#no beta we die like my confidence for sharing my writings with others | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ancuninfiles · 2 months

Text

Bite Night

Gif by @astarionposting

18+ MDNI - M/F - Astarion x Tav (Baldur's Gate 3) - Words: 3.6K

Tags: smut, somnophilia (if you squint), non-consensual vampire bites, blood drinking, enthusiastic consent (sex), vaginal fingering, P in v, creampie, mating press, outdoor sex, soft Astarion, sorcerer Tav, nondescript Tav, Aftercare, idealized version of events, no beta we die like cazador

Summary: It has been 3 days since the nautiloid crash. Tav may be the sweetest person that Astarion has ever met. Night falls, and he is overcome with intense feelings of hunger. Tav sleeps alone, peacefully by the fire. He can hear her pulse from the treeline, and it invites him in. Or... could it be more than her pulse inviting him in?

Sorry, Idk how to write summaries. :,)

Read on AO3

Astarion had never met someone like Tav. She was so kind to him, despite their first meeting beginning with him holding a dagger to her throat after having tricked her into thinking he needed help. It was interesting to note that in retrospect, Tav being a sorcerer, could have easily used Shocking Grasp on him while he held her, pinned beneath his blade. She, instead, was oddly compliant.

__________

“I saw you on the ship, didn't I? Nod.” Astarion cooed

Tav looked up at him with eyes half-closed and eyebrows knitted together, nodding. A look he could only assume was partially caused by the sun beating down on her face. It was as if she completely surrendered to him, going practically limp in his arms, which made him soften his grip slightly.

“Splendid, and now you're going to tell me what you and those tentacle freaks did to me.” he peered down at her, eyes briefly flicking to her neck and then up to her eyes again. Despite her relaxed form, her pulse was quickened and it was distracting. Astarion's mouth started to water slightly.

“I- I didn't do anything… I was abducted, same as you!” She pleaded.

“Don't lie to me. I- AUGH” Astarion yelped, as a purple aura surrounded both him and Tav. Their minds were suddenly connected, he was able to peer into her thoughts and feel what she was feeling.

To his surprise, her mind had been focused on compassion towards him, the man holding a blade to her throat. “He and I have the same problem. These tadpoles. And he is likely reeling after all this. He could be a good ally to have.”

Astarion's mind had then shared broken pieces of his past with Tav. Pieces that he would have rather kept to himself, but nothing incriminating yet. “What was that!? What's going on!?” He raised his voice.

Tav's was panting as if their minds connecting had worn her out. “You saw into my mind, it was the parasites! They connected us.” She said, with her eyebrows still knitted. Her mouth was agape and she took one last big breath before calming her expression.

Her breath smelled of mint, and her hair smelled like lavender. ‘Gods, her scent, her pulse, her expression. Everything is distracting about her.’ he thought to himself.

Although he would have loved to hold her for longer, grab her hair and sink his teeth into her flesh, he decided against it. Feeling confident that she was not a threat, he released her. They maintained eye contact with one another as they both slowly stood up.

‘She wants to be my ally’ he thought to himself.

__________

They had picked up a couple more allies on their misadventure so far. A cleric with an odd name and an annoying wizard who talks too much. Tav seemed naive. She was picking up strays left and right. Were these others to be trusted?

Tav had a way of making everyone feel accepted and comfortable. “If you need anything, please let me know. I don't care if I'm sleeping, reading, or otherwise busy, you can wake me up. I want to help.” she exclaimed to the whole group with an earnest look in her eye. She made sure to look at everyone in their eyes when she said this.

‘Gods, she couldn't be more sweet. So tempting.’ He thought to himself. He wondered if she would taste as sweet as she acted, but no, he had to stop thinking things like that. Even Tav would surely end him if he were to slightly hint at the fact that he was a monster.

Besides, Cazador would most definitely flay him for drinking the blood of a thinking creature. Although, the parasite had granted him immunity from the sun. Maybe Cazador can't control him at all anymore.

__________

It was time to settle in for the night. They had an exhausting day looking for a healer, which they had to fight through a hoard of goblins to get to. It had been 3 nights since the nautiloid crash, and Astarion had already snuck off the previous night to find a boar, which he stupidly left in the middle of the road. Tav and the cleric had fixated on it. The cleric had pointed out that the boar had been left fully intact but without blood. To Astarion's dismay, these stangers were smarter than he initially had thought.

Tav was so exhausted that she had fallen asleep beside the fire, while everyone else left to their tents. She was a powerful ally indeed. Tav and Astarion carried the team, while the wizard was frequently coming within an inch of death and you would have thought the cleric was blind because she missed almost every shot. 'Leave it to Gale to cover the ground in grease and then slip in it and fall prone, himself', Astarion thought.

While everyone was sleeping, Astarion slipped away into a clearing in the woods to have some privacy and decompress after all that's happened, for the first time since the nautiloid crash. Finally able to be alone with his thoughts, Astarion's memories of his master plagued him. It was as if he were there, reciting his rules.

First, thou shalt not drink of the blood of thinking creatures.

Second, thou shalt obey me in all things.

Third, thou shalt not leave my side unless directed.

Four, thou shalt know that thou art mine.

'Terrifying. So much for being alone with one's thoughts' Astarion thought. He left the clearing in distress, feeling like he was being stalked by Cazador. 'He can't control me anymore, I can walk in the sun...' Astarion told himself, in an effort to calm himself down. A burning feeling climbed up his throat. He was starving. Exerting himself more than usual was likely to blame. He had to find something to eat, soon.

__________

Astarion made his way back to camp, stopping at the tree line to assess the state of the camp. Sweet Tav was still sleeping soundly by the fire. Sweet Tav's words replayed in his head. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. I don't care if I am sleeping". Sweet Tav who had shown him compassion almost immediately after he had pulled a dagger to her throat. Sweet Tav whose breath was minty, whose hair smelled of lavender, and whose pulse sounded so beautiful; hypnotic.

Astarion snuck close enough to Tav to see her throat, so beautifully exposed. An easy target. Tav was wearing nothing but a thin silky nightgown with small flimsy straps. Her supple legs were exposed and glistened in the firelight. The wind blew and her scent wafted into Astarion's face.

This was too much for Astarion to bear any longer. He slowly and stealthily climbed atop Tav, making sure not to wake her. He held his breath, he didn't need to breathe anyway. She was lying on her back, so Astarion slotted his leg between her thighs and placed his left elbow on the ground beside her head. He used his right hand to tilt her chin to the side slowly and gently brush her hair away from her pulse point. 'Formalities' he thought. Astarion slowly lowered his open maw onto Tav's throat. Finally puncturing the skin, blood started flowing into his mouth as he latched on almost like a feral animal. Tav's blood was ambrosia, it tasted like nothing he had ever tasted before. It was sweet, but complex like a fine-aged wine.

He could no longer control himself, he was sure to wake her. He tightly grabbed onto Tav's hair with his right fist and pushed her neck into his lips. It was then that he heard a sweet mewl coming from Tav. 'Of course, she would be moaning when a monster is consuming her.' Astarion groaned into her neck and brought his knee flush up to Tav's core. Tav began to writhe beneath him, arching her back and slowly bucking her hips on his knee. She was enjoying this. A desire started building in Astarion's lower abdomen, causing his cock to strain against his pants.

Astarion continued to take generous gulps of Tav's blood, running his tongue across her pulse point to try and force more blood out, faster. He let loose a primal groan into Tav's throat and then repositioned himself so that his clothed cock was pressing into Tav's exposed cunt. She accommodated Astarion and wrapped her legs around his pelvis with tact and enthusiasm. Tav reached her right hand up to Astarion's curls, but Astarion grabbed her wrist and pinned it beside her head. Tav moaned, but her rutting became slower, as did her pulse.

"Astarion - I" Tav whispered. Astarion finally came to and unlatched his teeth. His brows knitted together as he licked, and pressed his tongue firmly against her wound to soothe Tav and congeal the blood. He placed a chaste kiss on her neck, and then slowly started releasing her wrist, but Tav let out a breathy whine into his ear and grabbed his left hand, lacing her fingers with his. Perplexed, he looked up at Tav with round eyes. She was gazing at their laced hands. Astarion eyed her fresh puncture marks to make sure the bleeding had seized, and then gently tilted her head to face him.

Her eyes were wet and filled with lust. Her chest was heaving, her cheeks were flushed, and her pupils were blown out. "Why did you stop?" Her voice came out breathy, almost a whisper.

Astarion smirked, "Oh, you sweet, generous thing."

Tav's left hand came up to touch Astarion's face in a gentle caress while her right hand was still affectionately connected with his left. She eyed his lips, taking in the blood on his chin and swiping it softly with her thumb. Her eyes fluttered back up to meet his gaze, but he was eyeing her lips as she had his.

Tav's lips were the same colour as her blushing cheeks. They were seductively parted. Astarion's gaze shifted back to Tav's eyes again, as she caressed his face with her thumb. Such a gentle little thing, and after what he had just done to her. He ought to feel shame for taking from her. 'She is so beautiful' he thought. The firelight flickered in her wet, sleepy eyes. Her hair was gorgeously spread amongst her bedroll. She was like an angel, no, a goddess. It was hard to believe she was real, or that someone could even forgive him for what he had done to her, let alone want him to continue. He looked at her with concern in his eyes which were becoming wet themselves.

Tav's hand slithered shakily to the nape of Astarion's neck. "I want you if you'll have me." She smiled earnestly, her eyes curled with her smile like tiny rainbows. She caressed his nape as she did his chin. "Please, Astarion." She sang

His name sounded like a melody on her lips. She was a siren, pulling him in with her song. Pulling him in, to drown in her. Their lips crashed like the waves in the Sea of Fallen Stars. They moaned into each other as their tongues danced around one another's teeth, exploring, and tasting. Astarion didn't want to stop until he had tasted every corner of her maw. Their kiss was bruising and sloppy. Tav made advances with her tongue as well, and she opened her mouth wide enough to let Astarion explore deeply. Her mouth tasted as minty as it smelled, and his mouth tasted like her blood. He paid extra mind to not hurt her with his fangs.

One of her hands tangled in his hair and the other hand rested on his back. He pressed his pelvis closer to her's and he groped her soft flesh with one of his hands, hastily exploring her body and reaching under her nightgown to grab her breast. He pinched her nipple and rubbed it between his fingers. Tav let out a higher-pitched moan in his mouth. He snaked his hands down to her exposed and throbbing core. She was unbelievably soaked. Finally lifting his mouth from hers, he looks at her with a smirk and says "You are positively dripping for me, darling." He started rubbing slow circles on her clit and her back arched, seeking more from Astarion.

She groaned. "I want you inside me, please." Her eyes pleading and her words drifted out in a soft sigh. She was squirming slowly and weakly. The poor thing was so weak from the blood loss.

He peered down at her face which seemed to be blushing more and more, and her skin was now glistening with a thin layer of sweat. "Only because you ask so sweetly." He exclaimed before plunging two digits inside of her, working her open. She hummed in a whiney tone, which only egged him on further. His fingers curled up as he patiently started getting her hole ready for his cock. Her mouth opened and her eyes nearly rolled back into her head. She was the most enchanting creature in all of Faerün. He wanted to do anything for her, and he wanted to bury his cock entirely between her legs.

His free hand pushed her nightgown above her breasts, exposing her naked and writing body to the night air. It hadn't occurred to him until then that they were in the middle of camp. The cleric and the wizard could catch them, but Tav seemed unbothered. Astarion had noticed that his senses were much sharper after drinking Tav's blood. He realized he was confident enough that he would hear anyone coming long before they could see anything.

His fingers started to pump into her faster, and he palmed her clit. Her breathing became heavy and jagged. "I'm so close! Astarion!" She moaned his name as her pussy fluttered around his digits. He fingered her through her orgasm, only pulling away when she started to twitch at the touch of her clit. She inhaled deeply and let out a groan. Her head fell back and her breasts rose and fell with each exasperated breath. "Hmm, you are wonderful, Astarion." She hummed with a bright smile on her face.

Astarion crept up to meet her eyes with his, "You're unbelievably beautiful." He said sincerely. She looked up at him with her pleading eyes again. He brushed her hair with his fingers and admired her features. He brought her into a molten kiss that both burned and bruised their lips. His hand caressed her naked torso, gripping her in every place he could before landing his strong grasp on her ass. Their kiss flew apart and she let out an exceptionally whiney moan and looked down to where his clothed cock was.

His cock was beginning to strain unbearably against his pants. He expertly unlaced his trousers and his large member sprang free, glistening with precum. He glanced down at her soaking core, her thighs were covered in her cum. He hooked her knees over his biceps and he teased her entrance with his cock. He groaned and exhaled, and looked at her face so he could read her expressions. Her brows scrunched in anticipation.

"Hmmm please fuck me. I want you to fill me up so bad." she sobbed and clenched her jaw.

Astarion groaned "I love it when you plead for me, little love. Your voice sounds so sweet. Please tell me if you want me to stop, can you do that for me?"

She bit her lip and looked him in the eye, again with that sweet look on her face. "Mmhm" she nodded.

He didn't need any more confirmation from her as he slowly sunk his cock into her hole. Her mouth opened slightly and she started breathing heavier. He pulled out all the way and stroked her wetness onto his shaft. He sunk back down into her languidly until he finally was fully inside. He grunted at the feeling, and she was breathing heavier than ever. Her jaw was clenched and her eyes were wet.

"Are you okay, sweet love?" He said with concern as he stilled inside her.

"Mmm yeah. You're just - so big, I've never had someone -reach into me so deeply. It doesn't - hurt, I promise" she spoke softly. Panting throughout her sentence. "It feels, so good" she whined.

His cock twitched at her enthusiasm and she moaned quietly. "Oh darling, I am going to fill you right up," he said as he pulled back and then snapped his hips into her. He leaned down to her and stroked her cheek as he kissed her jaw. "Precious." He whispered in her ear.

He began rutting into her at a consistent pace. She pulled his shirt up to feel more of his skin against hers. She was so warm compared to him, her aura engulfed him like the fire they lay next to, consuming the carbon in a flickering rage. She was so tight, and warm, and wet. He wasn't sure how long he was going to be able to last, but he knew he wanted to make her cum one more time before he finished.

He reached down to her clit, and started rubbing tight quick circles. She moaned between her teeth and the muscles in her legs tensed. Her mouth fell agape and she started panting beautifully. "That's it, good girl. Cum on my cock."

His words were enough to send her over the edge, and her cunt clenched and fluttered around his cock. He fucked her through her orgasm, only stopping his attention on her nub when she was pulling away. He readjusted her legs atop his shoulders, and her knees were practically beside her head. He was able to reach deeper in her than before, and his cock was hitting her sweet spot at a perfect angle.

"Do you want me to fill you with my cum, darling? Is that what you want?" He teased as he fucked her mercilessly.

"Yes!" She begged, "Please, I need you to fuck your cum into me!"

Her lewd suggestion sent him toppling over into his own climax, and he pressed himself deeply into her folded form. Groaning as his head fell to her side, he placed chaste kisses on her neck where he had bitten earlier. She could feel his cock twitching deep inside her, his spend spurting on her walls and dripping down her ass. He pulled out a few inches and then slammed back into her again, stuffing his cock into her deepest depths, making sure that her desires are met and that his seed has thoroughly coated every corner of her tight, quivering hole.

They stayed connected for many long moments and then eventually they both rolled over to lie on their sides, facing one another. They stared deeply into each other's eyes. Astarion pulled his pants back up, and Tav lay sleepily with her flesh still exposed. "This won't do." He said as he scooped her up with his arms.

"Oh!" She squeaked, as Astarion carried her bridal style to his tent.

He lay Tav down on his bedroll. "One moment, love, I will be right back!" He said with newfound energy.

Astarion searched for one of the most soft fabrics that he had kept for future sewing projects. He found the silky red cloth and he soaked it with water from the river. It was cold, but it will have to do. He made long strides back to his tent to find Tav, who was almost sleeping.

"This is going to be a bit cold, little bird." He cooed. He then ran the damp cloth along her most vulnerable parts. She hummed sleepily and smiled as he slowly cleaned her up with seemingly the highest degree of care. He then took the same cloth and cleaned himself up briefly.

The night was warm, but Tav, being alive, was more susceptible to the temperature. He only had his brown boyish blanket in his tent, so he quickly went to Tav's tent and snagged all of her pillows and blankets to bring them back to her in his tent. She was like a sleepy doll. He propped her head up on the softest pillow and covered her body in the warmest blankets. She sleepily hummed with glee, and Astarion looked at her snuggled up in the blankets, admiring his handiwork.

He changed into a fresh set of night clothes and then joined her under the blankets. He faced her and affectionately brushed his fingers across her cheek and under her ear. His palm rested on her cheek and his thumb stroked her cheekbone. He would speak to her about all this in the morning, and apologize for feasting upon her like a ravenous beast; but for now, she was in his arms and he felt an unyielding desire to take care of her. She nuzzled into him and kissed his hand. He leaned in and placed a kiss on her forehead. She turned around so her backside was facing him. She scooted back to connect with him. His touch was soothing and cool against her under the warm blanket. He froze for a moment at the overwhelming affection, and then he fell into her and held her tight.

He didn't know exactly what these feelings were, but he knew that this was nice.

They both closed their eyes, and Tav fell into a deep sleep. Astarion began to trance. He didn't know it yet, but this would be the best trance he would have in 200 years.

Author notes:

HEY. Thanks for reading if you made it this far. I actually haven't really ever written anything before, and I don't plan on writing anymore. It took a really long time, and it was way harder for me than I thought. The number of times I had to look at synonyms. Ffs... lol. But YEAH. I actually don't have much of an interest in writing anyways so it's all good. Srsly kudos to any of you who are writing fics, especially the lengthy ones. I have no idea how you do it. Every paragraph is a brain fart for me. Please don't mind any mistakes. I used grammarly, and I TRIED MY BEST LOL. ANYWAYS, LOVE YOU, SMOOCHIES.

#astarion ancunin #astarion #bg3 #astarion smut #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion pov #astarion fluff

590 notes · View notes

90sbee · 4 months

Text

Sometimes a saviour is a soldier afraid of peace

Levi Ackerman x Fem!Reader

4.4k words. Also on ao3.

He looks at her in quiet admiration.

He doesn’t deserve her. But again, he doesn’t really deserve anything. He already has gotten too much: spoiled by the sweet possibility of life when all his comrades have fallen, their bodies twisted, mangled by titans and enemies alike.

Levi hardly cries, but he wants to cry in that moment. She turns on the stove for him, and rummages through his cabinets. She finds two cups and a sob is trapped inside his throat.

He doesn’t fucking understand why she stays, why she puts up with his sorry ass but, damn it. Damn it if he at least doesn’t try.

The war is over, but the demons still haunt Levi. Luckily for him, the last member of his Squad seems focused on remaining by his side as they both face this new enemy: peace.

This was !!! My first fic written in English, actually. Also my first (and only time so far) writing for aot. Levi is such an angsty angel, and this story wouldn’t leave my head, so I had to end up writing it, ofc. This has been in the drafts for... months. Too many months already. And tbh I'm not a fan of how it came out. But. Posting it in case someone else can enjoy Levi finally getting some love and comfort, sjsjs.

Content: Use of 3rd person pronouns. No use of y/n. Mostly Levi's pov. Reader was part of his Squad. Post!Rumbling Levi. Written with the manga ending in mind. A lot of fluff, rude Levi even if he doesn't mean it (but reader knows he means no harm). Healing. Spooning (Levi as the little spoon btw. He deserves it).

Warnings: depressive thoughts, self confidence issues. Mentions of past violence (but nothing gruesome, it's all in passing). SFW. No beta reader we die like everybody in Aot here.

They always meet. Every single day, she leaves her little flat to find him near the fountain in the Marleyan park, eager to push his wheelchair and pass some time with him.

Levi doesn’t understand. When Onyankopon, or Falco, or Gabi let her take the wheelchair, he just ponders. He could understand why they would accompany him: because he is old? because they feel pity of him?… But her?

Nonetheless, every single afternoon, she comes to him. He doesn’t recall when this custom began. It’s like slowly, but surely, she started digging a place into his routine. She was part of his remaining squad, and he really didn’t see any point to her bubbling-self still being by his side.

Still, he appreciates her visits. She exchanges pleasantries with Gabi, already smiling. Why is she smiling?

“Hi, Captain,” she says. Should he feel mocked? He isn’t a captain anymore and the title feels too much, even if it’s comforting in some way. Levi doesn’t reply. He just nods, silently acknowledging her presence. “Is it okay if we go to the stalls for a while, Captain?” She inquires, as if it was the first time they did it, and not a weekly occurrence. His jaw tenses. He doesn’t understand, still. She surely pities him. She has to.

He agrees to her proposal, though.

“Sure,” he replies, barely any emotion on his face.

She smiles at him. For a moment, they look at each other. She sees that familiar scarred face, a grey eye gazing into her soul. He sees the older face of her remaining squad member, some wrinkles next to her eyes, her figure dressed in green. For some reason, he liked that colour on her.

He doesn’t share that with her, though.

“Let’s get going,” she adds, a little chuckle in her voice — he can hear it — as she starts pushing the wheelchair. They check out the little shops that are already so familiar. Sometimes she signals a piece of jewellery or clothes. She asks for his opinion, or points at a silly artwork, in hopes of making him laugh.

When the cold starts to set in, she stops them in front of a coffee shop.

“Wait here a second, Captain,” she tells him.

“Where would I go, anyway?” He wants to say, snarky, but he doesn’t really bother in opening his mouth. He stays silent still, perking his head up to see what’s she’s doing.

“Oi. coffee?” He complains.

She directs her gaze to him and chuckles, paying the vendor.

“I know you like tea but it’s time to broaden your horizons,” she explains. She comes up to him again, and hands him one of the cups. He sighs, but accepts the drink still.

“What is it this time?”

“Just chocolate. Hot chocolate,” she answers, already sipping hers. She lets out a content sigh when the warmth of it starts to fill her belly.

“I don’t like chocolate,” Levi mutters under his breath. He is lying and she knows it.

“Tsk. That’s not true. Everybody likes chocolate.”

“… Fine,” he sips his drink and, admittedly, enjoys it. She hands him her drink so she can push the wheelchair again, and he takes it, guarding both cups on his lap, a familiar action for the two of them now.

“Where do we go?” She asks.

Levi shrugs. “As if I had a choice.”

She looks at him still, and when he can see her, barely from his peripheral vision, he sees a softer face. She’s waiting for his reply. He looks at her, looks at her lips. She isn’t smiling anymore. Levi sighs, suddenly feeling guilty.

He doesn’t understand still why she does this for him.

“Captain?” She says, just above a whisper, since there are people around them and they both just want to have a calm evening, without the risk of being recognised.

Levi nods before he even opens his mouth.

“The bridge.”

