals into unconscious habits that you do effortlessly in daily life.

Create And Consistently Log Your Progress

You can’t manage what you don’t measure – your finances, calorie and step counts, workouts, productivity, etc. Tracking data related to your habits – such as your spending habits, eating or workout patterns, writing word count, and task completion – on a given day or week – allows you to understand and analyze your current behavior. What habit cues, environmental or other situational factors are keeping you from sticking to the current task at hand? Do you leave your running shoes stuffed in the back of the closet? Junk food in the house? Work from bed or with your phone by your side? Are you avoiding certain emotions? Does this data change when you’re stressed or tired?

Awareness is the first step towards redirected action. Analyze these data points to see your pitfalls and strategize how to help yourself.

Take Temptations Out Of Sight

Set yourself up to win. Get the phone away from your workspace, remove any junk food or soda from the house, delete apps, or silence notifications from people who distract you from your goals. Self-discipline becomes significantly easier when you have to take additional steps to indulge in your vices. Replace these temptations with helpful cues to help you build healthier habits that lead to self-discipline. Give yourself visual cues to move you toward your goals. Keep a journal with a pen next to your bed. Leave your workout clothes and shoes out near your bed. Write a quick to-do list right before finishing work for the following day, so it’s easier to jump into the first task right away the next morning. Cut up some produce or do a 30-60 minute meal prep once a week to eat more healthful meals. Find ways to make it easier to stay on track than give in to temptation.

Find Indulgences To Help You Focus On Your Goals

Self-discipline shouldn’t feel like deprivation – of certain foods, pastimes, or activities you enjoy. Buy cute workout clothes you feel confident in. Create the most dance-worthy playlist. Make it a priority to buy your favorite fruits and vegetables every week. Rotate a selection of your favorite healthy meals. Leave your sunscreen out – front and center – on your bathroom counter. Find a big, beautiful water bottle to keep on your desk. Purchase aesthetic notebooks, pens, planners, journals, and other office organization items. To make self-discipline feel like second nature, you need to marry indulgences and your desire to meet your goals. Discover the habits that work for you and find small ways to make these tasks more enjoyable.

Go easy on yourself. Build one habit at a time. Self-discipline is like a muscle. It requires time to build and grows in increments. Try to stay on track and more focused than yesterday. Your only competition is your former self. Find pleasure in the process. Focus on the immediate task in front of you while also keeping your future self in mind.

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depravitycentral · 10 months

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what would be a yandere like feitan's reaction to his darling squirting the first time they finally are intimate?

Tw: squirting, virgin Feitan, no protection, implications of stalking, Feitan is insecure, Stockholm Syndrome, you're very sexually pent up and the months of being stuck with Feitan and only Feitan has really affected you, one extremely brief mention of vore, Feitan walks in on Nobunaga jerkin' it, fem reader

Listen, I know this is wistful daydreaming, but if we're being honest here, this would never happen. Feitan is a stone cold virgin; the kind that's never even willingly watched porn - or, at least, any porn not featuring a grotesque amount of vore, questionable consent, and moans so high pitched and frequent that it might actually be screaming. That, coupled with the fact that he's so awkward and nervous around you - especially in the context of sex - results in, frankly, less than mediocre sex. At least, the first time.

But it's fun to fantasize, so let's discuss!

Feitan knows what squirting is - loosely. He's heard about it before, sure, and accidentally walked in on Nobunaga doing something that really, really should've prompted him to wear headphones and lock the door. He's aware of what it is, but it's a combination of surprise, confusion, and a sudden and suffocating wave of arousal when it actually happens that leaves him with wide eyes and his lips slightly parted - the closest thing to shock you'll ever see on him.

There's surprise, because Feitan had been so hesitant the whole time he was touching you. He'd bent you over and practically shoved your face into the mattress, too busy staring at the curve of your ass and your pussy to really notice the telltale signs of his nerves. He wanted to seem confident, dominant, knowledgeable, but there's this ever so slight tremble in his fingers as he runs them up and down your sides, this hesitation in his hips when he's fucking into you, this sense of anxiety surrounding him because he really, really needs you to like this as much as he does. And the first time you come - because it takes much, much more than once to squirt - Feitan's honestly shocked.

He's heard how difficult it is to make women orgasm (mostly from Phinks and Nobunaga who, frankly, aren't particularly reliable sources of information), and the fact that he'd managed to do it with just his fingers, some eye contact, and a few careful, purposeful rubs at your clit has him feeling equal parts amazed and proud, because he did that. All those months of stalking you, watching you touch yourself and analyzing the speed and positioning of the toys you used has truly paid off. He's boastful, and it helps boost his confidence just a bit and lessen the tension in his shoulders.

Because now, he doesn't have to worry about making sure you like this. You came, so you'll want to do this again - and now, he can come without feeling pathetic because he's only just moved on from fingering to fucking, and it's been about a minute but he's already ready to burst.

But then you come again, and Feitan freezes up again.

This isn't supposed to happen. He's suspicious, now - there's no denying that your muscles spasmed around him, you cunt fluttering and sucking him in, and your cries and the way you trembled and writhed are certainly convincing. But how did you reach your high for a second time? He was just fucking you; quick, rabbit-like thrusts while he half-heartedly rubbed at your clit, and surely that's not enough, right? He starts to wonder if you're faking it - maybe you're a really good actress, and maybe he shouldn't feel so confident that he was actually able to do it and make you feel good.

He's hesitant to keep going, but he'll be damned if he doesn't finally get to come inside you, so his hips start moving again.

But then you come for a third time, and Feitan decides that you must be making fun of him. There's no fucking way he's making you feel this good - his insecurities (things that've been buried for a very long time, and things that he tries not to think about) come rushing to the surface and he crawls back to that closed off, distant persona, effectively rebuilding any sort of barriers that he's managed to break down between you for the last few months of your captivity.

He's literally pulling out, his expression turning sour (though his cheeks are bright pink from exertion, pleasure, and embarrassment), shame creeping up his spine along with anger because god, is he really so bad at this that you have to pretend to such an extreme degree?

But then you're reaching out behind you, your sweaty hand wrapping around his wrist, your voice strained and breathy as you look back at him and say no, please, give me more, please Feitan! And it's difficult, really, for him to decide what to do - on the one hand, he won't stand for having you humiliate him like this. He's a fully grown man, your captor, an internationally feared criminal, and the one indisputably in charge. But on the other hand, you're begging for him, asking him to stay inside you and keep making you feel good, and he's never seen you look at him with such yearning, such honesty, such need.

He'll scoff under his breath (though there's no malice) and settle back into you, his hips rutting noticeably faster, balls clapping against your clit over and over again, his eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure begins mounting fast, almost too fast.

He wants to hold off, to prolong this feeling - this warmth, this soft, fluttering feeling in his chest because you want him, but you just feel too good, the friction and warmth of your walls making it impossible for him to hold off any longer.

Except, right as he nears the edge, his eyes going wide then fluttering closed again, his lips catching between his teeth and his breath getting heavy and harsh and labored, he feels it.

It's wet, it's warm, and it's foreign. It's like something is spraying him, right on his balls, dripping down his thighs and leaving him sticky. Immediately he jerks back, cock slipping out of you, concern and discomfort making him stare wildly down at your shaking hips and ass, only to freeze.

There's this clear liquid gushing from you, landing on him while you tremble and shake and - he's now realizing - you're practically screaming his name. Your voice is strained and your face is pressed into the mattress, your arms having gone limp as you babble and cry out. He can't move, even as it peters out, your whimpers getting quieter while your shaking stays.

You squirted.

You just fucking squirted.

Because of him, and the pleasure he was giving you.

That's not something you can fake. He doesn't care how good of an actor you are - that was real. That was for him. He was making you feel good enough that you'd just done something he was mostly convinced was only possible in porn - all because of how good he was making you feel.

You can't see him, but suddenly you feel him - his cock is in you, hips moving so fast you can only gasp and let out something between a yelp and a gasp. He's fucking into you so fast that it's leaving you dizzy and disoriented, the aftershocks of the pleasure making your fingers and legs feel numb. You're shaking again, a constant stream of cries falling from your lips, but he doesn't relent.

How can he? You - the woman he thinks he's in love with, the woman he's spent literal months fantasizing about and thinking of every waking moment - and your body just showed him exactly how he affects you. You just showed him how badly your body craves him, how he makes you feel, how much you need him.

And as his orgasm descends upon him, his hips moving at an animalistic pace, uneven and stuttering, the sensation of warm cum flooding you only heightens the sensitivity running through your system, your brain feeling like mush and your muscles limp.

And Feitan, as the pleasure fades and the liquid coating his thighs starts to dry, can only heave, his chest rising and falling quickly. He's still staring down at you, dark eyes studying the curve of your back, your pretty ass, the way your hair is messy now from being rubbed up against the pillow your cheek is smooshed up against.

You're pretty, he thinks, in a way he hasn't really thought of before. Of course he's attracted to you - it's something he's tried to deny for months and has only recently really fully accepted - but something's different now. You're different.

You're different because you want him now. You showed him that, even - just how badly you crave him, just how much his touch affects you. It makes him giddy, this boyish, weird pride and warmth swelling in his chest, and it has Feitan rushing to the bathroom, wetting a rag (the rag is stained pink from previous hand washings, the blood mostly having been removed but the color remaining) and returning with quick footsteps, too fast to be considered normal.

He pauses for a moment and simply stares - you're still out of it, ass perched up in the air and face buried into the modest pillow, your legs still shaking, and he can see the remnants of both you and him. He can see his cum leaking from your quivering little hole, white standing out against your skin and a glisten coating the inside of your thighs from your little show. It makes him swallow, the wet rag in his hand feeling refreshingly cold against his body - his body that's growing much, much too hot.

The sight might just be enough to get him slotting himself inside you again, really working at your clit and maybe even pinching your nipple, his lips at your ear and voice husky, dark, strained as he tells you do that again, we won't stop until you do it again.

In short, although he's initially skeptical, Feitan really, really likes it. It gives him the vailidation he's craving, because it means that he was successfully able to get you feeling good, and this means you'll probably be eager to strip down and spread your legs for him again. And just that thought alone makes him jittery, his fingers tapping against his palms and his weight shifting from one leg to the other because god, it felt so good to be inside you.

It makes him feel proud and more comfortable around you, to the point where it's frankly a massive positive boost in your relationship. He's a little less nervous and jumpy around you, and he'll get more confident with touching you in general - whether that's sexual, intimate touches, or even just interlocking your fingers or idly resting his hand on your thigh.

It's a step in the right direction, surely - but be warned, once it happens, Feitan is expecting it to happen again. Every time. No exceptions.

And you - who'd really only even managed to squirt because it's been months since you've been touched in any way by another human being, and the Stockholm Syndrome has kicked in now and almost makes you like him - will have to deal with an insatiable Feitan.

Good job, you've created a monster.

#_lee discusses #_feitan portor #_hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #yandere feitan

366 notes · View notes

scaredpigeons · 3 months

Text

Sunrise, Crystallize I: to pray to a fallen deity.

Masterlist // Next Chapter

Zhongli x Gn!reader

SFW (there will be nsfw chapters but I will keep them separate so everyone may enjoy.)

Word count: 6.2k

You find yourself seeking solace in the prayers you speak to the god of your new home, despite the fact that he’s passed away. Despite the fact that no one answers, your loneliness seems to be lessened by the warmth of the sunrise. You gain a few new companions, and push through your awkward and nervous disposition to embark on a challenge that you may or may not have little hope of succeeding in.

CW: reader has anxiety, real deep lack of self confidence. Very socially awkward. Reader is a florist, running a greenhouse in the harbour. (Author has absolutely zero florist experience or knowledge, so many apologies.)

Authors note: this is the first chapter of many to come, as Zhongli was my first love in genshin impact. This is kind of self indulgent, because while I really enjoy badass, beautiful, desirable reader inserts who exemplify everything I want to be, part of me really fantasizes about what it might be like to have such a desirable character love me not despite of, but because of my self-perceived flaws. I also think that Zhongli is a wonderful character to explore this dynamic with, as he’s incredibly patient and thoughtful, and having lived for 6000+ years— I can really see him finding someone who is socially his opposite very charming. Anyways, please enjoy this first chapter!

———————

Watching the sun rise on Yujing Terrace had become your most beloved pastime since the death of Rex Lapis. You’d never really ventured up the steps further than Bubu pharmacy, but after everything that happened, you decided to go and pay your respects in a more private setting.

You hadn’t attended the rite of parting. It felt too strange, seeing as you weren’t from Liyue, but you’d lived in the harbor long enough to feel a little twinge of guilt afterwards.

The attack on the harbor had halted your plans, you really hadn’t wanted to venture outside when there was an ancient sea god wreaking havoc in the waters just beyond your home. But once everything was settled, and the novelty of Rex lapis’ passing finally became outshone by recent events, you decided it was time.

You’d spent all evening working in your greenhouse, realizing the night had escaped you only when your eyes barely skimmed across a clock on your way to grab fresh potting soil from your storage room. You’d figured beating the morning rush to the terrace was better for your sanity, and washed your hands before heading out.

The sun had not begun to rise, everything washed in fading starlight as you made your way up the stone stairs. You breathed a sigh of relief when you saw that only the Milileth were occupying the terrace, a few standing guard here and there and a few making their rounds.

One soldier looked at you a bit warily, most likely wondering why you were here so early. But he only nodded politely when you sheepishly showed him your box of incense.

When you made it to the topmost part of the terrace, you lit a singular stick and placed it in the holder. You’d seen people immediately murmuring their prayers after lighting their incense, but you weren’t really sure what to say, so you walked around a bit before standing at the railing facing east over the harbor.

The water looked so peaceful. The sky had started brightening, the first glimmers of the rising sun peeking up from the horizon, casting early shadows along the boats and buildings.

You took a deep breath, pushing your exhale further than normal. Your chest felt strange, You’d never really prayed to anyone before.

“Um…” you fiddled with your hands on the stone railing, watching the sun rise ever so slowly. “I’m sorry I didn’t attend your rite of parting. Crowds are really not my thing.”

You felt too strange to say his name out loud, hoping that wherever the wind took your words would eventually lead to wherever he was resting. Where did gods go when they die?

“I’ve not lived in the harbor long, but I can see why you loved it. Though I have been here long enough to understand the love you must have had for your people, and the love they gave to you in return. Despite that, I feel as though we’re all going to be just fine in your absence.”

You cringed a little, wondering if your words came across too crass or irreverent.

“Ah, well, what I mean to say is you shouldn’t worry.” you chewed on your lip, watching more shadows form along the harbor as the sun grew and grew over the sea, bathing the sky in oranges and pinks.

“Oh, what else do people say when they do this…” you mumbled. “People usually ask for blessings or good fortune, don’t they? I’ve never really understood that. I won’t ask for anything… or is that rude too?” You could never remember the protocol for things like this.

“Maybe I’ll just ask for happiness. If you can send some sense of fulfillment my way, that would be nice. But don’t put yourself out or anything.”

You scoffed at yourself, rolling your eyes as you gazed out at the sea. “Or maybe I should just give my blessing to you. Does anyone do that? Ask for blessings and good fortune for you?”

You shook your head, leaning on the railing and smiling at yourself a bit. It felt like you were talking to yourself, but it wasn’t nearly as embarrassing as you thought.

“Well then, I ask that you rest in peace. You deserve it after the multiple millennia you endured. I can't imagine having to work for that long, sounds exhausting.” You yawned, stretching out your limbs.

It was strange, you felt tired— obviously. Being up all night was not exactly ideal, but standing there, watching the beautiful sun rise over your city, you couldn’t help but feel a warm wash of pure… peace. You felt good. You didn’t feel so alone.

You looked around a bit, still seeing that no one was near you, before looking up half heartedly at the sky.

“Is that you? Is that why people do this sort of thing?” You smiled as the sun finally broke its way from the water, painting the sky in all its glorious colors.

Hmm. Perhaps I should design a new sunrise themed bouquet.

You rubbed the tiredness from your eyes as you made your way back to the stairs, but as you walked through the first archway, your eyes caught sight of the most beautiful man you’d ever seen.

He was standing, holding a cup of tea while he chatted with an elderly woman at her table. The warm, early sunlight bathed him in its amber hues, making the colors of his clothing gleam, and exposing the rich warm tones of his hair.

He was exceptionally tall, that much you could tell, even from so far away. He held himself with such grace and poise that you couldn’t help but stare. He looked like royalty. He looked like he belonged on a throne, not walking amongst the common people.

His smile was small but contagious— you’d pressed a hand over your mouth to hide the fact that you were grinning as he did down at the little old lady in front of him.

The woman chuckled a bit, before turning to the small flower bed behind her, before picking one of the flowers that was growing there.

A glaze lily? They were extremely rare, you knew that for certain. They hardly grew in the wild, which is why you hadn’t bothered to grow them for your shop yet, as you harvested the majority of your seeds by yourself.

He took the delicate flower in his gloved hand, bringing it to his nose and taking what looked like a deep breath. Your heart lurched as his face became almost solemn, but he pushed a smile through and nodded to the woman, saying something you couldn’t hear.

You couldn’t help but watch as he finished his tea, his striking eyes scanning around the terrace. It was a moment too late when you realized his eyes were eventually going to fall on you. You— who was watching him like some sort of lunatic.

His eyes met yours for the briefest of moments, and even from a distance they seemed to burn in the early morning sunshine. You instantly flushed, an embarrassing noise fluttering past your lips as you turned around and hid behind the archway, hoping that it looked like you were just heading back towards the overlook.

You took several deep breaths before you dared peek around the corner again, sighing in relief as you watched the beautiful man make his way down the steps.

That was the single most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done. You thought, before shaking your head as memories of far more embarrassing events flooded your brain. Actually, never mind. That was pretty far down on the list.

You almost thought that perhaps you never wanted to see that man again, for fear of embarrassing yourself once more— but that thought was quickly swept away. It would be a shame never to see him again. He was far too pretty.

