#I can't tell if i love the ignorance or not

[issysh3ll]

Noises ♡ Chris Sturniolo

Summary: Chris knows how much you love his nosies Warnings: SMUT, masturbation, recording, moaning

Chris's phone slips in his left hand. His nervous, sweaty palm is making everything more difficult. Readjusting his grip on the device his thumb awkwardly fumbles with the buttons on his screen.

Ordinarily he would use his right hand when scrolling on his phone but that's not possible right now. His right hand is pre-occupied, gripping around something else. When his thumb finally finds the record button he angles the phone towards himself, the speaker of his phone pointing towards his face.

Wet sounds fill the room from where his right hand is moving steadily over his aching cock. The second this idea had crossed his mind, he had found himself hard and straining against his pants. Now he lies naked in bed with one hand wrapped around his cock and the other recording the sweet noises of his reactions as he begins to pump himself. His strokes are slow, controlled, trying to replicate the perfect rhythm you had given him the last time he saw you.

As his stroke rises along the length of his cock, he stops just below the tip and flicks his thumb up to brush over the sensitive area. A soft moan breaks through his lips, causing a spike on the audio recording in his other hand. Quickly, he moves the phone closer to his face.

"mm—ah" another whine breaks free as he repeats his action. His thumb moving over his tip and swirling through the pre-cum leaking over the pink skin.

As his grip moves down his length again, a heavy breath escapes. A desperate, heavy breath, coated with lust.

"aahh, mhmm"

The microphone in his hand continues to catch more heavy breathing as his right hand moves over his cock. The panting is broken by the occasional groan as he draws too close to his tip. But he's trying his best to hold back.

"Ah— yeah, j-just like that..."

He knows how much you love his noises. Each time your hand is wrapped around his cock your voice is always cooing to him, encouraging him to let out those pretty little noises that make you want to do this for him. He loves it.

So as he records himself, he wants give you as much of this as he can. As many of his sweet noises as he can manage in this special recording. And that's what he tells the recording.

"mmpfh— wan' make my noises for you..."

As the slow strokes on his length continue, he grows more desperate, struggling to maintain the teasingly slow pace he's set for himself. Each breath he releases is punctuated by an eager whimper, begging for more.

"Ah— sh-shit."

His tip is aching for contact as his hand continues to ignore it, stroking only along the length. Chris's eyes screw shut, willing himself to maintain control. But his hips lift off the mattress, thrusting to meet his hand as the desperation grows too much.

"Oh, fuck. I can't..." He pants through broken moans. He can't control himself. It's too good.

The pleasure shooting through his body is overwhelming. The grip around his phone tightens, hand shaking slightly as he loses himself in the feeling.

"Oh my g— ffuuckkk" The curse rips through his open mouth as his hand brushes over his tip. The aching nerves so desperate for attention cause a jolt of pleasure to tear through him almost painfully and a loud groan leaves his lips.

"ngh— aahh"

Tears well up in his eyes as the overwhelming pleasure grows even more. A knot forming in his lower abdomen pulls tight, threatening to snap and he gasps, quickly stuttering out a warning.

"sh-shit. Gonna cum, ohh"

With one final flick of his thumb over his aching tip, a stream of hot cum erupts from his cock. Spraying over his chest in spurts as he whines helplessly with each pump.

"Oh... ahh.. fuck... s'good"

After a few seconds to catch his breath, he fumbles with the screen of his phone and clicks end on the recording. Quickly sending it to you before collapsing back to the bed, exhausted.

Masterlist

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Just Kiss Her

James Potter x BSF!Reader

Summary: You find a few unsent letters with your name on them- literally.

WC: 2.1k

CW: use of {Y/N} - typo and nonsense it's 4am and I can't sleep.

The Gryffindor boys' dormitory was unusually lively for a day when James was absent. You sat cross-legged on James’s bed, surrounded by the mess that only four teenage boys could call normal. The faint scent of James’s shampoo lingered on his pillow behind you, a small comfort as the chatter of the room swirled around you.

Sirius groaned dramatically from his own bed, his leg propped up on a stack of pillows. He had injured it during their last Quidditch practice and was now milking the situation for all it was worth.

“Darling,” Sirius called, drawing out the word as he tilted his head toward you. “I demand attention. Do you know how utterly dull it is, lying here with nothing but Moony’s dull bookishness and Wormtail’s horrible color sense for company?”

“I’m literally right here, Pads,” Remus replied flatly, not looking up from his book.

“And you love me,” Sirius shot back without skipping a beat, grinning lazily.

You rolled your eyes and turned your attention back to Peter, who stood in front of the mirror with a tie hanging awkwardly around his neck. “I think the green one is better,” you offered. “It brings out your eyes.”

Peter frowned, his hands fumbling with the knot. “But is green too Slytheriny?”

“Not unless you start hissing and cursing muggleborns,” you replied with a teasing smile. “Just pair it with a gray jumper. Neutralize it.”

Peter nodded, muttering something about giving it a try before swapping it for a blue tie. Meanwhile, Sirius groaned again, this time louder.

“I’m dying, and none of you care,” he complained, flopping back against his pillows like a tragic figure in a poorly acted play.

“You’re not dying,” you said, leaning back on your hands. “You’ve got a bruised leg.”

“Bruised? Bruised?” Sirius gasped as if you’d mortally wounded him. “That’s how they minimize war injuries, you know. Next you’ll say I’m malingering.”

“Which you are," Remus said, still not looking up from his book.

Sirius turned to you, ignoring Remus entirely. “Come on, love. Entertain me. Read me a story or sing me a song or- oh! Recite poetry! You’re good at that.”

“I’m not reciting poetry for you, Sirius.”

“Why not?” Sirius pouted. “You do it for James.”

“That’s because James actually asks nicely,” you quipped, smirking.

At that, Sirius clutched his chest as if you’d stabbed him, his grin betraying his dramatics. “Et tu, Brute? I thought you loved me.”

“Loved, past tense,” you teased. “You’re officially too high maintenance.”

“You wound me,” Sirius said, throwing an arm over his face. “Moony, tell her she’s being cruel.”

“Not getting involved,” Remus said quickly, still reading but now smiling faintly.

Sirius turned his face toward you again, his pout morphing into a cheeky grin. “Fine, if you won’t entertain me, at least come sit over here so I can lean on you while you’re ignoring me.”

You rolled your eyes but stood anyway, walking over to Sirius’s bed. “You’re unbearable.”

“I prefer entertaining,” he replied smugly as you perched beside him, letting him lean his head on your shoulder.

The room was quiet for a moment, save for the sound of Remus flipping another page in his book and Peter muttering to himself as he fiddled with another tie. Sirius, still leaning on your shoulder, let out a long, exaggerated sigh, clearly waiting for you to indulge him.

“Alright,” you finally relented. “I’ll read something to you. Happy now?”

Sirius grinned triumphantly. “Ecstatic. Now, find something good. None of that boring rubbish you usually bring in here.”

Rolling your eyes, you stood and glanced around the room. “Fine, but I’m not wasting my time reading some textbook or Quidditch manual. Let’s see if James has something decent for once.”

Sirius perked up, watching you make your way over to James’s trunk. “Careful, darling, you’re stepping into dangerous territory. Prongs’s secrets and all that.”

“Oh, he won’t mind,” you said, waving a hand dismissively. “Besides, if he didn’t want me snooping, he’d have locked it.”

Remus glanced up from his book. “I’m not sure that logic holds up, actually.”

You knelt beside the trunk, lifting the lid to find the usual James Potter mess: a tangled heap of robes, a few textbooks with worn edges, and a Gryffindor scarf stuffed haphazardly into the corner. But what caught your eye was a small, battered box tucked near the bottom, half-hidden beneath a crumpled cloak.

“What’s this?” you murmured, pulling it out and turning it over in your hands.

Sirius’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Oh, now that looks promising. Open it.”

Remus let out a quiet sigh. “I wouldn’t- ”

“Of course you would,” Sirius interrupted. “It’s Prongs. What’s his is practically hers anyway.”

Ignoring their back-and-forth, you pried open the lid. Inside was a disorganized stack of parchment, some neatly folded, others crumpled and torn. Some were even singed at the edges, as if they'd narrowly escaped being thrown into the fire. Every single one had your name scrawled across the top in James’s messy handwriting.

Your heart skipped a beat.

“What is it?” Peter asked, peeking over your shoulder.

“Letters,” you said softly. “They’re… they’re addressed to me.”

Sirius’s grin grew impossibly wider. “Oh, now this is good."

Remus closed his book, his brow furrowed. “Are you really going to read those? They’re personal.”

“They’re addressed to me," you replied, a mixture of curiosity and nerves stirring in your chest.

“You’re doing him a favor,” Sirius said breezily. “If he didn’t want you to read them, he’d have gotten rid of them properly.”

You hesitated for a moment before unfolding the first letter. The parchment was slightly wrinkled, and the ink looked rushed, as though James had written it in a moment of unfiltered emotion.

Dear {Y/N},

You probably think I’m an idiot. Honestly, you wouldn’t be wrong. I’ve tried to write this letter five times already, and I keep throwing them in the fire. But this one… I don’t know. Maybe I’ll keep it. Maybe one day I’ll find the courage to actually give it to you.

You laughed today. I can’t even remember what I said to make you laugh, but Merlin, it was the best sound I’ve ever heard. I keep playing it over in my head like an idiot, and it’s driving me mad.

I think I love you. No- scratch that. I *know* I love you. But I can’t tell you. What if you don’t feel the same? What if it ruins everything? Maybe it’s better this way. At least I can still be near you, even if it kills me to pretend.

Your voice caught, and you lowered the letter, your hands trembling slightly.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius said, looking genuinely impressed. “Prongs has it bad.”

Peter nodded mutely, wide-eyed.

“You really shouldn’t be reading those,” Remus muttered, though his tone lacked conviction.

But you couldn’t stop. You reached for another letter, this one more crumpled, as though James had balled it up in frustration before deciding to keep it.

I tried to burn this one too, but I couldn’t. I can’t seem to get rid of the things I write to you, even if they’re pointless. You’ll never read them anyway. But writing them feels like the only way to stop my chest from caving in whenever I see you with someone else. Merlin, I’m pathetic.

I wish I could just tell you. But then what? You’d laugh, or worse, pity me. I couldn’t stand that. So, I’ll keep pretending. Keep being your best friend. Keep loving you quietly.

“Wow,” Peter said softly.

You sat back on your heels, clutching the letters tightly. All this time, James had been carrying these feelings- for you- and he’d never said a word.

“See?” Sirius said, looking smug. “Told you this was worth it.”

Remus shot him a glare. “You’re not helping.”

You looked up, your heart pounding. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

Sirius leaned back against his pillows, crossing his arms behind his head. “Because he’s James bloody Potter. He’d face down a hundred Death Eaters without flinching, but one look at you and he’s a goner.”

The door to the dormitory burst open, and James Potter strolled in, looking thoroughly windswept from Quidditch practice. His broom was slung over his shoulder, and his Gryffindor scarf dangled loosely around his neck.

“Alright, lads, miss me?” he asked cheerfully, dropping his broom beside his bed. He glanced at Peter, who was still fiddling with his tie. “Wormy, mate, what’s that? A tie? You look like you’re about to slither off into the dungeons.”

Peter huffed, pulling at the tie. “It’s green with gray accents. She said it works.”

James’s laugh was loud and carefree, but then his gaze landed on you, sitting on the floor with a stack of letters clutched tightly in your hands. The open box on the floor beside you caught his eye, and his face immediately fell.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice suddenly sharp.

You froze for a moment but quickly regained your composure, hugging the letters closer to your chest.

“Reading,” Sirius said from his bed, his tone positively delighted. “Turns out, Prongs, you’re a regular Shakespeare. Real heartfelt stuff.”

James paled as he took a step toward you, his eyes wide with a mix of panic and embarrassment. “Put those down. Now. They’re mine.”

You stood quickly, holding the letters tight to your chest as if they were a treasure. “No, they’re mine. They’ve got my name on them.”

“{Y/N},” James groaned, his face turning a deep shade of red. He lunged for the letters, but you stepped back just in time.

“I don’t think so,” you said, grinning as you unfolded another letter. You held it up dramatically, clearing your throat. “Let’s see what this one says- ”

“Don’t you dare!” James exclaimed, his voice cracking slightly.

“Dear {Y/N},” you read aloud, dodging James as he tried to grab the letters again. “You’re going to kill me one day, and I’ll probably thank you for it. Today, you- ”

James groaned loudly, lunging for you again. “I mean it! Give them back!”

But you were faster, darting around Sirius’s bed and laughing as James scrambled to catch you. “Today, you laughed at my joke in Transfiguration, and I swear I forgot how to breathe- oh, that’s good, James! Real poetic!”

Sirius howled with laughter from his bed, clapping his hands. “Oh, this is gold. Absolute gold.”

Peter, wide-eyed, muttered, “Should we stop them?”

“No,” Sirius said quickly, waving a hand. “This is the most fun I’ve had all day.”

James was completely flustered now, his hair even messier than usual as he chased you around the room. “You’re impossible!” he said, his voice breathless.

“And you’re in love with me,” you teased, waving the letters in the air. Suddenly you paused, as if reality hit you. Your smile grew tenfold as you looked at the letters then to him with wide eyes. “Merlin, you're in love with me!”

That made him freeze for half a second, giving you just enough time to read aloud again. “You’ll never read this, but Merlin, I can’t stop thinking about you- ”

Before you could finish, James lunged and finally managed to catch you, his arms wrapping around you tightly. You squealed in surprise and delight as the two of you toppled backward into the open closet, the letters scattering around you.

James pinned you gently, his face mere inches from yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “You’re an absolute menace,” he said, though his tone was more fond than frustrated.

“And you’re a hopeless romantic,” you shot back, grinning up at him.

For a moment, he just stared at you, his hazel eyes filled with something intense and unspoken. Then, before you could say another word, he kissed you- soft and sweet at first, but quickly turning urgent and consuming.

You forgot about the letters entirely as his hands framed your face, his lips moving against yours like he’d been waiting for this moment forever. Your laughter melted into the kiss, your hands clutching the front of his Quidditch jumper as if to anchor yourself.

From outside the closet, Sirius’s voice rang out. “Bloody hell, Prongs, save some for later!”

James pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his face flushed and his smile wide. “Remind me to hex Sirius later,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips.

“Deal,” you whispered, leaning up to kiss him again.

Sirius groaned loudly. “Merlin, they’re hopeless. Wormtail, fetch me a bucket; I’m going to be sick.”

Remus sighed, his tone amused. “I think we’ve just lost James for the rest of the day.”

