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paintyoureyeswithavividmind · 11 months

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close to home | chapter four

plot: Daryl and the reader get to know each other in the gray hours of the morning, and he needs to decide whether or not she's a good person and someone he can trust around his family.

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 2,530 Warnings: violence, blood A/N: thanks for reading!

The rain had dulled into a softer downpour, and the thunder echoed in the distance. Still, you decided to fill every possible container with rainwater. You insisted it would be less work cause it wouldn’t have to be boiled.

Daryl couldn’t exactly get a read on you. Anyone out here alone couldn’t be in the best mindset, and if you were telling the truth and you had been out by yourself since nearly the beginning, well, he couldn’t imagine the toll it had on someone. This world was hard enough without having to go at it alone.

Despite that, you seemed decent enough. He didn’t believe you to be a threat, at least not while he was awake. And he couldn’t figure out why you didn’t shoot him back in the woods when he pulled the crossbow on you. He believed any sane person would’ve. But then again, he didn’t let the arrow fly either.

The treehouse seemed okay enough, and he didn’t miss the stockpile of ammo in the room. You had quite a collection of ammo. You were just missing something to shoot it with. You had plenty of knives, though. Enough to gut someone ten times over. But you didn’t have one on you. You’d set it down. Did you trust him? Did you not care if you lived or died?

Waves of frustration rippled off him; the thunderstorm and walkers had ruined what was supposed to be a simple run. And hell, Rick wasn’t even supposed to have joined them. Not with Lori due in a few days, and the group barely has control over their cell block. They barely had enough food to keep them going, which was the only reason why they were out there in the first place. The food they got from the prisoners wouldn’t last them long, and they needed real meat.

He looked up and glanced at where you were sitting. You’d moved over to the window and pulled back the makeshift curtain, the breeze flowing in. Each time the distant lightning cracked, he could make out the features of your face since you’d moved away from the fire.

“You said you went to medical school?” Daryl asked you.

It took a moment before you realized he’d even asked a question. “I did. I was about to start my residency. Why?”

He hesitated for a moment. “You know anything about delivering babies?”

This captured your full attention, and you looked away, “Why? You due soon?”

Daryl didn’t sense the sarcasm in your tone, “Ain’t for me. Got a friend. Due in a couple days.”

You shook your head, “I don’t know much. Besides, you said you wouldn’t tell me about your group.”

Daryl snorted but didn’t say anything as he leaned back against the wall. Bringing her back, someone with medical training, that would be big. Hershel wouldn’t be alone, and you might know more about humans. Still, it’d be a risk. He didn’t know if it was worth perusing. They’d been okay with just Hershel…

“I have a group,” Daryl said, “There’s eleven of us. This is how this works. You tell me your story. Tell me who you are and what you’ve done. Maybe if everything’s good… maybe I bring you back with me.”

You continued looking out the window, and Daryl started to think you hadn’t heard him cause the silence stretched so long. But finally, you turned to look at him, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you bring me back with you? You don’t know me….”

“You coulda shot me in the head, coulda left me to die in the woods. I mighta survived, I mighta. But you helped me. Even now, you sit with no weapons. You ain’t even lookin’ at me. I don’ think ya dangerous.”

You smiled sadly, “No, I’m not dangerous.”

“I tell ya what. You tell me what I wanna know. We pack this place up and go when the storm clears.”

“You just want my supplies and medical help with that baby,”

Daryl shrugged, “Maybe. But ain’t that the way the world works now.”

Again, you were silent and you looked out the window for a few minutes. Finally, you took a deep breath and looked at him. “How about this. We tell each other what we both wanna know, and I decide if I wanna trust you.”

Daryl nodded slowly, “Aight, that’s fair.”

***

The wall was cold against your skin, and the rainwater splashes made you shiver even more. The fire was dying, and the treehouse was growing darker. You slowly moved from your spot and put more logs on the fire. Then you went to grab an old can of peaches and gave Daryl another can of food too.

“I was up in Atlanta when everything happened. Liam was one of those survivalists, always thinking about the end of the world. He wasn’t crazy about it. I mean, hell, he was right. But he knew things, and he knew how to take care of himself. So when the world went to shit, we got the hell out of Atlanta. He said that if there’s a cure, he will wait it out,

“So we took off, headed down south. His parents lived around here. They didn’t make it. But this treehouse was his. He and his dad built it years ago. It used to have stairs, but we knocked them down when a dead one got up on the porch. We fixed this place up together. I’ve been here since.”

“Winter musta sucked,”

You laughed and nodded while taking another bite of your food. “It did. There’s no insulation. I got snowed in a few times. But Tora and I… we managed. It’s been just us since October, I think. I don’t know,” You shook your head, “I had some family down here too, but I checked their place out, burnt down and overrun, just like every other shithole.”

“And before? Before all this?”

“Why does it even matter? I was just a normal person. I was in school, engaged, and living the dream in Atlanta. It doesn’t matter.”

Daryl nodded, “It’s easy to think that way,”

“Not sure there’s any other way to think,” You said, “So what about you? Your group, been together before?”

He shook his head, “No, we met each other on the road. We’ve lost a few people, gained a few people too. We’re holding up nice now if we can make it work. Our leader, Rick, and his wife are pregnant. Abouta pop. We have a man that can help, but I don’t know. I figured someone else might help too.”

You nodded and looked around the treehouse. This was a place you knew before and after. A place that you loved and hated. It was home and a prison, with memories that hurt every time you stepped in. And you were alone. And you were tired.

“Your leader, Rick… will he take me?”

“He will. You helped me, you coulda killed me, and you didn’t. Plus, you got medical supplies and ammo. Our group needs both.”

You glanced at your stockpile. Your lifeline. Could you trade that? What if they took it and killed you right after?

Daryl seemed to sense your hesitation. “I could kill you right now if I wanted to. I coulda killed you too, back in the woods. Woulda been real easy to just pull the trigger. But I didn’t. I’m taking a leap of faith here, too, (Y/N).”

“Can Tora come?”

This made Daryl laugh, and he looked at the giant cat stretched out by the fire. “Yeah, yeah. We probably got a rat problem. We’ll keep her busy. Everyone pitches in. Besides, we got a kid. He’d probably love an animal around.”

You nodded and tossed the empty can aside. “I’m really familiar with the area. Been here before and after. You tell me where your camp is, and I bet I can get you there.”

“We at a prison,”

Your eyebrows rose. “I know what one you’re talking about. About twenty miles north of here, right? Liam and I saw it a while back. It was full of walkers.”

“Not anymore.”

“Big group,” You said, your stomach tight with nerves. “If they kill me, promise me you’ll make sure Tora lives.”

The archer chuckled, “No one’s gonna kill ya.”

“I have a car. About two miles north of here is Liam’s parent's house. I keep some stuff there sometimes. If no one’s broken it, we can get to it once the storm clears and the sun’s up. I’m not walking twenty miles again.”

“Me neither,”

***

Sometime in the early morning, sleep found you. When your eyes opened a few hours later, the sun had been up for at least an hour. It took a few seconds before your memory came back to you and you jumped up, looking for the stranger from yesterday.

The treehouse was empty, and your stockpile was gone. And so was Tora. “Son of a bitch,” You muttered, getting up. You grabbed your matchete and ran to the door. It was slightly ajar, and you nearly fell over when it opened so easily.

“Jesus, you tryin’ wake everythin’ up around here?” Daryl stood by the balcony's edge, lowering the baskets with some rope.

“I thought….”

“Yeah, I know what you thought, but I didn’,” Daryl said, “I was gonna wake ya up soon. Your cat brought a rabbit back.” He nodded his head behind you, and you looked back. It had already been gutted, cleaned, and cooked. You stood in disbelief for a second.

“Oh… where is she?”

“On the roof,”

You grabbed a few pieces of the tender meat and looked up to where she was gnawing on some bones. You couldn’t help but smile and shake your head at her.

“Your bag, the one you dropped by the lake. Anything important?”

“It was just water. And some clothes. Everything else is damaged from the water.” You said, going back for a few more pieces. After yesterday, you were starving.

“Good, didn’ wanna walk all the way back there,”

You nodded and took one last piece before disappearing back into the treehouse. It seemed Daryl had grabbed everything. Except on the table were a few of your personal belongings. Your gun, leg holster, ring, and a photograph of you and Liam together. Your still-wet shoes were on the floor next to the table.

Taking a deep breath, you took a photograph from the frame and folded it, then put it in your back pocket. Your attached the hostler and then looked at the ring. It wasn’t anything crazy, but it was a beautiful ring. Still, it ached your heart, and you couldn’t bring yourself to put it on. It didn’t feel right. Liam was gone. You weren’t. And you needed to think of a future where you survived, not memories that would hold you back.

After pressing a quick kiss to the ring, you laid it gently along the small fireplace’s mantle. It was newly built. It wasn’t there before. But now, the ring would sit in the treehouse where it belonged. Where it could stay forever with Liam’s spirit and memory.