———————

it was about a month into your new habit when the elderly woman called out to you.

You were simply making your way back towards the stairs, having only ever greeted her with a polite nod or a rushed “good morning!” Here and there, so you were surprised when she called you over and invited you for tea.

You introduced yourself, and she smiled, pouring you a cup.

“Ah, you’re the young one running that new flower shop, yes?”

You nodded. “Yes ma’am. ‘New beginnings: flowers and things.’ I sell little trinkets and gifts here and there when I collect them on my travels. But mostly it's just my flowers.”

”oh, you little darling. No need to be so formal. You can call me granny if you like— or Ping. Either or.”

Normally you wouldn’t be so formal with someone you’d just met, especially an elder, but there was something about Ping that made you feel so comfortable.

“Alright, Granny.” You smiled.

“Much better. “ she said, taking her seat. “Now why don’t you tell me all about your shop. I was very surprised when I heard that someone had built a little greenhouse in the city.”

And so began your new routine of waking up early to watch the sunrise— talking to yourself under the guise of “praying to Rex Lapis”, and having your morning tea while chatting with Madame Ping.

Ping turned out to be quite the gossip, and you got most of your updates on the comings and goings of the people through her. You learned about her disciples, though you weren’t quite sure what she was a master of. She seemed very wise, having many a tale to tell and advice on things that plagued you.

One morning you brought her a speciality bouquet of Cecelia’s, one of your more popular flowers, and she gushed about how thoughtful you were.

“I hope you don’t mind, I stole one from the bouquet earlier and left it on the overlook as an offering with my incense.” You said, sipping your tea.

“Nonsense, they’re your flowers to begin with, dear. I never would have even known if you hadn’t said something.” She pulls a vase from beneath her table, and pours some water from her nearby jug inside. Ping places the flowers in the vase, fluffing up the greenery to look nice and setting it on the other end of her table.

“There, just beautiful. Thank you my dear.” She says, sitting back down.

”It's really no trouble. They’re some of my last Cecelias, my recent batch of seedlings went bad. I'll have to make a trip to Mondstadt to collect more seeds soon.” You fiddled with the sleeve of your shirt.

“If you need someone to watch over the shop for you while you’re gone, I’m well acquainted with a traveler who is just perfect for odd jobs like that when they have the time.”

“Oh,” you said, looking out at the colors fading from the sky. “That might be nice, I’ve been putting off going out because I’m not too sure who I can trust to watch the greenhouse.”

You were trying hard to hide your wavering tone, but you knew immediately Madam Ping had caught on.

“Is there something else on your mind, dear?” She said, “You know you can talk to me about anything that troubles you.”

You paused, looking around a bit before you took a deep breath. “It’s just…”

Chewing your lip, you sighed at her kindness. You knew better than to be anxious around Ping, but your embarrassment over what you had been doing the last month was eating at you.

“Is it strange that I've been… praying to Rex Lapis every morning, even though he’s no longer with us?”

“Ah,” Ping hummed, her eyes glittering with mirth. “I had been wondering what you do over there before the sun rises. When you said you left a flower as an offering, I thought perhaps you prayed to a lost loved one, but Rex Lapis?”

“I know— it's odd isn’t it? I don’t even know if gods still hear prayers when they pass but—“

“Nonsense.” She interrupted your downward spiral, her tone light to soothe you. “There are plenty of people who still pray to our fallen archon. And I can guarantee you that wherever he is resting— those prayers still make it through to him, and crystal clear at that. He may not be able to descend from the heavens as a magnificent dragon to grant the wishes of his followers anymore, but he will always bear witness to our prayers, of that you can be certain.”

“Oh,” you breathed. You weren’t sure if you believed her, but you didn’t want to seem rude. “Do you think it bothers him? To hear so many people while he is trying to rest?”

“I’m sure the requests for wealth and glory get rather tedious very quickly.” Madame Ping laughs. “But what do you pray to him for?”

You flush, running your finger along your teacup. “I don’t really ask him for anything. I just sort of… tell him about things?” You shrug, feeling rather sheepish.

Ping simply nods, encouraging you to continue.

“I wasn’t really ever certain he could even be listening. It just feels nice to get things off my chest, you know?” You took another sip of tea. “I feel sort of bad, I mainly just vent to him— it’s kind of like chatting with you, granny. Only I say things I might not be comfortable sharing with others.”

Ping hums, staring out over the harbor thoughtfully.

“I’m sure your kind of prayers are the most interesting to him. Perhaps even his favorite.” She says after a few moments.

“Really?” You scrunched up your nose a bit. “I find that sort of hard to believe.”

Ping smiled, and her eyes seemed to glitter with something unknown. She always seemed to be brimming with unobtainable knowledge, it kept you clinging to her every word in hopes of soaking it up.

“It was once said that after so many years of being a god— watching over his people and nation with the weight of thousands of years of history and bloodshed upon his shoulders — that Rex Lapis would don a disguise and wander among his people, to gain a taste of what it was like to be human.” She gathered your empty teacup, placed it on the tray with the rest of the tea set and put it aside. “I think perhaps your prayers would remind him of simpler times, of what it is like to be human.”

You let her words ruminate for a while, watching as the harbor started to wake up— typically your sign to tuck tail and run home.

Finally, you spoke.

“Do you think he enjoyed my flower offering?” You asked.

Ping smiled wide, eyeing her bouquet of Cecelias.

“I think it's a lovely gesture, but he was particularly fond of the glaze lily. Perhaps those— as opposed to the anemo archons favored flower would be more fitting.”

You cringed. You hadn’t even registered that Cecelia’s were known as Barbatos’ favorite flower. After giving yourself a mental scolding, and a reminder to brush up on your international flora guidebook, you hesitantly spoke up once more.

“I’d love to, but I harvest my own seeds, Granny. I wouldn’t even know where to look for wild glaze lilies. Aren’t they extremely rare?”

She pulled a little sack from beneath her table — she always seemed to have whatever she needed right on hand, how curious. — and gently placed it in your hands.

“These are quite old, but I have a feeling if anyone will be able to get them to sprout, it will be you, dear.”

————————————

You weren’t very hopeful.

Seeds, when preserved under the perfect conditions, can last up to ten years. But extremely rare and delicate flower seeds tucked in a sack under Madam Pings table?

You started small; putting six seeds into six little nursery pots, and diligently reading up on the proper humidity, soil, nutrients and water required for glaze lilies. Within the week, small little green shoots were poking through the soil, and you nearly jumped for joy.

The revelry was short lived when the following week you entered the nursery to find six shriveled up, sad, and very dead plants. You cussed under your breath as you stomped around your greenhouse, reading through your glaze lily guide and wondering what went wrong.

You had plenty of seeds, plenty of room for trial and error.

You just did not expect the trial and error to last several months.

It was the morning after you found your most recent batch absolutely ruined. The humidity or the hydration levels were off, they had to be. What other reason would they have turned to mush for? You’d abandoned the guidebook long ago, it was a lying liar who killed your plants before they even budded.

“It’s just so frustrating, you know?” You said, leaning against the railing of the overlook. “I feel like if I can't do this, then my entire life as a florist has been for nothing.”

There was no response, but you sort of enjoyed that. You still weren’t sure if you entirely believed Madam Ping when she said that the archon could still hear you, but you’d never stopped your ranting and rambling to him either way.

“I know, I know. I’m being dramatic.” You flicked a pebble off the railing, watching as it tumbled down into the trees below. “This started out as me just wanting to give you a proper offering, one that you’d like. But now it feels like something I’m meant to do. If I can find a way to make Glaze Lilies more prosperous in Liyue again, I feel as though that would be a much better gift in your honor— as opposed to just… sitting one on the terrace to get stolen or blown away in the wind.”

Still no answer, but once again you were enveloped by that warm and lustrous feeling of peace as the sun rose over the water. Perhaps you were becoming addicted to this feeling. You certainly would not feel as ready to get through another day without it.

You gave a deep sigh, thinking long and hard before you decided it was time to ask for help.

“Granny?” You said as you made your way to her table. “Do you know anyone who has information on how Glaze Lilies were cultivated in the past?”

——————————

You were absolutely filthy.

Your knees were coated in dirt, wet soil clinging to your arms where your gloves didn’t cover. You were nearly certain your hair was a complete disaster.

None of that mattered. Your other plants were thriving, your shop was freshly stocked with premade bouquets and trimmed flowers for custom bouquets. You just unloaded your shipment of silk ribbons and wrapping paper, and were now nearly elbow deep in buckets of potting soil for your Mourning flowers.

They required a specific blend of nutrients and earth in comparison to your other flowers, and with your newest batch almost ready to trim, you needed to get a move on with the new growth before they all sold out.

You had just finished the mixing when the bell on the front door of your shop jingled.

“Just a moment, I’ll be right with you!” You yelled out.

The greenhouse was built connected to the shop which housed your little apartment on the second floor.

Everything was relatively close, so you often worked in the greenhouse during the slow hours. And that damned bell was so loud, though you supposed it had to be, otherwise you could run the risk of people sneaking in and taking what they’d like. Now, you didn’t think that was likely to happen, but it never hurt to be cautious.

You tossed your gloves onto the nearby counter and washed your hands with the bulle fruit scented soap by the sink.

You took off your dirty apron to exchange it for the clean shop apron. It helps to look somewhat put together when greeting customers.

You wiped your damp hands along the sides of the apron as you finished tying the knot, rounding the corner into the shop.

“How can I help you today?” You said, making your way to the front counter and pausing to make sure your bags were stocked in case they were purchasing something.

“I was told by a friend that you were in need of some information on historic flora cultivation?” The mans voice was deep, with a delicious rasp about it that had you wondering exactly what kind of man had a voice so alluring.

You looked up finally, trying to peek through the shelving as he walked along, only to catch glimpses of rich, warm browns. Curse you for stocking your flower bins so damn full.

You caught sight of warm brown hair, the morning sun gleaming in the windows to catch along the amber hues scattered throughout.

Your heart lurched as he turned the corner, watching as his eyes scanned the walls lining your shop— decorated with plants and trinkets, little baubles glimmering in the sunlight.

The face of quiet admiration he gave as he looked at the flowers might’ve buckled your knees if not for the realization that this was the man you had seen Madam Ping speaking to— that day.

This was that man. The man who may or may not have haunted your dreams for weeks after you saw him. You had wanted to ask Ping who he was, but you were so incredibly embarrassed about the whole situation. Now here he was, standing in your shop as you wondered if this was insanely good luck, or insanely bad luck.

“Ah, yes. Gran— I mean, Madame Ping said you might be around today.” You introduced yourself, welcoming him to your store as you tried to keep your voice level.

“It’s a pleasure,” the man said, giving a slight bow. “My name is Zhongli, I currently work at wangsheng funeral parlor as a consultant, but in my spare time I am somewhat of a historian, among other things.”

”It's lovely to meet you, Zhongli.” You wrung your hands together, unsure whether you should look him in the eye or not. They were so startling, so liquid gold it was difficult to hold their gaze.

He simply smiled softly. “I am at your service. Would you perhaps be willing to show me what you’ve been working on?”

As his gaze traveled across you, awaiting your response, but you suddenly became very aware of your current appearance. Surely any minuscule chance you had with this man flew out the window the moment he saw your disastrous hair and dirt scuffed knees.

Not that you thought you really had a chance with him to begin with, but it doesn’t hurt to dream big, right?

“Ah, yes. Of course.” You said, gesturing towards the back entrance to the greenhouse. “Right this way.”

He followed closely as you made your way back. His eyes roamed the expanse of your greenhouse in what looked like appreciation, and he nodded encouragingly at you when you paused to watch his reaction.

“This is quite impressive.”

Feeling your face heat up, you turned to remove your shop apron and threw your dirty one back around your waist with unsteady hands.

“It’s nothing really, I just figured that I should turn my hobby into a source of income, and well…” you hoped he didn’t notice your slight cringe as you donned your gloves once again. “I have a lot of free time on my hands.”

“Such dedication is nothing to shrug off so casually.” He walked around, his eyes catching the latest batch of little failures and he stood in front of them, leaning in close as if to inspect their misery in finer detail.

“These are the lilies?” He said, eyeing the drooping sprouts.

“Yes.” You sighed, coming to stand beside him. You were anxious, sure. But your greenhouse was your safe space. You ruled this kingdom, he was just a guest here. A well dressed, knowledgeable and extremely attractive guest, but you had to convince yourself that everything was fine. If you remained calm and collected, everything would be fine.

Fake it ‘til you make it— or however the saying goes.

“They either shrivel up and dry out, or they take in too much moisture and rot. I had a guidebook, but it was about as helpful as a catalyst in a crystal mine.”

You nearly gaped at him as he let a little chuckle fall from his lips, but he cut it off with a rough clearing of his throat, continuing to look at the plants.

“Hm, well. Let us take a look at the book. I can revise any incorrect information, and we can work from there, yes?”

Nodding, you turn to dig the accursed book from its time out in the pile of shame. (A pile of useless guidebooks that carried misinformation, or were just overall genuinely bad. However terrible they may be, you’d spend decent money on them and refuse to get rid of any of your books. Hence the creation of the pile of shame.)

Handing it to him, you move to start clearing the ruined plants from their nursery pots. You tried not to watch him as he flipped through the book, only allowing yourself little glances from the corner of your eye as you cleaned up. When you were finished, you lined up fresh nursery pots and flicked at a loose thread on the bag of seeds.

“Surprisingly, there are only a few minor discrepancies in this guide. Overall, it seems to be alright, however there is one glaringly obvious detail that has been completely missed.” Zhongli spoke behind you.

“Oh?” You turned, leaning against your countertop as you waited for him to elaborate.

“In order to successfully grow Glaze Lilies, you must sing to them.”

Your brow scrunched in confusion. “Excuse me?”

The corners of his lips tilted up, and you flushed at the attitude leaking from your tone in such a casual manner. You’d only just met this man, and he was being extremely professional and kind in helping you with this matter. Where were your manners?

Zhongli however, seemed unbothered by your casual display, and simply continued on.

“I’ll make the necessary notations here, to correct the minor discrepancies, but the main focus should be — that after the first sign of sprouting — you need to sing to them at least once daily for them to continue growing properly.”

You crossed your arms and looked at him through a furrowed brow.

“You’re not just making fun of me, are you? Because if this is some kind of practical joke, I don't find it very amusing.”

Zhongli smiled warmly, closing the book and leaning quite casually against the opposite countertop, his liquid gold eyes glittering with amusement, but it didn’t seem like the kind that was at your expense.

“I can assure you, I would never jest about something so important, nor would I play any kind of practical joke at your expense. I am simply sharing in my knowledge, hoping to help you in your desires, however I can.”

You felt your heart fluttering, and you attempted to steady your breath. “Alright. I’m sorry, I just…” how could you tell him you weren’t used to people being so sincere? How could you explain that you weren’t used to such kindness without seeming pathetic?

“Please do not worry yourself,” he said, stepping closer. He gestured to the small starting pots behind you. “Shall we get started?”

—————-

“—And now he’s spent the last two weeks dropping by after the parlor closes every day and just— hangs out in the greenhouse while I work? I mean, his help with starting up the lilies was wonderful, but now it’s just about keeping the right moisture levels and singing to them every night, which I refuse to do while he’s there, because I’m not up for embarrassing myself in front of the literal most gorgeous man alive, thank you.”

Your voice carried a little louder than usual, but by now the Milileth knew your routine, and hardly even batted an eye if they heard you speaking to yourself.

The sun hadn’t started to rise yet, you’d gotten to the terrace early, early enough that the lanterns were still lit, illuminating the darkened path up those torturous stairs.

“And he’s so polite? I don’t know how to act around him, he’s always giving such genuine sounding compliments, asking me questions while I work, helping me with little things. Surely a man like that has better things to do with his time?” You huffed, that creeping sense of self loathing wrapping around your shoulders like an old blanket, scratchy and rough, but oh so familiar.

“He’s so beautiful, and intellectual. He’s literally a walking historical archive and I could honestly listen to him talk for hours— But in comparison, I’m just… I’m just a little girl who plays around with dirt and flowers. I really don’t understand why he keeps hanging around.”

You scrunched your nose as the sun started to spill those beautiful colors across the sky.

“Do you think Madame Ping asked him to keep coming around? I know she thinks I'm lonely, but I don't need her to bribe a grown man into being my friend.”

You shook your head, rolling your eyes. “No, I can't see her taking it that far. I just… I really don’t see why he would want to be around me.”

That warm feeling started to envelop you, and you took a deep breath to soak it in. “I know… I have a lot of self worth issues. It’s not like I've asked him why he’s hanging around, I just kind of… let him. Maybe I can work up the courage to ask him why he’s so interested. He probably only wants to see if I can actually manage to grow those flowers.”

You rubbed the lingering sleep from your eyes and lingered a bit longer than usual, wondering what Rex Lapis would think about Mr. Zhongli.

——————————

Around the 3 month mark, when things started looking promising, you developed another new habit.

Instead of spending a dedicated section of time at night standing awkwardly and singing to your newly budded plants, you decided it would save time and effort to just sing away while you do your evening chores in the greenhouse.

You wouldn’t go out on a limb and say that your other plants were magically affected by your singing, but like your lilies, everything in the greenhouse seemed just a bit more vibrant as you did so.

You checked the clock, chewing your lip as you scolded yourself for missing Zhongli’s presence.

About a week ago, he’d stopped by to say that he was taking a leave of absence to go on a trip with a friend of his. He’d introduced the traveler and their strange floating companion to you before they headed off.

“I’ll only be gone for a week, maybe more, but I truly look forward to seeing the progress when I return.”

You’d sort of settled into the strange routine of greeting him in the evenings, making the odd pot of tea while he spoke about anything under the sun, entertaining you while you worked. It felt strange to not have him here, but you knew you couldn’t get too attached. When the lilies bloomed, he would most certainly lose interest, and you’d have to go back to your regular routine of lonely nights.

