#i’ve thought about mine too much i can never settle | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blainesebastian · 21 days ago

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not my type

word count: 12,775 ship: Nick Leister x reader rating: R (for sexual situations and expletives) summary: But maybe you should know better that there’s a fine line between not being able to stand someone and fizzling attraction.(essentially an 'enemies' to lovers fic) notes: really appreciate all the kind comments, likes, reblogs and everything in-between 🥰 glad you all are digging these. notes2: gifs from here, masterlist here

When you first met Nick, it started off on the wrong foot, something that’s never quite been corrected. An uncoordinated dance, an imbalance of snarky commentary and obscene gestures (you love giving him the middle finger with a grin, and he loves being less than a gentleman any chance he can get). Your small friend group keeps you in one another’s orbit, but that doesn’t mean you have to like eachother. He just…he gets under your skin in the worst fucking way.

But maybe you should know better that there’s a fine line between not being able to stand someone and fizzling attraction.

Nick may be gorgeous, which he seems to know, but he’s also a giant pain in your ass. And he likes being that just a little too much.

—

Your first interaction consists of bumping into one another, literally, on the dance floor. You’re carrying drinks back to Jenna and her boyfriend Lion, attempting to settle into your new life after moving from New York to London. It hasn’t been the easiest transition to say the least, but your parents work with Jenna’s, and the moment you met her, you two hit it off. You’re extremely grateful for having someone to talk to, to invite you out, to get along with.

If only you knew it was going to include this briar patch of a person.

You’ve heard of Nick Leister, of course, before the unfortunate meet-up—his reputation precedes him. Successful at seventeen, a lot handsome, a little arrogant, and altogether frustrating. He looks down his nose at you when drinks are jostled in your hands, a sharp hiss leaving your lips when some spills onto your red party dress.

“Should probably come with a turn signal in close quarters like this.”

You scoff, seriously? “You bumped into me.”

“Anyone would bump into you with your elbows out like that.”

Your mouth falls open, pink staining your cheeks and heating the back of your neck, “That’s got to be the worst apology I’ve ever gotten, congratulations.”

He crinkles his nose—it shouldn’t look so attractive, and you quickly toss that thought away, “I don’t owe you an apology.”

You’re about to toss one of these well-balanced drinks into his face when Jenna pushes her way through the crowd, “Oh Y/N!” She grins, “I see you’ve met Nick.”

Nick’s gaze bounces between Jenna and you, a look of annoyance flittering across his features as he realizes that his friend is your friend…and that he won’t be rid of you so easily. For some reason, that awareness fizzles like water dripped onto hot coals in your stomach. But instead of giving him the satisfaction that you’re bothered, you tip your chin and give him your brightest smile,

“Yep,” You pop your ‘P’, “Utter pleasure.”

There’s the tight flicker of amusement in the browns of his eyes, gone almost as soon as it appears. The corner of his mouth tilts up, as if pulled by an invisible string, “Pleasure is all mine.”

—

Your friend group keeps you in similar circles, you spend time hanging out, getting to know one another, but you’re not sure you would call him a friend. The real problem is? When you’re wrapped up in distractions, when you forget the prickling animosity between the two of you…Nick’s someone you don’t mind spending time with. He makes you laugh, you like the passion that kisses his syllables when he talks about something he cares about…and you’re not going to try and deny that you’re attracted to him. At least not to yourself.

He’s got a boxer’s body, long lines and a sturdy tone, the muscles in his biceps defined, strength behind how he moves. He’s balanced, graceful, a beautifully contained force. You think about his hands far too often, how they form fists, how they might feel on your skin. Nick’s a tactile person, he speaks with his hands, there’s purpose in every touch he makes. A brush of his fingers along your arm, a hand pressed to your lower back when moving through a crowd, squeezing your hand when he helps you down from a high spot.

It’s frustrating, really, because he gets so easily under your skin. And yet you find yourself drawn to him nonetheless. The strong shape of his jaw, that smirk tugging his full lips, the pleasure and warmth sometimes in those brown eyes.

Completely unfair.

You lean back into your poolside chair and sip on your pineapple flavored drink, a small smile on your face as Lion and Nick toss a ball back and forth in the pool. He begins to swim towards the edge when Lion misses a throw, a laugh slipping out of his chest. He pulls himself out, water cascading down his skin and dripping onto the pavement.

Your eyes flicker over his chest and arms, tracing pretty line tattoos, wondering why he’s gotten each of them, if he wants any others. Chewing on your straw, your gaze lingers over the Roman numerals under his shoulder blade—

“Eyes are up here, sweetheart.”

And you feel your face go red as he catches you. Fuck. You huff out a sound, trying not to feed into the fucking satisfaction that’s already written all over his face.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Would you rather I call you something else?”

Your thoughts spin in your head like a washing machine stuck on a rinse cycle as he grabs a towel, running it over his hair and down his chest. You’d rather pretend like the last three minutes didn’t happen.

Straightening your shoulders, you decide to go with denial, “I know this is maybe sore for your ego, but just because you’re here without a shirt on, doesn’t mean someone is checking you out.” You motion to your sunglasses which have, thankfully, shaded your eyes and their traitorous direction from him.

He’s just guessing. (He’s right, but that’s besides the point).

Nick smirks, humming a little as he moves to sit down on a lounger next to yours, Jenna getting up from your other side to join Lion in the hottub. “My ego’s just fine, but it’s cute that you’re concerned about it.”

“I’d be more concerned about your belligerent personality.” You smile sweetly, “Not going to get a date that way.”

“So you are concerned about who I date?” He asks, raising his eyebrows. He leans forward as if intrigued, his elbows resting on his knees. The dick.

“No.”

You must say it far too quickly, because he’s smiling again, something slow and annoyingly handsome. Like a cat that’s caught a canary. “Oh you are,” He hums, “Well, you’ll be happy to know that you aren’t my type.”

A scoff slips out of your throat and despite heat curling in your veins, you try not to take offense and rise to the commentary leaving his mouth. He wants to bother you, upset you, you’re not about to give him that gratification, “And who’s your type? Blonde, emotionless and rude? Quite the pairing.”

Nick licks his lips, drawing in a soft breath as he sits with what you’ve said, “Anna and I are just friends.”

And fuck—you didn’t even mean to describe Anna. Not exactly. You just…sort of flashed upon those personality traits in your mind, came to one conclusion. You’ve only had a few interactions with her but it’s been more than enough. She’s nasty in a way you didn’t realize another girl could be, and you barely know her? You can’t figure out why she’s been so unwelcoming.

“In case you’re concerned about that too.” Nick smiles, eyes roaming over your face, playfully pushing your sunglasses up the bridge of your nose before standing to get himself a drink.

You let out a slow breath, trying to tell yourself that it doesn’t matter what Nick’s told you about him and Anna. That you could care less about who he’s dating or interested in or…anything like that. Why would that matter to you?

You pointedly ignore how your lips have twitched into a smile, that tell-tale flush working its way down your chest.

—

You’ve decided you want to go home. A little drunk and a lot tired, you’ve overstayed your limit at the latest underground car lineup. That’s what you like to call these little get togethers—when everyone shows up in their fanciest car and shows them off, maybe even races. You’re here because of Jenna, to have a good time, to drink a little too much and dance in the coolness of the parking garage, the music vibrating the concrete and reverberating in your chest. Admittedly, you love it a bit more than dancing in a club or someone’s house.

Jenna playfully tugs you away from someone you’re dancing with, the guy all hands, but handsome, long legs and a grin that gives a dimple. But apparently he was trying to take you back to his place and Jenna’s got her wits about her to not let that happen.

“Think it’s time for you to head home, sweets.” She laughs as you wrap your arms around her, resting your chin on her shoulder.

“But I want to dance more.” You pout.

She cups your cheeks, planting a kiss on your forehead. “And as much as I love seeing you dance, your knees are as wobbly as Bambi right now.”

You huff, even though in the back of your mind, you know she’s right. You got a ride with her, so at the very least you don’t have to worry about leaving your car here. But you also don’t want to ruin the rest of her night, it’s still early?

“I can see if Zach—”

“I can take you.”

You blink, turning to see Nick standing near the trunk of Jenna’s car and…when the hell did he pop up here? Your eyes tick over his form quickly but it’s not missed by him however, because there’s a twinge of a smirk on his lips. He looks good, and that’s annoying within itself.

“Uh, no thanks.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Oh, you going to walk back?”

Your eyes narrow into a glare. “I don’t need your help.”

He smiles, far too handsome, Jenna stepping forward to pat your head. “Babe let him take you home, okay?”

There’s a soft grumble in your chest because the last thing you want is to lean on him for help, to smell the pristine leather of the seats in his car, the rumble of the engine encompassing your body, the sensation of him far too close. You’re not my type vibrates in his timbre against your eardrums, your nose crinkling at that conversation.

“I’m not exactly thrilled about it either,” Nick says, misreading your expression, “I got a lot of other things I’d rather do.”

You scoff, as if he didn’t offer in the first place, but disentangle yourself from Jenna, your knees a little unsteady, “Well I’d hate to interrupt your very busy night,” You throw back, voice dripping in sarcasm, “I’ll find my own way home.”

You turn, far too quickly, and practically tangle up your feet. You don’t faceplant though, as you suspected, and land right against a firm chest. Nick’s arm wraps around your waist, helping you keep your balance, and you wish he didn’t smell like that—expensive cologne, laundry detergent, something purely him. He smells good.

“Thank you,” He replies and fuck—you did not mean to say that last part outloud.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

Nick smirks, tucking your hair behind your ear and out of your face, “Sure, okay.”

“Bye babe,” Jenna grins, reaching over to press a kiss to your cheek before disappearing around her car to find Lion.

You pull a little bit away from Nick, insisting on not needing him to walk, and his arm leaves your waist. His hand slips down, squeezing his fingers around your own, letting you lead even though you have zero clue where he parked his car.

Eventually, through some of the crowd, he begins to tug you in the direction of where you need to go. When you pass the dance floor, one of your favorite songs on, you stop short. Nick jerks to a halt, an accidental yank on your arm as he turns around to look at you.

“I want to dance to this.”

His eyebrows draw together, glancing towards where people are moving to the beat of the music. You bounce a little on the balls of your feet in anticipation, “And I want to be unbothered the rest of the night—that’s not going to happen until I get you home.”

You huff and Nick’s lips twitch, an almost smile he tries to hide, “One dance.”

He’s immovable. “No, I’ll carry you if I have to.”

Your mouth falls open, taking a step back even though his fingers have automatically laced with yours. You didn’t even notice until right this very moment. How long have they been like that? “You wouldn’t dare.”

Nick raises his eyebrows and the glittering in the depths of the brown tells you that he’s accepted that challenge. He purses his lips, looking away for a brief moment before he moves—in one fluid motion, he places his arm along the back of your thighs, hauling you up over his shoulder.

You choke out a squeal before slapping him on the ass, “Put me down.”

A laugh empties out of his mouth before he quickly walks in the direction of his car. Fuck, you cannot believe he fucking picked you up like some sort of caveman. You try not to squirm but it feels like he’s barely holding on as it is, jostling you as he weaves through other parked cars,

“Nick!” You snap out, one of your hands gathering the material of his shirt to ground you. Jesus, being upside down is making you even more dizzy, “I can walk—I swear to God, let me go.”

He stops suddenly, though you’re not sure if you’re at his car—either way your stomach bottoms out as gravity gives way. Nick does let you go, assisting your tumble to the ground. A squeak leaves your lips and you land right on your ass, an unladylike oof leaving your lips.

“Are you serious?”

“Just proving a point,” Nick smiles, something so amused that there’s laughter wrapped around his syllables when he speaks, “I can’t figure you out. You wanted down and now you’re upset you’re on the pavement?”

You kick your legs a little, boots on your feet echoing the clacking heel noise around you. There’s a pout on your lips as you look up at him, “You dropped me.”

Nick shakes his head, but he’s still smiling, crouching down so that he’s eye-level with you. He gives you a onceover, making sure you’re okay, “You need help up?” He offers his hand, to which you smack away. He smirks, “Alright then.”

Your mouth, you swear, is completely disconnected from your body. You proved that by telling him that he smells good (he does) —but the longer you stare at him, the more you feel like asking him something that you haven’t been able to get out of your head since he told you. The words spill out of you before you can reign them in—

“I’m not your type?”

Nick’s eyebrows draw together in soft confusion, like he can’t quite understand how you got from point A to point B. He then sighs out, reaching over to adjust the strap of your dress so it’s back on your shoulder and not halfway down your arm.

“You’re still thinking about that?”

You shake your head slowly, “...no.”

Nick smirks but doesn’t press. You notice he doesn’t respond to your question, either, just reaches both his hands out to you, palms up. “Can I help you up?”

You look at his hands, the silver rings on some of his fingers, the chain-link bracelet hanging from his wrist. Things that, for some reason, make your chest ache before you nod. He shifts forward to hook his arms underneath yours, hauling you up from the ground. The garage spins a little and you have to grab onto his arm to steady yourself.

“Okay?” He asks, waiting until you nod. He guides you to his car, opening up the door, “You gonna be sick at all?”

“Just sick of your face.” You mumble, bending to get inside the car.

Nick laughs, something warm and altogether too bright. “Feeling’s mutual.”

Yet his actions don’t match his words, even when they’re said in teasing. He buckles your seatbelt for you and brushes his thumb along your collarbone before closing the door.

—

You hadn’t exactly been going for drunk given the last time you drank because your hangover was fucking awful. Being a bit tipsy feels safer, in which the room spins a bit in a rose-colored glaze. Not too over the top, but still having fun. You’re looking to avoid what happened last time, your cheeks heating with embarrassment when you think about you and Nick eye to eye—

You’re still thinking about that?

Dumb, so dumb. You’re glad that he hasn’t mentioned anything, so you’re allowed to pretend it never happened. You push those thoughts aside, thinking about tonight instead.

Jenna is one of your favorite people to dance with and Lion has been teaching you how to play pool, and your goal is to spend the rest of the night in the hot tub after drinking some water to balance yourself out.

Adjusting your swim top, you come out of the bathroom and make a b-line to the kitchen, opening up the fridge to grab a cold bottle of water. You hum softly, resting the cold plastic against your neck, leaning against the counter.

“Like that swim top.”

You open your eyes, glancing over at someone you don’t know, a tall guy with auburn hair and freckles on his cheekbones. You give a small smile, curling your hair around your ear, “Thank you.” You unscrew the cap on the bottle, taking a long swig. The guy moves closer to you and your stomach flutters in discomfort, but you don’t move.

He licks his lips, “Blue’s definitely your color.”

You draw in a breath, “Thanks, it’s my favorite.”

And maybe it’d benefit you to start heading out of the kitchen, or put some distance between you and whoever this guy is. You can tell his gaze is slightly glassy, the intentions of what he’s after written all over his face. You nearly know what’s going to come out of his mouth before he says it—

“Wanna grab a drink?”

You’re not sure if he means right now or later, but either way, “Oh uh,” You shake his head, “No thank you.”

He takes a step closer, nearly crowding your space and you hate that you’ve practically backed yourself into a corner in the kitchen, nerves beginning to fray as you realize you’ll have to push past him to leave. He’s not that much taller? But he feels like he towers over you.

“C’mon, just one drink.”

“She’s not interested.”

The guy pulls back and when his body disappears from your field of vision, you see Nick leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen. His body is relaxed but it conflicts with the muscle flexing in his jaw, a sharp light in his brown eyes. You let out a soft breath as this guy steps out of your personal space, Nick wandering into the kitchen to grab another drink for himself.

