#and also lewis should be allowed to kill someone

[strwbrryfire]

[passengerprincessblog]

“Lewis, Next Door” ~ pt 2 Lewis Hamilton x reader

Warning: age gap (lowkey?), alcohol.

Summary: Y/N’s night out spirals into chaos, leading to a desperate late-night call to Lewis that she barely remembers making. But when he shows up to help-, slightly annoyed, and undeniably magnetic—she finds herself teetering between embarrassment and intrigue.

The bass thumps in my chest, so loud I feel it in my bones as we sway and stumble together under the neon lights. MK Club in Monaco is packed, bodies pressed together in a wave of glitter, laughter, and the haze of way too many drinks. Winter break has finally started, and my friends—Janelle, Isabella, and Séraphine—and I have decided that tonight is all about celebrating our freedom. Maybe we’re overdoing it, but who cares? We’re young, we’re back from school, and we deserve this.

I lean into the music, my head spinning in the best way. “We’re out of money,” I realize, looking down at my half-empty drink, frowning. Not a cent of parental allowance had dropped in any of our accounts yet. My own savings were being bled dry by all this fun, and, seriously, what’s the point of being a rich kid in Monaco if I can’t order bottles of Ace of Spades?

Séraphine slings an arm around me, her face flushed and eyes glassy as she shouts, “We should just try to flirt with some guys! Get ourselves a table!”

Janelle shakes her head, looking a little worse for wear, her lids drooping as she slurs, “No… Alain will kill me if he finds out I pulled something like that again…”

As they debate, an idea pops into my head, striking like a flash of drunken genius. I grin, barely able to focus, but sure of one thing: I have Lewis’s number. Lewis, my neighbor and friend of my dad, but also ridiculously rich, famous, and possibly my ticket to a few more rounds. So what if it’s 2 a.m., right?

“I’ve got it, guys. I know someone,” I announce proudly, though the words come out like a tangled mess.

Séraphine squints at me, laughing. “You’re drunk, Y/N. You don’t know anyone.”

“Oh, yeah?” I pull out my phone, holding it up triumphantly as I squint at the screen, fingers fumbling over the contacts. “There it is.” I hit the call button, holding the phone to my ear, my friends watching me with barely-contained curiosity.

The call rings a few times, and just as I’m about to give up, a low, groggy voice answers.

“Hello?”

The confidence I had fizzles, but I swallow my nerves. “Lewis?” I slur, hearing my voice in that weirdly bold way only a couple of drinks can make possible.

There’s a pause. “Y/N?” He sounds confused, and I hear him shift like he’s sitting up.

“Yeah. Are you out?” I ask, the music blaring through the phone. I feel the eyes of my friends glued to me as they wait, wondering who I’m talking to.

“What? Where are you?” he asks, voice sharper now, more alert.

“I’m at MK,” I say loudly over the noise, feeling smug.

There’s another pause, and then he says, almost to himself, “MK? You’re not even old enough to be there… And, wait… are you drunk? It’s 2 a.m.—”

I cut him off, a playful edge to my tone. “I was just calling to see if you wanted to come and get us more drinks,” I say, though the words tumble out in a barely coherent mix of slurs and giggles.

There’s a long, exasperated silence on the other end.

“Hello?” I ask, annoyed he’s taking so long to answer.

His sigh is audible over the phone. “Do you… need me to pick you up?” he asks, his voice lined with something that sounds like he’s already resigning himself to it.

“No! I don’t,” I reply with confusion. “You’re so boring,” I add before hanging up. My friends laugh, and we go back to dancing, somehow managing to snag a few more drinks from guys around us.

It’s 3:00 a.m. by the time I manage to stumble my way back to my parents’ penthouse, swaying down the hallway in my heels. My purse feels like a black hole as I dig through it, searching for my keys. They have to be in here somewhere, right?

But after minutes of searching, I realize they’re not. “Shit,” I mutter, slumping against the wall, the reality sinking in. I don’t want to wake up my parents like this—tipsy, disheveled, and very obviously not sober.

I slide down to the floor, feeling my frustration tip dangerously toward tears. I’m too drunk for this. I stare at my phone, desperate for some kind of solution, and in my daze, I remember… Lewis. Again, I don’t recall that I just called him an hour ago, and with no other option, I hit his number.

After a few rings, his tired voice picks up. “Yes?” he says, clearly woken up again.

“Lewis?” My voice breaks a little, the earlier playfulness gone.

He sounds a little more awake, sensing something’s off. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“I… I can’t get into my house.” My voice trembles with a mix of embarrassment and frustration.

“Wait… are you outside right now?” he asks, the tone of his voice shifting instantly, more alert.

“Yeah… I don’t have a key,” I mumble.

He sighs deeply, and I hear him rustling, like he’s getting up. “Okay… give me a minute.” He hangs up, and I wait in the dimly lit hallway, feeling stupid but relieved.

A few minutes later, the door down the hall opens, and there he is, looking tired, standing there in nothing but sweatpants. Even through my drunken haze, I can’t help but notice how he looks, the way his gaze meets mine across the hall, his face softening when he sees me.

“Come here,” he says, his voice a low, quiet command. The authority in his voice stirs something in me as I pull myself up, stumbling toward him, heels clicking with each unsteady step. His eyes drop to what I’m wearing—a short dress, tight enough to get the attention of every guy at MK tonight—and he looks away, maybe to save me from feeling self-conscious. Or maybe to save himself.

“Come in,” he murmurs, stepping back and letting me walk inside. His place feels dim, warm, quiet—a stark contrast to the loud, chaotic energy I’d just left. The moment I step in, I sway, and his hand catches my arm, steadying me.

“How much did you drink?” he asks, his voice edged with concern as he leads me toward the living room. “Why did you drink so much?”

I flop onto his couch, letting out a lazy laugh as I lean back. “I don’t know,” I reply, slurring, barely caring how much of a mess I must look to him right now.

He disappears for a second, returning with a glass of water, holding it out to me. “Drink that. You need it.”

I take a sip, and he watches, standing over me, his expression somewhere between annoyance and amusement. “Look… I don’t have a key to your parents’ place, so you’re kind of stuck for now. Do you have a friend nearby?”

I shake my head, setting the glass aside and sinking further back into the couch. “No… I don’t know.” My voice is soft, almost defeated.

He sighs, glancing at the clock. “It’s 3:17 in the morning…” he mutters, and I let out a giggle, finding it all absurdly funny.

He shakes his head, but there’s a small, reluctant smile on his face. “You’re a mess,” he says, voice teasing.

I sit up, pouting. “No…” I argue, slurring as I try to mimic his mock-scolding tone.

“Yes…” he says, meeting my gaze, and for a moment, his eyes linger on me, trailing down to my dress. His hand reaches up, almost instinctively, to brush a stray lock of hair from my face, his touch surprisingly gentle. I look at him, something bubbling up in me—a boldness from the alcohol, or maybe just the thrill of being near him like this. I reach out, letting my hand rest on his thigh, feeling the solid warmth of him.

He looks at my hand, then at me, his gaze suddenly intense. He reaches down, covering my hand with his, his grip firm as he lifts it off his leg. “No… no, Y/N. You need to sleep this off,” he murmurs, voice low but soft.

“Hm? No… I’m fine,” I insist, leaning closer, letting my eyes half-close as I give him what I hope is a sultry look.

He lets out a breath, amused but resolute. “Yeah… that’s definitely the alcohol talking.” He stands up, guiding me gently to follow him. “Come on. I’ve got a spare bedroom. You can sleep there, okay?”

I frown, feeling my hazy hopes sink, but I’m too tired and too out of it to argue. I stumble along behind him, my heels clicking down the hallway as he opens the door to a guest room. I step inside, feeling the plush carpet beneath my feet, a cozy contrast to the cold, hard floors of MK.

“Just get some sleep, alright?” he says, rubbing his eyes, clearly exhausted.

“Wait,” I call, almost whining, as he turns to leave. “Can you…” I pause, heart pounding, barely believing my own boldness as I turn around, showing him the back of my dress. “I can’t sleep in this…”

He sighs, and I can tell he’s fighting an internal battle. “Y/N…” he starts, his tone edged with caution, like he’s about to refuse. But then he relents, stepping forward. His hands come to rest on my hips, strong and steady, the warmth of his touch seeping through the thin fabric. I feel my breath catch as he pulls me closer, his fingers brushing against the small of my back.

For a moment, his hands linger, almost as if he’s hesitating, feeling the weight of the moment as much as I am. Then, with deliberate slowness, he raises one hand to the top of my zipper. His fingertips graze the bare skin at the base of my neck, and I can’t suppress the shiver that runs down my spine.

He inches the zipper down slowly, each pull of the zipper loud in the quiet of the room, his touch leaving a tingling trail down my back. I can feel the soft brush of his knuckles against my skin as the dress loosens, exposing more of my back, inch by inch. His breathing is steady, but there’s a tension there—a restraint that feels almost tangible.

The zipper finally reaches the base of my spine, and his fingers linger there, as if reluctant to break the contact. My skin feels electric, every nerve heightened, and for a moment, he doesn’t move, his breath warm against the back of my neck. It’s like he wants to say something, to break the charged silence between us, but he holds back.

He clears his throat softly, his voice a quiet murmur in my ear, almost a command. “There. Now… get some sleep.” His words are gentle but firm, like he’s trying to steady both himself and me. And then, just as slowly as he approached, he pulls away, letting his hands fall from my back, the absence of his touch leaving my skin cool and craving the warmth of his hands.

As he steps back, he meets my eyes briefly, a flicker of something unreadable passing between us. For a second, I think he might close the space between us again, say something, or do something that will change everything. But he only gives me a small, careful nod, a final reminder of his restraint, and turns toward the door.

“Now… sleep,” he says once more, his voice soft but unwavering. With one last look, he leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

———————————————-

As always, thank you for reading and appreciating my works.

I hope my writings help you unwind and escape your life in a way that is exciting to you.

Please like and follow for more!

Хохо

Princess

[shelyue99]

A timeline re the friendship between Dick Winters and Lewis Nixon, in Dick’s own words.

Officer Candidate School(OCS), Fort Benning, April 1942

During my time at OCS one of the officer candidates caught my attention. Lewis Nixon was the son of privilege and wealth. Born September 30, 1918, Nixon was the grandson of the last man to design a battleship as an individual. Educated at Yale and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, "Nix" was far more educated than most of the members of the class. —Beyond Band of Brothers

Toccoa, August 1942

Later we served as platoon leaders under Sobel's command. A special bond always exists among the platoon commanders in any military company, particularly when they perceive their own commander as 'the enemy.' I stayed in Easy Company, but Nix was transferred to higher headquarters. He drank too much, but he was also very conscientious. He was conscientious in his own way, on a man-to-man basis, and he always looked at what would best benefit the battalion. —Conversations with Major Dick Winters

Camp Mackall, February 1943

In addition, a number of Easy Company's officers were transferred to battalion staff, including Lewis Nixon, Clarence Hester, and George Lavenson. As I had grown quite fond of Nixon, I was sad to see him leave Easy Company. —Beyond Band of Brothers

Normandy, June 1944

"Nix" and I completely understood each other. We possessed a common understanding about leadership, of how troops should be employed, and how battles should be fought. On reflection, Nixon always seemed to be around. We had known each other from our days in Officer Candidate School at Fort Benning and at Toccoa, but our friendship was not cemented until Normandy.

After the fight at Brecourt, I had requested additional ammunition for my men. When none arrived, I went to battalion headquarters myself, where I saw Colonel Strayer and his staff studying the map that I had found on one of the guns. I blew my top, which was totally inappropriate considering my rank. Nixon, however, was instrumental in obtaining that ammunition. Later, when we aboard the LST returning from France, he approached me and asked that I deliver a lecture on leadership to the rest of the officers at battalion. That caught my attention. —Beyond Band of Brothers

Holland, Septembre 1944

By the time we jumped into Holland, I was so lonely that I needed someone in whom I could confide my inner thoughts. That someone was Nix. Whenever the bullets began to fly, I could turn and there stood Nix. He always walked on my left side, one or two steps behind me. This was his token of respect for me as a commander. —Conversations with Major Dick Winters

From a personal standpoint, I would have been devastated had Nixon been killed. As a leader you do not stop and calculate your losses during combat. You cannot stop a fight and ask yourself how many casualties you have sustained. You calculate losses only when the fight is over. Ever since the second week of the invasion, casualties had been my greatest concern. Victory would eventually be ours, but the casualties that had to be paid were the price that hurt. In that regard Nixon seemed a special case.

As different in temperament as Nixon and I were, he was the one man to whom I could talk. He provided an outlet that allowed me to unburden myself as a combat leader. —Beyond Band of Brothers

Mourmelon, March 1945

Nixon's return to battalion staff was the result of his repeated drunkenness. Colonel Sink recognized Nixon's tactical brilliance, but he was fed up with his excessive drinking. One day Sink visited me and asked me point-blank, "Can you get along with Nixon?"

"Yes, sir, I can get along with him."

"Can you get something out of him?"

Again I responded, "Yes, sir, we work together very well."

"Would you like to have him back?"

"Yes, sir, I would."

"You've got him."

And that is how Nixon returned to battalion staff. From a personal perspective, it was nice being reunited with Nix. —Beyond Band of Brothers

Mourmelon, March 23, 1945

The 101st was allowed to send observers, so I dispatched Captain Lewis Nixon. Fortunately, for Nixon, he was assigned to be jumpmaster of his aircraft. As he approached the drop zone, his plane was struck by heavy antiaircraft fire. Nixon and three other men made it out of the plane, but the rest were lost when the plane crashed.

Nix remained with the 17th Airborne Division for one night and was then returned to 2d Battalion at Mourmelon on a special plane. Nix's brush with death left him visibly shaken, particularly when at this stage in the war, no one intentionally put himself in danger now that victory was at hand. Captain Nixon found his usual retreat in alcohol that evening, but I was glad to see him safe. —Beyond Band of Brothers

Joigny, September 16, 1945

Capt. Nixon left this week, which makes everything just dandy. I am about as lonesome as a lovesick swab who married a Wave on an eight hour pass. —Hang Tough

On reflection:

On the surface no two individuals were more diametrically opposed in temperament than Nixon and I. I was a confirmed teetotaler and never swore. I preferred a quiet evening in the barracks to the nightlife of Columbus, Georgia, or neighboring Phenix City, Alabama. Despite the differences in lifestyle, I sensed we shared mutual feelings and ways of looking at life. I could understand him and help him understand me, as well as understand himself. Our friendship evolved naturally, and he soon became my closest friend. Lewis Nixon was the finest combat officer with whom I served under fire. He was utterly dependable and totally fearless. —Beyond Band of Brothers

In hindsight, Nix probably needed me as much as I needed him. He was undoubtedly the coolest man under fire whom I ever encountered in combat. —Conversations with Major Dick Winters

[absurdthirst]

A Fork in the Road {Dieter Bravo x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.9k

Warnings: Mentions of drugs, embezzlement, angst, desperation, irritation, mentions of anal plugs, oral sex (male and female receiving), vaginal sex, blackmail, extortion

Comments: Coming out of his latest rehab stint, Dieter Bravo learns he's broke. Money and everything he owns stolen, dropped from his agencies, he ends up crashing with you, his former assistant. Living with you and trying to make a comeback in Hollywood, Dieter comes to a fork in the road. Question is, which path will he choose?

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Dieter Bravo MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

"What do you mean it's all gone?" Dieter asks the CEO of his investment company, sitting in his fancy office on Olive Street, and he stares in shock. 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Bravo. Mr. Lewis took it all. We - we have background checks but I- I do not know what happened with your money. He has transferred it to multiple accounts and the police are tracing it but he knew what he was doing. While you were away-" 

Dieter shakes his head, "I was in fucking rehab for three months. I come out and every penny I own is gone. Even my goddamn house. Who - what - someone should be responsible. I need my fucking money. I - I need to talk to someone about getting it back. Some reimbursement." Dieter growls, slapping his hand down on the desk and he could really use a hit right now to calm down. 

"I'm sorry Mr. Bravo, we will let you know as soon as we have news. The FBI too. This is a high profile case." 

Dieter shakes his head, "thanks for nothing, asshole." He growls, standing up, and he makes his way outside to hail a taxi. The state took his license after he was caught with a hospital worth of meds in the car, off his head on everything he could have taken without killing himself. It was stupid, he knows that now, but back then, he thought he was invincible. He only has one place he can go now. He gives the driver your address and when he arrives, he knocks on your door.

You pause the show you are watching, wondering who the hell is at the door. You didn’t order food and there is a very prominent No Soliciting sticker on your door. Not that you could buy anything anyway. Since Dieter has been at rehab, your paycheck hasn’t come through and every time you call Lewis’s office, they claim that he’s in a meeting and you will get a call back. It’s bad enough that you’ve been living on your savings and DoorDash-ing to pay the bills. Hopefully Dieter, will get his dumb ass out of rehab for the third time so you can get paid. “Dieter!” The man in question is in your doorway, looking miserable. “You’re out!”

Dieter pushes past you to enter your house. “I need your help.” He says immediately, spinning to face you. “I’m fucked.” He runs his fingers through his hair, longer since his stint in rehab. “I- Lewis is gone. He’s taken all my money. The house is gone. My car. All of it.” He reveals, “they can’t find him. Apparently the alphabet boys are trying to hunt it down but it’s gone and I- shit. I don’t have anywhere to live,”

Your jaw drops in shock. “What? How? Oh my god, no fucking wonder I haven’t been paid.” 

Dieter frowns and shakes his head. “What the fuck do you mean?” He huffs. “I pay you.” You snort. 

“Lewis paid me through your company.” You remind Dieter. “I was an employee, but I haven’t gotten a paycheck since you left for rehab and they kept telling me he would call me back.”

“That motherfucker.” Dieter hisses, pissed that you haven’t been paid. He never would have allowed that. You should’ve been paid even if he was in rehab. “I’m so sorry. Fucker, I can’t - fuck!” He shouts, clenching his fists before he calms down, remembering his coping methods despite the urge to call his dealer. “I need a favor.” He tells you, brushing down his sweatpants. 

“What?” You ask and he sighs. 

“I need a place to live. They’ve seized my house and I need somewhere to sleep. Can I- could I stay here?” He asks, face softening. “I swear you won’t even know I’m here.”

That’s a lie if you’ve ever heard one. Dieter is anything but quiet, or a good guest. However, you also know that without money or drugs, ninety-nine percent of Dieter's so called ‘friends’ are history. There’s no way you can kick him while he’s down, especially fresh out of rehab. It would send him straight back into a pile of pills. Sighing, you point at him. “I’m not cleaning up after you.” You warn him.

Dieter grins, rushing over to you and he cups your cheeks, kissing your lips. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” He rushes out, letting go of you and he grabs his phone. “I’ll get my stuff. Well, what I have left, from the hotel room I got yesterday after heading home to find I couldn’t get in my house. Thank you sweetheart. I owe you big when we get this shit sorted out. I’ll be back.” He tells you, typing in the address for the Uber. He only has enough money to last him a week or so, so he needs to get out there and start getting a new role.

You sigh and roll your eyes. “Save your money.” You huff, knowing that he won’t think about how expensive the Uber will be there and back. “I’ll take you to get your stuff so you don’t have to waste it on an Uber.” You know that he will land a new role quickly, he’s talented and your eyes widen slightly. “What about all your stuff? Your Oscar?”

“In storage apparently. The bastards let me have that and my Razzie. Hey, things get bad…I can sell those.” He jokes, despite knowing that even in his lowest moments, he never considered selling those precious items. “In storage for another two days or so. I gotta get it out.” He sighs, rubbing his cheek. “Bastard.” He curses Lewis, feeling like such a fool but he is determined to rise above it all. They will find his money and in the meantime, he just needs to get a new role to get some money coming in. “I’ll sort this out, promise.” He offers you an Oscar winning smile while you grab your purse.