[a-girl-called-bob]

I understand the sentiment but I think it is misguided. People think that drawing comes from talent because they've tried at it and gotten discouraged because they can't make things look good. And that's a poor conception of how art works, how learning and practice works, but just telling them to do it anyway is a good way to get that same pencil shoved into your eye because they *don't understand that*.

To people that 'can't draw', there is no enjoyment to be derived from undirected practice. It feels like torture. It feels like repeatedly being faced with all of the ways in which you're not good enough, but not even having the basal skills to challenge that. It feels like your confidence shattering every time you pick up a pencil. And then, when you try to express this to someone who's been doing it since they were a literal child, when you try to express your admiration of their skill but you don't have the right words for it, they mock you and tell you you're not trying hard enough.

So yes, you're right, there is no innate talent in drawing and it's frustrating that your years of effort are minimized like that. But the lack of comprehension goes both ways. Visual artists broadly do not understand what it is like to not derive any enjoyment whatsoever from the process of failing to draw what's in your head, of practicing the same pose ad nauseum, of erasing a thousand lines to get one that looks right. Visual artists broadly do not understand what it's like to have ideas and not even know where to begin expressing even the simplest and most derivative of them. Visual artists broadly do not understand - or at least fail to ever express - that learning to draw when you're 5 and learning to draw when you're 25 are not the same fucking thing.

I've got nothing but respect and love for you, truly, but I need you to understand that just as much as they don't know what it's like to be a skilled artist, you also don't know what it's like not to be one. And while their lack of understanding often comes across as ignorant and insulting, your lack of understanding often comes across as cruel.

"Wow omg you drawwwww? I wish I was a drawer soooo bad omg I suckkkk so bad at arrrt"

me:

[lena-thinks-too-much]

The irony of fanon treating Tim as the introverted, antisocial, loner robin when he probably has the most friends in and out of the mask.

I mean people just love this guy. He's charismatic the way Peter Parker is charismatic. Awkward and nerdy and authentically himself and it just draws people in. I mean he had a pretty large group of friends in Brentwood Academy. And in Louis E. Grieve he manages to impress the school jocks in a way that makes him essentially popular (in the sense that he's well liked and well know but not popular popular). And let's not forget the fact that he regularly ran DND campaigns and like actually socialized outside of Robin, and maintained those friendships for years.

His canon boyfriend was someone he knew explicitly as a civilian throughout his junior year.

And that's not counting the way people just like Tim in the mask. He's the natural leader in young justice (98) and several people who objectively hate batman will cooperate with the bats because they like Tim (Helena comes to mind here). Tim's friendship with Anarchy starts from the very beginning of his run as Robin when they both reflect on the fact they're very similar: two incredibly clever and talented teenagers who love to be challenged.

Tim is just that guy.

When Damian tries to restart the teen titans while Tim is presumed dead, Beast Boy especially is constantly talking about Damian could never measure up to Tim. While yes that's largely because Damian is abrasive and hard to get along with. A good part of that is because Tim was just that likeable.

Like yes Tim might be more introvert coded but he is not antisocial or a loner or whatever.

I mean let's bffr y'all. You can't tell me we're just going to ignore the Tim outsmarted Ra's in red robin because Ra's was relying on the bats' hyper independence and Tim just goes "I'm not like Batman. I have friends" Like bro violated Bruce so hard and I feel like it's just such a pivotal part of his character that people ignore. Like yes Tim pushes people away when he can't deal with his emotions but he's also wayyy better than Bruce at relying on others.

Idk I feel like half of fanon infantilizes Tim while the other half treats him like a mini Bruce clone with the added risk of going rogue and it's neither.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

My little girl || Jason Todd ||

A/n: 6am, can't get girl dad Jason out of my head.

It was an accident, on how he found out. I mean it's not like he knew the little slip of paper had it written out.

A girl

Jason froze. The words on the paper hit him harder than he expected. A girl. He was having a daughter. His chest tightened, his throat felt dry, and before he could stop himself, tears welled up in his eyes. He quickly rubbed at them, embarrassed by his own reaction, but the realization overwhelmed him.

Sitting on the couch, his hand trembling as he slid the paper away he couldn't stop thinking.

A little girl. His little girl.

The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying. He thought of all the things he wanted to protect her from, all the ways he would be there for her the ways no one had been there for him when he was young. He thought about you, and how their daughter would undoubtedly inherit your warmth and strength. And for the first time in a long time, Jason let himself cry not out of anger or pain, but out of pure, unfiltered joy.

Jason had always been good at keeping secrets. It was practically part of his job description as Red Hood. But this? This was different. Knowing you two were having a girl was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and keeping it from you felt like torture.

While at home you had noticed something was off almost immediately. Jason was fidgety, overly attentive, and kept sneaking glances at your belly with a grin he couldn’t quite hide.

“What’s going on with you?” You asked one evening, narrowing your eyes as you caught him staring. “You’re acting weird.”

Jason froze mid-bite of his sandwich, quickly covering. “Weird? Me? Nah, I’m fine.”

You smirked, folding your arms. “Jason Peter Todd, I know you. Spill.”

He shook his head, standing abruptly. “I can’t! I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He practically fled to the kitchen, leaving you staring after him, your suspicions growing.

A few days later, Jason’s excitement finally got the better of him. They were lying in bed, you curled up against him as you two talked about baby names. Jason had been trying desperately to keep the secret, but when you mentioned the possibility of a boy, he couldn’t help himself.

“Okay, but what about girl names?” he blurted out, his tone too enthusiastic to ignore.

You tilted your head up to look at him, narrowing your eyes. “Why are you so focused on girl names all of a sudden?”

Jason froze, realizing his mistake. “Uh no reason? I mean, just you know, in case.”

You sat up, your smirk returning. “Jason. You know, don’t you?”

Jason groaned, running a hand down his face. “Damn it. I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait. Are we having a girl?”

Jason sighed, then smiled, his joy impossible to hide. “Yeah. We’re having a girl.”

Your hands flew to your mouth, tears springing to your eyes. “Jason why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to surprise you,” he admitted, pulling you into his arms. “But I couldn’t help it. Y/n, we’re having a little girl. I’ve always wanted a daughter. I didn’t even think I’d get to have a family, let alone this.” His voice cracked slightly, as you kissed him softly.

“We’re so lucky,” you whispered, your own tears mingling with his. “She’s going to have the best dad in the world.”

Jason held you close, his hand resting protectively over your stomach. “And the best mom,” he said quietly. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure she knows how much she’s loved.”

As you two sat there together, the secret finally out, Jason felt an overwhelming sense of peace. He was going to be a dad to a little girl, and for the first time in his life, he felt truly whole.

[jobean12-blog]

Forever After All

Pairing: Javier Peña x female reader (fake dating/marriage)

Word Count: 3.2K

Summary: You and Javi have been working together for a few months and you can't deny that you like him...everything about him. And you know you're not imaginging the subtle flirting and lingering glances but when you have an assignment that puts you two closer than you've ever been before you find out what it all really means.

Author's Note: Pedro and his little Holiday getaway photos have been a gift and when I was talking to my lovely friend @lizette50 (thank you bunches for sharing your brain with me❤️🥰) she made an amazing note that he is giving Javi on vacation vibes. And while Javi isn't exactly on a vacation in this story...he's pretending to be- at least at first. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics Thank you Daisy! 🥰

PS I did leave the ending a bit open...maybe I'll do more. Maybe not lol Either way, fear not- you and Javi make out just fine (hehe get it)

Warnings: There's some tension and flirting and Steve is fun sidekick/meddler, feelings get involved, Javi can act a bit possessive and he's a great fucking kisser

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

“Why are you two looking at me like that?” Steve asks, his head on a swivel. “Do you not understand the assignment?”

His finger swings back and forth. “You two…just got married. Now you’re going on your honeymoon. Make it look believable, or we’re fucked.”

Javi swallows and the sound is audible in the silence that stretches between you. Finally, as you cross your arms over your chest and lift your chin, you say, “fine. I can manage that.”

Steve smiles and then shifts his eyes to Javi. “What about you? Because if you’re not up for it I sure as hell don’t mind switching places with you. You can do my job, and I’ll prance around the beach with this beauty.”

Steve throws you a wink and you smile sweetly but your stomach is in knots and you’re sweating under your shirt as you wait for Javi to say something.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he says gruffly. “When do we leave.”

“Tonight,” Steve answers with a grin. “Packed and ready at 7pm.”

Javi nods and gives you one last glance, his eyes lingering just long enough to have your skin heat before he stalks off and shuts the door to his office.

You take a deep breath and square your shoulders.

“I’ll see you at the airport,” you tell Steve.

After the flight attendant checks the luggage above your head you settle into your seat, leaning closer to Steve since Javi has his legs spread like he’s the only person in the aisle.

“You could leave some room for the rest of us,” you grumble, letting your eyes run down Javi’s long legs.

He turns toward you, lifting a brow. “We should be all snuggled up anyway,” he smirks.

You roll your eyes and give Steve a pleading look.

“He’s right though,” Steve adds. “You two are going to have to look convincing if we’re going to pull this off. Might as well start getting cozy now.”

The flight isn’t too long but toward the last hour you start to feel your eyes droop and Javi’s warm body is so close. Before you realize what’s happening your head falls against his shoulder and your arm slips under his.

You feel him shift and maybe feel the slightest squeeze at your knee but you’re too sleepy to know if it’s real or a dream. He smells so good and feels even better and in minutes you’re fast asleep.

“Hey…pst. Come on angel, you gotta get up.”

You sit up with a start and rub at your eyes.

“Angel?” you ask. “Who’s that?”

Your eyes focus on Javi, and he smiles.

“That’s what I’m calling you. Get used to it.”

Your mouth opens to form an O shape.

“Let’s go. We just landed,” he says.

“How long was I out?”

Steve cuts in before Javi can answer.

“Long enough to fall asleep on your husband!” Steve says with vigor. “You two look cute.”

You push past Steve and miss the thumbs up he gives Javi, who ignores him completely.

The hotel is right on the beach, and you can smell the salty air before you even get to the double doors.

Once you’re checked in and settled in your room you’re ready to crash again. After a quick shower you wrap yourself up in the hotel bathrobe and crawl into bed, falling asleep to thoughts of Javi and how comfortable he was to sleep against.

Steve meets you at the outdoor bar on the beach the next day.

“How are my favorite liars doing?” he asks with a chuckle.

“I’m kinda nervous,” you whisper.

“You’re going to do great,” Steve assures you.

Javi remains characteristically quiet, his dark eyes assessing everything around him.

Steve hands Javi a drink. “She looks fucking gorgeous. You should really marry her.”

Javi’s eyes slide to you then down along your body slowly before stopping at your face.

He licks his lips and takes a long sip of his drink but doesn’t respond.

You spend some time at the bar, taking note of the surroundings and zeroing in on your target. Once the man in question notices you as the newcomers he saunters over with a saccharine smile.

You all know about Rafael Caro Quintero. He’s one of Galldaro’s best men but plays his role out in the public eye. He has a lot of money and flaunts it with his businesses and assets. You have intel that he’s going to pull off a big move this weekend and are using the honeymoon as a cover as to why you’re here in Mexico.

Javi’s arm circles around your waist and he pulls you against his side, tightening his grip when Rafael approaches and looks you over appreciatively.

“Well, well, well,” Rafael says smoothly. “What do we have here? I always make sure to say hi to any new faces that come to enjoy my…amenities. Especially one so stunning.”

“My wife,” Javi says, his voice too rough and you give him a light pinch. He looks down at you then let’s his shoulders relax.

“Ah, of course,” Rafael says. “And you’re the lucky bastard who married her.”

“Mexico is one of my favorite places to visit,” you interrupt as you hold out your hand to introduce yourself. “So, Javi and I decided it would be perfect for our honeymoon.”

Rafael’s face lights up and he throws up his hands, making a loud noise of celebration.

“Isn’t that just beautiful,” he says, his voice still booming. “Everyone! Join me in congratulating the lovely couple!”

He starts to clap and all the patrons in the bar area join in, hoisting their drinks and smiling.

Rafael reaches for a spoon from the bar and starts to tap the side of his glass. “Isn’t this what the American’s do for a kiss?”

Steve lifts his glass and turns to you and Javi. “It sure is!”

Javi looks down at you, and through a tight grin whispers, “I’m going to kiss you angel.”

He waits a beat, needing to see the consent in your eyes.

You nod ever so slightly and lean into him. A big hand comes up, cupping your jaw and his eyes drop to your mouth. The first contact is just a brush of his lips over yours, the briefest sweep.

You’re going to be devasted if that’s all you get, but then you hear the quietest moan escape his throat and he leans in again, pressing his soft, strong mouth to yours and taking your top lip between his, sucking gently before he turns his attention to your bottom one.

With a smile forming against the kiss, he tilts his head and takes you with a heat you couldn’t have predicted but makes you feel like you’re falling backward into the clouds.

Or maybe it’s the way he’s cupping the back of your head in one hand, holding you around the waist int other, and dipping you so low you’re nearly on the floor.

Everything is quiet before cheers erupt as Javi smoothly brings you back up in some sexy move you can’t even believe he pulled off.

“Javier Peña,” you whisper as you bury your face in his neck. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Oh, we’re just getting started Mrs. Peña,” he answers back against your ear.

Rafael’s eyes are lit up with glee and he slaps Javi on the back.

“To the newlyweds!” he cheers.

After things settle back down and Rafael’s attention is elsewhere Steve gives both you and Javi a beaming smile. “Wow. For a minute there you even had me believing it,” he teases.

Javi meets your gaze, his eyes falling to your lips again, and he fights the urge to go back for more.

Blinking away, he focuses on your shoulder, and on the strap of your dress that has slipped an inch to the side. He reaches up, stroking the newly exposed skin with his thumb.

Your hand lifts to your lips, still tingling with the warmth of his kiss.

“You’re good at that,” you say quietly.

“At what?” he asks, clearly distracted by your mouth.

“Fake-kissing.”

He hums, his head spinning with the thought that nothing about that felt fake.

“I wonder how you kiss when it’s real,” you whisper, more to yourself than anyone else.

He’s about to drag you away from the crowd to show you when the bartender shows up with more drinks, on the house of course, to celebrate the newlyweds.

You spend some more time at the bar, talking and enjoying the view, always close to Javi, his hand on your lower back, your arm, or his thumb brushing across your cheek. It’s been so easy to fall into the role you almost forget you’re faking it.

Steve leaves the two of you alone, not wanting to hang around too much and seem suspicious.

You watch Javi as he stares out over the water and take a step closer, moving into his space, realizing the moment he registers that he’d been touching you…a soft sweep of his fingers along the curve of your waist.

His eyes go a little wide behind his sunglasses, and he gently moves his hand away.

“Are you nervous?” you ask him.

