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stellewriites · 2 days ago

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Part 5 - John Price x reader

Masterlist

Summary: When John gets an unexpected invite to his ex-wife's wedding, he scrambles to find a suitable date to take with him to ward off old ghosts from his past.

Notes: trans John, fat reader, smut - fingering, oral (f!receiving), riding/frotting, John's genitals are referred to as cock.

You’d been screening John’s calls and leaving his texts unread for the last fortnight, feeling worse and worse for it and not knowing exactly why you were doing it.

Each notification had your heart pumping in excitement for the possibility of him still reaching out despite your silence, and then thumping too hard in immediate anxiety and guilt.

“Stop moping and text him,” Kate said to you finally. She’d been watching you check your phone routinely throughout brunch and had noticed how you were only half focused in their conversations and slow to engage. You’d laugh a second later than the others and had forgotten what you’d ordered when it had arrived at the table.

“I’m not ready for dating.” You shrugged her off, looking back down at your phone.

She huffed and sent you a disbelieving look. Your other two friends currently present, Cass and Paige, paused their conversation to look at you doubtfully too.

“I’ve not seen you as happy as you had been recently when you were hanging out with him,” Kate said and the other two agreed. “I know this isn’t a confidence thing either. He said he liked you, and you clearly liked him.”

“Katie,” you said warningly.

“She’s not wrong,” Paige said and took a sip of her drink.

“I mean, hell, if you’re really set on not dating, then don’t! That’s fine, but text the guy back for god’s sake and hang out again. Or put him out of his misery.” She bit a large chunk out of her avocado toast as you slumped in your chair.

“He’s still trying, right? That’s what you were worried about?” Cass said, hitting the nail on the head.

Guiltily you looked down at the unanswered messages under John’s contact. It stung to realise that maybe John had been genuine that night and you’d turned him down so bluntly.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek and typed up your reply, sending it before you could talk yourself out of it.

>> hi john sorry for the distance, i’ve been figuring some stuff out. make it up to you over coffee if you’re free later?

He didn’t leave you waiting anxiously for long, replying immediately with an affirmative.

“What did he say?” Paige asked.

“We’re meeting up later,” you said a little bashfully. “He said he’s looking forward to seeing me.”

Kate smiled knowingly. “Yeah, I bet.”

You elbowed her lightly and put your phone away. It was easier to settle back into the conversation with the group, easier to concentrate, with your chest not feeling so tight.

——

“Hey,” you greeted him softly inside the coffee shop later that day. He’d arrived early again.

You felt almost more awkward now than you had when meeting him for the first time.

“How have you been, Sunshine?” He asked as you took your seat.

“Good. Fine. Yeah.” You nodded before you shook it. “I wanted to apologise, John. For a lot of things but—“

“No need, Sunshine, honestly,” he waved you off gruffly, leaning forward in his seat as you shrank back in yours. “I’m just glad you’re happy to see me now.”

“I am,” you confirmed with a shy smile, sat opposite him and growing more relaxed at the pleased twitch of his moustache.

“So what’s been new?” He asked again.

You snorted. “It’s only been a couple of weeks since we last saw each other,” you said.

He blushed, the pink flush half hidden behind the beard he was growing back out.

“Guess I got used to all the updates throughout the day quicker than I’d realised.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly before looking to the counter and sitting up straighter. “Do you want anything? My treat.”

Your smile had dropped at the reminder of how you’d skipped out of his life so suddenly; even though you didn’t owe him anything, you had grown to be friends before the wedding and you know you’d have been hurt if it was the other way around.

“Yeah, just an iced latte please,” you said before stopping him from standing. “Hey, I said I was making it up to you. I should be paying.”

He huffed a laugh. “Not likely. You’re making it up to me by sticking around, Sunshine. You didn’t have to come at all.”

“John…”

“One iced latte coming up,” he said and stood. “God knows why, they taste more of sugar than coffee.”

“That’s exactly why,” you huffed a hesitant laugh as he headed to the counter. When he came back a minute later and sat down with the drinks you took a sip before speaking. “To answer your question, work has been the same old, but I’m thinking of maybe getting a pet? Tied between a cat and a rabbit at the moment. If it’s a rabbit, I’ll need to sort the garden though, it’s little bit overgrown right now.”

His eyebrows raised in surprise and he put his tea down. “You got the tools for it?”

“I think my neighbour has a lawnmower and my mum probably has a pair of shears I could borrow for the hedges,” you hummed. It had only been a half thought semi-recently, so you’d not put much planning into the idea yet, just the start of a pinterest board of cute ideas.

“I could help,” he offered, a touch too casual. “If you wanted. I’ve got a lawnmower I don’t get to use too often and some time off before I have to head back to work.”

“I’ll think about it,” you said with a gentle smile.

He nodded.

“What about you?” You asked.

“Same old,” he said vaguely, repeating your own words back at you. He shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. “I am having to go back to work properly soon though.”

You tilted your head, confused at his drab tone, certain as you were that you’d messaged once or twice when he was at work, stuck doing paperwork or in a meeting before the wedding.

“I’ll be heading overseas,” he clarified. “Might not be contactable for a few weeks at a time. Just didn’t want you to think…”

“That you were ignoring me to get back at me for the fact that I ghosted you?” You guessed when he trailed off. John nodded sheepishly.

“Fuck, I’m glad I’ve gotten to see you before I go,” he said quietly, just looking at you.

“Me too,” you agreed. Impulsively, you finished off your drink and made a quick decision. “Do you want to come back to mine for dinner? I’ll cook.”

John grinned brightly. “I’d love that.”

——

You busied yourself in the kitchen when you got back home with him, missing his chuffed smirk when he saw your door was still in working order with no sign of it dragging on the doorstep.

You didn’t miss his hum when he joined you in the kitchen a moment later.

“That shelf meant to be on a slant?” He asked, eyes shrewd as he looked at your collection of herbs and spices.

“Oh, no but I’ve just never found time to fix it. And it’s not fallen down yet, so it’s not even made an appearance on my Urgent List.” You shrugged.

He hummed again and headed back to the front door. “I’ve got my tool box with me, I’ll sort it now for you.”

“No, John, you don’t have to,” you called after him, but he was already out of the door. You didn’t know that he’d kept his toolbox in his truck ever since he was first here just in case you messaged again needing anything sorted, and now he was glad his foresight was paying off.

The shelf was sorted quicker than the kettle boiled and you swatted at him to go relax once he’d cleaned up after himself. He placatingly held his hands up in mock surrender and went to wash up in the bathroom while you rinsed some veg under the kitchen tap.

You were given ten minutes of peace before you started to wonder where he’d gone and left the pasta in the pan boiling and the sauce on a low heat to find him. You weren’t afraid to chew him out if he was snooping, but instead you found him hunched over the sink in the bathroom.

“Taps were finicky,” he said before you’d had chance to ask him what he was doing. When he’d had chance to grab his tools from the kitchen without you noticing you didn’t know, but you couldn’t help but snicker as he frowned down at the old taps.

“Don’t do well sitting still, do you, John?”

He shrugged. “Figured I might as well since I’m here,” he said instead.

You snorted. “Come help me with the sauce once you’re done here then.”

You stifled a laugh when you heard him swear through the open door before the sound of a running tap turned on and off a few times. He came back through to the kitchen a little later with a satisfied smile and you did your best to concentrate on cooking instead.

You smiled at him when he settled in next to you to take over stirring the sauce, leaving you free to set the table. You felt a pang of domesticity, it was all so easy with John.

You plated it up and sat down together. Eating dinner with him was just as easy, the awkwardness you’d felt walking into the cafe forgotten about completely as conversation flowed naturally between the two of you. Though you did have to fend the man off from planning to go out in the morning to get the wood to build you either a hutch for a potential rabbit or put up climbing shelves if you decided on a cat instead; he’d figured you’d be able to decide by time you’d finished the pasta.

“Best meal I’ve had in a while,” he sighed happily when he finished off the pasta. “Stunning.”

“Thanks, John,” you said bashfully. When you stood to take the dishes he moved quicker and grabbed the plate from your hands. You didn’t bother complaining, knowing how stubborn the man was already; instead you joined him and put the dishes away once he’d cleaned them, smiling to yourself as the pair of you worked in comfortable silence.

When all was put away and your kitchen was back to normal - now with a sturdier shelf - he smiled and headed for the door reluctantly with his toolbox in hand.

“Thanks for today, Sunshine,” he said softly and, after a brief moment of deliberation, he leant in to kiss your cheek. “Talk to you later?”

You nodded happily and closed the door behind him.

When you laid in bed later that night you couldn’t stop thinking about the gentle, chaste kiss. The only real one you’d shared so far.

——

You only got a week with John before he disappeared. He’d made you promise to keep him updated like you would normally so he could catch up when he got back again, but you tried not to overwhelm his notifications; sticking to a couple of texts every few days instead of the daily messages you’d quickly fallen back into.

If he wanted more you were sure he’d let you know and if he only skim read the mountain of messages and photos you’d still managed to send then you’d ease up next time.

He said he would be gone a month, tops, but you didn’t hear from him for two. You tried not to worry, his job wasn’t an exact science, but that fact could make you more anxious depending on the day.

It was a random Wednesday evening when you got a knock on your front door and your heart suddenly plummeted.

You walked to the door with shaking hands. The repercussions of John’s work had never fully occurred to you until this moment, or at least you’d done your best not to linger on it for too long. But now visions of the person on the other side of your door being someone in an official uniform, waiting to let you know weeks too late that John had—

John had shown up to your house unexpectedly.

“Sunshine.” He smiled.

Clearly tired, he stood on your doorstep with his hair damp and curling at the ends, his beard overgrown and his work gear still on, though a big bag was hooked over his shoulder. His smile never wavered, relieved when you answered the door.

“John?” You stepped to the side to let him in without a second thought and he trailed a heavy hand appreciatively down your arm.

“Cleaned up a little at base, but I haven’t stopped driving home since. I’ve had you on my mind as soon as we were wheels down,” he admitted with soft eyes.

You didn’t question his use of the term ‘home’ when referring to driving to yours after spending months in another country and you certainly weren’t going to think about how it made you feel.

“You should’ve gone back to yours to sleep, or at least dropped off your things,” you berated him half-heartedly. “We could’ve caught up when you weren’t running on— what? Four hours of sleep?”

“Knew you’d be my first stop.” He’d dropped his bag by the front door, his daft hat dropped on top, and was slumping onto your couch with a heavy sigh. “Should’ve left my shit at base maybe. Just didn’t want to have to drive back tomorrow.”

“Have you eaten?” At his slight shake of the head, you moved to the kitchen and started pulling something together, leaving him to relax. You knew he must be tired by how he wasn’t following after you, and your suspicions were confirmed when you came back with a thick sandwich, the last slice of a quiche you’d made earlier in the week and some picky bits from your fridge to find him asleep. You cringed at the lacklustre dinner, but you hadn’t been expecting guests and you were going grocery shopping tomorrow, so you placed it on the coffee table and sat down carefully next to him so he didn’t wake.

Turning down the volume on the TV, you let him nap as you watched a few episodes of your latest favourite. You couldn’t help but let your eyes dart over to him every so often to check on him, giggling when you noticed his mouth had dropped open during his well deserved catnap.

You paused your show when he grumbled and wiped a slow hand over his face a few hours later.

“Hello, sleepyhead. Hungry?”

“Starving,” he groaned croakily.

“Best I could do on short notice,” you said and handed him the plate. You watched like a big cat documentarian as he tore through the food with an unholy passion, finished in minutes. You silently handed him your water and he chugged it back with a loud ‘ahh’ after.

“Lovely as ever,” he said sleepily before nodding back off. You stifled a laugh and stood to grab him an extra pillow and blanket. It was clear he wouldn’t be driving home tonight, so you thought you might as well let him get comfy and crash on the couch for the night.

A brief thought crossed your mind of waking John and letting him share your bed; you’d done it for the wedding after all, and it wouldn’t have to mean anything.

You shook your head and draped the blanket over him. You knew it would mean something and you weren’t ready to make that step yet as much as you wanted it.

——

You woke in the morning to John using your shower and you smiled at him with raised ‘brows when he came back out dressed in more familiar civ clothes. You looked for the bag at the front door but couldn’t see it.

“Staying for breakfast or heading home?”

“Heading home, sadly. But I’ll call you later, yeah? I want to catch up properly,” he said. “Thanks for letting me stay, Sunshine.”

“Of course,” you said genuinely and in between bites of your cereal. “It was a nice surprise.”

He hummed and leant in to kiss your temple with a warm hand cradling the back of your neck. You tried desperately not to push into him and to ignore the thoughts of how he smelt like you out of your head; how if anyone tried to flirt with him on his way home they’d smell your strawberry shampoo and very berry body wash. How your spring air scented febreeze spray had sunk into his jacket from the couch through the night.

Your subtle mark was all over him and neither of you seemed to mind.

“Call me when you get home, John.”

He hummed, lingered for a moment more, then headed out with his bag in tow.

——

The bar was loud and your friends were still wide awake and partying strong, celebrating the news of Paige’s well earned promotion. You, however, were flagging.

It was late, and the prospect of staying out any later was making holding back a yawn nigh impossible. You’d never been a big drinker so you’d not been keeping pace with the others, a possible mistake since you seemed to lack the same energy as them, found firmly in their second wind. The last thing you wanted to do was bail but you didn’t want to bring the mood just down hanging around either.

Your phone buzzed and you smiled when you saw it was john.

>> Still awake?

<< for once yeah :p

>> What show has you gripped to binge watch late into the night this time?

You snorted.

<< out celebrating with friends, paige got promoted!!!

>> Tell her congratulations from me

>> What time does the party end?

<< idk but i’m ready for bed already 😪

<< taxi isn’t booked for another couple of hours tho :(

John’s speech bubble appeared and disappeared a few times and you watched the screen avidly.

>> Do you want me to come meet you to walk you home?

<< really??

<< would you mind? it’s late and a little cold so you don’t have to!

>> Send me the address and I’ll set off now

<< thanks john ❤️

Either John lived close or he’d ran there, as you’d only just finished telling your friends that you were leaving early when John turned up.

“You shouldn��t leave on your own, walking home at this time of night is dangerous,” Cass said worriedly, her words slurring slightly.

“I’m not, John’s meeting me to walk me home,” you said and flushed when they all cheered and whistled at the mention of his name; their catcalls gained volume and enthusiasm when John walked through the bar door a second later, head on a swivel as he looked for you in the crowd.

“Fuck off,” you hissed at your friends playfully and hugged them all goodbye before you headed over to John. He was grinning and waved happily over to your friends, nudging you when he saw the embarrassed scrunch of your shoulders.

“Good night?” He asked once you were on the path outside.

“Yeah.” You smiled. “She deserved the raise like three years ago, but at least they’re finally recognising all the work she does.”

John nodded along. He cursed a moment later when he felt a few raindrops. You both looked up at the gentle patter and gasped when it quickly turned torrential.

Your walk turned into a run as John grabbed your hand tightly and led you a little shop alcove near by, shoving you under and crowding in after you.

“Shit, I should’ve driven,” he blamed himself, looking at your soggy jacket and the rain that had splattered your round cheeks.

“Don’t worry about it, John,” you waved it off. “Bit of rain never hurt anyone.”

The pair of you were pressed close, his broad shoulders and your wide hips taking up the space in the doorway enough that you were both holding your breath in each other’s space.

“Just my luck really,” you said.

“It’s just British weather,” John corrected. “Don’t know why I wasn’t expecting it to rain in the middle of summer,” he joked.

You laughed and felt butterflies flutter at his mirrored rumble, focused on where your stomach pressed against his. You no longer felt tired stood with him.

It went quiet, with just the soft rain and the sound of the odd car passing by the only things heard for a moment as you both held your breath, eyes locked.

You leant forward those last few inches and pressed your lips against his. Your noses bumped and you automatically lifted a hand to tilt his chin slightly to adjust, pressing your lips a little firmer when he followed your guiding hold. His hands on your hips were reverent as he let you lead.

You delighted in the scratch of his beard for a split second before suddenly flinching back, your hand becoming firm against his shoulder to keep him from following.

