#bravo a+ keep it up all vacation thanks

[workingforitallthetime]

4/21/23

[oogaboogasphincter]

would u do a part 2 of after the beep when bunny gets home from work? because it’s very much delicious and i ate it up with a little salt and pepper

Stress Relief | Dieter Bravo x f!reader

🩷 hiii anon! 🥺 i can’t even begin to apologize for how long this took me to get to you, i’m so beyond thankful for your patience <3 i hope i delivered for you! 🫶

After an agitating day, your boyfriend Dieter helps melt all your worries away by delivering on the dirty promises he left in your voicemails earlier that morning.

word count/warnings: 4.9k+ words EXPLICIT 18+ ONLY MDNI! // hurt (reader has a terrible horrible no good very bad day) then comfort, reader and dieter have a verbal argument (in which reader throws a pillow at dieter) but it’s quickly resolved, phone sex mention, dieter threatens to blackmail your boss lol, anal play (f!receiving; fingering, licking), anal sex (f!receiving), masturbation (f), oral (m receiving), recreational drug use (weed, reader and dieter both use but it’s not a factor in their consent), insane amount of pet names (baby, kitty, bunny, sweetheart, sugar, lady, girl) // ao3 link

(this can be read as part 2 to after the beep but it can also be a standalone!)

“Dieter!?”

You shout as you wrench the door open with your rain-slicked hand and kick it closed behind you, leaving a muddy bootprint on the crisp white wood. The roaring thunder fails to drown out your enraged call, but you’re left unanswered nonetheless. The house Dieter is staying at - one of his actor friend’s vacation homes - is darkened by the storm outside and seems to sigh at your anger, upset that you roused it from its storm-induced slumber. But Dieter’s rental car is in the driveway, so you know your boyfriend is here somewhere. You yank your soaked jacket off and don’t bother finding a peg for it, throwing it on the hideous accent chair that probably cost more than your rent. 

Despite the boisterous thunder, the quiet inside swells to an intimidating glower. By now Dieter should’ve come lumbering out of whatever pit of candy wrappers or wrinkled pajamas he plunged himself into, but the air remains undisturbed. You keep your footsteps light as you walk around the unfamiliar house, peeking in and scanning each room for him. 

“Hey, Diets?” you ask another room, devoid of any activity. Your anger has softened now, eaten away by a growing concern of what Dieter could’ve possibly gotten himself into between when you left to go to work this morning and now. You know he was upset that you were leaving, but he always is. Hell, his voice gains a whiney edge when you just want to leave his grizzly embrace for all of thirty seconds to go to the bathroom. He left you those deliciously vile voicemails earlier in the day, detailing exactly what his erotic plans were for you later this evening, but it had been radio silence since then. 

More calls, no answers. Your mind races with options, getting more worrisome as your brain’s overthinking cogs are given more unresolved time to spiral with. Did he go meet up with a friend and forget to text you? Did he get let go of by a project, a studio - god forbid it isn’t his lawyer - and he’s drowning his sorrows with some chosen vice? Did he make one too many wrong friends on one of his many esoteric adventures and they have come back to haunt him? 

You circle back to the living room, taking out your phone to call the friend that owns this house. Maybe Dieter got picked up by them to have drinks and that’s why his rental is still here? You dial the number with a crease in your brow, and as you lift the phone to your ear and it starts to ring, you spot your dastardly lover: dead asleep on the couch, curled into himself. Only his muss of graying curls bobs from the surface of a sea of pillows and blankets with every light snore.

Your rage is rekindled to its fullest extent as a bolt of lightning cracks across the sky outside. You swear you can feel your eye twitch as you stand drenched from head to toe in rain before your dozing boyfriend, swaddled in cozy, dry warmth. 

“Dieter!” You take one of the pillows and lob it at him, hitting him right on the head. You don’t feel bad because you know it didn’t hurt him and it irks you when his eyes burst open, holding his hand to his forehead like it did. He blinks slowly, his eyelashes sticking together with sleep as he mumbles quietly, “What the fuck?” Then his eyes - those irritatingly gorgeous puddles of melted chocolate - widen when they take you in. His expression morphs into compassion and he shakes the blankets off, stumbling to his feet with lingering drowsiness.

“Bunny, what happened?” he asks, reaching for your arms to hold you. You take a step back from him, still steaming with anger. You get even more irritated when you feel the hot tears that prick your eyes every goddamn time you get upset. Stifling them back, you straighten your back and unleash your anger. 

“What happened? What happened is that I stayed late at work, even though my boss was being a fucking asshole, and when I went to leave, my car battery died, and since I stayed late, everyone else had already left, and my boyfriend didn’t answer my fucking calls!” You jab a finger into the air, aiming at his chest. “So I had to leave my car at work because no tow or rental company would help me, and I walked here in the fucking pouring-down rain!” 

You turn on your heel and slip against the marble floor, which you honestly should’ve seen coming but you’re too irate to think rationally right now. Dieter reaches his arms out again, wanting to steady you, but you beat him to it and stomp away angrily. With your face hidden from his sight now, you let your tears silently flow down your cheeks and blend with the fat raindrops on your neck. Dieter follows behind you, quickening his pace to match yours and subsequently slides in his slippers in your wet wake. He tries to get you to stop, sympathetically calling out to you by name. 

You beeline for the bedroom and lunge into the adjoining bathroom. Just as Dieter catches up to you, he’s pleading, “Bunny, wait, just let me-” 

You shut the door in his face and lock yourself in, leaning your back against it and crying into the darkness. You let yourself sob out loud, releasing all the pent up anger, frustration, sadness and shame you’ve been holding in all day and that hit its climax when you started arguing with Dieter. 

Your sweet, beloved boyfriend. 

The two of you haven’t officially labeled yourselves as of yet, but you know it’s more than the booty calls it began as. You… care about him. You never thought you’d see the snarky, charming jerk as anything but. However, over the past two and a half years you’ve shared a bed with him (among various other furniture and locations), he’s revealed a soft vulnerability that you were convinced he faked in order to come off to the public as empathetic, intellectual. But he’s the real deal; all those philosophical musings, whether fueled by questionable substances or not, were spoken from his heart. That four letter word that scares the daylights out of you both rings in your head, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. 

Just because you don’t have the wherewithal to vocalize your feelings right now, it only serves to engorge the guilt you have for shutting Dieter out, both literally and figuratively. He’s only trying to help you, trying to provide a safe space for you to lash out, cry, or forget about your grievances, like he always does. With a sniffle and a deep sigh, you open the door and jump a little when he’s standing right there; he was waiting for you to be ready. He never left. 

His genuine care for you makes your eyes well up and flood again, your voice hoarse as you begin, “I-I’m sorry, I just…”

Dieter holds his hand up in a sign of peace and softly interjects when you trail off, “Hold on. Before you say anything more, sweetheart, know that you have nothing to apologize for.”

Your last bit of resolve is blown to smithereens and you practically fall into his arms, where he catches you and envelopes you in his warmth. Openly sobbing again into his chest, Dieter presses his warm mouth against your temple and just holds it there for a moment, letting his touch calm you as he caresses your damp hair away from your face. When your spluttering gasps subside, he speaks quietly and compassionately, “I’m the sorry one. I had the balls to bother you earlier, knowing you were stressed and busy, and then being the lazy asshole I am, I fell asleep and was dead to the world for hours. I’m sorry.”

When you fish your face out of his shirt, the damp spot that your eyes made on the fabric makes you cringe. Dieter reads your discomfort and rubs his big palms up and down your back, silently pardoning you. He’s had much more vile substances on his person before, a few tears from his lover isn’t anything to make a fuss over. You shrug and collect your thoughts that finally have some sensibility to them, “It’s okay. I just had a bad day at work, they gave me so much extra shit because I scheduled a few days off so they were trying to wring me for all I had and were even pushier than usual and were yelling at me even when I was doing all the right things and what they asked and- and then my fucking car-”

You cut yourself off with a gasp, not having realized that throughout your spill you didn’t stop to breathe. Dieter strokes your cheek with the back of his fingers as he coos to you, the cool metal of his rings grounding you, “Hey, shhh. It’s over now, right? You just relax, baby, okay? Focus on taking some deep breaths, like we practiced. In through the nose and out through the mouth, remember?”

If you weren’t so distraught, it would make you chuckle. You were the one that had given him that technique to calm his own anxiety, and here you were forgetting your own advice. Dieter sets an example for you, breathing slowly through his nose and out through his mouth, and you follow along until your sobs stop catching in your throat. His hands never stop stroking you, sending waves of comfort through you. Soon, your body has stopped trembling because of your volatile emotions, but you shake in your skin from the cold rain that has seeped into your bones. 

He notices and chuckles breathily, rubbing your arms to instill some heat into your blood. There’s a hint of mischief in his smile, one that you sense will swell into some menacing devilishness as the night deepens, “Let’s get you warmed up, hm?” 

He sidesteps you to go deeper into the bathroom behind you, going to the bathtub which he takes a seat on the edge of and turns the faucet on. With his palm upturned, his forefinger points at you and wiggles in an upward motion. 

“Off,” he instructs. His eyes rake over your dripping frame, following the cold droplets’ paths over the rain-soaked clothes that mold to every delectable curve of your body. His yearning stare wedges an extra beat into your heart rate and makes it hard to swallow. 

Despite the unceremonious manner of your strip, your locked gazes are brimming with passion, ferocity, boiling with the heat of the night to come. Your sopping clothes land on the floor with a splat and Dieter sighs at your figure in all its nude glory, moving his hand to palm himself unabashedly through his pajama bottoms.

He leans back and swishes his finger through the water once the tub is filled, checking the temperature. He jerks his head toward the warm pool, “Come here, sweet thing.” 

His fingers graze along your bare hip as you step into the bath and retract back to his cock when you sink down out of reach. The water feels heavenly, and fulfilling Dieter’s wish without the need of verbal instruction, you lean your back against the slope of the tub until the water’s surface meets the underside of your chin, letting out a deep sigh. You’re about to close your eyes when he brushes a stray hair out of your face, wrangling your attention to the sweet smile that graces his lips. 

His voice is soft but firm in its sincerity, “I’ll have your car picked up and checked out.” Knowing you better than you know yourself, you’re about to pipe up to offer that he really doesn’t have to do that, that you’ll pay for the rest even if he insists on covering the tow. He leans in closer, so close you can taste his breath on your lips, robbing you of all thoughts other than the ones that spiral around him. “Don’t worry about any repairs it needs. I’ve got ya, sugar,” he supplies with a wink. 

“Your boss will be receiving an unsightly letter to treat you better or else. There’s also a blackmail package available, featuring a rather smelly, heaping pile of a ‘substance’,” his fingers scrunch in allusive air quotes, “that Bravo Enterprises can’t disclose only for the purpose of ensuring surprise for the recipient, of course, that can be left on his desk. If the lady so desires.” You’re giggling before he’s finished, smacking him on the bicep that leaves a wet handprint on his t-shirt sleeve. 

“I appreciate the offer, but no thank you. I don’t want to be fired, or jailed, depending on what this ‘substance’,” you mimic his air quotes, “is you speak of.” 

“But,” you look up at him from underneath your lashes, shyly, “how could I have known my boyfriend would send in a letter of complaint?” 

He kisses your forehead proudly, stroking your cheek with his thumb affectionately, “That’s my girl. Now, I want you to sit back and relax for a while. Let the stress of the day melt away.” His hands dip shallowly into the water to rub his thumbs into your collarbone, moving onto your shoulders to massage soothing circles there after that. His voice drops an octave, with a satisfying rasp that runs parallel to velvety smoothness, “I need you relaxed for what I’m going to do to you later, anyway.”

With your eyes closed, you smirk in anticipation. He gives a parting kiss to your cheek, leaving you to shed the stifling stress of the day on your own time. Before he does, he asks, “Want some?” 

You peek one eye open and are being offered a little white rolled paper with a twist at the end. 

“No thanks,” you shrug, “Maybe later.” 

A little while later, there’s a knock on the door so soft you don’t hear it. Dieter pokes his head in, his boyish scruff rearranging into a smile when he sees your eyes still closed in peace. He quietly lays a folded bathrobe on the counter next to the sink and steals one last admiring glance at you before he ducks back out. 

When the water has lost its warmth, you exit the bath and shrug on the thoughtful, fluffy robe with a smile, knotting the belt loosely around your waist as you go into the bedroom. Dieter is lying on his back on the bed, toying with a vibrator in his hands. The scene makes you chuckle and the playful sound draws his gaze. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, “Get over here, sweetness,” and you oblige, standing in between his parted thighs. The robe you’ve had on for all of sixty seconds becomes a redundant heap on the ground. Dieter’s hands cup your asscheeks, pulling you closer to him so he can envelope your nipple with his tongue. He bites down on your pert bud softly as you do the same to your lip, moaning through your teeth. His tongue drags a path across your chest to your other breast, where he laves his desperate tongue against the erect little peak there too. When he pulls back, he looks drunk off of you already. 

He pats the center of the bed, his tone gruff and lost in his allegiance to your pleasure, “On your knees.” 

Dieter puts the weight of his palm on your back, sculpting you into an arch. You’re on your knees but you’re also on your forearms, too. He kneels before you, sitting back on his haunches, and lifts your gaze up to his with a finger underneath your chin. “You remember what I said on the phone?” he asks, using his free hand to squeeze his bulge through his boxers. You nod, resting your cheek on his thigh and batting your lashes up at him. “Mmhm…,” you lick a stripe up the seam of the crotch, “You said you were gonna fuck my throat.”

He pulls his underwear down to his knees, freeing himself. The thick heft of him lightly smacks against your nose and a pornographic moan rumbles up from your center, whose emptiness is gnawing away at you. “Until I gag,” you tack on, remembering all his erotic details. His shoulders deflate with a sigh, his eyes shine with rapture, “Smart girl,” and he feeds you his cock. 

You take it greedily, engulfing it in your hot, warm mouth. Harsh, helpless breaths escape his chest as he stumbles through the foggy abyss of ecstasy, regaining enough consciousness to thread his fingers in your hair and glide against your waiting tongue. “Fuck,” he whispers on every thrust, taking the time to rut in and out of your mouth until enough saliva collects to aid his descent down your throat. You take it all like a good girl, his good girl. His stubbly balls nestle against your chin when he reaches that impossible smoothness at your end and he anchors himself there, waiting for that godsent sound of- 

You gag wetly around his length. Tears spill from the corners of your eyes as you try to look up at him, despite the compromising position. He helps you out and leans back so he can stare at you in amazement; his wrought expression has you dripping from both ends. 

He ruefully retreats from your cavern and a thick string of saliva leaves the two of you connected. He swipes it from your lip with his thumb and drinks you down as he shuffles on his knees behind you. 

Planting himself at your opening, he sighs contentedly as he settles in to patiently work you up until you go crazy. “Open up for me, kitty,” he rubs the backs of your thighs and you concede to lay your head down on the bed, splitting yourself for his ravenous eyes. You wiggle your ass back and forth when he doesn’t do anything but sit there admiring and your antics earn you an abrupt, satisfying, open-handed slap to your ass. 

In his voicemail smut, he promised he would open you up, nice and slow, and he does just that at a tauntingly sluggish pace. His languid, sensual tongue draws rivulets up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, before his warm breath ghosts across his tight destination at the peak of your apex. Your breath catches in your throat delightedly when his wet curiosity finds your hole at last, tracing it with his tongue then deftly swirling it around your perimeter. It makes you bite your lip and your breathing come more strenuously. You’re tight, you know that and he knows that, but you don’t doubt his capability to unravel you until you can take his whole length with no resistance. 

His raspy, comforting voice murmurs into your cheek, echoing his promise, “Don’t worry, bunny, I’ll open you up. Nice and slow…” He starts with his tongue again, lubing your backdoor entrance until you can feel his heavy saliva slide down to your aching folds. You rub at your clit lazily while he massages your hole with his thumb, gradually exposing you to increased pressure. Your resistance fades in time with his patient ministrations, to the point where he can lick into you. You both groan out in relief, him at your taste and you in dire pleasure. He reaches to swap your hand for his and draws perfect circles around your clit while his tongue works magic against your hole, bringing you to the peaks of two orgasmic heights whose blissful slopes have you feeling relaxed afterward, like jelly. It takes a little while of licking into you for him to be able to slide his thick finger in there, wriggling it around. 

It tickles more than you expected, making you giggle before you’re choked out with a moan as the ticklishness ignites into absolute pleasure. The tingles crawl up your spine, fizzing out in the base of your neck and skittering sparks of dopamine all over your brain. 

He squeezes a second finger inside in between contractions of your muscle, convulsing and expanding in time with the merciless waves of ecstasy that pour over you. Dieter watches with rapt attention as you stretch around him, your impeccable body adjusting to him deliciously. When your body starts to pull him back in on every retraction of his fingers, his cock twitches. You’re ready. 

He gets to his knees, stretching over to the bedside table to grab the lube - just for extra comfort. You whimper ceaselessly underneath him on all fours, your body on fire for him. You squirm with impatience, a fiery need for him to fill you to the brim thrashing through you. Hurried by your mewling, Dieter’s fingers slip against the bottle and knock it to the floor. “Fuck!” he spits, bursting you into pieces with laughter. 

He regains possession of the bottle and settles your devilish attitude with a single smack to your asscheek. The cap pops open, the cold gel runs into his palm, and he warms it up in his hands before he coats you everywhere you’ll need it. Dieter gives himself a few additional strokes too, groaning at the thought of what’s about to come (quite literally). 

He pushes his tip against your hole, testing you, relishing in the remaining pressure your body still keeps. It feels so good to be broken by him, like he’s knocking down a barrier you don’t have the strength to keep up anymore. You want to surrender and he lets you. 

He pushes inside and you gasp sharply, immediately followed by warbling babbles of how good he feels, how big he is, how good it fucking feels! He eases into you slowly, gliding deeper until his hips are nestled against your cheeks and all he can see is his hairy base above where he’s buried inside you. His splayed hand runs from the nape of your neck down your curved spine. “Shh, bunny,” he soothes. His hand comes to a stop just above your tailbone, pressing into the small of your back to arch you further beneath him. You bend to his will and groan as the new angle seats him impossibly deeper inside. 

Your pussy drips for him, warm and fresh, and your hips wiggle of their own accord to make his intrusion a pleasurable one. His fingers wind around your pelvis and hold you steady, tongue tutting at you over your shoulder. 

“Move, goddamnit,” you seethe, on the verge of tears. You feel helpless beneath him, a prisoner to your own desire, and your voice comes out just as vulnerable despite its biting rage that he still hasn’t moved. 

Upon hearing your desperation, he doesn’t make you hold out any longer. His first thrust is gentle, experimental, opening you up even further. Breath heaving, whole body shaking with every inhale that squeezes you tighter around him, “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…”

“Holy fuck,” he blurts out in an echo to you, staring down at his thick cock lodged in your tight hole. 

Even as he starts to gain pace, he maintains a consistent degree of gentleness to his thrusts so as not to hurt you - that’d be no fun for anyone involved. 

“Feel so good, bunny,” Dieter whispers breathlessly, neck craned up to the gods with eyes closed and imperceptible, breathy oh, oh, ohs flowing from his mouth on every plunge. Meanwhile, your face is smashed into the sheets, squealing with a sensation so pleasurable that is ill-monikered by “an itch that needs to be scratched”; this is more like a firework in the night sky that you jump to catch every singing ember of. 

You grip at the bedsheets with white knuckles, grinding your teeth together. Dieter splays his hand on the crown of your head and lifts you up to release your stifled, heavy breaths, “Let go, bunny,” he encourages. Your resolve instantly weakens and your orgasm overtakes you swiftly, knocking you without warning. Wracked with blinding pleasure, every breath you take is either a scream, a desperate moan, or a wrecked sob for him to keep going! 

He does, fucking you until you’re a mess beneath him. You faintly remember his threat on the phone, something like he’d pull out midway through your release and make you gape. But thank fucking god you appealed to his sympathy enough tonight that instead he treats you, keeping his length nestled in your ass for you to pulse around, choking on air as your heart pounds in your chest. 

Not too long later, your reverie is dissolved when he lands a smack to your ass, “Good girl,” he purrs. He leans over your body, his breath cool on your feverish skin as it tickles your shoulder in a whisper, “Your turn.” 

You whimper when he pulls out and stay stuck in your feline position, back arched like a cat and wishing he was still hitting it. Dieter lies down in front of you, his cock resting erect against his tummy and his stupidly big, pleading eyes beg for you. “Please, baby,” comes whimpering from between those plush lips. 

You nearly choose to leave him dangling on the edge; after all, you know how much he likes to be cucked (and how much you like to cuck him). But you want him too badly. Like in his dirty dreams this morning that he analogged for you, you mount him and begin riding. His big palms ascend your sweaty skin to cup your breasts that bounce as your thighs work to propel you up and sink you down in quicker succession. He leans forward to take one plush mound in his mouth, flicking your nipple with his tongue - but you twist your fingers in his ruffled hair and tug him back. It felt good, but the devastated crease between his brows makes you feel even better. This push and pull, give and take of dominance and submission always had to equalize with you two; your egos were too prideful for the game to be finished with a clear decision. 

With the score tied, you finally find the patience to slow down; you gyrate your hips, grinding down on Dieter and meeting his shallow thrusts in a symphony of movement. That is, until that biting urge deep in your tummy needs another orgasm thrown to it to be satiated and stop growling at you for more. You resume bouncing, not going as fast as you could but opting for a poignant, striking rhythm instead. 

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna-” he chokes.

“Fuck yeah baby, do it,” you hiss like a temptress, watching the restraint drain from his eyes and give way to the unstoppable bliss that erodes him until he’s nothing but. You lift your hips up for him to pull out and he takes himself in hand, pumping feverishly as white hot cum spills into his lap. The muscles of Dieter’s stomach jerk in tandem with his spurting, even after he’s reached empty. He runs his hand down his sweaty, wrecked face, breathing haggardly as you roll off his lap and lower your mouth to his hips to lap him up. He tastes mostly salty with a hint of sweetness, viscous and easy to swallow down. It might not be your arousal your tongue cleans him of, like he fantasized earlier, but the sinful sight drives him up the fucking wall regardless. 

Both of you lie there, him on his back and you on his chest, for a long time, just trying to catch your breath. Dieter reaches over to the nightstand for a joint and raises his eyebrow, asking your permission, which you give with a nod. He lights up and passes the smoke to you through parted lips, before handing over the rest of it for you to finish off. The thing about weed’s specific effect on you, that Dieter is very familiar with, is that it makes you feel warm, cuddly, and… aroused. With a mischievous giggle, you grind your wet folds against his thigh, asking for more, to which he grunts and gives a dry chuckle. 

“I’m not 25 anymore, bunny, you gotta give me a little bit of time to recover.” 

“What do you think I was trying to get off work for?” Your fingers waltz up his ribs with a mission to tickle him, but he catches on and swats you away with a smile. You love that shit-eating grin he gets, but it tarnishes your own when you’re hit with the thought that… you’ll miss it. 

You turn your face away to look down at the burning paper, trying to disguise the disappointment in your voice, “You’re leaving soon, right?” 

He sighs bitterly, but not at you, “Yeah, I am. But I was thinking…”

Your ears perk up so that you don’t mistake not even one word in his soft, raspy voice, “If you could, if you wanted to… you could come stay with me for a little while.”

You meet his eyes to gauge if he’s fucking with you - to your delight, he isn’t. “I have that fuck off huge house that production gave me with nobody in it but me and some makeup and costume people who are in and out for a few hours each morning. Ha,” he chuckles, raising his eyebrows in time with his words, “In and out.” 

He can never take anything seriously for very long, but that’s the Dieter that you fell in- nopedon’tsayitthatwordistooscaryheonlyinvitedyoutocomestayforalittlewhilethatdoesn’tmeananythingseriousthatdoesn’tchangeanythingbetweenyoutwo. But the softened glimmer in his eye… it’s not a high from the weed. 

“I’d love to.”

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[something-tofightfor]

Locked Down Part 8: The Understanding

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Female Reader

Word Count: 8,858

Rating: Not safe for work. Sexual acts. Touching. Language. This has it all. Dieter is his own damn warning.

Summary: Jenna knows what’s going on now, and that’s made things simpler for you and Dieter. 

The more you get to know each other, the deeper your feelings grow - and even though there are parts of you that believe the same is true for him, you’re hesitant to let yourself go and believe it.

But when the cast and crew start getting sick ... everything changes again. 

Author’s note:

I really hope that you all like this one - and that this satisfies some of your concerns about Reader’s emotions and understanding of the situation between her and Dieter. 

As always, thank you so fucking much for the support and the feedback and the interaction on this story. It has meant the absolute WORLD to me. 

Catch up on the other parts here: Locked Down Masterlist

By the third week of November, you realized that things weren’t exactly perfect on the set, even though they were much better for you on a personal level.

The night Jenna had found out what was going on hadn’t changed - or strained - anything between you and Dieter. Instead, it had made things easier, the woman not questioning what was happening but offering you an opportunity to talk about the man if you wanted to. There were plenty of questions that you wanted  to ask her, but you refrained - for the most part. It was partially because you didn’t know if you wanted to know the answers to them, and partially because you wanted him to be the one to tell you … if he chose to. But it shouldn’t matter, because … because this is just fun. It’s casual, and we both know that. 

