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raayllum · 9 months ago

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Transcript of Aaron Ehasz Interview (Sept 2024)

Podcast link here. Transcript down below with bulk under a read more.

R: Alright so welcome back to the Wordswithdragons podcast, and today I’m joined by a very special guest, the co-creator of The Dragon Prince, Aaron Ehasz.

A: Hello, thank you for having me today. Glad to be here.

R: Thank you so much for being here. Um, yeah, so, as we semi touched on, it is the 6 year anniversary of The Dragon Prince this September 14th.

A: Yeah.

R: Do you have any thoughts, reflections, feelings about the show having gone on for this long and being such a big part of people’s lives?

A: I mean for starters, it’s really hard to believe it’s been on for six years. Like that seems insane to me. Cause it seemed like we had — Justin and I had been working on it for so long before it finally came out because we had worked on the story and then gotten feedback, and help in improving that pitch and bringing it out and we had it set up at Netflix, and we had to — we wrote the pilot obviously, and we didn’t know where we were gonna produce it, and found Bardel. So there was so much time between even just starting to think about it and when it came out.

R: Yeah, cause that was like 2015, right?

A: Yeah, I guess we started the journey in 2015 and we got with Bardel by the end of 2016, and it got released evidently in 2018, so... Yeah, yeah, cause I remember even we were writing kind of the end of season 3 when we had that panel with Marco and named the character after Marco.

R: Oh yeah.

A: The character [chuckles] from the first episode, we only had an opportunity for him to say his name out loud in that last episode because we were writing the ending while we were showing the episodes for first time, so. Anyway, that’s my reflection, it’s great it’s been six years.

R: Yeah. I know The Dragon Prince has been a really like — both life changing and I think, like, life affirming experience for a lot of people, myself included. So we just really appreciate everybody’s hard work on the show and are very excited for season 7 and hopefully beyond as well. As well for any future projects that Wonderstorm comes out with, like Bonders sounds amazing.

A: I feel — well first of all, thank you for saying that it’s life affirming, that’s such a nice thing to hear about something you’ve worked on, but I also agree that Justin and I feel a ton of gratitude for the whole team and the work and heart that everyone put into making this. I think people wanted it to be meaningful and special and that takes a certain kind of energy and vulnerability to build something like that, that you share, and our whole team really did give that in building the show.

R: Yeah. I think for sure. I think that’s like, um, I was even — I was rewatching some of the show earlier for — for a parallel, and it was the scene between Avizandum and Zubeia when she goes to him in like her kind of corruption dream semi-nightmare, and obviously that’s such a heartfelt, touching scene, and it’s always so strange. Because on the one hand, you should hate Avizandum, he killed Sarai and Rex Igneous has rightful criticism of him, but then you watch that scene of him and he really did love his family, so I think the show being able to draw out those strong, conflicting emotions for so many of the characters is one of the reasons why it connects with people to the degree that it does.

A: And that’s one of the themes you probably see in the show — just gonna make a quick —

R: Yeah, yeah for sure.

A: Avizandum, which is that being a good dad can make up for awful lot of [R laughs] monstrosities, as long as you’re doing it in the name of being a good dad. I’m joking, uh. Of course, yeah, Avizandum was always meant to be a complicated figure like many of our characters.

R: You mentioned that you guys have been working on — I think season three during this panel with Marco, or Marcos, and I remember, I think you’ve said before that the seasons get worked on concurrently, that there’s a decent amount of overlap.

A: Yeah.

R: I’ve always wondered, because we know — obviously, I’m a big Rayllum fan — but I’ve always wondered, cause I know they weren’t originally planned, and then you guys were boarding season two when you were like, “Hey, maybe this should be a thing,” and then probably like shifted and tweaked things or changed things to write more towards that in the future... Um, I’ve always wondered, if there was time, like at that time, to go back and change anything in season one for them, or the season one that we see was just like that?

A: I don’t recall there was time to change season 1 — that does happen because we are working on things in parallel because we are working on something in the script and then some time later we are working on the later stage of production, like an animatic, and we’ll be able to kind of give notes or even make changes with the knowledge of what’s coming, so that has happened. But in the case of Rayllum, I don’t think so. I mean, I think — again, I remember...

R: It was a while ago, yeah.

A: We were rekindling, or when we were realizing that something was being kindled between them, it was watching an animatic so that shouldn’t have informed our writing of season one, but our later stage stuff. But we weren’t trying to force anything so it got in there naturally and I don’t think we went back and changed anything.

R: Yeah, that’s what I’ve always — they had those kind of vibes to me from like episode two and three, obviously season two brought a lot more people on board, but I was always curious. Cause in season one, like, I think, it feels so natural, it feels so organic, and like I’ve shown — one of the things I love about Dragon Prince is it’s a great way to connect with friends and family and you kind of catch up with each other like through the show, of “oh have you seen the new season yet?” and that sort of stuff. And so when I’ve shown the show to like my brother-in-law, who is not plugged in at all, he also kind of picked up on it in season one, so I’ve always been curious.

A: You know, what else, I’ll even say, I think we initially, intentionally planned they weren’t going to be a couple. We were like “Oh yeah, no, they’re—”

R: Friends, yeah.

A: Friends, with different views of the world and they journey together, and we don’t want them to be a couple. We’re not — we’re definitely not targeting it. I think we were intentionally not targeting it, and then it was “too bad creators! [R laughs] We’re going to fall in love despite everything you’re planning.”

R: Well, that very much I think even fits what they represent to each other, of like you don’t have to do this path that you think you have to do...

A: Yeah.

R: You can be something new. I always kind of felt like Ezran and Zym were — felt very kind of like designed as foils, as like a pair, of like through Zym, Ezran learns more so like how to grow up, and they’re both like the princes who will be king, and then Callum and Rayla also kind of felt sort of like developed as a pair, in terms of like — he needs to gain more confidence, she’s pretty confident on the surface.

A: Yeah.

R: She needs to learn how to open up, he’s really good at being open especially in the beginning.

A: Right.

R: So I was always like...

A: He needs to be murdered, she needs to learn how to murder someone.

R: Yeah! They complete each other, yeah. Uh... Some other questions that I had [rapid typing]. So I guess, maybe, I have some questions that are more season specific, in respect to time, but I also had like more general questions.

A: Okay.

R: So, one of the things I’ve always love in general and really love about The Dragon Prince is its like use of philosophy and like its deeply interested in ethical and moral questions, and presenting some answers for some of them, but like are those the right answers? We don’t know.

A: Right.

R: So I know King Harrow’s choosing of Lady Justice’s blindfold is a pretty apt comparison to John Rawls’ Veil of Ignorance—

A: Yes.

R: Of, you know, you strip away everything that you could have, like advantages, disadvantages, and think, would the system work for me? Which has been useful when I’ve like, had to tutor students in philosophy actually, but I was curious, were there any like philosophical concepts or ideas that people really, or you really, wanted to work into the series? ‘Cause we have a lot of trolley problems.

A: Right. Um, probably. I mean like, I should say, I was a philosophy concentrator in college so I absorbed a lot. Things like Rawls, I had a class with John Rawls, and thought that was a really interesting concept and I liked including it, and I thought we can include it in a fun way, the idea of justice. So other philosophy probably makes its way in, it can makes its way in accidentally or subconsciously, so nothing specific right now comes to mind. I will say, as with kind of Avatar before this, I don’t like to have — I’m not trying to have a right answer, ever. I’m trying to have the characters have a deeper understanding of what they’re struggling with, and y’know, move in a direction of deeper understanding, so if anything, it’s more interesting to me to see conflicts between maybe philosophical approaches that are different and see how — Oh well, this has these kinds of results, and positives and negatives, and this has... so that the audience can have a chance to say, “Oh well okay, I have some thoughts on that,” or “here’s what I feel,” and that’s why sometimes I think we see the fandom actually kind of go back and forth—

R: Yeah.

A: On — around characters and people’s choices, and things like dark magic or Viren, which are controversial, are things where like, I do not have a strong point of view on... the kind of binary right or wrong of... Viren in the long term. He’s made a lot of wrong choices and he’s made a lot of choices for good.

R: Yeah.

A: He is an arrogant and power hungry person and he’s also a caring and loving father and someone who wants to have a positive impact on the world, right, like?

R: Yeah.

A: So those conflicts play out in him. But similarly, I think with maybe most of the philosophical ideas I can think of, I’d rather get to like a place where everyone just has a chance to entertain those thoughts and ideas and struggle with them, or hold them in an authentic way, and then can come to their own conclusions and feelings. I mean, I have some deep feelings about like, the world, and how can people be optimistic or not pessimistic or—y’know, what it means to hold onto hope or what it means to try to move past conflict, and I have beliefs that there are conflicts that get so you know, kind of sewn in, that they feel they are impossible to untangle, and especially if the game you’re playing is who started it, or who did the worst thing, where you can’t just ever untangle it. You can’t ever find a right or wrong, so how do you get past that? That’s one of the questions I was hoping Rayla, Callum, and Ezran would try to—

R: Figure it out.

A: Struggle with. Anyway, I’m giving a very long winded answer—

R: No, no.

A: That’s the philosophy that comes to mind. If something comes to mind for you, you can bring it up and I can go, “Oh yeah, that was probably influenced by so-and-so.” [R laughs] Or maybe not.

R: Well, one of the things I loved about season six was kind of — you see, even... One of the things I thought was really interesting was we see, not quite like that return to trolley problems, but we see Aaravos at the end of season 5 is telling Viren you have to make the sacrifice so that you can live, and then we see Rayla tell Callum, “Hey, if the choice ever happens, you also have to sacrifice me,” for — so Callum can live, but also for like the greater good and that sort of stuff. And then you have Kpp’Ar, who — I love Kpp’Ar, I think he’s terrible and interesting and I love him.

A: Awesome. He is — we’ll learn a little more about him in the future, but yes.

R: And obviously when Viren’s like, “A child will die,” and this is a kid that Kpp’Ar would’ve known, and we see in The Puzzle House that he loved these kids, and whatever is up with the Staff is bad enough that Kpp’Ar’s like, “Okay. I’ll make that sacrifice.” Which feels very much in a way like he’s given up on dark magic, and to a certain degree he’s both given up on the mindset of dark magic, and maybe also hasn’t given it up in the same way. Like I love that — Claudia, you know, obviously, puts Viren above all else, is she always right to do so? Maybe not, but we get why she’s doing it, that’s a hard thing to say. And then we have Callum, who also seems inclined to put Rayla above all else, and because we like Rayla more, we’re like “Yeah, he can do that, it’s okay for him to do dark magic for her, that’s fine,” even if there’s also like, consequences. Cause most characters in the show, like you said, everybody kind of wants the same thing, they wanna have a positive impact on the world, they want to protect their loved ones, but what constitutes that world, what they think is a positive impact, or who they want — how they protect those people, that’s all very malleable and can fluctuate. Viren says “Claudia, you’re on the wrong path,” and we’re like yeah, he’s right, and Karim says the same thing about Janai, like the exact same thing, and we’re like, well he’s wrong.

A: Yeah. I mean a lot of things come to mind when you’re talking through that, but one is there’s often a conflict between rigidity and rules and some kind of compassion, or emotional decision, and those decisions are hard, right? Like I dunno, maybe Kpp’Ar should’ve said, “Okay just this once, it’s Soren,” or not, I don’t know. I mean obviously Kpp’Ar had taken himself to some deep horrible place and he really had, actually. And was like, “Okay, dark magic is just corruption when you start and keep going down this path, but this Viren’s kid so I don’t know.” One of the things here, I think there’s a relationship between — you know, sacrifice plays a role here. Sacrifice and thinking about generations and generational conflict and thinking you know maybe in a way I think is interesting. I think about the beginning of season 6 when Claudia has done all of this and sacrificed another life but also sacrifices some of her soul or whatever to save her dad and he’s like “No no! This is not the way! A parent is supposed to do this for a child but never the other way around,” right? And there’s something to that I find interesting which is — it’s almost the inverse of children having the opportunity to start anew and break cycles, parents potentially have the opportunity to make sacrifices that don’t pass by burdens onto their kids, but sort of like that’s the mirror I see a little bit, in terms of how do you have generational change and evolution? It’s somewhere in younger generations being able to not get stuck on conflicts and burdens, but also the older generations recognizing that they may have to be the one to take the — and this is I think a natural... I dunno, it’s something I think about a little bit and came to mind when you were talking. So we’ll see more about what is the meaning of sacrifice and when — when do you... trade? Yeah.

R: Yeah.

A: Side note on sacrifice. You’re familiar with Game of Thrones? You’ve watched all of Game of Thrones?

R: I’m decently familiar, yeah.

A: Okay.

R: And if not, I can have Kuno explain it to me later, so.

A: One of the things I love about the sacrifice Ned made, that we didn’t realize he’d made until I think the very end of the series, we realize — a sacrifice to his kind of reputation, right? And I’m talking about him representing Jon Snow as his bastard to protect him, right? Think about that, that’s a sacrifice, he had to go through the anger — he didn’t tell his wife the truth, he didn’t tell anyone, because it was the only way to protect the child, and as a result he lived with — even though the truth is that he was a really honest, good, or evidently he didn’t go cheat on his wife, he sacrificed that part of his reputation to protect Jon, at least how I see it. I think things like that are kind of interesting. I dunno.

R: Yeah. Yeah, I think it speaks to that idea of — one of the things I love about Dragon Prince is it’s so much about choices.

A: Yeah.

R: Like one of the things I really really liked about season 6 was that, you know, Callum is like, “Okay, I’m going to get myself purified, healed of dark magic,” and Rayla was his light, which was very validating, cause I had noticed in season two there was like some framing so I was like well “Maybe, maybe” you know? And then slowburn buildup but it was — I think that was a great moment that really paid off. And he’s told “if you ever do this again, it’ll corrupt you completely.” And whether he will or won’t — I personally think that he will, but spoilers, you know — but whether he will or won’t, I think it’s really nice because now whatever choice he makes, he’s making with the full context, of what this would do to him.

A: Yeah.

R: Whereas in season two, yes he was making his choice to do dark magic then, and I don’t necessarily think he would make a fundamentally different one if he had known what it would lead to, but there’s a different kind of awareness. Like I always of it would’ve been so easy to have Harrow not know that Viren was going to kill Zym, cause that’s such an easy way to kind of let Harrow off the hook of well Viren went off and did this on his own, and Harrow had no idea, and blah blah blah, right? Cause we like Harrow, he’s a — again, he’s a good dad, we’ll forgive a lot. And instead, it’s not his idea but he’s fully aware, he signs off on it. And I think constantly pushing characters to make hard choices — kind of like what Ezran says, “these aren’t dreams, these are choices.”

A: Yeah.

R: You can choose love, you can choose to make... It’s something that makes all the characters feel so fully developed and interesting, so I always appreciate that you guys push them to make the hard choice.

A: Yeah. Cool. Thank you.

R: One question I did have is, uh, Karim is one of my favourite characters.

A: Okay. Unusual person. A lot of people hate — or love to hate...? I love him too.

R: I also love Kasef, so I think I just kind of love everyone, because I’m like well, they’re really interesting. I feel like [Karim’s] arc was one of the things I loved most about season 4 because you can see him really wrestling with his choices and I love watching him fail, cause that’s kind of all he does, so that’s always fun. But I am really curious obviously now he’s been betrayed by Sol Regem, Katolis is in ashes and maybe they’ll blame Karim for that cause Sol Regem is like — dead, and now, presumably his only hope is going to be that his sister doesn’t execute him on the spot?

A: Yeah.

R: So is there anything you can tease about Karim’s arc in season 7?

A: Yeah, so — so it’s not just Karim, there’s an army of people who betrayed Janai, and — and...

R: What do we do?

A: Yeah, what do we do? That will be something we’ll have to see them grapple with pretty much right away in the season. Especially cause [Karim’s army] showed up for this battle where they were never even — they were just planning to sweep up the ashes afterwards, so when they didn’t get the dragon support they needed, I suspect they lost really quickly.

R: Yes, yeah.

A: So uh... Yeah, but basically as of the start of season 7 — all of them are prisoners of Queen Janai and the question is — what do you do with that? What do you do when you have an entire army and your own brother who betrayed you? And so that’s — we’ll find out.

R: Yeah. [Laughs]

A: But yeah.

R: Yeah. Another question I had going forward was Terry and Claudia obviously I thought had a really beautiful relationship arc, particularly in season 6, and we saw in season 4 the lengths he’s willing to go to for her, and how Terry, I think, is a great example of how there’s a lot of character traits where we think “oh, if you’re a selfless, helpful, accepting person, you’re a good person,” and I feel like Dragon Prince does a really good job of how, Rayla’s selflessness can be great but it can also be kinda bad, or, um, Terry can be super accepting, maybe a little too—

A: Yeah.

R: —accepting sometimes, right? So I feel like at the end of season 6, it will presumably be him, Claudia, and Aaravos for a little bit now that he’s out of the prison. And it feels like maybe Terry might hit a breaking point?

A: Here’s what I will say — Terry is a really special character and if you watched him, he’s so good, and what we’ll find out is, he is — there is an episode called TRUE HEART and he is someone who has a true heart.

R: Oh that’s so sweet.

A: It’s very impossibly rare and special — but also we all understand what a true heart is in some way and we’ll learn a little more about that. But yeah, the question of what will Terry do, what can he do, is difficult because he has a very strong sense of right and wrong, but he has a very deep capacity for love and he loves Claudia with all of his heart. Where does that present an impossible conflict, it may... we’ll see a challenge.

R: Yeah. Yeah, for sure.

A: I’ll also throw in like I sometimes see some parallels between Terry and Uncle Iroh—

R: Yes.

A: Though Uncle Iroh I think has a very different journey. Iroh is kind of a recovered problematic person who now has some wisdom and enlightenment, so in terms of the difference between the purity of a true heart versus where Iroh is more of a later stage enlightenment, the love that they have for the kind of complicated person that they are with is similar to me. And the way that they both sometimes have to, or don’t have to but...

R: Choose to?

A: You have to give that person the space — you can’t force them to choose right or wrong, you can be there with them, you can try to guide them, you can — but ultimately you have to give them the space to fail, and eventually, you may have to turn your back on them.

R: Yeah.

A: At some point. I don’t know. But um yeah — I still see them as connected characters in my mind.

R: I think I can even see some of that with even the way Callum is with Rayla, like season five onwards, of like “I’ve hit my turning point, I’m not mad at you anymore, and you can steal my key, you can lie to me, and I’m not going to have you open up to me out of guilt or obligation, I want you to tell me what’s going on when you want to tell me what’s going on, and I’m going to give you the space for that.” So I think it speaks to that unconditional love that I think—

A: Yeah.

R: —a lot of the characters are blessed to have. But I do see the Terry Iroh connection. So another thing that I thought was really interesting was — obviously next season is dark magic, and I’m very hopeful that maybe we’ll learn more about the origins of dark magic or Elarion, even.

A: Great.

R: Because I know when I was watching Sol Regem burn down Katolis, it made me think of what might’ve either happened or almost happened to Elarion in the past, you know?

A: Yeah.

R: Even down to Ziard and Viren both die, kind of deflecting and trying to save people, with the same staff, you know, and how the cycle continues to just always repeat itself over and over again. And if there was like — yeah, cause burning down Katolis was a massive shakeup, you know?

A: Yup.

R: And what maybe the process was there, with the — Aaravos seems like he’s trying to repeat the cycle of like “Oh I’m going to take down the dragon monarchy or I’m gonna use that vacancy to my advantage, and mess with the Sunfire elves.”

A: He has a specific vendetta against Sol Regem, obviously, but it’s one where he has played it out in... What’s certainly meant to be implied, even though we’ll find out more later, is that one of the great mysteries of Sol Regem’s life is that his mate disappeared and he never found her. He’s the freaking Dragon King, and she disappeared. And though we don’t know how or what happened, while she was buried alive. He killed her. He didn’t even realize it, somehow. Somehow, Aaravos manipulated him into killing her, and he doesn’t — I dunno, I assume Sol Regem does understand when it must have happened, but that moment, it’s like an impossible — it’s meant to be just...

R: Awful.