He shakes his head no. “Not for the reason I should be,” he says but doesn’t elaborate.

You’re about to ask him to explain but you spot Rafael across the bar, he’s talking quietly to someone you don’t recognize and his eyes keeping darting in your direction.

Without letting it show on your face that you’ve noticed him, you press yourself against Javi, your hand sliding up his chest to the open buttons of his shirt.

“Hi,” Javi murmurs.

“Don’t look, but Rafael is just across the bar. He’s sort of watching us.”

Javi drags his attention away from your hand to your face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. So don’t mind me. I’m just trying to look wifey and horny for you.”

“We could just go for a walk on the beach,” he says.

“We could, but…”

Your fingers dip into his shirt to feel his warm skin and you move lower, undoing one more of the buttons.

“Pretending you’re horny too might be better.”

He stares at you, unmoving.

“Or not,” you say, smiling but inside you’re dissolving, piece by piece, in mortification.

When you try to move away he grabs your waist. “Where are you going?”

“To live with my shame alone somewhere.”

Javi laughs, low and dangerous. “No. You misunderstand me angel. My only hesitation is…” and he leans in, running his thumb along your lower lip, “acting was never my strong suit.”

His mouth brushes over yours, giving you one of those feather-soft kisses again.

“That’s a start,” you say as you share a breath.

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Anything that can make it more convincing?”

“Another. Maybe longer this time?”

He lifts both hands now, cupping your face and leaning in, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth before he parts his lips and gently nips at your bottom one.

“Longer, huh?”

Your hands slide around his neck, and you stretch for more, for longer and deeper, his surprised huffed breath coming out warm against your mouth as he lets you suck his beautiful lower lip, dragging your teeth along it in a way that makes him let go of a tight, helpless sound.

His mouth is unreal, commanding and firm, but with full, soft lips that beg to be bitten. And he likes it when you do it too, releasing rough, rumbling sounds to confirm it.

Your hands have a mind of their own, rising up and tangling in his hair as the kiss deepens and he sends one hand down your back to your ass, pulling you closer until you can feel the hard press of him against your stomach.

With a gasp of air, he rests his forehead to yours but keeps a tight hold on you.

“Are you sure you’re not good at this acting thing?” you ask with a teasing smile. “The erection is a great touch. Very convincing.”

His laugh turns into a groan when you suck on his neck, baring your teeth and pressing down.

“Fuck,” he moans.

Your nails scrape along his scalp and with his own grip on the back of your neck he pulls your head away, eyes wild, and comes for your mouth again, setting a languid pace, dragging his tongue over your lower lip with kisses that can only be described as claiming.

“Fuck angel, your mouth is amazing,” he says, sliding his lips along your jaw and down to your pulse point.

Despite the heat of the sun and the heat of him, you shiver in his arms, pressing yourself along every inch of him to keep yourself upright.

Your gaze flicks over his shoulder and you notice Rafael is gone.

“Our friend left,” you whisper, still clinging to him.

Javi exhales a shaky breath near your ear and rests his cheek to yours.

“Well…I guess we can stop then.”

“I guess we can,” you reply, leaning back and taking him in- mussed hair, swollen lips, a small budding bruise on his neck.

“Oops,” you giggle.

He frowns at you. “Did you leave a mark on me?”

“Mayyyybeee,” you sing.

You don’t miss the way his pupils dilate, inky black in the dark chocolate brown of his irises.

“Well, good news is now everyone will know for sure that you’re taken,” you say with a bright smile.

Your eyes drop down to his shorts, and you let out a little whimper at the sight of him hard and pressed against the tight fabric.

“I’m going to take a cold shower,” he says through gritted teeth. “I want you back in the hotel room where you’re safe.”

Your eyebrows meet your hairline. “Oh, so you’re that kind of husband?”

“Just protecting what’s mine,” he whispers as he presses his palm to your lower back and leads you away from the beach.

Javi secures you in your room before walking across the hallway to his. He’s sure to check for anyone who might see before disappearing behind the door.

You’ve agreed to meet for a romantic dinner on the beach at one of Rafael’s best restaurants, the very place you’re hoping to catch him in the act.

Javi knocks on your door right on time and you smooth your hands along your dress before opening it.

He steps back from the doorframe and stares. A shadow appears behind him, and he startles.

“Steve,” he says dryly, putting a hand on his shoulder and moving him away.

Javi gazes at you, and more gently, says, “hi angel.”

“Hi,” you breathe out.

“You look…” he just stares, letting his eyes rake over you. “Gorgeous.”

“That she does,” Steve chimes in from beside you again. “Now…off you go.”

Javi reaches for you, but you can’t stop yourself, pressing your hand to his stomach and wrapping your fist around the soft fabric of his shirt.

You briefly glance at Steve, a silent but friendly, “fuck off,” written all over your expression.

With a smirk, Steve wanders off, but Javi touches a finger to your chin, redirecting your attention to his face. And before you can say anything, he bends, setting his lip softly on yours.

One soft kiss, and then another. Your blood turns to molten heat, and you lean in, chasing his lips when he slowly straightens.

After you enjoy your dinner, the slow and soft tunes of music drift from the stage set up to the side and Javi holds out his hand.

“Would you dance with me?” he asks.

You take his hand and let him draw you out of your seat and lead you \ to the open expanse of sand. His big palm feels like fire on your lower back, and he tucks your hand against his chest, pressing his cheek to yours as he moves you around slowly.

After a few quiet moments you pulls back, looking at your mouth.

“My instinct is to kiss you now.”

“That’s certainly what a married couple would do,” you whisper.

He sends one hand along the curve of your spine, tracing every inch until it’s over your shoulder and higher, where he cups the side of your neck with his big, warm hand. His eyes fall closed, and he leans in, pressing his mouth to yours.

Slow, deliberate kisses, Chaste, because you’re out in the middle of the dance floor but still so intentional, so claiming, so thorough you feel the sweet exploration in your fingertips and spine, in your chest and your stomach and between your legs.

The song comes to an end, and he pulls away, searching your expression before softly taking your hand and leading you back to your table but instead walks past it toward the darkened water.

The moon reflects a million overlapping crescents across the rippling surface of the ocean and the sky is blanketed with stars. You stop, hand in hand, and take it all in.

“This place really is beautiful. It’s so easy to believe we’re just here to enjoy it all.”

He nods, his eyes trained on you instead of the scene in front of him. Wrapping his arms around our waist he pulls you close then slides one hand down your stomach, hooking a finger under the hem of your dress and coaxing it higher up your thighs.

He reaches your hip, his eyes still trained on you and his voice pained when he says, “you’re not wearing any underwear.”

“Everything showed. I hate lines and didn’t have a thong with me.”

“You drive me crazy,” he says, kissing along your shoulder. “I’m distracted and I shouldn’t be. This was all supposed to be a ruse, but I can’t pretend anymore.”

His fingers trail back up your spine, reaching the strap of your dress and drawing it off one shoulder, kissing the skin there.

“I was never pretending,” he murmurs.

“Javi.”

Your sharp inhale is swallowed by his kiss. It doesn’t last long enough, and he rests his forehead to yours, his lips teasing, his nose brushing yours.

“I can’t stop,” he groans. “I need to feel you.”

You chase his lips, and he kisses you again but pulls away.

“But we can’t. Not now angel.”  

You nod but pull his mouth to yours again, kissing him hungrily, whispering the truth.

“I want you Javi.”

“You can have me angel,” he says. “I’m all yours. But we have a job to finish first. I can’t risk putting you in anymore danger.”  

With a breathless “ok,” you tug free of his grasp and straighten your dress. As you start to head back toward the restaurant he grabs your hand and drags you into his chest.

“Promise me,” he says between kisses, “you’ll be safe…you’ll follow orders.”

“Orders?” you ask with a raised brow. “I probably shouldn’t like that you said that but fine. And what about you Javi? I need you to be careful too.”

“I promise,” he whispers. “I’m going to finish this so I can take you home and make you mine. The right way.”

[emptymanuscript]

I also feel like there is an underestimation of the OTHER deaths.

Scrooge is profoundly shaped by the death of his sister, Fan. Fan is the person he loves most AND IS MOST LOVED BY in his childhood. She's the emotional rock for him. She's the reason he is both as good to his nephew Fred as he is - in honor of her memory - and as stand-off-ish as he is - because she died giving birth to Fred. It's a complex relationship. He can't really go either way with Fred without pain. Abandon Fred completely and he is betraying his sister's memory. But, emotionally, bonding with Fred is also a sort of betrayal for a man who has shoved aside his emotions.

It is also worth noting that Fan is sickly. The person he loves most in the world is never of great health. And he gets to spend very little time with her specifically because of his hard-hearted father who banishes him to boarding school and rarely brings him home.

Fast forward to Tiny Tim. Also sickly. Also much more kind and loving than the general experience. While I don't believe the comparison is ever directly made, it's probably not a coincidence that the future focus of Scrooge's life is Tiny Tim. He is the person that Scrooge immediately becomes concerned with. Yes, he notes the general conditions of the Cratchits but Tiny Tim draws the most focus. And part of the final happy ending is Scrooge becoming like a second father to Tiny Tim.

This is Scrooge not just healing of his ways but healing of one of his primary wounds. Instead of emulating his father in hard-heartedness, he sees a way to correct the behavior that hurt him so much. He can do the exact opposite and care intensely for the sickly child. He is, in effect, given the opportunity to correct the past. To make sure that "the child" is loved (this time without the necessity of emotional difficulty like in Fred's case) and that "the sickly kind youth" survives this time around, preventing future emotional complications.

Death is the stick but "fixing" Death is the carrot. The spirits don't just warn him of his wickedness or even just tell him to be good. They show him the opportunity to do what will both make the world and himself feel better. He can save the sort of person he lost by simply re-enacting the change he needed: a change of heart.

Scrooge needs a practical "DO THIS" and the spirits show him an easy one that his own psychology is looking for, even if he doesn't know it consciously. Just as they never tell him directly. But he is drawn right to it.

Compare also Tiny Tim's crutch and seat which maintain their places in the Cratchit household because they can't bare to let the markers go to Scrooge's own belongings which are stolen and resold while they're still warm from the last of his life. And the first instinct in the graveyard is for Scrooge to ask if the grave is Tiny Tim's. Partly, yes, this is deflection. But it is also showing where Scrooge's other concerns are. He is worried about Tiny Tim and he wants things to linger and not simply be tossed aside. Again, as he felt he was as a child. It's another, we're not directly stating this in clear language but we're showing this in emotional action. The first association with the grave is the sickly child that everyone wants to stick around. Compared with the cruelty that his own death is viewed in.

And don't forget the final negative image that the ghost of christmas present leaves Scrooge with. He shows scrooge the sickly starving children beneath his robe. Ignorance and Want. And when Scrooge asks if there isn't help for them, the ghost of christmas present taunts him with his own hardest hearted words.

"Are there no prisons?" said the Spirit, turning on him for the last time with his own words. "Are there no workhouses?"

It is directly setting up that Scrooge is hurting who he is most naturally drawn to help. Just in the same way as his own father deeply hurt him in opposition to the most "natural" parental desire. It isn't teaching Scrooge that he is a bad person. It is teaching Scrooge by association that he has become the villain from his own point of view. Presenting also the model for how to not be the villain, how to be the hero. Because the happy element in each scene is that someone comes in and cares. That the child is finally not abandoned. The the child is finally loved with such intensity that they cannot be let go. Which is the deep WHY of why Scrooge hardened his heart. His happiness is kept at arms length because he expects it to be choked and die.

Scrooge is cruel and heartless but he isn't luxurious. He doesn't harm people and then enjoy their wealth. He is like a dragon. He hoards it. Even from himself. He lives his life in the dark, in the cold, in a lack of relationships, eating cheap tasteless crap in the prison he has made for himself out of one of the old rental houses that he and Marley rent out as their way to prey upon the poor. He treats himself better than those he preys upon but only barely. He doesn't enjoy the fruits of his cruelty, he just keeps piling them on, even on himself. He lives in the cycle of abuse. So intensely that he is both abuser and abused. But he can't see it until it is other people heaping carelessness about himself. He can't do anything about it until he's shown the way to re-enact the opposite cycle.

And, finally, note what an opposition it makes. He is not merely changed to feel affectionate and open hearted and to dote onFred and, especially, Tiny Tim. He is joyous in it. He plays pranks. He laughs. He notes the ridiculousness of life and how funny it is. The final gift of the spirits is to make HIM happy to be alive because they know that helping Tiny Tim and connecting with Fred and his family will make him happy. That's life as opposed to the Deaths that Scrooge has wallowed in most of his life.

"Scrooge only changed because he saw how nobody mourned him after his death" NO NO NO NO. You don't get it! The last spirit only worked because of the spirits that came before softening him up! If the spirits had shown him dead and ungrieved only it would not work. As the night goes on amid the visits Scrooge is already visibly changing. He's different after the first spirit and even more so after the second. And it's because of how much he's already changed that the final spirit is able to succeed

[brittle-doughie]

oh em GEEEEEE, I need a yandere silent salt headcanons or yandere mystic flour headcanonss - I love ur writings so much I can't explain how much I love your stories/headcanons !!!!! <3

If you make my request I'll be over da moooonn !!!!!

If you see this I hope you have a really really good day/night !!!!!!

Bye byeee !!!!! <33333

Mystic Flour Cookie can sense the deep emptiness within your heart, she can tell…

If it weren’t for you, she’d not have a care in the world. You were the only Cookie she had care for, the world would be nothing but white and she’d be okay with that so long as she had you.

Whenever you felt any sort of anguish, she’d go to you, wishing to ease your burden by holding you close to her, even if she was the cause of it.

She can’t guarantee that she can make things better, but if you chose to stay with her, she’ll make sure your mind will be peaceful and free as ever…

But do not mistake her apathy as a lack of care for you, a Beast will always make sure that any Cookie that belongs to them stays that away.

It’s for the best that you aren’t caught conversing secretly with other Cookies or even think of betraying your loyalty to her.

She’ll make you watch as she reduces them to nothing with a slow, yet powerful motion of her hand. Having to see the Cookie you were just talking to slowly turn to flour and drift away, as she placed a hand on your shoulder.

She can turn everything and everyone you ever care about into nothing if she thinks they’re in the way between you and her. Never test a Beast, for their love for you extends beyond their demeanor that can have fatal consequences if ignored…

[constantfragmentation]

I, as well as many fans, HAVE microanalysed this show to DEATH. We have been dissecting S1 for TWO YEARS. Don't tell me we 'just aren't seeing it'. When Fortiche's animation is sooo detailed and the originally writing matched, I can't imagine how they can be THAT detailed and then fuck up so badly on the follow up season. There are plotholes than in holes in swiss cheese and they were literally created in S2.

