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ragewearmd · 2 years ago

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have you read anything from the @youcouldmakealife universe? “Thrown Off the Ice” is one of the best novels i have ever read and i come back to it over and over and over again.

though i am a long time slashfic reader harkening back to the uhh....backstreet boys/nsync days i stopped reading RPF a long time ago when the 4th wall lines for supernatural/J2 got very blurry. this was also during the original rising of HRPF, and while it felt like literally every single teen wolf AO3 author (what up twentysomething) was also writing hockey fic i definitely avoided it. also, i played hockey, (hey junior devils), and fandom life and “real” life were definitely separate things for me.

i started reading romance novels about a year ago, having gotten really bored of star wars fics, fell into straight sports romances, hockey romances, and then honestly ended up on heated rivalry and was like “so this is sid/ovi fanfiction, got it.” curiously, none of the straight romances really feel like fanfic or even self-insert/second person style fics, i think primarily because they are all written in the first person, which, as everyone knows, is a cardinal sin in fics.

getting back into the m/m hockey romances led me through all the ones recc’d in posts below, but also to “Thrown Off the Ice” and “You Could Make a Life” and the david/jake published versions. as i was reading them, they felt so much like fic but also were not based on any particular player as far as i could tell. a modicum of research revealed that they were original fics posted on AO3 a long time ago and were part of a super rich universe with a cast of characters more developed that any book series i have read in the past decade or so.

in any case, i’m making my way through the ao3 HRPF archives now. something about how much time has passed, how the men we’re reading about are, for the most part, well into their 30s without rampant “real world” speculation on their personal life, makes the sidney, geno, kaner, tazer, tyler, and jamie of these fics bear little to no resemblance to the actual human. having said that, i will never read a fic with a member of the hurricanes or really anything with the current batch of little hockey starlettes. because those people are children.

TL;DR: read TOTI if you haven’t already. also i’m a fandom old.

Hey book anon here! I assumed the Rachel Reid books were Sid/Geno-inspired but Sid/Ovi makes a lot more sense haha! Maybe I'll have to check out some Sid/Ovi fic??

I fully respect your not wanting to read EK (and yeah her het stuff is nowhere near as good - I am convinced she and SB make each other better, because SB's new stuff is really pretty meh also). I can't tell you how many books I've read thinking, wow, pretty much every fic writer I know would do a better job on this. Heck, *I* would do a better job on this!! Anyway - have a good one!

it's kind of amazing that sid/ovi never took off in fic, honestly. that's what happens when you have homegrown russians (geno, in sid's case) or homegrown devoted co-leaders (backstrom for ovi). maybe we have yet to see the groundbreaker sid/ovi fic that will shake up the fic landscape haha

and I'm glad that it seems like they make each other better!! I'm hesitant to go TOO full-tilt on my book opinions in public venues like this just because I don't take pleasure in knocking down something other people like. and, honestly... I don't think I'm a paragon of literary taste, either lol. I like some things that objectively aren't the ~height of literature~, you know? so if a random romance book doesn't work for me, it just doesn't work for me, and while I won't recommend it I don't think that I'm the arbiter of all that is good and true in this world !!

I think you hit the nail on the head about "pretty much every fic writer would do a better job on this." that's exactly why I stopped trying hockey romances to see if I'd find a good one. I was looking for fic!! I wanted books to give me the same thing fic was giving me!! and, in the end, why try to make books something they aren't? I think we're really blessed to have a trove of excellent fic to choose from, and I've been content to stay here for all my romantic hockey needs

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ragewearmd · 2 years ago

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we are going to do a more (quasi)scientific poll for the pod later but just out of curiosity as I feel like there are lots of new people…

also if you are a recent convert (or not so recent!) please feel free to tell me in the tags what your pipeline was—ie where you came here from + what event or person or fic originally sucked you into pens fandom

#june 25 2019 when i married someone from pgh though my team is carolina #funnily enough i was actually a big time ovi fan when he first joined the league as i lived in DC #ovi was very into georgetown undergrads back then and i was on the women's lacrosse team #i have been to his house #wink wink wink #but lbr i have been reading HRPF since since the TW/SPN days and sid/geno is the only ship that matters

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ragewearmd · 2 years ago

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Oh no. Oh no no no.