“Fuck,” you swore shakily. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” he huffed with a confused smile.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” you insisted. You felt him lean towards you and firmed the stretch of your arm to keep him in place as best you could in the small space. “It’s mixed messages. It’s not fair to you.”

“I’m still waiting,” he admitted. “I’ll wait however long y’need, Sunshine.”

You ducked your head.

“I feel guilty,” you whispered. You swallowed thickly as the reasons were finally voiced even as you avoided his eyes. “I feel like it’s Charlotte all over again for you; I’m stringing you along when you could be finding someone else. I’m— it’s not fair,” you repeated.

He leant back in shock, a frown pulling at his brows and his mouth moving silently for a moment. John looked down at you from his tucked in chin and considered your comparison, knowing the quick denial on the tip of his tongue wouldn’t soothe you.

“Have you decided that then? You don’t want to be with me?” He asked finally.

You hesitated, unable to lie and say no, and he latched onto that with a fierce hold.

You thought back to what your friends had said, the fun you’d been having with him again, how natural it all was.

“Sunshine…”

“We could take it slow?” You asked.

“Of course,” he agreed readily, pushing those few inches closer to you in eagerness. “Slow and steady, whatever you need.”

“Ok.” You nodded.

“Ok?”

“I like you, John,” you admitted almost shyly, smiling up at him. “I want to try.”

In the next breath he ducked close to kiss you again.

You were pressed against the damp, grainy wall of the little alcove as he greedily slipped a hand beneath your shirt and hungrily kissed you, not stopping for a breath or a gasp now that you’d given the go ahead.

“W-what— happened t-to,” you gasped as he filled your space and every thought. The patter of the rain going unheard as his shaky breaths filled your ears and echoed torturously. “Take— taking it s-slow?”

He sucked on your lip before pulling back and panting, swapping breaths with you. “I’m not down on one knee, am I?” He asked as though you were being obtuse.

You snorted, eyes wide in disbelief. But you didn’t push him away, instead your grip kept him close.

He dipped in for another peck and you cupped his bearded cheeks.

“My house isn’t far from here,” you suggested softly. Testing the waters.

In a flash John was dragging you out of the alcove and down the street with you laughing as you splashed through the puddles to keep up with his determined pace.

“Wrong way, John,” you laughed and tugged at his arm, directing him the to follow you and head the other way towards your house. He crowded against your back, slightly off to the side, and you felt butterflies erupt at the sound of his low chuckle as your steps overlapped and you tripped each other in eagerness.

——

Once you were safely inside your home, it didn’t take long for you to get naked and climb on the bed. You dragged John along with you, clad still in his boxers.

He hovered over you as you laid back flat, his broad palms running from your ribs to your flank soothingly as he settled between your thick thighs.

His eyes were all black, the usual greyblue just a thin strip around the edges as he took you in in all your glory.

The need to make you keen and cream on his fingers was obvious by his hungry expression and the flexing of his hold on your softest parts.

“Been wanting this for too long, Sunshine,” he whispered. “Longer than you know.”

“Think I can guess,” you gasped as he lowered himself down and kissed your stomach, making sure to cover each curve and roll as he journeyed up, keeping his warm palms cupped and dragging up your sides as he kissed between your breasts. Your knees squeezed him at the ribs when he palmed one of your tits, using the light hold to lick a broad stripe over the sensitive nipple. He went back to kissing higher, trailing up along your stretched neck and biting teasingly at your earlobe before coming face to face.

“Any preferences?” Fingers, tongue, toys.

“I’d prefer to cum sooner than later,” you said cheekily, basking in his eye roll.

“Yes, ma’am,” he huffed good naturedly. “I’ll do my best.”

He leant down and kissed you, plunging and messy, not like the dry brush of lips in the rain or the rushed eager swaps of spit and squished smiles on the way home and into your bedroom. You brushed your hands over his furry chest and trembled pleasantly, raking your fingers through and sighing at the strength usually hidden beneath layers of baggy and comfortable clothing.

“John,” you sighed and he shuffled his way down back between your legs.

“Just lay back and relax,” he ordered before trailing his nose through your bush, huffing in an opened-mouthed breath with a pleased hum.

“Need a map?” You joked breathily, breath hitching when he huffed an amused breath at your opening, pressing a light kiss there afterwards. His thumb gently spread your vulva and he gave a gentle kitten lick. Using the building wetness he found he trailed his thumb lower to your arsehole and kept it there with little pressure.

“Nah, this is your clit, right?” he asked teasingly. You snorted, but felt your pussy clench and your muscles tense when he added a bit of pressure.

“John—“

“Relax,” he said again. He moved his attention and his hand back up. “Don’t need a guided tour, though I appreciate the offer; wouldn’t mind watching you show me what you like another day. But I know what I’m doing, love.”

He licked a stripe up your centre and your eyes fluttered, your hips pushing up into his hands when he puckered his wet lips around your clit and gently suckled. “Yeah, you do,” you whimpered.

He slipped his middle finger inside fluidly, no resistance, and you let out a soft sigh, your hips subtly raising to get him as deep as you could. He changed the angle of his mouth so his strong nose nudged at your bundle of nerves and he could mouth at your plush wet opening instead. He licked around his finger, adding to the sticky mess as you practically sucked him in.

He could tell by the flutters of your cunt that you were enjoying yourself, the pinch of your brow only adding to his confirmation when he looked up, but you were so quiet.

“Y’can be loud for me, Sunshine,” he said, curling his finger and grinning cheshire-cat-wide when your jaw dropped at the feeling. “Don’t be shy.”

“Give me reason to,” you said with a cut off gasp. “W-work for it.”

He felt heat rush to his core, fattening his already throbbing cock.

As you wish.

He hooked one trembling thigh over his meaty shoulder and focused back on the heat between your legs; like sticky syrup, slippery between the pads of his fingers as he dipped a second finger in beside the first.

He gave you a moment to clench around the thicker intrusion with closed eyes before setting a quicker, less forgiving pace than before. You let out a surprised grunt, your hand flying down to grip his hair as he sealed his lips to your clit with a wagging tongue.

“Fuck.”

His left hand moved to keep your hips still, strapped across your soft tummy like a seatbelt, his palm a firm pressure in the soft pudge below your bellybutton.

He broke the seal of his mouth to heave in a panting breath and nibbled at the soft skin of your thigh beside his head to catch his breath while his fingers continued to pull sweet noises from you.

You whimpered softly, dropping your hands to the mattress and clinging tight to the sheets and felt your cheeks heat up when John chuckled.

“Can’t tell what I prefer hearing,” he said and paused his fingers deep inside of you, spreading them to get a little look at the desperate cling of you around his long digits. Your creamy arousal slid down the back of his hairy knuckles and he revelled in the light squelch as you wriggled in his hold, urging his fingers deeper inside. “Your sweet cunt or your careful moans.”

“Please, John,” you asked. Pleaded. “I’m close.”

He slipped his fingers free of your tight clutch and shushed you with a smile when you whined. Licking his pruny fingers clean, he groaned at the taste.

“I’ll get you there, Sunshine, don’t worry.”

He left a wet smack of a kiss on your thigh before ducking back down and licking deep and insatiable into your needy cunt, his fingers focused on your sensitive clit instead, rubbing almost too hard and too fast as your hips pushed your cunt further into his mouth. His arm kept you locked close and unable to shift away, not that you wanted it to end, but the sudden onslaught of hyper-focused attention was a lot after his teasing and after so long without a partner. Your hand had made its way to the back of his head once more, cupping gently, but urging him forward with a steel determination. He wasn’t allowed back up for air until you’d cum.

He pinched your clit and you shrieked at the nip of pain beneath the pleasure, feeling yourself tumble over the edge as he huffed and grunted into your pussy like a man starved.

John held you close by the thighs with both hands as you arched and clenched on his tongue; slobbering and groaning against your tender vulva as you cried out. He gave your thigh one light but sharp slap as you flooded his senses; sweaty and salty, the taste and scent of you.

You collapsed back with a breathy little, hnngh, and let your fingers scratch lazily through his hair where he’d rested his face in the groove of your groin.

He hummed and dragged himself further up your body before slumping over you, kissing the taste of you into the back of your mouth, ingraining it into your tongue, gums and teeth as you whined and writhed beneath him.

“Jesus fucking christ,” you laughed tiredly into his mouth. “Gimme a chance.”

He smiled and ground himself against your hip. “Can’t help it, y’make me feel like a teenager.”

Your nose scrunched and he huffed a laugh. “A’right, won’t make that comparison again.”

You pecked his lips in thanks and slipped your hand down between you, gathering a glob of your own arousal between your fingers. Thoroughly lubed, you pushed your hand under the band of his boxers and rubbed the collected juices over his cock and watched his brow pinch in pleasure.

It was your turn to tease.

You leant up and kissed him open mouthed and slow, the tease of tongue against his lips as he humped against your hand, moans mingling in breaths shared.

You moved your hand lower, went to slip in a finger but he gripped your wrist tightly. You looked up with wide eyes, hand falling loose in his grip where it had stopped you in your tracks.

“No, not like that. I don’t— I don’t like—“

“That’s ok,” you interrupted his stuttering explanation, watching walls build up before your eyes that you were determined not to let solidify. He didn’t need them around you. “We can just keep doing it like before,” you offered easily with a smile and lingering kiss to his fuzzy cheek. “Whatever you want.”

John guided your hand back up hesitantly, watching you as though waiting for the other shoe to drop. He kept your fingers hovering over his cock once more and you pushed forward to rub from tip to root and back up again.

“Yeah?” You asked and watched as his shoulders relaxed again. He moved his arm to lean back on his elbow by your head and you smiled, satisfied with the show of trust. “Yeah, ok.”

You pushed against the spot just below the head of his cock, trapping it against his pubic mound and were gratified as he groaned low, like the sound was forcibly pulled out of him as he thrusted roughly against your fingers. John ducked his head and kissed you, missing the mark in his desperation and licking against the corner of your mouth instead.

You nudged your face up slightly and let him moan against your lips, quickly falling into the distraction of getting him dripping and close; pulling out all your tricks and feeling yourself get worked up in return whenever you felt him throb and pulse in your hand, his thick, hairy thighs shifting either side of yours.

He pulled back and you paused your ministrations immediately, worried you’d done something wrong again, but John hurriedly tugged his boxers down and off, kicking them away from the bed and diving back towards you with a ravenous kiss.

Rolling onto his back, John tugged you into his lap so you were straddling him and for the first time in his presence a burst of hesitance connected to your weight bloomed in your chest.

You lifted up on your knees slightly to relieve some of your weight from his hips.

“Oh, John I don’t know—“

“Come ‘ere, Sunshine,” he pulled your hips back down and urged you to ride him, moving with his own frotting hips as your vulva spread to soak around his cock.

With each grind, the head nudged slightly from its foreskin and kissed your clit perfect as you tilted back. You huffed a weak moan as he slipped through your folds and the schlickschlickschlick sounds of your combined arousal mingling and frothing between your thighs had you panting and moving quicker.

Once you found your pace, one hand balanced back on his hairy thigh and the other rubbing at your clit furiously, he lifted his hands from the fat of your hips and stomach up to thumb at your nipples.

You noticed how he moaned and tensed when you slipped heavily over his sensitive tip and grinned a little meanly as you focused a careful swivel of your hips to catch your slick centre on it. You clenched and gushed over his throbbing tip as he whined, gripping you tightly to try and pull you lower.

“Close?” You asked with a breathy giggle, feeling your own legs shake with the oncoming orgasm.

You traced gentle fingers over his faded top scars beneath his thick thatch of chest hair as he groaned and leant down to kiss him. It didn’t take much longer for you both to cum, both worked up and the constant, teasing brushes at your cores were enough to gradually tip you over the edge.

His hand in your hair kept your mouths attached as you panted hot and wet, and when you broke free to the side his beard was scratchy against your nose and cheek as you shuddered on top of him.

“John, fuck.”

“Just like that, just like that,” he thrusted up in jerky little motions before stilling.

You flopped to the side a moment later, less conscious of your weight but wanting to be comfortable, and he gathered you close immediately. He tucked you under his chin with a grunt, slipping a leg over yours.

“I’m not letting you out of this bed for a week,” he groaned sleepily. You hummed happily, exhausted. He let you drift off before whispering in your ear. “Sorry this isn’t slow, Sunshine, but I won’t be going back to being friends now.”

You grinned and nuzzled closer.

“I think we should go visit my home town next, only fair you meet my crazy family too, yeah?”

John closed his eyes happily and nodded. “Looking forward to it,” he said. “Though my rates are a little higher than £100.”

You pinched his thigh and laughed when he tried to squirm away with a hiss.

You kissed his neck chastely and tightened your arm around his waist, nodding off as you felt him trail a hand back and forth over your naked back.

#this was such a fun chapter to write i feel a lot better about it compared to my prev chapter #hopefully you guys all like the ending :3 i was debating stuff for a while but i like it and im glad they got their cheesy romcom fade #to black afterglow lmao #thank you p for peer reviewing my smut!#john price x reader #price x reader #fat reader #trans john price #john price smut #price smut #cod smut #trans price smut #trans john price smut #im covering all bases here

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604to647 · 2 days ago

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Crawling Back to You (Dieter’s Version)

3.7K / Dieter Bravo x fem!reader

Summary: A moment of weakness could lead to lifetime of regret unless Dieter can set things right with you.

Warnings: Angst, pining. Mention of drug use. Reader has a purposefully vague production/behind the scenes job because I don't know anything about movie production. Eventual HEA. One Friends reference - see if you can find it 😉

A/N: This was written for @happypedrohours’ Bouquets of Pedro Challenge. My Valentine’s prompt for Dieter was PDA. I’ve never written for Dieter before! I know he’s a chaos gremlin (affectionate), but I really like fics I read of him where he just wants to be loved? So, that's the Dieter that I wrote - I hope it's okay 🥹 (Sorry if he’s too OOC 😭) Musical inspiration is Hozier's cover of Artic Monkey's "Do I Wanna Know."

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Many thanks to @morallyinept for your character and dialogue database to help me try and get into a Bravo state of mind 😘

He considers doing something big and splashy, of course. And public - very, very public. Afterall, not being P with his DAs had been what tore the two of you apart.

Well, part of it, anyways.

Double-paged feature in Variety. Highway billboards with matching ads on the side of buses. Live poetry reading on the big screens in Time Square.

But all of that would be very old Dieter Bravo of him and he was no longer that man - in large part because of you, for you.

Dieter had met you many, many moons ago. Always a friendly face on whatever set or industry event it was where you might cross paths, the two of you had gone from familiar acquaintances, to friends, to someone the other actively sought out for good company or shelter when the bright lights got too hot, the clamouring crowds too loud.

When you first met, Dieter thought you must be an actress - you were too beautiful, too captivating not to be onscreen. But while you did have a few extra credits to your name, he soon learned that your ambition lay behind the camera. He remembers the first time he heard your melodic voice ring out across set - like a drunken sailor to a siren’s call, he followed it without question in a semi lucid state (Hey! What’s a little marijuana between a movie star and the teamsters?). But upon the lifting of his fog, Dieter found not his destruction, but salvation: a sympathetic ally on set, someone with whom he could be a team – a calm in the chaotic storm that was most movie productions,

You worked hard at learning and mastering your trade, and your keen eye and intuitive sense for movie making sang your merits louder than that hypnotic voice of yours that first drew Dieter (and others) to you; that you were easy to get along with and impossible to say no to was no small feat in this business – especially for a woman. Dieter watched as you dogged forward, paying your dues and solidifying your reputation and resume – whenever he hears your name being bantered about behind the doors of Hollywood’s most coveted meetings, he feels only excessive pride. He would tell you himself if you were speaking to him.

Dieter still remembers the night when the two of you crossed that unspoken line for the first time; even now he’s not sure what he would have done if Cupid hadn’t been on his side. There had been some studio gala, nothing special – or so he thought. Slipping away from the endless shmoozing and sycophantic hoards that tend to overrun these gatherings, Dieter escaped through the catering entrance in search of some obliging venue service staff (Hollywood hot tip: the wait staff always have the best drugs!). Instead, he had found you - sitting on a table pushed to the side of the corridor, fancy ballgown fanned out, eating popsicles, legs swinging without a care in the world.