It's shitty and lazy af writing and I have ZERO problems saying it. I'm not fucking media illiterate because I'm calling out piss poor writing that favoured fan service (the writers obv were on SM checking shit out because much of the shit they made 'canon' is nothing more than fanfic).

Here's the problem. I'm not shitting on fanfic (I write them), but when you decide to make things canon but you do so by character assassination and literally throwing out important character development, plot, the socio-political themes that were the basis of S1 in favour of nothing more than a done-to-death MCU/Disney good vs evil trope? Yeah, I'm going to call that shit out.

If the fandom wants to explore topics in fanfiction, great, I'm doing the same by completely ignoring S2. But if fanfiction was made canon without tying everything together, yeah, there's a problem.

In fact, I've read better fanfiction than what the writers put together. I think some fans have a better understanding of these characters than the so-called lead writers did.

I think the S1 writers (who were basically laid off) knew what they were doing and that's why S1 holds up so well and can stand on it's own. It doesn't need S2 at ALL. That's how good it is. That's why I fell in love with it. S2 is pretty to look at but that's where it ends. There is nothing in S2 that can come close the brilliant writing of S1.

All in all, if you are a fan that is thrilled with S2, then good. Be happy. But the rest of us? Don't you fucking dare give us shit for criticising what should be rightfully criticised. Riot aren't gods of writing brilliance. Yeah, S1 was brilliant but S2 dropped the fucking ball and it's sad because of how good S1 was.

Not sure how to word this but people pushing back against arcane s2 criticism with “mEdiA LiTeRaCy” when said media literacy amounts to microanalyzing a character’s facial expression screams a disconnect in storytelling. I shouldn’t have to pause the screen and look at Cait’s eye crust to know that “akushally she never trusted Ambessa🤓☝️” when we should’ve naturally been led to that conclusion.

In s1, we know that Powder is desperate to prove herself and we know why she decided to go to Silco’s liar despite being told to stay put. Imagine if they cut out all those scenes of Mylo teasing/berating her, the moments where she screwed up on the mission, her feeling like a failure only for Vi to encourage, and inadvertently, enable her—imagine if they got rid of that and instead had a few scenes of her looking sad bc her gadgets broke and then deciding to go to Silco’s liar bc ??? like should we analyze the symbolic meaning of Powder’s shoes and Mylo’s eyebrows to understand why she did what she did? Is that good storytelling to yall? Idk

There’s a reason why s2 is getting a lot more pushback than s1 and it’s not because people just “don’t get it”.

[lassify]

Twilight's Guilt

*Spoilers for Spy x Family Chapter 107*

I haven't seen anyone talking about this yet, but I just can't get it out of my head.

Chapter 107 is a real goldmine for Twilight The Spy. All these amazing connections! All this potential intelligence! He can finally feel like he is extracting what he can from Anya's hard-won connections at Eden, and he is fully using every opportunity possible to squeeze what he can for Operation Strix.

And then Jeeves had to go ahead and say this:

Jeeves really hits the nail on the head here.

He probably knows about the responsibilities and expectations that are put on the Eden kids by all of their parents - of which he understands Damian's position the most intimately - but at this point in time, Jeeves (likely) has no idea of the extra burden that has been put on one child in particular.

That is, Twilight's burden on Anya.

Not just the burden of becoming an Imperial Scholar, and doing well in her tests, and making friends with the right people: only Twilight knows about the burden of being a fake family, of having to complete a mission, and dispose of her when it's over.

"How I hope that these children are to remain forever unburdened by the statures and standpoints of their parents..."

This is what I love about Endo's storytelling so much: so much is said with so few words and gestures.

Because after Jeeves says his piece, we get a look from Twilight. It's interesting - he almost looks bored, but the lack of response is by itself so telling, even when the other parents express their remorse.

To me, he looks exhausted. This pretence must be so exhausting.

Then his gaze turns towards Anya.

And: he's guilty.

Twilight knows that Jeeves is right; that by taking up a fatherly role for this child, he has automatically burdened her with his own goals and expectations.

Which then leads us to this panel:

I love this panel so much. I honestly felt myself tearing up looking at it.

The first thing that the reader notices is the vast expanse of negative space: everything and everyone else has faded away, and now it is only them. Without the bustling festival and rowdy kids and background characters, suddenly the reader is so aware of the distance between Twilight and Anya. We know that this distance is emotional as well as physical; because Twilight has put himself in the position of the 'onlooker', he is separating his emotions and keeping himself distant from Anya as a person.

I also couldn't help but notice that this panel, unlike every other one on this spread, did not have a border. Endo intended the negative space around them to be endless and borderless, to show that the guilt has the potential to swallow Twilight entirely.

Finally, the size difference between them: while we can interpret this as distance, I also see their physical forms as an illustration of their difference in power. In that sense, one could say that Twilight is larger in this panel, because he overwhelms Anya in the power that he holds over her. He is her 'father'; the man who took her away from the orphanage; and the man who could put her back without a second's notice. Twilight is fully aware of all of this.

(Despite his ignorance of Anya's telepathic power, the scale is still very much in Twilight's favour.)

We even see this side of Anya as though from Twilight's perspective: suddenly, Anya is just a child that caught up in something so much bigger. With our view just of Twilight's back, we can imagine the weight that this must have on his shoulders, bearing a burden that only he is aware of.

And yet, here you are, Twilight...

Despite the attention paid to Twilight's guilt in this double-page spread, Twilight is still very much back to 'business as usual' within the next couple of pages after this. After all, he has a mission to complete. As a spy, he should be adept at compartmentalising his emotions by now...

... Or perhaps, his only option is to keep squashing his guilt down, before he drowns in it.

[sweetbunpura]

Filled with Static pt.3

Summary: Yuu was already fed up before coming to Playful Land and now that it's over... She has some very choice words for she has reached her boiling point...

Part 1 - Part 2

"Ace-"

"What?" Ace rubbed the bruise on his cheek as they entered Heartslabyul. "I heard it enough from the others, I ain't gotta hear it from you two too."

Trey and Cater look at each other as the first year shoves his hands into his pockets.

"Ace, we're trying to say we're all at fault here." Trey tries again.

Cater adds in. "Yeah, Ace. We didn't do anything to stop you-"

"But you did!" He shouted. "You both said he looked shady and I ignored you two!"

"True, but we also didn't physical stop-"

"Where do I even try to begin?"

The three of them paused as they entered the lounge. Riddle and Deuce were standing there, the first year was behind the seething dorm leader.

"I'm very sure I deliberately told you NOT to go to that amusement park." Riddle glared at the three of them. "So why did you feel the need to disobey me? And what about you two, Trey and Cater?"

Ace was silent as he looked off to the side while Trey took charge of the situation.

"Riddle, I followed him out of the dorm-"

"And yet you chose now to bring him back?"

"We ran into some problems-"

"I assume the problem was spending all day at that park."

Riddle's tone was cold and sharp, cutting off any attempt Trey had at trying to give an excuse. The vice leader deflated, not willing to try and continue for an out.

"I believed you to be better than this, Trey." He crossed his arms and directed his attention towards Cater. "And you?"

"Hahahaha...." Cater rubbed the back of his head. "I, um, Lilia-chan and I thought it would be a good idea to.... uh, allow Kalim to go to the park?"

"With Jamil's permission?"

"About that?"

"You too!?" Riddle began to shout. "What could drive you both to even chose to do this!? I understand that I've been lenient on the rules lately, but certainly not to this degree!"

Cater and Trey flinched while Ace rolled his eyes. Before Riddle could start his tangent, Deuce chimed in.

"Ace, why do you have a bruise on your cheek?"

"Huh?" Ace rubbed the mark. "Oh. Yuu punched me."

"What?" Deuce looked confused. "Why would she- I mean I get it, it's you. But Yuu hardly punches any of us-"

"Wrong, Juice, she doesn't punch you." Ace scoffed. "She punched me for no reason-"

"Ace." Cater's voice had lost his playfulness. "Yuu got hurt, you said the off comment sentence of 'why don't you just go back home?'"

"You what?" Deuce's face twist in rage and he grabbed Ace's collar. "Did you forget that she can't!?"

"Of course I forgot! It didn't cross my mind when I said it!"

"Nothing every does, Ace, and that's the problem! She's told us about how much she'd love to go back home and you rubbed it in!?" Trey and Cater tried prying Deuce's hands off of the red head.

"Fuck off and let go of me!" Ace joined his upperclassman's hands

"Ace, you do this every time! You mock Yuu for not knowing the holidays we have and for the things she doesn't know! You forget she's not from here!"

"You don't have to rub it in!" Ace snarled. "Everyone else already did!"

"You're so fucking bullheaded and insensitive, no wonder Yuu doesn't tell you shit!"

"Deuce, let him go. You don't need to waste your breath on him anymore." Riddle commanded.

The blue haired first year glared at the heart solider before dropping him on the floor like he was a pile of trash. Riddle studied Ace as he directed his attention to Trey and Cater

"....Am I wrong for assume that Yuu left?"

"....No." Trey's shoulders sagged. "She left and didn't take Grim with her. Riddle, she's.... she's done with us. Done with NRC."

His eyes widened and it took a few seconds before he spoke. "....What happened."

With much hesitation, Trey and Cater begin to recount what happened as Ace crossed his arms and added in commentary. By the end of it, Riddle was livid and trying to hold not only himself back but Deuce as well.

"I have no words." Riddle struggled to control his breathing. "You three have done irreversible damage all in the span of a day. Get out of my sight, I'll decide your punishment later. Come, Deuce."

"Yes, Sir."

They depart as they leave the trio there to ruminate on what they've done. Eventually, Cater shuffles off to his room while Ace leaves for his in a huff. Trey stands in the middle of the Lounge and feel his heart drop to his feet before he too departs for his room. The next day, all three of them are awoke by a text message simply stating:

All named students come to Crowley's office at once. Ace Trappola, Cater Diamond, Trey Clover, Leona Kingscholar, Jack Howl, Jade Leech, Floyd Leech, Kalim Al-Asim, Vil Schoenheit, Ortho Shroud, and Lilia Vanrouge.

[teaboot]

There's this person I love, who is not a hypothetical figure or a convoluted metaphor but a living, breathing human being that I care for in real life, and I can count on my fingers how many times they've told me anything about their childhood.

But sometimes they give me advice, and this is what they say:

"You can't make anyone love you the way you need them to."

"It's what you don't see coming that kills you."

"Sometimes people only say "yes" because they don't know that "no" is an option."

"Feeling bad is a choice. If you're sad, just turn that off. Choose to feel something else."

"The law doesn't do shit when people just ignore it. Some people just dig their heels on and let the world spin around them, and that's how they get away with it."

And I don't agree with all the advice they give, but it paints the white around a black silhouette, doesn't it?

Every piece is like the shadow cast by something that isn't there.

Therre's a lot they'll probably never tell me, but the more they don't explain, the clearer the outline becomes.

If you only paint around a thing, and really get the details in, you might as well just blurt it out

I've been let down by those I love.

I'm always watching for danger, especially where there seems to be none.

My life has revolved around putting other's desires above my own.

I don't know how to be sad and alive at the same time.

I've been hurt by people who never faced justice.

If you only hear what's spoken, and only read the words on the page, and only appreciate an image for what's drawn, you miss out on half of everything you encounter.

And I feel like that's something we're losing our grip on

You know?

In art there's this concept of Negative Space, where you learn to understand that it's not just the thing you're looking at that's important, but the emptiness around it, and I wish we valued art more in our society because so much of life is like that.

It's important, when you look at something, to consider what isn't there just as much as what is

The stuff that isn't there is no less impactful

What people don't say is just as loud

Am I making sense?

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

You Painted Me Golden

Dieter Bravo x Female Reader

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: “So, uh—you can tell me no, but would—do you think I can come see you for Christmas?” Your heart races, you grip the phone tighter while you wait for his answer. Warnings: pov switching, pining, fluff, comfort, smut, masturbation, getting caught masturbating by an ill-timed FaceTime, unprotected p in v sex, oral (f receiving), cream pie, aftercare, marijuana, alcohol, naming the concierge after That Thing You Do! Words: 9,250 (I know, it's a lot.)

A/N: This is a VERY long chapter, but a LOT happens and I love these two so much. Thank you to mine and @devineconjuring's 4,000 messages back and forth about them and all of her brainstorming help, there's a beautiful moment between the two of them that she thought of and I can't thank her enough. Also thank you to @schnarfer and @mothandpidgeon for helping their dear, kinda dumb Mallard with some thoughts and wording (DRUG COPS).

Previous Chapter Golden Girl Masterlist Masterlist

*** He tries to stifle a yawn. Call time isn’t until 9, but you’ve been staying up too late to talk to him the past few nights.

You sigh contentedly, his heart thrums faster as you look up at the stars allowing him to look at your beautiful face a little longer.

“God the stars are bright tonight,” you admire.

He glances up, settling his eyes on a twinkling star, he wonders if it’s the same one you’re seeing. He thinks to himself maybe if he stares hard enough, he’ll see the same exact sky you’re seeing.

“He’d never do this with me…” you sigh. “He found looking at the stars boring.”

His heart drops, Warren’s still poisoning your thoughts.

“How could the sky be boring? These stars are millions of years old… they never truly die… they scatter their elements into space creating new stars, planets and life—" he catches himself. “They never end… they recreate themselves and mold themselves into a new existence.”

You smile, your bright eyes looking at him, making his heart shatter like an exploding star.

“Exactly,” you say softly, a glimmer of hope threads through your voice.

His breath catches in his throat yet again swallowing down the words that need to be said.

“Dee?” you say barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I miss you.”

The edge of his mouth lifts in a shy smile. “I miss you too…”

His heart swells with an ache he never felt until he met you. He wants to reach through the screen and pull you close, to feel your warmth against him. But instead, he takes a deep breath and whispers, “I should probably get going, I gotta get ready, we’re filming in Bath, and it’s a three hour trip.”

“I’ve always wanted to go there,” you reply. The hint of disappointment in your voice makes his heart sink a little lower.

“Today, I'll mostly be sitting in a tent, waiting for my cue to recite a few lines of dialogue. There won't be much excitement happening, so you're not missing out on anything special. But one day, we’ll go and have fun together, Sweets.”

You smile and let out a small chuckle. “I’d love that.”

“Me too,” he softly says.

“Have a good day Dee.” “Have a good night Sweets.”

—-

You close your laptop and let out a heavy sigh, trying to ignore the empty feeling in your heart. The olive tree, adorned with twinkling lights that you carefully strung when you first moved in, glows and glistens in the cool night breeze. You love your backyard, full of the plants and flowers you nourish with your love and care. Warren used to care about the flowers that would bloom, he used to admire the vases full of them you’d place around your house. But then, he stopped. You thought it was you.