In The Dark: 9

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: Explicit, angst

a/n: Thank you to @mourningbirds1 who gave me so much help with this chapter. She is one of the most insightful readers I’ve ever met in my life, and is endlessly patient with me. The lessons she’s been giving me in writing have been invaluable, and I am forever grateful for her. Thank you also to @charnelhouse and @krissology who read pieces, or the whole of this, and to @the-ginger-hedge-witch - the entire beginning of this one is for you, my love. ❤

Series Masterlist

–

Your ass is an obsession for him.

It has been right from the start, since the very first time you came over.

He used to fantasize about it - squeeze his aching cock in the tight fist of his own harsh hand while thinking about you; in the shower, in his bed at night.

He recalled memories of it, his eyes closed tight.

You, bending over to get something from the refrigerator.

You, crawling on all fours of his living room as you knelt and adjusted the papers around your laptop.

You, walking away from him or in front of him, or leaning over his sink in the kitchen or the bathroom.

Once, a glimpse of it when you wore an especially short skirt and reached for something in his cupboard.

That was during the days when he was still holding out, still denying his attraction to you even though he could tell you wore that skirt just for him. (You told him as much last week, and he made you put it on so he could fuck you in it.)

He still fantasizes about it, fucking his fist in search of relief when you’re not there, but now when he does it, he has the physical feeling of it imprinted on his palm.

Keep reading

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ragewearmd · 3 years ago

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I am ready to read this thanks

My religion kink is like chasing me down to write this but y’all will be seeing a Din x f!reader smut coming your way.

Title: Deification of a Manda’lor

Type: Multi Part Fanfic

Summary: You’ve grown up in a very strict and conforming Mandalorian House. They follow the way of the Mandalore and see anyone who in the clan leader’s eyes is worthy of wielding the darksaber as a god. You are the spokesperson of your clan. You’re sent to speak to the Manda’lor about trades and the needs of the Mandalorian children. The kneeling, bowing, constant thanking, and practical boot licking is normal to you but strange to Din, it doesn’t go unnoticed how obedient you are and Din realizes he can’t help but to play into your acts to see how far you’re willing to go.

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ragewearmd · 3 years ago

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So repressed, so strapped down by duty.

Chapter 3: You Had Me Searching For A Reason

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: A glimpse to the past. A fantasy. A tense meeting. Confusion.

Word Count: 2800

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, allusions to sexual acts, descriptions of fingering (f receiving), I am asking you once again to fantasize about one (1) space dad, angst is back with full force friends.

Cross-posted on AO3

Both Sides of the Door Masterlist

I Think of You Series Masterlist

“So you’ve been traveling with Mando long?” Cara asks, her voice echoing off of the slick tile walls of the bathing room. Steam hovers close to your ankles, the heavy humidity making your fingers sticky. It’s close to midday, not a popular time for a soak, so there are only a sparse few patrons other than you and Cara.

(private indeed)

The two of you are wrapped in white robes sitting along the edge of the steaming pools. The child is draped with a small towel, his eyes wide and ears lifting at the noises and voices in the soothing space. Several baths are recessed into the floor, large enough to swim back and forth easily, narrow corridors leading away. Attractive Twi’lek employees tend to the other patrons, adding oils and salts to the water and applying custom tinctures to muscles. You’re supremely out of your element here.

(never even sat in a bath full enough to cover your knees)

“A little less than two standard months,” you say, dragging your attention back to the conversation. While the bath house appears to be completely innocent (they let the child in here after all), some of the touches look less healing, and several patrons are taking advantage of the private baths with the pleasing staff.

“What sort of trouble were you in?” she asks, and you take to stroking the child’s hand to calm your nerves. He makes a little trill, wrapping his tiny hand around one of your fiddling fingers.

(Mando has secrets, does he want you talking about this?)

“Imps on Tatooine,” you reply simply, watching Cara’s face mold into a more serious expression. She nods, her eyes conveying understanding and kinship with your fate.

“After you?” she continues with a raised brow, and you shake your head. “Mando and the kid then.” You let the silence answer. She curses quietly under her breath.