“Dieter!” your cheer was infectious, your smile mischievous and joyful, “I didn’t care for any of those tiny finger desserts they had going out on the trays so I asked the wait staff what they kept in the back for dessert and they gave me a whole box!” His search for extracurriculars forgotten, Dieter happily joined you, choosing instead to get drunk on your pretty face, happy chatter, and the completely innocent yet salacious way your mouth worked that frozen treat.

About three popsicles in (each) the icy desserts began melting – you managed to save yourself and finish yours just in time, but Dieter’s blue-raspberry concoction was rapidly disintegrating and about to make a guaranteed mess of his dress pants when your hands darted out, catching the slush midair.

Dieter cackled, marveling at your wide-eyed expression and hands, now wet, sticky and blue, “What did you do that for?”

“I don’t know," you crowed, eyes crinkling, still holding your cupped hands out in front of you, "I just didn’t want them to make some kind of 'blue balls' joke about you and your stained crotch in the tabloids tomorrow!”

He clasped his clean hand in yours, adhering himself to you in more ways than one - the two of you giggling and giddy as you re-entered the ballroom. After finding a free table, some clean napkins and a pitcher of water, you sat as Dieter lovingly washed and cleaned your hands so that they wouldn’t be stained with Blue Dye #1. He was on his knees, drying and holding your small delicate hands in his much rougher, clumsier ones, when he happened to look up to see you gazing adoringly down at him, eyes grateful and looking at him like he was hanging the moon for you.

Dieter lifted up and unable to help himself, connected his lips to yours – hoping against hope that he wasn’t ruining one of the few precious, genuine connections in his life. His relief was soon overtaken by desire when you kissed him back – the two of you somehow managing to make your way back to the service hallways, lips crashing together over and over like unstoppable waves of an inevitable ocean. The kisses were sensual and messy, pure and happy – it made Dieter feel like a teenager again.

“Is this weird?” he whispered at one point - vulnerable, no bravado.

“Yeah, it’s weird,” you breathed, though your voice was soft, your touch reassuring, “but don’t stop.” So, he didn’t. He kissed your lips swollen, pressing you up against the wall and succumbing to the intoxication of your pretty noises and tender affection.

Nothing else happened that night, and in fact, you had run away! After getting a text that your friend was currently giving birth, you rushed off to the hospital like Cinderella, ballgown skirts gathered in your careful hands while darting away in the night. Dieter, dazed and higher than he’s even felt, caught the kiss you blew him, and while pressing it to his slackened, blissed out face, vowed to become your Prince Charming.

He found you on set the following Monday and for the first time in a long time, Dieter Bravo, famously chill Cool Dude™ had felt shy, nervous. He needn’t have been – you responded to his earnestness with sweet generosity, only ever honest and non-pretentious; it was clear that for the both of you, there was no going back to just friends.

The rest as they say, was history.

Except being with you felt completely new to Dieter – for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, he looked forward to waking up to the start of each day, genuinely excited for its possibilities, and even more to coming home every night, grateful for the newfound comfort of life’s simple pleasures.

Grateful, yes. If there was one thing Dieter wishes he could tell you it’s how grateful he is for you. While you were blazing your own path to success, you had also helped him redefine his - believing in and supporting the seemingly unflappable Dieter Bravo when he admitted to wanting more. Hollywood’s unbothered bro, Tinseltown’s perpetually aflame trainwreck darling was capable of and itching for growth, who knew? You did.

You read scripts with him and talked through his needs and ambitions; finally having a sounding board with no self-serving stake in the financial success of his career choices, Dieter began choosing increasingly more varied and interesting projects with your encouragement and support. He’s happier now, more fulfilled, challenged, engaged.

And he got sober (Well, he still drinks, but that doesn’t really count, right? It’s Hollywood). Detox had been a fucking nightmare but Dieter likes the voices in his head now. They’re gentler with him, more forgiving, thoughtful. They sound like you.

Dieter loved you so much, he wanted to climb to the top of the Hollywood sign and shout it all the way across the Pacific; he thought a love such as yours was limitless.

His publicists discouraged it. The world loved the Dieter they knew: eccentric, sex-crazed, tabloid staple, a spectacle. They weren’t interested in another middle-aged actor trying too hard to be taken seriously, who had seemingly left his wild days behind for a boring, stable relationship with a non-celebrity. The public wanted ✨salaciousness✨glitz✨scandal✨.

You had gone along with keeping your relationship hidden, valuing your privacy and preferring to keep the sacredness of your love for one another only. “I love you, Dieter,” you vowed, “I don’t need everyone to know it, but I don’t ever want to feel like your dirty little secret, okay?”

He promised you without really understanding what that meant.

Your relationship blossomed behind closed doors. Both of you walked red carpets alone, careful not to get papped together, and on sets, remained cordial and professional until you got behind Dieter’s closed trailer doors where his affection for you knew no bounds, even when contained. You would tell each other that your love wasn’t a secret, it was private, protected and kept safe from the prying and critical eyes of the public.

When his PR team arranged a fake relationship with the young and upcoming nepo baby starlet with whom he acted opposite in his latest movie as a means to promote the film, Dieter had reservations. But he hadn’t said no.

And after several long and serious conversations with his management about his fading relevancy and the exposure that the arrangement would net him, the starlet, the film, Dieter eventually relented and agreed to go along with it. It seems that fame was the one drug that he hadn’t quite kicked.

Dieter will never forget the look on your face when he brought up the PR campaign – the way your eyes crinkled in disappointment and the curve of your pretty lips pulling down your entire face haunts him every night.

“What happens to your real girlfriend when you’re out with your fake girlfriend, Dieter?”

He couldn’t even bring himself to ask you to wait, or stay by his side, but hidden. It was beneath you, insulting. And to ask was to break his promise.

Turns out he didn’t even need to ask for you to feel the full weight of his betrayal.

The last words he ever spoke to you had been uttered pathetically to the front door you shut in his face, “Baby, maybe I can fix it. Let me try.” Their only registered response was the sound of your sobs getting softer and softer as you walked away, shutting the doors in the house he could no longer call home.

He hadn’t been able to fix it. By design, Hollywood’s PR machine is a force, the joint efforts of Dieter and the starlet’s teams a runaway train. Their “relationship” had been Page Six news before Dieter even had the chance to call his publicist to say that he couldn’t go through with it. The public ate it all up just as predicted:

Dieter Bravo, Hollywood Chaos Prince back at it again, charming and capturing the heart of Tinseltown’s newest princess.

His mind swims of you. During every press tour interview he does with his pretend girlfriend, Dieter cringes at the fake touches and gestures of affection choreographed for the cameras; all the scripted flirting and empty terms of endearment taste like acid on his tongue (and not the good kind either). But none of this compares to the shame he feels at having hurt you, the owner of his heart, and that he likely continues to do so with every orchestrated date night photo-op for TMZ, every “happy couple” glambot he poses for on the red carpet.

Dieter finally sees you again six months into his fake relationship.

At the MTV Movie Awards, he’s waiting for the starlet to finish her solo shots, rubbing his temple at the too bright lights, the garish and loud décor, the music that doesn’t even sound like music, when he sees you stroll in on the arm of a man he doesn’t recognize. But Dieter couldn’t care less who the man is - it’s you he can’t look away from; you’re laughing, radiant, soft. Unchanged. Ethereal.

Dieter thinks he might vomit. He thinks he might need to do a line. He can’t let you see him.

Without excusing himself, Dieter leaves the red carpet and locks himself in a bathroom, trying to push down his bubbling panic attack. He knows his “girlfriend” is probably beside herself, and that his unexplained absence is likely giving rise to new rumours and speculation that he’s on some kind of drug-fuelled spiral, but he can’t bring himself to come out.

Someone slips a KitKat under the door of the bathroom.

Dieter knows it’s you; only you would be so subtle, so gentle, so reassuring with one simple gesture. Only you know him and what brings him the most comfort. He picks up the chocolate bar and stares at it for a while before biting into it, thinking about how he got himself into this mess.

A moment weakness. A lifetime of regret.

Not if Dieter could help it.

He “breaks up” with the starlet the following week; it would have been handled even sooner if he didn’t have to fight and threaten to fire his entire team, eventually dragging in Legal to help him break the marketing contract he had unknowingly signed in blood.

Immediately Dieter starts planning how he will make things up to you, beg for another chance – apologize; drafting and discarding every over-the-top gesture that pops into his buzzing mind, each more theatrical and outlandish than the last.

He finally settles on a letter – one that Dieter can’t stop writing after he starts and ends up being eighteen pages (front and back). It begins with an apology – for having hurt you so callously, for breaking his promise to you, and for, even if only a second, ever making you feel like you weren’t important or enough. Especially when it was his own bruised ego that had needed the stroking – this entire disaster a result of his own weakness, born from a dark place inside where he had been made small by an industry that thrived on the insecurities of its so-called stars, and Dieter’s fear of feeling even smaller. You made him feel so good while the two of you had been together, he naively thought that your light had eradicated all such voids and pits within him – but it was unfair to heap the responsibility of his growth and self improvement onto you. And though he knows that he still has work to do, he credits your influence and compassion for the progress he’s made so far. Around page six of the letter Dieter’s Sorrys transition into Thank Yous.

Dieter thanks you for every way you’ve made him a better man, made him want to be a better man. He thanks you for all the times your unparalleled support, kindness, and generosity have gotten him through the day on set, or through his self doubts at night. Words of gratitude overflow from his pen, pouring out nearly faster than he can write – you, you, you. He’s thankful for you.

And he misses you. And not just all the ways you meshed your gentle life with the squishy bits of his, but just you. Your sweet laugh. The crinkle of your nose and the watering of your eyes at his farts sarcastic jokes. And your mouth. Great Paul Newman, he’s always been obsessed with your mouth – and not just what he knows it can do and how it tastes, but everything that comes out of it. Dieter could listen to you talk about anything for hours – he might not know a single thing about what you’re talking about, but he understands eloquence, passion, and the artistry of words when he hears it. Having spent most of his adult life around industry blowhards, Dieter knows that intelligence without pretension is a rarity - fresh air that he longs to breathe in again.

On page twelve, Dieter tells you he loves you - loves you for everything you are and what you stand for. He loves how you’ve remained gentle, even though the business of show makes it its mission to sharpen everyone and everything it swallows. He loves that your default is always thoughtfulness and compassion, that you embody a quiet type of beauty that doesn’t need to be paraded about or loudly lauded in order to shine. How do you make even the mundane so fascinating? It must be that confident grace of yours. Dieter writes an entire two pages on how he just wants to watch you wash dishes again – he tries to describe the meditative calm that comes just from seeing the soapy water bow to your whim, as if it knows the power and majesty of its bender; understanding as he does now the magnanimity it takes to ensure that no small movement is wasted, to make every action purposeful. He’s enraptured by you. Admires you. Worships you. So, so in love with you.

He reads the letter over a hundred times before tying the folded pages together with a bright red bow. Using his Bravo charm, Dieter sneaks onto the set of your latest movie and leaves it in your trailer on top of a jewelry box that holds an ostentatiously luxurious diamond necklace he bought you before everything had gone to hell. He had kept it all this time, unable to bring himself to return it, never even considering giving it to anyone but you.

Three weeks pass and Dieter hears nothing back.

He had tried to prepare himself for this possibility – that perhaps you might never forgive him, want nothing more to do with him, but still, it’s with a heavier than expected heart that he gets ready for his movie premiere, the very same film he’d promoted with his fake relationship. Dieter didn’t expect any drama at the event – he and the starlet spoke last week and agreed that arriving separately but acting like friends was the best way to quell the outrageous reasons for the “breakup” speculated in the gossip rags. In truth, even though they had grown to become actual friends during the meshugana of the last few months, Dieter can’t help but associate this entire project with his own regret and shame - he can’t wait for this evening to be over.

He goes through the motions of the red carpet. Greeting his co-stars with boisterous cheers and hard gripping handshakes. Hitting his marks and smiling almost manically for the cameras. Waving to the fans and signing every piece of paper shoved towards him (this part he really did not mind; you always said that his fans were the best and they are). Doing his time in the interview pit. When he’s near the end of the gauntlet, with only the Entertainment Tonight interview to get through before he can (blessedly) retreat to his seat in the theatre, a vivid glimmer of brilliance catches Dieter’s eye. Unlike the near blinding flash of a photographer’s camera, this sparkle beckons him, brightly winking – he almost puts up a hand to shield his eyes before he realizes what it is.

It's you.

You’re at his premiere. Gorgeous, breathtaking, elegant – you’re walking down the arrivals promenade… and you’re wearing the diamond necklace Dieter left with your letter. Inadvertently tuning out the ET interviewer, he stares, awestruck, mouth agape – hopeful. The interviewer can’t help but follow Dieter’s gaze and asks him who you are.

“An angel,” he answers honestly.

At that same moment, you finally spot him and your face breaks into a big smile, the luminosity of which nearly drops Dieter to his knees. Instead, he breaks out into a sprint, running towards you.

When you see what he’s doing, you pick up your skirts and start moving towards him as well. Dieter dodges and weaves between the bodies on the red carpet, trying not to slam into any of the people that stand between him and his everything, only vaguely aware of the Entertainment Tonight interviewer and her cameraman hot on his heels.

Suddenly, the crowd seems to part and there’s a clearing right where the two of you finally meet, stopping only inches from one another. Dieter’s panting (fuck, he’s out of shape!) but grinning like a fool when you drop the fabric of your dress to bring your hands come up to cup his face, thumbs running lovingly over his unkempt scruff – a familiar gesture that feels better than any high he’s ever experienced. Your face is flushed bright and content, home.

“You got my letter.”

“I did.”

“You’re wearing the necklace.”

“I am.” Your eyes twinkle, complimenting the serenity and invitation of your countenance - both saying everything without even a word. It gives Dieter the boost of confidence he needs.

“May I kiss you?”

“Even though we’re in public?” You’re being cheeky on purpose.

But for once Dieter won’t play - there is nothing except sincerity in his response, “From now on, only ever in public. No more hiding.”

An orchestral movie score heard only by the two of you swells as you both move to close the remaining distance between your bodies, crushing your mouths together. The kiss is passionate, deep and heated – leaving no doubt of your feelings for one another; not even the gawking onlookers can deny what you mean to each other. Camera bulbs pop and bright lights flash all around as your lips settle and mold in a tender slow dance, loathed to be parted ever again. Your hands card through Dieter’s soft curls, delicate fingers cradling his head soothingly, warm; his hands spread wide to cover your back, covetous and protective.

“No more hiding,” you whisper, face lit with joy at the adoration and promise reflected in Dieter’s mirrored expression.

He nods and tightens his arm around your waist, love and resolution coursing through his veins. Sharing one last private look, the two of you turn in unison, a team, towards the awestruck Entertainment Tonight interviewer whose microphone is practically shaking with excitement. Dieter beams his megawatt Bravo smile at her, “Is this what the kids call a hard launch?”

🎶Artic Monkey's "Do I Wanna Know" lyrics (Hozier's version):

Crawlin' back to you Ever thought of callin' when You've had a few? 'Cause I always do Maybe I'm too Busy bein' yours To fall for somebody new Now, I've thought it through Crawlin' back to you 🎶

#Dieter Bravo #happy pedro hours #bouquetsofpedrochallenge #Dieter Bravo fic #happypedrohours #Dieter Bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x f!reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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what-even-is-thiss · 2 days ago

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I actually made this post after watching the twilight video. She goes over a lot of different reasons people might read romance novels. Not just the stuff she talks about in the first section.

However, in my opinion she still doesn’t cover the full spectrum of reasons people might read romance and mostly sticks to oddly old fashioned psychoanalysis. She also displays a mild lack of misunderstanding of asexuality and aromanticism. She acknowledges that these things exist but seems uncurious about how they might interact with what she’s talking about. Which is fine. Not every video essay needs to appeal to every group. However, I do think it’s indicative of how narrow her lens is here.

She does things like present Leviticus 20:13 (If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall be put to death; their blood is upon them.) completely out of context to prove her point about religion and death. That verse doesn’t refer to homosexuality as we now understand it, but likely refers to Greek and Latin traditions of using young boys and slave men for prostitution. It is not, in fact, a death sentence prescribed for consenting relations between two adults. This doesn’t necessarily mean that Jewish society during the Persian period wasn’t homophobic. In fact, there’s not an abundance of information about same sex relations in that society at all.