Your heart felt a bit somber as you hauled a few buckets of mulch along, not really focusing on your surroundings, just zoning out while you sang random tunes to help your lilies grow.

You remember a song you’d heard your grandmother sing a long time ago, a distant memory, but the melody was still so vibrant in your mind.

“Eyes shining like the sunrise,

Ever deeper than the night sky,

Nature sweet, like faun and flora,

More valuable than jade or mora,

Take me me there, safe from harm,

Safe at home, in your arms.

nature's bounty he—“

Your voice caught in your throat as you turned to grab the next bucket only to find Zhongli standing silently in the doorway, eyes nearly glowing in the lantern light.

You jumped, and you were sure if you had something in your hands, it would’ve flown out of them, most likely spilling all over you— embarrassing you even further.

“Zhongli?!” You yelped, throwing a hand over your pounding heart. “I didn’t hear you come in! You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

He chuckled, a warm sound you’d grown so fond of hearing. “I did not intend to startle you. Though I am surprised you did not hear me, considering how you’re always on about how loud that bell is.”

“Yes, well,” your face grew so extremely warm, you pulled off your gloves and shoved them in your apron pocket, kicking a foot on the flooring of your greenhouse. ”I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here tonight, so I suppose I let myself get too carried away.”

“I wouldn’t say you were too carried away.” His eyes were sparkling, his smile deeper than you think you’d ever seen it before.

“Wha— are you teasing me? I thought you said you wouldn’t—“ he cut off your rambling with a simple murmuring of your name, nodding to the countertop behind you.

Confused, you turned, and in the moonlight streaming in through exposed glass sat six perfect glaze lilies, fully bloomed.

You walked towards them in awe, feeling Zhongli’s presence not far behind.

“I…” you stared at them, eyes wide and mouth nearly hanging open. “I can’t believe…”

You were hopeful, of course you were. But a part of you genuinely expected to come in one day and find them dead, destroyed like the others. You had wanted this so badly, but after months of failure, you had lost your confidence. But there, sat in front of you in their little pots, sat six perfect fully grown glaze lilies.

“I did it.” You mumbled, turning around to face Zhongli. Your heart felt like it was bursting in your chest. You jumped, barely able to contain your joy as you shrieked.

“I did it!” You excitedly danced around, pumping your fists in the air and whooping, in total bliss at your accomplishment.

“You did it.” Zhongli simply said, smiling down at you.

“We did it!” You yelled, your joy uncontainable. Without thinking, you threw yourself at him, giggling as he caught you effortlessly, spinning you around as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

He smelled like amber, like the forest and the mountain air, crisp and pure and addicting. You took another deep breath before you realized what exactly you were doing.

You quickly pushed yourself away, backing up with a squeaking “sorry!” Only in your embarrassment, you completely lost your bearings, immediately tripping backwards on a stack of potting soil sacks and tumbling down.

You tried to catch yourself on the side counter, but only succeeded in grabbing hold of a stack of books you’d been meaning to relocate, the pile of shame.

Perhaps it was your karma for naming it such, perhaps it was irony, but the pile of shame merely tumbled down along with you, spilling onto your head with a terrible series of audible smacking sounds to accompany your little cries of pain.

“Oh!” In Zhongli’s defense, he really had tried to catch you, but you supposed when you pushed away, you must have shoved him a bit farther back as well, and he was merely seconds too late from grabbing your arm to steady you.

You sat in your embarrassment, letting a loose book stay where it landed, covering your face.

“Are you alright?” Zhongli said, his voice filled with genuine concern.

“Can you pretend like the last five minutes never happened?” You said, cringing beneath the pages of an extremely outdated copy of Flowers in Food: recipes for your floral tastes.

“Unfortunately, my dear,” Zhongli began removing the book from your face, peeking down at your reddened cheeks beneath the pages. “I have the pleasure of having an impeccable memory.”

“I had a feeling you’d say something like that.” You grumbled.

You began peeling books off yourself, face warm as you wondered how you were going to get out of this one.

“You did not need to apologize, though.” Zhongli said, crouching down to help you. “I am more than comfortable sharing in your excitement at such an accomplishment.”

Your heart fluttered, and your face heated for entirely different reasons. Maybe it was okay that you’d hugged him? As much as you want to think he’s always teasing you, he has never once lied about how he’s felt about anything.

“Oh.” You said, peeling away the last couple books. “Well then, I’m sorry for pushing away so abruptly, and uh… that you had to see all that.”

He smiled, shaking his head as if he was going to tell you something more, when his eyes seemed to catch something along your torso.

You looked down, and under the last book you’d pulled off your stomach sat a little glowing orb, about the size of your palm.

Its warm amber light glowed against the fabric of your shirt, and you looked just as shocked at Zhongli for a moment.

But his face steadied, and he smiled down at you. “It seems that your perseverance has been recognized in the highest regard.”

You gapped down at the geo vision sitting on your stomach.

“I… what?”

—————————

AN: what did you think? Please let me know in the comments/tags/askbox! Also feel free to send in ideas for some dynamics you’d enjoy seeing between these two, as I have a vague idea of where the story will go, but its not entirely concrete yet!

- from Pidge, with love <3

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact Zhongli #Zhongli #Zhongli x reader #zhongli x gn reader #gn reader #Zhongli fluff #genshin impact fluff #rex lapis #morax #madame ping #🌻🐉

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ghost-bxrd · 1 month

Note

Sorry if you’ve already answered this but how did talon!dick end up becoming Batman’s sidekick?

It’s not explicitly mentioned anywhere in Owl Song, but basically what happened is that Bruce realized Dick needed an outlet.

He spent the last few years of his life being indoctrinated and surviving a murdery bird cult, and being cooped up in the manor all of a sudden was not good for Dick’s stress levels. Him and Jason, while not doing any crime fighting (except for when Dick discreetly attacked potential threats), went out regularly at night to do parkour across the rooftops (with Dick keep a vigilant eye on Jason the entire time) or Dick showing off his acrobatics or knowledge of sewer-systems-that-aren’t-sewer-systems (courtesy of the Court).

So Bruce trained with Dick for a while until he was sure the Talon was capable of fighting alongside him without killing anybody, instated several rules about patrol, and took him out on a trial run.

Unsurprisingly, Dick excelled at following every single one of Bruce’s orders down to the letter. (Something that, as Alfred later pointed out, might not exactly be a good thing. And Bruce then started working on having Dick make his own decisions, build up confidence, and work him up to being his equal instead of a “weapon”.)

Unbeknownst to Bruce, Dick is under the impression that he needs to remain useful if he wants to guarantee his and Jason’s safety and that’s where most of his anxiety and restlessness that Bruce observed come from. That line of thinking never entirely goes away (mostly because he never voices it and neither Jason nor Bruce suspect anything), but over the years the fear that any small misstep will result in punishment lessens significantly to the point where he begins to fully trust Bruce and acknowledges him as their dad. 💚

#owl song #talon dick grayson #jason todd #batfamily #dick grayson #batfam #bruce wayne #robin #batman #ghost talks

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thedreamlessnights · 4 months

Text

Someone to shed some light - pt. 7

Astarion x gn!Reader

{series masterlist}

Synopsis: After your discovery of Calthir's letter, you and Astarion make an escape.

Warnings: Mentions of death and blood, descriptions of an anxiety attack.

Word Count: 3.4k

As the final words of the letter and their meaning sink in, something dark and unknown takes hold of you. It’s foreign and bitter and cold, but it laces its way through your lungs without permission, bleeds into your veins, takes control of your locked muscles even while your mind stays frozen.

Even before you’ve realized it, you’re running.

The journey is only flashes of things. A string of images. Cazador Szarr signed in neat script on a letter. Your boots squelching in sticky mud. The scent of sweet, wet grass. When you find yourself back at the tent, your body battered and bruised, it’s nearly a surprise. Your mind is still in that tent, staring at that letter and fleshing out the cost.

But your body is here, gripping the paper in your hand with such force that’s practically crumpled into a ball. The inside of your mouth is metallic and warm with blood from where you’ve bitten your cheek. Your breathing is jagged and harsh, and your eyesight is blurry. You’re shaking. Is it from anger or fear?

What a joke your kingdom is. Their arrogant form of ‘justice’ is no better than Erelin’s. Their determination to take the throne and the amount of blood it will shed is no better than the way she rules. In attempting to make the kingdom better, all Calthir has done is stopped down to Erelin’s level.

Bile churns in your stomach at the thought of it. Your heart pumps steadily, but your chest strains for air, and your lungs burn with every breath. Astarion, you think, shivering from head to toe. He has to know, no matter how horrible the knowledge is. The two of you need to run, no matter how little of a chance you have to escape.

You finally stumble into the tent, boots still muddy, vision starting to blacken at the edges as you make your way further in. Breathe, you tell yourself. You can’t warn him if you’re dead. You can’t get the hells out of here if your brain isn’t getting the oxygen it needs.

After a moment of slow, deep breathing, you come back to yourself. Your thoughts clear. The ache lessens. Astarion is trancing on his bedroll, relaxed and undisturbed, and thankfully alive. Or, more accurately, undead. You hate to rouse him, but this can’t wait.

You set a hand on his shoulder and gently shake him. “Astarion-”

Considering everything, he takes his rest being disturbed fairly well. He opens his eyes and sits up, blinking as he takes you in, muscles winding with tension. He relaxes when he sees that it’s you.

“Well, hello,” he greets, tilting his head and flashing you a smile. Whatever else he was going to say dies on his tongue when he sees your face. “What’s wrong?” he asks, straightening, his gaze darting over your expression. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I… they’re going to… we need to-”

All your calm has faded away, now that you’re trying to say it. You’re so frantic that your words jumble together, barely coherent - trembling so much that your teeth are clanking together.

Astarion grips your arm, coaxing you down into a sitting position, and you suck in another deep breath. “I heard Aris and Cal talking,” you start, swallowing hard. “They were arguing about something. I couldn't tell what it was, but I went into the tent after they were gone, and I - I found this.”

You lift up the crumpled paper and press it as flat as you can, not wanting to give it to him - not when it feels like poison against your skin. But when he gently pries it from your fingers, you let him. You watch his gaze run over the words as you tuck your knees into your chest, and your nails dig into your palms to draw fresh pain.

His brows pinch at first. Confusion. Then he stiffens, looking as though he’s been slapped. A small, quiet loss crosses over his face. “I…” he starts, shaking his head as he trails off. “Gods. Of course they are.”

“Is it really him?” you ask.

“That’s him, alright,” he says, voice sour. “I’d know his handwriting anywhere.”

It occurs to you that you should be comforting him, not the other way around. You gently rest a hand on his shoulder, hoping it will help, rather than make things worse. “I won’t let them give you to him.”

“You can’t stop them,” he says sharply, sucking in a deep breath. “Trust me, dearest. They’ll probably separate us at first light.”

“No,” you insist, “I won’t let them. I mean over my dead body, Astarion. We’re leaving.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” he snaps. “We’re trapped, remember?”

“We leave now,” you answer. “We’re close enough to the city. It’s busy enough that no one will notice until tomorrow. By the time they realize, we can be in hiding. I know someone - someone who’d take us in without any question. Or… well, she’d probably have some questions.”

You pause, giving him a chance to respond, but he doesn’t. He’s not looking at you. “Even if they do find us in the city, they can’t take us without making a scene,” you continue. “We can make it.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, reaching up to massage his temples with his fingertips. “This is a terrible idea,” he says, shaking his head. “Gods - alright.” He lets out a brief sigh, shifting up to his knees and reaching for his pack, and you know he’s come to the same conclusion that you have.

Anything is better than staying here, waiting for Calthir’s plan to be executed.

A wave of sheer relief rolls over you as you follow in his lead, slinging your pack over your shoulder. There isn’t much left inside, but it won’t take more than an hour or two to get to the city, and once you arrive - well, that can be sorted out later. You can’t exactly go back to your tavern, but…

It doesn't matter. Anything is better than staying with these people.

You’ve never been more grateful for Astarion’s stealth as the two of you slip through the crowd. He steals two hooded cloaks from a nearby bin and both of you slip them on, covering your faces. The darkness is doing its part for those without darkvision, but the other soldiers are wearing hoods, too. Your chances are better like this, blending into the crowd.

Leaving camp feels like holding your breath, despite the shallow pulls of air that rush in and out of your lungs. Your shoulders pull tight, your jaw clenches, your body creeps slowly past the camp limits. Your face remains impassive, but your gut floods with fear.

Nothing, yet. Miraculously nothing.

The two of you make your way into the trees, and there’s still no sign of any soldiers nearby. Silver moonlight floods through the leaves, glittering on the damp grass. Birds fly from tree to tree, startling you as the leaves rustle with their weight.

You’re just about to feel relief when the orange light of a torch flickers through the trees, coming toward where the two of you stand. Your fingers ache for the knife that had been taken from you. Astarion slips his dagger out of its sheath.

You know your luck has officially run out when the figure stalls at the sight of the two of you, both of you without a torch and without any good excuse. Astarion’s dagger glints in the light.

“You!” the figure calls. “What’s your business here?”

Your eyes register the familiar face as soon as the voice hits your ears - Cal. It’s Cal again, looking angrier than you’ve ever seen him. To your surprise, some of that fury melts away when he sees that it’s you, and he lowers his torch. In his other hand, his blade is at the ready.

“You shouldn't be here,” he says.

“Cal, please,” you start, but he shakes his head. Pain washes over his eyes.

The sharp crack of a branch sounds in the distance - another patrol strolling through the trees, judging by the torchlight that floods the nearby woods. All three of you freeze at the sound, your hand automatically reaching for Astarion’s arm.

Cal’s gaze flickers between you and Astarion. Then, toward the sound. “Go,” he says, keeping his gaze toward the trees. “I’ll end the tracking spell, but you won’t have much time until they realize you’re gone.”

It takes you a moment to realize what he’s saying. “Cal-”

“Go,” he urges. “Now!”

It doesn’t escape you what they might do to him when they find out what he’s done. Something tight and painful throbs in your chest, squeezing like a fist.

“I love you,” you say.

He smiles, finally meeting your eyes. “I know you do. And you know how I feel. Now go, and don’t look back.”

So you run.

Astarion is faster than you; it’s all you can do to keep up with his nimble movements, blindly following behind him. Adrenaline is red-hot in your blood, pulsing with every beat of your heart. Your footsteps seem much too loud in your ears. Every time a twig snaps underfoot or a branch pulls at your cloak, you’re sure that someone is going to catch you.

But they don’t.

Scraped hands. Aching feet. Sides feeling like they’re splitting as you struggle for breath. It’s all you can register in the darkness aside from the silver of Astarion’s hair and the swish of your cloak behind you.

Your adrenaline fades further as the two of you scramble through the trees, making your way toward the distant view of the castle, and it’s exhaustion that takes over in its absence. Your vision blurs. Your muscles fatigue. It’s not long before you’re forced to come to a stop, your hands on your knees.

Astarion stalls beside you. You don’t hear him say your name until the third time he’s said it, reaching over to brush his thumb across your cheek.

“You’re bleeding,” he says.

You hadn’t noticed - the mild stinging had been second to everything else. One of the sharp branches must have dug into your cheek as you ran.

“It’s nothing,” you reply quickly. It isn’t safe here, and you know it. “We should get going.”

He hesitates. “I am sorry, you know. About Cal.”

“Thank you.” The words come out soft and broken. You attempt a smile, but it falls flat. “They were going to turn you in. He knew what he was getting into.”

Your words don’t stop the deep hole that’s built its way into your chest.

You adjust your pack on your shoulder and start off again without waiting for a reply, and the rest of the journey is silent. It’s a difficult trade-off, trying not to sprint the entire time, but never feeling like you’re quite going fast enough. It feels like there’s an outstretched hand behind you, forever waiting to grasp onto your cloak and tug you to the forest floor, wrenching Astarion out of your life forever.

But it doesn’t come. The moon travels across the sky, and the two of you make it to the city in one piece.

Home. The smell of cooking meat and spices in the air. The familiar stone underfoot. Distant songs played in distant taverns. For the first time in months, you’re finally home.

It’s late, but there are still plenty of people milling around the Lower City - enough to make you blend in with the crowd, weaving through until you’ve finally arrived at your destination.

You brace yourself and knock, and find silence. Another knock, and then a voice responds, “Coming!” on the other side.

The door opens, and you find Karlach Cliffgate at the other side.

It’s been so long since you’ve received a hug that you’d almost forgotten what it felt like. But Karlach takes one look at you, eyes widening, and pulls you into a bone-crushing, soul-healing hug that could chase away even the darkest night.

“Soldier, is that you?” she asks, her voice wobbling a little. “Gods, I’m glad you’re here. It’s not been the same, going to that tavern and not having you there. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

“I think I have a clue,” you tell her, choking out the words between your ribs being crushed.

She releases you and grins, ushering you and Astarion inside.

“Friend of yours?” she asks, and you nod. The alternative is not something you’re keen on at the moment. You’re just about to introduce them to each other when another voice comes from your side - a voice you know very well.

“Would you look who it is!”

Wyll Ravengard steps forward, every inch a distinguished gentleman, and every bit of tension you might have about him dissolves when he pulls you in for a hug, too. “Well, well,” he says, grinning widely as he pulls back. “In the flesh. Newly married, if I’ve heard right!”

“Married?” Karlach asks. “What? Tell me that isn't true.”

“Oh, but it is,” Wyll says. “Tell me - how does it feel, my friend? Being a newlywed?”

A faint smile tugs at your lips, and you finally let it pull into a full smile. All these months of misery and here you are, as close to home as you can possibly get, warm and with your friends.

“Horrible,” you answer. “But that reminds me. Everyone, this is Astarion. Astarion, this is… everyone.”

In the midst of this, still wearing his cloak, Astarion looks to be two things: uncomfortable, and very out of place.

“It’s good to meet you,” Karlach says, stepping forward and extending her hand. “I’m Karlach.”