Tall guy no longer seems interested once Nick is there, and mumbles whatever as he turns to leave. You roll your shoulders back, turning a little to speak to Nick, maybe even thank him for saying something? But what he says next douses a cold bucket of water on you.

He gives you a onceover, eyes lingering on the cloud-print that’s on your bikini top, before his eyes meet yours. “You’re too nice.”

You blink—what? That’s the last thing you expect him to say. There’s a prickle of annoyance underneath his tone and your mouth opens a bit in surprise as you realize…it’s not directed at the guy who was practically folding you into the counter when he walked in, but that it’s towards you. He’s frustrated with you.

What…is that supposed to mean? “That’s coming from you? Someone who thinks glaring and grunting are personality traits?”

A twitch of a smile, but not quite. He turns towards you and wanders over with his beer, setting it down on the counter. He’s standing close, but not as close as that other guy. Not yet, anyways. You can feel the heat from his skin and smell his expensive cologne—it draws your heartbeat up into your throat. You tip your head back a little to meet his eyes, refusing to back down.

“See,” He comments softly, motioning to your eyes, “Where was that?”

Your eyebrows draw together, “What?”

“Where was that fire in your eyes? That attitude you seem to only have with me.”

A laugh stutters forward, “You ever seem to wonder why that is?”

Nick closes the distance between you, creating a cage around your body with his arms as his hands press into the counter. Your stomach flip flops, your eyes boring into his own, and you force yourself not to look at his lips—even when he speaks.

“You’re too nice,” He repeats, “What would have happened if I hadn’t walked in?”

You’re not sure why it matters, why it’s any of his business, why he cares. Yeah, that guy was making you uncomfortable, but you would have…he would have gotten the point, right? “I was just about to tell him that he wasn’t my type.”

Low blow—so much for not thinking about that.

Nick doesn’t take the bait, however, even though there’s a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. “I don’t believe you.” He says softly.

Heat kisses the back of your neck, goosebumps spreading along your skin when you feel the fabric of Nick’s shirt brush along your arms.

“You need to stick up for yourself Y/N, put your foot down when you deserve something. Tell someone to fuck off if they’re getting under your skin.” You swallow over a foreign emotion in your throat. The words bubble on your tongue just to prove a point—but he’s not agitating you, not really. He’s right. He’s right and that’s why you’re annoyed. You weren’t going to say anything.

And even if you had? That guy was never going to listen to you, no matter how many times you told him, nicely, that you weren’t interested. You’re so worried about hurting someone else’s feelings that you never look out for your own.

“You’re not a doormat,” Nick lifts his hand, playing with a strand of hair near your ear. Your stomach hits your knees when his finger brushes your cheek. “So stop acting like one.”

It should piss you off, what he’s saying, but you find yourself utterly distracted by the nearness of his body, the way if he leaned in just a little, your lips would brush.

You tilt your head up and don’t miss the way that Nick goes still, like he didn’t anticipate this, like he wasn’t expecting you to lean into his touch. You’ve caught him by surprise. Your noses bump, and Nick draws his lower lip into his teeth as he looks down at yours.

Something heated slides down between your legs as his knuckles rests along your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip.

“Nick,” You whisper, hand resting on his chest.

And just when you think he might lean in and kiss you, you push on his chest, sending him a bit off balance. “Fuck off.” Your voice has bite, fueled by his advice, his proximity, the fact that he sees you without trying.

You hate that. (Or perhaps it’s because you don’t hate it at all).

He draws in a breath, letting it out through his nose as you walk past, amusement and something you can’t name dancing on his handsome face.

How’s that for not being a doormat?

—

The next time Tall guy comes around at the party, trying to slide up against you while you’re outside the hot tub with Jenna, you turn and give him a firm I’m flattered but stop bothering me. He straightens, huffs out an annoyed sound, but turns and leaves you alone. Period. No room for interpretation.

When you turn your attention back to your friend, you spot Nick watching nearby, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

—

“What’s going on between you and Nick?”

You turn a little towards Jenna, your friend’s eyes bright and open as you linger in the kitchen of Nick’s place, intent on going back out to the pool. Just a day to waste time, planning the next trip to Ibiza and the like. You wish it was just the four of you, but somehow Anna got invited, along with her insufferable friends. You’re trying to keep it friendly, but you’re pretty sure your emotions are clear on your face.

“Not sure what you mean.”

Jenna gives you this look, like don’t bullshit me and you…suppose you understand what she’s talking about. There’s been this odd heat that seems to fizzle between you and him—like you’re always ten seconds away from catching on fire. Though you’re not sure what that means. It’s hard to tell whether it’s mutual attraction or something worse.

You might want to kiss him, mostly just to shut him up, but how much trouble would that be really worth?

“You don’t get what I mean?” She asks, skeptical, “There’s obviously something there, babe, otherwise you wouldn’t look like you’re sucking on a lemon because Anna’s here.”

For fuck’s sake. “Or it’s because Anna has the personality of a leather couch.”

Jenna grins, tossing an arm over your shoulder, “Whatever you say.” She sing-songs.

You chew on your lower lip, debating for a moment whether you should voice what you’re about to. But…at this point, it’s sort of become a thing for you. So what does it hurt mentioning it to Jenna? Or at least seeing what she says.

“He said I’m not his type.”

Jenna smiles but bites on her lower lip, like she’s trying not to laugh, “And that bothered you, huh?”

You roll your eyes, groaning as you cover your face with your hands. “He gets under my fucking skin.”

“You don’t sound broken up about that.”

“What does that even mean? I’m not his type? Maybe he’s not mine!”

Jenna smirks, “I’m sure Nick likes to think he’s everyone’s type.”

You let a slow breath out of your lips. Is his ‘type’ based off looks? Personality? Their taste in music or movies or cars? You hate that you’ve given this so much thought.

“Maybe he just wants someone as rude and snarky as he is.” You grumble but even as the words leave your mouth, you know they’re not fair.

A knowing hum leaves your friend’s mouth and she puts an arm over your shoulders again to guide you outside, “Nick may seem prickly on the outside, he certainly loves a verbal spar as much as tossing his fists. But he’s a good guy.”

“Deep down?” You mumble, even though there’s no heat to your words. You don’t mean it and you know it’s not. You’ve seen him be someone kind, considerate, thoughtful. Even though that kitchen conversation rubbed you the wrong way, you know the words themselves came from a place in which he cared—otherwise he never would have intervened, never would have said anything.

She smiles, almost knowing, playfully tugging on a strand of your hair, “Not that deep.”

There’s a moment in which you really take in what she’s saying and consider giving him that chance. You’ve known Nick long enough to understand that he’s complex and so is your relationship—there are layers that he’s never seen of you, so maybe it’d be fair to say the same about him.

But as you turn past the corner of hedges, that thought goes right through the sky when you see him pressed against Anna in the pool, whispering something into her ear. Something green and sickly curls in your stomach and you have to pull your gaze away so quickly that you nearly topple right into your friend.

On second thought? Maybe only knowing one layer of Nick Leister is more than enough for you.

—

You can’t remember the last time you went to one of these bare-knuckle fights at Lion’s warehouse gym but you’re quickly recalling why the gap in attendance existed in the first place.

Wincing as Nick takes another hit to the face, you tear your gaze away, a sharp breath gathering in your lungs. You try to convince yourself that it’s the violence itself that bothers you and not the fact that Nick is getting hurt. Granted he’s winning but…that doesn’t make it any easier.

Rubbing the back of your neck, you glance up at the fight in front of you, the roar of the crowd drowning out the grunts of the fighters. This is the last round, though you’re not even sure why it’s needed. The guy across from Nick is taking wild strokes, obviously tiring out, sometimes landing something, most of the time not. You know Nick’s stance well, at this point, he’s letting him get hits in.

When time finally ticks down and it’s over, you feel like you can breathe again, smiling just a little (though it feels too tight on your face) when Nick’s win is announced. As the crowd begins to dissipate, you follow Jenna back to the locker room where Lion is discussing payout. You stand nearby, leaning against a set of lockers, arms crossed over your chest.

Nick is seated on one of the bleachers, listening to Lion, an amused stretch to his mouth as Lion practically beams with pride and being 20k richer.

“Celebratory drinks at my place,” Lion comments, his hand coming down on Nick’s shoulder, and you don’t miss the soft wince that passes over his features. As he playfully tugs Jenna with him when he leaves, talking about tossing fifties in the air tonight like confetti, you draw in a soft breath and try not to let annoyance seep out of your pores.

One of the only things you wildly disagree with when it comes to Lion is treating Nick like some sort of prized racehorse. You know that Nick can stand up for himself, can say no if he really wanted to, but that doesn’t mean you have to like the idea of him getting slapped around in the ring.

Watching him struggle with antiseptic and cotton balls, you step towards the bench. “Here, let me help.”

You straddle the bleacher, inching closer to where he’s seated sideways. He pauses, glancing up at you as you sit down, handing over the first-aid kit. You put it on the floor, rifling through it for clean cotton balls and more antiseptic wipes. It feels incredibly intimate like this, sitting so close to him, the empty echoes of the locker room, him with his shirt off and a light sheen of sweat on his skin.

“Nothing’s broken right?”

Nick shakes his head, watching you fiddle with the antiseptic wipes. You finally manage to tear one open and hold out your hand so you can look at his knuckles. They’re not too bad…you look up at his face, your stomach doing a somersault when your eyes meet his. Suddenly you feel too overwhelmed having him this close, the heat of his body reaching through the layers of your clothes.

You reach up and gently run your fingers through the front part of his hair, even though you don’t have to, pretending to look at a bruise forming on his one eyebrow. You then give your attention to his cheek, his lip, where there’s cuts. Nothing that needs stitches but definitely need cleaned.

Your one hand moves to cup his jawline, tilting his head back towards the lights on the ceiling, beginning to swab the jagged line on his cheek. He jerks a bit, letting out a sharp breath.

You raise your eyebrows, smiling a little, “Don’t be a baby, I’ve barely touched you.”

You continue cleaning his cheek until you’re satisfied, moving on to his lip. Your thumb brushes his lower one, trying to ignore how soft it feels beneath your touch.

“Having trouble finding the cut?” He asks, voice a touch low as he definitely notices you getting caught up.

Heat spreads along the back of your neck and your thumb moves to press along the corner of his mouth where it’s red, just a touch bloody. His reaction is immediate, a hiss between his teeth and the heat that was in his brown eyes suddenly sparks with indignation.

“Found it.” You smile sweetly.

“Your bedside manner could use some work.” He grumbles.

Humming, you run your thumb along his jawline, almost in apology. You then begin to disinfect his lip in soft silence, making sure to get all the dried blood. You chew on the inside of your cheek in concentration before a thought wanders into the forefront of your mind.

“Why were you letting him get punches in?”

Nick raises his eyebrows, maybe almost impressed that you could tell he was doing that. He shifts on the bench, “I’m surprised you noticed, any I time I saw you in the crowd, you had your head down.”

I don’t like seeing you get hurt, is what you want to say, but those words never make it out. “Why?” You ask again.

He breathes out, shrugging his one shoulder, “He doesn't have the best record, he was going to lose the minute he stepped in the ring.” An eyeroll from you—cocky. “Figured the night shouldn’t be a total waste for him.”

You shake your head, “No one is going to want to date you if you look like a potato.”

You’re joking, of course, but Nick’s hand suddenly comes up and wraps around your wrist. You swallow as his thumb drags across your veins, the air seeming to crackle around you as he says, “That’s the second time you’ve been concerned about who I’m dating.”

“I was…” Words, “I was just pointing out that no one is going to date you with your face all…like that.”

He smiles, just a little, a twitch of his lips. “My face like what?” He licks his lips, glancing down at yours. “‘No one’?” He tosses your words back at you, “I don’t know about that.”

A shiver runs down your spine, something Nick can definitely feel based on his proximity. You don’t remember leaning closer to him, but you do, noses bumping, lips brushing—

And then the door to the locker room slams open. “Oi!” Lion calls out, “Can’t celebrate without you! Let’s go!”

You practically fall off the bench you back up so fast, Nick’s eyes light with mirth and something else. Something you don’t wait around to identify before muttering you have to go, passing Lion on your way out.

—

Shivering as you cross the street, you tug your phone out of the pocket of the dress you’re wearing to call Jenna to see if she’ll come pick you up from this fucking awful date you were on. This is your own damn fault, you know that, but you’re pissed nonetheless. You have no idea why you talked yourself into this (yes you do) but you decide there and then that you’re not going on any more dates unless you know the person. This is a guy that you interacted with once at a party and that should have told you all you needed to know.

Jenna doesn’t pick up on the first call and you close your eyes, tipping your head back towards the night sky because this is also a rookie fucking mistake. You let the guy pick you up, drive you to the bar that’s now across the street.

“Idiot,” You mumble to yourself, trying Jenna’s cell again.

Honestly? This is all Nick’s fault. He’s got you fucking twisted up in a way you cannot explain or sus out your feelings for. Seeing him close with Anna in his pool, patching him up and nearly doing something regrettable like kissing him, listening to his advice about not being a doormat… it just. It all builds up.

You’re not my type.

You let out a harsh breath—this is how you’ve ended up out on the sidewalk, trying to call a ride home.

You told your so-called ‘date’ to stop trying to kiss you, that you weren’t even sure you wanted to finish the night out, let alone kiss him at the end of it. One point for standing up for yourself. Negative one point for your date telling you to fuck off and find your own ride home.

Charming.

“Fuck,” You pull your phone away when Jenna doesn’t answer for the third time.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you debate ordering a ride but…the last thing you want to do is spend more time with a different strange man tonight. There’s another name that your thumb hovers over and you already hate yourself for wanting to tap on it.

He probably won’t pick up anyways.

But, of course, he does.

Before he can even speak, you try to explain, “I tried calling Jenna three times but she’s not picking up.”

Nick lets out a breath through his nose, “What’s wrong?”

You wince, not wanting to tell him. You begin a slow pace, back and forth, across the edge of the sidewalk. “Uhm. I was on a date and…turns out he fucking sucks, so, I need a ride home.”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you almost spill into a tangent about how you can order a ride or maybe…call someone else? Try Jenna again. You expect Nick to make a wiseass remark about calling so late, or give a scornful comment on how it sucks that your date was terrible.

He surprises you by doing neither of those things, “Where are you?”

You blink, opening and closing your mouth, “I’ll drop a pin.”

Despite the silence, he stays on the phone with you until he turns onto the street, the familiar sound of the rumbling engine a comfort you can’t explain as he pulls alongside where you’re standing. Tugging the door open, you slip inside, a soft sound leaving your lips at the warmth of the leather seats.

Nick’s in a pair of sweats, a plain white t-shirt, zip-up hoodie. When he sees you trembling, he turns the heat dial up, his hands resting back on the steering wheel as you put your seatbelt on. You’re not sure if he was at home or…somewhere else, but you’re grateful he showed up. Regardless of the tumultuous relationship the two of you have, he came to get you. That means a lot.

The bruises and cuts on his face are healing quite nicely from his tussle in the ring. In about a week, it won’t even look like he was fighting at all.

“Thanks,” You sniffle, rubbing the end of your nose with the back of your wrist. “You know, I really don’t understand guys. I mean—you seem to have a few good conversations with them and then they jump right into being a jackass when you won’t kiss them. I mean, what the fuck?”

You glance over at him as he pulls out of the parking spot, the muscle in his jaw flexing, knuckles a bit white as he grips the steering wheel.