You know that Dieter will probably sulk for at least a day or two. Which is fair considering he just had millions of dollars stolen from him. “I’m sorry.” You murmur softly as you both climb into your car and you start it up. “I know that you’re getting fucked over but I’m sure you will pick up a role quickly.” You pull out of the driveway and start down your street. “What hotel did you stay at?”

He flusters, “um, my cards have been stopped so I just - I only had cash. It’s the, uh, Motel 6 off of Hollywood Boulevard.” He bites his lip, knowing he’s had a hard fall from grace. “I don’t have a lot. Gotta get it from storage and I- I gotta look up an NA meeting nearby. It’s required.”

“Nothing wrong with a Motel 6.” You hum. You aren’t going to pile onto him. “We will get your stuff and swing by your storage room. See how much stuff is there.” As much as you rolled your eyes at Dieter’s antics, he had always insisted you be paid well for putting up with his shit. It was a lot more than other assistants. So helping him through this is something that you owe him. “Although, hopefully you haven’t painted the wall in this room?” You tease, reminding him of when he painted the murals on the wall in England while he was trapped on the Cliff Beasts set.

Dieter snorts, looking out of the window. “No. I didn’t. I, uh, haven’t really done a lot of painting since then. Been too busy. Well, until rehab.” He sighs, wishing he could go back in time to stop himself from getting in that car but he was so high at the time, he just wanted McDonalds and figured he’d drive. A stupid mistake that has cost him more than he could’ve imagined. “I’m gonna call my agent tomorrow. See what jobs I can get an audition for.”

You frown slightly, worried about how he will take this new development. You hadn’t wanted to worry him with it while he was in rehab, wanting him to focus on getting clean. “Uh, about that…” 

Dieter groans. “What?” 

You pull up to the red light and sigh, looking over at him, ��your agent dropped you after the DWI. Said that she couldn’t keep you on. Too many incidents.”

Dieter stares at the red light, just processing the information, and it takes him several moments to react. He’s just blinking over and over again until the light turns green. “Fuck!” He shouts, his entire body shaking with the exclamation and he slaps the air. “Those fuckers! I - I’ll sue. I’ll get an attorney and sue them.” He growls but you sigh, “with what money?” 

He pauses, slumping down in the seat as you drive. “Fuck.” He rubs his cheek, “shit.” He huffs, closing his eyes, accepting that he’s been dropped. “I, uh, I’ve auditioned without management before. When I got - when I was first starting out. I can do it again.”

You don’t mention the obvious. That Dieter Bravo has had several high profile incidents that would make any studio wary of taking him on. Instead you reach over and pat his thigh. “It will work out.” You tell him encouragingly. “I - I’m going to have to start looking for a job too.” The light turns green and you pull your hand away so you can drive. The motel isn’t too far and you wonder how long it will take before Dieter spirals. He doesn’t like when things don’t go his way.

Dieter sighs, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. You shouldn’t have had to do that. I know you want to be a writer one day. I, uh, have you been working on any scripts?” He asks, wanting to distract himself from his misery, his fuck ups.

Despite heavy drug use and at times questionable morals, Dieter actually listens. When he’s not being a prick. At least he actually listened to you and didn’t mock you when you had admitted it wasn’t your dream job to be a celebrity flunky. You wanted to make the movies. Screenwriter, really. “I’ve almost got one finished. Maybe you could read it for me?” You ask, knowing he might like feeling important, “point out things to punch it up?”

Dieter chuckles sharply, “not like I got anything else to do.” He sighs, feeling guilty, and he looks over at you. “Sorry. I- that was an asshole thing to say. I’d love to read it. You want me to read it?” He catches up with his mind, happy that you want him to read it. He’s just an actor. He merely says the lines.

The annoyance at his comment flares and then quickly dies. Dieter acts out when he’s upset, you know this. In a lot of ways, being his assistant was like having a child. “If you want.” You shrug slightly and pull into the parking lot of the motel. “You know what jumps out at you when you read scripts.”

Dieter pats his pants to find the key, glad you are helping him, and he is gonna have to find a way to thank you. Usually he would just buy something extravagant but he can’t do that now. “I’ll read it. Maybe you could cast me if it gets picked up?” He half jokes, opening the door after you park outside of the room he points too.

You hum, knowing that he might be perfect for the role, considering that you had based the character on him. “You might be perfect for it.” You tell him. The room is disheveled in typical Dieter fashion, making you grin. The man could not pick up his socks to save his life. “Already comfortable, I see.”

He blushes, knowing you’ve seen worse from him, but he can’t disrespect your home by acting like a drugged up raccoon. He rushes around trying to pick everything up but struggles. The drugs have really gotten to him in his older age.

He’s not paying you, but you still help him. Going into the bathroom to pick up the all natural products he insisted on. Luckily he still has plenty, because that shit is expensive and he won’t be able to afford it for long. He’ll be using a brand from the drugstore like everyone else. “Don’t forget your charger.” You remind him, knowing he always leaves it.

He offers you a grateful grunt before he grabs the charger, shoving it in his vegan leather duffel bag. He sighs once the room is cleaned up. “Fucking hated this place.” He huffs, spinning on his heel to head back out to your car, shoving his bags in the trunk and he gets in the front seat, already planning how he’s gonna get a role as soon as possible so he can get his lifestyle back.

You snort and shake your head. “You know that’s where they normally put the crew.” You tell him. “Only reason I get to stay in a room in the hotels you’re put up at is that it was written into your contract so I could manage you.”

“Seriously? They- the crew has to stay in places like this?” He asks, supposing he’s never really thought about it. Especially when he’s in a suite in a four or five star hotel. It makes him uncomfortable, to think of the crews he’s worked with having to stay in this motel whenever he goes anywhere.

“It’s not horrible, if they are clean. Which, thank God, they at least make sure of that. But yeah.” You pull out of the parking spot and pull around towards the street. “The talent is where they spend the money.”

Dieter nods, knowing that once he’s back in action, he will fight for better accommodations for the crew. “I’ll see what I can do about that.” He promises, “I’m glad you had a hotel room. You deserved it for putting up with my ass. I, uh, I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten for a couple of days.”

“Dieeeterrrr.” You sigh, hating how he doesn’t take care of himself. “Okay. We’ll get you something to eat.” You promise, looking over at him. “What do you want? Do you want to pick something up? I’ll pay for it.” You’re better off financially than he is. “What do you want?”

“Tacos.” He says, almost bashfully. His stomach growls now that he’s in a safe space and he isn’t stressed by the state of his financial affairs. He wants food and he decides to keep a note of whatever you get so he can pay you back when he gets his money back. “Can we get tacos?” He rephrases.

“Of course we can.” You nod, willing to get him whatever he wants, but tacos are easy. “We’ll have tacos and some chips and salsa for dinner. I’ve got some beer at the house too, just have a relaxing night.”

He nods, offering you a smile. “Thank you, sweetheart. Seriously, I couldn’t - I couldn’t do this without you.” He offers you a brief moment of appreciation and he knows he’d be lost without you. You soon pick up the tacos and salsa and chips and you drive home. He quickly sets his things in your guest room before you both settle down to eat. “To losing everything.” He toasts, wanting to make a joke of his utter fall from the pedestal Hollywood put him on.

You lift your own drink up. “To starting over sober.” You offer. “Maybe now I won’t have to walk into the orgies you would have.” You snort, shaking your head when you think about some of the shit that he would do.

He chuckles, unashamed of his sexual escapades despite most of them being drug induced. When he was high, he wanted contact, he wanted to feel wanted. Those stupid insecurities he’s carried his entire life since he was a kid driving him to crave intimacy. Even if he had to pay for it. 

He knows now that he needs to continue going to therapy, to talk about his mother’s rejection of him and how that led to his habits. He knows he needs to go to NA and remain sober. He has no choice now. It’s cost him his career and his livelihood so he needs to focus on his sobriety and getting his career back. “No orgies.” He promises, “but I can have threesomes?” He asks. You raise your eyebrows and he chuckles, “no threesomes. Got it.”

God, you hadn’t considered Dieter bringing someone over. It wasn’t like you had an active dating life. You couldn’t when you were traveling with him or at his beck and call all the time. “Just let me know about your meetings.” You pick up one of your tacos. “I’ll take you. I want you to succeed.”

“Thank you.” He finds himself saying that again and he truly means it. He doesn’t know what he would’ve done if you hadn’t taken him in. “Can you get me some water?” He asks, acting like you are still employed by him and the moment you just had is gone.

You stare at him for a moment before you put your taco down and get up to get him some water. You should tell him no but you don’t. You’ll do it tomorrow. Tonight he just needs to relax. “Here.” You bring out a bottle of water you had in your refrigerator and hand it to him.

He doesn’t say thank you this time. Too used to you doing what he wants. He finishes his tacos and rubs his stomach, “fuck. I needed that.” He yawns, exhausted now that he’s full. It’s been a stressful two days and he didn’t exactly sleep well in the Motel 6. He pats his belly, “I’m gonna head to bed.” He stands up, leaving his plate and makes his way into the bedroom. He looks back at you, “it’s gonna be fun living together, right sweetheart? Goodnight.” He declares and disappears into the bedroom.

**** 

You’re going to fucking kill him. He’s awake at all damn hours of the night, doing God knows what. He leaves shit everywhere and expects the magic fucking maid fairy to pick it up. And if he fucking pisses on the toilet one more time you’re going to kill him. “I’m going to fucking kill him!” You hiss, yanking the dishwasher open to deposit the eight glasses you have found scattered around your house. Plus the bottle of cigarette butts from the porch - that went in the trash.

Dieter groans as he opens the bedroom door. It’s 3 in the afternoon and he was up all night trying to find auditions. It’s been a few weeks and he hasn’t found a single acting job. Unless he resorts to porn. He’d do it but it wouldn’t do his movie career any good. He is desperate to get a role. The money hasn’t been found by the FBI and they seem to have given up. He’s getting more and more desperate by the day and he is spiraling. When he stumbles into the kitchen, he sees you standing there with your arms crossed. “Everything okay?” He frowns, opening the fridge to take out the milk.

He doesn’t wait for you to answer, twisting the cap off the bottle and lifting the entire thing to his lips to start chugging. Making you wrinkle your nose as he drinks the milk straight from the jug. While you appreciate not messing up another cup, it’s gross. Especially when you know where Dieter Bravo’s lips have been at times. He’s in boxers and - is that your silk bathroom? You grit your teeth in frustration. Crocs round out the outfit, as well as his hair sticking up every direction. Obviously he just woke up. “No, everything isn’t ‘okay’, Bravo.” You hiss finally. 

Dieter frowns, setting the milk down on the counter and he wipes his lips. “What’s wrong? Is it- shit. Did I leave the toilet seat up again?” He asks, knowing you hate that. He is trying to be less selfish but he’s been used to being pampered for years, it’s a hard habit to break.

“Yes.” You huff, rolling your eyes. “And leaving cups around the house for me to pick up. Drinking from the milk jug. That’s gross.” You throw your hands up. “You expect me to cook for you because you don’t know how. I just- Dieter, you have to start taking care of things yourself!”

Dieter shifts from one foot to the other, at least having the decency to look ashamed. “I- I’m sorry sweetheart. It’s just- no one has taught me. My mom…I never got shown how to do anything. Kinda had to figure it out for myself and by the time I had to really worry about that stuff, it was already being taken care of for me. I want to learn. Show me what I need to do.” He pleads, not wanting you to kick him out of your home. He���d be on the streets if he couldn’t find a shelter.

Your anger deflates quickly, shoulders rounding. You've heard him talk about the problems with his mom and you don’t want him to feel like it’s another hurdle in getting back on his feet. “Okay.” You agree, dropping your hands and taking a deep breath. You had known it was going to be exasperating at times to live with Dieter. “First thing, if you get it out, you put it up. Okay? We don’t have a maid and I’m going to be starting work soon.” You had an interview with another up and coming celebrity and you were just waiting on the call back, but you know it’s going to happen.

Dieter nods, “I can do that. When - when are you starting work?” He inquires, curious as to who you are going to be working for. He won’t admit it but he’s a little jealous to think of you with someone else. He doesn’t want you to be unemployed but he’s a little jealous of you working for another actor. “I won’t drink from the milk jug anymore.” He concedes.

“I’m expecting the call this week.” You had been told to stay by your phone, only waiting on the required background check. Which you know will come back good. “It’s supposed to be flexible so I can finish up my script.” Which he hadn’t read yet. You don’t bother to remind him of his promise to read it, but it kind of hurts your feelings.

The lightbulb goes off in Dieter’s head. Your script. That he was supposed to read. “Shit. I - can I get another copy? I swear I want to read it but it got lost in the other scripts I’m studying for auditions. I have one tomorrow. Finally. It’s not - it’s nothing special but it’s money.” He shrugs, knowing he needs to start from scratch after every agency in L.A seemed to laugh in his face about him getting back into acting. “I’m glad you’ve found something. Hopefully, this is temporary and I can start paying you again once I’ve gotten back into blockbusters. You want to - can you show me how to use the dishwasher?”

You are used to Dieter constantly switching from one topic to another so you don’t let it phase you. Instead you turn back to the machine and open it. “Sure. Come over here you big baby and I’ll show you how to load the dishwasher.”

He rushes over, watching you load the dishes. “Cups on top, dishes below and cutlery goes here.” You show him before you grab a dishwasher pod and show him how to turn it on. He bites his lip, turning towards you. “We might have to run through that again.” He admits, “and the washer? I should probably wash my clothes.” He had taken to stealing your robe and just lounging around in it unless he had to get dressed. He’s been a movie star for nearly thirty years. He hasn’t had to do much in his life.

You wrinkle your nose and nod. “I’m sure you have a pile of dirty clothes.” You’ve picked up plenty of the socks and other bullshit that Dieter left around, but you’ve not done any of his clothes. It doesn’t shock you that Dieter doesn’t know how to do laundry. “Have you at least used the laundry basket in the guest room? Or is everything laying around everywhere?”

He bites his lip, looking guilty enough to make you sigh. “Grab the basket and pick everything up so we can get it washed.” He nods and walks into the guest room, clothes everywhere and the blinds are closed. “We will wash the bedsheets too.” You tell him, not judging but you know you washed them a couple of weeks after he moved in and they haven’t been done since. “I’m sorry I’m so fucking useless.” Dieter starts to wail, sobbing as he sits down on the edge of the bed.

Oh boy. You kneel down and put your hand on Dieter’s knee. “Stop it.” You tell him sternly, making his eyes widen slightly as you take a tone with him that you haven’t before. “You are a talented man. Fucking gifted. You are smart. This is going to be a piece of cake for you to learn.” Your words soften slightly and you give him a small smile of encouragement. “Look at this like you are studying for a role. Your next role is that of a house husband.” You joke.

He sniffs, processing your words, and eventually he nods. Wiping his eyes, he knows you are right. He can do this. He has to do this. He offers you a watery smile, "house husband. Kinda like that." He chuckles and you snort, grinning at him. "Come on, let's get this gathered up and I will show you how to use the washer and dryer." You promise and he nods, determined to learn. Before you walk away, he reaches out to grab your hand, "thank you...for helping me with, well, everything."

**** 

When you open the door to your home, you hear Dieter cursing and he looks up when you find him in the kitchen. He’s covered in flour and cringes, “I, uh, I’m sorry about the mess.” He had tried to follow the recipe but in his enthusiasm, the kitchen is a disaster and he’s waiting for the cake to cook but he forgot how long it’s been in there for. He wanted to do something nice to thank you for letting him stay but he has officially run out of money for non essentials and he wanted to get you something.

You could be mad, probably should be considering that there is egg yolk dripping off the counter and flour everywhere - but all you can do is grin. “What’s all this?” You ask as you set your bag down on a blessedly clean chair and walk into the kitchen. Dieter looks around and motions to the oven. 

“I, uh, I’m baking a cake.” You never thought you would find Dieter covered in flour and baking a cake in your kitchen but it's so damn cute that it makes you laugh. 

“Really? That’s great!” You huff, it’s like he’s a little kid trying to make breakfast for mom and failing spectacularly. “Is it almost done? It smells like it.” 

Dieter blushes, “I, uh, I forgot the timer.” He admits, “I just - I wanted to make something nice for you to say thank you for letting me live with you. I know I’m not the easiest man to have in the house and I- I thought this would be a nice way to say thanks. I’ve - shit - I made icing and I wanted it to be done before you got home.”

The thought is even sweeter when you realize why he is going through the effort and mess. “That’s okay.” You assure him, moving towards the oven and grabbing a pot holder. “If you want to check the doneness of a cake, stick a toothpick in it.” You instruct him as you open the door to a wave of heat and the delicious scent of a cake. “If it comes out clean, it’s done.” 

Dieter nods, “I can do that.” He reaches for the drawer to grab a toothpick and he leans over, inserting it and it comes out clean. “Oh thank fuck I didn’t burn it.” He chuckles nervously. “Now we decorate it?” He guesses and you shake your head. 

“You gotta let it cook first.” 

He nods, sitting down after you turn off the oven. He taps his fingers, growing impatient. “Can’t we put it in the fridge? I want to decorate it for you. Can you act surprised? I just- it’s for you.” He adds bashfully.

It’s endearing, the way that he is very timid right now. Making your heart melt at how he is trying to do something nice for you. “It will be fine in the fridge.” You agree as you pull out a cooling rack for him to put it on. “I will go take a bath to relax and when I come out, I will be completely surprised by the wonderful thought.” You promise with a soft smile. 

Dieter grins, grateful you’re playing along. “Oh! How was work today?” He asks, wondering how it’s been going with your new boss. He can’t deny he’s a little jealous but he won’t be childish for once and sulk. You are paying the bills after all.

“Honestly?” You take a deep breath and shake your head. “It was great. We get along fantastically and there’s not a whole lot of -” You remember you are talking to the man who had been your boss, who had made a lot of the foolish demands that would drive you crazy. “It’s going to be a good fit I think. The pay is nice.” 

Dieter nods, a little sad you are working for someone else but he's happy you have found a job you like. He watches you hesitate for a second before you tell him you are going to have a bath and he sets to work on the cake. He patiently - impatiently really - waits for the cake to cool down then he decorates it with the frosting he had made. He had tried a bunch of it before he decided it was good enough for the cake and he manages to write out "thank you" in icing that he colored with cocoa powder. He knows it's not neat but it's the best he could do.

In the bath, you take your time, knowing that Dieter will probably need every second to ice the cake and hopefully clean up the kitchen a little. He’s been getting better, you have to admit that. Although he was still selfish sometimes, you know you won’t break him of that. It’s just a part of who Dieter is, although this is uncharacteristically kind of him. Maybe he’ll even read your script like he promised he would. After nearly an hour, you get out and get dressed in your lounge clothes and come back out into the living room. “I’m home.” You announce playfully. 

Dieter has been anxious for you to see and taste the cake since he finished decorating it. It wasn’t easy to do and he hopes you don’t think he totally fucked it up. He watches you walk into the almost clean kitchen and he grins, proud of what he has accomplished. “Ta dah!” He gestures to the cake on the counter, praying you like it.

Walking into the kitchen, your eyes light up when you see the cake. “Diet! It’s- it’s wonderful.” You gush, the icing isn’t perfect and the lettering isn’t either but you love the effort that he put into this. It might be the sweetest thing that he’s ever done. Walking over to him, you kiss his cheek gently. “Thank you, I- I want to have a slice right now.” You hum, giving him a grin. “Have one with me?”

He blushes deeply at your praise, recognizing that need while he was in rehab and was in therapy. Always seeking the praise his mother never gave him. He is so happy to see you love it though and he grabs the knife and two plates, cutting into his creation with a little bit of melancholy since it took so long, but he’s eager for you to try it.