“Good,” she agrees as he sips from his drink again, guided by her. He does feel warmer. Levi inspects the people around him in silence, letting himself be carried, taken to a nicer place. “Hange would have like this,” he thinks. He looks down to suddenly realise he is clenching his fist, hard. “If you could even call it a hand…”

“We’re here, Captain,” she announces, letting his wheelchair rest next to a bench, overlooking the water. She takes a seat next to him, and Levi hands her the drink. He wonders if she noticed how tense he’s been feeling today.

“Be quick with that, brat, or it will get cold,” he warns, as if to pre-emptively shut down any words from her. He’s not sure he could handle it.

She just nods.

“It’s still warm,” she mentions after a moment.

The sunset is taking its place on the sky, a beautiful palette of oranges and pinks against a very flat horizon. A reminder of what was once lost.

“Good,” he says.

Levi looks at her. She is still looking forward, features illuminated by the falling sun, breeze caressing her face. There is something in his heart that aches, but he doesn’t want to think about that. He doesn’t dare to. Levi is old, too old, and too broken. And she only pities him.

He coughs to catch her attention, though.

“Hmh, yeah?” She immediately says.

“I heard the Scouts were going back to Paradis tomorrow,” he begins, the question lingering in the air. The small group was leaving first time in the morning.

“Yep.”

Levi blinks, expecting her to say more, but she doesn’t. He doesn’t want to ask. It feels… too much. He feels too exposed doing that, lower lip trembling.

“Are you going?” He finally dares to ask.

She turns back to him again, and looks at him with the sweetest gaze. Levi doesn’t miss how she looks at his lips first.

“I’m not.”

“Why?”

“I don’t have anything there,” she replies, matter-of-factly. Levi wants to hit his head against something, still uncertain about what that means. Does that mean that she has something here? Someone?

She must notice his doubts, so she lowers her gaze. “I mean. You know I lost my family during my first years as a Scout. And knowing that we tried to stop Eren… All the military forces in the island won’t be very happy to see me. Or any of us. I’ve done my part. I do not want more fighting.”

“… Right”. That still doesn’t answer his question, but it is enough to satisfy his curiosity without seeming to eager. He sips his drink again: it’s getting colder.

“You didn’t want to go, Captain?” There it was again, that fucking title that felt like a joke. He chuckles, not looking at her anymore but rather at the sunset.

“Why do you still call me like that?” He spits back.

“Captain?”

“Yeah,” His tone is unintentionally rude, but he can’t help it, not even around her.

“Well… It’s a sign of respect, don’t you think?”

Levi chuckles, amused.

“I never took you for a polite person.” He doesn’t want to look at her still. She hasn’t added anything, said anything else. What is she thinking of?

She looks at him. There’s a warmth in her belly which has nothing to do with the chocolate anymore. She knows: Her Captain has been way more vulnerable and open since the Rumbling. The little gestures that he could so easily hide before are now an open book. Or at least she feels that way, since she was always one to look at him.

It was so easy to just… stare at him. Admire him in every sense of the word, even now. When they were both soldiers they would fight alongside each other, against innumerable dangers. He was barely visible in the spectrum: always so fast, always so precise. A ray of dark hair and strong limbs, destroying everything to provide peace, to provide protection.

There was no point in denying how she felt about him… Except, maybe, to him.

“I don’t think I would like going back to Paradis,” she finally adds, finishing her drink. He seems to reflect on that idea for a moment, before nodding. He wants to ask why but he doesn’t dare to. “I’m just… comfortable here,” she finishes with a sigh. “This is okay.”

“That’s good,” he says, barely a spark of enthusiasm in his voice, but enough for her to notice.

She looks up at him again. And he feels tiny and scared suddenly, because she looks at him with wonder and care. Levi doesn’t mean to, but he ends up letting his drink fall from his hands, whether due to his nervousness or the state of his hand after the war.

“Shit,” he spits, upset.

“Sh, it’s alright, Captain.” In a second she is picking up the cup, handing him a handkerchief to dry his hands. She walks a few steps to throw both cups into a trashcan and is again, by his side. Such a quick interaction so as to ease his shame, he could notice it. “Are you alright?”

Levi still doesn’t know. He doesn’t know why she still treats him with such respect, why she seems to care so much for him. But he wants to find out, somehow. He barely nods, but she notices it.

“Good,” she says, while taking the handkerchief back. She is about to put it into her bag again when she feels a hand grabbing hers.

Levi.

He doesn’t even say anything. He doesn’t know how. She seems to understand, though, squeezing his hand, softly. Levi quickly lets her hand go, his cheeks going red. She gets behind the wheelchair again, as the sun is about to disappear, and Levi can hear her chuckling.

“Let’s get you home, Captain.”

He stays quiet, unsure if he could even say something useful.

There’s so much he doesn’t know how to say. How to do.

While she is pushing his chair he notices it again. A slight tremor in her right hand. “My wrist seems to ache lately… Must be from holding the blades for so many years,” she had explained in passing a couple weeks ago. He realises that it’s probably taking a strain on her to push him every fucking day.

“Oi,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Stop pushing me. I can handle it,” he explains, tone serious.

“Oh, no,” her hand is trembling still. “It’s fine, it’s no bother for me, Captain.”

“… It’s an order,” he commands after a moment. She stops in her tracks and he can hear a gentle laugh coming from behind him.

“It had been a while since that, huh.” Confidently, she places one of her hands on his shoulder, gently tapping it. Levi smiles. Barely curving his lips, but he does. He is about to be brave, hold her hand on his shoulder when she removes it from him. “Shit,” he thinks. “Too slow… Too slow? Slow for what? Tsk.”

Despite his missing fingers, he can still push his wheelchair quite properly. It also helps that he can see his street far ahead. She walks comfortably besides him, a silence and gentle ghost as his most devoted companion.

Yeah. There’s definitely something aching in his chest. He had been noticing the past days, feeling getting more painful as they both approach his place. And it has nothing to do with his faulty joints or damaged body or excessive age.

When they reach his door, she asks for his key. Levi gives it to her, his hand lingering for a second too long, reflecting on the brief touch of hands as she grabs it to unlock the door.

He is tired.

And he feels incredibly silly when he realises he doesn’t want her to leave.

“There we go, Captain. I help you in?” she suggests with a bright smile, opening the door.

“… Yes.”

She steps inside and pushes the chair into his living room, almost getting it next to his couch.

“That’s enough” he decides, in a semblance of independency he still wants to maintain.

She nods. “Okay… I guess… I’ll get going, Captain.”

Levi lifts up his gaze. He wants to ask… He wants to know… He savours her image for a moment, her tired expression and the way her dress now looks clumsy and wrinkled but he doesn’t care. Before, before everything had ended up like this he would remind every single cadet to iron their uniforms, all the outfits presentable, so as to look like respectable soldiers and honourable bodies if the occasion arose. Now she can have the privilege of looking messy. Of not worrying about death so often.

“No,” he mutters.

“Huh?” she inquires, taking a step forward.

“Shit,” Levi thinks. “I… I want tea,” he makes up a quick lie.

“Oh, sure. Yes, Captain.” She leaves her bag on the couch and goes into the kitchen, getting a kettle full of water.

He looks at her in quiet admiration.

Levi hardly cries, but he wants to cry in that moment. She turns on the stove for him, and rummages through his cabinets. She finds two cups and a sob is trapped inside his throat.

He doesn’t fucking understand why she stays, why she puts up with his sorry ass but, damn it. Damn it if he at least doesn’t try.

He stands up. His body still holds that ability, though his legs get tired rather quickly. He can still walk, so he does until he reaches the kitchen. She is still deciding on the teas when she sees him.

“Oh, no, Captain, please, just don’t…”

He interrupts her, grabs her waist carelessly and pushes her towards the couch, barely moving her.

“Let me handle it myself.”

“Levi…�� She whispers, their faces inches apart.

“Go. Sit,” he mumbles, biting his lips and sending his eyes lower, so as to avoid her face.

“Are you sure?” She inquires a moment after, still close to him. He notices she has a hand on his waist as well, a protective aid making sure he stays on two feet.

“Yes,” he says, more commanding this time. He grabs that hand of hers and pushes her away gently now.

She nods, understandingly.

“I’ll be in the living room,” she adds.

Levi nods at her, making sure she finally gets that ass of hers in the couch. He is now faced with his kitchen. Most of the cups and teas, everything has been moved lower, so as to accommodate to his wheelchair. Slowly, he kneels, searching for a specific flavour for her. When he finally finds the peppermint and rose one, he mentally cheers. He stands up again, slowly, as if to show confidence, making sure from his peripheral view that she isn’t coming to his aid.

She isn’t. He catches her averting her eyes, though. A confirmation that she has been staring.

He decides to stare as well. Supporting himself on his weakened legs, he waits for the kettle to boil, while looking at her. It’s as if she could notice that, because her head doesn’t move, still fixated on an indescriptible point in his living room.

“Oi, what you looking at?” He says, a bit more light-hearted.

A smile forms on her lips before she even turns her head towards him. She doesn’t answer. Just keeps smiling at him.

“Fuck,” he thinks when he realises he has also slightly curved his lips.

Quickly he turns towards the stove, the kettle already boiling. Levi carefully fills the cups with water, letting the leaves rest. He lifts his gaze up to her for a second but it is already enough for her to notice.

“Need help with the cups?” Her, always so worried, so in tune with his needs. No need for words.

“Of fucking course.”

Still, the only answer he gives her is a polite nod. She stands up, approaching him.

“I’ll handle it, Captain. Just take a seat.”

He lets out a sigh, taking himself to the couch and plopping himself there.

“It’s hard,” Levi thinks as he sees her come back to the living room, two cups in her hands. He accepts the drink, his gaze not leaving her features. “I… I can’t.”

He knows he can’t accept kindness: he doesn’t know how to. Still, he tenses his jaw and forces himself to sip the tea as she takes a seat next to him.

“Peppermint, huh?” She hums mostly to herself.

“… Yeah,” comes out of his mouth, unsure, less braver than expected. Is he insecure? Has he made a mistake?

“Good choice” She declares and he breathes again, realising that he had been holding his breath. “Bet you already knew that, right?” She adds, cocking her head.

Levi looks at her again. He has been avoiding her eyes but he hadn’t been trained as a soldier to back down in times of peace.

“I did,” he says, his tone firm, a very weak attempt at showing confidence still. “It’s the one you would always ask for when we would have meetings with the Scouts.”

“It’s good tea.” Her tone seems softer now.

Levi hums, too deep inside his mind to notice it.

She wonders. Wonders if he has ever realized that the only reason she would wander through the headquarters late at night was just to be found and reprimanded by him, the way she would be easily entertained by Levi’s stern face. Wondered if Hange had ever told him about the time she had fallen asleep in their office and woke up, mumbling his name, much to Hange’s delight, though they had promised to keep it a secret.

He looks down at his legs, at his carpeted floor.

He wonders if she had ever noticed the way he would mindlessly lick his lips after looking at her, the boring uniform suddenly a beautiful outfit, making her stand out. Wonders if it was too late to tell her that, yes, after Hange and her had found him, and stitched him up, that he had heard every single word she had uttered near his heart, softly pressing her timid hands on his chest. There hadn’t been time then to discuss anything or even think if it had meant anything else than old scouts being protective of each other, but now…

They finish their teas in silence. It isn’t uncomfortable, rather the opposite, despite the fact that Levi has started nervously tapping his feet against the floor. It is dark outside already, the light from the lamps flowing into Levi’s house, a dog barking a few blocks away.

She stands up, makes sure to wash her cup in the sink and put it away before returning to him.

“Captain?” She mutters. No need for more words.

Levi hands her the cup with slow movements, as if trying to prolong that insignificant action for as long as possible. And when she is already about to head into the kitchen, little plate and teacup in her hand, he decides to be brave. No more lying to himself, no more being a coward. Too many people have died, have bleed, have sacrificed the little they had for a selected group of survivors to be able to live. To enjoy the remaining Earth. For the little ones that survived to be able to find some meaning. Something worth all the pain.

Basking in the fear serves no one. In fact, makes all the death meaningless.

So, Levi looks up at her and grabs her hand, even if he is scared still. Trembling fingers dancing on hers until they secure her hand softly in his. He feels warm even if he doesn’t know what to say, how to convey what he feels. Such a shadow of the man he was. So stupid now.

Levi just wants her to say.

She gasps at the contact but quickly composes herself. A shy smile showing up on her face. They stay like that for a moment, neither daring to break the silence.

“Levi?” She asks after a moment, moving closer to his face, as if asking for permission.

He can only look at her lips in reply.

She shortens the distance between them and kisses him on his lips. It isn’t a big kiss, too flashy or provocative: just a tender contact between two broken people. As soon as he has processed what was going on, she has already moved forward, pressing a kiss on the tip of his nose.

And then, even higher, another kiss on his forehead, her lips remaining close to his face. Levi can’t say anything. Barely reacting. But when she looks at his eyes, she is greeted by the sweet glimmer of tears in them.

Levi. Happy, at last.

And as if reading his mind, she utters: “Do you want me to stay, Levi?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

She complies. In the quiet, late hours of the night, Levi wakes up, his body feeling too rested already. It was a habit hard to break, he wouldn’t sleep much anyway. He sighs still, feeling her body pressing against his, holding him from behind. She has one hand on his shoulder, the other keeping him safe and secured, hugging his waist close. He dares to smile and grab that hand across his belly with both of his hands, so as to make sure that it is real: he is being held. There is someone else with him. Levi isn’t alone. Someone is taking care of him. Someone he’s been devoted to for so many years.

He wants to nuzzle up closer, hide in her chest or neck and feel more.

But he doesn’t dare to. He can’t allow himself to do that yet.

So he stays awake in silence, hearing the soothing and steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

Levi still doesn’t understand, though.

He doesn’t want to think of why she has chosen him, how he got this privilege so late in his life, when all hope seems to be lost and the thought of a partner didn’t cross his mind at all. He also doesn’t know what to do with this gift, this blessing. Why? How? He is such a crippled shadow of what he used to be. Slow, so consumed by roughness and violence and so useless now.

He has always had something to fight for: his life, his friends, his Squad, Erwin, Hange. Yet since the Rumbling he has just… fallen behind. He is just existing and it seems like his body has finally caught up to his age: no longer agile and strong, but a weakened man, finally leaving the survival mode that has characterised every single aspect of his life. He doesn’t have any goals or dreams now. Everything had been slowly trampled down like the titans destroying all land and all life.

He shivers, remembering that day and holds her hand tighter.

Once he had completed the promise made to Erwin, his last order, he had nothing more. No more commands. No more slaying titans.

Just existing.

He doesn’t want that. He has been a fighter, a rebel, a monster his whole life. He only knew of endurance and compliance with the spirit of life, of resistance. He doesn’t know of anything else: the calmness, the quietness, the routine walks and just reading books and sitting on his porch… That is not him. That isn’t life. Being able to choose things for himself, devour life gently and enjoy it instead of painfully trying to keep it close, to grip it between calloused fingers… Peace isn’t familiar.

He has nothing to devote himself to, nothing to prove or fight for.

“Yeah,” he thinks. “Everything is… meaningless… Or it was.”

He closes his eyes, relinquishing himself in the warm body against his.

Some things… Some things have meaning still.

Her.

The way she would scrunch her nose when laughing or buy him drinks or attempt to make him laugh or wear that damn stupid wrinkled dress and — “Fuck. I know her so much by now…”

She had been a Scout too. She had fought and devoted her heart and did everything a Scout had to do. She had fulfilled her duty in the same way he did. She has survived and she doesn’t regret a single thing. Not even this life.

She is at peace.

He wants to sob.

He doesn’t understand peace. Sure, it was his goal, what he always dreamed of, but, damn it. Levi had never thought he would actually get to see something resembling it. Unlike her. She understood what it was: she has accepted peace with open arms and a smile that — fuck, somehow— has been shining on her face throughout the years. Despite so much pain and death… She still allows herself to fucking live in peace. She forgave herself for the death, for the pain and crimes and let go.

He isn’t sure if he can do the same.

Peace is foreign, strange even. An oddity. And he isn’t stupid, he knows that time would run up someday and that things would turn against them for a second time.

But, still, the promise of the rest of his life in peace lingers.

He could have it.

He fucking could.

Levi reflects on those thoughts for a moment, silent still.

He thinks he can get to an agreement. Maybe, when she wakes up in the morning, he can try to spill his soul to her a little. Try to understand how she handles this life, how she can get up in the mornings after killing so much, and just have tea with him.

But for now, in the quietness of the night, as the old warrior he was, he does the only thing he knows: he promises to dedicate his heart once more.

He finally has a reason, a purpose, something worth protecting again.

Levi lifts his hand, crossing it on his chest the way all Scouts would do. But he doesn’t press it on his heart, but rather, moves it to hold her hand, the one resting on his shoulder. He squeezes it gently, suddenly feeling too overwhelmed by her. By the silent love she had been proclaiming to him all these years and that he couldn’t reciprocate before.

Yes. Now it is the time.

Levi would dedicate his heart once more.

To her and only her.

That may have been the cheesiest ending ever written but !!!! He deserves it, I know. Also someone stop me before I write for Hange, the feelings got to me indeed. Dividers by @/cafekitsune @/saradika and @/vase-of-lilies

#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman fluff #attack on titan fanfiction #levi ackerman fanfiction #aot fanfiction #writer bee #mine #x reader #reader insert

391 notes · View notes

chiriwritesstuff · 2 months

Text

The New Girl in Tinseltown - Chapter 2 - Devil's Advocate

A Dieter Bravo x Actress! Reader PR Marriage AU

Previous Chapter │ Series Masterlist │ Next Chapter

Chapter Rating: E (18+, MDNI)

Chapter Summary: A look into Dieter's point of view at the night of our fated trip to Vegas. How does America's favorite Bad Boy™ end up married to America's New Sweetheart™?

Chapter Warnings and Tags: (Not So) meet cute, PR Relationships, what happens in Vegas ends up in the headlines, Dieter just does not give a FUCK, Smut, SO MUCH SMUT, a look at the inner workings of Tinseltown and the sleaziness it comes with, Dry Humping, A hell of a lot of dirty banter, is that yearning?, mentions of devious deeds by sleazy people in show business, our loverboy makes a 'Pride and Prejudice reference, SLOW BURN WE DONT KNOW IT, this is unhinged, no use of y/n, No beta we die like men!

Word Count: 8K (whoops!)

A/N: I know, I know, I KNOW. I promised the release of this chapter weeks ago, but I got struck by the not-covid-but-felt-like-covid virus and managed to get myself into the biggest writing slump. I really do apologize for that, and I want to give a big thank you to everyone who stuck around and showed and shared love and support for the first chapter and this series! I can confidently say that the writing slump has finally passed, and we can finally get this crazy show on the road...

An (almost) year before that night in Vegas.

“Dieter, I'm expecting you to be on your best behavior tonight."

Dieter scowls at his publicist while his groomer diligently applies yet another round of pomade in an attempt to tame his unruly curls. "Define best behavior."

"They're about to launch a new girl into the circuit, some unknown that the studio thinks will become the next girl next door," his publicist responds, tapping away at his MacBook. "She's a genuinely sweet thing, all doe-eyed and untouched by the suits. Apparently, she's so sweet that Feldman-"

“Let me guess,” Dieter deadpans, "Feldman wants to fuck her," he rolls his eyes at that, slightly curious at the prospect of fresh blood. "Why am I not surprised?"

"That's not the best part," his publicist quips, his eyes locking with Dieter's over the rim of his laptop. "The studio wants to protect their asset, so much so that they hired-"

"No fucking way, they hired the Shark for this broad? What? Does she have beer-flavored nipples or something?" Dieter exclaims, his curiosity piqued. "Is she really that sweet?"

His publicist's mouth quirks into a small smirk. "The sweetest, most fucking forbidden fruit, my friend. So sweet that the Shark doesn't want you within ten feet of his client."

"Oh yeah?" Dieter replies, his eyes raised.

"Hell yeah. He tried to corner me earlier, warning me to keep my client's - and I quote - Dirty fucking paws off of his Doll-"

"Doll, huh? I bet I could tap that," Dieter challenges, his chest puffed out.

Dieter's publicist chuckles to himself, shaking his head. "Dieter, I know you believe you're God's gift to the masses, but trust me, this Doll? She's a bit out of your league."

Dieter leans back in his chair, a sly grin forming on his face. "Out of my league, huh? That just makes it more interesting. The thrill of the chase, my friend."

His publicist raises an eyebrow, skeptical. "Dieter, I've seen you chase plenty, but this Doll is different. She's not like the others. There's an innocence about her that even your charm might struggle to crack."

Dieter smirks, undeterred. "Well, we'll see about that. The forbidden fruit always tastes the sweetest, doesn't it?"

The publicist lets out a resigned sigh. "Just remember, Dieter, not every fruit is meant to be plucked."

"What is this event even for?" Dieter counters, appraising himself as his stylist smooths the fabric of his suit, a deep emerald green number with a crisp obsidian button-down. He pouts at the mirror, glancing at his publicist and his agent behind him. "It's not the Nickelodeon Kids Choice Awards again, is it?"

"Why? So you could be caught doing blow off a toilet bowl seat like last year? I'm still doing damage control for that, you know," his agent deadpans. "You're in luck; it's the MTV Movie Awards-"

"... and this is Doll's debut, huh? Is she up for an award or something?"

"Several, actually. Surprisingly, her last film gained quite the following-"

"... let me guess, it's some rom-com," Dieter interjects, a hint of disinterest in his tone. "What are the categories?"

"Three, to be exact." His agent smirks into his cognac. "Best Female Lead, Female Breakout Star, and Best Kiss-"

"Best Kiss? Seriously?" Dieter retorts incredulously, his eyes widening. "What's the name of her movie? I might need to see it for myself-"

"Dieter, level with me. Are you gonna keep your dirty fucking paws off of the Shark's asset?" his publicist sighs, giving him a stern look. "As much as I want to shove my foot up his fucking ass, I don't have the energy to have him breathing down my back the entire fucking night-" he looks off into Dieter's direction, who is currently on your Wikipedia page. He frowns. "Dieter, do you hear me?"

"What?" Dieter snaps, slamming his phone onto his seat.

"Can you manage to be on your best behavior tonight? Stay clear of-"

"No. I mean, sure, fine, whatever-" Dieter interrupts, his tone dismissive.

"Dieter-"

"I heard you! I promise to stay away from her, but the real question is, are you able to keep her away from me?" He smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

The (not-so meet cute) at the MTV Movie Awards.

"Dieter!" you shout, hastily making your way toward him, clearly a few drinks in. "Surprised to see you here!" you shout excitedly, a little wobble in your step as you approach him.

You adorn a sleek silver gown, your hair elegantly swept to one side, and your radiant face contrasting vividly with the venue's intense lights. Dieter finds himself momentarily breathless as he gazes at you, captivated by your ethereal presence, akin to an angel descending into the depths of hell. "Fuck me," he murmurs under his breath as you draw near, the collar around his neck suddenly feeling constrictive as he nervously swallows. "What the hell? I never get nervous around women," he mutters to himself, his eyes tracing the entirety of your figure. His pants grow notably tighter, his attention fixated on the hypnotic sway of your hips.