“You aight?”

You looked back at Daryl and nodded, “Yeah. Let’s go.”

“It’s been quiet this morning. I think the walkers followed the storm south. The cat doesn’t seem worried.”

You nodded and walked past him. Everything you needed to bring was already on the ground. “I’ve been here almost a year. Kept me safe. It feels so final.” You said.

“We goin’ someplace better. Don’ got the time to be all wishy-washy about it.”

You chuckled at his bluntness and walked towards the rope. “Yeah, I know.”

***

Carrying all your supplies was much more difficult, and the two miles seemed to stretch forever. Each of you had bags on your shoulders and were carrying boxes of supplies. But finally, the yellow house came into view, and you sighed with relief.

You didn’t need to say anything, your reaction alone told Daryl you were there, and he felt relief too. When you approached the garage door, you looked through the glass window and banged a few times before opening it.

“I’ve picked through the house a few times. There’s really nothing to take. Anything worth taking I already did,” You said, walking over to the boxes of old Christmas decorations and donation boxes that never made it out.

Underneath a Christmas tree box were the keys to the white Jeep Wrangler, and you unlocked the car quickly. It only took another minute to get it loaded up.

“We lost the soft top a while back, left it at a storage unit in Atlanta, if I’m being honest.” You said. Suddenly your eyes widened, “Hold on, I gotta get something from the house.”

“I’ll come with ya,” Daryl said.

You glanced towards Tora, who happily sniffed all the boxes and other crap around the garage. “I’ll only be a second; watch her.”

You disappeared into the house, banging on a few walls to ensure no dead ones were around. You and Liam had locked the house up pretty tight. Just as suspected, there was nothing. And you quickly grabbed what you were looking for. On your way back, you passed another few boxes of donations and paused.

In the garage, Daryl was getting antsy. He checked the supplies and then rechecked them. He wanted to get on the road and get back to his people. He wanted to know if Rick, Glenn, and Maggie had made it. He didn’t wanna wait any longer.

Just when he was about to go look for you, you walked through the door carrying a bag in your arm and a cat carrier in the other.

“I don’t trust her not to jump out of the car,” You said, shoving the carrier in his arms. “And I got this. Figured they shouldn’t be wasted, and I didn’t know how many baby supplies you got. It’s just some clothes and a few toys. Nothing else, sadly.”

“Lori will love this,” Daryl said quietly, setting down the carrier and taking the box from you. “You might be her favorite person after this.”

You laughed as you grabbed Tora, earning a few hisses as you tried to put her in the carrier. It took two tries, but finally, she was sitting rather unhappily and a bit overstuffed. “It’s only for a little while, baby,” You said, putting the carrier in the back seat and strapping it in, all while ignoring the few hisses she gave in displeasure.

“Here,” You said, tossing the keys to Daryl. “This way, your people don’t think I got you hostage or something,”

Daryl only nodded and opened up the garage door, taking a quick look around before climbing it. You were just buckling in when the car roared to life, and he took off.

#daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead daryl #twd #daryl dixon #daryl x y/n #daryl x you

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callie-the-creator · 10 months

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boyfriend!coryxkenshin hcs

sfw. this was also posted on my wattpad, so there is no point to accuse me of plagiarism or anything

• you already know cory is a hopeless romantic aka...the best type of partner! you lucky thing! you scored yourself the best of the best

• cory has not one ounce of toxicity in his very soul

— "he's a good man, savannah, a GOOD man. 😤"

• oh, what's that? you gave cramps either from your menstruation cycle or they just popped out from nowhere?

— this man would do everything in his power to make sure that you're comfortable and have everything you have to make yourself feel better

— he definitely wouldn't make fun of you or belittle you if it was because of your period (unlike those boyfriends😒)

• you already know that you'll make a few special appearances in his videos whether that be sss episodes or playing games specifically made for couples or ones that allow multiplayer

— it takes two, the dark pictures anthology, cuphead, you name it! you'll just have to motivate him enough to finish the games though since that's where he falls short...🫢

• but for the important question! what is his love language?

— personally, it's to each their own on the topic, but this is what i think: as much as i want to say physical touch, i feel like he's more of a quality time type of guy, you know? even if he does youtube, he still takes breaks and you can bet that he'll spend most of that time with you!

• there is not one dull moment as long as you're with him

• wouldn't be able to stop smiling if he caught you wearing his merch or any of his clothes for that matter...just not his puka shell necklace. never his necklace. ☝️ that's a big no-no

• he's definitely the type of bf who would play songs that remind him of you

— *cries into pillow uncontrollably*

• and when he is recording, you are known to bring him snacks or water and wave 'hi' to the camera

— but i'd doubt he'd need any snacks since this main usually has skittles, now and laters, and nutrigrain bars stockpiled in his recording room.

• if you text him randomly, he'll make a big deal about it and be all giddy. you make him so happy! 🥺

— also, if he's too scared while playing a horror game and dashie isn't picking up the phone, you're the second-best option for decisions! but you know what they say..."with great power comes great responsibility"

• personally, i don't think he's neutral on the topic of pda, but he's the subtle type bc he wants to be careful to not make you uncomfortable, especially when you two are out in public.

• since he's known to record really late at night, he'd do anything in his power to be quiet and not wake you up during his 3 scary games or his spooky scary sunday videos

— if he happened to wake you up by his screaming would definitely deadpan the camera and be like, "now why did you have to go and wake up my gf? 😐"

— deny deny deny, as rodrick heffley would say.

• we already know cory likes his anime, so i'm saying that you would binge-watch all types of shows and movies together. but, again, you'll need to motivate and encourage him a lot since he has trouble finishing stuff or gaining interest in shows

• would want cuddles or just to hang out with you if he got too upset over a game

— he has rage quit a few times

• cory would let you sit on his lap while he plays games in his spare time

— he will kiss your head or shoulder randomly. he'd also keep on hand pressed against the small of your back to support you, to make sure that you won't fall off. 💔 you guys are so cute togetherrrr

• his fans love you. i have nothing more to add to this.

• fanart and edits!! different youtubers garner different communities, and some are more likely to make fanart than others, but cory's has the best of both worlds! though, his fandom leans more towards the editing side of things, so expect lots to pop up on your fyp

• i feel like there would be a few videos like “3 minutes of cory being soft with his s/o” or, even better: “cory and y/n being the best couple for 8 minutes” compilations going around on youtube, tiktok, reddit, etc.

…that’s all i got! until next time <3

#cory kenshin #coryxkenshin #youtubers #yt #youtuber x reader #youtuber imagines #gamer boy #gamer bf #gamer boyfriend #coryxkenshin x reader #coryxkenshin imagine #coryxkenshin fanfic #headcanons #my hcs #samurai stand up #samurai #the chosen #the shogun #comfort youtuber

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wyn-n-tonic · 2 years

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Constellation

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Letty Darke (cis het OFC) Word Count: 6.5k+ Warnings: Mentions of drug use. PiV. Oral (F!receiving). Fingering. Author's Note: This bitch choppy. No beta. Don't @ me.

There seemed to be a disconnect between my body and my soul. I’m not sure when it started but, then, I’m not quite sure of a lot of things. My life wasn’t lived just on the sidelines, really. It was lived separate from even that. Out of body, almost. Everything happened to somebody else but even I felt like somebody else.

My interests were as quiet as was I. Unassuming and observant. Impeccable driving record. No negatives in my work or academic histories with a resume and references full of passive terms.

Letty is a good listener, compliant and helpful.

Always ready to lend a hand, a shoulder, or an ear.

Trustworthy and reliable.

Really, these were all ways to say, “she doesn’t talk back.” Or challenge authority. Or even want authority for myself. Not wanting responsibility but being the responsible one is how it was thrust upon me in the first place. Somebody had to do the work so that the bosses on their power trips could sit back and take the credit. Which was fine. Because it wasn’t really happening to me, I was only watching it happen, and I was grateful to be involved at all.

Which is how I came to be here. With him. Personal concierge to Dieter Bravo, the man taking up the presidential suite with a wardrobe of hoodies, a cache of cocaine and his Oscar on full display.

“She can get me coke, right?” He points to me, sunglasses slid down the hook of his nose just far enough to watch his eyes dart from my boss to me and back again.

“Like I said, Mr. Bravo,” your boss reiterates to him. “Letty can get you anything you want.”

He spreads his hands out, thick fingers fanning through the air as if against a flat surface. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

It’s hard to believe the man in front of me is so… revered. I’ve seen his movies, not that I quite understood them or why he received such praise for them, but when I heard the actor was going to be staying with us, I did look them up. Just in case, of course, he’d like to speak about himself and his work the way Justin Bieber or James Corden did. I didn’t want to be caught off guard this time. But this was just a man in sunglasses and cozy clothes looking like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

Judging by his stockpile of—and his pending request for—stimulating drugs, he probably hasn’t.

