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georgiapeach30513 · 1 month

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With Your Touch, Part 2

Summary: Lloyd has some rules, and very little control.

Pairings: Lloyd Hansen X Au Pair!Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual tension, video sex, a bit of voyeurism, implied male masturbation, teasing, daddy issues, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 5.9K

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

“Shh, sweetheart. We’ve got to tell your daddy you need a proper middle name. Unless you’re European. Can you tell me if you are?” Lyla giggles a bit, reaching a hand up to touch your face. “Oh, I knew it. You want one. So what do you think your dad will like an A name? A B name?” The baby squeals so loud you hear Lloyd’s loud banging stop. Pausing while he focuses on Lyla’s voice.

“Was that a good sound or bad? I haven’t learned her noises. Cries. Voice. I don’t know what the correct terminology would be, but I haven’t learned it.”

“It isn’t bad. She’s communicating with me.”

“What?” His voice is laced in so much confusion that you find it so endearing. He was obnoxious, but trying. His rules for you as the au pair were a bit too much, but the pay was ridiculously good. And Chase didn’t live too far. He could sneak in.

You walk into Lyla’s room, wanting to laugh as Lloyd curses at the crib he was trying to put together. Looking down at the sweet baby in your arms as her daddy throws something else, “He’s pitching a fit.”

“No the — no, I’m not. This stupid thing is impossible with these dumbass directions. And she can’t sleep in her bedroom. I don’t want her to sleep in the portable crib anymore. I want her to have a space of her own. I highly doubt her whore of a mother gave her that. And yes, she is. Any woman that drops off a baby with their father who knows fuck all about kids is a whore and shitty human being. And Lyla, I apologize. I’m working on not talking like an asshole around her.”

Working on it, and failing miserably, it is still cute he thinks he’s going to change that quickly. Even just acknowledging that type of language isn’t suitable for her is a start. “And here I am in over my head, putting together an overly pink bedroom for her because she didn’t ask to be born, and I am extra.”

“Yeah, designer baby clothes aren't what a lot of parents do.”

“How did your father dress you?”

Chuckling, you put Lyla in her carrier. You place her slightly behind, but still beside Lloyd, and plant yourself beside him, grabbing up the directions. “Roman didn’t dress me. My mother did. Roman might have paid for things, but my mom was the one that was there always. So you’re doing a lot better than him.”

“Is this a moment you tell me you have daddy issues?”

Snorting, you look up at him, shaking your head no, “This is me telling you my experience with my father. Having a dad in a girl’s life makes a difference. I call him Roman. What do you want Lyla to call you?”

“Dad.”

“You know you didn’t hesitate?” Taking a deep inhale, Lloyd grabs the directions from you, busying himself in reading them. You don’t think he actually is looking at them, he’s absorbing what you said, while also refusing to look at you and show you his vulnerability. “Speaking of which, why doesn’t she have a middle name?”

“Why does she need one?”

“What’s your middle name?” You counter quickly, and he leans back. His eyes gazing over your body. Wondering where the hell you came from because clearly you didn’t know who he was.

He narrows his eyes, looking at you and then his daughter. Lyla can’t help but to giggle at him. Tiny little thing. You wonder if she was malnourished or just a bit miniature anyways. “Bennett,” he waits to see if you react before continuing. “Why does she need one?”

“Beatrice,” he looks down at the baby who chuckles again. “She likes you, and she told me she wanted a name that started with B, and now I find out your name starts with a B. I think you and your daddy are a perfect pair, don’t you Miss Lyla Bee?” Despite whatever nonsense her mother had her living in, she's a happy baby. One that is very much aware of her daddy. Her bright green eyes focus on him when he looks at her.

“Lyla Bee. I like that. She’s like my little bumble bee. Should we get rid of all the pink and change it to bumble bees? Did I make a mistake with the pink? What if she doesn’t like pink?”

You shrug your shoulders. It really didn’t matter what she liked. She seemed to like her dad, and he adored her, and wanted to do right by her. “I think we should keep the pink. Here, you tend to the baby, and let me have a go at this crib. You’re messing everything up. And she really likes you.”

“But you’re the au pair?” He says, holding onto Lyla. He gives his finger to her, and her little baby fingers wrap around him tightly.

“And you’re mucking up this crib. Can I? I helped my mom with my little brother’s crib. It was a long time ago. But,” you go silent, grabbing the directions back from Lloyd. Using the same tactic he did earlier. Focus on this and ignore the questions, “No, Roman is not his father.”

“Didn’t ask,” he didn’t have to. Everyone else did. Your brother was an angel, and his father was…well, he was there. He made sure that Vincent was taken care of. Might not have offered you any attention, but you weren’t his responsibility.

“You thought it, so that was enough. I like the simple, but extravagant theme you went for in her bedroom though. Even if the Dior bunny is a bit much.”

“She likes it,” he chuckles, looking down at his daughter. “My partner told me buying things is my love language.”

“You must really love your daughter then,” he whispers out ‘yeah’, not realizing how much it hurts you that he loves someone he just met. And your father knew about you during the pregnancy. You didn’t have daddy issues. You had men issues. Men couldn’t be trusted. There were to be looked at, and put to good use.

You flop down on the seat next to Lloyd on the couch with a cup of microwave macaroni and cheese. You take a bite of the easy dinner, glancing at the television while Lloyd scowls. His eyes drift over your body, slightly confused. Watching as your jaw pulses with your chews.

“I feel you watching me,” he didn’t hide his facial expressions. You could read exactly what he was thinking by the quirks of his brows and mouth alone. Not that you had been paying attention to his mouth.

“What is that dreadful shit you’re eating?”

You turn your body towards him, and slowly take another bite. Noting how his eyes go to your mouth as he watches you chew in disgust. “It only took three and a half minutes to make.”

“It smells like it did. But what are you eating?” This man has been rich his entire life. Didn’t even know the joys of microwaveable food.

“It’s mac and cheese,” you giggle. Scooping out a bit, and you hold the spoon out for him. “Try it.”

“I’d rather not,” his face no longer disgusted, but more indifferent.

“Because you’re scared to eat after me?” He rolls his eyes as you take another bite of the sinfully delicious and preservative filled dinner. It probably had too much sodium in it, and the way you dressed it up surely didn’t help. But it was simple and comforting all the same. Lloyd could learn to loosen up a bit. Bring himself down to a ‘normal lifestyle’.

“While sharing a spoon with you does repulse me. The idea of eating something that came out of a microwave is just as disgusting. Did your father not feed you well?”

“Roman,” you emphasize his name. One day Lloyd would understand that Roman was nothing but a sperm donor and a bank. “He didn’t feed me. My mother did. And she wanted me to be normal.”

“Eating proper food is normal,” you liked him. Legitimately liked him. He also didn’t get offended when you popped back. He probably always had someone around him ready to take orders. That is until you.

“I mean have the American dream.”

“Yes, the American dream is definitely to eat food that is cheaper than toilet paper.”

Slowly blinking, you watch him watch you. Something that should be uncomfortable with the lack of a baby as a buffer wasn’t. You wanted to bring him back down to earth. He was a bit pompous and a lot of an asshole, and you still liked it. “I’m going to make you a cup.”

“Please don’t,” his voice is flat as he watches you jump up from the couch.

“And you’re going to at least try it.”

“I’d rather not,” he is too stiff and robotic with his movements. You want to reach over to his shoulders and make him slouch. Maybe if you made him laugh or shook him? Made him dance with you? You were going to make him break.

“And after you’ve tried it, if you still think the same we can drop it. But what I put into my body is my business. What you put into yours is your business. We won’t judge one another. You can oblige me by cooking me and Lyla Bee a delicious dinner one evening. I’ll humor you, and try your rich people food, mkay?”

This isn’t at all what Lloyd had bargained for. A girl who was given no boundaries. But you had helped him get Lyla’s bedroom in order. She was even sleeping soundly in her crib while a monitor sat on the coffee table. You hadn’t complained when he would start throwing things in a fit. And somehow managed to calm him down.

“Fine, but I don’t cook. I have a private chef,” he responds, following you into the kitchen. Eyeing you as you go into the pantry. “Where did this come from?”

Sighing, you open up the fridge producing a container of shredded cheese, and walk to the counter. “I had it delivered while you were taking a nap with Lyla. It’s really cute to see you sleeping with a baby on your chest. You know, I could watch her. Nap time leaves me nothing to do but use Roman’s card to have some food delivered here.”

“I read you should try to bond with your baby whenever you can. I missed time with her. Wait — you were watching me sleep?” It was quick, but you saw his smirk. Did he like you watching him sleep? That almost feels like an invasion of privacy. Or did he like that you looked at him? Called him cute? What was this?

“It got quiet in the apartment. So I went to find you,” and you might have wandered around the giant apartment as well. His bedroom was just the first place you looked. And you might have enjoyed what you saw, and you might have created a quick but stupid scenario of your husband doing that. Not Lloyd in particular, just a blank faced man who may or may not have had a mustache.

“You’re a snoop?”

“I’m curious by nature,” it wasn’t a lie. You weren’t looking for something to hurt or burn Lloyd with. Just wanted to give a gander through everything. “So what exactly are my hours? When you’re here do you want me to be here? Can I request time off? Have a social life? You won’t exactly let me have people here, and I do respect that. This is yours and Lyla’s space, and I know with your line of work discretion is advised. But I can’t have my only friends be you and a baby. I do have a boyfriend, and I fear I won’t if I don’t see him.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Lloyd smirks. That smile dies quickly as he watches you mix up the cheese concoction to the now completed noodles, and slide the disposable container to him. “You’re not going to put this in a real bowl?”

After washing your hands, you splash a bit of water on him. Giggling when his face turns into a snarl, “Loosen up. This is microwave food. And I need to see other people. Do you not like Chase?”

“His name is dumb,” rolling your eyes, you look away from him. Listening for any signs of movement on the monitor while Lloyd takes a tentative bite of the mac and cheese. Curling up his nose until the spoon touches his tongue, and you see his eyebrows go up. “But this isn’t that bad.”

“What’s wrong with his name?”

“Chase is a verb,” he answers matter of fact. He was going to be one of those. Complete alpha male, and you were bringing someone into his home that was hurting his ego. You weren’t even sure if Chase was the one, but he is definitely the one right now. You didn’t meet your forever person in college, and you’re not even sure you believe in that. You just find someone you tolerate and make sure the sex is good. Plus Chase was amazing to look at and a lot of fun.

“And I don’t want boys in and out of Lyla Bee’s life,” he liked the way the nickname you gave her sounded. It suited his sweet little bee. She had proven to be the sweetest and most cuddly baby he’d ever met. But he had only met one.

“I can respect that as long as you respect the fact that he is my boyfriend,” Lloyd didn’t really want to or have to for that matter. But you were new to this life and to him. You’d eventually see that Lloyd commanded all. Not that he would torture you like he did some. As long as you followed the rules.

“Fine.”

“Is it okay that I came out here tonight? Would you rather me stay holed up in my room? Alone?”

“No,” he answers, walking to the garbage can to dispose of the trash. He heads towards the sink, washing his spoon quickly before leaving you to go back into the living room. Leaving you with more questions than answers.

“No, as in it’s okay that I came out?”

“Were you supposed to stay in your bedroom and starve?” Well that was a simple question to answer. But it was your first night here, and you didn’t know what boundaries he had that you shouldn’t cross. “I don’t expect us to be best friends. But we live together. You’re the woman that takes care of my daughter, and I’m the man.”

Saying it in such simple terms made this arrangement sound strange. You didn’t want to be an au pair, and didn’t see yourself living with a man and his daughter. His baby daughter, who couldn’t even crawl. Currently you think about this weird living situation, and how lines could easily become blurred here.

“What are my duties?”

“You’ve already told me that you have daddy issues, and now you’re asking me what your duties are? Please. I’m going to bed. This line of question is — it’s not good for me. Goodnight, Dolly. Stay up as long as you like, but in the morning I’ll be gone. Tomorrow will be all your responsibility. I’ve added a monitor to your room. If it’s before five, I can tend to her.”

He walks off leaving you with even more questions. Why did he suddenly have that outburst? What had made him seem so sensitive? And you didn’t have daddy issues. You were just fine without your father. You didn’t seek the approval of a man, or needed one to keep you in line. Sure you might watch Lloyd with Lyla and wish that Roman had even an ounce of care that Lloyd had shown in the first few hours that you met him.

Lyla is lucky to have a man that stepped up to be her father. He didn’t have to. From what you understand he didn’t even know of her existence, but it didn’t matter. She was his priority.

Exhaling deeply, you turn off all the lights, and walk to your bedroom. You’d promised Chase you would call once you were settled in bed. You’d leave the awkward talk with Lloyd for tomorrow, or whenever he decided to show up. Giving a look towards his door instead of Lyla’s telling yourself you would crack him. It was one day, and things wouldn’t always be this awkward.

Sitting on your overly plush bed, you call up Chase, and he answers on the first ring, “FaceTime me. I want to see you.”

Flipping it over to a video call, you see his handsome face, and smile like a schoolgirl. “Nice room. Have you figured out how I’m going to be able to sneak in there?”

“Chase!”

“Oh, come on. It will be fun. I’ve never fucked an au pair before,” you roll your eyes. Letting the camera drift a bit before pulling apart your pajama top. Giving him a quick flash of your chest. “Oh, princess, I like that. Is that why you called me? We’ve never had phone sex before.”

”Being around a baby and a man child today made me miss you,” you give him a little pout. The performance that he loved so much, and you just enjoyed to see him get feral. “All I could think about was falling asleep because you wore me out.”

”I could fucking wear you out.”

“Oh, yeah? What would you do to me?”

“I know how you like an audience. Maybe not actually seeing you, but you love when people can hear you. You think daddy Lloyd would have a problem hearing you whisper my name?” Daddy Lloyd? Now why did that give you a bit of a pause. A rumble in your belly that you hadn’t expected. Ignoring a few of Chase’s words as your mind ponders, going in so many different directions of why those words strung together made you…feel.

“He’d hear you gasping for breath as I stab into that sweet little cunt. Or maybe he’d walk in to see you riding me. Why don’t you remind me how you ride me,” you hum at him, and he pans the camera down to his lap, and he’s gripping the base of his cock so tightly. Beads of precum gather at the tip. Normally he’d have his cock already covered in a condom. But seeing him in all his glory is doing something to you.

“Grab a pillow, and pretend it’s me. I’ll stroke my cock to whatever pace you set.”

—

Lloyd flops to the other side. Grabbing his pillow he covers his head thinking about anything besides what he is hearing. He shouldn’t have added the camera to your room. But to be fair the cameras were in every fucking room in the apartment. How was he going to protect you and his daughter if he didn’t know what was going on?

Maybe the ones in the bathroom were too much, but they weren’t pointing at the toilet. My god, he wanted to look. Wanted to turn the volume down. Wanted to get that stupid verb out of his mind. But the verb wouldn’t stop talking. It isn’t even fair that you are whispering. It is normal for people to masturbate. You’d just sound better without his pathetic attempts at phone sex.

“Ugh,” Lloyd growls. He could exit out of the app if he wanted to, but he didn’t. Is it because he didn’t want to? Is it because he liked the sound of your sweet noises? Or is it because it had been too long since he had felt something besides his hand? He isn’t sure. The only thing he was truly positive about was you were killing him.

All fucking day. Acting all innocent and oblivious. He’d been away from women for too long, and you were…you knew what you were doing. Your cute little domestic moments with his daughter. You made him army ration mac and cheese that were at least edible. You helped him. You didn’t even ask, you just sat down and helped him. And you were sweet with his baby.

His emotions are conflicting with his need to…

He had to stop this utter nonsense. He isn’t a rational man, but he did what he had to do with the cameras. And now it’s backfiring on him because you can’t fucking whisper a moan. Why did your heavy breathing sound so sexy?

Why did he want to look? Were you topless? One peek wouldn’t hurt. But it would be crossing a line. How would he feel if someone was doing this with his daughter? He wouldn’t like it. You were Roman’s daughter. Even though he didn’t tell him you had the prettiest…

Nope. He is spiraling down into a sinful rabbit hole. His cock is too hard and angry and it is killing him to not look. He even fears grabbing his phone to turn down the volume will make him want to watch you. See you do whatever the fuck you are doing. Judging by the sounds and whatever The Verb was saying, you are grinding on a fucking pillow.

One look won’t hurt.

Nope, he can’t do this. He throws the blanket off him. Sitting up in the bed, he rests his elbows on his knees. Head in his hands as he tries to make his cock calm down. He was lonely. But it feels even wrong to fuck his fist because your voice is what got him hard.

This arrangement was needed, but this is difficult. Feeling a bit impossibly hard right now. Everything was hard. Including his fucking cock. It was quaking with the need to be dealt with.

Shaking his head, he stands up. His cock pressing uncomfortably against his boxers. A walk through the apartment is much needed. Get away from the noise. Maybe eat another somewhat edible peasant mac and cheese.

This was a bad idea. He sees the soft glow underneath your bedroom door, and has a deep desire to sling it open and get on to you for being…

No. He can’t do that. You’re not ‘breaking’ any of his rules. You’re just mutually masturbating with your boyfriend, and you’re taking too long. Not that he would make sure to fuck you quickly. He just doesn’t want someone else taking their time with you.

What the fuck is he even talking about? He can’t fuck you. You were Lyla’s. He just paid you. He could pay you in other ways.

No!

You fucking asked him what your duties were. He’d love for your duties to be getting to your knees and letting him see how pretty your mouth looked with his cock in it. His tip nudging the back of your throat while tears fill your eyes, and your lungs cry for air.

What the actual fuck? Why was he like this? Why was this a struggle? And why is he going the opposite way of the kitchen? Landing directly in front of your door? Listening to your sounds live. Panting. Whimpering. Not saying The Verb’s name. He’d have you screaming his name. He would have you begging for him to let you come. Have you edged all day because you wanted to tease him with silly little questions about your duties.

He’d have tears falling down your cheeks as he smirks down at you. Letting you know what a pathetic and needy little slut you were. Fuck you so hard your eyes are rolling into the back of your head, and you’re completely dumb. So dumb that you’re just spouting out random words until he’s left his seed inside your belly.

Walking to your bathroom to get a washcloth to clean you up before leaving you blissed out. Making you so needy that you beg for his attention. Start being a good girl so you get more time with is cock in — inside of you. Ready to crawl on your knees after Lyla was put to sleep, and telling him you’re his little sex doll. And he would make so much use of your body and holes. Fucking you every night. Special time just for you. Just so he can feel your tight…tight…tight walls milk him dry.

”Lloyd?” Your voice pants on the other side of the room. “Lloyd is that you?” Getting closer to the door. He tucks his cock back in his boxers. Not even realizing he had been rubbing one out to your sounds. Wiping his hands on the silk of his underwear when you sling the door open.