“I’d hoped after Moff Gideon they’d be able to get some peace. Not that there’s much of that in the galaxy. But with the Moff dispatched we thought the Imps would finally give up the chase.”

(so that’s why they’re running)

Questions about why Mando and the child are being pursued tickle your lips, but Cara’s eyes are wistful, pulling at the weave of the robe around her. Humidity dews around the base of her throat, the fine wisps of hair around her temples sticking to her forehead.

“We almost lost him and the child the last time he was on Nevarro. Imps had us cornered, and if it weren’t for the kid and an IG-11 droid we’d still be under their thumb.” Her words pull at your chest, making you release the child’s hand for fear of crushing it between your fingers.

(he would never have come back for you, and you would never be here)

(never be this happy even with all the uncertainty)

“Seems like you’re full of surprises, Bean,” you manage to choke out, and the child’s face turns up to you with a curious look. He coos and squirms in your arms.

“Okay, what’s Bean about?” Cara scoffs, and you laugh and turn the child to her.

“C��mon, don’t tell me you don’t see it,” you say, and she starts laughing too.

“Better than The Child,” Cara replies, doing a rough impression of Mando that has you snorting into your hand. You both fall into companionable silence, which you break when a question bubbles to your lips.

“Mando’s always helping, isn’t he?” Cara hums with your statement. “Why be a bounty hunter then?”

She shrugs, her eyes following a yellow-skinned female Twi’lek walking the perimeter of the room. “You’d have to ask him that one. I’ve only ever known the hunter.” She nods at the Twi’lek, who starts making her way over. A handsome pale green male follows.

“There was a time I thought he might settle down and have a quieter life. Him and the child and, ah…hmm.” Cara’s voice drops off, and a cold pit forms in your stomach.

(so there was someone else)

“Fate dealt him a bad hand. We had to leave Sorgan, and I haven’t seen him stop running since.” Her voice lilts with quiet resignation. Sitting motionless, her words buffet against your ears.

(there was another he desired another he cared for another)

“But,” Cara interjects as she stands, looking down at you. You try to keep an even face, as if none of this surprises you or hurts you even though you feel the pain of revelation twisting in your chest.

(why would he give you what he couldn’t give this other woman?)

“He’s never had someone with him this long, not since I’ve known him. Not friends, not crew. Bean’s the only exception,” Cara says, her mouth twisting with a wry smile at the nickname. It’s a balm to an open wound inflicted with regret. “Bean and you.”

You smile and nod, and Cara nods back firmly, whatever intention she had behind her revelation fulfilled. The Twi’leks approach.

“I hope you don’t mind that I’ll be partaking privately,” she says to you, nodding at the female Twi’lek. Heat separate from the steam rises to your cheeks. “Enjoy the baths, they’re very calming. Bean will love them too.”

“Marshal,” the Twi’lek says with a sultry smile, and Cara walks off with her. The male Twi’lek looks down at you and the child.

“Is this your first time in the healing baths?” he says, his voice smooth and rich.

(not as deep as Mando’s)

“Uh, yeah, his too.” You jostle the child, who is in awe of another green-skinned being so much larger than him. The Twi’lek smiles and wiggles his fingers for a baby smile.

“I have a perfect arrangement for you both.”

+ + + + + The heat of the bath seeping into your bones pulls a moan from your throat that’s close to euphoric.

“Bean, this might be the most luxurious thing I’ve ever done,” you sigh, hearing him gurgle and chirp close by. You’re in one of the smaller public pools, the water deep enough to kneel in while still mostly submerged. The child is in a tiny adjoining one, close enough for you to reach out and splash the water with your fingers, much to his delight.

“This is the setup we normally offer to mothers and small children,” the Twi’lek said when he ushered you over. The child’s basin is much shallower, with enough water to splash to his heart’s content. All he needs is a fish and he’d probably stay for hours.

Folding your arms on the lip of your bath, you rest your chin and watch the child enjoy himself. You’ve never sat in so much water before, and you understand the appeal now. All of the aches of the day are being soothed away by the heat and gentle lap. The modesty suit you’d requested, a simple breast band and bottoms, keeps you comfortable as other patrons and staff pass by.