And that night had also changed the frequency of your nights spent together, too. You alternated between your rooms, choosing whichever one was more convenient at the end of the day, or would work out best for whichever of you had to be on set first the following morning. But you spent every night in bed with Dieter that you could, and though you still weren’t actually intimate every one of those nights, even the times you just slept next to each other, it felt intimate. 

It felt intimate because while you were alone, the two of you would spend time actually getting to know each other. That meant asking the man about himself - about what he liked to do in his free time, what his favorites were in terms of things like food, music, movies and vacation destinations, about his family. 

Most things, he answered readily, launching into detailed stories and memories, asking if you also had experience or interest in those areas. When he was with you, it was just the two of you - the only person he answered calls or texts from was Jenna, and though he he was quick to check messages and emails in your down time when the conversations had ended, he wasn’t glued to his phone in the same way that Carol or Krystal were. He was a little more cagey when it came to his family, though. He spoke about them and showed you pictures - but there was much less detail, and you didn’t blame him there after years of keeping those personal relationships under wraps. 

Dieter also asked you questions - sometimes waiting until you were getting ready to fall asleep, other times blurting things out in the middle of movies or TV shows that caught you off guard. He’d even asked you when your birthday was in the middle of a shower the two of you were taking, his hands and a sponge soaping up your body and his voice in your ear. It had started out with perfunctory questions - asking each other things that might be relevant for something physical that continued over time, but the longer it went on, the more you realized that the questions (from both of you) became increasingly more personal … and pointed. Like things we’d need to know after this. 

You didn’t know what to do with that information, and didn’t know how to bring it up to Dieter, because you didn’t know what to say - and you didn’t want to risk ruining what you had by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. That isn’t what we agreed to. But despite that uncertainty, you felt comfortable around Dieter in every way, even when you were barely interacting on the set any more than you needed to. 

That didn’t translate to the way everything else went, though. Things on set weren’t bad, but they definitely weren’t comfortable, especially when it came to the way the actors and directors were approaching their work. If you noticed it from the sidelines, you figured that everyone else had, too. While you watched your playback one night, you saw how significantly was impacting all of them. 

More takes were needed to complete simple scenes. The actors were snapping at their stylists and assistants more and more often, the glares at Darren less concealed as he made changes on the fly. The crew were dragging - needing to be reminded multiple times about the things that they needed to do and when they needed to be done by. And Darren wasn’t taking it any easier on anyone, especially when it came to the outdoor training that the cast were doing to keep in shape for their parts. 

You documented that, too - Lauren and Carol learning complicated stunt choreography, Dustin and Sean sparring with each other for a fight scene that included one of the beasts, a stunt performer standing between them. Even Dieter was exercising outside - running from marker to marker, trying to figure out how to make the motion translate well onto film, practicing with a trained dog to simulate being attacked for an upcoming scene. 

It seemed insane to you, that the director had stretched the outdoor work into November instead of doing it all at the beginning when the first few weeks of the shoot had been so much nicer weather-wise. But it wasn’t your place to ask questions, and so you didn’t, moving between the groups and individuals with your cameras. And you also didn’t ask questions when the day shoots began to get rescheduled to nights, either, even though it made everyone grumpier - and much more on edge. 

But things turned even worse when the cast started getting sick. At first, it was just a few crew members, the sounds of coughing and sneezing sporadically echoing through the sets or through the catering rooms, though no one really paid much attention because of the fact that it was a closed set and the COVID tests continued to come back negative. And there are a bunch of trees and plants. Could be allergies. 

And then Lauren got sick, the woman slipping off of the rock facade that they were filming on, her body limp as the harness held her fifteen feet off the ground. Sean and Carol followed days after, their symptoms the same. From there, things cascaded - quickly. Even Darren got sick, the man’s howls of misery carrying through the main set until he’d been carted away and back to his room, leaving everyone on set to stand around and stare at each other, unsure of what to do until the assistant director called things for the day, telling everyone to go back to their rooms and wait. 

You caught it all on camera - the snippy attitudes, the gradually increasing sneezes and coughs, the slow return to the beginning of the shoot, where people were wary of each other and hesitant about getting too close. You didn’t know what good that type of content would do in the long run, but you felt that it was important to have it, and so you kept the camera rolling, the amount of footage you turned in weekly growing steadily by the gig - and becoming much more focused on the wider scope of the project as more time passed. 

The morning after Darren left set, there was a loud, insistent knock on your door. As you peeled yourself out of Dieter’s arms, wrapping the spare blanket around your body, you wondered who it was and why they hadn’t just called your room instead. “Gunther?” Squinting into the brightness of the hallway, you peered at him through the crack of your door. “What time is it? Why are you -” 

“The crew COVID compliance member is ill.” He was wearing a mask and a shield, his eyes bright as they focused on you. “I’m here to inform you that you need to take another set of tests today, for COVID and the flu.” Oh. You hadn’t thought of that - had figured that if people were going to get sick, it was going to be COVID, but rationally, you knew that that wasn’t always going to be the case. “We’ll call you down one by one later today to get those done, but until further notice, filming is suspended, and you’re to stay in your room again.” Another quarantine? Fuck. “Suspended?” Pulling the blanket tighter around yourself, you shook your head back and forth. “That -” “Both directors are ill, too. And two camera operators, four of the main cast, numerous crew…” He trailed off and you saw fear in his eyes, almost like he thought it was his fault. It was the first time you’d felt compassion for the man, and it made you sigh. “I knocked on Mr. Bravo’s door, but he didn’t answer. If you could send a message to his assistant, or even speak to him, I’d -” “Yeah.” Clearing your throat, you sighed again. “Yeah, I’ll send her a message.” And tell him in thirty seconds. “Thank you, Gunther. I hope you’re feeling alright.” It might have been your imagination, but you could have sworn that the man looked paler than usual, and the brightness of his eyes was suspect, too. Guess we’ll see. 

You closed and locked the door, padding back through the dark room and to the bed, where Dieter was still laying in the same position you’d left him in. “The fuck did he want so early?” He spoke without opening his eyes, voice thick with sleep.

“I guess people are really sick, Dieter.” Crawling back into bed with him, you were surprised when he lifted one arm, inviting you beneath the blanket that he was still using. “We’ve all gotta test for COVID and the flu today, and probably anything else they can get their hands on tests for, too.” You wondered what would happen if there was an outbreak on set - wondered if there was anything that could be done to at least keep filming partially going, and realized with some shock that there probably wasn’t, since the people that he’d said were already sick were key players. Shit. A delay like that would mean so much longer here.  “Are you feeling alright? I am, but -” “Wouldn’t risk getting you sick.” He mumbled the words, his arm already back around you, the man pulling you closer so that you could tuck your face against his chest. “If I felt like shit, I’d be sleeping alone.” He paused, taking a deep breath and then letting it out with a quiet hum. “Go back to bed. They won’t call you down for hours.” 

His breathing evened out almost immediately, the warmth of his body only adding to the coziness you felt - and the sound and motion lulling you back to sleep as well. 

But when you woke up, he was gone, his side of the bed cold. 

There was no note waiting for you, no text message on your phone, and even though you figured that he’d just gone back to his room for something, or had gone to take whatever barrage of tests you’d all be subjected to, you couldn’t keep the frown off of your face as you wondered why he hadn’t said anything before leaving. Or did he? How deeply was I sleeping?

You dressed quickly, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie along with a pair of fuzzy socks, deciding that comfort for the day would be key. But before you could relax and decide what you wanted to eat, your room phone rang, telling you that you needed to report to the hair and makeup room - where they had the testing areas set up - as soon as possible. Alright then. Guess that comes first.

To your surprise, you passed Dieter in the hallway on your way down, the man masked up and wrapped in his bathrobe, the clothes he had on underneath similar to yours. Oh no. “You still feeling alright?” You were worried, eyes moving over the man’s disheveled-more-than-usual appearance. “Dieter?” “Yeah.” He pulled his mask down, grinning at you. “But there’s no reason to actually get dressed if I’m just going to have someone shove a goddamn Q-tip into my brain a couple times.” You laughed, rubbing at the bridge of your nose. That’s a good point. “You up now?” “I am.” You stared at him, head tilted to one side. “I’m gonna go get tested and then grab something to eat. I’ll talk to you later?” Dieter assured you that you would, and only a few moments later, you were in the elevator, going down while Dieter headed back to his room.

You’d been right about having to take multiple tests - and they included one for strep along with COVID and flu swabs, the friendly woman wearing a face shield, a mask and a full on suit to protect herself while she interacted with you. At least they’re taking it seriously. Though they were going to rush processing the tests, she warned you that the results for the entire production would likely take at least two days to come back, and to take appropriate measures according to the pamphlet she handed you when and if you began to feel sick. I hope I don’t. 

You passed Jenna in the hall on your way toward the cafeteria before you went back to your room, and knew without a doubt that the woman was sick. Her eyes were swollen and red, her skin looked damp, and she avoided you as much as possible in the hallway, shaking her head from side to side as she waved you off from getting closer. “Oh, Jenna. I’m so sorry. Do you want me to -” “Already told him.” She coughed and then leaned over, holding a hand to her stomach. “I’m gonna need a couple days, even if I don’t have -” “I don’t think you have COVID.” Symptoms seem wrong. “But I’m not a doctor, so…” She groaned, and the two of you said goodbye, you making a quick stop in to the catering area and grabbing what you could, even though there was very little in the way of hot foods in the buffet. Alright so even catering is sick. 

You had a feeling that you were in for a rough couple of days - at the very least. Only a few hours later, you realized that you were right, as the first round of test results came back - announced via a mass email sent out to everyone in the production. The flu. The flu is going around. Wonderful. Groaning, you flopped backwards onto your bed, covering your face with both hands.

That’s how Dieter found you, the man slipping into your unlocked room through the main door, an overnight bag slung over his arm. “You still feeling alright? That doesn’t look good.” 

“Have you checked your phone? It’s not COVID, Dieter, it’s the flu.” Which means I can get it. Which means anyone can get it, and … “And if it’s the flu, and it can be passed, that means that we can give it to each other, and I don’t want -” “Oh.” You finally sat up, still staring at him as he lifted the strap on the bag he carried. “I guess I won’t need this, then.” What do you mean? “I thought that since we’re shut down for at least a couple days and can’t do anything, that we could …” He shrugged, turning his head to the side. “I don’t know. I thought maybe we -” He wants to spend the time with me? He wants to quarantine with me? He… “That way if we get sick, we can take care of each other, yeah?” 

“Do you even know how to take care of a sick person, Dieter?” Giving him a wry smile, you pushed off of the bed, walking toward him. “The amount of care and compassion and trust you need to -” “You got me there.” He’d set what he carried down on your table, turning back around to face you with his arms crossed over his belly and one arm raised. “Mostly I just mean that if I get sick, I want to be sure someone’s gonna be here to take care of me. Jenna’s down for the count, so… you’re my only option, unless you -” “Bet Anika would do it.” Biting your lip, you moved forward, your hand resting on his chest between the lapels of his robe. “Bet she’d be more than happy to do just about anything you asked her to do, even if it meant cleaning up vomit, or taking your sweat-soaked clothes to the laundry, or -” “What about you?” He blinked down at you, his expression serious. “I don’t plan on getting sick, but if I did, would you -” “Yes.” Swallowing hard, you answered without hesitation. “If you needed me to take care of you, Dieter, I would.” He looked like he didn’t believe you, and you knew that the only way to change that was to show him you were telling the truth. When and if you get sick. Dieter … you’ll see. “So you really want to stay in here with me? We could be here a while.” 

“Oh, I bet it’s at least a week that we’re not working.” He sniffed, eyes on you. “Some people are sick now, but there’s gonna be more. Just give it time.” Wait. 

“Dieter, when’s the last time you saw Jenna? Without masks, I mean?” He frowned, turning his head away from you as he thought. Because if he gets sick, it’s going to be from her. 

“Yesterday. I did an interview and a meeting over Zoom and she was in my room for it. And then we ate lunch together.” He swore, spinning away from you and walking to the door, slamming his hand against it. “Fuck. I’m gonna get sick, aren’t I?” You didn’t have it in you to lie to him and so you nodded as you walked toward him again, chewing on your lower lip. 

“Probably, Dieter. But it’ll be alright. I promise.” He was uncertain, but didn’t move away from you when you reached for him, your hands finding his cheeks and resting there, forcing him to look you in the eye. “I’ve gotta know something, though.” 

“Hmm?” He didn’t break eye contact, waiting to see what you’d ask. 

“What kind of sick person are you?” You saw the confusion in his eyes, quickly continuing to keep him from wondering. “Are you needy? Are you whiny? Do you just sleep a lot? Are you mean?” 

“I… don’t know.” Reaching for you, one hand settled against the small of your back before he swallowed. “No one’s ever really been around to tell me what kind of patient I am, so I guess we’re going to figure it out together.” Great. But instead of letting him see that you were underwhelmed and apprehensive about his response, you leaned in, dropping a quick kiss onto his lips at the same time you lowered your hands to his shoulders. “No, don’t, what if -” “Dieter, if you get sick, I’m going to get sick, too. That kiss is nothing compared to -” “Fine. But don’t try and tell me I didn’t warn you, or say that it’s my fault that you get sick when it happens.” “I spent two weeks absolutely alone in this room when I had COVID. I can handle the flu for a couple days.” But can I handle you with the flu for a couple days? Eyes closed, Dieter leaned in again - but instead of kissing you on the mouth, he pressed a soft one against your cheek, pulling you closer to his body. 

“You won’t be alone this time when you get sick.”

— 

But you didn’t get sick. The emails continued to roll in, lengthy lists of people that had tested positive for the flu growing each day until the number of people that were healthy was easier to recite than the number that weren’t. Of the main cast, only Krystal and Dieter hadn’t come down with the illness after the first few days, and you had a sneaking suspicion that Dieter was actually a lot less healthy than he let on. 

On the third day, the two of you woke up together and then went down to get food separately. 

The buffet was even less stocked than it had been on the day you’d first been tested, and you picked over the food with some irritation, wondering how many of the hotel’s staff were sick, too, and what it would mean for everyone else if the kitchen wasn’t able to operate. You knew it was unfair - no one could help being sick, but it didn’t make anything easier on you or the other people depending on the continued daily function of the hotel’s services. It’d be different if we could leave and get stuff from other places, but we can’t.

“We should just tell everyone we’re sick,” Dieter said to you as the two of you finished your breakfast a little later. “Tell them we’re sick and then they’d deliver food to us, and -” “But we aren’t.” You licked your spoon clean, rolling your eyes. “And if we told them that, we’d have to get tested again, and it would show that we aren’t sick. So your plan… I can understand it, but it wouldn’t work.” 

He grumbled, stuffing his trash into the small bag he’d carried his meal up in, and then got off of the bed, carrying it toward the door. “You’re right. You’re always fucking right, and -” “Isn’t that why you like me?” Grinning, you followed him, a separate trash bag in your hands. “Here, gimmie.” The longer things went on - and the fewer people you knew would be wandering the halls, the less you worried about someone seeing the two of you emerge from the same room. However, you still didn’t take risks when you didn’t have to. “I’ll take them out.” Dieter passed the bag to you, and with a quick glance in both directions, you stepped in front of his door, dropping one off and then returned to yours, placing the second. Simple. Maybe too simple, but … 

“That’s not why I like you.” He waited until the door shut behind you, stepping forward to cage you in against it with both arms. “I like you because you put up with me. And because you’re nice to me. And I guess because the sex is good, too.” Laughing, you tipped your head back, eyes closing as the top of it made contact with the wooden door. Of course. 

“Which one of those attributes is the most important to you, though? That’s the real question.” 

He didn’t answer, the man’s eyes searching your face for something, and then he was kissing you again, crowding you with his body, which you didn’t mind at all.

Neither of you had bothered to get dressed in real clothes for the entire time you’d been staying together - both of you in sweats and t shirts (mostly you, because Dieter preferred to be shirtless) and your robes, only removing the outer layer when it was time for bed, or to switch out to a hoodie (or Dieter’s cardigan of choice)  when it was time to leave the room for any reason. You gripped his robe, pulling him closer, and Dieter let you, hips pressed against yours, chests touching, too. “Bed. C’mon.” 

He backed off only enough to give you room to move, and within a few seconds, you were next to the bed, Dieter’s hands pushing the robe from your shoulders before shrugging out of his and letting it fall to the floor in a heap, too. You’d learned each other’s basic moves in the time you’d spent together, and you knew Dieter well enough to know that he was waiting to see what you did, to find out where you were going to take the day. Before he could speak, you sunk to your knees in front of him, both hands running down his thighs and stared up at him through your lashes. “Before we get into bed…” 

He groaned when you palmed him through the pants he wore, the man already half-hard from just a few kisses, and you knew it wouldn’t take long to change that. Quickly deciding to remove his pants instead of just pulling him through the opening of them, you undid the button, easing them down his hips and taking his underwear, too. “You don’t n-” His words were cut off when you leaned in to kiss his hip, the edges of your nails running over his bare ass and then down over the backs of his thighs. “Fuck.” 

As your lips moved closer to your intended goal, you felt the man sway slightly, his hands going to your shoulders to steady himself. Uh oh. “You alright, Dieter?” Glancing up, you saw that his eyes were closed, though his lips were parted, mouth hanging slightly open. “Usually takes you a little longer for you to start -” “Can we lay down?” Mumbling the words, Dieter opened his eyes. “I just -” You stood immediately, leaning forward to press your lips to his forehead. No fever. Maybe he’s just tired. “Please?” 

“Of course.” Stepping back, you gave him a chance to turn toward the bed, but instead of doing that, Dieter reached for you, pulling you against his bare chest and holding you close. “What are you -” He didn’t reply for long moments, and you felt the way he ducked his head down, pressing his cheek against the top of it while yours was resting against the front of his body. Still not warm. He held you while you were in bed, but that was the only time it was normal behavior, the man preferring to be mostly hands off unless the situation called for it. And even though he’d hugged you before - plenty of times - it had never been the lingering kind of hug he was currently giving you. Well this is something to think about. 

He climbed into bed when he let go, beckoning you to get in with him. Dieter was smiling, the expression almost soft and nothing like the smirks or smiles he gave people on a regular basis. You felt your heart hammering in your chest at the sight of it - there was no way around it. He might be getting sick. That’s all this is. It’s him acting different because his body’s off, that’s all. 

You kept your clothes on, and though you saw the confusion on his face, he didn’t comment on it, instead groaning out your name when you bent over, mouth once again finding the thin skin at his waist. You kissed your way across his hipbone and inward, Dieter’s lower half rising slightly at the sensation. Unlike he’d done with you so many times before, you let him move, hoping that he wouldn’t surge upward and into your face. You still hadn’t touched him, and you decided not to. Not yet. 

Wetting your lips, you mouthed at the base of him, inhaling as you closed your eyes - the scent of him nearly overwhelming, just like it always was. He smelled like the body wash that had migrated into your bathroom; cardamom and cedarwood, along with a trace of the cologne that permeated the material of his robe, but there was another scent there - the faint one of sweat, matching with the slightly salty taste on your tongue as it moved over his skin. You pressed kisses along his length, mouth soft against his even softer skin, and when you arrived at the tip, you finally reached out with one hand, wrapping your fingers around him to hold him steady only moments after you enveloped him with your lips. “Christ, your mouth.”

He rose from the bed again, pushing himself deeper, and you closed your eyes at the feeling, Dieter growing more solid by the second as you continued to touch and taste him. The same way the man had made it his personal mission to ensure that when he used his mouth on you, your toes were curled nearly the entire time, his name leaving your lips in little more than a gasp, you’d quickly figured out what he liked - and what you liked giving him. Want him to know how much.

You weren’t timid with your movements, and you didn’t hesitate to let things get a little messy - mouth open enough to let your saliva drip down, easing the glide of your hand at the same time you swirled your tongue around and against him. He moaned when you squeezed - just enough -  at the same time you sucked, ensuring that his skin was pulled taut, heightening the sensations that he felt with each motion. And you never stopped yourself from groaning or moaning in response, knowing that the vibrations from your throat impacted what he felt, too - in some cases, driving him over the edge after only a few minutes, depending on how worked up he’d been before you’d started. 

That night, though, he was much more vocal than usual, the man swearing under his breath with every flick of your tongue against him, grunting as he bucked his hips upward. You were focused, eyes closed as you savored the way he felt in your mouth and in your hand, the warmth and taste of him against your tongue. Dieter was the most appreciative man you’d ever gone down on, and  that had shocked you at first - until you’d realized that it was probably because  in many cases, the encounters he’d had as one night stands were less than satisfactory. Not me. Not this. Not ever.

Releasing him from your mouth, you stroked him a few times, catching your breath but keeping your eyes trained on what was right in front of you. Since it was still daylight out, the room was bright enough that you could see everything - and you knew that he could, too. “Take your shirt off.” He grunted the words out, reaching down to cover your hand with his. “Let me worry about this for a second, and just …” He squeezed and then relaxed his grip, letting you pull your hand away, the man returning to the languid strokes once you stood, both hands reaching for the hem of your t-shirt. You only had on a sports bra underneath, which you made quick work of, that material joining all of the other pieces of clothing on the floor. “Fuck, I like looking at you.”

The smile was still on his face, though his teeth were digging into his lower lip as he watched you, eyes raking over every newly exposed inch of your body. You didn’t think you’d ever get tired of the way he looked at you in moments like those, and despite knowing that it was a bad idea, you filed all of those looks away, wanting to keep them with you, for the times when he wasn’t there with you. Nothing wrong with that, right? “I like looking at you, too, Dieter.” Hands dropping to your waist, you took a slow breath and pushed your sweats down, revealing that you had nothing on beneath them, either. “Can I come back now?” 

“I donno. Can you?” He glanced down, upper lip curling as he tightened his grip. “Fuck. Yeah, yeah, you can.” You got back into the bed, remaining on all fours as you leaned over, but in a stroke of inspiration, you bypassed his hand, instead dipping your head further down as your hand reached between his legs, fingers sliding beneath the man’s sack. “Fuck, you’ve nev-” He made a strangled noise as you swiped your thumb over the top, that motion followed almost immediately by the press of your lips against the wrinkled skin. “Fucking… Hell… You…” He began to move his hand faster and you parted your lips, using the tip of your tongue to trace over the shape of him, your fingers curling slightly beneath what you held at the same time. 

You felt him tense up and changed direction, angling your head so that you could get your mouth as close to the bottom of his shaft as possible, closing your lips against the skin there and sucking, continuing the movement of your fingers. He was panting, and without warning, you felt his free hand move to the back of your head, stroking the hair there - your name and praise dripping from his lips so quickly that you almost couldn’t understand the individual words he spoke. Good. Good, Dieter. That’s what I like to hear. 

Pressing your thighs together to compensate for the way your body was reacting to the sounds he made, you turned your head enough to indicate that you wanted your mouth back on him, and Dieter slowed the movement of his hand, urging you on. “Hey.” He was fisting himself, motion stopped as he said your name again. “Look at me.” You did, meeting his eyes, and you saw that Dieter’s face was flushed, the hair at his temples damp. “Want you to look at me when you make me come.”

He’d never requested that of you before - except when he’d kissed you the first night, wanting you to know he was telling the truth about wanting it. How can I say no to that? You couldn’t - and you both knew it, so you nodded again as you took him back into your mouth, briefly closing your eyes at the taste of him and then opening them again when you began to move, gliding up and down his length. He removed his hand, giving you the go ahead to take over, and so you did, your other hand resting against his thigh, Dieter’s still in your hair. But when you moved your hand, he covered yours with his once more, the man’s fingers squeezing, and you realized that he was going to guide you through it, keeping himself involved by controlling the way you moved. 

It was fine with you, and you moaned again as your motions synced.

From there, you doubled down on your efforts as you dragged your lips slowly up his entire length, tongue tracing along the underside of him and laving over the slit on his head before you repeated it - over and over, trying your best to keep your eyes on him. But it was Dieter that couldn’t do it - his gaze drifting, eyes squeezed shut for long moments, the man panting out short phrases - fuck me, feels great, perfect mouth - all punctuated with him whispering out your name, the sound of it going straight to your lower belly and filling it with a heat that was almost molten and encouraging you to keep going - knowing that after you’d taken care of Dieter, all bets were off on how he’d repay the favor. “Hey. Hey.” He spoke quickly and your eyes opened again, meeting his, and you saw the moment he snapped - the way the light from the window flared against his irises and lightened them, his mouth falling open as his entire body shuddered - the muscles beneath your hands seizing.  

He came hard - like always, and you felt a wash of pride at that fact, the man’s gaze locked on you even though you knew how hard it likely was to keep both eyes open. You didn’t let up on him, sealing your lips around his skin and swallowing, the motion of your mouth slowing but not stopping, Dieter’s fingers tightening against yours and then relaxing, over and over. When he was done, you carefully removed your mouth, closing your eyes and using the knuckle of one hand to clean your lips - your finger coming away damp from a combination of the two of you. 