She’s scarcely dropped his hand when Wyll is there, shaking it with a new, dashing smile. “And I’m Wyll,” he says. “Though, most people call me the Blade of Frontiers.”

“The Blade of Frontiers?” Astarion asks, looking to you for confirmation. “You keep famous company.”

“You’ve heard of me?” Wyll asks. “I’m flattered.”

“Indeed I have,” Astarion says. “Fighting off monsters on the Sword Coast? You’ve made quite the name for yourself.”

“I’ve only sought to rid the world of what seeks to harm it,” Wyll responds. Humble as always. His gaze turns over Astarion and sharpens a little. A form of suspicion.

Karlach’s looking him over, too, but her gaze is much less severe and much more admirational. She’ll probably adore him, despite his sharp edges. The room goes silent for a moment, and the realization of who Astarion is seems to settle in.

“So,” Karlach says, “this is your… husband? And…”

All of them seem reluctant to finish her words, so you do it.

“The prince, yes.”

There’s a long beat.

“Hey - what are we doing?” Karlach finally exclaims, breaking through the awkward silence. “This calls for a celebration! It’s not every day that an old friend gets married! And I wasn’t even invited.”

You grimace, though you know she’s just teasing. What you wouldn't have given to have her there, riling the crowd and making you smile. “If it’s any consolation, I had no control over the invites.”

“Nah, don't worry about it,” she says with a grin. “I’ll bet it was boring anyhow.”

And, gods, it really was.

She leads the three of you into the dining room, gesturing for you and Astarion to sit at the table. Astarion removes the cloak from his head, lightly tapping his fingers against the wooden table, but you can tell he’s still anxious.

Wyll takes a seat across from the two of you, and Karlach grabs hold of some Ithbank, pouring all of you a glass.

“So,” she says, clearly trying to mask her curiosity. “What brings you here, Your… Highnesses?”

“Please don’t call me that,” you request, laughing a little. You sink back into your seat, pulling your glass toward you, and sigh. Your skull is throbbing with the telltale signs of an oncoming headache. “As for why we’re here? Let me down this drink first. I’ll need it for the story I’m about to tell.”

Karlach and Wyll take your story better than you’d thought they would.

You leave out some choice details, of course: Astarion’s vampirism, the Gur hunter. Wyll’s brow furrows when you mention his father’s involvement with Calthir, but he doesn't interrupt. You allow Astarion to chime in with as much information as he’s willing to share during the sore subjects, and soon the four of you are sitting in silence.

“I cannot fucking believe they took you prisoner,” Karlach bursts out. “They’re supposed to follow what you want, not… force you into their own plan!”

“That’s royalty for you,” Astarion snipes dryly, taking a sip of his wine. “Trust me, it could have been worse.”

“So I’ve heard,” Wyll replies. “As terrible as it sounds, the two of you got lucky. My father… I can’t believe he’s truly involved. Not of his own will, at least.”

You don't want to believe that this situation could have been any worse, considering the letter you’d found, but the fact that Astarion is at your side says enough. They could have killed him at any time. Despite your stubbornness and your threats, you would have been powerless to stop them.

As for Wyll’s father, it wouldn’t surprise you if Aris had been lying to you about Duke Ravengard’s involvement. She’d lied about nearly everything else. Still, something doesn’t feel right. Guilt slithers through your ribs like vines, crawling between bone and blood. You’ve put everyone here in danger by coming to them like this.

“I’m so sorry for roping the two of you into this mess,” you tell Karlach and Wyll. “I didn't know where else to go, and-”

“Stop that,” Karlach interrupts. “Stop that right now. I’m happy to have you here, soldier, you know that. Whatever happens, I’m at your side. Alright?”

“As am I,” Wyll agrees. “If what you say is true, then we may just be looking at a full-blown war on our hands. Whatever danger lies ahead, the Blade of Frontiers is ready to meet the call.”

“Oh!” Karlach says suddenly, “and Gale will be here in the morning! He’ll want to help, too!”

Your brows rise. “Gale? He’s in the city?”

“Wizard stuff,” Karlach explains. “I don't know much about it, to be honest. There’s that bookshop he likes here, you know? I invited him over for breakfast - thought it might do him good to see some friends. We can tell him what’s happened as soon as he arrives.”

“Thank the gods,” you murmur.

If Gale decides to help with your cause, then you’ll have gathered a formidable little team. Not enough to hold off Calthir’s entire army, of course, but enough to delay your capture and figure out some way out of this.

You finish off your Ithbank, and find your eyes heavy. It’s been a long day, and your body is aching and tired. Karlach must notice, because she leans forward and examines your eyes.

“You two look exhausted,” she says. “I’ll fix up a bed for you, alright? We’ll talk more in the morning.”

You drag yourself behind her like a corpse, following her to your makeshift bedroom.

“Are you two alright sharing a room?” she asks.

You glance toward Astarion, and he raises a brow. The two of you have been sleeping in the same bed or the same tent for months now. There’s no reason not to continue that, really.

“That’ll be fine,” you tell her.

She leads you in and fluffs up the sheets, pointing out the bath and extra blankets. You know this already, of course, having been here dozens of times, but Astarion doesn’t. He listens without a word.

Just before retreating, Karlach pulls you into another hug. “I’m glad you’re here, soldier,” she says, letting you go. “Get some rest, yeah?”

“I can’t thank you enough for taking us in,” you reply. “I owe you.”

She nudges your shoulder. “The only thing you owe me is five gold from the bet you lost on Returning Day, alright? Hush up and go to bed.”

She leaves without another word, and it’s all you can do to kick off your boots and climb in bed before you’re lost to the world.

tags: @amica-aenigmata-naboo @sadslasher13 @peachy-possum @the-lonely-abyss @maddiedrmr @starved-kitten @catching-fire-in-the-wind @aoirohi @g0retash

#astarion x reader #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 x reader #astarion x you #mywriting

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writing-rat · 5 months

Note

Not much a writer but I wrote this about CC Walker and I thought you’d like it(: CC Walker is definitely a girl kisser🤭

The second time you lay eyes on Cc Walker it’s an accident. You’re clutching your book bag tightly in your hand, your mind going a million miles a minute. You had just taken your midterm for English had spent months studying, even going so far as having your little brother quiz you. You were tired and beyond ready to get home. Your mind was hazy and ready to let go of all the struggle of the day. You probably should have looked up, at least long enough to realize you were on the school’s soccer field.

You remember feeling the impact on your head first, then the fear kicking in as your body began tilting on its axis before you met the cold watered grass of the field. You gritted your teeth, clutching your head as the pain began to consume your bones. You cursed yourself, stupid, how stupid were you that you didn’t even recognize were you were?

It was then that you felt a body near you, frantic breathes heaving out even as they crouched down to eye you, “oh my god are you ok? Wait…just stay down a minute” The voice was in between frantic and concern and you willed yourself to eye the person.

It was then that your nerves got a whole lot worse. You practically jumped ten feet just eying the girl. Cc Walker remained glued to your side, her blonde ashy hair stuck to her perspiring forehead. Her blue water colored eyes remained focused on you, and you immediately forced your body to get up, using your weight to pull yourself up.

Your heart was racing, fast and loud in your ears. Images of the first day of middle school came back to your mind, replaying like some horrible film you couldn’t get rid of. It had been your first day and you had been eager to start new adventures, broaden your academic adventures and of course your mother was more than proud when you had been willing to get over your anxiety and nerves to try out for the girls soccer team.

It was obvious from just looking at you that you were not the soccer type. You were smaller than the other girls, yes you were more inclined on the academic side, you were captain of the chess team in eighth grade and co-captain of the debate club. You couldn’t help who you were, you loved anything that trained your brain, forced it to grow and learn. Which was what lead you to try out.

You had failed. Miserably. The coach had been nice enough, letting you take your time as she placed the ball in front of you, maybe it was the way the girl’s eyed you from the sidelines that caused shame to build in you. These girls were tall and fast. They could put pass you anytime. But it was the girl with azure color eyes and ashy blonde hair that had gave you a soft smile. You could still remember it. Even replaying in your mind you could still see a younger more middle school CC Walker with her blue soccer jersey filled with grime and her ashy hair set in a ponytail. She had been on the bench, eying you with eyes way too focused to be simply watching because she had to. No, the way she eyed you, with concentration and something else you couldn’t place had somehow calmed your nerves.

She smiled at you, an encouraging smile that somehow gained you enough courage to breathe and kick the ball. If you failed you failed. You could at least say you were courageous enough to broaden your knowledge on the soccer field.

You had breathed and kicked back your heel, letting it loose. You were never quite the good aimer. Your limbs weren’t use to the ways of soccer, you were ungraceful and awkward. It was safe to say the ball had not landed in the goal. It flew around the girls, landing near the bleachers, causing the girls to scream and flinch back.

You had sagged your shoulders, feeling your confidence lessen. You didn’t cry, though you wanted to. You really did. You had simply moved and sat by yourself on the bench. Forcing yourself to watch all the other girls play. Practice was over quick and before you could even tie your shoelaces, which were undone yet just another evidence of your unkempt nature.

It was while you were tying your shoe that a person had stepped in front of you. There Kleets were disastrous, mud mucked all over. But it was then that you saw a name smudged in chicken scratch hand writing on the edges of the kleet. Cc Walker.

You moved your eyes to meet the girl. She smiled politely down at you, “I just wanted to say I think you were pretty great out there. It’s not easy playing with the other girls.” The blondes blue eyes were focused on everything but you. Her eyes bouncing from the bench to the grass bellow your feet.

Her cheeks were flushed, her hands playing with her jersey.

“I guess all I’m saying is great job.” And like that she had fled.

Cold hands were around your waist now causing your memories to fade and you immediately met face to face with CC Walker. She was taller now, lean. From the work she had put in at practice. She was eying you with soft eyes, her lips moving. She was repeating something to you.

And it was only then that you realized what. Your name. Your cheeks flushed, and you immediately flew out of her touch, watching her take a step back from the sudden flinch.

She waited till you got your bearings before she spoke. Her eyes laced with concern. “You looked like you banged your head hard there” she whispered.

You shook your head, even though it burned and seethed. “I’m fine. I’m fine. You don’t have to worry Walker”.

At the mention of her name her lips quirked up into a smile, a dashing smile that made your knees weak.

“Glad to see you remember my name Y/n” her tone was cocky, and it made your head spin.

Your dizzy ness must have shown because she was by you in an instant. Hands around your waist, you could vaguely hear her talk to the coach before she was helping you walk to the nurses office.

It was odd having CC watch as the nurse flew a flashlight in your eyes, it was odd how Focused the girl seemed. Her eyes following everything the nurse did. It was almost cute the way she hovered. Like she was worried.

“Well Miss y/n it looks like you achieved a grade one concussion just standing doing nothing” the nurse chimed, and you were about to ask just what that was when the blonde spoke. Her voice serious and steady.

“Are they minor?”

The nurse immediately moved her eyes to CC, eying her posture and her body language. “Oh I assure you sweetheart these are very minor. She’ll be back to watching you play your games in a jiffy.”

CC’s cheeks flushed.

She walked you to your car, a peaceful silence between you. It was only till you spoke that she eyed you like a lost puppy.

“Thank you for helping me to the nurse office Cc”

She smiled again,her eyes nervous, “look I’m not sure if you remember me. But you tried out for soccer a few years ago, and you were-“

“A klutz?” You offered.

CC’s blue eyes widened, “no..no you were amazing. I mean you didn’t actually make a goal or anything but- why stuck out about you was your willingness to try. This might be me being forward, and if it is just- just ignore it but-I think you’re the most attractive girl that I have ever hit with a soccer ball”. The remark was said so charmingly that you laughed, feeling your cheeks heat up.

You eyed CC, “is that the truth Walker? Cause I hear your quite the girl kisser” you teased. Your breathe an inch away from hers. Cc watched your lips with her eyes, her tongue moving to lick her lips. Her eyes were hooded and downcast. “No” she confessed. “I’ve had my eye on you since eighth grade. Why else do you think Wyatt joined debate club?”-🇬🇧

Thoughts? Did I characterize her well? ❤️

That was good! I loved it so much! I was looking for a CC Walker x reader too and was about to write one. You characterized her well and also I liked the ending where she sent Wyatt to basically spy on you! It was amazing and I'm glad you shared it to me!

#ratboy ask #cc walker #cc walker x reader

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mysterious-moonstruck-musings · 7 months

Text

Destiny & Deliverance: Chapter 21

Destiny & Deliverance Masterlist ||| Dieter Bravo X OFC Some Smut & Language- Minors DNI New as of 9/21/2023

SUPPORT YOUR CREATORS. REBLOGGING & COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED.

Series Rating: Explicit (18+)

Series Summary: Natalia Cohen is experiencing major life changes, beginning with leaving an emotionally abusive husband. She is learning how to navigate life on her own while dealing with high functioning anxiety, depression, and mild PTSD. Everything is looking up for her. She is a highly respected consultant for a major LA firm, has her best friend, Lauren, by her side, and is on her path to healing. Everything changes when she meets a handsome and broken stranger on a work trip. He turns out to be a well-known actor, with a heart-breaking past. They quickly develop a connection that will forever alter their lives.

Warnings: Themes dealing with mental health, emotional trauma, alcohol use, and discussions about suicide. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn type of story. Read at your own risk.

Chapter Quote: "Dieter. Don’t do this…please."

A/N: Chapter 21 is finally here! It's a beast coming in at 9k words. I have to give a massive thank you to @for-a-longlongtime for taking on the challenge of cleaning this mess up. Make sure you thank her for it! She worked some serious magic on it for me. Just a fair warning, this takes a super angsty turn. Get your cozy blanket and chocolate ready, because you might need it.

I was not prepared for how hard Dieter's absence would hit me once he had left to film in Canada. Spending time alone had never bothered me at any point in my life; but now without him, it felt like a piece of me was missing. I did my best to keep busy. When I wasn't working remotely, I continued the home improvement project at Dieter’s house or worked on various projects in my craft room.

Aside from two incidents, I had managed to avoid the lurking paparazzi. There were a few photos that had been snapped from a distance while I was out running errands that popped up on some fan pages; it was annoying, but the best way to handle it was to take it in stride and just remind myself that people were always watching. Luckily, no one had approached me directly; the public knowledge that Dieter was currently on set in Canada probably took a lot of the heat off me.

Fortunately, I had people in my life to help me cope with Dieter's absence. I spent several evenings with Lauren, catching up on gossip as we watched movies. The shop had been keeping her busy due to an employee shortage, and she was also exploring options to expand into the vacant unit next door. While I could see how that took up a lot of her time, I couldn't shake the feeling that she was holding things back from me. But whenever I asked her about it, she would wave it off and say everything was fine, as her phone continued to beep with a steady stream of text messages.

Gabby must have noticed that I had been feeling lonely, as she made a point to extend a longstanding dinner invitation at her house. While I enjoyed spending time with her and went to see her often, it didn’t do anything to dampen my feeling of loneliness. No one could fill that void except for her brother.

Communicating with Dieter brought on a new set of frustrations that I hadn’t expected. The remote location turned out to have a lot of signal issues, so it was hard for us to connect by texts or calls as often as either of us would have liked. I could tell that he tried to stay positive, but during the times that we were able to Facetime it struck me how tired he looked and sounded. Things were slowly wearing him down.

Two weeks into filming, during one of our few facetime calls, Dieter admitted that he had been feeling a little down and wasn’t getting enough sleep. The side effects of the medication had lessened, but so far it didn’t seem to offer him any relief from the issues that he struggled with. A local provider that he was referred to suggested that he start taking antidepressants. When he told me, I noticed how distant his eyes seemed as he spoke. “It’s fine. I’ll take them”, he said after a beat, his fingers absentmindedly tugging at the label on the bright orange container with pills. “I’m just dreading more side effects.” He had been unusually quiet during our call that evening. I could see weariness sunk into the lines on his face and couldn’t help the gnawing feeling that things were not all that fine.

The last few days before I was scheduled to fly out to Alberta passed by painfully slow. It made me restless, and I couldn't focus my energy on anything but the trip. I lost count of how many times I went through my packing list. Dieter seemed to be feeling the same way, sounding giddy during the times we were able to catch up over the phone. He had made sure to arrange a car that would pick me up at the airport. So, when I finally I landed at Edmonton International after a three-hour flight, I was relieved that I didn’t have to deal with the anxiety of transportation to get to the set.

As we drove several hours to get to the filming location, I saw the landscape changing from city views to remote swatches of land. Lush forests and more than a few wild animals caught my attention. With so few people, stores, and even power lines around, it wasn’t surprising that there had been such problems with getting a cell signal.

By the time I made it to their filming location, my back was absolutely killing me. I was happy to be climbing out of the vehicle. I was in the midst of stretching when Rylee came jogging over. Her hair was now black mixed with a deep purple color, which threw me for a minute. She gave me a wave and wide smile as she approached.

“He’s gonna be so fucking happy you’re finally here,” she announced as she pulled me in for a quick hug. “Actually, I’m fucking happy you’re here because I’m tired of his whining.”

I gave her a chuckle in response.

“What do I need to do with my bags?”

“We can put them in his trailer for now. Come on, I’ll help.”

As small as the trailers looked from the outside, I wasn’t expecting much. But I had to admit, I was pleasantly surprised. It was like a mini home on wheels.

“So, is he the only one who uses this trailer?” I asked as I looked around on the inside. The bed toward the back had caught my eye, because of course that’s where my mind immediately went to. Rylee gave me a knowing smile.

“I mean, do I need to put my bags out of the way or anything? I don’t wanna take up someone else’s space.”

I tried to recover. I’m not sure she bought it. I could feel my cheeks burning.

“He’s one of the stars of the show. So, yes, he’s the only one who should be in here aside from you or I, unless invited.”

I nodded, still trying to play it cool.

“Don’t worry, I’ll knock before I come in,” she added with a wink.