Another lonely night in your empty house after yet another long goodbye said to Dieter.

You pause in the kitchen, fingers tracing the smooth marble of your countertop. You begged Warren to let you have dark green cabinets, and he obliged. That was back when it felt like he wanted to make you happy. You chug the rest of your glass of wine, swallowing the sweet liquid down as you gaze at your damn green cabinets. They once represented compromise and shared dreams with Warren. Now they feel like a relic of something lost.

You remember when you first showed Warren this place, your mind alive with ideas on how to renovate and make the home your own. He was a hesitant at first, but your enthusiasm eventually convinced him. You were so excited as you walked through each room, planning out how you would decorate.

You spent days wearing overalls covered in paint learning how to use power tools and refinish hardwood floors. Warren indulged you at first, helping you choose paint colors and hang shelves, but as the years went by, his interest waned in both you and the house you shared. Just as the ghosts of your past life begin to haunt you, you think of Dieter and the way he’d always show his interest in everything you would do around the house. He would admire the new pieces of art you found or surprise you with a new vase he found while he was filming.

You set your empty wine glass in the sink with a soft clink and wander into the living room with Dieter’s words echoing in your mind.

"They never end... they recreate themselves and mold themselves into a new existence." You wonder if that's what you're doing now - scattering the elements of your old life with Warren to create something new.

A soft ping from your phone breaks the all-too-familiar silence. It’s Dieter.

Still thinking about those stars Sweet dreams

His day is only just beginning as your day is ending. Your mind goes through the familiar math of what time he’ll be able to talk again. 9 PM his time, 1 PM yours—along as filming doesn’t go over. It’s been three months.

Three months of distance and longing, of lawyer meetings and splitting of assets, ninety days of only wanting Dieter back next to you.

Three days after he left for London, Dieter tells you his assistant Court has found the best divorce lawyer, and he’s taking care of the bill.

Two weeks after he left for London, Dieter sends you a care package full of your favorite British snacks and a giant plush corgi that now sleeps next to you. You name it Stew, after Jimmy Stewart.

Three weeks after he left for London, you smoke a joint and watch DRUG COPS, the show that made Dieter a household name. You specifically choose the episode where his character brings home the cute girl from the bar and rails her against the wall. It’s been over a month since the last time you touched yourself and even longer since you had sex with Warren. By the time the episode’s credits roll, right after Dieter’s sex scene, your underwear is soaked with your arousal. The night can’t end like this, you need to see his possessive snarl again, so, you pick up the remote and rewind back to the scene. Your hand moves under your pajama pants and feels the wetness between your legs. Desire pools low in your belly when you touch yourself, watching as Dieter kisses down the woman’s neck, his large hands roaming her body. You imagine it’s you.

A soft moan escapes your lips when you stroke yourself, your fingers gliding easily through your slick. Onscreen, Dieter lifts the woman and presses her against the wall and kisses her, grinding his hips into hers. Years ago, you watched this episode with Warren, a cloud of shame existing over you at how turned on you were while watching your husband’s friend. It was almost as if he could sense it, his eyes occasionally flickering over to you while you pretended to be engrossed in your phone, only daring to look at the screen when Warren’s blue eyes weren’t on you. Now, nobody is watching you, you’re free to do whatever you want now… even if that’s rubbing tight circles around your clit while staring at the screen. Your fingers move faster, pressing down harder, chasing the building feeling in your core as you watch Dieter thrust into the actress on screen, his muscular back flexing with each snap of his hips. You imagine what the weight of his body pressing into you would feel like, the scent of him filling your nostrils as he nuzzles into your neck, the sound of his voice whispering filthy things in your ear with his deep voice.

A familiar pressure you haven’t felt in a long time starts to build low in your abdomen as you throw your head back against the couch cushions, your eyes fluttering closed. You can almost feel Dieter’s fingers stroking you.

“Fuck, Dee,” you whimper, your hips lifting off the couch. You’re home alone, you can scream… so you do. “Fuck! Dee!” you shout as your orgasm builds.

And just as you’re about to cum for him—your phone rings.

Dieter Bravo Facetime Video

Fuck.

You grab the remote, pausing the episode as your hand pulls out of your underwear and pick up the phone. You look—well—you look like you were just a couple strokes away from an orgasm.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart as you plaster a calm look across your face. With a slightly trembling finger, you accept the FaceTime call. Dieter's handsome face fills the screen, his brow instantly furrowing with concern at his first look.

"Morning Sweets, you alright? You look a little—overwhelmed," he says.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine," you stammer, hoping he can't see the sheen of sweat on your skin or your pupils blown wide with arousal. "Just got done with a workout."

His eyes narrow slightly as he studies your face. "A workout, huh?" There's a hint of teasing in his tone. “At 11 PM?”

You laugh nervously, shifting on the couch. The movement causes your robe to slip open wider, revealing more of your heated skin. Dieter's gaze zeroes in on the exposed flesh.

Something shifts in his expression, his eyes darkening as realization dawns. “So—you workout in your robe?” he asks, his eyebrows rising, his voice is low and rough, sending a fresh wave of desire coursing through you.

“What? No, I—” you start to protest, but the words die in your throat as he leans closer to the camera.

"I think," he says slowly, his voice dropping an octave, "that you were doing a different kind of workout." His eyes bore into yours through the screen, intense and knowing.

You nod, your stare intense.

“Well, uh—with that. I’ll let you go. Call me back when you’re done. I don’t have to leave for set until 9—I’m going to go get my shower and also—work out,” he says with a wink.

A month after he left for London, Dieter has his team deliver four giant skeletons to decorate your yard with after you mentioned you always wanted one but Warren hated them.

On Halloween you hand out candy alone, just like the few years before, but this year the solitude echoes louder each time you close the door.

Six weeks after he left for London, Dieter gulps and gently asks you if you could put a robe on while you’re FaceTiming with him… he’s too distracted by the thin white fabric of your sleep shirt and the glimpses it gives him of the curve of your breasts. You oblige, but fall asleep that night thinking about the way his eyes refused to look away.

On Thanksgiving, you decline invitations from a few of your friends, opting to spend it with your parents up north, where they tiptoe around you and act extra gentle, like the first time you got your heart broken in high school. 

Ten weeks after he left for London, you climb the ladder to your attic, haul out the giant box, and put up your 12’ tall Christmas tree. You set it up and decorate it all by yourself—with a little help from a bottle of wine.

You look at your Christmas tree now, sitting in the corner of your living room, now complete with the pretty ornaments Dieter sent you from your favorite store in London. You can’t imagine spending the holiday with anybody else but him. It’s been three months. You don’t know how much longer you can take it.

You’ve just hung up with him, but now you feel quite brave. Loneliness will sometimes do that to you. So, you pick up your phone and FaceTime Dieter again.

“Hey, long time no talk,” he says with a wink.

“So, uh—you can tell me no, but would—do you think I can come see you for Christmas?”

Your heart races, you grip the phone tighter while you wait for his answer.

His face lights up, a slow grin lifting his lips. “I would never tell you no. In fact, hold on.” He moves through his hotel room, before sitting down at his desk. “Take a look.”

He opens his laptop, and the screen illuminates, displaying a list of flights from Los Angeles to London a week before Christmas.

Tears well in your eyes at the realization that he wants to be with you just as much as you want to be with him.

“I was going to ask you…” he smiles, “I just didn’t know if you would want—”

“I do,” you interrupt your heart fluttering. “I really do.”

“Amazing,” he smiles. “Let’s book it and begin the countdown.”

—-

He won’t be here to welcome you. He knows his schedule is solid, there hasn’t been a day he’s gotten home from set early in years. It kills him, but he knows you understand… you always do.

He orders a giant bouquet of red geraniums and places it on the table in the foyer, it’ll be the first thing you see when you arrive.

He wants everything to be perfect. He can’t bear the thought of you arriving and this hotel suite feeling anything less than a sanctuary for you.

Soon, the two of you will be breathing the same air and close enough to touch. He can hardly believe that you’re traveling almost half way across the globe to stay with him. He fluffs the pillows on the couch, trying to buzz off the nervous energy before his car arrives.

You’re high above the ground right now, flying in first class, something you insisted you didn’t need when he surprised you with the ticket. He would never settle for anything less than the best for you.

He wonders if you’re listening to one of the playlists he made you, if you’re reading a book that makes your nose scrunch up in thought, or if you’re abuzz with nervous energy like he is right now.

He imagines your smile when you first see the geraniums, he can almost hear your laughter ringing across the walls when you see the WELCOME HOME card he’s left propped up against the vase.

He prays he remembers his lines and marks while on set today. The less he screws up, the sooner he’s done with the scenes, and the sooner he’s here, finally back with his golden girl.

—-

You’re seated in the plush backseat of a sleek black car, gliding through the busy streets of London after an eleven hour flight. The city you love passes by in a blur, but you barely notice, your heart is racing as the car gets closer to the hotel. After months of longing and late-night and early morning calls, you’ll finally be with Dieter soon.

As you step out of the car at The Mandarin Hotel in Hyde Park and look up at the tall, brick historic building, the realization hits you that finally, you’re going to walk through the same door as Dieter, and soon, you’ll see his bright eyes in person, no longer miles away on a screen.

You feel like a movie star as the attendants swarm you and grab your bags. Dieter’s concierge, Lamar, greets you with a warm handshake and leads you inside, leading you through the lobby full of gold and jewel tones glimmering in warm chandelier light. You’ve stayed at some beautiful hotels before but this is the most gorgeous place you’ve been.

The elevator ride is quick, and when the doors open, you’re greeted by Dieter’s door.

As you approach the suite, your heart races with excitement. Lamar unlocks the door, stepping aside and gestures for you to enter first.

The first thing that catches your eye is the bouquet of geraniums on the foyer table. You let out a small chuckle at the sight of Dieter’s messy handwriting on the WELCOME HOME card propped up next to the vase. Lamar leads you to the spacious living area full of rich colors and plush furniture. It’ll make the perfect home for the next ten days.

“And where would you like your bags miss?” Lamar asks as you peer out the large french doors that lead to a terrace with a view of Hyde Park.

How do you tell Lamar that you don’t know? That you’re not sure if Dieter wants you with him in his room, or in the guest room?

“Oh, just leave them in the guest room,” you answer, playing it safe. “I’ll take care of them from there. Thank you.”

A bellhop wheels in a golden cart stacked with your bags as Lamar shows you the large kitchen and dining room.

“If you should need any groceries or anything else, please contact the concierge desk, we’re more than happy to help.”

You spot a crystal bowl filled with Kit Kats and can't help but smile as you grab one before leading Lamar out and thanking him and his team for all their help.

As the door clicks shut behind you, the exhaustion from your long flight hits you, along with the excitement of finally seeing Dieter.

You walk over to the table, sticking your nose into the bouquet of flowers and inhaling their sweet scent before picking up Dieter’s card and reading it.

Sweets, "Aren't the geraniums pretty, Professor?" Can’t believe you’re finally here. Make yourself at home and have a cuppa tea. (Look! I’m British!) I’ll be back soon, D

You still have a few hours until you’re expecting Dieter back. The large bathtub in the guest bathroom calls your name.

You slip into the guest bathroom and turn on the faucet, watching the water flow into the deep tub. From your toiletry bag, you grab your favorite bath oil and unscrew the lid, pouring it into the water.

Your clothes drop to the floor, creating a pile on the shiny marble tiles. The warm water instantly soothes your tense muscles as you sink into the tub. Leaning back against the smooth porcelain, you let out a sigh of relaxation and close your eyes.

As your cocooned in the warmth and solitude of your bath, you wonder what Dieter’s doing now. You can only imagine how frustrated he is to not be here with you. You hope it’s not affecting his line reciting.

You wonder what it’ll be like when you see him after three months of daily FaceTime calls, of caring for each other thousands of miles away, of slowly falling even more in love with now your best friend.

You’ve spent every day getting to know each other even more, his big heart and support always filling the gaps of your loneliness. But now, here in London, the distance is nearly gone. Only a couple more hours until you’re reunited.

You finish your bath and wrap yourself in one of the plush robes hanging from a golden hook.

Your bare feet pad against the plush rug as you settle on the large couch in the living room. You’re far too tired to change into anything else. You’ll watch an episode of The Simpsons and then get changed to greet Dieter. You must stay up to combat the damn jet lag.

—-

It feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest when he unlocks the door and swings it open. He hears the faint sound of the TV in the living room. You’re home.

“Swee—” your name stops in his throat when he gets his first sight of you in person after three long months. He forgets how to breathe when he takes in every detail of your sleeping figure: the way your hair spills across the cushion, the soft rise and fall of your chest, the smooth skin of your chest revealed to him from your robe shifting in your slumber. His mouth waters when he sees the curve of your breast.

He quietly steps closer, watching you, trying to allow the image of you to take place in his memory—the curve of your lips, the way the tv shadows dance across your skin, the soft skin of your exposed thigh. You look so perfect, like you’ve always been here for him.

“Sweets,” he says quietly as he inches closer and kneels, his heart pulling him to you.

You slightly awaken at the sound of his voice, your eyes fluttering open before they widen in disbelief and joy.

“Dieter,” you breathe, your voice hoarse with sleep.

He’s no longer just looking at you through a tiny screen; you’re here, flesh and blood and warmth, right in front of him. His golden girl.

“You’re here,” you say as you sit up and stretch your arms above your head, the plush robe shifting even more.

“I am. And you’re here.”

“I missed you,” you confess.

“I missed you too. C-can I hug you? I need to make sure I’m not imagining you.”

You giggle as you nod. “I’m real Dee.”

He smiles wide as he ambles up the couch and pulls you close to his side, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. He breathes in your sweet scent of almond and honey. You smell so fucking good and now you’re here with him.

“Well, I was going to take you out for dinner, but then you’d have to change out of that robe,” he smirks.

—-

Dieter sits across from you at the dining room table in his suite, now also clad in a fluffy robe to match you.

Frank Ocean softly croons through the speakers as you take a final bite of your sticky toffee pudding. You feel like you’re in heaven, the past couple of months and the loneliness and heartbreak all seem worth it for this perfect moment.

“Where are your bags?” Dieter asks sparking a joint, obviously too famous and rich for rules posted on the back of the door of his luxury hotel suite.

“They’re in the guest room,” you casually respond as you watch him exhale a cloud of smoke.

“Oh,” he pauses, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “You’re welcome to stay in my room… with me.”

“I didn’t want to overstep,” you reply as you take the joint from his outstretched hand and take a hit. His eyes soften as he watches you and he leans back in his chair.