(how would Mando react if he saw you now?)

Imagining the bounty hunter’s helmet tilting to take in your form, beaded with droplets, lips parted, flares arousal in your belly. The bashful heat of your skin rivals the water’s penetrating warmth. You feel it displace more as the Twi’lek steps into your bath, laying out a tray of bottles close by.

“Do you have any ails today?” he asks, muscles relaxed enough for you to fall asleep where you’re sprawled.

“Nothing worth mentioning,” you murmur, “This is incredible.” The Twi’lek chuckles, opening a bottle and adding a dollop of oil to his hands. He rubs them together and places one at the base of your neck. Startling for a moment, he applies gentle pressure and eases your head back down.

“Relax, I’m just going to check for tension,” he says as his fingers and thumb make firm strokes along your skin. You try to ease back, but Mando’s fleeting touches have conditioned you to treat any hands on your body as cause for adrenaline.

(just a massage, don’t freak out. You could probably use one)

The Twi’lek is thorough, pressing his thumb under your shoulder blade, on either side of your spine, in the meat of your deltoids. It’s clinical, which calms you enough to close your eyes and just enjoy the individual attention.

“You’ve got some tightness in your shoulders and neck, would you like a treatment for that?” he asks, and you hum in agreement. Anything to continue melting into the bath. You open your eyes and catch the child entertaining himself, repeatedly dipping his hands in and out of the water. Little beads of condensation cling to the baby hairs on his head, haloing his odd features. He’s close enough that you could grab him if you needed to. Plus Cara says this place is safe. You could indulge for a short while.

The Twi’lek arranges you with professional precision, placing a soft towel under your folded arms and guiding you to sit up on your knees instead of your current curved and twisted position. The water shifts as he kneels behind you, working a mentholated paste between his hands. His knees frame your calves a respectable distance away.

“Tell me if there’s any discomfort,” he adds quietly before he begins working his hands across the planes of your shoulders and back.

You have to stifle a moan, the relief that seeps into sore muscles making you settle deeper into your prostration. Your head drops heavily on your arms, shoulders falling away from your neck as the Twi’lek pulls tension from your frame. His hands are strong and skillful, but not as large as you might like them to be.

(how large Mando’s hands would feel on you)

The image comes to mind unbidden but not undesired; Mando’s rough hands, battle worn, smoothing across your skin with the same purpose. How it would feel if he dragged his thumbs down either side of your spine, kneaded his palm at the base of your neck, fingers slipping around to fit under your jaw as he worked tight circles behind your ears.

Then maybe he would let his hands drag further down to trail between your open thighs, humming at your gasps as he lets them drift closer and closer to your apex. His chest pressed against your back, thighs framing yours as he kisses along your shoulders (kriff, to feel his mouth on you), letting a hand drift up to cup your breast as he dips a careful finger inside of you. The heft of his cock laying heavy on your lower back, or stroking against your folds as you sink down onto him. His mouth close to your ear, breath hot and voice straining as he breaks you apart with a word.

“Mesh’la.”

“Will there be anything else?” A different voice breaks you from your reverie as you come back to your body. Your body drapes over the edge of the bath, lower back arched and sitting back on your knees.

Right on this Twi’lek’s welcoming lap.

You shoot up immediately, face and chest hot with embarrassment as the water sloshes at your sudden movement.

“I am so sorry,” you stammer, looking over at the child to find him curious about your outburst. The Twi’lek chuckles, moving to lift himself out of the water and back to his duties. His thighs slide against the backs of yours for a moment before he rises, dripping, from the bath.

(holy Maker you need to get laid)

“No offense taken, miss. We do offer more intimate services than this if you require them.” Your mouth goes dry at this handsome man looking at you with an open invitation.

(nope nope nope nope)

“No, no, I’m…I’m good, that was…definitely the best massage I’ve ever gotten. You’ve got some magic hands there.” You feel like you are going to dissolve like salt in the bath, the child scooting closer to analyze your distress.

“So I’ve been told,” the Twi’lek says cheekily, but he gathers up his tray and directs you to rinse the salve off before heading to the dressing room. He bids you a relaxing day and leaves through a corridor. Sitting in silence, you will the embarrassment to simmer down as the child pats your arm.