You pour two glasses of milk to have with the cake and smile when both you and Dieter sit down at the small table together. “You didn’t have to do this.” You promise him as you pick up your fork and cut off a piece of the cake. “But I love this. I’ve been craving something sweet and you’ve taken care of that.” 

He waits for your reaction, almost frozen as he prays you don’t spit it out and say it tastes like shit. He knows it’s unlikely that you’d do that but who knows…his prior asshole self probably would’ve done that. “How is it?” He asks, biting his lip as he eagerly awaits your reaction.

Eyes widening in surprise, you make a noise of pleasure. “Holy shit.” You manage after you swallow. “It’s really good. I mean that, it’s really good.” You eagerly take another piece of the cake and shove it in your mouth and follow it up with a swallow of milk. “Oh my god.” You moan. 

Your moan makes his long abandoned cock twitch. Fuck, you sounded so sweet. It’s been so long since he had anything other than his hand and right now, he wants to eat you more than the cake. He never really saw you as a sexual option when he employed you, even he has guidelines, but fuck, that moan. He shifts to cross his legs to hide his erection before he takes a bite of his own creation, his own moan escaping him.

Nodding in agreement, you try not to let Dieter’s sound get to you. Instead you focus on the cake and the immense pleasure you get from each sweet bite. It is perfect for satiating that sweet tooth you’ve had. Halfway through your slice, you look over at him. “This was really sweet. I appreciate it.” You give him a sweet smile. “I’m going to regret this when I don’t fit into my outfit next week.” 

Dieter scoffs before he frowns, “what’s next week?” He asks, wondering what the hell you are doing. He knows you inside and out. You don’t date, you never have plans. He was your whole life up until he went to rehab again and that hasn’t really changed.

You hesitate for a second before you roll your eyes at yourself. Dieter doesn’t care what you do and you don’t work for him anymore. So it’s not like you have to worry about him calling you away now. “I have a date next Friday.” You announce with a small grin. “It might roll into Saturday if it goes well, who knows?” You add. It’s been awhile since you’ve gotten laid and you really need it at this point. You haven’t even masturbated since Dieter moved in. 

That doesn’t sit well with Dieter. He swallows harshly, reaching for the milk to take a gulp and he forces every acting skill he has to offer you a smile and a “that’s nice.” He doesn’t say another word as he sets the glass down and takes another bite of the cake. “Who’s the guy?” He adds after several moments of heavy silence between you.

You bite your lip and reach for your own glass of milk for another drink. Wondering how Dieter will take the news of who you are going out on a date with. “Charlie Squires.” You admit, looking over at the cake and then back down at your plate. Charlie was an actor, someone who moved in the same circles Dieter had before his fall from grace, although Charlie wasn’t into the drug scene like Dieter was. 

He clenches his jaw. Fuck, he hates Charlie. The current golden boy of Hollywood. He was in some fucking superhero movies and suddenly, he’s the next big thing. He’s muscular too. Bright blue eyes. Dieter huffs, setting down his fork. “Yeah. He’s, uh, he’s a nice guy.” He says it a little harshly but who can blame him? He doesn’t want you going on this date.

Dieter is not happy, that much is obvious, but you try to ignore it. “Yeah, it’s no big deal.” You promise lightly, not mentioning that Charlie had been the one to ask you and mention that he had been interested in getting to know you for a while. Actually had been asking around to find out where you had gone after Dieter dropped off the face of the planet before you had run into him at the studio where his next movie is being shot. “Dinner and whatever happens.” 

Dieter offers you a tight smile, knowing he can’t ruin this for you. “That’s nice,” he says it a little sarcastically but you can’t blame him. He knows you should be out there, dating and getting laid, but he fucking hates the thought of you with Charlie. If he was truly honest with himself, he’d say anyone. He sighs and sets his fork down, “I’m gonna - I’m gonna do the dishes. You wanna finish your cake and find a movie or something?” He offers, needing a moment alone.

“Yeah.” You stare at him in confusion for a moment but he’s already pushing away from the table and turning back to the kitchen. Frowning, you shake your head and look down at the cake. Why can’t he be happy you have a date? Is it because you don’t belong with celebrities since you are just an assistant? Ironic considering this assistant is the only reason that he has a place to live. There weren’t lines of people begging him to live with them when he was at his lowest. You huff and pick up your cake to take it into the living room. If he couldn’t be happy for you, then fuck him.

****

Dieter taps his knee, anxious about you going on this date. He tries to be happy for you but something just isn’t sitting right with him. He runs his fingers through his hair, listening to you get ready and he stands when he hears the clink of your heels. He walks into the living room and his jaw drops at the pretty dress you’re wearing. “Holy shit.” He gasps

“Is it okay?” You are officially a little panicked but you can’t help it. You are going out with a celebrity. He had warned you that there might be paps around and you don’t want to embarrass him. “Not too much? Or is it not enough? I should change, shouldn’t I?”

He stares at you for another few minutes before he shakes his head, “no. No. It’s - it’s perfect. You look - you look fucking incredible.” He blinks dumbstruck. He’s always thought you were a beautiful woman but to see you going out on a date with someone he can’t stand, it kills him. He wants to beg you to not go, to stomp his feet like he would’ve done if you were still employed by him. He can’t do that, it’s not fair. “He’s gonna - he’s gonna be blown away.”

You smile in relief, reaching out to touch his shoulder in appreciation for calming you down. “Thanks.” You tilt your head at him curiously. “What are your plans tonight? Movie and pizza or do you have a date of your own?”

He snorts, “no. No. I’ll be here. Probably gonna try and find another audition.” He’s also been secretly reading your script. It’s brilliant and he’s made notes but he knows if you got it in the right hands, it would be picked up. He rubs his thighs and sits down on the sofa, trying to stop himself from making you stay. Old Dieter would’ve made up some excuse to stop you from going but he’s not that man anymore. He won’t be a selfish asshole.

You lean in and cup his cheek. “You will find an amazing project.” You promise him, bussing his cheek with a small kiss and smudging your lipstick on his skin. Your phone buzzes and your eyes widen slightly as you pull back. “Okay, that’s him.” You stand tall and straighten your dress. “Wish me luck!” Grabbing your purse, you quickly disappear out the door.

He watches you go and suddenly realizes that he doesn’t want you to go on this date. He wants you to go on a date with him. He wants you to be with him. You’ve been so good to him, teaching him life skills that his parents had neglected to teach him, too focused on him being an actor, and he can never repay you for that. He’s good for nearly an hour before he grabs his phone, deciding to get you back home from the date. He sends a quick text, “need you to come home ASAP. Dishwasher isn’t working.” It’s lame but it’s all he could think of.

You blow out a sigh when you see Dieter’s text. You reply. “It’s okay, I’ll look at it when I get home.” He probably didn’t set it right. You put your phone away but it dings again. 

“It’s spraying water everywhere.” 

“Shit.” You look over at Charlie and sigh. “I need to go back home, there’s apparently some kind of emergency. Water.”

When the door lock rattles, Dieter sits up straight and waits for you. He’s pleased that his excuse worked but he’s also guilty for ruining your date. You immediately walk into the kitchen to find the dishwasher running and no water. “What the hell, Bravo?” You hiss, stomping back into the living room where Dieter just sits with his arms crossed, pouting and refusing to look at you.

“The water isn’t leaking, so why exactly did you text me that it was?” You demand, glaring at him but he won’t even look at you. “Oh my fucking God!” You snap, annoyed that he is back up to his old tricks. “I’m leaving, and you better not text me fucking lies again. Unless the house is actually on fire!” You pull out your phone to text Charlie again, hoping you can salvage your date with him.

Dieter stands up, shaking his head. "No. I, uh, I'm sorry for lying but you can't go back on the date." He rushes out. 

You narrow your eyes at him, "why not? I'm not your assistant anymore. You can't control what I do." 

Dieter nods, "I know. I know. I just - fuck. Living with you is impossible." He growls.

Huffing incredulously, you can’t believe him. “Living with me is impossible?” You choke out. “I listen to 3 AM mantras when you can’t sleep and lord knows how many times to you jerking off. And yet I’m impossible to live with? When was the last time I fucking left a butt plug in the sink in the bathroom?”

Dieter pauses for a moment, not minding the idea of that, before he shakes his head. “No. No. You don’t fucking understand. Since I stopped - since I stopped taking drugs I have all of these stupid fucking emotions and I can’t - it’s so much to handle because you’re you and you’ve always been you, and I never noticed you before until now.” He pants and you cross your arms, “what the hell are you talking about, Bravo?” He huffs, taking a step closer to you. “It’s impossible to live with you because I’m in love with you.”

Scoffing, you shake your head. Dieter Bravo loves the idea of love but he only loves himself. “No you don’t, you just- you’re grateful that I gave you a place to stay.” You soften slightly, knowing Dieter still struggles with sobriety and has been working on keeping clean. It’s not been easy with the number of rejections he’s had professionally. “Dieter…” you step closer to him and brush his hair back. “It’s okay to be scared but just because I’m going on a date doesn’t mean I’m going to forget about you. Or kick you out. I didn’t kick you out when you nearly caught the kitchen on fire.” You smirk, remembering how panicked he had been when the pizza had been black coming out.

Dieter shakes his head, reaching out to grab your hips. "No. No. I - I know how I feel. I've never felt like this before. I can't wait for you to come home, I love just sitting beside you, not even talking. I love watching you when you are getting ready in the morning. I love the way your nose crinkles when you are writing. I love you. You are my home. I haven't - I haven't had a home. My parents just wanted me to make them money as an actor and they didn't hug me or look after me or do anything a parent should do. You taught me how to look after myself and you taught me what it feels like to belong somewhere. I love you. I love you." He shifts to kneel down, clinging to your legs and he closes his eyes, praying he doesn't lose you.

Of all the things you had thought would happen, having Dieter Bravo on his knees in front of you was the last of those. There have been a lot of times you imagined it, Dieter is handsome in a very carefree or messy kind of way and he cleans up very nicely. Charming when he wants to be. It’s not like you haven’t entertained fantasies with him, especially when you know he loves sex. Reaching down, your fingers slide through the curly strands of his hair. “Okay, I - I’ll stay home.” You murmur quietly, wondering if he really means it.

Dieter is relieved but he always wants to show you how much he loves you, how much he wants you. He lets go of your legs and runs his hands along their length. “Can I - I want to taste you. Tell me no if you don’t want me to touch you.” He orders, not wanting to cross the line.

You’ve always wondered if he was good in bed. You’ve heard that he was amazing, and that he was selfish. One particular incident was one lover throwing Dieter out of her room at one in the morning screaming about him being a two pump chump. He had been incredibly high. Right now though, his eyes are clear and lust filled. You swallow and nod, biting your lip as you give him permission.

He slowly, so slowly, reaches up to hook his fingers in your panties after sliding them under your dress. He pulls them down, his eyes on yours, and when you step out of them, he tosses them aside. He doesn’t dive in. No, he kisses along your calf up to your knee, licking the spot behind it and he kisses up your thigh, ducking his head under your dress and he groans at the heady scent of you. His lips kiss along your thigh and he sucks on your hip, making you gasp. He kisses along your mound until he breathes you in. Finally, his tongue slides between your folds, a heavy groan escaping his lips and vibrating into you at the tangy taste of you.

You’d expected him to be eager, rushed. Greedy with the number of swipes of his tongue before he was ready to move on. You hadn’t expected him to lick your cunt like he has all the time in the world. Tossing your head back, you moan, loving how slowly he explores you. Your hips shuffling forward, and your fingers grasping for his head while he tastes you. “Dieter.” You pant breathlessly, this once imagined scene now a reality in your living room.

Dieter groans, loving how you taste and he reaches for your thigh, lifting it onto his shoulder and he moans into your flesh when you open up for him, allowing him to push his tongue deep inside of you. For once, this isn’t about him. It’s about you and his love for you. Sex has always been mutual gratification but Dieter doesn’t care if you don’t fuck him or suck him after, he just wants to make you feel what he feels for you.

Whimpering, your head falls forward, hating how you can’t see him under your dress. You reach for the zipper, tugging it down so you can pull your dress over your head. Leaving you in just your bra and heels while Dieter’s head comes into view and you moan when his eyes open and look up at you.

He loves your moans, his hands gripping your ass to keep your hips tilted so he can delve deeper inside of you. His nose presses against your clit, he groans into your flesh, eager to make you cum and yet he’s in no rush. He flicks his tongue over your clit before sucking it into his mouth like those candies you give him from the jar you keep on your kitchen counter.

“Dieter, fuck.” You can’t believe how decadent this is. It’s almost sinful, just letting him slowly lick into your pussy like he’s learning anatomy through his tongue. “Knew your mouth had to be- be good.” His eyes are fixated on you like this is something he loves, and maybe he does. You had just assumed he was more of a taker than a giver.

Your moans make his cock ache in his sweats but he doesn’t touch himself, too obsessed with how you sound, how you taste. His tongue lathes over your clit before it dives back into your cunt, his fingers squeezing your ass to encourage you to rock against him. It’s the most selfless he’s ever been with a lover and that tells him everything he needs to know. You mean something to him.

You whimper, loving how eager he is. Your hips rock, rolling onto his tongue and you moan out his name again while your fingers sink into the strands of his hair. You've always wanted to pull his hair, sometimes out of frustration, but right now it's to guide him to go deeper. To devour you. "Fuck, Diet." You moan, eyes fluttering as you look down at this Oscar winning actor on his knees for you.

He obeys, eager to please, and slides his tongue deeper inside of you. His nose smushed against your clit and he turns his head side to side. Wanting, no needing, you to cum. He moans into your cunt, his eyes closing and he reaches up with one hand to squeeze your tit, pinching your nipple.

Gasping, your knees nearly buckle as you start to cum. You feel pleasure course through your system and nearly overtake everything but the flames that are flashing through your entire body. "Dieter!" Your hand pulls on his hair as you ride the waves of pleasure.

He keeps you pressed against him, working you through your orgasm. His fingers dig deep into your flesh as he drinks you down, his tongue lapping up every drop of your cum that you offer him. His cock aches but he won’t ask for anything, just happy to have made you cum.

It takes you a moment to realize your soul hasn't left your body. Opening your eyes and letting go of his hair so you can cup his cheek. "Holy shit." You giggle, looking down at him in wonder. "That was- fuck, that was amazing." You pant, noticing his cock is straining against his sweats. "And it looks like you enjoyed it, but I'm sure you are ready for more."

Dieter blushes as he lowers your leg. “You don’t - I’m not expecting anything back. I just - I wanted to show you what you mean to me. I can go jerk off.” He offers, not wanting you to feel like he did this just for the reciprocation even though he desperately wants to feel you, all of you.

"Shut up and get your ass in my bed, Bravo." You roll your eyes at him and bite your lip in amusement at the way he scrambles to obey you. Obviously eager to get inside you, to be able to fuck you.

He stumbles to your bedroom, flinging the door open, and he pulls his t-shirt over his head, shoving his sweats down to expose his hard cock. He’s unashamed of his nudity, far too used to closed sets and sharing multiple lovers. He is happy with himself and that’s evident as he stands there naked, waiting for his next orders.

You can’t help but giggle at the proud stance he’s in. His hands on his hips with his cock jutting out. He still has one croc on his foot, and his expression is needy. You reach behind you and unhook your bra to fling it across the bedroom so you are nude as well. “Lay down on the bed.” You order him softly. “I’ve imagined riding your cock a hundred times and I’m going to cum all over it.”

Dieter doesn’t have to be told twice, he shifts to lay down on the bed, kicking off the lone croc and his cock rests on his lower stomach while he waits for you to make your move. “Condom?” He asks, almost breathless as his eyes devour your tits.

You bite your lip. You should, but you know that Dieter hasn’t slept with anyone since he’s been out of rehab and he is surprisingly clean of STDs. Plus you have always imagined feeling him without the barrier of a condom. “I’m on birth control.” You offer quietly. “If you want a condom, I’ve got one in my purse but-“

“Fuck no!” He blurts out. It’s been so long since he went raw, not since his short-lived marriage back when he was thirty to another actress that turned out to be lust and drugs and led to a messy divorce. She still doesn’t speak to him. It’s been too damn long since he hasn’t worn a condom and to be inside of you…fuck, it almost has him cumming now without even touching you. “Please baby. Use my cock. I want you to take what you need from me.”

You moan softly, watching his cock twitch and you can see the small dribble of pre-cum pool on his belly. “Fuck.” You kneel on the bed and you can’t help but duck your head down and run your tongue up the underside of his cock. 

Dieter yelps loudly and you giggle when you press your tongue to the slit. “Please baby, fuck me.” He begs, body tense as you show him some mercy and straddle his waist.

He watches you, in awe of your entire being, and he allows you the moment to grip his cock, slowly…so fucking slowly, you sink down onto his length. He hisses, hands raised and clenching his fists as he fights the urge to grab you. He wants to touch but this is about you.

Your head tilts back and you moan as he stretches you out. You had known he was thick, but there is a difference between seeing his cock and feeling him fill you up. “Oh fuck.” You whimper, ass flush against his thighs and you swivel your hips to grind down onto him. “Feels so fucking good, baby.”

“Can I touch you?” He asks, fingers twitching, and when you breathe out a “yes,” his hands are everywhere. He caresses your side, hands squeezing your tits until they rest on your hips, helping you rock on his cock. “Fuck. You feel - it’s better than any fucking drug.” He confesses, his entire body on fire from the feel of you and his heart pounds in his chest from emotion instead of coke.

You ride him slow, aware that he’s bigger than any of your toys. Closing your eyes as you grind down on him and then lift up to where his cock almost completely falls out of you. “You- you moved in just to fuck me.” You pant playfully. “Didn’t you? Still have your money too.”

Dieter snorts, his hands caressing your hips. “Oh yeah. I borrowed that twenty bucks from you yesterday for drug store deodorant and body wash because I love to mess around - shit - and make sure I got to fuck you. Fuck, you’re so wet.” He hisses when you sink back down onto him. You’re too good at this and it takes his breath away.

You smirk and lean down to press your lips to his. “Knew it.” You tease, pressing your breasts to his chest while you move up and down on his cock. He feels amazing and you wonder why the fuck you didn’t do this sooner. “At least you smell good.” You coo before you bite his chin.

He chuckles and presses his lips to yours for the first time, sliding his tongue into your mouth, and his hands caress your back before squeezing your ass. It’s languid and unlike the frantic fucks he has experienced in his active sex life. He isn’t in a rush to cum, content to let you seek your pleasure despite the need to fuck up into you and bury his cock deep. He pushes it aside and lets you ride him.

You’re kissing Dieter, you’re fucking Dieter. Dieter Fucking Bravo. The same man who drives you up a wall most days, whines and his brow flinches as he tries not to rock up into you. He’s trying to hold himself back. Pushing up slightly, you brace your hands on his chest, remembering how he had nearly died in that hotel in England. The reports were horrible and you hate that you hadn’t been there. It makes you bounce a little faster, reminding yourself that he’s here and for the moment, you have him.

He groans when you move a little harder and faster on his cock, his hands squeezing your waist and he shifts to sit up, taking your nipple into his mouth. He wants you to cum on his cock, to soak him. He sucks on your breast, his hands clinging to your back while you rock your hips onto his cock.

“Oh fuck, Deeeeee.” You whine when he bites down sharply, instantly soothing it with his tongue. It makes you squeeze him as you bounce on his cock, completely lost in the mind blowing reality that you are in bed with Dieter. “Gonna- gonna cum then I want- I want you to fuck me.” You pant breathlessly, throwing your head back so he can play with your tits easier. “Oh fuck.”

Dieter doesn’t refuse you, shifting you onto your back so he can start slamming his hips into you. The sounds in the room are absurd, skin slapping skin, moans and groans. Sweat beading on his neck as he grunts your name and demands you cum for him. “Please. Cum for me.” He whines, leaning down to take your nipple in his mouth again.