A: He’s tortured him for 1000 years or whatever, without him knowing he was being tortured by Aaravos, and now he’s given him the mercy/cruelty of knowing the resolution to the mystery was that he killed her. And one of the things that worked well with that was that, we had sort of said Sol Regem can smell the truth from a lie, so he has the horrible curse of being able to know this is the deep dark truth. So I dunno, I think um, are we going to find out more about that? So, if we can eventually get the Book Three novel out [R laughs], we will find out more about that.

R: I did wonder, I was like “Maybe this is something that was gonna be in the book three novelization.”

A: Yes, we will find out more in the book three novel, it may be a year or so before unfortunately. And then I don’t think we’re gonna get too deep into that in season seven, that’s part of — it is involved in what we’re thinking about as the third arc, understanding and resolving the third arc, is gonna go a little deeper into...

R: Some of the history, yeah.

A: Some of the stuff that happened with Sol Regem. But yeah, no, I — it’s enjoyable to have these figures like Aaravos and Sol Regem who are ancient and operate over the course of centuries and are incredibly powerful, yet they can’t — or at least Aaravos, they can’t conflict directly as easily, and so Aaravos has played this really complicated game. Anyway, but yes Sol Regem is part of that, but there’s — there’s more, there’s more people who — beings that took from him. He feels that Leola was unfairly punished and that that was — you know, he sees a future and he has something... All this time, a burning — it’s the twisted form of his love, in which he’s full of hate right now to the beings who brought this about. Obviously, Sol Regem played a role because he’s a rules dragon.

R: Yeah, yeah.

A: He is the one who betrayed her to the Cosmic Council ultimately — but how do you punish the Cosmic Council? That’s a bit more complicated.

R: Yeah. No, I remember finishing season six and just being so impressed with the story. Like, taking that direction, and almost doing a lot of recontextualization, because it’s one thing to have like your worldbuilding where “magic in the story works like this” and it’s just very kind of like hand of God, you know? Like oh — cause the magic system has always been unfair, that’s why we have Callum, you know? It’s another thing to say we’re going to have characters in the story who are responsible for it being unfair. And now we’re just going to have that in terms of conflict and themes of destiny. We have about seven, ten-ish minutes left I think.

A: Probably seven, if that’s okay?

R: Yeah. Of course.

A: I’ll throw one other thing in there, which is that — cause characters experience things that change them: has Aaravos experienced — I’ll phrase it as a question, even though probably the answer is here, has Aaravos experienced much that has changed him in the last — since the death of Leola? I mean certainly some things, and is what’s happening now changing him in any way? Is it satisfaction, is it the relationship with Claudia, and what does that mean to someone? That’s a question that I think we’ll have to watch play out a little bit.

R: [Intrigued] Okay. Yeah. One thing that I really liked about Leola’s character was I felt like she had pieces of each of the main trio in her? Of this very helpful innocent well meaning child, kind of like Ezran — and I have also always seen Ezran as autistic as well cause I know that Leola canonically is — and then you also kind of have the whole oh she gave / helped humans have primal magic, which obviously Callum has. And even just being this young elven girl punished for her compassion and mercy, that felt a lot like Rayla. And when making the choice for Leola to be Leola, was that something intentional or like the choice for it to be a child rather than another loved one?

A: It was very intentional that it was a child... And we talked through other versions of Leola that could’ve been, in other ages, genders, relationships with Aaravos that an important person was lost. Some of the things I liked about the way, Leola both as a child, children are the cycle breakers.

R: Yes, yeah. I think it was the strongest choice.

A: And in particular also, the idea of coding her autistic was a little bit like not as cued to kind of accept the social order and the order of things, but actually more open in a way to in what some people see as like — something that’s broken which is not taking those cues, something else about that — not being bound by it that allowed her to have compassion that crossed the line in terms of the perceptions of what the Cosmic Order needed to be in it — but it made her more, both as a child and an autistic person, to make that choice and do what she did that changed everything.

R: Makes a lot of sense.

A: [Her being a child] also frames it with some innocence obviously right? It’s not calculated, it’s kind.

R: Yeah.

A: So I dunno.

R: Yeah. Yeah, I’ve been curious about how Ezran might be challenged now that Runaan is back in the picture.

A: That’s a great question. That’s a great question. I mean, it’s so weird, it’s like no one even asks that, it’s like “Cool,” Rayla’s like “I’m gonna go get him. Awesome! Runaan’s back.”

R: Yeah I’m like either — either Callum is like “Ezran will be totally fine with it,” and Ezran is probably not going to be fine with it, or maybe Callum knew that maybe it wouldn’t be great, and kept it under wraps. Yeah, I’m so excited for that like trio, potential broyals conflict, so...

A: Well, I mean, Ezran is a very special kid and he’s very positive and kind and forgiving and all of this. But we’re talking about, Runaan is back.

R: Castle’s destroyed.

A: Katolis is rubble. Where does that leave him?

R: Yeah.

A: You know? I mean — so I’m excited about that part of Ezran.

R: I know the fandom is really, really excited for Ezran to get to be — not that he hasn’t always been complex, but to get to be like messier, of letting his emotions maybe get the better of him and that sort of thing. So people are definitely hype for that, for — cause I feel like season six really brought home a lot of things for Soren, and it seems like season seven is going to do a similar thing for Ezran, so that’s — that’s really exciting. Um, with our final couple minutes, I wanted to see — do you have any questions that you want fans to ponder or to be thinking about?

A: Um... Gosh. I don’t think I have anything specific that we haven’t talked about, but you know. On some level, like, you know how do you take the tragedies and conflicts that we all inevitably face repetitively and relentlessly and kind of learn to move forward in hope and optimism? I think that’s more of a question of like how do you personally learn to process — all the kind of bullshit in the world, and process it, and still move forward as a kind, connected—

R: Measured person.

A: —hopeful person? That’s a challenge we all face in our lives, so that’s like...

R: Yeah. Well, I think the show does a good — really good job at asking and challenging that — that question. Uh, yeah, I think — I think that’s our time for today, uh. Thank you so much, this was...

A: It was my pleasure.

R: This was a lot of fun.

A: It’s always my pleasure reading your theories and your—

R: [Gasps] Oh my gosh.

A: Honestly, I came on today and to tell the truth [R laughs] a little bit intimidated.

R: Oh my God.

A: You’re so—

R: I also felt intimidated [laughing] so don’t worry.

A: You’re so insightful and articulate, that I almost am like [R laughs] what if they catch me that there’s something not as smart in the show as I thought it was?

R: Oh my gosh, no, you’re fine.

A: [Overlapping] So anyway, I really enjoy what you write—

R: [Overlapping] I’m also a writer so I know what it’s like to be like “I did this subconsciously,” it’s — yeah.

A: I love what you instigate in the fandom and the kind of conversations you support and engage in. I’m a huge fan of yours, so.

R: Oh! Thank you so much, that’s so sweet. Um. And I am a huge fan of yours.

A: Yay. That’s a great way to end a podcast.

R: That is a great way. Okay. Alright, well thank you so much, hope you have a great day, great week, uh, and — yeah. Okay.

A: Alright, and I’ll see you soon, we’ll do this again sometime, I hope.

R: Yes! Yeah. Okay.

A: Alright. Thanks again. Alright, bye.

#tdp #the dragon prince #podcast #cast and crew #wordswithdragons #aaron ehasz #transcripts #interviews #s6 #arc 2 #transcription

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keirou-kun · 7 days ago

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Batman-Nightwing: Bloodborne - A Ramble

I'd call this a rant or an essay or a review or an analysis, but it's kind of all of them at once, so 'ramble' works best I feel XD

Now, precisely nobody asked for this but fuck it, this is one of my favorite one-shot stories and I’m gonna make it everyone else’s problem. The story in question is Batman-Nightwing: Bloodborne, and it scratches the itch for seeing Dick be Absolutely Completely Normal about Bruce in a delightful fashion. I don’t care for the art style much – no shade to Toby Cypress, it’s just not my cup of tea – but the writing – by Kelly Puckett – is -chef’s kiss-

This is gonna get long [7 pages in Libre Office >w>] so I'm shoving it behind the cut.

Now, the first thing you need to know is that this story also hearkens back to a panel from Prodigal that lives in my head rent free. This one.

that’s such a Normal thing to say to your father figure dickie.

Keep this panel in mind. It will be relevant as we go along. Now, let’s get to our story.

It starts off in media res on page one with Bruce in some kind of snowfield facing off against bad guys. Page two cuts to Bludhaven and Dick’s apartment, where Clancy’s trying to get him to go out except that he’s got a previous engagement. It’s the anniversary of his parents’ deaths.

Side note: This is one of a handful of comics to say when it falls on a timeline, since Dick tells her he’s had this engagement for “about twenty years” [which, if he uses that term the way I do, means it could be anywhere from 16 to 22 years ago, but still. Anyway.]

Clancy offers company, but Dick declines and heads up to Gotham.

dick pls this is not an episode of csi

On the way he passes a car full of kids all hyped up on ice cream and cotton candy – and if you think circus brat Dick Grayson can’t recognize real, fresh cotton candy when he sees it you are wrong – which then draws his attention to this billboard.

Look at that smile. What a bean.

Meanwhile, back in the snowfield, Bruce is in bad shape. Something Is Wrong, probably with his heart, but we have no idea what. We just know he’s collapsed in the snow, gripping what looks like a batarang with lights on. Cut back to Dickie, who’s somehow managed to talk his way into getting one trip on the trapeze at the Gotham City Circus and is remembering his parents’ training.

"Remember, son–when you're in that tuck you're spinning too fast to see anything. If you try to look it'll throw you off, so don't. Just close your eyes, remember your training...and trust your partner to be there for you."

Remember this moment. It may be relevant later.

As Dick’s hands grip the other aerialist’s however, Bruce crushes the bat-tracker and – with the signal suddenly lost – makes Alfred choke on his tea and call Dick in what is undoubtedly a very restrained British panic. The next page has a couple things to comment on, so I’ll try to break it down here.

First: Dick has no idea what’s going on, but all he needs is an urgent tone from Alfred and mention of Bruce in trouble and he’s breaking speed limits. And then kicking himself for not driving faster when he sees Alfred’s face. A lovely introduction to his Normalcy about his batdad mentor.

Second: Alfred calls him ‘sir’ and this is clearly unusual. Dick doesn’t outwardly comment but he notices it and questions the use in his inner monologue. Another hint at how concerned Alfred is and how bad the situation could be, doubtless; with Bruce gone, Dick is pretty much the ranking member of the household here.

Third, and arguably the most important point here: Bruce leaves flowers for Dick’s parents every year. Not only that, but he does it without Dick knowing. Dick’s seen the flowers before, clearly, but for some reason has always assumed they were Alfred’s doing. To find out that it’s been Bruce, and that Bruce has never once missed this anniversary – and to find out on said anniversary, when Bruce is quite possibly in mortal danger – has to be a gut punch. But one that gets almost instantly compartmentalized because Dick has other shit to focus on, like what the fuck is going on with Bruce.

We learn, as Alfred takes him down to the Cave, that crushing that tracker was indeed intentional and – for whatever reason – Bruce does not want to be found. We also learn that Alfred’s called Tim in on this, which Dick is not a fan of, but Alfred’s reasoning is pretty damned sound.

but also dick that is such a bruce line omg.

They’re all worried as fuck, and this is apparently Tim’s first time realizing that sometimes Bruce purposefully erases mission files when he goes out solo.

not that it works

Tim, being Tim, has recovered most of them anyway, and so we learn that the whole mission began with a Russian virologist. Dick zones out into a flashback of his time as Robin, quite possibly the first time he ever saw Bruce get shot and got scared the man would die. Which, of course, didn’t happen, and in true Bruce fashion he brushed it off and assured Dick he’d dodged the bullet, but that didn’t stop young Dickie from sneaking down to the Cave later and finding the bullet hole in the center of the Batsuit’s chest.

And then we cut to the snowfields of northern Siberia. Dick’s dazed from having his jet shot down, doesn’t remember much between talking to Tim in the Cave and right this very moment, but he’s recovering. Taking stock of the situation. He’s been shot down by some kind of rebel militia that’s now trying to take him prisoner. As he fights his way free, another rebel lets loose with a rocket launcher and destroys not only the ATVs that Dick was going to make use of, but also the rest of the jet and all his gear that hadn’t been actually on his person.

Which means now he’s stuck in the Siberian snow near the Arctic Circle with not a blessed thing to his name but his standard suit – thermal suit went up with the jet – and a heartbeat sensor with a 20 foot range, on foot, with a 5-mile-wide circle for a search area.

Oh, and there’s a storm coming in.

gotta calculate that risk tho

So off he goes. Starts with one valley and does a full sweep with no results. We have no idea how long it takes or how many valleys he makes it through, but somehow through sheer plot device luck he all but stumbles across an unconscious Bruce. There’s a very tense moment when Dick’s feeling for a pulse – because the heartbeat sensor hasn’t detected a damned thing – and this is when I remind you that he got the news of Bruce’s disappearance on the anniversary of his parents’ deaths and so is almost certainly all the more desperate for that, but finally he gets a pulse and the relief is palpable.

I guarantee you he was clinging to bruce for a solid minute before moving on.

Unfortunately Dickie’s still suffering from a pretty bad concussion himself, so even as he’s trying to carry Bruce to shelter he stumbles, which is enough to bring Bruce back to consciousness enough to A: register that it’s Dick there with him and B: tell Dick to leave him behind. Which Dick, naturally, does not do. He keeps carrying Bruce through the snow to an old, theoretically abandoned way station that will hopefully offer at least some shelter through the coming storm. When he kicks the door open, however, it turns out the shelter is occupied by someone else. A woman, who is both surprised and alarmed at the intrusion. Dick demands blankets and warm water, on the assumption that Bruce is near freezing to death, only to realize Bruce is in fact running a fever.

And then Dick’s still-recovering memory throws up another card. The woman they’ve found is the virologist Tim mentioned. Her parents were murdered by Siberian rebels right in front of her – this will be important later – and she’s since developed a viral compound so virulent it makes the Clench look like hay fever. And Bruce has just dropped a mysterious vial of Something on the floor as he passed back out.

uh-oh.

Naturally Dick turns to the virologist to ask what to do next, only to find she’s run off. So he follows her, rescues her from a rebel, and drags her back to the way station only to see Bruce being hauled out to a waiting helicopter by more rebels. Naturally, he does the only logical thing here, which is charge in, race up the woodpile to the roof, and jump up to grab the landing strut on the helicopter to try and get Bruce back. The rebels, however, have other ideas and open fire through the floor, forcing him to let go and plummet back to the snow-covered tundra.

When he comes to again, there’s the virologist, and Dickie is done playing nice. He grabs her by the throat and barks a demand for information.

nightwing does not fuck around okay

Fortunately for her, the virologist claims there is a cure located in her lab, and she’s actually taken them there. Of course, it’s currently occupied by rebels, but that’s a minor matter. Dick gives her some instruction along with a warning – “Double-cross me and you’ll regret it.” – and the virologist offers something that is almost but not quite an apology, to which Dick’s response is less than charitable.

‘I’m not a monster’ says woman responsible for potentially-continent-killing plague.

Now, here’s the thing. He’s calling Bruce his friend here which, okay. They’re both in uniform, giving more information is dangerous and something he’s trained against. But for me, given the history between these two, that also tells me that Bruce hasn’t formally adopted Dick yet. But Bruce is so clearly more than just a friend here. The narrative sets that up and makes it clear, even if you don’t have the weight of the rest of pre-Flashpoint canon [or, hell, just the rest of canon itself] bearing down on you.

Dick is nigh feral at this point, his focus 100% on getting Bruce out of there alive, and his usual at-least-civil exterior is gone. “I’m not a monster,” says the virologist whose creation is directly threatening Bruce’s life. “Sure you aren’t,” snaps Nightwing who is in no mood to coddle someone who will, if she doesn’t help him fix this, be directly responsible for the death of his second father as far as he’s concerned.

He single-handedly takes out every guard between the virologist and her lab, though the final one cuts it close and she sees him haul a grown-ass man up into an air vent without much difficulty. She’s also seen him jump from a cabin roof to a moving helicopter without a second’s hesitation or a break in her stride. Point being, she should have some idea of what he’s capable of here. But as he’s tying up one last rebel and she’s behind the desk typing in an access code she sees reinforcements heading for the lab and says absolutely nothing.

Instead, she grabs the cure and says nothing until she’s already standing behind closing security doors, leaving Dick behind to deal with the reinforcements but showing him clearly she has the vial in hand.

Remember what he said about not double-crossing him?

We don’t get to see what happens in the lab once she runs, but we do see one last rebel get kicked through the front doors hard enough to knock them off their hinges. Nightwing is pissed. Enough so that when he catches up to the truck the virologist stole he just punches through the driver’s side window, grabs her with one hand and spins the wheel violently with the other, sending the truck skidding hard enough to turn over and dragging her out of it at the same time.

As he insists on continuing on to the rebel stronghold, however, the virologist hits him with another gut punch. That vial doesn’t hold a cure; it holds a vaccine. There is no cure. It’s too late for Bruce in her eyes, he’s doomed, so there’s no point in going to the rebel stronghold. Dick, understandably, doesn’t take this well. He actually collapses for a second there in the snow, because she’s just told him his father mentor is dying and there’s no way to save him at all. And then we get this exchange.

remember her tragic backstory?

Dick is probably near tears at this point, out of rage or frustration or pain or all three at once, and I can’t help but hear his tone as absolutely scathing. “Was it worth it?” Killing a man who had nothing to do with her grudge? “I’ll bet he saved your life at one point.” That may well have been why Bruce was out there to begin with, he knows; to stop her virus falling into the wrong hands if not to destroy it completely. “So...are you happy now?” Now that she’s killed a man who was trying to help her? “Feel better?” And if she says yes he cannot be held responsible for his reaction.

And then she comes out with that. Of all the people to say that to, and of all the times to say it, it had to be Nightwing, hard on the heels of the anniversary of his parents’ murder, while he’s trying to save a man who is also a victim of that very same tragedy. The virologist, of course, has no idea about any of this – how could she? – but that doesn’t stop Dick whirling on her to snap out his response.

well he meets her criteria for saying that

And then he’s moving again. Back to the helicopter he’s commandeered, demanding she come along, because he’s got a plan. It might be half-baked and absolutely insane, but it’s a plan and he has to try it. The virologist still insists that it’s pointless, that there’s no way his friend could still be alive, and Dick’s only response to that is:

The stony determination on his face says it all: he has absolute faith that Bruce can pull through anything, because he has to. Dick’s not stupid, and he’s not blind; he went into this knowing there was a chance he might find a corpse. But he also knows that Bruce’s heart was still beating when he found the man, and he has to hope. He has to, because if he stops hoping then he’s going to shatter and he can’t let that happen. Not until it’s proven beyond a doubt that there really is no chance at all. So as long as there’s even a single shred, even the barest iota of a chance that Bruce could still be alive, Dick’s going to cling to it and use it as fuel to push himself through everything else. He’s good at weaponizing hope like that.

And it works. He gets them to the rebel stronghold and drags her in with him. Just why he does this becomes pretty clear once they’re inside; it would’ve been easier for him to go in alone rather than drag her along clinging to cliff faces and dodging guards, but this way she gets to see what the rebels are gearing up to do with her creation. The virus she created as vengeance is about to destroy untold numbers of lives; the room they find, with rows of empty beds awaiting occupants, is almost certainly just the first drop in the barrel, and even she admits she’d never even considered this.

But while she’s wrestling with that Dick’s already moved to Bruce’s side. Bruce, who is strapped to a table with his vital signs being monitored, and who is still clinging to life. Dick then launches into what is almost certainly an extremely simplified explanation of how vaccines work, but it gets the point across. A vaccine sparks a response from the body’s immune system, nudging it into creating antibodies to fight whichever illness it’s for and thus filling the bloodstream of a vaccinated individual with those antibodies and giving the body the necessary boost in defense it needs to fight off the illness.

And then he reveals his plan.

you fuckin what mate

Turns out he’s taken the vaccine at some point between shoving her in the helicopter and arriving at the stronghold. It’s an absolutely bonkers plan, since the vaccine likely has had barely any time to really have much effect, but we’re using comic book logic here so fuck it. It’s still an absolutely bonkers plan even with comic book logic, because that vaccine was experimental and not even its creator knows if it will actually work or not. He could just wind up contracting the virus himself.