Do I think that she had to include all of that in the video? No. Do I also think that she took the verse out of context in order to prove her point in a similar way to conservative Christians that she often criticizes? Yes.

Her conclusion at the end of the video is also that gender is like yin and yang, that masculine exists within the feminine. She also calls seeing gender as a spectrum as “reductive” which I don’t necessarily disagree with, but I also find her view of gender to be reductive. She presents the idea that feminine exists within the masculine and vice versa as some new idea that nobody else gets when this is essentially the default view in more mainstream feminist circles and has been for a very long time. This is the model I was taught as a child by my parents who became educated in feminism in the 80s and raised me in the late 90s and early 00s. She seems to view non binary genders as existing between the yin and yang but still operating within it when in fact many non binary people, including myself, even though I also identify as a man, reject the idea that one is required to opt into the masculine/feminine duality at all, or even categorize things in this way. Of course, one is free to conceptualize gender this way if one one finds the idea of a duality helpful. I’m personally open to any number of ways of conceptualizing gender. However, presenting it as the way things are definitively kind of misses the point of what non binary people and gender non-conforming people in general actually say about ourselves.

In general, I often feel like contrapoints is a good introduction to certain basic concepts for cisgender people who have never thought too hard about gender and class before. However, her arguments are often slightly old fashioned and she takes things out of context. She also seems uncertain as to why other transgender people don’t really like her content. And while I do feel like she’s been unfairly criticized and dogpiled on in the past, a lot of her understandings of certain topics seem to be slightly stuck in the past. She’s just modern enough in her arguments to seem well educated to mainstream cis leftists but to other queer people and leftists that fall outside of the neat boxes she displays in front of you, she seems a bit out of touch with a narrow focus. Like she never quite gets the basketball in the hoop.

I feel like whenever I watch contrapoints videos I’m left at the end with the distinct impression that Ms. Natalie is always just slightly missing the point of non binary people. Like she keeps missing the dartboard entirely but also she’s so close to that dartboard.

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portraitofalinkonfyre · 1 day ago

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Happy Holidayz!! Ur SkyxReader Cupcakke remix edition fic was sooooooo good I ate that shit up 💕💕💕 now do LegendxReaderxRavio threesome with Legend n Reader as the bottoms (only if you want to 😳😳😳)

LORD HAVE MERCY I WROTE THIS IN AN HOUR

('Cupcakke remix edition fic' had me bawling with laughter LMAO)

Also slightly for @hornyonmainfics b/c I saw that you were thirsting for a Leg/Rav x reader fic..

Out Of Touch

Pairing: Legend x Reader x Ravio

Warning(s): You know what this is. No smut in this chapter, but this is an 18+ story, so please DNI if you're a minor!

Notes: Also inspired by "How Do I Make You Love Me" by The Weeknd.

Main Masterlist | Fic Masterlist | Next Chapter

"You've got to be kidding me," you deadpanned, staring at Ravio in his little green-apple eyes like he had personally wronged you, arms crossed over your chest as if to protect it from beating straight through your ribcage.

"Whatever do you mean, darling?" the Merchant flashed a smile that was all teeth. Oh, he made you mad. Ring-laden hands landed carefully in the middle of the large counter as he leaned forward to meet your disapproving gaze.

You pinched your temples, gesturing to the thick bundle of arrows like it would fortify your argument. "Goddamn it, Rav, these arrows were five rupees yesterday and you know it!"

You watched incredulously when he eyed the bundle, then returned to grinning you like the bastard he was. You couldn't believe him and Link were counterparts. "Were they?"

"Yes! And here I thought those ears would make it easier for you to hear," you hissed, pointing an accusing finger at that accursed rabbit hood of his, who he had most graciously shed when you stomped to the register nary five minutes ago. "Come on, dude. You can't be serious."

His eyes flashed wickedly and you knew you had made a terrible mistake. "Yeah, because I'm Ravio—"

You abruptly turned on your heel, only slid to a stop when a hand caught your wrist. It was the bunny bitch himself, practically bent over the counter in an attempt to keep stop you from marching out and finding another vendor.

"Hey! You can't just leave!"

You scoffed, pivoting slightly to face him once more, brow arched as you stared him down. "Why? This is a business, I'm not obligated to buy anything."

Ravio had the audacity to look affronted by the very insinuation that you would leave without spending your hard-earned rupees on his bullshit scams. "No, but you'd deny business to your ever-faithful roommate?"

"Um, Link is my roommate," but Link was also gone, having disappeared to do... whatever he did when he wasn't sulking around at home. You paused to think of an appropriate burn. "You're like the homeless guy who's taken residence in our rafters."

The Merchant gasped in faux offense, retracting his hand to slap it over his heart in what you could only assume was a wordless declaration of moral injury. "Rude! I steal nothing and contribute to rent."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, and I'm the Queen of Hyrule—"

"Not with that attitude, you aren't."

"...Fuck you, Rav."

Instead of firing some equally clever rebuttal your way, Ravio actually seemed to consider the prospect, all the while you blinked and wondered if now was a good time to start running. "I'd expect dinner first, as is proper" he eventually decided on, nodding slowly like it was a respectable response.

Your jaw nearly hit the floor; in no way, shape, or form was this a respectable response. "Um."

"And, of course, it would have to be when Mr. Hero is away, unless you're into that?"

Your cheeks flushed against your will. What... what was happening? Despite appearances, you'd known Ravio for years—which was probably why he was allowed to refer to you as a 'whore' when the two of you were tipsy and engrossed in a card game and you were allowed to screech about his outrageous prices in return—but never once had your roommate-esque relationship crossed over to... whatever this was.

And yet, here you were, being propositioned by the fucking Merchant.

Heart threatening to hammer from your chest, you turned, grabbed the bundle of arrows, and slung your entire pouch of rupees onto the counter.

"Keep the change."

You were gone before he could finish calling your name.

It was nearly nightfall by the time Ravio managed to drag his sorry butt home, slinking inside with unusual regard for your peace and quiet. Usually, he would fling the door open with some innocuous exclamation about the state of the Hyrulean weaponry market, but, this time, only a small creak could be heard, followed by the soft shuffling of boots.

"Hey, Rav," you called, back facing the door as you busied over the cooking pot, half-heartedly stirring the soup within. The three of you had learned early on that it was easier for everyone if you did the cooking, seeing as the other two were largely useless in the kitchen. "Did you make any sales?"

There was a pause. Then, he spoke: "Just yours. I closed up shop early."

Your head twisted around so fast you swore your neck cracked from the force of the action. Never in your life had you thought you'd hear Ravio, scammer of thousands, admit to willingly skip out on profits. Monsters had begun to emerge along the surrounding roads—which was likely why Link had traipsed into the wilderness a few days prior with only some bread, his sword, and a lingering gaze over his shoulder as you waved from the doorway—which meant business should be booming. "What?! Why?"

Now that he had your attention fixed on him, Ravio leaned against the wall beside the door, one hand combing through his soft black hair while the other braced across his stomach, like he was a swooning maiden rather than a self-proclaimed "Legendary" merchant. "And so the interrogation begins! If you must know, it's because someone bought my entire stock of arrows, leaving me high and—"

You eyed the bundle of arrows on the table, brain working furiously to decipher if he was lying or not. There was no way that Ravio, a god among merchants, hadn't seen fit to stock on arrows, one of the most popular weapons, in anticipation for what had colloquially become known as 'monster season' among the townspeople.

...Or was there?

"—dry! For shame, I tell you!"

Yeah, and then he'd propositioned you for sex, but you supposed it wasn't polite to mention when you had all but run out on him. Oops.

"That's so crazy," you said dryly, praying to whatever deity existed that it masked the budding nervousness in your tone. The soup burbled, and you turned to stir in some salt, still speaking: "Who would do that? That's just plain wrong. I'm appalled."

"So am I, darling," you heard the soft shuffle of footsteps, then the dull creaking of a familiar chair as he took his usual seat at the table, spinning around to lean his elbows back on the thick wood. You didn't need to see his smirk when you could practically hear it. "But, it would be wrong to say I'm not somewhat impressed.

You gave the soup a harsher-than-normal stir. "In what, your customer's ability to adapt to a changing business environment or yours to exploit them?"

There was a groan. "That's twice you've wounded me," he whined, to which you rolled your eyes and debated telling him to be a man. "And in a single day? For shame!"

"Sounds to me like you're ashamed of a lot of things," you sniped without any real heat, grabbing the pair of bowls you'd placed by the hearth and filling them with a hearty helping of mushroom-and-meat goodness. Ravio watched with rapt attention as you brought them to the table, placing one in front of him before taking a seat at the opposite side of the table. "You better eat up before Link comes home," you gestured to the half-full pot with a deadpan expression. "Because that won't stand a chance when he does, and I'd rather avoid trashing this place. Again."

"As you wish," he lifted the bowl to his lips and took a hearty sip. Your ears perked in realization, and you quickly snagged a spoon from the pocket of your borrowed apron, sliding it across the table to him with a muffled 'sorry'. He took the offering without hesitation, scooping a hearty portion of meat and mushroom, and you were grateful that someone in this house actually ate their fungi. Link had the nasty habit of glaring down anything vegetable on his plate like he was trying to absorb the nutrients through the power of his gaze alone. "And here I thought Mr. Hero was your favorite."

"I wouldn't worry, you can be just as much a pain in the ass, too," you assured him blandly; eyebrow raised, spoon filled to the brim.

He snapped his fingers. "And that's three!"

"Shut up and eat, Rav."

It was freezing.

A gust of wind rattled the house as you attempted to yank your thin blanket higher without exposing your feet to the abhorrent chill. You typically never bothered with repairs because Link was unusually obsessive in fixing any issues as soon as they arose, but with him gone... well, you weren't quite sure where the offending hole was, but, by Hylia, things would not be pretty when you discovered it.

You shivered; this sucked, and not in the good way. You yanked the blanket a bit higher, accidentally revealing the barest edge of toe to the air, which brought forth a hissed curse that was far too loud for comfort.

A beat passed. Then, from Link's bed on the opposite side of the room, you heard: "Are you awake?"

Your fingers, stiff and chilled, tightened around the threadbare hem of your blanket. If there was anything that Link and Ravio shared, it was that they were annoyingly persistent. There wasn't a single thought in your mind that he wouldn't bother you until you coughed up some sort of answer. "Yeah."

Another rush of wind battered the poor home, followed by... was that rain? Already? "Why?" Ravio's voice rang loud over the approaching storm.

"Because it's fucking cold," you bit out without much heat. Risking a glance at Link's bed, you found him bright-eyed and sitting upright, back against the thick headboard. It was strange seeing the Merchant without his usual adornments, like his rings or that horribly gaudy belt, but he was still wearing that bunny cloak-tunic-dress thing, so you supposed you couldn't complain that much. A thin laugh passed over your chilled lips, and you took the risk of rolling to your back, propping yourself slightly on your elbows to view him in greater detail. "What's your excuse?"

This was already turning out different than expected. After two years of being Link's roommate, you'd grown used to his quiet, somewhat brash demeanor, though it was hardly so when you had the vivid memories of joining him in bed when times got tough or nightmares tougher; arms snug around your back and a warm, silent face pressed to the indent of your collarbone, though he would kill you if did you anything more than acknowledge and move on. With Ravio, things were... uncertain. Not unwelcome, simply unknown.

"I don't like storms," he decided after a few beats, hands buried beneath Link's bedspread. His hair was as perfect as ever, nearly invisible in the darkness, but you would recognize its shine anywhere.

"It wasn't storming before," you said, not unkindly. The cold bit at your neck over the hem of your tunic-dress,

"No, it wasn't," he parroted, and the room fell silent once more. Until a crack of thunder rumbled outside and you both jumped, looked at each other, and burst into raucous laughter a second later.

"Hylia, I can't believe—!" you chortled, momentarily forgetting your grievances at the sheer absurdity of the situation. From across the room, Ravio shook from the force of his own chuckles as they bubbled up to join yours. He looked carefree, and you...

Well, you laughed a bit harder, knowing you weren't alone in the unexpected mirth. Clapping a hand over your mouth only did so much, and it wasn't until you heard the thick rustle of sheets did you finally give pause. It was the Merchant, of course, but he was... getting out of bed? Willingly??

Apparently, the storm could wait; you were far more interested in whatever fuckery he planned on doing, anyway. You watched with rapt attention as he walked across the room, expression twisting in the barest grimace when the cold floor met his bare feet.

"What are you doing?"

Your voice sounded booming in the budding silence.

Ravio didn't answer. He grabbed his scarf from where it was folded on the table, and ambled to your bedside. "Here," he said, offering the thick, black-and-blue fabric to you. "It's not much, but it should do the trick."

"Um," you blinked owlishly. "It's fine, you don't have to give me your stuff."

It was with much surprise that you watched his face harden into something akin to a disappointed scowl, like something a parent might give their misbehaving child. What the fuck was happening? "Of course I don't have, I want to."

Fuck, why did he always have to make such stunningly good points when you were least expecting it? Despite this, you bit your tongue, and your lip, accepting the scarf with about as much enthusiasm as a sleepy kitten. "Thanks, Rav."

The Merchant's smile shone brighter than the terrible, brilliant sun. "Keep the change," he said in a tone that couldn't have been anything but fond and you... well, you just watched as he began to shuffle back to Link's bed.

There was nothing between you and Ravi, or you and Link, or any such combination that involved you and the barest idea of romance. It was preposterous, and horribly disrespectful to your beloved roommates.

...So why did you want to reach out and stop him?

"Hey, Rav," at the sound of your voice, he paused, halfway between both beds. Anything could happen when a middle was involved, and you both knew how much he hated extremes.

The storm howled outside.

"Hm?"

You tried to stave off the spike of disappointment that rose at the loss of the term "darling", but some feelings had an annoying habit of simply bouncing back stronger. Hylia, you really were out of touch, weren't you?

The window rattled. You could have sworn someone was outside.

It would be so easy to tell him, so easy to cajole a warn body into the sheets beside you. You'd slept with Link countless times, cuddled in his embrace until the kiss of morning, when he'd slip out and carry you to your bed, gingerly tucking in while you feigned sleep. And if he pressed a pat to your head or brushed some hair from your face, who were you to judge. Link was a hero. Ravio was a merchant. All you wanted was to—

"Have a good night."

Candy-green eyes shone in the low moonlight. Ravio tipped his head just as you let yours fall on the pillow, the folded square of his scarf clenched tightly between trembling, frozen fingers.

"You too, darling," said the Merchant, and, without another word he retreated.

Stay here, your mind whispered. Bring me back to reality.

This was supposed to be one chapter, but my brain kind of got away from me so enjoy!!!

#linked universe x reader #linked universe #lu x reader #link x reader smut #ravio x reader

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pasukiyo · 2 days ago

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I BLINKED AND SUDDENLY...

remus lupin x female!reader word count: 2,231 synopsis: insecurity kindles like a burning reminder across remus's cheeks. she deserves more than cheap flowers and a poorly-wrapped blind date with a book, but just when he begins to feel sorry for himself and makes to turn around and go back home, she catches his eye through the bookshop window. and he knows he's screwed. caught like a fish on a hook, she reels him in, and all he can do is pray that this valentine's day will be different from the rest.

…i had a valentine!

He thinks the tips of his ears are red.

In a desperate attempt to hide them, Remus sifts his fingers through his hair, tugging at the strands until they cover the tips of his ears but when he blinks up at his reflection in the bookshop window, he realizes how ridiculous he looks. A curse tumbles from his lips and he shakes his head around, combing his fingers back through his tresses, hoping his hair will fall back into place in the wake.

Maybe he can blame it on the cold.

The wind is a bit nippy today after all, and he’s walked at least a couple of miles between his flat, to the florist, then back to his flat when he realized he forgot to grab her damn gift, all the way to the bookshop he stands in front of now. He hopes she can’t see him now, ruffling his hair, trying to quell the scarlet that’s bloomed across his face.