He smiles, hooking his index finger around the bridge of his glasses to move them further down to look directly at me. “I look forward to working with you, Letty.”

Maybe it was the nerves running like a river between my ears, the thought of the fact that this man and all his money and power could end my career with the snap of his fingers, but, for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was actually the one talking back.

“Likewise, Mr. Bravo.”

Mr. Bravo was incredibly respectful. Somewhere between the wardrobe and the questions regarding what exactly I could do for him, I expected him to be more demanding. Finger snappy. Time is money and all the other adages conjured by rich people who never really worked for their riches to begin with. But Mr. Bravo had in tact manners and regarded boundaries the way he’d want his own considered. At least that’s how he put it.

“My mom was my date to the Oscars,” he said one afternoon. “You look at the statue every time you come in”—he points to where it rests on the shelf now—“I didn’t think I was going to win and I took my mom just in case I did—didn’t want to take my flavor of the month and leave the one who birthed me to witness it on the television.”

“Flavor of the month?”

“You know,” he says, head bowed to the tray in his lap as he scrapes together the remnants of the small white dust he snorted just before my arrival. “Whichever girl I was fucking whichever month of whichever year.”

He raises his hands then, spreading his arms wide in gesture as if all these girls are standing in this room now. “I’m Dairy Queen or whatever that thirty-one flavors ice cream shop is—“

“Baskin Robbins.” He requested an ice cream cake for his birthday last week.

“Baskin Robbins.” He smiles, nodding his head. “I’m Baskin Robbins.”

Laughing, I nod back at him. “Anything else I can get for you, Mr. Bravo?”

“Please, call me Dieter.”

“Very well, Dieter, is there anything else I can get for you?”

“May I ask you…” He trails off, like he’s looking for the words, tongue working the inside of his cheek like he’s got something stuck back there. “May I ask you a personal question?”

“Yes?”

He pulls the sunglasses down—inside, again—and fixes me with his big, brown eyes. Catching the breath in my lungs on my last inhale, I try to school my face, to not show a reaction. Every day since he arrived, our conversations have been brief but near electric.

“You seem really electric to get out of here. You got a hot date?”

It’s like he’s the only real conversation I have all day, everything else filtered through a mental block only to receive responses from the me I feel so disconnected with.

“No, Mr. Bravo—Dieter”—I correct myself—“I’m just aware that you’ve had a long day, you’re probably tired.”

His eyebrows knit up in confusion, as if to say how foolish that notion is.

“Let me guess, you never get tired.”

Dieter’s eyes fall to the tray in his lap briefly, an emotion I can’t quite place flashing across his face, before looking back up. “No, I just like talking to you. Sometimes I feel like you’re the only real person I speak to all day.”

Heat rushes to my face, spreading under the skin of my cheeks as I try not to smile too hard. At the end of the day, he is still a client and a guest and these interactions are work. But it is the best part of my day still.

“You have my room number and my phone number if anything comes up,” I tell him. “Goodnight, Dieter.”

There’s silence in the room until the door is near closed, when his voice raises to be heard through the thick walls. “Goodnight, Letty!”

Smiling, I realize I’ve come to look forward to it every day.

“Oh my god, calm down!” I yell out, voice thick with sleep, as I tie my robe around my waist. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

“Please,” comes the response of a muffled, pained whine in a deep voice. “Letty.”

Dieter?

He almost falls through when I open the door, forearm thrown against the frame to support the weight of his body.

“It’s three in the morning,” I tell him when he straightens himself up.

He runs a thick hand down his face, the skin of his cheeks pulling his eyelids down to expose the red around the saucer-like size of his pupils. His hair sticks at all angles and he’s wearing the same clothes he was when I saw him just a few hours ago, patterned linen pants and a grey t-shirt with a warped neckline from all the times he’s pushed his arm through to scratch at his chest.

“I know,” he says, raising his other hand palm forward as if begging to hear him out. It’s crazy what a few weeks can teach you about a person’s non-verbal communication cues. I feel like we’re constantly in on a joke only the other gets. “I have a question for you, Letty.”

“I’m sure it can wait until tomorrow, when I’m awake.”

His hand drops to his waist, hand smoothing out over the pouch of his belly. I’ve noticed lately that it’s something he does when he feels vulnerable and exposed. I don’t think he realizes that it draws more attention than it deflects. The belly isn’t bad but he obviously thinks so.

“It really can’t wait, Letty.”

“What is it, Dieter?” I cross my own arms, suddenly aware of my braless chest beneath my own thin cotton shirt. “I just saw you a few hours ago.”

Dieter’s arms tighten around himself as he turns his head to look down the hall one way before turning to check the other.

“Dieter, I swear to god—“ There’s something about the camaraderie we’ve built over the last few weeks that lead me to feeling free to speak to him like this, to voice my frustrations. “I have to be up in three hours to be there for you and your call time so what is it?”

Taking a deep breath, he fixes his stare on me, tongue poking into the inside of his cheek again in the way I’ve come to realize is a nervous habit. “Do you wanna have sex with me?”

“What?”

He throws his hands back up to cover his face, loosing a deep groan from within him. “I’m sorry. Fuck. I-I think my coke was laced with viagra and I can’t sleep with how hard my dick is, Letty.”

Glancing down, I notice the tent in his pants for the first time, craftily hidden by the pattern of the fabric that swirls around the length of him. “Dieter…” It wouldn’t be the worst thing, but this isn’t the way I would want it.

“Mr. Yates said you could get me anything I want.”

Oh.

This is definitely not the way I would want it.

“Mr. Bravo,” I start, schooling my face to hold back the hot tears that threaten to fall. “When my boss informed you that I could get you anything you wanted, he wasn’t also offering me up on a silver platter.”

“Letty,” his voice comes out desperate, breathy. “Letty, that’s not what I mean—“

“Goodnight, Mr. Bravo,” I tell him, closing the door on his blood shot eyes and raging boner.

I should’ve listened to the voice in the back of my head, the one telling me he was leading me into a false sense of security. Men like that, in all his cycling variations, don’t happen to women like me, whoever I may really be.

Dieter avoided me for the rest of the week, making his requests to the production assistants on set before coming back to the hotel at the end of each day. Embarrassment streaked his face every time his eyes fell on me. Including now, as I stand on the other side of the threshold.

“Mr. Bravo—“

“I’m really sorry, Letty.”

“—you’re going to get me in trouble, they think I’ve been ignoring your requests.”

He leans forward, pulling his sunglasses down to reveal clearer—heavy on the -er—eyes than the other night. “Then tell them I propositioned you like some kind of common whore.”

I feel naked beneath his gaze despite being fully clothed, still in my hotel uniform at midnight. Not only does walking the halls in my slippers and pajamas feel unprofessional, I also felt it might steel my nerves for confrontation. “Sex work is a perfectly respectable profession,” I begin. ”And having this conversation is not my idea of a fun time but losing my job—and my home—sounds even less fun.”

A dimple pockets his cheek as he hits me with that crooked smile. “I told you. My name is Dieter.”

“Mr. Bravo…” I inhale. “Please.”

“I told you I was sorry.”

“Great.” I nod, relaxing my fisted hands at my sides. “Now can you let me do my job so that I may keep it?”

He nods. “Yes, Letty, I can do that.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bravo. Is there anything I can get for you before I turn in for the night?”

The shake of his head grants me all the permission I need, a silent dismissal beneath his relaxed body language.

Turning on my heel, I head towards the elevator. To the freedom of my own room. Freedom from this god awful bra and from the feeling he gives me.

“Letty,” he calls out just as I press the button. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t just ask you because of the drugs.”

“It was a factor, Mr. Bravo,” I respond, my back still turned to him.

When the elevator dings and I finally step through the open doors, I see that he’s still standing in the ornate frame of his door, shoulder leaned into the jamb for support.

“It was the courage,” he says, as the doors slide closed again.

The feeling as though I belong in a room—or bed—with him at all.

“Mr. Yates,” my voice comes out in a plea. “Sir, I have no interest in being your assistant manager.”

“It comes with a pay increase, Letty.”

“And a responsibility increase,” I argue. “I appreciate the offer and that you trust me, but I don’t trust myself. I’m perfect happy where I am.”

He nods, his fingers forming a steeple where they meet. “Do you really want to be a celebrity babysitter for the rest of your life?”

“I—“ I can feel tension corseting my ribs. I’ve never really considered the rest of my life, I’m only taking it one day at a time.

“Scarlett,” he leans forward. “You can move into your own place, have a proper work life balance.”

“Sir, I—“

“Is this about Mr. Bravo?” He asks. “Because I understand you want to see out your responsibilities before taking on new ones.”

I hadn’t even thought about Dieter, but, yes. There’s three more weeks of shooting, which is three more weeks that he’ll be here.