“Overstep? Sweets, this is your home for the next couple of weeks. It’s not overstepping, it’s where I want you to be… if it’s where you want to be.”

His warmth wraps around you even more than the robe you wear.

“It is,” you softly respond.

“I’ve been counting down the days until I could wake up next to you again,” he confesses, leaning forward with his elbows resting on the table.

“Then I guess we need to move my luggage.”

—-

He gives you the top two drawers of his dresser, he wonders if you noticed that they were already cleaned out for you. He hangs your sweaters up next to his clothes in his closet, he loves how his clothes look next to yours.

Your toothbrush is now next to his, your favorite lotion sits on the nightstand, and your purse sits on the console table next to the door.

For the next ten days he gets to pretend like you live together, here in this fancy London hotel suite. He almost suggests to you going to bed early, only so he can hold you close.

“So,” you say, zipping up your suitcase. “What kind of cartoons does this hotel get?”

He grins. “I’ve become an expert at British cartoon schedules.”

“Great!” you say, pulling down the comforter and climbing into his bed. “Is it okay if we watch them in here?”

Once again, you’ve read his mind. He smiles as he gets in next to you. You take advantage of the bed dipping and scoot next to him, laying your head on his chest.

“Is this okay?” you ask. “I’ve missed this.”

He wonders if you can feel the beat of his heart thrum for you. “It’s more than okay. I’ve missed it too.”

—-

The hum of the shower filters through the hotel room as you lay in bed, thankful that Britain gets episodes of Bob’s Burgers.

You catch glimpses of Dieter’s shadow through the frosted bathroom door as he moves about. It all feels so intimate and yet familiar, like you’ve always belonged right here with him.

Exhaustion weighs down your body as you settle deeper into the luxurious bed. Finally, you’re with Dieter again.

The door creaks open, your heartbeat quickens when he finally steps out, clad in only a pair of low slung pajama pants. His golden skin gleams in the changing shadows being cast from the tv. His hair is slicked back, his handsome face that you’ve missed so much is on full display as he lifts the blanket and slides in beside you.

“Hey,” he says softly, a tired smile stretching across his lips as he leans on one elbow looking down at you with searching eyes.

“Hi,” you whisper. He smells so good and fresh—like eucalyptus and citrus.

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

“I am too.”

His smile fades for a moment, replaced by a look of something deeper, a look that mirrors your own.

You scoot closer, your bodies gently touching beneath the covers. The warmth of him seeps into you, the last remnants of loneliness from back home dissipating as you fall asleep, finally, in his arms.

—-

You softly breathe in your sleep, he can hardly believe you’re finally here. The soft rise and fall of your chest, the way your lashes flutter against your cheeks, the gentle sounds you let out as you slumber. Your lips are parted, the same lips he’s been craving to kiss since he left your home three months ago. The high moonlight shines in from the large windows that lead to the large terrace where he would often sit and miss you. Now, you’re here… finally and it all feels like a dream.

The loneliness was often too much for him, causing him to decline invitations to parties from friends or dinners with co-stars just to spend an hour talking to you.

Everything feels right as you cuddle in closer next to him in your sleep. The ache of longing has now transformed into something softer and warm. He brushes his fingers lightly over your arm, tracing invisible patterns on your skin, careful not to wake you. He loves watching you sleep, you look so peaceful, free from the worry and doubt that your soon-to-be ex-husband has poisoned you with. Just being near you makes him feel complete; he feels like the luckiest man on earth, having his golden girl back in his arms.

He closes his eyes and drifts to sleep, now no longer having to dream of holding you. 

—-

“Sweets.” A whisper of a deep voice against your ear gently rumbles you awake. “I gotta get going.”

Your eyes open to Dieter, a soft smile lifts his face in the early morning light. It’s the most beautiful thing to wake up to.

"Oh,” you yawn. “I’ll walk you out.”

You lift off the covers and take his outstretched hand, his fingers curling around yours as he gently pulls you to your feet.

He holds your hand all the way to the door of the suite, before turning to you, reluctance weighing his features.

“I don’t want to go, you just got here,” he whines.

You chuckle, straightening the collar of his jacket. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” you assure. “Now go.”

He sighs before leaning in and leaving a kiss against your forehead. He slightly pulls away, his dark brown eyes staring into yours before they flicker down to your lips. You take a breath, inhaling the scent of him.

HIs eyes linger on your lips, his breath warm against your skin. Time slows as he leans in, closing the distance between you. His lips brush yours softly, tentative and questioning. You respond, pressing closer, and suddenly, just like that, after all the years of pent up longing and stolen glances…

His mouth captures yours fully and urgently. The plush lips you’ve imagined kissing again cover yours. His hands you’ve dreamed of feeling on your body come up to cradle your face, his body you’ve craved to feel backs yours against the wall. His tongue seeks entrance to your mouth and you allow it, parting your lips with a soft gasp. He groans, the sound vibrating through your body as you thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer.

His lips move against yours, his hands sliding down to your waist, his thick fingers splaying against your back as he pulls you flush against him. A soft moan escapes your lips as his tongue sweeps across yours. His stubble rasps against your skin as he trails kisses along your jaw and down your neck. Your fingers tighten around the waves of his hair as he nips and sucks at your pulse. You tug at his hair, a low groan escapes from his throat as he kisses his way back to your lips.

Every lick of his tongue into your mouth, every shared moan, every touch of his skin against yours, this is what you’ve wanted ever since that first night, ever since the first time his lips met yours in that dim dive bar.

A sharp ring breaks through your kiss. Dieter’s phone rings insistently nearby on the table by the door. His body tenses against yours before pulling back reluctantly.

“I can’t believe this,” he mutters under his breath, glancing at the offending device.

“You should get it,” you suggest softly, your heart sinking.

With a resigned sigh, he releases you and steps towards the table. He swipes to answer, you watch him, marveling at how close he is, how real all of this feels. Finally.

“Yeah, I know, I’ll be down right now,” he says into the phone, grumbling as he hangs up without a salutation.

He turns to you, his eyes rounding in apology. “I’m so sorry Sweets, the car service has been waiting for me.”

“I know. Go. I’ll be here.”

His eyes bat between the door and you, before he sighs, walks over, and grabs your chin leaving a searing kiss against your lips.

“I’ll be back by 7, go down to the spa, spend the day pampering yourself, charge it to the room.”

You smile, leaning in to give him another kiss. “I will. Thank you. Now, go, before they call again.”

“Bye Sweets, have a good day.”

—-

The door clicks behind him as he steps out into the hallway, he can’t hide the huge smile on his face as he makes his way to the elevator. Your lips, goodness, your lips, your sleep rumpled face, your body underneath his shirt, he’s never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.

The elevator door closes as he leans against the polished golden metal, his heart still racing with the remnants of your kiss. He closes his eyes, savoring the taste of you still on his lips.

The elevator descends to the lobby, he feels the distance stretch between you, but it’s different now, this distance is hopeful and wishing, the type of distance that he knows is only temporary.

He wanted to stay and never leave you, but duty calls louder than desire, and he knows this role is huge for him.

The elevator dings softly as it reaches the ground floor and Dieter steps out into the bustling lobby. Lamar greets him with a smile and leads him to the waiting car.

“Is there anything you need today sir?” Lamar asks.

“Just make sure my girl is taken care of,” Dieter catches himself as he calls you his girl. “Everything gets charged to my room.” “Of course Mr. Bravo,” Lamar nods with a knowing smile as he closes the car door.

—-

You do as Dieter tells you. You spend your first day in London treating yourself to a day at the fancy hotel spa. Once you’re relaxed and pampered, you take yourself out for afternoon tea at Rosebery, the bright and airy cafe in the hotel. You’re used to taking yourself out to meals, enjoying the peaceful solitude of your own company and a book, but today feels different. Later Dieter will be back and peaceful solitude will be traded for peaceful companionship.

The whole hotel is gorgeous, you truly feel special here, like a character from one of the classic movies you've watched a million times. You've been whisked away to another country by the handsome, ultra famous movie star who you think you’re falling in love with—and you think he might just feel the same way about you.

—-

His driver drives down the same streets and drops him off at the same entrance after another long day on set, except now it’s different. This fancy hotel has been his home for the past three months. Sure, he has a stocked fridge, a comfortable bed, and his clothes in the closet… but it was still missing you. Now, as the doorman opens his door, he feels like he’s at home, because now, he’s only ten floors away from you.

He practically jogs through the lobby to catch the next elevator.

Eight floors away. Six floors away. Four floors away. One floor away.

Home.

He makes his way across the hall to the door he’s opened every single day he’s been here. The vase of geraniums still sit on the entranceway table overflowing with pretty crimsom blooms. He blinks twice when he sees you awake on the couch, looking at your phone.

He forgers how to breathe when you look up towards him with a smile. The sight of you, after a long day, sends warmth pooling through his whole body… better than any drug or drink he’s ever had. The lamp near you casts your body in a golden hue, he swears you look like a golden goddess.

“Hey you,” you say, a cosy grin spread across your lips. “Welcome back.”

You stand to meet him half way. The space between you quickly disappears as he strides over, enveloping you in a tight embrace. He feels your body melt against him.

"I missed you,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice low.

“I missed you too,” you whisper back.

He takes a step back to admire you, taking in the sight of you—your face fresh and dewy from your spa day. “You look incredible,” he says, a hint of awe in his voice.

You shyly look down. “Thank you.”

He reaches out and gently holds your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Beautiful,” he whispers, licking his lips and leaning forward.

He kisses you again. He can’t resist the softness of your lips, the feel of your tongue against his, the little sounds you make… it’s all he’s thought about today. Three times now, he’s kissed you. He feels a sense of possessiveness as you let a small sigh out. He knew it all those years ago, that one he has tasted the sweetness of your lips, no one will ever compare.

His hands travel down to your waist, lightly brushing against the ties of your robe. He wants to pull them apart so badly, but he resists. He pulls back, breathless and slightly dazed. Your head finds its home against his chest. “So, how was your day?” he asks.

“Lovely, wonderful, super relaxing,” you reply, lifting your chin to meet his eyes again. “The spa was amazing and I felt so spoiled. It felt… surreal.”

“Surreal is good,” he replies with a smirk.

“I like surreal,” you respond.

“Oh! Look at my manicure!” you say, stepping back and proudly holding out your hands for his inspection.

He chuckles softly, tracing a finger tip along one of your nails. “They look like the sky.”

“Yep! And the stars glow in the dark,” you respond proudly.

His heart swells at how happy and relaxed you look. There have been far too many days that he would worry about you, hoping you’re happy and smiling, never quite sure of how you’re feeling. But today, as you stand before him, glowing with a wide smile on your face, he knows that you are truly happy in this moment.

“I’m starving. Do you want to just order room service or do you want to go out tonight?”

“If we stay here, I can keep my robe on,” you sheepishly respond.

“Then go ahead and order the food while I’ll go change into mine,” he says with a wink.

He hasn’t felt this happy in so long.

—-

Another delicious meal, another delicious bowl of sticky toffee pudding, another shared joint between the two of you.

“God,” you happily sigh pushing the empty dessert plate away from you. “I could eat that for every single meal.”

He chuckles, his head shaking back and forth, the way he looks at you is foreign, like you truly are the center of his world. A look you haven’t seen in years.

You’re halfway across the world from your comfortable dream home filled with all of your furniture, plush blankets, and treasures—yet right here, across the table from Dieter, feels more like home than your house has in years.

“I’ve been thinking, and tell me no if you don’t want to, but I think we should watch The Philadelphia Story tonight. Just so we can have a happy memory with it. But again you don’t have to do i—”

“That sounds amazing, Dee, I love it,” you say.

You realize you’re madly in love with him as he rises from the table and offers his hand to you with a doting smile.

—-

“No, you're made out of flesh and blood. That's the blank, unholy surprise of it. You're the golden girl, Tracy.” Dieter recites the lines along to the movie, drawing your attention. “Full of life and warmth and delight. What goes on? You've got tears in your eyes.”

He looks over at you and… you do have tears in your eyes.

The look on your face… your wide eyes, wet with tears you have yet to shed, your mouth agape as you blink at him, the small smile that’s beginning to lift your lips.

He wants to tell you everything, he feels like he finally can now after years of staying silent and trying to escape the feelings he holds for you—but first he needs to know one thing.

“Do you still love him?” he asks, shocking himself at his earnest question.

“No,” you shake your head. “I don’t think I’ve loved him for awhile, honestly. Do you still love Anika?”

“No,” he mimics your head shake. “I don’t know if I ever did.”

“Then why did you marry her?”

“Because,” he swallows ready to bare his soul to you. “I couldn’t have you.”

He watches you process his words, your brow furrowing slightly as a wave of understanding washes over you. The truth lingers in the air poignant and thick. He feels his heart constrict at the thought of what could have been—what should have been. The ache he’d always feel when Warren would touch you, kiss you, hold you. He leans closer, compelled by the invisible force that draws him into your orbit.

“You’re my golden girl sweets,” he admits, a tremor in his voice as he reaches for your hand, threading his fingers through yours. “Ever since that night in that dive bar.”

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, as you search his face, a tear falling down your cheek. “For that long?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, wiping your tear away with the pad of his thumb. “For that long,” he responds with a shy smile.

He doesn’t even have time to second guess his confession, before you leap on him, straddling his body and pressing your lips against his. He embraces you, reveling in the feeling of your body against his. His body feels aflame, your need for him igniting the long smoldering burn for you within him.

You let out a soft moan as your hands slide under his robe, eagerly exploring his chest. He’s never felt your touch this way, his hips tilt up towards the heat of you still concealed by the fluffy fabric. You meet his hips, grinding down on top of him.

Ever since he first saw you, he’s wondered what this would feel like, what you would sound like, how your body would feel against his. He pulls away slightly, breathless, searching your eyes seeking reassurance after a decade of wanting you. “Are you sure?” he asks, vulnerability etched on his face.

“Dee,” you pant, “I want you.”

“God,” he says, his head tilting back to hit the couch. “That’s all I’ve needed to hear.”

You lean forward against him, leaving kisses along his neck up towards his jawline, your tongue darting out to lick a line across the strong angle of it to his mouth.

Your tongue finds his as you melt against him even more, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, erasing every distance that has ever laid between you. The only thing that lies between him and your naked body is a robe.

He pulls away, sitting up and helping you to stand. He quirks an eyebrow up at you asking for silent permission as he grabs the tie of your robe. You nod with a sweet smile, and as the robe loosens, your skin is slowly revealed to him. His breath leaves his body when you shrug the fabric off, the robe pooling behind you. His golden girl now stands bare before him, only clad in pair of dark blue panties. The glow of the lamp behind you lights your skin. You’re ethereal, like a goddess he’d pray to, backlit by the golden glow. You are his golden girl.