It’s at this point that Dick’s passive suicidal tendencies show themselves, and that I remind you all of the panel from Prodigal that started this whole thing. Remember that? Now look at this.

“Then I’ve got nothing to lose.” “I’d die for you, Bruce.”

There is not an ounce of hesitation. There was no question or wavering. Dick saw one single path through this, one potential chance to save Bruce, and he did not care if it cost him his life. If it works then Bruce survives and maybe Dick does too, and if he does that’s great but if he doesn’t at least his death will have been worth it. If it doesn’t work, then who cares if he lives or not?

But it’s only passive, because he still has the will and determination to give the virologist one last – and probably, honestly, terrifying – warning. “Even with half a blood supply, I can still stop you if you try anything.” Betray him again and see what happens, when he’s already told you he has nothing to lose.

But she doesn’t. She does exactly what he needs her to, sets up the transfusion, keeps it going. The virus starts taking hold of Dick and it’s painful, or at least his mind thinks it’s painful. His heart is pounding, he can feel the fever set in and spike, and then the *boom*s that he hears translate into the rebels busting into the room through the barricade he’d set up to buy them time.

Clearly not enough of it, though.

The virologist wants to cut off the transfusion and get them out of there, but Dick refuses. And he keeps refusing until the last possible minute, at which point he’s pulling the needle out and diving into battle. The narration is really what makes the next few panels, which are all still images of the ensuing fight.

Fever dream. Shapes blurring around me. Screams and thuds surrounding me. No tactics. No strategies. Blind instinct. A lifetime of training. My lifetime. His training. All I have now...is what he gave me.

Remember back at the beginning, when Dick was recalling John Grayson’s words? “Just close your eyes, remember your training.” One father’s advice bleeding into another’s training in a way that is almost seamless unless you’re looking for it. And then there’s that last line.

On the surface Dick’s talking about his combat training. All the skills and techniques he’s learned from Bruce over the course of his life. But peel back that first layer and you find that dogged determination, the willpower. Dick came to Bruce with his fair share of that to begin with, yes, but you cannot tell me that Bruce’s training didn’t strengthen it, sharpen it to a point. Dick had the will, but Bruce showed him how to temper it into another weapon, into a shield.

And then, below even that, you have Dick’s own life. A life that Bruce gave him. Without Bruce, Dick’s life would have been completely different. Dick has said at least once that he considers Bruce to have saved him. Without Bruce, it’s reasonable to suppose, Dick is fairly certain he’d be dead by now.

All I have now is what he gave me.

His fighting skill. His determination. His very life. And he’s putting every last bit of it to use, fighting through a band of rebels on his own until he’s confronting their leader, who is a giant of a man wielding a battle-axe. And Dick is getting tired. He’s fighting the virus as much as he’s fighting other people right now. He knows he’s flagging, but he has to keep going. Has to keep fighting. And the narration here lays bare a part of him that, if anyone’s been reading Nightwing‘96, comes as no surprise.

Dick fears letting Bruce down. In other shocking news, the pope has been confirmed as catholic. More at 11.

I see it now. Clearly. My greatest fear. Not that he would fall, but that I would fail him. That he would need me someday...and my best truest effort would be... ...not quite enough.

There is a point in Nightwing ‘96, not long after Dick’s settled in Bludhaven, where he faces off against Scarecrow and spends at least a day or two dosed on fear toxin. We learn then that Dick’s deepest fear is failure. Is not measuring up. Is for his best to just not be good enough. This moment, right here, digs deeper into that and, I think, nails it perfectly.

Dick has always tried to measure up to Bruce’s expectations. He has to be perfect, because that’s what he thinks Bruce wants. And by this point in his life, he’s also learned that when he’s not perfect, people get hurt. People die. He has to be perfect. He has to be. And right now, with Bruce’s life on the line, if he can’t win this fight, if he can’t push through this, if he can’t find a better best to pull out, then the consequences are unthinkable.

Failure is Dick’s worst fear, but failing Bruce - not being able to catch his father partner when the chips are down and it’s literally do or die – is his worst nightmare.

And finally his body just. Gives out. He can’t get back up. He’s straining, he’s trying, because in his head Bruce would, but he can’t. The rebel leader towers over him, the axe about to fall, but there in he background is a familiar silhouette just before everything fades to black.

Then we cut back to the Cave, where Alfred and Bruce are in the middle of a discussion about the virologist, who apparently was convinced to destroy a lifetime of work, though not by Bruce. We don’t actually learn what did convince her, though, because Tim interrupts them to inform them that Dick’s awake, and then to assure Dick that he’ll be fine.

It’s the last two lines, and the final panel, though, that really cement things for me. Because of all the things either one of them could say, of all the things that have to be going through Bruce’s mind or through Dick’s, not a single one makes it into words. For a second Bruce just stands there in silence before offering a single word of thanks, and a hand. And Dick just takes the hand, and smiles, and responds with another single word that carries about a ton of emotional weight regardless of how light his tone might be when he says it.

who needs actual conversation am I right

“Anytime.”

Let’s recap just what he did here. He took a jet into what he knew was going to be hostile territory and got shot down for his troubles. He forged ahead into an oncoming snowstorm, on foot with no supplies or gear, to find a man who might be dead anyway, when he could have tried to salvage enough gear to take shelter and GTFO. He risked his life to obtain a cure that turned out to be an experimental vaccine which he took without hesitation or asking for more information about because a whole-body full blood transfusion to flood Bruce’s body with hopefully-effectively-vaccinated blood was the one insane idea he had even if the odds were astronomically in favor of him dying in the process, and then he exacerbated those odds by fighting off half a rebel army in order to buy Bruce time to recover, because let’s be real here, Dick couldn’t have expected Bruce to recover enough to actually fight right then. Likely his hope was that he could buy enough time for the virologist to get Bruce out of there, or that he’d get lucky enough that he could live up to what he thought he needed to and finish the fight himself to give them both collapse-and-recover time.

He pulled off what should have been an impossible mission, one that Bruce himself had deemed too dangerous to allow backup on. He could have died. Arguably he *should have* died. He took a risk that anyone else would have deemed absolutely batshit-bananas insane, and they both know it. And then he simply brushes it off with “Anytime.”

And he means it.

And they both know that, too.

This is one of my absolute favorite one-shot stories purely from a Bruce-and-Dick dynamic perspective, because it nails Dick’s side of things and it nails a side of him that so rarely gets shown. No matter what’s going on, no matter what’s happening – because at the time of this comic, things are once again a little rocky between them – if Bruce needs his help Dick will drop everything else to be there, and Dick will do whatever it takes to get him out of trouble. Even at the cost of his own life. And when someone he cares about – especially when it’s one of his family – is in mortal danger, he stops pulling punches, he stops playing nice, he threatens and he’s harsh and he’s rough and he shows a side of himself that even those he’s trying to defend would be surprised to see, because he hides it so goddamned well that people forget it even exists.

Go read the comic and see for yourself.

#Musings #batman #nightwing #bruce wayne #dick grayson #dcu #dc comics #nightwing bloodborne #batman nightwing bloodborne #batfam #geekery

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amuseoffyre · 7 months ago

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Fyre's convention adventures - Day 3 - Con O'Neill's Fanmeet

My final meet of the event was Con’s, immediately after the joyful chaos of his panel with Rhys.

Forewarning, this one contains some details of animal harm that happened to his pet before he got him.

He barely had sat down when someone asked if he’d been Whammed already and the look of feigned shock and “that’s none of your business!” set the tone of the thing :D He also told us in his best encouraging voice "You can be whammed as much as you like and don't let the right wing tell you otherwise!"

And also led into a discussion about whether it was Wham! or whether it was George Michael’s solo for Last Christmas and he had to sheepishly back down after a minute and admit, no, it was Wham, definitely Wham.

And of course, I had to bring up accent stuff and asked how it felt to actually be able to use his own accent, given how rarely northern English accents show up in media made elsewhere. He said it was a delight to be able to bring a bit of Wigan to the production.

He also talked about his drama teacher when he was a kid (who he did not name because she doesn’t deserve that respect) who – when he was sixteen – told him he would never be a successful actor because he had a weird voice. There was apparently a recent review for The Penguin series that someone said he had the coolest voice and he thought that was a lovely fuck you to that malignant boot.

He made a beautiful point that if you’re a teacher, especially a teacher in a creative field, you have a duty to be encouraging. Not talking BS about how everyone will be famous, he said, but realistic, supporting and encouraging the kids, because “we know it’s hard. We don’t need to be told it’s hard. We know, but when it’s good, it’s fucking amazing”. He also mentioned that it’s come so far from the days of RP everywhere.

I said it was definitely how I felt about seeing Buttons as well – having a working class Edinburgh accent, something that so many people have never heard. He was so happy to talk about how fantastic Ewen Bremner is as an actor (“even if I can’t understand anything he’s saying”) and that he saw him in the original run of the Trainspotting stage production in the 90s when Ewen played Renton, several years before the film happened.

It was surreal, he said, to have seen this incredible actor on stage and thirty years later, to be sharing the screen with him as Buttons (“and still not understanding a word he was saying!”) and that Ewen is genuinely one of the best actors he knows and that he’s also the best kind of people.

Someone asked about how they did the seagull stuff with Buttons and he told us about Jonathan, the gull on a string, but in the shots when they didn’t have the camera on Buttons, Ewen wore a stuffed seagull on his head to maintain the right eyelines. He had to admit it was quite challenging to keep his face straight when filming because when Ewen spoke, the plushie gull was jiggling on his head XD

And then, of course, he broke our hearts by telling us about how he and his husband adopted Cooper, their wee doggo.

Their previous dog had passed and they’d been adamant they weren’t going to adopt again because it fully broke their hearts when he died, but someone sent Con a picture of a dog in a shelter in Hungary, saying “does this remind you of anyone?” and it was the spitting image of their previous dog. They got a bit emotional about it and after a few days of trying to hold off, they called the shelter.

Cooper had already been adopted – in London – but it wasn’t working out, so they got in touch with the current owners and planned to go down and meet them. The first time Cooper saw them, he started barking excitedly and things only escalated :D

They took Cooper off for a walk to see how they got on, then got so distracted comparing selfies, that Cooper trotted off and they were so panicked about losing him that they rushed back to tell the current owners, only Cooper was there, patiently waiting on the step and ecstatically started barking when he saw them coming again.

So they go in and Con said he took one of the ladies aside to find out why the adoption hadn’t worked, because they needed to know why in case it was major behavioural things that needed work. She said that the dog was incapable of love or connecting with people. And Con, looking beyond her shoulder, could see his husband on the floor, dog on his chest, wagging his tail so enthusiastically his whole body was wagging, licking Con’s husband all over his face. Con be like MMHM. Sounds like a skills issue ;)

So they took him home but got a bit concerned when he had a tendency to bite and latch on if people touched his ears or ribs. Turned out Cooper had been horribly abused in Hungary: tattoos on his ear, broken ribs, cigarette burns and surgery without anaesthetic. They were worried it could be a problem because they have young grandkids.

Still, they decided do the trial adoption and see how he got on – usually, he said, the trial is for a week or two, then the dog returns to the original adopters and then the paperwork is done. They never saw the original adopters again.

And while they were still concerned about the biting, Con had to go away for work for a few weeks, so they got a dog-sitter in to look after Cooper. When Con returned, he said Cooper crawled along the floor of the hall on his belly to Con, head and ears down, then crawled all the way up under his shirt, curling up against his chest, trembling and whimpering. The dogsitter – who is some kind of pet psychologist as well – said it was because he’s been abandoned and dumped so many times, he didn’t know they were coming back.

Con: right that second, I decided fuck the grandkids, we’re keeping him.

And now, Cooper is so happy and safe and loved and safe :)

There was one other question but I can’t recall what it was now. It was such a lovely chat and he is genuinely such a lovely, warm, funny guy.

#Fyre's first convention #ofmd #our flag means death #SFRoP #Starfury Republic of Pirates #Con O'Neill

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sensitivehandsomeactionman · 10 months ago

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350 fans attended. 10 fans per table. Buffet style. It took a long time for us to all get our food, pick a seat and sit down. 10 minutes later, Jensen and Steve walked in and greeted all of us from the stage.

Jensen started by explaining how they got this panel idea: because he often gets band related questions in panels and he feels bad about it sometimes, because not everyone with him is involved and they couldn't weigh in. (He jokingly lowered his voice)"Jared", and he doesn't want anyone to feel left out. And also, the only person(s) who could answer Radio Company related questions are either him or Steve. So they got the idea of doing a panel specifically for music related questions together and since we are in Texas, BBQ!

How do they collaborate with each other? Jensen said Steve is the more musically talented of the two, he is the one who could read music and communicate with professionals and explain what they need. Jensen just, he considers himself as having sharp ears. He might not know what exactly something was called but he knows when something just sounds right (or wrong), just by listening to it. And Steve is the one who enriches and develops from his hunch, and communicates with other professional musicians to work on them. Because, Jensen admits, he does not have the vocab of all those technical terms.

They did a little demonstration with guitar, Jensen strung a simple tune and gestured to Steve, and Steve was like, "You want me to do it here, now?" but he picked it up and made it into a much more complex melody and Jensen laughed, "now you are just showing off!" Steve mentioned it's like Jensen's "acting stuff" and Jensen fake astonished like, "Acting STUFF?" And Steve was like, How would I know what you do? All I know is you were always off busy doing your...stuff!

City Grown Willow. It's a song Steve wrote as a gift to a couple of his friends 10 years ago. The husband was from Colorado (cowboy) and wife from LA. They had split up now but they were a great couple. And the song was just kind of put on the shelf after it was written. One day Jensen and Steve were trying some music together, and Jensen asked Steve if he has anything that's already baked. Steve said you know most of my stuff already! You were there when I wrote them! Then he suddenly remembered, oh there is this one...and afterwards Jensen was like, can I have it? And that's how it came to be.

How did they first start? They were both from Texas and became friends in the good old days. Early 2000s they were roommates in Vancouver and Steve sometimes recorded at home. When he was recording his first album, Jensen walked in and was like, what is that? I love the song. He casually sang the harmony and Steve was like, I didn't know you could sing? Jensen was humble about it and said something like, Yeah I could carry a tune now and then. But Steve was so impressed he insisted for Jensen to record it properly right there. Well they were at home anyway so, no biggy? And Steve ended up using Jensen's harmony for that song in his first album. And it went from there. They've collaborated together and developed more than 50 songs now.

Austin summer! Hhh Steve is an Austin local. He said every year he gave a birthday concert. It's a small gathering, just for friends. And this year is the 10th anniversary and everyone was like, Steve, could we do it anywhere but Austin for this year? August, too hot! And he was like, well, yeah, all right. And then Jensen called, and his 10th anniversary concert was still held in Austin! Last week. Jensen said, Well, it was meant to be! Also Jensen: I used to live here! Austin is great! But not in June, July, August, and sometimes throw in September too. Never liked Austin summer, and why did creation choose August I have asked this question for a year now.

Fans asked him what he misses most about Texas and he said, I don't? I am still here all the time. I am here now, I was here a few weeks ago and then a few weeks before that. My whole family's still here my mom and dad are in Dallas I often visit them. So I kind of... I didn't catch what he said after that but I got the idea that he thinks of himself more like commuting, instead of permanently moved out.

They mentioned an Easter egg they put in one of their songs, they used the exact same letters for 2 sentences and they were really proud of it and high fives each other all excited afterwards. I think it might be All Our Own but I'm not sure. Maybe someone else remembers?

The new song Home on the Road Jensen was shooting Rust in New Mexico and rented a small house next to the Rio Grande river. It's quiet and out of the way and he walks on riverbank trail on his day off and loved it. When Steve visited and they tried to hum a tune out and once they got it, the first words came out of Jensen for that tune was "home on the road". Just like that little house, his home on the road. Both him and Steve travel so much for work, it resonated. And they wrote the song. They said it's not polished yet but they sang it for us anyway. The tune reminded me of City Grown Willow. I think it'll become my new favorite.

If they were invited to perform in ACL festival will they go? Jensen: No!! Steve: Ugh definitely? Jensen: So here is your answer. Steve will drag me kicking and screaming to there. They laughed so hard and then Jensen said, no any time you have a chance to perform in that capacity, of course you go.

Talked about Kaleo and JJ. J2 and JJ are friends and they get together whenever JJ visits and they'd love to collaborate together if ever get the chance. This is all I could recall!

#Jensen Ackles #Steve Carlson #Radio Company #Radio Company Texas BBQ 2024 #austincon 2024 #creator: hanmeicui #thank you for sharing this amy cui <3 #i tried to transcribe exactly as it was written #long post

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erenash · 5 months ago

Text

Kiss Me on the Mouth, Love Me like a Sinner (JayVik)

Jayce Talis is grieving and goes to a confession booth almost every day to repent and try to heal.

Plot Twist: The Priest is Viktor!! YAY

-------

I don't own any rights to these characters.

Don't like it? Don't read.

Everything I know about this kind of stuff is from Flea Bag edits, so you've been warned.

TW: depression, mild drinking, mentions of grief and dealing with it, mention of the death of a child, religious stuff in here, okay, okay. (also available on my AO3: ashes_to_ash)

------- Part One

Jayce wasn’t sure what could be worse.

The before or the after.

In the before, everything was simple, easy, and drawn out for him. He would have graduated with his master's in Chemical Engineering and worked for Piltover Enterprises as a project manager. His entire future was sealed with a golden stamp.

That was almost a year ago.

Before the accident. Before he killed an innocent child.

He hadn’t meant for his thesis project to go so horribly wrong.

“Tell me about the accident again, Jayce,” the calm voice on the other side of the thin wooden lattice urged him. “From the beginning.”

The distraught man choked out a laugh. “You already know everything. I’ve been here practically every day.”

“For the last two months, I’m aware.” Then, a soft chuckle before the voice said, “You take up a lot of time in my booth, though I’m not complaining. Not many people come to confession in this city.”

“Are you allowed even to tell me that?”

“What we talk about is between us and God. You can share whatever you wish with me,” the voice promised him.

Jayce never went to church after he moved to the States. His mother would drag him tooth and nail every Sunday to sing, pray, and find community in their small town outside Guadalajara.

But he never craved that understanding, that sense of belonging, the hope of it all—until Henry died.

“It was supposed to save lives,” Jayce started for the hundredth time, rubbing his unshaven jaw with one hand. “Neutralize toxic waste. Clean up the planet, make things better for everyone…That’s what I told everyone, what I told myself.”

There was a beat of silence before the priest pressed for more. “You always start with this. Why?”

“You already know the reason–why do you make me retell it every time?”

“Because you haven’t let yourself truly feel all of it, Jayce,” the voice explained. “It’s been almost three years now, and you only just started coming here months ago. You talk and talk, but it’s as if you’re reading a story sometimes. So, let’s try this again—Tell me what happened from the beginning.”

Jayce hoped the priest could feel the burning hot glare he sent through the wooden panel between them. “I’m starting to think you enjoy watching me fall apart, Father.”

There’s another soft chuckle. “If I wanted to watch people fall apart, I would have gone into politics or poetry, not priesthood.” He sighed gently, then tapped the wooden panel twice with one knuckle, his tone lilting with his thick Czech accent that the pained man had grown so accustomed to hearing daily, “Come on, Jayce. Start from the beginning. For yourself, not for me.”

He knew that Jayce knew that it was for himself. It always was. The priest didn’t need to hear this story every time. Jayce knew that.

Logically? Jayce understood grief: the stages, the emotions, the rage, the range of it all.

He’d researched it a few weeks after abandoning his thesis and master’s program, locked away in his room with thousands of calculations for how the accident could have been prevented.

On paper, grieving and moving on was easy, tangible, reachable.

In this small confession booth, with his fingers ink-stained and his heart heavy—Jayce never felt so far from everything.