He feels perspiration gather along his hairline and he sighs, wiping at his forehead with the sleeve of his coat. Maybe this is stupid, he thinks to himself, peering down at the bouquet and wrapped book in his hands. He’d spent quite a lot of time picking each of these things out for her— trying to figure out her favorite color and flowers, figuring out ways to subtly ask about the books she’s read to get a better idea of her preferences while simultaneously figuring out what books she hasn’t read yet. He’s seen enough photos on Pinterest and Instagram of blind date with a books to understand the concept but he fears he doesn’t project that well— his scrappy packaging and hasty handwriting is enough to make him suddenly want to throw everything away and make the trek home to crawl in bed and sulk for the next two to three years.

He thinks that’s what he’ll do— a spider of shame crawls from his ears, to his cheeks, down along the column of his neck when he peers down at the gifts he’d prepared. This isn’t enough for her, he thinks. She deserves more than flowers from one of the cheapest florists he could find in the city and a book she may or may not have already potentially read, packaged in probably the shittiest wrapping job that even children wouldn’t be entirely thrilled to open on Christmas morning.

A wave of nausea suddenly rumbles through the pit of Remus’s stomach and he thinks he should go now before he really embarrasses himself and blows the chunks of that piece of untopped toast he scarfed down this morning. He’s about to make a break for it when suddenly he sees her, through the window of the bookshop, guiding an older man to a bookshelf.

And he’s fucked.

Remus is entranced, his feet stuck on the pavement below him as he simply watches, watches the way she speaks with her hands and even through the glass, he can see how bright her eyes shine, gleaming with passion for whatever book she must be referring the customer to. He watches the way she listens as the older man speaks, eyes transfixed, head nodding as she soaks in every word, happy to offer whatever help she can.

She’s so… kind. And that’s just the simple way of putting it. She’s passionate, charismatic, she’s every guy like Remus’s dream: she works at a bookshop, she likes coffee and tea, she enjoys the classics, she listens to good music, she eats avocado on her toast, she’s even in a book club!

She speaks about her interests with a fervor that’s hard to come by these days and she meets others’ interests with an equal amount, even if it’s something she doesn’t normally find all too intriguing. She always seems to have her special way to make people feel comfortable and despite how incredibly cheesy Remus thinks it sounds, she’s always been capable of brightening even the darkest of rooms.

Remus truly believes that if the sun were to vanish, she’d be enough to even put the stars to shame.

It’s in Remus’s trance that she notices him standing by outside the window and her face splits in a grin, so natural that he doesn’t even initially notice it’s for him. Her mouth forms his name and that’s when he realizes: oh.

He’s screwed now.

She gestures with a hand for him to come in and it’s like it’s in his program to be incapable of resisting her, because his feet practically move on autopilot, straight through the entrance of her bookshop.

“Remus!” She exclaims when he enters and her voice, god, her voice feels like the breath of a fireplace along his skin in the coldest of winters and he’s suddenly made aware, again, of just how red the tips of his ears are as warmth spreads across his face.

His heart leaps against his chest and he doesn’t know how he was able to even muster a coherent sentence, but he greets her back, albeit, rather meekly. Her smile widens and Remus thinks that the world has stopped spinning because he swears nothing moves around them when she does it, when she looks at him like that.

“Quite a gloomy day for what’s supposed to be one of the happiest days of the year, don’t you think?” He hears her say and he clears his throat, hoping it will snap him out of his stupor.

Get it together, he hisses at himself. Rotting in bed, whether you like it or not, is not a fruitful way to live out the rest of your days.

He turns to peer out the window. It was a rather drab and gray day, he concurs, and the wind came with a harsh chill. The conditions were certainly less than ideal, what with all the running around he’s done throughout the day.

“Yes,” he manages, a little awkwardly as he turns back to face her. When he does, he finds she’s eyeing the items he’s since forgotten he was even holding and suddenly, he thinks he’ll melt into a puddle of magma right then and there.

That, or he’ll just turn and run away until his legs can’t hold his weight anymore.

“How cute!” She says, nodding down at the bouquet and book. “Did you make a blind date with a book for your girlfriend?”

Remus blinks, a little surprised. She thought he already had a girlfriend? He wonders if he should take this as a sign that maybe she didn’t feel the same way— she thinks he’s taken, after all. Is she not interested in him after all? Was he wrong to suppose that maybe she’d even give him a chance?

His mouth opens and closes, trying and failing to give her a coherent reply, an elongated ‘uh’ emitting instead, a little dumbly. She simply blinks at him, waiting for him to reply, perhaps a little less enthusiastic than before but Remus assumes it’s because of how incredibly awkward he’s acting.

He presses his lips together and closes his eyes, tightening his fists around the gifts, and breathes. He’s tired of embarrassing himself, of being so incredibly self-conscious and timid that it prevents him from simply talking to someone, from making friends, from telling her how he feels. This is far from the first time he’s spoken to her and he should know by not that she’s not the kind of person to make him feel bad, whether or not she accepts or rejects him.

And he’s put so much thought into this. That’s got to account for something, right? Never mind how bad his handwriting or wrapping skills are or how cheap these damn flowers are— he should know by now that she’s the kind of person to value intent over expense.

So, he sucks in another deep breath, shakes the warmth away from his cheeks (to the best of his ability), and he takes his shot.

“Actually, these are for you,” he says, daring a step forward, extending his arms to present her with the gifts. She blinks down at them, eyes rounding in surprise. Remus shakes away that nagging sense of insecurity and continues. “You know, I’ve been coming here for quite awhile and you’ve always… you’ve always been so nice and I just thought… I’ve always just thought that you’re so… beautiful and I…”

He trails off, heart pounding against his chest when she glances up at him again, meeting his eye. Her gaze is so bewitching, so heavenly, he thinks she must’ve been crafted by the gods and goddesses above, sent down to Earth solely to catch him like a fish on a hook and keep him here, enthralled by her forever. A single look from her is enough to make him want to sink to his knees and pray for just an ounce of worthiness so that he could merely be around her for even just a minute.

He’s completely trapped now and even though he knows she’s the kind of person who would make rejection still feel nice, he thinks he’d die right then and there on the spot if she were to refuse him, if she were to say she’s not interested, if she says there’s already someone else.

“…I know you said you liked these flowers so I hope you like them, sorry they’re a little… windblown,” he titters nervously as he hands them to her. “I’ve been running around incessantly all morning.”

She takes them from him cautiously, a furrow in her brow as she brings them closer to her nose, taking in their scent.

“And I… I really hope you don’t already have this one,” he says, handing her the wrapped book, a little hesitantly. “I tried to find one I was sure you haven’t read. And, uh, sorry for the, uh… well,” he gestures to the pisspour wrapping skills and not to his surprise, she laughs but much to his surprise, it’s more amused than anything.

“‘Dark Academia, whimsical, secret societies?’” She reads his handwriting scribbled across the brown packaging “Remus, this is…” she trails off and for a moment, Remus’s stomach sinks and he really feels like he’s another to blow chunks of toast all over the place.

Just then, her face splits into the most marvelous smile he thinks he’s ever laid eyes on, the entire universe put to shame by this girl, this beautiful, enchanting girl. And that smile is all for him.

“…this is the most thoughtful gift anyone’s ever given me, I think,” she continues with a breathy laugh, curling her fingers around the ends of the wrapping paper. “You don’t mind if I…?”

“No, go ahead,” Remus says with a breathy laugh of his own. He watched as she tears through the paper, pulling the paperback out of the wrappings, her face— if it was at all possible— glowing brighter than he’s ever seen it before.

“The Starless Sea?” She says in more of a shriek, meeting his gaze again as she hugs the book to her chest. “I’ve been meaning to pick this one up for ages! How did you know?”

He didn’t, but he’s more than relieved to have been the cause of that devastatingly pretty look upon her face now.

“You recommended The Secret History by Donna Tartt that one time to me a few months back and told me about how much you loved it,” he replies, resting his elbows on the counter, a newfound air of ease around him. “It was amazing, by the way. I immediately began searching for books like it. I’d hoped you hadn’t gotten to this one yet.”

He thinks her eyes are beginning to gloss over and he blinks, dipping his brow, afraid she might cry for a moment. He yearns to see that smile of hers again, but before he can ask her what the matter is, she circles around the counter and practically leaps at him, locking her arms around his neck in a hug that he nearly recoils from out of instinct. It’s so shocking— being so close to her all at once, to be touching her and for her to be the one initiating but he breaks himself out of his stupor again, resting his hands on the small of her back, afraid to lose her touch once he has it.

After a moment, she pulls away just enough to peer up at him and Remus thinks that even if she were to reject him now, it would’ve all been worth it just for her to look at him the way she does now. He feels his lip tremble as she brings a hand up to his hair, the tips of her fingers brushing against the tips of his ears.

“Your ears are red,” she notes and he screws his lips together, swallowing down the boulder-sized lump at the base of his throat. She laughs and for a moment, a silence falls and he doesn’t realize she’s blinking up at him expectantly until she breaks it. “Aren’t you supposed to say, ‘will you be my Valentine?’”

Remus blinks back at her, feeling the corners of his mouth twitch but he doesn’t muster the courage to repeat it. She grins again, her warm knuckles dragging along his cheek.

“Because my answer is undoubtedly yes.”

a/n: FINALLY GOT AROUND TO WRITING A VALENTINE'S DAY FIC THIS YEAR! i hope you all enjoy! wrote this all in one sitting so not sure of its quality... but nevertheless, i hope you enjoy shy, fluffy remus <3

💌 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! it would be such a great valentine's day gift 🥰🫶

TAGLIST!

@pinktree

@iamthejam

@strangerfromketterdam

@burns-in-the-sun

@cancelledkaley

@d3adp00ls

@all-in-the-fandoms

#remus lupin #remus x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x fem!reader #marauders #wizarding world #harry potter #marauders era #the marauders #marauders fic #marauders fanfiction

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allertonhoe · 2 days ago

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c12 and a26 with rafe cameron

here you go!! some fluff for valentine’s day 🥰💞

prompts: "not wanting to be reminded of the fact that they once hated the other (because they're so precious to them now)" + "Just shut up and kiss me."

500 follower celebration!

You were lounging on the couch with your boyfriend, both of you unwinding from your chaotic days at work. You sat at the end of the lounge, Rafe laying his head on your lap so you could play with his hair. His tall body stretched across the cushions, his legs hanging off the armrest.

"Fuck, I don't know what I'd do without you," he gushes, taking one of your hands in his and pecking the back appreciatively. Finding yourself giggling at his words as he sat back up from the reclined position. "What?"

"You act like we didn't hate each other until, like, a year ago..." you remind him.

You moved to North Carolina for university, and your best friend happened to be dating Kelce at the time. The first time you met Rafe was at some random frat party; his memorable introduction having involved him accidentally spilling his drink all over your white shirt.

You'd been forced to spend more time than you would've preferred around him during their fling, which was always contentious for the most part. You thought he was an egomaniac, and he thought you were a raging bitch. So you were a match made in heaven from the start.

Your friends' relationship couldn't outlast college, the two breaking up only months before graduation. But somehow, in the midst of all their drama, you and Rafe had actually started getting along. And the rest was history.

He groaned in exasperation upon hearing your remark, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. Giggling as you felt him gently nip the sensitive skin, leaving a soft kiss over the area to soothe it. Acting like he was putty in your hands despite the intimidating demeanor he'd carried for years when you hadn't gotten along.

"Don't say that," he muttered in protest.

"What? It's true!" you maintain. "Rafe, you know I don't hold it against you or anything. I'm just teasing..."

"I know, but..." He trails off, pulling back to look at you again with his irresistible blue eyes. "I just hate thinking about how I was back then."

"You haven't really changed that much," you call out in amusement.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he grills playfully, knowing you were referring to his fiery personality.

"What do you think, drama queen?" you quip, Rafe rolling his eyes at your nickname.

"Why do I put up with you again?" he remarks sarcastically.

"Because you couldn't resist my annoying ass," you retort smartly.

"Can't say you're wrong about that one," he mumbles, bringing his face dangerously close to yours.

"You think I'm annoying?" You turn back around on him, purposely giving him a hard time.

"Just shut up and kiss me, you idiot," he demands lowly, staring down at your lips.

You couldn't help but laugh, bringing your hands to his cheeks and kissing him chastely. Rafe not letting you pull away too far, his teeth taking your bottom lip and sucking on it. Making you squeal abruptly as he tugged you even closer, eliminating the rest of the space between you.

"I love you, baby," he murmurs in adoration.

"I love you too," you echo, smiling against his mouth as he kissed you again.

#divider by okiedokreations #rafe cameron #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe obx #rafe cameron blurb #rc #500 follower celebration

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umbrellajam · 22 hours ago

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Robin: Need a hand? Batman: Somehow, I don't recall ever listing punning as part of the job description. Robin: Stay or go? Corrosive Man: What'll it be, Bat? Wanna play rock, paper, acid? Batman: Please. Base beats acid every time. Nightwing: Did you hear that? Robin: Yeah… Next he'll be dueling stand-up with the Joker. Nightwing: That's not funny. Give him a break, already. He's been through a lot. Robin: We've all been through a lot, big brother. - Gotham Knights #33

the Bane siblings arc is so funny even before Bane turns up. Bruce is so relatively light, punning back at his Robin and generally riding the high of re-embracing his family and allies after the Murderer/Fugitive arc.

meanwhile Tim still has some reservations about just letting the whole thing go after everything Bruce pulled. very fun and satisfying to see a little lingering back and forth between Dick and Tim here, a bit of a coda to their argument in GK 26 (my beloved),

but not a serious one, as we've seen that they, at least, have clearly made up. "big brother" aaaaahhhh, help 🥰 we so rarely get Tim actually labeling his relationships with the Bats as familial - even with Dick, though that one is the strongest and most clear-cut.

I find it so interesting that Dick is the one who uses the brother label with Tim more often - although of course it's still not very often, and frequently couched in "like a brother" or "closest thing I have to a brother" terms, Bat emotional constipation etc. etc. - but it's still more often than Tim uses it toward Dick, I'm pretty sure?

so you have Dick, who lost his last "closest thing I have to a brother" in Jason, though they never knew each other well enough or got close enough to actually use those terms. so you'd think he might be reluctant to use that label - but nope, he started talking about Tim as family as early as Prodigal.

meanwhile Tim has parasocially hero-worshipped both Dick Grayson and Robin since he was a very small child, even before he knew they were the same person. even after becoming Robin, jumping at every chance to work together, getting to know Dick as a person, going through Prodigal, Contagion, Legacy, Cataclysm, NML, Joker's Last Laugh, M/F, spending holidays together, becoming so close....how could Tim just casually refer to Dick as his brother? it had to have taken so much build up for Tim to feel like he even remotely had the right - and yet, barely a year of real time after this in Robin #120, Tim is still certain that if he ever quit Robin, Dick (and Bruce) wouldn't be in his life at all, even out of costume. just. aaaaahhhh

definitely related to that last reblog, but these moments of emotionally reserved characters acknowledging a relationship out loud are so much more satisfying for how rare they are, how hard-earned, and how much is going on under the surface.

#BIG BROTHER \o/!!!!!!!#post tag #comics reading tag #Dick and Tim #Dick & Tim #Bruce and Tim #Bruce Wayne #Tim Drake #Dick Grayson #dcu #DC Comics panels #DC meta #batfam

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daresplaining · 23 hours ago

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hi, I've never gotten into comics or superheroes or anything of that kind. My bf loves dc and marvel stuff though, so I'd like to ask about daredevil!!

what should I know generally about what he does, stands for, his backstory, and how he'd interact with the average superhero/civillian.

Hi; what a cool question to receive! I'm thrilled you're looking to learn more about superheroes/comics and am happy to provide you with a little Daredevil primer.

A Little Daredevil Primer:

Art by Javier Rodriguez

Publisher: Marvel Comics

Origin Issue: Daredevil #1, published in 1964

Real Name: Matthew Michael Murdock

Civilian Occupation: Lawyer (usually)

Powers and Abilities: Matt possesses superhumanly-acute hearing, smell, taste, and touch, and a form of proximity sense that he refers to as his "radar sense". He is an expert martial artist (his primary weapon is a pair of batons/billy clubs, though he also excels at hand-to-hand combat) and a highly skilled and fearless acrobat.