“Fuck…” he murmurs, his robe barely covering his hardness for you as you step towards him. There have been too many dreams to count like this that he’s woken up from, hard and leaking. He pinches his arm.

“Huh?” you ask, a look of shock crossing your face.

“I’m just making sure this is real,” he responds.

You giggle, as you settle yourself back on his lap.

“It’s real,” you whisper against his mouth before leaving a kiss against it and reaching down to untie the ties of his robe. He recognizes the look on your face as he shuffles out of the robe… want, need, lust.

Finally, your lace meets his cotton. It used to be circumstances and empty marriages separating you, now it’s just two pieces of thin fabric.

You press your body against him with desperate force, pushing over the boundary long since established by regret. For once, he feels like he’s not just holding onto the dream of you, but living it—a reality where he can finally hold you near and tell you everything he wants to say.

He wants you, he needs you, he’s thought of this so many times before—but not here on this couch.

“Baby—” he says against your lips, catching your attention. “Bedroom.”

You let out a frustrated groan, your hair tousled and lips swollen. You scoot off him and stand, panting for air with wild eyes. You’re the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen.

—-

With your fingers intertwined, you lead him into the bedroom. Your heart is racing, you haven’t been with anybody since Warren—and now, here in London, you’re leading Dieter fucking Bravo to the bed. As soon as you both step past the threshold, he turns and presses your overheated skin against the cool wall. His lips meet yours in a desperate kiss, his strong hands gripping your hips and pulling you closer to him.

Every touch lights something within you that you didn’t know existed before. Your head falls back as he trails kisses down your neck, nipping at your skin as he moves lower and lower.

“Dieter,” you moan, your fingers tangling in his hair as he moves lower, his lips trailing down your collarbone towards your chest.

“Baby,” he whispers before forming his mouth over your breast and lightly sucking on your nipple. Not Sweets, not Golden Girl, just baby.

His tongue explores the familiar lines of your body like a map he’s memorized yet never navigated. He moves to the floor, kissing down your stomach, past the thin strap of your underwear to the birthmark on your hip shaped like a comet.

He looks up at you, big brown eyes lit with adorations stare into yours. There’s a look you can name, it’s the look you’ve secretly wanted ever since you met him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, his voice thick with awe before he kisses against your birthmark and traces the shape of it with his tongue.

His hands slide up your ass to the waistband of your underwear, with one easy movement, he pulls the lace down your legs, leaving you bare for him.

“Goddamn baby,” he whispers, voice full of awe, his hot breath tickling your skin. “Perfect, I knew it.”

You gasp as he pushes you flush against his mouth, his lips finding their way between your thighs, inhaling the scent of you, his eyes fluttering shut as his tongue finally tastes you.

You moan loudly, arching into him. His hands grip your thighs, holding you steady for him. A sound escapes him, a mix between a groan and sigh.

“Fuck baby,” he whispers against you.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, urging him closer and deeper.

“Dee,” you gasp as he kisses and sucks against your clit. He savors you, worships you, as if every dash and flick of his tongue against you imparts the knowledge of how he’s always felt about you.

Your legs begin to tremble, your hands gripping against his hair tighter to help you stay upright. His tongue swirls and teases against you, his fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your thigh. Lately, your fantasies have been filled with thoughts of how his plush lips would feel against you, how his tongue would taste you, and now that you have it, it’s everything you wanted it to be.

You gaze down at him, tension coiling in your belly and goosebumps prickling across your skin. He feels your eyes on him and looks up at you with hungry, desperate eyes, groaning against you. His brows knit together in concentration as he explores every inch of you with his tongue, each stroke feeling like a deep confession against your pussy.

You pull against his hair, catching his attention, his eyes wide and mouth glistening.

“Bed,” you plead.

“Okay baby,” he nods before standing and giving you a kiss that leaves the taste of you on your lips.

He leads you to the bed, his large hand in yours, gently guiding you.

With every step a new memory of him all those years ago flood your mind. He was the charming young actor who used to be your husband's best friend. Yet, there was always a spark between you two that seemed to ignite whenever your eyes met. It's been far too long, and you've endured too much sadness in your loveless marriage. Now, as you lay on the soft sheets of a luxurious hotel bed in London, there is a sense of liberation and anticipation. After months of taking care of yourself and years of longing for Dieter...you lie naked on the bed, ready and eagerly waiting for him to take you.

He reaches over to the bedside table and pulls out a box of condoms.

“Dee?” you ask, as curiosity gets the best of you.

“When’s the last time y-you—”

“Not since before you called me that night,” he reveals, his brown eyes deep as they stare into yours. Your heart races at his confession; all this time you assumed he was still sleeping around, what with him being a famous Hollywood star and all. “I’ve been waiting for you baby.”

“Dee, I have an IUD,” you smile.

“Amazing,” he grins, tossing the box behind him before hopping onto the bed and smothering you with his body.

He leaves a trail of playful, wet kisses across your face, each one eliciting a giddy giggle. You haven’t made this noise or felt this light and carefree in years - and you’re naked in bed with the best man of your wedding. The irony is not lost on you.

He pulls away, the playfulness of the moment quickly replaced by lust when you feel his hardness pressed against you. Only one more layer to go until he’s fully exposed to you.

“Off,” you say, tugging at the cotton of his boxers.

He rises to kneel, his hard cock straining against the fabric.

“Be my guest baby,” he grins, a playful glint in his eyes.

You bite your lip, eyes locked with his as you reach for the waistband of his boxers, slowly tugging them down, revealing his cock.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out, unable to stop yourself from admiring how beautiful his cock his.

He tilts his head down and watches as your hand swipes across the wide tip of him, collecting the bead of precum and smearing it across the head. He’s so thick.

“Fucking hell,” he groans. “I can’t believe this.”

He pinches himself again, earning a giggle from you as you admire his naked body.

Broad everywhere and golden skinned… you can’t believe you ever wanted anybody else.

Dieter’s lips find yours again, kissing you deeply as his hands roam over your body, his fingers trailing down your stomach, achingly close to where you need to feel him the most.

“Dee,” you gasp against his lips, arching into his touch. His fingers swipe against the wetness you’ve been spilling out for him before slipping one inside, eliciting a long, low moan from you.

With each slow stroke, he watches your reaction, a glimmer of fascination illuminating his eyes as you arch your back and gasp.

“God, baby, you’re so wet,” he whispers against your neck, his free hand gently squeezing your breast before teasing your nipple with his thumb and forefinger.

You rock against him, hips meeting his hand, needing more from him.

“Need you Dee,” you whimper, as his thumb swirls against your clit.

“I need you too,” he growls, removing his hand and positioning himself at your entrance.

Your hips arch, inviting him in. You’re gasping for air, years and years of anticipation, of an innocent crush, of wanting somebody you thought you could never have and now, now, he enters you with one swift thrust, filling you completely, stretching you in ways you’d forgotten possible. Finally, you’re connected to him in such an intimate way. He moves slowly at first, gently rocking in and out. Your hands grip onto his broad shoulders, nails digging into his golden skin as his thrusts slowly and achingly hit deeper.

“Fuck,” he pants, his eyes squeezed shut, trying to hold back the barrage of sensations flooding through him. “You’re so tight.”

His steady strokes meeting with your gasps and moans echo across the large hotel room. Your body moves with his, your hands roaming across his chest before wrapping your fingers around his fluffy hair.

“Dee,” you moan, unable to form any other words as every nerve in your body is lit by him.

He leans forward, sealing his mouth over yours, swallowing every sound you moan for him.

“For so long,” he whispers against your lips. “Wanted this for so long.”

The heat between you builds until it’s almost unbearable, you’re getting closer and closer to the edge.

“Cum for me baby,” Dieter strains. “I want to feel you cum for me.”

He thrusts in and out of you slow and steady and with one final thrust, your orgasm blasts through you like an exploding star. You’re a supernova colliding down to earth and shattering into molten golden bits. Your walls clench around Dieter’s cock, as you cry his name over and over.

Your body shudders beneath him, fingernails digging into his back, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist.

He gazes down at you in awe, watching your face contort in ecstasy, feeling your walls flutter and clench around him, drawing him in deeper.

"That's it, baby," he coos. "Cum for me. You're so beautiful."

He kisses you as he edges himself closer, your body feels as if it’s still glowing as he pounds into your pussy.

“Fuck, I knew iiit,” Dieter grits as he follows soon after, his body trembling above you, a cascade of warmth flooding inside as he releases himself with a deep, primal groan.

You’re lost in each other, suspended in this one moment—a universe now made of your shared breaths and gentle kisses.

Dieter’s weight presses gently on you, a pulse of a feeling you haven’t felt in so long beats through your heart.

He kisses your forehead before rolling off of you. You turn on your side to face him, studying his features in the low light. The gentle wave of his hair, the slight curl of his lips as he drifts in and out of bliss. A smile creeps onto your face, a mix of disbelief and joy.

He rises on shaky legs, his dark brown hair tousled, a dopey grin on his face. “Be right back.”

You giggle at the surreality when he moves across the room with his naked body on full display. The muscles of his back flex as he walks, and you take the opportunity to admire the curve of his ass. Damn. He’s perfect.

He disappears into the bathroom and you hear the soft rush of water from the faucet. Damn. He’s thoughtful.

He’s no longer just your friend or the famous movie star. He’s now something so much more to you, especially as he returns, naked and unabashed, moving towards you with such tender purpose.

A warm damp towel rests in his hand as he approaches the bed. The mattress dips slightly under his weight as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“Spread for me baby,” he gently says.

You’re not even shy as his eyes roam your naked body still loose and glowing from your orgasm.

You spread your legs and he gulps. “Amazing,” he says with reverence as his cum drips out of you. He gently cleans you, his brows knit in concentration, his brown eyes focused on the task.

He tosses the rag on top of his boxers before sliding back into bed next to you. His warm body presses against yours as he wraps his strong arms around you, pulling you close.

His earring glistens in the soft light of the bedside lamp. It beckons you, but now, you can finally touch it with zero fear. Your finger traces the golden shape of it, before trailing down to the stubble on his jaw. He turns his head, pressing a soft kiss to your palm.

“Surreal is good,” you echo his words from earlier.

“Mm,” he hums, his big brown eyes looking at you with deep affection. “In fact, I think I love surreal.”

---

A/N: Hi, yes, hello. Things are happening. I'm working on the next chapter right now, and that'll be the festive Christmas/New Years chapter. It'll be post holiday time. Thank you, as always for reading, and (hopefully) loving these two just as much as me.

[koenigami]

and the nights were as dark as my baby, half as beautiful too. tags : hurt/comfort, fluff, fem!reader wc : 1k synopsis : Togame's not a great texter, but for you, he will always make an exception.

Togame's major trigger in a relationship is when you refuse. to. openly. communicate.

He doesn't blame you, though. He would never! He's aware that sharing your feelings freely can be simply a lot, and maybe even scary sometimes.

But the moment he sees you sitting on your shared couch, the TV playing your favourite show yet your gaze so far away as you stare into nothingness-

Images of his childhood friend suffering in silence cross his mind. Memories of past mistakes and his incompetence at helping the person closest to him, and letting both of them drown in loneliness and bitterness.

No. He won't let that happen again. He won't let you get consumed by your own thoughts and doubts, won't you brush every worry of his away with a forced smile and false reassuring words because you fear that he might run away from you at the slightest inconvenience.

It just has been a rougher week than usual, too many things gone wrong, too little right. You still tried to move on because no matter how awful a situation may be, they never last forever. Or so you have though. Because somehow you feel them still ingrained so deeply in your head, and they make you rethink and relive every single mistake that you've done the past few days in a way that makes you wonder whether there is something that you can actually do right for once.

You don't notice Togame disappear from the doorway and slip into the bedroom, too busy with slipping further into a downward spiral.

That is until the sudden and short vibrating sound of your phone pulls you back into reality. With a strained huff, you lean forward to grab it from the coffee table, and as soon as the sender's name on the display appears, you freeze in place.

Togame did not tell you that he'd gone somewhere, neither have you heard him leave the house, so why is he- Oh.

'Wanna tell me what's happening inside that pretty little head of yours?'

You stare at his text for a few seconds, rereading each word as if you were trying to learn his sentence by heart. The phone in your grip shakes the slightest as you feel your fingers twitch nervously, unsure about whether to answer or ignore him, meanwhile Togame sees the little dots beside your name appear and disappear over and over again.

Why would he let you burden him with your silly problems? Some of them minor, others nothing but a mere creation of your imagination and overthinking tendencies. He cares. He cares. He cares, is what you keep repeating to yourself once you decide to type out two simple words.

- 'A lot.'

Togame's glad that you can't see him right now. The way he jolts instantly, quickly sitting up once his phone pings with an incoming message from you. It feels as if he had travelled a few months back into the past. A time when every single text of yours, every touch, every smile that you shot his way, made his heart beat erratically and plaster a stupid lopsided grin on his face.

The excitement and giddiness of your love has slowly become something quiet and soft. A constant that makes him feel comforted and safe. The kind of love that he knows you need, especially in times like these.

'I see.. Wanna talk about it? It's okay if you don't'

Warmth spreads through your chest as you take slow deliberate breaths, each one shakier than the other. Never one to pressure or rush you, always a gentle voice, and a calm aura. That is your Jo.

And so you let your thoughts run freely as your fingers tap over your screen. With enough time to contemplate over your words, express your feelings properly while clumsily trying to explain some of them that you yourself truly don't quite understand, you feel your eyes sting.

He knew that this is what you needed.

Togame anxiously stares at the last text he has just sent three minutes ago, left on read. His own chest feels so much lighter knowing that your own hopefully feels just the same. Yet as he stares at his unanswered message, he wonders if he might have crossed a line. He starts feeling like a cowardly idiot for making you sit out there in the living room, all alone with all these overwhelming emotions while he's lazily lying in your shared bed.

Soon, the sudden noise of quick steps padding against the floor appears until the door bursts open. His body is quicker than his mind to register what is happening when you throw yourself on him, making him let out a breathless oomph. The bed and mattress creak and jump, but Togame immediately has a steady hold on you as his arms instinctively wrap around your waist.

"Hey-" His forehead creases in worry when he feels you shake, soft sniffles and sobs muffled by his chest.

But when you lift your head and smile at him, such a sweet, beautiful and real smile, he knows that you'll be fine despite the tears that keep flowing over your puffy cheeks. He gently wipes them away, not minding that they're immediately replaced by new ones.

The lightest shiver makes you jolt against him when his hand slips under your shirt and slowly caresses the skin along your back, his thumb softly moving back and forth. His chest rumbles with a deep chuckle when you groan annoyedly before almost aggressively wiping with your sleeves at your face to get rid of the overflowing emotions that somehow never cease to escalate when Togame's in your proximity.