“I—“

Mr. Yates holds his hand up to stop me. “Take some time to think about it, you can tell me after Mr. Bravo leaves.”

I nod and stand. “Thank you, sir.”

Hopefully when I give my answer, I’ll be allowed to finish a fucking sentence.

Hopefully I can finish my own fucking thoughts.

When Dieter opens the door, he’s dressed much the same as usual. Soft pants in a wild pattern, something I would get at Target that likely ran him hundreds of dollars, a soft t-shirt, a cardigan and sunglasses perched perfectly on the bump in the bridge of his nose.

“Good morning, Ms. Darke.”

Dieter’s new tactic to have me use his name is to formalize mine, learning my last name from the overnight attendant at the front desk.

“It’s noon, Mr. Bravo.”

He smiles, opening the door wider to allow me access to his space, now completely his own in five short weeks. There’s blankets in every chair and new lamps in the corners, lending soft light to the usual harsh fluorescents. “It may be noon to you, Ms. Darke”—his voice follows me into the room, the door clicking shut—“but I’ve just woken up so… good morning.”

“Well, in that case, can I order your breakfast for you?”

Shaking his head, he lights a cigarette—already assuring me he’d pay for the cleaning—and gestures to one of the chairs. “Take a seat, you look like shit.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bravo, that’s very kind.”

“Fuck.” He scratches a thumb along his eyebrow, cigarette held firmly between his index and middle fingers. “Letty, I’m sorry.”

“I’m Letty again?”

“You know that’s not what I meant, I just feel like a dick all the time around you.”

The knots that tied up in my belly while speaking with the boss are relaxing in Dieter’s presence, the scent of cloves and tobacco mixing with the weed and the cologne that clings to him and all of his clothes to put me at ease.

“What’s wrong, Ms. Darke?”

“Nothing, particularly,” I tell him, sitting down where he usually does. “It’s been a long day.”

“It’s noon, Ms. Darke.”

Leaning back, I close my eyes. “I thought you had a six o’clock wake up call.”

“Ms. Darke…”

When I open my eyes again, he stands in front of me. Close and all encompassing but not in an overbearing or overwhelming way. His eyes are the clearest they’ve been since the first day, though his habits haven’t particularly slowed. He’s simply being careful since that night he knocked on my door.

“Can I get you anything, Mr. Bravo?”

Dieter kneels, one hand falling to my knee as he finds his own balance, and he looks up at me half begging. “I’d like you to take a nap.”

I huff a laugh.

“I’m serious.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Your boss told me you could get me anything I want.”

His grip tightens on my knee when I move to stand and I swear I can feel the warmth of him in my bones. “He told me I could have anything I want.”

“Well, I’m the assistant manager now and I’m telling you that you absolutely cannot have anything you want.”

His forehead wrinkles as his eyes lift in surprise and I can see the calculations taking place behind them. Tugging on his earlobe, the one adorned with a simple gold hoop, he stands. “You got a promotion?”

“Don’t look so shocked.”

“I’m not shocked,” he insists. “I’m worried.”

Laughing again, I do stand. “I only have you for three more weeks, I don’t need you to be worried for them.”

He takes a puff of his cigarette and leans forward to tamp it out into the ashtray on the table. “I see how you change around other people, Ms. Darke. Or, rather, I see how you change around me when other people aren’t around.”

All the knots are coiling back up now, deciding comfort under observation is no comfort at all. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know if you hate your job,” he begins. “But I know you’re not happy.”

“I’m fine.”

“But are you happy? Are you sad? Are you angry? Are you afraid?”

I step toward the door. “Goodbye, Mr. Bravo, I will send a selection of food up within the hour.”

“Ms. Darke—“

“My name is Scarlett!” I yell, turning back towards him with my hand gripping the doorknob. “My name is Scarlett and I came up here to tell you to expect a new personal concierge to see out your final three weeks of your stay. Goodbye, Mr. Bravo.”

Opening the door, I cross the threshold, finally releasing my held breath.

Hours have passed and I can still feel the weight and the warmth of his hand on my knee. I thought a shower would help to relieve the aches I feel—in my chest, my bones, my stomach—but all it served to do was amplify these feelings.

I can’t remember the last time I yelled at anybody. Maybe that time in the seventh grade when I’d finally pried my lips from my braces after I took a soccer ball to the face and, really, that was to call my sister back from going after the idiot who kicked it in the first place.

Embarrassment floods my brain and the lowest part of my belly, causing me to sink further into the bathtub until I hear three soft knocks on the door rapped out in Dieter’s rhythm.

I hold my breath but the knocks come louder.

“I know you’re in there,” he says. “I’ll wait all night if I have to.”

Taking a deep breath, I stand, letting the water roll off of my body, and grab the towel laying on the edge of the sink. The last thing I need is Dieter Bravo riding his high outside of my front door all night for anybody to see.

“What?”

He turns towards me, having been distracted by the elevators, and his eyes go wide. “My towels don’t look like that.”

“This may be the hotel’s room, but the decorations are mine. Can I help you, Mr. Bravo?”

He swallows thickly, appraising you up and down, and a light goes off in his head as he begins to pull his lime green robe off. “Take this, you look cold.”

“I have a very warm bath to climb back into. Can I help you, Mr. Bravo?”

“Scarlett…” He hugs the robe close to his chest now. “I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“Overstepping. I just…” He throws the robe over his shoulder now, searching for the words. “I would hate to see you throw your life away on maintaining a place like this for douchebags like me.”

“Somebody has to do it, Mr. Bravo,” I tell him, ignoring the way the air conditioning makes me shiver. “And you won’t be around to see me throw my life away, you’ll only be here three more weeks.”

“Aren’t you gonna tell me I’m not a douchebag?”

Shaking my head, I laugh. “You travel with your Academy Award.”

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he nods. “Fair. Goodnight, Letty.”

I watch as he heads back towards the elevator, to ride back up to the top floor with his head bowed.

“Why do you care so much?”

He turns and shrugs. “I like you. Like actually like you and I’d just like to see you happy and maybe even relaxed. Go back to your bath, I’ll see you around.”

This is not something that happens to me. This is not the kind of conversations I have. Not with men like him. My blocks stand tall for people pleasing purposes until I can be alone. But he gives me nerves and words that feel as though they’re both mine and meant for me. There’s no pretending to be anybody and it’s been hard to maintain.

“Dieter…”

“Yes, Scarlett?”

“Have you had dinner yet?”

He looks down at the phone in his hands—for the time, I assume—and laughs. “I haven’t had breakfast yet.”

“We should fix that.”

“Are you asking me to have dinner with you?”

Fuck it.

“Yes, Dieter.”

“I’m sorry I asked you to have sex with me after I snorted viagra.”

His tone was somber, full of regret like he’d been beating himself senseless about it since it happened. I know that he has been because he’s said it every night this week as he insists I help eat the dinner he calls to the room after he finishes shooting for the day.

“Please, you have to stop telling me you’re sorry.”

Whatever he’s going to say in return is lost as he opens his mouth, closing it again to bite down and chew on the thought. He’s stopped wearing the sunglasses inside and I think I miss them even if they are fucking stupid. I liked the way he’d pull them down and look at me over the rims.

I just like the way he looks at me.

“Saying please to me isn’t going to get me to do what you want,” he says finally.

“Sorry?”

A blush runs up his neck, turning his skin crimson red.

He takes a deep breath. “If you want me to do something, you have to tell me in very plain words.”

“I don’t—“ I shake my head as he does, his hand held up to me to stop.

“You can’t ask me nicely to do things, you have to command me to do things. Otherwise I will keep doing it.”

“You want me”—I swallow, his gaze far more intense than it has been before—“to be mean to you?”

He winces. “Not mean, I just want you to be more commanding with me.” He’s so close I can feel him, every part of me that he’s touched in any innocent way lit up like a Christmas tree on my body. “I know you have it in you.”

“Dieter…”

“Let’s try this again,” he says. “I’m sorry I asked you to have sex with me after I snorted viagra.”

“Ple—“ He squints his eyes and I catch myself. “Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop apologizing for asking me to have sex with you.”

His nose scrunches when he speaks again, standing close and looking down at me with guilt marking his face. “And why should I?”

“Because I don’t want you to be sorry.”

Dieter takes a step back, rubbing a hand across his beard. The sleeves of his grey cardigan are pushed to his elbows but he still adjusts their position on his arms, the muscles beneath his smooth skin flexing with the movement.

“You want me to fuck you?”

I do but… “I don’t just wanna be your flavor of the month, Baskin Robbins.”

“I would never refer to you like that.”

“Is that what you tell all the girls?”

The pout of his bottom lip sticks out. “Just the ones I want to keep around.”