Origin Story: Matt Murdock was born and raised in Hell's Kitchen, a Manhattan neighborhood that was, at the time, a largely low-income community and rife with organized crime. His mother left shortly after he was born and he was raised by his father, Jack Murdock, a struggling boxer past his prime. Jack was loving but strict, pressuring Matt to work hard in school so that he could find a well-paying job and build a better life for himself. Matt's bookworm tendencies led to bullying at school and in the neighborhood, against which he felt unable to defend himself; one other thing his father was strict about was that Matt never resort to violence. His bullies gave him the sarcastic nickname "Daredevil" in reference to his perceived meekness.

One day, when Matt was in his pre- or early teens (the official original age is fifteen, but it has varied somewhat over the years), Matt witnessed a man about to be hit by an out-of-control truck. He leapt into the street and pushed the man out of the way, but the truck swerved and lost some of its load: dangerous radioactive material, which struck Matt in the face, blinding him. As he adjusted to his new life without sight, Matt found that his other senses had become superhumanly powerful. Fortunately, he was soon contacted by a gruff, blind martial artist named Stick, who taught him to manage his senses and also trained him in extreme physical combat and acrobatics. Having always been an athletic and adventurous kid, despite his father's insistence that he avoid such things, Matt eagerly embraced the training. Eventually, he went off to college, where he studied to become a lawyer and met his future law partner and mild-mannered civilian best friend, Franklin "Foggy" Nelson.

Meanwhile, desperate for money to pay for Matt's education, Jack Murdock signed on with a notoriously corrupt and dangerous manager in an effort to keep his boxing career afloat. Shortly before Matt's graduation, Jack found himself booked for one of the most high-profile bouts of his career. But there was a catch: his manager insisted that he take a dive and throw the fight, or else. Jack refused to compromise his morals and integrity, and in a stunning upset, KO-ed his opponent. Afterward, as punishment, the manager and his cronies dragged Jack into a back alley and shot him. Freshly graduated from law school and with strong faith in the legal system, a grieving Matt tried to seek justice for his father's murder in court, but Jack's manager had the money and the connections to avoid prison. So Matt decided to take things into his own hands. He fashioned himself a costume to disguise his appearance and gave himself the code name "Daredevil", reclaiming his mean-spirited childhood nickname as a symbol that he was no longer going to back down from bullies, despite the promise he had made to his father to never use violence to solve his problems. Armed with his combat training and his hypersenses, he tracked down his father's murderer and brought him to justice.

Once he'd caught the costumed hero bug, it quickly became a permanent part of Matt's life, as vital to him, he says in an early issue, as air. And alongside becoming a highly successful attorney, he's been Daredevil ever since.

Concepts, themes, etc.: Daredevil is what's informally known as a "street-level hero". These characters tend (with some notable exceptions) to be either non-powered or, like Matt, to have powers that are somewhat subdued; Matt's hypersenses are extraordinary and he makes skilled use of them, but there's still a big difference in power-level between him and, say, Thor. Thus, street-level heroes tend to be less involved in universe-shaking conflicts and more focused on everyday people and their issues; poverty, corruption, organized crime, and lower-powered (but still very dangerous!) supervillains.

As a lawyer, Matt is very concerned with justice. He fights hard in court for his clients and believes in the justice system, but he is also strongly aware of its failings, and usually seeks (often not quite ethically...) to circumvent the system using his superheroing and powers. He has a strong moral code and is very confident in his convictions, sometimes to a degree that leads him to disregard other perspectives and advice, or to barrel into situations without properly thinking them through. Matt has always been a flawed person (a Marvel trademark in general, going all the way back to the game-changing introduction of the deeply flawed Peter Parker/Spider-Man). Over the years, Matt has been established as a highly competent hero who makes big mistakes, a deeply intelligent person who often lacks common sense, one of the bravest members of the hero community (his most common nickname is "The Man Without Fear") but also a thrill-seeker whose impulsiveness and stubbornness tend to get him, and his loved ones, hurt. Matt spirals into anger and depression when stressed, and one of his key coping mechanisms when things get really bad is faking his own death. Even at his best, he can tend to be somewhat prickly, self-centered, and jerk-ish. But he is also deeply caring, falls in love hard, frequently, and fast, and will unflinchingly put his life on the line for just about anyone. These deep flaws and contradictions are a huge part of his charm for many fans (myself included!).

Tonally, Daredevil (like many superhero comics that have been around for decades) has shifted back and forth between whimsical and dark, between swashbuckling and violent. He originally began as something of a Spider-Man clone: a wise-cracking hero swinging around New York City. Matt has maintained this swashbuckle, his thrill-seeking, his sheer enjoyment of hero-work, and his snarky personality; the Daredevil identity has always been a source of freedom and empowerment for him, something he does for both moral and self-indulgent reasons. But at the same time, darker stories have introduced an element of violence and brutality to him as he delves into the messy criminal underbelly of the city. He has experienced true horrors and tremendous losses, some of them at the hands of his most dangerous villains, some of his own making. Matt can be scary at his worst. He is also infamous for his body-strewn dating history; many of his ex-romantic partners have died due to their proximity to Matt and his enemies.

Another key element to Matt Murdock's character is, of course, his status as one of Marvel's most high-profile disabled characters. The respect and accuracy with which has blindness has been depicted over the years has varied, and to date, only one actual blind writer has ever worked on a Daredevil comic, but in his best stories his blindness strongly impacts his relationship to the world around him, his perception of himself and his identity, and the choices he makes as Daredevil. He exists at an interesting crossroads: he is blind, but he also has superhuman sensory powers. To maintain his secret identity, he pretends to be sighted (and non-powered) as Daredevil. In his civilian identity, he is able to acknowledge his blindness, make use of the assistive technology he needs, etc., but has to hide his powers. These layers of secret-keeping are a Matt Murdock trademark; he is almost always hiding some part of himself from the people around him.

Interactions with Other Heroes and Civilians: As I mentioned, Matt is a street-level hero, a boots-on-the-ground kind of guy. His chumminess with the average civilian varies between writers and stories, often depending on the overall tone, but in general, he tends to be a hero who civilians like and respect but don't have many close interactions with. He watches out for them, a lot of people will know someone who he has saved, if they haven't been saved by him themself, but he's also a somewhat elusive figure. (With that said, his secret identity has been made public several times. He's historically been very bad at keeping it under wraps.)

As far as other heroes go, Matt has a rich web of connections and friendships within the NYC superhero community. He is particularly close with Spider-Man, and they have teamed up a lot. He also had a long-term hero partnership/romantic relationship with Black Widow (for a while, the title of the comic changed to "Daredevil and the Black Widow" to reflect this), and they are still good friends. He was on one of the Avengers teams and is still a card-carrying reserve member. However, he prefers to operate on his own. He likes to be in control and not responsible for waiting for/consulting/looking out for other people, and his hypersenses mean that having other heroes nearby can often be distracting to him.

Daredevil is an extremely layered and fascinating character (though of course, I'm biased), and this is only a little primer. However, I like to think I've built up a pretty hefty database of Daredevil information on this blog, so I recommend looking around a bit to learn more. And of course, I am always happy to answer questions. For now, I hope this helps!

#Long post #Daredevil #Matt Murdock #Asks #ID in alt text

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sjsmith56 · 2 days ago

Text

Nothing More Real

Summary: AU story of an established actor, directing his first film, visiting a bookstore he wants to film in and falling for the owner. Told from her POV.

Length: 6.5 K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, OFC (unnamed and mostly undescribed)

Warnings: some slight drama over filming romantic or sexy scenes but the rest is fluff

Author notes: That recent selfie of Sebastian Stan was the inspiration except I interpreted it as him taking a picture of someone he loved. There are elements of Sebastian in this (his love of books, reference to acting in nude scenes, his open support for women) but I made him an AU version of Bucky Barnes who is successful but wanting more out of his career and his personal life. With this being Valentine’s Day I thought it was a good day to post it.

I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, then was slightly startled by the gentle knock on the door. A polite voice on the other side asked if I was ready for my makeup. She didn’t say anything about me holding anyone up, or that she had other clients waiting on her, even though I knew I was doing exactly that. Tightening the belt of the hotel robe that I wore over the large towel wrap, I opened the door and came out to the makeup specialist, Mandy. The hair stylist, Georg, was in the adjoining room, preparing Bucky.

“Sorry, nerves,” I explained. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“It’s alright,” said Mandy, putting her hand on mine and squeezing it. “Bucky explained everything. All the spouses and girlfriends go through this at one time or another. You’ll be fine. If you would remove the robe to expose your shoulders and come sit in the chair we’ll get started.”

I did as she said, then sat on the tall stool, as she placed a soft hair band on my head, to keep the hair off my face while she cleansed it. She complimented my skin, raving over the skin care regimen I must follow and the beautiful colouring I had. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I still used plain old over-the-counter products that I bought at the drug store, and rarely wore makeup at all. As she worked I kind of tuned out thinking over what had led me to this very moment.

Two years ago, I was in my hometown, an adjoining suburb of a bustling city. I owned a bookstore, started up with my late husband’s life insurance payout, specializing in hard to find books, mostly those that were out of print. We had a loyal clientele that would make the short journey from the city and the surrounding areas on a regular basis to see what new offerings I had. I visited estate sales and yard sales often, looking for those treasures that some people didn’t realize they had. It helped that I had a retired bookbinder and repair specialist, my dad, at my disposal. He would lovingly restore some of the more worn first editions I found, using techniques gleaned from years of experience, teaching them to me so that I could turn the bookstore into more than just a place to buy books.

One day, a woman came in, browsing through the bookstore, looking at not just the books, but the entire space itself. When I asked if she needed help, she just smiled and gracefully declined. She did buy a book, casually asking who the owner of the shop was. Then she gave me a card that said Maria Hill, Location Scout.

“I work with a production company that is going to be filming in the area in a few months. We had a bookstore lined up for filming but they had a fire and now we need a new location. Your shop was recommended by a friend of a friend of a friend. Would you be interested?”

I didn’t know what to say. This shop was my living and from what I knew about filming on location, the production company could take weeks or even months to film scenes. That kind of interruption could be fatal to my business. She sensed my hesitation and smiled.

“We would pay you to use your place and could even use you as an extra if you want to pick up some money.”

“I don’t know.” I looked at my store. “I’m quite protective of my store and my stock. Giving up control to a film production would be difficult for me.”

She looked back at how I had things set up. “What if we replaced the books with remaindered ones for the filming, and put yours into storage?” I shook my head, still not convinced. “Why don’t I get the director to come and see you? He’s in the city with the casting director looking for local actors to fill some of the supporting roles.”

I wasn’t sure if that would alleviate my concerns but I was willing to listen to his pitch. Giving her one of my cards, I put my cell phone number on the back, then rang through her purchase, wondering if she bought it to grease the wheels. When I got home I called my dad and told him about the encounter. We talked for some time about the pros and cons of agreeing to it but I was still leaning to not doing it.

The following morning I opened up and spent a couple of hours unpacking and inspecting some boxes of books I picked up at an estate sale. Just as I finished one of them, the door opened, ringing the little bell I had on it so I would hear it if I was in back. I glanced up to say good morning to the customer, and my mouth went completely dry. The man who entered was dressed casually, and wore a ball cap to hide his hair but I recognized him right away as Bucky Barnes, an actor who had become famous working in several well received independent films. Why was he in my store? Croaking out my welcome, he smiled back at me, and stepped further inside, stopping at several shelves to look at the books, even holding on to one, then another.

Trying not to stare at him, I decided to do some dusting, bringing out the duster, dust cloth, and the tall step stool. I pulled out the top shelf of books on the one display running the duster over the shelf, then wiped the books with the dust cloth. As I got into it, finishing that column of books and starting on the next one, I totally forgot about Bucky Barnes, the customer. It wasn’t until I heard a polite cough behind me that I remembered he was there and turned. My foot slipped off the top of the stool and I fell towards him. Almost instantly, he stepped forward and expertly caught me, just like in the movies.

The first thing I noticed was that he smelled incredible. I don’t even know what the scents were as my dad wore Old Spice and my deceased husband never wore anything scented. He was also strong, much stronger than I was expecting. I’m not a waif and with the momentum I had as I fell I was sure we would both end up on the floor but he was solid and caught me easily. His beautiful blue eyes were now looking at me with concern.

“Are you alright?” The way his voice rumbled was somewhere between intoxicatingly masculine and “get in my bed” sinful. I gulped while he looked over at the stool. “You took quite a tumble there.”

“Fine,” I rasped, then cleared my throat. “I’m fine. Thank you. You can let me down now.”

Then he smiled and seeing those perfect white teeth finished me. I got all hot and flustered, totally aware that my cheeks must be flaming red as they were burning right at that moment. He lowered me so gently that I didn’t realize my feet were now on the floor.

“I’m Bucky Barnes,” he said, then gestured towards the fixtures. “My associate Maria Hill was here yesterday and thought it could work for my film and I have to agree. It’s a much nicer store than the one we were going to use. What do you say about letting me film here?”

“You’re the director that the location scout said would contact me?”

He nodded his head as I asked, then smiled again, holding up the four books he picked.

“I’d like to buy these. They’ve been on my “to read” list for a while but my book store contact could never find them.”

Now I was really hooked. Bucky Barnes, the actor, who was in the area, for pre-production on a movie he was directing, was in my store, buying books. Not only that, he had just caught me as I literally fell onto him. It must have been too much because the next thing I knew I was looking up at his worried face, while I was on the floor. My first instinct was to get up but he put a gentle hand on my shoulder, keeping me down.

“Stay there,” he commanded. “You must have had some vertigo or a low blood sugar moment. I caught you before you dropped.” That damn smile came out again. “Maybe you’re falling for me.”

I groaned at his awful joke but he didn’t take it personally. Eventually, he did let me stand, and allowed me to ring his purchase up, then he stood there, all 6 foot 2 inches and 185 pounds of movie heartthrob (I looked it up later), and asked me out to dinner the next night, to discuss using the bookstore for his movie.

“Oh, I can’t,” I said. “Thursday nights I’m open late.”

“Well, surely, one of your employees can take over,” he suggested.

I shook my head. “I’m it. This is a one person business and I do good business on Thursday nights. Tonight would be better or Friday.”

He glanced at my left hand, seeing my ring. “Won’t your husband object?”

“I’m a widow.” There was a flicker of emotion on his face but he quickly masked it.

“My condolences. Unfortunately, I have a pre-production meeting today that will last well into the late evening. I’m leaving for LA on Friday as I have filming on another movie to do so it will have to be tomorrow.”

“Busy man.”

“It’s how I make my living.” He leaned across the counter, fixing those blue eyes on me. “How do you eat meals or take a break when you’re here on your own?”

At first I was hesitant to answer. I mean, I’m a single woman talking to a strange (albeit famous) man about being here on my own. But those damn eyes were definitely a window into his soul because I saw genuine curiosity and concern in them.

“I sit in the back room with the door open so I can see the front door. It has a bell on it, to alert me to a new customer, and I put my sandwich down to come out and help them. When I have to use the facilities, I lock the door and put up a sign saying I’ll be back in 5 minutes. My customers understand and wait for me.”

“Huh, makes sense.” He frowned a little then seemed to come to a decision. “How about I bring you something to eat and hang out with you in the store? The movie is going to be set primarily in a book store and although the script has been written and I’ve had some preliminary rehearsals with the leading lady and several others, I think I could benefit from your expertise in running an independent small business on your own. I’ll pay you for your time ….” He stopped as if realizing that how he worded it could be misinterpreted and blushed. It was refreshing to see him being flustered. “I should say I will pay you for sharing your knowledge and experience as a bookseller, and give you a movie credit as a technical consultant.”

“I haven’t agreed to you using the book store, yet,” I answered, wondering if my loudly beating heart was audible to him as it was pounding in my ears.

“That’s true, but I’ll give you the credit no matter what. Please say yes.”

I remember how that word please did something to me, something I hadn’t felt for several years.

“Alright, bring sandwiches as they don’t get cold when I get busy. I’m open to just about anything but there’s a sandwich place a couple of blocks away that I always buy from, since I support local businesses. I have tea here so if you drink coffee you’ll have to bring your own. When you get here, the food stays in back.”