“Dr. Heimerdinger was all for my project, and the advisor for the department backed him. I threw myself into the work, and I thought it would fix many things wrong in the world.” The words felt bitter on his tongue. “That’s when the cracks first appeared. The compound wasn’t stable. The reactions were violent ones when the conditions were not one hundred percent perfect. I told her. I told her we—I told her I needed more time.”

“Her is referring to?”

“Mel Medarda, the advisor for the department,” Jayce’s stomach twisted as he thought about how it all played out. “She waved off the Doctor, and I’s worries, saying that science works that way—it’s always messy until it isn’t.” His throat felt as if it was about to close up as he choked out, “She called it a ‘calculated’ risk. But it wasn’t her risk to take, was it? It was mine. I was the one in the lab. I was the one who signed off on the demonstration. I was the one who—” A sob cracks under his lungs and bubbles up out of him, cutting his words off.

The voice whispered, “Keep going.”

Shaking his head, Jayce continued. “The day of the demo, I was running on fumes. Stress, guilt, fear—I felt like I was suffocating, but I kept telling myself it would be fine. We’d rehearsed it, controlled everything. What could go wrong, right?” Fingers shaking, he grips his hands into fists, balling up the material of his sweatpants. “But then the sun hit the containment unit. And the reaction—it was so fast. One second, everyone is clapping; the next, there’s this BOOM—and the air turns to poison. Everyone’s running away coughing, and that’s when I saw that boy—Henry.”

“The one with the curly hair.” The voice remembered from when Jayce told him that fact last week.

Another sob rakes through the former golden star of the chemical engineering program. “Curly hair, big blue eyes, he stood there holding his mother’s hand. I didn’t even think to tell them to back up—Now, all I hear when I try to sleep is his mother's scream as she holds her son’s body. The medics couldn’t save him. The press swarmed us.”

The priest asked as if he didn’t already know, “What did Mel do?”

“She acted as if the entire thing was a freak accident,” Jayce scoffed as he wiped his eyes with his sweatshirt sleeve. “Like it could not have been predicted. And me? I just stood there. Frozen. Watching Henry’s mother scream while I did nothing.”

Another pause. “You feel like you failed him?”

“I didn’t just fail him, Father,” Jayce stated, his hands opening and closing as he shut his eyes. “ I killed him. My hands, my signature, my experiment, my cowardice. And you always drag me right back here, to the scene of the crime, as if reliving it is going to fix me.”

“I’m not doing this to make you relieve it, Jayce,” the priest told him with a heavy sigh leaving his mouth before he added, “I’m helping you carry it. Every time you come here, every time you tell me this story—you’re giving a little bit more to me. And one day, you’ll stop coming because it won’t weigh you down the same way. But that only happens if you keep going.”

Jayce probably owed this priest his life, and he wouldn’t even know how to start repaying him. “I don’t even know what made me start coming here. I don’t know how to keep going.”

“You come here because part of you believes there's more to your story than this,” the priest said, then let out a small laugh before he finished with, “And you come here because you don’t have to face it alone, Jayce.”

He didn't respond immediately, but his shoulders relaxed a fraction.

Jayce could feel his eyes begin to pulse with heat, but he blinked the tears away as a tidal wave of vulnerability washed over his heart. “Sometimes I feel like you know me better than I know myself, Father. And I hate it,” He admitted, more to himself than the man listening.

He’s never even laid eyes on the person behind the wooden lattice. He’s only ever heard his voice through his most challenging moments in the last eight weeks. The confessional booth feels like a second home to Jayce now, though he’s still not sure if that’s comforting or damning.

“That’s not uncommon. People tend to reveal more in moments of vulnerability than they realize. But knowing you... that’s not my job. My job is to listen.” The priest said it so quietly that Jayce wasn’t sure if he believed him. Leaning forward on the small seat, his palms sweating as his fingers trembled, Jayce said slowly, “But that’s the thing. You do know me. You’ve heard every awful detail of what I’ve done, what I think. And you just sit there, calm and understanding, like some perfect saint who’s never screwed up a day in his life. It’s not fair.”

As if considering his words carefully, the man of God spoke after a few minutes, “Much of life is not fair, Jayce. There’s beauty in knowing nothing is perfect–including me. ”

“Then tell me something real .” “I have never told you anything untrue.” Jayce groaned in annoyance. There was nothing he hated more than a perfect circle. The priest always had a way of bringing him back to the start of everything.

“I just hate feeling like you’re untouchable,” he confessed, running a hand through his messy hair. “You’re truly like God. I’ve never seen or touched you–yet you’re always here. Talking to me, guiding me. It’s infuriating.”

So softly, as if more to himself than to Jayce, the priest professed, “ Untouchable . That’s the last thing I’d call myself.”

“Then prove it. You’ve heard my story a dozen times now. Give me something real about you. Just one thing. Anything .” He was practically begging, one hand flush against the thin panel between them. If he squinted in the dim light of the confession booth, he could make out a figure on the other side.

Jayce would do anything to feel less like something that was created to hold grief. He always knew his heart was too heavy to carry alone. He never realized it would never get better–he always thought it would get better. That was the promise regarding grief–that it would get better. But it never did. And if this was how it felt because he killed one child he didn’t even know, how was he supposed to handle losing anyone else in his life?

“You think it’s easy, listening to people’s worst moments? Feeling their pain, their anger, their guilt, and not being able to take it away? I chose this, Jayce, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t weigh on me,” The priest shifted, pushing his weight against the back panel of the booth as he sighed heavily.

“That’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking for something real. Not ‘ I carry people’s burdens ’—everyone knows that’s part of the job. I’m talking about you . The person , not the Father. Do you ever let yourself be vulnerable? Or are you just sitting there, soaking up everyone else’s messes while pretending you’ve got none of your own?” He regretted the words before they even left his lips. Jayce was always the culprit for making a mess of the before and the after.

He was about to lose the one person who had to listen to him cry and mourn about the same thing, the same accident, for weeks without complaint. The voice Jayce would crave at the darkest hours of every night finally broke the heated silence, “My name is Viktor.”

------- Part Two

The sound of the door closing behind Viktor echoed softly in his quiet apartment. He set his dark wooden crutch against the wall and leaned his weight on the worn table beside the door. His breath came shallow as he eased the brace from his right leg, the stiff leather straps creaking as they loosened. His hips ached with the familiar throb of a day spent sitting too long, standing too much, and listening too intently.

With slow, practiced movements, he shrugged out of his priest's cassock, draping the black fabric over the back of a chair. The starkness of his pale undershirt against his skin made him feel vulnerable, though no one was there to see. He rubbed his hands over his face, pausing to press his palms into his eyes as if he could block out the intrusive thoughts.

Thoughts of him.

Jayce.

The name alone sent a shiver through Viktor’s chest, like the first note of a hymn he couldn’t resist singing. He hated it, this weakness. This hunger . It was preposterous, of course. Entirely unbecoming of a man who had taken vows of service, of restraint, of devotion to something higher than himself.

Yet there it was–there he was–gnawing at the edges of his carefully constructed life.

He moved to the small kitchen, flipping on the light and squinting as it illuminated the worn linoleum floor. The apartment was modest but comfortable, provided by the church. He had been content here for years—almost a decade by now. The quietness of his evenings the simplicity of his routines, had once felt like blessings. Now, they felt hollow.

He poured himself a glass of gin, gripping the counter tightly as a fresh wave of guilt rolled over him. He could still see Jayce’s broad shoulders framed in the dim light of the confessional booth, the flush on his tanned cheeks as he spoke with such raw, anguished honesty. Viktor had spent years counseling others, listening without judgment, but with Jayce, it was different.

Drinking was not something Viktor typically did; he preferred to be sober most evenings–it kept the sinful thoughts at bay. When he drank, they’d come to him twicefold, making him doubt everything that’s led him to this life of quiet celibacy. He wasn’t always this reserved person; he hadn’t always dreamed of closing himself off from the rest of the world and stepping up to the high table to sit alongside God and all his disciples.

The shame of his thoughts burned hotter as he recalled how many times he had lingered near the stained-glass windows of the cathedral after Jayce’s confessions. He would stand in the shadows, hidden behind the heavy curtains, and watch as the slightly younger man made his way out to his car.

Jayce always moved with the weight of someone carrying an invisible burden, his shoulders tense, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Viktor’s eyes would trace the lines of his figure—the way his suit jacket stretched across his frame, the unruly strands of his dark hair catching the faint glow of the streetlights.

And every time, Viktor would curse himself for looking.

He sank heavily into the worn armchair by the window, stretching his aching leg before him as he took another drink from his glass. The golden accents on his crutch glinted faintly in the low light, a reminder of the concessions he had made to age and injury.

He should have been used to this, the dull throb of pain that was now as much a part of him as his breath. But tonight, it felt sharper, more insistent, as if his body were rebelling against the tension coiling in his chest.

He wanted Jayce. Not just in the fleeting, physical way that would have been bad enough.

No, Viktor’s hunger was deeper, darker, more damning. He wanted to take Jayce’s grief, his guilt, and swallow it whole. He wanted to hold him, to cradle his head against his chest, to promise him that the world wouldn’t always be this cruel.

And more than anything, he wanted Jayce to need him.

It was absurd. Blasphemous. Viktor was a priest—a man who had devoted his life to service, to faith, to God. He had no right to want anything for himself, let alone someone as broken and beautiful as Jayce.

But he couldn’t stop.

Jayce’s voice echoed in his mind, low and rough, filled with a desperation that Viktor had never encountered before. Jayce spoke like a man who had already condemned himself, who believed he was beyond saving. And yet, he always came back to Viktor, day after day, looking for something—comfort, absolution, maybe even hope .

And Viktor? Viktor gave him what he could. But it was never enough.

He leaned his head back against the chair, closing his eyes. His hands trembled as he clasped them together, a gesture of prayer more out of habit than intent. He whispered, his voice cracking with the weight of his shame.

“God, forgive me.”

But as the words left his lips, he wasn’t sure if he meant them. Because some small, selfish part of him didn’t want forgiveness.

It wanted Jayce.

Viktor’s eyes opened slowly, drawn to the faint glow of the church’s steeple visible through his window. He sat there for a long time, staring into the night, trying to convince himself that he could let this go. He could be the priest Jayce needed, not the man Viktor wanted to be.

But deep down, he knew the truth.

He hadn’t felt alive like this in years—not since his college days, not since before the ache in his leg became permanent, not since the walls of his faith became a refuge instead of a choice.

And Jayce? Jayce was a fire he couldn’t seem to extinguish.

Viktor closed his eyes again, the ghost of Jayce’s voice lingering across his heart.

He wanted to save him.

But more than that, he wanted to keep him.

And that was a sin Viktor wasn’t sure he had the strength to resist.

------- Part Three

Jayce stepped through the heavy oak doors of the church, his footsteps echoing faintly in the stillness. The air was cool and faintly scented with beeswax and incense, and the sunlight filtering through the stained glass cast fractured rainbows onto the stone floor. He paused just inside, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets as if he could anchor himself to something solid.

He wasn’t here to confess, not really. He was here for him . For the man who had become an unwelcome fixture in his mind, a name he couldn’t stop repeating to himself in quiet, desperate moments.

Viktor.

It was all Jayce could think about these last few days, tracing the letters into the margins of his bible, whispering the name into the stillness of his apartment, feeling its weight settle deep in his chest. He hadn’t felt this fire to figure someone out in years. It burned through him like hunger, like need, like something he couldn’t control even if he wanted to.

For the first time since going to that cathedral, that church, that goddamn booth–Jayce felt something other than grief raging through his chest.

And it terrified him.

For months, Viktor had been a voice in the dark, steady and soothing, a presence that seemed too solid for the booth that confined him. Jayce had built him in his mind, piece by piece—a broad-shouldered, calm-faced figure with kind eyes and hands that could hold the weight of a thousand sins.

But it wasn’t enough. It never was.

Jayce needed more than the phantom he’d created. He needed to see Viktor, to put a face to the man who had listened to him unravel again and again. He needed to know who Viktor was, not just as a priest but as a person .

He wasn’t sure what he was looking for—closure, maybe, or clarity. But deep down, in the part of himself he refused to acknowledge, he knew the truth. He wasn’t here for absolution or answers.

He was here because he’d fallen for a man he could never have.

Jayce made his way down the aisle, his hands brushing over the backs of the pews as he walked. His legs felt heavy, his heart thudding unevenly in his chest. Instead of heading to the confessional, he slid into a pew near the front, his knees brushing the worn wooden bench as he sat.

The church was empty, save for a single figure at the altar.

Jayce’s breath caught as he took him in for the first time.

He wasn’t what Jayce had imagined. Viktor was more petite and leaner; his frame was a mixture of fragility and quiet strength. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and he moved with deliberate slowness, his hand resting lightly on the wooden crutch propped against the altar. His cassock hung loosely on him, and even from this distance, Jayce could see the lines of pain etched into his face—the faint crease between his brows, the tightness in his jaw.

And yet, there was something magnetic about him.

Jayce’s chest tightened as he watched Viktor light a candle, the flickering glow illuminating his features. He wasn’t handsome in the traditional sense, but there was a calm dignity and a weight to his presence that made it impossible to look away.

This is him, Jayce thought. This is the man who’s been holding my soul together for months. The man I’ve spilled everything to. The man I can’t stop thinking about.

His heart sputtered painfully in his chest, and he clenched his fists against the polished wood of the pew, trying to steady himself.

He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected Viktor to feel so... real .

Jayce’s pulse roared in his ears as he fought to reconcile the Viktor in his mind with the one standing in front of him. He was flesh and blood, imperfect and human, yet the pull Jayce felt toward him was overwhelming.

It wasn’t fair.

You don’t even know him, Jayce told himself. Not really. You know his voice, his words, the way he listens. But you don’t know him.

But Jayce couldn’t shake the truth that had settled in his chest like a sinking ship.

He’d fallen for Viktor.

Not the idea of him, not the comfort he provided, but him . The man who bore the weight of others’ sins while quietly carrying his own. The man who had become an anchor in Jayce’s storm, steady and unyielding.

It was wrong. He knew that. Viktor was untouchable, not because of his title, but because of who he was—because of the walls he’d built, the life he’d chosen.

But knowing it was wrong didn’t make it any easier to look away.

Jayce’s hands shook as he shifted in the pew, the faint creak of wood breaking the silence. Viktor’s head turned slightly at the sound, his gaze sweeping the room until it landed on Jayce.

Their eyes met, and Jayce felt his heart thumping erratically, his breath catching in his throat.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, Viktor began to make his way toward him, his crutch tapping softly against the stone floor.

Jayce’s pulse quickened with every step, his chest tightening as Viktor stopped a few feet away, his gaze steady but searching.

Softly, hesitantly, Viktor spoke, “You’re not in the confessional today.”

“I needed to see you.”

And just like that, the walls Jayce had spent so long building began to crack. Because in Viktor’s eyes, he didn’t see judgment or distance. He saw something much more gentle, something that made his heart ache.

He’s real, Jayce thought again, and it terrified him.

Viktor adjusted his crutch and studied Jayce for a moment, his expression carefully neutral, though his golden-brown eyes flickered with something Jayce couldn’t quite place. Curiosity, maybe. Or wariness. “You needed to see me?” The question echoed throughout the empty cathedral.

Shrugging, doing his best to remain nonchalant, Jayce said, “Yeah. I figured after months of baring my soul to a faceless voice, it was time to... you know, put a face to the name.”

Viktor lets a small smile creep across his mouth. “And? Was it worth the effort?”

“Jury’s still out. You’re not exactly what I pictured.” Jayce’s cheeks burn as he tries to contain his own.

An eyebrow raises in amusement from the priest. “No? Should I be flattered or concerned?”

Letting his body lean back against the pew, the man sighed playfully before answering, “Flattered, I guess. You’re not what I expected, but that’s not a bad thing.”

“ And what did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Someone... taller. Broader. Like you could bench-press the weight of everyone’s sins or something.” The admission was a stupid one, but it was honest.

A laugh escaped Viktor’s lips and then another, making Jayce grin wider as the priest told him, “I assure you, my strength lies elsewhere. Bench-pressing is not among my talents.”

“Shame. Would’ve been a great party trick.”

“I’ll keep it in mind for my next performance,” Viktor assured him dryly as he sat on the pew a few feet away.

The easy banter caught Jayce off guard. Viktor’s voice, so often calm and measured in the confessional, now had an edge of humor to it, a warmth that made him feel almost... normal. Like they weren’t priest and penitent, but two men having a conversation.

It was dangerous, Jayce realized, how easy it was to talk to him like this.

Shifting slightly, his gaze flicking to Viktor’s crutch before he could stop himself as he said, “So... you’ve got a name, and now I’ve got a face. Guess all that’s left is figuring out the rest of the puzzle.”

Another eyebrow raised in his direction. “I wasn’t aware I was a puzzle to be solved.”

“Oh, come on. You’re a guy who spends his days listening to people’s darkest secrets and still manages to stay calm and collected. There’s gotta be more to you than that.”

“Perhaps. But I’m not sure it’s the kind of ‘more’ you’d find interesting.”

Jayce tilted his head at the priest, his voice lowering slightly as he gave him a look. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

The shift in tone made Viktor pause. He glanced down at Jayce, his brow furrowing slightly as if trying to read the unspoken weight behind the words. Jayce felt exposed under that gaze, like Viktor could see every flaw in his carefully constructed armor.

“Why are you really here, Jayce? It’s not just to put a face to my name, is it?” The priest was…nervous. Jayce wasn’t the best at reading everyone, but he could read this. He saw the way Viktor’s fingers dug into his cane, the slight pinking of his pale cheekbones, the glint in his eyes. This was mutual.

Clearing his throat, Jayce looked toward the altar of candles. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe I just... I’ve been carrying this thing for so long, and you’re the only one who hasn’t looked at me like I’m broken. Like I’m... unfixable.”

“No one is unfixable.”

A cold laugh escaped his chest before he could stop himself, “You don’t know that. You don’t know me.”

“You’re right. I don’t know you—not entirely. But I know enough to believe in you, even when you don’t believe in yourself,” Viktor’s words fell over his grief-stricken soul like a warm blanket on a snowy night.

Jayce’s lungs felt tighter at the words, at the calm conviction in Viktor’s tone. He looked away, his jaw clenching as he tried to find something, anything, to say in response. But Viktor, as always, was patient, waiting him out in silence.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Jayce repeated his confession from the other day, “It’s not fair, you know. You know so much about me, and I know next to nothing about you.”

“I think you know more than you realize,” Viktor’s face twitched as he gave Jayce another wry smile.

“Not enough.” Jayce figured that Viktor could tell him every molecule about himself, and he would still want more from the priest. Always more.

“What would you like to know?”

Blinking in surprise, Jayce blurted out, “What?”

“Ask me something. Anything. I’ll answer if I can,” Viktor offered, leaning back against the pew.

There had to be some code of ethics about this, didn’t there? Jayce’s mind began to swim rapidly at everything he wanted and couldn’t ask.

The openness in Viktor’s tone caught Jayce off guard. He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected Viktor to offer him anything beyond the walls of their usual confessions.

His mind raced, a dozen questions rising to the surface, but only one made it past his lips. “Why do you do this? Why be a priest?”

Viktor’s gaze became distant as if he’d traveled to another timeline. Jayce almost told him to forget it; it was such a personal question, after all. Then the priest responded gently, “Because once, a long time ago, someone listened to me. And it saved my life.”

The simplicity of the answer hit Jayce harder than he expected. He stared at Viktor, trying to piece together the man behind the words, the weight behind the confession.

“Do you ever wish you’d chosen different instead?” Another far too personal question.

“Sometimes. When it’s quiet and I’m alone, I think about what my life could’ve been. But then someone like you walks in, carrying the kind of pain that no one should bear alone, and I remember why I’m here. Why I made the choice I did.”

Jayce thought he saw it for the first time—the breaks throughout Viktor’s calm facade, the quiet pain he carried, the humanity he kept so carefully hidden.

It made him want to know more.

It made him want to stay.

After a long silence, Jayce responded, his voice softer, “Guess you’re not as untouchable as I thought.”

“None of us are. Not even priests.”

For the first time in weeks, Jayce felt like the weight he was carrying wasn’t his to bear alone.