“It’s okay Bean, just…a little flustered. Let’s get ready to go meet your dad.” At the mention you throb with arousal and have to take a few deep breaths.

At least Cara wasn’t here to see that.

(or Mando)

+ + + + +

By the time you’ve gotten control of your racing heart, cleaned yourself and the child and redressed, Cara is waiting for you in the entryway. She also has a glow to her, though you suspect that’s for different reasons.

(you could have had one)

(no, not with that man)

Cara smiles at you, a glint in her eye.

“Was it restorative?” she teases, and you shift the child in his pouch.

“Not as much as yours, I’m sure,” you shoot back as you both re-enter the bustle of Nevarro. Cara shrugs as you meander through the market, the busy town center, all the way to the Marshal’s offices. You compare it to the other places you know, Tatooine and the green planet and the market. It’s flatter, more desaturated but busier than it seemed from above.

(too much uncertainty though)

Stepping inside, you find Karga talking with a blue Mythrol, but no Mando.

“Ah, I see you did take my advice,” Karga booms, making Cara snort at him.

“What can I say, it does take the edge off.” The two of them banter lightly, but your eyes keep darting around.

(where is Mando?)

You don’t feel exposed per se, Mando obviously trusts them, but without him by your side your brain starts devising escape routes, ways to politely adjourn to the Crest, comms him to make sure everything is okay. Karga and Cara look at you at the same time.

“So, tell us about how you met Mando,” Karga asks, and your heart starts slamming in your chest. You falter, fidget under Karga’s knowing look (kriff kriff kriff keep your cool) and try to think up something that will satisfy their smug smiles.

(well about ten years ago he picked me up at a bar and we fucked all night)

(oh kriff, that’s not helping)

Before you can open your mouth to offer a halfhearted story, a shadow drapes across you.

“We’re leaving,” comes the familiar modulated voice.

(thank the Maker)

“C’mon Mando, you just got here! At least stay for some food, a restock?” Karga wheedles, but a hand wraps around your upper arm and urges you closer to him.

“Already restocked a planet ago, and we’ve been here too long.” You peek up at Mando and he’s tight, clipped. Much different than you last saw him. You bite the inside of your cheek.

(what happened while you were away?)

“Well it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Karga says, taking your hand into both of his again. You shake politely, with a bright smile, and do the same with Cara. She winks conspiratorially at you. Mando’s hand remains around your arm the entire time.

“Bye baby!” Karga calls, waving at the child in his pouch. He waves back in a practiced way that makes you smile. This is clearly supposed to be a longer exchange but Mando is urging you out the door. A final goodbye thrown over your shoulder signals your exit.

Once in the sun and haze of the street Mando is surging forward, his stride so long you have to jog to keep up, lifting the child into your arms for more freedom of movement.

“Hey, is everything okay?” you ask. Mando hums once, not breaking pace.

(not reassuring)

“Did you get everything you needed?” you continue, which elicits no response. You look down at the child and worry you’ve suddenly stopped speaking Basic. His wrinkled forehead has an extra one between his eyes now.

“New bounties?” you try once more, which makes Mando turn on his heel and stop. The abrupt stillness almost makes you crash into him. The broadness of his chest and shoulders blocks your path, cape fluttering around him. You turn your eyes to the visor, but he’s unreadable right now, making your heart pound and clench.

“We agreed that you wouldn’t be involved in my work,” he says in a low voice simmering with…anger? Frustration? You can’t pinpoint it yet, only able to feel the heat of…whatever this mood is radiating off the beskar.

“I…wasn’t? I just wanted…” you try to say, but a quick dismissive hand motion silences you.

(makes your blood boil too, but you’re trying to keep that under control)

(one of you has to be the level-headed one here)

“No more questions.” His tone is final. You nod and stop trying to interpret this conversation and what it’s actually standing for in Mando’s head. Instead you continue on to the Crest, silent except for the crunch of lava rock under your feet.

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ragewearmd · 3 years ago

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i am unwellllllll

and also, two in one day, we are spoiled

Irredeemable

Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Part VIII - Saturday

Summary: A diamond ring is no match for Dieter Bravo, nor is your self-control.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only! By reading this you are asserting you are over 18.)