“6 o’clock is okay?” I nodded and he picked up his bag with the four books he bought. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He opened the door, looked up and grinned at the ringing bell, then tipped the brim of his ball cap and left. I remember thinking what an old fashioned thing that was. Men didn’t tip their hats to women anymore. It was a sign of respect, maybe even admiration. What was so special about me that a man like him could admire? It bothered me for the rest of the day until I got home and called my dad to let him know of this latest wrinkle. I tried to downplay my reactions to Bucky Barnes but my dad was always a perceptive man, even when we spoke on the phone.

“He tipped his hat to you? You don’t get that every day, do you?”

“Does it mean anything?” I asked, then waited as he took his time answering.

“Do you want it to mean anything?” I thought about it, then Dad said something that resonated with me. “It’s been four years since Dan died. He was taken far too young for both of you. I know that you’ve dated but haven’t felt any connections past a second date.”

“This isn’t a date, Dad,” I interrupted.

“I know, it’s a business meeting where he’s bringing you sandwiches, and eating them in your back room, picking your brain, then watching how you run your business. He sounds interested and invested in making you comfortable with him taking over your livelihood for the duration of filming. If he does talk money, make sure he pays you what you would expect to make in sales, plus a gratuity for the upheaval to your business.”

“You think I should do it,” I declared.

“I think you should consider it and then decide yourself. At the least, you can always say you had dinner with Bucky Barnes.”

That was Dad, pragmatic to the core. When Bucky showed up early at 5:50 he brought sandwiches from the local shop, a large coffee for himself, and earned major bonus points for bringing a slice of cake each from the bakery around the corner. I had already cleared my desk and brought plates and cutlery. After all, I was civilized. He noticed, his eyes crinkling as he smiled, showing those perfect white teeth again. As we sat and took our first bites, finishing chewing so we weren’t talking with our mouths full (see previous reference to being civilized), he looked intently at me.

“What would you like to know?”

“What’s the movie about?”

“It’s kind of my take on Notting Hill but without the paparazzi, the cheating boyfriend and the irritating roommate,” he answered. “I play an actor, in town to film a movie, and I find this little bookstore with a charming manager who I develop a crush on. On days when I’m not filming I’m at the store, enjoying the atmosphere, finding that it gives me what the movie business doesn’t, a calm place where I’m accepted at face value. We have a love affair, then the filming ends.”

“That’s it?” I asked, after sipping some tea from my insulated cup. “No happy ending?”

“Oh, there’s an ending but not even the other actors know what it is yet as I have sworn the writers to secrecy.”

I was going to respond to that but the bell rung on the door and I stepped out to find a pair of regular customers entering. Bucky watched from the doorway as I pulled out three books that had been placed on hold. They visually inspected the books then asked what the damage was. I gave them a price, which they agreed to and I rang them up, chatting as they brought out their own cloth bag to put them into. Slipping in a few bookmarks which I picked up from book trade fairs I wished them a good evening and watched them leave. Just as I got back to the room, the bell rang again and I made an apologetic face at Bucky as I tended to the next customers, chatting with them as they were regulars. More came in and although I got quite busy I noticed he was browsing the shelves, pretending to be another customer. No one seemed to notice who he was so it was a convincing improvised performance. After a steady hour or so of customers it began to taper off and I was able to slip back to have a few more bites of my sandwich.

“You weren’t kidding,” he said. “You get a lot of repeat business?”

“Yeah,” I shrugged. “That’s why I’m reluctant to close down. Many of them make the trip from the city or nearby towns. If I’m not open, I’m not sure they’ll come back.” I sipped my tea. “You could pay me well for the time I shut my store down but if I lose my base of regular customers I might not have enough business to keep it open afterwards. This is my living and I’m invested in keeping it.”

He listened carefully, then was quiet for some time while he thought before seeming to come to a decision.

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize the hit you could take if you turned the store over to us. This fire that hit the other bookstore has really forced my hand.” He rested his chin on his clenched fist. “I would build a new set but it would increase my budget. I wanted a place that looked authentic and used, you know what I mean?”

I nodded, understanding completely.

“You could always duplicate my bookstore in an existing empty retail space,” I suggested. “There are a few places here or in the city that would probably jump at the chance to have you there even on a temporary basis. You would need shelving, counters, and stock. If you built from scratch using used fixtures and buying remaindered books then it would have that funky independent bookstore look. You would also control the space, using it whenever you wanted and setting up your equipment without having to worry about upsetting the owner. At the end of filming you could sell off the inventory as official souvenirs of the movie. You know, buy a piece of cinematic history.”

I smiled hopefully at him with that rather unlikely last suggestion and he reacted with definite amusement but also with respect. Another customer came in and I left him to his thoughts and the rest of his sandwich. When I returned he had our cake slices ready to eat. He stood up, pulled my chair out for me, and waited for me to sit down until he did. Then he fixed his gaze on me.

“I think you’re right about building a purpose built set in an empty retail space. If there is any way you could work with our set designer to replicate what you have here before filming starts I would really appreciate it. She’s a local and you could arrange times that work for you. I don’t want to risk your business being permanently disturbed by our filming. The success of my little vanity project isn’t worth affecting your livelihood.”

It was a surprising admission from him, but it was made sincerely. He stayed until closing time and helped me shut the store down, waiting as I locked the doors. We lingered outside on the sidewalk, not saying much of anything but definitely feeling a pull towards each other.

“Thank you for letting me come over and observing you at work,” he said. “It was quite illuminating and I think I’ll work with the script writers to incorporate some new dialogue into the film based on what I witnessed.”

“You’re welcome,” I replied. “Thank you for dinner. The cake was a nice touch.”

That smile came out again, and I spontaneously kissed him on the cheek. We shook hands then we both kind of pulled the other in for an impulsive and more intense kiss, one that made me feel all sorts of things.

“You’re quite the woman,” he murmured, his arms feeling quite natural around me. “Can I call you sometime, just to talk?”

“Sure,” I stammered, then shrugged. “When you’re not busy with premieres and dating starlets and stuff.”

“Oh sweetheart, that’s all posing for the cameras, just part of the job. I’m much happier curled up in my favourite chair, a book in my hand, my dog asleep near me, and some nice music playing in the background. I go to the premieres and parties because I have to maintain a presence but I would much rather spend hours talking to you than being there. You’re real and I’ve had a better time with you in the last few hours than I’ve had in a long while.”

“I bet you say that to all the bookstore owners.”

With a soft smile, he shook his head, then kissed me again, leaving no doubt in my mind that there was definitely something worth exploring. After getting me safely in my car, and double checking my cell phone number he let me go and despite his words I didn’t expect to hear from him until he returned for filming. The next day a large bouquet of flowers was delivered to the store, along with the contact information for his set designer, and a cheque for my input that was more than generous. Bucky phoned that night and we talked for three hours. He phoned every night except Thursday as I was working, then he began video calling, introducing me to his dog, Tilly, a mutt who obviously adored him.

I did meet with the set designer and together we found a large empty retail space in the city, in a small strip mall that was struggling to stay afloat. Bucky gave her the okay to rent more space there to use as their production offices. Two weeks before filming started he showed up at my bookstore on a Thursday night with sandwiches, and dessert. It felt like he had always been doing it and we picked up our relationship where we left it, except this time, he followed me home in his car and stayed the night.

When filming started I saw less of him but we still talked and he made the effort to see me at least once a week. He met my father, finding common ground with him in their shared love of books. We did have a little bump in the road when I visited the set on a Sunday they were filming. It was the first time I was there and they were preparing a romantic scene between Bucky and his leading lady, Natasha Romanov, a very attractive actress. Wanda, a production assistant was waiting for me just outside the house they were using as Natasha’s place, leading me inside. The living room was set up with soft lights, candles and partially full wine glasses. Bucky and Natasha were talking with a third person, the intimacy coordinator, according to Wanda, going over the ground rules for their romantic scene. There was some joking between Bucky and Natasha then she got in position while a stand-in stood with her while the positioning was checked on a monitor by Bucky and his assistant director, Sam Wilson. Then he nodded at Sam and took his place where the stand-in had been. The clapper board, or slate, as they call it on set was brought in front of the camera to mark the beginning of the scene, then Bucky said “roll camera,” the camera operator started it, said “rolling” and Sam took a few seconds to call out “action.”

I felt weird watching my boyfriend kissing another woman in a way that was disturbingly familiar. Then the camera moved back as they moved to the couch and he laid on top of her, kissing and touching her with what seemed to be intent. When Sam called “cut,” Bucky got off of her like it was no big deal and came over to the video monitor, watching it intently, then pointing out issues in lighting or positioning. As a makeup artist touched up Natasha’s hair and makeup, they adjusted the camera angle and some lighting then they went through the scene again with the intimacy coordinator. I felt a touch on my arm and turned to see Wanda looking at me with concern.

“Do you want to wait in the other room?” she asked. “They’ll be calling lunch after they get the scene in the can.”

I nodded and she led me through an adjoining door to a den, bringing me a bottle of water, as I sat on a couch in there.

“They are just acting,” she said kindly. “It looks real but it isn’t.”

Even though she was trying to be supportive, I still felt odd about what I saw and just nodded. She left me there and I sipped the water, waiting. It was almost an hour before lunch was called, but all I could think about was that they must have gone through that scene several times. When Bucky came in, he kneeled down in front of me.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his eyes searching my face. “Wanda said you seemed upset.”

“No … yes,” I answered, struggling to keep my face neutral. “Are love scenes always like that?”

He frowned slightly. “Realistic? Yes. But it doesn’t mean there is anything between us. We’re both professionals and we separate our personal emotions from what we’re doing so that it looks like we’re into each other but we’re not. It’s all technical.”

“It looked real.”

“Hey,” he said softly, cradling my face in his hands. “This is real.”

He kissed me then, languidly caressing my tongue with his, as he gently threaded one hand into my hair while the other pulled me closer to him. When he pulled his lips away he continued holding me, rubbing my back.

“Have you ever fallen in love with an actress after doing romantic scenes?” I asked, still feeling insecure.

“When I was 18 and still a virgin,” he answered. I looked at him in disbelief. “Really. I had no romantic experience and I fell in love with my leading lady in the high school play. After our first rehearsal kiss I was sure she was the one, then when rehearsal was over, she went out to her boyfriend and gave him a kiss that must have reached to the back of his throat. It was gross.” It made me giggle, which made him smile. “I do love scenes because I’m a formally trained professional actor and it’s expected when I’m the lead in a production. I’ve done nude scenes with a man and a woman, separately, but I don’t get aroused by it because it’s really quite uncomfortable to be in front of a film crew with another naked person, pretending to be in love or lust, and having the whole scene broken down into “put your leg here, and your arm there, don’t fart, don’t burp and for God’s sake if you get a leg cramp don’t scream.”

“Okay,” I said, a little grudgingly. “I guess it’s something I have to get used to but would it be okay with you if I didn’t watch those scenes until the movie comes out?”

“Sure.” He kissed me again. “You know I love you, right?”

“What?” I gasped.

“I love you. You’re it for me.”

Before I could respond then Sam interrupted us, saying a closer look at the last scene filmed showed a shadow from the sound boom. Smiling apologetically at me, Bucky got up, then pulled me up with him to give me a hug.

“Wait for me,” he said. “We’ll talk some more.”

I stayed, found a book and read it. When they wrapped for the day, the activity level got considerably louder as people prepared to leave. I looked out into the hallway, seeing people going back and forth as some equipment was too valuable to leave in the house, even though a security guard would be on duty. Stepping into the living room, I watched as Bucky talked to Natasha, telling her she did good work that day, then hugging her. He had a quick conversation with a couple of people then saw I was there and told them he had to go.

“Ready to leave?” he asked. “Come to the trailer with me while I change then we’ll go.”

He took my hand and led me to a large trailer, like the type used in a work camp. All the actors had their own rooms with their wardrobes in it for that set. When we got inside his room, he closed and locked the door then pressed me against it, kissing me enthusiastically. When he finally had enough and allowed me to catch a breath, I looked at him.

“What’s got into you?”

“You. You’re in my head, and in my heart. I’ve wanted to say it for a while.”

“What stopped you?”

He caged me in between his hands that were placed on either side of my shoulders.

“Trying to find the right romantic moment.” He scanned my face as if he was mapping it. “I know that scene was hard for you to see but you really don’t have to feel like you don’t matter. I liked you the moment you fell off that stool into my arms and then fainted. I was impressed watching you work, handling your customers with such patience and professionalism. As we talked on the phone, then by video call, I realized that those times were the best part of my day. The film industry is all about make believe but there’s nothing more real than how you make me feel.” I smirked at his rhyme and he chuckled with me. “I adore you, and want to be where you are as much as I can.”

“How will we make that work?”

“I can move here.”

That stunned me. He was willing to move here instead of staying in Los Angeles? I could only respond with one word.

“Why?”

“Because this is your home and it’s where your business is. It’s important to you. After all this I don’t want to take you away from it.”

“But that will make you less visible and ….”

He kissed me again, softly, almost reverently. “When a guy finds the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with, nothing is as important as her. This film, my first as a director, was important to me because I was ready for a new challenge, one that didn’t depend on me being that guy you see in the gossip rags or the entertainment programs. We can still keep a place in Los Angeles and New York for when I have to be there but I want to put down roots here, with you.”

“But would that mean you would marry me?”

“Not how I wanted to ask you but yeah. I want to marry you, have a family, bring Tilly up so she can get to know your dad, and you keep your business because it’s part of you, a part I love.” He looked hopefully at me. “Of course, it only works if you love me, too, and say yes to marrying me.”

“Yeah, I love you.” I started to cry, as he looked at me like I was something precious. “I want to marry you.”

“Guess what?” he asked, after he kissed me again, even though I was blubbering. “I just figured out the end of my movie.”

“I thought you already had an ending.” I wiped my cheeks with my hands.

“I did but after I met you I didn’t think any guy worth anything would leave someone like you behind. So, I asked the writers to come up with a happy ending and now I’ll get them to tweak it, just a little. It might be based on us, a bit. Are you okay with that?”

I nodded, as I knew that if I spoke I would start to cry again. While I sat on the couch, he wiped off his makeup with facial wipes, as he usually showered at the hotel or at my place, then changed into his regular clothes. Then he drove us in his rental car to my dad’s house, and told him I said yes, because of course he spoke to my dad first. We celebrated with steaks and beer. Six months ago, we got married in a private ceremony with his family and mine at a mountain resort. Tilly brought the rings down the aisle on a ribbon tied around her neck. Bucky had another film lined up a month later and worked on getting a distribution deal for the movie which brings us to why I was sitting on a tall stool in a hotel room getting my hair and makeup done.

It was the world premiere of Bucky’s film, Nothing More Real. Yeah, he used part of a line that he said to me for the title but I didn’t mind. As he explained to an interviewer the movie became more personal to him once he met me.

After my makeup was completed and hair styled into something other than my usual comb it out and fasten it with a barrette, a stylist brought out the three choices of evening gowns we made earlier in the day. Bucky’s stylist, Michael, had recommended her, knowing I was still dealing with the glitz and glamour of being in Los Angeles. All three dresses were casually elegant, nothing too extravagant or risqué. I chose a black off the shoulder style that I felt beautiful in. After making sure that all the seams were straight and my smoothing undergarment wasn’t bunching up anywhere, Lesley nodded her approval and helped me slip on the heels, low ones as I absolutely refused to wear the five inch ones that seemed to be the norm. She handed me my clutch then gestured to the adjoining door.

“I brought jewelry,” I said, reaching for my little case with some necklaces and earrings.

“Nope, Bucky got you something,” she answered. “Let’s go show off for him.”

I came through the adjoining door and he turned around, his face alight at the sight of me. He shook his head but it was because he couldn’t get over how I looked.

“Stay right there,” he said, reaching into his pants pocket for his cell phone. “I want a picture of how you look at this moment to send to your dad.”

Leaning against the closet door he aimed the camera at me, staring at the image for some time until he pressed the shutter button. I’ll always remember how he looked in his navy slacks and a white shirt while staring at his camera then at me. Looking beyond at Lesley he smiled and thanked her for finding the perfect dress. She just smiled and closed the door.

“Where’s your tie?” I asked, stepping closer.

“Not wearing one. Going for that casual elegant look.” Sliding his phone into his front pocket he placed his hands on my waist, gazing at me. “You look stunning and will make me look good just being beside you.”

“I bet you say that to all the bookstore owners.”