How did you become prettier? A sheen of sweat around your hairline, and yep…you’d been grinding on a fucking pillow. Your bed is a crumbled up mess and a pillow is right in the middle of the bed. “Is everything okay? Sorry, I was…I was telling Chase goodnight.”

The Verb. You had shorts on earlier. Now it’s this t-shirt that was barely covering your legs. Were you naked? Did you show him your pussy? Your chest continues to heave, and he hates The Verb. He despises him. He’s got to go. You can’t spend time with Lyla and him if The Verb was in the picture. “Lloyd, are you okay?”

“I’m hungry.”

”I’m confused,” what was his reason for being at your door, telling you that he was hungry.

”I like ramen. The gross kind. The kind that…”

”Like top ramen?” You ask him confused. Mouth still slightly open as you try to catch your breath and his eyebrow quirks up. Did you know he was listening to you and stroking himself?

“Yes. You made me your cheap noodles, would you like me to make you some of my cheap noodles?”

“It’s after midnight.”

“Fine, I’ll eat the noodles by myself,” spinning on his heels, he walks away from you into the kitchen. It isn’t long until he hears the soft pads of your feet following him. “I told you it was okay.”

“You — did you…I was almost asleep.”

“Yes, yes. I understand. You were almost asleep as you were telling your…boyfriend goodnight. That’s exactly what almost asleep sounds like,” that list bit of his sentence sounds a bit implying. Did he know?

“Did you hear our conversation?” Was it even a conversation? He couldn’t remember. He just heard you telling him you were going to come. Not The Verb, but Lloyd. You are a tease. He didn’t mean to get off on your voice. “How long were you out here?”

“Grab me a pot?” Oh you were obedient, bending over to get a pot, and standing up quickly. Not quick enough. No panties. He pretends to see nothing. You can sleep with no panties. That’s a good habit to get into because he can just slide into your bed, and start fucking you. When you get there of course. Consent is key. And he feels like a bastard for what he did tonight. But that movement you just did was on your own.

“Sorry.”

“For what?” He asks with a devilish grin.

“Nothing,” it wasn’t just nothing. But he wasn’t going to make you feel guilty for the need to show him your cunt still glistening. He’d have your legs drenched. “Do you do anything special with your ramen? Or do you make it as is?”

“There’s some eggs and spring onions in the fridge. Does that answer your question?” He nods his head towards the fridge, trying to figure out what else he could make you do to get a little peek. He’d play oblivious. Let you decide what you are comfortable with. “Mind getting me some bowls from the top shelf?”

Standing on your tippy toes you dance around a moment. The bottom of your ass cheeks make a little appearance, and he steps behind you to reach the bowls himself. Taking too long to cage your body with your own. And when you gasp, pressing your ass into his crotch he bounces back immediately. Dropping the bowls into the floor and they shatter into thousands of pieces.

“Shit,” Lloyd whispers under his breath. And without asking, places his hands on your sides to lift you up onto the counter. “Stay there while I clean this up. I don’t need you stepping on glass.”

He doesn’t notice the odd glances that you give him as he picks up the larger pieces and starts sweeping up the rest. “My mom always uses wet a paper towel to get the tiny pieces up.”

“That’s smart,” he follows your instructions. And stands up straight. You have already gotten more comfortable, and your legs are not so tightly pressed together. He has to bite his tongue in order to not look. But as high up as that shirt is sitting on your thighs, he knows. And you are aware that he knows.

“Not that Lyla can even crawl right now, but the idea of there being these tiny pieces of glass for you to step on when holding her,” his words stop, and he stands in front of you. How did you not realize he was shirtless? Why is his chest so close to your face as he reaches above your head for more bowls? Why does he smell like a wet dream? Push the thoughts away.

“I don’t want you hurting yourself and dropping her in an accident.”

“I won’t drop her.”

“Knock on the cabinets immediately! That is bad luck,” you do as he says, not pegging him as a superstitious man at all. “I had some chance to think about it. I think on Sundays you should have the day off completely unless I’m out of town. Saturdays, is it fair to ask for you to work half a day? Just until around noon?”

“I think that’s fair.”

“And maybe we should not talk about The Verb?”

“The Verb?” What was he even talking about? You notice his eyes flick momentarily to your lap, and you realize how comfortable you had gotten on this counter. Your legs are too far apart. He had to have seen something. Was he disappointed? You didn’t want to disappoint him. You had just started to get to know him. You wanted to prove to him and yourself that you could care for a baby.

“That Chase boy.”

“My boyfriend?” You giggle. Why did he have such an issue with Chase?

“Why is he even your boyfriend?”

“He’s better than a dildo. I mean,” you feel your cheeks heat up with embarrassment, and have to look at the floor. Missing how big Lloyd’s smile spreads across his smug face. Or the way he is stalking towards you like he’s ready to pounce on his prey. “We’ve been together for awhile, but it’s not that serious.”

“Sweetheart, don’t settle for better than a dildo,” he stands right in front of you. Both hands on your knees as he goes to push your legs apart. Inserting himself in between your thighs. The weird feeling in your tummy returns, and you hate having no panties on as slick floods to your core. Throat dry as his finger touches your chin and lifts your face up to look at him. “And when I’m speaking to you, I expect you to look me in the eyes, do you understand?”

You nod your head slowly, but he clicks his tongue, “And I expect you to verbally answer in my home. Little head gestures are easily misinterpreted, okay?”

“Okay,” he raises an eyebrow, wanting you to finish your sentence, but words are impossible, and your brain is mush. Everything is delayed as you feel the heat between you and Lloyd, “I understand.”

“If you need something better than a dildo and more than The Verb just use your words,” what the fuck does that even mean? He steps away from you much quicker than he inserted himself. The air in the room is heavy and stifling, and you wonder if you even knew how to breathe without reminding yourself to inhale and exhale.

“Do you like creamy ramen or brothy?” This bastard is really changing the subject. You can’t even think with the two heartbeats you feel. One inside your chest, while the other is between your thighs and throbbing. Why is your heart beating so fast? Why is your body betraying you?

“I don’t think I’ve had creamy.”

“You want to get me the heavy whipping cream?” He gives you a cheeky smile when you jump off the counter and head towards the fridge.

“Why are you asking me to do all these things?”

“Because you listen so well,” you pause before reaching for the heavy whipping cream, and turn to look at him.

“What is this?” He’s playing a sick game. He had to be. He saw this ‘vulnerable little girl’ that he had to save. You didn’t need saving, you were fine all on your own.

“You’re very well behaved. Your mother did a good job. Until just now you didn’t even question it. Just did as I asked,” what is he getting at? He is talking in riddles, or backwards, or you are just reading too much into whatever this exchange is. Keeping your mouth closed for the rest of the evening.

Keeping your eyes off him as you squirm around uncomfortably in your seat. Is this uncomfortable because of him? Or are you weirded out because you are feeling things because of him. If you look up, you’d see him smiling as he watches the weird inner turmoil going on in your head.

Finishing before you, he stands up to put his bowl in the dishwasher. Walking past you towards his bedroom, he stops. “And Dolly?”

“Yes?” You ask, turning around in your chair.

“When you leave your room make sure you have on panties,” oh. My. God. He knew. He saw. He didn’t say anything until now. “Because next time I won’t force myself to stop my need to lean you over the counter and spank your ass.”

“Okay,” you didn’t know how to respond to that, and you couldn’t believe how your body was internalizing his words. Heat. Fire. Desire. Embarrassment. Lust. How you have immediate visions of Lloyd doing just that, and spreading your cheeks to see if he made you wet. He did. Uncomfortably so.

“Good girl, I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” he needs a cold shower. He needs away from you because his cock has been at full mast since you questioned why he was asking you to gather things for him. You could try to deny it, but he turned you on as much as you turned him on.

And yet here is your employer, and you are just the sweet au pair with daddy issues. No matter what you say. And he supposes he’s the sick bastard that didn’t mind teasing you. Giving you something to think about. Options? Something for the spank bank? He hopes you go to bed wet and frustrated. Wake up to needing to fuck your own fingers as you think about the close proximity he had to you.

He hopes that you are dripping with need for his cock, and his care and protection. And he hopes that a cold shower is enough to get visions of you yipping with every smack to your ass. That you would be the perfect and obedient girl for him. Woman. Girl sounded gross in this context. Thank you, Roman for making sure your daughter had daddy issues. But fuck him for not loving his daughter the way you deserved.

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @floral-recs @pandaxnienke @theinheriteddutchess @rainydayandmondays @buckybarnesisdaddy @patzammit @xoxo-ls @rebeccapineapple @slutforchrisjamalevans @marvel-wifey-86 @jesevans @ughdontbeboring @infantasywonderland @vampy-doll @i-like-to-read-13 @missacidburn928 @charmedasylum @honeyhoneylovelylove @superflannel @hisredheadedgoddess28 @ughdontbeboring @lostinspace33 @abbyyourlocalmilf @saranghaey

#with your touch #lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x fem!reader #lloyd hansen x female reader #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen fic #lloyd hansen fics #lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen fanfic #daddy issues #au pair au #lloyd hansen x au pair!reader

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anonymouscheeses · 1 month

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so…

about this human verse you got…

how does Al fit into all of this? Is that where Vaggie got the spell or is the gang she’s a part of also a monster hunter org?

This is Alastor's human design! I wanted him to give off a old money rich vibe. I didn't look up a reference for old money attire 😭 i jjst looked at some randim char from a show i watched that kinda gave off Alastor vibes. This may change but tbh I kinda like it the way it is. Altho one day I may change my mind <3 lore drops under cut!!

(Sorry if he doesn't look like Alastor, these human designs are mostly based on my redesigns so they look even MORE different than usual ill get better hopefulllyyyy)

Husk(left) is Vaggie/Valerie's dad in this au cuz I said so unfortunately. Sorry i dont make the rules! Husk is Salvadoran like Valerie cuz ofc, like he's 100% black but I wanted him to be Valerie's dad soo I was like.... yeah win sum lose sum. But dw I have SO much black characters on the way. It's kind of terrifying!!

Alastor tries to be like a dad to Valerie but she resents him. Her mom died to a sickness, and Valerie has no room in her for another parent figure in her life except Husk.

Also, Al is gay aroace, so when he fell in love with Husk he was SO surprised likeee how??? He was his first love ever and Al just loves him dearly despite never loving anyone ever before. He's still a girls girl ofc but brutha is gay u can't tell me otherwise 😍

Charlie gave him the headband with the antlers that she cheaply made herself. Alastor loves them genuinely. (If Alastor cares abt Valerie or Charlie is purely up to viewer, but if you want to see him care for orr like be toxic to them send a request fr fr imma draw that shi 😍🙏). Alastor is the only one who knows that Charlie is a demon because he's the one that taught Valerie how to summon a demon(YOU'RE SPOT ON. HOW??).

(Also I forgor the stripes. Sorry I was so sleepy drawing this you can probably telll.😭)

Alastor is still a cannibal, his husband and step daughter just doesn't know it yet, and NO he will probably never tell them unless forced to or he feels like he can. This man is the friend the smiley bro 😭

I'll maybe soon draw what happened between Valerie, Lute, and Adam during the fight, since ALOT happened. But it may be a bit before I get to that

Alastor taught the kids young how to summon demons the WRONG way. Because obviously he didn't want literal immature kids to end the world completely. The trio spent years finding ways to summon just one demon. Adam did it to create chaos, Lute just followed, and Valerie just loved having fun with her friends.

Now that they aren't childhood best friends. And that whole fight happened. Valerie doesn't know what to do. Alastor suggests she gets a bodyguard from hell, any demon at all(Demons are devoted to you as long as you keep a part of your deal with them or you break the contract of summoning one). Aaaaand that's how Charlie came to be summoned! Valerie got her eye stabbed out, Alastor was being silly and taught his kid how to summon a demon, Valerie was like "aight ig", then summoned her future wife.

(WILL ALSO ONE DAY DRAW THE FIRST TIME CHARLIE AND VALERIE MET.... ONE DAY....)

Fun fact: Alastor has a radio station of his own that he plays 1920's music in. Although most people would rather NOT listen to old times music, somehow he makes it work that people always listen to his radio. Maybe a deal with a demon of some sorts...? Perhaps... :>

#THANM YKUUU FOR THE REQUESST!! I HAVE SOME IN MY INBOX BUT LIKE. I WANT MORE PLEASE. GUYS SEND REQUEZTS ABT MY AU. ANYTHING.#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel vaggie #husker hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lute #art #fanart #artists on tumblr #digital art #THANK YOU SMM I LOVE RAMBLING ABT MY STUFF HUGS AND ALL 💜💜 /P #its lillith. im not gonna make you wait for an obvious reveal lmao. lillith is the one who gave him power. but in return whaT did he do..?#hazbin hotel art #hazbin hotel fanart #husk x alastor #alastor x husk #radiohusk #chaggie #rainbowmoth #varlie #human au #hazbin hotel au #hazbin hotel human #hazbin au #yall.... i kinda like him ngl.... like. usually if someone asks me who i think is overrated asf it wojld be Alstor #IT STILL IS RBAHABHAHA but now i kinda get it...... no. no i still dont get it 💀 i usually fall in love with characters once i draw em.#OK OK I GUES I LOVE HIM?? HES PRETTY NICE I THINKKK. STILL NOT ONE OF MY FAVS THAT GOES TO THE LADIES BUT HES... SOMEHWRE UP THERE

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meraki-yao · 7 months

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RWRB Movie Thoughts: Choreography and Rehearsals

There’s been a couple of great essays on the one-shots in the movie and the theatricality of those scenes (see here, here and here), and I just want to talk a little about choreography and ferally scream a little about rehearsals.

Taylor mentioned in one of their interviews that a lot of the intimate scenes had a certain musicality to them, and as the boys both have theatre experience, Robbie communicated with them on the subject almost like creating a dance. It’s essentially, choreography. So here’s my interpretation of the choreography part.

I love dancing and took ballet classes for 14 years, and something really important in dancing and choreography is beats. And there are two ways to go about this.

One is literally every beat is a specific motion, it’s a series of sharply changing movements. It’s very apparent for Henry/Nick during the first section of their first hookup in Alex’s room. You can literally count 8 beats as you would for a piece of music, and for every beat, Henry/Nick is doing a specific move:

1: Block the door -> 2: Push open the door -> 3: Right Hand grab Alex/Taylor’s Neck -> 4: Kiss -> 5: Left Hand Grab Alex/Taylor’s Arm -> 6: Left Hand moves to Alex/Taylor’s Neck-> 7: Blank/No New Hand Movements -> 8: Left Hand in his Hair

You can literally count the beats, and hell, in this scene in Henry/Nick’s case, the beats are fairly even. You can almost follow the motions with a metronome.

The other kind is hitting marks: as in there are “key poses” to strike at certain times, but how to get from one pose to the other is more up to the actor. (There’s a great video explaining this idea in fight choreography/sword fighting: check it out here) I think that’s what the red room kiss counts as the boys have certain marks to hit: both of them hitting the wall, Alex/Taylor grabbing Henry/Nick’s thigh, then pushing him onto the table, then grabbing his waist while Henry/Nick grabs his hair etc. They have specific places for their hands and legs and well, themselves to be, but everything in between is pretty continuous motions that I don’t think can be precisely designed. You can still sort of count a beat, but it’s much less clear than the example of Henry in Alex’s bedroom.

So here’s my question.

How many of the scenes in the movie are choreographed, and what scene was which kind of choreography?

There are the two literal dance scenes, and then most of the intimate scenes go without saying, because it’s not just a matter of the choreography, but also requires discussions on intimacy and boundaries. Among the photos Matthew posted about rehearsals, I’m assuming all photos with the boys on a couch are the intimate scenes. (Matthew said the first hook-up was shot exactly as rehearsed)

But another photo Matthew posted was the hospital storage room scene, the absolutely adorable photo with Nick and Taylor squeezed together in the middle of a bunch of chairs.

Which means the mess of Henry and Alex falling into the storage room then flailing their limbs trying to figure out how sit properly without crushing each other was choreographed. And honestly…how? Because that scene looked like such a mess and so damn chaotic, I really can’t imagine any part of it being designed besides the general idea of “fall over, push each other a bunch, end up with Henry/Nick on the right and Alex/Taylor on the left.”

Also the Paris scene. Of course that has to be choreographed, but I just… can’t imagine how? Like the red room scene, Alex’s room, the polo tack room, if I don’t immerse myself in the movie I can sort of see the performance, the directing aspect of the scene, but the Paris scene, I completely can’t. It’s so well done, it looks so damn real. Of course, I know it’s not, but I can’t see it. That’s how well done the scene is. How in the fucking world did they do that? On top of that apparently, people who went to the March screening said there were three positions (which, please fucking release everything PLEASE), so again, how the fuck did they do that?

What other scenes were choreographed? They had two weeks of rehearsal (although Taylor said he got Covid on the second week so I don’t know how they went about that), how much did they do?

God I know Matthew’s slowly releasing behind-the-scenes footage and I’m guessing a, he has a lot, like a lot b, he’s understandably taking his time, but I wonder if he’ll ever let rehearsal videos see the light of day. Besides my own curiosity about how their rehearsal worked, there's also that one adorable picture of what looks like Taylor said something that made Nick laugh which is just so cute, it would be nice to see what the boys themselves were like during rehearsals and what their banter was like

Anyways all this to say MORE BTS FOOTAGE PLEASE

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb movie #nicholas galitzine #taylor zakhar perez #matthew michael lopez #rwrb thoughts #rwrb cast #behind the scenes #seriously please tell me #i want to steal his phone #i want to see everything #it's just so... delicate?#or messy?#and it's all designed?#how did they do that

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anonymousewrites · 4 months

Text

Of Two Worlds Christmas Special 2023

Fushiguro Megumi x Half-Curse! Reader

Mouse Note: Merry Christmas! I know everything is going to hell in the actual story, but here's a Christmas gift for you all! Enjoy the holiday season!

Additional Mouse Note: Aka if everything was okay and happy.

“What happened to the kitchen?” asked (Y/N) as she walked in after getting the call from Gojo for a meeting. The entire room was covered in flour, and in the middle was a giant (and she meant giant) stack of cookie sheets.

“Gojo-sensei made us cookies!” cheered Itadori.

“They taste surprisingly good,” said Nobara. She huffed. “Of course he’d good at everything.” It was infuriating how easily Gojo did everything he tried.

“Can I have one?” asked (Y/N).

“Sure.” Megumi held out a cookie.

“Nope!” Gojo snatched it from him. “No more eating cookies until we’ve decorated!”

“Decorated?” repeated (Y/N).

“Yep, for Christmas!” From seemingly nowhere, Gojo pulled out a large shopping bag and dumped the contents out. Sprinkles and icing in all different colors and designs clattered onto the table. “Tada!”

“This is what you brought me here for?” said an unimpressed voice. Nanami stood in the doorway and crossed his arms.