His plea, the scrape of his teeth and the perfect way that his cock shreds up into you triggers it. Practically screaming his name, you soak his cock in a torrent of your juices, the hardest orgasm you’ve had in forever.

Your cunt clamping down on his cock has him groaning your name and he works you through it with short, desperate thrusts of his hips. Your cries as he thrusts deep spur him on until his pace falters and he buries his cock deep, painting your walls with his cum. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Shit.” He pants, his forehead resting on your sternum.

It’s silent as the two of you try to catch your breath. His cock twitching inside your still fluttering walls while neither one of you moves. Now you wonder what to say, what to do. Slowly your hands move down from his shoulders to his sweaty back, caressing it slowly as he snuggles into your neck, apparently not ready to pull out of you.

Dieter murmurs your name, in awe of you and how incredible you are. You’re his saviour and it’s clear as day that he’s in love with you. “I love you.” He coos, kissing along your neck to your jaw before he pulls back to look at you.

Now that you’ve slept together, you wonder how long that feeling will last. Dieter is…fickle for lack of a better word and you hate to think that it might just be the emotional neediness behind all of this. “I love you too.” The words are simple for you to say, you do love him. You’ve loved him for a long time. Even if you couldn’t stand him when he was at his worst. It was one of the reasons you had stuck by him for so long.

Dieter inhales sharply at your confession and he has tears in his eyes as he buries his face in your neck. He hasn’t heard those words in so long, especially when you actually mean them. He has been used for his fame and his money for as long as he can remember - even by his own parents - so to hear you say you love him when he is at his lowest, with no money and no fame. You love him for him. For the chaos he is and the selfish asshole he is. You love him and that makes him sob into your neck, muttering he loves you over and over again.

You shush him softly, stroking his hair and his back while he works through his emotions. Not shaming him for his tears or wanting him to stop, just providing comfort. Your own kisses to his hair are gentle and it’s probably the only time a man has cried after sex with you, but you understand why. “I love you too.” You promise him, loving how he holds you close.

Dieter eventually falls asleep after pulling out of you and flipping down on the bed beside you. You watch him for a while before you clean up and get yourself something to eat. He has exhausted himself emotionally but you know it’s not a bad thing, he’s processing. 

**** 

The next morning, Dieter wakes up to his phone ringing where you placed it on your dresser and he scrambles to answer it in case it’s a call back. He answers the phone with a groggy ‘hello’ and the producer who had been in charge at the audition he went to a few days ago is on the phone. 

“Dieter. Hi, it’s Harriet. Can you come in today? I want to do another call back.” Her voice is sickly sweet which makes Dieter frown for a moment but he is so excited to have a callback, that he smiles. 

“Absolutely. Let me know what time you want me in.” He responds eagerly. 

“One this afternoon. I want you to come to my personal office for the call back.” She says and Dieter pauses, “uh, sure.”

She continues, “for a personal callback. I’ve heard about your numerous oral skills and I would like to experience it. I loved you in Hunger Strike. Your first movie too with the sex scene…I want to recreate that.” She coos and Dieter feels sick. 

He knows how the industry works, especially for women, and it has been something he always fought again, but now, he’s on the receiving end and this is his chance to get back into Hollywood. He sighs, “um, okay. I’ll see you at one.” He tells her, his stomach feels like lead as he hangs up the phone.

You had woken up before Dieter and decided to go to the store. You wanted to make breakfast before you had to go to work. It was going to be a late night so your boss had told you to not even come in until around three. Something that you had wished Dieter had done sometimes. It didn’t matter though, you open the door with the bags on your arm. Right now, it just meant you could spend the morning with him.

Dieter stares at the phone for several moments until he hears the front door so he makes his way into the living room after grabbing his robe. "I, uh, I just had a call from the producer for that movie I auditioned for last week." He announces, crossing his arms as he watches you put the groceries away.

"What?" You stop with a carton of eggs in your hand and turn around with a happy grin on your face. "That's great, Dieter! I'm so proud of you, I knew you could find something that you wanted." It might not be exactly what he wanted but you also know that he's a fucking talented actor and could make one small opportunity into his big comeback. "When do you go in for your callback? Do you need a ride?"

He doesn't smile, lowering his arms from his chest. "It's, uh, more complicated than just going back to read the script. The producer....she wants me to, uh, she wants me to fuck her." He reveals, biting his lip, "she said she wants me to show her my oral skills and recreate the sex scene from my first movie."

Your own smile drops as you wait for him to tell you that he is turning down the call back. He doesn't. He just stands there waiting for you to say something. Your heart aches when you realize that everything last night was a lie. He couldn't love you, not the way that you needed him to. You don't share and Dieter Bravo is apparently willing to do anything to get back to his former status as a Hollywood star. "Congratulations." You offer flatly, turning to open the fridge so you can put the eggs inside. You're suddenly not hungry anymore.

Dieter lowers his arms, the guilt is overwhelming but this is his only chance to get back into acting. “I- I need to do this. It’s my only chance to get my life back. To get my money back. The FBI haven’t updated me and I don’t know what to do. I can’t keep mooching off of you until the day I die.”

“You’ll do what you need to do.” You had known Dieter was selfish, but this just proves that he’s not changed all that much. You take a deep breath. “You’re welcome to stay here until you get your money back, or you get paid.” You remind him before you finally turn around and meet his eyes. “But this….thing between us is over.” You decide. “I can’t be with you, with anyone, who is willing to sell his body to some producer for the chance at a starring role. 

Dieter stares at you, his heart breaking, and he feels his eyes prick. Of course you don’t want him. Last night was just a fluke. He wants to support you again, he has to do this so he isn’t relying on you. It’s not fair. He wants to pull his own weight and he finally has an opportunity. “I- I finally have a chance to get my life back and you…okay. Fine. Fuck this shit. I’m gonna go to the callback. I’m gonna be a major actor again and you can go on your date with fucking golden boy Charlie.” He growls, spinning on his heel and he storms into his bedroom, slamming the door as tears stinging his eyes.

You don’t know why you are surprised, but you are. Tears slide down your cheeks as you methodically put away the rest of the groceries and shuffle to your bedroom. You hear Dieter shuffling around in his room and you bite your lip as you try not to sob. Part of you wants to be petty and remind him to shower before he fucks someone else, but you can’t, you don’t want to see him. He wants his life back, his old life, the life where you were nothing but his assistant. You close your door softly and sink down to the floor and start to cry in earnest. 

**** 

“Welcome Mr. Bravo.” Cecilia, the producer coos as he walks into her office. He’s been anxious since he left the house. You haven’t spoken to him since that moment in the kitchen, locking yourself in your bedroom, and the guilt had gnawed at Dieter the rest of the morning. He had to use some concealer to cover up the puffy circles under his eyes. He offers the producer an Oscar winning smile and she shuts the door behind him and steps around him to lean against her desk. “You’ve got the role.” She announces. 

Dieter grins, “really? Wow. Thank you. I can’t believe it. Really-” 

She interrupts him but crosses her arms, “I didn’t finish, Dieter. You’ve got the role…but first, you gotta strip for me. I went to see your cock and then I want you to eat me out. Then I want to ride you.” She says like she’s ordering off a menu and Dieter is immediately uncomfortable. 

For a second, he considers it. It’s just sex. He’s never thought anything of sex. It’s just a way to get off but last night with you…it was unlike anything he’s experienced. He bites his lip and she looks at him expectedly. 

“Well?” She asks and he shakes his head. No career is worth ruining what he has with you. In fact, he’s found a new passion in painting and he will think about getting a new agency as an artist, not an actor. 

“No. I- I can’t.” He tells Cecilia who frowns, “you can’t? Then I can’t offer you the role.” She blackmails him but he doesn’t care. 

He backs away from her, thinking only of you and the heartbroken look you gave him. He can’t touch anyone else when you’ve stolen his heart. “Thanks but no thanks. Oh, and I’m gonna report you for sexual harassment.” He holds up his cell phone, using it for a rare moment to record the conservation he had with Cecilia. 

“No. I, uh, I can give you the role. Just - delete the recording.” 

Dieter shakes his head, finally knowing that acting is in his past. He smirks, “actually…there’s something you can do for me. My friend has a script. You’re gonna greenlight it for production, do whatever you can for it and I will delete the recording.” He offers and Cecilia nods, “fine.” 

Dieter grins, hitting pause on the new recording. “Pleasure doing business with you. I’ll have the script delivered tomorrow.” He smirks, “I’ll delete the recording after I see the contract.” With that, he spins on his heel and makes his way out of her office with his dignity and excited to give you the good news.

You had heard Dieter getting ready for his casting call this morning. Swallowing down the heartbreak, you had dragged yourself out of bed and headed to work. Quiet enough that your boss had asked you what was wrong, you had told him a little lie and claimed you had a migraine. Making you feel bad because he had insisted you go home. Where you are now, curled under your freshly changed sheets - you couldn’t sleep on them again - and try to pretend that you don’t know exactly what Dieter Bravo is doing right now.

Dieter rushes through the front door, his eyes wide with excitement and he calls out your name. When you don’t respond, he knocks on your bedroom door. He knows you’re here, he saw your car. He had Ubered to the studio and back so you are home. “Sweetheart. Can I come in?” He asks.

“Go away, Dieter.” You lift your head from your pillow and call out. “I’m happy for you but I can’t celebrate with you.” Tears fill your eyes and you want to scream at him for actually coming to you after he slept with someone to get a role. Was he really so self absorbed?

He opens the door, hearing your voice crack, and he’s concerned. “Baby. What’s wrong?” He rushes over, kneeling on the bed when he sees your tear filled eyes. “Tell me what’s wrong.” He begs, cupping your cheeks

“Please.” You close your eyes and practically whimper as you turn your head away from him. “I know you’re excited, you're happy to be getting your life back - but- I can’t do this.” You choke out. “I can’t be happy that you told me you loved me and then fucked someone else.”

Dieter realizes what you think and he frantically shakes his head. "I didn't do it. I swear. I - I couldn't do it because she wasn't you. I didn't want to touch her. I turned down the role. I didn't want it if I had to do that and I don't - I decided I no longer want to be an actor. I want to be an artist. I want to paint."

It takes you a minute to process what he’s saying. Opening your eyes and turning back to him to blink in surprise. “Wha- you did?” You gasp. “You didn’t- you turned it down?” You halfway don’t believe it, knowing how much he wanted to go back to his former life. “I- really?”

He fumbles to get his phone out of his pocket, taking it out of the bag he puts it in that apparently blocks cellular waves from "his balls" and he presses play on the recording. He wants to prove to you that he's serious. He doesn't want that lifestyle anymore. He wants a home, he wants a family. He wants you.

Your jaw drops when you hear him tell the producer that he isn’t going to work with her. That he wants her to green light your script. “Dieter- I- is this for real? You’re blackmailing her for- for my script? You haven’t even read it.” You manage to get out.

He scoffs, "yes I have read it." He tells you to hold his phone and he rushes into his room, grabbing your script and he sets it down. He has been reading it at night, making notes, but it's brilliant and he knows this is your chance to make it big. "I won't be in Hollywood anymore but that doesn't mean you can't get your big break. Blackmail makes the world go round." He jokes, sitting on your bed and he sets the script in your lap.

“Dieter.” You reach out and touch the script’s cover, opening it up and seeing his loopy handwriting. “You- you’re going to leave acting behind?” You don’t understand, acting was Dieter’s entire life. It was all he had talked about since getting out of rehab.

He shrugs, “it’s no longer my passion. I’ve been, uh, painting outside while you’ve been at work and I have several pieces. I’m going to see if I can get an agent and get them displayed in a gallery. If fucking George Bush can do it, I’m sure I can.” He scoffs, “I - I want to show you a piece I just finished.” He bites his lip and shuffles off of the bed again. He walks into his bedroom to grab the canvas he painted of you, of how he sees you, and he carries it into your bedroom to display it.

You gasp, covering your mouth as you look at the canvas as he turns it around. He’s painted you and it’s….beautiful. You look almost angelic, the light in the eyes of the painting is bright and the smile loving. “Dieter- you painted this?” You ask in wonder, standing up and letting your script fall to the floor as you walk over to look closer at the canvas.

He nods, blushing at your tone, and he hopes you like it. “Uh, yeah. I, um, I just - I started it a couple of weeks after I moved in here and it’s - it’s how I see you.” He admits, his dark eyes meeting yours as you stand in front of him and he’s nervous, thinking you might hate it.

“It’s-“ Tears pool up in your eyes and start sliding down your cheeks again. “It’s so beautiful. I can’t- it’s so wonderful.” You tell him breathlessly, turning and reaching up to cup his cheek. “I can’t believe you see me like this.”

He flusters at your praise, happy you like it, and he leans into your touch. “I think you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever known. You are beautiful, yes, but so kind and I - you put me in my place and I need that. You see me. The real me. Not the movie star or the sugar daddy. You see Dieter Bravo and I’ll love you forever for that.” He vows, “this is my ode to the woman I love.”

You bite your lip and lunge forward, pressing your lips to his. He turned down the sex, the role for you. He turned his back on acting for you because you know that he’s burned a bridge now. Permanently. And he put himself on the line to make your Hollywood dreams come true. “I love you, Dieter.” You promise between kisses. 

He smiles, pulling back to set the canvas down before he grips your hips, pulling you flush against him. “I love you too baby. You’re gonna be amazing. A Hollywood screenwriter. That thing is Oscar worthy.” He gestures to your script before he presses his lips back to yours. “We could be an Oscar winning couple.” He jokes, kissing along your jaw.

You giggle, leaning into the fantasy for a moment. “I’ll bring you to all the red carpet events and you can be my arm candy.” You joke, knowing he do it in a heartbeat and be amazing. Dieter knows how to work a red carpet.

“Deal, baby. As long as you show me off.” He winks and reaches for you to lift you onto your bed. “Now, can I eat that pussy as a celebration for our new careers?” He hums, reaching for the waistband of your leggings but not doing anything until you say yes.

You shake your head, giggling at him and his eagerness. “Before you do, I need to tell  you something.” You lean forward and cup his cheeks with both hands. “I’m proud of you for not going through it. Not sleeping with her.” 

He blushes again at your praise, turning his head to kiss your palm. “I couldn't do it. Not when I kept thinking of you and how much I love you. It just - it wasn’t right and no matter what I would’ve gotten from it, it wasn’t worth losing you.” He hooks his fingers in your leggings, shifting out of your grip to pull them down. “Let me make you cum.” He pleads, almost whining, and he tosses your leggings aside after removing your shoes and he’s glad you weren’t wearing panties. He shifts to lay down between your thighs, his shoulders pushing them apart and he isn’t hesitant as he dives in to slide his tongue through your folds.

You moan softly, closing your eyes and loving how amazing that tongue is. Happy that he hadn’t used it on that producer today. “Dieter, fuck.” You whine. “Gonna keep that tongue for myself. No one else gets to have it.” You lift your legs and shift them up onto his shoulders while he settles between your thighs. 

He hums in appreciation and his fingers dig into your thighs, keeping you spread so he can push his tongue deep inside of you. “Only yours.” He promises when he pulls back, smacking his lips, and he sucks your clit into his mouth.

“Dieter-” you push back on his head and he whines, unwilling to move away from you but you push his head back again. “Let me- let me sit on your face so I can suck your cock.” You beg breathlessly. You hadn’t gotten to have him in your mouth and you wanted it. You want to hear him moan for you. 

“I am not going to turn that down.” He chuckles and then shifts onto his back beside you, fumbling to undo the pants he wore for the meeting and he shoves them down along with his briefs to expose his half hard cock. “Take a seat.” He pats his cheeks with a grin.

“Always wondered if this would shut you up.” You tease before you straddle his head and lower your hips to his mouth. Leaning forward so you can wrap your hand around his cock and pump him slowly while his tongue licks through your folds. “Oh fuck.” You whine, leaning in more to lick the tip of his cock. 

Dieter smacks your ass, pulling you further down onto his face to practically smother him and he groans at the heat of your skin. Your mouth is heaven, hot and wet, and he struggles to not thrust his hips when you reach out to wrap your fingers around him.

Moaning around his cock, you twist your wrist and try to take him all the way down your throat. Loving the gasping pant that he breathes into your cunt, and the eager way that he sucks your clit into his mouth. Humming, you pull off his cock to lick up and down the length. “Oh fuck, so good baby.” You moan before you take him back into your mouth. 

His hands are all over you, squeezing your ass, spreading your cheeks and he can’t help himself. He tilts his head so he can circle your puckered hole with his tongue, wanting to make you gasp his name.

You gasp out around his cock, pulling off of it. “Fuck, Dieter!” You cry out, eyes sliding closed and pinching tight in mortification of how good it feels. He chuckles as he flicks his tongue and you huff, sliding your hand down between his cheeks to press your own fingers against his hole while you suck on the tip of his cock. 

“Oh fuck!” He groans against your ass cheek, fucking loving how you know what he wants. What he likes, without even asking. He hisses your name and surges forward to lap at your puckered hole, pushing his tongue into you before his tongue slides down to push into your cunt, alternating between each hole and his hand shifts under you so he can rub your clit with his thumb.

You pull off his cock again, sliding your fingers into your mouth to wet them before his thighs shuffle apart even more. You press against the ring of muscles, feeling it push in before it finally gives way, letting you sink your finger into him a bare inch. Making sure that you take his cock all the way down to the back of your throat while you start to pump your fingers gently inside him. 

Dieter practically whines into your flesh. You’re blowing his mind and he fucking loves it. His hips buck unconsciously and he hisses your name when you push your fingers a little deeper. His tongue dives deep inside of you, his nose pressed against your ass and he wants, no needs, you to cum for him.

He’s being so good for you. Precum leaks into your mouth and you swallow it down eagerly. Rocking your hips back as much as you can while you curl your fingers up and listen to him keen into your folds. Giving him the sloppiest blow job of his life and one or two licks away from soaking his face in your cum.

He is feral, bucking up into your mouth while he sucks on your folds, his tongue dipping back into you and his thumb frantically rubs your clit. He’s so close but he needs you to cum first. He needs to hear you cum.

Your keening sound of pleasure is muffled around his cock, jaw slack as you push your hips back into his face and buck back onto his tongue. Cumming in a wave of pleasure, and squeezing his head between your thighs.

Dieter growls into your cunt, lapping up every drop you have to offer him until you take him deep down your throat, your fingers pushing deep inside of him, and it sends him over the edge. He cries into your pussy, his cock throbbing as he starts to cum down your throat.

You gulp him down as fast as you can, loving the way that he throbs in your mouth and whines when you curl your fingers up. Working him until every drop of his cum is swallowed down and you pull off his cock with a very satisfied gasp.

Dieter pants, shaking hands gripping you to try and turn you around to bring you into his chest. When you get the hint, he pulls you close and presses his lips to yours, sliding his tongue into your mouth. "I fucking love you." He groans, pulling back for a moment.

“I love you too.” You whisper softly, reaching up and caressing his cheek. “You are going to be a great artist, you are a great artist.” You murmur proudly. “And we’re going to make sure you are happy.”

Dieter smiles at you and winks. “You’re going to be happy too, you get to have me.” That makes you giggle and lean forward to press your lips to his. You do get to have him, in all his chaotic glory. 

**** 

“Dieter! Diana, I’m home!” You rush through the door, depositing your keys and purse and laptop bag on the entryway table and kick off your shoes as you try to shed the day as quickly as possible. You’re late and even though you let him know you would be, you hate missing a second of your time at home. “Diet? Di?” You call, wondering where they are in the labyrinth you call a house, bigger than the one Dieter originally had. “Are you home?”

When you walk into the kitchen, Diana immediately rushes over to you. “Mama!” She cheers, clinging to your legs, and Dieter chuckles as he finishes the stroke on the canvas. He’s been teaching his daughter how to paint while the dinner cooks in the oven, but you are home now so he sets the brush down. 