“No, no, that’s…that’s not why I was asking.” I shook my head as I spoke, feeling even more embarrassed.

“Don’t play coy, I’m not dumb.” A wide teasing grin spread across her face.

“Ok, ANYWAY, what now?” I interjected, trying to change the subject. That caused her to laugh harder. Once her laughs subsided to a manageable level, she responded.

“Now we go find your man and surprise him. I haven’t told him you’re here yet. He’s filming right now. They should be wrapping for a break soon.”

I followed Rylee down a long trail into a wooded area. We ended up near a large opening next to the river. I could see a lot of commotion up ahead where they were filming on the edge of the riverbank. We got close enough to watch, but far enough out of the way that I couldn’t be spotted. I didn’t want my sudden appearance to throw Dieter off.

They were filming a scene that included a heated exchange between several of the characters. It was amazing to watch him work. To see him turn the character on and off between takes was interesting. He could go from joking around and laughing to angry within seconds. I didn’t understand how he could do it so convincingly. On their third try, I noticed Dieter’s face shifted slightly mid-way through as one of the other male actors was speaking. It was an actual look of annoyance. He turned looking towards the director while everyone else looked confused. Someone called cut from the group behind the camera. Dieter looked back over at the other male actor, clearly frustrated.

“Can’t you just stick to the damn script? They told you to cut that shit out,” he said loudly to the other male actor.

It sounded like the guy responded with a comment about the lines feeling out of character. I couldn’t fully hear him since his back was facing our direction.

“If you have a problem with it, discuss it with the boss and the writers before we film. You're holding everyone up here.”

It looked like the guy may have flipped Dieter the bird, and I don’t think he meant it in the joking with your friends kind of way. Rylee looked at me and rolled her eyes, “That’s Tom. That guy has been a total douche. He thinks he’s more important than he actually is. He’s driving Dieter crazy with this stuff.”

“Yeah, he looks like a douche. Is Dieter always that direct with people?” I hadn’t noticed this before, but then again, I hadn’t been around him when he was working.

Rylee shook her head. “Can’t say I’ve witnessed it before, though I don’t blame him in this instance.” She hesitated for a moment. “He hasn’t been in the best mood though.”

We watched as they shot three more takes before a dinner break was announced. Everyone started to clear out of the area, except for one of the female actresses who approached Dieter. She was a petite brunette, and clearly attractive. She reached out to touch his upper arm as she spoke, obviously flirting with him. I couldn’t hear what she said, but Dieter looked at her with annoyance as he pulled his arm away and walked off. She didn’t look happy about his response, giving him a slight glare as she walked away with a huff.

I knitted my brows together over their exchange. Rylee noticed my expression.

“That’s been a whole thing. Chloe just won’t take a hint. Don’t worry, he’s been nothing but a dick to her.”

I laughed, “Well, maybe she’ll take the hint now that I’m here.”

I watched as Dieter wandered over to the edge of the riverbank, looking frustrated with his phone in hand. He seemed to be talking to himself, occasionally walking a few steps one way or the other with the device up in the air, like he was looking for a better signal. Rylee bumped her shoulder against mine.

“What are you waiting for? Go get your man before he loses his damn mind again over his phone not working.”

I chuckled before walking off in his direction, approaching him from behind. I could hear him muttering about his phone being a “piece of shit” as he tapped on the screen harder than necessary.

“What did that phone ever do to you?”

“It doesn’t fucking work half the time,” he replied curtly, his head bowed down as he continued to fiddle with the object of his frustration. A beat later, his fiddling paused as he raised his head, quickly turning toward me.

The instant his eyes locked with mine, he was moving, taking quick long strides over to me as the relief swept over his face. Before I knew it, he had wrapped his arms tightly around my waist and lifted me, spinning in a circle as he pressed his lips into mine with urgency. “Hi.” His voice croaked, somewhere between a gasp and a moan. I hugged him back around his neck as I returned the kiss with just as much enthusiasm. He lowered me to the ground, our embrace continuing with kisses between whispers of how much we had missed each other.

He pulled back, looking over my face as he reached to run his fingers through my hair. A small smile tugging at his lips.

My thumb traced the faint darkness under his eyes. I could see it even under all the makeup and dirt. My chest tightened at the thought of him not being able to sleep. I really hoped he wasn’t still having bad dreams, but I didn’t think he would tell me if he was.

We were brought back to reality when a few of the remaining crew members and Rylee started whopping and whistling at us, someone even yelling at us to get a room. We both burst out laughing but were also slightly embarrassed. I could already tell that being on the film set with Dieter was going to be an interesting experience.

He leaned into my ear, “How about we go somewhere a little more private?”

I nodded with a mischievous smile in return. We made a beeline for his trailer. Several people attempted to get his attention as he passed by, but he was having none of it. He waved them off and kept going, gently pulling me along as he held my hand.

We had barely made it into his trailer before he was kissing me and reaching for my belt buckle. I had to make him stop to shut the door properly behind him. It bounced back open twice before he finally gave it a couple of good tugs to fully latch it. He cursed at it under his breath while I laughed at him.

We undressed each other in record time before falling onto the bed in a mess of tangled limbs. Dieter settled in between my thighs as he reached down to rub between my folds. I grabbed his hand, stopping him as I shook my head.

“No, I need you now.”

He gave me a cocky grin as he moved to line himself up at my entrance. “As you wish.” He rested his forehead against mine as he entered slowly, giving me the opportunity to adjust to his size. Once he was in all the way, his movement briefly stilled, and a small whimper escaped his lips.

“I’ve missed you so fucking much, missed this, missed us.”

He kissed me deeply, his tongue tangling with mine as he started his movements again. His pace quickened, turning the sweet moment into one of raw need. Our sweaty bodies slid against each other as our movements became more frantic. We held on to each other tightly as his thrusts grew harder. We heard voices outside of the trailer, which briefly pulled our attention away from our activities. Dieter shook his head as if to dismiss it, then buried his face into my neck, muffling the noises he was making as he briefly covered my mouth with his hand to quieten the sounds still escaping my lips. I pulled his hand away and wrapped my legs around him as he resumed his quick, plunging movements. I could feel the tension building before coming undone around him. It took everything in me to stay quiet as I felt the rush of tingling electricity throughout my body. His thrusts grew more erratic as he felt me tighten around him. He soon spilled into me as he was rocked with his own orgasm.

He collapsed beside me, trying to catch his breath. I rolled over and cuddled into his side as he wrapped his arms around me and buried his face into my hair. We sat in silence. Within minutes, his breathing started to deepen as he fell asleep. I didn’t dare move. I didn’t want to wake him.

Thirty minutes or so passed when I heard crackling over a radio from somewhere in the trailer giving a twenty-minute warning for filming to resume. The sound didn’t disturb Dieter in the slightest. He was out cold. I hated to wake him, but knew I needed to. It took several shakes, but he finally woke up grumbling as he hugged me tighter. He finally rolled out of bed, and I followed. We quickly got dressed and attempted to make ourselves presentable.

“You look like a hot fucking mess,” I said as I eyed the smeared makeup on his face. It looked more like he had smeared and streaked the dirt on his face with his fingers rather than just being naturally dirty. He looked in the mirror and sighed.

“Oh well. Shit happens,” he shrugged before pulling me in for another kiss. A ten-minute warning crackled on the radio, followed by a knock on the door. Dieter moved to open it, allowing Rylee inside. She entered, then stopped, looking us both over with a smirk on her face.

She started laughing and shaking her head as she looked at Dieter more closely. She turned to me, “I think you may be hair and makeup’s worst nightmare.”

We all shook with laughter at her remark. There was no hiding it at this point, might as well laugh about it. Once we contained ourselves, Rylee held out a small bag.

“I figured you wouldn’t make it over to eat, so I grabbed some food for you. Dieter, walk and eat please. We gotta go.”

We thanked her as we headed out the door with sandwiches and drinks in hand.

Rylee was right, Dieter was swarmed by hair and makeup as soon as he got back to the filming location, and they were giving him a hard time about it. I made a mental note to avoid his face and hair in the future, or at least try to.

Filming went well into the early morning hours. I spent most of my time either watching them film or with Rylee showing me around. Once they wrapped for the night, we briefly stopped in at Dieter’s trailer to grab my bags, then a car took us to the secluded resort about thirty minutes away where the cast and crew were staying. We showered to rid ourselves of the outdoors which led to our second and third rounds of sex before crashing. Dieter didn’t seem to have any trouble falling asleep that night as our naked bodies lay tangled under the fluffy down duvet.

The 7AM alarm came early when you only managed to get about four hours sleep. We spent a few minutes in bed, just enjoying each other’s company and showering each other in affection. That was soon interrupted by Reylee’s call to make sure Dieter was awake and not “dicking around” because our car would be there soon. She held nothing back. Her filter worked about as good as mine.

We had to scramble to get ready to leave but managed to make it on time. Rylee met us in the lobby with coffee and muffins, which I was thankful for. Dieter’s muffin set untouched during the ride as he looked over his script. Rylee reminded him at least three times to eat. I eventually grabbed the muffin and shoved it into his mouth, which took him off guard.

“Well, that’s one way to do it!” Rylee said as we both snorted through laughter. Dieter didn’t seem to find it as funny. He looked slightly annoyed but took it from me and ate while he continued to look over his script.

Once we arrived, he immediately went off to hair and makeup. I wandered around to find a decent cell signal so I could use my mobile hotspot to get a little bit of work done. I found a nice spot at the top of a hill where I had a view of everyone at work filming. The cell signal would come and go, and I could now understand Dieter’s earlier frustrations. It seemed the remote area we were in was in the middle of a dead zone.

During the lunch break, I sat with Rylee as Dieter spoke with the director and producer about some scenes they would be filming soon. He was in pure chaos mode, a bundle of hyped-up energy, talking a mile-a-minute about an idea he had.

“He seems to be in better spirits now that you’re here,” Rylee said to me as I watched him gesture wildly with his arms.

“He actually got some sleep last night; I think that’s helped.”

“Yeah, and got rid of some of that pent up tension too, I’m sure.”

Rylee smirked as she took a sip of her water. I raised an eyebrow as it took me a minute to realize what she was referencing. Once I caught on, I rolled my eyes at her.

“You’re incorrigible. You know that? I think your filter might be more broken than mine.”

She beamed, clearly proud of herself. She glanced down at her watch, checking the time. The break was almost over, and he was still talking while everyone else around him finished up lunch.

“I swear, if he doesn’t start eating, I’m gonna choke him. I’ll be right back.”

I watched as Rylee went over to grab a plate of food and deposited it in his hands, giving him a chastising look as he took it from her. It didn’t faze him, he held it as he continued to talk.

She came to sit back down beside me.

“Has that been an issue with him, not eating?”

“Oh yeah, he gets wrapped up in the ‘creative process’ and forgets to eat.”

“Has that always been a thing?”

“Yes and no. He seems a little worse than normal this time around. I just figured he was trying to keep himself busy, so he doesn’t think about being away from you.”

I gave her a small smile but didn’t say anything. It bothered me that he was skipping meals because I knew how much that man loved food.

“He’s been fine otherwise though…right?”

I’m sure she could see the concern etched on my face.

“Yeah, I mean, I know he hasn’t been sleeping well, which isn’t really new. He’s been a little moody, but otherwise ok.”

I felt bad for even asking, but I had a feeling he wasn’t going to be completely honest with me if he was having a hard time.

Dieter finally ended his conversation and came over to straddle the bench seat facing me on my right side as he set his food down on the table. His left hand immediately came up to rest in my hair at the base of my neck to pull me in for a quick kiss. Rylee again reminded him to eat because he only had fifteen minutes left. He rolled his eyes and stuffed half a sandwich in his mouth with his right hand, giving her a sarcastic look. I leaned my head over onto his left shoulder while he continued to run his fingers through my hair. He carried on eating with his other hand, occasionally speaking to Rylee between bites. For the first time that morning, his chaotic energy finally seemed to ease down slightly.

I was able to spend more time with Dieter that afternoon. He had a few breaks while they filmed scenes he wasn’t part of. We spent those breaks alone in his trailer. While a lot of that time included more intimate activities, we were perfectly content to just be in each other’s company while he went over the script or napped. Both of which he did while cuddled into my side as I ran my fingers through his curls and lightly scratched his scalp with my nails. He complained when I let him fall asleep because that meant he was losing time with me, but we both knew he needed it.

My third day went much like the previous. It was a routine we had settled into. Dieter’s overall mood seemed to have improved, and he looked more rested than he had when I first arrived. Rylee seemed happy about that since he was less grumpy and more compliant than he had been.

That evening, filming wrapped early. The cast and crew were planning to hit up a local bar to blow off some steam. Dieter wasn’t planning to go, but Rylee encouraged it. Mostly because she didn’t want to go alone. We humored her and said we would make an appearance, even though we both would have much rather been alone in our suite for the evening.

When we arrived, we found an open space at the bar. Dieter and Rylee took the two open bar stools while I opted to stand for a bit. Dieter sat facing me, with one arm leaned on the bar. I stood in between his open legs, leaning against his shoulder as his hand rested on my hip. Rylee ordered some sort of fruity mixed drink while we both asked for water. If he wasn’t going to drink, then I wasn’t either. Rylee surprisingly didn’t question it, which I appreciated.

There was a steady flow of cast and crew that came over to chat with us. They all seemed nice enough and were very welcoming toward me. Then there was Chloe…We had been there for about an hour when she made her way over to chat with Dieter. She was clearly a few drinks in as her speech was starting to slur slightly. She came up behind him, slowly snaking her arm around his shoulders while saying “hello handsome” in the best sultry voice she could muster. She did all this, even though he was sitting there with one of his arms around me. I felt him lean forward into me as he reached to remove her arm from his shoulder. I turned to meet her gaze, confused by her brazen actions. She stepped away, giving an obvious pout as she finally realized I was standing there. She tilted her head like she was trying to sort out a puzzle, then reached out her hand to shake mine.

“I’m Chole, I don’t think we’ve met. Are you like his sister or something?”

The look of shock and confusion that Rylee, Dieter, and I gave her had to be almost comical. Was she really that dumb or just being a bitch? Based on the clueless stare she was giving me; I was going with dumb.

Rylee muttered, “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” just loud enough that I could hear her over the loud background music. Dieter leaned forward, trying his hardest not to laugh.

“No, definitely not my sister. That would make all the sex we’ve had the last three days a little weird. She’s actually the love of my life and the only woman I’m currently interested in.”

He gave her a wide smile. It took everything I had in me to control the laughter that was threatening to burst out. Rylee nearly choked on her drink and made no attempts to hide her giggles.

Chloe’s eyes grew large as she took in his response. Her cheeks tinged with red. She gave a tight smile, nodding in understanding before she awkwardly turned to walk away. All three of us burst out laughing.

“I cannot believe you said that to her,” I said to Dieter through my chuckles.

“Just trying to get the point across. The girl is not good at picking up hints.” He sighed, still looking amused, but it was clear that her behavior had been bothering him for a while now. “She probably won’t remember it tomorrow anyway.”

Dieter got up to go to the bathroom, so I took his seat. Rylee and I continued to chat as she turned her back to the bar to look over the crowd, expressing her dismay over the lack of suitable options for a one-night stand. I sat facing her, leaning on the bar with my head propped on my hand, laughing at the disgusted look on her face. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Tom and a group of guys at the end of the bar. They were very obviously looking our way, their lingering eyes occasionally being a bit too blatant. Internally, I was rolling my eyes and hoping they didn’t cause any trouble. I was startled by Dieter speaking up loudly from behind me, his voice tense and words clipped.

“The fuck you looking at?”

I turned to face him; he was clearly looking in the direction of Tom’s group. I didn’t see their reaction, but Dieter seemed satisfied after a moment as I reached to grab at his shirt and pull him over to me. I was attempting to distract him to avoid any further drama.

“Don’t pay any attention to them, they’re clearly drunk.”

He couldn’t stop a huff falling from his lips as his arms slid around my waist, eyes focused on mine. “Yeah well, they don’t need to be staring at you two like that,” he muttered.

“Don’t worry about it D., I think we can handle them,” Rylee added with a serious tone.

After a short while, the group got up and left the bar area. Dieter followed them with his eyes as they retreated to the upstairs area of the establishment. Once they were gone, he visibly relaxed within a few minutes, seeming to have forgotten about the exchange. He continued to chat with some crew members sitting close to us as Rylee pulled me out to dance. I felt a little out of my element. I was typically a few drinks in before I ever took to the dance floor, but I tried to let loose a little and have fun with her. I could see Dieter still seated at the bar, keeping a close eye on us, and occasionally smiling at our antics when our eyes met.

We were a few songs in when I felt someone come up behind me and wrap their arms around my waist. I immediately stiffened because I knew it wasn’t Dieter. When I turned to push them away, I saw it was one of the guys who had been in Tom’s group earlier. This was not going to go well. I tried my hardest to get rid of him before Dieter noticed, but he absolutely would not go away and only continued to get more handsy as I continued to resist. Rylee stepped in to intervene and he pushed her away, before grabbing onto my ass. I pushed away again, more roughly this time as I moved to walk away. When I turned, Dieter was right there in front of me, his eyes blazing with anger. Rylee and I had to step in to block him as he was about to throw a punch at the guy's face.

“Hey, hey, hey. Stop. Stop it!” I yelled as I hooked my arm around his when he was mid swing. There was no doubt in my mind that he could take the guy, but a fight was the last thing he needed. Especially with how short his fuse already seemed to be lately. Rylee was pushing backwards on Dieter’s chest while he yelled obscenities at the guy, who just stood there with a smug look on his face. It clearly only enraged Dieter more, causing him to keep pushing back against us to get to the guy.

“Dieter, stop it! It’s ok, I’m ok.”

“It’s not fucking ok. He has no right to touch you like that.”

“No, he doesn’t but we can deal with it another way. Just not like this, please.”