With another chuckle, Viktor added, “The collar’s just for show, Jayce. Underneath, I’m just as human as you are. Full of doubts, regrets, and questions I don’t have answers to.”

The sunlight began to pour through the stained glass windows, painting the cathedral in a kaleidoscope of shifting colors. The faint smell of incense lingered in the cool air. Jayce leaned forward, hands pressed together as if in prayer, trying to keep his breathing steady though every inch of him felt coiled tight. He turned his head to lock eyes with the priest.

Viktor sat still as a statue beside him, watching him as if waiting for another confession to slip sinfully from his lips. The golden light framed him, catching on the streaks of silver in his hair and the faint lines on his face. Jayce couldn’t tear his eyes away.

He wanted him. God, he wanted him. And not just in the dark, desperate way that kept him awake at night, turning over memories of Viktor’s voice, his patience, his kindness. Jayce wanted to know him, wanted to peel back the layers until he understood every sharp and soft edge of the man who had somehow become his reason to wake up every morning.

What felt like hours later, Viktor finally whispered, “It’s almost closing time.”

“Should I take that as my cue to leave?” Jayce didn’t let himself look away.

“Not necessarily.”

Jayce’s heart stuttered at the response. He raised an eyebrow, trying to mask the way his pulse quickened with sarcasm. “Not necessarily? That’s cryptic, even for you,” He rolled his eyes before meeting Viktor’s once more. He wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but he felt as if he were being challenged, and it excited him.

Pausing, pursing his lips slightly, Viktor said, “I was thinking... you’ve been coming here for months now, spilling your soul in the confessional. Perhaps it’s time for a different kind of conversation.”

Jayce couldn’t help that both his eyebrows shot up his forehead in question, “A different kind? What does that mean?”

The priest shrugged as if it meant nothing, “It means... I live just next door. And I was going to pour myself a drink to end the day. You’re welcome to join me.”

Jayce blinked, caught entirely off guard. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, trying to process what he’d just heard.

A priest. Inviting him over. For drinks.

“ A drink? Are priests even allowed to drink?”

A low, warm laugh tickled Jayce’s eardrums as Viktor stood with a slight groan. “We’re not monks, Jayce. And even monks are allowed wine.”

The snort that left his nose made his cheeks redden as he nodded. “Fair enough. But isn’t this, like... wildly inappropriate?”

Father Viktor’s smile faltered slightly as if remembering the totality of his position in the church. “If you’re uncomfortable, you’re under no obligation to accept. I only thought... it might help.”

Help. The word lingered in the air, heavier than it should have been. Jayce stared at Viktor, at the quiet vulnerability in his expression, and felt something in him give way.

He should have said no. Of course, he should have said no. It wasn’t ethical, wasn’t appropriate, wasn’t safe . But Jayce had never been good at denying himself things he wanted, and he wanted Viktor.

He wanted more, more, more of him, in any capacity he could get him in.

Grinning despite himself, despite the grief that was ebbing fatally around his world, despite the hope he needed from Viktor’s voice, he said, “Well, if priests are allowed to drink, who am I to say no?”

Viktor’s smile returned, small and faintly relieved, and Jayce felt its warmth settle somewhere deep in his chest. “Good. Then follow me.”

Jayce stood, his heart pounding as Viktor began making his way to the side door of the cathedral. The sunlight glittered on the polished stone floors, casting long shadows as Jayce followed him.

With every step, Jayce felt the weight of what he was walking into.

And yet, he didn’t stop himself.

------- Part Four

The first thing Jayce noticed when he stepped into Viktor’s apartment was how quiet it was. Not the hollow, sterile quiet of a simply empty place, but the kind of quiet that felt lived-in. It was cozy, warm even, in a way he hadn’t expected. The soft scent of old books and faint incense lingered in the air, mingling with the faint creak of the floorboards beneath their feet.

It was nothing like Jayce’s sleek, modern studio in the city. This place had history.

The walls were lined with shelves overflowing with books, their spines worn and faded, interspersed with small, unassuming decorations—a cross here, a brass clock there, and a single framed photograph on the far table that he couldn’t quite make out.

The apartment reflected the man who lived in it: unpretentious, thoughtful, and far more inviting than Jayce had prepared himself for.

Viktor leaned his crutch against the wall near a small kitchen alcove, his movements slow and practiced as he reached for two tumblers from the cabinet. Jayce watched him without meaning to, his gaze trailing over the measured, careful way Viktor moved, his limp barely noticeable as he crossed the room.

How is this my life right now? Sitting here, about to drink with a priest— He swallowed hard, correcting himself —with Viktor. Not Father Viktor. Just Viktor.

It was strange to think of him like that. Bizarre, and yet... riveting.

Viktor set the glasses on the counter and uncapped a bottle of gin, the clear liquid glinting faintly in the light as he poured. He didn’t skimp, filling each glass nearly halfway before sliding one across the counter to Jayce.

“Is gin okay? It’s all I have, I’m afraid.” The priest looked almost as nervous as Jayce felt.

Jayce let himself grin as he picked his glass up. “Gin’s fine. Hefty pour, though. You trying to get me drunk, Father?”

The man raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into another small, amused smile as he set the bottle down. “First, it’s Viktor. And second, if that’s all it takes, you may want to consider eating more regularly.”

Jayce snorted, but the truth hit a little too close to home. He’d come here on an empty stomach, his nerves too shot to eat before heading to the church. Now, the gin was already warming his chest, the taste sharp and almost medicinal as he swallowed his first sip.

He leaned against the counter, trying to keep his focus on his drink instead of Viktor, but it was impossible not to notice the way the man moved, even as he shrugged off his priest’s cassock. The black fabric fell away to reveal a simple white button-down, slightly wrinkled; the sleeves rolled up just enough to expose his forearms.

Jayce almost choked on his second sip.

Jesus Christ. He grimaced internally at the irony. How does someone look like that in something so plain?

The man was all lean lines and quiet strength, the crisp white of his shirt making his pale skin and dark hair stand out in a way that was almost distracting. No, scratch that—it was definitely distracting.

“You, uh... clean up well.”

Viktor glanced at him amusedly as he sat at the small table near the window. “It’s just a shirt, Jayce.”

“Not on you, it’s not,” He muttered into his glass as he took another drink.

Viktor raised a thick eyebrow but didn’t comment, though the faint curve of his lips suggested he’d heard. Jayce downed another sip of gin, the warmth in his chest spreading now to his limbs, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t just the alcohol.

After a moment, leaning back slightly in his chair, Viktor smirked. “You’re staring.”

Snapping his head up, his cheeks flushing, Jayce moved his eyes from the priest’s slender neck and shoulders to his golden gaze. “I am not .”

“You are. Should I be concerned?” The man laughed and took a long drink before setting his glass down and running his pointer finger along the rim as he looked at Jayce.

“Only if you don’t like the attention.” He really shouldn’t be drinking with the man he’d been dreaming about on loop the last few nights–or every night since they’d met.

That gave Viktor pause. For a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or curiosity. Jayce couldn’t quite tell, but whatever it was, his pulse quickened.

“I’m not sure what to make of you, Jayce. You’re brooding in a pew one moment, and the next, you’re... this.”

Jayce leaned on the table, his elbows biting into the wood as he put his head in one hand. “This? What’s ‘this’ ?"

Tilting his head as if Jayce was playing with him, Viktor said steadily, “Bold. Confident. Flirting , even.”

He let out a warm puff of air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But he did. Of course, he did. The gin was making him reckless, and Viktor’s quiet, understated charm was making it impossible to keep his head on straight.

Jayce swirled the liquid in his glass, his gaze drifting back to Viktor, their eyes locking incredibly quickly. The man looked impossibly at ease, one hand resting lightly on the table, his crutch within reach but forgotten for the moment.

“I meant what I said, you know. About wanting to figure you out,” He confessed in a murmur across the small table.

Expression unreadable, Viktor asked, “And have you made any progress?” He knocked back the rest of his gin and said, “I think I’m getting there." The priest kept his eyes level as he drained the rest of his glass before grabbing the bottle from between them and pouring them each another glass. Jayce didn’t hesitate to take another long drink, needing the liquid courage to keep sitting here and talking to Viktor as if he didn’t want to fuck into him like it was the end of the world and the beginning of everything.

“You know, for a priest, you’re surprisingly good at keeping secrets. I can’t decide if it’s infuriating or impressive,” He taunted, lowering his glass.

Viktor snickered lightly as he drank. “It is part of the job description, Jayce. I thought you’d appreciate that by now.”

“Oh, I do. But it also makes me wonder... what are you hiding?”

Viktor’s lips twitched into the faintest smile, but his gaze didn’t waver. “I think you already know more than you realize.”

The gin had worked its way through Jayce’s veins, dulling the edges of his nerves but sharpening everything else. The quiet hum of the apartment, the soft clink of Viktor’s glass against the table, the faint scent of cedar and something herbal that clung to Viktor—it all felt too vivid, too close.

Jayce leaned back in his chair, swirling the last sip of gin in his glass as Viktor sat across from him, perfectly composed as always. Except he wasn’t, not entirely.

Jayce had caught the way Viktor’s gaze lingered for a beat too long, the way his fingers brushed over the rim of his glass as if trying to keep them occupied.

There was tension between them now, electric and unspoken, and Jayce wasn’t sure if it was the gin or something more, more, more that made him bold enough to speak. “Not enough. Not nearly enough.”

The words hung in the air, and for the first time, Viktor didn’t have a quick response. His fingers tightened around the edge of the table, his eyes locked to Jayce’s, and Jayce felt his ribs slink around his lungs like a vice.

The moment stretched, the silence heavy with everything neither of them was saying. Jayce stood abruptly, the chair scraping softly against the floor as he moved closer, unable to stop himself.

Barely a whisper, he held his hand out to the man before him, “Viktor.”

The sound of his name shattered something in Viktor. He stood slowly, leaning his palm into Jayce’s for balance, his gaze steady but masked. Jayce stopped moving, letting his fingers curl around Viktor’s, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it might bruise his chest cavity.

He wasn’t sure who moved first—maybe it was him, maybe it was Viktor—but suddenly, the space between them vanished.

Viktor’s lips were softer than Jayce expected, but his grip was firm, one hand curling around Jayce’s jaw as the kiss deepened. Jayce’s breath hitched, the taste of gin and something distinctly Viktor overwhelming him as he pressed closer, his hands fisting in the crisp white of Viktor’s shirt against his lower back.

This is insane. This is wrong. He told himself as he backed toward the couch, gently pulling Viktor with him.

But it didn’t feel wrong. Not with the way Viktor’s hand slid up his back, his touch warm and grounding. Not with the way Viktor pulled him closer as if he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go.

Jayce tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his fingers moving to the buttons of Viktor’s shirt without thinking. The fabric slipped under his hands, revealing skin warm to the touch, and Jayce swallowed hard, his breath coming faster as Viktor’s hand traced the line of his spine.

The back of his knees hit the couch cushion, and his lips ghosted across Viktor’s as he spoke, “I’ve never... I’ve never wanted someone like this .”

Viktor’s voice was low, barely more than a growl, “You’re not the only one.” Then he shoved Jayce gently but firmly onto the couch behind him as he climbed on top of him, straddling him slowly to avoid jostling the leg with the brace too much.

The confession sent a shiver down Jayce’s spine, and whatever restraint he’d been clinging to dissolved completely. He surged forward, capturing Viktor’s lips again, their movements increasingly desperate, frantic, like they were trying to burn away the weight of months of unspoken tension.

Jayce’s hands roamed over Viktor’s chest, his shoulders, the sharp lines of his collarbone, every inch of him solid and real in a way that made Jayce’s head spin.

He’s not untouchable.

Jayce had spent the last few days tracing the letters of Viktor’s name into the roof of his mouth like fucking hymns–but now he had him, in his arms, against his chest, against his heart.

The thought sent a rush of heat through him, and he pressed his forehead against Viktor’s, their breaths mingling as his fingers slid lower, exploring the contours of a body he’d only ever imagined. Viktor’s grip tightened on his waist, grounding him, anchoring him in the moment.

The rest was a blur—heat and skin and the quiet sound of Viktor’s name falling from Jayce’s lips, over and over like a prayer. Viktor, Viktor, Viktor, Viktor, Viktor, Viktor, Vitkor, Vikt-

------ Part Five: Bonus Content

Jayce’s mouth was hot against his as they fumbled their way across the threshold of the two-bedroom apartment they’d just moved into a week ago. Pulling him closer, Viktor felt him kick the front door shut, and a lock clicked immediately after. This was heaven, the former priest decided as Jayce’s fingers slid to undo the buttons on the front of his shirt. He didn’t save Jayce Talis; in fact—Jayce saved him.

Viktor's breath hitched as Jayce's calloused hands slipped beneath his shirt, caressing the chilled skin. He arched into the touch, his own fingers tangling in Jayce's thick hair. The taste of whiskey lingered on Jayce's lips, a reminder of their celebratory drinks earlier that evening.

"Bedroom," Jayce murmured against Viktor's neck, nipping gently at the sensitive skin. " Now ."

They stumbled down the hallway, leaving his cane and a trail of discarded clothing in their wake. Viktor's bare bottom hit the black duvet, and he gazed up at Jayce, drinking in the sight of his lover silhouetted in the dim street lights filtering through the curtains.

As Jayce sunk onto the floor between Viktor’s knees, Viktor's mind flashed to the life he'd left behind—the cold stone walls of the church, the small comfortable apartment that ended up feeling more like a prison the longer he got to know Jayce. Carding his long fingers through Jayce’s hair, it had grown a few inches since their first time sleeping together around two months ago, the man below him hummed happily as he looked up at Viktor through his long dark lashes.

"You're beautiful," Viktor whispered, his voice thick with emotion. Jayce's eyes softened at the words, and he leaned forward to press a warm kiss to Viktor’s inner right thigh. A shiver traveled across his body as heat pooled in his stomach at the sight of the man before him.

"So are you," Jayce replied, his hands tracing gentle patterns on Viktor's calves, minding the brace he still wore on his right leg. "I still can't believe you're here with me."

Viktor's heart swelled with a mixture of love and lingering guilt. He knew he'd made the right choice, but years of indoctrination were hard to shake. "I'm exactly where I'm meant to be," he said, as much to reassure himself as Jayce.

“So am I,” And with that, Jayce dove forward to take Viktor’s half hard length into his slick hot mouth.

Viktor gasped, his head falling back as pleasure coursed through him. Jayce's tongue swirled expertly, drawing out soft moans that echoed in the quiet room. Viktor's fingers tightened in Jayce's hair, guiding him gently.

" Jayce ," he breathed, "Oh, God..."

The irony of invoking a deity he'd renounced wasn't lost on him, but coherent thought was quickly slipping away. Jayce hummed around him, the vibrations sending jolts of ecstasy up Viktor's spine.

Not to mention, having Jayce on his knees as if he were praying as he sucked Viktor off. He’d dreamed of moments like this one for weeks before it finally happened that night he’d asked Jayce to his apartment for drinks.

Viktor's mind swam with memories of that first night, the way Jayce's lips had felt against his own, tentative at first, then hungry and desperate. How they'd fumbled with buttons and zippers, laughing nervously between heated kisses. The guilt and fear that had plagued him for so long melted away in Jayce's arms, replaced by a burning desire he'd never known before.

Now, as Jayce worked him with practiced skill, Viktor marveled at how far they'd come. His hips bucked involuntarily, and Jayce steadied him with strong hands on his thighs. The sight of Jayce's head bobbing between his legs, combined with the exquisite sensations coursing through him, threatened to push Viktor over the edge far too soon.

"Wait," he gasped, firmly tugging Jayce's hair. "I want... I want you to fuck me.” Jayce released Viktor’s cock with a wet pop from his mouth, his chin and lips covered in pre cum and his own saliva. His dark golden pupils blown wide and his cheeks flushed.

Jayce smiled, a predatory glint in his eyes as he slowly rose to his feet. "As you wish," he purred, leaning in to capture Viktor's lips in a searing kiss. Viktor could taste himself on Jayce's tongue, and it sent a thrill through him.

With gentle hands, Jayce eased Viktor further onto the bed, positioning him against the pillows. Viktor's breath caught as Jayce crawled over him, their bodies aligning perfectly. The weight of Jayce above him felt like an anchor, grounding him in this moment of bliss.

"Are you sure you want to tonight?" Jayce asked, his voice husky with desire but tinged with concern. Always so considerate, even in the throes of passion.

Viktor nodded, reaching up to cup Jayce's face. "I've never wanted anything more" he murmured as he tugged him down for another kiss.

One of Jayce’s huge right hands traveled to Viktor’s smaller waist and hips easily as he gripped him obsessively before moving to grab the bottle of lube left on the bedside table.

Their lips continued to move against one another for a moment until Viktor began getting impatient and he tugged on the hairs at the base of Jayce’s neck, eliciting a whoreish moan from the much larger man. It sent a round of pre cum leaking down the tip of Viktor’s cock as he pushed his hips up to Jayce’s, their members sliding together as they ground against one another.

Jayce groaned at the contact, his hips stuttering against Viktor's. With practiced ease, he flipped open the cap of the lube bottle and coated his fingers generously. Viktor spread his legs wider, inviting Jayce's touch.

The first finger slipped in easily, Jayce's movements slow and deliberate. Viktor's breath hitched as Jayce added a second finger, stretching him carefully. The burn of the stretch mingled with pleasure as Jayce curled his fingers, searching for that spot that would make Viktor see stars.

" Jayce ," Viktor moaned, his back arching off the bed as Jayce found his prostate. "Please, I need you inside of me."

“I wanted to fuck that confession out of you, but we never got that far,” Jayce murmured, pressing kisses along Viktor's jawline down to his collarbone as he worked a third finger in. Jayce traced his favorite word with his tongue across the left side of Viktor’s chest a few times as he scissored his fingers to open Viktor up even further. Mine, mine, mine.

Viktor's hands raked across Jayce’s tanned broad shoulders, absolutely digging into the skin, leaving angry red lines.

A hiss left Jayce’s mouth as he moved to tongue over Viktor’s left nipple.

Viktor's mind reeled at Jayce's words, memories of suppressing his desires in the confessional booth as Jayce would pour his grieving heart out. He'd fantasized about Jayce taking him right there, sacrilege be damned. Now, with Jayce's fingers working him open, those fantasies paled in comparison to reality.

"Maybe we can roleplay that sometime," Viktor gasped, surprising himself with his boldness. Jayce's eyes widened, then darkened as he met Viktor’s gaze in the dim light.

" Fuck , V," Jayce growled, withdrawing his fingers. "You can't say things like that and expect me to last."

Viktor whimpered at the loss, but soon felt the blunt head of Jayce's lubed up cock pressing against his entrance.

Jayce paused before he slowly pushed forward until only the pulsing head of his huge cock was locked into Viktor’s heat. And he stayed like that, his large hands coming down to rest on Viktor’s hips before traveling up and playing with Viktor’s hard nipples again.

Viktor gasped, his body trembling with anticipation as Jayce teased him mercilessly. The fullness of just Jayce's tip inside him was already overwhelming, stretching him in the most delicious way. He squirmed, trying to push down and take more of Jayce's length, but Jayce's strong hands held him firmly in place.

" Patience is a virtue, sweetheart," Jayce murmured, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. His fingers continued to work Viktor's nipples as he pinched them sharply, sending jolts of pleasure straight to his groin.

Viktor sent him a stern look, his mouth falling open as he panted in wanting. “If you don’t start fucking me like the entire world is ending tonight I won’t let you look at me naked for a week, Jayce.” Leaning down to bite Viktor’s ear, Jayce chuckled darkly. “As you wish, Father Viktor.”

With those words, Jayce snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt inside Viktor in one swift motion. Viktor cried out, his back arching off the bed as he was suddenly filled completely. The stretch burned deliciously, bordering on pain but quickly melting into intense pleasure as Jayce began to move.

Jayce set a punishing pace, his powerful thrusts driving Viktor into the mattress.

Viktor's heaven and earth narrowed to the exquisite sensation of Jayce moving inside him, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through his body.

"Oh God , Fuck," Viktor moaned, his fingers digging into Jayce's back. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

Jayce's breath was hot against Viktor's neck as he pounded into him relentlessly. "Never," he growled, nipping at Viktor's earlobe. "You're mine now, V. All mine."