“Of course! It’s Christmas,” chirped Gojo. “Come on, come on! It’ll be fun.”

“No,” said Nanami. “You’ve already made enough of a mess. I’m not adding to more.”

“I agree with Nanami-san,” said Megumi, and Gojo deflated.

“You two don’t want to decorate?” asked (Y/N), blinking and looking at the pair.

Nanami and Megumi looked back and nearly sighed. Nanami was too weak for the teen he saw as his own daughter, and Megumi was too weak for the girl he liked.

“I suppose I have a bit of time,” said Nanami.

“I have nothing else to do,” said Megumi.

Itadori and Nobara exchanged looks and grinned. They both knew neither would stay if it wasn’t for (Y/N). It was hilarious.

“Alright, then, let the decorating begin!” Gojo grabbed Nanami and Megumi by the collars before they could change their minds again and dragged them to the table.

“Yay!” cheered Itadori, grabbing two cookies (one to decorate and one to eat).

“I’m going to make the best cookie here!” declared Nobara competitively. “And then I’m going to give it to Maki.”

“Are you trying to impress her?” asked (Y/N) curiously.

Nobara turned red. “No! No way! I just think she’d think that it was cool because I think she thinks I’m cool or at least I hope she does.”

(Y/N) blinked. She hadn’t gotten any of that. “Megumi, what does that mean?”

“I’ll explain it to you later,” said Megumi.

“Okay. I was just trying to be supportive. I think Maki and Nobara are nice together,” said (Y/N), still unaware that Nobara was so red she might melt in embarrassment.

Megumi grinned and chuckled at the reaction. “You’re doing fine, (Y/N).”

She brightened. “Oh. Good.”

They all sat down and took icing and sprinkles before Gojo could steal anything (he was hoarding and creating some monstrosity that would somehow turn out perfect because it was Gojo doing it).

(Y/N) stared at the cookie in front of her, shaped into a gingerbread man. She didn’t consider herself quite creative, but she wanted to do something fun. So, she picked up some icing and began to carefully place it on the cookie. She was silent as she worked beside her friends, and each time she finished a cookie, she picked up another gingerbread figure.

“Done!” declared Gojo. “Tada!” He held up a sheet of cookies with a variety of expertly decorated sweets with designs such as presents, Christmas trees, and a yeti(?).

“Dammit, why is he good at everything!” cried Nobara, slamming her hand down angrily. Her own cookies were a mess of rainbows and cute sayings about Christmas on them.

“Wow, Gojo-sensei!” said Itadori, eyes wide. His cookies were a mess of green, white, red, and ton of sprinkles. “Those look so good.”

“The bakery I go to has better,” said Nanami simply. He had classic cookies in traditional Christmas designs, simple geometric patterns and the like.

Gojo pouted. “You should appreciate me more, Nanamiiiiiii.”

“I don’t appreciate showoffs,” said Nanami.

“I like yours, Megumi,” said (Y/N), looking at his cookies.

Megumi looked down at his sheet of blue, silver, and white cookies. “I think I forgot about the Christmas part.”

“I still think they look good,” said (Y/N), smiling.

Megumi turned a little pink. “Thanks.”

“What did you do, (L/N)?” asked Itadori eagerly.

“Oh, mine look bad,” said (Y/N), straight to the point.

“Show us!” said Nobara.

“Come on, (Y/N),” said Gojo eagerly.

(Y/N) sighed and held up her sheet. On each of the gingerbread figures, she had attempted to make her friends as cookies. It was messy, but they could identify Itadori’s pink hair, the blindfold and white hair for Gojo, suit for Nanami, skirt for Nobara, gloves for herself, and spiky black hair for Megumi.

Her friends stared at it, touched that she had tried to create all of them. It was very sweet.

“They don’t look like you,” said (Y/N). “Sorry.”

“They look so cool!” said Itadori.

“It’s us,” said Nobara, grinning. “So cute!”

“No one appreciated me…” pouted Gojo. “But yeaaaah, (Y/N)’s are good.” He was being honest, but he was being stupid, too.

“Very well done, (Y/N)-kun,” said Nanami, smiling slightly. He was honored to be a part of (Y/N)’s creation.

“Yeah, it looks really nice, (Y/N),” said Megumi. “Good job.” He smiled at her.

She gazed back between him and Nanami and smiled shyly. “Merry Christmas.” She paused. “I can say that before the actual day, right?”

The group laughed, and (Y/N) looked at them in confusion before smiling at their joy. A Merry Christmas, indeed. All she wanted was her family together. That’s why she had made what she did. Her wish was for everything to be happy together.

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drunkenbagel · 1 year

Text

Enchanted to meet you - Part 3

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Spanish f!reader Contents: overall fluff, descriptions of panic attack, angst with comfort a/n: i'm so so sorry for being away so long, i somehow lost access to the account and couldn't post anything!! also have been on a kind of writer's block, so i'm sorry for that too lol. for this part i added some media, let me know if you like it :D Word count: 5,5k Disclaimer: none of the photos used are mine and therefore i do not own them, i just edited them.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Your side of the video call stayed silent for a moment, while you were trying to process what Pedro just said.

“y/n? Did I lost you?” he asked, and groaned. “Maldita cobertura de LA” (Damned LA reception.)

“Wha- What did you just say?” you questioned again. “Are you kidding me right now? Because if you are, no te lo perdonaré nunca.” (I'll never forgive you)

”What? I just-” he started another sentence, but he was interrupted by someone asking to take a picture with him. You quickly silenced your mic and turned off your camera, not wanting to be seen by the people he was with. They would probably get the wrong idea, getting him in trouble. Not to mention the controversy and the incessant hate train that the situation would create. You knew Pedro was sensitive when it came to hurt and pain, even if it didn't seem that way just because he brushed it off with goofiness and some jokes. So, you tried your best to avoid any kind of problem that seeing someone like you with him could cause. After a few minutes, he focused his phone on his face again.

“Hey, sorry about that, darlin'” he said with a side smile. “Some people asked- Are you still there?”

You connected your mic and camera again. “Yeah, sorry. Didn't want to disturb you.”

He frowned. “Don't say that. You don't.”

You felt a small pang on your chest, but you brushed it off by jumping again to the previous topic.

“So, what is that thing you were telling me? You're inviting me where?”

“Oh, yeah! I was thinking if you'd like to come with me to Los Angeles. I've got some long filming ahead and was wondering if you'd like to visit me. I'm going to stay at my house here, and of course, as my best friend, you have a designated room” he said laughing. “I could show you around and stuff. You know, to see the beautiful places here.”

“I mean... I'd sure as hell would love it, don't get me wrong or anything” you said, letting out a nervous chuckle. “But, uhm...”

You didn't know how to tell him that you were dying to see Los Angeles since you moved to the United States, but that you were afraid to be outside with him and the consequences that it could bring. You two had been basically best friends for almost two and a half years now, but he was still a celebrity, for fuck's sake. And you were... Average. You always tried to be really careful when going outside with him. Wasn't he afraid of being seen with you? It was easier to blend in the few times you two went out in New York, especially since you preferred to go out mostly at night-time or just hang out at his house.

“Then it's settled! I'll be back there in like a week, and after a few days we can come back here for as long as you like. I think it'll be so fun being here with you, you'll love this! I'll show you so many things here. Oh, I also could show you around the studios, maybe you'll see someone from those crime shows you're obsessed with.”

“Hey! Why the cute rant and then you attack me? Not fair” you said cracking a small smile. “I appreciate your invite, really, but... I don't know, I have my job, my rent...”

“y/n, since your promotion you practically work from home. You don't go to the office anymore. And about your apartment, you always complain about the landlord, the sink, the place itself. Si no es esto, es lo otro. Why don't you move out and look for anything else?” (If it's not this, it's that.)

“I-” you tried to think of any excuses, but he was right. You had been looking for apartments, but it was very difficult to find anything decent in New York with an average paycheck. You sighed, defeated. “Look, I know you're right, but what do you want me to do? Just magically find something?”

He hummed, and brought his hand to his chin, thinking. You almost laughed. It looked like he was thinking so hard. After a few moments, he snapped his fingers.

“Here's the deal. I know this filming is going to be at least three months, so how about you stay with me here, and then you can stay at mine in New York? You know you have a room at my place anyways.”

“What? That is not-” You felt your cheeks heat up. How could he be so calm about this? “So that is your solution? You want me to move in with you?”

“I wouldn't say that, it's more like... A temporary solution until you find a place for yourself. You know you practically spend all your time in my house when I'm there! Also, you could stop paying rent for that shithole while staying with me, so I only see positive points here. Am I wrong?”

He smiled at the camera while you ran a hand through your hair, stressed. He had a very valid point, of course, but he said it so casually that it left you a bit dumbfounded. So did this mean that he didn't care to be seen with you? His New York apartment was in a multiple housing building, so it was always easier for you to go in unnoticed. But Los Angeles? You didn't know if that was possible. People there were more used to seeing celebrities, of course, but the anxious thoughts were not leaving you alone.

“Hey, I hope I'm not making you uncomfortable or anything. You know you can always say no” he said with a worried tone.

“I know, I know. I was just thinking...” you sighed. “You're right. But are you sure you don't mind me being there with you? Or anywhere close for that matter? Are you sure it's okay? Because I wouldn't-”

“Y'think I would have said it if I didn't mean it? You're offending me!” he said laughing. “Now, seriously. I'd love to have you around more. You know I miss you when we're apart.”

“Aw, mi Pedrito se enterneció. ¡Te he ablandado! How did you live without me?” you joked. (My little Pedro got soft. I have softened you!)

His could feel his cheeks getting red, but he tried to brush it off. “Anda, cállate. Do you accept my deal or not? The offer is now for limited time.” (C'mon, shut up.)

“Okay, okay! I do accept” you said laughing. “But I'll need help with moving if I have to leave everything at your apartment before going to LA. You help me or the deal is off.”

“You got it” he said with a wide smile. The way his eyes wrinkled while he was smiling or laughing made your heart skip a beat. It was too cute for your heart to handle, you loved it. The way he grasped onto anyone around him while he let out the cutest belly laugh, or how contagious they were.

Little did you know he was thinking the same thing about you. Pedro loved your laugh, especially when it was shared with him. Oh, how his heart started to beat faster every time you sent him a message. Or how that one time you were video chatting him and you felt so comfortable that you fell asleep still in the call. He ended up just watching you sleep soundly before falling asleep ‘beside you’. And now he was going to have you under the same roof? He felt like he was the happiest man in the world when you accepted. He couldn't believe you did. He had been thinking about asking you since you always complained about how awful your landlord was, or how he refused to fix anything. Truth be told, he wanted to punch that guy more than anything sometimes.

He tried to keep his silly crush for himself, especially since you were much younger than him. The last thing he wanted was to make you uncomfortable, so he tried to keep it away from his thoughts. But it was so damn difficult. You were so kind, so caring, and so sweet. He wanted you all for himself, but whenever he thought about it, he always ended up in the conclusion that you didn't seem to show any interest beyond your friendship. That's why he forced himself to act as he was, just your ‘older’ best friend. Who casually just invited you to live with him.

Cool, cool. Totally normal.

As the days went by, you put your leave notice to your landlord and started packing everything. Pedro helped you with all, just as he promised, even using his own car to move the boxes back and forth between apartments. Luckily, you didn't have that much stuff since your apartment was quite small. Time seemed to pass very slowly but so fast at the same time, leaving your stomach to be a flustered mess of nervousness. Soon enough, you both were waiting into the airline row to enter the plane.

“Oh my god. I can't believe I'm doing this!”

“It's hitting you now?” Pedro answered laughing. “Actually, it's making me feel weird too. But the good kind. I like it when I have you around.”

“Aw” you said pouting. “You like it, but not enough to pay for us to sit together?”

“Are you kidding me? I'm not going to pay 50 extra dollars for a seat. I'm already going to see you all the time when we land, don't give me a hard time with it! Plus, we're only a seat apart, eres una exagerada.” (You're exaggerating.)

“Whatever. I'll remember this betrayal.”

“Ugh” he said smiling while he rolled his eyes. “C'mon, we're next.”

The six hour flight went by faster than you expected it to be, especially since you slept for most of it. The chatty old lady that sat in between you two was kind enough to switch places with Pedro halfway on the flight when she saw the way he looked at you uncomfortably sleeping against the plane window, so he put the armrest back and carefully pulled you to his side so you could sleep on him.

You looked so beautiful like this. Softly moving your hair away from your face, he pushed the stray hairs behind your ear, and you sighed contently. He couldn't stop the smile that formed on his lips.

“How long have you been dating, dear?”

Pedro turned his head to his right, confused. “What?”

“Oh, I'm sorry. Are you married perhaps? It's just that I didn't see your rings so I guessed you didn't pop the question yet. Don't tell me this trip is for that! Oh my, congratulations!”

“What? No! No, no” he said while moving his free hand on the air. He could feel his cheeks getting hot and he looked at you quickly in case you had heard the lady, but you were soundly asleep. Then he looked at her again. “It's not like that. We- Uh, we're just friends. She's my best friend. Just that.”

“‘M sorry then, dear. It's just that I heard you two talkin’ about living together, saw you actin’ like you were, and I just assumed. But let me tell ya’, honey, friends don't look at each other like that” she said, briefly patting his thigh while smiling. “My dear Stevie, may he rest in peace, was always lookin’ at me the same. I didn't realize I was in love with him until I was with somebody else, for the love of god! I just assumed he was a good friend and never saw me as nothin’ else. He even helped me with this guy just ‘cause I seemed happy. But you see, honey, he just wanted the best for me as long as I was happy, even if that meant sacrificing his own happiness. I almost lost my dearest because I thought helpin’ me to find joy in another meant that he wasn't interested. I can see how you look at her. Don't let that happen to you, honey. Believe me, not worth the time you lose while y’know that you two are just playin’ pretend.”

Pedro only looked at the woman with his lips briefly parted, his heart heavy on his chest. He didn't want that happening, but he could also not risk ruining the relationship he already had with you. He would never do that. Also, he noticed how you always avoided going to crowded spaces or where paparazzi could spot you two together. How could he not? He knew that you didn't like the attention that kind of things attracted, so he respected your decisions over where to meet. Pedro preferred staying with you watching TV or playing games rather than cameras following him everywhere anyways. In fact, he knew moving to Los Angeles was a huge step for you, since it was nearly impossible to go out and not be spotted by paparazzis. That was mainly why he was feeling so nervous about this whole thing, but he hoped that after all the time that you two had been friends for, maybe you wouldn't be too bashful about going out with him, and would let him recognise you publicly as his friend.

He spent the hour and a half that was left of the flight sleeping with his head on top of yours, only waking up when the lady beside him shook his arm gently to let him know that you were landing. He then did the same with you, and couldn't hold back a smile while he watched you rub your eyes and yawn. After getting off the plane you two went for your baggages, and after you managed to put everything in one big stroller, you started walking outside.

“I'm impressed” he said, watching you push the thing by yourself. “I thought you were going to bring your whole house over here. Is this really everything?”

“Well, no” you said as if it was obvious. “Did you think I was going to bring my scarfs, jackets and big sweaters to LA? I'm not-”

You stopped talking when you saw a man with a camera in the distance. He was taking pictures of you. You gulped and tried to laugh, but an uncomfortable chuckle came out.

“y/n? Are you alright?” asked Pedro, a little worried by your change of demeanour. He moved his eyes in the direction you were looking, and then he saw it. A couple of men with cameras, and they were getting closer. “Hey, look at me.” You linked your eyes with his, and he had a soft look on them. “You'll be alright. C'mon, let's take a taxi and get home.”

You nodded and tried to ignore the sound of clicking cameras getting closer. Taking the stroller, Pedro quickly made his way to a taxi and started packing everything up while you got inside. When the men reached the car you heard him say something before he got to the back of it with you and gave the address to the driver. You nervously took his hand with yours and he squeezed it twice, which was his silent way of asking if you were feeling okay. You squeezed it back once. Yeah, just anxious. You two came up with this method after Pedro realized that you sometimes went non-verbal when you were in situations that made you feel anxious, and he wanted to know how he could help. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he left a kiss on your hair while rubbing his thumb over yours. After a few minutes in silence, he spoke up.

“I'm thinking you won't have much enthusiasm of going out. I understand if you wanna spend the day at home. We can watch a film or something, then order food. Sounds good?”

“Yeah” you answered in a whisper. “I'm sorry.”

“Why? You didn't do anything wrong. I know you're not used to this, and I love you for coming with me to the other side of the country despite knowing the situations that you may have to face. I should be the one apologizing” he said, and kissed your forehead. “I know this will be hard at first, but I want to be able to call you my friend. To talk about you in interviews, or when people ask me about funny stories. And I'm not trying to give you an ultimatum or anything since I understand that you want your privacy, I do too, but with my kind of life, you always have to give something. I don't want you being followed, but at least I want to be able to not hide my amazing best friend to the world.”

“I understand, and I'm okay with it. I didn't just accept moving with you lightly, I knew what I was getting into. And I understand that it may have been difficult not to say anything about me, but I just- I wasn't ready. It's not easy being a celebrity's best friend” you said with a chuckle. “But I also get your point. You have been my best friend for a long time now, and I don't want to hide anymore. I know it's going to be hard, so I need you to be patient with me. More than you have already been, which I'm incredibly thankful for. But it's not going to be something I magically get used to. Don't you think I might also be dying to share you with the world? I'd love to! But I was trying to wrap my head around it. And I did, and I'm ready. So expect me posting about you and your shitty habits everywhere on my Instagram and Twitter from now on.”

He couldn't hold back a wide grin while he took you into a tight hug, and you giggled. “Thank you. Thank you so much for doing this, y/n. Ugh, you're the best. How did I ever bag this good of a friend?”

“I believe you stalked me for weeks, forced Ernesto to tell you things about my schedule, then waited for me in the café every time like a puppy and called it ‘a coincidence’, right?”

“You're saying it like I'm some creep or something! I just liked how normal you treated me, okay? Shut up.”

After arriving to the house and setting your things on your room, Pedro gave you a small tour of the house. You loved it. Especially the views from the amazing balcony that led to a beautiful view of the city. You two opened a bottle of wine while waiting for the takeout to arrive, and you braced yourself to finally face the challenge: going through socials. You were sure that the photos from this morning were all over the internet already, and when you entered Twitter, you confirmed it. The paparazzi pictures where everywhere, and everyone was speculating on how were you related to him. When the food arrived and he was about to dig into it, you spoke.

“Pedro?”

“Yeah?”

“I think it's time to post it” you said while taking a long sip of the glass.

“That fast?” he asked incredulously. You nodded and showed him your phone. “Okay then, one sec.”

He took out his phone and typed something. A few moments later, your phone chimed, and you stared at the Instagram post you were tagged in.

“You bitch! You could have picked another photo” you said while laughing.