“Hey sexy mama.” He winks at you, standing up to stride over to press his lips to yours, his tongue dips into your mouth but nothing too X rated since Diana is squashed between you. “Long day at work?” He asks, kissing your jaw before he pulls back and looks down at his daughter.

You roll your eyes and nod. “Yeah, re-writes.” You huff. “The lead decided he was a better writer than me so they wanted me to rework the lines the way he wanted but then they didn’t fit, like I told them they wouldn’t.” The script that Dieter had blackmailed the producer into green lighting had been a blockbuster and now you have become a very popular name among studios.

"Fuck him." Dieter scoffs and Diana looks up at her father. 

"Daddy! Bad words!" She reprimands, making him playfully roll his eyes. 

"Sorry, baby girl. Daddy is gonna put a quarter in the jar." Dieter had promised Diana a new dollhouse with the money saved from the 'bad word jar' and Dieter's quarters have added up. "Dinner will be ready in a minute." Dieter tells you after he places a coin in the jar and he pours you a glass of wine. He's become quite the cook, making all sorts of dishes to an almost expertise level. "My agent called. Someone wants to buy the painting before I even finish it." He announces, pulling the lasagna out of the oven.

“Baby, that’s great!” You come over and kiss Dieter’s cheek so you don’t make him drop the lasagna. When you had gotten pregnant, Dieter had decided that he wanted to stay home, be a stay-at-home dad. Arguing that his little girl shouldn’t have to have a nanny all the time and he could paint around her schedule. You had fallen in love with him even more when you saw how committed he was to your daughter and the life you are creating, although he still lets a housekeeper come in and scrub the toilets. “That makes the fifth painting sold this year!”

Dieter blushes, proud of himself, and he sets the dish down, dishing out three servings and he sets the plates down at the kitchen table. "Dinner, baby girl." He tells Diana and he places his wine glass down as well as the glass of juice for Diana. He looks at you as you sit down and he feels a sudden rush of happiness. He never imagined he'd get to have a life like this. He was lost in the drugs and depression and anxiety but he's happy now, sober, and living a life he never imagined he could have. 

He lifts his glass up towards you, "to a beautiful life." You grin, understanding what he means when you clink your glass against his. Diana moans, holding up her own glass and Dieter chuckles, clinking his glass against hers before you follow suit. He has everything he never knew he wanted and he wouldn't change it for the world...especially not for an acting career.

[seoll3miwrites]

Doing Time | Criminal Minds S.R

Chapter 6. Vegas

Spencer and Hana should probably talk about the other night, if only their wan't so important and distracting. Or maybe they're just coming up with excuses. Chapter Title: Vegas by Doja Cat

Spencer and Hana hadn’t spoken about the drunken kiss they’d shared only a few weeks ago. It had only been a three days after that night they’d been sent out on another case in , but once they’d gotten back to DC neither knew how broach the subject. Even now as they sat next to each other on the jet heading to Las Vegas, New Mexico, they both struggled to start a conversation about that night; so they didn’t.

“I wish it was the fun Las Vegas.” Hana complained as she ate the salad Sasha had made her that morning. 

“Did you know I’m from Vegas?” 

“Really?” She turned to him, perking up in interest, “Does this mean I should bring you with the next time I head to the casinos?”

“I would sat yes but I’m actually banned from majority of the casinos in Vegas.” He informed her nonchalantly. 

“Holy shit!” She exclaimed in surprise, “I was wrong you got a little bad side to you, Doctor.”

He laughed at her, which encouraged Hana to laugh as well. Out of habit she hit him slightly on the arm as she continued to laugh, before catching her breath. The pair were soon joined by the rest of the team in order to get a general profile before they land.

“Is there even anything interesting about this Las Vegas?” Hana questioned to start the discussion, which Spencer was happy to contribute.

“In the late 19th century, it was a booming railroad hub with a reputation for lawlessness, and apparently, outlaws are a part of the town's genetics. Billy the Kid lived there, and Doc Holliday himself had a saloon there before going to meet Wyatt Earp in Tombstone.”

“The more things change, the more things stay the same.” Rossi chimed in, looking through the case file.

“All the victims in both instances were teenagers, except for Jose Rivera.”

“A younger staff, that's pretty typical for a night shift.” Morgan chimed in, to add extra information.

 “The unsubs might have considered that. It would be easier to subdue a group of kids.”

Tara leaned forward slightly so she could contribute, “Almost an identical M.O. Copycat or no, why go back to this town and do this again?

“They could be sending some kind of message to announce their return.” Spencer suggested, followed by Rossi’s other idea.

“Or it just might be criminal ego. They got away with it the first time. Why not do it again?”

“Could also be about reliving it, if it is the same unsubs they might be wanting to relive the ‘glory days’.” Hana noted although she didn’t consider killing teenagers and arson as something someone should see as their ‘glory days’

“With unsubs this violent, how do you just disappear and go dormant for 6 years?” Morgan questioned, continuing to build the profile.

Hotch turned towards Morgan before speaking, “They may have been in prison. That would explain the criminal experience.”

“Crime U., best education taxpayer money can buy.” Rossi uttered making Hana smirk slightly, yet she hid it behind her hand at the glance she received from Hotch.

“When we land, I'll have Garcia compile a list of recently released convicts in the area. Morgan, you and Reid go with Federov to the coroner when we land. Lewis, you're with Dave and me at the local PD.” 

With that the team waited until they landed until they wait their separate ways. Hana followed Spencer and Morgan to one of the 3 cars waiting for them before heading off to the coroner. The arrived only a few minutes later, exiting the vehicle the trio made the way towards the building. The wind was slightly strong and kept blowing Hana’s hair into her face. She gather her hair and went to tie it into a pony tail only to realise that she didn’t have a hair tie on either wrist. Sighing heavily, she released her hair, allowing to flow in the wind. 

As they continued walking, Hana felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to face Spencer to her right. He handed her something before continuing towards the building. She looked down to see that he had handed her a small black hair tie. Smiling slightly, she pulled her hair backup and tied into a messy ponytail.

“Thanks!” She called over to Spencer, who turned and smiled in reply.

Once they entered the building the met with the coroner who led them through to the morgue where the three victims laid on separate metal autopsy table. Hana felt a strange feeling as looked at the victims, this was the first time she’d seen someone younger than her. They had so much life left in them, so much potential. She wanted to catch these assholes. Or maybe just kill them. 

Spencer leaned in to assess the victims, “Several antemortem wounds, facial lacerations, fractured jaw, a fractured skull.”

“Yeah, it was a brutal beating. All 3 of them had broken ribs, too.” The coroner responded as he read from his autopsy report.

“And ligature marks.” The doctor noted as he continued look over the bodies.

The coroner nodded before continuing, “Looks like the boys were bound with their own belts and electrical wires. I found leather and melted plastic in their clothes.”  He spoke as he lead them towards the female victim, “Renee Acosta was different. There's evidence of sexual assault.”

“Any recoverable DNA?”, Morgan asked.

“None. Whatever wasn't destroyed by the fire got washed away by the sprinklers. But she was recovered without clothes on. And based on the cotton and nylon fibres I found around her wrists, I think they restrained her with her own underwear.”

Spencer looked up from the female victim, “That's precisely what happened to the female victim 6 years ago.”

“Those details weren't released to the press. These aren't copycats. These are the same guys.” Morgan noted in reply.

Hana looked between the two other agents before speaking, “The question still stands, I mean why come back now?”

As it turns out only one of the unsubs was the original perpetrators from 6 years ago. Duke Mason had returned due his old flame, who most likely gave birth to his son before he was imprisoned all those years ago. Garcia, the wonder that she is, was able to find Tammy Vasquez’ address, and now Hana was sat next to Morgan as the team drove their way over there.

When they arrived Chief Montoya reached the house first and made his way to the door to knock, everyone else gathered behind him. 

“Ms. Vasquez! Police! Hello? Anybody home?” He called multiple times with seemingly no answer, “Nobody here.”

They turned to leave before Morgan heard a muffled cry in the distance, causing him to pause, “Wait a minute. You hear that?”, He moved towards the door before knocking, “FBI! Anybody here?”

Hana moved closer to the door and heard more sobbing coming from the house, she nodded at Morgan to show she heard it too. “There's somebody in there.”

The officers went around the back as Morgan kicked open the door. Moving through the house, Hana made her way through following closely behind Morgan. Turning a corner the pair found an older woman tied up with duct tape across her mouth.

“Guys.” Morgan called as he made his way to the woman tied up, “It's ok. It's ok, I got you. I got you. Are you hurt?”

“No. I'm fine. He took them. He took them both.” 

“We need to issue an Amber alert.” Rossi stated a turned around back outside the house. Hana stayed for moment longer making sure the other woman was okay, before following her team outside.

She walked towards Morgan and Rossi who were speaking to each other. While she didn’t catch the beginning of the conversation she heard Rossi’s question to Morgan. “What happened to Turner?”

“I bet it got pretty ugly when they split up.” Morgan suggested, car pulled up the scene and Spencer step out running slightly towards them.

“Hotch is out coordinating roadblocks and canvassing the area, but so far nothing.” Spencer spoke, giving them an update.

“Why switch directions are risk coming all the way back here?”

Rossi shrugged slightly before answering, “He's strung out and believes that boy Cole is his son. He's capable of anything.”

“We should extend the Amber alert.” Spencer suggested to which the team all nodded in a agreement.

Chief Montoya shouted as he made his way over to the team, “Agents! Tammy Vasquez' pickup truck was spotted heading south on Route 34.”

“Is that far from here?”

“About 10 miles or so. State police have major roadways on the other end blocked off so he can't get out, but it cuts through the Santa Fe National Forest. If he knows what he's doing, he can hole up out there for weeks.”

“Where would he go to access fresh water?”

“There's an old abandoned campground. It doesn't get used much. Sometimes the kids go up there to drink.”

“He'd want to go someplace familiar.” Rossi observed

“That’s probably where he took them.” Hana stated as Spencer turned to her, a strange expression on his face.

“Agents, if you don't mind me making a suggestion,” Montoya spoke as he lifted a map for everyone to see, “I know that place like the back of my hand.”

Hana stood next to Rossi as her and the team listened as he pointed to the map at a certain point where they could move if they wanted to catch Mason by surprise. After the plan was set up, they separated into small groups and headed towards the campsite. 

When they arrived Hana noticed the car park up, and two figures that appeared to be arguing, she turned to Rossi who nodded to indicate it was time to intervene. Signalling to the other groups who moved in to the figures.

Noticing the guns each of them was holding, Morgan stood out slightly to announce their presence, “FBI, drop the weapon!”

In response, Hana heard the one with the long hair shout something before the pair began to fire at the police and agents in the trees. In the firefight they were able to take the long haired with one sniper shot, but Mason stayed up longer. 

Hana step out for one moment in attempt to get mother shot in, when she felt red hot pain exploded in her right side. She moved back behind the tree and put her hand against the pain source; only to find her hand coated in blood. The asshole had managed to get a shot clean through her shoulder. 

“Shit!” She cursed as she put her back on the wound, “You motherfucker!”

“Language!” She heard the Rossi shout over from his position. 

“With all due respect sir,” she replied, “I’ve been fucking shot!”

While she was shouting back she noticed the firefight had finally ended and saw Mason lying on the ground. The lack of bullets firing allowed Rossi to make his over to where she was now sitting against the tree.

“Don’t worry it was clean shot, I’ll just need stitches.” She reassured as her unit chief looked at her shoulder in concern. 

“Someone should still take a look at it before we leave.” He ordered as he grabbed her uninjured left arm to help her up. 

She smiled wryly at him, the pain still making her dizzy. “Careful, Sir someone might think you like me.” 

Rossi laughed slightly before replying, “Oh we wouldn’t want that.”

After Hana was patched, she joined her team at the funeral of the victims, dressed in black sat between Spencer and Tara on a wooden church pew. That strange feeling that she felt when she saw the bodies had came back, causing her to clench the skirt of the simple black dress she was wearing. As she listened to the singer, and watching the parents say their last goodbyes; she realised it was sorrow. She’d felt sorrow before, but this was the first time she had mourned not only for these young victims but also for the lives they could’ve lived. 

So, around some of the few people that she trusted, she allowed one tear to fall. Noticing the need for comfort she felt Tara reach out and grasp Hana's hand gently, to which she squeezed it in thanks. At least this time she felt sorrow; she wasn’t alone.

Prev Chapter // Next Chapter

[handicappedbuenchico]

Introducing: Dream Demon Verse

To preface, the Dream Demon Verse will also be connected to my Spencer at @/richstupidstoner, as this verse's predecessor was also connected to my own interpretation of Spencer Lewis as well :)

The Dream Demon Verse is the phoenix that rose from the Freddy's Little Helpers Verse's ashes! It's essentially the same CONCEPT-- a canon compliant AU which explores what happened to Carlos, Spencer, and John Doe's souls after their untimely demises via F.reddy K.rueger--however there are a few things that I never fully cemented, and I want to take the time to do that here:

To finally make the distinction as to what ACTUALLY happened to Carlos and Spencer post-canon, Carlos and Spencer's souls share a corporeal form with two of the three dream demons. The reason why Carlos and Spencer essentially got a revive is because after Freddy's defeat at the hands of Maggie, the dream demons emerged from Freddy's body in physical form, instead of the boys' souls being what emerged. The implication being that Carlos, Spencer, and John's souls were used to give the Dream Demons a way to physically manifest themselves through basically merging together.

To describe Carlos and Spencer's "relationship" with the dream demons their souls are merged with would be very akin to Dr.Jekyll and Mr.Hyde almost. Carlos and Spencer are trying to just be their normal selves again with this new chance at life, all while their unwelcome body mates are trying to get them to cause mayhem and suffering in the dream realm because they didn't get the chance to give their power to the next evilest person after Freddy (that's their usual preference, but now they're stuck sharing bodies with two teenage boys because their old deal maker is dead for good LMFAOOOO).

Carlos and Spencer, like Freddy before them, don't have much power outside of the dream realm. Their powers are strongest within the dream realm itself (because they're merged with dream demons, of course). Speaking of their powers within the dream realm, they unfortunately discovered their dream powers AFTER the merge. Carlos has the ability to control all noise surrounding an individual person within the dreamscape, meaning he can make things eardrum shatteringly loud, can-hear-a-pin-drop silent, along with regulating the volume of everyone and everything surrounding someone. Spencer's dream powers were a little tricky to figure out because his literal two characteristics were being a stoner and a gamer nerd...like Spencer would be so fucking OP and borderline canon breaking if I wasn't careful. Then I remembered where his powers would be in full effect, and his predecessor also having a penchant for being extra and OP AS FUCK, so I then said fuck it. Spencer can summon any video game weapon or healing item he wants at will (hey if Freddy had the power to kill and injure people in real life while they were in his dream world then logically speaking someone should be allowed to revive and heal while they're in the dream world! The movies never said someone COULDN'T do that, they just never had any character attempt such a thing). Spencer also has this constant colorful smoky aura that causes anyone near him to get an instant contact high and hallucinate.

Depending on the thread, Carlos and Spencer can be either be struggling to control the literal demons within them (honestly the demons just end up taking control of their bodies for a stretch of time because Carlos and Spencer aren't gonna be able to wrangle the literal demons that are now possessing them on their own) or they can be in some form of control over themselves and the demons within them (ngl they probably made a deal with the dream demons to cause non-lethal harm, in order to satiate their desire for evildoing, in exchange for almost total control of their new bodies and some damn peace).

Due to the canon stating that Carlos and Spencer's existences were erased from reality, and that they are only remembered by exactly THREE people (Maggie, Doc, and Tracy), technically your muse should have no recollection of who Carlos and Spencer are. HOWEVER, I am more than willing to bend this rule for the sake of RP; there are canon reasons for why your muse can remember Carlos and Spencer. For example, your muse can have the ability to control their dreams like Doc canonically can. I always got around this canonical technicality by saying that the closer your muse was to Carlos and Spencer before they died, the easier it is to remember them.

CARLOS AND SPENCER WILL HAVE NO FREDDY ICONOGRAPHY ON THEM. AT ALL. So, that means no red and green sweaters, no fedoras, no razor gloves. Nothing. The dream demons themselves are actually more serpentine in appearance, rather than looking like they were burned in a fire, so Carlos and Spencer will also NOT be looking like third degree burn victims. They'll look just like they did when they died, just with more pale and scaled skin while also having black eyes with blood red pupils. They also will have severe scarring from their original deaths (Do I even need to bring up the absolute ASS WHOOPING Spencer received during his death scene? That's a lot of scars man. Don't even get me started on the scars Carlos would have after having his HEAD explode). They CAN shapeshift into their old selves, as in before their deaths, but that takes a lot of energy to do and maintain for them. They would only really do that in the dream realm probably.

That's all I really have for now! I'm sure if I think of more things to add, I'll just reblog this post.

[notalexhorne]

I don't put a lot of personal stuff online for two reasons.

Reason number one is I started getting online in the mid-90s, when everyone on the internet was a spooky murderer, and telling them your name or your a/s/l was a surefire way for them to find you and kill you somehow. This got burned into your brain, and I've never really got over it. I've always been kind of a cagey weirdo about it even well into adulthood, as are many people of my generation, and I know that really annoys a lot of the kids, and through some bizarre irony, makes us look like untrustworthy predators to them.

Reason number two is that for years I've lived in constant fear of certain people in my life finding what I say online and ruining my life over it. So a lot of what I put out there winds up being goofy stories that mostly amount to comical misadventures that make myself look a bit of a twat, like this exchange with my husband I shared in a discord server last night.

But this whole thing over the weekend has kind of changed things a bit. Maybe I will start being a bit more of a person and less of an enigma on the internet. I've always liked being a human question mark, and for as long as I've been on the internet, have always gone by some cryptic moniker or pseudonym rather than an actual name. But I guess in 2023, that's kind of weird. That's the sort of avant garde thing anonymous artists from Bristol do; not shut-in ghostwriters from Portland.

There's a lot I'm still not, and likely never will be comfortable putting out there, but I've decided there is a story I'd like to tell publicly. It's a story those close to me know, and one which every time I tell someone some new facet of it, it has completely lost all element of surprise. I want to tell you all about my mother, the single worst human being I have ever had the displeasure of knowing, and who some of you will not believe is even real. I told @lemonbalmgirl this small anecdote earlier today, and the only reaction she had for me was this:

It's generally not good form to lead with the reaction, but I'm going to do it anyway because you will not be able to guess what the actual story is based on that. So first, let me properly introduce myself in my own cagey prick way.

My name is Lewis. It's actually my middle name, cuz the internet isn't allowed to have my first name. I'm 40-ish, from the greater Portland area, and married to a man who for some unfathomable reason has put up with me and my stupidity for over 20 years. Also, I have PTSD from the avalanche of unfathomable bullshit my mother put me through (making what happened this weekend super extra spicy fun), and I have not spoken to this woman since 2019, save to tell her to go fuck herself on an occasion when she called me from someone else's phone.

So here's the story that was so stupid, the only possible reaction was a facepalm emoji:

When my husband and I were married, my mother surprised us by paying for our wedding night, and then his parents paid for our honeymoon proper. We got to our hotel and checked in, and there was a problem at the desk, but they let us go to our room anyway because it was late and it was all booked in advance and it shouldn't have been a problem to begin with, so they said they'd sort it. So fine. We went up to our room, and had just started to get settled when the clerk came up to tell us that actually the problem was quite a bit bigger than initially realised.

Because the card my mother had booked our stay under had been cancelled.

She booked the hotel for our wedding night and then cancelled the card.

We were tired. We were stressed. And now we had to deal with this, and wound up having to use money we had set aside to spend for our week at Seaside on the hotel room that should have already been paid for. I was so sick from nerves I nearly puked on my wedding night.