He greets you with a nervous smile as you come face to face, tenderly planting a kiss on your cheek. His eyes close momentarily as he savors your delicate scent, a sensation that electrifies his chest and courses through his veins, prompting his hands to instinctively caress the back of your head as he subtly tries to capture another whiff. A subtle sense of pride swells within him as he notices the blush unexpectedly blooming across your skin, its warmth cascading down your cleavage.

Forbidden fucking fruit indeed.

"Doll," he attempts to say smoothly, a hint of nervousness lacing his voice. "I've heard so much about you. Congrats on your wins tonight; they're truly well-deserved!"

"Really?" you suddenly squeal, and Dieter feels like he could get lost in your energy. It's pure, sweet, and so inherently innocent—the childlike wonder of being thrust into the limelight, untarnished by the sleazy underbelly of Hollywood. He can't help but internally frown, foreseeing the inevitable vultures in suits trying to get a piece of you. Their insatiable hunger for new, sweet flesh is something he knows all too well.

"Well, yeah, Doll, you killed it, as expected. Winning tonight and sweeping all your nominations was a given," he muses, casually leaning against his chair. As he leans towards you, a subconscious desire prompts him to take another whiff of your perfume, desperately trying to commit its essence to memory amid the haze of his coke-induced high. He can't resist burying his nose in your hair, eyes closing as he takes you in once more.

"Dieter-" you question his sudden boldness, a nervous chuckle escaping you.

"I'm sorry, baby-" he moans into your neck, his hands traveling down the length of your back. "You must tell me what the name of your perfume is, its divine-"

"Oh," you laugh as Dieter pulls you into him tighter, groaning as his hands travel dangerously close down your hips. "It's 'Missing Person' by-"

"Doll," a voice emerges from behind the two of you, accompanied by a stern clearing of someone's throat. Dieter's expression darkens as he recognizes the owner of the voice, but not before planting one final teasing kiss against your throat. With a smirk playing on his lips, he straightens up and turns to confront the perpetually annoyed yet annoyingly handsome face of the man Hollywood dubs 'The Shark'- also known as the most ruthless of publicists in all of Tinseltown, protecting his clients with an iron fist so strong no one ever thinks of crossing him.

Unless they wanted a cease and desist letter shoved so far up their assholes... without any fucking lube.

Dieter gets it, though. If he were in his shoes and he had a client like you? All sweet and pure with the face of an angel but a body curated by the Devil himself?

Well, he would fuck your brains out and make you forget your name first, but that's beside the point. The point is, he gets it, he really fucking does.

"Well well well," Dieter croons as he holds his hand up towards your publicist. "It's been a long time, Shark. Tell me, did you have to call ahead to make sure that some poor bloke's mangled testicles made it onto your plate for tonight, or did you rip someone's balls off fresh on-site?" he snarks with the raise of his eyebrow, shaking his head as your publicist stares at his outstretched hand in greeting. Dieter scoffs as he retreats his hand, placing it on his hip.

"Bravo," Your publicist grits through clenched teeth as he tries to appear as unbothered as possible. "Aren't you a little old to be here tonight? The rumors aren't true, you know. Fucking girls close to half your age doesn't keep you young, but I suppose it makes sense, considering a woman your age would know better-"

"Shark, I won't tolerate you talking like that in the presence of an actual earth-bound angel. Just because she's young doesn't mean she doesn't know right from wrong-" Dieter retorts, flashing you a smoldering smile. "... you know how to handle yourself, don't you, Doll? You don't need some uptight prick telling you what you can and cannot do, right?" he winks, a slight puff to his chest.

You visibly shiver at his cheeky insinuation, nodding. "Right," you breathe, taking a hasty gulp of your champagne. "I'm 29 years old, I don't need you defending my 'honor' like I'm some virginal maiden-"

"Well, when my client has far too many drinks in her and doesn't understand the kind of man she's in the presence of-"

"The Devil, right?" Dieter exclaims, pointing to himself. "A no-good washed-up actor who fucks anything with two legs while high off my rocker, who just so happens to be good at what I do with the Oscar in my shitter to prove it? Don't you think she knows all of this? My bare ass isn't on the front page of TMZ weekly because I'm a nobody, baby."

"Oh my god, Dieter," you gush, clapping your hands together. "I loved you in-"

"Doll," your publicist interrupts, a firm hand on your shoulder. "You have that meeting with Favreau at the Beverley Hills in 30 minutes. As much as we would love to stay and chat... we have our jobs to get to, right Doll?" your publicist says to you sweetly, his hand grazing your arm. He clears his throat, nodding at Dieter. "Bravo, it was stimulating, as always," he deadpans with a hint of finality, pulling on your elbow like a lost puppy on a leash. Dieter swallows as he witnesses your light dimming from your face, a small frown on your face as you try to remain cordial, a fake smile etched on your face.

"It was nice meeting you, Dieter," you almost whisper, pulling him into one last hug. "... maybe we'll just run into each other again soon?" You quickly whisper in his ear, and the thought of the two of you meeting up in secret thrills him to no end. His dick certainly twitches at the prospect.

Dieter takes one last whiff of your scent, his eyes closing as he wills the time to stand still, not wanting to lose the warmth radiating from your aura. He presses one last kiss on your cheek, his fingers caressing the spot as he gives you a genuine smile.

"... it wouldn't be soon enough, baby."

He gives The Shark one last salute, flipping him off once his back is toward him. “Fucking asshole cockblock,” he mutters to himself, patting his suit pocket for his little baggie of E. He pinches the baggie between his fingers, looking at its contents in silent contemplation. I guess if I can't get the girl, at least I can get the high, right?

The morning after.

Dieter is face down on his sofa in his boxers and his robe, groaning from the after-effects of his debauchery just a few hours before. As if his skull is splitting into two, he winces as he turns himself onto his back, staring aimlessly into his ceiling as his iPhone suddenly starts to go off from under him.

Sighing, he blindly reaches for his phone, one eye open as he squints into the tiny, shattered screen.

TMZ NEWS FLASH! Up-and-coming Actress who swept MTV awards show last night being groped by Resident Playboy Dieter Bravo? Her publicist sweeps in to save our New "It" Girl in Tinseltown from the grasp of the Devil himself-

Dieter scoffs as he swipes the notification away, his eyes scanning the next headline.

AP NEWS ALERT: Dieter Bravo seen kissing Rising Actress at MTV Movie Awards last night, is a new romance brewing between the Fresh-Faced Actress and Playboy Lothario Dieter Bravo?

"Dieter," his publicist groans as he walks into the room, picking up a crumpled pair of boxer briefs off the sofa, and throws himself on it, pinching the space between his eyebrows as he shakes his head. "What the hell did I tell you? Stay away from The Shark's client, don't grope her in front of him! Can't you just listen to me for once?"

"It was innocent! I kept my hands at a respectable distance from her ass," Dieter retorts, throwing his phone across the room. "I didn't even make a move—"

"That's not the point, Dieter!" his publicist spits back, pulling out his phone. "Do you realize how much this guy despises you? I'm good at my job, but The Shark? I can't go against a god—"

"You're making him out to be some untouchable—"

"...because he is untouchable, Dieter! Do you even know he's buddies with Feldman? After learning about your stunt last night, he's considering pulling you from the project."

"Please," Dieter scoffs, rolling his eyes. "They need me more than I need them! I'm practically doing them a favor, signing on to this fucking movie. They're not going to pull Dieter Bravo from a sinking ship! It's just scare tactics!"

"Yeah, well, you know what they say. The pussy is stronger than god, right?" his publicist replies, scrolling through his phone. "Feldman didn't appreciate your hands on his girl, and now he's out for blood. I warned you about this, D. Is some girl worth losing a multi-million dollar contract? Do you want to go back to doing 'surprise guest star' roles on cable TV? I heard they're thinking of rebooting 'Suits', it might be a good fit for you-"

"So what do I need to do then?" Dieter fires back, a joint between his lips. "I assume I'll be needing to make a public statement or some shit? Keep the old bastard happy?"

"It's funny you mention that D. I have an email from The Shark himself, with a list of what he wants you to say in your statement, promising he'll back the fuck off if you promise to not go within ten feet of his asset-"

"Have you ever heard of 'Missing People' perfume?" Dieter suddenly asks, taking a hit off his joint, his eyes following the thick plume of smoke as he leans back into the sofa. "Missing... Woman?" he mumbles to himself absentmindedly, licking his lips. "Fuck, what did she say it was? I need to stop going to these things blitzed out of my fucking mind-"

"Dieter, focus. Are we releasing the statement or not?"

"MARCUS!" Dieter calls out for his PA suddenly, ignoring his publicist as he grabs the phone out of his hands. "MARCUS! I NEED YOU!"

"Yes D?" Marcus responds as he rushes into the living room, pulling a fresh pack of Kitkat out of his back pocket. "Did you need a snack?"

"Have you ever heard of 'Missing Someone' perfume?" he asks once more as he pulls up the Safari app on his publicist's phone.

"You mean 'Missing Person' by Phlur?" Marcus quips, picking up the stray pieces of discarded clothing strewn randomly around the room. “One of my favorite actresses just became the spokesperson for that perfume, swears by it-“

“Missing PERSON, that’s what it was!” Dieter shouts, tossing his publicist's phone back at him. “Marcus, you’re a fucking godsend! I knew there was a reason why I kept you around! Could you do me a small favor?”

"What do you need, D?" Marcus asks eagerly, his hand perched on his hip.

"I need you to buy me 'Missing People'. A couple of bottles, at least."

"How many is a couple?" Marcus asks with a nervous chuckle. "Five? Are you giving these out as gifts or something?"

"Maybe I could call Chriselle, and tell her you're interested in the company, there are more scents suitable for men, D," his publicist says casually, pulling out his laptop from his messenger bag. "I ran into her at Erewhon the other day, she's a big fan of your work, and couldn't stop talking about Cliff Beasts... Now, about that statement-"

"Fuck asking, just go to Neimans or Sephora or something and buy out their entire stock. Lotions and body wash and candles if it comes in that scent, too, Marcus. Go to all of the fucking Sephoras if you need to."

"... the entire stock? D, what is this for?"

"Do I pay you to ask all of these fucking questions? Don't worry about what I'm going to do with it. Just get it in my hands by the end of the day, do you think you could swing that?"

"... yes?"

Dieter takes another drag out of his joint, nodding aimlessly. "Great. Also, stop by Blicks on your way back. I need an entire arsenal and the biggest canvas they have. New brushes, too! Set up my studio and put the 'Missing People' in my bathroom, and I'll want my usual In n Out order, too."

Flustered, Marcus pulls out his phone and starts typing Dieter's requests on his notes app. Running a nervous hand through his hair, he looks at his boss once more. "Anything else?"

"Yeah. Get the fuck out of my face and get to work, Marcus. Chop Chop!"

His assistant nods and scrambles out of the living room, tripping on the corner of the area rug on his way out. Dieter's publicist raises his eyebrow at the display, shaking his head as he types away on his laptop. "You know, you could be nicer to him, D. He tries hard to cater to your every fucking whim and fancy... now, are we gonna release that fucking statement or not?"

"What statement?" Dieter asks absentmindedly as he pulls out a small baggie from his robe pocket.

"The one where you say that you had a little too much to drink and that you didn't mean anything by groping Doll at the Movie Awards, and that you're really sorry and will be donating a couple thousand to a women's shelter-"

"... and this will make The Shark happy? and Feldman off my ass?" he replies, rubbing his gums as he smiles to himself. "I'll be able to stay on the project?"

"You can start packing your bags, yes. Filming starts in a week for the next few months in Europe. It'll give this whole Movie Awards nonsense some time to blow over."

Dieter considers this for a moment. He sticks his tongue out in contemplation, coming to the unsettling realization that he hasn't been in a major studio project in the last few years. He needs this job more than they need him, and deep down, he knows this. He takes one last drag out of his joint, flicking the roach away as he turns towards his publicist.

"Release the fucking statement."

His publicist nods, fingers flying across the keyboard. "Good," he murmurs, genuine relief softening his features. "I can't handle you out of work for another month, not after the fucking pandemic... What's the deal with all that perfume, anyway?"

"What?" Dieter replies absentmindedly, scratching his beard.

"The stuff you made Marcus buy in bulk," his publicist clarifies.

"Forget the perfume. Do you still have those photos I sent you?"

"I've got them, but I haven't checked them out yet. Why?"

Dieter gestures toward the laptop. "Why don't you take a look?"

His publicist eyes him warily, opening the email. His expression shifts to shock as he glimpses the contents. "Is this—"

Dieter nods, a smirk creeping onto his face. "Yep."

"This is huge, Dieter. How did you even get these? They're screwed if this ever goes public—"

"That's why it's payback time. A little warning shot," Dieter interrupts, leaning forward eagerly. "We leak the photos. Anonymously, of course."

"Dieter," his publicist warns, "If they trace it back to you—"

"I'll take the risk. They messed with the wrong guy," Dieter scoffs, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "These amateurs think they can get away with it?" he mutters to himself, then clears his throat. "Remember our motto?"

"Nobody fucks with Dieter Bravo."

Dieter leans back on the sofa, nodding. "That's right. Nobody fucks with Dieter Bravo."

Six Months later.

"Hi, I'm Carol Cobb!"

"... and I'm Dieter Bravo!"

"And we are doing a Wired Autocomplete Interview!"

"Alright! Is Dieter Bravo..." Carol energetically rips the first sheet of paper off her card, a playful smile spreading across her face as Dieter looks attentively at the camera. "Is Dieter Bravo dead?!" She bursts into laughter, smacking Dieter with the card, who simply shrugs. "Wow! Why would they hit us with that right out of the gate?"

"Not dead yet!" Dieter exclaims, pushing his signature glasses off his face while gazing into the camera. "Got close... several times," he adds with a pointed smirk.

"...and we are very much thankful for that!" Carol shouts. "Shall we move on to the next one?" She tears the next slip of paper, her eyes widening as she reads, “Is Dieter Bravo secretly married?!”

“Well, it wouldn’t be a secret if I spilled the beans now, would it?” Dieter smiles conspiratorially, rubbing his chin in contemplation.

“I can't imagine you ever settling down,” Carol muses with a smirk. "It seems unnatural, like going against the natural order of things, like sea animals on land. Dieter Bravo, settled down with one girl? Hell would have to freeze over before that ever happens," she teases.

"I think it could happen," Dieter says matter-of-factly, crossing his arms over his chest as he settles back into his seat.

"What could happen?" Carol asks, her curiosity piqued.

"Settling down. Getting married, perhaps... even starting a family," Dieter replies thoughtfully.

"It would take quite the woman to make 'The Great Lothario' change his ways. Seems like an impossible feat," Carol interrupts, chuckling. "A woman who can stop the great Dieter Bravo from his manwhoring ways? Maybe someone who lives under a rock and doesn't know about your reputation."

"Actually," Dieter interjects, a hint of excitement in his voice. "I think I've met someone recently who's made quite an impression on me."

Carol's eyes widen in surprise. "What do you mean, you think you've met someone? Who is this mysterious girl that's captured your attention, D?"

"Well, she's an actress-"

"Of course," Carol quips with a knowing smirk.

"... she's new. I had the pleasure of meeting her at the MTV Movie-"

"You're not talking about Doll, are you? The woman you groped after meeting her for the first time? Someone even said that they caught you sniffing her! Who does that, Dieter?!"

"I am a connoisseur of all things exquisite and beautiful, ma chérie. She smelled absolutely divine, and I swear her scent lingered on me for days after, I swear, just let me nuzzle my face in between the valley of those luscious tits-"

"God, D. I think they're gonna have to edit this shit out!" Carol mutters, looking embarrassed by Dieter's boldness. She leans towards Dieter. "I thought you signed some embargo with The Shark promising you wouldn't mention her," she whispers in his ears. "Even I wouldn't think to fuck with him-"

"Well, Feldman was my main concern, and now he's facing jail time for all of those underage claims and those leaked photos, so fuck it!" Dieter counters, knowing damn well he worked behind the scenes for it to happen, leaking a few photos he had stored away on his iCloud, kissing himself on the mouth knowing it would come in handy sooner or later.

AP NEWS ALERT: Hollywood bigshot arrested for leaked inappropriate images from an anonymous source of various actresses, denies all allegations of misconduct.

One asshole down, one Shark to bury next, he thinks to himself, chuckling at the thought. "Besides, I can't get her out of my fucking mind! I've never felt this way about a woman before, Carol, I mean it this time!"

"I mean, she's undeniably beautiful," Carol agrees, "but she's still new to the industry. They've been typecasting her in those romcoms with whatshisname, but I've heard she's pushing for more challenging roles—"

"Cut!" The director's voice slices through the air, his eyes narrowed at them both. "This interview is about promoting Cliff Beasts, not discussing Dieter's love life with some woman."

"Hey, that 'woman'? She's my future wife, so watch your damn mouth," Dieter snaps back, his tone defensive.

"Whoa, D, hold on. Future wife? You barely know her!" Carol interjects, her hand pressed against her chest in disbelief. "Take it easy, baby. Get to know her first, at least."

"It's gonna happen, Carol. I can feel it in my damn bones. I was drawn to her the moment I laid eyes on her," Dieter insists, his confidence unwavering.

"Listen, Casanova, I don't care who you think you're gonna marry, but we're on a tight schedule here!" the director interrupts, frustration evident in his voice. "Stick to the damn questions, and no more talk about your little 'girlfriend.'"

"Fine," Dieter mutters, rolling his eyes and taking a sip of water. "But do me a favor—don't cut out the part about her assets. It'll bring in views like crazy. I did you a favor there."

The director waves him off as he storms away. "Remind me why I took this job knowing this idiot would be here," he mutters to himself, heading back behind the camera.

The day of the (not so thought out) wedding.

Dieter is anxiously bouncing his leg, biting his pinky nail as his groomer meticulously applies another layer of concealer under his darkened eyes. "Jeez D, have you been sleeping at all lately?"

"What?" Dieter asks absentmindedly, running a shaky hand through his curls. "Yeah- I've been sleeping, why?"

“Your under-eyes, D. They’re darker than my fucking soul, man. Didn’t I tell you to lay off on the sauce? I’m on my fourth layer of concealer-“

“It’s nothing,” Dieter says dismissively. “Just… have you ever been in love?”

"Sure I have," his groomer replies, a small smile on their face. "That's why I'm married, silly. Why?"

"Say you like a girl, and you think that this girl might be interested but then TMZ posts leaked photos of said girl and some beefed up Hollywood hunk "canoodling" with each other while filming their movie together in Canada-"

"This is Doll that we're talking about, correct? The one you groped at the MTV Movie-"

"I DIDN'T GROPE HER!" Dieter exclaims, groaning as he sinks further into his seat. "Why does everyone keep saying that? I was simply giving her a friendly, yet casual hug when she APPROACHED ME-" He huffs like a petulant child, his arms crossed around his chest in defiance. "Anyway, I thought, after I desperately tried to shoot my shot, let my intentions known in that 'Wired' Interview with Carol, that she would contact me, you know? Maybe slide into my DMs-"

“Slide into your DMs?” His groomer scoffs, plucking a stray eyebrow hair with their tweezers from his face as he dramatically flinches, narrowing his eyes at them. “You flat out said you wanted to smother your face in the ‘valley of her luscious tits’, I would be surprised if she hasn't filed a restraining order against you yet... Let me give you a bit of advice: Girls want to be romanced, not objectified! ... have you ever had a 'real' girlfriend before, D?"

"Hey! I've had girlfriends, alright?" Dieter groans, frustration evident in his voice as he clenches his fists. "Just because they didn't stick around afterward doesn't mean it was all my fault, okay?"

"The girls you hook up with during your benders and then discard once the high wears off don't exactly qualify as 'real' girlfriends, D! Let's be serious here!"

"That's what I'm trying to be," he whines, "I'm trying SO HARD to be serious for once! I can't get this girl out of my head, and it's been what? Almost a year since I've met her? I can't get my dick hard when I'm with anyone else anymore, I don't want to take drugs, it's like I'm fucking broken or something! ... and now she's off fucking Joe Hollywood over here like I'm not bleeding my fucking heart out for her-"

"Wait, you mean to tell me that you're actually sober right now?"

"Well, yeah. The last time I took something was before filming Cliff Beasts, I thought you knew that. Anyway, it doesn't fucking matter. All of that and she doesn't even notice me."

"Well, I would tell you that if you had bothered to read TMZ this morning instead of sulking, you would know that there are split rumors between this girl and Hollywood neanderthal," His groomer retorts, a shit-eating grin on their face. "It was over before it even began. I mean, I've heard for such a massive man, he has quite the tiny di-"

Dieter perks up at that. "Say that again."

"They've broken up. She's back on the market, silly goose."

"So that means-"

"That means that I'm going to groom the shit out of you and help you out by making her realize just what she's missing out on, D." His groomer replies, massaging his scalp as they make eye contact through the mirror in front of them. "You're lucky that I consider myself a hopeless romantic. If you promise not to break her heart, I'll help you get the girl, ok?"

"Shit, do you think she'll like me?" Dieter says nervously, fidgeting in his seat.

"Obviously," his groomer replies cryptically, a smirk forming on the corner of their mouth. "I may or may not have some intel from another groomer friend of mine about their supposed breakup."

"Oh?" Dieter perks up, his eyebrow raised in curiosity. "... and what would that intel be?"

"Oh, you know. Someone might have asked their stylist if they think you'll be attending tonight, how she kept trying to be sly about it."

"Doll asked about me?! Are you serious?" Dieter's excitement is palpable.

"Well, according to my friend, the reason why they broke up was that someone might have moaned your name while being eaten out by 'Joe Hollywood' the other day-"

"No fucking way!"

"She's into you, D! I would say that your little ploy during the 'Wired' interview worked more than you think, bud."

Dieter nods, taking the biggest sigh of relief as he settles in his chair. "One last thing, do you groom just the top half of me, or are you open to grooming other places?"

"What do you mean?" his groomer cocks their head to the side.

"Shit, well... are you open to grooming my nether regions? It's been a while since I've been with a woman, I'm almost full caveman down there-"

His groomer tsks, pulling out their phone. "Dieter, as much as I love you, I don't love you that much. Let me call someone for that, ok?"

A few hours later, on the red carpet.

"Dieter," his publicist says under his breath as they walk down the red carpet. "The cameras are this way, why are you so distracted?"

"I'm looking for someone," Dieter replies as he winks at the sea of paparazzi, flashing them a peace sign as he walks toward the venue's entrance.

"Well, who are you looking for?" His publicist replies impatiently, looking down the red carpet.

"Doll, obviously. Do you know if she's arrived yet?"

His publicist rolls his eyes, sighing. "She arrived about five minutes ago, don't you see her?"

Dieter inhales deeply, his gaze scanning past the vibrant red carpet until it locks onto yours. His breath catches in his chest, surprised by the unexpected connection. You appear taken aback at first, but swiftly compose yourself, subtly angling your body towards him with a seductive smile playing on your lips.

"Holy Shit..." Dieter's mind races with excitement. "She really does want me."