“I know, but that's the funniest one” he said chuckling too.

—•—

It had been a bit more than a month since the photo was posted, and people were taking it a lot better than you had expected. Some were even asking you to post ‘unseen’ Pedro content. There were also people that insulted you and told you ugly things, but you decided to ignore and block them. Your social media follower count had exploded, and you had a lot of new people interacting with your normal content, but you got more or less used to it.

You had been out together a couple of times, mostly to get groceries and stuff before Pedro began his filming. He made you copies for every key in the house, and also gave you the spare one for his car in case you ever needed it. But since then, he spent a lot of hours out in the studios, so you mostly saw each other at early mornings or nights.

“Hey, I'm free today so I was thinking of going to the beach or something. I know it's not the best weather, but maybe we could take the car and then rent some bikes and go for a ride over there? What do you think?” Pedro asked you one afternoon while eating lunch.

You yawned while nodding. You had tried not to sleep in the Los Angeles daylight, but you were still kind of used to the New York timezone. Jet lag was no joke, and your shitty sleep schedule didn't help either.

“Sure. But I might be a little out of practice, so you better not laugh at me.”

“But that would be the best part!” he said laughing. “Okay then, I'll go for the car. This way I can show you around a bit more than these past weeks.”

He seemed very happy since he made you two public, and it made your heart go soft at the thought that sharing you with the world had that kind of reaction for him. Sometimes you thought that the people would find your friendship weird because of the age difference, but to your luck, it seemed like most people understood the situation a little. Of course, there were the ones that thought it was weird, or that you two were dating but didn't want to tell, but luckily it wasn't that many people.

When you got dressed Pedro drove to Santa Monica beach, then rented the bikes, and it was then when your small tour began. He showed you Venice beach, his favourite places to eat, drink and you even saw a museum from the outside. When the sun was starting to set, you rode back to the bike renting shop and sat in the sand to watch the sunset.

After it got a little dark, Pedro drove you to a local Mexican restaurant not too far to have dinner. You ordered some tacos and enchiladas, and while eating them both of you talked about how filming was going. He was so excited about it, and he wanted to invite you to set. You told him you would think about it beacuse you too had a job, but you ended up promising you would soon since you could do yours from anywhere and your schedule was more flexible. Pedro had a small desk on the living room so you used it as a makeshift little office.

Unaware for both of you, some people had spotted Pedro at the restaurant and posted it on the internet, which led the paparazzi to the location. They were waiting outside, and when you two realised it, it was too late, since there were already a small swarm of them. Your stomach began to ache with anxiety. This was the first time that you encountered that many together.

“I can ask the staff to let us out from the back” Pedro said after seeing your reaction to the small crowd.

“No, no. I don't want to inconvenience them or anything. We'll just... Go out, and then walk to the car and go back home. I'll be fine” you said, but worry was lingering in your voice.

After getting your leftovers in a small container, paying and gathering your things, you got up and headed to the exit. When Pedro got his hand on the handle of the cristal door, the flashes of the cameras had already began clicking around you. You had to cover your eyes and stop in your tracks for a second, which Pedro used to take your hand and lead you to where the car was a few meters away. Everyone was pushing around and shouting, trying to get his attention.

“Why did you hide her?”

“Did she move in with you?”

“Are you two dating?”

You reached the car, but they were too close. One of them was blocking the passenger door, so you couldn't really get into it. Pedro was already on the driver's side of the car, waiting for you to get in.

“Please move, you're in the middle” you heard Pedro say to them.

The photographers didn't listen and kept shouting while flashing their cameras. They were so close, too close, you felt like your air was slowly getting kicked out of your lungs. But they didn't back off, they just kept moving closer and pushing their way into you to get the best angles.

“Why are you even with her? You can do so much better!”

Pedro turned around to yell at the guy who said that, but he was just in front of you, and while he flinched backwards trying to get away from him thinking Pedro was maybe going to push him, his camera hit your face. It hit you right in the cheek, breaking the skin ever so slightly but enough to make you bleed. You gasped and your head moved down from the impact. You heard Pedro yell your name as he ran to your side, and you could swear the small crowd went silent for an instant before resuming the flashing of the cameras.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Pedro screamed at the guy. He took your face softly in between his hands as he was inspecting the spot which you had been hit on.

“She was in the middle, it's not my fault!”

“It's not your fault?” he said tearing his eyes from you to the man, and felt the worry for you shift into rage inside of him. “If you had even a little bit of a brain you wouldn't have to push anyone, you fucking asshole!”

You couldn't hear anything. Everything sounded like it was muffled. Panic was starting to build rapidly into you, making your limbs shake. Your breath was becoming irregular and your hands were sweating. No, no, no. Not here. Not now. You turned your back to the photographers, facing the car and putting your hands against it in an attempt to ground yourself. Tears started forming in your eyes, and you tried not to spill them. You didn't want to cry, not here, not where you could embarrass Pedro. That was the last thing you wanted. You tried to open the car door with shaky hands, and after what felt like an eternity, you got into the car. You crouched down and took your head between your hands trying to stop your head from pounding. Pedro was so fucking angry at the guy. How could he treat you like that? He had no right to do it. He was almost going to punch him but stopped in his tracks when he saw you get into the car and double over. His stomach sank at the sight. He knew what that position meant for you, and without any other word he got into the car and drove away without caring if he ran over one of those ungrateful men.

“Breathe, baby. We're out, I'm taking you home. We're almost there. Steady breaths.”

He kept talking to you in an effort to ground you, but silent tears were already streaming down your face as you hyperventilated. You hated this, you hated messing up everything. As soon as you were home, Pedro got out of the car and ran to your side. After opening the door, he carefully took you in his arms as you clinged to him, still with uneven breaths. He took you to the living room and lowered both of you to the ground.

“y/n, let's breathe together, okay? Look” he said while taking your hands into his and clutching them into his chest. He breathed in and out slowly a couple of times, and you tried to imitate him, but it was very hard for you, which only got you more frustrated and anxious. “It's alright, don't push it. Slowly. There's no rush, I'm here with you. Now, I'm going to leave your side for a second” he said softly, and you let out a small whine. “It'll be just a moment, and I'll be right back, okay? It's alright, I promise.”

You slightly nodded, still shaking and breathing harshly. Pedro quickly got up and grabbed an ice pack from the freezer, making his way back to you. He then sat in front of you and put it into your hands, holding them to your chest. Cold always helped you calm down.

“Meanwhile... Let's do 5-to-1, alright? Tell me 5 things you can see.”

After a small pause, you nodded and started looking around. “P-photos” you answered with a small shaky voice. “TV. Kitchen. F-fan. Bal- balcony. Shoes.”

“Good. Very good, baby. You're doing amazing” he said with a smile. “Now 4 things you can touch.”

You looked around and with a trembling hand you touched the rug. Then your pants. Then the sofa. And lastly the small coffee table that was in front of the sofa.

“That's good. Very good” he reassured you again. Positive responses helped you feel like you were a bit more in control. “Now three things you can hear.”

You breathed in and out shakily again, and closed your eyes for a moment. You could hear some faint music from the street, playing not too far away. “M- music.” Moving your head slowly, you heard the kitchen clock ticking. “Clock.” Pedro nodded and gave your hands a small squeeze. A breeze made the trees outside crunch. “Wind.”

“Perfect. That's very good, baby. You're doing great. Now can two things you can smell?”

You looked around again, trying to find anything that came into your ratio. You sniffed the air, and saw the abandoned leftover box in the middle of the room.

“F-food.” Pedro smiled at you and nodded. You looked at him with teary eyes, inhaled and then clutched his shirt. “You. Your- cologne.”

He couldn't stop his face softening or the loving look he gave you. He knew you were just saying it because he was the closest thing you could smell, but he couldn't help his heart from beating faster.

“Very good. Now the last one, something you can taste.”

You had calmed down a little, but after a few moments of looking around, your breath became hitched again. You couldn't find anything. Nothing. Not even a mint or some candy. Pedro saw how your thoughts started racing again, and his smile faded completely, panic briefly washing over him too.

“Okay, okay. Remember, slow breaths. Deep and slow, please.”

Your eyes didn't meet his, frantically looking for something that would complete the exercise. You had to complete it. It wasn't right. Pedro thought of every possible solution, but nothing came to mind. Until it did. But he didn't want to do it. It felt wrong, but he saw you start trembling again, he couldn't just leave you to suffer. He knew how important this cycle was to you.

“Oh, fuck this. I- I'm sorry” Pedro muttered while tenderly taking your face in his hands and bringing his lips to meet yours. Your entire body stopped shaking in shock as your eyes widened. You could taste his minty toothpaste along with your shared dinner. Without you noticing, your breath had become slower because of the air shortage. But Pedro noticed that, and he gently pulled back from the kiss. He slowly opened his eyes to meet your still widened ones. For what felt the longest time you two didn't say anything, and his thoughts were the ones that started to race now.

Fuck. I fucked up everything. Why did I even do that? Shit. I ruined it. Now she's going to leave and-

You left the ice pack on the floor, and leaning into him, you snuggled into his lap and put your head on his chest, hugging his waist with your arms. He did the same and held your head with one of his hands, resting his lips on top of it. Pedro was now the one with wide eyes.

What was he supposed to do now? What the hell did this even mean?

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x you #fanfiction

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great-cats · 5 months

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The Compress Analysis (2/?)

(From: This Post) Ⅰ - Ⅱ - ...

Part Ⅱ: The Mask

Yep, I see the mask as a key part of his character to the point where it simply must get a section of its own in this increasingly more insane ramble. One may immediately assume that the thing is used for identity concealment. While this is partially true, I reckon that its primary purpose is the concealment of his emotions, as implied in the ultra analysis entry for him (attached below). He may have a near perfect handle on his body language, but I will personally headcanon that he has a terrible poker face until the day I die. As a villain, his identity is going to come out at some point, you know? Even after the Kamino raid (where he got doxxed the hell out of), he continued to wear the mask up until his ta-da moment in 294. So with that info, we can reasonably assume that identity was on the back burner, and emotion/dramatics took centre stage. The latter option is thrown in because he obviously was saving that reveal to an extent. One can even go so far as to assume he hadn’t even taken his mask off around the league, which would be pretty interesting. We don’t ever see him without it while he’s with them, after all.

Beyond keeping his facial expressions behind closed doors, the mask may very well bolster Atsuhiro’s confidence. We don’t particularly see much of this in action given he wore the thing for so long and has only a select few moments of casual interaction, but I still like to think of it as a very real possibility. For all intents and purposes, Atsuhiro Sako is just a normal man with an interesting background and some past poverty. Despite this, the villain that is Mr.Compress– or what quite nicely amounts to a stage persona –is flamboyant, clever, and has a penchant for monologuing. I quite like to create a separation between “Mr.Compress” and “Atsuhiro Sako” because of this disparity. The latter is the flawed man behind the mask whilst the former is a faux, ideal identity put on for the audience. Only in those rude remarks and reckless actions do we see the facade begin to slip. So, what of the moment in the climax of chapter 294 in which he throws that covering off? Well, for starters, he couldn’t not. Jeanist’s quirk could nab anything fibrous, and the fellow couldn’t take any chances. But, beyond that, Atsuhiro thought that moment would wind up his final stand. What’s the use of concealment if you’re going to die soon? He might as well make things flashy.

A big thing in my opinion regarding the mask is how it often reflects Atsuhiro’s status. While I do like to make the distinction between him and Mister as mentioned prior, again, there’s that smidge of him shining through. When he lost his arm, the mask was solemn and in the times he was at his best, it portrayed a smug/snide grin. That grin in particular is by far his most iconic design! It gets the cogs turning in my head when his real emotions don’t seem to match it, though, Regardless of how Atsuhiro is really feeling, that mask keeps up the smile until it’s either broken or otherwise removed. It circles us back to that emotion concealment point, if that wasn’t already obvious. In pursuit of the perfect villain and the next in line for the illustrious goals and teachings of the late Peerless Thief. Atsuhiro has no room for error with that heavy load on his shoulders and must keep up appearances, even if he has to hide behind a smiling mask to do so. But why hold this legacy in such high regard? Atsuhiro claimed that it was the very reason he was there with the league, so what could’ve possibly gotten the man to be so dead set on the wishes of a long gone relative he likely never met? Perhaps, answers to questions like that could be found in what minimal information we know about…

Ah dear! That's part three exclusive content!! Tune in for "The Upbringing" later in which we'll pick right back up from where we left off!

#mr compress #atsuhiro sako #sako atsuhiro #mha #bnha #mr. compress #league of villains #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #character analysis #also when im done with all this I'll probably post a google doc #since thats what im writing this on #Just so that it's all in one place!!

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leafs-lover · 1 year

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Too Far Gone - Part Fifty Two

A/N: I read/ edited it, made a fair bit of tweaks and didn't review it, so ignore any grammatical issues.

Warnings: brief mentions of swearing, drinking and drugs. smut, therapy, feeling worthless or unworthy

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5400

It was a rough night. It took some time for Auston to venture down the hall and when he did he saw the spare bedroom door was shut and the lights were off. Auston knew she was awake, he could hear her crying.

As much as he wanted to try and talk to her, he knew he didn’t have the mental capacity for it. He had been keeping everything in for far too long, he couldn’t anymore. He hadn’t even finished brushing his teeth when he felt tears sting his eyes, and barely managed to climb under the duvet before they were rippling down his face.

He didn’t sleep well. Tossing and turning, waking up what felt like every hour. His heart ached, head throbbed, stomach churned, and his mind spun, replaying everything that happened. He spent so long wanting to hear her say that, how could that be his response?

Now at 6:14 in the morning, Auston spent the last hour creating a mile-long list of questions, arguments and counter-arguements. He contemplated walking in her room and just asking them – he knows she has been laying awake and drowning in the abyss - but he also knows the words wont come out the way he wants. Emotions are still too high.

Tia heard him get up at 6:28. She heard the footsteps down the hall and the coffee grinder whirl. Shortly after she could smell the freshly brewed coffee and heard cupboards and drawers open and shut. Around 7:19 she heard Taylour’s door creak open and him excitedly burst down the hall. She heard him squeal when he saw Auston in the kitchen, heard Auston laugh and some muffled words before the TV turned on. She lay staring up at the ceiling, doing everything to avoid him for as long as possible.

When she finally emerged her glasses were on which drew attention to the bright red that surrounded her eyes. The bags underneath are dark and heavy, holding onto a weight Auston didn’t know was possible. Her t-shirt was inside out and tucked into her leggings, mismatched socks were on her feet.

Auston wasn’t surprised that Tia remained in her room as long as she did. He wasn’t surprised by it, but he hated it. Hated how awkward it had become between them within a matter of minutes. What’s worse is he knows what comes next because they’ve been down this road before - tiptoeing around the other person, over-analyzing everything. It was hell. It took them far too long to break free of that and get to a point where they could tell the other anything but more importantly wanted to. And now neither one can say anything; instead, a bubble of silence builds around them, pushing all the air out.

He wished he could tell her it would all be okay, but he knew she’d put her walls up, her defense mechanism designed to block everyone and everything out. There was no way anyone could get through, except for one person.

“Mommy!” Taylour runs over the second he sees her. He has a wide smile on his face, and his curls that have returned bounce with every stride. “Daddy says I’m going to Fweddies house!”

“Really? That sounds fun.”

Auston can hear the panic in her voice. She thought Taylour would be a buffer all morning and during the ride to therapy, that they would not have to be alone.

“Mhm.” He nods.

“Come choose some toys to bring.”

Auston walks around the living room and picks up a firetruck and Paw Patrol figurines and shoves them into a backpack. He proceeds to scour the living room, looking for Rubble and Zuma – he knows Taylour will want to bring them all.

“MY TOWER!” He squeals with an enthusiastic jump. “Fweddie will love my tower!”

“That’s too big, they have to fit in this bag.”

“Oh.”

Auston moves to the couch and starts lifting cushions and pillows until he finds the remaining Paw Patrol characters wedged inside.

“Can I bring my crayons?”

“Yeah. I’ll go grab some colouring books.” Auston sets the bag down on the couch and starts down the hall to Taylour’s room. “Can you show Mommy where the crayons are?”

Taylour walks over to the pantry and points to the top for Tia. “There Mommy.”

Ever since Taylour decided the back of his door was a perfect spot for a mural, Auston decided crayons, paint, stickers, all arts and craft supplies, were going to be moved out of the reach of Taylour.

Tia walks over and opens the cupboard above the fridge. Standing on her tiptoes her hand swats around until she feels the shape of them through a plastic bag.

"Just killing the turtles,” she mumbles to herself.

Working in an industry that is a major contributor to waste and environmental impacts, Tia tries to do what she can to counteract that. Breathing new life into old clothes, donating what she can, and reusing leftover cuttings for something else. On top of that she has reusable water bottles, coffee tumblers, reusable straws, and every time she goes shopping she uses cloth bags (many of which she made herself). A plastic grocery bag is not something that would be found at Tia’s apartment.

“What’s killing the turtles Mommy?” Taylour gasps.

“Oh...um...well.” Tia fumbles over herself a little. Normally she loves his inquistive mind, questioning everything he sees and hears, but this is a topic she would have left for any other day. She bends down and picks him up and sets him on the counter. Each of her hands land on either side of his legs, and she softens her voice.

“When plastics bags get in the ocean, sometimes turtles eat them and then they get sick."

“Why do the turtles eat them?”

“They confuse the plastic bag for jellyfish, some turtles eat jellyfish.”

“What?” Taylour’s voice goes up in pitch and his eyes widen. “Why do they eat jellyfish?”

“Uh, well,” Tia laughs uncomfortably. “Just like you, animals need food to get energy. Elephants, beavers and horses only eat plants, and some animals, like turtles, eat both plants and other animals.”

Taylour takes a second to think over her answer. “But if they don’t have to eat the animals, why do they?” he finally asks. Apart from confusion blanketing his face, Tia can hear the hurt in his words. His voice quivers and a thin layer of tears coats his eyes.

Tia takes a deep breath. “Some animals just do bud.”

Auston walks back in carrying Geoffery, Marshall, a couple of colouring books and another shirt – three-year-olds tend to be messy – and sets them on the counter. Completely unaware of the impact this conversation is having on Taylour he says, “You eat animals.”

“What?!” His voice breaks. Tia purses her lips and lets her head fall. She has never hated Auston, but in that moment she thinks she might.

“Chicken comes from chicken, and beef,” Auston shuffles around the condo. He grabs the backpack and is on his way back to the kitchen when he sees Taylour’s face and realizes what he’s done. He stops dead in his tracks and sighs.

“I don’t want to eat chickens, I like them. I pet the chickens at the farm and -”

“Hey.” Tia brings a hand up and gently wipes away a few of his tears. Keeping her hand on his cheek she smiles at him. “You don’t have to eat chicken if you don’t want to.”