But instead of sucking it into your mouth with your eyes closed, you opened them again, looking down and finding that he was watching you with curiosity, though his eyes were heavy-lidded and his chest was heaving. “Like the way you taste, Dieter.” You murmured the words but he heard them, his eyes widening as he watched you suck the knuckle between your lips, tongue cleaning it off. “A lot.” 

He was spent, but still reached for you, his hand running up your arm and pulling, urging you down so that he could tilt his chin up, lips seeking yours. “Good.” He spoke against your mouth, the man’s breaths uneven as he kissed you. “I’m fuckin’ glad.” You had to laugh at that, pulling away so that you could look down at him. In the light of the bedroom, you realized that the skin beneath the man’s eyes was dark, as though he was overly fatigued. But we’ve only been up for a few hours. You reached down, fingers moving over his skin as you assessed his condition, and at the touch the man shivered, a look of panic crossing his features briefly. Getting sick, Dieter? I think you are. “You gonna lay down and let me -” “Only if you want to.” You spoke quietly, head shaking back and forth. “Just because I -” “Oh, I want to.” He grinned, the man’s tongue poking from between his teeth. “Get over here.” You crawled up the bed, Dieter urging you to lay your head against the pillows before he rose onto one elbow and trailed his fingers over your face, his eyes following their movement.  “Gonna make you come with my fingers first.” He spoke quietly, lips twitching as he raised an eyebrow. “Get you ready, and then…” He closed his eyes, wrinkling his nose, and you felt him shiver again next to you. “And then we-” “One thing at a time, Bravo.” Reaching up, you pushed his hair away from his face, blinking. I should stop this. He doesn’t feel… “You don’t -” He lowered his head, though, tucking his face into the crook of your neck, and you knew in that moment that he was determined - the man’s mission to make you feel as good as you’d made him feel. “Tell me what you want.” Murmuring the words into his ear, you closed your eyes, inhaling. The scent of his shampoo was mild, but you focused on it, the strands of hair that curled back over his ears soft against your lips. “Tell me how you want me.” 

He didn’t tell you. Instead, he showed you, pulling away from you and then urging his body behind yours, pushing your hip up and away from the mattress so that he could slide one bent knee between your legs. You felt his left arm snake beneath your body, that palm resting against the center of your chest, fingertips just brushing against one nipple. With his other hand, he gripped your thigh, moving it back so that your leg was slung over his, your toes tucked behind his calf, knee bent. “Want you like this.” He kissed the back of your shoulder, the tip and side of his nose moving along your neck. “Just like this.” I always want you like this, Dieter. 

He slid the hand on your leg down and in, massaging the muscle of your inner thigh for a few seconds - and then Dieter let go, bringing that hand to the center of your belly, flattening his palm against it and spreading his fingers wide. He pulled you back and flush against him, his broad body firm against yours, and you felt it - the warmth of his skin, the way his breath felt hitting your back as he continued to speak against it. You were so focused on the sounds coming out of his mouth and the way they made you feel that you didn’t realize he’d reoriented his hand, fingers pointing down, and started to move it until he touched you, a gasp leaving your lips as the man’s middle finger pressed against you and then began moving in a slow circle. 

He stopped speaking, instead opting to drag his lips over the top of your shoulder, and you leaned into it, shifting your upper body to give him better access. You could feel the slick gathering between your legs as he kept moving that one finger, and then Dieter slid his hand down further, the circular motion halting as his middle finger was joined with the first, wrist twisting as he crooked both of them, parting you as he inched closer to the place he was aiming for. 

The fact that you were soaked from only a few moments worth of contact would have made you self-conscious before you’d met the man, but with Dieter, you didn’t care. Because he needs to know. Because this is what he does to me. “Dieter.” You gasped his name out as he dipped the tips of those fingers into you - barely - and then pulled them away, returning to the first point of contact and the circular motion. “Fucking tease.” But you were smiling, and at the words he lifted his head and leaned over, seeking your lips. 

It wasn’t the best angle for your neck, but again, you didn’t care - the man swallowing the sounds you made, his tongue sliding along yours briefly before retreating into his mouth, the man’s teeth latching onto your lip for long moments. While he kissed you, he kept up the movement of his hand - the alternation between touching you and entering you, each time going just a little deeper, one leg flexing as you widened the spread of them, giving him more room to move. “Gonna make you come.” He growled the words into your ear, but there was no malice or real threat in them - he was just as turned on as you were, and you could feel him stiffening against your lower back again, evidence of that fact. “Gonna make you…” He plunged his fingers into you then, burying them in the heat of your body and you cried out, your head whipping in his direction as you squeezed your eyes shut. 

Whatever he’d been planning on saying was forgotten as you cried out his name, the sound breathy as he began to move his hand again, adjusting the position of his fingers without fully removing them, the man scissoring them inside of you in the same motion that he flexed his wrist, each movement hitting a slightly different spot. He wasn’t rushing you to your peak, but he also wasn’t trying to prolong you from reaching it, the man using the hand attached to the arm beneath you to squeeze one breast, the knee he had between your legs pushing the one beneath it further into the mattress. 

You squirmed in his arms, rolling your hips backward as much as you could, and you felt the way the skin of your back rubbed against him, trapping his length between your bodies. I wonder… Reaching back, you pressed your hand against his hip, urging him forward, and it only took a few seconds for Dieter to take the hint - adding small thrusts of his hips to the way he was touching you. You wondered if he was still sensitive from your mouth, wondered if it was even possible for him to get off again from only the friction of being pinned between your bodies, and even though you tried to focus on whether or not you could feel him leaking onto your skin, your attention was shattered when he withdrew his fingers all the way from your body and then plunged them back in, curling the tips and hitting a spot inside of you that you hadn’t been expecting. 

“Oh, fucking Christ!” You moaned the words out, burying your face in the pillow to muffle the sound of his name as it left your lips. That single sound caused him to double down on the movement of his hand, fingers still inside you and the heel of that hand pressing down, heightening what you felt even more. Your body nearly sung at his touch, and as you felt your orgasm slowly building, the tightness in your belly increasing, you opened your eyes, turning your head to look back at him. 

But Dieter was peering down and watching the motion of his hand between your legs, his breaths heavy. It drew your attention, too, the flex of the muscles in his wrist and forearm, the way the skin on the back of his hand and the tops of his fingers was stretched tight, every single motion visible to both of you. You meant to turn your head again, finding that bare patch on his cheek and kissing it as encouragement, but you missed. Instead, your lips landed just in front of his ear, the man’s earring pressed to your cheek. Wait. Wait a… 

Without thinking about it further, you opened your mouth and slid your tongue out, the metal cool against the surface as you toyed with it, closing your lips around his earlobe moments later. He yelped your name, the motion of his fingers stuttering and then beginning again in earnest. “Keep fucking doing that.” You had no intention of stopping, instead swirling your tongue around, supplementing that movement with the drag of your teeth. Dieter’s fingers continued to move inside of you, and you realized with some shock that he’d added a third, leaving you feeling incredibly full with each thrust of his wrist. 

The hand on your chest moved down, too, and he slid those fingers beneath the heel of the first hand, touching you with both at the same time - and that’s all it took. 

You snapped, teeth digging into his earlobe briefly as you came, and then you felt a gush of something warm against your back, Dieter’s entire body going just as rigid as yours had. But he didn’t stop the motion of his fingers, the ones inside of you still curled, the pads of the other still moving in slow, deliberate circles as he guided you through it. Fucking hell. Goddamn. When you released his ear, you let your head drop back onto the pillow, Dieter’s hanging heavy over your shoulder as he exhaled onto the skin of your chest, breath washing over your pebbled nipples. Your legs were shaking; you couldn’t help it, Dieter’s touch somehow more purposeful than it had ever been previously, and you didn’t know why. 

You could feel your body’s reaction to him - the muscles contracting around his fingers and drawing him in as the pleasure coursed through you, the way everything was sensitive but you didn’t even want to imagine him stopping, the feeling of your hips as they moved backwards, still seeking out the contact even though you knew that there was a sticky mess to contend with. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because this is … “Perfect.” He muttered the word and you were halfway convinced that you’d imagined it, but then he said it again, his cheek pressed to your skin. “Fucking perfect.” 

Yeah. It is. Your hands moved of their own volition and you pushed his away from you, unable to take anymore stimulation. “Made you come again, Bravo.” You swallowed hard, shuddering as you rolled forward, separating your bodies. “Wasn’t even trying and -” “Bullshit.” His voice was quiet, the man turning to lay on his back while you rolled forward and onto your chest. “You were trying.” Taking a deep breath, you pressed your face into the pillow and focused on the way your body was still reacting - a faint tingle throughout, your toes flexing - trying to catch your breath. You heard a noise and turned your head toward the sound of it, peeking with one eye just in time to see Dieter sucking his fingers into his mouth and closing his eyes in satisfaction, the man licking them clean and then meeting your eyes. This man is going to be the end of me. “What?” 

He was challenging you, but you had no counter. Instead, you stared at him, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the brightness in his eyes that made the circles beneath them look even darker, noting the way that even though he looked exhausted, he still offered you a smile, the expression almost gentle. “That might be the most attractive thing I’ve ever seen a man do, Dieter.” You moved carefully, mindful of the mess on your skin and rubbed the tip of your nose against his. “Kiss me.” 

He did as you asked, using his mostly clean hand to cradle the back of your head, but that kiss was different, too, sweet in a way that you hadn’t come to expect from the man. You tasted yourself on his tongue, Dieter licking into your mouth at an almost lazy pace until you pulled away, letting out a stuttering breath as you laid your forehead against his. It was warm - warmer than it had been earlier, and though you wanted to attribute it to what the two of you had just done, you knew that paired with his earlier shivering and the circles beneath his eyes, it wasn’t likely that that was the only reason for it. But I did this. I knew he might be … 

“We need to get cleaned up, Dieter.” You spoke quietly, dragging your fingers through his hair. “Get you cleaned up and into a clean bed and -” “You too.” He cleared his throat. “You soaked my hand, and -” Nodding in agreement, you leaned down to kiss him again, the fatigue in his voice apparent. “Fuck I’m tired.” I bet you are. 

But he let you help him out of the bed, the two of you walking the distance into the bathroom together. He leaned against the counter while you turned the water on in your shower and let it heat up. While he waited, he dampened a towel and used the corner of it to wipe your back off, the man’s touch gentle. Taking it from him, you motioned for him to get into the shower, telling him you’d be there in a second, and though he looked like he wanted to argue, he didn’t. 

The moment the door closed behind him, you swiped the towel between your legs and then exited the bathroom, stripping the blankets and top sheet off of the bed and pulling the spare comforter from the closet, draping it over the side he’d be sleeping on. It’s all I can do right now. That done, you bent down, picking up both of your robes and carrying them into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. 

After you set them down on the counter, you pulled open one of the drawers, removing the DayQuil you’d had shipped to you while you were in quarantine the first time and then got into the shower with Dieter, not surprised to see that he was leaning against the wall, his eyes closed as the soapy water ran down his body. “Hey. Your robe’s on the sink. You’re all clean.” He blinked his eyes open, but instead of speaking, only nodded. “There’s some medicine on the counter, too. I think you need it.

“I’m not sick. Just tired.” He grinned, sucking a breath in through his teeth. “Wore me out.” 

“Yeah. Well, still. Take a swig, alright?” You cradled his damp face in both hands, forcing him to look at you. “For me?”

“Alright.” Blinking slowly through the hair hanging into his eyes, Dieter nodded. “For you.” He stepped out of the shower, leaving you to finish, and within a few minutes you were done, not even bothering to reach for your body wash, instead using his for a quick scrub. As you stepped onto the tiled floor, you noticed that Dieter had grabbed your robe instead of his, and so without any hesitation, you wrapped the soft green material around your body after you toweled off, letting yourself get lost in the scent on the short walk from the bathroom back to the bed. He was huddled beneath the blanket, facing away from the doors, and even though you could see part of his face, the man’s eyes were covered. It’s too bright in here. 

Before climbing in with him, you pulled the drapes shut and secured them, the room immediately going almost completely dark. That’s better. Eyes scanning the room, you found the remote, picking it up and turning the TV on, setting the volume to low. You were tired, too, but knew that you wouldn’t be as quick to fall asleep as Dieter, and as you stretched out beside the man, you were surprised to feel him reach out, one hand seeking yours. “Dieter?” 

He squeezed your hand, sighing. “I think I’m sick.” If the situation had been any different, you would have laughed, but when you looked down, watching as he peeked out from beneath the blanket, all you could do was shake your head slowly, your face set into an expression of complete sympathy at the look of defeat on his face. I know you are. 

“Guess I get to take care of you after all, hmm?” 

—

[its-me-im-coraline]

Amalfi Nights // Victoria De Angelis

words // 2766, SHOCK!

warnings // smut, pretty vanilla, softdom!vic, servicetop!vic, praise, kind of fluffy smut

pairing // Victoria De Angelis x F!Reader author's note // if you want to be on the tag list let me know. as far as i gathered the request was about female reader so i did that, i can def change it to gn pronouns but unfortunately don't know how exactly i can make detailed smut entirely gn so i am sorry for that. anyways, i hope you enjoyed it, my smut skills feel rusty but it was nice writing some smut again

request // yes, here

summary // Reader and Victoria are for vacantion in Amalfi. After a candle-lit dinner at the restaurant, after a long day of swimming and sumbathing, Victoria just wants to show you her love.

(i forgot i changed the setting)

It was not unusual for the bassist to overwork herself. Sometimes she did not even realise what she was doing, she just worked mechanically writing, playing… She would ignore everyone and everything that was not her job, as if in some kind of tance that only allowed her to focus on one and only one thing.

The one that was truly affected by that - other than her of course - was her wonderful lover. Y/N had the patience of a saint, in the words of Damiano, being the only one truly able to deal with Victoria’s stubbornness. Some would call it patience, others call it tolerance, others name it thriftiness, Y/N simply calls it love. There was a lot of love targeted at the blonde woman, a love that made her lover unable to just let her push herself to the limit, no matter what she did.

As the ‘thrifty’ characterization indicates, Y/N almost always -with the exception of very few occasions when Victoria had some pretty compelling arguments- found a way to pull her out of that. Usually it was the plain promise of cuddles and kisses, maybe even sex would lure her out of her tiring working cycle, but this time nothing seemed to work. Y/N had to be really inventive this time and luckily it was something possible.

The plan went as such: a vacation at Amalfi, just for a weekend. You just put Victoria in the car and go. Nothing can go wrong. It seemed like a fool-proof plan, and truly it was. It happened to be fairly easy to convince Vic to get in the car. “Just get in or I’ll spend the weekend in Amalfi alone, no phone calls, no pictures. Nothing.” As always, compelling.

It seemed to be the girl’s weakness; Y/N. By the simple threat of not seeing her lover for a weekend, not getting any of the beautiful photos she was sure there would be, Victoria was ready to even teleport to the coast if possible.

Trouble started one Victoria sat herself in that car. From the first moment, when she opened the door, her insatiability was clear. “How long does it take to get there?” “Are we there yet?” “How much longer until we are there?” “When will we stop?” “Let me drive.” “I don’t even need the break.” This is how the entire three and a half hour trip went, with Victoria whining, complaining and asking to drive. It was worse than having a five year old but Y/N would never have it any other way.

Arriving there was a breath of fresh air. The blonde finally stopped asking questions and talking and her partner got the chance to enjoy some peace. It was truly beautiful. The sea, the mountains, the houses and even the hidden buildings, it seemed like out of a fairy tale, Y/N wasting no time expressing that thought. Victoria, being a few meters away, basking in the scenery, responded swiftly by walking back to her lover, leaving kisses up her face. “It’s only so beautiful because I have you here.”

Oh that sweet talk of hers, enough to make anyone melt, melt to their knees and beg for her love. Y/N felt helpless around her girlfriend, not in a bad way, although it could certainly be dangerous, but in a way of… being drunk, drunk in love, drunk by her beauty, by her personality. It was never about her looks and always about how Victoria could always lift the girl off her feet with only her words. She’d feel like she’s floating every time they are together, floating in the most beautiful dream.

The day passed by smoothly, the pair spending it under the sun and into the sea, they only stopped when the sun seemed to be setting. She might have not known how to show it exactly but Victoria was extremely thankful for the partner she had, knowing the lengths the other woman would go for her. She thought of the best way to show her just that, maybe with some dinner, the atmosphere was utterly romantic; the Amalfi coast, sunset hour was nearing, she had her lover right there, and all the means to show her how she felt. So she moved on with the plan.

After arriving in the hotel, Vic rushed to get herself ready first, hoarding the bathroom, winning herself enough time to set up the dinner.

“I’ll be showering now,” called Y/N, “might take a while, I think I burned my shoulders a bit…”

“Don’t forget to get ready while you’re there. We need to be ready the soonest possible if we want to explore!”

Her girlfriend hummed in response, Victoria having an inner dance party -and feeling bad for it- before going down the lobby to arrange everything with the hotel. From Y/N’s favorite food, to her favorite wine and even favourite flowers, everything was set to perfection. It was done surprisingly fast, the blonde woman taking an active role in it, realising how last minute it was. By the time Y/N was showered, dressed and ‘fancied up’ her girlfriend had everything but the food set. But it was not of the utmost importance, knowing that they could wait for it a bit.

“Hey, babe, I’m dr- essed… What did you do?” She smiled, mesmerized by the view in front of her. The balcony of their hotel room was set like a dream. Flowers on the table, two glasses for wine and said wine next to the table. She wasn’t sure how to react to such action.

“I only wanted to thank you, amore. You do so much for me, caring for me, baring my stubbornness. For fuck’s sake you brought me here cause I’m over worked,” she breathed out the last few words, unable to speak properly before moving to her girlfriend to kiss her.

“I simply love you,” Victoria whispered against Y/N’s lips, moving her to her chair before occupying her own.

The whole dinner revolved around the two just exchanging glances and flirty words. “You're hot, delicious, you look scrumptious,” one of them would say, a hungry look on her face, the other blushing, almost jumping from her chair. It was torture to just sit so close yet so far away from each other.

“Just move closer to me, dolcessa,” breathed out Victoria, signaling for the other girl to move her chair closer. Y/N did not hesitate to obey her girlfriend’s suggestion, quickly shuffling herself next to Victoria.

“Bravo ragazza. You obey very well, amore.” If it had been possible for Y/N to keep any sinful thoughts at bay before everything went out the window immediately as the blonde opened her mouth. “It will be extremely useful after dinner is over. Mhm,” she paused, leaving kisses on her girlfriend’s neck, “I am thinking, second course?”

Everything after that moment was a blur. The pair did not even get the chance to finish their dinner before Victoria had dragged her lover inside the room and pinned her right next to the window. Her kisses were hot and sloppy but Y/N would be lying if she said she’s complaining. If anything this moment is all she’s been waiting for today. The blonde never stopped her ‘attack’, moving closer and closer to Y/N’s sweet spot, assaulting the spot with the lips, her teeth and her tongue, taking special care of it.

Her trail only lowered as she kept on kissing and leaving marks all over, hands on her partner’s waist, lips on the swell of her chest. “You know this shirt drives me crazy, dolcezza! Of course you do. That’s why you wore it, huh?” Y/N couldn’t speak, all ability to form words and sounds was taken away by her lover. “Speak to me amore, this isn’t the time to be naughty.”

“That’s why I wore it,” responded the helpless girl, slowly being undressed by her lover.

“Well, it’s a shame it’s going away, no?” And with that the shirt was removed entirely, leaving Y/N’s chest almost fully exposed to Victoria, her action did not waver, though. She kept her direction to the girl’s bottoms, kissing above the top of her pants before throwing a questioning look up. Y/N only nodded eagerly, giving Victoria the permission she needed to presume her actions, removing the pants without much thought or effort.

“It is not fair, Vic,” whined Y/N, eyes semi closed with the pleasure the other girl’s feathery touch around her body provided, “you are overdressed.”

“You’re right, puppy,” she responded, swiftly getting up, dropping a kiss and seductively moving towards the bed. “Why don’t you come and return the favor? I got so tired undressing you, now you’ll have to it for me,” she taunted, smirking evidently as she held her self up by her arms, legs semi open on the bed, eyes eye-fucking her lover already.

A little bit of encouragement was all Y/N to get a little confidence and take the lead a bit. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” she whispered in Victoria's ear and started copying her girlfriend’s previous actions.

Her hands were going everywhere, unsure of where to stay or whether they should stay still. Eventually they moved under her shirt, massaging her chest there, emitting a series of moans to leave Victoria’s mouth. “Too much fabric,” she mumbled on Vic’s skin, opting to remove said fabric, making all access so much easier and revealing the beautiful lingerie underneath.

“So pretty you are Victoria. What a beauty. I got lucky, now, didn’t I?” The focus shifted on the woman’s chest. Her nipples were poking through the bra, doing very little to cover anything, but the goal was never to hide.

“Work on my boobs, baby, go on,” encouraged Victoria after noticing Y/N’s hyperfixation on said body parts. “I know you love it.”

No thought occurred before the last girl did as told. Lips left kisses and marks all over Victoria’s chest, paying special attention to the line above her bra. Her hands moved swiftly behind Vic’s back, unclasping her bra, removing it and moving to attack her nipples. They were perky due to the breeze entering the room through the open balcony door but also from the arousal. Y/N loved to love them, always one of her favorite things to do in bed. She loved to suck on them, to kiss them, even lick around them or pop her in and out her mouth like cherries.

Y/N was not the only one to enjoy the attention she gave them. Victoria would be lying if she said she did not get wetter and wetter whenever her partner gave her nipples so much love. It was possibly the hottest view, to look at her from above, gazes aligned, such delicious noises released by both lovers; wet sounds and moans. The whole scene was beautifully pornographic, straight out of a movie, so theatrical but genuinely felt.

The lower girl decided on the next move without a warning, slowly moving her hand to move under Vic’s fancy shorts. The discovery there made her insane, and only then did she really get sure that her girlfriend had planned for this to happen. The lingerie set seemed complete, not that it mattered that much anymore, the panties got most likely slightly ruined by just how wet Victoria was. No prep was needed, not much effort at all, she was entirely ready for anything, a fact that made Y/N feel proud of her work so far. Without a word, one of her fingers started pumping in and out of the blonde. Such a wonderful scene, the delicious movements of them both, the divine moans the blonde let out… It was a plain dream that neither of them wanted to get out of. Everything just felt perfect, like an all time high, and maybe it was just that, a high, one that both found themselves in quite often.

“This,” began Victoria, struggling to speak between her moans and thrusts on Y/N’s fingers, “was supposed to be a thank you from me to you, cucciola. Agh,” she struggled again, the pleasure just being too much, fingers deep inside her with constant friction on her clit.

“Stop, oh my, stop, amore. I want your mouth,” she all but screamed, rushing to unbutton and remove her shorts, all but ripping her panties off. Y/N simply shuffled to her knees in front of the bed, settling between Vic’s open legs and diving right in.

Not taking almost any time to breathe in between, just kissing her clit and ramming her fingers in and out of Victoria as her hands rested on her lover’s head, pushing her closer every time a wave of pleasure took over her. Her tongue was everywhere, the one moment lapping over Vic’s clit and the next one assisting her fingers inside the blonde. The whole ordeal had her pulsing and shaking underneath Y/N resulting in her cumming all over the girl's face with no warning.

“That was so hot,” giggled Y/N, getting up to leave kisses all over Vic’s face, absolutely adoring the whole fucked out expression she held. “I want to do it again,” she continued, just like a kid in a candy store, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“No, no, puppy! You were so good to me, but now it’s your time. You deserve to be loved.” It was all mumbled, but her tone was always authoritative.

“Just move to the bed, love.” With that Y/N did as told, moving onto the bed and spreading her legs, just like Victoria liked. Her back was on the headboard, leaning there to be more comfortable, hands already touching her own chest in anticipation.

“Keep the bra, cucciola, but I think the panties need to go… Mhm, not that I don’t like them, but they get in the way. Can you remove them for me?” It was not really a question but her lover still gave a small yes as a response. “I feel like you deserve a very good reward, puppy, don’t you agree?”

Y/N was sitting there in awe and staring at her partner, maybe a little worried by the toy or maybe just excited for the up and coming event. Giving pleasure to Victoria had only made her more hot and bothered, unable to wait for the said blonde to act.

And she acted, swiftly removing the black lace panties her enamoured bottom was wearing after she left kisses all around the line of them. It’s that moment she saw the effect she gained over the girl for the night; her panties were absolutely soaked, in a lot of spots not being able to distinguish skin from the fabric of the undergarment, making her salivate at the sight, opting to kiss her wet pussy over and over, stimulating her before working her magic.

Victoria started off slow, a very rhythmic tempo but tortuous at the same time. She went from one finger to two and three and then added her mouth into the mix, hiding herself between her favorite girl’s thighs, getting lost in the taste and the noise.

“You are doing so good, my love, taking my fingers so well, mhm, such a good girl.” The praise never stopped, only encouraging more and more sinful noises to leave Y/N’s lips, the same ones that were parted the whole time, swollen and begging to be kissed. Victoria did not hesitate to do exactly that, allowing Y/N to taste her juices, the kiss doing little to conceal the confirmation of pleasure.