The possessiveness in Jayce's voice sent a thrill through Viktor. He'd belonged to the church for so long, but this— this was true devotion.

This was worship in its purest form.

Jayce shifted his angle slightly, and suddenly he was hitting Viktor's prostate with a drive that would put the most devout follower to shame.

Viktor cried out in ecstasy, his vision blurring as waves of intense pleasure crashed over him. Each thrust sent sparks shooting through his body, building towards an explosive release.

He didn’t know sex could be this good until he met Jayce.

" Jayce, Jayce, Jayce, " he panted like a fucking psalm, his voice raw and desperate. "Fuck, I'm close... so close..."

Jayce's rhythm faltered slightly as he groaned, clearly nearing his own climax. "Come for me, sweetheart," he urged, his voice husky with desire. "Let me see you fall apart all over my cock. Let me fill you with my release.” Nodding desperately, Viktor sighed in pleasure, “I want you to fill me to the fucking brim, pretty boy.”

Jayce's eyes flashed with desire at Viktor's words, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. He reached between their bodies, wrapping his hand around Viktor's neglected cock and stroking in time with his powerful thrusts.

The dual stimulation was too much for Viktor to bear. With a strangled cry, he came entirely undone, his release spilling over Jayce's hand and onto his own stomach. His body clenched around Jayce, pulling him deeper.

" Fuck , Viktor," Jayce groaned, his movements becoming inconsistent. "You feel so good, so tight around me."

Viktor gazed up at Jayce through half-lidded eyes, drinking in the sight of his lover lost in ecstasy. "Come for me, Jayce," he whispered the command, voice hoarse. "Fill me up, make me yours."

The man above him let out a guttural moan, his hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside Viktor. The sensation of Jayce's hot release flooding him sent aftershocks of pleasure through Viktor's oversensitive body. But Jayce wasn’t finished just yet, he chased his orgasm, fucking his release into the former priest like his life depended on it. It leaked hot and heavy out of Viktor as Jayce pushed in and out of him slowly. Jayce’s head fell back as he whined at the overstimulation of his cock being milked by Viktor’s tight hole, already half hard again.

Viktor's breath hitched as Jayce continued to move inside him, the overstimulation bordering on painful yet exquisite. He could feel Jayce's release pulsing out of him with each slow thrust, coating his inner thighs. The sight of Jayce over him, head thrown back in ecstasy, was almost enough to make Viktor come again.

" Jayce ," he whispered, voice raw and trembling. "Look at me, love."

Jayce's eyes, dark with lingering desire, met Viktor's. The intensity of his gaze made Viktor's heart skip a beat. Slowly, deliberately, Jayce lowered himself until their foreheads touched, his hips still moving in lazy circles.

"You're so fucking—ugh, you’re everything to me," Jayce murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Viktor's lips. "I love you so much, V."

Viktor's mind swam under the devotion woven throughout Jayce’s tone and actions. He’d do anything the former priest asked of him without a second thought. The power of that kind of love was intense, it almost made Viktor hard again.

Viktor's heart swelled with emotion, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He wrapped his arms around Jayce, pulling him even closer. "I love you," he whispered against Jayce's lips. "More than I ever thought possible."

They stayed like that for a long moment, bodies intertwined, breaths mingling. Viktor reveled in the weight of Jayce above him, the feeling of fullness and connection.

He was sacred , he thought. He was divine.

Eventually, Jayce carefully pulled out, both of them wincing slightly at the sensitivity. He collapsed beside Viktor, immediately drawing him into his arms. Viktor nestled against Jayce's chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

"We should clean up," Viktor murmured after a while, feeling semen leaking from him and coating his backside and legs more, though he made no move to leave the warmth of Jayce's embrace. Church bells tickled against his ribs when Jayce’s laugh thundered around his eardrums like that, and he couldn’t help but smile against the man’s collarbone.

"In a minute," he murmured, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on Viktor's lower back. "I want to savor this moment a little longer."

The former priest hummed contentedly, melting further into Jayce's embrace. The mess between his thighs was sticky, but not enough to make him want to leave the cocoon of heat and affection they'd created.

"Do you regret it?" Jayce asked softly after a few moments of comfortable silence. "Leaving the church, I mean."

Viktor lifted his head, meeting Jayce's golden stare. There was a wash of vulnerability in those dark eyes, a flicker of doubt that Viktor wanted to extinguish immediately.

" Never ," he said firmly, cupping Jayce's face with one hand, his fingers pushing into the tense muscle of his jaw. "Not for a single moment. You are everything I need and more.”

Jayce's face slackened at Viktor's words, a tender smile spreading across his face. He leaned in, capturing Viktor's lips in a sweet kiss, his tongue tasting Viktor’s for a second before pulling back a hair.

"You're everything to me too, V," Jayce murmured against Viktor's lips. "I never thought I'd find someone who understands me the way you do."

Heat washed across Viktor’s body. He traced his fingers along Jayce's jawline, marveling at the man before him. "We found each other when we needed it most," he said softly. "I may have left the church, but I've found a different kind of faith in you."

Jayce's arms tightened around Viktor, pulling him impossibly closer. They lay in comfortable silence for a while, basking in the afterglow and the warmth of each other's embrace. Viktor listened to the steady rhythm of Jayce’s heartbeat and lull of his breathing.

“Don’t ever leave me.” “I will never leave you.” It was the easiest vow Viktor ever made.

42 notes · View notes

ectonurites · 5 months ago

Note

Do you think the use of Ariana was made to prop up timber in the valentine's day special.

And on another note what do you think of the lack off explicit callbacks to tim/steph but callbacks with ariana.

i mean like you have a valentine's day story with tim and stephanie shows up and you mention tim having many gf's in the past but choosing callbakcs and explicit references to ariana but not steph when she shows up.

really hope they don't start doing where any callbacks to tim's romances are his past minor gf's and not steph and pretend they are just friends with no romantic history

"Do you think the use of Ariana was made to prop up timber in the valentine's day special."

I think Ariana was definitely used as a prop to tell this story with little consideration given to her as an individual—the author uses Ariana's family's deli restaurant as a setting and uses her past relationship to Tim as a way to connect things but doesn't actually have her do anything else in the story. Except, well, mention Tim & Bernard's relationship.

Now, to be fair, there really are times in stories (especially short ones as part of an anthology like this) where you just need a throwaway character to do something for a moment for the sake of moving the plot along. Acting like every single character who shows up in a story needs to be Super Important And Fleshed Out In That Specific Story is unrealistic and frankly ridiculous.

But but but but... a character who was once a prominent love interest & supporting character for one of the leads you are writing about isn't the same as a nameless throwaway, you know? Especially when you're mentioning that connection specifically—of her being Tim's first girlfriend (rather than it just being a wordless cameo or something) in a story that’s premise hinges on Tim having dating experience.

Ariana is a character who hasn't appeared since like 1999, so pulling her out of the woodwork to be used for one panel while also... needing to make a huge logic leap with her to make it even work—something the writer felt fine with just explaining as having happened off-panel—is really frustrating and annoying. I'm talking, of course, about Ari just suddenly knowing Tim's identity as Robin. You know, the root of most challenges that they faced in their relationship because he couldn't be honest with her about it. Yeah that's just no big deal now, apparently.

That's what pisses me off about this the most—bringing her back only to brush off the sources of conflict between her and Tim and make everything all okie dokie in a completely unearned way. Now to be clear: I don't think it's a bad thing for Ariana to be like, nice about Tim & Bernard being together now—especially because in her last speaking appearance before this that I'm aware of [Robin #66], the two of them had cleared some air on still wanting to be friends even though they're no longer dating. But I do think using her one speech bubble of dialogue to mention how she 'owes' him and Bernard a dinner feels off.

If there were like... an actual conversation between Ari & Tim and during that she said something nice about Tim & Bernard/something about being happy for him, then I don't think it'd feel so weird. And I will say, this is a short story so I get there not being the page space to resolve Tim & Ari's history in a story that's not about that, I really do. But this is the first time she's shown up in about 25 years! Using her in a story and having a big reveal like Tim's identity and not touching on any of that but making sure you do use her single dialogue bubble to mention her ‘owing’ Tim & to mention the relationship btwn Tim & his current love interest??? That just feels weeeird!!!!!!

It feels like her purpose in this story was largely to show a lack of conflict in Tim's current life and that everyone around him is super enthusiastically pro Tim being with Bernard, without actually considering much about her as a character. Which… again, this story isn’t about her, it’s about Tim & Damian… but… it’s still just frustrating when this isn’t a character we can just go read some other book published in the last two decades to see her actually get used well in, this is a character we very well may not see for another 25 years after this.

"And on another note what do you think of the lack off explicit callbacks to tim/steph but callbacks with ariana. i mean like you have a valentine's day story with tim and stephanie shows up and you mention tim having many gf's in the past but choosing callbakcs and explicit references to ariana but not steph when she shows up. really hope they don't start doing where any callbacks to tim's romances are his past minor gf's and not steph and pretend they are just friends with no romantic history"

Yeah I think that also felt a little weird too. This definitely would have been a time that made sense to bring up their history—but also this story was just weird in regards to Steph overall (with Damian's 'Stephanie is too female' line as to why he couldn't ask her for girl advice...?) so I dunno if it's something to think of as a larger trend or if this was more just that particular writer being weird.

Considering the writer also (in the post I already linked earlier) said this about Tim's past love interests—"I figure Tim probably carried some guilt re: his relationship with Ariana, but less with his other love interests?"—I really feel like he just doesn't have a great grasp on Tim's previous relationships at all. Tim is like the fucking poster child for 'feels guilty about everything he's done ever'.

To act like he's not wracked with near-equal levels of guilt about how pretty much all of his past relationships (esp with civilians) went is nuts. Ariana is not the one I would single out from that bunch as somehow him feeling more guilty about than the rest (the only real justification for that I could think of is if you were to explore his guilt over him starting to have feelings for Steph while he & Ari were still together but from the way the rest of that writer's interaction is talking solely about Robin-identity related stuff, I don't think that's what he had in mind?). What about Zo who he ashamedly broke up with over the phone, feeling as if he'd already let her down too many times? What about Tam who he let think her father was dead for days because even though she knew he was a superhero he still couldn’t fully let her in which caused the slow building relationship between them to explode? Tim and Ari actually had a civil face-to-face break up at school and talked in a friendly way afterwards! Not to say he shouldn't feel guilt there with her because there are reasons he should, but acting like it's somehow a higher level of guilt than he’d have with the others is just odd.

Anyway that's getting a bit off topic. But yes, while I'm very much so not opposed to the idea of Tim's previous girlfriends getting to be referenced/come back in some fashion, I do also hope that it doesn't mean Tim & Steph's history will get thrown to the side. And I'd hope that if they do get to come back, they'd actually get to be... characters, who have dynamics with other characters, rather than just cardboard cutouts there to say one nice thing and then fade back into comic limbo for the rest of eternity.

#in a right and just world ari would learn that bernard is blonde and look at tim like 🤨#and he’d be like ‘no no listen he was already blonde its not like that was a factor in this—‘ tripping over himself #and ari would laugh at him about it because she completely understands that she just wanted to give him shit

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positivelybeastly · 1 year ago

Note

Hey there! The post you made about the core of a well written Hank McCoy inspired me to ask if you'd be willing to do a similar deep dive into Hanks various relationships over the years. Not in a shippy way in so much as a pros and cons of the relationships ( all relationships have them , even good ones) and how they reflect on and influence Hanks character over time.

Hello hello! I would indeed be willing to do a deep dive, and, at the same time, find out if Tumblr text posts have a word limit! I also realised maybe 20 characters in that you meant actual. Relationships, as in romantic, and I've done just. Basically. All of his relationships. Including platonic ones. Oops. Oh well, hope you enjoy!

These won't be quite as exhaustive as if you asked me about a particular relationship, since I always work best with plenty of image resources and I already know I'm going to hit my image limit early, but I hope I can give at least my general thoughts on how Hank has influenced and changed, and been and influenced by, the following characters.

Edna and Norton McCoy

X-Men Unlimited vol. 1 #10, 1996.

You have to start all the way back at the beginning, and Hank's relationship with his parents is crucial to understanding why he is the way he is. Hank is the by product of a radiation accident that nearly killed his father, which led to the odd nature of his mutation - namely, that it manifested at birth in the form of abnormally large hands and feet.

This was, in many ways, the best case scenario that Edna and Norton could have hoped for, that their child not miscarry, be stillborn, or be born with a disability that would massively impact his quality of living - this was a very real possibility for them. So Hank being the way he was, actually stronger, more agile, and more dextrous than a normal child, and not to mention a genius intellect even at a young age (not related to his mutation, but it certainly didn't hurt) created a bit of a miracle baby effect.

They were unremittingly supportive and loving - they supported his choice in academics, they supported his football career, they supported his choice of girlfriends, they pushed him to be the best that he could be but never put undue pressure on him. He grew up feeling like he could do anything he wanted to, if he simply chose to.

The worst I can say about this relationship is that you could view it as fostering his ego - perhaps if they had tamped down on his ambitions a bit, maybe he never would have turned himself blue and furry in a fit of 'I know better than everyone else,' but I think that's a lot to put on his parents, honestly. He made that decision, and he has no-one to blame but himself for making it. Blaming his parents for that is like blaming your parents for daring to make you believe you can grow up to be somebody - like, what's the alternative, making you believe that you'll never be anybody? Horrible way to parent.

There's a bump in Marvel Team-Up #124 (1982) where Edna freaks out about her child growing up to be a superhero and more physically obvious mutant, but it's resolved when Hank proves himself to be a man of caliber and altruism, putting himself in harm's way to save a child - proving himself to be the boy that Edna raised, and she returns the favour, putting her life at risk to save him from Professor Power.

He may not be the CPA or 'normal' genius she may have wanted, but he's still brilliant, and she realises that quickly. I also think it's notable that Norton, his father, doesn't go through a similar patch, which is attributable to the fact that he sees Hank's mutation as his 'fault', as you can see in the panels above - he can't exactly blame Hank for being who he is, he's explicitly responsible for it. It would be the height of ridiculous for him to come down on Hank for who he is, when who he is is a direct result of Norton's act of heroism.

In many ways, Hank can do no wrong in his parents' eyes - but in many ways, Hank never does do wrong by his parents. He makes their lives comfortable and improves on it in a lot of ways with his intellect, and he keeps them safe as best he can. They're a little disappointed they aren't grandparents when we last hear from them in 2018, in the X-Men Christmas Special, but they're still defensive of him and love him, even though he's changed for a third time.

Charles Xavier

X-Force vol. 6 #20, 2021.

You knew this one was coming. You'll note that this is one of the few times that I'm going to use something from Benjamin Percy's X-Force in this deep dive, mostly because it's one of the few times that Percy comes close to examining who Hank is and why he is the way that he is. It's one of the few times in X-Force that anyone asks, why is Hank doing what he's doing? Why is he committing these actions?

Because, in many ways, he's still chasing Charles Xavier's approval.

Charles does Hank maybe the biggest disservice of any of his original X-Men, save maybe Scott - while he plucks Scott out of an abusive home and then moulds him into a soldier for his dream, pretty much completely failing to give him any coping mechanisms for what that's going to do to Scott's relationships with other people and his ability to maintain a normal life, Charles plucks Hank out of a loving home, and cuts him off from it. He telepathically wipes Hank's parents' mind of his existence for a while, to 'protect' him, but really, he's isolating Hank, and installing himself as a father figure.

Whether he realises he's doing this or not is immaterial, because it's canon, as established in Marvel Presents #85-92 (1991) and reaffirmed in X-Men Origins: Beast (2008). And though Hank doesn't appreciate it, on some level hates Charles for it forever, he falls for it, because he is a fundamentally altruistic person who knows he has a responsibility to use his intellect and his mutation to make life better for other people - this is the canon reason he joins the X-Men, and it's important to remember that, because he has no need of training to foster his gifts like Jean or Bobby, and he has a home, unlike Scott. In many ways, he's actually most like Warren, but we'll get to that.

There are moments where Hank separates from Xavier, most notably in Uncanny X-Men #8 (1964) and Amazing Adventures #11 (1971), and it's significant that the latter split leads to, arguably, the best years of his life, where he's freest to be who he wants to be and enjoy his life. He joins the Avengers and the Defenders, he becomes a sex symbol, he feels comfortable in his own skin, he explicitly feels no pressure to use his intellectual gifts, and instead is, arguably, most himself.

It's especially interesting when you consider that even with all that in mind, he still matures and grows up and realises, independently of Xavier, that he still has a responsibility to help - but rather than being inorganically forced to take on that role by a man he doesn't know, he realises it in New Defenders #142 (1985) when a mutant activist calls him out on his immaturity and his lack of forward momentum.

Hank self-reflects, and self-actualises, and forms a grassroots mutant political activist group called M.O.N.S.T.E.R (Mutants Only Need Sensitivity, Tolerance, and Equal Rights), which is something that Charles would NEVER do. Its emphasis on elevating mutants everywhere, rather than focusing on providing examples of mutant heroism like the X-Men, is unique, and I really do wish we'd gotten to see more of a grass roots approach to mutant politics. But.

Then, Hank gets pulled into X-Factor, and all of that goes away. Then, he gets pulled into the X-Men, and his life becomes smaller. And smaller, and smaller, and smaller. And his life becomes worse, and worse, and worse. Eventually, he hits the point where Charles is handing him an Infinity Stone, and consigning him to joining the Illuminati in his stead, and Hank doesn't want to be there, but he feels obligated to, because this was Charles' last wish, his literal will and testament, and he can't say no to that. But he should've. Because it tortures him, and it all ends up being for nothing anyway. Thanks, Chuck.

That being said, I think one of the most telling depictions of Hank and the Professor's relationship actually comes from Astonishing X-Men vol. 3 #12, where Scott is dressing down the Professor for enslaving Danger. Something I really appreciate about that scene is that it highlights how different Hank and Scott are in their relationship with Xavier.

Perhaps because Scott grew up with an abusive parental figure in Jack Winters and Hank grew up with very loving parents, Scott was able to recognise Charles' toxic behaviour and break away from Xavier - it might also have had something to do with the fact that at least one of Charles' biggest fuck ups had to do with Scott's brother Gabriel? Hard to say. But Hank, who Charles very carefully isolated from his parents by mindwiping them for years of Hank's whole existence, never really managed to break free of him, and it shows here really acutely.

Hell, it arguably never went away, even into the Krakoan era - a more interesting version of X-Force would have really dived into the kind of fucked up dynamic they have, where Chuck keeps covering for Beast's moral transgressions for seemingly no reason, because in some respects, he's responsible for them. He gave him the power, he gave him no oversight, but even more pressingly, he wasn't there for him emotionally. He pulled him into this life and didn't prepare him for the toll it would take, how much it would ruin Beast by the time he gets to Krakoa. Beast needed someone to help him there, and no-one did, which is part of why he went on the skids, I think.

But anyway, Whedon does a lot of moments where Hank is present for scenes but doesn't speak, which is important for a character who's well known for not shutting the fuck up. This, the initial cure conversation, the whole conversation about Piotr - Hank clams up. He doesn't feel like he can talk about it. He's off in his own head, his thoughts are his own, he doesn't feel the need to share them.

And here, it's especially important, because this is a big moral violation that Charles has committed in their name. I know it may be hard to remember, but back in the day, Hank had a moral opinion that was worth something, so the fact that he doesn't say anything here speaks volumes about just how much he feels capable of calling out the Professor, i.e. not at all. He craves Xavier's validation, his approval, he feels a kinship with Chuck. So he doesn't criticise him like he should.

It's especially interesting given that this would continue through the Utopia era. Every time Scott distanced himself from Xavier, Hank was there to comfort Charles, and I feel like that's just something he feels like he has to do. He feels like the devoted brother to Scott's more radical, more willing to criticise brother, and if Bendis had any interest in Beast as a character, he would've played on that in All-New X-Men - the fact that Scott killed their toxic father figure, and Beast feels both free of an influence he didn't know was choking him, but outraged that Scott would break their 'family' like that.