Taylour is quick to jump in her arms and bury his head against her neck. “I don’t want to eat animals Mommy.” He releases a soft sniffle and tangles his hands in her hair.

“Oh Taylour.” One hand slides around him to support his weight and the other gently soothes over his back, then places a soft kiss to his temple. She hears him sniffle a few more times and she bounces him in her arms, and sends a frightening glare toward Auston.

Taylour’s mood shifted after that. He was mopey and clingy; he didn’t even leave Tia when she had to brush her teeth. When the time came for him to take him to Fred’s, Taylour said he didn’t want to go and clung to Tia to a point Auston almost cancelled his plans.

When Fred opened the door, he crouched down to welcome what should be a fiery ball of energy to his arms. Instead, Taylour took a few steps forward and stopped once he hit Fred’s chest, making no attempt to give him a hug.

“Hi Fweddie.” He huffs against his shoulder.

“Hey Taylour.” Taylour may not return the hug, but Fred wraps his arms around his little body and holds him in tight. “How are you?”

“I’m okay.”

The second Fred’s arms fall, Taylour walks by him. He kicks his shoes off and slowly saunters in the apartment, collapsing face first on the couch. Auston always knew Taylour took some his mothers sass and flair for the dramatics, he didn’t realize just how much until this moment.

“What is going on with him?” Fred’s knees crack as he stands up, his eyes still trained on Taylour.

“I’m murdering turtles and he eats chickens.” Auston runs a hand down the side of his face.

“What?” Fred laughs, he turns toward Auston with a perplexed look on his face.

“I don’t know he’s three.” Auston dismisses his friend, setting Taylour’s backpack inside the door.

“You look worse than him.”

“Thanks for noticing.” Auston says a little pointedly.

“Are you going to tell me? I assume your problems are bigger than turtles and chickens.”

There is a hint of sarcasm in his tone, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Auston. His dark eyes narrow and he exhales, heavier than he needs to. “It’s been a wild 24 hours and I’m running late.”

“Yeah, no, it’s fine.” Fred awkwardly stammers out. As if it wasn’t weird to wake up to a message with a 5:07am timestamp asking him to watch Taylour (Fred didn’t even know Auston had Taylour and that’s the kind of thing that usually comes up) the one-lettered response he received later triggered an uneasy feeling. Add in the way Auston can’t even look him in the eye, is barely able to form a sentence and looks like he’s ready to vomit, and ever single bell and whistle is going off. “We’ll be fine.”

“K. Thanks. Bye Taylour.”

Auston didn’t wait for Taylour’s response, which is good because he didn’t have one. He didn’t even acknowledge Auston left. While Fred knows his three-year-old world is crashing around him, he knows it pales in comparison to whatever Auston is going through. The last time his friend acted like this was when he first found out about Taylour, and while he’s fairly certain it’s not another secret baby he doesn’t want to wait to find out. He’s hell-bent on getting the answer from Taylour even if it means ice cream at 10am.

Tia thought it was odd Auston left Taylour with Fred but she tried to remind herself Auston wasn’t expecting Taylour today. Maybe he had plans, grocery shopping, a hair cut, something he felt would be easier without a three-year-old, that’s why she didn’t question it (that and she didn’t care to speak to him). What really threw her off was when the arrived at Heidi’s. Auston didn’t just stop the car, he turned it off. He grabbed his phone from the centre console and slid it in his pocket and reached for the handle.

“Auston.” Heidi greets them when they step in. After hanging his coat on the rack he turns to Tia and takes hers and does the same. “I didn’t know you were coming today. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Tia kissed me.” Auston says bluntly.

“Well, I guess we have a lot to talk about.”

Auston and Tia each take a seat on the couch, only a foot separates them, but it feels like miles. She sits towards the end with her ankles crossed and clasps her hand in her lap. Her eyes drop to her feet, and she exhales, not exactly how she planned on telling Heidi.

Now that she knows, Tia starts at the beginning. Three days ago, when she knew she had to do something. Two days ago, when she borrowed Auston’s car and went to Ikea then to pick up Max to help her unload everything. She rambles her way through, Heidi occasionally looking down to scribble in a notepad. It almost feels rehearsed the way she gets through it all, only pausing when she gets to yesterday. That takes a bit more time, her voice breaks and she needs a few deep breaths, but eventually gets to the end leaving out no detail.

“Why did you think Auston felt the same way?” Heidi asks once Tia is done.

“Everyone seemed to think it – my dad, Fred…I guess when people are constantly suggesting it, its hard not to believe it.”

“Could it also be that a part of you wanted to believe it?” Heidi prompts from behind her thick framed lenses.

“Yeah,” Tia sniffles and nods. “Maybe.”

“What about you Auston?” Heidi directs her gaze to him. “You have had feelings for Tia over the past year?”

Auston is not a stranger to therapy. Five weeks after Zurich his parents took him to one in Scottsdale, by the time he left in August he hadn’t really noticed a change. He didn’t plan on continuing with it, but his dad joined him in Toronto for his rookie year to help him adjust to life in the NHL and helped Auston find someone. He doesn’t know when it happened, but eventually there was a change. Sessions went from once a week, to once every two, to once a month, to even more time between. Auston wasn’t back to himself, he doesn’t know if he ever made it there, he had processed it as best he could.

Then Tia came waltzing back into his life with their wild and joyful two-year-old and the next day Auston was back on his therapist’s couch.

“Yeah. More than once.”

“And why do you think it didn’t work any of those other times?”

Auston scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“Where do I even start? We were selfish and didn’t account for everything that had changed between us, within us. We were clinging to the past as if it was something we had to recreate regardless of the consequences.” He tries to hide the pain in his words, but it seeps out through every pore.

“Do you feel that way now? Like you’re trying to relive the past?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I did,” he admits truthfully.

Tia tries to keep her composure, but she’d given up on all hope 24-hours ago, and hearing him say the door isn’t completely closed sends her heart into an erratic rhythm.

“You seem surprised by that Tia,” Heidi drops her notepad on her denim clad thigh and shifts her gaze.

“Yes. After what happened I...” Tia trails off to gather her thoughts. “One of his first question was if I’m still taking my meds, I assumed he thought I had stopped and wasn’t thinking rationally.”

“Interesting, that was your first thought when she told you her feelings,” Heidi premises. But it wasn’t Auston’s first thought.

His first was that he must have misheard her, surely she didn’t tell him she had feelings. Second was how relieved he was to hear her say it and his third was how he wanted to hear it again. Her mental health wasn’t his first thought, but when he opened his mouth to talk that was what came out.

“Is her mental health a concern to you.

“After everything that’s happened how could it not be? Doesn’t matter what our relationship status is, she will always be important to me.”

“Are her mental health problems too much for you to overcome?”

“No, definitely not.” Auston answers quickly. He subconsciously seeks out her hand, at his touch her fingers release and she lets him intertwine his fingers with hers. “Everyone has stuff they are working on, things they want to change or improve, I’d never use that as a reason to not be with her.”

“But you do have reasons to not be with her?”

“Obviously.” Tia chortles. She meant to say it to herself, based on the eyes glaring her way she spoke a little too loud.

“Why do you say that?” Auston can feel her eye roll without even looking.

“Because I’ve hurt him way too many times to count in the past year. I tried to keep him from Taylour, because of my dad he missed out on two years –“

“That was not your fault.” Auston asserts. He feels her grip soften almost as if she’s pulling away and quickly shifts. The smooth fabric on the couch squeaks under his jeans, but he now sits with his knee touching hers. If he could touch her more, he would. “You never have to apologize for that.”

“It was because of my dad, how could you not blame me?”

She speaks softly and refuses to make eye contact. Auston can see a tear stuck to her cheek, the stream from another that fell earlier. It’s clear she is trying to mask her emotions, Auston just doesn’t understand why after all they’ve been through.

“You had nothing to do with Paul’s decision. If I thought you were even the slightest bit responsible I wouldn’t consider dating again.” Auston raises his voice, purely out of frustration. “I may have been his target, but I honestly think you were hurt the most by his actions.”

“Okay,” she brushes past the comment. “I still fought you instead of welcoming you. I never once made this easy for you, in fact I made it hell and yet your still here. Not just as my friend, but you’re here, listening to what I have to say.”

“I’ll always listen to what you have to say.”

Tia needs to understand the meaning of that statement - is he being polite or is he saying the door is never closed? She hopes that his expression will tell more than his words and brings her gaze to him only for her heart to break. He looks more hurt than ever before.

“Is there something you have to say Tia?” Heidi encourages her, not wanting to let them fall into a silence.

Tia blinks back the tears she has been fighting for the last ten minutes, “I guess…” she clears her throat, “I guess –“

“Tell him, not me,” Heidi interrupts her.

“I guess I just needed you to know.” Tia lets out another shaky breath, it’s harder than she thought to say these words. “I understand why you don’t want to do this…” she trails off thinking of all the reasons he has to walk away, because that list is a mile long. “But you need to know I am sorry; I know I haven’t always been the best person to you, that I don’t deserve you…regardless of what happens, you will always be important to me, and I am so grateful to have had you in my life, even if only briefly.”

“Why don’t you think you deserve him?” Heidi asks the question Auston had been thinking but was too scared to ask.

“The world tells me I don’t. I’m an ex-stripper and everyone has this preconceived notion about me, I’m a slut, a gold digger, I got pregnant on purpose.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” His face contorts and Tia can feel the steam erupting from his nostrils. “Why the hell would you think that?”

“Because everyone and their mother thinks it. This entire city worships the ground you walk on but shames me for just existing.”

“Well, they’re a bunch of idiots that couldn’t be further from the truth. You have one of the warmest hearts I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing. My life would not be the same without you, I would not be the same without you.”

Auston doesn’t say anything else. His face doesn’t soften. Tears don’t brim in his eyes. His breathing doesn’t even shift. He doesn’t do anything, and Tia is once again confused by him.

“Knowing that, do you still feel unworthy of him?” Heidi glances to Tia, over to Auston then back to Tia again.

Tia chews on the inside of her cheek and runs a hand through her hair. She wants to not just believe everything he says but feel it in every part of her, but how can one sentence overwrite things she has been told for years?

“I mean,” she takes another second to consider her answer. “I don’t know.”

“And why is that?” Heidi continues to prompt her, ignoring the very exaggerated eyeroll.

“Because of him!” She stammers out then pauses for a second, taking that time to gather herself as best she can. “This last year wasn’t easy, the drugs, rumours, my mom, through it all, all he did was support me and encourage me to get better. I don’t think he stopped to think about himself, or if he’d get hurt, he just blindly and selflessly dove in to help me. I don’t think I could ever be worthy of that.”

Auston heard nothing after that. Heidi and Tia talked, maybe they asked him questions, maybe they didn’t and the three of them sat in complete silence. He felt nothing, no anger, no pain, no joy or confusion. He went completely numb to everything and anything around him until Tia tapped his shoulder.

The wind was loud when they stepped outside and the sharp winter air cut against his skin. Ice crunched under their feet as they walked down the driveway. He tucked his head into the collar of his jacket and shoved his hands into his pockets, silently walking beside Tia to the car.

Tia kept glancing up to him, hopeful she’d see a sign that he wasn’t trapped inside, but he moved like stone. She had no idea what he is thinking, how he was feeling, or if he got what he wanted from the session, assuming he had a goal. After ten minutes he completely shut down. He still held her hand but never again squeezed it. She didn’t notice his body stiffen or eyes roll, his breathing remained slow and steady. If she didn’t tell him it was time to leave he’d probably still be sitting on that couch, staring at the wall.

She stops at the passenger door to his blue Lamborghini and reaches for the handle when he forcefully slams it shut.

“If you ever think you aren’t worthy of anyone you need to check yourself.” The amount of anger in his voice shocks them both. “You are an amazing human being, and don’t ever let someone say otherwise. Promise?”

Pulling her lower lip between her teeth her eyes dart over his face and she nods. Auston takes his palm off the door and steps back, letting her climb inside.

The drive back to condo was like so much of their time together recently, silent. The radio was on but set to a decibel that could barely be heard over the faint hum of the heater. He isn’t white knuckling the steering wheel while mumbling under his breath. He isn’t fighting back tears and the curling of his lips as if he is struggling to not fall apart. He isn’t smiling and glancing to her from the side of his eye with a sweet but devious grin, as if he is excited to get home. It’s as if she isn’t even there.

The walk to the elevator was silent.

The elevator ride was silent.

The walk down the hall was silent.

Tia doesn’t even know why he brought her back here. Her apartment was on the way home. His silence spoke volumes.

“Auston what –“ she starts once she realizes they are at his apartment and not Fred’s.

Firmly gripping her wrist, he tugs her inside and swiftly cages her against the door. Her eyes dart from left to right and he watches every imaginable emotion blanket her face in under three seconds. Without a word he leans down and connects his lips to hers and they both relax. It’s not a fiery tongue filled kiss where he rips every article of clothing off in seconds, instead its soft and light, filled with everything they had been holding onto all those years.

“I like you T.”

“You do?” She breathes out, eyes welling with happy tears for a change.

“I never stopped.” He kisses her again. “But if something is bothering you, no matter how small, you have to tell me, okay?”

“Okay. I promise.” When the words come out so does all the stress she has been harbouring, and for the first time in weeks she is at ease.

“I need you to remember one thing,” he presses her coat off her shoulders and grins when it lands in a heap on the floor. “You’re way too good for me.”

They spent the next ten minutes slooooowly making their way down the hall. They kept stopping to take off her shirt, take off his, there was a trail of clothes littering the hall. Before they even made it to his room he reached down and grabbed the back of her thighs. And because being wrapped in his arms was always her spot, she instinctively jumped.

A slight giggle slips out which only made Auston smile more, and he presses her against the wall for added support to kiss her again. Her hands glide into his hair and her hips gently roll forward, making Auston grunt into her mouth.

He begins to walk and when he feels his knees crash against the bed he slowly lowers her onto the soft duvet. His hands begin to roam her body, along with his mouth, hitting every curve and crevice, relearning every swell. He can smell her lavender body wash, and it is euphoric, intoxicating; he could have spent the entire afternoon just kissing her.

He could have. But there is no way he was going to.

Her hand runs along his jaw and tangles into his chain to pull him closer. His knee slots between her thighs and she gets lost in the moment, lost in him. They continue to kiss but his hand works its way around her body. She shudders at the touch but arches her back. He pauses at the clasp before expertly ripping it open, and lets out a hefty breath when her breasts spring free.

Her hands slide down his broad shoulders and trail over his warm skin. Through her excitement, she fumbles with the elastic band of his boxer, but after a few seconds her nails slip under and she works to free his hardening cock. Every part of her is wrecked with anticipation and Auston can feel it against knee.

“Fuck T.” He sucks at her lower lip while dragging the thin satin fabric down her thighs. He groans when two of his fingers graze over her entrance. “I missed seeing you like this.”

“You’ll never have too again.”

Auston doesn’t want to, but he has to pull away. He never thought he’d see Tia like this again, naked and on his bed, but now that he has her, he needs this engrained to his memory. The freckles on her ribcage, the faint red marks on her sides – remnant of her pregnancy with their son - perky and round breasts and a glistening pussy.

Her entire body jolts when two of his fingers dip inside her, and he smiles against her lips. They slowly start moving in and out, and it doesn’t take long for him to find the spot he remembers so well. One leg wraps around his waist and she groans into his mouth as he pumps in and out. His free hand quickly finds her pebbling breast and tugs on her nipple.

He revels in the sounds – her breathy moans and the slurp coming from between her legs. She is quickly at the edge. Auston always knew what to do and how to do it, but this is so much more. This is her body finally welcoming back the piece it has been yearning for, and the thought alone has her teetering. All it takes is his thumb circling her clit a few times and she is a goner – releasing a string of curse words and moans as her walls tighten around his fingers. She drenches his fingers and he works her through it, mumbling in her ear to encourage her sweet collapse.

Auston removes his hand and begins kissing his way down her body. Hot, open-mouthed, sloppy kisses are everywhere, her jaw, shoulder, neck. He starts to make his way to what he’s been craving for so long.

“Aus,” she pleads, giving his hair a soft tug.

“Yeah baby,” her murmurs thickly against her ribcage.

“I need you.”

“You have me.”

“No.” She tugs a little harder this time. “I can’t wait, I need you, now.”

“Seriously?” He doesn’t even try to hide his disappointment. “I want to,” he nods and winks.

“Later. It’s been too long; I need to feel you.”

“I’m doing it tonight.” He swiftly informs her, beginning to climb back up her body. “And tomorrow morning.”

“Deal.” As much as she can’t wait any longer to be stretched by his dick, she knows she can’t wait too long to feel his tongue between her walls.

Auston shifts his weight and reaches into the side table for the condoms and Tia feels some of his excitement leak onto her thigh and smiles – she knew he wasn’t that upset.

He is quick to enter her, but he doesn’t move right away. He’s content to watch her eyes flutter and bask in the feeling as she becomes re-accustomed to his girth. He missed this, missed her and could easily take a moment to enjoy it, but when her nails scratch along his should blades, he starts to move.

Its slow, but deep and thorough, moaning loudly as he drags his cock through her heat. He pulls back and presses his hips back to hers, then leans down to kiss her, he never wants to stop kissing her.

“You thought about this didn’t you?” He huffs, finding a steady pace that constantly has her gasping in pleasure. “When you were alone in bed?”

“Yes,” she bites at her lower lip and nods. “All the time.”

“I did too,” he tells her between kisses. “Now that you’re my girlfriend we can do it all the time.”

Hearing him call her that made her pussy quiver. Auston reaches down and grabs her thigh and holds it over his hip. He thrusts in and out, groaning and moaning as his release began to build.

“You are my girlfriend, right?”

Up until this point Tia had only heard ferocity and hunger when he spoke. Every word was thick and warm, pulling her closer and closer to ecstasy. This is different, she hears worry and feels nothing but hopelessness as if he is scared of what’s to come. Not that she can blame him, in the past year they never made it past breakfast the following morning.

She brings her hand over and cradles his jaw, and sweetly looks up into his eyes. “Yeah, Auston, I am. I’m not going anywhere. I need you.”

All his life, everyone talked about three words, eight letters, and the weight they bear. I love you. They are supposed to hold all meaning, but they don’t. I need you, those are the eight letters, three words, that he needed to hear.

Auston’s lips crash against hers. No more words are said just the rhythmic squeak of his bed frame mixed with grunts and moans until finally her sweet whimpers feel the air. Auston pumps into her a few more times, but the feeling of Tia tightening around his cock sends him careening over the edge with her. He releases everything into the condom and collapses onto her body so they can both catch their breath.