Dieter sits on the plush wingback chair in middle of his bedroom, hands smoothing flat along his thick thighs to wipe the sweat away, and he watches me with his lust heavy dark eyes. I’ve taken to changing into my own softer, cozier clothes by the time he comes back from a shoot. Staying in uniform is exhausting and he saw me in a towel.

And he’s about to see a lot more.

“I’m really nervous,” he tells you. “I haven’t been with somebody I really liked in a while.”

His hand skates the length of my outer thigh when I stand in front of him, warm and calloused against the soft skin until he comes to the hem of my shorts.

“Would you hate it if I told you I still fucked myself that night?” His other hand trails the inside of my thigh, heat and electricity dancing along his touch. “That I wondered how cute your pussy would look around my fat cock?”

“Dieter…”

He encourages me forward, wrapping one hand around the arm that braces my weight against his broad shoulders, and watches as I straddle his lap. “Your shorts are cute,” he says. “Are they Gucci?”

“House of Old Navy, actually.”

He pinches the material between his index finger and his thumb, rubbing before looking up at me again, the tip of his nose rubbing against mine. “Would you like me to buy you Gucci pajamas?”

“No.” Because I don’t want your money. “I sleep naked.” And that’s not what this is about.

“What do you want?” He asks.

I can feel his heartbeat in my hands where they rest on his chest, the heavy breaths he takes both in the rise and fall of his belly pressed into me and the air we share so close together.

The realness of him beneath my hands and my body, the way wetness pools between my legs just looking at him, crowds up inside of me, in that small hollow part I’ve always felt lived just beneath my heart. Like that space was left for the swelling organ currently racing a marathon in my chest.

I’m not watching this happen to me, this is happening to me. I’m in it.

“Are you going to kiss me or are we just going to stare at each other all night? Because, if so, I’d like that too.”

“Just shut up and make the first move, Bravo.”

He didn’t lie, not about being told what to do or his fat cock if the swelling against my center is anything to go by. It unleashes him, as if giving control over is the only way he can function.

Lifting himself, Dieter places his lips on mine, a timid press to test the waters as if he’s afraid I’ll suddenly just back and scream like I’m on fire. But when I raise my hand to cradle his jaw, that’s the only encourage he needs to more, opening my mouth and dipping his tongue in languidly against mine and I wonder if he can also feel the slick that just his closeness is pulling from my body. I’m half tempted to tell him that foreplay isn’t required but only half. Because when I pull away from him, his head in both my hands, and tell him how pretty I think he is, the skin of his cheeks runs so red beneath the praise I’m afraid he might pop.

“How do you still have enough blood left in your body to blush like this while your dick is this hard?”

Dieter’s hands splay across my ass, pulling my hips down against his as a moan escapes my mouth. “Got a while to go before it becomes unbearable,” he says. “But judging by the wet spot you’re sitting in, I could say the same for you. Do you know what color your cute little clit is when it’s swollen? Has anybody ever told you?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Do you want me to?”

The question hardly registers as the first two still ring through my mind but I nod as I catch up. “Please.”

“Tell me what I’m going to do, Letty.”

The combination of the timbre in his voice and the plush of his stomach moving against my own almost shorts me out, causing me to clench around nothing while grabbing tightly to his hair.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” he bites out, wrapping one large hand around my wrist. “Keep doing that, pull harde—“

Kissing him is the only way to push thoughts back into my brain, my lips catching his with a force that’s sure to leave a bruise later. Loosing my right hand from where it’s fisted in his hair, I scratch my nails down the length of his beard while something between a whine and a whimper catches in his chest.

The buttons of his shirt come apart easily as I make my way down, pushing each side open to expose his broad chest and the soft skin of his tummy.

“No,” I tell him, breaking away. “Don’t suck it in, I like it.”

“You like it?”

“Yeah.” I catch his lips again on a nod. “I like it so much.”

“Fuck.”

Fuck is right. He relaxes fully. Finally. Back pressed into the cushion of the chair, one hand around my hips to hold me in place and the other squeezing at my breast.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” He practically begs. “It’s getting unbearable, you have to tell me what you need.”

Climbing off of him, I step back on shaky legs and if what he did before was whining, it’s nothing compared to the sound that action pulls from his throat. “Getting off of me”—he tilts his head, looking absolutely betrayed—“is not telling me what you want.”

“I want you to get up”—to which he practically jumps—“and take your shirt off”—something already half done for him—“and then meet me in bed.”

“You are still very clothed,” he whispers, hands snaking around my waist as he comes up behind me.

Turning in his arms, I sit on the bed, coming face to face with the waistband of his pants before looking back up at him. “So are you.”

Dieter takes a steadying breath, his hands covering his face.

“You can’t be embarrassed,” I tell him, hooking my fingers into his waistband. “You were the one banging on my door and asking me for sex at three in the morning.”

“You’re right,” he responds, words muffled behind his hands. “But that’s not what I’m embarrassed about”—he drops one hand to rest on yours, the other still planted on his cheek—“I’ve gained some weight.”

Leaning forward, I kiss the softness of his lower abdomen before taking the skin between my teeth and pulling back slowly. “I wouldn’t know if you’ve gained weight or not”—I lean back on my elbows—“and I wouldn’t care. Do you have a condom?”

“May I taste your pussy first?”

Raising my leg, I press my foot into his upper thigh. “You’re the one looking like you might just bust any second but…” I shrug as best I can. “Those puppy dog eyes have been fucking with me for weeks.”

I scoot back further on the bed, making room for Dieter to join me, and watch as slowly pulls my shorts away from my body. He keeps his eyes locked to mine, lips dragging along my outer thigh as he builds the tension and the pressure of waiting within me until he smooths a palm on each knee and pulls my legs apart.

“You…” He takes a deep breath. “You are just cute as I thought you’d be.”

He bends to me almost in prayer, broad shoulders slanting beneath my legs to hold me up, and fits his face into the wet heat of my cunt. Dieter groans, mouth opening against my clit to send vibrations through my body.

“Dieter.” His name comes out in one breath, sounding more like Dear than anything stamped on his passport. But oh god, the things his tongue are doing to me are dear to me. I can feel the smile before I see it, eyes crinkling when he looks up from between my legs, as he slides two fingers into me with ease.

“Come on,” he begs, pumping with no abandon. “Give me one and I’ll split you on my dick”—he adds another finger to his ministrations—“I can feel it, baby. I can feel this cute little hole clenching up—oh, there you go.”

I can feel wetness on my thighs, a blinding pressure suddenly relieved as I struggle, again, to say his name. He pulls fingers from me, leaving me clenching around nothing as he stands again.

“You can lay back,” he says, slipping his index finger into his mouth. “Be comfortable, I don’t want your head to be sore tomorrow too.”

On those words, I turn around and grab a pillow, determined not to watch him roll the condom on himself. I never took big talkers at their word but I’ll take him at his, having felt what I did while straddling him. If the thickness of his fingers is anything to go by…

The mattress dips beneath his weight again and he bends over me, one hand planted beside my head while the fingers that were inside of me curl around my hip. “You can tell me to get out of you at any time, do you understand?”

Licking my lips, I nod my head before remembering he wants words.

“Yes.”

He braces himself onto his forearm, hand brushing my hair as his thumb strokes the contrentration lines between my brows. I can feel his heavy length pressed into my inner thigh and I will myself to relax beneath his gaze, chocolate brown and sparkling.

“Are you ready?” He asks, removing his hand from my hip to fist himself between my legs.

“Yes.”

Lining up with my entrance, he pushes in slowly, his eyes dancing between mine as he watches me take him inch by thick fucking inch. A smile plays on his lips and his own jaw slackens when he seats himself fully into me, the scent of myself now mixed with the tobacco and the whiskey of his regular diet.

“Good girl,” he praises. “You’re such a good fucking girl, took me so well.”

Even stretched out on his cock, the simple praise runs heat up my face.

“You look nervous,” he says. He’s still holding still inside of me, waiting for me to fully relax around him. Three fingers wasn’t enough, not really. Not like this. “Wanna hear something funny?”

“Hmm?”

“I like to be called daddy. How do you feel about that?”

My belly cinches in laughter, mouth opened against his as I clench around him and… relax. Finally. I cradle his face between my palms. “You like being told what to do but you like being called daddy? That’s a little fucked up, sweetheart.”

He moves with a crooked smile, easily dragging himself from between my legs only to push back in. “I never said I make sense.”

His pace picks up and I’m sure there’s bruises on my body already, pools of broken blood vessel dotting my hips especially. He’s not a talker—too busy concentrating—but he is a moaner. Every time I raise my hips just right against his or clench around him, another breathy little sound is fed from his mouth and right into mine only to be given back seconds later until our trades are in tandem.

“Oh fuck,” he pushes into me, forehead rested against my own. “You’re so-I’m so—fuck.”

I feel him swell inside me one last time, pushing deep into me until his spent and sweaty body is flush against my own. “You’re so”—he drags his lips along mine again—“fucking quiet when you cum.”