“He didn’t even take me to dinner before the bar,” You shake your head. “I’m starving.” Not that you’re expecting to be completely wined-and-dined and everything but…what ever happened to good food, good conversations and a late-night drink?

A soft huff leaves your lips, leaning back against the seat and wrapping your arms around yourself.

“He tried to kiss you?”

You blink, looking back over at Nick as he drives. His eyes are on the road, but the tone of his voice envelopes you like a warm blanket, causing a shiver to course down your spine. You’re almost confused he asks because…you weren’t even on that topic anymore, moreso on your rumbling stomach and wondering what you’re going to make to eat when you get home.

“Yeah,” You shrug, “Wasn’t happy when I wasn’t into it. Told me to fuck off and find my own way home.”

Nick lets out a short breath, stalling the car at an intersection even though the light isn’t red. There’s no one behind him but your eyebrows draw together as he seems to debate making an illegal U-turn.

“It’s not too late—I can turn around, go back, punch his lights out.”

You find yourself staring at him, at the open display of protectiveness, how pissed he sounds. On your behalf. You almost have no idea what to say for a moment, not expecting this reaction. For him to offer to turn the car around and…

Letting out a slow breath, you reach over and gently touch one of his wrists, smoothing your thumb along the tree of veins there until he visibly relaxes. He presses his foot against the gas, getting the car going. You appreciate the gesture, as fucked up as that might be. But he doesn’t need to hit anyone for you.

Both of you are quiet as he drives, until a soft giggle climbs up your throat, “You know…punching him might have only done him favors, feel like he wasn’t very handsome to start.”

Nick rolls his eyes but there’s a gentle tilt to his lips, a smile that wants to happen but doesn’t quite get there. “Would have made me feel better.”

You hum softly, “Because he ruined your night?” You’re not sure what he was doing before you called, but you’re sure it was probably better than this.

He licks his lips, putting his turn signal on, “Because he ruined yours.”

Heat flushes over your cheeks and suddenly, you’re not feeling so cold anymore. Every time you think Nick’s not capable of surprising you, he says something like that. The sentiment dips into your chest and squeezes your ribs, releasing butterflies from their cages and fluttering them all throughout your system.

It has you thinking about what Jenna said, that Nick’s a good guy. You suppose it’s something you’ve never doubted, just…never got to see much of it angled in your direction.

When he puts the car into park again, you realize it’s not outside your place, but instead… “A diner?” You raise your eyebrows, turning a little to look at him.

Nick takes his keys out, pocketing them before glancing at your abdomen. “They can hear your stomach grumbling a city over.”

You grin, quickly getting out of the car, excitement spurring you forward as Nick follows you inside. The smell of grease and fried food greets you like an old friend and you grab a menu to look at as you wait for the hostess to come back from seating another couple to put you at a table as well.

And just when you think Nick’s done surprising you, you feel the warm weight of his zip-up hoodie land over your shoulders as he tells the hostess that there’s two of you. You look up at him but he’s not paying attention to you, smiling at the older woman as she grabs silverware and says that she has the perfect booth for the both of you to sit at.

Absentminded. Like he does something like this all the time—putting his hoodie around your shoulders and bringing you to a diner after a bad date. You press your arms through the sleeves, the warm fabric that smells like him is almost completely overwhelming.

Something changes between you two, you can feel it. You’re not sure you can name it or even grasp it between your fingers, but a transformation nonetheless.

Before you sit down on one side of the booth, you lean over and plant a kiss to Nick’s cheek. It’s quick, almost a distracted movement, but you mean it. He hesitates in sitting down, watching you take a seat. You can feel the warmth of his skin against your lips, and you resist the urge to touch your mouth as you take a look at the menu again as if it’s the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen.

“What was that for?” He asks, finally sitting down across from you.

“Just because.” You reply and enjoy the feeling of his legs leaning into yours under the table as you decide on what to order.

—

Something shifts. It’s in small smiles, snarky comments, the brushing and grazing of your hands. It’s in the way you tug on Nick’s curls or the way he squeezes your waist in a spot he knows you're ticklish. It’s when he calls you softie as an insult, but he’s smiling. It’s in how you haven’t given him his hoodie back since the night you were at the diner. It’s wearing it in front of him and he makes no move to take it.

It doesn’t have a name, just a feeling, an emotion that’s heavy and weightless all at the same time.

—

You knew today wasn’t going to be the best day when you rolled over and saw that your phone died. On a normal Saturday? That wouldn’t be such a big deal, but of course today you promised to help your mother set up for this charity event she’s been talking about non-stop. Again, usually not a big deal? But this afternoon is also the deadline for a summer art program that you've been wanting to sign up for. You can admit it’s your fault for leaving things to the last minute (your portfolio is done, but the essay portion is not). Also? It’s your fault for being interested in such a pain in the ass prestigious program in the first place but…getting into this program could open doors for you that were never even a possibility before. Doors that you didn’t even know existed.

You have to get in.

But your alarm not going off because your phone died because you forgot to plug it in creates a domino effect that successfully throws off your whole fucking day.

You’re flustered getting ready so you burn your hand by pouring coffee on it. Because you’re late to the venue, there’s no parking, so you have to find a spot even further away. The heel of your shoe snags on an uneven patch in the pavement, and you fall straight down, barely catching yourself in time. Sore and late, your mom wants to hear zero excuses when you finally find her amongst circular tables and place settings.

She keeps you longer than she promised, punishing you for wasting her time this morning and by the time you make it back home? The deadline for submission has passed.

You just kind of stare at your laptop in disbelief, a red banner with the words SUBMISSIONS CLOSED staring at you like a slap to the face. You draw in a soft breath, trying to laugh over the comedy of errors you suffered today, because what else can you do? You try to tell yourself that there’s always next summer and other programs and…your art is capable of speaking for itself. You don’t need a fancy program to tell you things you already know or to create networks for you.

You don’t need it.

You distract yourself with friends, heading over to Jenna’s place to have a bonfire and maybe go skinny dipping. Something a little wild, distracting, fun. You head back inside to make yourself a coffee because there’s a bit of a chill in the air, trying to ignore the slightly red skin on your hand from the coffee mis-hap earlier in the day and draw in a deep breath to attempt to mellow yourself out.

You’ll settle back outside with your hands wrapped around warm ceramic, listen to Giles tell another ridiculous story about how when he was younger his parents put him into boarding school, and try not to watch how pretty Nick’s features are with the orange glow of the fire on them.

Tugging your phone out and ignoring a particularly scathing message from your mother about how you did something wrong with the place-settings for the charity gala, you tap open Instagram. Your parents have never been supportive of your art, so it’s not surprising that your mother doesn’t care that you missed out on this art program. She thinks you’re wasting your time and need to plan for a future that’s more guaranteed, lucrative. You bite down, hard, on the inside of your cheek.

You mindlessly scroll through posts of Instagram accounts you’re following…but then come across a video about the very same summer art program—all the opportunities you’ll be missing out on. You let out a harsh laugh, the sound sneaking up on you, because of course you’d wander onto this after the day you’ve had. You quickly close the phone, but not before your fingers start shaking, a fragile sort of hurt feeling that’s been building up in your chest since this afternoon finally breaking free.

Trying to breathe through it, you take in a soft breath in through your nose, letting it out your mouth…but your lips are wobbling. And the next intake of air is sharp and painful and you squeeze your eyes shut against the onslaught of tears. A choked sob leaves your chest and you cover your mouth with your hand, attempting to stop this breakdown before it really gets going. But a part of you knows you just need to cry about this in order to feel how you feel and to move on.

That’s what you’re about to do, turning to head to the bathroom when you hear voices down the hall. They’re walking too fast for you to make it to your destination and suddenly you just have nowhere to go. You straighten your shoulders, quickly turning away to face the coffee pot as Nick and Giles enter, talking about needing more wood for the bonfire.

You sniffle, wiping your cheek, keeping your back to them. There’s a sudden silence before, “I’ll meet you back outside.”

Giles makes a noncommittal noise before the sound of his footsteps disappear. Meanwhile, you feel Nick come closer to you before his hand gently wraps around your elbow. You attempt to hide the tears from him but there’s no use. Wiping a hand over your cheek does little to help.

“Hey, what happened?” He asks softly, his thumb dipping along your inner elbow.

That simple question cracks open your chest and your face crumbles, chin dipping as your shoulders hunch. All the day’s wrongs just bubble up and over. Nick moves quickly, taking a step forward to wrap his arms around you, drawing you to lean against his chest. You press your face into his shoulder, all the frustration and disappointment just pouring out of you. You can feel your tears dampen his sweatshirt, but the entire time, Nick doesn’t seem to mind.

Instead, he’s more concerned with his hand rubbing up and down your back, his fingers threading through your hair, a soft shh against the shell of your ear until you calm down. Until your breathing isn’t so labored.

He doesn’t pull away until you’re ready, reaching for a few tissues near the sink to place into your hand. A hiccuped sniffle follows and you feel utterly spent from letting yourself go. Distantly, you know you’re a little better, despite that hollow sensation still sitting heavy in your ribs. Nick moves your hair over your shoulder, his hand resting along your neck, thumb brushing back and forth.

He’s patient, waits until his gaze catches your own before he repeats himself, “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, cheeks splotching a bit in embarrassment at having a small meltdown against his chest. You gently touch the fabric of his sweatshirt, sniffling, “Ruined your hoodie.”

His eyebrows draw together before he gently waves you off, “I don’t care.” The fingers that are still on your neck dip back, putting pressure along your shoulder blades.

Nick doesn’t ask again, but you know he’s waiting on an explanation. So you take a moment to draw in another breath, concentrate on your voice not shaking, “Today’s just been a really…shitty day.”

He hums lightly, doesn’t press, even though it’s obvious that there’s a lot to this bad day. You lean against the counter, playing with the tissues between your fingers, and he moves his hand from the back of your neck to trace his thumb across your cheek.

“I get it,” He replies, “Sometimes I like to have a good cry in the weight room at my house.” It takes a moment for you to realize he’s joking—teasing you, “Good acoustics in there.”

You can’t help but smile, a soft laugh leaving your lips and Nick’s thumb dips to your lower lip, the corner of his mouth tugging up too. “There we go.” He whispers, like getting you to laugh was his only intention.

You’re both quiet for a few moments, nothing filling the kitchen except the sound of your shared breathing, the hum of the refrigerator, the gentle hiss of the coffee machine after your coffee is brewed.

“Why don’t you head outside,” He offers, “I’ll grab that for you.” He motions to the coffee with his chin and you nod, finding yourself too tired to deny him.

—

That feeling that doesn't have a name? You're starting to be able to describe it in words that make sense. But those words are kept to yourself, silent commentary, afraid that speaking them outloud will shatter their meaning.

—

Turns out, Nick knows exactly how you take your coffee. You didn’t even realize he paid attention to that sort of thing. He hands you the mug as you sit in the grass on a blanket, wearing his zip up hoodie. You assume he’ll find another seat but he places himself behind you, his hands settling on your shoulders. You expect yourself to tense, to feel uncomfortable…but you don’t.

Instead you notice you lean back into him, into his hands, especially when they start massaging your shoulders. His thumbs press into the tight muscles of your upper back and your head tips a little as your eyes close. If anyone notices that you and Nick are sharing this blanket in front of the bonfire, no one bats an eyelash. You can feel Jenna’s eyes at you at one point across the flames, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears, a small, knowing smile pulling at her mouth.

You gravitate towards Nick’s touch until you’re tucked back between his legs, his hands still working the tense muscles of your shoulders. You can’t remember the last time you’ve felt so relaxed, at ease, almost falling asleep with this mug of coffee in your hands under his ministrations. Everything seems to fade around you, all the other noise, all the other conversations.

Your head tips back a little to look at him and his fingers pause, “I can stop.” He offers, because this isn’t…something you normally do with one another. This is part of that something shifting—the fact that Nick has always been a handsy type of person, but now there’s this. Something close and altogether intimate and new.

You shake your head, appreciate the offer but, “Your touch feels good.” You admit softly, a small smile tugging the corners of Nick’s mouth from your response.

He nods, continuing to rub your shoulders. That point of connection between your bodies makes your stomach flip and you allow your eyes to close for a few moments, enjoying the warmth of Nick’s body along your back while the heat from the fire kisses your face.

“You know that summer art program I’ve brought up before?” You mention quietly after a few moments. “I didn’t get my submission in before the deadline closed.” You swallow, running your thumb along the rim of the mug in your hands.

“It’s my own fault. I procrastinated and then…my whole day was thrown off. Just couldn’t get it done in time.” You chew on your lower lip for a moment. “And I know it’s not like…the be-all, end-all of doing my art but…I was just really excited about it.”

“You should still apply,” Nick says after a moment, “I’m sure there’s an email or something in which you can send everything in.”

“Yeah, maybe. But what’s the point? They closed submissions.”

You can feel more than see Nick shrug his shoulder. “Things change all the time. You never know.”

Your lips twitch, “That’s very optimistic of you.” You turn just a little to look at him, your breath catching in your chest as it’s confirmed that the orange glow reflecting against Nick’s skin makes him all the more breathtaking. You resist the urge to trace the dark golden rings, almost like honey, in his curls.

“Think someone is rubbing off on me.” He mumbles with an eyeroll that is completely for your benefit.

“Careful,” You smirk, “Wouldn’t want to start calling yourself nice, now would you?”

Nick purposely bumps your noses together, a laugh sounding through mostly air leaving your nose. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

—

You do what Nick suggests—you create a submission anyways and email it. You’re not expecting anything out of it, no need to get yourself wound up in disappointment all over again. Except, then you get an email a week later—apparently there was an extra spot, a place for you, your submission has been counted. You’re in. You’re in the summer art program.

You stare at the screen for so long that your eyes water. You then jump out of your chair, rushing towards the door to your bedroom. It takes you fifteen minutes to drive to Nick’s house, oddly the only person you want to see to tell this news. You’ll unpack that feeling later, but when you’re let into his place and take the steps two at a time to his bedroom, knocking—

“Did you run all the way here?” He asks, leaning against the doorframe as he watches you catch your breath.

“I–got—in.” You lick your lips, a grin spreading across them after the fact.

He raises his eyebrows but he doesn’t look surprised. “You got in?”

“Yes,” You’re beaming now, like you’re holding the sun in your mouth. Your one hand reaches out and touches his forearm, “The summer art program,” A giggle slips, “I submitted things like you suggested and I got an email, I got in.”

“Oh so you’re saying you listened to me?” He asks, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

“This is what you’re getting out of that?”

He shrugs, “Pretty good message—listen to me more often.”

He’s such a shit but you’re in a really good mood, you don’t even care. You take a step forward and press yourself up on your toes, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He takes a step back, not expecting the momentum, but he squeezes his own along your waist. He then picks you up and does a half spin, another giggle slipping from your throat before he sets you down.

When your feet hit the carpet, you’re looking up at him, grin wild on your face, chest pressed against his own. He’s smiling too, his hand cupping your cheek, tracing the corner of your mouth with his thumb. Your heart ricochets into your chest at the simple action and you wish you could blame what you do next on your good mood.

You lean the rest of the way up and kiss him.

It’s far too quick and far too soft, you wait for that tell-tale moment where Nick pushes you away. But he doesn’t. Instead, he dips his head down, capturing your lips more firmly, arm that’s still around your waist picking you up against his body.

Your fingers weave into his curls, tugging, keeping him as close as you can. His hand cups your cheek, slipping down to the back of your neck, his tongue teasing the seam of your lips until it’s rolling against your own.

A soft noise leaves your throat and that’s all the encouragement he needs to back up into his bedroom, closing the door with his foot.