My mother in a nutshell. It's such a small thing in the grand litany of horrible shit this woman has done, this is I think the first I've ever even told this story to anyone until today.

I'm telling this story here for a couple of reasons. Mostly, because I want to. I haven't been able to put these stories out there because the fear of pissing off the wrong people and damaging relationships has been hanging over my head for a long time. But there are no more relationships left to damage. Those relationships damaged themselves in 2019, and I no longer have any reason to care, and I think a lot of jaded old queers my age can relate to that.

And the second reason is exactly that. With the current social and political atmosphere, I think stories like this need to be told. This woman ruined my fucking life, and I say this with no hyperbole. I tend to be a very dramatic and over the top man in general, in large part because being an absolute clown was the only way I was able to survive growing up. In 2018/2019, I went from having a very large, extended family to having one uncle and one brother, basically. It's weird and surreal, and it's all because my mother decided her narrative was more important than anyone else. She went full nuclear and now nobody talks to anybody else because there's no trust left. The most important text I've ever received in my life was from my uncle in 2019, and it read simply, "I'm so sorry."

In that text, I understood immediately that what she had spent the last near 40 years doing to me, she had just done to him, and he understood what I had been screaming at the top of my lungs about. This is the guy I'm always hanging out with now, and I'm very grateful to have been able to repair this relationship, because we were always close when I was a kid.

I'll be tagging all of these posts with story time, so if you don't want to see them, that's the one to block. I'll also be tagging them with any relevant triggers, and some of them will be bad. I mean, really fucking bad. Because I feel like there is this kind of weirdly idyllic narrative that can kind of get pushed especially when it comes to queers my age who grew up in a post-Reagan landscape. Those of us who remember the tail end of the AIDS crisis, but who had GSA clubs and could be openly queer in school and be relatively safe about it. People a bit younger than me had Glee and High School Musical, and there's this portrayal that it was all very safe and happy, and that people who say that these new laws being passed are fear-mongering and are only to protect the little pre-schoolers and kindergartners.

But it wasn't like that, and it isn't like that now. It may have felt safe in our little bubble, but I joined every club and group that was even remotely relevant to my interest. I was at school from 6am to sometimes 7 or 8pm so I didn't have to go home, because I'd rather be exhausted and overworked than have my step dad beat the shit out of me.

I'm going to make an entire series out of these stories, and this is as tame as it's going to get where the stories about my mother are concerned. I'll be honest, I don't really remember much about my childhood at all, because I've completely repressed most of it. What I do remember from any earlier than about 13 all pretty much involves my dad (who isn't even my dad; he's another stepdad, and that's a whole other can of worms to unpack), and maybe I'll tell a few of those as well to break some of the tension. Because Christ knows we're going to need it.

[wejustvibing]

thank you for the response. no hate or anything but i think talking about these things is what gets us somewhere! i defo do think think this is something that we will all never agree on and that’s fine but hope that we can continue to have conversations around it

just to pick up on the idea that - “celebs don't know half the shit going on in the world. they don't have the education, world view or the time for it and that's the sad reality. it's always a losing cause waiting for celebs to come through” - i think this is a very privileged and ignorant stance to have. there is no one stopping you from seeking out the knowledge, open a book, watch a video, do a google search. if we as people, in the context of palestine as this is what we are talking about, are having to wade through this biased media narrative and fight for what we believe to be right then celebs have the same access if not more, to educate themselves. that should not absolve them of responsibility.

@copsehamilton on twt/x said the following which i think best words what i believe a lot of people are trying to say about lewis’ stance - “I promise you guys, you can be a Lewis fan & have conversations as his fans about how he uses his platform. We all come from different backgrounds & our lived experiences are different. For those of us who have lived and breathed the Palestinian liberation, language matters”

this is especially what i was trying to say when talking about the stance that celebs are taking. wording matters because unfortunately celebs do have more reach than us and right now palestinians are fighting not just the settler colony but the rest of the western world - their appreciation when someone posts shadowing light on their situation means more than anything to them, they are begging for people to share their stories because that’s how social change happens. while i say this please do not think that this absolves western nations, humanitarian organisations from their responsibilities, but imagine if a celeb was to post that no humanitarian aid is getting in to gaza through the rafah crossing - it would reach a target audience that perhaps could not be reached by regular people who are sharing & posting, or by politicians etc.

i don’t know, i don’t want to clog your inbox so will just leave it there, but i am glad these conversations are being had

honestly i'm frustrated reading some bullshit takes these celebs have been sharing the past few days. outright support for the colonizer and their lies. onesided foul cries, i've seen them. it's disgusting and needs to be called out. they're loud and wrong out of whatever influence, ignorance or privilege they have.

i mean privilege is literally synonymous with most celebs isn't it? so that tracks. and that's what i'm saying. they're privileged as fuck. for someone so out of touch to start educating themselves they first need to even clock there's something wrong somewhere. that they're probably on the wrong side of history. you feel me? and we're expecting these people to pick up a book and influence others then it's over before it can even start.

lewis is privileged in many senses too but one thing he's not allowed is ever taking a step wrong. we see that every day. and i'm not victimizing him, it's just a fact. he's decided to champion social and political causes and he's actively trying to educate himself and do better in these spaces. and he does from time to time but it's always nitpicked to hell with always losing focus from the actual cause. same happened with this one. first it was his silence that was harmful and now it's his neutrality that is harmful. so like business as usual with the moving goalposts.

and let's not forget, if you're his follower you know where he stands. so what has changed?

yes, language matters. but it's also important to know where the discourse has gone. the nuance is lost. he simply said let's have peace and let's not kill children. what's wrong with that? what's wrong with being on the side of innocent lives? how did that turn into oh look he's promoting genocide? he shared links for funds of the orgs working in the region, he legit amplified them to his 35m followers like everyone wants him to, he's still getting hated on. how's he getting called worse person than that racist piket spawn?

imo at the end of the day this is misplaced anger. we're all feeling helpless for Palestine. we can see how the world's moving. we want more voices in their corner. which is valid and so is the disappointment. but there's global superpowers supporting is*ael and vetoing ceasefire so let's ask this one guy who mind you wants ceasefire, to change the world's direction? how is that even an option? seems to me he's just an easy target for frustrations and pain everyone is feeling atp (both are valid btw) but how's that fair to him?

and yeah, you're probably right. we might never agree on this. but same. no hate at all. these are terrible times and i do want to learn more too.

[dracolunae]

BEE DYING OF AN LSD OVERDOSE.... incredible. All those comics are cool ty for the go-over! It's really cool how they had a fan creator join the official team :]] most of what I know about sonic is from this cartoon my family had on dvd as a kid called sonic uhhhhhh I don't remember but it had sonic like have two siblings and they were royalty but then got orphaned and became like a band. It sure was.

It's really cool to learn about the other aspects!! :D could you tell me about silver? His design is really cool

Sonic Underground! It was made by the same people as SatAM and AoStH but at a later time! It sure was something but I’m still kinda miffed it just got cancelled mid everything so there was never a conclusion to the story.

Silver!! My boi!!

Silver first originated in the game Sonic the Hedgehog, more commonly known as Sonic 06! This game was meant to be an epic 15th anniversary semi-reboot of the series, with updated designs, a new art direction and next gen graphics. The game was incredibly rushed though and ended up buggy dumpster fire that retconned itself in the end, but the one shining star it game us was Silver! (And a banging soundtrack! I attached the main character themes as examples)

In Sonic 06, Silver has Psychic powers that allow him to use psychokinesis to move objects and fly. He comes from the future, about 200 years from Sonic’s timeline and lives in an Apocalyptic world ravaged by a giant fire spirit known is Iblis, which can be knocked down temporarily but never truly defeated. Silver and his best friend Blaze the Cat roam the fiery skyscraper wastelands of the future to defeat Iblis each time he reappears. (I should note, Blaze did not first appear in this game. She had her own game she co-starred with Sonic in, Sonic Rush, in which she is a flame wielding princess from another world called the Sol Dimension where she guards her dimension’s version of the Chaos Emeralds. The only thing in common here is that 06 Blaze also has fire powers. Apparently 06 was supposed to tie into Rush but it got scrapped mid development)

Silver despairs about how they can never beat Iblis until an incredibly evil looking dude called Mephiles shows up, offering Silver a way to stop Iblis for good, by changing the past. He shows Silver an image of Sonic surrounded by fire, telling him that this blue hedgehog is the trigger for Iblis’ release. Silver and Blaze get sent into the past to go kill Sonic but get separated. Silver spots Sonic from a roof but gets blocked by number 1 Sonic fangirl Amy Rose, who really needs to get glasses because she keeps getting her hedgehogs mixed up. She glomps Silver, slaps him for not being Sonic, then drags him off to help her find Sonic after which she’ll help Silver find that guy he’s looking for. Silver and Amy eventually find Sonic, at which point Silver almost kills Sonic before Amy steps in and Silver ends up having a crisis about the morality of murdering someone to save the future. Blaze arrives and tells him they can’t just do nothing because that guarantees their future stays fucked so Silver goes to try to kill Sonic a second time except this time Shadow swoops in to stop him. I should note, Mephiles (evil dude from earlier) looks identical to Shadow because he ate Shadow’s… shadow. So he’s just a greyscale version with no mouth. Silver goes “What the fuck Mephiles” and Shadow kicks him in the head. Then they go to the past so Shadow can show Silver what Mephiles’ real deal is (surprise he’s evil and also one half of the god Solaris, the other being Iblis). Silver, having now seen the Original sealing of Iblis and how to time travel at will using Chaos Emeralds, goes back to the Future with Blaze and tries to seal Iblis inside of himself. This does not work because soul bonding with an ancient fire god has standards and not just anyone will do. Blaze reasons “I have fire powers, this is a fire spirit, let me try!” This works and Blaze asks Silver to seal her and Iblis in another Dimension but Silver can’t do it because he would be losing his only friend in the world, Blaze tells him he’ll be okay and fades out of existence. We do not have a canon explanation for what this means for her, but commonly accepted fanon is that she sealed herself away and when all of time and space reboots itself st the end of the game that somehow forms the Sol Dimension, leading into Sonic Rush.

The issue with all of what I just told you is the aforementioned end game reboot, where all the events of the game literally never happen. This meant that after this game we didn’t really know what was gonna happen with Silver. But never fear! Shitty PSP racing games are here! Sonic Rivals for the Playstation Portable was released not long after 06 and features a different version of Silver, who is trying to stop an evil descendant of Eggman, known as Eggman Nega feom fucking shit up. This Silver has not been to the past before and knows none of the other characters, so essentially we’re starting from 0 again! This game was followed by Sonic Rivals 2, an equally meh game but once again featuring Silver! During these games, Silver becomes friends with the rest of the cast, especially Espio the Chameleon (afaik they kinda bond at the end of the second game over letting Eggman Nega rot in what is effectively hell)

Silver then makes a few sparse appearances as an unlockable character in various games’ multiplayer modes, such as the Riders games and Sonic and the Black Knight. He also made a small appearance in Sonic Colours for the DS, specifically being paired up again with Blaze, who is once again the princess of the Sol Dimension. They do not know each other but feel a certain draw to each other, both being not from around here in a way. They would later be shown paired up frequently in various games, including the olympics spinoffs, Sonic Generations and Team Sonic Racing. Similarly, they’re depicted as decently close friends in the IDW comics, where they can frequently be seen together!

Silver is younger than Sonic, being about 14 and a bit more naive, though he’s a good kid. He is very serious at first, both in 06 and the Rivals games, because he isn’t friends with any of these people and also trying to prevent an apocalypse, but he’s lightened up quite a bit in more recent iterations! He can be a bit overzealous and loud but he also has lots of moments of just revelling in the nature and people of the past, having grown up in an apocalypse. He loves gardening because it feels like he’s helping bring more life into the world

His design is also just really cool, with the boots and the gorgeous colour scheme! His shoe soles are some of my favourites design-wise, they have little turquoise hexagons! (Yes, shoe soles can be a fairly intricate part of a character’s design, even if they’re rarely seen on most characters. Silver is an exception because he loves floating everywhere hshdhdhd)

Silver has a slightly different story in the Archie comics, still very in line with his 06 origins but tailored to the comics. He comes from a ravaged future with only 2 other people who mentor him. His self imposed mission in the past is to find the traitor that is supposedly behind the Freedom Fighters, Sonic’s friend group/allies, falling apart and leaving the world in ruin. He keeps coming back with kinda shoddy evidence, accusing one of Sonic’s friends of being the traitor and is continuously proven wrong, until he stakes his time travel ability on another wrong traitor. He accuses Sonic’s friend Antoine of being the traitor, to which Sonic drags him by the quills to show him Antoine, in a coma after being severely injured while fighting Eggman. At this point Silver is stuck in the past and becomes friends with a few other outliers, like a reformed version of Metal Sonic and Nicole, the city’s AI whom the populace is starting to mistrust due to her artificial nature being reminiscent of Eggman’s entire schtick. Later on time portals start popping up at random, and Silver tasks himself with finding and closing them, as leaving them open could have catastrophic consequences. From this point he pops in occasionally with a time portal to help out the current timeline, slowly creating a better and better future.

[panthera-dei]

I relate to your good is good and evil is evil

If a person supports self-defence. They're saying self-defence is justified

Most people can see the merit in self-defence

If they support revenge killings. They're saying revenge killings are justified — and here is where the problem lies

A racist might want revenge for something I see as not a big deal. This hypothetical society, in this ask, in which revenge killing is okay. They might think I want revenge because this person bumped into me and therefore I will kill them

Then the argument might extend to, but what if we are only allowed revenge in some situations — the problem is in who gets to decide

Then the argument might extend to, but what if we vote on what revenge is justifiable and what isn't? — child marriage is legal in some parts of the USA, conversion "therapy" is legal in some parts of the USA. Things that many see as morally wrong are legal in some parts of the US. So you can have a vote of the people, but the people you don't want winning the vote might win the vote

The vote of the people doesn't always lead to moral solutions

Not everything can be seen in moral absolutes. Some things are on a case by case basis, but sometimes it's safer to make things a clear cut NO. No you cannot be a vigilante instead of well you can be a vigilante "but" — because who decides the reasoning followed by the but?

Revenge also doesn't give a net benefit to society

It is proven that revenge has long term worse psychological effect on the person who did the revenge

The aggressor can be stopped by being put in prison. So revenge psychologically damages the person doing revenge unnecessarily, because they can stop that person through imprisonment

Killing the aggressor may bring reassurance to the victim, but it won't cure any PTSD they have, if they survived

In most cases, there is no significant net benefit to revenge

Dick Roman is a unique case. While everybody was motivated partially by revenge [ for Sam & Dean it was Bobby and for Crowley it's because Dick was being a Dick ] Dick being a powerful supernatural and intelligent creature with many loyal minions, makes prison not an option for him. The only way to get the net benefit of Dick not killing millions of people was to kill him

Just like the above example I can see circumstances in which revenge has a significant net benefit [ saving millions of lives ]

But the starting point should be "revenge is wrong"

- Someone takes revenge

- Okay let's look at context here and evaluate

If the "revenge is wrong" is our starting point, then maybe the person will try and think of solutions to stop the person that isn't vigilantism. Therefore if they did take revenge we have to ask why?

For example maybe in this hypothetical we think of imprisoning Dick Roman, because we don't want revenge to be our go to. But then we find out that because of his social, supernatural and political power, we realize murder is the best option. Revenge was a last resort if our starting point is revenge is wrong

We don't want to say "revenge is ALWAYS wrong" because that ignores context but nor do we want to say "revenge is ok if"

If our starting point is "revenge is okay if " then maybe someone who wants revenge will talk themselves into why their revenge is okay

<nod nod!!> I see what you mean and I agree!

It reminds me of something C. S. Lewis wrote about. I couldn't find the exact quote again, but it was from a collection of essays called Present Concerns, and he essentially said something very similar, that since humans are generally untrustworthy and mess things up, we have to make rules and compromises that may go against what we'd think to be right in order to make sure that we don't destroy each other.

[faeted-if]

Faeted is a darkly intrinsic tale that weaves a story between our own world and the hidden world of the Fae. Are you prepared for what is to come?

Setting: New York City

Genre(s): Modern Fantasy, Supernatural, Romantic Dramedy, and Action.

Warning(s): This story is rated 18+ for pervasive sexual themes, explicit language, crude humor, alcohol consumption, mentions of torture, depictions of blood and murder, death, slight mental manipulation, and mentions of imprisonment.

DEMO (TBA)

Summary

You've been running for as long as you could remember.

Ever since that fateful day that you had accidentally killed your high school sweetheart... You've never stopped running, have never looked back, as you couldn't deal with the memories that awoke within your mind because of the action.

You don't know what you are, not truly anyway, but you're certain that you're not completely human as you once thought. The scrappy runaway that tags along with you only brings that fact home.

Ten years pass, with you you running from the darkness of your past, but you should have known that it would eventually catch up with you.

One can only run for so long before they're caught. You just never expected to be pulled into the whole world connected to the one you're used to living in-- as well as a murder case that seems way too familiar.

Will you be able to survive your induction into the Fae World? The place you were always meant to be?

Or will you always remain a person running from their past? Never truly finding where they belong.

Features

Play as an MC that only wants to figure out where they belong. While also dealing with the revelation that they're an incubus/succubus. (Inspired by the wonderful show Lost Girl.)

Customizable MC: name, gender, sexuality, appearance, and more!

Will you allow the Fae World to pull you under its alluring presence? Or will you stick to the human roots that raised you? A mixture of both?

Which side will you sway more towards? The Light Fae-- the bringers of peace and honor? The Dark Fae-- the bringers of chaos and deception? Or will you choose to remain unaligned?

Solve a murder that has all the hallmarks of what you had done in the past. Will you be able to clear your name while fighting the darkness of your memories?

Romance 1 of 5 possible options-- from the compassionate human doctor to the sullen shifter. Poly possibility with N and R.

Find you way within a world you were always meant to be apart of.

Will you finally be able to find the thing you've been searching for all this time?

Romantic Options

Noel/Noelle Grey [M/F] - The Doctor

33 [5'11" | Sea Green Eyes | Golden Blonde Hair]

A Human Doctor within the mythical world of the Fae. Something you never expected to encounter upon being inducted into it. With a gentle gaze, soft voice, and compassionate disposition, you know that they're someone who just wants the best for their patients. Why do they look so sad though?

Species: Human

Allegiance: Light Fae

Talan/Tala Shaw [M/F] - The Detective

500+ [6'2" | Cognac Brown Eyes | Onyx Black Hair]

The First Fae that truly comes into contact with you-- barring your best friend-- and you can immediately tell that they don't trust you; after all you're unaligned. Meaning you're a wild card and that's not something that sits well with the shifter. Will you be able to get to know the strong, and loyal, heart that lies beneath?

Species: Wolf Shifter

Allegiance: Light Fae

Ryan/Reyna Lewis [M/F] - The Dark Fae

800+ [6'6" | Sapphire Blue Eyes | Dark Brown Hair]

Detective Lewis wasn't an easy person to get along with-- not from what you've gathered in your initial interaction with them at least. Harsh words, sarcastic quips, and an overall apathy to your very presence showcased the fact. It seems that they enjoyed being around only one person; Doctor Grey, the harshness falling away into a gentleness you'd never expect. Will you ever have that kindness turned on you?

Species: Phoenix

Allegiance: Dark Fae

Jace/Jade Holland [M/F] - The Anchor

28 [5'5" | Light Brown Eyes | Raven Black Hair]

The person that you know will always have your back no matter what. They're the one that introduced you to the possibility of you not being completely human; having been adopted they couldn't really relay too much information, but what they were able to share potentially saved your life. You can't imagine your life without their kind smile, happy-go-lucky demeanor, or their contagious laugh. Will something else blossom?