Filled with newfound confidence, he playfully purses his lips in your direction, sending a cheeky kiss your way as his eyebrows wiggle in amusement. A flush of color blooms across your cheeks in response, catching his eye. But as he revels in the moment, he notices The Shark's gaze narrowing in his direction, a whisper passing between him and you.

That's fucking right Shark. I'm coming for my girl, and there is nothing you can fucking do about it.

Later, Dieter observes you from across the room as you sit at your table, alone, nursing another glass of champagne. He notices how you try to avoid meeting his gaze, despite catching you stealing glances at him throughout the night when you think he isn't looking. It surprises him to see you being so reserved, so quiet, especially without The Shark hovering around you like a protective dragon guarding its treasure.

What's gotten you so down, babydoll? he muses, leaning back into his chair. As if you could read his thoughts, your eyes meet from across the room once more, and you quickly look away, smiling to yourself at getting caught looking.

Dieter senses the moment's significance, his heart racing with anticipation. He knows he must seize this opportunity, the perfect moment to step forward and break the barrier between the two of you. With a determined smile, he decides it's time to make his move.

As he rises from his chair, Dieter's confidence swells, fueled by the intensity of the moment. With purposeful strides, he crosses the room, his gaze fixed on you, the anticipation building with each step. This is his chance to bridge the gap, to finally reveal the feelings he's kept hidden for so long.

He draws in another deep breath as he approaches you from behind, mustering his most seductive gaze as he leans in towards your exposed ear, his warm breath grazing your skin.

"I can't help but notice that you've been eye-fucking me the entire night."

He groans softly as he takes a seat in the chair beside yours, hoping to conceal any nerves as he attempts to exude charm. "I guess my little ploy of trying to get your attention with that 'Wired' interview worked out in my favor-"

You respond with a subtle smile, your fingers gracefully tracing the edge of your champagne glass. How does something as simple as that manage to rile me up? he wonders inwardly, returning your smile.

"You know," you say softly, a chuckle escaping you as you shake your head in disbelief, "There are more normal ways to get a girl's attention-"

The longer Dieter spends in your presence, the more he feels himself on edge, the tension mounting with every passing moment. His pulse quickens, and he can't ignore the growing semi in his suit pants. It's astonishing how much you affect him, like a siren calling out for him while lost at sea, lying in wait, ready to bring him to absolute ruin.

Fuck. Keep it cool, Bravo.

"Ah, but you're America's Sweetheart, and your pitbull of a publicist won't let me near you, I had to let my-" he gulps at the sight of your ample bust, licking his lips in anticipation, "... intentions very clearly known."

"Well," you breathe, chest heaving. "I don't know if it's 'clearly' known," your voice drops to a whisper, like a secret that is shared only between the both of you, two lonely souls amongst a sea of chaos. "I think you're just going to have to spell it out for me."

Dieter, sensing victory, leans back triumphantly, spreading his legs as he subtly encloses you within his space. His dark, smoldering gaze meets your thinly veiled attempt at your best innocent doe eyes... but Dieter sees right through it. He grins widely, reveling in the knowledge that he's the cat about to get all of the cream—your cream. That's right, babydoll, I've finally caught you, and I'm never going to let you go.

He laughs at the sight of you, his chin motioning to your breasts. "Do you want to have sex with me, Dollface?"

Your eyes widen, and a small gasp escapes your lips, as you search his gaze, trying to decipher if he's just bullshitting or if he's actually fucking serious. I'm serious, alright, he chuckles to himself. "If I miscalculated this fucking thing that's going on between us, tell me and I'll fuck off, leave you alone-"

"What if I don't want you to fuck off, and want to tell you that I'm this close to being plastered and that all I kept thinking about tonight is you railing me with that huge cock we both know is aching for me in some deserted hallway-" you challenge, picking your champagne glass for good measure, downing its contents in one swig. For courage, he thinks. "I would beg to ask you... what's taking you so damn long, Bravo?"

WhatsApp chat between Dieter & Marcus: Dieter: Hey Marcus, are you still in the venue? Marcus: Yes! With your publicist. Did you need something? Dieter: This party blows. Can I borrow your car? Marcus: Oh, did you want me to drive you home? The party just started, Dieter. Dieter: I can drive myself back, stay for the party! Catch a ride with the suits afterward! Get shitfaced, you're officially off the clock! Marcus: Seriously? Do you know how to drive a stick? It's my baby, I don't know if I feel comfortable with you driving it, are you high right now? 🤦‍♂️ Dieter: No, for the last time, I'm fucking clean, man. Just do me a solid and let me borrow your car, I swear I'll give you a fucking raise! What do you want for one night with your baby? Tell me, I'll give you anything! Marcus: Fine. Just tell me what you did with all of that fucking perfume, there"s a bet going on and I would like to shove it in your publicist's face that I know! Dieter: Seriously man? That's all you want? Marcus: Do you want my keys or not, D? Dieter: Fine. I took the fucking perfume, doused my entire bedroom in it, and fucked myself smelling it thinking about Doll. Dieter: Is that enough of an explanation for you? Come the fuck on, man, I need your car! Please! 🙏 Marcus: 🙌 Meet me at the lobby in five.

"So tell me," Dieter shouts as he peels out of the parking lot, laughing at the delighted squeal that escapes your lips as you throw your head back, your arms raised upward as he turns quickly into the streets of Los Angeles. "How often did you think about me, babydoll?"

You boldly reach over to cup his erection, your small hand wrapping around the tip of it. "As much as I reckon you thought of me, Bravo. Tell me, how often did you come, alone in that massive bed of yours, to the thought of your cock thrusting into my tight pussy?"

"Fuck baby, do you want me to crash this car? It's not mine, you know?"

"Answer the fucking question, Bravo."

"Baby, if you only knew how much I fucking came just thinking about your tits... I don't think you know just what exactly you got yourself into, little girl... but I'll show you just how I thought of you coming on my fat cock, giving me absolutely everything-"

I've been hungry for you, baby, and I'm going to feast on every inch of your body, just you fucking wait-

He cackles like a madman as he peels into the dwindling streets of LA. "Are you hungry, Dollface?" he yells, almost running a red light, his eyes fixed on the glowing In n Out sign in the distance.

"I shouldn't, I have that screen test next week-"

"Fuck the screen test!" he shouts. "The night is young, and you are gorgeous. Let Dieter take care of you, baby... while I still have you in my grasp. I ain't gonna waste a moment I have you in my orbit!"

He pulls into the In n Out parking lot, cutting the engine, and pulls you into his lap, his face immediately diving into the valley between your breasts. "You can suffocate me with these tits and I would die a happy man," he mumbles against your skin, his growl reverberating throughout your entire body like wildfire. "What do you say, Doll? Would you do me the honors?"

"Fuck Dieter," you moan, tipping your head back in pleasure as his tongue teases the edge of your dress covering your breasts. "Grab my tits," you beg, grabbing his hands for good measure. Dieter wastes no time as he grabs the back of your head, pulling you into a kiss, his tongue licking along the seam of your mouth, begging for entrance.

"Open up for me, baby girl. Let Dieter taste you-" he pleads, and you pull away with him, your hair wrecked and lipstick smeared. Dieter imagines he looks as wrecked as you do, his pupils blown and chest heaving. You pull him into another kiss, sighing into it, your mouth opening slightly. Dieter takes this as a sign to devour you completely, your tongues fighting for dominance as you begin to rock your hot pussy against his thick cock.

"I want to ride you into the sunset, D," you whisper, pulling at his curls harshly. "Are you gonna give me what I want? Or am I going to have to find someone else to do it?"

"Fuck-" Dieter pants, his gaze reaching yours, his mouth agape in awe. "How in the fuck did I get so fucking lucky-"

"Grab my tits, D," you ask once more, moaning and throwing your head back, biting your lower lip as you grind on his throbbing erection. Dieter quickly obliges, his large hands engulfing both of your breasts. His fingertips graze the edge of your dress, the hardness of your nipple pressing into the middle of his palm, and he swears that if he were to be struck down dead right at this moment, he would die a happy man.

"Shit, I knew that your tits would feel amazing, but you are so fucking soft-"

"Oh yeah?" you tease, your teeth grazing the shell of his ear. "I'm soft in other places, too." You whisper in his ear, and he swears he feels the ghost of your smile as he moves his hands back on your hips, his fingertips squeezing the softness of your ass as he angles his dick where he imagines your clit to be, thrusting into your hot, wet heat. "Fuck, so goddamn soft-" he groans, his tongue licking a wet stripe along the tops of your breasts. "You're fucking everything I never knew I always wanted, baby girl," he praises you honestly, cupping your cheek as he pulls you into another kiss, groaning as your tongue dances with his, leaving him breathless.

"Am I?" you pant as you wrap your arms around his neck, your pussy dragging along the thick outline of his cock. "You talk like you want to marry me or something-"

"... oh, but I do want to marry you, breed you, keep you locked up in my mansion... you have no idea just how much I've thought about you, these last few months-"

"Dieter! My Man!" someone shouts in the distance. "What the fuck are you doing here?!"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he yells back, "I'm about to fuck this beautiful woman in an In n Out parking lot, what are you doing here?"

"Fuck, can I take a pic, man?" the fan shouts as he approaches the convertible.

"Don't you see we're a little preoccupied?" you shout at the fan, flicking him off. "Get the fuck out of here!" you shout.

The fan quickly takes a shot of the both of you with his iPhone, a half-hearted apology mumbled out of his mouth as he quickly runs back inside of the restaurant, probably to the group of men who are completely unaware of the two celebrities dry-humping the fuck out of each other in their wake, eating their double-doubles and sneaking sips out of a cup filled with some cheap ass vodka, fist-bumping the night away.

"Are you gonna come in those Gucci pants of yours, D?" you tease, your pace quickening as you ride his dick relentlessly. "How does it feel having America's Sweetheart getting you to come in your pants, baby?"

"Fuck," Dieter pants, his hand wrapping around your neck as he pushes you against the steering wheel, angling the tip of his cock against your clit. "How does it feel to get fucked by The Devil, sweetheart? Your pussy is begging me to just rip those fucking panties off and just claim you, right in front of all of these fucking people-"

You shiver at that, a choked curse and his name out of your mouth as he sees the entirety of your body begin to quiver and shake.

"Don't fight it, baby, I know you fucking like the attention, I know you want everyone to see how much of a bad fucking girl you are inside... but don't worry, Dieter knows, and I'll help you show them," he pulls you against him harshly, your chest pushed up against his, as his teeth sink at the hollow of your neck. "I'll get the world to see just who you really are, baby. Let me show you the way-"

You scream as he thrusts into you once more as he rips your orgasm out of you violently, crying out into his neck as Dieter explodes into his Gucci trousers, the mixture of your slick and his thick cum making an absolute mess of his loaned suit.

I guess I'll have to pay for these, Dieter thinks to himself as he cradles your shaking form into his arms, licking away the salty tears running down your face. "You did so good, Doll, don't cry-" he whispers, stroking the back of your head as he tries to get you to calm down. "What do you need, baby?"

You lie quietly against his chest, your breaths falling into rhythm with his, as he assumes you're simply gathering your thoughts. "Baby," he pleads softly, his hands tracing soothing paths along your exposed back. "Please, say something—"

"Marry me," you whisper against his chest, the words barely audible but filled with undeniable certainty.

Dieter freezes, his heart skipping a beat at your unexpected words. For a moment, he's speechless, his mind racing to catch up with the sudden turn of events. Slowly, he lifts his head to meet your gaze, eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

"What did you say?" he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid that speaking any louder might shatter the fragile moment.

You lift your head, meeting Dieter's stunned gaze with unwavering determination. "I said, marry me," you repeat, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart. "Let's take this car and drive it to Vegas, get married by some overweight Elvis impersonator, and book the honeymoon suite at the Cosmo... I don't care how we do it, but let's get fucking married, D!"

Dieter's mind whirls with a mix of emotions—astonishment, disbelief, and a profound sense of joy. He blinks several times, as if trying to confirm that he's not dreaming, before a wide grin spreads across his face.

"Oh, my God," he breathes, his voice trembling with emotion. "Yes. Yes, a thousand times yes."

Taglist:@yxtkiwiyxt @skysmiller @picketniffler @readingiskeepingmegoing @islacharlotte @drewharrisonwriter

@missladym1981@amyispxnk@thespookywookies@stevie75@mysterious-moonstruck-musings

@daydream-believer19@survivingandenduring@darkheartgatita @gobaaby-blog-blog

#the new girl in tinseltown #pedro pascal #dieter bravo #the bubble fanfiction #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x you #dieter x reader #dieter bravo x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo fluff

134 notes · View notes

loreleismusings99 · 10 months

Text

Two-Body Problem

Mark Watney x reader

Grad School AU, (academic) rivals to ??????

No use of y/n

[Masterlist]

Not Beta-read, we die like Spirit and Opportunity.

CW: networking, Inaccurate depictions of organic chemistry, probably riddled with typos, but that's all I can think of. Please please please let me know if I missed anything and I'll add it to the top of the list

The reader and Mark are both PhD candidates at Northwestern and both happen to be GTAs for an o-chem/bio-chemistry class. They schedule and meet up on neutral ground(a library) to get some grading done together and some unexpected feelings creep in.

AN: This is the first fanfic I've ever written; critique is always welcome and encouraged, but, uh, perhaps manage your expectations? Idk 😅 I'm not the best when it comes to creative writing, but there's a criminally low amount of fic for The Martian and even fewer fic centered around Mark imo. I might continue this into something more, if there's demand and if I've the energy and motivation 🤷🏾

Alright, I'll stop trying to lamp-shade; Enjoy, and thanks for taking the time out of your day to read this 💚💚💚

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

Wanna meet up to put a dent in the pile of grading I know you also have?

The two of you exchanged numbers at the beginning of fall quarter out of politeness, but it was still surprising to see the notification from Mark’s text.

Leaning back in your chair, you considered your options, the soft sensor schematic in front of you now fully abandoned after an hour of rearranging thermocouples and resistors trying to alleviate a stubborn inductive noise problem.

Mark had been a thorn in your proverbial side since the day you met him; well, night, to be exact—your blood begins to boil at the memory. You were engaged in cordial and calculated banter with a researcher working in a lab you were gunning for before being interrupted by someone exclaiming “Dr. Hernandez!” to your left. You blinked and the fragile connection you just began to form had crumbled as the attention of the faculty member in question whirled to the side and greeted a stocky and stubbly man who Dr. Hernandez introduced to you as “Mark Watney, one of my PhD students!” This confused you since his name tag clearly said, Plant Bio and Conservation and this was a mixer in the electrical and computer engineering department; “I’m working with him and a faculty member in my own department on developing novel ways of monitoring soil properties in areas in Illinois hardest hit by industrial runoff” Mark says with a smile that oozes levels of confidence and hubris only considerable privilege can spawn. He gives you a quick glance before saying, “which actually reminds me-” and steering Dr. Hernandez away from you. Now, this certainly stung, but it wasn’t anything that you couldn’t get over. No, what made this a problem was Mark’s uncanny ability to draw the room’s attention to him and his work, making it a just a tad difficult to properly network without having to entertain talk and conversation surrounding the department’s charismatic new wunderkind apparent. This combined with quite publicly challenging a design of yours for a class you two shared had firmly placed Mark in your list of worst enemies. Which, admittedly, might be a bit dramatic, but after some quippy and well worded critiques and suggestions to optimize a C++ script he’d written for the same class it seemed you’d made your way onto his hit list too, if department gossip had any veracity to it—so at least the feeling was mutual.

Which brings you back to your confusion at this new development in your communication with him; Mark hadn’t exactly jumped for joy when, in some sick reversal of the infamous two-body problem, the two of you got hired as TAs for the same introductory o-chem class. You exchanged numbers, but neither reached out to the other to host joint office hours, or to work together to get through the ever-growing pile of completed homework assignments that you two need to finish grading—in fact, this is the first time either of you texted the other since the first text you sent confirming your number as yours. Staring at your phone’s screen you weighed the pros and cons of saying yes; on the one hand, it’ll help the two of you get ahead on the imposing pile of work that had accumulated just in the first 2 and a half weeks of the quarter. On the other hand, it meant that you’d have to breathe the same air as your infuriatingly handsome nemesis for longer than you were required to. Not that he was your type. Absolutely not. He just… had an objectively strong jawline…. Choosing not to think too hard about that and reasoning that getting grading done was more important than your pride, you typed out a curt sure. See you at Galter in an hour? And waited for his equally as curt sounds good before getting up to go change out of your comfy, at-home garb and head out the door with your half of the grading pile and your laptop tucked away into your backpack.

You’re chewing the last bite of a pop tart you got, realizing you unfortunately forgot to eat dinner before leaving, and scrolling through Instagram when Mark walks through the glass doors leading into the Galter Health Sciences Library. Under a mild windbreaker, he’s wearing what’s presumably a band t-shirt but with a worn-out and unrecognizable logo tucked into his cuffed light wash jeans. He"s carrying a clearly well-loved canvas satchel with a Cubs patch sewn onto the front. His hair was artfully tousled as he ran a hand through it while he looked for you in the spattering of students who occupied the library at minutes to 9 on a Friday evening. When his eyes finally land on you, he looks taken aback, the carefree look wiped off his face for a moment before he smirks at you through an obviously clenched jaw. “Glad you didn’t decide to stand me up. You reserve a conference room?” You returned his tension-filled smirk with a smile resembling a sneer and responded, “Of course. We’re on the second floor.” You stood up from your seat and started walking in the direction of the staircase, looking behind you to make sure he was following you only to find him in the middle of a light jog to position himself on your right side.

“So, how’s the dissertation writing going?” he asks over his shoulder. Scoffing, you respond with an incredulous “How’s yours?”, hoping he pics up on your clear annoyance at being asked that dreaded question yet again. Wincing at your retort of a question, he concedes with a “Fair enough” And the two of you are plunged back into the awkward silence that permeates the sparsely populated library.

after finally finding the room you reserved(the library is like a maze, capable of ensnaring even the most seasoned of academics), you shuffle into the study room together and set up your computers and piles of homework to be graded before settling into a serene flow with Mark working quietly beside you.

after about thirty minutes, you look over to Mark’s pile and notice that his “complete” pile is, unfortunately, larger than yours, which ignites a spark of competition in you. You start to try to work through your pile faster and Mark seems to pick up on your haste.“Worried about falling behind?” he scoffs with a shit-eating grin, clasping his hands together in front of his mouth. “Oh, not in the slightest; just trying to optimize my time, I've more work to get back to, you know.” you say, smirking back at him but with a glint in your eye, tacitly challenging him to try to get through his pile before you get through yours.

The two of you actually make some substantial progress in both of your piles before you encounter one of the more difficult homework assignments your students have been assigned. You’re stumped by the multi-part problem at the top of the page, trying unsuccessfully to follow the student’s work in front of you.

“... You on homework 15 yet?”

“Yep.” you nod.

“... You have any idea what Dr. C is asking them to do?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Alright, just checking.”

Mark sits back in his chair with a thud and runs a hand down his face. you stand from your seat and move to the small whiteboard on the wall opposite where you were sitting and start to list out the knowns and unknowns in the problem statement. You can feel Mark’s eyes on you the entire time, following along with your work and your movements as you draw out the reaction being described in the first part of the problem. You get stumped at the end of the problem, trying to piece together the end products of the reaction. You hear Mark shift behind you before turning around to see him walking toward the whiteboard to silently walk himself through your work, nodding at each step you took. He picks up a marker and starts adding onto where you were stumped and you watch intently, absorbing what he’s writing. As he finishes the problem, you get the chance to actually get a look at him while he’s working; he furrows his eyebrows and you notice a small crease he gets between his eyebrows as they cinch together, and the faint spattering of freckles across his nose becomes apparent with how close he is to you now. God, he is so close-"that should be it? I think?" He looks to you with an indiscernible look in his eye; first, a hint of shock as his eyes widen--looks like he noticed how close you are too-- then something else you can't quite identify. It takes more effort than your willing to admit, but you eventually tear your eyes away from his and look at his work on the board. It all makes sense, you also note how messily he draws his diagrams of the assortment of carboxyl groups created by the process at the center of the problem(and it also takes everything within you not to smile at that, thinking to yourself, when did this start feeling nice???). "It, uh, it looks all good to me. And the rest should follow from this too." you utter awkwardly and turn to face him again. "Yeah?" His state of mind is still elusive to you, and he responds with an almost dazed sounding "Yeah."

The moment doesn't last for long though, as a soft knock sounds at the door, startling you both out of your joint reverie. "Hey, you guys are the TAs for o-chem this quarter, right? Do you have time to talk about the homework due tomorrow?" The two of you exchange a glance and invite the exhausted looking undergrad into the alcove.

After helping your wayward student, the two of you start packing up your now completed piles of grading in silence, the awkward air from the beginning of the night settling back in now that the distraction from grading was gone. The two of you are about to part ways at the entrance of the library when Mark stops you with a "hey," and says,"uh, so, I know we have this…whatever this is? Between us" He gestures chaotically back and forth in the space between you, and you raise an eyebrow at him. "But this is the most work I've gotten done in one sitting in a while. Would you, uh, like to do this again? Maybe? But at more reasonable hour?" Mark takes a defensive steps back, and this throws you off for a multitude of reasons. One, Mark is acting nervous, which is something you've had the pleasure of witnessing mabe once in your time being around him. Two, he seems to be genuinely asking spend more time with you. And, to be honest, after the silence between the two of you was broken, that was also the most productive you've been in a while. And it probably wouldn't hurt to actually collaborate with him instead of trying to compete with him. Just as you began to fear you were taking too long to respond, Mark pulls his hands out of his pockets and puts them up in the universal "I'm harmless" pose, "you don't have to, I just thought I'd ask-" "sure." You cut him off before he can try to answer his question for you. He looks at you with what can only be described as gleeful shimmer in his eyes and smirked again; this time, though, it didn't have his usual venom behind it. "Yeah?" He asks hopefully. "Yeah." You smile in return, it reaching your eyes this time.

36 notes · View notes

weirdsociology-writes · 1 year

Text

Five Runs - Run 1: Doors (The Mandalorian, E)

THIS BLOG IS DEFUNCT DUE TO A GLITCH IN TUMBLR'S SYSTEM. PLEASE FOLLOW @weird-writes INSTEAD FOR UPDATES.

Title: Five Runs - Run One: Doors (2k)

Series: Part 3 of Creed, a non-linear series about Din Djarin and his favorite... distraction.

Description: A series of drabbles all sharing one theme: you've decided to run away from your Mandalorian. On purpose. For his birthday. Listen, everyone's got their kinks, and his is bounty hunting (sort of. Mostly, it's you.)

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, canon-typical violence, object insertion but probably not in the way you think, oral sex, manual sex, implied penetrative sex, brief mention of somnophilia, canon what canon, no betas we die like men [warnings are for all drabbles.]