—

You end up on Nick’s bed, laying on your stomach, Nick on his back. You’re shoulder to shoulder, your fingers playing with one of the curls in his hair. Your lips are still tingling from kissing him, a smile you can’t quite get rid of playing with the corners of your mouth. Regardless how often you and Nick seemed to clash, it felt right, your body against his own like that.

He turns his head a little to look at you and you brush your thumb along his temple.

“Sorry I just showed up out of the blue, I was just…excited.” And I wanted to tell you.

Nick shakes his head, “I’m glad you came here.” He turns to lay on his side, his fingers brushing yours. “What are you excited about the most, with the program?”

You breathe in, thinking about all the things the summer program has to offer. Different art classes, resources, networking opportunities—you’re not sure which one is standing out to you the most. “I think I’m just looking forward to doing my art in a place that feels like…it sees me.” It’s a quiet admittance. You have your friends, of course, who have always been supportive but…your family? It’s never been like that.

Nick brings his hand up, brushing it through your hair, tucking it around your ear, “I see you.” He says quietly and you tip your head into his touch. The way he says it sounds a lot like I’ve always seen you.

A small smile tugs the corners of your mouth as you look at him. “I know.”

You touch his cheek, playfully pinching his chin between your thumb and pointer finger. He smiles, leaning forward to press his lips to yours.

___

There’s a set of words, a phrase said in a teasing tone, that lives in the back of your mind, springing forth in the most inopportune times. It conflicts with the fluttering feeling in your chest, clipping wings and sinking to your knees.

You’re not my type.

___

When you tell Jenna and Lion, they’re just as excited for you, Jenna rounding the counter in her kitchen to hug you. You squeeze back before pulling away, reaching for the bowl of snacks she has set out to bring outside for the small friend group gathered. Everyone is mostly doing their own thing but the goal is to project a movie outside tonight after the sun goes down.

“I’m just glad I listened to Nick. Submitted something.”

Jenna hums warmly. “Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

You roll your eyes but you’re smiling. “I know, don’t mention it to him again. His ego is big enough.”

She purses her lips, leaning her elbows onto the counter as she pops some almonds into her mouth. “Speaking of, doesn’t Nick’s dad donate a lot of money to that program?”

You blink, your mouth opening a little but then closing. Wait. “To the summer art program?”

Jenna tugs her phone out of her back pocket, doing some googling until she comes across the website for the program, nodding. “I recognize that logo,” She sets her phone down. “Mr. Leister funds some of that with charitable donations.”

What feels like a stone tumbles into your stomach, a sinking sensation. Did Nick…have his dad pull strings for you? While you want to be…honored and grateful, and yes you are those things, you also wonder if money just bought you a spot. That you earned nothing on merit, late submission or not.

“You alright?” Jenna asks, “Y/N?”

You blink, coming back to focus, that sinking feeling swirling into something sick. You feel your heartbeat tick up, nerves biting into you about this whole thing. The excitement and pride you once felt now seems kind of cheap. You just…if Nick spoke to his dad about this, you’re not sure why he wasn’t just honest with you about it.

“Yeah,” You smile a little, lying through your teeth, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

—

You are not okay.

And it must be something that’s plain on your face because Nick brushes his hand down your arm, gently tugging on your elbow to step to the side of the patio as everyone begins to sit to watch the movie in the yard.

He gently guides you towards the back door, where it’s more private, and you can hear the beginning of whatever film is put on, the chatter of Lion tossing out snacks.

You don’t meet his gaze for a moment, even though you can sense Nick dipping his chin as he tries to get your attention. When you don’t, he reaches out and clasps your cheek, tilting your head back with his thumb until you’re looking at him.

“What’s wrong?”

You could deny it, but you know he wouldn’t believe you anyways. You draw in a soft breath, carefully removing yourself from his touch, “Did your dad buy my spot into the summer art program?”

Nick goes still, his hands returning to his sides as he draws in a breath, your name said in a gentle reply. But it tells you everything you need to know.

“Oh my god,” You scoff out, running a hand over your cheek. “He did.”

“It’s not like that,” Nick replies quickly, “I came home in a mood because you were so upset, when my dad asked what was wrong—he was just trying to help. He called the program to ask about spots, realized he could pull some strings. It was a favor.”

“Nick—”

“He did not buy your spot.”

“It’s the same thing!” Your voice raises, your cheeks flushing as exasperated tears fill your eyes. You draw in a breath, trying to keep your words from shaking. “I didn’t get in on my merit, on my art.”

“They wouldn’t have even looked at your art if my dad hadn’t called,” He keeps his voice level, smooth, even though frustration is printed on his face. “Sometimes everything boils down to who you know.”

Something ugly crawls into your chest, pent-up sourness from previous conversations, from being afraid to trust him, from not quite understanding what you are to one another. You’re upset that he didn’t tell you, that it feels dishonest even though you know he was just trying to look out for you, that he cared you were upset.

“The point is that you didn’t tell me,” Then without any connection whatsoever, that ugliness spits from your mouth like venom, “Oh I see—is your type not someone who values trust?”

Nick visibly bristles, his jaw working as you seem to hit a nerve. “For someone who keeps bringing it up, you’ve never outright asked me who my type is.”

“Tell it to someone who cares.” You snap, moving to pull the backdoor open to head in the house, to leave out the front.

Nick reaches for your elbow, and even though his touch is gentle, you wrench your arm away, “That’s bullshit.”

“I’m not interested in someone who lies to me.”

Before he can get another word in, you close the door in his face, moving quickly and with purpose to head to your car to go home.

—

You take space and Nick gives that to you. He doesn’t try to chase after you or show up at your house to try and talk. He doesn’t call or text or mention anything to Jenna and Lion. Which is…which is fine. You think you need that radio silence to really figure yourself out.

Because you’re wrong on so many counts.

You are interested in Nick and maybe in a way, you always have been. That feeling you could only describe with words finally has a name to them—a few, actually.

Endearment, fond, smitten—

love-struck.

—

You head to Nick’s place, a cup of his favorite coffee in your hands, and you’re let inside. Apparently he’s on his way back from visiting his sister, but you can wait in his room if you wish. You do so, taking the steps two at a time and winding your way towards the familiar bedroom. You swallow over an emotion stuck in your throat, pushing the door open. His room is pristinely put together, bed made, everything in its place except for a hoodie tossed onto the bed. You catch whiffs of his shampoo and cologne as you sit down on the edge of the mattress and wait for him.

When you hear the front door open and close downstairs, you’re almost worried he’s going to turn you away—you suppose you wouldn’t blame him if he did, given how the two of you left things. You draw a breath into your lungs and stand as he rounds the corner, pausing as he sees you.

“I uhm, I should have texted,” You realized, “Or called or something.”

He stares at you a moment, licking his lips as his gaze falls to the coffee.

“Brought you your favorite, it…might be cold now.”

Nick nods softly but doesn’t take it, glancing past you towards where his closet is. He says nothing as he walks towards his intended destination, leaving you alone in the space. You close your eyes a moment before putting the coffee down on his bedside table, turning to follow him. He’s moving around his closet, clearly getting things out to change into, going about his business like you’re not even there.

You wring your hands together in front of you, gathering all the strength and nerve you can not to back down and leave, “I’m sorry,” You blurt out.

Nick lets out a slow breath, turning a little to look at you. His face is stoic but…you think there’s something in his eyes. A warmth there, maybe, which encourages you to continue,

“I know when you talked to your dad about the summer art program that you just wanted to help,” You take a step towards him, “My pride took a bit of a hit but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” You draw in a soft breath, scared that you might have fucked this up. You reach out for his hand, brushing your thumb over a finger that has a silver ring on, “I’m really sorry.”

“What about the other part?” He asks softly, turning his hand a bit in your grip so that his fingers nearly slot with your own, “That you don’t care who my type is.”

You huff out an embarrassed laugh, your cheeks feeling hot, “I think we both know what you said is true—utter bullshit.”

If anything, you think you care a little too much.

Nick’s quiet for a few moments, his thumb brushing over yours. He doesn’t speak until your eyes find his, “I didn’t think you were my type,” He crinkles his nose, “Any time we watch a movie that has an animal in it, you look up to see if it dies,” Your mouth falls open a little, sort of giving him a slow blink because— “I’m pretty sure you’re at least ten minutes early with anywhere you go—”

“Uhm, there’s nothing wrong with being early—”

“Even though being on time is perfectly fine. You’re too nice,” He talks over you, squeezing your fingers, “I thought you were going to become best friends with the woman who made your latte the other day.”

“Carole had a great sense of humor.”

“She was seventy.”

You huff, “So?”

“You’re absolutely wigged out by scary movies, yet you watch them anyways and always want to watch them.”

“I feel like this is turning into a list of things you don’t like about me.”

Nick steps closer, crowding your space, so you take a step back until you bump into the storage block that’s in the center of his closet. His hands rest on either side of you, creating a cage with his arms.

“You’re sweet and passionate and stubborn,” You let out a soft breath, your heart beginning to beat wildly in your chest from what he’s saying and how close he is. “You’re a lot of things that I’m not.”

“I wouldn’t sell yourself short,” You say softly, your noses bumping, “You’re plenty stubborn.”

He smiles a little, lifting his hand to cup your cheek, “You took me by surprise—made me want things I didn’t know I could want.”

Brushing his thumb along your lower lip, your oxygen stutters in your chest, making your body feel warm all over. The press of his own against yours, the heat of his skin, the scent of his cologne mixed with something purely him, the slight height difference he has over you, the way he’s leaning down, the way you feel tucked up against him perfectly. Your gaze zeros in on his mouth—

“You’re my type in every way that matters.” Nick barely finishes that sentence before your lips crash into his.

A soft groan rumbles in his throat and his restraint crumbles, he pulls at you, picking you up into his arms. He holds you easily, supporting your weight against his chest, carrying you somewhere—

“Where are we going?” You laugh softly against his lips.

“Where I was headed before you got here,” He nips at your lower lip, “Shower.”

But he doesn’t take you to the glass shower he has in his bathroom, instead, he gently deposits you right in front of the tub. You raise your eyebrows in soft amusement, running your hand along the edge of the white clawfoot tub. Nick leans over to turn the faucet, feeling the tap and putting the stopper in.

“What, no bubbles?” You tease, grinning up at him as he shifts over to you. His fingers curl underneath your shirt.

“Can I take this off?”

You nod, lifting your arms to help him. The fabric is pulled off in a flourish, tossed to the side before he tugs you closer by curling his fingers into your belt loops. A laugh tumbles out of your chest, your arms loosely wrapping around his waist.

“What about you?” You ask softly, playing with the fabric of his shirt between your fingers.

He nods and you work it off his body. A soft sigh leaves your lips, lifting your hand to trace some of the tattoos on his skin, brushing over the silver chain resting on his chest. You lean into him, planting a kiss to the Roman numerals under his collarbone.

Nick dips his head down, a kiss placed in your hair.

You stand there together for a few moments, slowly undressing, eventually getting into the tub—and Nick does add bubbles, bright and pink, that smell like roses. An amused smile tugs the corners of your mouth as he sits down first, encouraging you to sink between his legs. A shiver courses down your spine when Nick leans forward, when you can feel the heat of him press into your back, when he plants a kiss on your shoulder. As you lean back against him, you can feel more than hear him sigh, his hand slipping around the front of you, down, down.

Time spent in that tub is definitely not used for getting clean.

—

Leaning against the edge of a pool table, you watch as Nick and Lion mix drinks, a small smile tugging the corners of your mouth as you wait with Jenna across the room at another hang-out. Jenna follows your eyesight and playfully nudges you with her elbow.

“Who knew?” Jenna grins. "Don't get me wrong, I love Nick, but he's different from you in a lot of ways." And sometimes, you know, opposites don’t attract.

You laugh because she's not wrong. He can be brash, a hothead, a twinge of arrogance wrapped together with pride. But you've also seen him be sweet, gentle, protective and thoughtful. You love the duality, the way he keeps you guessing.

Nick begins to wander over to you, making his way through the crowd, “He's just my type.” You tell Jenna and kiss him once he's close enough.

#nick leister #nick leister x reader #my fault london #my fault: london #my fault london x reader #my fault series #matthew broome #matthew broome x reader #mccall writes things

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ochacoca · 2 months ago

Text

CHAPTER 1: WHO I AM

now playing ♫ dreams by fleetwood mac

word count: 530 words

series masterlist | next chap.

“It's a leap of faith to love people and let yourself be loved. It's closing your eyes, stepping off a ledge into nothing, and trusting that you'll fly rather than fall.”

— The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches, Sangu Mandana

As much as I tried to, I couldn't fight off the small grin that made its way onto my face. I loved reading about love, I loved watching love, I loved love.

The bus ride was a bit bumpy, which made it hard for me to read the words of my book but I could make out most of it. My fingers trailed over the pages as I started to skim through the rest of the chapters. My heart would always swell when I'd read about the stolen glances, the longing touches, it made me feel so lightheaded.

But as much as I loved it, seeing how effortless love was in fiction rather than my own life was frustrating, to say the least. Even if something was pulling the characters away from each other, they always found a way to go back to one another. So how come every guy my age was a prick?

It could be that my expectations are too high. I mean, nowadays how many guys on this earth live up to my standards? It must be that I'm searching for something that may not exist, but I can't help it. The thought of someone doing so much for me because they love me made my palms sweaty and butterflies fly in my stomach.

Daydreaming was a bad habit of mine. It wasn't just an occasional thing that would happen now and then. It happened to me multiple times a day, where I'd craft these scenarios in my head that could never happen. In my restless dreams, I'd meet a guy who would give everything and more just to be with me, and I get so lost in these thoughts that I’d forget it's not true.

Because in reality, I've never experienced that. I've never had a boyfriend, no one to kiss me or hug me if I felt sad. I did feel like a bit of a loser, I'm 17 years old and I haven't had my first anything. It has gotten to a point in my life where I've accepted the fact that the love that I craved so deeply was only fiction.

But how could I settle for anything less than what my heart wanted?

I sighed as I rested my head against the window of the bus, my eyes trailing over the scenary as it made its way to my stop. The buzzing of my phone pulled me out of the dream world I created. I lifted up my phone and saw a text from Mina.

I’ve never been one to party. In all honesty, I'd much rather stay home and watch romantic comedy movies while I wallow in self-pity. But can i really meet the man of my dreams if i stay in my cocoon all day?

No, unfortunately, I cannot.

TAGLIST [36/50]: @ditsyngel @shibuyablonde @lotusstarr @katsulina @wonubby @kalulakunundrum @tamishadawn @bangersplusmash @erenjaegerswifeee @r9yri @aa-soo @shewki @rednicotine @jaguarthecat @katsuisbaby @snoozebunz @h0ngh0ngh0ng @megumismyhusband @jazoewazoe @ac333s @ikissfade @icey-wonders @bakunianadecorazon @marvel-z0mbie @tjbfingfh @d4rlinxs @bokutosmeatythigh @harryzcherry @holobean @grim-reapers-wife @ahahadumbo @qyuin @happinessisabutterflie @bluepartywobblernickel @eternallyshifting @luvvwritess

©LOOKINGFORURAVITY 2025 | please do not copy, translate, or repost my work onto other platforms!

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 4 months ago

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You Painted Me Golden

Dieter Bravo x Female Reader

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

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

Previous Chapter Golden Girl Masterlist Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dee?” you say barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I miss you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Me too,” he softly says.

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

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still thinking about those stars Sweet dreams

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dieter Bravo Facetime Video

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, your stare intense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am. And you’re here.”

“I missed you,” you confess.

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is,” you softly respond.