“I’m just quiet as it is.”

“So you’re telling me I can fuck you anywhere?” He whispers into my ear.

“No,” I tell him. “You’re loud enough for both of us.”

Resting into the crook of my neck, he breathes deep. “I’ve been wanting to do that since the first day.”

Dieter’s aftercare was lazy, like his wardrobe, but not in a bad way. He was focused on comfort and warmth, offering his bath and then blankets and finally his soft green robe. “It’s designer.”

I shook my head, refusing the soft fabric yet again as I snuggled further beneath the covers in a post-coital, post-showered haze.

“Are you sure?”

When I nod, he relaxes back, finally, against the pillows. I never would’ve pinned him for such a courteous host.

“Hey, Dieter,” I ask, half asleep.

“Hmm?”

“Why do you travel with your Oscar?”

He’s quiet for a moment, nothing but the sound of deep breaths filling the space between us.

“It reminds me that there’s more to me than who I have been,” he starts, looking over to gauge my reaction. “I don’t really have any one place to call home right now, nowhere that’s really mine. But that”—he points to the statue—“is mine, I earned it.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

He takes a deep breath. “My mother used to explain it to me that there are many different versions of ourselves that we live throughout life, but they all play a part in the big picture of who we are, you know? She said we were constellations, and each part of our lives is another star that contributes to our final form.”

I watch him through heavy lids, his eyes on mine. When I don’t speak again, he continues.

“Right now, the star is off to the side. It’s disconnected from my big picture, which will, in turn, contribute to the big picture. But carrying it around with me reminds me of that.” I watch his chest rise and fall in rapid succession before breathing deep into his lungs. “And, one day, I’ll be back on track, I’ll have an actual place in that big picture. Does that make sense?”

Nodding, I snuggle into his side. “Yeah, I think so. I’ve been disconnected lately too.”

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo/ofc #dieter bravo/original female character #the bubble #the bubble fanfiction

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ajokeformur-ray · 4 years

Note

I got somethin: write headcannons about Erileck. Your own, personal view. Gotta give my favorite ship some love, and also more ideas when I write you stuff 😈💜

OMFGGGGG omgomgomgomg skskksskk I’ve been stockpiling this for a few days bc I gotta think even though it’s my relationship sksksk but I hope this hits your OTP spots + helps as a future ref.

This is written in 1st person bc it’s Joker + I. I hope that doesn’t bother anyone skkssk this is gonna be so much fun I’m hyped!!! There’s no organisation to this lmao so there are jumps all over the place pfft.

Warnings for mentions of trauma, anxiety, depression, also smoking, swearing. Also NSFW bc duh xp

Word count: 3, 207 (woops?)

Questions or comments on my relationship with Joker are welcomed!! I’m sure there are things I haven’t even considered skskks and ngl I do love talking about our relationship pfft.

Joker and I… sksksk I’d be lucky.

Someone like him loving someone like me??? Ridiculous. A dream.

Someone like me loving someone like him??? Don’t be silly.

… And that’s precisely why we work so well together.

We choose to love each other each and every single day. Again and again, no matter what, we find the time to come back together at the end of a long, exhausting day.

I was with Arthur from the very beginning of the film.

I bumped into Carnival outside Kenny’s Music, and I stood to the side to watch him spin that everything must go! sign.

I’m scared of clowns but something about this clown captured and maintained my interest and so it was that once this particular rendition of Temptation Rag was over, I approached Carnival and sincerely thanked and complimented him on his performance.

Both of us blushing, both of us unsure, but neither of us can resist the almost magnetic pull which the other gives off. So I invited him to coffee and dinner (and I paid for everything, of course) and neither of us ever looked back.

I fell in love with Arthur before I even knew his name, and when I love it’s… intense and I fall hard, and I fall fast, and I can never stand back up.

I’ve been told before that I love “too intensely” and it’s “too much” for people (I was told this by my abusers so I suppose they were lying but… it’s a very open, raw wound which I battle daily), but for Arthur the way I love is just right. He needs that clinginess, that reassurance.

I’m already in tears thinking of everything I feel and everything I want to say lmao…

I turned my entire life upside down for him without a single regret, forethought or anything like that, and I never looked back sksksksk.

I stayed with him as Arthur and I did everything I could for him - bought his prescriptions, bought him food, helped him to keep the apartment clean… there were arguments because he thought I was merely looking at him as a charity case, or he was wary in case I was just after something…

But with time, patience and persistence I managed to get Arthur to be at least comfortable around me.

We fell in love together but neither of us said anything. We’re both too shy, too scared of rejection…

I don’t know how we got together, it’s just that one day I stayed overnight at Arthur’s apartment to help him take care of Penny and to take care of him, so exhausted was he…

… And I never left.

I was with him through it all and I made it known only to him that I was proud of him every time he stood up for himself. They all had it coming, anyway (I have a flexible morality lmao).

I love his jokes; he and Bill Hader are my favourite comedians (shush I know Bill wasn’t around in the 80s but work with me) and I adore it when he shares them with me.

The darker the better, imo. My favourites are the ones you laugh at because there’s no other reaction to give.

But I digress.

So. Present day.

He’s Joker and oh, if I thought I loved Arthur…

I have a very deep, very raw and passionate love for Joker. He is… he’s my entire world and I love him so much I’m tearing up while I type this. He’s so beautiful it makes me cry daily.

Every time I cry because of how beautiful he is, I go straight to Joker. He deserves to see how loved he is. Sometimes I get upset because I don’t feel satisfied with the level of love I’m showing him; it’s never enough and he deserves more.

This most often happens at night, because I get very Soft™ at night.

As such, Joker and I have a very special nightly routine.

We spend all day thinking about it but we don’t do this particular thing until nighttime, when we can put our lives away and just soak in each other’s presence.

I cry very easily. Happy, sad, angry, frustrated, upset, elated, joyful, sorrowful… any mood you can think of, I will cry if the emotion reaches a certain intensity.

It’s not unusual for me to come into the living room late at night when I’m in my pyjamas (an oversized t-shirt and a pair of undies - yes, even in winter lmao just pile on the blankets) with tears in my eyes, for whatever reason.

Every time Joker looks up to see this sight, his eyes roam over my body and he smiles, a soft “awwh” leaving his lips as he straightens his legs so I can sit down on his lap.

I sit on his lap and cup his painted face in my hands and I smother him in kisses. I start off slow and then I speed up as the love within my heart grows, and Joker always ends up holding my wrists in his hand and giggling under my touch.

It usually ends up with one or both of us crying. Joker’s so shocked and so awed that I’m still with him even now, and I just love him so much I can’t do anything else.

Joker’s lap is the best seat and it’s my favourite.

I study there, I sit there, I sleep there.

Cockwarming is also a common occurrence.

If he’s sat a certain way so I can’t sit on his lap, I’m not afraid to press down on his uppermost knee so he straightens out so I can get comfortable on him.

“Can I have my seat back, please?” or “You stole my seat” are common ways of asking for him to move for me.

He is also my clown blanket skkksksk our favourite sleeping position is for me to lay on my back and for Joker to lay atop me. He becomes everything I can feel and his head rests either on my chest or on my stomach, depending on what he wants. My hands are in his hair… and we sleep.

So, naturally, there are copious opportunities for Joker to love me awake ;) many a morning do I awaken to the sensation of fingers gripping my hips, holding me down while he worships me with his mouth.

We don’t do NSFW things .v. often, we prefer to cuddle and just be close.

Both of us are virgins and shy ones at that, lmao, so it took awhile for things to even get to that point.

We discovered we just prefer to cuddle over full out sex; less messy, for one.

Full sex is usually for the times when words aren’t enough; after an argument, or when either of us is especially sad or just needs something.

When I want to do this, I usually say, “how about you werewolf and go wild on me now?” and he howls before breaking out in laughter, which I stifle with a kiss…

If Joker wants to, one look from him and I just know. He doesn’t even have to say anything.

My answer is always yes. There’s nothing I won’t do for him and he knows it; it’s okay, though, because he’s the same way for me. We balance each other out really well.

During the rare times I’m awake before Joker is, I’ll kiss him awake; his face, his neck, chest, those adorable soft curves on his stomach…

Any and every excuse which I can think of do I use to love him.

It’s a daily goal to love him so hard that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He deserves nothing less.

I steal his red blazer… often.

If Joker can’t find it, it’s either in the wash or I’m wearing it.

As soon as he takes it off, I’ve got it cradled in my arms, holding it to my face to hide my smile. I wear it when he isn’t, I sleep in it when I miss him (even when he’s right there beside me I still miss him), and I often use it as a pillow.

“Are you sure you don’t love that blazer more than you love me?” // “No.” // Any pout he gives me is kissed away and he giggles against my lips because he got what he was after all along.

We can’t sleep without each other. Joker needs to know that he’s needed, and I need to know that my clown is there for me to keep me safe from the things which my mind tells me are in the dark.