Tropes: established relationship, the helmet comes off, hurt/comfort, fluff, adventure

Author's note: When I finished Easy Mark, I wanted to write something adventurous and fun next, something that lets these two show how much they really do enjoy each other's company. Each drabble is set during a different time in their relationship but it's all after the Mos Eisley incident mentioned in Distractions.

***

RUN 1: DOORS

The first time it's a surprise: “When I said run, I didn’t mean from me!"

You slam awake with a start, your adrenaline catapulting you out of bed and halfway toward your blaster before you realize the exasperated voice is familiar. You'd know that intimidating shadow anywhere, and one pale finger of moonlight reaches through the patchy roof to run itself along his armor. Your heart rate drops immediately, soothed by the silvery shine of beskar: no threat here.

You collapse back on the narrow cot you'd rented for the night, brain churning into gear. Din had found you, as you'd known he would. The only question now is if he’s really as annoyed as he sounds.

"In my defense, you were non-specific," you retort. You take a moment to scan the door and windows of your dingy little room. All closed - and not just closed, but locked. How the kriff did he get in here so quietly? Trust your Mandalorian not to leave you an easy exit; he clearly checked the escape routes before waking you. Next time you'll have to rig some sort of alarm.

"Yes, because when someone says run they obviously mean run away, change all your clothes, and hide in the back room of a scrapyard." The helmet renders his tone unreadable but you can't see any sign of anger in Din's broad shoulders. It's hard to tell in the dark but his body language seems relaxed, halfway to cocky even, like when he’s dragging a particularly tough bounty through an admiring cantina crowd. Your pulse picks up again, thrumming with interest, but for a very different reason than when you'd thought there was a stranger in the room.

"I sent a message," you shoot back. "I didn't have to. I could have just vanished instead." You would never just vanish on Din, and you both know it, but you also know exactly how to bait his ego.

He scoffs outright at that. "No you couldn't. No one can just vanish. Not from me, and especially not you." You were right, he's wearing his presumed victory over you the same way he wears the prospect of a tricky blaster shot or a fight against improbable odds. His confidence goes straight to your head like spice, and you feel the slumbering heat between your legs sit up and take notice.

It's his brash attitude that makes you decide to push your luck just a little more. You love it when Din gets like this; it feels like an invitation to misbehave in ways only the two of you know how. "You liked the idea--" you make a show of checking the timer on your wrist, "-- thirty four hours ago." He'd found you with a full day and more to spare, of course, but the timer is still nestled in its strap and if you play this right maybe you can -

One big gloved hand clamps over your arm. You can feel the heat of him even through the leather. "Time's up."

***

You'd been waiting for the perfect opportunity, the right alignment of distraction and circumstance to take off without Din noticing. It needed to be on a job, his awareness of you too great at other times, whether you were doing something as civilized as drinking spotchka or as crude as wading through a swamp, Din hoisting the Child's carry sack overhead to keep him out of the mud. Din's right about that much: when you run with a bounty hunter there's no such thing as slipping away.

There had been a few times when you'd thought you might try for it, credits already tucked in your bag, blaster on your hip. But each time you'd found a reason not to leave him: the situation was too chaotic and he'd worry you'd been hurt; you didn't like the town, too many inquisitive strangers; you didn't want him to hunt you with the kiddo in tow. The excuses were reasonable but eventually you were forced to admit to yourself that your delay was simply because you didn't want to leave him. You'd been traveling together for so long you weren't sure you remembered how the galaxy felt without his solid bulk at your back or his dry, modulated humor in your ear.

Today, though, was too good to pass up, the slap of blaster fire from around the corner announcing that Din had found his quarry at the same time his quarry's hired muscle had found him. You had planned this part out in advance together, leaning conspiratorially over schematics in the cargo bay, his helmet bumping affectionately against the crown of your head as you showed him how to use what you'd made. You may not share his Creed but you speak the same reverential language when it comes to certain things... like explosives.

You know your own role too, which is why you pop up from the stack of crates you've been waiting behind and shove your fingers in your mouth to give a piercing whistle. Your other hand drops to your holster. You draw and fire in quick succession, sending a bolt ricocheting over the heads of the contract guards. Two of them whip around, surprised by the noise and incoming fire from another direction, which buys Din enough time to slap the little ball against the blast door blocking his way. He must have hit the primer button at the same time because you hear his shout even through the helmet: "Got it - run!"

You take off down the alley, jinking around one corner and then another, putting as many walls between yourself and your latest experiment as you can. Din will be fine, the Rising Phoenix on his back doubtless already taking him out of harm's way, but lesser mortals like you have to rely on brick and steel and meters and meters of distance. You're lucky this district is mostly abandoned, full of empty warehouses and docking bays. It's the perfect testing ground for your latest experiment.

You're halfway down the next street when there's a sound from behind you that makes your eardrums pop like you've been plunged into deep water. It's less a noise than a sudden sharp pull against the air, jolting you as the ground lurches sickeningly. It's followed by another sound, this one like a shuttle crashing into a brass band. You can't help your grin as you slow your steps toward the intersection to avoid attracting attention and join the stream of traffic headed toward the market. It worked. That blast door won't be giving your Mandalorian any more trouble, and if you're lucky the shock wave will have cleared out the security-for-hire too.

There's a tavern ahead with an open space in front of it roofed with leafy vines for shade. You pull over into the pleasant coolness and stop, rummaging in your pack for the comm link you always carry planetside. You'd spend all last night thinking about what to say when this moment came. Your message has to make it clear you're not being kidnapped or under duress. It has to be obvious that it's an invitation that he can say no to if he wants. It has to be intriguing.

Oh, and of course, it can't interrupt him while he's killing people.

You dictate what you want Din to read into the little microphone, using the careful wording you'd finally settled on this morning. The ship is parked only a few klicks away and is well within short-distance meshnet range, so you bounce your message through the navcomp’s HoloNet connection as opposed to direct, flagging the data priority level as low. This means it will show on Din's display as text rather than a missed connection attempt, and he will also know that whatever you’re trying to tell him can wait until he's done with the bounty. When he finally has breathing room to check his comm, you know what will blink out in blocky letters on his screen:

Got away from them, and now I’m getting away from you too. Find me? 72 standard hrs, Motok only, no beacon. Happy birthday.

Your interface beeps a notification. Message successfully relayed. It makes you feel better to know it's waiting for him, your words a thread tethering you together even as you spool its length away from him across the city. It's only three days at most, and you have a suspicion the reunion will be worth it.

You tuck the comm back into your bag and get moving, sliding through the crowd toward one of the larger booths. You’re going to need a cloak or a change of clothes if you don’t want him to catch you immediately. Something that will alter your silhouette and cover your hair. Probably a change of shoes to fool his tracking algorithm. Hell, maybe you should buy a new perfume, too - you still have no idea what the helmet of his is really capable of. You spot a stall selling thick bolts of local fabric; surely the garment district must be this direction. You steer your steps towards it, and it's not until you're halfway there that you realize you're absently and happily humming to yourself.

***

It’s less than an hour later when your comm chimes again. You've already bought your disguise, swathed in the long hooded cloak that is common for locals in this sector. It takes you a moment to reach your bag under the yards of lightweight synthsilk that now shield you from prying eyes. You have a missed message, high priority.

Are you serious?

You send back. Yes.

A few minutes after that there’s an insistent buzz from the inner pocket of your bag. Din isn’t bothering to relay messages through the HoloNet anymore - he’s comming you directly.

You pull it out and thumb the button on the side of the unit. “Mando?”

“What is this?” There’s no sound of blaster fire in the background, so however the situation you’d run out on resolved, it’s clearly over. And Din sounds curious rather than concerned, which is a relief. You'd been almost sure your gambit would play well, but there was no way to be certain - any game like this would run the risk of miscommunication, of hurting rather than delighting him. You couldn't know in advance if he'd like the idea, but you do know that if you'd misjudged, your partnership is now strong enough to withstand it. Coming to that realization, finally acknowledging that your connection with Din is secure enough to gamble a little for both your enjoyment, had filled you with an emotion you couldn't quite describe.

Though whatever it was, it had led to some spectacular sex.

You've waited too long to answer him. "Mesh'la?"

You shrug even though he can’t see you. “When you put my tracking chip in, you said you missed stalking me.”

A chuckle. Another good sign. “That wasn’t a hint.”

“No, but I thought it’d be fun. Like old times. And if we need to find each other in a hurry for some reason you can always use the beacon.”

“Three days.” Din’s tone is even more thoughtful. "I did say I wanted to spend some time in Motok. Although I was hoping it would be with you."

“Three days, and you did,” you confirm. “And it can be with me. If you're as good as they say. There’s a timer unit on a cord on my wrist. Get it before then and you win." He won't be able to resist a challenge like that, not from you.

“And what do I get if I win?” His voice through the modulator has dropped, far too dark and intimate for your public surroundings. He must be able to hear the crowd noise through the comm interface. He just doesn’t care.

You're grateful that the hood you're wearing will cover your expression from anyone passing by. You’re suddenly a little lightheaded, adrenaline from the impending chase mixed with a giddy excitement at what you might be asked to give up if you lose. You do your best to sound innocent when you answer. “What do you win? Why, Mando, anything you want. Anything at all.”

Your meaning is clear despite your casual tone. A growl comes through the comm link, then: “Don’t tire yourself out, cyar'ika. You’ll need your strength. See you in forty-eight hours - maybe sooner.”

And the comm goes dead in your hands.

THIS BLOG IS DEFUNCT DUE TO A GLITCH IN TUMBLR'S SYSTEM. PLEASE FOLLOW @weird-writes INSTEAD FOR UPDATES.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #star wars #pedro pascal

17 notes · View notes

duckuwu · 2 years

Text

so, obviously, I grew up (fandom wise) in a different time. fics were posted on message boards / email lists, and it was a little community. constructive criticism was common/expected/appreciated, along with comments as to what people enjoyed. this generally followed through to livejournal. in fact, commenting on each other's writing was a way of making friends and spitballing ideas for new works. it was also generally very easy to find a beta (often people would ask to be someone's beta, because they wanted sneak peeks before anyone else / wanted to be part of that process).

I've just been wondering...

Well, it's just that I think that things are much more difficult today? The current structure of the internet, and everything being for profit...it's not really conducive to discussion, constructive communication, easily finding people to share with? Especially with everyone going into their private discords... (Friend locked livejournals, and membership only lists was a thing, but for the most part it was to protect us from being sued (by a.rice or others).

And I guess I'm just wondering where people who are new to writing / fandom mechanics / etc are supposed to go to get the courage to post their work, find people to beta their work, gain the confidence to handle constructive criticism? As much as I love AO3, the comments can be as scary as that of a popular YouTube video.

I want anyone and everyone who has a story to tell to write it. I believe the next best story is just waiting on you to write it.

I know I have hard fic opinions (I won't read incomplete fics (unless it's Lynne because, really, but don't tell her I said that), I absolutely loathe unhappy endings, I think character/reader fics are a big nope, I basically can only read on AO3 because I've got a skin that helps my eyes... etc), BUT those are just my preferences. There's people out there who will like what you're writing, there's people who are out there waiting for you to write the thing you want to write because it's exactly what they've been hoping to read.

I especially have so much love and respect to all you folks out there writing in a language that is not your native language. That takes so much courage, and strength. I have a hard enough time writing (and speaking, let's be real) in my own language, I certainly wouldn't be able to do it in another one. I'm telling you, personally, I don't back out of reading a fic when I notice that it's written by someone who doesn't have English as their primary.

Writing is scary, and that's without writers block. Which is why I constantly talk about needing a beta or betas, some sort of proofreader. You know what does make me turn away from a fic? When I see an author's note to the effect of "not beta'd we die like men". I'm grateful for every single one of the betas I've ever had, I learned so much from them, they helped me and my stories grow and be better. And I get that the "die like men" thing is a meme, but it's still a toxic mindset.

Which is why I'm wondering how new to fandom people are supposed to find people to help them in this isolating and clique based culture that the internet currently is. Is there a betas r us Tumblr?

Maybe it isn't an issue and I'm just being a fandom grandma, worrying too much about the kiddos doing well.

#but really if you're not gonna get your writing beta'd or cant find one #you owe it to yourself AND your readers to spellcheck and proofread (step away from it for a day or so before doing so)#even better if you do those two things and then go to hemmingway editor just to see where some issues might be #long post #i still don't know how to do a cut / read more on mobile #don't know how to find betas or hide my texts on tumblr #remember yesteryear when tumblr was a bit easier to use and you could good conversations with people

6 notes · View notes

basicallyahedgehog · 2 years

Note

I want to ask you all the fic writer asks but I’m on my phone so!! Pick three (3) that you want to answer!! 😍😍 pls and thank youuuuu!! xox

Hello my lovely!!!

I am so terrible at making decisions, so I counted how many emojis there are (35, if anyone is wondering) and stuck them in a random number generator!

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

Ooh. The main thing I'm working on is anon :( But here is a snippet of my "fic to wreck @phoebe-delia"

It was Ginny who got in first, her quidditch-captain’s voice ringing out across the room. “Who is the prettiest person in the school?”

Harry smirked. “Gin, you’re my ride or die, but we all know that the prettiest person is…” He trailed off purposely, teasing his friends by keeping them in suspense. In the light of day he could barely get a word through the permanent lump in his throat. But in the dim common room, his head buzzing with cheap alcohol, he could say anything.

“Malfoy.”

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

I have a few. That moment when Malfoy and Potter become Draco and Harry gets me every time. The little oh moment when one of them realises how they and/or the other one feels. And also when one finds out the trauma the other one has been through, I just always see that as an incredibly soft and vulnerable moment, with lots of hands on cheeks and faces hidden in necks and it turns me into a Georgie puddle.

💌 How do you feel about comments and feedback?

I hoard them like a little dragon. Do hedgehogs hoard things? I go all soft and gooey and can't function for a few minutes every time I get a comment on a fic. I'm not super confident in my own writing, so it genuinely surprises me every time I get a comment and I feel like a child with a new toy.

I love feedback, when it is given from people I trust and I have asked to provide it. As much as I love comments, that's not where I want to get feedback from. But from my beta readers, or from close friends who I know are only there to help me become a better writer, then I love to get feedback.

Send me emojis to ask me things!

#ask games #ask me anything #this was fun

6 notes · View notes

lvnatiq · 3 years

Text

Random Relationship Headcanons | Felix Escellun x gn!reader

a/n: Hey ! On todays menu I am serving you modern au relationship headcanons. I know for a fact that I can’t write headcanons AT ALL yet here we are, out of spite I will keep trying until I can manage to write good shit. I’m going through a chaotic time in my life so please be patient with me 😭

I’m currently working on tattoo artist! reader x Felix headcanons and college!enemies to lovers one-shot. Knowing that Felix’s fav trope is enemies to lovers, I will post it hopefully before his new chapter drops. I used most of the hcs that were sent to me but if you couldn’t see yours, then it will probably be used on the other works.

No beta we die like men.

warnings: curse words, nsfw under the cut, random sage moments, felix being a ‘the neighborhood’ song basically.

You persuade him to start an Instagram account, and because of his family's popularity, he quickly gains followers. His account is practically empty because he would rather spend his time stalking your account on Instagram. You noticed the emptiness and wanted to take him out and take some photos for his account, which turned out amazingly. He is a little camera shy, so be patient with him.

You like to watch him apply his eyeliner but he finds it so stressing to do under your gaze. He used to be able to do it easily, but it has now become one of his most difficult tasks. You wanted to ask for his assistance in applying eyeliner to you in the hopes of making it simpler for him; he agreed but quickly regretted it when he realized how near your faces would be. You with your eyes closed, waiting for him to drag the line as he was only thinking about how bad he wanted to kiss you.

Felix has a Polaroid of you and stella in his wallet I said what I said.

When it comes to himself, he can be a pessimist, but when it comes to you, he is the most loving and positive boyfriend you could ever ask for. You have a dream ? He is ready to help you achieve it. Do you want to change in your life ? Go for it, He’s more excited than you are.

He can be quite insecure at times when it comes to your relationship because he feels like you deserve the world but the world is too big for his tiny hands. Will his cuddles be enough ? God he hopes so.

He almost cried when you told him you loved him for the first time. He's also baffled as to how you might feel the same way about him.

Drunk Felix is really clingy and honest. Whatever he can’t say sober drunk felix can and definitely will.

“May the stars let my death be between your glorious thighs amen-“ “Felix-”

Felix is weird but it add to his charm. It’s not unusual for you to wake up in the middle of the night and find the pillow besides yours empty. In the dead of night, you will find Felix munching on some weird ass food combinations.

He also has a habit of doing things that are extremely adorable without even noticing it. Like walking around the house in his oversized shirts, his hand clutching at the cuffs whilst the other one sheepishly rubs his eye.

“Can I lay on your lap ? I promise I won’t fall asleep. I just need to rest for a little.” His voice is so soft and hushed. “Of course, come here.” He throws himself onto you as he comes hopping on his tip toes.

He falls asleep on his desk too often, so you have to carry him back to his room, where he snuggles against you while you lead him there. Once he's in his room, he insists that you stay with him, so you wait until he falls asleep as you play with his hair, and he wakes up thinking it was all a dream.

I firmly believe that Felix’s love language is acts of service. Like making you coffee and bringing you random snacks as you work or wrapping you up in fluffy blankets whenever he catches you slacking on the couch.

He's been romanticizing anything and everything since he met you. When he sees beautiful flowers, he wants to bring them to you, but he also believes that their beauty stems from the fact that they are alive, so he argues and stresses a lot when deciding what to do in simple situations like these.

His edginess belongs to his impulsiveness and his style only at any other situation he's a complete softboy.

And I'm certain he knows a variety of card tricks. He enjoys showing off, and he enjoys it even more when you become fascinated and beg him to share the trick.

If you're a morning person, you'll probably spend your mornings alone in solitude, finishing work before the day begins, but if you're a night owl, you and Felix will go out for night walks and Felix would go out for night walks, sharing headphones to play some music, enjoy each others presence and develop a habit of watching the sunrise together.

Felix makes you playlists at the most random times and with the most random names. Until one day he sent you a playlist at around 4 a.m called “you”, filled with his favorite music. He usually sees music as a safe space for himself and now that you are his safe place too it’s only appropriate for him to do so. This only further proves how he spends his time thinking about you.

I feel like Felix would have what most would call "attachment issues" but it’s mainly because of his protective tendencies. This is not to say that he’s this "overly jealous toxic" character; rather, he has never had anyone to truly call his own in his entire life so he would do anything to protect it.

Felix is also big on astrology, so if you want the perfect birth chart, he'll give it to you. Also he owns a lovely deck of tarot cards, and if you ask him for a love reading, he can't manage to keep his words and feelings to himself so he modifies your reading according to him and his desires. Let the boy abuse his powers for the sake of love.

His style could be described as dark academia, his wardrobe mainly consists of dark colors, lots and lots of blazers and a lot of oversized shirts. He also loves jewelry so he owns a lot of rings and chains. Just so you know, if you're wearing any of his rings, his heart is doing cartwheels.

Is it obvious that he loves it when you place your hand in his and play with his rings with your fingertips.

Spoil him. Buy him that baby blue hoodie with cat ears.

“Ah, you look adorable.” “Isn’t it a bit too b-big ?” “You could say that. Do you mind ?” “No, I like it that way.” “I would know.” You smirk followed by felix’s gasp. “If you so desperately wanted a cat boy you know you have me right ?” Nudging your shoulder, Sage leapt into the conversation. “What is he talking about ?” Felix grumbled, only to notice two fuzzy triangular fabrics on top of his head as he brushed his fingertips over it.

He’s obsessed with your hands, kissing your knuckles, drawing circles in your palm. At a certain point it became an involuntary gesture he does it quite often without realizing.

He’s also canonically extremely blushy but he would never admit it. You’re convinced he uses some sort of make up because it is not possible for the pink dusting his cheeks to look this good.

He insists that you’re cold even in the warmest weathers because he wants to see you in his coat.

Sage forces Felix to take his thirst trap Tiktoks.

He really appreciates it when you add to his herbal tea collection without him noticing and he considers it a sign of affection because he takes his tea very seriously.

He loses it when you call him baby he gets flustered and frustrated but it’s all because it rolls off of your tongue so nicely that he can’t get enough of it.

Felix owns a broad collection of scented lip balms some of them are tinted. You didn’t hear this from me.

He never once took anything the Sage says seriously until he saw how well you two got along. He never thought that he would be standing there taking relationship and flirting advice from the frat boy.

Felix is a complete asshole when he wants to. He’s very verbal about it too. Consistent sarcastic remarks and eye rolls. I mean it runs in his blood, look at Escell.

You love it when he suddenly whips out the confident Felix, it’s not a daily occurrence you know.

When Felix is concentrated, he’s lost and there’s almost no way you or anything else can distract him. So it’s time to grab some colorful hair clips and ties to fuck around with his hair.

Felix is not the best at verbally expressing his gratitude towards you. He doesn’t know what he would do if you weren’t there for him at the lowest points of his life where normally he would close himself and bare the weight of his family problems and personal life issues that he can’t seem to get out of. Now he has you, someone who’s willing to listen to him and offer him a warm embrace when he needs the most.

While you to play games together, when he wins he wears that iconic shit eating grin of his with pride looking at you through the corner of his eye. “Shit, what do you want me to say to that felix ? Perhaps I should call you master now that you won ‘one’ fucking round.” He is praying that the screen light is covering the fact that he is a blushy mess after hearing you say that.

NSFW

I cannot stress this enough but he is extremely vocal in bed. Whining, trying to restrict himself from making too much noise but failing miserably.

Muffled pants, choked sobs and lots of pleasure infused tears.

He loves getting praised during sex but what he loves more is to get praised after it’s all over. Like you telling him how great he was, how well he behaved, how good he made you feel. He experiences sub drops a lot so please assure him that he did well :(

He’s into power-play but not in a submissive or dominant kind of relationship, it’s more of a psychological thing where the fact that he can see how good he makes you feel gives him a rush of confidence and adrenaline.

I believe that this motherfucker is a masochist, pain makes him more excited than getting an update on his favorite author who went on a year long hiatus and that is saying a lot.

Bite him. Scratch him. It is so stimulating for him he can reach his high just from those actions.

Fuck do anything to his ears bite, lick, pull, blow on it. He is extremely sensitive so anything you do will basically drive him out of his mind. It will most definitely lead to him trembling beneath your fingertips.

You must think that you are the only one who is such a tease but you’re wrong. Felix teases you quite often mostly to direct your attention towards him or to keep your attention on him. He’s quite greedy when it comes to you and your hands on his body. Unbuttoning unnecessary amount of buttons on his shirt to show a little skin that he knows you’ll notice. Playing with his necklace placing the chain between his lips dragging it towards the inside of his bottom lip teasing the metallic charm with the tip of his tongue. He definitely ain’t oblivious he knows exactly what he’s doing and he makes sure that you know exactly what he’s doing.

When he’s in the mood he will tug the hem of your top meanwhile his eyes are glued to the floor or graze the temples of his glasses between his lips, his teeth lightly nibbling the pointy edge. He loves to play dumb too. When you question him, he acts like he doesn’t intend anything and that you need to get your head out of the gutter.