As Vic’s pace quickened, Y/N was struggling to keep it together, falling apart in the blonde’s hands, cummiing with a loud moan and a series of curses as she was left there, in bliss; in afterglow. “Be a doll and drink this, precious,” whispered Victoria, giving some water to the girl, before following her own advice and doing the same. After, she moved to the hotel room bathroom, quickly finding a small towel to wet with warm water and clean both of them up.

By the time she walked back in the bedroom Y/N was practically asleep on the bed, sprawled out, just as she was left, as soft breaths left her. Victoria smiled at herself, proceeding with cleaning her girlfriend up before leaving a kiss on her forehead and getting in the bed, following suit and falling asleep.

tag list: @bieberhoodforever @tabi-toast @ginny-lily @moriro-da-regina @the-killer-queenie @makapaka11

[masonscig]

bittersweet

part two

pairing | felix x flor

word count | 3.2k

warnings | smut. minors dni.

author’s note | so i wanted to write like 2 more parts to this, but honestly... i feel like this turned out great. also yes, i probably should’ve made this a lot shorter, but the prompt got away from me as per usual. not proofread because i’m tired :/ this is for day seven of hot in wayhaven, aftercare!

•─────────────────•

Things have been weird since that night.

She just kind of went back to treating him exactly the same as she had before. She held him at arms’ length like she did with everyone she was wary of letting in.

He was sure that this time he’d made progress.

For the few months leading up till he almost throat fucked her in her dimly lit apartment, she’d been warming up to him.

He managed a few genuine smiles and laughs despite trying less hard to do so. He caught her watching him across the room during meetings, trainings, briefings… anytime they weren’t alone, he caught her staring at least once.

She’d even started asking about him. Any time he was late to a meeting, she bugged Mason with a punch to the shoulder or a scuff of her shoe against the toe of his own.

Didn’t matter how much progress he’d made if it’d just been ruined by one big fuck up on both of their ends.

This particular night, Felix is mulling over the events leading up to when she left, still trying to figure out where things went wrong.

He paces around the room once, twice, before plopping into his giant bean bag chair.

Before he can really settle in there, he’s restless again, jumping to his feet to cross the room once again, climbing into the hammock in the corner.

This isn’t right, either, he huffs to himself, rolling awkwardly out of the hammock and to the middle of the room, flinging himself onto his bed.

He picks up the Gameboy on his nightstand, tap-tap-tapping away on full volume until he hears a single loud thud against the wall across from him.

Abandoning his game of Galaga, he groans in frustration, rolling his eyes at Mason’s feeble attempts to silence him. Tossing the Gameboy to the foot of his bed, he opts instead to grab his tamagotchi, feeding his pet till he’s bored again.

He has lots of things. And these things keep him occupied and hold his attention for a while.

But none of them keep his attention long enough to satiate his wandering mind.

Flor’s been his main focus for a while, but it’s particularly bad this week since she’s taken a vacation for the first time since he’s met her.

It’s not even that she’s a hard worker – she’s just on such bad terms with the captain that she never bothered asking for days off when she knew she wouldn’t get them even if she had plans to get outta town.

Her being on vacation doesn’t bother him at all – it’s the way he’s got unfinished business and he can’t do anything about it.

He can’t seem to think of anything else without her creeping into the back of his mind one way or the other.

He twists off of the bed and walks to his dresser, where his phone’s charging on its surface.

He’s confused. He misses her, he’s angry at her, he wants her –

To say he’s confused is an understatement, really.

He’s been patient, he’s been kind, he’s been understanding – and for her to ignore him for the entire summer?

He’d been counting down the days till they got back to normal. He’s in the hundreds now, and there’s no end in sight.

There’s two endings if he decides to fix it tonight – he’s either getting treated better, or he moves on from her.

The latter option is a painful thought, one he doesn’t give himself time to digest before he taps the number at the top of his favorites.

The phone rings once, twice, and his finger hovers over the end call button. He’s so close to chickening out – this is an awful idea –

“What? Huh?” Flor asks, voice raspy and twinged with sleep. She yawns around her greeting, and he can picture her running a hand through her thick dyed hair. “Who is this?”

Does she really not even have his number saved?

“Uh, it’s Felix. I, um, this is a check in call,” he lies, tensing immediately.

Why’s that his knee jerk reaction? Two seconds into the call and he’s already making excuses instead of standing up for himself.

He really can’t help it, though. She’s so intimidating.

“It’s four thirty in the fucking morning,” she groans. “If you and your little team aren’t gonna respect my sleeping schedule consider any calls from this point on fucking rejected.”

“No, no, I, uh –”

He has no excuses. He can’t lie again… and she already sounds upset, and it’d make the rest of the call even more unpleasant.

“I lied. It’s not a check up,” he sits up in bed, nervously fiddling with the tamagotchi.

“Well then what is it?” She spits, clearly cranky and sleep deprived.

“I have some things I need to say to you, and… I, uh, I don’t know if you’ll like it,” he twists the keychain around his finger, but tosses his little friend to the end of his bed alongside his Gameboy. He needs to focus.

She’s silent. He knows he’s on limited time. 

“I… miss you.”

She goes silent, the static of the phone crackling because of both of their poor signals.

“Thanks.”

The one word response has him silently screaming at himself – he flings himself back on the bed, kicking his legs and flailing.

I miss you. Thanks.

The most embarrassing response he could’ve ever gotten.

“I was gonna say more than that. I’m just… gathering the courage,” he says, takes a deep breath, anchors himself.

“I don’t like how you’ve been treating me, Flor, honestly, and I think you owe me an apology.”

“Oh, I do,” she responds, a deadpan question, nearly mocking.

“Yeah, you do,” Felix bites back immediately, surprised even at himself with how forceful he’s being. “You almost fucked me at the beginning of summer, and now you’re not talking to me? I thought we were, I don’t know, friends at least? I know I’m not your Tina and I never will be, but I want to be there for you.”

“I’m not…” she trails off, and there’s a swishing sound like she’s shifting in bed. “Trying to avoid you, alright? It just seems like that, I guess.”

He can’t stop his hand from clenching into a tight fist, can’t stop it from shaking with rage, can’t stop the venom bubbling up his throat and dripping off his tongue.

“Don’t… tell me how to feel, Flor. I’m upset, so don’t try to downplay it, okay? I know you’re trying to avoid me, and that’s fine, I guess, as long as you, I dunno, let me move on.”

“Move on?” She asks, her tone (surprisingly) cushioned with sincerity.

“Yeah, I, uh,” he stands, striding across the room to the window, and back to the door, pacing (He’s wondering if she’s pacing too). “I like you a lot, but I have to protect myself, too, y’know? If you don’t want me around, you’ve gotta tell me so that I can stop, uh, investing too much of myself into… this.”

“Felix…” she sighs, and quiets. “I know you’re looking for answers, but I don’t have them. I don’t know.”

“So, what, that’s it then?”

“I… yeah. Yeah. That’s it.”

Flor sounds unsure, but he’s not gonna press her further. It hurts, but he has to move on or she’ll consume him in a fiery blaze.

He’s let the flames lick at him, but when it comes down to it, he can’t handle the inferno. He’s walking away before he gets burned, when all he wants to do is be engulfed by her.

It’s easier this way, in theory, but saying goodbye is harder than he’s ever anticipated.

“Bye, Flor. Sweet dreams.”

He disconnects before she can say another word, and he crumples onto his bed, pulling his knees to his chest.

He’s losing another person he cares about, and just like last time, he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Tears are falling freely now, and he angrily wipes them away with a rough backhand.

It’s not her fault. It’s not your fault. You’re just not compatible.

That’s what he tells himself, at least, as he’s drifting off to sleep. He’ll deal with Rebecca and Unit Bravo in the morning.

––––

Flor clutches the phone in her hand, her jaw tight.

She didn’t get the last word, and she sure as hell didn’t get to say what she wanted to say.

Felix was hurting and she couldn’t even manage kindness for one goddamn moment.

No one asks to be emotionally detached – it's just easier that way, for Flor, at least.

Wading through the mess of her apartment, she steps into the bare kitchen. Pours herself a cup of water. Chugs it to clear her head.

When that doesn’t do the trick, she takes a hefty shot of tequila. Bad idea, but the burn gives her a sense of clarity she doesn’t have when she’s completely sober.

You’ve been dragging your fucking feet for years now. Get the hell over it. Go to him. Be with him.

Every instinct she has is dragging her towards the front door where her car keys hang. Another bad idea, as per usual.

Before she can talk herself out of it, she shoots him a quick text. Come over. Please. We need to talk in person.

It’s not the wisest idea for her to face her problems head on, but the tiny, reasonable part of Flor’s mind is telling her she needs to fight for him instead of letting him slip through her fingers.

––––

He doesn’t see the text till an hour and a half after she’s sent it.

It’s just past six in the morning. The sun’s just barely creeping its way into his room, golden streaks across his wood floor.

He assumes she just wants the last word and that’s why she sent it – but an even louder part of him entertains the “what ifs” that are bouncing around his mind.

What if she wants to apologize? What if she wants to hear how I feel? And tell me where her head’s at? 

After going back and forth for a few minutes, impulse wins, and he’s tossing on a vibrant graphic tee and shorts before he sprints out the door. 

Nate’s the only one up, reading the newspaper and filling out the crossword puzzles in the soft lighting of the kitchen, and he shoots Felix a knowing look of encouragement.

Unit Bravo knows how infatuated Felix is with Flor, and they constantly flit between telling him to let her go and chasing after her.

Today’s a good day in that regard – Nate’s given his wordless blessing with nothing but a soft smile.

He’s at her place in ten minutes flat, staring up at the apartment like it’s a creaky, spooky haunted house.

His courage is thinning the closer he steps to her front door. His bones are gelatin, and his brain is equally as mushy.

It’s not an ideal state, but he doesn’t know when he’ll get another chance like this. Get the courage again like this.

Rapping his knuckles against the stained door, he waits. He rocks back on his heels, taps his feet, does anything he can to get the jitters out of his system.

When the door finally does open, his heart leaps at the sight of her.

Her hair’s a mess. Her leftover eyeliner is smudged all around her eyes. Her dark eyes are lined with red from lack of sleep. She looks exhausted.

“You came.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, and steps into her apartment when she gestures for him to come in.

She shuts the door behind him, and this time instead of shoving him up against the door to kiss him, she takes his hand.

Laces her fingers through his own, tugs him toward her couch.

He doesn’t know how to start this conversation, and from the looks of it, neither does she.

“What’s up?” He asks, simply, feeling like an idiot almost instantly for making things that casual.

“I’m…” she trails off, nearly black irises softening when she looks at him. He could live in those midnight pools.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.”

He raises both brows in surprise, and his gaze flits to their hands. She’s death gripping one of his hands with both of hers, her jaw set.

“Uh –”

“I’m getting to the why. I just don’t know how to say it –”

She grunts, shifting on the couch. “I’m not a nice person. You know that.”

“You’re nice in your own way,” he offers, rubbing a thumb over her knuckles.

“God, Felix, I’m a mean bitter bitch. Don’t sugar coat it,” she laughs. “I don’t really wanna be this way, but it’s easier than getting… invested in people.”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“It’s just easier to shut people out than to have expectations for them,” she starts, shrugging. “And having them expect things from you, too.”

“So, what you’re saying is, you don’t want us to have expectations for each other?” He asks.

“I’m gonna say this as bluntly and straight forward as I can, because I don’t think I can do anything else,” she answers after taking a deep, shaky breath.

“I like you. I’m attracted to you. I want you in my life,” she holds his eyes, speaking as earnestly as she can manage. “But I need you to be patient with me. I don’t know how to do… this. I don’t know how to get close to people anymore. Last time I did it was fucking toxic and I told myself never again.”

“Bobby,” he murmurs, and she nods.

“If you want me, too, we’ll both have to compromise,” she continues, stiffening a little like she’s bracing for impact. “I have to get used to the way you do things, and you’ll have to get used to the way I am, too. But I promise you, Felix, I’m gonna try.”

“Try what?” His voice is a little shaky, and she’s coming towards him, slowly closing the gap between them.

“I’m gonna try to love you, if you’ll try to love me,” she whispers, her jaw set again.

That’s all he needed to hear.

He closes his eyes and kisses her sweetly, softly, letting go of her hands so he can cup her face.

She’s so precious to him, so he cradles her face like the gem she is.

“Flor…” Her name’s a quiet promise as it falls from his lips.

I promise as long as you’re trying, I’ll try, too.

She clutches his hips as she kisses him, moaning sweetly into his mouth.

He doesn’t know when she starts slowly tugging his clothes off, but soon enough, they’re skin to skin, and he can’t tell where his body ends and hers begins.

She’s different this time, he notices. She’s more timid. Maybe she’s never been taken care of like this before.

As he bows his head between her legs, he can’t help but wonder if he’ll be her favorite or not.

She’s slack jawed and grasping at his head, squeezing her tattooed thighs around his face.

God, she’s beautiful, all spread out for him – she’s a gift of brown skin (and a pretty pink pussy).

She writhes and pants with each stroke of his tongue, his name broken and garbled on her lips.

When she tugs his head upwards to press sloppy kisses on his mouth, he knows she wants more.

“Flor…” he trails off, feeling sweat bead on the back of his neck. “Do you really wanna do this?”

“Only if you want to, doll.”

God, he can barely breathe. A proposition and a pet name. To most, that’s nothing. But to him, it’s the entire world.

She anchors herself on top of him and settles onto his cock, keeping direct eye contact while she stretches around him.

His eyes are fluttering shut, rolling back, and his head is threatening to loll to the side – she grabs his cheeks between her hand and tugs him back up, her half lidded eyes lustful and determined.

“I want to see you… watch me, and I’ll watch you,” she pants as she flexes her hips, his tip the only part inside of her, but she flexes again, taking all of him (every delicious inch).

“Fuck,” he curses, and she grins, bouncing against him.

He fists his hands at her hips, running a hand up her stomach to rest at the barbed wire tattoos lining her under boob. He can’t figure out what part of her he wants to touch so he opts for it all, squeezing, nipping, kissing every piece of skin his hands and mouth can cover.

“You feel so fucking good around me, doll – fuck me just like that,” she grunts as he bucks up into her.

He’s never been one to have a filthy mouth, but boy does he fucking love it.

The sun’s fully engulfing her living room at this point, the golden glow warming both of their exposed skin already, glistening in the Wayhaven sunrise.

She’s so pretty like this. She’s in her element like this, too. Confident.

The nervous, rigid version of herself was long gone.

She’s opening up to him. Albeit emotionally and physically, she’s trying. She’s blooming for him.

Flor means flower right? She’s finally in season, and it’s worth the wait.

––––

In the heat of it all, they’ve kicked all her clean laundry to the floor, but she grabbed a thin blanket from the top to cover them.

She’s cuddled up to him on the small couch, her head resting on his sweat slicked chest.

They’d been at it for a while when they both finally came. He didn’t expect her to want to cuddle, but they did.

“We probably need to clean up, huh?” she murmurs, soft kisses against his skin.

“Lemme take care of it,” he grins, crawling over her before she can protest.

He’s back in a flash with a damp towel and a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” she smiles, taking the bottle from him. When she tries to grab the damp towel, he holds it away from her.

“Can I clean you up?” He asks timidly.

Flor shrugs, mouth still on the bottle. “Okay.”

He bends to his knees and pulls the blanket away, dragging the cloth gently along her thighs, cleaning up the mess he’s made.

He folds the towel and rubs her stomach and thighs again, before kissing her knee. “You’re so pretty.”

Before he can stand up, she grabs his arm and tugs him back down for a long kiss.

When she pulls back, her eyes are shiny, soft. Midnight pools, and he’s submerged in them.

“I’ve never been fucked by someone who cares about me like you do.”

He grins and pulls her in for a kiss again.

“Well, get used to the feeling.”

He wants every messy, unpolished part of Flor he can get, from her crass humor to her sailor’s mouth.

This is the farthest they’ve ever taken things, yeah, but he’s willing to go further and further with her, as long as she’ll have him.

[echo-three-one]

Whatever It Takes

A sequel to "A Forgotten Memory"

Alex is once again tasked to continue his mission in pursuing the threat that had caused hundreds of missing persons turn up dazed the next day. But now he isn't alone, join him along with the elite Task Force 141 as they hunt down Nero, discover the secrets behind his plans and put an end to this memory erasing nightmare.

Chapter 1 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

"Resurgence"

"Alex"

CIA Warcom

Boracay Island, Philippines

Alex basked himself on the warm sandy beaches of the Philippines. He wasn't able to enjoy his vacation after the Nero mission, because he was sent immediately to Urzikstan and Verdansk immediately followed. And now that all of those were over, he now laid down on a beach chair and let the ocean breeze blow on his relaxed state.

Philippines was a nice country, the people were hospitable, the food was delicious and unique and the scenery was beyond amazing. Despite his metal leg, people still looked up at him the way they look at tourists and he was all of the hospitality and attention from his fellow Americans who are also on vacation to locals who were just amazed on how the leg works.

It's been a lot of months ever since Samantha forgot him, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they'll meet again, that's why no matter many women try to show interest in him, he shrugs them off politely by pretending he has a girlfriend. A simple lie that he built for himself in hopes of a miracle of meeting her again.

He always brought her letter with him, some edges of it got burnt from the time he manually detonated a C4 explosive to destroy a gas factory, It was almost torn and faded, but he couldn't leave it somewhere safe. He wanted it to be with him wherever he goes. 

'Don't you dare forget about me'

His phone rang. He quickly fished it from a small pouch he bought that the locals made and immediately answered.

"This is Alex speaking." he chimed.

"I'm sorry to bother you at this time of day Alex, but I have a feeling you'd want to jump in on this." a British accent so familiar informed him over the other side of the line, It was none other than Captain John Price or Bravo Six, a comrade he once fought with back in Urzikstan.

"I'm all ears." he said, sitting up straight and letting his metal leg sink in the sand.

"Looks like your boy Nero is back on the grid. That Sneaky bastard kidnapped the Daughter of the Head of Defense, again." Price relayed.

Alex's heart thumped faster, his breathing became quick. He wished to meet her again but not like this. Not her being in harm's way all over again.

"Shit. Count me in. But.." he hesitated. He wanted to help but remembered he disobeyed CIA orders back in Urzikstan, making him unable to provide support.

"I've talked to Laswell. She's creating a special assignment for you."

"What does that mean?"

"It means welcome to the 141, Alex." Price said as he cut off the call, followed by a message regarding his departure to their base.

~

Alex can't help but worry about Samantha's condition. They've played with her memories multiple times and he thought that it would all be over after she decided to alter everything about them. Guess the enemy didn't know and they're still after her.

The soldier leaned on to the small circular glass pane as he looked at the clouds pass by. His hands were fidgeting each other while his non-metal foot bounced up and down at a fast rate. His seatmate, who happens to be a teenager, noticed his distracting leg movement but ignored it as rock music blasted from his ears. He was a completely different Alex right now and he believed that he'll be back to normal as soon as he sees Samantha safe and within his grasp.

When you have a heavy metal stick as a leg, customs is going to be the most annoying place in the world. Everyone looked at Alex as soon as he passes the metal detector and everyone else's eyes were on him. Of course with a few more safety checks and a whole lot of explaining, Alex was good to go. 

"So, you're the one they call Alex" the heavily British accented driver mused, breaking the silence of their ride to the 141 base. He was looking at him via the rearview mirror, chewing on what Alex hoped to be gum.

"Yep. That's me." he replied, turning to the view of the British streets which confused him a lot as it was the opposite of American or even Global streets.

"Heard they thought you were dead back there. In Georgia." he added. He was quite the chatterbox but CIA Agents are all about the information.

"Yeah. Tried to manually detonate the C4. After that… I just ran for my life." Alex answered, his head was realizing why he did it. What pushed him to think that he could make it out alive. Was it because it's for the greater good? The idea of freeing Farah's country from the harm of the gas? The idea of a chance to meet Samantha all over again? Or something he couldn't explain.

"Well, we're glad to have you back, Alex. But it's a shame it's no longer in the CIA." the driver waved as Alex opened the door and unloaded his stuff.

"As long as it's still about saving the world." he replied, making the driver smile. 

"That's what we do, right?" he agreed as he entered in his car leaving Alex in front a quiet gray building, the Task Force 141 Base, his new home.

Alex pushed the heavy doors open revealing a large hall, multiple round sofas were embedded to the ground and a huge staircase that split left and right greeted him. Multiple heads turned as he opened the said door and slowly walked his way to the nearest person who happened to be panting from exhaustion by the sofa. His metal leg clanked on his every step as the soldiers begin to recognize him. They smiled as soon as Alex's eyes met theirs and some even waved, Alex met them from several missions from the past, some were from the Demon Dogs and his previous designations, Delta Force.

"Where's the briefing room in this huge building?" he asked the soldier in a black t shirt drenched in sweat as he spun his towel trying to keep up with his breathing. He didn't speak but he nodded in acknowledgement and pointed to the hallway on the left. Alex left him a thanks and he walked his way to the direction where he pointed.

Just a few steps after the beginning of the hallway, the people from the main hall cheered and laughed, this made Alex turn around and he saw a young blonde man with spiky hair dash across him, he looked like he's on his way to your destination as well.

"Excuse me! Sir!" he yelled and Alex immediately halted. The young man panted in front of him and took a few seconds to breathe before he countinued his words.

"I'm Gary Sanderson, and I was supposed to guide you to the briefing room. You must be Alex." he reached out a hand and Alex shook it, quietly making your way to the room.

The huge door slid open and they found themselves in a dimly lit room, a huge screen loomed just by the wall and chairs were placed around a long circular table. Alex could spot a few familiar faces, faces he once saw and fought alongside with in Verdansk. There was the balaclava boy, Ghost, the Mohawk Man, Soap, their Captain, John Price and a few big heads from the United States. There were also new faces like Gary, who was now discussing something with another new soldier, a female soldier who sat by Price and a few new more who were already sitting on the chairs. There's also someone missing, Kyle Garrick, he pondered where he was.

The former CIA quickly saw Gary rush to Price's seat and whispered something causing him to lean on his chair, stand up and walk to his side. 

"Glad to see you back in the fight, Alex." he muttered, patting Alex's shoulder.

"I won't skip out on this mission, this one's close to home." he replied, patting his back in return.

"Yeah, heard this was your last mission before the Russian Gas." 

"Yeah. It's a loose end on my side." Alex nodded, crossing his arms.

"Good thing Shepherd had some sense in him. Not unlike your CIA heads, huh?" 

Alex nodded. He remembered he did an illegal thing against the CIA, and that was siding with Farah's forces, who were reclassified as global terror groups at that time. He silently thanked he could still step back in the fight along with the good guys even after that event.

"Yeah. I might have to thank him soon enough." Alex murmured and Price guided him to the briefing which was about to start in a few minutes.

~

"Before we start our mission briefing, I'd like to welcome each and everyone of you to the 141. A group of the most elite warriors from around the world tasked to eliminate terrorist threats lurking in the shadows. One of which, goes by the name Nero…" General Shepherd's voice was deep and serious, while the screen showed a photo of the guy they're after. His face looked punchable, as manifested by the way Alex clenched his fists while he stared at his soulless eyes.

"… whose goal is still unknown. He poses a threat as he has been out in American soil, which we believe is the one behind the multiple missing and reappearing person cases across the country." he continued, eyeing Alex. He knew a little bit about the case, maybe because he read his report.

"Since he poses no evidence of terrorist activity as of now, we are assigned to rescue and locate the daughter of Richard Coleman, America's Head of National Defense. We don't know why she was kidnapped but we believed it is or ransom or threatening purposes." The general explained, pacing back and forth, his shadow covered the screen.

Alex wanted to say something. Something about the details surrounding the case. It was written on his report. But then again, maybe the general already knew about the alteration, and since Samantha doesn't remember any IP Address, it was no longer worth noting.

Samantha's face was projected on the screen. Alex's heart began to beat faster, she looked different now, a little chubbier, longer hair and her smile felt happier. It was heartbreaking that she got caught in the crossfire again. After all those efforts of making her life normal.

'If our paths would cross again, I hope you'll remember me the way I remembered you before I take this operation, A good memory that's supposed to last forever. '

'Don't you dare forget about me.'

Her words echoed in his mind, using the same voice she had when they were together. 

"I will save you again if I had to.." he promised to her mentally, as he tightened the clench he was already doing.

"Our intel reports that twelve hours ago, local informants spotted an unknown flying vehicle just by the Georgian Border, local authorities confirmed that this wasn't one of their aircraft and we believe it could be the getaway vehicle of Samantha Coleman and her captors… We are still looking on to this so for the meantime I want each and one of you to be fully alert and ready for deployment."

Everyone else fell silent. It meant they agreed at what the high ranking official said. A few more words were exchanged such as new additions to the team, aside from Alex. He didn't seem to focus much on the second part of the brief as his mind worried a lot about Samantha. If his instincts were right, she's probably sedated once again, taking a trip down her own memory lane.

Chapter 2 : F.N.G.

[redglassesgirl-maruma]

Hello Everyone! 

A day like today 20 years ago the first novel of our beloved series was published in November 2000. This is an incredible anniversary and that’s why we’ll celebrate the whole month with events! 