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

“I am too.”

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

"Oh,” you yawn. “I’ll walk you out.”

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

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

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

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

“Promise?”

“I promise,” you assure. “Now go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know. Go. I’ll be here.”

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

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

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

“Bye Sweets, have a good day.”

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

—-

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

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

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

Home.

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

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

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

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

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

“I missed you too,” you whisper back.

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

You shyly look down. “Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I like surreal,” you respond.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hasn’t felt this happy in so long.

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then why did you marry her?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dee,” you pant, “I want you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck baby,” he whispers against you.

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

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

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

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

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

“Bed,” you plead.

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

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

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

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

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

“When’s the last time y-you—”

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

“Dee, I have an IUD,” you smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spread for me baby,” he gently says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

#dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo #dieter x you #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter x reader #dieter the bubble #pedro pascal #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo x f!reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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bwabys-scenarios · 1 year ago

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warning: pregnancy, Kurapika won’t let you give the baby up for adoption, obsessive and possessive behavior, reader is kidnapped

Imagine having a one night stand with Yandere!Kurapika and he ghosts you after… only to come to your door with chocolates and flowers after you tell him you’re pregnant.

It’s not like he didn’t like you, no Kurapika was beyond thrilled to have you in his bed, but he also knew that trying to stay with you would only get in the way of his goals. So, although it hurt, he decided to cut you off. He got to be with you for one amazing night, and he’d cherish that forever.

Well… his life changed when you sent him a picture of a positive pregnancy test. You sent it in desperation, crying because you feared that one of the people you cherished had only been in it for sex. It hurt so much, and it was only made worse when your period didn’t come.

So you sent that picture, asking him to please help you, to tell you what to do.

And he didn’t respond, leaving you on read.

It was devastating, to say the least. You spent the entire day crying, stressed out of your mind. Were you really going to have to deal with this all on your own?

That’s what you thought, until your doorbell rang near midnight. You weren’t woken up, in fact you had been pacing your apartment for the past few hours trying to think of what you should do about your predicament.

So you walked to the door, eyes puffy and red from crying. “K-Kurapika?”

Behind the door stood the man that had been causing you so much heartache, your best friend of 4 years, Kurapika. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and in his arms were a box of expensive chocolates and a bouquet of elegant flowers.

“(Name), oh my angel…”

He stepped in, setting the flowers and chocolates aside before pulling you into his arms to kiss your forehead. Kurapika’s hand instantly settled on your belly, as if already checking for any changes in your body with his soft, warm palm.

“I’m here, and I’m ready to be a father. When I got your message I was ecstatic, I’ve always wanted to rebuild my clan-“

You pulled away, pushing his hands off of you. “Kurapika, where the hell have you been and why haven’t you been answering my calls? You can’t just waltz in here and expect me to be fine with you ghosting me!”

“(Name), love, I-“

“Love? I’m not your love, Kurapika. You pushed me away and left me all alone when I needed you most… how can I trust you to be a father when I can’t trust you to be here for me?”

Kurapika was silent, his expression unreadable as he let you continue your rant.

“You just… you left me after we had sex, Kurapika! You left me all alone… it made me feel like I was nothing, like you only wanted one thing from me.”

You teared up from embarrassment and frustration. It had been humiliating to wake up to an empty bed with not so much as a note or text from him saying where he had gone. And then he wouldn’t answer your calls…

“I’m… I’m sorry, (Name).”

You rubbed your teary eyes. “Whatever. I’ll carry this baby, but it’s going up for adoption. I can’t raise it alone.”

This made Kurapika freeze, his eyes going wide with shock and terror. “(Name)… no, you can’t be serious. It’s my baby too, we should raise it together. I want to be a father!”

“You gave up any chances of that happening when you abandoned me. I hope your mission is truly worth it Kurapika, because I want nothing else to do with you.”

You pointed to the door, your lip wobbling and your brows furrowed. “Now leave! I n-never want to see you again!”

Kurapika was oddly quiet, his now scarlet eyes trained on you. You had never seen him look this way before… he seemed… deranged.

“I’m not leaving, (Name).”

He grabbed your wrist with enough strength to scare you. Kurapika wasn’t hurting you, but it was obvious that he easily could if he wanted to. “L-let go of me, what the h-“

Kurapika tightened his grip on your wrist when you struggled, his face neutral. “(Name), this baby is mine, and so are you. Calm down, or I’ll make you calm down.”

Your heart started to race. Who was this person? You maybe have been mad at Kurapika, but you would have never thought in a million years that he would do something like this!

You were scared now, trembling. “Let me go… please, just let me go.”

He softened slightly, his grip easing up a little. “I can’t, (Name). You’re coming with me, it’s obvious to me now that I can’t bear to be without you. And now that I know you’re pregnant…”

His eyes darted to your belly, and he reached out a hand to gently caress it again. “I can’t let you out if my sight. You’re under my care now.”

Before you could protest, you felt yourself growing tired, your limbs heavy. He caught you in his arms and lifted you up, cooing softly as he caressed your cheek. “There, there, my angel. Everything will be okay. I’ll prove to you how devoted I am, and you’ll never want to leave my side. Just sleep, when you wake up everything will be better.”

And as you drifted off, unable to stay awake, you could barely make out the sight of his car… and two suitcases in the backseat.

‘He planned this… planned to… take me away…’

That was the last thing you thought before passing out. As you slept, Kurapika bucked you up, using a pillow to cushion your head. He still couldn’t help but place his palm on your belly.

“I promise… from now on, I’ll never let you out of my sight. You’re both my responsibility…”

From that day forward, you would never know true freedom again. Kurapika had you now, and he would never let you go. Not you, the mother of his child, the love of his life.

Together forever, that’s how you would stay. He was sure of that.

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metaphorfordeath · 3 months ago

Text

Anti-Psychotic

A person living with schizophrenia finds that their delusions may have more basis in reality than they thought. Originally published in the Fall/Winter II issue of Diet Milk Magazine, available here. Content warnings for depiction of psychosis, violence, ableist language.

No one is watching me.

Julie has me write that down at our session. She never listens to me. She says, it can be comforting to realize that people don’t think of you as much as you think they do. I know this already. She asks, what evidence do you have that you are being watched? I say there isn’t any. Just a feeling. She writes something down, and asks about my meds again.

So fucking patronizing. Of course I take them. I have taken mine like clockwork, every day, for five years. Maybe I missed a few days, but who doesn’t forget sometimes. My meds are cleat spikes jabbing into the earth. Helping me keep my footing. Making sure I don’t slip.

Last week I started getting the prickle again. Like fingers up my back. Someone standing behind me, breathing. I live alone. When I felt it, I wasn’t scared at first. These things happen sometimes. I’ve been around the block. The prickle and I are old friends, practically. When it finds me, I have ways to forget it.

I drew the blinds, which helped a bit. I had a drink—nobody's perfect—but the prickle didn’t dull. So I peeked through the shades at the street below. Normal street stuff. The sun was setting, painting the world in shades of fire. Cars went by, all the usuals. Some kids were yelling in a driveway. A wasp tapped at my window, wiggling its feelers at me. No obvious source for the prickle. So, probably nothing. For the rest of the evening I puttered, read my book, ate some frozen nothing heated in the microwave, and took my meds. The prickle was temporary, I told myself as I lay down to sleep, the usual fog settling over me in a cool, clammy layer. No one was watching me. No one ever is.

That was a week ago. It’s only gotten worse since then. The prickle turned into a terrified stomach ache that kept me up for nights and nights. I called in sick to group, told Cheryl the caseworker that I have the flu. She sounded alarmed, but she’s only worried because of what happened to Devin.

Devin was like me: good at meds, good at therapy. We were friends, in a psycho kind of way. A few weeks ago, Devin started to get bad. Stopped showing up to group, didn’t even call. I haven’t seen him in a while, even when I went looking for him in his usual bad places. I miss him. I told Cheryl not to worry. I’m steady, just sick. I’ll see her again soon.

I keep taking my meds, but they aren’t helping like they should. The fog I count on to sleep is thin, or missing. Something scrabbles at my skin from underneath, and I keep catching myself scratching little bits off of me. When I lay down, a low, neutral voice whispers nonsense at me through the pillow I clamp over my head. I can’t shower; that’s when the prickle gets stronger. Someone standing on the other side of the shower curtain, someone looking down at me through the water stain on the ceiling. I hiss and babble out loud just to hear myself talk, to shut up the voices that aren’t mine. I get sicker by the day.

By now I haven’t been outside in over a week, but my meds are ready to pick up. I don’t want to miss a dose, so I put on shoes and the big jacket that makes me feel safe, and I go outside. Birds leer at me from the tops of buildings. Walking in the opposite direction, an old lady frowns at me.

“Hmph, same to you,” she snaps.

My stomach lurches, but I don’t say anything, just keep walking. I hadn’t spoken. Had I?

The drug store is brightly lit. It hurts to be inside. Too many things to look at. Faces on packaging look strange now. Confrontational. Interrogative. But at least they look like faces. When I look at anyone real, their features shift. Static snow eats at the air around their heads in a halo. It frightens me, so I keep my eyes on my shoes. The pharmacy tech who’s always there gets the packet for me, rings it up.

“Any questions about your medication?” he asks. I shake my head, pay with a card. He has glasses that give his face a sort of stability, so I look at it. His eyes are brown, beard gray, no hair on his head. He smiles at me. “Have a nice day, miss.”

“You too,” I mutter.

And then I go home, have to stop myself from running for safety. The walk is twenty minutes each way; harrowing, the passing cars huge and hungry, huffing and snorting at me. The prickle is more than a prickle by now. It feels like someone is pulling out the hairs on the back of my neck, one by one. My heart thuds against my ribs so hard that I’m afraid it will burst out, plop on the sidewalk and keep throbbing without me. The paper bag with my pills turns damp and tattered in my sweaty hand.

And getting home doesn’t even help this time.

Julie says too much TV can be a trigger for me, but I start leaving it on all the time. Noise beats silence, any day. No empty spaces that need filling. I can’t watch sitcoms or anything fictional, so I tune it to the news. The news is always. Steady, real, factual. There’s a story about a body they found by the freeway. Pushed out of a moving car. No one knows or cares who it was. There’s a picture of the scene, taped up yellow and covered in those little numbers that say where a bit of evidence is. A tattered jacket lays in a ditch, dark with blood.

I stand and race to the bathroom, cool porcelain against my hands, bile and nothing coming up as sweat pours down my back. My head pounds, edges of my vision sparkling. I can only see the jacket. Not dirty or bloody or ruined but the way it used to look. Devin’s jacket.

Something is horribly wrong. Men-in-black wrong. The-end-is-nigh wrong.

The prickle wasn’t imagination. It was intuition.

Someone got Devin. Who else did they get before him?

---

The next week, I force myself to go to group. I need to see faces. See who else is there, or not. Cheryl picks me up for these, since I don’t drive. I’m sicker than I can remember being, and try to remember to ask Julie about my dose on Tuesday. I sit silently in the passenger seat, feeling Cheryl’s eyes on me. Caseworkers all have the same eyes.

“Feeling alright today, X?”

My name isn’t the name she calls me. You don’t need to know it.

“Fine,” I say, pinching my hands between my knees. They shake if I don’t. “Still getting over that flu.”

“Sorry to hear that,” she says. Her sedan has beige fabric seats. The passenger seat is dark, stained with sweat and whatever else from all the people she’s ferried around. A vanilla air freshener dangles from the rear view mirror.

Someone shouts in my ear, so close I feel a little blast of hot breath on my neck, and I flinch. Cheryl looks at me suddenly.

“Everything okay?”

She didn’t hear that. “Yeah. Sorry. Weird itch.”

“Hmm.”

Group is fine. It’s usually fine. I don’t say much this time, just look around at everyone in their folding chairs. Their faces are wrong. It makes me nauseous to look, but I look anyway. I need to see who isn’t here.

There are no empty chairs, but there are fewer. One or two down from usual. All the other regulars are here, picking at their skin or looking at the clock or chewing their hair. I glance across the room and for a second I think I see Devin, sitting in his old coat. But when I look again, it’s just Tom. I almost hoped.

When it’s over, there’s bad coffee to drink. I suck on a red straw and let the bitter taste anchor me to my tongue. I inhabit my body, touch my fingers to the side of my face to know that it and my fingers exist. Sufficiently convinced of my realness, I go to Amber, our de facto leader.

She’s drinking water from a bottle with cucumber slices in it, cloudy with pulp and seeds. Ectoplasmic. It makes my stomach turn.

“Amber,” I say. My voice feels far away. She looks at me, expectant. “I missed last week. Have you seen Greg, or Mariah?”

“Oh, no, I haven’t. Greg was here last week, but I haven’t seen Mariah since like, last month. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

A crinkle appears between her eyebrows. I focus on that, since the rest of her features won’t stay put. “You’re worried because of what happened to Devin?”

“I think Devin is dead.” There is a sudden hush as other people in my vicinity overhear. “I saw his jacket. On the news.”

Cheryl appears beside me. “X, would you like to talk in the hallway?”

She pulls me out before I can answer. “Have you been feeling alright?” she asks again. “Taking your medication?”

“Yes,” I say, a little forcefully. She clicks her tongue.

“Really? Because if you need to move up your next appointment, I can make some arrangements for you.”

Despite the fact that I do want to move my appointment up, her tone hits a button in my brain and my face turns red. “No,” I say. “I’ll wait until the next one. I’m fine. I just need to know what’s happening.” A rancid taste creeps up the back of my throat. “Where are people going?”

“Honey, everyone’s here that needs to be here.”

“No—that’s not right. I need to know.”

I can tell from the way she moves that she thinks I’m getting agitated. She doesn’t understand what I’m saying. “People call in sick sometimes. You did, just last week. Mariah was having issues sticking with the program, so we’re working something out. No one’s gone.”

“Devin is gone. Devin is dead. He’s dead and no one knows it.”

Cheryl comes closer, her voice so low and venomous that it starts to meld with the others. “I’m going to give Dr. Bern a call and try to get you in with her sooner than Tuesday. If you can’t keep up with your regimen, we’ll have to consider another in-patient stay.”

Anger chokes me until my vision goes white. “Okay,” is all I can manage. I have some unsavory thoughts, which I won’t repeat to you now.

“Good,” says Cheryl, holding my leash. “Let’s get you home.”

I don’t sleep. I don’t even try. Someone is watching me. I think about Devin, the last time we spoke before he was gone. He got paranoid, too. He jabbered sometimes, when we would see each other. The same face, he said, with glass eyes. Looking at him. Following him. He said his pills were replaced, his furniture moved, nothing looked the same as he’d left it. No one listens to me, he said. I’m scared, he said. I’m scared of what will happen next.

“I’m scared, too,” I say to no one. A chorus laughs at me.

---

“So,” says Julie. “Cheryl told me you’ve been having some trouble sticking to your medication.”

“I stick to it,” I say, and set the pill bottle on the desk in front of her. “Count them and tell me I’m not.”

She doesn’t move to count them. I’d hoped at least that she would humor me. “It sounds like some of your persecutory thoughts are returning. Tell me about what you’re worried about.”

“I saw on the news that they found someone’s body in a ditch off the interstate. They showed pictures. I think the body was Devin.”

“Devin from your group?” I nod. “We actually just heard from him last week. His brother answered when we called his phone. Devin is currently in a private rehabilitation clinic in Cincinnati. He’s alright, X.”

A numb feeling falls over me all at once, like a sheet. Something crawls up my thigh and disappears into a deep hole in my flesh. “Oh.”