He laughed then hugged me, his mouth close enough to my ear that I could feel his breath on it.

“No, just the one I love. Now, I have something for you. Kind of a six month anniversary, world premiere gift.”

“Aw gee, and I didn’t get you anything.”

He went to the night stand beside the bed and pulled out two cases, one small square one and a longer slim one.

“Normally, the big jewellers provide pieces for the red carpet but I want the world to see that I appreciate my wife so much that I want her to have something unique with meaning to her.”

He opened the long case to show a white gold and diamond pendant shaped like a book. Explaining that it was custom made he fastened it around my neck. Then he opened the small case showcasing a pair of white gold diamond drop earrings. After I fastened them, he took another picture then received a text that our ride was waiting. Putting his jacket on he took my hand in his.

It wasn’t a long drive, but I could tell he was nervous. Although he had investors for the movie, he had put his own money into it and his reputation. For someone who wanted to transition into being a director it was a gamble. The red carpet was intimidating for me, but Bucky held my hand, and made sure that no one treated me with anything less than respect. There was one instance where I waited at the side while he was on camera with one of the entertainment programs, and was asked who inspired him. He smiled and said the usual, then he stepped away from the reporter, looking for me. When he saw me, his face broke into a soft and knowing smile.

“There, right there, is the person who inspires me the most,” he said, gesturing for me to come forward. His publicist frowned as she wanted the focus to be on him but she stepped back and let me go to him. Putting his arm around me and giving me a side hug he faced the reporter again. “This is my wife and she is the happy ending I always wanted. I cherish the day that the location scout walked into her bookstore and asked if we could film there. She said no, but I kept going back because there was something special about her, something real that I had been needing.”

It was an “aww” moment that was replayed for days. The reviews were great, calling Nothing More Real a gem of a movie, that realistically portrayed a romance between two people who needed something more in their lives. It didn’t get nominated for any major awards but it was always on a “best of” list of romance movies and gave Bucky a strong push into becoming sought as a director. It also increased my business as people came to find the bookstore behind the movie. Even though the movie was filmed in a set, built in an empty retail store in a strip mall they knew the real thing was even better. So was life and love with my movie star husband, who loved me as I was, because I was real.

One Shots Masterlist

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #james buchanan barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #james buchanan barnes au #bucky barnes x ofc #movie business #support non smut #no smut #valentines day

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billthedrake · 10 hours ago

Text

LINEAGE (PART THREE)

I stirred in bed and heard Braden shuffle on the other side of the mattress. My son wasn't a morning person, and now that Bill Jr. was 4, Brade really preferred to sleep in. I loved to let him, and on weekdays I'd fix breakfast for Junior and get him ready and off to preschool on my way to work.

I would let my son-husband sleep in on Saturday, too, but we now had this ritual.

"Hmmm..." I heard his deep morning voice growl as his thickly muscled body scooted over to mine, resting his strong arm on my chest. Braden always had a great body, but he'd spent the last few years dedicating an hour at the gym on most days and I found myself married to a 28-year old who could be a freakin' porn star.

I always woke up with morning wood, like clockwork, but the warmth and body contact had me raging hard.

"Morning, babe," I said, kissing his forehead and running my hand along the knotted tricep.

"What time's tee time?" I heard his groggy voice ask.

"8:30," I said.

"Goddamnit," Braden said. He made a point never to curse around Junior, which meant when it was just us, his sailor mouth was in full force. "Fucking Fiedler."

I chuckled. My son and I had become good friends with both of the Dr. Fiedlers, Adam, father, and son Todd, and we often did double dates. There was the bond of being incest couples and the shared experience of navigating parenthood in that context. While both were "Dr. Fielder" to me, Braden used Fiedler to refer to his doctor, Todd, while he called the dad Adam.

"My golf date is with both of them," I said. "With a new fourth. Todd says he found another man in a relationship like ours."

That woke Braden up. "Yeah?" he asked, looking at me to see if I was on the level. Brade no longer had a buzz cut but his hair was short and thinning already. In the morning it was matted down in a sexy bed head way.

I nodded, patting his side. "He was cagey about the details, but I don't think he was bullshitting me."

"Wow," my son said. "That would be incredible." We both craved to connect to other father-son couples, Braden especially. Incest was amazing, but a lonely experience.

Braden's hand traveled down slowly from my chest over my furry stomach. I didn't have my son's six pack, nor his thick muscle, but I kept trim and in shape for 45. Brade seemed to love what I had going on.

Particular a few inches lower. I grunted when I felt his strong fingers circle around my prick.

"That feels nice, buddy," I hissed.

"Yeah?"

"Hell yeah. Always does."

"I love this cock, Dad," my son said. "It fucking made me."

That dick surged in his fist. Even if we had a ritual, it never got old. To the contrary.

I looked Brade square in the eye as I lay back and let him stroke me. "It made Junior, too."

"Aw fuck!" Braden grunted. That was the button to push all right. He pounced forward for a kiss. He tried to take charge of it, but I battled back with my tongue. I won that battle, but otherwise my son was in charge, climbing on top of me. Braden was four inches shorter than me but with his brawn I definitely had that pleasant feel of his weight on top.

We made out as Brade kind of humped and writhed.

"Let me drive, today, Dad?" he hissed.

"You got it, Sport."

This was going to have to be a quickie. Bill Jr. would probably wake soon and while our son probably could content himself watching cartoons on his ipad, as a married couple you have to find the private moments when you could take them.

We had a discreet container for our lube next to the bed, and I watched Braden's thick muscle flex as he reached over to pump a good bit out. For longer sessions, we didn't use so much, but for a quick entry, my son loved a super slick cock.

I was gonna be really frickin' wet, I realized, as that palm wrapped around my phallus once more.

Braden was horny but more in his quiet, relaxed early morning way. And maybe lost in thought. "The new guys..." he asked. "You think the dad is the top or bottom?"

"Dunno, Brade," I said. "Some guys are both. Or neither, I suppose," I answered.

Braden didn't comprehend that. He'd told me that for him sex was about being penetrated, or getting me to cum. Maybe if he'd been more vers, he could have talked me into switching things up, but I loved being his father that way. Dad on top. Being the breeding stud for my Brade.

Still, I knew some men were wired differently, like the Fiedlers.

Braden settled over my lap, looking down and bracing one hand on the headboard of the bed as his other reached behind to guide my cock into place.

"You're horny, Dad," he said.

I nodded. "It's been a couple of days, buddy."

"I know," he said. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," I said, running my hands along his thighs. Brade had really been hitting leg day. "We get sex when we can."

Brade got a shyly playful look on his handsome face, as he wiggled his hips back on to my dick, nudging his hole into place. "It's gonna be even trickier when the next one is born."

This was frequent with me and my son. Talking about impregnation and procreation, talking about the family we were raising and the sons we were going to sire.

But this was more than sex talk, I knew. Brade was feeling me out. "You itching to get knocked up again, Brade?" I grunted. This was sex talk, and real talk, and the fact they were one in the same was getting to me.

He pushed himself down. Even with out experience, Braden's experience, his kind of quick entry was tough for him, but he relished the way my slickness meant he was being bored with a few inches of dad cock. He winced but his cock twitched and bounced from his crotch.

We were incest fucking once more, like we could never get enough of.

"So ready, Dad," Braden hissed. "Whenever you're ready, Dad, just tell me and I'll stop taking those fucking pills."

I loved the tight hot feel of Braden's guts clenching my prick and descending down. "We'll talk about it, OK?" Real talk and sex talk could collide, but Braden and I were going to make the next pregnancy a planned one, decided in a sober conversation, not while fucking.

"Of course, Dad," he said, maybe a little too loud. Jesus, he was gonna wake Junior.

He rode me slowly, sensually. His goal was to relax his hole and his insides, but it also felt amazing on my lubed dick, like I was being slowly jacked.

"But say the word and I'm ready.... I wanna be so fucking fertile for you, Dad."

I gripped his hips now and pumped in. Ready or not, I need to actively fuck my son.

"Yes!" Braden hissed. It was intense for him, but I could tell he was imagining me planting my seed in him, my sperm fertilizing his egg.

"You're such a handsome fuck," I growled. "Love you, Sport."

"Love you, Dad. Oh shit!" he let go of his prick to keep from cumming. Instead he angled his upper body up to focus on taking my cock.

"I thought you were driving today, Brade," I teased, pumping up more excitedly into his ass.

"You're in charge, Dad. Fucking take me."

"I am..." I grunted. I was so close, and this was one of those fucks where I was riding the edge of orgasm without topping over. "Can't wait to knock you up, kiddo."

"Please dad. Impregnate me."

"Make another incest baby?" OK, I was getting real close now. My hips were thrusting gaster.

"Hell yeah, Dad. How many grandkids do you want?"

Something about those words but also the tone in which Brade said them had me coming, hard. I held onto his hips in a vice grip and fired several jets of my cum into his guts.

Excitedly, Brade gripped his bone and tugged and like that I was getting showered with my son's seed. It had been a while since he'd ridden me and I enjoyed the novelty of a Braden cum shower.

We kissed, softly, catching our breath and letting our heart rate come back to normal.

Our shower together was efficient and quick. I had to get to the golf course, and the sex had taken longer than I expected.

***

This was our way of maintaining a healthy balance as parents and as a married couple. Saturday was my own personal day for me-time, which in good weather meant playing golf. On Sundays, Braden got to do his own thing, which usually meant hanging out with his buddy Jackson, either going off to do some outdoor or athletic thing, or just watching football.

The Fiedlers sometimes played golf separately, but on Saturdays, both Adam and Todd were there in their knit shirts and shorts. Adam was an incredible golfer, whereas Todd had the power swings that could either make for a great game or a lousy one. I was a decent player but mostly enjoyed the game and the break from the routine of work and parenting. And I'd enjoyed bonding with the Fiedlers.

I related to Adam and Todd in different ways, but with either man... well, we'd opened up a lot. Guy talk, discussing the emotional side of married life, particularly in an incest couple, and even frank talk about our sex lives. With anyone else it would feel like a betrayal of trust with Braden, but I knew these guys would keep anything private, and I knew a lot about them. I had no one else to talk to, and maybe it's something a man needs.

Sure, there was some sexual tension, too, but we channeled that into crude jokes and double entendre, without danger of slipping into anything more.

When I got to the club house, I saw the fourth in our party. He looked to he a high school kid, until I got closer and figured he was closer to 19 or 20. About 5'8" with a compact body.

"Hey," came the voice. Adult but very young sounding, like a frat dude rushing at university.

"Bill Drake," I said, offering my hand to shake it.

"Jeff Connors." He smiled but seemed nervous.

Adam Fiedler patted my shoulder. "Bill's part of our special fraternity, Jeff... you can be free around him."

"Yeah?" the young man asked excitedly. But maybe feeling out of his element.

I nodded. "I don't know what these men have shared, but yes." I was nervous too, but something about Jeff's shyness brought out my protective side. I looked over at Todd. Dr. Fiedler. "I guess we got all morning to get acquainted."

My doctor grinned. "Especially cause you get to ride in the cart with him, Bill. Dad's upset he doesn't get to flirt with the dude."

Adam gave a hearty laugh. "Todd told me to be on my best behavior."

The younger doctor gave a mock-annoyed look. "Come on, Dad. You're teeing off first."

***

The first hour was a lot of small talk. Jeff was a college freshman, rising sophomore, home for the summer. My guess that he was a fraternity man was a good one, and in most ways young man Connors seemed like a typical college kid. Into partying but also finding himself and his goals in life. Kind of goofy in his humor but naive and serious about the world, too.

It was after the tenth hole, when he opened up. We'd gotten into the cart after a long drive. I pulled off and I heard him say softly. "Dad doesn't want me talking about things with anyone else, but I feel like was gonna explode if I kept it all inside you know?"

I looked over at him. I almost patted his knee but felt that would be appropriate. "Your dad has a point, but I know how you feel, buddy."

He smiled, a nervous but genuine smile. "Thanks, Bill. You, um..."

I could tell he thought it was too wild to ask. I leaned into the trust of the situation and wanted to show Jeff he could trust me. "I've been with my son Braden for ten years... been married for seven of them."

The frat dude's face lit up. "Wow! That's amazing."

"I think so," I said. "I'm a very happy, very lucky man."

Jeff hesitated. "Like Dr. Fiedler."

"In more ways than one," I said. And seeing that Jeff wasn't following I added, "Brade and I have a son. Together." I felt proud to make that announcement, and I remembered Todd Fiedler's tone of pride when he first mentioned how many kids they had.

"How's that?" Jeff asked. Earnest as hell.

"Amazing. Even if it cuts into the sex life some," I said with a wink.

Jeff laughed. I could tell he was arranging his crotch. "It's so crazy to talk about a father and son having sex."

I looked over. "Well you and your dad are, right?" Maybe I'd misread the whole situation.

He nodded and blushed. "Yeah. Like, um, a lot."

I laughed and Jeff laughed too. It broke the ice a lot.

I figured I could share more. "Braden and I love the idea of incest. Always gets us going."

I could tell Jeff was getting worked up. I was getting hard, too. I was wired for incest talk, and just discussing this openly was way hot.

But we kept the conversation more serious. "I'm pretty sure Dad and I don't want to have kids," Jeff said. "But we've been talking more about what a relationship would mean."

"Parenting's not easy, you both gotta be on the same page."

Jeff and I talked more, off and on, between shots, and it was amazing to see him open up and his happiness at being able to talk about incest.

I listened, but I had to speak up. "Can I give you some unsolicited advice, Jeff?"

"Sure," he said. Over two hours we'd built up a high level of trust.

"If it's going to be more than sex with your dad, if the emotional part is important... well, you need him on board, buddy. About talking to others."

"Yeah," Jeff conceded, chastised.

I now patted his knee, paternally. "It goes both ways, too. He needs to know how you feel and your need to bond with other man. He may be your dad, but he needs to listen to you, not just lay down the law."

Jeff seemed quiet as he took that in, then finally replied. "Thanks, Bill."

***

I got home to find Braden playing catch in the backyard. I don't know how much of it was Junior into baseball and football, and how much of it was Brade's natural enthusiasm in sharing that masculine rite of passage. My son was such a natural father, it was touching to watch. And to hear Junior alternate between giggling and trying to imitate his daddy's game-focus mannerisms, was endearing.

I decided then and there that it was time for another kid. To give Junior a younger brother.

***

I brought it up on Monday night. Junior was in bed by 9. Brade and I took turns make sure our son did his nightly routine and brushed his teeth. I was grateful that night, because work had been a real long, tough day for me. I sat on the couch and watched some mindless TV with the sound turned down.

Finally Braden came and sat down next to me. "Exhausting, huh?" he said with a laugh. We never bitched about parenthood, but we did bond on the work it took and enjoyed approaching the challenges with humor.

"I'll say," I replied. Then, "You up for feeling more exhausted, Braden?"

He paused as it sunk and looked at me. Then, "You saying what I think you're saying?"

I nodded. "If you're up for it. It's your body, son."

"Oh god, Dad. I'm gonna go off the pills tomorrow."

I smiled. Proud. Excited. Maybe more than a little horny. My dick was firming up. "I figure it's time for Junior to have a little brother."

"Yes, sir," Brade hissed as he scooted closer and leaned forward into my lap.

I'd never turn down a blowjob from my son, but now that he was pawing at my crotch, a started tone entered my voice. "You sure Junior's asleep?" I asked in a whisper.

"He's out, Dad," Braden said with an impish smile as he pulled down down my zipper. "But you can keep watch if you like while I suck that cock that's gonna make our next son."

I lay back and enjoyed the slowest most sensual head I could imagine. Brade was making love to my dick and my balls, and I knew what he was thinking. How he was sucking his father, tasting the dick that made him. Getting closed to the breeding power that going to knock him up once more.

I made myself be quiet, almost silent as I orgasmed, feeding Brade a huge load. This was going to be a fun, emotionally powerful month or two. Or three. However long we had to mate to get the job done. I wasn't even going soft now, not even after Brade suckled at the dribbles and kept licking.

"Bedroom, Dad?" he asked, leaning up with a wild-eyed look on his face. I could tell he was thrilled by my amped up sexual response.

"You bet, Sport," I hissed, leaning into kiss him.

#drakestories

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