“You can kiss your fucking job goodbye. Don’t even show up tomorrow,” Dieter yelled toward the guy who shouted a quick, “Fuck you,” back at him.

Rylee and I pushed him toward the exit. Once outside, she called for our driver to pick us up. Dieter took off without a word and headed down the street, taking long strides as he seemed oblivious to his surroundings. The set of his shoulders was tense and tight, and I noticed his hands clench into fists repeatedly as he got further away from us. I moved to follow him, but Rylee stopped me.

“Just give him a minute.”

I bit my lip as I watched him disappear from sight. I took a few deep breaths to calm my nerves. “Does he always fly off the handle like that?” I knew the answer before I had finished asking the question. During the time we had spent together in the past several months, I had never seen him respond in that way. He had never attempted to hit anyone or verbally attack them with anger. As pissed as he was when we ran into Justin, he stayed perfectly calm through that entire exchange.

“Like that? No. But I assume it’s just because it had to do with you,” Rylee responded.

A few minutes later our car pulled up and Dieter still hadn’t returned. We instructed the driver to head in the same direction he had walked earlier, hoping that we would find him. I spotted him sitting on a bench with his head in his hands and told our driver to pull over. Once the car was parked, I got out and walked over to the bench, taking a seat next to him. When he didn’t look up, I started rubbing slow circles on his back with my hand.

“You ok?”

He shook his head from side to side before sitting up straight, inhaling deeply as he looked around at nothing. His face was tense. I couldn’t tell if it was from anger or distress. He wouldn’t look at me.

“Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

He shook his head from side to side again while trying to control his breathing. His leg started to bounce as he continued to stare, unblinking, the dissociation palpable in the air. I felt like he was fighting off a panic attack. After hesitating for a moment, I stood up and climbed onto his lap, my legs straddling his thighs. I forced him to look at me, grabbing one of his hands and holding it to my chest as his eyes locked with mine. With my free hand, I reached for the hair at the base of his neck and rubbed him gently, just like I had done after the Anna incident. Immediately his body language changed, and I felt him lean into my touch, a barely audible sigh escaping from his lips.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

He shook his head slowly, searching for words. “I just… couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. I dunno. I think I blacked out for a minute.” He looked away as another sigh broke free from him. “I don’t even know what just happened.”

I pulled him in and hugged tightly around his shoulders. He buried his face into the crook of my neck as his breathing slowed. He held onto me tightly. I could feel the occasional twitching in his right hand.

“I’m sorry, I know I could’ve handled that differently,” he said eventually, his breath warm against the curve of my shoulder. “I just kinda snapped when I saw him grab you like that.”

I pulled back to look at him, running my fingers through the side of his hair.

“You’re fine. I understand why you were upset.” I leaned in, giving him a lingering kiss on his lips, then rubbed my nose against his.

“How about we head back to the resort and forget about this mess.”

He let out a small sigh before nodding in agreement. He stood as he kept his hand pressed against the small of my back, lifting me with him before gently depositing my feet on the ground. I took his hand, leading him in the direction of where the car had parked.

True to his word, Dieter made a few calls the next morning before we got to set. The guy, whose name turned out to be Craig, was fired. They didn’t want someone like that around, for obvious reasons.

We fell back into our routine after the incident at the bar. My remaining days with Dieter were passing by quickly, which only seemed to bring his mood down. He was spending less time preparing for filming and more time with me during his breaks. We never spoke of how much time we had left, but I could tell it was always at the forefront of his mind. It was clear in the way he would cling to me when we were alone, how he would also avoid any conversation about when I would eventually be flying home. I had given up on getting any of my remote work done during the last two days; the work mattered, but faded in importance compared to being present there with him. On top of that, the cell signal issues persisted, so I opted to take some time off for those days instead. It meant I got more time to watch Dieter in action. I was able to be near him, just off camera the entire time. He took full advantage of my presence between takes, coming over for an affectionate touch or kiss when he was able.

On the morning of my flight to LA, he woke me before either of our alarms went off. I had barely opened my eyes before I felt his hands roam over my body, his lips soft and warm as he trailed kisses down my neck from behind. Once I turned over towards him, his motions turned near frantic almost immediately as he met my lips for a deep kiss, his fingers sliding between my thighs where he found I was ready for him. Our kisses were urgent, our touches insistent. It was almost like we couldn’t get close enough. With the quick pace that he set from the beginning, neither of us lasted long. As soon as he felt me coming undone, he followed. He stayed propped above me, with his elbows on either side of my head, kissing me in between brief moments of letting his eyes dance across my face. I could feel him lightly threading my hair through his fingers.

“I’m not sure how many more times I can tell you goodbye like this. I fucking hate it.” His brows knitted together as he spoke. The emotion was clear on his face. He looked like he was about to break. I reached up to tangle my hands in his messy curls.

“I know baby, I do too. It’s just for four weeks though, then you get to come home for a few days.”

I tried my hardest to sound positive, but every fiber of my being was screaming in protest. Something felt off. Something was telling me to stay with him. I felt a tear slide down the side of my face while I fought with those emotions. I knew I was just being irrational because I didn’t want to be away from him. He wiped the tear away with his thumb and leaned down to kiss me, gently.

We were interrupted by the alarm on his phone going off. He reached over to grab it from the nightstand with a protesting groan as he pulled out of me. He turned the alarm off and set the phone next to my head as he settled above me again, continuing to kiss me deeply. But once again we were interrupted by his phone; it was Rylee with her usual morning call to make sure he was awake. He finally sat up to answer it. I could hear her reminding him of my flight details before he cut her off to say we had it all under control and he would see her later. He wasn’t usually so terse with her, so it surprised me a little. After he hung up, he let out a loud sigh and got up to go toward the shower.

I sat in bed a little longer before joining him, taking a moment because I could feel the panic rising in my chest. The little voice in my head kept screaming at me to stay with him. I needed to pull it together, for him. Me being upset was only going to make him more anxious. I finally drug myself up out of the bed to go shower. We both rushed to get ready. He had to leave before I did, but I still needed to pack up.

When I came out of the bathroom after drying my hair and getting dressed, Dieter was sitting at the edge of the bed with his elbows propped on his knees and palms rubbing at his eyes. When he looked up at me, his eyes were red and glossy.

“My car is here.”

I inhaled a deep breath and gave him a nod as I walked toward him. I pulled him into a tight hug.

“You’re gonna be so busy, the time will fly by. You probably won’t even notice I’m gone,” I said into his neck. He scoffed.

“I think we both know that’s not true.”

I gave him a tight smile as I pulled away to look him in the eye, “You call me when you’re having a hard time, yeah?”

He looked down and away from me as he gave me a small nod. His phone pinged, no doubt it was Rylee telling him to hurry it up. He leaned in for one last kiss before leaving.

I stood for some time, staring at the door I had just watched close behind him. I kept having a feeling in the pit of my stomach that this might be the last time I would see him, and it was freaking me out. It took everything in me to push those thoughts away so that I could focus on packing and making my flight.

In the days that followed, he called every time he was able, but most of our communication was done via text message. Which I knew he absolutely hated. About a week after I got home, there was a full day that I didn’t hear from him. I started to get a little worried, until I got a text message from Rylee later that evening saying that Dieter’s phone was broken, and he would call me from her phone later.

It was near midnight when my phone finally rang. I had been lying in bed for an hour, wide awake, hopeful that he was going to call. I know the relief had to be obvious in my voice when I answered.

“Please tell me you didn’t throw your phone into the river because it wouldn’t work.”

Dieter laughed, “No, actually I threw it at a stone wall because it wouldn’t work. It’s in pieces.”

I was a little taken aback by his response. I had only been joking.

“Dieter, that’s a little excessive.”

“Yeah, but it made me feel better for a few minutes.” He cleared his throat, voice slightly hoarse as fatigue laced through his words. “Until I realized I couldn’t text or call you at all after that.”

I wasn’t sure how to react to that. It seemed a little out of character for him.

“Rylee ordered another phone for me. It should be here tomorrow.”

“Well, at least you’ll get a replacement quickly.”

“Yeah, I’ll try to not break this one,” he said with a small laugh.

His voice sounded off. I wasn’t sure why, but it did.

“Are you doing ok?”

He took a moment to respond and I heard him gulp down something to drink. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? I’m fan-fucking-tastic.”

“Is that sarcasm?”

“No. I’m fine.” More drinking sounds, then a sigh. “I mean, I miss you and I’m tired. That’s nothing new though.”

The phone disconnected with a beep. I got a text a minute later.

DIETER: Sorry, lost fucking signal again. Talk to you tomorrow. Love you.

“This fucking sucks,” I huffed out loud to myself. I sent him a quick goodnight text and tried to go to sleep.

In the weeks that followed, I could tell something was going on with Dieter when he would call. He always insisted that he was fine, and it was just all the usual things bothering him. However, he seemed to be growing more distant. The calls and texts were becoming fewer and farther between. It was making me beyond anxious. I was having a hard time focusing on anything, including work. I spent a lot of my time alone, staring at the tv without having any idea what was happening on the screen. I avoided talking to Lauren and Gabby because I knew they would sense something was up, and I wasn’t sure where to even begin explaining my concerns without violating his privacy.

After going a day and a half without hearing from him, I called Rylee to see if he was ok. She said he was normal during filming. Maybe even a little more excitable and obnoxious than usual. She added that he did seem somewhat withdrawn when it was just the two of them though. I asked her to call me if things didn’t improve with him. He was due to come home for a break in one week, so I was hopeful he would snap out of whatever funk he was in.

Around 10 PM that same evening, my phone lit up with an incoming call from Rylee. I suddenly felt sick. I knew something was wrong.

“Rylee?”

It took a moment before I heard her voice, as static and background noises seemed to drown her out at first. “Ummm, so Dieter is absolutely losing his shit on Tom right now. Do you think you can try to calm him down?” I had never heard Rylee truly agitated, but this time her voice was tense, laced with panic and concern.

My heart felt like it was beating in my throat as I gripped the phone tighter. “I can try- yes, of course. What happened?”

The screaming of two men in the background became louder, as if the phone was turned towards their direction, and I wondered if that was Rylee’s way of offering some further insight.

“Why can’t you just do what you’re fucking told? You’re gonna get someone fucking killed doing that shit,” Dieter yelled, his voice loud and distressed, the sound of it immediately conjuring up a visual of him with clenched fists and dark eyes like he had been that night at the bar.

“Fuck you man, go have a drink and calm the fuck down,” Tom spat back at him.

“Fuck you dude, she just almost got hurt because of you. You’re an asshole,” Dieter said with indignation.

“Guys! Stop yelling. Take a break,” a third male voice interrupted.

“I don’t know, something about a stunt that didn't go well. I didn’t see it, so I’m not sure. Hold on.”

I could hear Rylee trying to get Dieter’s attention away from Tom, telling him I was on the phone.

“Did you fucking call her?” He sounded pissed and combative, which was not a tone he normally took with her.

She didn’t answer his question. “Talk to her please.”

I could hear the phone jostling around before he answered, his voice still sounding gruff, “Yeah, what is it?”

“What is it?” For a moment I was stunned and didn’t know how to respond at how he snapped at me. “That’s how you're answering? What’s going on?”

He ignored my question and instead fired off one of his own, tension in his words. “Did she call you?”

I hesitated. I didn’t want to get Rylee in trouble.

“No, I called because I haven’t heard from you in almost two days. I wanted to check in.”

He scoffed. “Check in? I’m a grown ass man, I don’t need you two babysitting me.”

“Whhaa? No. That’s…that’s not what I…”

“Look, I’m busy,” he interrupted me before I could say more. “The stunt coordinator needs me. I’ll call you later.”

I was shocked into silence. I didn’t know how to respond. He had never spoken to me like that before.

Rylee got back on the phone, sounding clearly uncomfortable as she must have overheard Dieter. “Heeeey, umm. I don’t even know what to say. That was weird.”

“I don’t know what to say either. I think… I’m gonna come back up there. Maybe it’s because he’s not sleeping.”

Rylee seemed to sigh in relief, but quickly recovered. “I’ll get a flight set up for you.”

“No, I can do that. Just, keep him out of trouble. I’ll see if I can get one for tomorrow.”

We hung up after that. I had to take a minute to pull myself together. I couldn’t let myself fall apart right now. Once I had a minute to gather my thoughts, I walked to my home office and fired up my desktop so I could start looking at flights. It was near 1:30 AM when my phone started ringing on my desk, it was Dieter. I was honestly surprised that he called.

“Hello.”

“Hey.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to him after our earlier exchange. I was hurt and upset with him. For a moment there was silence between us, but then Dieter cleared his throat as he finally spoke.

“I think we need to talk.”

I had that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt like I was going to be sick. Those words were never good.

“I just booked a flight”, I said, trying to not grip the phone even harder than I was already doing, just to have something to hold on to. “I’m gonna come back up there tomorrow.”

“I don’t want you to do that.” His voice was tight as he strained to get the words out. It almost hurt me to listen. He didn’t sound right, not like this. Not like the Dieter I had known over the past months.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t think this is working. It’s…”, he seemed to search for words. I could hear him moving things around; something scraping over a hard surface, the sound of ice cubes in a glass. “It’s a burden and it's inconvenient. Just don’t waste your time.” His speech sounded slightly slurred.

I took a deep breath to calm myself as I leaned my forehead against my hand that was propped on my desk. “Dieter. Don’t do this…please. Have you been drinking?”

“That doesn’t matter. I told you; I don't need you to babysit me.”

“I’m not, I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on with you.”

He took a deep breath as if bracing himself. “Look, where we’re filming, you’re not gonna be able to work,” he said, words rushing this time. “Aubrey isn’t gonna keep putting up with you taking time off. It’s not gonna work. It’s just not working.”

“What does that even have to do with anything?”

“Nothing, it just compounds the problem.” I could hear ice clinking against glass followed by him swallowing gulps of a beverage.

I shook my head, frustration and fear both thumping hard within my chest. “And what is the problem exactly?”

“We’re incompatible. We shouldn’t have to rearrange our lives to be together. It’s not fair to either of us.”

“What happened to doing whatever it takes to make this work?”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure I said I’d do whatever it takes to make you happy and I am,” he nearly snapped at me, following it up with some words in Spanish that sounded like a curse. “You’ll thank me for it later.”

“No, you said you were all in for this. You’re just gonna give up because it’s hard? Because it's a fucking burden to you?”, I said in disbelief. I leaned back in my chair, shaking my head. I could feel anger bubbling to the surface at his comment. “You think it’s been easy for me? I thought we were in this together. Why do you think you get to choose for me? Let me come up there so we can talk through this.”

“You’re not listening, I don’t have time for you right now.”

“Are you using drugs or something?”

“Why does everyone keep fucking asking me that?!?!”, he yelled in frustration. I could hear him throwing things around in the background. “No, I haven’t used drugs in a long fucking time. I’m completely aware of what I’m doing and saying.”

“Maybe it has to do with the way you're acting. Did you ever consider that? And I’m sorry for fucking caring.”

“Look, I don’t know what else to say. It’s not working, ok? We tried and it didn’t work. There are better options that are less work. No more burdens or inconveniences.” He sucked in a deep breath. “I need you out of my mind. There’s too much going on with it. It’s a burden.”

He just kept talking in circles. Half of it sounded like nonsense.

“What are you even saying? You’re not making sense.”

“I’m saying we’re done,” he interrupted me, his words sharp and feeling like they were stabbing right into my heart. “I can’t do it anymore. Does that make sense?”

I inhaled sharply, realizing he was set on his decision. My head was pounding, too many moments flashing through my mind as I tried to hold it together. I tried to sort out my thoughts to understand how we suddenly had gotten to this, and how to get through to him without being pushed away.

“Why did you have to find me? I would’ve been fine if you’d just let me fucking go after New York,” I finally whispered.

My voice shook as I spoke. The tears started to fall from my eyes in a way that I had never before experienced. My vision was completely blurred by it. Dieter had gone silent on the other end of the phone, so quiet that I could barely hear him breathe. The line hadn’t disconnected, so I knew he was still listening. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing me fall apart, so I hung up.

I stood, making my way to the bedroom. I crawled into bed and bawled my eyes out. I did so until the early morning glow started to show around the edges of the curtains. When I realized the new day was making itself known, I felt livid that I stayed up all night crying over him. Determined to find sleep, I got up and went to the kitchen in search of alcohol. I knew I had a few bottles hidden away. I found what I was looking for shoved to the back of one of the upper cabinets. I went straight for the hard liquor. Taking a few swings as I headed back to bed. I didn’t plan on getting wasted, I just wanted enough to knock me out so I didn’t have to think about him anymore. I settled back into bed and shot Aubrey a quick text to let her know I was going to take a few days off. I gave no explanation, and she didn’t question me. Once the alcohol had time to kick in, slowing my racing thoughts and helping me relax, I finally fell asleep.

A/N: All right ya'll... so that happened. Our sweet Dieter is officially in full spiral mode and it's about to get a little crazy for both of them.

Questions to consider:

What do you think is going on with Dieter?

How are we feeling about his behavior?

How long do you think this spiral has been building?

How do you think Talia is going to handle this turn of events?

How are you feeling about the new characters? (Rylee, Tom, Chole)

Predictions?

Once you have had a minute to digest and share your thoughts for this chapter, jump on over to this post for part one of Deconstructing Dieter Bravo. This is a companion series I plan to do for the remaining chapters so that we can get a little more insight into what's going on in that mind of his. 😉

The chapter playlist and mood board are included below.

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Let me know in the comments below if you would like to be added to the tag list.

#dieter bravo #pedro pascal #dieter x ofc #dieter bravo fic #Destiny & Deliverance Series #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo x ofc #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #Pedro Pascal Fanfic #dieter bravo x oc #dieter bravo fluff #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #the bubble #Spotify

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obsessivelyloved · 1 year

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First time writing Leon, I want this man so bad. Reader is gender-neutral <3

I take requests :)

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You were the only thing keeping him going tonight. If he hadn’t found you, Leon would have put a bullet in his head. What was the point in going forward when everything led to despair? When all he had for company was the decaying undead.