At the end of the session Felix looks divine. Drool leaking down from his bottom lip to his jaw line towards his neck, his bangs sticking on his sweat coated forehead, his chest rising up and down quickly. His eyes rolled at the back of his head, his hands still clutching tightly to the sheets. Faint whimpers and deep breaths filling the air.

Leading up to the after care, his shy self returns. He buries his face to your chest hiding his blushy cheeks beneath the palms of his hands.

He likes to experiment a lot and you are his favorite subject.

It shouldn’t be surprising to find random kink definitions or role-play ideas on the search history of your laptop. After all Felix just asked for it to write an email, that’s all there is to it. That’s until you offer to try them out.

He doesn’t act upon his jealousy, what he does instead is that leaving marks on you especially around your neck and your chest where he knows it will show. Don’t cover them up if you don’t wanna deal with him.

“People just don’t appreciate art anymore.” “Felix these are, hickeys.” “Oh so now you are judging my art medium ?” “Since when proving Sage that I got railed by you is a form of art ?”

I didn’t see anyone point this out but whenever he is in the sub space he tends to be more on the bratty side. He starts of shy but his confidence builds up as the tension rises. Meaning that you should be ready to get your patience tested.

When you two are in separate places your suggestive words and tone leads up to phone sex, which Felix secretly fantasized about a lot. What made everything even more dirty was the fact that you didn’t know that he was laying on your bed surrounded by your scent and humping your pillow. Once you come back home you are greeted with a fresh pair of sheets on your bed. Apparently Felix decided to do you a favor and clean your room as well as the the whole house. He’s crossing fingers that you don’t notice because he knows that he’ll never hear the end of it.

Felix knows a lot about sex but his knowledge is based upon fiction rather than experience. So, naturally, he is more interested about learning specifically how your body responds to certain actions, what you enjoy and what you’re interested in so teach him. He’s a good student and oh well he’s a quick learner.

Pull his hair pull his hair put his hair pull his hair pull his hair pull his hair pull his hair pull his hair.

When he settles between your legs as he ties his hair, he places the hairband between his lips and looks up at you with half lidded eyes. It’s his definition of torture.

Even though he doesn’t give off that vibe, he is very freaky if you would’ve known what his AO3 tags consisted of you would agree.

Tag list is open

#felix escellun #felix #fictif felix #last legacy #fictif #fictif last legacy #nyx hydra #felix escellun x reader #felix x reader #mc #felix fictif

325 notes · View notes

imonthinice · 3 years

Text

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 2/?

Word Count: 2k

Author’s Note: Y/N - your name, A/N - any name (your best friend’s name)

Warnings: Swearing, no beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

Welcome Back! I have, once again, written more of Jason Todd because he’s a fucking teddy bear and I love him.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

Y/N and Jason both returned from that date feeling all giddy about each other, but trying their dammed-est to not let their hopes get too high about the other. However, that was extremely, extremely hard for Jason to do with family like Dick in his life. It’s like coming home to a hopeless romantic of a shipper as a nosey bitch. Lovingly, of course. No one’s like Dick.

“So, Y/N?” Dick asked Jason immediately as he entered the Manor.

“Yeah, what about her?”

“So, many questions: Was that a date? If no, will there be a date? Is there going to be a second date? Do you like her? Do you think we’ll like her? Does she know you’re Bruce Wayne’s son?” Dick rambled at his little brother.

“Okay hold on god damn, yes it was a date, yes there will be a second, yeah I think she’s cool and I like her, slow your roll Circus Boy, I don’t know when she’ll meet you lot, I don’t think she knows who I am, she’s from Metropolis, so I don’t think she knows the Waynes well.” Jason answered Dick with confidence.

“So you like her!” Steph mocked as she entered the hallway, probably heard her brothers talking about Y/N, so she wanted in on it. Somehow she had evaded Jason’s gaze though, so she startled him immensely.

“Jeez, how many of you will scare me today? And yeah, dumbass, I like her. But I’m doing this magical thing called ‘Not getting my god damn hopes up about her since it’s only the first date’ you hopeless romantic fucks.” Jason barked at them.

“Yeah, but you love us.” Dick said.

“That might be true, but your meddling is only going to cause chaos, Dick and Steph.”

“What about my meddling, Jay?” Bruce asked. Once again, he had heard the talking about Jason’s new crush and decided he’d parent the boy on his girl. Jason jumped out of his skin, because, he had once again, not seen Bruce enter the hallway despite his best efforts to not get startled again.

“You, are going to give me a heart attack.”

“Looks like this girl let your guard down.”

“Can we just go on patrol and stop badgering me?” Jason muttered under his breath.

“Nope!” Barbara exclaimed. Clearly, there’s a pattern with Waynes escaping Jason’s attempts to not get startled today, “We’re still going to badger you, Jay,” Barbara finished.

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

When Y/N made her way back to A/N, she couldn’t help but turn her radio as loud as she could and try to take the longer journey back home. Pieces of quiet and tranquility always surprised and drew her in. Like a good book on a Sunday morning before the rest of the bustling city of Gotham or Metropolis awoke itself. If New York never sleeps, she thought, then what the hell do Gotham and Metropolis call themselves. She laughed.

There were a few good things about Gotham, like the people you’d meet on the street at 4am were some of the weirdest but kindest people you’d ever know. It’s like the city radiated off of the energy of the people in it, and in spite of the villains constantly hitting the city with their worst, somehow everyone never let it get to them. It was admirable. Metropolis was the same in that avenue, but it didn’t feel like the cold Gotham streets.

Y/N thought Jason was one of the kinder people she had met in her travels and classes. And she never thought that she’d meet someone she liked this much in her criminal psychology class of all places, but hey, the universe had different pen strokes for her.

She went and parked her car in the driveway of the rental house she and A/N shared. Only the two of them shared it, but if either of them lost their jobs, they’d be looking for another roommate immediately. Pulling out her bag which was full of notes written by Jason, the original notes written by her, and binders upon binders of criminal cases she was looking into at the time, she would get out of her car and begin walking to her door.

Of course, like most people, she would kick off her heels the minute she walked through the doors of the house, to which, A/N paused her music and went to go question Y/N about Jason.

“So, you know how this works, babes, lay it on me, how’s hottie? Is he kind?” A/N pondered.

“He’s so kind, he paid the printing fees for my notes and rewrote all of them, I guess it’s a system for us now. I write the notes in class while he tries to take it all in, we meet up, and he rewrites them all and pays the printing fee.”

“He paid the fee?! At that college?” A/N said, completely shocked.

“Is that shocking?”

“Well, the printing fees are so fucking expensive, hun. Mans must have daddy’s money to do that.”

“Really? Well regardless money doesn’t matter, he’s kind and I can make a name for myself if I graduate at the top of my class.” She said, fully believing this. Smart woman. She knew she could do it.

“I believe in you, do you have homework tonight? I can make dinner for you so you can study.” A/N offered.

“Nah, I’m just going to go file my notes and shower, I’ll come join you and help after.”

“Well, don’t drown.” A/N joked.

“Do you know how much effort that would take?” She laughed as she walked towards her room, once she got there she pulled out her papers and began the slow filing process of them into her desk.

About 2 minutes into this, she got a text:

Hey stranger.

If someone had a heart monitor hooked up to her, they could have bet their last penny on her heart skipping a beat.

Hey Jason. She sent back.

I had a fun time today with you, do you want to do the same thing tomorrow, I could use your fast writing skills to get by in classes. And I just like talking to you. What do you say?

She thought. Maybe something legit is here, hopefully I’m not just used for notes. She worried about that, since she was just a tad insecure about him. He was pretty. She knew she was a looker, sure. But he was something more.

I would love to go on another budget date with you.

Budget? Actually yeah, I guess it is budget lol. Maybe next time I’ll actually take you out to lunch like I said I would.

I, honestly, completely forgot you said you’d take me to lunch, I was just having fun as we were talking.

Me too. You’re a hoot.

A hoot? That’s a book nerd statement if I’ve ever heard one. She joked. She didn’t actually know if he was a book nerd at this time, but they had been joking the entire time when she was filing her notes. She was no where near done filing her notes, Jason was a distraction from that, it wasn’t that important, she would end up finishing it later. She just liked some semblance of organization so she didn’t have to put it off.

I’ll have you know I’ve probably read more books than you.

Well book nerds are cute.

Eventually the messages from Jason and Y/N started slowing, Y/N assumed he was tired or working so she took her chance to file her notes and start running her shower.

Sorry Y/N, this has been fun but I’m going to get really sparse with replies, I got work to do.

That’s fine! Where do you work, by the way?

And she got into the shower. Halfway through her shower her phone pinged, she assumed Jason was texting back, so when she finished her shower, before she even got her towel on, she decided to answer him:

I work at Wayne Enterprises with my dad. It’s quite fun. He had said.

Oh! I’ve heard the owner of Wayne Enterprises is a lovely man, have you met him? She asked him back.

And within an instant, he answered.

He’s my dad, so yeah.

You’re the Jason Todd? Heir to the Wayne Manor and Wayne Enterprises? She started thinking back on what A/N had said. Yep, she thought, Daddy’s money indeed. She started to slip into her pajamas, which were literally a mess and not put together, because this is the real world, not every girl has matching sets, when he answered:

I hope that doesn’t change much, Y/N.

Explains the camera I saw but didn’t mention, and that’s about it.

You saw the cameras? Damn it. I tried to shield you, they may have pictured us together, sorry.

Worth it for a lovely date. I’ve seen worse, my mum works with Clark Kent, who I guess you probably know since he’s Bruce’s best friend, and the paparazzi loves to take Clark’s picture.

Oh yeah, Uncle Clark. Yeah, the pap love him. You get used to it. I guess you somewhat know my family lol.

Nah, that’s about all I know. Wasn’t really interested in drama about you lot because it’s just not my business. Probably not a shared ideal with the general public.

She finished getting dressed and went to go cook with A/N, and share the news.

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

“Girl! You were right about daddy’s money oh my god,” Y/N said when she entered the kitchen.

“Go on,” A/N urged.

“You know Jason Todd? Guess what. That’s hottie from Crim Psych 101.”

“Are you serious? That’s insane. You’re probably plastered across the internet right now for that date,” A/N laughed, “are you scared to date a famous man?” She asked.

“No, he’s really sweet and if this gets serious, I can just block out the flashes.”

The two of them laughed and started cooking. A/N was Latina, so, of course, she was in charge to cook most nights. But Y/N made killer desserts and pizza. Tonight was fajitas, so Y/N kind of sat bat and let A/N do her thing. Trying to know more so one day A/N wouldn’t have to do all the work, Y/N went onto the internet and the first thing she saw?

Globally Revered Son of a Millionaire, Jason Todd, out on a DATE with a Mystery Girl?

Like clockwork, Jason answered:

I guess I have a lot to teach you, and I hope you haven’t been on the internet recently.

I have. Globally Revered Son of a Millionaire. She texted back.

Fuck those damn tabloids. He said, she couldn’t help but agree, the paparazzi seem like they’re very invested in stories that aren’t theirs to tell.

Can’t agree with you more. We should put on a show for them tomorrow, actually give them something to write about.

I like your thinking.

You’ve opened up a lot today.

Is it your turn now?

What do you want to know? You asked him before turning to A/N.

“Tabloids talk too much,” you sneered at her.

“Cat should get their tongue and choke on it,” she finished, “did you at least look cute in their pics?” she asked.

“Somehow. Wasn’t even posing,” Y/N finished.

“Well, food’s done, are you still hungry?”

“Always.”

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

Jason turned to his brother, Dick, Nightwing, and said,

“She knows now.”

“That you’re rich?” he asked.

“Yeah, I guess I have to be more wary of her now,” he sighed, “I hope she’s not in it for the Wayne fortune.”

“Doubt she is if she agreed the tabloids can suck it, Red Hood.”

“I pray you’re right.”

He then drew his guns and fired at the ground underneath their laest venture into crime-fighting. This was gonna be one hell of a ride Y/N embarked on, not even knowing what she was getting into.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x fem!reader #red hood x y/n #red hood x you #batfam #batfamily #batbros #jason todd fluff #red hood fluff #dcu #dc #dceu

78 notes · View notes

alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom · 3 years

Text

GREY HEAVENS (F/F)

@deans-ch-ch-cherrypie ie was one of the first I met here and I’m so proud of her. This beautiful and always jealous (oh lord, she is super jealous) person reached 500 followers and of course I (tried) had to write a fic. I know Cherrypie, I said this is a Hvitserk x Ariel fic, but I love Ivar too much, I just can’t ignore him, oops sorry. Te amo odiosa!

Pairing: Hvitserk x Ariel x Ivar

Warnings: F/F smut, fingering, oral, voyeurism

Words: 1726

Thank you to my amazing beta reader @quantumlocked310 for making my sentences sound good, helping me with the moodboard and always motivating me! The idea for the name of this fic is btw from my honey @jadelynlace, because I have no patience to think about an appropriate name and her titles are outstanding.

a/n:. This fandom needs more F/F so I took my chance to write one. This is also a call to those who write F/F Vikings fics -> tag me!

Forget everything you know about Ariel, because the only thing my Ariel and the Disney Ariel have in common is the red hair.

Summary: A Mermaid is the last chance Hvitserk has to revive Lagertha.

Tags: @xbellaxcarolinax @pomegranates-and-blood @heavenly1927 @walkxthexmoon @punkrocknpearls @mrsalwayswrite @grimeundglow

If you ever find her then speak cautiously, she is mightier than the sea and gentler than the breeze.

The seer warned Hvitserk; mermaids don't like humans. Also, Aslaug taught him not to talk about mermaids since he was a child. The fear that these beings might hear was too big. They pull men into the bottom of the sea and let their ships sink. Their voices intoxicate the mind and manipulate humans. Their beauty dazzles men and makes it easy to underestimate them. They can hide but are still visible for those who are meant to see them.

He rode days and weeks to the far north of Norway, where the sea is wild and high waves crash against the huge rocks, far away from all the villages. Where there are almost no animals to eat and fish are difficult to catch. He could easily die, but it was the last chance Hvitserk had to revive Lagertha.

~~·······~~

Evening dawned and he gathered wood to prepare the fireplace for the night. A few faint fire sparks flew away in the slight wind when he ground two stones together to start the fire.

"With so little wood you won't survive more than two hours" Someone complained behind him.

Hvitserk hastily picked up his axe and turned around to see who that was. Almost nobody knew why he left Kattegat. Every day he thought about how he killed the most famous shield maiden. The wisest witches and healers tried to bring her back. Daily sacrifices and even Hvitserk himself gave his blood in the attempt to revive her, but none of this was successful.

“Ivar?” He dropped the axe. “What are you doing here? Tell me, who sent you, huh?” He grinned.

“Brother, I am Ivar the Boneless, if this half fish is really more powerful than me then I have to see her.” Ivar didn't want to rely on the rumors.

“I don’t want to be a mermaid’s meal, so be kind Ivar.”

“I doubt we will find her, them, it, whatever” Ivar was quite unimpressed by Hvitserk’s enthusiasm. He was just looking forward to the little trip through Norway’s landscapes.

~~·······~~

They walked an extensive white sand beach in search of mussels whenthey heard stones rolling and humming high voices coming out of a big cave.

The sun shone through a big hole in the cave’s ceiling and illuminated two women laying on one another. They quietly tried to climb over the slippery stones in the entrance of the cavern to get closer.

The pureness of their naked bodies, never touched by a man, sliding against each other. Their bright silver-colored skins, glistening in the sunlight like sea pearls. Their wavy hair hid part of their faces. Rose lips sucking on the skin of the red-haired's neck while their thighs pressed around the other’s, spreading their juices over their intertwined legs. Two bodies soft as silk melting together, grinding their pussies and bringing each other to a shared pleasure.

It was silent, only their heavy breathing echoed in the big cave, making the squelching noises of their wetness hush. Their bodies harmonized and embraced; they took their time to satisfy each other without showing dominance.

She shivered at the feeling of the blue-haired’s teeth raking along the flesh of her throat. She was enticed by the way her tongue swirls and swipes the mounds of her chest, tasting the salty valley between her plump breasts. Addicted to the sight of her hips thrusting against her own, feeling the heat that wracked their entire bodies.

One hand roamed down the shape of her body and groped her ass. The blue-haired lifted her partner’s right leg and placed it over her shoulder, exposing her fully. She licked two fingers on her right hand and trailed them down over the red-haired thigh until she reached her cunt.

The red-haired pressed her beloved closer, having only a moment to breathe out before she delved her wet fingers inside her lover’s dripping walls. She stroked deeper, harder and faster; all the while nibbling the soft skin behind her earlobe. She pulled her fingers out and teased her entrance. Her tongue swirled over her lip, before she thrusted her fingers in one move again into her partner’s throbbing pussy adding one finger to stretch her more.

The red-haired pried her legs open andburied both hands in the other’s blue hair to trail her down, arching her back to catch each kiss she left. She brought her lover’s head between her legs and laid her mouth on her center, replacing her fingers. Her arms wrapped around the red-haired's thighs as her tongue dragged against her warmth, parting her folds to rub against her most sensitive spots. She moaned, savoring the taste of the one beneath her pulsating pussy, not missing a drop of her juices.

When her thumb brushes the smooth skin of her hard nipple, kneading it, the red-haired rewarded it with a melodic moan, a little louder this time. The strands of her red hair fell down from her face as she raised her head, revealing her gorgeous face. Her eyes shut tight and her lips trembled, before they spread in a euphoric moan with every slam of her thighs onto the blue-haired cheeks. She bucked her hips nearly throwing the blue-haired off her lap. Her hands looking for something to grip onto, settling them on blue locks. Seeing the lust-filled gaze of her beautiful girl tensed her body. Her end was near, the one above her flicked her tongue at a fast pace, curling it over clit once, twice until her body exploded in satisfaction, coating her mouth with her juices.

The shameless string of moans woke Hvitserk up from his trance.

“Do you think they are mermaids? Real mermaids?”

Ivar didn’t answer. Hvitserk hit him with his elbow, but h was totally obsessed from their magnet-like aura.

“Hey Ivar” He tried to get his attention again.

“What?!” Ivar finally could avert his gaze from them.

“I asked, if you think that these are mermaids?”

“Of course they are! Did you ever see a woman being so divine?!” It was obvious to him.

They heard a loud noise of something heavy dropping into the water but when they looked back to the place they were laying, both were gone.

“You idiot! See what you did, you should learn to speak more-”

“Mermaid! I can see you!” The mermaid’s colored hair reflected in the water. “Come out here! We don’t want to kill you!” Ivar ignored his brother and crawled over the slippery stones in their direction.

The red-haired rose confident out of the water presenting herself. Waterdrops covered her pale and shimmering skin. She titled her head to one side, focusing the two foreign men with her green eyes, without blinking.

“Vikings” She broke the intriguing silence. The way this word rolled of her tongue was tantalizing.

“We didn’t want to...uhm… “ Hvitserk stuttered ashamed about Ivar’s insolence. “We are looking for someone, a special woman, well she is more than a woman. Her name– “

“Ariel. I knew you would come. You’re here because of Lagertha’s death.” She completed his sentence.

The blue-haired came out from behind the rock and placed herself close to Ariel. Two goddess-like appearances, both the same; tall, hypnotizing them.

“Ariel. Hello Ariel” Ivar smirked, speaking in a seductive tone, scanning her naked body with his glance. “I assume you are the powerful creature Hvitserk needs.” He took a lazy step closer. ”Powerful and beautiful. I have a weakness for woman like you.” He confessed, brushing his lower lip between his teeth.

She approached and her cheek pressing lightly against his. Her damp red hair wet his armor as she leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

“I know who you are Ivar. So let me tell you whoIam.” He closed his eyes to memorize her unique salty smell better. “I am not a woman, I am a mermaid and mermaids don’t need to deal with men. And...don’t you dare to touch me!” Ivar clenched his fist and lowered his hand again.

She leaned back and spoke to the more rational brother. “I can’t help you Hvitserk. I’m sorry you came here in vain.” She wasn’t a talkative creature, especially when she felt used.

“Hey silver skin, where are you going?” Ivar started to treat her rude out of frustration. “We are not done here.” Ivar followed her out of the cave to the beach.

“But the seer told me you can, you can revive people. I didn’t want to kill her, please, it was a mistake.” Hvitserk tried to persuade her from the distance.

“This is my home.” She admired the calm of the ocean. “I can save anyone who gets lost in the heart of the sea, but Lagertha is not there.”

“Hey!” She gasped as Ivar grabbed her arm to hold her back. She immediately closed her eyes and was benumbed.

“No” The blue haired yelled and hissed, pushing Ivar away. He let go of her and Ariel started breathing again. Her eyes opened and even if they hadn’t told her how Lagertha died, she already knew it. She felt what they felt and saw what they saw. There was no secret that remained hidden from her.

“It wasn’t you who killed her, you were deceived Hvitserk. I am unable to overpower a dark might.” Hvitserk bowed his head. “But she’s fine. She is with Ragnar and she forgives you…and you too, Ivar.” Ivar rolled his eyes.

Ariel took her beloved by the hand and both stepped into the little waves. The silver colour of their legs became more luminous and greener the longer they stood in the water.

“Let’s go back to our sisters, my dear. I can hear them calling.” Her long red hair framed the curves from her swaying hips.

“And Ivar- “ She looked over her shoulder “- as long as your heart craves revenge, you will never be able to love.”

The sunlight reflected on her emerald green scales before she disappeared with her dearest in the depth of the sea completely.

Ivar waited a moment longer hoping to see her one last time.

“Ivar, it’s over.” Hvitserk laid his arm on Ivar’s shoulder and pulled him away.

#ivar the boneless #vikings hvitserk #hvitserk ragnarsson #f/f smut #vikings fandom #vikings fanfiction #ivar ragnarsson #cherry pie's 500

86 notes · View notes

hardlystrictlystarwars · 3 years

Text

Your Highness Pt 3 (Commander Wolffe x Princess!Reader)

Masterlist || Tag list || Requests/Prompt sheet || Requests Prologue Pt 1 Pt 2

Commander Wolffe x Princess!Reader, mentions of Rush Clovis x Princess!Reader

While betrothed to another man, another seems to be around more often.

Warnings/Topics: Mentions of death, mentions of alcohol consumption and hangovers // Also not beta read(we die like heros)

A/N: Yay! I’m finally updating this series. This is one of my favorites to write even though it’s not super popular, but so I’m glad to finally get this part out!

Reblogs, comments and shares are always welcomed

“My Highness,” Wolffe greeted you as you exited your bedroom chambers, “How are you feeling this morning?”

You rubbed the temple of your forehead gently, trying to remember where the last eighteen hours had gone, “I’m fine, maybe, just-uh not sure if I’ll stay that way,”

Wolffe chuckled at your response, clearly still remembering much more of the last afternoon you had spent together.

“What are you doing up here?” You asked. Surely he had some “commander-ly” duties that had to be dealt care of. Before you had finally convinced him to join you for lunch in the garden, he had been apparently too busy with his responsibilities to even talk to you for weeks.