I find Beast compelling because of his flaws, and this is an interesting moment when you take all of that into account. I don't even know if that was the intention of this scene, or if Whedon just wanted to give Scott the speech, but it's interesting, nonetheless, and it really shines a light on how Hank and Charles see each other. I'm very interested to see Hank's take on where Charles has ended up in From the Ashes, because it has the potential to really change that dynamic.

Scott Summers

Astonishing X-Men vol. 3 #34, 2010.

Hank McCoy is Scott Summers' best friend.

I said it because it's true, and it's true reading all the way back to the Silver Age, honestly. Even as Bobby's screaming his head off about Scott being a stuck up asshole, Hank's quietly reminding Bobby that Scott can't be anyone other than who he is, "he can't help his psychological make-up," and I think that gets at a really important part of their relationship. Just as Scott's mind is attractive to telepaths because it's so neatly ordered and makes perfect sense to them, Scott's personality is appealing to Hank because he makes sense to him. Scott is orderly, anxious, dedicated, intelligent, hides his true feelings, and wants to belong, even as he stands apart. Hank is most, if not all, of these things, and so, they get each other. Bobby fucks around, Warren schmoozes and gets cocky, Jean is a GIRL AND THEREFORE SCARY, but Hank and Scott just get each other.

Which makes it all the more tragic when they fall apart, because Hank sees it all and it makes sense to him, even as it breaks his heart. What a lot of people misunderstand about Hank's arc during Utopia is that they read his moral grandstanding as self-righteousness or hypocrisy or a big ol' stick he wants to use to hit people with, and it's honestly not that. I really don't think it is.

I think he sees Scott sacrificing the parts of himself that make him a good man so that he can make a better general, and it terrifies him. He sees him become callous, manipulative, cold-blooded, willing to risk everything on a course of action because he believes he's right. Hank thinks he's fighting for the soul of the X-Men, for his own soul, for Scott's soul, even as everyone else is fighting for mutantkind.

Hank went through his own journey in Endangered Species, and he knows that there's nothing he can do, so why fight it? Why not just stop, and live out his days being the best man he can be, a member of the first and last generation of mutants, and let it go? Because no-one saw what he saw.

No-one saw the end of mutantkind inscribed on the vellum of reality like he did, saw what he would become if he did what Scott did and did anything and everything to stop the death of the mutant race - no-one else knows how close he came to jumping into the abyss and becoming Dark Beast. And no-one, honestly, cares. Hank doesn't tell anyone, because he never does, but it absolutely informs his views going forward. It can't not.

But no-one is interested enough in Hank McCoy's feelings to really ask why he's so insistent, or what happened when he was gone. He's a private individual, and he never told anyone. He felt profoundly ashamed of what he did while he was gone, which didn't exactly help. So his moral insistence just comes across as hatred, and it's not. He loves Scott Summers like a brother. That's why he fought so hard to keep him the way he was, not the way he became.

I also find it interesting that, in some ways, Hank is responsible for Scott becoming a happier, more well-adjusted individual, if in the most fucked up and irresponsible and manipulative way possible. Even in the midst of their relationship being at its lowest point, Hank was inadvertently responsible for time displaced Scott joining the Champions and getting to spend time with his father, giving him precious memories of a life not lived for Xavier that he didn't have before, and it's arguable that that's part of what mellowed Scott, coming out of the Death of X/revolution era.

It's not a good thing that Hank did that, obviously, he did it because - well, because he was having a brain aneurysm called Brian Michael Bendis, but whatever, it wouldn't have happened without Hank's intervention. I don't know if it's fair to give Hank credit for this, because those are Scott's choices and Scott's relationships, but the sequence of events is such. Idk. I try to see the best in Hank's actions and make them make sense to how I see the character.

A better version of X-Force would have made Scott central to Hank's descent into darkness, because it's frankly too obvious a connection to make, but whatever, we missed that boat. I just know that, just like how Hank didn't want for Scott to hollow himself out like he did, Scott wouldn't have wanted Hank to hollow himself out like he did, either, and I'm glad to see that reflected in MacKay's X-Men #1. I hope that friendship is rebuilt, because it deserves to be.

Jean Grey

New X-Men #124, 2002.

Hank McCoy is Jean Grey's brother.

Okay, so maybe not biologically, but they are basically brother and sister. It's why the stabs at making a relationship between them have never really worked for me, and I just enjoy the friendship moments between them too much to think of them together romantically. They're both intensely empathetic, deep feeling, loving characters, and in some ways, despite Jean being a literal telepath, Hank actually gets people better than Jean does sometimes (see X-Men Annual '95) because where she can be blinded by anger and passion and justice, Hank sees people for who they are and what they want very easily.

Almost any time that Hank is feeling blue (heehee) in 90s X-Men or New X-Men, it's Jean that pulls him out of it, because she's spent the most time learning what his habits are, when he's not really feeling as all right as he promises, and I honestly don't think it's a massive coincidence that the period that adult Jean spends dead (2005-2017) is a period that Hank spends alternately depressed, irrational, or alone. Maybe that's a form of dependency? Possibly. I just think they're best friends and that they make each other better when they're around one another.

Hank believes in Jean. He walks through the snow, thinking the rest of the X-Men are dead, believing that if he can at least get Jean out, then maybe he hasn't failed. He gets yanked onto the Shi'ar flagship, hears about what Dark Phoenix did, and instantly tries to throw the book at Empress Lilandra because he believes in Jean, and he believes in justice and law and due process. He watches her manifest the Phoenix and piece Emma together with her telekinesis, yanking her consciousness into her body once more, and even though he's afraid, he sticks with her. He trusts her with his mind, giving her his anatomy knowledge so she can work informed, even as the flames of her Phoenix form lick at his arm and burn him.

Hank believes in Jean Grey.

Bobby Drake

X-Men: First Class #4, 2007.

Bobby Drake is Hank McCoy's first best friend.

There were definitely great friends beforehand (Jennifer Nyles comes to mind), but in terms of making Hank feel normal, in terms of becoming friends to have fun and just hang out and because you simply like each other's vibes and feel comfortable each other? Yeah, Bobby is absolutely Hank's first best friend.

It's probably best exemplified in New Defenders, especially #122, where Bobby just. Needs Hank. He needs his best friend. Hank always has a knack for chasing away Bobby's blues, and you see it again and again throughout that run, where Hank is just who Bobby goes to first whenever he's feeling bad (as well as in 90s X-Men), because Hank always seems to know what to say.

I also don't think it's an exaggeration to say that there must've been a lot of good feeling going on for notable stick in the mud 60s Hank and retroactively gay Bobby to go out on double dates with Vera and Zelda. Hank bought an entire cabin so that they'd have a place to go to. Can you think of anyone else that Hank's done that for? I rest my case. (Is it all a little gay? Maybe. But it's not gay if the socks stay on.)

Where this relationship falls apart is when Bobby stops growing before Hank does, and what Hank needs outpaces what Bobby can provide, as seen in Uncanny X-Men #518. It's not necessarily Bobby's fault, he's just - not a very emotionally capable person, a lot of the time, his primary character flaw is an inability to grow up, and so Hank throws something heavy at him, and his best, most immediate impulse is to just say, well, deal with it how you've always dealt with it.

And that's just not good enough. And in many ways, I think Hank just stops trusting Bobby at that point, to the extreme where Bobby calls out for every other member of the original X-Men but him at the 2023 Hellfire Gala as he dies, and I wasn't surprised one bit. They stop appearing in comics together, Hank doesn't feature in his modern solo series' at all, and their interactions are fine, but nowhere near what they were.

Warren Worthington

Uncanny X-Men #297, 1992.

Warren is the original X-Man that Hank is most like.

Which, you might think is strange, given that Warren is a rich kid with wings and Hank is a farmboy quarterback with big feet, but it's true, by virtue of three facts - one, they're the two most obvious, physically mutated members of the O5.

Two, they came to heroism on their own. Warren's turn as the Avenging Angel, and Hank's fighting against the Conquistador in his origin, both predate their time as X-Men, and this is massively important in their development because it demonstrates that altruism and self-sacrifice are intrinsic in their characters. They believe in doing good things to help people, or stopping bad people from doing bad things, because it's the right thing to do. Whereas Scott and Jean and Bobby emerged from tragedy and ruin, Hank and Warren came from a place of stability and a desire to do good.

Three, they both undergo a terrifying physical metamorphosis that causes massive changes in their personalities, Warren becoming Archangel and Hank becoming a much more literal Beast. This point of commonality is a rock for them both, and as you can see, it helps them through. They realise that for all their struggles with the other aspects of their new selves, they're still, in the ways that count, the same people - they're still the friends they always were.

It's also very significant to me that Warren is the X-Man that Hank first 'comes out' to as the Beast, in Amazing Adventures #15 (1971), and I don't think it's a real coincidence that even as Charles tries to assert that Hank's protest that he's his own man, not an X-Man, and Jean shies away in shock from the vehemence with which Hank rejects their telepathic call, Warren calls bullshit and just goes.

He asserts himself. He's independent, and he breaks from the X-Men, much like Hank and Bobby did, Hank going to the Avengers and Bobby and Warren to the Champions, then all three of them to the Defenders - even as Scott and Jean stay with the X-Men, a decision that will lead to a whole line of catastrophe that ends with Jean dead, and Scott resigned to a life left unfulfilled because his one true love is dead.

Meanwhile, Hank, Bobby and Warren are clustered in a borrowed quinjet in their best togs, going to a wedding. Warren asks why he and Bobby are going along, given they hardly know the couple. Hank replies Warren that he's family, and he wants them there, and that's that, and there's a quiet, warm little smile on his face, because he is. They are.

I also find it very interesting that Hank and Warren undergo a very similar trajectory, tracking from Utopia to the Dark Angel Saga for Warren, and All-New X-Men to Krakoa for Hank - they cloister themselves off from others, they lose sight of who they originally were, they roll around in the blood of innocents, and in the end, they both end up dying and losing their memories, born anew.

Like I said. Warren is the original X-Man that Hank is most like.

Jennifer Nyles

X-Men Unlimited vol. 2 #10, 2005.

Jen is an underrated figure in Hank's history, and that's mostly because she has very limited appearances, none of which quite make sense with one another. Her first appearance in Marvel Presents #85-92 posits that she was, in many ways, Hank's first love, the person he missed most of all those who were made to forget him, and that the absence of him in her mind compelled her to study the mind so that she might try and unlock what she knew was missing. In the end, he stays away from her, because she nearly dies and he feels he endangers her. He probably does.

Then, we have a retroactive appearance in Origins: Beast, and the above story in Unlimited. Origins: Beast doubles down on her importance, stating that she's the person who encourages Hank to come out of his shell even before he's an X-Man, to use his gifts and be the brilliant person she knows he is, and while Unlimited agrees with that importance, she knows who Hank is at a time when she shouldn't. How to square it away? Ehh. I kinda don't. I like the three stories and how they impact and change and demonstrate Hank's qualities too much to try and change them. Instead, I just enjoy them.

In another life, Hank and Jen absolutely got married and they had a brilliant history together. She's almost as smart as he is, just as fiery (she punches out a bully antagonising Hank), and she has a strong moral, empathetic core. Hank, honestly, has a type. But even more than a romantic figure, I like her as an inspirational figure for Hank, someone that pushes him in the right direction and leads him to the right answers without giving them to him. She accepts him at a time when he needed it most, and helps him rebuild his life.

Tony Stark

Amazing Adventures #14, 1972.

For a pair of geniuses that snark at each other almost non-stop whenever they're around, and who feel almost constantly at loggerheads in classic Avengers, Tony is very important to Hank's development, sometimes by virtue of his faults.

First off, he's the superhero who turns up to investigate Hank's transformation at Brand, and his apparent death there at Hank's hands (a Mastermind illusion) and his mercy and understanding of the torment that Hank is undergoing are massively formative in Hank coming to terms with his new bestial form. He teaches Hank's two lessons - one, that he needs to control himself in a way he didn't need to before, and two, that he can still rely on people to see the human in him if he acts it.

Secondly - it's his inadvertent dismissal of Hank during the Avengers' examination of Wonder Man that sparks off Hank getting annoyed about his genius being ignored, pushes him out of the Mansion in a snit . . . and that's when he discovers that he's not just adjusting to being a beast anymore. No, he's fucking hot now. Even when he's being a dick (without really meaning to), Tony helps Hank grow, helping him realise that he doesn't need to be the high performing intellectual he was on the X-Men, the Avengers have that covered, but also, that he can afford to be someone else as well.

They continue to be friends for years and years, with their friendship built up over the course of plenty of classic Avengers issues, leading to a complete bypassing of a big ol' hero vs. hero fight in X-Factor Annual #1 (1986) because Hank's just like, oh hey, Iron Man, it's me, and Tony's just like, oh hey Beast, what the fuck's all this about? And it just. Fixes the problem.

I also don't think that it's a coincidence that Hank and Tony are the two most visibly affected when the Illuminati mindwipe Steve during the Incursions arc, with Hank unable to even really look at Steve when it happens, and Hank is constantly pulling on that morality chain even as they tie each other into knots, trying to justify the destruction of worlds. For as much as they give each other shit, Hank and Tony can rely on each other to give it to 'em straight, and that's important when their heads can get as big as these guys.

Wanda Maximoff

Uncanny Avengers vol. 3 #30, 2017.

Hank should hate Wanda more than he does.

The event that Wanda caused, the Decimation, was, in a lot of people's opinions, the beginning of the end for Henry McCoy. It stripped him of his morality and his pretensions and his ability to do anything. It was the height of cruelty, and Wanda did it without arguably meaning to. Not casually, but in a moment of instability. Leaving a gaping wound in evolution that Hank tried to fix.

He threw away a lot, trying to fix it. He wrecked a lot of relationships, came away feeling dirty, consorted with demons. Became acutely aware of every one of his limitations. And yet. He never really blamed her. Because how could he?

After all, he knew Wanda before the mess. When she was a brilliant friend and teammate on the Avengers. When she was shining, glimmering proof that people could change and become better, if only they tried and were given the chance. When she was at her best. And he never stopped believing she could be that again. It certainly didn't help that they had a certain wonder man in common, but honestly, they're just great friends.

Hank supported her in Children's Crusade, even in the face of the X-Men going kill crazy, and he never held a grudge. Even when he finds her, at the end of his rope, in Endangered Species, when he's at his most fraught and defeated, he just. Wants to fix things. It would be so easy to be hateful and resentful, but he just doesn't have it in him. After all, he knows what it's like to ruin your life in an instant because of a bad decision, and to want to claw it back however you can.

Carol Danvers

Ms. Marvel vol. 2 #18, 2007.

Honestly, for someone who you often see getting blasted on the X-Men Reddit for the Superhuman Registration Act/where were you when our babies were burning panels, Carol has a lot of really strong relationships within the X-Men, but I think her bond with Hank is especially strong - which is saying something, considering their first meeting was a fight! But, honestly, they just like and respect each other. They don't tolerate injustice, they believe in being heroes for everyone, not just the few, and they support each other.

Even in the midst of Civil War II, arguably the single worst that Carol has ever been written (not counting Avengers #200, take your pick of a character assassination), there's a moment where Tony is begging Carol to rethink her Minority Report bullshit, and she says, fine, I'll consider your evidence - but only if Hank checks it. And he says he has, and it's not wrong. And she knows that that means something.

The best friends will tell you when you're wrong. And you'll listen to them.

Heather Douglas

The New Defenders #139, 1984.

Hank and Heather have an almost constantly combative relationship from the instant Moondragon joins the Defenders, with Hank never afraid to let her know that he doesn't like her and that he doesn't want her on 'his' team. In his estimation she's high, and mighty, and conceited, and possessed of more power than wisdom.

And. Guess what?

Hank's fucking wrong. Heather is trying. Yes, she backslides, she has her moments of true ego and duplicity, but it takes Hank far too long to come to realise that she's trying as hard as she is - and frankly, she's right to smack him down and humiliate him from time to time, because he can be conceited. He acts as though the Defenders are his team, and he harbours pretensions of leadership that no-one takes seriously, because Hank is not a leader, you don't even have to dislike him to know that - and it takes him a while to realise that.

Their combative relationship keeps the other in check. They grow as a result of being around one another, even if they never quite settled things between them. Hank's maturation into a grown adult, into a man able to be more than just a superhero, is in no small part thanks to Moondragon's barbs and pushes and slaps at his ego, and he should be grateful that he got the chance to make good on that chance to mature, because Heather didn't, in the end.

Alison Blaire

Marvel Heartbreakers #1, 2010.

I'm gonna be real, the Beauty and the Beast miniseries by Ann Nocenti is not great. It has moments of fun, some pathos, but for the most part, it's incredibly soapy, incredibly hackneyed, goes nowhere, has a lot of weird anti-set up, and Hank is strangely incredibly violent and cruel in it at times. For someone claiming Hank was his usual charming self, Nocenti sure wrote him as a borderline psycho.

But. The Heartbreakers epilogue for that relationship redeems it, honestly, and it gains added poignancy when a future version of Alison is killed in Battle of the Atom, in one of the few instances of that series actually managing a moment of pathos. There's no magic trick to why Hank and Alison work, they just sort of find each other hot and fun and they're there for each other in a weird, fucked up time in Alison's life, so maybe it was inevitable that it faded to nothing.

I just like to think there's always a lingering softness, a lingering what if, for the both of them. A potential of something, if not an actual something.

Vera Cantor

The New Defenders #149, 1985.

Oh, Vera . . . you deserved better.

Gonna be brutally honest, Hank treated Vera kinda like shit. I don't think he meant to, it was never a relationship he was invested in, and he said as much, he was interested in the stability it represented, but I'm genuinely sorry for Vera that she got caught up in the crossfire of it. She was dismissed and treated like a pick-up, drop-off girlfriend when she was looking for a good man - and Hank is a good man, but at this point? Not what she was looking for. Not what she needed.

I'm glad we see her again in X-Factor and she's doing well for herself. I'm fairly convinced that she's a lesbian because Hank may have ruined men for her (in the not good way), but hey, a pro-mutant activist? That's pretty worthy - and considering how Hank treated her, pretty big minded. I like to think this taught Hank to be more considerate of people's feelings and grow out of his womaniser stage.

Julio Richter

X-Factor vol. 1 #18, 1987.

For a character often defined by his teaching abilities, Hank actually wasn't a particularly great teacher or carer for children when he first started - I always think there's a good deal of significance in the fact that X-Factor #1 has him searching out a position in academia, being rejected out of prejudice, but then finding his way to a teaching position through way of X-Factor, though I doubt that was planned.

Regardless of whether or not it was planned, I do think his relationship with Julio Richter, or Rictor, is massively important to Hank's development, because everything that Hank gets wrong with Tabitha Smith, he gets right with Julio. He encourages him, gives him his clothes, never talks down to him, nurtures his potential, pushes him to learn and think for himself - and it's rewarded.

Julio imprints on Hank strongly, and you can see that he favours Hank amongst all the other X-Factor members for a reason. This relationship largely went away in future, sadly, but I always like to think that it remains in some fashion, even if only in small ways.

Trish Tilby

X-Factor vol. 1 #36, 1988.

Yeah, you knew this was coming.

Honestly . . . I can see what Hank saw in her as a human being. She's a woman of fierce convictions. She believes in truth, and honesty, and justice. She is pro-mutant, after a fashion. And I have to give her credit, she does have her moments of heroism, like in this issue, when she risks her life to help Hank save a bridge of people as Inferno kicks into high gear. There are moments of good between them.

But fuck me she's an awful human being.

Leaking the fact that the Legacy Virus has jumped to humans directly leads to a mutant hate crime that ends in a death. She barges in to a sick, dying man's hospital room in the search of a scoop. And I'm not even gonna get into what happened when Hank turned feline.

She's just a trainwreck of breaches of journalistic ethics, and I hate her to bits. If she taught Hank anything, it was that the people you admire and love can disappoint you, and it says a lot that it's a one-two punch of her, and Cassandra fucking Nova that shatters Hank's self-esteem into a million pieces. What rarified company. The very fact that she tries to get back together with Hank after this, like, what even the fuck, man.

Jubilation Lee

Uncanny X-Men #308, 1993.

These two make me smile.