I hope you can join this special occasion and contribute a little bit by sharing your posts and art here in tumblr.  

This is not the first event run by this blog, if you want to see what we did in previous years you can visit my tags MA Event,  MA Event 2017 and MA Event 2018.

The dynamic of the events is to have some deliver themes and inspiration divided in different sections. This event will run weekly, except for the last week of the month when we’ll have daily content shared to inspire you even more. 

Please save the date around the last weekend of November for our Live Chat! I’ll post more information about the exact date and time along the next weekly posts.

Update: Live Chat Sunday 29 at 1am Buenos Aires timezone GTM-3 You can check online comparing with your time zone here. We’ll meet and chat, share opinions, and play some games or draw together!

20th Anniversary MA Event - First Week Activity Share your MAlove, share your MArt! From November 1 to November 8

This week we’ll draw fanarts, write fanfics or make any other kind of media to celebrate the 20th anniversary of the series. We have list of 365 prompts in case you need a little bit of extra inspiration, please check under the cut and try to mix anything you pick with a festive mood to make it really special ;D

Remember to tag your posts with #MAnniversary 2020 and #MA Event

Links to the weekly event’s posts:

First Week (in this post) Second Week  Third Week Fourth Week | Monday | Tuesday | Wednesday | Thursday | Friday | Saturday | Sunday

Prompts:

01. Introduction

02. Love

03. Light

04. Dark

05. Seeking Solace

06. Break Away

07. Heaven

08. Innocence

09. Drive

10. Breathe Again

11. Memory

12. Insanity

13. Misfortune

14. Smile

15. Silence

16. Questioning

17. Blood

18. Rainbow

19. Gray

20. Fortitude

21. Vacation

22. Mother Nature

23. Cat

24. No Time

25. Trouble Lurking

26. Tears

27. Foreign

28. Sorrow

29. Happiness

30. Under the Rain

31. Flowers

32. Night

33. Expectations

34. Stars

35. Hold my Hand

36. Precious Treasure

37. Eyes

38. Abandoned

39. Dreams

40. Rated

41. Teamwork

42. Standing Still

43. Dying

44. Two Roads

45. Illusion

46. Family

47. Creation

48. Childhood

49. Stripes

50. Breaking the Rules

51. Fanart

52. Deep in Thought

53. Keeping a Secret

54. Tower

55. Waiting

56. Danger Ahead

57. Sacrifice

58. Kick in the Head

59. No Way Out

60. Rejection

61. Fairy Tale

62. Magic

63. Do Not Disturb

64. Multitasking

65. Horror

66. Traps

67. Playing the Melody

68. Hero

69. Annoyance

70. 67%

71. Obsession

72. Mischief Managed

73. I Can’t

74. Are You Challenging Me?

75. Mirror

76. Broken Pieces

77. Test

78. Drink

79. Starvation

80. Words

81. Pen and Paper

82. Can You Hear Me?

83. Heal

84. Out Cold

85. Spiral

86. Seeing Red

87. Food

88. Pain

89. Through the Fire

90. Triangle

91. Drowning

92. All That I Have

93. Give Up

94. Last Hope

95. Advertisement

96. In the Storm

97. Safety First

98. Puzzle

99. Solitude

100. Relaxation

101. Hello World

102. Fear

103. Anger

104. Regret

105. Happiness

106. Love

107. Family

108. Friendship

109. Home

110. Childhood

111. Adulthood

112. Birth

113. Death

114. Me

115. You

116. Thoughts

117. Emotion

118. Sun

119. Rain

120. Thunder

121. Noon

122. Midnight

123. Twilight

124. Rooms

125. Window to the Soul

126. Games

127. Halo

128. Serenity

129. Firefly

130. Phone

131. Movie

132. Television

133. Plants

134. Freedom

135. Forgetfulness

136. Remembrance

137. Memorial

138. War

139. Fight

140. Loss

141. Winning

142. Losing

143. Nature

144. Hurricane

145. Storms are brewing

146. Lightning

147. Colors

148. Bravo

149. Punishment

150. Picture

151. Another Wolfs

153. The Life You Dream Of

154. Dreams

155. Tears

157. Smiling

158. Laughing

159. Crying

160. Looking in the Mirror

161. Steam

162. Candy

163. Cats

164. Dogs

165. Glasses

166. Orbit

167. Satellite

168. Stars

169. Jade

170. Emerald

171. Gems

172. Dreaming Out Loud

173. Insomnia

174. Rabbits

175. Snake

176. Borders

177. The Year

178. This Time

179. Last Time

180. Forever and a Day

181. Sometimes

182. Always

183. Power

184. Weakness

185. Green

186. Purple

187. Blue

188. Sight

189. Blindness

190. Hurtful

191. Stages of grief

192. Arguments

193. Country

194. Frog

195. Forest

196. River

197. Flying

198. Mountains

199. Snow

200. Goodbye

201. Heart of Glass

202. My Life

203. Me In a Nutshell

204. Forever Yours

205. True Colors

206. My best friend’s girl

207. Impossible Love

208. Forgiveness

209. Fibers of Our Lives

210. Challenging Dream

211. Living My Dream

212. Forgetting Myself

213. Saving Grace

214. Lonely

215. Unbalanced

216. See-saw

217. Math

218. Match Making

219. Beyond Good and Evil

220. Second Sight

221. Double Take

223. Upon Review

224. Losing You

225. Baseball

226. Shouting

227. Farmland

228. Heartland

229. Brick Wall

230. Glass Houses

231. Eyes

231. Ring

233. Circle

234. Square

235. Boxes

236. Moving

237. Well Being

238. Insanity

239. Repetition

240. Learning

241. Class

242. Flowers

243. Special

244. Snowflakes

245. The Man They Call Jayne

246. Malicious

247. Pretty on the Outside

248. The Outside

249. Thankful

250. Neglect

251. Remorse

252. Embracement

253. Reflecting on My Life

254. Space

255. Constellation

256. Collection

257. Magic

258. Thrill

259. Attack

260. 20 Seconds to Mars

261. Unable

262. Foolish

263. Science

264. Sign of Life

265. Motto

266. Me

267. Balloon

268. Self Esteem

269. Narcissism

270. Ideology

271. Pageantry

272. Keeping Up With the Jones’s

273. Crack in Your Armor

274. Spilling Your Guts

275. Lean on Me

276. Crippling Emotion

277. Biggest Fear

278. Prejudices

279. Fresh

280. Corn

281. Sugar

282. Ice Cream

283. Accents

284. Speech

285. Writing

286. Doom

287. Shape

288. The Real You

289. My Name Is ____

290. Who are You on the Inside

291. Hidden Hatred

292. Hanging

293. Jacket

294. Jail

295. Stepping Up to the Plate

296. Star Player

297. My Hero

298. Castle

299. Losing Yourself

300. Finding Hope

301. Pirates

302. Fallen Angel

303. Drowning Lessons

304. Ghosts in the snow

305. Rawr.

306. Pidgeons… Birdy

307. Broken Hearts Parade

308. Paranoid

309. Vampires

310. Betrayal

311. Emmi&Rumura

312. The three friends

313. Horror

314. Mirror

315. Candlelight

316. Spider moneky

317. Devil

318. Flowers

319. Teddy Bear

320. Mist

321. Kingdom Hearts

322. Ferret

323. Vanilla

324. Thunder

325. Pinto Pony

326. M&Ms

327. Killer

328. Grass

329. Peace

330. Chibi

331. Mr. Klaw, polite Lion

332. Eternal

333. Star girl

334. Hats

335. Calvin & Hobbes

336. Misery (A cup full of something… unknown )

337. Hot chocolate

338. My Chemical Romance

339. Light in the darkness

340. Laughter

341. Nightmares

342. Necklace

343. Fire

344. Clorotaint and Treegirl

345. Swirls

346. Pokemon

347. Friends

348. Double Trouble

349. Do not cross

350. Unknowing

351. Chocolate

352. Time

353. A phone

354. Little kids on a playground

355. Darkness

356. A purple lady

357. Writer’s block

358. The dark corner in my room that I go to cry at (and a unicorn)

359. Sunglasses

360. The sun relaxing by an air conditioner

361. A girl fleeing from her nightmares

362. A girl staring at a blank canvas

363. A visual representation of poetry

364. Trolls

365. A hat

[ckret2]

Heal Our Wounds

Long after the titan fight in Boston, Serizawa wakes up in a hospital bed, recovering unusually fast from radiation burns he only vaguely remembers receiving. Monarch immediately drowns him in love and attention.

Mark and Madison drop by to share a gift—and some of their post-Boston worries.

Has it really been two and a half months since the last fic, wtf. Anyway this is part of an ongoing series of post-KOTM almost-everybody-lives AU oneshots. If you don’t wanna read the others, all you need to know is that Serizawa survived and nobody knows how/why (answer: because I wanted him to), and Ghidorah's been chilling with Rodan and possibly dating him. Links to the other fics are in the source at the bottom of this post.

###

The first thing Serizawa noticed as Mark and Madison came into the hospital room was that they both had dark rings under their eyes. Serizawa was getting used to seeing his friends and colleagues like that. But they both smiled and their tired eyes lit up when they saw him.

He returned the smiles. "So! You've finally made time to visit me, eh?" he said chidingly, as if they'd just dropped in on him and not as if Mark had scheduled this visit a week earlier.

Madison immediately ran up to him for a hug. Mark reached out for her, mouth opened to warn her back; but Serizawa held up a hand to prevent Mark's protests. "It's fine," he mouthed to Mark over Madison's shoulder as he hugged her back.

"Wow," Mark said. "You're looking better already. A lot better."

Serizawa nodded and shrugged at the same time. "The doctors say I've been very fortunate," he said. "I think Gojira had a hand in it."

He wasn't sure Mark bought that, but Mark had the grace to keep his mouth shut and just tilt his head indecisively.

"How are you feeling?" Madison asked as she stood up.

"A little sore," Serizawa said. "But mostly tired. I've been recovering well, though."

Madison circled to the other side of Serizawa's bed so she could sit in the guest chair next to him. Mark followed her, but leaned against the bedside table. Serizawa really did have to ask the nurses if they could bring some more chairs into the room. Since he'd been cleared to receive visitors, his room had become a nonstop parade during visiting hours: Monarch staff and their families, government officials and sometimes their translators looking for advice on how to deal with their respective nations' new gigantic residents, various journalists and reporters interviewing him on current events and his involvement in the mass awakening of the titans...

And everyone seemed to start out with the same question: "I know you've told everyone that you don't remember how you made it from the bottom of the ocean all the way to Boston," Mark said hesitantly, "but...?" He shrugged questioningly. "I mean—anything? Weird dreams? Things you heard while you were unconscious...?"

Serizawa shook his head. "Nothing. I don't even remember the bomb going off. The last thing I recall is getting out of the submarine and seeing Gojira. And then waking up in a hospital, burning."

"Huh." Mark let out a long sigh, mouth twisted in confusion. "Well—whatever happened down there—and whatever's making you recover from your burns so well—we're all glad for it.”

"Gojira," Serizawa said again firmly.

"He's probably right, Dad," Madison piped up. "I've been reading about the effects of titan radiation. It starts out like radiation burns, but something about it makes organic matter heal a lot faster instead of just... breaking it down."

"Really," Mark said skeptically.

"Really! It's the same thing that makes plants grow back so fast in the cities that titans have been through! The research has been out for like three years, Dad," Madison said, rolling her eyes.

"There's a great deal we don't understand yet, but—what Madison says is true," Serizawa said, trying not to smile too broadly. Madison had always been such a precocious child, always talking about whatever interested her. For the longest time it had been insects; recently it had been camping and survival techniques—something that only in retrospect Serizawa realized was so worrisome. He was glad to hear her talking about science again.

"But we're not here to talk about that," Madison said quickly, practically squirming in her chair with obvious eagerness to move on to the next topic. She gave her dad a pointed look.

"Right!" Mark took off a satchel he'd slung across his body and opened the flap. "We—'we' meaning Monarch, basically—wanted to give you a 'get well soon' gift. Rick mostly put it together, but we all contributed the pictures."

"Pictures?" Serizawa asked.

"Of your new friends," Mark said, suppressing a smile. He pulled out a tablet, scrolled through it a moment, and offered it to Serizawa. "From all over the world. I'll email it to you, but we wanted to show it to you in person."

Serizawa took the tablet. When he noticed Madison leaning over the bed to watch too, he held it out farther to allow her and Mark to watch. It was a slideshow, the first slide of which said in large letters, "GET WELL SOON!!" and in smaller text, "from Monarch and the titans."

He swiped to the next slide.

Godzilla stared back at him with eyes crossed and snout smooshed up to the window of Castle Bravo.

Serizawa laughed.

He swiped through the notes and images, pausing to read the well-wishing messages from Monarch agents and their allies—some close friends, some he'd only spoken to once or twice—and to examine the pictures and clips they'd put together for him.

A video of Rodan dramatically bobbing and headbanging in time to a Spanish song. An attached caption mentioned that after recording Rodan bobbing to over twenty different songs and sending them to a comparative psychologist in California, they could definitively say that Rodan was actually meeting the official definition for "dancing"—deliberately moving in sync with the beat of the music—and he was better at keeping the beat than parrots, one of the few other categories of non-human dancers.

Several pictures showed Kraken hanging out next to various Monarch ships, mimicking the ships' paint jobs. In some of the pictures, he even displayed unintelligible lines across his head that looked like attempts to copy the text and symbols printed on the ships' sides.

The Chen twins included a selfie of themselves and Mothra, as well as a message they said was translated directly from Mothra herself: a sincere wish for Serizawa to either get well soon or have a smooth reincarnation if he didn't, and a thank you from both her and Godzilla for saving Godzilla. Apparently Godzilla thought of Serizawa as "the flashy human." (Serizawa had to pause to wipe his eyes before continuing to the next slide.)

Pictures of Behemoth moving heavy objects around for humans with patient amusement. A photo of "Quetzalcoatl" half obscured by the sea with a brief message informing Serizawa that, in action, Quetzalcoatl appeared to more closely resembled myths about a creature called "Manda." Poems, with an apologetic note that they were better in Arabic, that one of the Monarch agents at Outpost 75-B had written about Mokele-Mbembe.

A short note from Admiral Stenz that wryly said, "Even the Navy is having to adjust to your new friends," followed by an image of Ghidorah reclined on an aircraft carrier like a vacationer on an inflatable pool lounge.

From the corner of his eye, Serizawa saw Madison flinch. He looked up at her; her face had gone blank, but there was a terrible fear in her eyes. Mark put a hand on her shoulder.

Serizawa turned off the tablet and set it down on the bed. "Perhaps I should look at these when I don't have visitors."

Madison's gaze dropped. "I'm gonna..." She slipped out of her father's hand and circled around Serizawa's bed. "Gonna get a soda. M'thirsty."

Mark reached out for her. "Maddie..." But she'd already disappeared down the hallway. He sighed, sank down into the seat she'd vacated, and ran his fingers through his hair.

Serizawa let the silence settle for a moment before he quietly said, "She's been through a great deal."

"Has anyone told you that she got up close and personal with the Three Stooges? They saw each other. They interacted."

Serizawa shook his head, sitting up a little straighter. He'd heard that she'd made herself quite the hero—sneaking away from Jonah's terrorist gang with the ORCA; single-handedly breaking whatever control Ghidorah had over the titans; luring Ghidorah, Godzilla, Mothra, and Rodan to Boston where they could settle their differences. It had been clear just how much danger she'd been in; but he'd never imagined that danger.

"She says she was as close to him as..." Mark looked out the window and pointed, "as that tree." The tree was near enough that Serizawa could see how the surfaces of individual leaves curved and rippled. "He looked directly at her—all three heads. He tried to kill her. Blasted..." Mark tried to pantomime with his hand in front of his mouth. "Blasted that lightning of his."

A chill ran down Serizawa's back. He'd known Madison since she was born. The thought of her ending like that, incinerated by an enraged titan...

"She's changed so much," Mark went on. "She's having trouble sleeping. She's sullen, she's so serious... Even the sound of the air conditioning coming on makes her jump. And I don't know how much of that is everything she went through, how much of it is whatever—whatever eco-fascist brainwashing Jonah put her and Emma through, how much of it's just her being a teenager..." Mark trailed off helplessly.

There was frustration in his voice and guilt in his eyes.

"I—maybe I'd know if I'd—been around. If I'd seen her often enough to know what she's like."

"You're around her now," Serizawa pointed out. "You cannot change your past actions, but you can support her now when she needs you."

Mark nodded reluctantly. "I just... wish I knew how."

That was where Serizawa's sage advice ran out. His child rearing experience capped out at entertaining agents' kids with titan stories and pocket watch jokes in fifteen-minute bursts of babysitting. "Have you... looked into therapy?"

"I'm her father. I should be able to help her through this myself," Mark insisted. He shifted his position uncomfortably. "And everyone's booked up."

Serizawa tisked.

"But Maddie's... she's strong." Mark sounded like he was repeating something someone else had told him, not something he quite believed himself. "She'll pull through this."

Serizawa could remember all the times over the past couple of years that Emma had boasted about what a strong young woman Maddie was developing into—a boast that, knowing what he knew now about what Emma had been training Madison for, was more chilling in hindsight. He wondered if Mark had been visiting Emma in jail to talk to her about Maddie.

Strong or not, though, facing down a titan attack and being responsible for saving the world was an astounding weight to put on anyone's shoulders, much less a twelve-year-old's. Pile enough weight on even the strongest structure, and eventually it buckles.

Mark muttered, "I can't believe he's still running around."

Serizawa didn't have to ask who. Mark's gaze was aimed at the tablet's black screen.

"If that thing was dead, maybe... I don't know, maybe Maddie wouldn't constantly feel like she has to watch her back. Like she's afraid he'll come back and finish the job."

Serizawa shifted to sit up higher. "I understand how your daughter's pain must pain you too," he said. "But that's no reason to condemn a living creature to death."

"It's not just that. He's dangerous, you know he is." Mark held up a hand before Serizawa could say anything else. "I know, I know—I should be making peace with the titans. I have with most of them. I don't think I'm at the point where I'd invite Godzilla to my birthday party, but he's on my Christmas card list."

From what Serizawa understood about American Christmas card customs, he was pretty sure that making someone's list was faint praise.

"But Ghidorah? He's not like the others. The others just... accidentally flatten human cities. To them it's like stepping on an anthill without looking. Ghidorah is that sick kid who holds a magnifying glass over an anthill. He's evil. Even you've felt it!"

Serizawa couldn't argue with that. He had seen Ghidorah up close in Antarctica—seen the way his eyes darted about, picking out humans across the ice so he could crush them. He'd seen the malice in Ghidorah's gaze. He'd seen the rage, too—a fury that had smoldered for eons, a fury that was older than the human race. He'd seen the light flashing off Ghidorah's eyes and teeth as he'd singled out Vivienne and devoured her.

But was what he saw in Ghidorah's eyes so different from the rage he'd seen in Mark's eyes when Mark had set foot in a Monarch facility for the first time in years, when Mark had snarled that all titans must be executed? Or the cold malice in Emma's eyes when she'd declared from the safety of a terrorist's bunker that human civilization had to be scoured from the Earth? If either of them had been Ghidorah's size, would Mark have been any kinder to Godzilla or would Emma have to Boston? Serizawa had his doubts.

There was no anger that wasn't somehow inspired by pain, by suffering, by fear. Even though Serizawa could still see Vivienne disappearing into Ghidorah's jaws over and over when he closed his eyes, there was some part of him that wondered what it was Ghidorah feared so deeply. And for that, Serizawa pitied him.

"You yourself called Ghidorah a false king," Mark went on. "You know he doesn't belong on this world."

"That is true," Serizawa said. "But he could belong. There is room enough on our world for him to find a place he fits."

"Wh—" Mark leaned away from Serizawa, blinking in disbelief. "How does a false king fit in on Earth?!"

"By learning to act like a citizen, instead of a conqueror."

"I—Wh—You don't think he's going to just do that, do you? Out of the goodness of his big, lightning-spewing heart? Before he floods the planet, or—or challenges Godzilla for leadership again?"

"What has he been doing since Boston?" Serizawa thought he already knew—although he wasn't currently working, he was receiving regular reports from several outposts, mainly from people who thought he'd enjoy hearing them—but he wanted to hear the answer in Mark's own words.

"Well, he—he's been skulking near Rodan's volcano, mostly. Throwing any trailers or tech we try to so much as get on the edge of the volcanic rock back into the village. He's been learning Rodan's language—did you know Rodan has a language—?"

Serizawa nodded. "I'm subscribed to Dr. Flores Rosales's YouTube channel."

That almost got a smile out of Mark. "Of course," he said. "Rodan's even been teaching him... more complicated calls. So the next time he tries to take over, he's going to be able to give the other titans direct orders. And he's been exploring the planet. Learning the landscape. Playing with our weather—he diverts entire hurricanes like they're nothing. He turns over tanks like they're toys. Experimenting with human technology—our technology. Studying how we work."

Serizawa nodded again, absorbing that analysis.

"Getting a better understanding of our planet," Mark concluded. "He's going to be better prepared the next time he attacks it. The longer we wait, the more prepared he gets."

Serizawa took a moment to process that, collect his words, and then reply carefully. "I can understand how his actions appear to you," he said. "And perhaps that is what Ghidorah is doing—studying us, toying with us. But when I look at those same things, here's what I see. Ghidorah has found a home—perhaps a temporary one, perhaps more permanent. He's established the borders of what he feels like is his territory, and when we respect his boundaries, he has respected ours. He's learning to communicate with his neighbors through words instead of through violence. He's shown us that his species sings—that he understands art. He's shown us he has a sense of humor. He's discovering that the earth is covered in unique, fascinating places, and that humans aren't playthings to torture and kill but inventors and engineers. He's made a friend—a friend whose lessons and advice he will sit and listen to, a friend whom he goes to great lengths to protect from discomfort, and a friend who he seems to care for."

Mark also took a long moment to think over Serizawa's words. He was growing a little bit, Serizawa thought. If they'd had this conversation before Boston, Mark would more than likely have steamrolled over Serizawa's interpretation and clung to his own—as he had with so many other opinions he'd had for so many years. Maybe discovering he was wrong about Godzilla had made him a more thoughtful person. Or maybe he was just working to be more respectful because Serizawa was in the hospital—time would tell.

Finally, Mark said, "A 'friend' who he fights with. All the time. Rodan clawed his wing up pretty good in Antarctica."

"And then kept him warm through the night, stayed near him for the next few days, and reactivated a volcano that's been dormant for four thousand years to give him a place to rest. I don't think it was a fight fueled by hatred," Serizawa said. "Have you been watching Rodan's language lessons as well?"

"A few. Not as many as I should," Mark admitted. "It's hard to look at—I mean—Ghidorah tried to kill me and my daughter."

Serizawa nodded understandingly. He had just about gotten used to the sight of Ghidorah curiously ask Rodan to clarify what the word "many" meant, and even at that Serizawa still sometimes instead flashed to a memory of Vivienne's last moments. "You should ask Xochitl if she has transcripts," Serizawa said. "Ghidorah and Rodan squabble over which fights 'count' and 'don't count' like two children trying to cheat at a board game. They see their battles as play."

"Huh," Mark said. "Like...?" He didn't finish the question.

Serizawa gestured encouragingly at Mark to continue. He had a feeling he knew where Mark had been heading.

"Well." Shrugging self-consciously, Mark said, "You know the joke theory that Outpost 56-B's been putting forward."

An amused smile broke out across Serizawa's face. "That Rodan and Ghidorah might be...?"

"Courting," Mark mumbled, shaking his head in disbelief. "That what we're seeing is courting behavior. Or—or dating, are they intelligent enough to date? I mean, Ghidorah's building radios..."

"I think there's some potential to the theory," Serizawa said, still grinning. "Outpost 56-B has collected some very compelling evidence. It's not conclusive, but it's certainly suggestive."

"Suggestive." Mark shook his head again and rubbed his eyes. "There's no way they're reproductively compatible."

"Not all couples are. Either in the animal kingdom, or in our own species."

"So, is that the bet you're wagering?" Mark asked. "You think we shouldn't try to kill Ghidorah while we still have a chance because if he decides to settle down and make a big fiery nest with Rodan, he won't destroy our planet?"

Serizawa sobered up. "No," he said. "I think we shouldn't try to kill Ghidorah because his behavior suggests he no longer wants to kill us. It suggests that he is trying to leave conquering behind and trying to behave like a fellow citizen of our planet—cooperative, respectful of the other species he shares the world with, communicative with his neighbors despite the massive language barriers. If that changes, through Mothra we can call Gojira for help. If it doesn't change... then if Ghidorah is seeking redemption, I think we should let him seek it. Whatever his motive may be."

Mark thought that over, lips pursed. Finally, he said, "I hope you're right. You've been right about a lot of other things, but..." He sighed.

It would take Mark some time to accept. That was understandable; Serizawa saw no need to rush him. Ghidorah had directly threatened Mark's family, after all. But Godzilla had ultimately helped cause far greater harm to the Russell family—harm that couldn't be healed with time—and Mark had made peace with him. If Ghidorah's recent behavior really was indicative of a change, Serizawa was sure Mark could eventually make peace with Ghidorah, too.