Taglist: If you are in this list you have expressed interest in the series (either through likes/reblogs or by asking). If it’s crossed out your tag didn’t work. If you would like to be removed or added to the list send me an ask:

@youtxbemusic @nicoleloveshockey @emsully2002 @hockeypuckspottspot @ashleymarine @albal321 @b34ut1fulb4st4rds @biznastysloneshift12 @burkylover @c-tangerine @canadian-girl87 @crazzyfann @dana-hqy @delighttfulll @evawest5 @every-beautifulthing-thereis @greendragonzz @heatherawoowoo @hockeybabe87 @hockeyinaussie @hockeyisit @hockeypuckedmeup @je-ne-regrette-rien @jakekisska @partypoison00 @princesscameston @puccbunni @queenmarvel21 @sixmapleleafs @starswin @trashforbarzal @0kikina0 @1-fuzzy-squirrels @janeydeaux @stuff4me2do @callsign-denmark @monnbc @simpgirl-lat @huneyjojo221 @idfan21 @elly-dx @samanthasgone @holyalfalfasprout @lwstuff

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dandymaximilian · 1 year

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I feel like a fundamental quality of stuffed toys in the Toy Story universe is that their purpose isn't meant to be played with, but to be cuddled with. Being shown affection all around seen as a big honour for a toy, but usually kids only bring their stuffed animals to bed. (Andy was just a unusual child.)

Like, the bond between toys and their "kid" usually is strengthened within groups, within a hierarchy based on their roles in imagined play, and how much the toy is played with in general. Woody was Andy's favourite, and he was the hero. Buzz became his new favourite, and he was also a hero. Thus, creating a conflict within the hierarchy.

This is all thrown out of the window with stuffed toys.

Sure, they can be used in imagined play, but their purpose isn't to be played with. Instead, it's to provide comfort to their "kid." Therefore, the bond between a stuffed toy and their owner surpasses even the most treasured toy in the collection, because they are there for their "kid" when they are at their most vulnerable.

I think this is what is misunderstood about Lotto's character. As the audience see in Woody and Stinky Pete, lacking a purpose is enough to drive a toy mad. It's as if their worse qualities are brought out, bringing about a desperation that drives them to do terrible deeds, just so they get the attention they were literally created for.

For Woody, he needs to be played with. Plain and simple. Yet, he also needs to be a hero and a leader, because this was his role in Woody's Roundup, ingrained in his very fabric of being.

For Stinky Pete, any positive attention will do, as long as he is perceived. He was the comic relief in Woody Roundup. He was created with the purpose of making people smile and laugh. So being abandoned on the shelf, ignored, was his worse nightmare, the epitome of hell itself.

(His ending of becoming an art piece for a child was actually his best possible fate. Sure, he had an initial bad reaction to this, but in becoming a silly artsy toy, he will ultimately fufill his role as comic relief in playtime. He didn't really want to hurt the main cast at the end of the day, he just needed to be loved, so he faced no real karma.)

Lotso, on the other hand, needs to be a child's entire world. He needs to be snuggled with, he needs to be the listener, and the pacifier. He even smells like strawberries, just so he can comfort his owner. Heck, his name is even Lots-o'-Huggin' Bear!

The guy wasn't meant for group play, nor was he meant to have multiple owners. He was fully independent, and therefore, self centered by nature.

In the scene where Lotso was replaced with an identical, he basically had an existential crisis. He becomes the only member of the entire series who truly understands how unfair and wrong their existence truly is. His heart was crushed, and it never came back after that.

In finding out that he is fundamentally no different to his owner than any other lotso, something broke within his psyche.

Toys are meaningless to children at the end of the day. They are simply a future piece of trash, bound by a system designed by oppressive creatures toys can't help but crave the attention of. He even says the latter to the main cast, and I genuinely think that he believes it.

"I didn't throw you away; your kid did! Ain't one kid ever love a toy really! Chew on that when you're at the dump!"

"This is what happens when you DUMMIES TRY TO THINK! WE'RE ALL JUST TRASH WAITIN' TO BE THROWN AWAY! THAT'S ALL A TOY IS!"

So, Lotso took matters in to his own hands to gain some sense of control in his life.

He designated any threats to the room with destructive children, or had the toys join him. He created an oppressive environment within the daycare, and created a superficial hierarchy to put himself on top. A horrible thing to do, but it's what he felt was necessary so that he can fulfill his purpose without risk of being replaced again.

It's notable that none of the toys he picked for his gang feature another stuffed toy. I imagine stuffed toys were the first to be be sent to the dumpster, unless they aren't popular amongst the children, perhaps.

I don't think Lotso did this to "spite" any toy, despite what the flashback might suggest. His line, "If I can't have (Daisy), no one can," stems from his insecurity of being obsolete. His real karma comes not from being a foil to Woody, like Stinky Pete was, but in abandoning the main cast in the dump out of petty revenge.

I think Lotto's terrible fate is perfect. He was willing to let the main cast die in the incinerator, so he faced a punishment worse than death as a result. Trapped on a dump truck, surrounded by and treated like trash, next to toys, never to fufill his purpose. And even if he escaped, no child would ever love a trash embedded toy.

#toy story #lotso #woody #stinky pete #toy story analysis #ramblings #toy story eats my brain actually

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loserlvrss · 2 months

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꒰ 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐘 ꒱ 윤종우

summary : you decided you wanted to renovate your apartment, and who else to assist in distracting you than your loving — tall — boyfriend, jongwoo

genre : fluff, suggestive, jongwoo x afab!reader tws : language, pet names, kiss, slightly suggestive dialogue author notes : ^ω^ beyond help delusional word count : 0.9k

it all started when you decided that you wanted to change the interior design of your studio apartment. you had been living there for a couple years now, and seeing the boring decorations wasn’t bringing you any sort of joy after long work days.

you had honestly been feeling quite depressed inside the dark confines of a place that was supposed to bring you comfort. yes, it had lots of natural light in actuality, big ceiling to floor windows, and even various house plants. but you couldn’t help feeling like it wasn’t you anymore; dim and dull. you had grown older — cut people off and made new friends — you had changed, but your space hadn’t.

spring was coming, and you had decided very late at night that it was the perfect time for you to draft projects, create pinterest boards and search amazon.

of course texting various people for conformation that this was actually a terrific idea.

now, you were nervously biting your lip as you read over the paint colors on the shelf. luckily for you, your lease had no rules against coloring the walls whatever you wanted, as long as when you moved out, you painted them neutral again.

“what the hell does cornsilk even mean?” you looked to your crouched down boyfriend, who you had made come over to assist in the renovations; however, he put up no protest, just wanting to be with you. he was also one of the people who had confirmed that it was a good idea, obviously supporting you wholeheartedly.

he laughed breathily, “you just want white? what’s with the stupid names?”

you stood on your tiptoes, leaning over him and reading eggshell, “i want this one,” he stood up too, having a higher reach than you, and picking it off the shelf, “because it’ll match the pink of the cabinets.” he put it in the cart, next to your new curtains, a couple cute plates, bowls and mugs, as well as hardware to hang a mirror you had bought online.

you two had purchased everything in the cart, as well as miscellaneous items to put on shelves and countertops — that you had thrown into the cart last second.

of course, today had to be the day your elevator stopped working. it was getting ridiculous how much your life had started resembling a sit-com; but at least it brought you joy.

you had three bags of random junk on your arms, juggling a lamp and an extension cord in the other. your boyfriend wasn't free of struggles either, but it was arguably a little less breakable than what you had.

"baby," you huffed, coming to a stop outside your locked apartment door, "i can't grab my keys," you shoved your hips out, making it known that they happen to be in your back pocket, "no funny business, though. i can't afford to replace this light."

he laughed, but easily retrieved the jingling metal. jongwoo pressed up against your body, making you scoff in disbelief, as he unlocked the door.

he pouted innocently, "you said no funny business. i'm just unlocking the door for you, love."

"your duality scares me." you voiced, entering before him, and setting the things (that were cutting your circulation off) on the kitchen peninsula. "no funny business, my ass."

"exactly." he laughed, shutting the door and putting his bags next to yours. "what do you want to do first?"

"probably move everything so the couch doesn't end up with paint all over it."

jongwoo crossed his arms over his chest, looking over to the living room space of your small apartment. "you're lucky I agreed to help you." he laughed out, and you skipped up into his personal space, wrapping your arms around him. "you probably would be able to do it without me, but let me believe its because i'm strong."

you got up onto your tiptoes and kissed his cheek, "thank you." he then meticulously trapped you between his arms, chest to chest, "and you are strong. i gotta make you hold the couch while i stuff a rug under it. but before that, you gotta help me move it, pretty please."

your arms squeezed his torso tighter as you looked up to him. and jongwoo loved looking in your eyes — it was riveting at this point — as arguably, his favorite past time. once again, you went onto your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips, which was gladly reciprocated. and for a moment you both debated not stopping, turning it a little more than innocent; until you brought it back, and broke apart.

"woah," you laughed, a little breathlessly, "i thought i said no funny business."

he squeezed you tighter to his body as you tried to back away, "not even a little?"

your eyes narrowed playfully, "no, not even a little." he pressed another kiss too your unsuspecting lips, "jongwoo... i want to at least get something done before you start messing around. gotta put your height and arms to work!"

he released you, "fine! but after that you're all mine, right?"

you rolled your eyes, making your way over to your couch to push the smallest piece further to the wall — in which you weren't going to paint.

you looked up at him with a huff, "yes, whatever you want."

he giggly skipped over to you with a satisfied grin plastered to his face.

"remember those words, baby."

reblogs, likes and comments are greatly appreciated! thank u!

#one pact #kpop #kpop requests #kpop writing #kpop imagines #kpop oneshots #kpopidol #kpop bg #romance #kpop fluff #boys planet #one pact jongwoo #yoon jongwoo

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vaingloury · 3 months

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Disparate Thoughts on Dungeon Meshi

I'm an anime-only watcher, so no spoilers beyond what's currently aired (eps 1-3) + mild map spoilers for a random 3.5e D&D module (Sunless Citadel).

- I'm not the first nor will I be the last to harp on the English localised title but Delicious in Dungeon sucks. I do, however, think going with the "DnD" naming scheme was a nugget of a good idea (let's face it, "Dungeon Food" sucks too). Maybe "Diners in Dungeon"/"Dungeons & Diners" instead (as in those who dine, not a place where one dines). Or "Dungeon Dine" (like "dungeon dive"). Regardless, I'll just be calling it Dungeon Meshi going forward.

- I don't know if this is coloured by me going into this series with the knowledge that Ryoko Kui loves Baldur's Gate 1 and 2 or a wider ripple effect of eastern dungeon-fantasy conventions being shaped by there not being an official Japanese translation of D&D between Basic and 5e, but the world-building's vibe is old-school D&D as hell. It feels like it was written by someone who maybe never got the chance to play the tabletop game much but spent hours poring over the 1e Monster Manual in hopes of getting a campaign off the ground (and ended up penning a manga instead, game scheduling be damned). There's the disarming of traps, feeling for secret doors, and even the iconic red dragon as seen on the covers of the Basic Dungeon Master's Handbook and 1e Monster Manual being the dungeon boss. Design-wise, the dungeon's layout it reminds me a bit of the map from Ruins of Castle Greyhawk or The Sunless Citadel (pictured below, right).

- The main cast is very tropey at the moment. Quite literally all the Basic classes are covered; the generic white man Fighter (Lv 1, no multi-attack yet :P) as the party face, the halfling/thief, the elf/wizard, the missing cleric, the dwarf... This works for this point in the narrative but doesn't make me particularly attached to any of them. They need another overarching obstacle.

- I generally don't like Studio Trigger's output (not the Imaishi-involved stuff anyway; Gridman fucks) but I respect how bouncy their animation usually is. So, I was excited to watch something animated by Trigger but not (originally) written by them. Dungeon Meshi, however, looks static and resorts too often to Dutch angles to maintain visual interest. There's a bit of an art shift in episode 3 where this improves; more fun "off-model" moments, the movements get a little bouncier, more color harmony. Hopefully, this stays and isn't just a guest director fluke. Form the snippets I've seen on the manga, Kui suffers a bit from "draw background killed my grandma", thus her ability to make her simple character designs emote well has to carry the page. The anime does the opposite; super detailed backgrounds but flat shading/lack of texture on the characters creates a need for them to over-emote with a "screen-shake" effect in order to stand out from their surroundings, which I could see getting old fast. The main event, the food, looks better in the anime than in the manga due to colour and animation bringing it to life.

- I don't usually laugh at Japanese comedies because they're either too slapstick for my tastes or too pun heavy for my JP comprehension level. Dungeon Meshi gets a point for making me "lol" more than once.

- Finally, a good panty shot:

- I watched episode 3 dubbed. EN Marcille > JP Marcille (I say this as a stickler for subs). The rest of the dub cast is fine but I'm probably sticking with JP because JP Laios' ability to scream > EN Laios (EN is a great generic white man, though). I'm not familiar with most of the JP voice cast. I think Chilchuck is my fave in JP.

Both languages have little breathing room between lines of dialog and I was hoping the EN dub would play around with the fact that the character speaking isn't necessarily the one on screen (thus less lip-flap matching, especially for Senshi, who has few indicators that he's actually speaking even when he's onscreen) but alas. I'll do another one of these if I have more to say later in the season 🥂

#dungeon meshi #anime blogging #b

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ganymedesclock · 10 months

Note

What are your thoughts on TotK so far?

[spoiler alert obviously don't keep reading if you don't want this]

-Gloom hands are the absolute best I love them so much never stop being horrible

-Gleeoks are nice. good to see them again. like the new look.

-Admittedly not completely wild about the fuse system but Kohga attacks you with a car and it's fun to watch people build all the looney tunes contraptions people make

-Can't believe they finally dropped Zelda's fursona only to make it a dimension of torment for her. I love the light dragon but can't Zelda have a dragon break rather than a dragon breakdown.

-In seriousness with the fake Zelda running around it could be an interesting twist if everyone believes the light dragon is hostile because it keeps randomly dive-bombing people while a Zelda who is lucid but unable to communicate is trying to chase people away from her impostor.

-Related to a prior point I like to think the Koroks kind of enjoy being yeeted. they're prankster forest spirits. this has to be at least a little bit fun.

-I'm not keen on Kilton in the first place and I don't think we needed Kilton 2: Worse Kilton. I don't like how every NPC in TLOZ that doesn't look completely conventionally attractive is increasingly signaled as either an evil overlord or a funny idiot you shouldn't respect or take seriously. I do not want to watch these clowns dance for me as a reminder to not take any sort of interest in monsters seriously. This is a vibes based thing and is not limited to the designs. I feel like you could keep those designs as-is and salvage the vibes but I'm not quite sure how.

-Narratively, Tears of the Kingdom feels suffused with a specific kind of old man sadness that he is No Longer Hip With The Kids (and this is not gender-specific but the predominant gender of the mouthpieces it is given ingame must be noted) without making any concessions to what The Kids actually care about so Rauru is here because they heard you didn't like Rhoam so now there's a super cool hip with-it dad who never yells at Zelda but also just like Rhoam his actions amount to failing her at a critical moment, leaving her alone to suffer, and then coming back as a ghost to implicitly give Link Daddy's Blessing to marry Zelda.

I want to like Rauru way more than I do because the Zonai's designs are fantastic, but I feel like the depiction of these "Sky Gods" and their role in history ends up patronizing the hell out of both the Zonai and everybody else, but especially the non-hyrulean vassal states where the Zonai are made out to be needless fairy godmothers when they have all the hallmarks of a dying people 10,000 years ago, we can only imagine Rauru's legacy was whitewashed to hell and back considering how central Hyrule positions its non-Hylian allies, But Then Also the Zonai are so beautiful and smart they created everything with their inherent superiority and if the gerudo, zora, gorons, or rito have any meaningful cultural legacy no they didn't the Zonai did this for/with them.

Also can we please not physically put the arm of the king with its power to command things and space on Link's body. This feels like a twofer desecrating Rauru even further by disembodying him down to only the useful part of him and also literally making Link just a bodily platform for the King's Authority. no we're not gonna empower YOUR hand we're gonna hack it off while you're unresponsive to make room for the real kingly authority. We've been doing this since Wind Waker and the quiet part feels like it's getting louder.

-I love Gloom I love the Depths. on the one hand yes they could afford to be a little more Actual Cave Like but as it is it kind of sends the vibe of like, a prior surface that sunk downward into the earth. The idea of moving up as well as down, this sort of heaven-and-hell motifs, are kinda great.

-As afraid as I was of this version of Ganondorf being made out to be a puppet/pawn/disciple of Demise I was actually very, very pleased to see the man just straight up eat Demise's lunch in every conceivable way. Even his demon king form which feels the closest to aping Demise replaces the primal pyroclast vibes with that saturated blood color. Demise feels like a primal titan- Ganondorf feels like a Persephone stained with the fruits of the underworld. I love his designs I love his vibes I love what they did with him. This is SUCH a good return to 'letting Ganondorf be a person rather than a screaming rage cloud'.

Literally the only thing I don't like is I think his tiny dinky oni horns are silly and he didn't need them. that's it.

-I mentioned Kohga but I'm so glad Kohga just decided that since he fell down a hole he Lives There Now.

-the like likes are excellent. If you are sensing a pattern here it's that I'm very fond of the creature design. You begin to see why I'm frustrated with Kilton and Kilton 2: Worse Kilton. Just let me hang out with the horriblins. have you seen them.

-Ok I don't really like that they had a "here, idiot, this is how you make a functional weapon" angle to giving Conspicuously Weapon Shaped horns on all the main monsters so you can just harvest them to make spears or hammers or such. This is part of the part of Fuse I'm not keen on.

-did we really need zonai device gachapons. they were not being at all subtle about how toyetic this new mechanic was, to the point of it feeling kinda immersion breaking. how seriously are we supposed to take this. Zelda is over there doing the anime fisheye stare. This is the last surviving legacy of a dead people. We are capable of recreating the Guardian Massacre from BOTW onto random blins now. But whee. Car go brrrr.

-TLOZ Please Stop Adding Gimmick Robot Characters That Obviously Have Feelings But Are Also Slavishly Bound To A Purpose Long After It's Useful To Anyone And Were Made That Way By Heroic Guys We Are Supposed To Root For And This Isn't Framed As A Problem, and other songs by Fall Out Boy,

-Yona is a good character and I like her, Sidon is allowed to be bisexual

-this isn't unique to TOTK or originating there but I have a little petty rage in my heart that goron rock food is just... comedy cartoon meat but made of rocks. I hate it. expose us to an entirely alien concept of cuisine. Make me yearn to eat bismuth knowing my human limitations would fail me. I was thinking about this the entire Marbled Rock Roast plot.