Species: Fairy

Allegiance: Unaligned

Perseus/Persephone Chase [M/F] - The Tutor

100+ [5'8" | Forest Green Eyes | Dark Auburn Hair]

They don't have much interest in the affairs of the people going on around them. As long as they're left alone, like they have always been, they'll be fine. Being a half-breed within the Fae World being almost as taboo as the human doctor, but they've been able to persevere so far. Will you be able to open their eyes to the world they feel like abandoned them? While they show you how to control the demon within yourself?

Species: Half-Breed (Sex Demon/Unknown)

Allegiance: Dark Fae

[donewiththisshitplsstop]

Why do people keep defending Max and his Championship title. Like we know, he's a champion. We're just talking about the time an important referee to the sport changed a whole rule to allow that to happen. Like yeah to win a season 22 races have to run, but it was equal points in the last race and it was clear to every truly neutral viewer of F1 that somethimg very wrong happened. Oh and i remember how a large group of you were so dosrespected because "Uwu Lewis didn't congratulate my blorbo" your blorbo said he didn't respect Lewis as a person and that maybe Lewis was scared of him because his father hadn't taught him what Lewis' father hadn't (racist stereotype much?) And also said 'that's what he gets' after parking his car on top of Lewis so let's really try to see who the disrespected party in this equation is.

Alsoo, if the shoe was on the other foot, if Max lost like that, you guys would be throwing tantrums left right and centre, you guys threw a fit when the guy was penalised for a brake check, you guys called it 'peak shithousery' when he walked off the Saudi podium but Lewis and George don't spray champagne on Max whilst the camera is on them and you guys have so much to say about that. Didn't you guys say Lewis tried to kill Max? What was Monza, what was the brake check. From the group of people who can resort to calling ableist slurs 'Dutch slang' I'm sure they'd call Max losing like that a 'carefully thought out hate campaign' cause you already thought that when people were rightfully pissed of about Max's ableist slurs. Also it's funny that whenever people mention Abu Dhabi 2021, there's something about how 'Max actually won the championship' and we know we saw what happened, don't try to control the narrative on what we saw with our eyes 'Max didn't actually push Lewis off', 'that wasn't actually a brake check' like you've always done. Maybe you guys recognise that something wrong happened, because why do you keep saying 'he won it' when we talk about a rule that was broken, like we saw him win it. Maybe refrain from talking about him and his victory on a day that Lewis has found the courage to talk about a situation in which he was unfairly disadvantaged by the referee that should have been neutral but wasn't - not when he didn't disqualify a brake check and not when he didn't unlap all the cars - so let's pipe down about the guy who's had quite a bit to say about Lewis and actually hear it from the man himself. Isn't this what you guys were waiting for 'I feel so dosrespected, he hasn't even said anything Abu Dhabi' well here it is and you're still speaking over it, if you wanted it so bad maybe you should listen instead of chiming in about 'he won it'.

Fun fact, the more you say that someone has achieved something or won it when everyone talks about a whole rule being broken the more it sounds like you need to convince people (and yourself) that he won it. But if he actually won it why would you guys keep saying what you do in response to people talking about Abu Dhabi or Masi.

[thecsquirrel]

Holding my Black queer girls real close today.

Representation really does matter and the fact of the matter is that it's just so nice to be able to see yourself on the screen- big or small. Yes, Black and POC folks understand the point of universal themes and how you can find parallels in stories that often lack us, but sometimes it's just nice to look at a screen and see someone that looks like you and sounds like you.

Personally, I have been waiting basically 84 years to see a badass Black Vampire/Monster-slaying woman on screen, ever since Rona showed up on season 7 of Buffy. Heck, I just knew we were going to get a spinoff about the Hellmouth in Cleveland and Rona was going to be leading the charge! Obviously, that didn't happen, but some 20 years later (holy crap!) in comes Ms. Calliope Burns/Imani Lewis and the possibilities were endless. The potential was there! I didn't need First Kill to be perfect, nor should it have to be. It was a fun premise that was focused on the characters who would otherwise be sidelined in other shows. And damn it, it was just fun.

The most hurtful thing of course is the very loss of a character like Calliope Burns, and the Burns family for that matter. The last few years of superhero films/tv shows have both given and taken away. Yes, we got the women of Black of Panther, Misty Knight, Monica Rambeau, Maria Rambeau, Ryan Wilder, Sophie Moore, Anissa, and Jennifer Pierce. That list has gotten a bit smaller and other than the BP women, the Rambeaus remain and even then Maria may just be a memory. (Ugh it hurts to write that.) I won't pretend that the entertainment business is easy, but it certainly seems like the stories and characters that are expendable, more often than not, belong to those of us often pushed to the margins. We cannot and we must not overlook the fact that First Kill had a dark-skinned Black co-lead, a Black woman showrunner, and a crew/staff full of women and queer people. Additionally, we cannot overlook that the folks making decisions about these shows tend to be cis white heterosexual men. It is really hard to make/keep diverse content if BIPOC arent' even in the room.

Anyway, deep sigh. I'm doing all this rambling to say that it sucks to lose this show in general. It sucks to lose this over-the-top, enemies to lovers to enemies fated love story. And it is extra awful to lose a young Black QUEER/LESBIAN character with so much potential. To get a character with agency and vulnerability. A character with some flaws but also with such strength. (And obviously, the accolades should go to Imani, Felicia, and the writers for not just creating some stereotype.) We deserve all the things. The great characters and even the crappy ones. We deserve camp and frivolity. We deserve to be superheroes and super villains. And again, we deserve all the things because our stories matter. And we should be allowed to escape into fantasy and build worlds upon worlds.

So, yes, I'm going to be cranky for a bit on this one because it feels like one after another. And to make matters worse, it feels like there's no place to go. HBO sure as hell ain't saving Batwoman, because they won't even let Batgirl (what in thee whole frak is that! I'm sorry to Leslie Grace.) see the light of day and Disney is too busy running paperbag tests (I will be mad about America Chavez's casting forever!) to be bothered. Although, crazier things have happened and maybe Netflix will be financially bothered enough to either sell the rights or give it a proper series finale. Give me a freaking 2hr movie at this point.

So, to my queer babies who feel like they are going through it right now, be easy with yourself. Kick and scream and fight and rage. Write and create and keep putting it out there in the world. And if no one has said it today: You Matter. Your stories Matter. You belong. And You have something to say.

[esamastation]

necer0s: Stardew Valley x AC crossover? Desmond retires to a very different Farm than the one he grew up in maybe?

-

When Desmond ended up in Stardew Valley, he'd quietly, and probably a bit arrogantly, figured that he'd probably be the weirdest thing about the whole thing. You know. Aside from the fact that he'd found himself in a quaint little coast town of some nondescript nationality after his death, which was pretty weird, he figured that being an assassin and all in this quaint little coast town, he'd be the weirdest thing.

Yeah not even close.

There's a local wizard, for one. There's a witch that occasionally curses crops. There's a mysterious train that never stops at the local train station, but sometimes drops valuable stuff. A hot spring that no one manages and doesn't cost anything. A mine full of monsters and apparently more valuable stuff you can just… mine. By hand. If you want to.

And there's a Farmer that everyone secretly thinks might be some sort of minor deity.

"I mean, that's just the Farmer," comments Abigail, the daughter of the local general store owner. "It's sort of always been like that. Well, I don't know, there was an old man, the Farmer's Grandfather who used to run the Farm, but the old folks say he wasn't like the Farmer. The Farmer is just. You know. The Farmer."

The Farmer owns the biggest plot of land in the town, which is filled to the prim with all sorts of crazy stuff like slime hutches and ancient fruit vines and stuff. The Farmer's house is some sort of infinite expanding dimension. The Farmer can carry half a dozen tools with them at all times. And several tons of worth of goods. The food they make has magical properties. One summer, they made several million in profits just to see if they could. The Farmer is, unquestionably, the wealthiest person in the town. Everything they own is made of iridium. Whatever that is.

"They give everyone gifts. Usually edible stuff. I think it's just because they can," Abigail says, thoughtfully. "The amethysts are my favourite."

Desmond waits and then says, awkwardly, "That's. Cool."

"I think the Farmer's looking for some farmhands," Abigail adds.

-

The Farm is even more impressive up close. The Farmer is…

Desmond isn't quite sure, actually. But they build him a house? And immediately begin to upgrade it. The house, which looks like just a little cottage on the outside, is on the other end of the enormous Farm, nestled in a little copse of trees and right beside a coop full of rabbits. It's, by far, the best thing anyone has ever given Desmond. But also. What?

"Are you sure?" Desmond asks slowly, eying the house. It must've cost a lot. Right? Houses cost a lot. Even if you are the wealthiest minor deity in the town, houses are a big deal. Right? Though what does he know – the Farmer has two small fortresses in their Farm where they breed actual monsters, so… maybe the value of things in this place is relative.

The Farmer shrugs their shoulders like it's whatever, and then points him to the tool chest. Time to get to work, apparently. Except…

Except there isn't that much work to do. The entire Farm is automated. There's iridium sprinklers everywhere, the crops are harvested by invisible little nature spirits, apparently – the only plot of land that needs to be harvested by hand is in the greenhouse. The barns and coops are automated too. It's all kind of neat, because Desmond can't see any actual farm machinery around – there's not even a tractor in the place. And he's pretty sure the sprinklers don't have any hoses, which is a bit weird, but okay.

Then the Farmer shows him to the various store houses, filled with kegs, barrels, furnaces and – chrystalariums? And geode crushers. There's slime egg presses and incubators. Recycling machines. Statue of endless fortune which apparently produces an infinite amount of wealth – and perfect birthday gifts for everyone in town.

"Recycling machines," Desmond says flatly, while the Farmer shows him the signs pointing what produces what and which chests the produce needed to go. The Farmer has whole chests full of precious gemstones and entire stacks of copper, iron, gold and iridium. Yeaah…

"Okay," Desmond says. "I'll… sort your stuff for you, no problem."

The Farmer gives him thumbs up, hands him a probably incredibly valuable incandescently brilliant gem stone, a small allowance of million g and promptly heads off to a tropical island.

Well… okay then.

-

Desmond minds the Farm – or rather, the various mystical and not so mystical machinery – more or less alone for the next week, while the Farmer does whatever it is they do in Ginger Island. Which is apparently a tropical island full of parrots and coconut trees and yet is somehow less than an hour away from Stardew Valley. The mental gymnastics Desmod does to try and figure out how that works, with Stardew Valley having a full on snowy winter season and all…

Yeah, probably best left be, that. Stardew Valley – and apparently the surrounding lands – work by their own rules. Ginger Island is no different. According to Pierre the Grocery store owner, the Farmer is renovating… everything there. With walnuts.

"Golden walnuts," Pierre says.

"Right," Desmond nods, like that makes any sense. "Golden walnuts. Gotcha."

As the island is renovated, the people of Stardew Valley begin making daily trips there to enjoy the beach and the sun – as though the town itself doesn't have an incredibly nice beach as it is. Well, guess there's no beating a tropical beach. With mermaids. There's mermaids? Yeah, there's mermaids. And apparently pirates.

Cool.

"You know, since the Farmer is spending his time on Ginger Island, maybe you should do some of the quests on the notice board," the town Mayor, Lewis, suggests. "There's only so much to do on that Farm, right?"

There's over 200 different machines Desmond needs to empty and some which he needs to refill every day, and that's without counting the tappers on the trees he'd just discovered the other day. And the Farmer had forgotten to say anything about the fruit trees, which had been filled to the bursting before Desmond had realised he should probably harvest them. He wouldn't call it a little bit of work.

"Yeah, okay," he says. "What do people need then?"

Someone named Gus wants 20 copper ore.

Well… okay then. Sure. Why not? The Farmer is bound to have some laying around. The guy has literal stacks of gold bricks just lying around – he wouldn't miss a bit of raw copper. Right?

-

Apparently, he needs to mine the copper ore himself, otherwise it doesn't count, for some reason. Also, the mines are full of monsters. And it turns out that Assassin training did not teach him how to deal with little cute blobs of slime that want to kill him.

Yeah. It's the most fun Desmond has had in a while, though he has no idea what is even going on anymore. There's a dwarf in the mines. Literal dwarf.

They sell him bombs.

-

Desmond has just had his unconscious body dragged from the mines by the local homeless man when the Farmer returns from Ginger Island, a shade darker, with new gems on their sword and a whole bunch of new stuff. Apparently, they found so many golden walnuts that they managed to renovate the whole island? Which is… okay. Desmond is almost getting used to it. That's how things work here. Apparently. It's fine.

The Farmer puts up an enormous stone statue of a frog in the orchard and then brings Desmond a perfectly cool and perfectly preserved Pinã Colada as a souvenir. Somehow, despite having travelled all the way from a tropical island to the Farm, it still has ice in it. It hasn't even melted.

Yeah, Desmond muses, taking a sip. This place is alright.

---

Then Desmond realised he too can suddenly carry over half a dozen farming implements around and that he’s got an inventory of several tons worth of stuff and that he is on the way of becoming a Farmhand.

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

Ignorance Is Blitzed (Part 7)

Ron Speirs x Reader

Summary: When you come into contact with some substance that makes you sick while on a routine building search, Ron realizes he may not be as emotionally detached as he’d thought initially thought.

Warnings: SMUT! YA GIRL FINALLY WROTE THE SMUT!, light angst, fluff, SMUT, Ron is a dom but he’s so into you he turns into a soft!dom, Reader is a mess, Ron is a tease, SMUT!

~

~ ~ ~ ~

Lewis Nixon was a dead man.

Even if Ron’s sudden (if not minute) PDA hadn’t clued you in to the fact that someone had told him about Nuremberg, the look of fear in Lewis’s eyes when you’d caught his gaze basically confirmed it.

 You’d mumbled something about getting some air to Ron as you watched Lewis hightail it out of there, hot on his heels as he tried to escape the wrath that you were sure showed plainly on your face.

He doesn’t get far.

 When you catch his elbow in what seemed to be the hotel staff’s dining room, he whines like a wounded animal and holds his hands up pleadingly.

 “I swear to God I, thought you’d told him already—”

“I’m going to kill you.”

Nix scoffed at that, despite the fear clearly paling his face.

“Okay, one- people were going to find out eventually. Two? How in the hell was i supposed to know that you hadn’t told your boyfriend—”

 “Not my boyfriend—”

 “—yes he is your boyfriend- about it? And three: and he doesn’t even seem to be mad about it!”

 You scoff at that, hands going to your hips as you stare at him in disbelief.

 “It wasn’t something for you to tell- if the news that I was being asked to go in hadn’t come from you in the first place, I’d never have told you either! No one was supposed to know—!”

 “What were you going to do, just dump him and disappear?!”

 Your rebuttal sticks in your throat, guilt flooding through your veins at the bluntness of his question.

It must show on your face, because Lewis furrows his brows and looks at you in disbelief.

 “No… Y/N, you aren’t seriously trying to tell me that you—?”

 “I was giving him a clean break. I am giving him a clean break.”

 You’d made the decision after you’d heard about Ron’s decision to stay with Easy and go to Japan, when you’d realized that neither of you were going to be going home anytime soon. 

In Ron’s case, he may not come home at all- and if you knew him as well as you thought you did, you knew what that would mean for the two of you. 

Hollow promises to keep in touch, followed by equally well-intentioned agreements to find the other when it all was over, both of you ultimately knowing in your heart of hearts that those commitments would inevitably fizzle out and die the moment the going got tough.

 You didn’t want that, didn’t want to trap Ron in something that was destined to fail from the get-go.

As much as he liked you, cared for you, you also knew who he was. What he would always be.

A ruthless, brilliant soldier, ready to lay it all on the line at the first opportunity. And you loved him too much to ever ask him to be anything else.

 He deserved to find happiness- even if it wasn’t with you.

 Nix looked at you pityingly, a forlorn look on his face as he digested what you’d said.

 “Look, I don’t know the guy well,” he mumbled, clearing his throat and taking a step towards you to rest a hand on your tense shoulder. “But anyone with eyes can see that you mean a lot to him.”

 You nod and offer him a tight smile, eyes drifting downward to avoid letting any potential tears come to the surface. “I know I do- I don’t doubt that. It’s not about how things are right now, though. We don’t get to live in the right now for much longer.”

 The hand on your shoulder squeezes at the muscle there, a small sound of admonishment escaping under Lew’s breath as you feel him watch you. He doesn’t like what you’re saying- you can tell that he wants to argue that you’re being ridiculous.

 But even he knows that it wouldn’t be of any use. It wouldn’t change your mind.

 “I don’t like the idea of leaving you here, Y/N. I’d bet if the others knew, they wouldn’t like it much either.”

 You sigh, biting the inside of your cheek as you look back up at him and nod. “Guess I’m breaking up with all of you, aren’t I?”

 Nixon’s eyes are shining, and you wonder if he’d be this upset if he were 100% sober. When you step into him to embrace him, he beats you to the punch and wraps his arms around you quickly, taking a deep breath that seems to make his chest expand to twice his size.

 “I suppose you’re right. Not that being dumped ever stopped me before,” he gives you a sad smile when he eventually releases you, giving your shoulder a final pat before taking his hands away. 

“Don’t be surprised when I show up at your window, drunk as a skunk and proclaiming my undying love for you at 3 am sometime in the near future.”

 As you open your mouth to reply, you see Nix’s focus flick to something past your shoulder.

Even if you hadn’t seen the fear on the man’s face, you still would’ve known that it was Ron.

 Because of course it would be him. 

 Gritting your teeth, you sigh and close your eyes. Dread tasted sour on your tongue as you turned your head to peer over your shoulder, flinching at the look of silent fury marring his handsome face. Sniffing, you force yourself to speak despite the tightness clenching at your throat.

 “You should go, Lew,” you say quietly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

 Lewis says nothing as you turn around to face Ron, the sound of his retreating footsteps barely registering in your ears as anxiety sends blood thrumming loudly in your ears. Ron’s sharp eyes make you feel impossibly small, and you think you can now understand what everyone else had been talking about for the past few years. Ron was scary. You did feel scared.

 “You and I need to get some things straightened out.”

 His words are clipped, and if he sees you flinch at the tone in his voice he doesn’t show it. You inhale shakily, realizing you had been holding your breath for too long and wetting your lips as you searched for the right words to say.

 Just as you open your mouth to speak, Ron turns on his heel and begins to stride off, and once you are able to unstick the soles of your shoes from the floor you trail after him cautiously. When you reach the doorway, you see that he’s stopped a few paces from the door frame, waiting. In a move that surprises you, he uncurls his hand from the fist it had been in and holds it out to you, eyes heavy and dark and trained on you.

 Quickly, you flicker your eyes between his face and his hand, only stepping forward and taking it after you’ve mustered up enough confidence that it wasn’t going to be something you regretted doing. You’d never had someone mad at you like this before, at least not for as intimate a reason as he was now. Of course, you’d never allowed yourself to care for someone like this before either- maybe this mortifying combination of guilt and heartbreak was normal.

 The moment your hand finds his, he turns away from you and starts walking again, and as you follow you realize that he’s leading you towards the room you both share. There's no softness in the way his hand holds yours, the grip firm and unyielding. It almost makes you feel like a child being pulled off for a private scolding from a parent.

You hate it.

 The journey to your room is both too long and not nearly long enough, and it’s only when he opens the door and releases your hand that you fear that you may never get the chance to feel his touch ever again. That reality was already one you’d been dreading, with him leaving so soon to go where you could not follow. The thought of that time coming sooner because of something like this was devastating.

 You stand in front of the door once it closes, ready to have him ask you to leave at a moment’s notice. Unblinking, you watch him shirk off his jacket and toss it on a nearby chair, shrugging the suspenders down from his shoulders with a spark of agitation. His hair has begun to fall into disarray, and the idea of him hating you while looking so unfairly handsome makes your heart tighten painfully in your chest. 

Unwilling to wait out the inevitable for a moment longer, you clear your throat at steel yourself.