Joker does get annoyed with me sometimes because we both know I’m scared of the dark and I have a vivid imagination, and those two things are difficult to handle on the best of days, but I also love horror films.

Slasher ones are my favourite but I also really enjoy the ones which are dark, gritty, the ones which are based more in the psychological than obvious jumpscares.

I know how Joker can get when I watch them, though, so I tend to watch them when he’s out of the apartment or when there’s nothing else to do.

He never stops me from watching them because I’m a grown ass woman, but he makes his disapproval known by by saying he won’t be comforting me that night when I get too scared to turn the lights off.

In the end, though, there isn’t much he can say because he has unhealthy coping mechanisms just as I do, so he wraps me in his arms and hides my face in his chest or in the crook of his neck. “Close your eyes so you can’t see it’s dark.”

“I love you” is said often between us.

And never just once: “I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you - “ it can and will be said multiple times.

It makes the other person giggle and get teary eyed. We’re slightly obsessed with each other and we love the way we love each other.

There are other ways we say those three words, spoken too much yet never enough:

“You got what you deserved, Joker” // “I suppose I did.”

I wear my outfit sometimes and go out in it, and on rarer occasions (I have acne so I have to be careful) I even do my face like his.

When I really make to say ‘I love you’, I’ll do both. It never fails to make him cry.

The Way You Look Tonight by Frank Sinatra is our song, as is The Carpenters songs Close to You and Yesterday Once More.

Every time those songs are on, Joker spins me into him and even though I have two left feet, he dances with me.

The slow, eerie dances he does are my favourite and I love watching him. He knows and he loves it. He always throws me a wink and it never fails to make me blush and emit such a high pitched noise that I feel compelled to pull my shirt collar up and over to cover my face entirely.

Joker always coos and plays peekaboo with me when I do this to coax me out of hiding.

Neither of us want children but we have two pure black rescue kitties whom we love dearly!

That’s Life is another favourite. I love that song and it never fails to make me smile, even when I don’t want to. I play it every day and Joker always dances with me. We prefer the instrumental version; it reminds us of the simpler times when he was still the unseen (not by me, by Gotham in general) Arthur Fleck.

Aaa, Fleck…

I proposed to him. Kinda.

Joker wanted marriage from day one but I was unsure; I despise the institution of modern marriage but one day I caught sight of a ring I liked the look of in a magazine and I took it over to Joker.

I didn’t say anything, I just held the magazine out at that page for him to take, barely able to speak was I through the depths of my emotions.

It took him ten minutes to stop laughing before he dipped a hand into his blazer and withdrew a small box.

Neither of us said yes and neither of us said no.

We just put the rings on the other and that was that.

The next day, I went and got it registered with a cackling Arthur in tow.

I can be emotionally distant at times; if I’m feeling too much, I tend to withdraw into myself rather than upset Joker by burdening him with what I’m feeling.

He hates it when I do that, though a lot of the time I’m not even aware I’m doing it, and it upsets him and then he withdraws from me.

When Joker starts to pull away from my kisses and stops accepting hugs, that’s usually my holy shit what the fuck, Erika? moment and then I do my best to apologise to him.

I’m always forgiven after it’s made clear that I hurt his feelings, and then we don’t let each other go for the rest of the night.

When I need a reminder of why I love Joker or when I just need to see him for all that he is, I watch his segment on the Murrat show (that’s not a typo - I know what I said.) and I’m sobbing in seconds.

*sigh* “Why do you do this to yourself, Erika?”

“I needed to - you were in so much pain and I - “

He pulls me to him and shushes me. I tuck my face into the warm crook of his neck and lavish him with kisses and I just hold him and hug him as hard as I can and I apologise again and again.

Joker doesn’t understand why I watch it sometimes and tbh neither do I but I do and he always comforts me even though I feel like I should be comforting him.

As I said earlier, I’m scared of the dark and I drink as much coffee as Joker smokes (I can easily reach 18 cups a day. Easy.), so night times are... interesting.

It can take up to an hour for me to sleep. Not really because of the caffeine (I’m used to it by now and I feel calmer with it than I do without it) but because I just can’t get comfortable or because I’m convinced something just moved in the corner of the room.

Even with my nightlights, I’m still scared.

It annoys Joker when he’s really tired or trying to sleep and it’s not unlike Joker to grumble “lay the fuck still” and wrap his arms around me so I feel obligated to stay still for him.

Joker never holds me so tight that I can’t move, though. I have trauma relating to body autonomy so he makes sure that I know I can move if I want to.

I prefer to sleep either on my back so I can have my clown blanket or on my side so I can face Joker. I keep my phone by my bed so when I miss Joker or need to see him at 3 AM I’ve got pics and GIFs right there, scared am I that I’ll wake up and he’s just a dream and I’m alone again, so I appreciate seeing him when I wake up in the mornings.

Sleepy morning sex

He’s also at perfect liberty to start things when I’m still sleeping, too.

I gave him an all time free pass - that is how much I trust him. It was the biggest display of trust I could think of, and I’ve never gone back on it or regretted it.

I really just want Joker to know, to know, that he’s loved and cherished. I do my best to let him know that he can be his entire self with me, that I want him to, and he does the same for me.

Fair’s fair though so I’m at liberty to start things when he’s sleeping, though I rarely do because he sleeps so little as it is because insomnia, nightmares etc.

We steal each other’s clothes a lot of the time.

I wear really baggy clothes (my shirts can pass as short dresses) so Joker fits into them easily.

Joker’s very needy and physically affectionate and clingy and even on the days when I don’t want to be touched (again, for trauma reasons), I still allow him to do with me as he pleases.

Not because I feel like I have to, but because I trust him and I know I’m safe with him. When I’m with Joker, I’m the safest woman in the world.

We only use each other’s names - Erika and Joker (Arthur for serious situations) - when attention is needed now or when it’s a deep situation which requires total candour.

Otherwise, for me it’s “my girl” (I melt every time), “my Erika”, “my Queen”, and then generics like darling, sweetheart, love, angel.

For Joker, it’s “my Joker” (he melts), “my King”, “my clown” and then generics like darling, angel, love, honey.

We do anything for each other and we always do small gestures for each other; Joker makes me a cup of coffee and I slip a cigarette between his thin lips before I light it for him. He changes the batteries in my nightlights without saying anything and I hand scrub the blood out of his clothes while it’s still fresh.

Things like that tell us, even without words, that we want it to work.

When he comes home from whatever he does as Joker (I don’t ask and he doesn’t tell), I check him all over. Any bruises, scraps, cuts...

The ‘rule’ is this:

As long as he comes back home to me without even a paper cut, then he can do what he wants as Joker, the reputation he didn’t want or ask for.

We do everything together and with each other and of course we get space from each other when it’s wanted or needed; a lot of the time we’re in the same room doing our own things.

We argue, though I’m not sure what about - but we always make it up to one another. We don’t go to bed angry, either, and we both get upset during fights so tears are shed and wiped away, apologies whispered against trembling lips.

It’s not an easy relationship and there are probably things I haven’t even thought about lmao, but we work hard and the amount of love we have for each other is so strong and so deep it’s bigger than both of us.

We choose to love each other every single day, no matter what, and that’s why we’re still together

Erileck met: 4/10/2019 // married: 26/3/2020. We skipped the engagement. We’re in love and we know it, so why wait?

#jokershyena #requests closed #erileck #this is intensely personal #im so nervous i legit feeling sick posting this

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n-ctarinenga · 4 years

Text

New Wallapaper [ awsten knight ]

a @calmlftv birthday special! | word count: 2,302 | masterlist

After probably the longest birthday of your life, you fell back into the warm embrace of your bed.

Your day had started early, your best friends and roommates waking you up with breakfast in bed, before promptly shoving you downstairs and insisting on pampering you.

By lunchtime, you'd played an intense game of monopoly, had a sparkling manicure, tasted endless mocktails with stupid pun names, and watched all of the 5 seconds of summer cocktail chats videos on the large TV in your living room.

You were happy you'd agreed to a chill day at home for your 23rd, taking the day off work and scolding your friends when they decided to do the same. You had taken the time to celebrate with your workmates and extended friend group over the weekend, having dinner with your family the night before on Sunday before finally settling in to take time out for yourself, which your friends were happy about considering you were always the first to help everyone else before yourself. There was no doubt in your mind that you were loved by the people around you though, all of them reminding you of it constantly through the day.

At first, you didn't understand why they insisted on having dinner early, and grew suspicious that maybe they had something planned for tonight that you were yet to be told about.

"Who has dinner at two pm?" You ask, watching one of your friends prepare a filet steak just the way you like, the large fat of the meat being put to the side for her dog later.

"We do, now stop questioning it." Another answers, shoving yet another red velvet cupcake iced to look like a sunflower into your hands.