“Amber talked to us, too. She said you asked her about Greg and Mariah’s absences this week?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I followed up on those for you, too. Greg had an accident at home and was in the emergency room during your meeting time this week. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to reach Mariah personally, but her father informed me over the phone that her family has pulled her out of the program. She won’t be returning.” Julie leans across her desk. “X, can you please look at me?”

I look at her. Her face is twisted, like a mask, papier mâché, drooping strips of plaster bandage. The static threatens to consume her, and me.

“I’m going to increase your dose to eighty milligrams. For now you can take two of what you have at the usual time, but I’m sending in a new prescription to the pharmacy.” She scrawls something on a pad at hand, and I take the opportunity to look away. “I’ll see you again this time next week, okay? And if anything’s the matter, you can call the nurse’s hotline. We’ll take care of you.” She hands me the script.

“Thank you,” I say, and then someone brings me home. I am silent for the drive. Thinking.

Wasn’t Devin an only child?

I start doubling my dose. The fog doesn’t come. The prickle intensifies into ceaseless paranoia. I check the window locks three times a day to make sure, even though I live on the third floor. Chair under the doorknob, empty bottles stacked on it so I’ll hear if someone comes. I can’t stop thinking about Devin, and the others. Were they all really fine? Was this just a breakthrough-breakdown, pills ceasing their function and leaving me alone, spiraling?

I hadn’t tried calling Devin in weeks. He didn’t pick up the first few times, and anyone in that state doesn’t usually want to talk anyhow. But Julie said someone answered when they called. Maybe they would answer for me.

The phone buzzes. Surging forward and receding, like a tide. Devin could be there on the other end. Getting better. Being cared for. I close my eyes and wait to hear his voicemail, or something else.

Click. “Hello?”

The voice startles me so much I can’t speak. A stranger.

“Hello?” says the phone. “Who is this?”

“Um,” I say suddenly, “Devin?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the voice says. “Devin isn’t here right now. May I ask who’s calling?”

“I’m—his friend. X,” I clarify. My voice is not of me. “Can I talk to him soon?”

“No, unfortunately he can’t talk. But I’ll let him know you called, he’ll be happy to hear people are checking up on him.”

“What’s—who are you?”

“I’m Eric, Devin’s brother. I’m taking good care of him, miss. Have a nice day.”

The call ends. Something in my stomach shrivels. I run to the bathroom, but there’s nothing to bring up. I don’t know why that voice scared me so much. Why had I thought Devin was an only child? He hadn’t mentioned his family—maybe I’d just assumed, or forgotten if he’d said. Of course he had a brother. He was alright. They all were, now.

---

Days pass. Bugs make their homes in me. My medication runs out, the new pills ready for pickup. I’d rather die than set foot outside. But I need my stability. I steel myself to leave, and exit my apartment into the world.

Everyone looks at me. They all want to hurt me. A car drives slowly past me and I try not to look at the people inside. My head hurts. It’s hard to see where I’m going, but I go.

The drug store is bigger than it was last time. Brighter. Angrier. People avoid me as I shuffle towards the pharmacy counter. The pharmacist who’s always there smiles at me again.

“Do you have any questions about your medication?”

I shake my head, fumbling for my card. He’s staring at me through his glasses.

“Do you need me to call someone for you?”

His voice makes me want to puke. I shake my head again, take the pills and make for the door. A crowd of voices shout at me as I stagger out into the air. I miss the way things were. My cleats don’t fit anymore. I tear the bag open, pop the lid off the bottle and shake a pill into my mouth, force it down dry and sticky and hope it does its job. My mouth is sweet where it lingered. It didn’t used to be so sweet.

There is a dull shock of understanding that blooms at the edge of my mind. The prickle rises on the back of my neck, and I look over my shoulder again. The pharmacist is looking at me from his position behind the counter. His face ringed in static. He waves at me. And I take off running.

There is no one I can call. No one who will listen. There are only doors that will slam in my face, white speckle tile and fluorescent lights and needles. He knows that. He knew it for Devin, too. He knew it for the rest of them. The wind in my face feels like fingers grasping at me, tugging at my hair, slowing me down. I race home, up the stairs and lock the door, brace it with furniture and then I sit on the floor and cry and cry. They’re laughing at me. Trading whispers. Look how stupid. Look how gullible. Go on and cry, crybaby.

So I do. It’s all I have left.

The next time it’s group, I don’t come to the door. Cheryl calls me, but I don’t answer. There will be a wellness check if I don’t come. I want them to, now. When her calls finally stop piling up, I wait fifteen minutes, then step outside. I leave my door open, leave what I can to show that I am gone. I leave the pills out, and the script. Crush a few with my heel for good measure. I hope they can put the pieces together.

It’s dark, cool. It reminds me of the fog, makes me wish I could sleep. Eyes follow me through the evening. Headlights burn me as cars move past. I walk slowly in my big jacket, letting myself be watched. Letting the prickle come up my neck, creep over my scalp, trickle down over my face until it covers me in a thin layer and I prickle all over. The prickle and I are old friends. It tells me when to be afraid.

Then there are headlights at my back that don’t go away. The growl of an engine crashes into me. I stop walking, and someone gets out. I don’t turn to look. I can’t stand to look at faces anymore. Suddenly, I have a funny thought. Maybe I do have some questions about my medication, after all.

Something whistles through the air above my head, and the world disappears.

When I wake up later, I’m not sure if I have. There are stars. It smells like gasoline, copper and dirt. My jacket is gone. My mouth is gone, too. My hands. You’re caught, someone says in my ear, you let it happen. With my eyes, which I still have, I look across the floor. It hurts to look. There’s blood under me, sticky black. The prickle is gone. I discovered its source.

I’m alone for a long time. It’s hard to say how much. I realize that there’s a door behind me when it opens. Light falls across the floor, yellow tractor beam coming to take me away. I long to be weightless, but the earth won’t let me. Then the pharmacist who is always there puts his shoe against my face and turns me over. He doesn’t speak. He crouches down and looks into my eyes like he is trying to take something from me. Then he takes the tape off my mouth.

All I do at first is scream. It's all my body knows how to do. He sits and watches me. When I can see his mouth, it’s smiling, and I realize he likes it when I scream. So as soon as I can, I stop. Silence rushes back into the gaps, roaring in my ears.

“Good girl,” he says when I am quiet. His voice is a distorted growl, infrasound, rattling my eardrums. “Aren’t you such a good girl?”

I think about his throat in my teeth. I think about his blood on my face. For a moment it feels like I am lunging for him, jabbing thumbs into soft and fragile places. But he still has my hands, turning numb and purple at the small of my back. So I sit up as much as I can and spit at the floor near his feet. Faster than my eyes can track, he lurches forward. Fist in my hair, hauling me up to hip height.

He looks into my face with his glass eyes. His mouth is monstrous, all his white teeth sharp in a thicket of gray.

“I’ve been watching you,” he says.

I know this already. There is nothing satisfying in the confirmation of it.

He is not the man in black I always pictured. He could be anybody.

“Think of this as a favor I’m doing you.”

Then he hits me again. And other things.

When I’m alone, voices chatter in my ears. No one is coming, they say, you are alone. They will not find you. You and the ditch will be friends soon. So you amounted to this—better than nothing, we suppose. I shush them, rock myself against the cement floor and hum and think about grass, and birds. I try not to leave myself room to cry. I don’t want him to have the satisfaction.

A thousand years go by. Outside the room, there are voices. Not any of mine. His, and others. They start loud, and get quiet. His voice goes away completely. Doors open, distant, then closer. Light falls over my body again, and I feel the weightlessness. Real this time. My hands come back to me, but I can’t move them. There are faces, more than I’ve seen in a while. They scare me, but I can’t run, so I try not to look. Except at his. They take me past him, and I look. Through his glasses I see his eyes, still trying to take something from me. He has, by now. But not what he wanted.

I sleep for a long time, and when I wake up, the world is the way I remember it. My feet on the ground, cleats and all, not slipping. When I’m well enough they bring me to identify Devin’s body, since he didn’t really have a brother after all. They find Mariah’s, too. Greg really was in the emergency room, turns out. But there are others. Too many to think of.

Cheryl changes careers afterwards. Probably for the best. I find this out when she drives me to group the first time after I get out of the hospital. She doesn’t look at me much, but when she does, I can see her eyes are different. Not caseworker eyes anymore.

“Lauren is going to be taking over your case starting next week,” she says after a long silence. “So this will be the last time I see you.” I can tell she’s trying not to cry.

“Okay,” I say.

She never apologizes. No one does. They all say they’re sorry for what happened to me, but that isn’t the same thing. People who don’t listen never think to apologize for it. They think they were listening all along.

Things are mostly the same as before, except I get my pills mailed to me now. And I think about Devin a lot. When I pour myself a drink, I pour one for him too and pretend he’s with me. I don’t have any pictures, so mostly I think about his voice. The last time we ever spoke, he told me, no one listens to me, X.

What I said then was, I know the feeling, man.

But now I just tell him I’m sorry.

#writing #original fiction #writeblr #short story #mine #the magazine that originally published this story has gone dark but since this is no longer under exclusivity i am pleased to share it here #i'm still pretty proud of this one

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lortsyall · 5 months ago

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Echoes of Eywa's Child.

chapter 1.

(Neteyam x Human!Reader series)

Pending....Pending....

Date: December 21st,2174.

Location: Office,Unit 4,Avatar Department,Human Outpost Biolab,Hallelujah Mountains,Pandora.

Time: 10:15 AM.

A long time has passed since I've known about this once alien planet. 4.4 light years away,a world full of life,like a lost paradise,sat idly in silence,away from the death and destruction that has scattered over Earth like a goddamn plague.

The ones before us saw the danger of it all,and yet they turned a blind eye,all because the climate change and the fractures in the atmosphere caused by the heightened levels of carbon dioxide wouldn’t affect them in the long run. They’d be dead anyway by the time it got too serious. So much for doing the right thing.

I wasn’t even born when they discovered Pandora,though until I actually got a grasp of reality and gained consciousness like everybody does at 5 years old,I’ve actually wondered if the so-called “Goldilocks Zone” existed somewhere else. If God smiled upon the universe and gave another planet the privilege of life.

Trust me,I have no idea how I even got here. So much time has passed since I’ve breathed in the polluted air of Earth,but I guess it’s for the benefit of all.

Guess we'll do it like they always do,huh?Start from the beginning of it all.

Pending...Pending...

Date: January 26th,2170

Location: Home,New York,USA, Earth.

Time: 12:43 PM.

Nobody ever thought that a girl like me would end up as the head leader of the Avatar Department,or an important person in the Resistance. And I gotta say,I never quite imagined myself becoming this. I dreamt of stages full of fans,as my fingers gave birth to heart-shattering riffs. Of poetry books released under my very own name,painting the pages with complicated feelings and sensations,all of a broken and imperfect human heart. Of having my own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame,making my country proud as a well known actress overseas. Though all those dreams were scattered away,like a feather in the wind,the moment I decided to do what any other scared yet artistically talented person who wants to make her parents proud does.

I got into STEM. Mechanical and Biological Engineering.

And between the sleepless nights of studying,drowning myself in math equations and lab reports,I got a one-way ticket to Pandora in my first year of college,from the one and only Parker Selfridge. Head administrator of the RDA’s operation in Pandora. I can still feel the anxiety lingering on my tongue. They never came with internships for first years,so what was he here for?

He came in to give out 5 internships at my college,yet he left with a new potential piece for this chess game. Me. All thanks to a question he asked that I knew the answer of. And to think I almost didn't say the answer because I thought everyone knew it,but as it turns out,only I did. I sat in the hallway with my friends,staring dumbfoundedly at the bussiness card he gave me.

Only back then,the RDA were treated as heroes,important people who made way for a better life. For an undead Earth. The propaganda was all enough to trick a little mind like mine,though it’s funny how I always thought I was a step ahead of everyone. Life on Earth as I remember it was,to say the least…grey.

The cities were gray. The people were gray. The sky was…well,grey. And between spending the rest of my life here,with my dreams crumbling before my very own eyes,and going out there to actually fight for a new home for humanity,you can guess why I chose the latter.

Nothing out of the ordinary was happening for me here anyway. Gorgeous girl,great personality,they all said,but nobody ever settled. Nobody ever stopped in their tracks to take in the pure and total beauty of the chaos that is me,so I never had a serious partner before. And…I guess I was also excited to see if the stories are true.

How an actual human betrayed his own race for a…Na’vi tribe princess?At least that’s how they put it,and I don’t even want to mention how embarrassing it was for the RDA to come back to Earth with their tails between their legs back in 2154. No unobtanium. No money. No Avatars. No nothing. I was three when that happened,and I remember playing with my cousins with our cardboard toys as our parents watched the TV in confusion and…disappointment,so you can guess why they made Jake Sully seem like an actual demon,and the death of a colonel was a pretty big deal,after all.

Thing is,the RDA only shows you the pearl in their hands,and not the mouth getting ready to swallow you whole. And now I know why they were so understaffed. That total failure after 2154 made people lose trust in the RDA over the years. But to me?

The decision came easily. I needed something new.

What didn’t,though,was the pure work I’d have to do in just 6 months. Learning the language of the natives,the Na’vi. Getting to understand the differences between our anatomy and theirs. The fauna and flora. The tribes. The ecosystems. And…of course,Eywa herself,though I learned that from Dr. Grace Augustine’s botany books,not from the RDA’s training program. I honestly don’t know what Selfridge saw in me,when I know I have friends better in college than me,but I better not question it too much.

I tried telling myself that as soon as I got in cryo,it wouldn’t be a goodbye,rather a…see you later. Looking back at it now,I think it was just wishful thinking. For now,I was me,the girl nobody ever really took seriously. Just another face in a sea of others. Next time I wake up,I’d have to work in an entire department with people twice my age.

Pending...Pending...

Date: July 31st,2174

Location: Pandora????

Time: ?????

The cryo-sleep thaw was a nightmare and a miracle all at once. My lungs burned as they dragged in air for the first time in four years, my throat raw and dry, every breath tasting metallic. My joints ached as if I’d aged a century.

“Subject revived.” the sterile voice of the AI announced, flat and emotionless. I tried sitting up, only to slump back down against the cryo pod’s restraints. My body wasn’t mine yet—not entirely.

“You’ll feel like shit for a while,” said a woman in a crisp lab coat, her voice muffled as she checked my vitals. “Side effects of long-term cryo. It’ll pass. Welcome to the ISV Valkyrie, and congrats on making it to Pandora.”

The word hung in the air, heavy and surreal. Pandora.

The next few hours were a blur of debriefings and medical checkups. My body eventually began to cooperate, but my mind lagged behind. I shuffled through endless corridors with other groggy personnel, each of us too stunned to speak. We were like ghosts wandering through a ship that pulsed with life—technicians barking orders, holograms buzzing with real-time scans of the moon’s surface, the low hum of engines preparing for atmospheric descent.

When the ship finally broke through Pandora’s atmosphere, I felt it in my chest. The vibrations reverberated through every bolt, every panel, and through me. The world outside the viewport was alive. The dense, green forests sprawled endlessly beneath the floating Hallelujah Mountains, their bases wreathed in ethereal clouds. The sky shifted from pink to blue in the blink of an eye, its colors alien yet breathtakingly familiar.

For a moment, the hum of engines and the chatter of voices faded away. It was just me and the sight of this strange, beautiful moon—a place that could have been paradise if we weren’t here to ruin it.

The ship landed with a jarring shudder, and the real work began.