At the same time, the world always becomes a quiet place when you're like this. In his arms, in safety and comfort, with nothing left but both your beating hearts and the feelings that you harbour inside them for each other.

"Thank you, Jo. I love you." You whisper as if it was a secret, and watch how Togame's eyes soften as if you'd said it for the first time again.

With a hand on the back of your head, fingers tangling into the soft strands of hair, he pulls you so close that you can feel his lips move against yours as he speaks.

"Love you more, doll."

[1425fivefive]

and one more prompt bc i love to torment you....Dando and denial *eyebrow wiggle*

this is, and i really can't emphasize this enough, so rancid. set at zandvoort 2022 right after daniel was dropped my mclaren. tw: dubious consent and undernegotiated kinks (for the kink prompt asks)

The problem, Daniel thinks, is that Lando watches too much porn.

It’s the only explanation for Lando turning up to Daniel’s hotel room after Zandvoort to announce that he currently has a pussy—the newest victim of the sex swap curse that keeps hitting various members of the grid—and that he wants Daniel to fuck him in the arse. 

When Daniel asks why Lando wouldn’t just want Daniel to fuck his newly-acquired pussy, Lando shrugs and says, “Seems like the girls in the videos always, like, really like it up the arse.”

“Huh,” Daniel says, because he’s not really sure what else to say when Lando’s standing in the middle of Daniel’s hotel room, asking to be fucked in the arse because he’s seen it in porn while clutching a frankly comically enormous bottle of lube.

Lando’s face scrunches. “It’s not, like, weird—”

“It’s pretty weird, mate,” Daniel says, forcing a laugh.

“—like, I have a pussy, it’s not, like, gay—”

Daniel’s fucked trans guys. He knows Lando having a pussy doesn’t have anything to do with whether this is gay or not.

“—and Max told me about the shit you and he used to do at Red Bull. Reckoned you wouldn’t really care even if it was sort of gay.”

“Don’t,” Daniel says, hating the way his voice cracks.

Lando blinks at him, eyes wide, as if to say, What’d I do?

“Just, like”—Daniel brings a hand up, rubs the back of his neck—“not in the mood to chat about Max, yeah?”

Daniel sees understanding dawn in Lando’s eyes, something awfully close to pity flashing across Lando’s face. Like Lando’s worked out that the reason Daniel never talks about what he and Max were to each other. Like Lando’s realized that Daniel was the idiot who thought the thing between him and Max actually meant something.

“Interesting,” Lando says, drawing out the word, looking like the cat that got the fucking cream.

It makes Daniel want to tell Lando to get the fuck out of his room. Makes him want to remind Lando that McLaren only loves him because of whatever shit Lando does in Zak’s office. Makes him want to shove Lando’s face in the fact that Lando’s never won a race while Daniel won fucking Monaco, won Monza in 2021, McLaren’s first win in a decade. And where was fucking Lando?

Daniel knows none of it changes anything. Lando has a seat for next year and Daniel doesn’t.

But right now, Lando’s standing in Daniel’s hotel room, too porn-brained to realize that people with pussies don’t even have fucking prostates, asking Daniel to fuck him in the arse.

Daniel hates himself when he starts picturing it. Picturing Lando struggling to take his cock, his pussy dripping and empty and untouched, aching for it. Lando slowly realizing that being fucked in the arse isn’t enough to come, that he’ll need to have his pussy played with to get anywhere. Daniel just coming inside him, leaving Lando sobbing to come.

And, like, it’s fucked but Daniel can admit it’s also hot. And Daniel knows it’s not winning but as he stares at Lando, thinks about how Lando’s been looking at him all year, like Daniel’s a dog that needs to be put down, Daniel starts to convince himself it sort of is.

“Still want me to fuck your arse?” Daniel asks shortly.

“Yeah,” Lando says with a shrug, clearly trying to act casual, like he didn’t turn up to Daniel’s hotel room practically begging for it.

“Fine,” Daniel says. “Then take your clothes off and get on the bed.”

Lando hesitates for a moment but he listens, sheds his clothes and clambers onto the bed, Daniel catching little teasing glimpses of Lando’s pussy on the way. Daniel can see enough to tell that Lando’s wet. He tries to ignore the way his mouth goes a bit dry at the sight.

Lando flops back against the pillows, watching Daniel expectantly. Like there’s any way in hell Daniel’s gonna fuck him like that, sprawled out on his back. Nah, Daniel doesn’t have any interest in seeing Lando’s face during this.

“Turn over,” Daniel snaps.

Daniel thinks that might be enough to have Lando climbing off the bed and pulling on his clothes, telling Daniel to fuck off.

But Lando’s breath hitches, cheeks flushing. Like maybe a part of him likes when Daniel’s cruel. Daniel’s not doing it for Lando, doesn’t give a shit whether Lando likes it or not, but it makes things easier when Lando rolls over onto his stomach, spreading his thighs a bit, putting his pussy and hole on display.

Daniel tugs his shirt off over his head, unbuckling his belt. Lando turns his head to look at him, but Daniel just says, “Face forward.”

Daniel thinks he hears a little whimper from Lando, watches a wet spot form on the fabric of the hotel sheets underneath Lando’s cunt. God, he really is dripping for it, his pussy flushed and dark. A part of Daniel thinks it’s a shame it won’t be getting fucked.

Daniel knees his way onto the bed, grabs Lando’s arsecheeks in his hands and pulls, spreading Lando open.

Lando whimpers into the pillow but he stays where he is, shaking under Daniel’s hands. Daniel can’t tell whether it’s desire or fear. Both, maybe. Daniel lets some saliva pool in his mouth and spits onto Lando’s hole, watching it slide over the tight furl. Lando lets out a humiliated sob into the pillow, twisting like he’s about to turn back and snap at Daniel.

But Daniel shoots a hand up to Lando’s hair, shoving Lando’s face against the pillow, holding him there until Lando goes lax.

“Good,” Daniel says. “Stay there.”

Another shiver runs through Lando but he stays still, lets Daniel squirt lube onto his fingers and drag them over Lando’s hole, pushing one in and then two before Lando’s really ready for it. Lando moans into the pillow, rim going tighter.

“Relax,” Daniel says, landing a smack against Lando’s arsecheek, listening to Lando’s outraged little squeak, watching the muscle bounce. But Lando loosens enough for Daniel to slip his entire fingers in, stretching him quickly, perfunctorily. 

Daniel doesn’t really care about making this good for Lando. Sort of wants to see Lando squirm as Daniel pushes in. Lando can tell him to stop if he really hates it. He’s strong, stronger, maybe, than Daniel is at the moment, what with the starvation diet Michael’s put him on and the anxiety making it hard to find the motivation to eat. Daniel doesn’t have any doubt that Lando could shove him off if he wanted to.

“Condom?” Daniel asks.

Lando doesn’t say anything, and Daniel lands another smack on his arse, harder this time.

“Answer when I’m asking you a question,” Daniel says shortly.

Lando says something inaudible into the pillow.

Daniel tugs his fingers out of Lando’s arse, groaning at the sight of Lando’s rim struggling to close, and digs his lubed fingers into Lando’s hair, pulling Lando’s head back.

“What was that?” Daniel asks.

“I said,” Lando says, still a little edge of petulance, “do whatever you want. I don’t give a shit.”

A part of Daniel can't help but wonder if Lando came to him because he wanted it like this. If Lando's letting Daniel think he has all the power when really Lando chose him, chose Daniel because he already knew Daniel would fuck him exactly like this, rude and harsh.

But Daniel doesn't let himself think about it for too long, just lets Lando’s head drop back against the pillow and grabs the lube, squirting a bit more onto his hand, getting his dick nice and wet. He drags his dick over Lando’s hole, slaps it a few times with the tip, barking out a shocked laugh when Lando whimpers, arse shoving back toward Daniel like he’s begging for Daniel’s cock.

“God,” Daniel murmurs, lining himself up, “should’ve known you’d be such a fucking slut.”

Lando says something high and whiny, something Daniel can’t hear because he’s sliding inside of Lando’s absurdly tight hole, his walls clenching around Daniel like he’s trying to pull him in and shove him out all at once. It feels outrageously, maddeningly good, so good that Daniel’s immediately worried he’s fucked up, that he might never get over how good Lando feels around him. That he’ll just have to wander around for the rest of his life knowing that his annoying as shit twenty-two-year-old ex-teammate has the tightest arse he’s ever fucked.

“Jesus, Lando,” Daniel groans, shoving in deeper. “S’like no one’s ever fucked you here.”

Lando lets out an anguished sob into the pillow and Daniel’s stomach flips as he realizes maybe no one has. It shouldn’t have Daniel’s stomach flipping, shouldn’t have him grabbing Lando’s hips, tight, and tugging Lando back onto his cock, eyes locked on where Lando’s struggling to take him with each pass of Daniel’s hips.

“God,” Daniel moans, fucking hard, fast, solely focused on chasing his own pleasure. “Feel so fucking good, Lando.”

Lando’s making wet noises into the pillow like maybe he’s crying and Daniel wonders whether maybe Lando’s crying. Daniel thinks about checking, but he notices Lando snaking a hand underneath himself, like maybe Lando’s thinking about touching himself, like maybe Lando likes this.

Daniel grabs Lando’s wrist, tugging his arm behind his back, ignoring Lando’s outraged noise. He grabs Lando’s other arm for good measure and tugs both of Lando’s wrists against the small of Lando’s back, holding them there, using the grip on Lando’s wrists to tug Lando back onto his cock.

Lando’s sobbing something Daniel can’t make out and Daniel decides to ignore it until Lando’s twisting his face against the pillow, freeing his mouth, and gasping, “Need t’come.”

Daniel snorts. Lando should’ve thought of that when he barged into Daniel’s hotel room demanding that Daniel fuck his arse. Daniel doesn’t do anything, just keeps Lando’s hands pressed against the small of his back and fucks him hard and fast.

“Please,” Lando sobs, and Daniel can see how red his face is, tears on his cheeks. “Please, Daniel, want to come.”

It tickles something awful in Daniel’s brain, hearing Lando beg. It’s even worse realizing that he has no intention of giving in.

“Yeah, well”—Daniel fucks in deep, grinding against where Lando’s prostate would normally be—“should’ve thought of that earlier.”

“No,” Lando gasps, fingers splaying out, wrists tugging against Daniel’s hold. “No, Daniel, please—”

“Bet your little pussy feels so fucking empty,” Daniel says, dragging himself closer to his own orgasm. “Bet your clit’s fucking begging for it.”

“Yeah,” Lando pants, squeezing his eyes shut, lip quivering. “Want you to—fuck my pussy, Daniel, please.”

Daniel’s quiet for a minute, lets Lando think he might give in. But Daniel says, “Nah.” He tugs Lando back on his cock. “This is what you asked for, mate. This is what you wanted.”

Lando shoves his face against the pillow and gasps, “I didn’t—I didn’t know.”

Daniel groans at that, moments away from coming.

Lando seems to realize his window of opportunity’s closing because he twists around as far as he can, eyes desperate, and pleads, “Daniel, please, please. Fuck, please.”

“What?” Daniel asks, feeling half-crazed, half-delirious at the sight of Lando strung out and begging on his cock. “What do you want?”

“Fuck my pussy,” Lando whimpers, eyes pleading. “Please, Dan, please fuck my pussy.”

“Yeah?” Daniel asks, voice ragged. “Want me to fuck your pussy?”

Lando nods frantically, fucking himself back on Daniel’s cock. “Please,” Lando whines. “Want you to fuck my pussy, want it so fucking bad.”

Daniel comes with a groan, filling Lando’s arse, fingers digging into Lando’s wrists.

“No,” Lando gasps. He lets out an anguished sob and shoves his face into the pillows, body shaking in Daniel’s grip, wrists still caught behind his back.

Daniel pulls out of him slowly, moaning at the sight of Lando’s fucked-open hole, his pussy flushed a dusky pink, glistening with arousal.

“Fuck,” Daniel murmurs, getting his hands under Lando’s hips, tugging him up so Daniel can see his untouched pussy, see his clit, swollen and huge with need.

Lando doesn't say anything, just squirms and sobs into the pillow, pussy twitching under Daniel's gaze.

Daniel stays there for a few moments, until he watches his come start to drip out of Lando. As he slips off the bed, Lando slumping against the mattress, he tries desperately to convince himself that he's finally won.

But Lando rolls over and gives Daniel a lazy grin despite the tears sliding down his cheeks. "Fuck," Lando says, looking sated, content. "Reckon I really needed that."

[gildatheplant]

I love Loki, and Endgame does turn the gag into a 'gag', but Loki is famous by this point for being the God of Lies- gagging him is a logical step.

Also, Thor does return to the line of questioning (or tries to) when he confronts Loki near the end on Stark tower, which Loki stabs him for. Now, later films show that this was probably Loki trying to deter Thor from finding out about Thanos out of fear for BOTH of their safety, but Thor has no way of knowing this because Loki refuses to tell him.

In The Dark World it's true that both Thor and Odin (especially Odin) seem to refuse to listen to Loki. However, Loki doesn't help his case by arguing with Odin and acting like his attack on New York was out of spite instead of mentioning the others involved. Before you say "that's because they wouldn't listen" sorry, but both Odin and Thor know that the Chitauri army didn't just come out of nowhere, and that Loki had to be working with someone else. From their perspective, Loki seems to be protecting his co-conspirator.

More importantly, Frigga is portrayed as absolutely willing to listen to him, even going behind Odin's back to visit Loki in spirit form. Frigga tries to get him to open up to her, but he shoots her down so brutally that it ends up haunting him after she's murdered.

Lastly, we can't ignore the fact that the Battle of New York is not the first time Loki has attacked another realm. He attempted to destroy the realm of Jotunheim entirely of his own volition. Yes, he was suffering from severe mental distress at the time, but it was still a planned and coordinated genocide. From Thor and Odin's perspective, this makes it a lot harder to tell if Loki really is the one pulling the strings or not for New York.

All that in mind, despite what Odin said about Frigga being the only reason he didn't execute Loki, it's pretty obvious later that it isn't true. As angry as Thor is with Loki in The Dark World, he makes it very clear he still loves his brother and there's no doubt that if Odin called for Loki's execution Thor wouldn't have let it happen. As for Odin, we have to wait until Ragnarok, but that movie makes it pretty clear that Odin wouldn't have gone through with executing Loki.

Thinking about how they made Loki wear a muzzle in the Avengers like Noooooo his jaw was probably so sore and also he has a beautiful voice and you’re taking away his ability to use it… Like noooo he’s the most innocent angel and has never done anything wrong in his life why are you doing that to him :(

He’s just a baby please stop leave him alone please

Please this is so evil they shut him up