For now, though, Serizawa should probably lighten the mood. A bit of humor creeping back into his voice, Serizawa said, "But, if it does turn out that what we've been observing on Isla de Mara is courting..."

Mark gave Serizawa a wary look. "What?"

"Do you remember what you said when we were trying to figure out why Ghidorah was heading toward Isla de Mara?" Serizawa asked.

"Oh no." Mark buried his face in a hand, but not before Serizawa got a glimpse of him fighting back a smile. "Not you, too. Nobody's let me live it down."

"You said he wanted a food, a fight, or a..."

"I know! What about it?"

"Well, then." Serizawa sat back, shrugged permissively, and said, "Let them fuck."

Mark huffed.

The conversation drifted to how their respective extended families had weathered the attacks and the corresponding changes to their daily lives, to Mark's tentative plans to balance getting back into Monarch against keeping Madison away from any active outposts, and to Serizawa's goals for once he was back on duty. Serizawa planned to return to work as soon as he was allowed out of the hospital.

"And to visit all of them," he said firmly, "the moment the doctors allow me on an airplane. If I can't take a plane, I'll ride a boat."

 Mark chuckled. "All of them? Even the mean ones?"

"No such thing," Serizawa said confidently. "Maybe hurting, maybe distrustful of humans—or maybe so far removed from our cultures that they don't yet recognize humans as feeling people—but not mean."

"So you gonna go open up diplomacy with the titans on behalf of humanity?" Mark asked. "Go say 'hi' and have a little chat like you did with Godzilla?"

Serizawa smiled. "If they'll let me."

Madison finally came back in the room, smiling shakily but clearly calmer than when she'd left. She didn't have anything from the vending machine. Neither Serizawa nor Mark commented on it.

"Afraid this is leaving with me," Mark said, picking up his tablet from the bed. "But I'll email you the slideshow. They let you have your phone in here, right?"

"I have a new one." His old one had been with him during his meeting with Godzilla. It hadn't shared Serizawa's miraculous survival. Rick Stanton had helped him get all his old data out of "the cloud" onto his new phone, and once he had his photos back he liked his new phone better. It was bigger.

"We'll come back as soon as we can," Maddie said as she leaned in for a hug, then looked to her dad for confirmation.

"Of course," Mark said, nodding, "unless you manage to talk your way out of here before we find time to come by again."

Serizawa grinned. As much as he might want to, he probably needed to be able to walk out the door by himself before he could go. "If you don't come see me before I get out, I'll come see you." He had a whole list of people he needed to visit.

The last thing Mark said before he left was, "Get some rest. You've still got a lot of recovering to do."

On more than one level. "I will." Glancing between Mark and Maddie's tired faces, Serizawa said, "So do you."

###

(Do you guys know how long I've been waiting to write Serizawa saying "let them fuck"? Like half a year. Anyway so the “titan radiation heals injuries instead of making them worse” is, obviously, a lot of BS and Not How Radiation Works, but it’s consistent with KOTM’s “titan radiation heals nature and grows plants!!” and with Legendaryverse’s overall lack of people getting severe radiation burns from being so close to confirmed-radioactive kaiju all the time. If canon’s gonna act like kaiju have some made up form of Magical Healthy Radiation, okay, I’ll roll with that.)

(Replies/reblogs are welcome and greatly appreciated! Check the “source” link below for my masterlist of KOTM and Rodorah fics, as well as my AO3 and Ko-fi links.)

[bopinion]

2021 / 29

Aperçu of the Week:

"You can tell a person's character by the jokes he laughs at."

Alfred Biolek

Biolek is a veteran of German television. In the 1970s, he produced the most successful TV show, "Am laufenden Band," and then he was in front of the camera himself: first talking and hosting, later also cooking, in each case as the first (!) in his field. Thanks to him, people in this country know Monty Python and The Police, for example. A great man, a star without airs and graces, an innovator and cultural leader, a man who was never prejudiced, never unfair, always in a good mood, always interested, never superficial, always friendly, who stood by his homosexuality - at a time when it was still considered disreputable, not only in his industry. I had the privilege of meeting him almost 30 years ago, as we both shared a valuable experience as exchange students with AFS. Dr. Alfred Franz Maria Biolek died yesterday in Cologne at the age of 87. Rest in peace!

Bad News of the Week:

The fourth wave is coming. It's already there in the UK and Spain. In France and Italy, the values are still (reasonably) low, but the growth is rapid. Thanks to the delta mutant, formerly known as the Indian. Here, everyone is watching spellbound for the infamous "7-day incidence," which so far has been slow to increase. That's about to change. Especially because the longed-for herd immunity will remain a utopia - because immunization above 85% is impossible if all children and adolescents are not considered for vaccination. And more and more so-called skeptics refuse - whereby an obligation to vaccinate would be an immense encroachment on fundamental rights, the justification of which is difficult. But is there a fundamental right to ignorance? I'm torn apart...

What is currently taking place in the UK is a large-scale medical experiment. Not under expert supervision in a laboratory, but completely detached in public. All Corona protections such as mask wearing or social distancing have been completely removed. At a time when the incidence is approaching 500 - the highest since the all-time high in January. In our country, it's under 15, and we're worrying about how to organize the start of school after the summer vacations. And Boris Johnson basically says to that, "Why not now? When then?". Well, for example, when the vaccination campaign is more advanced and the numbers are lower. But he'll know what he's doing - even if it's irresponsible. Let's see how British voters will remember this decision in his upcoming re-election.

But this is not the only area where the British government lacks logic in Corona measures. A work colleague of mine is Irish and was supposed to visit his mother next week. But she lives in Northern Ireland. Since he already has full vaccination protection, he didn't expect any problems - and now he would have to spend ten days in a quarantine hotel without being allowed to see his mother. That's over 70% of his total two-week stay. The reasoning is remarkable: according to British regulations, he is considered unvaccinated because a vaccination in an EU country is not recognized. Although it is the same vaccine in the same dose in the same schedule. But the stamp in his vaccination certificate is just the wrong one.

Good News of the Week:

"Pragmatism and melancholy" is the Tagesschau's headline about Angela Merkel's last federal press conference - a kind of forum for free questions from journalists - as chancellor in Berlin. After all, she will not be running again in the federal elections in just under two months. It was therefore not surprising that, in addition to current political issues, many media representatives primarily took stock of Merkel's 16-year term in office. The financial and the euro crisis, nuclear and coal phase-out, the EU and China, Corona and digitization, and so on. Life without crises is easier, but when they are there, they have to be dealt with, Merkel replied to the question of whether she felt flattered by the title "crisis chancellor." After all, last week U.S. President Joe Biden, another old hand in world politics, had remarked that she would be missed.

In an interview today, climate activist Luisa Neubauer, the German face of "Fridays for Future," accuses Merkel of not tackling the climate crisis in the proactive manner that is her style in other crises. Although this one is by far the biggest and most urgent. One might add, even though Merkel was once environment minister. And seems to overlook two things: first, nuclear and coal phase-out ultimately serve climate protection. And secondly, there is no patent remedy, no reference, no example, no role model. Perhaps that's the point: who should be able to tackle the issue in a decisive way if not someone who is internationally acknowledged, respected across party lines, unpretentious and without any self-interest, scientifically sound, moderating and balancing, pragmatic and energetic? So who, if not Merkel?

Dr. Angela Dorothea Merkel turned 67 two weeks ago. Unlike Helmut Kohl - the other chancellor who ruled for what felt like an eternity of 16 years and ended up looking powerless and burnt out - it's hard to imagine Merkel going from one day to another just reading books and trying out potato salad recipes. And we have learned from the U.S. that the political zenith is apparently not reached until the age of 70+. And from demography we have learned that women live longer and are more efficient in old age than men. So: starting this fall, there will be an "elder stateswoman" in waiting on the world stage, who I personally would like to see again in every conceivable position. EU Council president, UN secretary general, pope, conductor, chef - I don't care. But give her something to do. She won't screw it up. Thank you, Mrs. Merkel, for providing a solid counterbalance to all the testosterone and alpha dog behavior in our nation, in Europe and a little bit in the whole world all these years. Of course, not all that glitters is gold, and even you haven't done everything right. But your taking stock is positive, and that's what remains at the end of the day.

Personal happy moment of the week:

I have never owned a purse. Probably because I never had enough money ;-) So coins always end up in a big box that the kids carry to the bank by the kilo on World Savings Day. And for bills, I had a plain money clip by Danish designer Georg Jensen, whose functional-style silversmithing helped shape industrial design in Scandinavian countries. I had already lost it once and after much research was able to purchase one again. A good half year ago I scatterbrained lost it again. Fuck the 20, 30 euros - but my beautiful clip was gone. And this time it was impossible to find another one. Yesterday, I put on a suit that I obviously hadn't worn for a long time - because in my pants pocket I found my money clip. Empty, but valuable. I got it back. And my personal happy moment of the week.

I couldn't care less...

...for the Olympic Games. Because they are so far from the original ideal of the sporting high office of the amateurs, endlessly commercialized, run by a corrupt organization, without any grounding and leaving the same too often burnt. I can still remember the promises made before the Summer Games in Beijing in 20008: sport would be an ambassador of peace and democratization, the Olympics would have a lasting effect on politics and society. Really? Nothing at all has happened. Except that the 2022 Winter Games will once again be held in Beijing. Bravo!

As I write this...

...it's thundering and lightning in the mountains again. And everybody is afraid that there will be heavy rain, squalls and hail again. Because the soils, especially in the disaster areas of the last week, are still waterlogged and loose and many dams no longer exist. So it only takes a comparatively small amount of rain to have mudslides, rivers overflowing their banks, and flooded homes again. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for all of us.

[homosociallyyours]

Nosy meme: 2, 6, 12, 13, 19, 20, 22, 29, 33, 47, 50. 💜

OMG thank you Brynn!! So many questions to answer :) I’m putting it under a cut bc I know it’s gonna get long...AND YES IT DID. 

2) What are you obsessed with right now? Below Deck, this ridiculous Bravo show that follows a charter yacht through an 8 week season of trips. It’s dramatic and full of wealthy people like most Bravo shows, BUT it’s also following the people who staff the boat, not the guests, so it’s more relatable than Real Housewives. I just wrote a one shot ficlet about 2 of the women on one of the more recent seasons yesterday. Ridiculous. 

6) Describe your dream home. I feel like I always have a slightly different answer for this. Right now: my ideal home would be pretty small, maybe 700-800 sq ft, with a single bedroom, painted a vibrant pink and accented with green and white (think climbing vines with tiny, bright white blooms) and a small alcove done in a pale blue that housed a murphy bed for guests. The kitchen would be ultra organized to optimize space (I would NOT be the one to do this) and would be equipped with an air fryer, slow cooker, instant pot, and microwave in addition to standard brand new appliances. There’s a fold down table that can seat up to 4 in the kitchen, though it’s usually just set up for me. The bathroom has a shower done with celadon green tile with a bench seat built in and glass doors. The living room is small and simple, but there’s a big comfortable grey couch and a tv. The whole house has hardwood floors, and the windows each have a bit of stained glass in them up top so the light is sometimes colored as it filters in. There’s a covered carport with a doggie bath area and a chest freezer, and in the fenced back yard there’s a hot tub and comfortable lounging furniture among all the greenery. The house doesn’t have a lawn tho, fuck that. You can’t hear sounds from the street-- it’s a quiet house. I live alone unless i want a visitor. It sounds so nice.  

12) What’s one of your fantasies? Having my dream home as above, lol. But really my most typical fantasy is being able to afford a weekend away at a fancy airbnb by the ocean that allows dogs. It turns out the owner is fat butch dyke who loves dogs and we end up playing scrabble together sitting at a picnic table outside. She offers to cook me dinner; I put together a cheese plate while she grills steaks and broccoli, and we basically fall in love, turning my silly 2 day vacation into a lifetime of slow, sweet, happy love. ://////////

13) Do you have/would you get your nipples pierced? I would, maybe? But also idk bc they’re extremely sensitive already and I don’t want them to lose sensation BUT i also don’t want them to be more sensitive bc that could cause legit problems. 

19) If you could change your name, would you? What would you change it to? Nah, I like my name. Though if I were going to change it I think I would just go by a variation of my first name-- Dottie. 

20) What is something you’re obsessed with? Other than Below Deck? Yorkshire Gold tea. I bought it bc Louis Tomlinson drinks it and my whole life changed for the better. It’s SO FUCKING GOOD, ok? It rarely tastes bitter, even when you accidentally oversteep it, and the flavor and aroma are surprisingly complex for a simple black tea. I have been into teas since I was a teenager, and while I could never entirely give up some of my single origin black teas, Yorkshire Gold is my current (forever?) go to for a daily cuppa. 

22) Tag someone you think is hot. HELP I don’t experience attraction this way anymore :p Literally idk who to tag?? WAIT @mxaether!!! Kams is super hot in all the ways, I adore them so much. 

29) What’s the most overrated movie? In general anything directed or written by a white man who’s made lots of movies. I really try not to watch slogs like that anymore, but the last movie I watched that genuinely made me want to yell was The Dark Knight. Do I remember the plot? NO bc my ass was BORED BORED BORED and when I kinda thought it was about to be over NOPE! there was another hour of the movie left. Fuck that garbage. I haven’t seen it but I’m pretty sure I’d feel the same about that Snyder cut of Justice League. I read a long synopsis/breakdown of the movie (from someone who loved it!!!) and spent the whole time frowning with disgust bc it sounded like The Worst Thing I Could Ever Sit Through. 

33) If money was no object, what would your wardrobe be like? For the most part, not that different? I would have an endless supply of incredibly soft, comfy leggings with bright, eye-catching colors and patterns along with stretchy, form fitting dresses that were equally loud. Soft, loafer style slippers in a variety of colors. All my under things would be high end and custom made (also colorful! no white underpants! ever!) I would also have access to ultra fancy party clothes: stretchy, body con jumpsuits with plenty of sparkle (picture: a coppery jumpsuit that fits tight through the hips and ends with a high waist, the top slit in a deep V but draping softly with a bit of volume. The back has a light, diaphanous, cape of sorts), twirly dresses, etc. Everything is INCREDIBLY comfortable and easy to move in, but glam and fun and whimsically sexy?  

47) If you could marry any celebrity, who would you pick? None celebrity, left beef. :P Truthfully tho it’s Alex Guarnaschelli...she cooks for me, I serve her in any and every way she wants or needs. Would also say Lizzo but I worry that her partying days are still here and I know I wouldn’t be able to keep up. 

50) What’s your favorite kind of weather? Sunny but breezy, almost cool in the shade, for midday. In the evening the temperature drops enough that you’re grateful for a sweater but not so much that you’re ever actually chilled, and around 2am there’s a light but steady rain for an hour or two that’s barely noticeable by noon the next day. 

If anyone read all of these and for some reason wants to send me more, the asks are here

[auspicious-lilana]

Two Cats, One Heart (Chat Noir x reader)

=

Summary: Y/n Ross and Adrian Agreste are childhood best friends, they’ve been through thick and thin, including losing their mom, and dad. Since then Y/n’s mom made her live with Adrian at his mansion and forever leaving her life. Watch as their lives Change as they become the new heroes of Paris alongside Ladybug and see how Romance sprouts between the two models.

Part 1 |  Part 2 |  Part 3 

Adrian and I were shooting a photoshoot at the park. I had just finished my solo shots and now Adrian was taking his solos with the photographer.

"Magnifico! Super! Come on now, I want to see hunger in your eyes!" The photographer, Vincent exclaimed as one of the make-up artists were fanning me so I won't get my blush smudged by the sweat, it was a really hot day. I only wear a small amount of blush and concealer to make my skin shine while it's on camera since I'm, quote 'a naturally élégante beauté'.  While I was getting fanned, both Adrian and I noticed Marinette, Alya, and a little girl. I quickly grinned and waved as Adrian did the same before Vincent snapped at him to pay attention.

" Bravo! That's it! Give me the smile when your mom brings in spaghetti! Okay! And now, Oh no! Mama dropped the spaghetti! And now, you have to eat the spaghetti off the floor! Oh yes, you're angry! Show me angry, yes, yes, yes!" Vincent exclaimed happily as he went all around Adrian taking pictures.

"Marinette!" the little girl screamed as both Adrian, my make up artist, and Vincent looked at the little girl.

"Ngh! Silenzio!" Vincent said in frustration. I saw marinette and the little girl leave to go somewhere as everyone went back to what we were doing.

"What do you think upset that little girl?" I asked my make up artist, Natasha.

"I'm guessing she really wanted that balloon since she's dragging that classmate of yours there" Natasha said as she quickly tied her long red hair up so she would feel cooler. I looked at the extra fan on the table-meant for Adrian- and picked it up fanning Natasha who looked at me with a grin. "You never really get the concept of your the star and I'm the mere employee working for you"

"Your not just a mere employee, your like a big sister, best make up artist I've ever met. plus, if your going to fan me till I go back to photoshooting, I'm fanning you."

"But--"

"No buts, your human, you get hot too" Natasha sighed and rolled her green eyes.

"Oh no, no! The boy has eaten too much spaghetti! Ugh, we need more energy! More romance! We need...a girl!" I sighed as Natasha helped me up without wrinkling the grey oversized shirt I was wearing tucked into blue shorts as she grabbed my shoulder and looked at my face seeing if something's off before smiling satisfied as she pushed my hair back that was curled by Antonio, my hair stylist. Vincent looked at me impatiently.

"Well? Ms.Y/n, Hurry! My time is too precious to waste"  I got up and walked over to Adrian and who amusingly grinned.

"You heard him, N/n. Don't let his 'precious' time go to waste" He said teasingly as I scoffed and rolled my eyes with a smile. Before I could sit my self next to Adrian, A new akuma began attacking as we both gasped and ran our separate directions. I went over to my tent-where I get ready for the photoshoot- and looked around to look for Alpha.

"Alpha! Come on! paris needs Lady Fox!"

"Paris can wait! The premiere of The Flash can't!" I heard his voice from somewhere in the corner of the room, in one of the boxes. Where can he even watch- I gasped and checked my pockets. He took my phone!

"Alpha!" I yelled warningly. I thought for a second before grinning as I went over to Natasha's desk-she keeps all my snack in a drawer- and took out a packet of brownies I had asked her to bring and opened it as I held it up high. In just a 2 seconds- new record for Alpha- he got attached to my hand trying to pull the brownie out if it. I smirked at Alpha with a raised eyebrow as I let him take the brownie.

"Just to make things clear, my brownie is my number one priority over the flash premiere"  I rolled my eyes as I brought up my bracelet.

"Whatever you say. Alpha! Tails out!" I peaked my head out of the tent to see if anyone is around before I quickly got out of the tent and casually walked side walked before jumping over the fence to see Chat Noir with the akuma.

"Hey Ice Queen, what's with all the terrorizing? Why don't you pick on someone your own temperature?"  Chat said with a smirk as I amusingly watched from afar.

"My name is not Ice Queen! It's Stormy Weather!"

"Listen. I'm feline more generous than usual today. So cool down and we'll call it quits, 'kay?"Chat said with a smirk, sliding down the metal fence. Stormy weather, unamused, threw a gust of strong wind at Chat making him fly back all the way to the streets as I chuckled and jumped over there and landed seeing Chat laying on the ground face first. I laughed as I walked up to him and stretched out a arm to help him up.

"Honestly Kitty, I thought all Cats land on their feet" I said teasingly as Chat dusted himself up as Ladybug joined us.

"Why thanks,mon renard, but I had it covered." Chat said as he kissed my hand as I slightly gasped with a small dust of blush before I took my hand and pushed his face back up by his nose.

"Nice try, but silly charms won't win me over that easily, Kitty" I said practically purring as I recovered from the blush completely.

"No time for flirting you two" Ladybug said seriously.

"We should be expecting lightning storms like right NOW!"Stormy Weather said using her parasol to darken the sky as a lightening was coming down at us I gasped and my first instinct was to push Chat Noir as Ladybug jumped the other way. I lost my footing as we began rolling on each other before we stopped as he kissed my cheek. I blushed heavily as I looked at Chat's grin as I moved his head over to Stormy Weather’s direction as I tried to calm my blush as he got up and Ladybug helped me up.

"You just won yourself a cat fight!" Chat exclaimed as we held our stance ready for a fight.

"Black Ice!" Stormy Weather used her parasol to coat the streets with thick ice as Chat and Ladybug began slipping around I managed to stay balanced. Guess those figure skating classes paid off. Stormy Weather then sent a blast a wind pushing as really hard as Ladybug grabbed a pole with her yoyo as she grabbed my arm and I soon grabbed Chat's tail to keep him from also blowing away.

"Gotcha, Kitty"I said as the wind stayed for a few seconds before we dropped on the ground groaning. We soon got up to see Stormy Weather headed somewhere.

"A little Cat Noir will take the wind out of her sails!" Chat said but before we began to leave I quickly grabbed his tails and held him back.

"Whoa, kitty kitty. You better think before you leap." I teasingly said as I let go of his tail as he stumbled a little before he began petting his tail.

"You have a plan?" Ladybug and I glanced at each other and smirked. No words needed to be said as we thought the same thing, one of the things that makes ladybug and I get along so well.

"Just follow our lead."  Ladybug said as she took one side of a building as Chat took the other and I took the middle way. When we got to Stormy Weather, Ladybug jumped and spun her yoyo to attack as Chat did the same with his staff from the opposite as I jumped on a car using it as a ramp as I began to spin my staff to attack.

"Not you again!" Stormy Weather said annoyed as she used her parasol to cause a fiery wind shooting us back along with a whole bunch of other vehicles. We managed to land before we all gasped and started dodging the cars about to it us before we managed to get back together before a bus was coming hard in our direction. ladybug pulled as both close and spun her yoyo widely around us cutting through the bus so we remained safe. The yoyo stopped and hit chat's head.

"Ow!" I giggled as Ladybug sheepishly chuckled as Chat looked up at us-kneeling in pain, rubbing his head- with a mad pout. After a minute ladybug stood on a chair sliding open the top window as Chat used his staff to help her out before helping himself up as I then used my staff to help myself up and leap out of the bus as we talked about what could've caused her akuma.

"Maybe she's got some anger issues!" Ladybug suggested as we ran down the street.

"Or she didn't pass her driving test!"

"or she's like my kawami  and got upset because she missed some premiere of her favorite show?" I suggested.

"Hello, viewers! Here's the latest forecast for the first day of summer. Looks like Mother Nature had a change of plans. Summer vacation is officially over!" Stormy Weather said through a cracked screen as we stopped to watch it.

"Already? But I look so good in a swimsuit." As Chat said that ladybug and I looked at him with a unamused look as he just gave us a silly smile and wiggled his eyebrows.

"The cat suit will do, thanks." I said with a wink.

"At least now we know where she is" Ladybug said as we looked at each other and ran to the news studio. While we were entering Chat stopped to see a billboard of a girl and a parasol.

"Hey! That girl reminds me of someone!"  Chat exclaimed.

"It's her! The akuma must be in her parasol!" Ladybug said as I nodded. While the screen continued to show Stormy Weather we went up to the door and saw it locked before we all stepped back and kicked the door open quickly going into a fighting stance to see nobody was there.

"It's a recording!" I exclaimed looking around. We saw Stormy Weather behind us laughing as we quickly turned around before she shot a lightening at a large lighting above us before we all jumped out of the way as she got the lights off in the entire building leaving it in pitch dark.

"Frosty the Snowgirl is getting away!" Chat exclaimed as I looked at him with my night vision. As foxes are predators who hunt at night, it's only natural for me to have night vision. I looked over to see Ladybug tripping. "Oh, Do I hear a damsel in distress?" Chat teasingly said as I held Ladybug arm helping her up.

" Some of us don't have night vision like you two, Thanks Lady Fox"  Ladybug held on to my arm as Chat grabbed my hand.

"Just hold onto my arm, Ladybug. Promise I won't bite" I said teasingly. I saw Ladybug roll her eyes.

"Ah ha ha. let's just get going" We led Ladybug up the stairs. "Okay, that's enough. I think I can manage to--" Ladybug said pulling her arm away from us.

"DUCK!" Chat exclaimed as Ladybug narrowly missed the fire extinguisher Stormy Weather had thrown.

"--follow your lead on this one." Ladybug changed what she was about to say as she reached for my arm again as we continued up the stairs following Stormy Weather outside to the roof.

"You airheads! You fell right into my trap" Stormy Weather exclaimed as Ladybug let go of my arm as Chat and I kept our hands intertwined unknowing to us. "There's no way out! Party's over, fools!"

"Let's see--" As I began to raise my hand as I saw my hand still being held my Chat as I threw him a look as a small blush coated my face as he nervously chuckled and let go. "Let's see about that, Stormy!" I finished off shaking the blush off.

"Lucky Charm!"Ladybug exclaimed.

"A bath towel? What am I supposed to do with this?" Ladybug said as she held a ladybug spotted bath towel.

"Great. So, we're about to be obliterated, but... At least we'll be dry." Chat said sarcastically.

"Hold your whiskers" I said as Ladybug looked around with her Ladybug vision.

"Hail!" Stormy Weather yelled as it began to hail while Chat and I spun our staff covering Ladybug.