Adjusting to life on Pandora was like learning to breathe all over again. Everything about this place demanded respect—the gravity was lighter, the air richer, and the biology... unfathomable. Days blurred into weeks as I threw myself into the work at the Avatar Department.

My mornings began with syncing sessions in the link pods, my mind slipping into my Avatar body like stepping into a cold pool. It wasn’t seamless—at first, every movement felt foreign. I stumbled through training exercises, my longer legs and stronger muscles betraying me at every turn. But slowly, the body became mine.

Afternoons were spent reading over files on Na’vi biology, studying their neural networks and learning their language. The words felt clumsy on my tongue, but I persisted. When I wasn’t in the lab or out on field assignments to observe Pandora’s ecosystems, I was immersed in RDA briefings.

That’s where I first heard his name again.

Jake Sully.

The briefings spoke of him like a ghost, a legend who had long since passed into myth. But here, his name was a warning.

“Resistance forces led by Sully attacked the rail line near Sector 7 again,” one of the military officers growled during lunch at the canteen. “Three shipments of amp suits lost. That bastard and his little insurgents are crippling our operations.”

The room buzzed with tension as reports of attacks piled up. Sabotaged trains, stolen supplies, and destroyed equipment—it was chaos. To the RDA, Sully wasn’t just a traitor. He was the personification of everything standing in the way of their plans.

But the more I learned, the more conflicted I felt. The propaganda painted him as a terrorist, a man who had betrayed his own kind for a primitive cause. But every whisper I caught from the scientists who had been here longer told a different story.

“Maybe Sully isn’t the villain they make him out to be,” I muttered to Dr. Ellison one evening as we worked late in the lab.

He glanced at me, his expression unreadable as he pointed towards a CCTV with his head,as if to say "Shut up. They're listening."

"That’s dangerous talk,you know. Keep your head down. Do your work. They don't like questions.”

I nodded, but the seed of doubt had already taken root.

The attacks continued, each one more brazen than the last. The RDA ramped up their operations in response, sending more troops and machinery into the wilds of Pandora. But for every move they made, the Resistance seemed to be one step ahead.

And then there was the tension between the people I worked with. Some were diehard loyalists, determined to see the mission succeed no matter the cost. Others—mostly the scientists—spoke in hushed tones about the beauty of the Na’vi culture, the interconnectedness of the flora and fauna, and the destruction we were bringing to this world.

I kept my head down, just as Ellison had warned. But at night, as I lay in my bunk staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t help but wonder: which side of history would I be on?

Pandora had a way of getting under your skin. The longer I stayed, the more I realized it wasn’t just a place. It was a mirror, reflecting humanity’s best and worst instincts back at us. And somewhere in the middle of it all was me—a girl who had come here for a fresh start, only to find herself caught in a war she didn’t fully understand.

The attacks became more than background noise; they became a constant undercurrent to life on Pandora. At first, they were just distant explosions, reports in the briefing room, or muttered curses from the military personnel in the mess hall. But over time, the Resistance started to feel like a presence, a shadow that loomed over everything the RDA tried to accomplish.

Jake Sully wasn’t just a name anymore—he was a force of nature.

The first time I felt the Resistance's impact directly was during a supply run. It was supposed to be routine—a quick trip to outpost Beta-5 to deliver Avatar-linked monitoring equipment. I was tagging along as part of my training, mostly to observe.

But the Resistance didn’t care about schedules or safety zones.

The attack was fast and chaotic. One moment, the AMP suits ahead of us were trudging through the dense forest, their movements mechanical and predictable. The next, arrows rained down from the trees, followed by explosions that sent the towering machines toppling like broken toys.

The ambush hit like a storm—sudden, violent, and unstoppable.

One moment, I was riding in the back of the supply truck, surrounded by crates of equipment and two guards sharing a nervous laugh. The next, the forest erupted in chaos.

The first explosion flipped the lead AMP suit, its towering frame crashing to the ground with a deafening roar. The convoy came to an abrupt halt as arrows rained down from the trees, their sharp points glinting like falling stars.

“Get down!” someone yelled.

I hit the truck bed hard, the impact knocking the wind out of me. My mask rattled against the metal floor as I scrambled for cover behind a crate. The world around me dissolved into a cacophony of gunfire, shouting, and the eerie war cries of the Na’vi.

The guards fired blindly into the trees, their exo-packs hissing as they struggled to maintain their aim under the pressure. I peeked over the edge of the crate just in time to see one of the AMP suits stagger, an arrow embedded in its cockpit.

Panic set in. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst. I wasn’t a soldier. I wasn’t trained for this. My human body was fragile here—one wrong move, and I’d be dead.

I clutched the sidearm they’d insisted I carry, though my hands were shaking too much to use it. What was I even doing here? This wasn’t supposed to be my fight.

A shadow passed overhead. My breath hitched as I looked up to see a Na’vi warrior leaping from a tree, his bow drawn, his movements impossibly fluid. He landed on the roof of the truck with barely a sound, his golden eyes scanning the scene below.

And then, those eyes locked onto mine.

For a moment, the chaos of the ambush melted away, leaving only silence between us.

He stood above me, perched on the edge of the truck’s roof, silhouetted against the glowing forest. His figure was tall and commanding, every line of his body taut with a warrior’s grace. The flickering bioluminescence of the nearby trees played off his skin, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across his lean, muscular frame.

His face was angular and strong, the high cheekbones and sharp jawline unmistakably Na’vi, yet there was something softer in his expression. His golden eyes, large and luminous, fixed on me with an intensity that felt like a physical force. They weren’t filled with rage or cruelty but something far more unnerving—calculated curiosity, as though he were trying to read my soul in that single moment.

The streaks of blue war paint decorating his face didn’t fully mask the smooth, rich azure of his skin, which gleamed faintly under the pale light of Pandora’s twin moons. His braids, adorned with small beads and feathers, swayed gently with each subtle movement, a testament to the culture he carried with him like armor.

But it wasn’t just his appearance that struck me—it was his presence.

He radiated confidence, a quiet power that demanded attention without arrogance. It was the kind of aura that made the world around him seem smaller, less significant. The chaos raging around us felt like a distant hum compared to the weight of his gaze.

And yet, beneath that commanding presence, there was something deeper—an unmistakable grief, perhaps, or a burden that someone so young should never have to carry. It was in the set of his shoulders, the faint downturn of his mouth, and the way his hands gripped the bow with both precision and purpose.

“Drop it,” he said, his voice deep and steady, but with a softness that caught me off guard.

The words hit me like a command, though they weren’t barked or shouted. It was the tone of someone who expected to be obeyed—not out of fear, but respect.

For a second, I couldn’t breathe. The sidearm in my trembling hands felt heavier than it should, as if the very act of holding it was a betrayal. His gaze flicked to the weapon, then back to me, and I realized with a jolt that he wasn’t looking at me like an enemy. He was looking at me like a question.

“You are… different,” he said, tilting his head slightly, the movement as fluid and deliberate as everything else about him. His accent curled around the words, each syllable infused with the lyrical cadence of his native tongue.

I wanted to speak, to ask him what he meant, but my throat felt dry, my voice lost in the weight of the moment.

He crouched slightly, lowering himself onto one knee so we were nearly at eye level. Even then, his presence dwarfed mine. Up close, the details became sharper—the faint patterns of his skin, the slight twitch of his ears as they picked up the sounds of the battle behind him, the faint rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

“You do not fight,” he observed, the faintest hint of curiosity threading through his words. His eyes lingered on mine, their golden glow unwavering. “And you… fear.”

It wasn’t an accusation. It was a statement of fact, delivered with neither judgment nor malice.

His hand shifted slightly, and I flinched, but he didn’t reach for me. Instead, he pointed at the weapon still lying on the ground between us.

The Na’vi reacted instantly. He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet with startling gentleness.

“You do not belong here,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “Run.”

“What—”

“Go!”

He released me and darted back into the fray, moving with the grace of a predator and the determination of someone who had everything to lose.

I didn’t run. Not immediately. Instead, I crouched behind the truck, my legs trembling as I watched the battle unfold.

He moved like the forest itself, blending into the chaos with a skill that seemed almost supernatural. He wasn’t just fighting—he was leading. The other Na’vi warriors followed his signals, their coordinated strikes overwhelming the RDA forces.

For every bullet fired, they had an arrow. For every shout of anger, they answered with a battle cry that sent chills down my spine.

And yet, amidst the violence, there was something strangely... noble about them. They didn’t kill indiscriminately. They targeted the machines, the vehicles, the weapons. It was as if they were trying to make a point rather than simply annihilate us.

When the ambush finally ended, the Resistance had melted back into the forest, leaving behind a convoy in ruins. Smoke rose from the wreckage, and the air was thick with the smell of burning fuel.

I stumbled out from behind the truck, my legs barely holding me up. Around me, the survivors were regrouping, their faces pale and shell-shocked.

“Medic!” someone called, dragging a wounded soldier from the wreckage.

But I couldn’t move. My mind was stuck on him—the way he’d looked at me, the way he’d spared me when he could have easily ended my life.

“You do not belong here,” he’d said.

The words echoed in my head as I stared at the destruction around me. For the first time, I began to wonder if he was right.

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too-much-tma-stuff · 1 year ago

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Finally Getting Help (pt 12)

Masterpost

“Ya, I have questions,” Jason confirmed, trying not to shift awkwardly in his seat. “I read the slideshow but I don’t seem to fit in either liminals or ghosts, and I have some issues that I think would have been mentioned if they were common?”

“Alright, what are they?” Danny asked tilting his head a little.

“Well, it’s been better since meeting you, and I know increased aggression was one of the thing mentioned but mine isn’t like Damian’s, or even yours I think. We’ve been calling it Pit Madness. I’ve gotten better at managing it but especially when I got back it was really bad. I… killed a ton of people and I still have a lot of bloodlust that no one is comfortable with.”

“That is unusual, especially directed towards humans. Aside from revenge against whoever killed them dead usually don’t care very much about the living,” Danny said curiously, considering Jason.

“And I do read as- as dead?” Jason asked, he had been worried about that.

“Well you’re obviously not Dead dead,” Danny said rolling his eyes before he reached across the table. “Here, with touch I can figure out a bit more.” He said and Jason hesitated for a moment before resting his hand in Danny’s.

A cool feeling quickly washed up his arm and over his chest like intangible water. Danny tilted his head to the other side, his brows coming together slowly as he gazed into the middle distance and considered what he was feeling. He let out a hiss and some sort of chitter that couldn’t come from a human throat, then clicked his tongue and the cool feeling dissipated, sinking under Jason’s skin and cooling heat he hadn’t been aware of feeling.

“Okay, ya that’s weird,” Danny admitted and Jason’s heart dropped. “Best I can equate it to is, like a bone that healed wrong,” Danny said thoughtfully. “You did die before?” He asked, Jason nodded mutely. “Okay, I won’t ask why or how. But best I can tell your soul was shoved back into your body and not given time to get settled back in it’s proper position before whatever was done to bind it in place. So you’re alive but with some.. Spiritual nerve and brain damage. Would you be comfortable telling me how you were resurrected?”

“Well, I resurrected myself apparently. I don’t really remember it but apparently about six months after my death I dug myself out of my grave. Before I could get anywhere the League of Shadows found me and dunked me in the Lazarus pit which is this glowing green stuff that heals the dying and kills the healthy. I don’t remember any of it, it was almost a year before I recovered enough to be myself at all.”

“That actually makes a lot of sense,” Danny said, nodding thoughtfully. “My guess would be at first you came back as a revenant, which is basically when a ghost possesses their own corpse to get revenge, not truly a living being. But then this Lazarus pit resurrected your body and your soul got stuck in your living body again without being prepared or intending for that to happen.

“That’s what I’m guessing happened but I can’t be sure, and I’m not a healer so I don’t really know what to do about it. I’m sure my ghost doctor Frostbite would be happy to take a look at you though! Looks like we’ll be making an appointment for you too,” He joked making Jason chuckle nervously.

“Well that’s.. Totally fucked up,” Jason said and Danny nodded.

“Ya, dying is basically always fucked up, coming back Specifically for revenge and then getting stuck here long after that’s a motivating factor is messy. I mean, for a human that would be fine, but for people like us,” He gestured between the two of them. “Obsessions are everything so that’s hard. You’ve been cultivating more healthy obsessions I know but you’ll never be the same,” Danny said, and Jason nodded.

He knew as much, he could never go back. Not that he hadn’t always had these sorts of thoughts and inclinations. Once of the reasons Bruce had taken on him and Dick was their murderous inclinations needed to be curbed, for Dick it had work, for Jason… Well it was a combination of a lot of things, it wasn’t really Bruce’s fault it had failed. Other than the fact that he’d let the Joker live far longer than he should have, but that was bleeding-heart-Brucie for you. It was funny, to not really be mad at Bruce anymore, understanding there was nothing else he could have done, and still not be able to forgive him.

Danny must have noticed how Jason had gotten lost in his own head because he reached across the table and covered one of Jason’s clenched hands with his own, soft and cool. “You’re doing really well Jason. It’s a messed up situation but I don't think anyone could have handled it better then you are,” Danny said softly.

Jason didn’t believe it but it felt good to hear and it did settle him a little bit. “Thanks Danny, that means a lot,” he said, giving Danny’s hand a squeeze before pulling back.

There was a natural break in conversation as the waitress brought their appetizers, and when she left again Jason didn’t know what to say. Thankfully Danny spoke. “Why don’t I tell you a bit about my doctor? Frostbite can be a lot, as much as it would probably be funny to spring him on you I should probably give you a heads up.”

“Ya, ya that sounds good,” Jason agreed, glad to let Danny do the talking for a bit. And when telling him about Frostbite turned into talking about the Yetis, to talking about the Infinite Realms, to Danny info-dumping about space. Well Jason really doesn’t mind, especially with the way it makes Danny light up. It was good to see him happy.

---------

The food was good but Jason didn’t taste much of it, and aside from going “Oh wow!” When he took his first bite of his food Danny didn’t seem to either. At a certain point Jason realized he was going to have to do some talking or Danny was going to keep talking and wouldn’t eat. So he took over, but he didn’t know much about space so he started talking about literature and poetry and Danny listened raptly and finally ate his food.

It was very nice to have someone listen to him like that, it was sort of funny, it looked like it was as fun for Danny to listen to him talk then it had been the other way. Jason thought about how supporting obsessions was important for ghosts to have their obsessions supported. Reading wasn’t Really his obsession, he didn’t think, but it sure was an interest and it felt really good to get to share with someone new.

By the end of the dinner Jason has well and truly decided that this was a date. Danny was cute, good, and passionate, and a good listener, Oh and strong as Fuck which was always a turn on for Jason. Speaking of powerful…

“Can I ask you another sort of serious question?” Jason asked after they got their dessert. Danny looked up, mouth full and a little smear of chocolate on his top lip, Jason resisted the urge to reach across the table and wipe it off. Danny nodded. “When Damian gave me his little shovel talk he mentioned that you’re going to be a god some day?” He said, tilting his head. Maybe that was a third date sort of conversation but it seemed like it would be important to understanding Danny.

Danny choked a little and swallowed, sighing heavily. “That’s what I’ve been told,” Danny grumbled. “There’s a prophecy apparently, and with how my powers have been progressing even just in the first 2 years since I died, I can already go toe to toe with some Ancients and win so… Ya, I guess it’s probably inevitable, especially since I haven’t stagnated yet. I don’t want to be one really, I didn’t ask for this, but whatever. I probably can’t stop it.” He slumped back in the booth, looking tired.

Shit Jason shouldn’t have brought that up. “Hey you’ve got time right? That won’t be for a while. Also, what’s an Ancient?”