“Came here to give you this,” He said handing you his canteen of water, “I thought you might need it after everything yesterday,”

“Ah yes, yesterday,” You nodded, pretending to recall the event, even though you couldn’t remember much, “If you could not tell my mother about yesterday, she, ah wouldn’t understand,”.

By the way you were feeling and Wolffe’s responses to your words, you had enough context to know your mother wouldn’t be happy to find out whatever you had done.

“Of course your highness,” He nodded.

“I um, I need breakfast,” You told him, “Would you like to accompany me?”

Wolffe already knew how this ended this based on your time in the gardens. However, last night after he had made sure you got to your bed safely, General Plo Koon nominated him to be stationed as your personal security detail up until your wedding. He supposed that if he was to take his new position seriously then this would just be one of his duties now, not necessarily an invitation like it had been before.

“Of course Your Highness. Although, I don’t think the kitchen is serving breakfast anymore” He noted, pointing to the closest open window where the sun was already high in the sky and shining down on the gardeners who were picking vegetables for the evening.

“I’m sure I can cook something up then,” You smirked.

~~~~~~

Twenty minutes later in the palace kitchen Wolffe found himself in a miracle situation. It was almost unbelievable that the two of you were still alive and that you hadn’t burned down the palace with your cooking skills. Your only savior really being Wolffe and his cooking skills.

“So I just flip it?” You asked, looking up at him with the spatula in your hand. Still a little unsure about how you were supposed to turn your hotcake in the skillet onto its other side. You had been watching him do it for the last ten minutes after he deemed you a fire hazard to yourself.

“Yes Your Highness, do you want me to show you again?” He asked, with an arched brow. You were honestly lucky that he was even allowing you to hold a spatula.

“No, no, no,” You shook your head confidently, “I think I got it this time,”

~~~~~~

“So how did a commander like you learn how to make Panna cakes?” You asked before taking your first bite, “I thought you said you had no expertises outside of holding a weapon,”

“Well, when you're on missions with limited resources you have to get creative. It also doesn’t help that Sinker can’t be trusted in a kitchen alone,” He shrugged from across the table. One which spanned the entire dining room as it was usually meant to host galas and other royal functions, not those of having a mid-afternoon breakfast because you were hungover.

While he may have edged you out with his cooking skills in the kitchen, you had a lifetime's worth of edicate classes to notice from across the table he was using the wrong fork. In fact he was using the wrong fork and the wrong knife.

“Have you always been this caring for all of your brothers?” You asked, not bothering to correct him about his utensils. Instead you picked up the same utensils he was using out of your place setting to use. It was just breakfast you rationalized, hoping your mother won’t find out about it.

He shook his head before responding, “No,” He sighed, thinking about the Malevolence, “It’s something that came overtime, I had to learn it the hard way,”

“Well I’m sure your troopers are lucky to have you,” You smiled again. Something you always found yourself doing around him, even more so when the two of you were alone.

“Well, when you’re one out of millions clones born with a gun in your hand you have to find ways to set yourself apart,” He shrugged again, “I guess I just gravitate towards cooking because it’s what my brothers needed,”

“What is it like? If you don’t mind me asking,” You started, “Having so many brothers that looks like you?”

While you had a brother with many physical similarities to share, the two of you were raised very differently. He was raised to rule over the planet and conduct himself as a diplomat from his people, you were raised to be royalty, someone taught to entertain and host, but never mediate.

“I guess it’s not very much different to having a brother that doesn’t, just I don’t have to look in the mirror to see what I look like I guess?” He said, not knowing any different from it.

You laughed at his response more that what was probably appropriate for a princess before wiping some of the carbosyrup that accidentally dropped down your chin. Wolffe saw it and immediately thought back to the golden Ryborean gax that looked so similar when trailing down your chin only a day ago.

“But Wolffe, seriously,” You said, trying to retain your composure you had briefly lost, “What is it like have brothers -or well people you can relate to?”

“It’s what it is, it’s all I’ve ever known,”He said, knowing that he and “his kind” were only bred for one purpose, “ Why do you ask?”

“I’m afraid I have found myself in a strange position -quite the opposite of your’s where it seems that I can not relate to anyone,”

You had found yourself in this troubled state ever since your brother had died and you were expected to take the crown once married. While born into royalty, you had never felt akin to the others in the royal court, finding them to be too haughty and patronizing.

Yet, you didn’t know your people either, the ones you were expected to govern in a couple of short weeks. Your planet thrived on the arts, recruiting many people from all over the galaxy with different talents to establish their residency. Yet, hypocritically, you had never even left the planet. You could hardly call your self worldly despite your people being so because the farthest you had gotten was looking up at the stars ever night wondering what could be out there.

And if those thought didn’t make you feel so isolated, there was one last thing that made you feel unsuited to rule more than anything.

“Wolffe, my planet has not seen a queen risen by bloodline in eight generations,” You revealed, “There is no one left alive on my planet to remember when a queen reigned as ruler, what if my people don’t accept me?”

Wolffe nodded like he understood your concern yet his words were in a different tone, “Your highness, (Y/N), if I may say, your people are some of the most loyalest and trusting I have encountered during this war. While I might not agree with where your people stand in this conflict I can only respect and be thankful that they have been arden in accepting my brothers and I here on your planet,”

His words comforted you a little before the doors of the dining room swung open.

“Your Highness!” Your handmaiden, Anida ran in, quickly eyeing that you and Wolffe were the only two in the room. She looked as if she wanted to say more about it but decided not to.

“Yes Anida?” You greeted her.

“The Royal Court has been summed in the throne room,” She said, still out of breath.

“Why?” Wolffe asked, thinking is was a possible security threat. His hand rested on his pistol.

“Your father is expected to pass before sunset so the Court has decided to advance the timetable of your coronation,” She said.

“But that’s impossible,” You shook your head, “I’m not married yet,”

“I know,” Anida acknowledged, “Senator Clovis has been alerted of the change and will be here in two days,”

“Two days?” You asked. You weren’t expecting to see him for another couple of weeks.

Anida nodded, “Your mother expectes you to be married the night he arrives with your coronation following the next day,”

“I’m suppose to be married in two days!”

Tags: @cyaniderainfall @photowizard17 @justanothersadperson93

77 notes · View notes

ecoamerica · 2 months

Text

youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

16K notes · View notes

tangent101 · 3 years

Text

Max Caulfield and Post-Storm PTSD

One thing I find interesting (and have done so myself) is speculating on how broken Max will be in a Post-Storm (either Sacrifice Chloe or Sacrifice Arcadia Bay) setting. While some people (usually those who killed Chloe) like to say "she'd bounce back!" the predominant view is that we have a shattered Max after this who needs a lot of therapy. So I thought I'd unpack this and look at why I look at this this way.

At this point I should add there is potential triggers here. I'll be examining my own PTSD and elements of Max's state of mind that may in fact result in her being in declining mental health in the wake of the events of Life is Strange.

First, let's consider what PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) is, and what causes it. And for this I'm going to start by sharing my own trauma. Because I have PTSD. I gained this after I saw a vehicle go out of control and hit two people and run over two others. The final person was trapped under the vehicle and they had to push the van at an angle to pull him out, do CPR, and... he was dead. Even if EMTs had been right there, he'd not have survived.

I suffer flashbacks thinking of this, though it's gotten better. I will flinch, visualize what happened, and feel nausea. I get tense over this and... well, it's not a happy experience to put it mildly. And I have what is likely a milder case of PTSD. I also developed it despite being in an environment that put me at a lower risk of developing it. And yes, I had minor twinges of PTSD writing this up. Two years ago I probably would have had an actual visualization and anxiety break. So you can get better with therapy and help.

But what specifically is PTSD? According to the website for the National Institute of Mental Health, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) develops in some people who experience shocking or dangerous events, with people who have PTSD feeling stressed or frightened even when they are not in danger. PTSD can occur within 3 months of traumatic events or even have you be fine and then crop up *years* later. And symptoms include flashbacks where you relive the trauma, bad dreams, and frightening thoughts which can disrupt a person's everyday routine.

People with PTSD are easily startled, can feel "on edge," have angry outburst, and have difficulty sleeping. They could go through avoidance of staying away from reminders of the experience and avoiding thoughts or feelings related to the event. Further, cognitive and mood symptoms include problems remembering key features of the event, self-negativity, distorted guilt or blame feelings, and loss of interest in enjoyable activities.

Okay, so how can you avoid PTSD? And how could Max avoid this? Well, factors promoting recovery after trauma include seeking support from friends and family, finding a support group, learning to feel good about your own actions in the face of danger, positive coping strategies, and learning to act and respond effectively even when feeling fear.

And this is the kicker. This is why Max is likely screwed as a result of the events of Life is Strange, especially in a Sacrifice Chloe setting. Because Max blames herself and her time travel for the Storm and all the weird shit that happened. She may very well believe that if she uses time travel for any reason, it will result in the Storm and a lot more people dying. And this will get in the way of being in a healthy environment to avoid PTSD.

First, consider friends and family. Max can't tell them what happened because she has absolutely no proof of what she went through. She can't prove her time travel because if she does then she dooms wherever she is and a lot of people die. (It doesn't matter if this is the case or not, she assumes it is true.) So Max is not going to confide in Warren or Dana or Victoria or anyone. She can't. And she's quite likely going to isolate herself because we have already seen at the start of the game, Max is a bit of a loner who doesn't have many friends.

In fact, her two "friends" are Warren (who she feels threatened by due to his attraction to her, as seen by his inclusion in her Nightmare sequence including learning he doctored photos of her to include himself in the picture, his peeping activities on the second day, and the honestly-creepy "Go Ape" thing), and Kate. Kate is going through her own shit and Max remembers Kate killing herself. Is Max going to unload her own issues on someone going through a lot of shit as well or is she going to swallow her problems so not to trouble her friend? And Warren is someone she feels nervous around and who has engaged in some activities that set up warning flags in her psyche. Further, when she told Warren the truth, he promptly blames her time travel on fucking everything up. In short, she trusted Warren and Warren said "you caused all this destruction." (Even if Max initially blames herself, he reinforces that point of view before Max jumps through the photo to save Chloe.)

Nor can I see her telling her parents. Again, she has no proof. Her parents are overprotective already. If she starts going off on this fanciful tale, are they going to believe her? Or are they going to assume their daughter is cracking and force her into therapy and possibly hospitalize her "for her own good" (and thus she ends up medicated and miserable, having lost her autonomy and agency)? It doesn't matter if they wouldn't as Max will worry this could happen. It is better to never say a thing. So Max internalizes everything. And we already see evidence that Max has done this sort of thing in the past. Max keeps her secrets close to her heart. She never told her parents of the time travel even when she could have had proof. So why tell them after Chloe died?

I have been overcoming my PTSD by revisiting it and working through it. Part of this was guided by therapy. Max would not be in a position to talk about this. And how could she? After all, she didn't find Rachel Amber's body (and we have no proof her body is uncovered in a Sacrifice Chloe setting). She didn't see the Storm. She didn't see most of the incidents. The closest that happened was being in the bathroom when Chloe was shot. And her story of what happened would change from the week that beta-Max was in charge and when Max Prime returned to the timeline. So even if she was talking to a school counselor? She'd quickly learn that her story changed and probably shut up and stop seeing them so not to give away her story.

Remember: Max cannot admit to the time travel because doing so means either killing hundreds of people due to the Storm or being locked away for being crazy because she has no proof.

Next, we have feeling good about her actions. For five days Max had hammered into her skull her actions have consequences. More, those consequences are predominantly bad. Far too often Max has to Rewind to fix things from her actions. If she can't Rewind? That means by acting, she's going to fuck things up. In fact, the fundamental aspect of Sacrifice Chloe states that her action to save Chloe caused all of this destruction. Max is going to second-guess herself constantly.

I mean, if she sees Kate on the roof again at a later point (because women who are the victims of crimes are often blamed by society for the crimes inflicted against them as seen time and time again with how we blame victims of sexual harassment and rape for the crimes committed against them, so of course her church and mother and aunt will continue to blame Kate for what she went through), will Max dare to act? If she does, then she might cause another Storm. She might cause damage. If Kate is on that rooftop again, maybe she was supposed to die. Who does Max think she is by trying to stop Destiny?

So yeah. Max is not going to feel good about her actions. She is going to second-guess herself. She already had that tendency at the start of the game, and Sacrifice Chloe hammers down the truth that action is bad. Better to do nothing and not interact.

We end up with Avoidance. Well, what is the biggest Avoidance? Photography. Max already has a murderer who kidnapped her associated with photography. She remembers being in the Dark Room, being powerless in the face of the man who murdered her Chloe. (Just like she murdered her Chloe. She might not have pulled the trigger, but she caused Chloe's death.) She will see Chloe's death and Rachel's death and her own suffering each time she looks at a camera and remembers Mark Jefferson. More, she knows if she focuses on a photograph she could end up traveling through time and causing the Storm. So she can't even enjoy pictures anymore because they are a threat.

That's not to say that the Sacrifice Chloe setting is all dark and dire. She does have music. She loves music. So if she puts aside the camera she might pick up her guitar and embrace music. (Hannah Telle, Max's VA, once speculated that Max would enter a career in music, probably due partly to her own musical inclinations.) So while she might give up her greatest loves, she might eventually embrace a future in music. I doubt she'd ever play in public but... that might be an outlet for a hurting soul.

Now, I've gone on at length about how dire things are for Max in a Sacrifice Chloe setting, but what about Sacrifice Arcadia Bay? Well, things end up a bit more positive in this setting because she can actually talk about going through some of these things. For instance, Max dug up a body with Chloe. She saw Chloe almost shot by Nathan in the bathroom. She saw Kate attempt suicide (whether or not she stopped it is immaterial to the suicide attempt). She learned that a trusted teacher and mentor was in fact a predator who was kidnapping young women, saw pictures of these crimes, and thus "suffers flashbacks visualizing herself in this setting." She can go to therapy and talk about many things she cannot in a Sacrifice Chloe setting and in doing so she can start to work through elements that could result in PTSD developing.

She can also talk to Chloe about what happened. Chloe knows about the time travel. She knows about almost dying (and Max witnessing Chloe's death multiple times). This gives Max a needed outlet for overcoming her own fears and concerns. But more importantly is this: Chloe is likely to tell Max to face down her fears. Chloe is the person who always pushed Max to try new things. And I honestly cannot see that changing as a result of what they went through.

Max also will learn to feel good about her actions. I mean, she chose Chloe over Arcadia Bay. This is the ultimate action, and while she may feel remorse for those deaths and that destruction... she also knows she saved Chloe and Chloe is by her side. She knows that her actions led to the capture and arrest of Mark Jefferson and saving Victoria Chase's life. Hell, it led to David Madsen (and probably a couple Arcadia Bay police officers) surviving the Storm because they were in the Dark Room at the time of the Storm. Her actions have consequences... and those consequences need not be dire. They can be beneficial.

So the Max of Sacrifice Arcadia Bay has a support group, she has access to therapy and can talk about some of the things she went through, she has someone she loves who believes her, she knows that her actions have benefit, she has someone who urges her to move forward. This isn't to say she won't have PTSD... but she is in a far better environment to overcome this to the point that in Life is Strange 2, we learn (in the Save Chloe timeline) that Max is submitting to galleries and that Chloe is still with her. So she's taking pictures and is in a good place in her life.

Now, what about Chloe? After all, Chloe went through some truly horrific shit herself. Chloe was almost shot by Nathan, she almost got hit by a train, she was threatened by Frank, she dug up the body of a girl she truly cared for, dozens of yards from where she was hanging out regularly, she saw a huge-ass Tornado wipe out her home town and kill her mother... yeah, Chloe's been through some horrific stuff, about as horrific as Max. More, she is in an unhealthy position at the time of the game.

But much of what benefits Max in the Save Chloe timeline also benefits Chloe. She can talk to a therapist. She has Max by her side. She has Max by her side and Max out-and-out chose her over hundreds of people. Joyce chose David over her, and for four years Chloe was in an unsafe environment. Rachel was... Rachel, and she was cheating on Chloe anyway. But Max... Max comes back, she saves her life several times, she helps Chloe time and time again, and at the end she chose Chloe over Arcadia Bay. That is big. That is bigger than big, it is... for once, Chloe was told "you are important." I mean, I'm getting teary-eyed just thinking of how big this is. Chloe has realized just how much Max loves her.

So... Chloe might develop PTSD. She is at risk of it. I think her triggers might similar to Max's - both girls probably will freak over thunderstorms for a while, and both may develop an aversion toward guns... at first I thought they'd differ but really, they'd align fairly well. About the only trigger issue Max would have Chloe doesn't has to do with photography (which is why Chloe is the person who'd help Max overcome any such issues).

#ptsd #post traumatic stress disorder #life is strange #lis #max caulfield #chloe price #max and chloe #sacrifice arcadia bay #sacrifice chloe #mental health

58 notes · View notes

thewickeddevil · 3 years

Text

A Study In Jean Moreau

(tw: mentions of Jean's past, violence, mental health and suicidal thoughts/intention to die. let me know if there's something else)

ok, so, i say all the time that Jean Moreau is my favorite and comfort character in All For The Game (i know. it literally hurts but also brings me joy sometimes) and i would literally kill for that man. so, that said, i think too much about him and, consequently, i have too many hcs about him. on request, i will now do what i'm gonna call A Study In Jean Moreau

(my beta reader and best friend helped me a lot with this. thanks @jostenrun)

i'll start with this quote from one of my kerejean fics (https://archiveofourown.org/works/26146540)

During Jean's first four months at USC and playing with the Trojans, he would always ignore Jeremy and put a frown on his face whenever he was in the same place as him. It obviously wasn't the best of strategies to put distance between himself and all the Jeremy glow, but it looked exactly bad enough to work.

Still, Jeremy was all pompous and charming looks at him, always smiling and being polite even though he received much less in return. It pissed the shit out of Jean.

He was used by the Ravens for many years, treated exactly like the exchange item he had been, just possession and obliged to follow lines and lines of rules too strict even for how he should breathe.

Riko was violent, the Ravens were cruel, the Moriyama family was wrong and he needed to repeat this to himself on a daily basis to be able to just keep going.

Back at the beginning of those days, many times he would fight back until he was taught that it was only worse. Many times he would beg until he realized that it encouraged Riko more than it prevented him. Many times he would cry until he was taught that it was wrong.

He would often bleed.

He would often wish to bleed until there was nothing left in his veins, no thoughts in his brain, no air in his lungs, no words on the tip of his tongue—

And he would often try to do just that on his own.

That was his daily life for a long time. Evermore was what he knew, the Moriyama family was who he belonged to and all of that was for what he served. That was it.

How was he supposed to know back then that suddenly overly nice twenty-eight other people would replace all of that with magnificence?

How was he supposed to know that they wouldn't look at him with disgust whenever he accidentally let a curse in French slip away?

How was he supposed to know that the Trojans had complete freedom within the team, instead of having to walk in pairs like the Ravens?

How was he supposed to know that Jeremy wasn't going to hit him whenever he made a mistake?

Or how would he know that Jeremy never considered anything that he made a mistake?

It was all a very big break from reality and so, so suddenly. Jean felt confused at first. Lost, wrong, out of place, stupid and scared.

And Jeremy was always determined to be the best he could be. Jeremy was safe.

Until Jean felt comfortable, confident, fine, and satisfied. He was someone instead of something and he really felt like that.

i think Jean would take years to relearn how to live instead of surviving. sometimes he would fail at that, but so many failures can only lead to success eventually.

he really didn't want to keep playing exy after everything, he doesn't think exy is good at all and trauma made him hate it, but he needs it because of the deal with Ichirou. fortunately, the Trojans are a team big enough to put him in the background for a while, to give him a little rest. but he knows he can't relax too much

he starts therapy. he needs it badly and it takes time for him to really be able to do it, but Jean was never anything but strong, and when he sees the chance to finally heal he knows that, despite how tired he is, despite how many times he wonders if it's worth it to keep going, he needs to grab that and at least try. just one more time. he never wanted to work for anything in his life because nothing was important before, but now he thinks that maybe things are changing

the Trojans get a dorm exclusively for him at first, because they don't want Jean to force himself to share space with someone he doesn't know and still doesn't trust. they want Jean to have his own space and feel safe before anything. he needs that solitude and he knows that it doesn't mean loneliness because his team will always be just a call away from him

he relapses sometimes. days without taking basic care of himself and without getting up from bed, and he no longer remembers whether he’s alive or not. sometimes he's able to call his therapist when that happens, but sometimes he isn't

this is how he gets into the habit of learning poetry. and eventually, writing poetry. he needs a coping mechanism and words seem to be safe enough to float around in his mind and make space in his core

(French poetry that Kevin always dissects for him and tells about the history behind the period in which those texts were written, or about the authors of each text)

the process is slow but it’s progress nonetheless

so, we know about therapy, about not being easy, about difficulties and things happening slowly during the healing process, now let's talk about the little details when things finally start to work out positively. when the best part of Jean's life finally begins

he finds out that his eyesight isn't bad only because of the beatings he took in the nest, and finds it ridiculous when Jeremy offers to help him buy glasses because, according to him, all the glasses Jean likes make him look like a middle-aged man that curses people for fun. Jean doesn't hate it though

Jean learns how to swim and likes it more than he thought he would. he likes the fluidity and movements of the liquid around his skin, how he cuts the water with his body when moving around and how it doesn't hurt him, and he just feels light

Jean likes nutella and chocolate with nuts, because Jeremy used to give it to him after nightmares or difficult days, and it became a comfort food for him (something he wasn’t even allowed to eat in the nest)

Jean's musical taste is a big mess of R&B, soul, pop art, folk, dark pop... he likes artists like Lorde, Aurora, Marina, Sigrid, Sleeping at last and the list goes on

Before he left France, Jean's family had a farm and he was responsible for harvesting fruits and vegetables there. this is one of the last memories he has about France, so he likes to harvest fruits and vegetables whenever he has the chance in the US

Jean loves to read fantasy books. he is a hufflepuff and part of cabin 6 in camp half-blood (children of Athena)

he likes geography. pedology, topography and weather are his favorites. he likes to look at the sky and know how to name climatic phenomena regardless of where in the world he is

(he also likes history and sociology, but only because he can hear Kevin and Jeremy — respectively — talking for hours and hours about those two subjects)

he hates biology

he absolutely hates croissants, tea and coffee. in the morning he always drinks juice or chocolate milk (the latter is Jeremy's fault)

the first time he willingly got wasted on alcohol, he, Sarah and Laila woke Jeremy up in the wee hours of the night while singing in Spanish (Jean barely knows Spanish). he passed out after that and woke up the next day in his room. his first thought was that he was fine even though he lost control of himself around other people, and he cried because of that. Jeremy was concerned because he thought he was crying from a headache or something related to a hangover

Jean can never find shoes his size in conventional stores because he's very big (fucking tall, muscular but not too much, with large shoulders and hips, and eventually a tummy) and, consequently, his feet are also big. he needs to have it personalized and he completely hates it

he loves dogs but is easily scared by them. he couldn't get out of the dorms for almost an entire day after Jeremy's mom's dog barked too loud and it scared Jean. he felt guilty and didn't want people to be mad at him for being so scared of a simple dog

he loves cats though, and after some time into therapy, he adopted a service cat. Kevin and Jeremy always joke about it looking like a replica of Jean himself

Jean doesn't understand the purpose of MMA competitions, because he doesn't like violence and thinks martial arts should be only for self-defense, so he doesn't really understand why people choose to compete over something so aggressive

he also doesn't like the violence in exy, but he forgives because, at least, violence is not the main goal of the sport, but to score points

he learns to draw and starts to open art commissions on the internet. this is his first job and he's proud of it because it was something he achieved by himself

Jean and Jeremy fell in love on the beach

Kevin and Jean take time to forgive each other, especially Jean. the broken heart Kevin left in Jean hurt more than being abandoned by his parents. he suffered from it for years but he didn't really want to blame Kevin. he also knew Riko, after all. he knew how capable of driving someone insane Riko was. it didn't make things easier or less painful though. Kevin and Jean took time, but they never loved each other less

Kevin and Jean fell in love for the second time (the time they could, the time they were allowed) after one of the matches in which their teams were rivals

Jean is very picky for food consistency, and he hates ketchup and mayonnaise for that. he insists all the time that if people knew how to season the food well, they wouldn't need those condiments

(he secretly loves Dijon Mustard though)

Jean was born on 08/31. he’s a virgo

plushies are the first resource that Jean uses when he feels alone but is unable to be around anyone at the moment, so he unconsciously starts making a collection of them. they're all small, except for two that Kevin and Jeremy gave him and are, respectively, a fox and a red and gold trojan. he eventually distributes his plushies to children in local orphanages but keeps those two to himself out of sheer emotional attachment

he doesn't stop suffering because of his trauma throughout his life, but he learns to deal with it. that's the point of everything. he never thinks he will magically forget or get over it, but now he is in a different place in his life and he can start working his way to be the best version of himself he can. he doesn't fool himself into thinking it will be easy and fast, he never thought it would be less difficult than it really was, but he takes things slowly and carefully and hopes it works

his entire healing process is too complex and extensive to explain everything here, but i did the best i could and now i really need to stop because i could stay here ranting for days. xx

#Jean Moreau #all for the game #aftg #the foxhole court #the raven king #the king's men #Jeremy Knox #Kevin Day #USC Trojans #Healing #i love him too much for my own good #this man deserves the whole world and i'll stand for that #Kerejean #Jerejean #Kevjean

82 notes · View notes

halinski · 4 years

Text

Red Light, Green Light

I lost the original ask when I tried to post the other day but thankfully I had this saved! Thank you to the anon who sent this!! It was a great challenge and obviously it took me a long while (so I hope you’re still around!) but I’m actually quite happy with it :D I might finally be gaining some confidence with writing hehe lots of thanks to @kcfriedchicken for always putting up with me and cheering me on, and also to @livinginfictions for the thorough beta!! <3

[Read on AO3]

Derek blinked lazily at the clock on Stiles' desk, wishing he could close his eyes and keep dozing, pretend he hadn't seen how late it was getting because that meant putting an end to this. But...an alpha missing out or being late to his own pack meeting would not do. Especially if he popped up around the same time as Stiles, both of them smelling distinctly of each other.