But now he has you. An innocent civilian who had made their way to the police station desperate for help. He almost cried in relief when he saw you, alive and not ready to tear into his flesh. Not even a minute later the relief washed away to horror.

Leon had found you, bleeding and limping, with nothing to defend yourself except for a metal bat that had seen better days. He did what he could. He sprayed your arm and wrapped it, along with the gash on your leg. But he didn’t know what else to do for your leg. His first aid knowledge was incredibly limited. If something was wrong with your bone or something was sprained, neither of you would know until he got you to a hospital.

Hence why he had to keep going. He had to get you out of here. There was no way he could entertain any thoughts of ending it all now that he had you. You didn’t deserve to die in this hell.

While Leon had only known you for an hour, you made him feel fuzzy. Like he needed to pull you close to his chest and just hold you. A part of him wanted to feel your lips on his.

He ignored those thoughts.

He did, however, keep you close. In the rare moments you two weren’t in danger of being attacked, he’d put his gun away and keep a hand on the small of your back. Touching you helped lessen his anxiety a little.

You were real. You were real and alive.

As more time passed, the urge to protect you grew stronger. It was as if something itched under his skin, rage bubbling when anything dared to lunge out at you. Leon refused to allow anything to touch you. Nor were you ever given a chance to use your bat other than as a cane. Any chance he had he viciously took zombies down.

The thought of those things even touching you made him feel sick and angry. You were getting out here unharmed. He’d make sure of it.

And maybe he’d stay by your side.

#yandere leon kennedy #yandere leon s kennedy #yandere leon x reader #yandere leon s kennedy x reader #yandere leon kennedy x reader #tw yandere #yandere tw #yandere #yandere resident evil #yandere resident evil 2 #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x gn!reader #yandere drabble

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ramsywasalittlelamb · 8 months

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now i’ve seen you’ve broken a feather

A Regressor!Dick Grayson with Caregiver!Bruce Wayne fic! 978 words, hurt/comfort, sickfic, do not ship!! photos found on pinterest!

Happy Batman day! I didn’t know I was gonna post this at all, and if I had known I would’ve done a Regressor!Bruce Wayne fic for obvious reasons, but this is what I got! Hope you enjoy :) - Connor

(the sickness is just coughing and stuffy nose :3 emetophobia folks ur safe!)

Dick had told Bruce that it was just a cough.

Keyword: was.

It wasn’t like it was a rare occasion for him to get a cough or a sniffle every now and then, especially since he interacted with a lot more people than anyone else in the household, so naturally everyone accepted that explanation.

Aside from Bruce, of course. Between him being a detective, having great knowledge with medical and health issues, and being Dick’s legal guardian long enough to know when he lies, it’s safe to assume he typically knows when something else is up.

Everyone— sometimes including Bruce!— chalks Bruce’s worry up to paranoia and anxiety over his children, which is what Dick had told Bruce when the older insisted on taking his temperature, giving a quick look at his throat, and eventually asked to do a full checkup, to which Dick still refused, despite Bruce’s pleas.

But right now? Dick wished he would’ve listened and let Bruce do something earlier. Maybe he could’ve prevented it, or at least lessen the impact the sickness has on him right now. His head throbs like an ice pick hammered at his temples and the base of his neck. He couldn’t breathe through his clogged nose, but blowing his nose into a tissue didn’t solve anything either. His chest is heavy with a weight on his lungs, and his arms just ache with a similar weight, leaving him unable to lift his shaky arms just enough to grab a tissue.

The worst part is the brain fog, in his humble opinion. The feeling that you’re not fully coherent and understanding, like you’re deprived from sleep even though he got plenty last night. (Nine hours is plenty of sleep, even if it is on and off! And he is more than willing to argue on that when he’s more awake!)

He felt miserable, but miserable felt like a downplay on what his body was experiencing.

He blinked out of his thoughts— If you could even call it that, more like zoning out.— when there was a soft knock at his door, followed by the sound of the handle turning and opening. Turning his hazy attention over to the source, he sees Bruce walking over with a tea tray filled with something Dick could really care less about at the moment.

“Hey bud, I’m sorry you feel bad.” Bruce says with the gentlest tone Dick’s heard in awhile, the same gentleness that he used when he was younger or— “‘M not small” Dick speaks into his pillows, his eye sharpening as much as it can through the sickly haze that covers his brain. He may be very out of it, but he’s certainly not regressed, he knows he isn’t.

Knowing is a loose term to him.

“I never said you were.” Bruce hums out in response, a subtle twitch at the corner of his lips at the unprovoked comment, grabbing a translucent cap from the tea tray and offering it to Dick, who squints at the two white capsules inside, before whining with a displeased expression and burrowing his face into his pillow.

“C’mon chum, you and I both know that you don’t like the liquid medicine more than the pills.” Bruce says calmly, a voice Dick only heard when he was trying to be convinced into something, but he won’t fall for the tricks of taking medicine this time!

“Hm,” Bruce sighs out. “I guess the ice cream I got will go to waste.”

Dick turns his head a bit at that, peeking an eye out from where his face is buried into the soft white plush. “Ice cream..?” He murmurs, his gaze latched onto Bruce’s somber expression with wide eyes.

“Mmhm. Mint chocolate chip, too.” He says, a frown on his face as he shakes his head solemnly with a click of his tongue. A sniffle and he looks at Dick, who’s turned his attention towards Bruce entirely, his head raised from the pillow slightly. “But, I don’t like mint chocolate chip. I also know that the others don’t like mint chocolate chip, so why would I have gotten it?” He says, looking up in thought as he taps his chin in theatrical confusion, to which Dick’s eyes crease with a silent smile at.

“I like it!” Dick says as he sits up, a few stray coughs escaping his lungs at his sudden excitement, gaining a reminder at the scratchiness in his throat.

Bruce raises his eyebrows as he turns to Dick. “It is? Wow! How could I forget?!” He says, a smile as equally big as his sons, before he feigns a deep thought for a moment. “How about we do a trade? You take these two pills, and I’ll give you a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream, hm?”

Well, obviously, Dick can’t deny any offer involving mint chocolate chip ice cream, so he nods rapidly, a toothy grin plastered on his face. He quickly stops the motion with a whine when his head begins to throb again, Bruce placing a comforting hand on the back of Dick’s head and tucking it below his chin, rubbing his thumb soothingly.

“Okay, okay, bud. Let’s take this medicine and get you some ice cream to make you feel better.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crown of Dick’s head, who hums in agreement.

Pulling back, he takes the pills separately with sips of his— now lukewarm— lemon tea that Alfred had made earlier, and swallows them with a few moments of struggle, to which Bruce just rubs reassuring circles on his back when he catches a glimpse of discontent on Dick’s face.

Maybe medicine isn’t as big of a deal if mint chocolate chip ice cream is involved, and just maybe listening to Bruce isn’t as big of a deal if mint chocolate chip is involved either.

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femmefatalevibe · 5 months

Note

How to be more disciplined?

HOW TO CULTIVATE SELF-DISCIPLINE:

Know Your Why: Always Keep The End In Mind

Keep Small Promises To Yourself. Make Them Non-Negotiable.

Create And Consistently Log Your Progress

Take Temptations Out Of Sight

Find Indulgences To Help You Focus On Your Goals

Know Your Why: Always Keep The End In Mind

Keep Small Promises To Yourself. Make Them Non-Negotiable.

Create And Consistently Log Your Progress

Awareness is the first step towards redirected action. Analyze these data points to see your pitfalls and strategize how to help yourself.

Take Temptations Out Of Sight

Find Indulgences To Help You Focus On Your Goals

#self discipline #habits #goal setting #motivation #healthyhabits #self help #self improvement #routines #femmefatalevibe #q/a

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staycalmandhugaclone · 4 months

Text

Identity Pt 3

Part (3) of Identity, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Well, guess I decided to make up for the last two chapters being on the small side. I admit, I was super intimidated by this one. It's a bit of a change from how my chapters usually go, though the next one will fall back into more familiar territory 😉 Also, @captainrex89, sorry! I absolutely didn't mean to leave you out of my previous tags, and thank you for bringing it to my attention! ❤️

Warnings: Brotherly bullying, varying degrees of dread, unwanted advances (between two women, though I want to be clear: the 'unwanted' aspect is not due to gender), profanity, brief descriptions of gore and burns, needles, brief description of dead bodies

WC: 5,953

Sleep refused to return to me after the conversation with Wolffe, thoughts conflicted between betrayal and guilt. I would never be able to bring myself to regret joining Hunter and his brothers, but the knowledge that Wolffe let me go so easily hurt in a way that left my heart writhing in my chest. It was almost a relief when the time came to begin mission prep despite the lingering anxiety in every terrifying unknown that entailed.

I’d had no say in the elaborate gown chosen for me, nor had I ever had to adorn such pretentious attire during my years as a medic, a thing for which I instantly found myself profoundly grateful as I fought against the urge to scratch at the elegant lacework adorning my arms and neck or to readjust the layers of heavy silks draped about my chest and hips. While the garment was a stunning example of Separatist finery, the life it represented held no attraction to me, and I found myself loathing the way it clung to my figure just enough to impede my movement.

After wasting several minutes trying to secure the clasps at my back without stretching or tearing anything, I finally accepted defeat with a sigh and headed toward the chorus of voices in the neighboring room and had to swallow back the flare of self-consciousness at how quickly they fell silent the instant I tread through the door.

“Yeah, yeah; quit gawking. Who’s going to help me button this thing up?” I drawled, rolling my eyes as though my cheeks weren’t heated beneath a violent blush. Boost instantly shot up, beaming smile on his face, but Warthog slid his foot forward just enough to catch his brother’s ankle, sending the man crashing down with a sharp curse. I was laughing too hard to notice Sinker until he stood mere feet before me, waiting impatiently for me to turn my back to him. Flashing him a toothy grin, I spun around.

“Anything broken?” I called back upon hearing Boost’s deep groan.

“Just my pride…” He replied morosely, earning a fresh bout of chuckles as I pointedly ignored the careful movements of Sinker’s fingers gradually working up my spine.

“Any questions about your cover story?” The Sergent asked.

“I’d be a bit embarrassed if I did.” I answered, brow hitching as I glanced over my shoulder at him. “It’s almost too close to the truth for comfort.”

“Easier to make it believable that way.” He said dismissively. I knew he was right, and being able to call on actual memory to support my manufactured cover of being the daughter of a senator from Agamar admittedly lessened my anxiety of the façade. I didn’t doubt how quickly that anxiety would return upon reaching the gala, however; how alone I’d be as soon as I stepped off the platform and listened to the engines fade as Wolffe and his men acted their part of chauffer before circling around to infiltrate the grand structure elsewhere. I glanced down at the slim band about my wrist, noting how brilliantly the twined metals gleamed under the fluorescents.

“You sure this thing isn’t going to set off any sensors?” I asked, twisting my arm to begrudgingly admire the elegant jewelry.

“Getting nervous, civi?” I could hear the smirk in Sinker’s voice, and instantly shot him an unamused glare.

“As long as you don’t activate it until after you’re inside, you’ll be fine.” Boost reassured me as he finally pushed himself to his feet. “We’ll hear you loud and clear the whole time.” I forced my lips into a smile at his approach, though I found little comfort in his words. Once they were clear, they’d send a signal to the bracelet, causing it to buzz twice granting me permission to take my leave, and I knew I’d be painfully aware of its delicate weight the entire time, second guessing if I’d missed the subtle alert or worrying that someone else might notice it if it went off at an inopportune moment…

“I swear, if you just jinxed me, Boost…” I warned jokingly, earning a cheeky grin.

“That other squad has you all jumpy.” Warthog accused, stretching his legs out atop the now vacant couch. “I don’t remember you being so nervous with us.”

“You’re clearly forgetting that mission on Nal Hutta.” Sinker retorted, drawing an affronted scoff from me.

“You mean when you sold me to the karking hutts?!” Before I’d finished speaking, both Warthog and Sinker were laughing shamelessly. Only Boost had the good sense to look at least partially chastised.

“We got you back.” He reminded me, voice lilting between apology and compromise. Before I could more than twist my lips in reply, the door hissed open as Comet joined us.

“Hey! You clean up nicely, med’ika!” He greeted happily, utterly oblivious to the ire warming my blood. I gave a mock curtsy before letting out a small sigh.

“How close are we to leaving hyperspace?”

“Any second. Wolffe sent me to grab Warthog.” He answered, looking past me to where his brother lounged contently. The pilot let out a reluctant grumble but offered no further argument before grabbing his helmet and starting toward the cockpit as the ship shuttered slightly. This was the most dangerous moment; waiting to see if our clearance codes were accepted planet-side or if we’d be shot down before ever nearing atmo. The four of us waited in tense silence as the engines stalled, surely marking the beginnings of Warthog’s attempts to grant us access to land. Mere seconds later, everyone in the room let out a small breath of relief as the ship roared back to life.

“You ready?” Comet asked in a fond whisper.

“I’m just going into a room filled with people I’m trying to overturn without so much as a dagger to protect myself. Why wouldn’t I be ready?” Even that growing anxiety couldn’t quell the flood of affection at his gentle laugh, cheeks warming as he slipped his hand through my hair to touch his forehead softly against mine.

“You’ll do great.” How could I not believe him when he spoke with such unfettered quiet, that subtle smile granting each word an effortless confidence that swept the tension from my frame absent even the memory of doubt.

“Remember, we’ll be able to hear you the entire time. You just need to meet the contact, monitor security details, and get out when we tell you to.” Sinker’s attempt at crisp professionalism nearly hid the hint of his own worry from bleeding through, and I offered him a comforting smile as he lightly bumped his head to mine as well before he and Comet started toward the back rooms lest they be seen upon landing.

“Be careful, med’ika.” Boost murmured, shamelessly forgoing the routine keldabe kiss to lightly press his lips to my forehead.

The silence that fell around me after he joined his brothers was deafening; the fleeting calm granted by Comet’s innate quiet fading away beneath the impending reality of how many ways this mission could go wrong.

Just as the telltale shuttering of atmosphere jostling the ship began, the cockpit door slid open, instantly drawing my attention. Wolffe stood with his arms locked about his chest, head tilted down ever so slightly as he studied me with those unflinching, intense eyes. I felt my body still beneath his gaze, all thought toward sobbed apologies and shouted accusation abandoned in favor of the desire to simply remember every night I’d sought him out for the wisdom gained by the loss of too many brothers, for the unwavering conviction of his carefully metered responses in the face of every moment of crippling doubt and regret and fear that had haunted me in those first months after abandoning my home world.

I still felt the desperate need to know why he’d let me go, but some unspoken warning forbade me from asking, and my shoulders sank with a forfeited sigh.

“Don’t get yourself killed, kid.” It was such a rare thing for him to whisper like that, like there was so much more hanging on every word, painstakingly stifled into silence, allowed existence only in the way his jaw clenched in that forced stillness. My lips parted, chest swelling with a breath I knew I couldn’t risk releasing in anything other than a sharp exhale.

“You too, Wolffe.” I replied in that same, unsatisfied quiet. We both seemed to pause, almost pleading the other to break, to find some means of washing away the shadows cast by lips loosened beneath too much heartbreak and confusion in the hushed hours of night, but there wasn’t time for it. There never would be, and that was an agony I knew we’d simply have to live with.

The acceptance that softened those eyes drew a weary smile to my lips. With a small nod, he stepped back, allowing the door to close once more between us, and was again, I stood painfully alone, though that solitude felt somewhat lighter. I think I’d found myself expecting him to avoid me in the wake of my outburst, but I should have known better. Wolffe had never been one to hide regardless the weight of whatever decision or confrontation awaited him. It was simultaneously intimidating and envying, but my relief in not having to tread into the gala with that uncertainty cloying my thoughts was a blessing I was too eager to accept.

Music dominated the center hall, brass resonating through domed ceilings as strings sang of unknown sorrows and lost loves. What unearthly vocals accompanied the masterful orchestra lingered in subtle reverie rather than making any attempt to monopolize the attention of the dizzying number of senators and dictators and generals garbed in finery worth more than their citizens could hope to ever earn in their lifetimes floating about the grand ballroom careful only to avoid the disastrous social scandal of treading across the center stage absent a partner to mimic them in some pre-choreographed dance that had long since sacrificed all memory of passion in favor of empty symbolism that none cared to even pretend to remember.

I’d purposefully avoided all but the fringes of the room, save for a handful of forced conversations for the sake of my cover, head tilted up in silent judgement of those around me as I pretended to sip whatever pale liquid filled the crystal flute I’d been offered upon entering. B2 droids stood frozen in precise formation within enclaves built elegantly into the walls, almost more a decoration than true security. Their armor gleamed brilliantly beneath the enhanced candlelight flickering throughout the chandeliers floating overhead, void of scuffs or dirt or any signs that they’d ever seen battle. Still, I didn’t doubt how quickly they’d snap to attention at the faintest show of danger.

The droids weren’t my primary focus, however. Hidden within the higher echelon lingered just as many organic guards as those made of cold metals lining the gala. Each time I drew the glass to my lips, I counted off another half dozen, noting their clothes and species and any other details that might identify them. Years spent in the GAR left certain habits painfully obvious despite how the Separatist soldiers tried to blend in; shoulders held just so, the way their eyes scanned the room, the practiced tempo of their strides that only decades of intention could ever hope to unlearn.