"So what's the plan for getting the akuma back? our arm's starting to get a cramp!" Chat yelled out.

"See that sign over there? Check it out!" Ladybug grinned to Chat.

"All right! Cataclysm!" Chat activated his special power as I kept spinning. " Hey, Coldilocks! Is that all you got?"  Stormy Weather attacks Cat Noir with lightning, but he dodges. He uses his Cataclysm to make the billboard fall down, its aim toward Stormy Weather. She blasts a hole in it and Ladybug wraps her yo-yo around Stormy Weather's ankle. Ladybug takes off running under pipes and against a crane before jumping over an HVAC. Opening the towel, Ladybug soars in the air, pulling down Stormy Weather. The speed at which she falls and the angle of the crane cause her to lose her parasol. I  caught it and  tossed it to Ladybug.

"Get out of here, you nasty bug." Ladybug said as she snapped the parasol in half releasing the akuma. " No more evildoing for you, little akuma. Time to de-evilize!" Ladybug catched the akuma with her yoyo. "Gotcha!" Ladybug closed her yoyo purifying the akuma. "Bye bye, little butterfly." Ladybug said as she released the pure white butterfly. "Miraculous Ladybug!" Ladybug threw the bath towel in the air as it spread around paris fixing the damage we caused during the fight,as if it never happened as Stormy Weather turns back to herself.

"Uh, what am I doing up here?" Aurore asked confused on the roof ground.

"Pound it!" We all exclaimed fist bumping.

*** I changed back to myself as I ran as fast as I could to make it in time for the photoshoot. I can't worry Adrian.

"Step on it, Y/n!" alpha said from my bag, peeking out.

"I am! Now shush and go back in!" I made a quick turn and saw Adrian who quickly grinned as he spot me.

"N/n! your okay!" I came up to them panting.

"y-yeah! I am!"

"You should've hidden somewhere nearby, N/n" Adrian said chuckling. I would've, but Chat was here so I had to change back to myself somewhere not nearby. Stupid Cat.

"Yeah hehe"  The rest of the day was spent with the photographer taking pictures of me and Adrian, some posing, some Adrian and I were teasing one another leaving us in fits of laughter. This has got to be one of my favorite photoshoots so far. Can't wait to go tell Maya about this!

[rpd-rookie]

Under Her Extra-Large Umbrella - Chris Redfield x Reader (Part 2)

Summary: Chris Redfield’s deception is coming to an end in this second part of the story but not in the way he expected.

Author’s note: This fanfic was supposed to be 2 chapters long, but considering all the things I originally wrote in this second chapter, I chose to cut it in two and write a third chapter to develop the story a bit more . Hope you will like it anyway.

Part 1 is available here / Fanfiction also available on AO3 

Warnings: Angst, Romance, Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Language. 

Wet hair, forehead covered in pearls of sweat, Chris was gazing at you, panting and exhausted, his hot uneven breath tickling your face when you nudged his rear with your ankles to keep him inside of you, still feeling his cock in your core throbbing like crazy after the powerful orgasm he had just experienced. “Damn, woman. Are you trying to kill me?” He breathed out and you giggled “What? Have you lost your stamina?” “No, but I’m afraid you dried me. I’ve got nothing left.” You laughed, finding his naughty words more ridiculous than funny. “I think you’ll have to wait till tonight for round 3.” He pecked your nose and pulled out of you to get off the bed, majestic body glistening in sweat. “I’m gonna go get a shower.”                   “And I’m going to try and find my clothes.” You looked at the mess around you. Both yours and Chris’ clothes were scattered everywhere in his bedroom. A perfect picture of how wild and hot this afternoon alone together had been.                 “Good luck with that.” Chris humoured as he left the room, completely naked. Guess that was a good thing your roommate was not here this afternoon.

You got up, draped in his bed sheet, your body sore and still very hot and sticky. Chris had asked you if you were trying to kill him. Well, as you looked at yourself in the mirror, you wondered if he wasn’t the one who wanted you were trying to kill you judging by the your dishevelled hair and the swarm of dark hickeys he had left all over your chest and collar bones. Oh, he would hear about this!

You started gathering your clothes and Chris’, picking them up one by one onto the floor and the furniture. “Damn, where are my panties?” You cursed as you scanned the room but they were nowhere to be seen. So, you looked for them in the pile of clothes then under the blanket, actually unable to remember what Chris had done with them. Maybe under the bed.     You knelt and peaked under the mattress. There was nothing as well, except a lot of dust and bits of fluff that immediately tickled your nose.                   But as you kept looking under the bed, something weird caught your attention.         There was a sort of red cord hanging in between two slats of the bed base. It made you frown because it strangely looked like the cord of your Umbrella access badge. But it couldn’t be that. You had lost that badge weeks ago, probably in the Metropolitain. Its presence here, especially under Chris’ mattress was simply impossible and completely illogical. And yet, you pulled on the cord anyway.

What a horrible surprise when you saw the card fall onto the floor and realised it was indeed your old badge. How had it gotten here? You didn’t know what to think. But you couldn’t help but hear the same question repeating itself in your head. Why Chris? Why?

The badge in your hands, you sat on the bed, lost in sudden paranoid thoughts that were so unlike you. What if Chris was a spy? What if he was working for Tricell or the Connections? After all, those guys had been trying to compete with Umbrella for years. What if he worked for the Government? What if …         So many ‘what if’ and yet one single common denominator. Chris had betrayed you.

You didn’t know how to process all the emotions you were feeling right now. Burning anger. Frozen shock. Both mixed with a awful sorrow that didn’t seem to want to escape in the form of tears just yet, not as long as you were trying to deny all the conclusions you had drawn and convince yourself that you were imagining things. There was certainly another explanation.

You stood up and started walking in circles in the room like a lion in a cage, whispering to yourself. “Calm down, Y/N. Calm down.” But you couldn’t. And despite all the energy you were using to control your breathing right now, there was that raging uncontrollable panic inside of you growing bigger by the minute.  “Alright, if he’s truly spying on you. There must be something else here. There has to be. Think.” You opened Chris’ wardrobe and started rummaging in it. You sighed, relieved, when you found nothing in it except some dirty clothes that definitely needed some good washing. But it wasn’t enough to soothe your mind and so you pulled the drawer of his nightstand open and immediately threw the contents to the floor. A pen, a watch, cigarettes, condoms and an unsealed letter that you immediately grabbed. “S.T.A.R.S. Office – Raccoon City Police Department.” You read on the envelope and your clever brain immediately made the connection between that address and the incident with the American branch of Umbrella you had overheard at the lab weeks ago. But it was still very blurry to you.

You opened the enveloped without an ounce of hesitation or remorse and started reading.

                                                    “To my amazing S.T.A.R.S. buds,

                 What’s up in the station? Still surviving those long days without me? Barry, are you still crying?                  Me? I’ve been very busy. Spent many nights getting to know my umbrella girl better. Apparently she has some huge project for the both of us. I’m wondering what it can be. She’s so secretive. But no woman can resist Chris Redfield. You know me, I’m worse than a parasite.                    Jill, any news from Claire? ”

You barely knew Chris. But the Chris in that letter wasn’t the one you had spent your days with for the last seven weeks or so. This letter certainly had a hidden meaning and judging by the word ‘umbrella’, ‘project’ and ‘parasite’, it wasn’t very subtle.                 You gritted your teeth, anger slowly getting the better of you, and crumpled the letter in your hand.

“What are you doing?” Chris’ sudden trembling voice made you jumped. You turned around, still kneeled among his stuff, and immediately glared at him. He was standing in the doorframe, wearing only a pair of green sweatpants. His face was pale and you could read a certain fear in his usually very cheerful and relaxed features. “Y/N?” You got back on your feet and approached him, the letter and your badge in the same hand. Chris froze when he noticed them and his heart skipped in beat.                

You didn’t say a word – an ominous calm before the storm – and went too stand before him to look at him in his scared brown eyes. A couple of seconds passed in which you mind struggled to find out what to do right now, not really knowing how to react.   You finally let your impulse get the upper and suddenly, your hand burned Chris’ cheek with a huge slap. You had never hit anyone in your entire life. That was not who you were. But the storm was here and you couldn’t control it.   You violently slammed both items against Chris’ broad naked chest and started screaming and hitting him, lashing out all your anger at him like a fury. “How could you?! You son of a bitch!”     Chris barely flinched and took all your hits in silence, knowing that he deserved them, that he deserved all your rage right now. They didn’t hurt but your wrath against him did. “Answer me!” He could feel a knot strangling his throat. He couldn’t talk. He didn’t know what to say, afraid to make things worse. “Answer me, you asshole!” You yelled and he finally caught your wrists in an attempt to calm you down and prevent you from getting physically hurt. “Y/N, please.” He whispered, holding you still.             “Why?” You asked, huge tears rolling over your face. “Why?” You repeated, begging for an answer, for an explanation. But all you got was silence and guilty miserable eyes. “Are you a spy?”          

“ No … No I’m not a spy. Not exactly.” He finally managed to say. “I’m a cop.” You frowned, finding things always too blurry to understand the situation. “I work at the Raccoon City Police Department, S.T.A.R.S. unit.”     “So you’re not Air Force?” He shook his head. “And you’re definitely not on vacation.” You fell the floor crumble under your feet, afraid of the extent of Chris’ lies and terrified of the consequences that were to come. “I’m on a mission, a personal mission.” He confessed with a broken voice. He didn’t look so strong anymore.             “What mission?”                   “How about we get dressed and sit down to talk about it calmly?” He offered. But you didn’t care you were naked under this sheet right now. And you didn’t care Chris was only wearing sweatpants. You wanted your answers. And you wanted them now. “No. Talk to me now. Explain it to me. Explain the fucking reason why you used me and betrayed me.”

Chris briefly closed his eyes. Hearing those words coming from you were hard to bear even if he had been repeating them over and over in his head since the day he met you. They were hard to bear because hearing them from you was making him realise what he really had been doing all along. They were the painful truth that had finally come to hit him hard in the face.

He tried to catch your hands in his but you removed them as soon as you felt the warm palms against your skin. You didn’t want his affection right now. It repulsed you. “In July, my unit and I were sent on a mission in the Arklay Mountains to rescue the members of the S.T.A.R.S. Bravo Team who had gone missing while investigating a series of killings in the mountains. As soon as we landed, creatures attacked us and we took refuge in a mansion but that was just the beginning of the nightmare. My unit was entirely decimated by zombie-like creatures and other atrocities, monsters that had been created by the Umbrella Corporation thanks to what their scientists called the T-Virus.”             You froze. You had heard of the T-virus. You were using it in most of your experiments related to the Nemesis Project. Its existence was top secret. So if Chris knew, then …       “The surviving members of my team and I infiltrated Umbrella’s laboratory to collect evidence. That’s how we realised that Umbrella had failed to contain their virus and that it had escaped the facility, contaminating and killing locals that had been in contact with it. Only four of us came back.” Chris’ voice was so full of emotions. Sadness, grief, anger, guilt. It tied your stomach in a painful knot. “When we told our story to our chief, he refused to believe us. Somehow we understood he was probably corrupted. So I decided to leave and investigate on Umbrella on my own to find all the evidence I needed to end them and bring justice to my team. That’s how I took the first flight to Paris and that’s how I met you.”

You remained still for a while, trying to process the entire story. But even if there was a part of you that was sympathising with Chris and recognizing the horrors he had been through, there was still another part that was so mad at him and deeply resentful. “So you used me for your personal vendetta?” “It’s not a vendetta.” He tried to correct.     “Isn’t it?” You retorted and he sighed, a slight annoyance tinting his despair.

“You stole my badge and certainly spied on me judging by the content of this letter to, I quote, bring justice to your team and end Umbrella. Sounds more like a vendetta than a mission to me. But tell me. I’m curious. What else did you do?”           “Y/N.” He murmured, unwilling to admit that part of the story to you. “Stop Y/N me and answer the damn questions! Why did you want my badge? What did you discover when you spied on me? And more especially why me, Chris?!” He looked you in your begging eyes, feeling painfully sorry. “I don’t know why it happened to be you. I guess it could have been anyone else. But I’ve never…” He cupped your cheeks and you took a step back, trying to reject him, in vain. “…ever wanted to hurt you or use you like that.” A new tear slid along your cheek and Chris dried it with his thumb. “That wasn’t my intentions. I just got bogged down in my own lies and the situation escaped my control … and… I don’t expect your apology.”             “ Good. Cause you won’t have it.” You spat and he looked down, trying to contain his sadness. “You should have been honest with me.”             “ I had no choice.” Chris said in his defence but you would not have it.           “No choice?” You scoffed. “The second you felt like the situation was becoming out of your control, you had a choice. Give up, watch it become out of proportion or tell me the fucking truth!”     “I didn’t want to hurt you.” He confessed and you sighed, exasperated. “You said it already but look! Here we are!” You screamed. “I’m hurt! I’m fucking hurt because of you.” That was harsh yet fair.   “Can’t you at least understand why I did this? Can’t you put yourself in my shoes for a second?” He knew he would not have your forgiveness but he hoped to have your understanding.  

You jaw dropped. “Oh but I do understand, Chris! I do! I know what Umbrella is doing is terrible. I know what I’m doing is terrible. But if you had just talked to me, I would have helped you. We…”             “Helped me?” He harrumphed. “You’ve been creating dangerous monsters in your lab for months. And now you’re talking about doing what’s right? Well by all means, explain Project Nemesis!” He growled, finally starting to show his anger, and your eyes widened.     “Oh so you read my journal as well. Fantastic!”       “Yes, I read your journal. I stole your badge. I sent information to my colleagues and I used you. But what is it in comparison to all the awful things you and your scientists buds have been working on in secret in this god-forsaken lab of yours?! You guys are murderers!” You stared at him, bewildered and feeling insulted but the truth was that he was right and you couldn’t help but acknowledge it. “I feel guilty, Y/N. I feel guilty because I know that what I did hurt you. I feel guilty because I happen to care so fucking much about you despite all the reasons I have to despise you. Guilt is eating me up, day and night. But, tell me. how do you sleep at night knowing you’re creating those atrocities?” “Guess you didn’t read my diary so well, did you?” Your calm was back, your anger certainly drowned in pain and sadness. “You know shit, Chris. But if that’s what you think of me the maybe you should probably get out.”  But Chris refused to move.       “Get out” You repeated with the same tone. He shook his head and opened his mouth to speak but you immediately cut him off. “Get out!” You yelled, pushing him as strongly as you could, but he barely moved. “Get out of my place, Chris!” And he didn’t know why he refused to leave or move from that doorframe. Stubbornness? Denial? Or simply his deep attachment for you?                 But whatever it was, you would not have Chris spend another minute in your apartment. “Fine.” You opened his wardrobe and started throwing his clothes in his suitcase, tears running down your face, as Chris watched you, still and quiet. It was the end. He could feel it in his bones.         You grabbed his suitcase and shoved Chris with your shoulder as you left his room to head towards the main door and throw his stuff carelessly in the corridor. Then you went back to lock yourself in your room.  “And don’t forget your precious evidence before leaving!”

Chris blinked a couple times to keep his tears in his eyes when he heard the door to your room slam shut, knowing that this was certainly the last time he would ever see you or hear from you. And it ached more than what he had imagined. How he wished things had ended up differently.

[dwead-piwate-meggers]

Kiss Me, Kill Me

A kiss. A bad reaction. The aftermath, and how Unit Bravo deals with the potential loss of Detective Charlotte Langford from their little group. Inspired by this ask to @twc-thoughts-you-didnt-ask-for.

Chapter 7

Adam du Mortain x f!detective approx. wc: 2030 rating: t warnings: none Read it on Ao3

The Warehouse Common Room, Several Days Later

A broken ankle. This is why she never takes vacation. Three days off for some R&R and she comes back with a broken ankle and a round the clock protection detail because there’s a price on her head and she can’t exactly hobble away at any great speed. Maybe she could just brain an attacker with a crutch instead, but that’s a bit beyond her basic combat training.

This is the last time she takes Tina’s advice. She’s fairly certain she’s said before. She means it this time.

At least she’s still being kept in the loop. Rebecca made sure to include her specifically, even if she isn’t entirely sure why she’s here. She avoids looking at Adam, standing in his usual place by the fireplace, as she sits in one of the armchairs. It would be hard to get a peek in, anyway, what with Nate’s fussing over her while trying very hard to look like he isn’t fussing, and Farah watching her like a cat tracking a nice, fat pigeon. Morgan is acting blessedly unconcerned, perched in a dark corner.

Thank God it’s her turn to babysit tomorrow. I might actually have space to breathe.

“The situation has changed with the coven,” Rebecca explains, and Charlotte isn’t entirely sure why she’s here. The witches in question are a long way from Wayhaven, and they have requested some assistance with something apparently outside of her clearance level. “They’ve requested assistance from the team that worked with Detective Langford.”

She frowns, processing the fact that a coven of witches halfway across the continent know her by name. “Just the team, though,” she looks to Rebecca to confirm. “Not the detective?”

Her mother nods. “Correct.”

“Then, while I appreciate being kept in the loop,” she offers a slight nod of acknowledgement to Rebecca for her efforts, “I don’t see how I can help with this.”

Rebecca accepts the nod. “Your protection, and that of Wayhaven, is still Unit Bravo’s primary assignment.” She continues, “It has been decided that Agent Sewell will take the team to meet with the coven. Commanding Agent du Mortain will assume all duties with regards to your protection until their return.”

She gapes at Rebecca. I can’t have heard that right, she thinks, even as she hears Adam’s tense, “Understood.”

No, apparently I heard that right . Christ.

Her feelings must show on her face, because Rebecca is looking over at her with some concern, “Is that a problem?”

No, no problem. Who wouldn’t want to spend nearly every waking minute crammed into a small apartment with the person who kissed them and then rejected them within the span of, oh, 30-60 seconds? Why would that be a problem?

But she is not losing face like this, not in front of Rebecca, and definitely not in front of him. Not a goddamn chance.

“No,” she shakes her head, impressed with her own ability to keep her tone neutral.

“Good.” Rebecca nods, her mind clearly already with the rest of her briefing notes for the team, “I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch.”

She recognizes a dismissal when she sees one. Charlotte gets to her feet, and begins making her way to the agency vehicle she and Nate had ridden to the Warehouse in. She feels, rather than hears, Adam following her, completely silent in spite of his bulk, like the world’s most corporeal ghost. He opens the door of the SUV for her and hovers awkwardly as she hauls herself into the passenger seat - like he’s not sure if he should be offering help. It takes a bit of work, these SUVs aren’t exactly close to the ground, and she’s only got one good leg, but eventually she manages, pulling her crutches up beside her. He closes the door, and she pinches the bridge of her nose as he walks around to the driver’s side.

It’s going to be a long day.

The Detective’s Apartment, Evening, Three Days Later

She has about two-and-a-half nerves left, each of them frayed, and his continued existence in her space is getting on all of them.

He has her coffee ready at the table in the morning, before she’s finished getting dressed. Exactly the way she likes it. He has Timbit’s feeding schedule memorized, has the cat food in the bowl exactly on time, before she can even stand up to get it. He has the bottle of painkillers in front of her before her reminder alarms go off. Yesterday, her lunch had been delivered to her desk before she even placed the order at Hayley’s. He knew her order. And that she ordered from Hayley’s on Tuesdays. All without her having to say a goddamn word.

She’s barely had to lift a finger for herself in three days. In any other context - well, mostly in the context she’d thought they’d been in a few months ago - it would have been kind of sweet. Maybe.

Now it’s just fucking infuriating.

He’d swept her dinner dishes off the table and had them washed and in the drying rack almost before she could finish blinking, leaving her staring through the partition between the living space and the kitchen at him where he stands with a tea towel in his hand, drying a glass. And there’s an image that sends a lonely twisting feeling through her heart.

Like she still wants him. Like she still wants him like this. In her home. Taking care of her. Being domestic. Like maybe she’s not as over him as she wants to believe.

He catches her looking, and she turns to scowl at the wall. Fuck.

“What the hell is going on?” The words just slip out.

He turns from where he’d just finished returning her plate to its place. She hadn’t needed to tell him which cupboard. Down to two nerves, then.

“Is something wrong, Detective?” He seems perplexed. She wonders if he’s actually that oblivious.

She looks at him, gestures to the towel in his hands, “This. What the hell is going on with this?”

“You’re injured,” he says. Like that explains everything.

“I have a broken ankle. You’re acting like I’m completely incapable of doing anything for myself!”

“I was simply trying to make things easier for you.”

There really isn’t a good response to that. Because it’s a perfectly reasonable thing to say. But she’s not in a space where she needs a good response to justify being angry. She’s in a space where even a perfectly reasonable thing is more than enough to set her off, when it’s coming from him.

“For fuck’s sake,” she mutters, bracing her hands on the table and heaving herself to stand on her good leg. She grabs her crutches from where they lean on the wall, and twists towards the couch, turning her back on him and the kitchen. But one of the crutches catches on the table leg, and she can feel her balance slipping…

And then he’s there, hands on her elbows, gently setting her straight. She swears they linger for a second, and she squeezes her eyes shut tight, because no, no they can’t be there, he can’t be touching me and I CAN’T WANT HIM TO, and then his hands are gone, and it’s safe to open her eyes. Safe to see him standing right in front of her with his hands extended towards her and that way he has of looking at her like he’d hand her the world on a plate if she asked for it and she can feel her arms tingling where his hands had been and her heart pounding in her chest and…

“I’m sorry.” His voice is soft.  

She presses her lips together, swallows hard, trying to get herself under control. She shrugs, not quite meeting his eye, “It’s probably better that I didn’t fall over.” She hates how choked her voice sounds.

“That’s not what I meant.”

She closes her eyes for a brief moment. Oh good. We’re doing this now . Because this is when I want to have this conversation . “Then what are you sorry for?”

“For how I behaved.” He’s standing a little closer now. Is he? Maybe. Or maybe that’s just how she’s seeing him. It’s not his size. Just his...presence. He seems to drown everything else out. “That night.”

She feels the prickle in her nose, the burn in her eyes. But she will not cry in front of him. She absolutely will not cry in front of him. So she casts her eyes to the ceiling instead, shaking her head.

“Charlotte.” He says her name like he always does. Reverent, like it’s sacred.

And that does it, she feels the first drop slip down her cheek. Fuck it. He’s seen her almost bleed out. What difference does it make if he sees her cry.

“Why?” she whispers. It’s all she can think to ask, hopes he understands what she means. Why did you do it? Which part are you sorry for?

“I…” He’s looking down, brows knit, hands clenching and unclenching. He looks back up at her, eyes flicking back and forth as he looks between hers. “I was afraid.”

And you think I haven’t been?

She shakes her head, just a little, “Did it help?”

“No.”

Oh God.

She collapses back into the chair that she’d just left, too overwhelmed to react when he drops to his knees in front of her.

“I know that I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he says.

A sound that’s something like a laugh, something like a sigh, breaks through her tears. She has a brief flicker of a memory: Tina asking her a question, something about him being on his knees begging for her forgiveness, something about how she’d never believed there would be a chance that that would happen. It merges with the current situation and leaves her feeling like the world is tilting slightly. It’s all too goddamn absurd.

She rests her elbow on the table, her head on her hand as she looks down at him. He’s close enough that her toes are almost brushing his knees. “What would you even do if you had it?”

“Whatever you wished of me.”

A simple statement. That’s his way, isn’t it? The simplest statement that could mean anything or everything. But she’s tired. Tired from her pain and tired from work and and tired from heart-ache and tired from trying to parse the meaning of his simple statements.

“What does that even mean?” she asks.

“I...If you tell me that you wish to remain colleagues, it means that. If…” she watches him close his eyes and swallow, hard, before looking back up at her, and his gaze is soft, warm, “If there was a time when we could have been something more...if that is something that you still want…”

It’s a pretty promise, but… she sighs, “It’s not just me that has to want that, Adam.”

“It isn’t just you.” He looks …young, somehow, kneeling on the floor in front of her. Young and sweet and heart-breakingly earnest and her heart lurches in her chest towards him, even as her mind screams at her to get a grip. Because how long has she been waiting to hear this. Even when she thought she was done with waiting. And she can’t stop the smile that spreads across her face, even as the tears are flowing unchecked down her cheeks.

“Goddamn it,” she huffs a little laugh, “yes. Yes. It’s something that I still want.”

He offers her a wry half-smile, “I confess, I was hoping for a little more enthusiasm.”

She laughs at that, feels it bubble up her throat and she rolls her eyes with relief as it escapes her lips, “And I was hoping for a quiet night, so I guess we’re both disappointed.”

His smile broadens, and she sees the hint of dimples in his cheeks as he reaches up, brushes the tears from her face with the backs of his knuckles. She feels her eyes drift shut at his touch as he whispers, “I have never been disappointed by you.”

[kingbaekho]

paradise (kang daniel/you) -- prompt generator series

pairing: kang daniel x you word count: 2k genre: fluff a/n: oh god this got way too long

prompt: person a and person b are pretending to be a married couple because they want a discount on a vacation special to a hawaiian resort. what happens? do they get found out?

daniel can always tell when you have another one of your radical ideas because you get that glint in your eyes. and whenever you get said glint in your eye, his stomach drops, because he knows that whatever’s coming can’t be good.

case in point: right now, as you march over to his table, a smirk toying on the corners of your lips.

he sighs the instant you approach. “what do you want now?”

your smirk immediately falls, transforming into knitted eyebrows and a little pout that tugs at daniel’s heartstrings. as ridiculous as you can be, he can’t help but harbor a small crush on you anyway.