 “Ron-”

 “You don’t get to hide that kind of shit from me.”

 He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, his voice quiet and uncomfortably devoid of emotion. As he walks over to the table that held a decanter of whiskey and fine crystal glasses to pour a drink, you tuck some of your hair behind your ear and try again

 “I was just trying to give—”

 “—give me a 'clean break', yeah. I heard.”

 Bringing the glass to his lips and taking a sip, you watch as he clenches his jaw and swallows.

“Did you ever think about asking me what I wanted?“

 That does throw you, and as he sets the glass down and turns to look at you you make no move to hide the look of confusion on your face. Glancing down at your shoes, you shake your head softly and try and find your voice once more

 “I- but you don’t want this. You don’t want to be tied down—”

 “And what makes you so confident that you know what I want, huh?” 

There's clear anger in his voice now, and you look up just in time to watch him walk over to you. You straighten as he comes to a stop right before you, hands braced on his hips as he all but glowers down at you. 

 “You don’t get to make those sort of decisions for me- got it?”

He emphasizes the bite on the ‘t’ in ‘it’, the puff of air from his breath hitting your face. 

 When you make to turn away from him, one of his hands flashes up to grip your jaw- his touch gentle but authoritative enough that you know it’d be a bad idea to go against it.  Something about the movement irks you, makes your heart beat faster from something much darker than fear or dread. Pressing your lips into a thin line, you tilt your head back infinitesimally. Defiantly. 

 Ron notices, his nostrils flaring slightly. “Last time I checked, you aren’t a mind reader- and even if you were, you’d be a shit one because if you think what I want is anything other than you, you really don’t know me at all.”

 “Stop it, Ron,” you mutter quietly, watching as his eyes flicker down to your mouth before dragging back up to meet your eyes again. “You’re being mean.”

 He exhales sharply at that, a ghost of a rueful smile quirking his mouth before shaking his head. 

“Am I?”

 When you roll your eyes, he steps into you even more, using his hold on your jaw to tilt your head back further so you are still able to hold his glare.

 “Like it or not, Y/N, you’re it for me- you got that? If you don’t want to believe me, that’s fine- but know that I’d tear this whole entire goddamned continent apart if you wanted me to—”

 “Why!?” you snap, his declaration bringing forth the sadness you’d managed to temporarily quell. 

 At the sight of tears refilling your eyes, Ron’s brows furrow and some of the darkness leaves his face. Shaking your head imploringly, you bring a hand up to circle his wrist. 

 “You could do anything, be anywhere with anyone you wanted! We….we’re just children, Ronald- and I love you but I’d never delude myself into pretending that I know the first thing about how to do this- any of this!”

You bring your other hand up to rest lightly on his chest, lowering your gaze to look at the slight tremble of your fingers as you do so. 

 “You were born for greatness, born to lead and fight and conquer….but all I was born to do was just exist for other people- like my parents or my family or whoever else needed something from me. Then, eventually, become somebody’s wife and give him a family. But….. I threw away any chance of that future in order to be here, and now that this is ending I have no idea what I’m supposed to do!”

 Swallowing in a vain attempt to keep your voice from breaking, you look back up at him, offering him a small, shaky smile.

“I won’t drag you down that mess with me, you deserve more than that- than me. I won’t ruin you, too—”

 “Y/N,” Ron murmurs admonishingly.

 “What?!”

 With an ease that you two had only just begun to establish, he seals his mouth to yours, effectively shutting you up and forcing you to take the first deep breath you’d taken in a long time. There’s an edge of desperation to it- just as there had been in your first kiss back all those months ago in Foy. 

 Only this time his lips taste like whiskey and something a tinge more wicked. 

A promise of more.

 Breaking the kiss but keeping his face close you yours, Ron brings his other hand up to cup your face. Brushing his thumb across your bottom lip, he eyes you softly.

 “Don’t tell me what I deserve.” 

Kiss.

“Stop telling me what to do.” 

Kiss 

“Let me conquer.”

 This kiss is filthy, his lips plush and confident and unafraid in their mission to leave you completely mindless. Ron has stepped so close to you that your head has tilted all the way back into his hands, his fingers purposefully twisting in your roots so he has more control over the kiss.

 Despite the fact that he’s never handled you this way before- you have no desire to ask him to slow down or be gentler.

You like it. You want more.

 When you whimper into his mouth, you can feel him grin briefly before sliding one hand down your back to fist at the material of your shirt and bunching it free from where it had been tucked into the back of your pants. 

 Up until now, Ron had been nothing but gentle when it came to you- and while you knew him to be dominant and ruthless in battle you’d considered what his temperament would be like as a lover. Clearly, the confidence translated. 

 You slide the hand that had been on his chest up and around his shoulders, your elbow hooking around his neck and pulling him closer. As you nip at his bottom lip, Ron hums low in his chest. The hand he’d had on the small of your back has moved down to grip at your ass, and with a quick peck he pulls back slightly.

 “Hold on,” he grumbles, and just as you open your mouth to ask for clarification Ron wraps his arms around your hips and lifts you so you’re having to lean into him, your feet stumbling across the floor as he turns you both and quickly walks the both of you to the bed. 

 He’s barely set you down before his hands find the hem of your blouse again, rucking it up your sides before your brain catches up with him and you tear it over your head. Your skin feels hot, and it feels even hotter at the feeling of Ron’s lips mouthing at the tops of your breasts as you fumble with the clasp of your bra.

 “Shit,” you hear yourself curse, hating your fingers for being so uncoordinated. Undeterred by the fabric of the bra you’d pinched from one of the homes the lot of you had been asked to secure a week ago, Ron bites softly at your nipples until they stiffen. When you finally unhook the fastenings, he pulls the cups of the bra down easily and continues his attentions.

 You curse again, head swimming at the realization that his own fingers have found the zipper of your pants and begun to pull it down. Carding your hands through his hair, you desperately try and calm your breathing while distantly realizing that he’s still fully clothed.

 “Ron,” you gasp, looking down your chest and meeting his bright eyes as he sucks marks down the valley between your breasts. “I wanna see you—”

 His hum is dark as he mockingly tilts his head at you, successfully pulling the fabric of your trousers down your hips until gravity takes over and it all pools at your feet.

 “You are seeing me,” he insists quietly, trailing his blunt fingernails down your hips until they catch your underwear and shucking them down your legs as well. When you frown he bites some of the skin just under your left breast, chuckling wickedly at the squeak of surprise you’re unable to hide.

 “Take your shirt off!” you nearly whine, your head falling back as he laves at the bite with his tongue. “You’re not being- shit….you’re being unfair—!”

 “Then do something about it.”

 You do whine at that, too frustrated to worry about being gentle as you take your hands from his hair to claw at his shirt- bunching and pulling at the fabric covering his back until you manage to get enough in your fists to pull it gracelessly over his head. Pure want has boiled your blood like a fever, with the only two thoughts in your mind being more more more and faster faster faster.

 Before you can work his shirt any further down his arms, he shoves you back unceremoniously onto the bed, quick to pull your hips to the edge of the bed before bothering to continue undressing himself. 

With a nearly comical desperation, you toe off your shoes, licking your dry lips as you watch the muscles of his torso bunch and lengthen as he strips the remainder of his clothing off- his eyes on you the entire time and his gaze doing nothing to calm the heaving of your chest.

 “Christ, look at you,” he says quietly, a clear note of pride in his voice. “Too pretty for your own good, aren’t you?”

 You blush at that, swallowing audibly at the praise and squeezing your eyes shut.

It all just was so much….

 When you open your eyes again, you moan at the sight of him kneeling before you and pulling at your legs until they were over his shoulders. As you start to sit up you are pushed back down again by his hand on your chest, the feeling of his breath on your sex robbing you of any speech capabilities you had previously possessed.

 “Just like that,” he commands gently. “Stay just like that.”

 Maybe it was because it had been a while since you’d had any sort of sexual intimacy with another person, or perhaps it had more to do with the fact that your previous sexual partners hadn’t been particularly invested in the act, but one thing was for certain:

 Ron Speirs was unfathomably good at cunnilingus.

 You could only gape stupidly at the ceiling with your mouth open in a silent scream of overwhelm as he took your clit between his lips and absolutely ruined you- his tongue and teeth and fingers tearing you away from reality with a nearly cruel proficiency. It was almost humiliating how effectively he dismantled your already tenuous sense of composure, and if you had any sense of pride left you probably would’ve hated him for it.

 He was making a mess of you, and he was doing it too easily.

 Feeling a sheen of sweat glisten your skin, you can only hold onto him as your body trembles- and it’s all you can do to keep your hips on the bed as your back arches and your body rocks.

 “Ron, please….I’m gonna cum—” you hear yourself choke out in warning, squeezing your eyes shut as something burning hot and sugar-sweet builds deliciously in your lower belly

 “Oh yeah?” you feel him ask, one of his arms hooking around your hips to help still you. “Want to bet?”

 Your eyes flash open

“What—?!”

 You nearly howl in fury when he takes his mouth away, instantly sitting up to watch in betrayed dismay as he curls two fingers inside of you and adds a new kind of stimulation- one that keeps you on that cruel precipice without offering you any sort of relief.

 He smirks up at you, and any affection you’d previously held for him is jeopardized by his clear mirth at the situation. 

 “Sorry, Sweetheart,” Ron says lowly, nothing in his voice conveying any sort of remorse. “But you don’t get to call the shots right now.”

 You open and close your mouth desperately, unable to decide which sort of response would get you what you wanted. A frustrated shriek slips out in the interim, and when his smile broadens you remove your hands from his hair and smack at his head.

 “Jesus Christ, Ron! What’s the matter with you—?!”

 “Do you have any idea how good you taste, Y/N?” He continues as if you hadn’t spoken at all, ducking down to place a greedy kiss to your sex before pulling back again. “To think you were going to have me leave without letting me get my mouth on the source….absolutely heartless—”

 “I get it, okay? Fuck Ron! What more do you want me to do?” 

 You wince at the addition to a third finger inside of you, the stretch adding the tiniest bit of ache to your horribly prolonged almost-orgasm. The forearm across your hips holds you down when you try to squirm in any direction in hopes of getting some more stimulation.

 “Apologize.”

 You widen your eyes at him, a scowl on your face as you look down your panting chest at him. “What?”

 Like the cruel bastard he is, Ron shrugs as if the solution to all of this has been obvious the whole time.

“Say you’re sorry, and I’ll make it all better.”

 Shaking your head, you hear yourself scoff. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

 You yelp as he turns his head to bite your thigh, fisting a handful of his hair to pull him away.

 Smoothing the flat of his tongue over the bite, he closes his eyes wistfully and sighs.

 “Close, but that’s not what I want to hear,” Ron says before tilting his head and looking back up at you, the tendons in his forearm pronounced as his fingers tirelessly continue their strokes inside of you.  

“Say it. Say ‘Ron, I’m sorry.”

 Biting the insides of your cheeks, you fix him with a glare and sigh with frustration.

“Fine! I’m sorry, okay? I’m really fucking sorry, Ron!”

 He purses his lips, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. You whimper as he slides his fingers out from inside you, but before you can think yourself victorious Ron uses those fingers to start rolling your clit- still keeping you on the edge while giving you just a hint of what you needed.

 “Goddamnit, RONALD—!”

 “Tell me that you deserve me,” he demands, his words taking on a gravelly tone. As you search his eyes, you see a heartbreaking shine of sincerity staring back at you.  “Say it and then I’ll let you cum.”

 Your throat is becoming tight, an unexpected wave of emotion hitting you and bringing tears to your eyes. The hand not currently torturing your clit squeezes your hip, and with a shake of your head you close your eyes.

 “I-I deserve you,” you acquiesce, feeling your lower lip threatening to quiver. “I’m sorry.”

 “Gutes Mädchen (good girl).”

 Your head falls back with a moan as he latches his mouth to you again, body bowing as he ruthlessly finishes what he’d started and destroys you- sending you spiraling into bright euphoria and letting you float in the heat of it. You’re suddenly thankful for the arm across your hips, for it’s the only thing anchoring you to the real world as you shake for him.

 “So perfect,” you can hear him saying, his voice now at your ear as you become aware of the press of his cock between your lower lips. “You’re the most perfect thing I've ever seen.”

 Whining pathetically, you tilt your head back and clutch at his back.

“Please,” you beg, eyelids heavy and gaze unfocused. “Please—”

 He doesn’t draw it out this time, quickly hooking his arm under your left leg and opening your hips so he can press himself inside of you. Still wrung out for your orgasm, you can only cry out softly at the feeling of him bottoming out, a broken sound of his own vibrating through his chest into yours.

 You’ve never considered Ron to be a particularly talkative person, so when he begins to babble it catches you off guard while simultaneously endearing him to you further.

 “I can’t believe how good you feel You surely were sent to ruin me God you’re such a good girl Better than I could’ve imagined Squeezing me so tightly I don’t want to be without you I want nothing else than this In what world would you think that I wouldn’t adore you I am yours entirely you ridiculous woman Shit I can feel you shaking Getting so tight Fuck do that again Are you going to cum again I want to hear you scream….”

 Too lost in his words, you don’t know if you actually screamed as you came again- but you do know that at some point you’ve turned your head and sealed your lips to his. His hips stutter as he cums with a breath shout, his free hand dancing up and down your side with a carnal desperation that you could understand but not replicate- not now.

 Because now you are well and truly wrung out.

 The weight of Ron’s body atop yours is welcome, and the sweet way he kisses you is almost too much for your fragile mind to process.

 “Y/N?”

 Ron’s voice is soft, and as you blink your eyes open you cannot help but smile satedly up at him. He looks beautiful, and the soft way he’s looking at you makes you feel beautiful, too.

“Hm?”

 He brings a hand to your face and smooths some of your hair behind your torn ear. 

“You weren’t born for someone else,” he says the words carefully, as if he is struggling with ensuring that they are the right ones. “But…. I’m starting to think that maybe I was. Or that, maybe we were…..Do you get what I’m trying to say?”

 Taking his face between your hands, you take a deep breath and let your eyes drift across his handsome face.

Lifting your head, you lightly press your lips to his and sigh.

 “Yeah, Ron….I think I do.”

 He deepens the kiss, pulling you with him as he rolls to the side and holds you against him.

 “Mo Leannan,” he murmurs into your hair as you rest your cheek against his chest. “Mo Chridhe.”

 You furrowed your brow, the words unfamiliar and in a language you could not identify. It was common knowledge that Ron spoke a passable level of German, but from the way his mouth wrapped around these words, you wondered if he was fluent in another language and had just never told you about it.

 “What did you say?” you asked softly, exhaustion having crept into both of your bodies and rendered you mostly immobile.

 Humming, Ron wraps the hand you’d rested on his chest in his and brings it up to his face so he can kiss your palm.

 “Later,” he says sleepily before lowering your joined hands to rest on his sternum. “I’ll tell you later. Rest.”

 And because you believe him, you do as he says and allow yourself to be swept away.

~ ~ ~

HELLO AND HI! This took forever and a day to write but only bc I overthought everyhting and got distracted by other shiny things SO WHOOPS MY B! Anyhoo- I love ya’ll and remember to hydrate!

Taglist: @mrseasycompany​ @itswormtrain @mrsalwayswrite​ @happyveday​ @sunsetmando​ @ricksmorty​ @liebgotttme​

[erin-hart]

From someone who teaches AP US History:

If you are confused as to why so many Americans are defending the confederate flag, monuments, and statues right now, I put together a quick Q&A, with questions from a hypothetical person with misconceptions and answers from my perspective as an AP US History Teacher:

Q: What did the Confederacy stand for?

A: Rather than interpreting, let's go directly to the words of the Confederacy's Vice President, Alexander Stephens. In his "Cornerstone Speech" on March 21, 1861, he stated, "The Constitution... rested upon the equality of races. This was an error. Our new government is founded upon exactly the opposite idea; its foundations are laid, its corner-stone rests, upon the great truth that the negro is not equal to the white man; that slavery subordination to the superior race is his natural and normal condition. This, our new government, is the first, in the history of the world, based upon this great physical, philosophical, and moral truth."

Q: But people keep saying heritage, not hate! They think the purpose of the flags and monuments are to honor confederate soldiers, right?

A: The vast majority of confederate flags flying over government buildings in the south were first put up in the 1960s during the Civil Rights Movement. So, for the first hundred years after the Civil War ended, while relatives of those who fought in it were still alive, the confederate flag wasn't much of a symbol at all. But when Martin Luther King, Jr. and John Lewis were marching on Washington to get the Civil Rights Act (1964) and Voting Rights Act (1965) passed, leaders in the south felt compelled to fly confederate flags and put up monuments to honor people who had no living family members and had fought in a war that ended a century ago. Their purpose in doing this was to exhibit their displeasure with black people fighting for basic human rights that were guaranteed to them in the 14th and 15th Amendments but being withheld by racist policies and practices.

Q: But if we take down confederate statues and monuments, how will we teach about and remember the past?

A: Monuments and statues pose little educational relevance, whereas museums, the rightful place for Confederate paraphernalia, can provide more educational opportunities for citizens to learn about our country's history. The Civil War is important to learn about and will always loom large in social studies curriculum. Removing monuments from public places and putting them in museums also allows us to avoid celebrating and honoring people who believed that tens of millions of black Americans should be legal property.

Q: But what if the Confederate flag symbol means something different to me?

A: Individuals aren't able to change the meaning of symbols that have been defined by history. When I hang a Bucs flag outside my house, to me, the Bucs might represent the best team in the NFL, but to the outside world, they represent an awful NFL team, since they haven't won a playoff game in 18 years. I can't change that meaning for everyone who drives by my house because it has been established for the whole world to see. If a Confederate flag stands for generic rebellion or southern pride to you, your personal interpretation forfeits any meaning once you display it publicly, as its meaning takes on the meaning it earned when a failed regime killed hundreds of thousands of Americans in an attempt to destroy America and keep black people enslaved forever.

Q: But my uncle posted a meme that said the Civil War/Confederacy was about states' rights and not slavery.

A: "A state's right to what?" – John Green

Q: Everyone is offended about everything these days. Should we take everything down that offends anyone?

A: The Confederacy literally existed to go against the Constitution, the Declaration of Independence, and the idea that black people are human beings that deserve to live freely. If that doesn't upset or offend you, you are un-American.

Q: Taking these down goes against the First Amendment and freedom of speech, right?

A: No. Anyone can do whatever they want on their private property, on their social media, etc. Taking these down in public or having private corporations like NASCAR ban them on their properties, has literally nothing to do with the Bill of Rights.

Q: How can people claim to be patriotic while supporting a flag that stood for a group of insurgent failures who tried to permanently destroy America and killed 300,000 Americans in the process?

A: No clue.

Q: So, if I made a confederate flag my profile picture, or put a confederate bumper sticker on my car, what am I declaring to my friends, family, and the world?

A: That you support the Confederacy. To recap, the Confederacy stands for: slavery, white supremacy, treason, failure, and a desire to permanently employ selective history as it supports white supremacy.

It’s no accident that:

You learned about Helen Keller instead of W.E.B. DuBois.

You learned about the Watts and LA Riots, but not Tulsa or Wilmington.

You learned that George Washington’s dentures were made from wood, rather than the teeth of slaves.

You learned about black ghettos, but not about Black Wall Street.

You learned about the New Deal, but not “red lining.”

You learned about Tommie Smith’s fist in the air at the 1968 Olympics, but not that he was sent home the next day and stripped of his medals.

You learned about “black crime,” but white criminals were never lumped together and discussed in terms of their race.

You learned about “states' rights” as the cause of the Civil War, but not that slavery was mentioned 80 times in the articles of secession.

Privilege is having history rewritten so that you don’t have to acknowledge uncomfortable facts.

Racism is perpetuated by people who refuse to learn or acknowledge this reality.

You have a choice. – Jim Golden