Word Count: 2.6k (a short bridge chapter)

Content: NSFW, infidelity, pining, yearning, angst, fluff, drug use, smut (unprotected p-in-v, semi-public sex), no Y/N

A/N: Part VII also came out today! Important not to skip 😉

When your alarm went off early on Saturday morning, he was already awake with your head on his chest and a pit in his stomach. His eyes followed the way your hair splayed across his skin in the dim early morning sun, the strands twisting over his chest as if they were spreading life to his very soul, your tired whimpers like tiny daggers into his heart. Why did he do this to himself?

Part VII//Series Masterlist//Part IX

He remembered the first time he’d walked onto a stage to a sea of strangers and not one familiar face very vividly. It was middle school, and he’d landed the lead of the school play. He recalled being so proud and happy he’d run home with the casting sheet screaming for his parents to come see. They hadn’t been home.

On opening night, as he gazed out looking for someone, anyone, he’d found no one. That became the trend. Always an open sea of strange faces–no attachments. It turned out to be easier that way. Can’t miss anyone if you never expected them in the first place, right?

Life continued that way for decades longer until he met you. You. The forbidden fruit that had sent him straight into the arms of the devil. A deal made for an unattainable prize. As time slipped away, he lagged further and further behind in the race, his legs slowing down as his steam ran out. At what point did he give up? His lungs burned, he felt like he was gasping for air that didn’t exist, reaching out for you, but you were fading into the distance, further and further away. Soon you’d be gone. Nothing more than a memory.

He’d maintained his composure for years until you made him feel seen for the first time in his life. That attention-starved little boy reaching out for you from the prison he’d been banished to searching for something to hold on to, to attach to, and free him from his thirty-year desolation. He’d gotten no sleep, dozing off momentarily here and there, but his brain hadn’t shut up. Tonight was going to be a nightmare if he couldn’t sneak a nap in after you’d left to get ready.

“Come on, poppy,” he urged, time to rip the bandaid off, “Time to get up.”

“No,” you moaned, pressing yourself closer to him, “Let’s just stay here.”

“It’s your big day.”

“Don’t remind me.”

As you hopped in the shower he head straight for the coffee pot, wishing there was a way to infuse it right into his veins, the siren call of cocaine echoing in his brain. He’d be giving in to it within the hour, as soon as you walked out of the house, actually. A chain of muttered ‘fucks’ fell from his lips, drowned out by the gurgling of the machine, his head pounding. He couldn’t let you see this, you didn’t need to carry it, so he succumbed to that wailing song earlier than he intended.

Two lines and a sigh of relief later, he was making your coffee just the way you liked it as he heard the water turn off. It was easier to avoid the darkness now, the looming rain cloud halted in its tracks. You came out bustling, drying your hair in a towel as you flit around like a pixie collecting everything you thought you’d need. It was like you were packing up to leave.

“You’ll be there, right?” you asked as your hand fell to the doorknob, your eyes wide with nerves and anxiety and he nodded in response, “Promise?”

“Cross my heart,” he slurred, and you gave him a knowing look as your cupped his face in your palm. Hope to fucking die.

There was that emptiness again, the hollowness in his chest only worsened by the silence settling in the house. You’d kissed him goodbye and he’d stood with his forehead pressed to the door for entirely too long. Maybe he was hoping you’d come back or maybe he was just too high to care. Another few lines coursed through him as he tidied the place up, what else was there to do? The clock ticking ever so slowly up until his own team arrived to prep him for the evening.

[1:44 pm] You don’t have to come.

What the fuck? What had gotten into you? Didn’t you know he was too worked up for you to push him away in the slightest? Did you not want him there now?

D: [1:46 pm] Why wouldn’t I?

[1:46 pm] I don’t know. You hate these things.

D: [1:55 pm] Yeah, when you’re not in them.

[1:55 pm] Don’t be miserable for me.