“what do you mean?” you ask, plopping yourself into the chair across from him and swiping his soda can from his grasp. he rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as well.

“whenever you have that look, i know you’re going to say something bad.”

“what do you mean?!” you straighten up indignantly. “for your information, this is a fantastic idea!”

he snorts. “okay, shoot.”

you lean forward, your expression now serious. “so, i was looking at those travel websites last night for spring break.”

“mm-hmm.” daniel takes a bite of his sandwich and slouches back in his chair.

“and you know how much i want to go to hawaii, right? like, it seems so pretty, and the last time i was there, i had so much fun, and it was so nice -- anyway--”

“uh-huh.”

“so i was looking at those travel websites. and do you know how much it costs to go to hawaii?” you slam your fist against the table, making daniel flinch. “a metric fuckload! i don’t have a metric fuckload!”

he chuckles. “and?”

“but--” you point your finger directly at him. “there are those vacation travel packages. like the ones where you pay for tours and the hotel and -- you know what i’m talking about, right?”

“sure.”

your eyes widen. “one site has a 75% discount for married couples! it’s so cheap! but i need someone to be married to for the trip!” you clasp your hands together, bouncing up and down in your seat. “please, please, please, please be my fake husband so we can go to hawaii for spring break? pretty please?”

daniel has to admit, a 75% discount on anything is quite compelling. and so is your pouting face.

it’s mostly your face.

he sits back up. he’d saved money for spring break -- after all, this was his last year of college. if there was ever a time to go all-out, whether it be coachella or bora bora -- this was it.

“alright,” he hums, relishing in how your face instantly lights up with glee. “i’ll do it.”

-

daniel fiddles with his “wedding ring” (that he’d actually bought off amazon) as he steps out of the rental car, eyes fixated on the hotel. while his family has always had enough to afford a solid vacation each year, the sight of a luxurious hotel never gets old. and by the looks of it, you’re just as awed as he is, bumping into him as you drift around the car.

“nice job.” he grins, holding your shoulders to keep you steady.

you smile back at him. “thanks, i try. daniel, i’m so excited! look at the hotel! it’s so pretty!” you clasp your hands in glee, and his heart flutters.

he just laughs at you. “it’s nice, but do you think we can pull off this ‘marriage’ thing?”

you nod confidently. “i can do it. maybe you can’t.” you stick your tongue out at him, and he sticks his out right back.

“whatever you say. now, let’s get going. i think the valet is getting mad at me for just leaving the car here and not going inside.”

giggling, you slip your arm around his, and daniel’s heart stops for a moment. and in that moment, he’s not really sure if he can keep this charade up. not because he’s not a good actor, but maybe because he’ll end up being too good.

-

“are you okay with sharing a bed?” daniel asks you, as you’re facedown in the middle of the giant bed.

“of course!” your voice is muffled, but your enthusiasm shines through nonetheless. “we’re married, duh! didn’t you already think of that?”

“no,” he admits. “i don’t mind, though.” he wanders over to sit on the edge of the bed. immediately, you roll into his lap, resting your head on his legs and smiling up at him. once again, daniel feels his heart stop.

 you reach for his hand, idly playing with his fingers as his other hand gently brushes through your hair. since you two have been friends since college orientation, skinship like this is no longer a big deal. but ever since daniel realized his crush on you last summer, his heart pounds every time you’re close to him, even when it’s just innocuous to you. like right now. all he can feel is his heart beating through his chest, his brain clouded in utter happiness -- if all of this vacation would consist of this, that would be more than fine with him.

-

as it turns out, acting like a newlywed couple is beyond easy. maybe it’s because you and daniel are already so comfortable with one another, but none of the staff seem to bat an eye. not the hostess who leads you to your table at breakfast with a “good morning, mr. and mrs. kang,” or the tour guide who announces to the bus that, “this lovely couple is here on their honeymoon! congratulations!” each time, you simply hug daniel’s arm and look up at him with a soft smile, which only serves to solidify the “relationship.”

but, as the week progresses, daniel knows that his feelings for you are only getting worse and worse. maybe it’s just because you two are alone together for the week. maybe it’s the hawaiian air. or maybe, it’s because this little taste of a fake relationship is giving him a look into what dating you would really be like.

every night, he ends up tossing and turning in bed. maybe he should tell you. maybe, after all this time, he should just say it. after all, this would be the perfect time -- a candlelit dinner on a balcony overlooking the hawaiian ocean -- bam. pop the question (out of earshot from the waiters, of course).

or maybe, this honeymoon act is lulling him into a false sense of complacency. for all your pouting, daniel’s found that he never seems to know what you’re truly thinking. you seem to sleep just fine, after all, unlike him.

and thus, the candlelit dinner overlooking the hawaiian sea comes and goes, and it seems like it’s all too soon before you two are packing up. you’re rushing around the hotel room in a flurry -- despite the trip being only one week long, you’ve somehow managed to scatter your belongings everywhere. daniel, having finished packing long ago, is watching you in amusement.

“i don’t know how you do it.” he says.

“do what?” you call from the bathroom, where you’re stuffing your skincare products into a giant pouch.

“get all of your stuff everywhere. your suitcase is like one of those clown cars.”

you poke your head out of the bathroom to roll your eyes. “oh, shut it, kang.”

he just laughs. “we have... one hour before we have to leave for the airport.”

all he hears in reply is a screech and the sound of bottles being banged against the countertop.

-

“done.” you blow your hair out of your face as you stand your suitcase up, smiling.

“proud of you,” daniel chuckles, standing up. “we still have five minutes left, too.”

you dip into an exaggerated bow. “thank you, thank you. i’m here all weekend.”

he ruffles your hair as you raise your head. “bravo, bravo. encore, please.” he deadpans.

you scowl at him. “i’m a serious performer, niel.”

“i could tell. you were a great fake wife.”

“and you were a great fake husband.” you beam. “seriously though -- i had a lot of fun. i’m glad we actually decided to take the deal.”

he nods. “i don’t think i ever would’ve gone to hawaii period if you hadn’t asked. it was a good vacation.”

“and the dinner last night?” you pat your stomach. “candles? a view of the magnificent hawaiian ocean? mamma mia.” you blow a chef’s kiss that makes him groan.

“you’re terrible.”

you just laugh. “uh-huh, uh-huh.”

daniel lapses into silence, staring out of the hotel room window. you bringing up the dinner last night has dredged up some thoughts in him -- maybe he should’ve told you after all. but now it’s too late, and you’re grabbing his arm to drag him out of the hotel room.

-

the regret consumes him all throughout the drive to the airport and onto the plane. you complain numerous times about how quiet and distracted he’s suddenly gotten, but all he replies with are noncommittal “mm-hmm”s and “okay”s. on the plane, he tries to occupy himself with the latest edition of the airplane safety pamphlet, reading and rereading each step over and over again to try to get his mind off of you.

in the middle of him reading over a demonstration on how to use the inflatable slides, you tap his arm.

“daniel?”

he jolts up, almost jumping a foot in his seat. normally, you would laugh at him for it, but right now, you seem solemn.

“what’s up?” he asks, trying to act as if his heart hasn’t reached a bpm of 300 in half a second.

“thank you for coming to hawaii with me,” you say.

“oh. you’re welcome?” he furrows his eyebrows, wondering why you look so serious if you were only going to say that.

“i... i know this probably doesn’t matter to you, but i asked you to come with me specifically because...”

“what’s wrong?”

you glance away from him. “because i like you. a lot. and i liked you being my fake husband, but that made me like you even more. so -- i thought i’d just say it now that the trip’s over. if you don’t like me back, that’s okay. and don’t think i just, like, got off on using you as my fake husband. i really had a good time with you, even as a friend, i did. i just--”

daniel’s grin is stretching from ear to ear. “shut up, idiot.”

“what?”

“i like you, too.”

“what?!” you scream. you immediately slap your hands over your mouth, but it’s too late, because you’ve managed to draw the eye of everyone on the plane. your face beet red, you bounce as much as you can in your airplane seat, half-whispered squealing coming from between your hands.

“yeah -- i wanted to tell you last night, but i was too scared to. i’m glad you told me now... i was thinking that it was too late to tell you,” he explains.

you shake your head excitedly. “no, no -- not too late at all. oh, god--” you place your hands over your chest. “--i really didn’t think you’d like me back. you’re really out of my league, you know?”

he laughs. “no, i don’t. if anything, you’re out of my league.”

you lower your arms, and daniel takes the opportunity to grasp your hand, squeezing it gently.

“can i kiss you?” he asks.

you nod, glee flitting across your face. so daniel cups your chin in his hands and presses his lips against yours, savoring the way you seem to melt against him. everything seems so natural when he kisses you, like you two were always meant to fit together -- like puzzle pieces.

and daniel, as logical as he usually is, can’t help but think that he was truly meant to be with you.

when you two finally part, your face is flushed red, and he’s sure that he’s equally as tomato-colored. he doesn’t let go of you, however, gently wiping your lips with his thumb.

“so does that mean that you’re going to find another honeymoon special for the summer?” he asks playfully.

you laugh, finally separating from him so that you can lean your head against his shoulder. “definitely.”

[a-taller-tale]

Mad World 

Summary: Simmons gets a mysterious message in the present. Meanwhile in the past, Grif has to explain how birthdays don't matter to an alien spark plug. No matter how time travel works, Back to the Future III will always be relevant. Notes: A @redvsbluesecretsanta gift for @creatrixanimi, who was amazingly patient when life blew up and I needed a few extra days. Also thanks to the RvB Secret Santa mods for organizing such a fun event again this year!

Also on Ao3

The Present

Nobody really celebrated things in Blood Gulch, especially not birthdays. Simmons could admit now that it was a miserable, boring, hot, pointless box canyon in the desert with nothing to do except run drills, do paperwork, patrol Red Base, and—on especially boring days–-try to see what the guys at the Blue Base were doing.

Then the rookies showed up, one Red, one Blue, and everything got a lot weirder. Besides Donut messing up Simmons’ chance at a promotion by somehow wheedling his way into Sarge’s good graces, both rookies were kind of young when they joined up, and very stupid. Neither of them seemed to understand the basic concept of being at war. And suddenly everything was a reason to celebrate.

Donut’s Daily Wine and Cheese Hour started first. Then there was Church’s Best Friend Celebration Spectacular, which Grif and Simmons had attended so they could get the food Donut made for it, and watch Church’s torment.

Sarge decided he wanted in on the action and started making up random holidays when he was bored. And then it was basically non-stop. Interventions, War-iversaries, Armistice Day (for Red and Blue movie nights), and when they couldn’t think of anything else, eventually even birthdays were a thing.

They weren’t as large an occasion as National Hot Dog Day, but they’d be as nice to the birthday guy as possible (which they usually gave up on five minutes in and dragged him more than usual). Then there’d usually be a presentation of old warthog parts wrapped up like presents so they'd have something to unwrap.

Donut always made cake, and Sarge allowed it after Donut swore up and down he wouldn’t make another one to jump out of because he didn’t want the joke to go stale.

Simmons got a party after he told everyone when his birthday was and planted hints all over the Valhalla base that no one could escape. He’d timed it perfectly too, starting a week in advance to account for how long his teammates would hold out to avoid giving him positive attention before they cracked.

“Okay! The surprise party is tomorrow!” Grif yelled. “Please no more texts about how your dad never came to your birthdays! I can’t take it anymore!”

Freckles had a birthday at Crash Site Bravo. Simmons didn’t remember a lot of it because of the blinding terror of being held hostage by a Mantis-class military assault droid and Caboose, who wasn’t famous for his leadership skills or track record of most accidental kills.

They didn’t always celebrate everyone’s birthdays every year, except for when they were on Iris. A lot of times throughout the years, they were busy with life threatening crap. There were accidents, and conspiracies, and missions to take out corrupt old white guys who were sometimes someone’s dad.

But as Simmons stares at the alert that just pinged his HUD, he has no idea how he hadn’t realized they’ve never done a birthday for Grif.

Sure, Sarge likes to joke about him being an unnatural abomination. But they had to have had one birthday thing.

After the Shizno incident was over, they came back to Iris with some pizza-to-go so they could try to have some time off again. Grif didn’t seem that happy to be back, but then again “retirement moon” had been Blood Gulch level of vacation, what with the never ending robot vs. dinosaur wars. And they had to chase some nesting dinosaur squatters out of the base before they could settle in again too.

In a moment that was still crystal clear to Simmons--despite the months of time traveling with Sarge, and then being stuck in a Blood Gulch time bubble--Grif had said he thought everyone hated him. He'd been certain of it, and weirdly calm. Not apathetic though. Resigned.

Simmons thinks it should be obvious by now that the ribbing is just the way that they talk to each other, and he'sthe one with anxiety. Even Sarge makes sure Grif is always with them now. Has been extra eagle-eyed since they got separated.

To use another manly metaphor, Grif's one of the supporting beams on Red Team. Without him they'll fall apart and Sarge would probably go crazy and try to sell everyone out to a serial killer so he could be a movie star. ...Again.

But when Simmons tried to tell Grif that, he only downgraded his importance to “hate glue.”

Simmons frowns at a cobweb clinging to the wall that he must have missed when he tricked everyone into celebrating Spring Cleaning, and realizes with his stomach slowly flipping that they never showed Grif he was important. And Grif noticed, even though he pretended not to care.

Grif thought they all hated him, could still think that, and they never gave him a reason not to. They’d been stuck together for fifteen years, had a drinking night dedicated to the anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic last week, and they never threw a party for Grif.

Simmons pulls up their personnel files. He's filled out forms for Grif, of course. Comes with the territory of carrying Red Team through bureaucracy and making sure they get their pay and also file their taxes right. So how had this date never really registered before?

May the Fourth.

Grif's right. It always comes back to Star Wars.

The Past

Huggins loved talking, and she loved people watching, and watching human movies. Like Die Hard. She and Grif got along super well really fast for her being a lens flare with knowledge supposedly beyond human comprehension.

They’d finally broken down to camp for the night after another day of walking across a country.

What Grif wouldn’t give for some methshrooms now, but he’d used up the last of his stash during the last big battle and hadn’t had the chance to restock before they walked right into more shenanigans without even a pizza break.

And now he was hiking. Something Huggins had totally tricked him into by mentioning his sister. He’d pulled a Sarge move and unloaded his gun at her, because that was dirty pool and she deserved it. But if this were a TV show, she was way better sidekick material than that reporter lady. Plus, he probably should check on his sister now that he knew she wasn't dead and buried in Blood Gulch, and just lost in time like him instead. Nothing better to do in a world without pizza.

“What are birthdays like?” Huggins chirped, interrupting his thoughts.

Grif blinked at the wood he had been kicking into a pile. Oh right, he was trying to build a fire. Not that he needed it with armor on that he was going to sleep in rather than sleeping on the ground, but when you were camping, fires were always necessary for atmosphere. And roasting marshmallows.

“Uh… I dunno,” he said. “Usually the same bullshit happens as any other day.”

“I don’t get the appeal of most other human traditions, but isn’t there cake and singing and celebration and presents? I thought that was important, since you humans don’t live so long.”

“Okay, one: Cake is always important. And B: Yeah, birthdays are a big thing, but only when you’re a kid. When you’re an adult, typically no one gives a fuck.”

Huggins flew in an anxious little circle around Grif’s head, settling into a hover in front of his visor. She had no face that he could see, but he got the impression that there were concerned eyes on him anyway. “But your friends—”

“Have their own shit going on right now, if you haven’t noticed the epic quest you’re leading me on. I’ll be happy if I can just get a slice of pizza after all this is over.”

Huggins clucked her non-existent tongue. Sentient light beings didn’t have tongues, so what made that noise? Unless she had a more alien humanoid type body and he just couldn’t see it with human eyes. Or she was extra-dimensional and the big spark was all that came through. Or—

“After I complete my mission and we defeat the Shizno, we will get pizza,” she said.

Grif cracked a smile, and he was covered by a helmet, but she always seemed to know when she got him to smile and ran with it.

“Ten pizzas!” She declared, zooming up and down dizzyingly, her light brightening. “And an Oreo cake!”

Grif scoffed, but he couldn’t hide the smile from his voice. “Make that an ice cream Oreo cake and you have yourself a deal.”

“Deal!” she yelled instantly. “I can’t wait to go to a human birthday party!”

“Hey, no one said anything about it being a birthday party.”

“It’s going to be your birthday party. And it will not be bull shit.”

“Hey, if you say so. It can be my birthday, if there’s Oreo ice cream cake on the line. And I’m getting the hint that spark plugs—”

“Sentient light beings.”

“—don’t have birthdays, huh? I guess you can share mine as long as you pay for the pizza and cake and beer. I might even let you have some of the cake.”

“Hey, I never said anything about beer. And human food is gross! You can keep it.”

Grif snickered.

The Future

Unfortunately, Huggins never got to follow through on her threat to throw Grif a birthday party.

They fixed almost everything, and came back to Iris, and they even got pizza on the way. But they couldn't save Huggins.

He’s been sleeping and bingeing TV for a few days. Almost no one's bothered him, though Kai's come in to visit and poke him a few times.

It's fine. Okay, not really fine, but it's normal. You win some, you lose some. Just like every other stupid adventure. And he's getting used to losing by now.

Grif stares at the light on the bedroom ceiling. Wonders if Huggins went out like a lightbulb, all burnt and cracked and blackened. He hopes there's an afterlife for little spotlights that talk way too much exposition.

“Hey Grif!”

How the hell does Sarge always sound like he has a megaphone when Grif knows for a fact he doesn’t know how to work the amplifier in his armor?

“What?!” Grif screams through the wall, not moving an inch from his bed. “I’m busy!”

“Get your lazy ass out here, Grif!” comes Simmons’ voice next. He's also good at projecting. If Grif didn't know better, he'd say he was a closet theater kid.

“Fuck off, Simmons!”

“Pretty please.” Grif jumps. Caboose’s voice is at a normal volume, and soft and coaxing, but right outside the door.

Goddammit, of course they sent Caboose. Cheaters.

“Ugh, fine. I’m coming.” Grif rolls out of his blanket nest, ruffling up his hair, and throwing on a semi-clean shirt he’s only worn once from the laundry pile on the floor.

The instant he opens the door, he's greeted not by Caboose, but by the smell of something extremely burnt coming from the kitchen. “Donut better not have set the base on fire again,” Grif complains as he trudges into the common area the Reds and Blues share.

“That better not have been a crack about my cooking,” Carolina says, her arms folded across her chest. Carolina's less scary now that they're kinda friends and he's seen her super baked.

Actually, nah, she's still the same amount of scary when she wants to be, but her mouth is twitching up in the corner. Joking.

“Just stating facts—“ Grif freezes mid-step as he registers the rest of the room.

There's a messy banner that was obviously half-painted by Donut in pastel shades of red, and the other half also obviously by Caboose because it says “Happy Birthday, Girff.”

“Who’s Girff?” he says automatically to cover for his shock. There are streamers, and music playing from a comically antique boom box, and a poster of Blade taped over the sink?

It's also a full house with Wash and Carolina, and also Doctor Grey and Kimball, and the mockumentary film crack team of Dylan Andrews and the guy that filmed for her. Sarge is standing with a twitchy nervous Simmons near the front, and the lieutenants are setting up board games and pizza and appetizers on the table, while Bitters leans back against the wall casually.

“Girff is you, stupid!” Kaikaina says, ambushing him from the side with a bear hug. “Happy birthday, bro!”

Donut swings in from the back where the kitchen is, twirling on one heel, holding a cake decorated with delicate swirls of peach icing and orange flowers. “I just whipped this one up quickly!”

“You made a back-up cake,” Carolina says flatly, turning a real glare on Donut.

“Of course! ” he says breezily. “Nothing can be left to chance on such an important occasion! Always use protection!”

It's really hard for Grif to act cool about this. Everything about the dumb party shows how much they know him, down to the Battlestar Galactica special edition of Clue.

Especially when Simmons shows him the message he got. It was a text alert from a post office on a remote colony that had been holding onto a parchment letter for 1000 years to give to a Dick Simmons on an exact date at an exact hour. The post office wanted some ridiculous fees for the hard copy to be delivered, but luckily they sent Simmons the transcription.

It was a note to save the date for today, and make Grif’s next birthday the party of the century.

Fucking time travel.

Grif had always wanted some ancient clever letter from a time traveler delivered to him with an auspicious warning, or a hundred billion dollars. But he's really glad he knows Huggins liked Back to the Future III now. They hadn’t gotten to those movies in their pop culture conversations yet.

Donut put sparklers in the cake, and when he lights them, the sparks shoot up and down and dance and fly around excitedly.

Surrounded by his family and friends, Grif blows out the candles.

Children waiting for the day they feel good Happy birthday Happy birthday Made to feel the way that every child should Sit and listen Sit and listen

And I find it kinda funny I find it kinda sad The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had I find it hard to tell you I find it hard to take When people run in circles It's a very very Mad world Mad world

[the-nagakenny-archives]

A Wonderful Discovery

This is just a fanfic I’m writing fun for @ask-nagakenny.

I hope Mun and Kenny will like it! 😊 ---lind187

SUMMER VACATION!!! Lindsay booked a trip to go to the tropical forest. She stayed in a treehouse which is five miles from the forest. Though the forest is filled with creatures and plants that are gigantic, fierce, and a threatening. Of course, that doesn’t stop Lindsay from enjoying her stay so just as long as she stays out of trouble. What’s the worst that can happen?

Deep in the tropical forest, up in a large tree lays a large serpent with it’s really long tail wrapped around the branches. This unseen creature heard something and looked down to find a young woman by herself wandering around admiring her surroundings.

Her name is Lindsay Stewart. She is 25-year-old, African-American young woman wearing an off-white ruffle eyelet crop top, pink sarong, pink sandals, gold bracelet, gold earrings, and had her hair braided on the top leaving the back puffed out with a pink headband holding it in place.

“Hmmm…I wonder who thisssss ebony beauty may be?”  said a voice that sounded menacing yet smooth.

Lindsay was so dazzled by the exotic plants all around, along with the birds, butterflies, frogs, and lizards. “Now this is a place I would love to live in.” she said to herself. “So far everything has been very peaceful; I don’t see why everyone is so horrified of this place…” suddenly, she was startled for a moment by a sound coming from a bush that was five feet away from her. Then shrugged it off thinking it was some animals messing around and continued on her journey.

Deep in the shrubs were a pair of brown eyes spying on Lindsay walking by then stops midway to see vines in front of her. She runs over there to grab one and started to swing effortlessly from one vine to the next. Lindsay smiled while her heart was racing with excitement, but then her smile went away when saw the last vine was much further away and off the deep end. Even the eyes watching her were in shock. Lindsay couldn’t stop; the only thing she could do is keep going by taking a deep breath, closing her eyes, and flinging herself with open arms. Will she make it?

Well she opened one eye then the other to find herself hanging onto the vine and still moving. That’s when the big smile popped back on her face as she laughs with joy. “Atta, girl.” Said a quiet voice hiding in the shrubs. Lindsay swung onto the last vine and stopped on a tree branch. Unfortunately, the branch was pretty slippery causing Lindsay to slide down and yell. Throughout it all, she went through every loop, swerve, and bump but managed to grab onto an upcoming vine and used her cat-like reflexes to land on the ground. Then gasped when she heard someone clapping and cheering, “Bravo! Oh, you were marvelous!”

Lindsay turned around and witnessed a masculine stranger, who looks to be around her age sitting in front of a shrub. He has olive skin, long copper red hair, brown eyes, a big pointy nose, black eyebrows and sideburns. Lindsay shyly responded, “W-why thank you.”

The man smiled at her with his head slightly tilted to the right as he asks, “Why you are very welcome. Now tell me, what is fine young thing like you doing out in the jungle by yourself?”  

The young lady seemed nervous. Not because of the question, but because of the way this stranger is smiling at her. She immediately answered, “Curiosity got the best of me. Though I have heard that the jungle can be a dangerous place, I’ve always thought there could be a beautiful side to it and wanted to see for myself.”

“Heheh, granted it’s crazy out here sometimes, but overall it is breath taking.” The man smiled. “May I ask what your name is?” The young lady answered, “I’m Lindsay. Lindsay Stewart.”  

“Ah, such a beautiful name.” He grinned.

“Thank you.” Lindsay blushed.

Seeing how bashful she is, the man then points to Lindsay as he happily demands, “Now you: ask me what my name is.” Lindsay was taken aback from that demand but timorously replies. “Oh, Pardon me. What is your name, sir?”

The man laughed, “Oh now no need to be so formal. But thank you by the way. Ahem! My name is Naga Kenneth. But you can call Kenny if you like.” Lindsay scratches her head in confusion to ask, “Naga…Kenneth? Hm, never heard a name like that before. Why ‘Naga’?” The man, known as Kenny, nervously chuckled, “Good question! Uh…well you may find this pretty shocking but let me show you why.”