No. This...whatever it was—well, relationship, yes, in a way—it was just theirs for now. Stiles’ and his. They hadn't put a name to it, mostly because Derek feared to bestow a cursed title upon Stiles. Connections like this generally ended badly. But this was something that was just theirs, safe and secure behind four walls, or car doors. For now.

Another minute ticked by, striking Derek's ears, drawing attention to the impatient little black hands, swinging further on and on, tempting Derek to dig his claws into the plastic and tear it apart, as if that would eradicate the concept of time so that he could continue to lie here with Stiles on his shoulder. If that was all his life consisted of from this day forward, Derek wouldn't mind. He'd always seen himself bleeding to death at the hands of an enemy, enduring inexplicable pain but now...

He could spend eternity here in Stiles' room, on his tiny bed, and not be bothered at all, or alternatively, and more realistically, die happy on the spot in a good way.

He was half tempted to go public with their...relationship but it also made the fear of vulnerability stir inside his chest. It was one thing to have Stiles see his cracks and edges: to let him soothe them like balm in privacy, but revealing this thing with Stiles would mean letting the rest of the world know about his weakness. He knew the pack didn't mean him any harm, and yet...

Derek was working on giving the softness inside him space. It was a work in progress.

He sighed, another tick and tock of a minute having gone by, the planned event creeping closer. Stiles snuffled against Derek's shoulder at the sound, rubbing his scent into the worn grey shirt. His arm re-adjusted around Derek's torso.

"If you keep up with that all my shirts are gonna be shoulder free - but only on the right side," Derek said, amused and hell, proud even, at how quickly so many wolf-like behaviors had grown on Stiles; faster than anyone else in the pack, when he wasn't even a wolf. It spoke volumes of Stiles' understanding. Sure, he had been tactile from the start, searching for contact, and Derek had seen the hugs and shoulder pats he shared with his dad but this...it just felt right.

Derek was glad the human's eyes were closed because the smirk he was wearing may have been closer to a smile, and he didn't dare encourage Stiles’ ideas further. If he gave his cheesy thoughts too much room he would ruin their balanced give and take. They both found a necessary challenge in the other. Derek couldn't just surrender.

"You can buy new ones," Stiles mumbled, not caring to lift his head even the slightest bit. "Shit, it's not like you're poor. Don't be stingy. Let a guy enjoy himself."

Derek let out a light snort. "You've enjoyed yourself plenty. It's time we get ready."

Stiles just whined, slightly high pitched and grating, but a wordless communication Derek appreciated, if only for the fact that Stiles didn't necessarily need his words around him anymore. When he didn't want to, which...wasn't very often.

"Come on, let's go," Derek said, giving Stiles' a vigorous little back rub to try and get his system going, after which he managed to pull him up into a sitting position with him.

"This sucks. I'm going to excommunicate from the pack. Both you and me so we never have to deal with any responsibilities ever again," Stiles said, blinking unhappily into the room.

Derek swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, stretching his back. "And then I'll whisk you away and we'll live in a cave like real wolf-men for the rest of our lives," he quipped.

"Exactly!" Stiles exclaimed, a grin splitting his face. "This is why I'm dating you."

"Yeah, yeah. I get it. You only want me because I'm a werewolf." Derek let out a put upon sigh after slipping on his shoes and grabbing his jacket. Stiles joined him then, taking hold of Derek by wrapping his fist in the hem of his shirt.

"Come here, hot wolf-man," Stiles mock-growled, pulling him in. Derek went along easily, lips finding Stiles' blindly and letting himself sink into the warmth. Stiles' hand stroked over his cheek with the tenderness of a sunlit daisy.

God, Derek was a goner.

Derek gently nudged Stiles back, righting his head. Stiles followed his movement with a subtle lick across his lips, pupils all wide and open, as if he had a whole world in there for Derek alone to make his home in. But he couldn't let himself get distracted by Stiles again.

"I'll race you," he blurted out to shake himself out of this delirious high. A challenge: one of the strongest motivators for Stiles. On cue, Derek watched the spark ignite in his eyes.

"I'm listening." Stiles smiled at him defiantly.

"I bet I can make it home, shower and be ready before you are."

"On foot? No way! I'm so going to win this."

"Oh yeah?"

"You're a goner, Hale." Stiles was right about that on one count.

Derek met his gaze with equal glee. He held the moment just for a second longer, fingertips brushing against Stiles' nape. Stiles' pulse jumped beneath his thumb and Derek couldn't put the feelings in his chest into words, nor actions. The most he was capable of was resting his forehead against Stiles', just breathing him in.

Resisting the tangible temptation to give in to Stiles once more, Derek merely parted his lips to whisper, "Go!"

He ripped himself from the human and fled, holding fast to his next objective.

"Hey!" Stiles objected after a heartbeat, but Derek was already out the window.

--------

Stiles screeched into the parking lot, foot on the break and hands pulling the steering wheel for a sharp left. He skidded to a halt next to the familiar figures at the entrance to Derek’s building - he still couldn’t believe his boyfriend had bought a whole building just to maintain his social isolation. Then again, having to listen to your neighbors do literally everything couldn’t be great. It would drive anyone insane. Stiles yanked the emergency break as he parked and left the car running, jumping out in one smooth move.

Isaac could shut it, he was totally smooth.

“You asshole!” Stiles ranted, pointing at Derek in frustration. “You cheated.”

Derek did nothing but smile smugly, eyebrows openly laughing at Stiles.

“I don’t cheat,” he declared, arms crossing over his chest, now wearing a nice bright blue shirt. There was a light, earthy cologne crawling up Stiles' nose as he stood in front of this man of brawn. Stiles knew intimately how solid and strong Derek was beneath that sturdy dark blue top but instead of indulging said train of thought he had to expel it. The pack was probably used to his hormonal responses to Derek but he was supposed to be growing out of that phase.

Thank goodness for strong deodorant, Stiles thought,watching Derek's nostrils flare. He breathed in relief at the small nod that deemed him clean enough. Any lingering scents of each other scrubbed away, and a change of clothes. Dating a werewolf on the down low among other werewolves was a pain in the ass. Especially when assholes like Jackson would sneer and complain about the "ghastly stink" of artificial scents only when it came to Stiles. Naturally, he didn’t dare talk smack about Derek in his presence.

"There's no way. You absolutely cheated," Stiles insisted and jabbed at those abs, just under Derek's elbow, where he knew he was ticklish. Then he bit his tongue lest he let anything incriminating slip and whirled around, grinning to himself at the quiet wheeze behind him.

"You done?” Lydia asked with an audible eye roll. How was it that all of Stiles’ favorite people had perfected that movement?

“Yup!” Stiles declared, making a beeline for Erica to hook his arm into hers. Erica was bound to try to interrogate him about what kind of cheating Derek had done but Stiles was a sheriff’s son, and he had all his evasive techniques down. Of course, Erica had her own theories about him and the alpha, which may or may not have resulted in him confessing to her about his crush. Despite not being able to tell her about any of the developments, he found comfort in the fact that he could be sure she was rooting for them. “C’mon, bestie. Let’s go!”

Stiles didn’t miss the grin Erica sent Derek’s way before they turned and headed up into the loft, making a pit stop at the still running Jeep. The rest of the pack slowly shuffled after them.

--------

Somehow... no matter how organized Derek tried to be before a pack meeting or how sternly he glared and attempted to keep the pack in line, pack meetings always resulted in chaos and headaches. Right now, there was a discussion going on about cats and full moons that weren’t based on any scientific (or supernatural) evidence and Derek couldn't even recall when the conversation shifted.

Even Stiles was getting tired at this point, rubbing his forehead vigorously as he hung over the laptop. Derek hadn't heard him typing for the past 15 minutes and it hadn’t been long after that Stiles had stopped sending sullen looks his way and started stubbornly picking at the permanent stain on the table.

"Okay, let's wrap this up and get something to eat before I start tearing out throats," Derek sighed.

Stiles' laptop snapped shut before Derek finished the sentence.

Boyd smirked. "We haven't heard that one in a while," he commented.

"So, we're done, right?" Lydia declared, already packing up her things and slipping her shoes back on.

"We're done when I say I'm done," Derek said. "Any other questions left?"

Erica raised her arm from her lounged position.

"Yes."

"Are we done?" she asked, without as much a hint of amusement, and Derek was. Derek was 100 percent done trying to deal with these teenagers.

He gave her a long blank stare. Just to prove how much he meant it, before he turned from where he had been pacing and pointed at Stiles.

"Patty's. You're driving."

Then he marched upstairs to his private bathroom, just to buy himself some alone time, hanging out the tiny window and staring out at the tree tops.

He loved his pack, he did. Sometimes it was all a bit much and he needed to breathe, though. He'd been the same even as a kid.

He waited until everyone had made their way into the stairwell before taking a deep breath and following. A small part of him was hoping Stiles would linger behind so they could have a moment but he quickly buried that thought with logic. They would be heard and how could he even already miss Stiles when they had just spent hours together?

Grabbing his jacket, wallet in the pocket, he pulled the door shut and ambled down the stairs. He didn't bother locking it. There was nothing to protect, and Derek made sure to chase off any stupid teens who wanted to screw around and vandalize the place. Any supernaturals wouldn't be bothered by a lock anyway.

The only exception was, of course, when Stiles was around.

Of course, the kids weren't even close to figuring out a seating order by the time he joined them. What did Derek even expect?

But upon approaching the Jeep, he found one seat occupied. The passenger seat. Derek stopped short.

"Erica." Because of course.

Her curls bounced as the young women turned to look and flash a grin at him.

"Derek, hi! Would you look at that, we're matching," she said, shimmying in her own leather jacket, just as black as his, but newer and shinier. Derek wouldn't really say they matched, because Erica was a fashion statement in herself, a force of her own, and Derek was just…wearing a memento because it was comfortable. Whatever.

Derek crossed his arms.

Stiles came over to his side, leaning on him and in toward Erica. Stiles let his fingers tap lightly against Derek's pec. Thank God Stiles had always been reckless with physical contact and there was no sudden change in intimacy that could cause suspicion. Derek just had to make sure he didn't preen too much.

"Eyebrows basically mirrored, matching, with only a slight degree of tilt, I would say maybe like a good… 19%. And then we have a non-flared nose but alert ears and oh, dare I say… that freshly trimmed stubble really drives the point home,which is…Erica, I think you better move," Stiles warned, voice lifting from dramatic broadcaster to a cartoonist sing-song tune.

Derek chose not to acknowledge Stiles, because encouragement would surely only escalate this situation. Either in the manner of Stiles' antics, or instead with the fondness trying to bloom in Derek's chest.

Erica only proceeded to lean further into her seat, eyes flickering between the two of them with a certain glint.

"And why's that?" she challenged.

"Because I say so," Derek muttered.

"And he's the alpha," Stiles finished for him, straightening with pride.

Erica gazed back between the two of them, lips pursuing with evident consideration of pushing further. Then she sighed.

"You know it's really not fair when you gang up on me," she said, but a smile still snuck its way onto her face. She turned towards the middle console and hiked herself up to clamber into the back. Halfway there, she stuck her hands out and called for Boyd's assistance, who gave a small shake of his head but quickly came to his girlfriend's aid.

Derek bit back a comment while Stiles laughed at his side, and then detached himself from him. Before Stiles left to go grab his own seat, he left a gentle pat on Derek's back.

--------

Two and a half hours, 12 burgers, 7 large fries (4 regular and 3 curly), 2 cartons of onion rings, some chicken, multiple stacks of pancakes, 4 waffles, 8 milkshakes, and a juicy mixed berry pie later, they were back in the cars, making the 20 minute drive to Beacon Hills. Sure, there were plenty of places to eat in town but after discovering Patty’s diner one early morning while dealing with some kind of manticore-like creature nearby, they had deemed this the best reasonably close diner. Now, it was a regular thing.

Jackson led the way in his Porsche, of course, with Lydia right at his side and Scott and Allison in the back, while Jeep tailed them with Stiles at the wheel. Erica was splayed out in the backseat with her head resting in Boyd’s lap, quietly humming along to the radio. Isaac was smooshed over on the other side and yet still somehow found a way to rest his head on Boyd's shoulder and close his eyes.

Hungers sated, stress digested and drama enacted all through dinner, everything was starting to slowly settle. Even Derek's restless soul found sanctuary in the familiar scents of his pack and the rhythm of Stiles' fingers against the wheel as they corresponded with his heartbeat. Derek allowed himself to find comfort, sinking further into the seat and stretching his arm casually out to rest on the back of Stiles' seat.

He watched Stiles' eyes flicker his way but halt and return to take in the sight in the rear view mirror. A small smile tugged at his lips and Stiles hummed along with Erica as if the swell of affection radiating from him was not at all related to Derek's action.

Derek followed his gaze back out to the street in front before he could get lost in retracing the slope of Stiles' nose and the starry path of moles down his cheek. The Porsche was growing ever smaller, occasionally disappearing from view entirely.

"You're going to lose them," Derek remarked. Not that it really mattered; everything still felt safe enough. As safe as it could, that was.

"If Jackson wants to flash his bougie car as some sort of compensation even though he didn't even buy it himself, he can be my guest. I'm not pushing my darling today," Stiles said, making a show of stroking the wheel. He smirked. "Unless you want to pay for a full on “Pimp My Car” session?"

Derek snorted. "In your dreams."

"One day. Just you wait. You'll see."

"Upgrading anything about this—this—" Derek reconsidered calling Roscoe a piece of crap whenStiles threw him a warning glare, "—hunk of metal…would cost more than buying a brand new SUV, including A/C and all the good stuff."

"You know, if you give me that in cash, I could totally start saving up for that upgrade." Stiles gave him an impish little smile.

"Absolutely not."

"C'mon, Hale. Fork over the cash," Stiles sang, holding up a hand and rubbing his fingers together. "Otherwise I might have to start charging by the mile, along with a service fee."

Which Derek had absolutely offered Stiles before. Well, not payment by the mile but he had happily suggested taking care of all charges for the usage and maintenance of the Jeep. He had repeatedly insisted and it was Stiles who, more often than not, refused.

"I think we might have to switch over to transport by taxi. That'll be cheaper as well as a smoother ride," Derek countered.

"What are you, 50? Have you ever heard of Uber? It's what all the—"

"Eyes on the road, Stiles."

"I am paying attention. Jeez, relax."

"And both hands on the wheel."

"Stop acting like my dad—"

"Oh my God, Stiles. I am not that old. Stop comparing me to your dad, of all people."

"Then stop acting like it. You're out here lecturing me like I don't always get you right where you need to be. With special bodyguard services, if I may add, which you will never get from any carpooling service."

Derek shook his head at the smug smile on his mate's face. There was time for sweet praises to be whispered into burning ears from within warm embraces in bed later. For now, he just preened at the familiarity of the interaction. Nothing like some good old bickering to help digest a feast.

"It's red." Derek pointed out to the street light ahead.

"I have eyes," Stiles said, easing down on the brake a little harder. The Jeep eventually rolled to a stop before the empty intersection, the hanging mist seeping from the tall dark trees radiating a gleaming red.

Derek loved it when the world made it seem like time stood still.

Stiles turned to him.

"Red light," Stiles proclaimed, voice suddenly open and unguarded. It was like the silvery shine to full moon nights when they encased Derek in protection. He reacted to the words on instinct, habit pulling him forward. Derek leaned in without hesitation.

Letting his lips meet Stiles' didn't require any guidance. He'd probably find his way home to Stiles' soft touch blindfolded from the opposite side of the world. Kissing Stiles was sweet like honey and warm like a fireplace in the dead of a Siberian winter.

It wasn't a peck, definitely a longer interaction, but it was still soft and sweet. They were encapsulated in their own little world until they finally parted. Derek found those beautiful amber eyes and smiled.

"Green light," he said softly, having registered the quiet click and the now lightened fog outside.

Stiles breathed out between parted lips, a corner of them hiking up. He was just about to shift the car into motion when—

"What the ever loving fuck was that?!" Erica burst between them with a shout, nails digging into their sleeves. "What? I mean, this! You kissed!"

Stiles brought his foot down on the brake again hard, but he forgot the clutch and killed the engine instantly. He'd let out his own shout that fell quiet as the car came to a rocking stop.

Derek winced at the volume before he could register what was going on and then… froze.

"Erica! What the hell," Stiles breathed out, throwing his hands up to his hair. His discomfort couldn't solely be attributed to the surprise from the backseat, Derek figured, chancing a look over to see the blush climbing up Stiles' face. Derek knew all too well how it started; with the pink gleam budding just beneath his collarbone before it expanded like smattering star dust all the way up his neck that found its heart in his cheeks. Right where Derek found the source of his happiness when they tugged up and bunched around Stiles' smile.

"No." Erica shook her head. "Not me. What is going on right here?" She tugged at their arms. "When did this start? How long has it been going on?"

"And how in hell did you manage to keep this a secret, Stilinski?" Isaac threw in, his head popping up beside the bouncy curls.

Stiles looked over at Derek cautiously. His heart was clearly doing double time and well, so was Derek's. They had always avoided discussing the possibility of an involuntary reveal so, honestly, it served them right. Derek should've known the universe would have a trick up its sleeve as soon as he relaxed.

But…this wasn't necessarily something bad. He was pretty sure that the pack wouldn't mind about this development. Chances were, it would bring them all closer together. Somehow.

Still, doubts remained. Fear crept through him on spindly legs, ready to strike with its black widow fangs at any moment. There was so much that could go wrong. So much-

There was a deep intake of breath from beside him.

"It's not what you think," Stiles said then.

"Oh, so Derek wasn't just shoving his tongue down your throat?" Erica hummed, and she leaned forward to place her chin on Stiles' shoulder.

"There was no tongue involved!" Stiles exclaimed, throwing up an arm.

"There was a kiss though," Boyd intercepted.

Stiles glared at him through the rear view mirror. "You too? Betrayal."

"I am pretty curious about this," he replied, gazing over at Derek as best as he could past Erica's and Isaac's heads.

"Oh my god," Stiles breathed. "It was just…a game! It was—it was just a game."

"A game?" Erica had nearly perfected the signature Hale eyebrow lift.

Stiles was not fully successful at covering up his jealousy.

Nor the shame and upset at having to play the incident off. Derek wasn't having it.

"Yes, a game. The red light game. You spend hours on your phone. How have you not—" Stiles started.

"No," Derek interrupted. There was a quiet hitched breath as all heads turned to stare at the Alpha. He tried to remain calm, and turned to look at his mate.

"It's not just a game. It is our game but we're also dating." Derek swallowed, keeping his breath and words steady. "He's my boyfriend."

Erica's squeal almost drowned out Stiles' beaming joy, but all Derek could see was Stiles; and the unfiltered, sunshine-bright love shining off his exhilarated face. There was surprise there, and some hesitance, but it was overrun by excitement.

"I fucking knew it!" Erica laughed loudly, smacking a kiss to Stiles' cheek and quickly infecting him with her laughter.

It wasn't long before most of the car had joined in, searching for touch all around. Derek felt both pats on his shoulders as well as a grip near his neck, grounding him to pack amidst all the congratulations. It seemed funny now, worrying about the reception of this news. Derek ducked his head to hide his burning eyes.

Relief, happiness—he wasn't even sure what to feel first, but he almost felt like he didn't need to name it. All he had to do was let himself feel it for now. Stiles put his hand over his, squeezing it lightly. Derek took it.

"Wait, so this is why we found you two cooking together that one time!"

Derek smiled, looking up to the road ahead with a lighter soul.

#eternalsterek #sterek #eternal sterek #sterek fanfiction #fanfic #derek hale #stiles stilinski #secret relationship #prompt fic #anon #ask #red light green light #i wrote this

366 notes · View notes