He let out an audible laugh at that one. Too fucking late. But that wasn’t a conversation for this moment. It was one he’d stupidly put off for tomorrow, where he’d probably corner you on your way to the airport and word vomit some idiotic declaration of not quite love because he couldn’t imagine any scenario telling you that he loved you that didn’t involve actual nerve-induced vomit. You’d look at him warily, like he’d grown a second head, and then walk off probably afraid to ever speak to him again after his moronic display of emotions he couldn’t comprehend. It would be great.

D: [2:03 pm] I’ll be there.

There wasn’t enough champagne to prep you for this, and by not enough that meant Ginny was cutting you off so you didn’t go on stage drunk. It was for the best, but it didn’t mean you agreed. You whined and pouted, your patient and loyal companion tolerating your bullshit that had reached new levels as agitation for both today and tomorrow set in.

It was back home tomorrow, depending on how you looked at it. One could argue you were home now and just on your way to being the bearer of bad news to someone tomorrow. You had it all formulated in your head, which was useless because once you got into it you’d forget everything you rehearsed and probably just quit, letting yourself get back into the same rut you’d been living for far too long now. You hadn’t told Ginny of your intentions yet, though you probably should, your paperwork was her demon. But that’s what the plane ride home was for right?

“It’s been an hour, can I have another?” you fussed, your hair being tugged on as it was put into large curlers, Ginny steaming your dress at the other end of the room.

“No, you cannot be up there without every one of your failing wits behind you,” Ginny taunted, and you knew it was in good fun but you weren’t in a particularly fun mood, “You’ve made enough mistakes under the influence this week. Last thing we need is you waving at Dieter Bravo in the crowd.”

“Ugh, stop. Jesus Christ.”

“You are lucky I am even letting him come still after your little stunt. I have half a mind to tell him to keep his ass at home.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“When is this going to end? You’re making yourself miserable for no reason.”

“Soon.”

[4:44 pm] Ginny is letting you in the back. Hurry up.

After forty-five minutes of arguing and begging, Ginny had agreed to sneak Dieter into the backdoor to the green room. You’d practically had to threaten to not step foot on the stage to get it to happen, but when his gorgeous curls poked their way into the small room the weight of the world lifted off your shoulders. He was dressed to the nines, an embossed black floral ensemble and it took your breath away, a small smirk pulling at his lips as your eyes widened and jaw dropped.

“Same to you,” he crooned, his eyes slowly taking in the sight of you in burgundy, the lacy dress hugging you in all the right places, “What’s up?”

“I just needed to see you,” you whimpered as you closed the distance between you, your hands splaying over the smooth fabric of his jacket.

“Did you think I bailed on you?”

“No.”

Damn this lipstick, you just wanted to kiss him. He could tell by the look in your eyes, too, his hands gripping around your hips as you stared hungrily at him. Of course, he had a solution. He spun you in his hold, pressing his chest to your back as he wrapped his arms around your middle, his nose grazing over the shell of your ear.

“I know what you want,” he whispered, rocking you gently from side to side, “I promised I wouldn’t muss you up.”

“Seems like a bad promise to make,” you exhaled, those shaky breaths that only he could bring out felt louder in the small space.

You trembled as you felt his fingers at the zipper of your dress, pulling it down ever so slowly, the cool air biting at the freshly exposed skin of your ribs. His beard, freshly trimmed much to your disappointment, scratched along your shoulder, his lips and tongue moving along your neck as his hand snuck into the gap in your dress to press against your stomach. As always, he was searing hot, his touch sending a surge between your thighs.

“I hope you're not intending to send me out on stage with my hormones racing like a 15-year-old,” you scolded, his smile erupting against the skin of your neck.

“Maybe I should,” he cautioned, slipping his hand lower to brush through the patch of curls beneath your dainty thong, “I like watching you squirm.”

“Save it, Bravo. I’m in no mood.”

“Oh, I can tell. You’re wound up tighter than a nun’s cunt.”

He was infuriating and calming all at the same time. You tried to focus on the steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his palm as it cupped around your mound. He surely wouldn’t leave you in this state. He wasn’t cruel.

“Reminds me of the day we first met,” he cooed as he finally began to pull your dress from your trembling body.

“You’re so romantic,” you sighed, stepping out of the lace as he pressed his lips to the small of your back and down over your ass, standing and gingerly laying your dress over the back of a couch before locking the door, “and chivalrous.”