My attention kept wandering back to those brave enough or bold enough or bored enough to find themselves gliding around one another in that antiqued dance, my lips just hinting at a smile as thoughts drifted far from this façade of self-importance. It was so easy to imagine Tech embodying the exact precision of those movements, tall form granting each stride an elegance lost to so many of those fumbling through the motions. I wondered how long Wrecker would humor the uninspiring steps before yielding beneath his desire to simply enjoy the moment; how his innate glee for life might grant new meaning to the music through a dance all his own. Hunter, surely, would find no joy in the act itself, but would amuse the both of us with whispered comments on those around us, noting groundless confidence in a nearby couple as one believed themselves far more accomplished than their clearly unimpressed partner, how he might create tales of how certain persons found themselves here when, in truth, they would prefer a stale beer in a raucous bar, while Echo would embody the perfect partner, matching movement for movement with a gentle conversation to free me of all thought toward where we were and who we were with; and Crosshair… I doubted any combination of pleas or promises would succeed in dragging him amidst the countless dancers yet found myself wishing for the chance to try all the same.

“That bracelet wouldn’t happen to be of Dal-Shay make, would it?” My gaze instantly snapped to the rugged voice, heart jilting at the codeword meant to reveal the contact I’d been sent to meet, and I froze, ice shooting through my veins and blistering beneath my skin. I knew those eyes. I knew those hands, and though his hair had thinned with age, I held no doubt toward who stood before me.

“I… I must be mistaken. Apologies.” He quickly murmured, head ducking politely as he began to step away.

“Uh; not at all.” I stammered, cheeks warming from the brief misstep, and stretched my arm toward him to reveal the telltale ornament. “You have a good eye.” Relief clearly shown in that eerily familiar face as I tried to convince myself that my initial assumption had to be some trick of the mind even as I found myself longing to ask if he remembered how his children laughed as he tried to teach them the very dance playing out before us.

“I understand we’re in for a treat with the gala’s speaker tonight.” He said warmly, attention turning to absently follow the orchestrated performance alongside me, shoulder just near enough to brush mine. I dropped my hand near his, shifting to block the brief contact of him slipping the tiny datachip between my fingers.

“I thought that was meant to be a surprise.” The feigned reprimand in my voice was enough to draw a chuckle from the older man, and I took the opportunity to appear mockingly insulted, arms crossing my chest that I might tuck the chip away through the lacework binding my neck.

“Whoever it is, I’m sure we’ll all be regaled with inspirational goals and haughty assurances primed to loosen ample credits to feed the war effort.” I continued in an uninterested sigh. He released a hum of agreement but let a moment of silence settle between us.

“May I ask you something?” I asked quietly. His attention flicked only briefly to me, lips pulling into the heartbreaking ruination of a smile.

“Of course.” There was a weary warmth to his voice that spoke toward a broken hope he couldn’t let go of.

“How did you come to find yourself here?” I offered no forged smile as I looked toward him, reflecting the solemn heaviness clear in his eyes as he drew a slow, deep breath.

“I lost my wife to the war.” I’d almost expected him to offer some pre-conceived dismissal, but there was no reservation in his reply; no effort to hide the way his words haunted him still. “Then I lost myself to the grief, and because of that, I lost my daughter, too. By then, it was too late to save my son, but I realized something. I could either continue drinking myself into a grave that wasn’t coming near quick enough, or I could try to do something.” He gave a small shrug, and I had to lock my cheek between my teeth to stem the threat of tears.

“’Something?’” I echoed, brow hitching slightly, and the flare of mischief that lit those eyes reminded me of endless afternoons filled with laughter and a love I hadn’t felt in far too long.

“Not gonna say my motives are entirely altruistic,” he admitted with a half-concealed smirk, “but it’s a hell of a lot better than lying around feeling sorry for myself.” Maker, I wanted to tell him… I wanted to make him look at my eyes and beg him to recognize me, but how could I? He’d found something to live for, and I couldn’t begin to guess how he’d react upon learning what had happened to me when I suddenly vanished… what happened to my brother…

“I think that’s amazing.” I murmured instead, voice just hinting at the tension coiling up my throat. He flashed me that smile once more, and I could feel every ounce of guilt and exhaustion weighing on him, but then he let out a small sigh.

“Probably best I see myself out right about now.” There was a gratitude in his words as he bowed his head. “It was a pleasure talking with you… Good luck.” My lips parted, and I only just managed to bite back the words screaming for breath.

“Take care.” The quiet whisper left in something just shy of a sob as I watched him start toward the main entrance, and I wondered how he’d made it past the iris scanners and blood tests that had taken the powerhouse of the Republic to see me through when I first entered those grandiose doors. I wondered if he’d found himself a part of some thriving network working against the Separatists from within, if he’d made new friends and new lovers that helped see him through the long nights and hopeless days. I wanted that for him. I wanted to find him when the war ended and tell him everything; to apologize for blaming him when I had no concept of how effortlessly loss could drown a person, and beg his forgiveness for my contribution to that loss, but, again, I found myself bound to a silence I loathed by the extraordinary circumstances we’d somehow placed ourselves in.

The pale liquid swirling within my glass suddenly looked far too tempting. Shoulders swelling beneath a carefully metered breath, I brought the chilled cup to my lips.

“Package acquired. Continuing patrol.”

Another half hour saw me through several more loops around the elaborate ballroom, with another dozen or so undercover soldiers identified and a final count on the displayed droids. I hated not knowing how Wolffe and the others were doing, if they’d reached their target or if they’d been captured… killed… I hated how my dread grew with each passing minute of hoping that damned bracelet would grant me some sign that they were alive, that we could leave, but I’d seen those men survive far more treacherous assignments than this. It would be foolish to doubt them now, nor was there anything I could do to quiet my fears either way.

“You seem frightfully alone tonight.” My attention snapped toward the crisp, well-spoken greeting to find a tall woman drifting to an easy stance a few feet from me.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” I retorted coyly despite the nervous trill dancing beneath my skin. She looked so nearly human; pronounced cheekbones emphasizing the powerful build of her jawline, jett-black hair falling midway down her neck, not a strand out of place beneath the carefully applied product slicking it back, but there was a subtle blue tint to her skin that left me feeling a chill despite the climate-controlled air filling the room.

“I suppose that depends on your preference toward the available company.” She yielded with a good-natured bow, pale lips just hinting at a smirk. I knew well enough to judge the broad width of her shoulders for the earnest strength and skill they represented rather than some consequence of mere vanity.

“It would seem rather bold to dismiss a building full of the most wealthy members of the Separatist Alliance.” I shot back, brow hitching slightly.

“And yet…” She motioned toward me with a knowing grin, and I found myself letting out a quiet chuckle.

“And yet.” I repeated, offering no argument to the implication.

“I think we might be each other’s solution to the monotony of tonight’s obligatory attendance.” My heart dropped at the implication in her words, the eagerness in hazel eyes garnished with streaks of crimson, mind already racing for some way to excuse myself. “Is there any way I might convince you to join me for a dance?” Kriff…. kriff, kriff, kriff… It took every ounce of self-control to school my expression into some façade of curiosity vailed beneath feigned disinterest.

“I’m afraid you’ll not find me nearly so capable as the partners already waiting near the stage.” I replied with a pointedly insincere apology, glancing toward eager faces standing at the edge of the dance floor silently hoping for someone to join them.

“Ah, but I’ve never been fond of accepting what is so effortless to take.” My jaw tensed at how fondly she mimicked my attempted dismissal. “You strike me as a challenge, and that is far more tempting than the promise of performing thoughtlessly repeated steps with equally thoughtlessly repeated conversation.” The thin chain suddenly felt impossibly heavy, attention desperately pleading for it to vibrate, for it to flutter with that quick signal that I might flee this place.

“I’m here neither to act as temptation nor cure for your boredom.” I retorted with no small hue of offense. The woman responded with a huff of abashed laughter.

“Of course.” She hummed ruefully. “And yet…?” I nearly rolled my eyes at the charming smile as she held her hand toward me, cursing the impossibility of my position. If I declined, would her wounded pride see her to one of the guards with questions none could answer? Would it be safer to humor her, if only to serve as distraction lest her curiosity reveal the fallacy of my identity? Could I even recall enough to mimic those swaying to music that deserved far grander celebration than the subdued series of near-touches and attentive gazes?

“And yet…” I sighed with an almost reluctant defeat as I lightly set my hand atop hers, and I wanted to sneer at the victory that lit her eyes. “I warn you, however; I haven’t partaken in this archaic dance since I was a child.”

“Shall I offer promises not to let you fall, nor laugh should you stumble?” I did roll my eyes at that, but she only chuckled gleefully, strides unfaltering as she led me to the edge of the dance floor, thumb resting so gently against my fingers that I barely felt it.

“You haven’t told me your name.” I noted without drawing my gaze from the closing flurries of motion in the encroaching finale of the song, desperately trying to recall how to perform those movements myself.

“And doesn’t that just make it all the more interesting?” She teased. I merely scoffed, fighting back the threat of panic upon watching the dancers offer their partners a low bow before taking their leave that the next batch might take their place.

“What’s it like on your planet?” She asked as we stepped forward. My chest ached from how violently my heart thrashed within me, barely able to keep the nervous tremble from legs hesitantly assuming the appropriate beginning pose.

“Cold.” I answered with a small shrug, as though I couldn’t be bothered to explain further. “I suppose the springtime is pretty enough – when the farmlands are in bloom.” The music began in a gentle, lilting murmur, guiding us through those first few steps absent embarrassment. I tried not to show how I struggled to offer even simple conversation in the midst of straining to fall back into some semblance of muscle-memory from lessons taken decades prior. “And you? What are your homelands like?”

“I wouldn’t know.” That drew my attention more pointedly to the woman effortlessly striding around me in careful rhythm to the growingly pronounced bass. “I was turned over to the state as an infant – grew up in various military schools until I was old enough to enlist.” There was neither grief nor shame in her voice, and I couldn’t help but respect her for that.

“Then you have both my condolences and my congratulations.” I said quietly with a respectful nod. “I suppose there must be something special about you to have seen you from such tragedy to where you now stand.” Her lips twitched with a prideful grin before she could fully suppress it.

“I should like to think so.” She answered, shoulders drawing back slightly as she stood just a hair’s breadth taller.

“Did you ever try to find them?” I asked, forgoing the social normalcy forbidding such potentially unpleasant topics. “Your parents?”

“Why would I?” She so nearly hid it, but I could hear the faintest note of contempt in that airy question. “They saw no reason to be in my life, so I’ve no reason to strive to be in theirs.” Freed of overthinking each movement, my body flowed naturally in time with hers, and I tried not to draw my own attention to that revelation lest I break whatever trance guided my limbs.

“There’s no weakness in seeking to understand why.” I paused as I spun away from her, glancing back to just catch her gaze over my shoulder until the next beat saw me facing her once more. “Nor is there weakness is mourning what their absence robbed from you.” A somber quiet eased the earlier glee from her eyes, though she made no effort to look away from me.

“I’ve had time to mourn.” She stepped just inches closer than she should have, and my heart balked at the sudden intimacy in those near-touches. “I’ve let myself feel anger at their abandonment, curiosity toward their motives, and I find myself in the same state of mind after each burst of emotion: gratitude.” My brow hitched at that, silently inviting her to explain. “Had they not surrendered me to the Alliance, I may never have committed myself so fully to its cause.” Oh. “As I am, there’s nothing to distract me from my mission,” Oh no. “And that freedom for absolute devotion is a boon few understand.” This woman was dangerous in ways I had no means of protecting myself against. I needed to run. Now.

“Nothing distracts you?” I pressed, fighting the way my eyes wanted to dart toward the main doors and forcing some taste of flirtation in my voice, expression carefully drawn into something resembling a teasing grin which she happily returned.

“There’s a difference between enjoying certain… pleasantries and allowing those pleasantries to become a hindrance.” I let out a quite scoff.

“Maker forbid anything of the sort.” The taunt barely caused the woman to narrow her eyes. “Still… the results speak for themselves.” I offered, pointedly letting my gaze travel down her meticulously kept form, drawing a haughty smirk to her lips.

She’d just drawn breath to reply when the music faded to an unexpected halt, notes hanging in the air just long enough to draw our attention away from each other, and I vaguely noticed the odd looks several of the other dancers kept shooting us before a man began to speak at the podium overlooking the ballroom from the second story, flanked by an ensemble of stern looking military commanders.

“Esteemed guests and colleagues, now that you’ve had time to partake in conversation, arts, and libations – enough, I hope, to loosen premeditated budgets – it’s time to announce our guest speaker!” A gentle laughter rolled through the crowd, some out of politeness, others clearly encouraged by too much drink.

“I’ve always found this part to be over played.” The woman murmured, leaning down enough for the warmth of her breath to trail over my ear, sending an unpleasant shiver down my spine, but I responded with a knowing glance.

“What? You don’t enjoy hearing various members of the ruling class pretend to fawn over each other out of civic duty?” Her shoulders shook with a quiet chuckle.

“Nor do I enjoy the painfully inadequate attempt at humility that follows.” She added, nearly groaning.

“But we shall clap when appropriate and cheer when it ends all the same.” I sighed, happily paying no attention to the introductory speech of whatever over-glorified parliament member had been chosen to parade before the others. It wasn’t until feeling the woman’s hand tug softly against my arm that I noticed her turn toward one of the grand staircases as the rest of the audience had just begun to applaud.

“Come with me.” She murmured, voice rich with what would, to most any other in the room, have been an intoxicating mixture of danger and confidence.

“What?” I couldn’t silence the depth of confusion, nor could I still those first few steps as she guided me forward. “You… uh-” Her eyes lit at my stammered attempts at speech, thrilling as my mind struggled to make sense of unspoken implications, and by then it was too late.

“You’re…” She merely answered my final attempt to grasp some understanding of what was happening with a broad smile, and it was all I could do to keep from breaking into a cold sweat as that earlier panic returned in force, but she’d already tread up that first step. There was no way I could escape this without causing a scene, though I didn’t doubt that some manner of a scene was precisely what she wanted. I’d shared empty words with enough of those around us to quickly be known as the unimpressive daughter of a senator from an unimpressive world, and what better way to stir some sense of self-entitled rivalry than to find oneself overlooked in favor of such an unimportant person as me? Those individuals were sure to go far beyond reasonable contributions in hopes of gaining the favor of the methodical woman leading me toward the focal point of this grand theater of insincerity.

With a smile far too charming for the charade she was clearly playing, the woman paused mere meters from the podium to offer me a final bow, warm hand slipping around mine to bring my fingers to her lips for a parting kiss, and I didn’t doubt how profoundly my cheeks darkened in a violent blush as she turned to the face the rest of the room. There was no way to escape amidst the countless eyes gazing and glaring and sneering up at me from below. I could risk no wrong move like this. I had no choice but to embody the smug aristocrat I’d striven all night to portray, at least until the speech ended and I might find myself overlooked in favor of those known to harbor far more wealth than one of my standing.

“My deepest gratitude to our lovely host!” She started, rich voice booming clearly through the room. “Both for his kind words and for the use of this gorgeous estate!” She took a half step back to look toward the man whose earlier speech I’d all but completely ignored, drawing her hands together to lead the crowd in another round of applause. “And, of course, to you!” She continued, arms sweeping out to motion to all those standing before her. “Friends, business partners, many a bit of both, and all irreplaceable to the overall success of this Alliance.” Another raucous cheer boomed within the towering walls.

“Let’s waste no time stepping around the reason for this albeit enjoyable party. I handpicked each and every one of you for one reason.” My heart dropped, body going painfully still as my eyes darted to the woman standing mere feet away from me. “I know you all to harbor the same profound loyalty as I do, and that loyalty calls on us to do all we can to put an end to this farce of a war!” I didn’t hear the roar of approval as ice danced beneath my skin in waves of frenzied dread. “We know that is a feat that cannot be bought with empty wishes and vague dreams.” ‘Handpicked’… That’s why she approached me…

“If you want a thing done, you must pay for it, be that with credits or time or blood – we all must sacrifice to lead our people to victory.” She knew I didn’t belong here and merely sought not to let me out of her sight as she gleaned what knowledge she could from me. “Many of you know my story, but for those that don’t, you may find yourself asking what I know of sacrifice to find myself justified in demanding it from all of you.”

There wasn’t time for her to say more, nor for me to fall further into that consuming panic of prey freshly caught in the jowls of some great beast. Before her voice faded from the far corners of the room, the world erupted in white. I couldn’t understand why I was no longer staring at the woman’s back; why distant screams sounded so strangely muted while my own breaths rang clearly beneath a deafening ringing; why I could feel the vibration of rushed footsteps reverberating against my cheek even as I watched my own hand struggling to push against the floor beneath me that I might force myself back to my feet.

That confusion lingered even as a shock-induced acceptance left those unknowns feeling far less important than they deserved, flittering awareness straining instead to merely react; to survive. My vision blurred as I fought to take in what was happening around me, broken thoughts reaching for some hint as to what I should do.

Smoke billowed from behind us, remnants of the shattered wall strewn over the floor in smoldering shards. Another might have balked at the bodies cast about the platform that once lined the speaker in some grand show of empowerment, many of which lay lifeless, illustrating the power of the blast in the form of ruined and lost limbs, blackened cloth atop blackened flesh burned too deeply to bleed, while others were far from still, motions just as desperate as their choked cries as they scrambled to haul themselves clear of the flames.

My hand slipped just as it had nearly gained purchase, dropping me harshly back to the hardwood beneath me. There was no thought beyond acknowledging that blood slickened the time-worn surface, nor was there any hope of discerning if it was my own blood or someone else’s. I merely felt the need to try once more to stand, muscles trembling in that vain, driving instinct to flee absent any hope for logic.

Vaguely, I watched several people rush the podium, recognized the orderly shouting so ingrained in medics and soldiers roaring orders between each other as they tended the orphan-turned-war leader who’d so easily ensnared me in her trap. I think one turned toward me but couldn’t make out their voices as reality flickered around me with a dizzying delay despite how I strained to drag myself back toward consciousness.

I barely noted the medic or soldier or whoever it was quickly tread away from mob, steps oddly booming and distant all at once even after he stopped to kneel beside me. If he spoke, I couldn’t make out his voice among the discordant chorus of confusion and panic, but I felt the sharp stab of needles piercing my neck before my mind sank away from that unapologetic chaos into a far more frightening darkness.

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