“Very old, very powerful spirits. They’re essentially their own pantheon, Ancient is basically just what ghosts call gods.” He said with a shrug.

“Makes sense, I mean gods usually are ancient. Even more reason you don’t have to worry about that right now. I mean you’re far from ancient,” Jason pointed out, earning himself a little smile from Danny.

“Ya, you’re right,” He agreed and went back to eating his dessert, the conversation moved on to the music they liked.

When the bill came Jason put his card down without letting Danny see what the bill came to and passed it back to the waitress. They lingered in the booth for a while still chatting, unwilling to part ways yet. If Jason didn’t know his family would want Danny home before they went out on patrol he might have suggested they just go to a park and walk for a while. Talk, maybe each take one of his wireless earbuds and take turns picking songs. But he had a feeling Damian really would try to kill Jason if he didn’t get to see Danny home safe.

Eventually they left, wandering back to Jason’s motorbike and Danny snuggled up to Jason’s back again as they drove back to the manor. The silence was companionable until Jason pulled up, propping the bike up to let Danny get off. He took off his helmet and handed it back to Jason, not letting go immediately when Jason took it so their hands were touching.

��This was nice, I had fun,” Danny said, blushing a little and looking down.

“It was, we should do it again soon,” Jason agreed, “I’ll text you okay?”

“You’d better,” Danny teased before walking back towards the manor.

Damian opened the door for him, shooting Jason a glare before slamming it making him laugh. He was still a child no matter how much he pretended he wasn’t. Jason kicked off on his bike and zoomed off, heading home to get ready for patrol.

#dc x dp #danny phantom #jason todd #dead on main #first date #danny is pregnant #trans!danny #revenant Jason todd #frostbite #Finally getting help AU

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brightlight-dazzlingeyes · 5 months ago

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never let me go | ruben dias

💐 synopsis: As a newlywed couple, you and Ruben are deeply in love and spend an intimate emotional night together in a coastal villa. tags: honeymoon night, smut but make it cute and passionate (written in 2nd person but no mention of yn) | (around 3k words)

The bedroom door creaks open, and you step inside, still holding the hem of your dress to keep it from brushing against the floor. The room looks like it’s been waiting for you both all night. The villa is quiet except for the waves. You can hear them breaking against the rocks below, a steady rhythm that feels like it’s syncing with your heartbeat. The air smells of salt and the faintest trace of citrus from the grove you passed on your way in.

Behind you, Ruben steps in shutting the door behind him with a soft click. He’s loosened his tie, his white shirt slightly wrinkled from hours of hugs and laughter and dancing at the wedding party, but somehow, he still looks immaculate. Just the sight of him is enough to send a wave of warmth through you, the kind that starts low in your stomach and spreads all the way to your fingertips.

You turn to say something – maybe a joke about how exhausted you are from dancing, or how your cheeks still ache from smiling too much – but before the words can form, he’s already closing the space between you.

“Wait,” he says, his voice teasing as his hands settle on your waist. In one swift motion, he lifts you off the floor. You let out a startled laugh, your arms flying around his neck.

“Ruben!”

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” he says, his smile widening as he steadies you in his arms.

His fingers shift slightly, holding you tighter. Then he leans in closer, his forehead almost touching yours, and his voice softens.

“With my beautiful wife.”

The words hit you square in the chest, and you’re not sure how to hold all of it – the tenderness, the certainty, the love. Your grip on him tightens instinctively, your fingertips brushing against the warm nape of his neck.

“Your wife,” you repeat, almost testing the weight of the words, and they come out so quiet they barely make it past your lips. But he hears them. Of course he hears them. “That still feels weird to say.”

“Get used to it,” he says, then he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re mine now.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “I’ve been yours long before today, Ruben.”

He tilts his head back slightly, a playful gleam in his eyes. “True.” He pauses. “But now I get to say it officially.”

“Officially, huh?” you tease. “I think you’re just excited about the title.”

“I mean, it’s a pretty good title,” he says, his voice low and thoughtful, as though he's seriously considering the weight of the word. “Wife has a nice ring to it.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully. “You’re ridiculous.” But the smile spreading across your face betrays you, and the entire moment feels too perfect to be real. It’s like you’re floating, suspended in this bubble of joy that you never want to break.

Ruben leans in again, this time pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering just long enough to send a flutter through your chest. “I’m just happy,” he says quietly.

“I know.” You rest your head against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat matching the rhythm of the waves outside. The sound is calming, familiar, grounding you in this moment, but inside, your heart feels like it’s ready to burst from the sheer intensity of everything you’re feeling. You want to hold on to this, to him, forever.

“I’m happy too,” you add, your fingers tracing small, absentminded patterns along his shirt. The words feel too small to describe everything that’s swelling inside of you – the love, the yearning, the certainty of him being everything you ever needed.

He tightens his arms around you, his hand resting on the back of your neck, and you feel the warmth of his palm against your skin. You look up at him, eyes meeting his with a hunger that neither of you can hide.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, the words rough, full of a hunger that sends a heat through you that has nothing to do with the warmth of the room. He leans in, his lips catching yours in a kiss that’s deep, urgent, filled with all the things you’ve been trying to hold back all night.

Your hands slide down his chest, pulling at the fabric of his shirt as you arch against him, feeling the heat of his body pressing into yours. The kiss breaks for a moment, both of you gasping for air, and his forehead rests against yours, breaths mingling as the room spins.

“I need you,” he says, his voice thick with desire. His hands slide down your back, pulling you closer, the space between you shrinking as if the two of you can’t get close enough. You feel the rush of his breath against your skin, the desperation in his touch making your pulse race.

“Then take me,” you whisper, your voice barely audible but charged with everything you want. His eyes darken and in one smooth motion, he lays you gently on the bed.

Ruben hovers over you, his eyes roaming your face as if he’s memorizing every detail. “You have no idea how much I want you,” he says, his voice even rougher now, but still filled with the same adoration that makes your chest tighten with affection.

You tilt your head back, your hair spilling across the pillows, and reach for him again, your hands grasping at the fabric of his shirt, pulling him down to you. You need him just as much, feel the ache of it in every inch of your skin, every beat of your heart.

And then he’s kissing you again, deeper this time, the desperation in his touch matching your own. His body presses against yours, hot and heavy, and you can feel the way he’s trying to keep control, but you can also feel the way he’s unraveling beneath your touch. You pull him closer, your hands sliding underneath his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin against yours.

Ruben pulls back for a second, and his hands move to the zipper of your dress. His fingers are clumsy, a bit too eager, fumbling with the fabric like it’s something he’s never seen before.

"Hold on," he mutters, trying again, but the zipper doesn’t budge. You can't help but laugh softly, a little nervous giggle that catches him off guard.

"You okay?" he asks, his brow furrowed in concentration, his hands still working on the zipper.

"Yeah," you chuckle, lifting your arms so he has more room. "You’re gonna have to work for this, huh?"

He laughs too, shaking his head. "Apparently, yes." His face softens with a smile. He gives up on the zipper and moves his hands to the straps, trying to slide them off your shoulders, but the dress won’t cooperate. The whole thing is tangled now, your arms awkwardly raised, your whole body stuck in this massive, elegant piece of fabric.

You both sit there, slightly breathless. Ruben shifts on the bed, leaning back with a deep sigh and letting out a laugh that sounds more from disbelief than frustration.

“Okay,” he says, voice breaking with a half-laugh. “This is ridiculous.”

You lean back against the bed, unable to hold back your laughter anymore. “I told you it was complicated.”

He shrugs with a grin.

You sit up, trying to find a way to untangle the mess of fabric, and he watches you for a second, both of you smiling at how absurd the whole situation is. The tension that was there a few minutes ago has eased, replaced by an ease that only comes when you're with someone you trust.

After a few more moments of playful struggling, Ruben finally manages to slip the dress off your body with a triumphant sigh, leaving you in nothing but the delicate white lingerie you’d bought specifically for tonight.

You sit up, feeling exposed but free, and Ruben takes a moment to just look at you. His eyes are full of admiration, as if he can’t quite believe that you’re here with him, in this moment. There’s no rush in the way he looks at you, just pure, unfiltered affection.

"God," he murmurs, almost to himself, a slight awe in his voice. "You’re perfect."

You feel the heat rise in your chest, the flutters in your stomach, but it's not nerves or embarrassment this time. It’s love – love that feels so big it could swallow you whole, but in the best way. Ruben reaches for you, his hands gently cupping your face as he leans in, pressing a slow kiss to your lips.

When he pulls back, he looks at you for a long moment, his forehead resting against yours. "I don’t want to rush this," he whispers. "I want to remember every moment of tonight."

You nod, your breath hitching. Ruben’s hands are gentle, almost reverent, as they move over every inch of you, he’s not rushing – every touch, every kiss, every bite, it all feels like he’s savoring you. His lips finding every spot that makes you shiver, his teeth grazing over your skin like he’s marking you, claiming you in the most tender way possible.

His lips trace the curve of your neck, and then his teeth nip just below your ear. You gasp, your body involuntarily arching into him, but he doesn’t hurry. He moves lower, his lips finding the soft, sensitive skin of your collarbone, then your shoulder, trailing kisses all the way down your arm. When he bites lightly on the inside of your elbow, you can’t suppress the moan that escapes you, the sensation tightening everything inside of you.

He’s taking his time with every inch of your body, moving from one part of you to the next, his lips leaving behind a trail of heat in their wake. Your skin feels on fire, the sensation of him against you so intoxicating that it’s nearly impossible to focus on anything else. Your breath comes faster, your heart pounding in your chest, and despite the way his touch makes you feel completely undone, you can’t help but want more. You need more.

“Ruben…” you murmur, barely able to catch your breath. Your voice cracks with the desperation you feel deep inside, your body pulsing with the need for him. “Please…”

He pauses for a moment, looking up at you with that same adoring, almost possessive gaze. His lips are swollen, his chest rising and falling just as rapidly as yours. But he doesn’t speak. He just studies you, the desire in his eyes nearly suffocating in its intensity. And then his mouth returns to your skin, moving lower, his lips kissing, biting, teasing, marking every inch of your body as if he’s trying to make it impossible for you to ever forget this moment.

You bite your lip, trying to hold it together, but it’s becoming unbearable, the longing inside you too powerful to ignore. “Ruben,” you beg again, your voice full of want. “Please… take your clothes off.”

The heat is building so quickly between you both that you can’t hold back anymore. He doesn’t need any more encouragement. Ruben moves quickly, almost impatiently now, but still with that careful tenderness. He unbuttons his shirt, tossing it aside without breaking his eyes from you.

He stands over you for a second, his body in front of you like it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. The smooth lines of his chest, the way his muscles shift as he moves, it’s enough to make your breath hitch again. His eyes flicker to yours, and then his hands are at the waistband of his pants, swiftly unbuttoning them. The anticipation, the waiting, makes your chest tighten with excitement, and your heart races as he steps out of his pants, leaving him standing in only his boxers.

Then Ruben leans down over you, his hands on either side of your face, his lips brushing over yours in the softest kiss. But it’s not enough. Not anymore. His hands slide down to your waist, the desire in his eyes is like fire, and you know he’s feeling it just as much as you are – burning with it, aching for it. You can’t stand the waiting anymore.

“Please…” you whisper, your voice trembling with the need that’s been building since he first touched you. “I can’t wait anymore.”

Ruben doesn’t need any more words. His mouth finds yours again in a kiss so full of hunger and longing, it’s like he’s trying to devour you, to take in every part of you.

His fingers rest at the edge of your mouth before gently slipping two of them inside, grazing your tongue in slow, deliberate circles.

“Is this what you want?” he asks, his voice shaken, but still trying to sound calm, controlled.

You can’t answer immediately, not with his fingers pressing against your lips, so you shake your head instead.

He chuckles softly, that familiar teasing smile tugging at his lips. “I thought you wanted to feel me inside of you, amor.”

Your heart races in your chest as he tilts his head, still smiling, before slowly pulling his fingers from your mouth. His touch lingers for a moment, then he lowers his hand.

“Okay, I’ve got a better idea. Let’s put them somewhere else,” he says, his voice low with intent.

He takes your hand, guiding it to help him, though you both know he doesn’t really need it. He’s still teasing you. He gently moves your underwear aside, pushing those two fingers, now dripping wet with your spit, inside of your cunt. His touch is slow, in-and-out, and you can’t help but shiver at the feeling of him finally as close as you want him, as you need him to be.

“Better now?” he asks, pride in his voice as he watches your reaction, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of his lips.

You nod, unable to hide the warmth building inside you. “Better,” you whisper.

His other hand, gentle, caresses the side of your face, his thumb brushing across your cheek – and then he kisses you. His mouth is warm and comforting against yours, you pull him a little closer, needing the warmth of him, the closeness, and he responds, his body pressing against yours as if to reassure you that he’s there, that he’s not going anywhere.

His free hand moves to your breasts, tracing your nipples, and you let out a soft sigh against his lips. For a long moment, you stay like that – wrapped up in each other, his hands all over you, inside of you.

The kiss deepens, and the tension between you builds, quiet but undeniable. You can’t help it. You’re burning for him, every inch of your body craving his touch. “Ruben,” you breathe against his lips, voice thick with impatience. You want him, need him, and you can’t wait anymore.

He pulls back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Patience," he murmurs.

You shake your head, frustration mixing with desire. “I can’t. Please...” The words barely make it out before you’re kissing him again, harder this time, desperate for more.

The layers of clothes still left between you seem to vanish, almost without thought. It’s frantic but tender, your undergarments are now tangled up in the bedsheet, forgotten as you both move with a desperation that matches the intensity of the kiss. His body is pressed against yours again, both of you shivering, not from the cold, but from the need, the desire.

There’s a quiet moment when everything slows, and Ruben finally enters you, right when the rush of your heartbeats begins to sync with his. You’re finally with him in every way you’ve wanted all night. The space between you is gone, and you feel the weight of his cock settle deep in you, like everything is exactly where it should be. His hands trace the curves of your body, holding you close, and you can’t help but feel a deep, overwhelming sense of fulfillment.

It’s not just the closeness, it’s knowing you’ve reached this place with him, that all the moments leading up to this have led to this perfect connection. The feeling of being his, of being his wife, settles over you in a way you can’t quite explain, but it feels like the missing piece of something you’ve been looking for your entire life.

The sweat on your skin feels... beautiful. It’s a sign of how deeply you’ve shared this moment. The heat of it doesn’t make you want to pull away – it makes you want to stay wrapped up in it, in him.

You can feel your pulse under his touch, the rise and fall of his breath against your neck, and everything feels so perfect, so right. This is what you always wanted, and it fills you up, leaving no room for anything else.

You feel whole in a way you never have before, like you’ve become the person you were always meant to be – his wife, his partner.

You move together in a rhythm that feels both slow and urgent, there’s a shared intensity between you both, a connection so deep that it feels like you’re no longer two separate people, but a single, intertwined whole. The world outside the villa fades to nothing as you lose yourselves in the moment.

His touch, gentle but firm, holds you closer, guiding you as you respond to him, the tension building, slow and steady. The way his lips brush against your skin, his breath quickening as you do the same, it all pulls you deeper into this shared space, where only the two of you exist.

Your bodies are a tangled mess of warmth and movement, a perfect harmony of wanting and giving, and you both reach the peak together. When it happens, it’s loud, the culmination of everything you’ve shared. Your heart races, and his matches the pace of yours, as you feel everything around you blur. His arms tighten around you, and you bury your face against him, trying to hold on to the moment, the feeling of being so completely and utterly present with him.

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