“Not for long.”

Metal clanging sent another surge to your center, the tearing of paper distracting you as you whipped your head back to see him rolling a condom on. You’d never known he even carried those.

“What…?” you spluttered, “No. Fuck that.”

“No messes tonight, baby,” you hated the way he said that, it was too deep, too gravelly, and it sent you reeling, “You need to be on your best behavior.”

Wasting no time, he fisted himself and notched against your waiting, desperate channel, pushing in slowly as he watched you take every inch of him. Your body always welcomed him like he belonged to you, your walls clenching around him so tightly he was always surprised at how long he could last. With this ridiculous rubber on you might be late, he missed the feeling of your soaked, velvety skin against his, your heat surrounding him always a comfort.

“You can have your fill later,” he promised as he bottomed out, “I’ll leave you fucking dripping.”

That made you whimper, and he began a ruthless pace, his hips losing control as they snapped into you, you’d be feeling him for the rest of the night. You suspected that was his goal. When his palm thwacked against one of your ass cheeks, you knew it was his only goal. You’d be feeling the ache of that as you sat down on that couch in front of a crowd, and he wanted you to remember him. You cried out as he did it again, the sting searing through your entire right side, his cock still fucking into you like he was a man depraved.

“Dieter…” you choked, his name falling from your lips better than any fucking drug, “f-fuck, baby. Please.”

Oh, he loved it when you begged. He’d give you anything when you asked him nicely. His fingers twitched as he grabbed onto your shoulder, pushing you back into him, wanting to entwine them in your hair and yank you back against him, baring your throat that one day he prayed he’d get to mark. A pretty purple flower he’d suck into your skin for you to wear with pride. He still had the ones from you, he’d have to get a few more before tomorrow.

“You need to come,” he instructed, adjusting just enough to hit that sweet spot inside of you, “clock is ticking.”

“Maybe fuck me harder and see if that helps,” you urged, wrapping your fingers around his on your hip.

“Get out of your head, thought you got over this.”

With a quick redirection, the hand that had joined his on your waist was pressed into your clit, his fingers moving your own against your swollen bud, and that was all you needed. He felt you clenching around him, strangling the life out of him as you cried his name in euphoria, he followed not long after with a bellow of his own, sweat beading along his hairline. He hoped he looked like a mess.

Getting dressed again was more difficult as your dress struggled to get over the sheen of sweat that covered your skin, you both laughing as you wrestled it back into place, his fingers just as gentle when he zipped you back up.

“Still flawless,” he confirmed, running his thumb softly down your cheek, “I’ll be in the crowd. I’m really proud of you, poppy.”

Oh no, he was not about to make you cry seconds before you took the stage. Lipstick be damned, you leaned up and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, lingering as he pecked at you in barely-there motions, but you felt them.

Watching him leave left your heart dropping into your stomach more than walking onto that stage did. A roar of applause greeted you as the blaring lights threatened to expose every one of your deep, dark secrets, the host for the evening approaching you with a friendly hug and a genuine smile.

Finding an inconspicuous spot in the middle of a large crowd to watch left him still able to make out every one of your features. Your cheeks were still flushed, he did always appreciate how long that rosy glow lingered after he was done with you. You looked stunning up there, so professional and gracious, everything he wasn’t. Your eyes were sweeping for him, and when they landed he watched as your expression eased. He hoped he always had that effect on you. A subtle wink had you smiling mid-sentence, and he’d never been more enamored with anything in all his life. He was meant for you, and you him, he was sure of it. Too bad he hadn’t found you sooner.

When the room erupted into applause for you heat flushed at your cheeks, a whistle echoed out from the room and you had no question as to who that was. You’re my favorite movie star, babe. With a timid bow, your event was over, freedom waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs beside the stage. You had no intentions of going backstage, the bar was calling your name. Your heart was fluttering in anticipation of joining your guest for an evening unburdened by anxiety until a familiar face ran up and offered you an arm.

“You were so great up there, honey,” none other than Garrett commended as he met you halfway up the small staircase and you froze, the color draining from your face as dread rooted your feet in place.

Fuck.

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