WHAT IS THERE TO ROAST

IT'S ROCKS

HEAT CANNOT ALTER THE PROPERTIES OF ROCKS WITHOUT EITHER MELTING THEM OR TURNING THEM INTO A WHOLE DIFFERENT ROCK

-I think Evermeans are good and we should live in fear of resource-useful setpieces more often. there should be hostile jar mimics next. Wind Waker had enemies popping out of jars but also you could get the drop on them by breaking the jar like normal, and that fails the mimic test of "am I now afraid to perform Ordinary Actions in places I'm not sure are safe"

#Legend of Zelda #Tears of the Kingdom #readmore #capslock #this may sound excessively grumpy but I am enjoying most of it #it's just the parts I enjoy make it hard to stomach the parts I don't

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dreamstatesims · 9 months

Note

hey girlie, hope you're doing well; having a good day/night:

i wanted to ask if you could give any advice with building and landscaping? i've always been a huge fan of your sim style, and i'm currently looking to get into building myself.

was there any videos you watched or accounts that were able to help you jump wholeheartedly into the wonderful world of build/buy mode?

thank you soooo much in advance <3

hi! i could go on and on about this topic so thanks for asking. last year i wrote about building here, if you recall. since that one was more about "vibe" maybe this one should be a little more technical? idk, i'm a dreamy creative so i'm sure this'll get emotional anyway lol.

i suggest picking a world or architectural style and let one inform the other. then research that style, look at floor plans and dive into pinterest for a while before you start building. if you don't already have one, get one and go collecting inspiration that you can reference later. here's mine, if you wanna check it out.

when landscaping i think about two key things: what style of gardening goes with this build (manicured, overgrown, minimal, etc) and i consider the trees and/or flowers i see in the world around my lot. i'll incorporate some to blend on and off-lot gardening. and i can't emphasize enough how important terrain painting is! in my opinion it really anchors everything down. for example, i paint all around and under landscaped areas, trees, the entire perimeter of the house/buildings, and anything else like pools, decks, driveways. it creates depth and makes it look like these things are really sprouting out of the ground. also paths! even if you don't have stones laid down, think about the routes sims will take to get from one place to another, like from the back porch to the pool, the marks little sneakers leave under the swing set when simmies play, from the mudroom to the trash bins by the garage. grass thins out and you'll see some dirt showing through regularly trodden routes, so paint those on to make the area look lived in.

the simpler the floor plan, the better. even if you pick a floor plan that's complicated, simplify it. you don't need a garage? remove it or convert it into something else. too many little rooms and hallways? open up those spaces or take them out entirely and push the necessary rooms you want to keep into that area. you'll find your builds will be much easier to play in this way and it won't take sims hours to get to the kitchen or up the stairs.

i have general dimensions for rooms that really work for me: kitchen 5x6, 6x6, 6x7 dining 4x5, 5x5, 5x6 living 5x6, 6x6, 6x7 half bath 2x2, 2x3 full bath 3x4, 4x4 owner's suite 5x6, 6x6 bedrooms 4x5, 5x5 hallways 2 spaces wide

maybe a bit tricky, but think about adding rooms in the roof. a play room, guest room, second living room, or office space. hell, even just an attic you can convert later as your family grows. when building attics, i'll lay out the roof design first and then see where i can build rooms inside. for easier gameplay you'll want to then break down the roof into sections so when you lower the walls you can see inside and the camera won't bounce around.

twistedmexi's TOOL mod is an absolute gamechanger and i highly recommend using it to expand your lot outside the lines. EA has decorated the world outside of your lot with fences and other features that suggest you can absolutely push things further. i'll setup whatever i want outside the lot inside my grid first and then move it all out together. i do this for play areas, picnic tables and umbrellas, firepits and seating. i'll put cars parallel parked on the road or in the driveway EA has provided. and don't forget about debug items like electrical poles, post boxes, bus stops, fire hydrants and other stuff you'd see around a neighborhood.

i'm subscribed to a handful builders on youtube that i'll watch from time to time. it's great to see what other folks are doing because this community is so creative and you'd be surprised the little tricks you'll pick up. these are some of my favorite builders: simproved, simsphony, plumbob kingdom, simcubeez, bojana sims.

if you have any more questions on specifics or want an actual tutorial on something, don't hesitate to ask! and that goes for anyone reading this very long-winded post. kudos if you made it this far!

#asked and answered #ts4 tutorial #tutorial

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chronic-ghost · 10 months

Text

Chapter 3 of Recovery Road

chapter rating: E (18+)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 7266

chapter summary: dieter and natalie finally figure out why the hell they can’t seem to get along.

chapter warnings/tags: masturbation, discussions of addiction/rehab/drug use, angst, discussions of shitty parents, cursing, discussions of infidelity/cheating

a/n: i've finally put together a taglist request form if anyone wants notifications about this fic or any of my other series! This fic will update every Thursday now!

▲ Series Masterlist | Previous | Next

▲ AO3 Link

Somewhere, out there, in some sliver of the universe, someone might possibly– curiously– be looking out for him.

The five days, counting down to the possible end of his life, extended into a week. Then two.

While most of the shooting had taken place at the soundstage in south LA, the new director – Scott Manley – had found a new location out in a real desert in New Mexico where some of the beginning scenes could be reshot without adding too much to the budget. Maybe he agreed too quickly to getting out of the city, but Dieter put up no argument against the reshoots. Two weeks to do his scenes again with Mark, play the guitar, maybe finally get that drink with Mark he’d been meaning to. He even paid for the AirBnB just outside of Albuquerque for himself. Hell, he rented a car without telling anyone. He got up there a day early to drive the 511 all by himself.

Scott even seemed like a reasonable guy. Not possessing an ounce of Heidi’s creative talent, but all he had to do was stick to her notes and not fuck it up, and he seemed to be capable of that.

For a few brief moments, it seemed like things were back on track.

And then the universe forcibly reminded him exactly what it thought of him.

“Close quarters character work?” Dieter parrots back to Scott, who nods seriously. “What the fuck – sorry – what is that?”

Scott always wears a black ball cap and thick 70s glasses. He looks like he grew up on too much George Lucas and too little social interaction. He knows how to run a set, and aim a camera, but human emotion seems like a foreign concept to him. Dieter vaguely wonders if his good behavior got him here; if it was the old Dieter, then maybe they would have sent someone who could carry a conversation instead.

“Close quarters character work is designed to enhance chemistry and create a sense of comradery between otherwise antagonistic talent,” Scott says with all the inflection of wet cardboard.

Dieter sputters. “‘Otherwise antagonistic talent’? What are you talking about?”

“You two fight a lot. I need that fixed.” Scott’s expression does not change.

Fuck, maybe they did send the right guy for the job.

Dieter swallows.

He couldn’t exactly disagree with the man. Since Heidi left, the barrier between whatever was going on between you and Dieter had completely disintegrated.

But better way to phrase it might be: it burned up in a colossal fire of rage, yelling, and walk offs. What had been subtle and hidden arguments behind stages had ignited into almost knock-down, drag-out fights.

Everything you did irritated the shit out of him. The way you walked. Your voice. Even the way you breathed. Every single goddamn thing you did was wrong and he was going to let you know it.

You still showed up casually high to most scenes, and because he was such a fucking upstanding guy, he never brought it up in public once.

You fought and you yelled and you screamed at each other. Which worked for a while because that’s what the characters were going through. But then the arguments continued past when Scott called cut. They continued over the crafts table, at lunch, into the makeup rooms. You’d stand in the parking lot until midnight to finish an argument that started at three that afternoon. You made him want to claw his own eyes out.

“We’re getting complaints, Dieter.” Scott continues, just as deadpanned as ever.

He cringes. “From the crew?”

“From the janitorial staff.”

“Got it.” He fiddles with his ring. Not the gold one. Another black one. “Okay, what does this close quarters character work look like?”

“Two hour sessions every day until we get things running back up here. Shouldn’t be more than a week or two.”

He runs his tongue against the back of his teeth, trying to ignore the high-pitched screaming in his ears.

“Okay. Where?”

“Anywhere you want. Just have to clock in and out with one of the PA’s here.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Does she know about this?”

“She does.”

“How did she take it?”

“About as well as you are.”

Fuck, he wants to be more obviously casual.

Dieter twists his jaw and scratches the back of his neck. “And if it doesn’t work out. If we keep fighting?”

For a man with little social skills, the look on his face clearly reads, you know exactly what will happen.

“Okay, then, when do we start?”

The air is warm and he tastes the desert sand in his mouth. He’s got the top down of the blue coup he rented and his hair is longer than it has been in years. Sweat sparks along the back of his neck, but the sensation isn’t unpleasant. There’s something about the sun, the sand that makes him feel alive, that whatever out there is also in him and it’s more ageless than the world itself. He wants to rub himself in sunlight like a cat.

If he imagines with his whole heart, he can picture himself alone in the car.

But he’s not. His rings on his fingers knock against the hard black steering wheel.

Neither one of you has so much as looked at the other since leaving the parking lot.

He thought you’d scoff when he drove up to the temporary studio the project was using in New Mexico with the top down – my haaair, he imagined you screeching – but you just threw your purse over the lip of the car door and dropped down onto the waiting leather seat.

At least, this time, you had the decency to wear pants. Jean leggings so tight he was sure he could see your thong, but whatever. He floored it so hard, the tires squealed, smoke fluttering into the face of the bewildered PA left behind.

He drives north, towards the mesas and the open plains. The road curves up, and around, and around, and around, Albuquerque a small bundle of toy buildings over the edge of the cliff. It’s about two in the afternoon and he’s pretty sure this is already the longest day of his life. He fears he might stall out the clutch at the speed he’s going but he’d sooner drive you both off this cliff than slow down. As if that would somehow shorten the time he’d have to spend near you.

The car swerves into the white stone driveway of his AirBnb and he cuts the engine. He probably should have spent the drive thinking of ways to somehow talk to you like a normal person, but his brain was just a static hum. Not quite rage but the two seconds before it where everything goes white and blank and you exist only in a void.

Calling Chloe wouldn’t help with this one. In fact, he scowled at the mere idea you’d ever hear her beautiful voice. He’d smash his phone before he let that happen.

Dieter slams the car door shut as he shoves the keys into his pocket. He taps the code in the keypad and strides in, not looking back and not holding the door for you. If you fell off the top of the mesa, that was hardly his problem.

This is the part where he’d pop open a stopper of outrageously expensive whiskey and drink until his body released the tension, until the white noise in his head quieted. But he’s not that Dieter, so he goes right for the fridge. He snatches out the carafe of orange juice, pulpy as it was legally allowed to be, and takes three gulps. Sometimes, ice water didn’t burn enough. He needed something acidic.

He breathes. The knot in his chest eases.

Fuck, if you had fallen off the edge, they would assume he pushed you.

He calls out for you, licking the last bit of orange juice off his mustache. He calls again, when you waltz in.

You’re no longer scowling, which is an improvement from when he picked you up, but you look about as comfortable as a tomcat that’s been out on the streets suddenly forced to live indoors. You seem eager not to touch anything, your eyes roaming every square inch of the room.

“You want anything?” He asks gruffly. “Soda? Water? Sparkling water?”

“I’d kill for a shot of vodka and a lime.”

He glares at you. “Fresh out.”

You nod, as if this confirmed something for you. You wander to the edge of the long white marble countertop, eying a brass bar cart with every single bottle empty. You stand up right and look at him.

“I Googled you, you know.”

“Congratulations on being able to work technology a five year old can do in their sleep.”

“I know you went to rehab after you got arrested for possession of illicit substances, in amounts that would make Escobar blush,” you continue as though he hadn’t spoken. You slid into one of the black and gold bar chairs at the island countertop, your hands folding over one another as you lean forward into your shoulders. “I know you’ve been doing movies and television every year since you were twenty-five, whether or not you were as high as a kite. I know Heidi thinks very highly of you, even if she won’t give me a real reason. He’s talented, she says, but I don’t believe her.”

He lowers the carafe. “You don’t think I’m talented?”

“I think you owe your life to Heidi Morgan,” you snap, but then recoil your fangs. “But you’ve been through hell to get your life back.

“And . . .” you add begrudgingly, “I think you’re an insanely talented actor. Sometimes I’m actually intimidated by you.”

He swallows. “Thanks. Uh, you too. You’re good – great – I mean. You’re a natural.”

You smile smugly because you cannot take a compliment. “I know.”

He rolls his eyes.

A moment passes and he knows Heidi would want him to figure this out.

“Look, you saw the arrest photo, right?” He works his jaw and you nod. “So, no, I don’t drink. There’s not a drop of alcohol anywhere in this house. No uppers, no downers, either. Nothing.”

You nod again, glancing up to the top shelves of the cabinets as if there might be something stashed up there.

“And I know how quickly things can get out of hand,” he says slowly. You tense, perched on the chair, your gaze still up turned. The golden desert light from the window behind him makes your throat glow. “I know some good centers nearby. They can get you help. They’ll be discrete–,”

“And I know I don’t have a problem,” you say, your voice raising. “I don’t need your help or anyone else’s for that matter.”

Maybe this can’t be solved. Maybe this would end in a murder-suicide. He does think about the inside of your skull, sometimes, before he drifts off to sleep.

They were having problems with scenes of vulnerability. The rage, the hatred – that all came naturally. But when he exposed himself to her, or she let the truth filter in, everything came off stilted and wrong.

And maybe all that came down to the fact they’d never once had a normal conversation. They weren’t coworkers, or friends. They weren’t even castmates. They were something else.

“Is that why it started?” He asks, gently because he knows you’re not afraid to pull his hair if he pisses you off enough. He runs his thumb against the cold bottom of the carafe, not looking quite at you. “Because you want to do everything on your own and the drugs keep you awake. Keep you going. Keep you from thinking.”

Your eyes narrow at him, black holes inside your skull. He definitely found a nerve. “Oh, fuck off, Dieter.”

You stand up and push away from the counter, stalking off to some other corner of the house. “That’s none of your goddamn business.”

“It doesn’t have to be, but you’ve gotta give me something.”

He follows you to the living room. You’re standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the canyon below, your arms bunched up around yourself. He can’t see your face, but he knows your mouth is contorted, knotted. You want to crawl into yourself, he knows it.

“Either we figure out how to work together, or we’re both out of a fucking job. More than that, my career is over and so is yours, even before it really began. We don’t even have to like each other, but we do have to work together.”

Your fingers wrapped around your bicep clench. “Jesus Christ– and I have to do this sober?”

Dieter snorts, unable to help himself. “We both know you aren’t sober right now so let’s not start with that.”

You whirl around, fists clenched tightly. “I don’t even need the drugs, you know? I can quit whenever I want.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it. Take whatever you’ve got in your purse and flush it down the toilet right now.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation across your face before your scowl tightens. “Fine.”

He watches you stride back to the kitchen, low-heeled black boots clicking on the tile. Glaring at him, you snatch up your purse and he waves down the hall.

“Go on. Bathroom’s right down there.”

He leans against the doorframe as you kick the toilet seat – bamboo lid – up with the toe of your boot. Your hand dives into your purse and pulls out two orange prescription pill bottles. You rattle them once for good measure, smile deranged, and then with a flick of your thumbs, you pop the caps off and pour the contents down the porcelain bowl.

He does not break eye contact with you as the blue and red pills swirl down and away in a rush of water.

“Satisfied?” You bark. You almost bare your teeth at him.

He is waiting for you to drop to your knees and stick your hand down the hole to grasp at the pills before they’re all gone.

“No,” Dieter snaps, crowding you against the sink. “Empty your pockets.”

“Do it for me,” you reply, your smile so flat and broad you look a little bit unhinged.

“Fine.” Without further prompting, he shoves his fingers into your front pockets. The lip of your pants sway and rub against your skin as he digs in. That delirious smile still plastered on your face is going to haunt his dreams. He thinks he feels the line of your panties.

Finding nothing, he then cups the meat of your ass, his fingers diving into the back pockets of your jeans. He takes his time molding and squeezing your ass, the real search of his conquest only vaguely in the back of his mind.

Pills. Find pills.

He pulls his hands off you, your gazes connected as if tied by string.

It could be sunburn, but he swears your cheeks are pink.

“Want to check my bra next? Since you’ve already copped a feel and a half.”

“Give me your purse.” You shove it into his chest, but do not step away. You’re both pressed up inside the small bathroom and he doesn’t even think about breathing in deeply.

He digs around for a bit, before rattling it. There’s a clear metallic clacking – his chest sparks at the way you go slightly pale – and he pokes around until he finds the hidden pocket. Triumphant, he plucks the silver compact out your purse and drops the rest onto the ground. He opens the compact over the toilet, and a dozen pills tumble out into the stagnant water.

You watch the pills break down and disappear as the water rushes down the hole. There is concern, uneasiness, in the rims of your eyes. Your mouth is soft, parted. All at once, he feels sort of guilty – but it had to be done.

“Now will you get off my dick?” You glare at him, the softness gone and that distinct displeasure at his mere existence burning in your eyes. “Now that you’ve gotten rid of any chance that this will be tolerable?”

For the first time around you, he smiles. “Buck up, buttercup. How about I make you dinner, so you stop trying to think of ways to kill me in my sleep.”

He leaves the bathroom, the air less stifling. He hears you snort behind him.

“That wouldn’t happen even with a birthday cake shoved up my ass.”

*~*~*

It’s not dinner under the stars, with fresh pasta and mozzarella and basil, with a smooth glass of red wine to top it off.

It’s not that. But it is something.

Turns out when you’re not at each other’s throats, you’ve got a lot in common.

“No fucking way, I love Coney Island too.”

You smile and lean back in your seat, the heels of your bare feet balancing on the edge of the white patio chair. You both are sitting outside on the second floor patio, the great black maw of the canyon in the distance below. The sun is fading fast and the air is growing colder by the minute. But he doesn’t mind and, it seems, neither do you.

The ivy around the back patio pergola shudders in the faint breeze. Water from the pool below laps at the edges of the white concrete, the sound soothing like a rhyme. The plates of arroz con pollo are empty. He was quite sure if you were alone, you would have licked the plate clean.

You prefer sparkling water while his is still and ice cold, but that’s at least something else in common.

“Yes, Coney Island is the best! We went there one summer as a kid and I’ve dreamed about it every day since.”

He smiles and drinks from his glass, legs spread wide as he rests comfortably in his chair. “So did you see the rest of New York when you were there?”

“God, I love New York,” you groan, grinning widely. “I’d live there if I could, but everything filmed is out in LA. Would love to do theater again, someday.”

“Fuck, I know what you mean. Six months of production, live shows, all of it in one place.” Dieter shakes his head. “I used to do a bunch of off-Broadway stuff up there. I really miss it sometimes.”

You jerk an eyebrow at him, that grin turning warm. “Yeah, I know. I told you I Googled you.”

He twists his mouth, fighting between a smile and a scowl. “I Googled you too.” It feels like a confession when he doesn’t want it to be.

“Oh my God, really?” You clutch the glass to your chest, toes flexing on the edge of the seat. “What does it say? I am wildly curious.”

“What do you mean? You’ve never Googled yourself?”