You narrow your eyes at the three of them, all glancing at each other and speaking in eye movements and hand gestures so you couldn't decipher their words.

Your attention is pulled away though by your phone that sits in your lap, a new text from your boyfriend, Awsten, filling the screen.

While you wished he could be with you for your birthday, you knew what you signed up for when you started to fall in love with a musician, and that was weeks and months on end of facetimes and texts while miles apart.

Awsten was currently on the other side of the country, but that didn't stop him from blowing up your phone any moment he could with his newest invention, birthday bombing, aka putting a party hat on anything he could find to show you that you were being celebrated even if you couldn't see it in person.

The thought alone was enough to make your heart swell with joy, but as you received yet another picture of your boyfriend wearing a line of hats like dinosaur spikes down his back, you couldn't help but burst out laughing.

At the sudden noise, one of your friends looks over your shoulder, laughing at the picture you were quickly setting as your lockscreen.

"Your man is a nerd." She chuckles, and you shake your head with a laugh, smiling fondly as you lock your phone again.

"Yeah, he is."

Little did you know, Awsten was a lot closer than the 200+ miles away you thought he was.

In fact, Awsten was currently running around Houston searching for the exact perfect items he needed for your surprise, periodically sending you the pictures he had had Geoff, Otto and Jawn help him stockpile before his flight back this morning.

He pocketed his phone after sending you his personal favorite of the bunch, his fantastic dinosaur impersonation, and returned to picking out his birthday cards for you, drawn to the biggest and most decorative ones on the shelves.

Ever since the day you told him about your lack of celebration for your birthday in your teenage and recent years, Awsten had the idea in his head to make sure you got to celebrate the special day in some way, someday. After all, it was the day his favorite person was born.

Adding a 19th, 20th, 21st, 22nd, and 23rd birthday card to the growing pile in his arms, Awsten walked to the counter, where the assistant gave him a suspicious look.

"Girlfriend's birthday." He explains with a smile, earning a small nod from the woman as she placed them all into a bag.

"Either you have a lot of making up to do or you have a very humorous girlfriend." She comments, handing him the back and grabbing a pen from a display beside the counter, throwing it in too.

"You're probably gonna need it." She whispers, a kind smile on her face as a grin spreads across his.

"A bit of both, and you're right, thank you." He laughs, sending her a nod of thanks as he walks out.

With the cards and your present already taken care of, all that remained was the picnic basket he had to fill and the flowers he was set to pick up next.

While you sat at the head of the dining table, your friends hands over your eyes as the other two carried and lit your cake, Awsten was already walking into the flower shop packed to the brim with fragrance and colour.

"Happy birthday, dear y/n, happy birthday to you!" Your friends cheer, eyes uncovered to see a large, delicately iced red velvet cake, very similar to the cupcakes you had been handed throughout the day, but this time with two gold and white candles lit on top, a bright and shiny 23 right in the middle.

You can't help the wide grin that covers your face once again as you make your wish, blowing out the candles with light dancing in your eyes as a friend snaps pictures of you for later.

Cake and presents are taken care of before the hour is up, and after showering you with buckets of affection all day, your friends finally let you escape for some time alone, letting you know if you need absolutely anything to just call them, all of them still heavily dedicated to their role as birthday elves.

A smile still plays on your lips as you relax on your bed, the sound of Daphne Blue by the band CAMINO playing on your record player across the room letting you relax as the day sank in, a content sigh escaping you as you recall the events of the day.

You're confused though as you hear the sound of music still playing well after the end of Honest, the needle on your vinyl travelling to the middle of the record and waiting on you to flip it in silence.

With a confused frown, you climb off your bed, walking over to your window to investigate the source of the noise.

Catching a sight of bright green, a small scream escapes your lips as you see Awsten standing below your window, a bluetooth speaker held above his head playing Blink 182 on full volume.

"Happy birthday babe!!" He cheers loudly, his heart racing as you hang your head out of your window, shock evident on your face.

"Awsten!! How the fuck did you get here so quick, crazy??" You call back, happy tears gathering in your eyes.

"For you? Yeah. Now are you gonna let me in so I can kiss you or what?" He asks teasingly, making you shake your head at him, grinning as you close your window and run out of your room, basically flying down the stairs and past your grinning best friends.

You swing the door open, and hit Awsten's body full force as his arms wrap around you tightly, tears starting to fall as you actually get to touch him again.

"Hey sweetheart." He grins, kissing the top of your head and drinking in the familiar scent of your shampoo and conditioner.

"You're home." You cry into his chest before pulling back so you can hold his face with both of your hands, still in shock that he's real and in front of you.

"And I still like you even though you're twenty three." He jokes, his hands on your hips pulling you closer to him so he can finally kiss you after so long apart.

The small action made your heart burst, the feeling of having him so close again like taking a breath after feeling your lungs burn under water. It made your skin shiver and your heartbeat race, even with your best friends wolf whistling in the background.

"Speaking of, why did you go all 'boombox outside my window'?" You ask, pulling back and frowning at him.

"I wanted to be romantic." He shrugs, making you shake your head as you laugh.

"Dork." You say lovingly to assure him, making a wider smile spread across his face.

"Okay," He pecks your lips one more time, nodding in the direction of the stairs, "there's more surprise to go so you go wait up there while I get everything else."

You try to fight his instructions for a moment, wanting to help, but give up when he gives you a look that says 'don't even try'.

It takes Awsten all of three minutes to run from your door to his car and back again, picnic basket and presents in hand as he mouths a thank you to the girls in the living room, them helping him all along without your knowledge.

Confusion washes over you as you see the picnic basket in his hand as he walks in, proudly and confidently walking towards you and dropping a bag down on the bed beside where you sit.

"Open." He instructs, pointing to the bag that you eye suspiciously.

"What have you done here, Knight?" You ask, watching as he takes the blanket from off the end of your bed to lay on the floor and opening the bag to peak inside.

"We are having a very special edition air conditioned picnic where I don't have to worry about my gorgeous girlfriend being bitten by ten million mosquitoes." He explains, still making your cheeks heat up at his words just as easily as he always had.

Awsten occupies himself setting up the indoor picnic as you take the top envelope from the bag, opening the small pastel pink package to see a very glittery, very girly happy 1st birthday card.

"Sweetheart," you laugh lightly, "I think you got the wrong card."

"No I didn't, I got you a card for every year you've been alive because we're celebrating all the birthdays you didn't before." He states simply, but it hits you as anything but simple.

"Awsten…" You trail off, opening another few cards with tears in your eyes.

"Do you… do you like it?" He asks, walking over on his knees to kneel in front of you, suddenly unsure of the gesture of the cards.

The tears start to fall as you look down at him, pulling him into a kiss that makes him melt like putty in your hands.

"I absolutely love it. I'm gonna put them all up like another wallpaper." You laugh happily, while he wipes away the tears that fall down your cheeks.

"Sounds like a plan to me. But first," He points to the open picnic basket on your floor, "we have some tacos to take care of."

You thank your lucky stars for the bright, in every sense of the word, man in front of you as you eat, happily exchanging stories of nightmare customers you'd had in recent weeks for his stories of venues that made your toes curl.

When the tiredness finally took over, Awsten pulled you into bed, legs tangling together and his arms around you once again as he fell asleep, while you stayed awake a little bit longer, reading the messages placed all through the 23 cards you had been given while relaxing back into the arms of the man you love.

You could feel his breath on your neck behind you, comforting and familiar as you finally reach card 23, a gasp leaving you as the simple but gorgeous necklace tucked inside falls onto your bed beside you.

You pick up the small tear shaped ruby gem necklace from beside you and hold onto it tightly, unknowingly moving closer to the man near squeezing the breath out of you even in his sleep.

Reading the card in the soft light of your bedside lamp gets harder as tears cloud your vision, but you do your best to push through it.

Today, we celebrate 23 years since the love of my life was born. You, not Carlos Santana. You know I toe the line of being cheesy every day, but I apologize in advance for diving over the edge for a moment. For a long time I felt like I had to escape who I was, and for a while, I did, but I lost a home that I couldn't find no matter where I searched for it. The closest I ever got to that home was your arms that night you pulled me in, and thank god you didn't let me go, because you've proven to me over and over again that I do have a home, and it's in the spot right by your side. You're the one thing in my life I know I got right, and you deserve to feel like the most important person in the world, because to me, you are. There would never be enough space in a card for me to tell you how much I love you, but I plan on letting you know every day for the rest of my life. I still like you, I still love you, and I still think you're an actual angel. Happy birthday sunshine.

taglist | @spicycal @calmlftv @irwinkitten @mrandleer @candidcal @lukeskisses @wallflowercal @brooklynsninenine @whereveryouares @everyscarisahealingplace

#awsten knight #awsten knight fanfic #awsten knight imagine #waterparks #waterparks fanfiction #waterparks fanfic

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