You shake your head as you take a sip. “Nope. I lived it. And the internet always takes things and twists them. Make the good things bad and the bad things worse. Plus, I don’t need to know how many photos of my ass there are online.”

“If you wore pants, that might not happen as much.”

“Ha, ha, Bravo. Don’t slut-shame me when I’m this close to having a good time.”

Something passes between your gazes and it makes his heart flutter. He drops the connection like it burned him.

“But seriously, what did you find out about me?”

He shrugs and leans forward onto his elbows on his knees. “If it helps, I only looked at Wikipedia.”

“Yeah, and? C’mon, man, I’m in suspense here.”

“You worked in smaller parts in the early 2000s. Mostly movies where they needed a cute kid to save or have a line about the big scary monster. Then, when you were in your early teen years you got that part on Red Money with Sean Connery, as his daughter. That was big. Lots of articles about that. You got a few, higher profile roles – Helen Miriam’s niece, Gerard Butler’s step-daughter – you’d hit the big leagues. There were talks of you getting an Oscar but then . . . it all just stopped. The entry ends with, ‘she lives in California today’.”

He stops, waiting to see if you’ll yell at him or throw your glass of water in his face. Instead, you nod and drink slowly.

“Does it say my father is Henry Milklen?”

His eyes go wide. “No. No, it doesn’t. Your father is the Henry Milklen, the CEO of MaxWide Entertainment?”

“Biologically, yes,” you say, a bit prickly, “but I haven’t seen him in-person since I was eight. Mom kinda went off the rails when I said I wanted to do acting, but unfortunately for her, I was really fucking good. I think she thought I wanted to do it to be close to him.”

“Did you? Did you want to get close to him?”

You shake your head.

“Nah. If anything, I did it in spite of him. I wanted to know if I could do this without his help.” You hold up your glass like an award. “‘You didn’t give me shit growing up and you didn’t give me my first Oscar,’ – because I plan on owning several – ‘so, eat shit, old man.’”

He grins in spite of himself. “Winning an Oscar is definitely one way to tell your old man to fuck off. There might be other, easier ways to do that, though.”

“C’mon, don’t act like you don’t do it all for that moment. That moment of standing on stage, in front of all your peers – in front of everyone who told you you couldn’t do it – and be recognized as someone of value, of real talent.”

You’re close to touching something very close to his heart. He drinks from his ice cold water. “Nah, it’s always been about the money for me.”

You roll your eyes and he chuckles.

“Sure, I do it for that,” he says softly, thumb nail scraping against the glass. “The art, that’s what really matters, but having other people see value in your art . . . it’s a good feeling.”

“Cheers to a night on stage.” You raise your glass to him. Something was fundamentally different about the way you looked at him. “Hope we see each other there.”

He accepts your toast with his own, his heart beating mildly faster, as he thinks of a way to steer this conversation back into something he’s capable of handling.

“So your mom had some issues with you acting – how’d you end up back in LA then?”

You smile wryly, your defenses going back up so quickly, he was surprised he didn’t hear a clicking sound.

“She got over it pretty fast when she realized she never had to work again, once things started going well. I think she liked being a sugar mama to men half her age. Men that never hesitated to hit on me while she was out of the room, even when I was fourteen. The money was coming in, but not as fast as she was spending it. I wanted a way to hide in my own room so I didn’t have to hear her literally fuck my money away . . . So, drugs. Got caught twice drunk driving but Dad managed to get all blown away — without ever actually having to see me. There were no real consequences in my life so it felt like I didn’t have one. The day I turned eighteen, I left and never went back. Pulled together the scraps she left me, got a place on my own, and now I’m trying show biz again.” You roll your bottom lip between your teeth. “But I don’t really blame her, or my dad, you know. They were forced to be parents when neither of them have a nurturing bone in their bodies. Anyways . . . does my drug use have to be their fault? Can’t I just be fucked up on my own?”

Dieter snorts softly. He taps your glass with the rim of his. “Cheers to being fucked up on our own.”

You both drink, letting the ding of the glasses ring out into the night air. His bare feet are starting to get cold but he doesn’t really want to go back inside. Not yet.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” You ask and drop your arms over your knees, glass dangling from your fingertips.

“I think that’s the whole point of this, so sure. Fire away.”

“What’s with you and drugs, man? You gotta know everyone’s on something in this town.” You say, without a hint of malice. “And more specifically, why are you always on my ass? Roxie and that gang do shrooms in the back lots all the time but you never go after them about it. Why me?”

He chews on his lip and sits back in his seat.

“Because I’ve been where you are,” he says to you under his eyelashes. “You’re too fucking talented to throw your career in the garbage because you’re too high to show up to casting on time. I know you think you have it under control, that you can stop when you want, and maybe you do. But there’s too much at risk to go fucking around with shit like that.” He drops his elbows onto his knees. “And to be entirely honest, because I don’t trust you when the parking brakes are off.”

It’s a bigger admission than he means it to be, but it’s there and he can’t take it back. He looks up at your face from his bent-over position.

Your eyebrow twitches as if you want to frown from confusion, but are actively fighting it. You want to ask just what the fuck he means by that – he can tell – but for once in your life, you keep your mouth shut. Instead you throw back the rest of your water and stand up.

His mouth is inches from the seam of your pants.

“Wanna watch a movie?”

“Okay, his stuff is good but it’s not the pinnacle of acting, alright?”

“I never said it was but it’s raw and real and every single performance he gives everything,” he says adamantly as you step over his legs stretched out on the table in front of him with a bowl of popcorn on your hip. You had insisted on the popcorn, even though you both just ate. What the fuck is the film experience without buttery popcorn? You asked him indignantly and he found he couldn’t argue with you.

You huff as you settle in next to him on the black leather couch in the living room. The lights are off and the TV screen glows in the dark.

“And, you know, art is subjective. Who's to say what the ‘pinnacle of acting’ is anyway?” He snatches up a handful of popcorn as you narrow your eyes scornfully at him.

“That is such a cop out. You’re just saying that so I don’t have an argument against watching Vampire’s Kiss.” You say as though the name of the movie burned the inside of your mouth. “It’s a thought terminating cliché, most common in cults.”

“I’d gladly join the cult of Nicolas Cage,” Dieter admits, his mouth half full of popcorn, as he clicks the remote to play the movie.

“Okay, but this is your one freebie.” You say as you dig into the bowl yourself. “Next time I’m gonna make you watch Amélie or some shit.”

“I happen to love Amélie,” he says, eyes still on the screen.

You’ve gone quiet, which is never a good thing, so he glances over at you.

There’s something soft about your face. Your mouth hovers open, lips parted and warm. This is the look you should have been giving him at the table read.

When you begged him to never, ever leave you.

His blush is so hot and fast, it shoots down from his ears into his cheeks before he can stop it.

“What?”

Slowly, you blink.

“Sorry . . . it’s just . . . I really love Amélie and I couldn’t imagine you’ve ever seen it. It just . . . surprised me, I guess.”

“What can I say, princess?” He folds his arms over himself to ensure not a single patch of skin touches yours. “I’m surprising.”

He can hear you swallow as you turn back to the movie.

It's the 80s and it’s trash and Dieter can’t remember the last time he had this much fun. Chloe was never a big fan of movies, didn’t like to sit still that long, and all of his other friends hadn’t been around since the arrest.

He can’t remember the last time he was this relaxed.

So relaxed, in fact, he falls asleep before the third act, his head dropping to the back of the couch.

He’s crawling out the depths of a warm, plush sleep when he hears it.

At first, he’s not quite sure what exactly he’s hearing. It’s familiar, he knows he’s heard it before, but it’s at the same time foreign, too. Like he’s never heard this exactly before.

His eyes flicker open. The room is pleasantly warm and his back doesn’t ache as bad as it usually does when he falls asleep on the couch.

His gaze focusing, he realizes something’s different about the TV. The movie is no longer playing – rather Vampire’s Kiss is no longer playing and instead, it’s one of his old movies. Back when he didn’t need to exercise to have v-lines in his hips and his skin was naturally sun-kissed. It’s the high fantasy one where he kissed so many men and women during shooting, he found out he definitely wasn’t straight by the end of it – and –

You’re moaning.

That’s what that noise is. Moans. Stifled, but high-pitched, breathless, tense moans.

He knows exactly what that sound is, but he had never, ever heard it come from you before. It’s not him, it’s not the movie, so it has to be –

You are arched against the back of the couch, chest rising and falling, with your hand down your pants. The buttons are undone and the zipper is halfway down and the fabric bunches and twists against your knuckles.

You’ve got your lip between your teeth, cheeks flushed, air rushing out of your nose, and your eyes are glued, attached, bound to the screen.

To him.

You lick your lips as his character takes off his cloak, revealing a broad, sculpted back and you whine, almost panicked. Your mouth falls open, eyes falling shut as you work your hand faster in your pants. There’s sweat on your forehead.

You’re masturbating, right here on his couch.

You’re masturbating to him.

He’s on top of you before he knows what he’s doing.

His fingers dig around your wrists, pinning them above your head, your tits inches from his chest. You look up at him in bewilderment and beside his head, your fingers glisten in the light from the screen.

You were using three of them, judging by the shine.

He drops his head, fighting the body-wracking groan that’s pulsating in his throat.

God, he can fucking smell it, you, from here. If your fingers are anything to go by, your panties must be drenched.

He’s shaking– actually shaking – from restraint.

He cannot look at your face, cannot see what’s in your eyes.

The word ballistic is knocking around in his brain.

I’m gonna go ballistic. You’re making me go ballistic. This is the night I go ballistic.

He might actually drool.

You breathe in and he squeezes your wrists harshly. No, no talking from you. But of course, you don’t listen. When in the history of the fucking world did you ever listen to him?

“In my defense,” you begin slowly and he can picture the shameless coy smirk on your face, “I thought you were asleep. I checked. Twice.”

He doesn’t know whether he’s going to kiss you and fuck you, or split you apart with his bare hands.

“FUUUCK!” Dieter roars and physically shoves you deeper into the couch.

He bounds up, and snatches your purse off the floor. He’s rifling through it as he slams open the sliding door to the pool so hard the glass shakes. He finds what he’s looking for and chucks your purse behind him.

His hands are still trembling as he lights the cigarette in his mouth.

He inhales so deeply, he can’t breathe right.

It doesn’t slow the hurricane in his mind, but it does ease the knife wound between his ribs.

His feet are cold against the concrete by the pool.

Water laps behind him and the stars above are indifferent to one man’s plunge into insanity.

“What’s got you so wound up?” You come out from the open door, with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. It might be cold, if his skin wasn’t burning from the inside out. You’re scowling as this is somehow his fault.

“No. Fuck off. Go back inside. I’m not talking to you.”

“What’s your actual fucking problem, dude?”

His eyes grow wide and he plucks the cigarette out from between his teeth. “Are you fucking serious? Is that a real question?”

“Look, I figured out why we can’t have a scene together that even fringes on vulnerability.”

He huffs darkly. “Since you’re not going to leave me alone, feel free to fucking enlighten me.”

“You see this project as the be-all-end-all to your career, right? And you’re afraid you’ll screw things up with your wife permanently if you have one more fuck up. That’s why you can’t be vulnerable with me, because you’re scared someone will see the truth in it. Well, baby, the truth is a matter of perspective.”

He balks. He can feel the heat of the cigarette burn his skin but he doesn’t care.

“‘Truth is a matter of perspective’? What the fuck are you talking about? Do you hear what comes out of your mouth sometimes? Nobody talks like that! That is not how normal people talk!”

“If it’s not that, then what? Tell me, Dieter! What are you so fucking mad about?”

“You were masturbating– to me! That’s like some kind of violation, right? I should call the fucking police on you.”

“Why does it bother you so much? You’re an actor, you've gotta know people do sick shit online all the time!”

“Yeah, but I don’t know them. I don’t. . .” He swallows. “I don’t know– it doesn’t bother me so much thinking about the nebulous them.”

“Then what the fuck is up your ass about . . .” You trail off. His heart by his ears, he turns to you. You’re watching him, your eyes the size of silver dollars, your earrings glistening like diamonds in your ears. “Oh my god . . .”

He doesn’t like that tone of voice at all, doesn’t like the look in your eyes. You step closer and he steps back. You take another step and he almost falls backwards into the pool fully clothed.

“Oh my god, Dieter . . .”

“What?”

A smile breaks out across your face. Relief. Hope. Shock. Delight. A joy that verges on cruel.

“That’s it, isn’t it?”

He turns his shoulder away from you, trying to wiggle out from under the pin of your eyes.

“The fuck are you talking about? What’s it?”

You stepside him and he catches your wicked smile again. Your eyes are glittering. Victory.

“You’ve masturbated thinking about me, haven’t you?”

“. . . no. What?” He turns away towards the house, but you block him. He could pick you up and just move you, but he doesn’t. “Get out of my face.”

Triumphant, you snatch the last bit of cigarette out of his fingers and inhale. Your hip cocked, maroon shirt trembling in the night air, you look like you own the mesa and all the stars in the sky. You lick your bottom lip, transcendence shining in your eyes.

“You’ve totally jerked yourself off thinking about what it would be like to fuck me,” you whisper, a secret just for the two of you. “Was it big? Was it messy? Did it go everywhere?”

Dieter nearly snarls again and claps his hands over your shoulders. He wants to shake some sense into you or pull you closer.

Despite everything, having his hands on you is a balm. It quiets some part of him.

“For the love of God, stop fucking talking. I am literally begging you to. stop. talking.”

You don’t say anything, but that boastful grin is still on your face. He doesn’t drop his hands and you don’t step back. You are farther apart than in the bathroom, and somehow, out in the open air, it feels even tighter, enclosed. He can see the individual lashes around your eyes, the barely-there wrinkles forming at the corners. You’ve got freckles in places that he’d very much like to taste.

God, how you love a challenge. You bring the cigarette to your mouth. You inhale, then slowly dip your head forward to his mouth. You don’t go any further, but then you exhale, smoke escaping past your lips and dousing him. His eyes flutter shut from the heat, the warmth, the burn of the smoke. He thinks he can smell bubble-gum. The smoke kisses him on the lips, gentle, inviting. A promise of many, many possible futures.

The smoke passes, flits away on the desert wind. And there’s your face, emerging from behind obscurity. The smirk is gone. Instead, you’ve gone soft, wanting, full of desire. Your eyelids are halfway closed against the smoke and the flood of need scorching you from head to toe. He thinks you and hurricanes share the same sort of powerful, thunderous beauty.

It would be easy.

It would be so easy. No one else had to know.

But he would know. He wasn’t quite there.

Not yet.

He takes the cigarette back from between your fingers, careful not to touch you.

“That one’s mine,” he murmurs, hoping his words land where he wants to put his mouth. “Almost gone anyway.”

He flicks the butt across the white concrete as he goes back to your purse. He gets two this time, the lighter in his back pocket, and he sits at the edge of the pool. He rolls his jeans up to his knees before easing his legs into the cool water. The pool light below him throws constellations of blue-silver onto his calves.

You sit next to him, after a moment, the blanket still around your shoulders. You roll up your jeans just like he did and find a matching position next to him. He offers you the other cigarette wordlessly and you take it and light it. Faint smoke trails waft up into the night sky from between your fingers and his, inches from each other.

“If it isn’t entirely obvious, I wanna fuck you too,” you confess to your thighs, voice small and edged. “I can’t tell you how disappointed I was that you didn’t take me up on my offer at the hotel.”

His eyebrows slowly rise. “You remember that?”

You nod. “I was ready to kick out those other two assholes if you had said yes. I wanted you all to myself.”

It was out there. You knew his secret and he knew yours. A monumental weight had been shifted and Dieter no longer feels like there is a burning knot of metal wool in his chest.

The paper crinkled as it burned.

Still, something lingered.

“What do you want to do about it?” You swing your ankles through the water. It catches the light and your skin glows.

“About what?”

“About this. About us.”

“Nothing,” he says. The hand at his lips trembles. “Nothing can happen and it never will.”

“Because you love your wife so much.” You make it sound genuine. But there’s enough bitterness inside of him to know it’s not.

“Because I can’t do that to her. Not again. She’s a better person than I am. A better person than I will ever be. I don’t know why she loves me but I don’t deserve her and I’m not putting her through that again.”

You sit quiet for a moment, your mouth puckered and cocked to the side. He thinks– just for a moment, for a minute, as you stare out into the night-blue abyss– he thinks your eyes are wet.

His heart, his whole chest, aches deeply. Just for a moment.

“Seems kinda fucked up to stay with someone out of guilt,” you say finally. Your voice is clear and maybe he was just imagining things. He swallows and smokes some more, hoping the burn in his mouth will somehow give him the right words to say. His fingers drum on his knee.

“You only get two of those a day. From now on. Only two.”

“Two what?”

He grins because he really does like spending time with you.

“Comments that make me feel like an asshole. You get two a day. That was one.”

You scoff, tossing your hair over your shoulder. “Four. I want four.”

“You get two.”

“Three.”

“God, you are bossy. Three and that’s it. You go over and I’m throwing you off this mesa.”

You smirk, and he lets you have this victory. You need it, he knows.

You wade your feet some more, ankles spinning out in slow, small circles. He watches your thigh muscles move. How soft the backs of your knees are, he can only imagine.

“So, was this all worth it?” He waves his hand around, smoke trailing from between his middle and index finger. “Close quarters character work or whatever. Are we friends?”

His smile is teasing, but it falls off slowly when you don’t smile back. Your face is blank, but your eyes are dark as they stare, heated, at the water, a storm brewing in your thoughts. You pick at your nails, resting on your knee, the cigarette weakly chuffing silver smoke.

“I don’t want to be friends,” you murmur softly.

“Natalie, I —”

“I don’t want to be friends.” You say louder, forcefully. You turn your gaze to him and he sees that girl on set that’s always a word away from pushing him over the limit, towards the edge of his sanity. “And I know you don’t want that either.”

He works his jaw, buckling under the weight of your desire. He looks away. Your ankles are sparkling.

“That’s all I can offer. I’m sorry.”

“An apology. Wow.” You scoff scornfully. “You know, Dieter, I think that’s the most honest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Your voice is strained, grated, unpolished. Your face is tragically beautiful, even when it’s holding back tears.

“This is the way it has to be. Do you want me in your life or not? Can we be friends?”

He doesn’t know what he’s gonna do if you say no. He hadn’t really considered a life without you in it, in some shape or form. But the dread he felt when he made it an option, it was overwhelming.

He can’t swallow air right. He rubs his chest, suddenly light-headed from the smoke. He wants to lie down somewhere warm.

Slowly, thankfully, with a grace he didn’t think you possessed, you nod. You switch the cigarette to the other hand and lift your palm. A greeting. The waving of a white flag. A rain-soaked battlefield full of ghosts and dreams.

He takes your hand and shakes it once.

“Friends it is.”

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