I think Jubilee awakens something very simple and immature in Hank, but something healthy at the same time - she encourages him, and everyone else at the Mansion, up to and including Professor X, to have fun. At a time when they were losing people left and right, it would have been easy to lose heart, but Jubilee kept Hank and the rest of the team bolstered, kept them focused. That's no small thing, honestly. Maybe she doesn't have quite as strong a relationship with Hank as she does Logan - that's a hard bond to match - but it's hard not to look at these two and see a true blue friendship.

I also adore that it came back in full force in X-Men vol. 4 (2013), where Hank often acted as mission and home support for the all-female team of X-Men that featured in that book. Taking care of baby Shogo, helping Omega Sentinel with her physical rehab - Hank was an invaluable asset in that run, and his scenes with Jubilee were always a treat.

Dark Beast

X-Men: Endangered Species, 2007.

"For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known."

Dark Beast is such a well constructed character because he is not just Henry McCoy if Henry McCoy were evil. Dark Beast is, what if Henry McCoy were raised in an evil world that believes in evil things and the only thing to do is be evil, lest it kill you? There's such a curious drive to betterment, to becoming stronger, smarter, more, to him, that speaks to the same in Hank, but it's all just so twisted up. It's driven by fear where it's driven by hope in Hank.

Because he is afraid. And he is human, much as he might hate the label.

He's a warning. He's a check and balance. He's a cruel joke. He's a monster. He's the other side of Hank's fears. Hank fears devolution, becoming more of an animal, giving in to the Beast, but Dark Beast represents evolution, becoming less animal and more - other. Something that considers itself above human, animal, mutant. Intelligence without conscience, drive without wisdom.

He's not what all Hank McCoys inevitably become. That's stupid, and basic, and anyone who believes that is stupid and basic. That's genetic essentialism, and it's shit media literacy. It's also the basis for X-Force (2019) and I reject that hypothesis entirely.

Henry's much more interesting than evil Hank - not just because he's funnier, and better at his job, and a more efficient villain, but because try as he might, there's still something essentially human inside of him. Something stopped him from killing Hank's - his - parents.

An essential, viral, inescapable fact.

There's something good in him, just as there's something bad in Hank. And it will bedevil them both forever, because they can't get rid of it.

Cecilia Reyes

Astonishing X-Men vol. 3, 2012.

Honestly, maybe the most grown up and equal relationship that Hank ever had, and I don't really feel like he even really had the chance to have it. Cecilia is everything Trish wishes she could be, and much more besides. Uncompromising in her morals, fiercely dedicated to healing, defensive of her boundaries, strong, independent, intelligent, funny - and kind.

She held a torch for him, for a long time. There's a lot of pictures of him in her apartment, both from the 90s and his feline form. She felt for him in a way maybe he didn't realise. Maybe he's the one who got away. Maybe she is. Either way, these two just. Work. There's a world out there where they became something more, and that's a happier world for Hank, honestly. But, hey ho.

Emma Frost

New X-Men #123, 2002.

Sometimes friendships don't make sense. Other times they do.

The friendship between Hank and Emma always made sense to me. The wit, the banter, the emotional intelligence, the willingness to play to roles assigned to them by their image - they were practically destined to be friends. And yet, often forgotten. Every now and then, it crops up, and I cherish it, but for the most part, they're just irrepressibly bitchy all the way through Morrison's run, and that'll always be special to me.

I always try and see good where I can, and I wanted to post an exchange from Secret Empire Omega where Hank tries to bolster Emma in the wake of New Tian's fall, because I like the moment for them, but in the end, it's just too poor of an event and a context for me to share it. All my props to Nadia Shammas in the X-Force Annual, the one issue of X-Force I thought actually had a decent handle on a villainous Beast - by sheer virtue of actually remembering that people would care. Emma would care.

Abigail Brand

Siege vol. 2 #2, 2015.

Abigail Brand did not make Hank McCoy into a war criminal.

To say so is to betray a basic lack of understanding of this entire relationship, but then, what else is new? A lot of people seemingly don't get who Hank is and why he works. Out of universe, but also in, oddly enough.

Kate Pryde and Kurt Wagner both speculate about what made Hank into what he became in X-Force, and they think it's Abigail, because that's an easy explanation, but it's not the truth. Not remotely. It betrays that they didn't know Hank as well as they thought they did, and Hank died not being known by a lot of people.

Which . . . sucks. But it is what it is.

Abigail knew him. She knew him as a kind man. Kinder than her. Kinder than anyone. She wanted that kindness. Craved it. Needed it. Managed to jam it into her work life, by hook and by crook. But I don't think Hank minded. At that point in his life, he needed what she offered, and though I don't think either of them ever thought they'd catch real feelings, they both absolutely did.

He kept her honest, she gave him options. He gave her moral dimension, she gave him self-esteem. They complemented each other perfectly, and I'm sorry that they never got a fair chance, really.

Sure, it was all essentially motivated by a desire to get good dick, but sometimes, that's all it needs to be.

Kurt Wagner

Uncanny X-Men: The Heroic Age, 2010.

Ahhh, Kurt . . . honestly, I don't think Hank and Kurt were ever shown to be quite as close on panel as you'd think they would be, in part because there's a One Blue Limit on X-Men teams for a while (seriously, check the X-Men team line-ups, and you'll realise that Hank and Kurt are pretty much never on the same team until 2015, with Amazing X-Men, a team Hank promptly leaves at issue #5).

But I like to think they're good friends, even if Kurt does fall for Hank's facade of being okay, just like a lot of other people. I like to think that Kurt represents a kind of ideal to Hank - he's what Hank, in many ways, wishes he could be. A better man. A happier man. A more hopeful man. A man who believes in a higher power, still. I certainly don't think it's a coincidence that it cuts Hank deep, when Kurt dies at Bastion's hands.

Steve Rogers

Secret Avengers vol. 1 #21, 2012.

Hank and Steve have an odd relationship. In a way, he does a lot for Hank, bolstering him during his time in the Avengers, treating him as a valued teammate - even if, as is typical of 70s writing styles, they can both come across as cunts to one another occasionally - and one of my favourite moments for Hank is in Avengers Annual #11, where Steve calls Hank out as a man who won't kill. Doesn't have it in him.

Which makes this moment, a sequel to what Steve pushes Hank to do in Secret Avengers #16, hurt so much. Steve had to know what it would cost Hank, to shortcut his way into an Oppenheimer arc, but he hoped the math would comfort Hank. I don't think it did.

I don't know if it was intentional, but it haunts me that both Scott and Steve use Hank (Scott during Secret Invasion, and Steve in SA #16) to commit acts of mass murder, and try to console him with the numbers of people saved through atrocity. Hank tried to escape all of that, fleeing from Utopia, and maybe he was naive to think a band of Secret Avengers would be a place to hide from doing bad things, but it doesn't change the essential fact. Scott and Steve used Hank to achieve their goals, and he had to just deal with it.

"Are you seriously asking a mutant what he'll do to avoid extinction?" Mindwiping Steve in New Avengers vol. 3 hurt, I'm sure, but it's a fine old thing, trying to morally grandstand to a man you explicitly used to make a nuclear bomb. A lot of mixed up history in that room.

Broo

Wolverine & the X-Men vol. 1 #7, 2012.

If only Hank's adopted sons were given as much attention and care as Wolverine's adopted daughters. Ah well. There was a lot of work being done over this run, to make it clear that Hank, Abigail and Broo were forming a family unit, including Abigail being there as Broo's parental figure during his graduation and a possible future showing Broo as head of S.W.O.R.D, but all of it eventually came to naught, which saddens me. Broo deserved better. So did Hank.

Time Displaced Beast

X-Men: Blue #35, 2018.

There was a kernel of an idea here.

It was inevitable that Hank was going to end up hating himself. He's a character largely defined by self-hatred, in most of his forms. The thread that never got pulled was the fact that, honestly?

Older Hank should hate younger Hank just as much.

Younger Hank is much closer to the man who turns them blue, who's ego tripping at Brand, than older Hank is. That's what leads him down this entire path, of magic and demon summoning and servitude, that's broken only by the intervention of other X-Men.

But, whatever. The era of lost potential, tbh.

. . . . . . . .

Oh, hey. You're still here?

Yeah, I guess there is someone missing, huh?

Simon Williams

Uncanny Avengers vol. 3 #28, 2017.

Avengers Annual #6, 1976.

X-Force vol. 6 #49, 2024.

Avengers vol. 3 #14, 1999.

Wonder Man vol. 2 #5, 1991.

Avengers Annual vol. 2 #1, 2012.

They complete one another.

They simply are their best selves around one another.

Even when sick, and twisted, and cruel, and beyond redemption, Hank couldn't bear for the possibility of harm to an invulnerable, immortal, ionic man. He would rather dash all of his plans, make it all for nothing, kill himself, than risk hurting Simon.

At the start of this whole ass breakdown, you said, all relationships have pros and cons. And I think that's true. Mostly. But when Hank and Simon are together, nothing can tear them apart, nothing can bring them down, nothing can stop them, nothing can keep them from doing the right thing.

I can't think of a negative to them being together.

They love each other.

Thanks for bearing with me. :)

81 notes · View notes

armysantiny · 1 year ago

Text

Perfect Little Pet – KHJ

P: Hongjoong x afab gender neutral reader | G: smut, oneshot | Inc: cruella!au, cruella!hongjoong, assistant!reader, 'Captain', 'pet', Felix mention, journalist!Wooyoung, Yunho mention, Wooyoung/Yunho mention, set in the UK, Trafalgar Square, flaring tempers i.e. Hongjoong's, fashion studio, cruella movie-esque fashion show, Hongjoong occasionally abusing his power, wet dreams, fwb ending, a lot of British references and general mannerisms, two smut scenes | Wc: 5.9k

W: d/s tones, 'Captain' used during sex, bent over the desk, dom!Joong, sub!reader, overstim, begging, wet dreams, blowjob, cumshot on face, backshot during sex, one/two uses of the word slut, 'pet' used during sex (please let me know if I've forgotten anything, I'm writing this post up at 1 am)| R: 18+ mdni

Summary: Captain. Anyone who’s anyone knows who that is; none other but the rising name in fashion and making a name for himself for his eye-catching and punk-inspired shows. And right there in the back, is obedient little y/n, the childhood friend. The assistant to the Captain and one of the few to know Hongjoong for who he is behind the scenes, uptight and frantic and so achingly desperate to be perfect. Good thing they’re the Captain’s perfect little pet.

Min's notes: We're starting the year off strong! And you may have figured it out already, but @hee0soo, I'm your secret santa! I had so so so much fun writing this, you have no idea. When I tell you I was giggling like an idiot when you answered my question in the server, it was perfect. I hope you like reading this! And this happens to be my longest fic <33 also, 'on the dole' = on benefits hehe

There’s graphite on his hands, smudged all over the sketchbook, and Hongjoong takes another look at the plain mannequin standing by its lonesome in his office. Something’s missing, he knows it. Is it the hem? The length of the sleeves? Whatever it is, Hongjoong can’t bloody tell and it’s driving him up the wall. The designer groans, dissatisfied with own progress and discards the sketchbook on his desk. He gets up with just as much frustration, boots stomping across the floor in the direction of the balcony. His production facility looms below him, hard at work.

Almost taunting him.

“Just one more…” he mutters, taking a reluctant step back into his seat, “one more of the bloody things and I’ll be ready for runway…” Sure, it is self-imposed encouragement, but it is encouragement. Hongjoong isn’t a beggar. He’ll take what he can get. And take, of course. Until his pencil simply drags along the paper with no real goal and he snaps the dastardly thing between his sleek fingers, throwing its remains against the closest wall. It clatters to the floor just as the frustrated designer storms towards the door to his office, opening it and unleashing a powerful tension upon the production floor.

“Bring y/n up here!”

Y/n shivers from where they stand, helping move a box of supplies into the stock room. No matter how long they’ve stood by Hongjoong’s side, there is nothing that will help them get used to the sound of him barking out a command like that. A frustrated Hongjoong is a live wire – temperamental, snappy, and not someone to be approached without caution. They freeze with the box for just a moment before it’s taken out of their hands by one of the new starters.

“Captain sounds pretty miffed,” they say, pulling on the sleeve of their hoodie, “go on, I’ve got this!”

“If you’re sure…”

“Course I am luv, go on already~” And y/n is all but gently shoved out of the stock room, left to face their employer. And childhood friend.

All eyes are on y/n as they walk through the building towards those ever-familiar stairs, trying to ignore the weight of everyone’s gaze. It’s just Hongjoong, our Joongie, there’s nothing to be anxious over, their mind repeats, heels clicking along the wooden panelling amongst the unusual human silence. Seconds go by excruciatingly slowly, and finally, y/n stands in front of Hongjoong’s office. One steadying breath, and then another.

The door opens before they have a chance to knock, Hongjoong all but yanking his assistant inside and locking the door behind them both. There’s an impatient energy in the room, furthered even more by the fact y/n watches their friend pull them along to the mannequin and frantically go about putting his prized mannequin back by the window where it overlooks the production floor.

“Lean against the wall for me, will ya?” Hongjoong asks, reaching for his sketchbook once again, certain he’s found a muse in y/n. They have this gait around them that would work just so well with his new line, it would be criminal if he doesn’t capture it on paper at least once. Well, perhaps a few times, because the creativity comes back with a vengeance. His pencil glides along the cartridge paper with ease, framing y/’s silhouette perfectly and a grin erupts on his face.

Finally. Finally, he can make a start on creating the showstopper piece.

Time is but an illusion as Hongjoong works on his piece, occasionally looking up to really solidify the vision he’s got in mind. Y/n’s holding themselves just the way he needs them to, providing just the right amount of feedback and silence he needs, and Hongjoong might as well be inside a creative paradise of his own making. He’s found the right formula. He’s found his new muse, perfectly shaped in the image of y/n, his little assistant. The outfit seems to come together all on its own as he draws, each stroke of the pencil working in tandem with each other to create a look he knows will absolutely shock the viewing public in Trafalgar Square.

It’s around an hour later when the design is finally complete, Hongjoong’s mind at ease as he does one last look over everything. He’s done it. The look is perfect. There is just one thing…

He’s rather hungry now.

“Right,” he starts, setting his sketchbook down, “that’s us done here y/n, thanks again pet~”

“O-oh, it’s no prob—”

“But do get us a spot of lunch, would you? I’ve been dying to try out that new brunch café. I want either a chicken alfredo or a chicken Caesar salad, understood?” He tosses y/n his wallet as they begin to leave, turning on his heel and collapsing into his office chair with a yawn.

“Your regular coffee too, Captain?” Y/n asks. Oh, what a darling they are.

“You know me too well~ of course I want my coffee. I want them both here by the half hour.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Checking the time as they leave the café, y/n breathes a sigh of relief: they’ve got at least another fifteen minutes to make it back to the factory if they can get to Hongjoong’s favourite coffee spot before the lunchtime rush, otherwise they’ll be late. So, they make a break for it, taking extra care to leave their Captain’s lunch flat in their bag lest they have alfredo decorate the inside of the gifted Nevada Leather Weekender slung over their shoulder. The coffee spot itself is only a few metres away, less than a few minutes to run, but every second counts in the world of the Captain.

Lady Fate is on their side it seems, because there absolutely no sign of a queue, or even the beginnings of one, when y/n makes it to the coffee shop. Aurora, a quaint little place y/n remembers Hongjoong spending almost every free minute in before they watched their friend shoot to success, when they were still just two friends with a dream. Their running slows to a brisk walk as they enter, greeting the barista with a smile and getting a card ready as soon as they confirm they’re after the usual iced latte with two extra shots of espresso and a shot of vanilla. Once payment goes through and the coffee is in their hands, y/n is out of there in a heartbeat, eager to make it back in time.

“Look at you~ exactly two minutes early,” Hongjoong muses as he sees y/n walk into his office. He pockets his stopwatch, hangs his custom-made coat on the coatrack and takes his coffee. “If there’s anyone I trust to make coffee the way I like it, it’s that pretty one with the deep voice. Face of an angel, but, God, that voice?”

Oh. His lunch is on the desk, but y/n is still here.

Strange.

“Well, are you waiting for me to say something? Run along now, pet, go… oh, I don’t know, busy yourself until I need you.” He chuckles, shooing them away and waving with his fingers once y/n is finally out of the door and Hongjoong can eat his lunch in private, just the way he likes.

Y/n’s bag slides down their arm and onto the floor of their studio flat as they step inside, well-earned exhaustion lacing their bones and pulling a yawn out of their mouth as they fall onto their sofa. They’re used to running all over London for Hongjoong, sure – hell, their daily step count always passes ten thousand – but it’s the weeks leading up to one of his planned fashion event-hijackings that y/n truly feels the burn. Where they truly feel pushed to their tether.

But it’s always worth it in the end, they remind themselves in between making themselves a cup of tea, watching the kettle boil. Together, they will achieve worldwide success, their brand – Silver Light – will be in every boutique and everyone will know who the Captain is. Y/n spoons a teaspoon of sugar into the mug, pops in the teabag and pours the boiling water and milk, huffing at the connection their mind puts together.

They’re the teaspoon of sugar. Not the main event, no, but an addition to make things sweeter. To make Hongjoong’s plans sweeter.

“New sources and evidence have since come to light regarding the hijacking of Oxford Circus last week. The impromptu fashion show was caused by the organisation called Silver Light, headed by someone calling themselves the ‘Captain’, who witnesses say was armed with a cane, yet no one has been harmed. Following an insider comment…”

The rest of the news story plays on tv, y/n’s interest piqued when they recognise the journalist behind it all. One of Hongjoong’s newer friends, a trusted insider working for the BBC that y/n’s met a good few times. They grab their phone from its charger, unplugging it and dialling the number they’re looking for. It’s a few seconds before they hear the call pick up on the other end of the line.

“Can it be~?” Wooyoung’s voice sings through the phone, “the Captain’s assistant is calling little ol’ me~?”

“Good evening to you too, Wooyoung.” Y/n laughs, ever fond of the charming journalist. “I’m watching your news report tonight, my… you know just how to create the right kind of excitement. A master with words, one would say. Just how do you it~?”

“Y/n, darling,” y/n can almost see the playful rolling of the journalist’s eyes, “you’re flattering me, you know? But flattery gets you everywhere with me, so thank you ever so much.”

The conversation goes on for another half hour, y/n giving Wooyoung all the subtle information he needs to create the next buzz around Silver Light’s next big show. There needs to be a sizable crowd for Trafalgar next week, and Wooyoung is just the right person to weave his words and create that buzz y/n knows Hongjoong is looking for. All manner of press and paparazzi should be there; Silver Light needs to be on the front cover of every broadsheet and tabloid in England.

And when they switch to video call so Wooyoung can jot everything down, y/n chooses to ignore the knowing glance sent their way. They’ve had this conversation before, plenty of times even – concern that all of y/n’s efforts aren’t their own will, that Hongjoong’s somehow forcing them to be his assistant. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

They make themselves another cup of tea, and sigh when Wooyoung still refuses to back down.

“Woo, I know that look,” they sigh, already knowing what comes next. The concern, the lecturing. The you’re being his servant, y/n, you deserve more than that. “This isn’t something Hongjoong is making me do, I really do want Silver Light to succeed. This is my dream too, even if it doesn't look like I want it as much as he does, or it looks like he’s forcing me.”

“Y/n…”

“Have a little faith in me, hm?” They bargain. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“If you say so—” Wooyoung’s gaze snaps to something above the camera, “oh, Yunho’s home, he brought food! See you soon y/n~”

“See you soon, say hi to Yunho for me.”

The call ends, and y/n is left with their thoughts, a hot cup of tea, and a muted news channel playing on their tv. Rather than let themselves succumb to the impeding thoughts on the horizon, y/n sips on their tea, unmutes their tv and scrolls through BBC iPlayer until they find the most recent unwatched episode of MasterChef and hits play. The thought manages to persist, though.

Are they just Hongjoong’s errand runner? A simple cog in the machine that Hongjoong pays just that bit more attention to than the others?

Hongjoong’s footsteps echo along the floor as he walks through the production floor, inspecting every station as he passes them by. The Trafalgar show is but days away and he cannot afford a single error whatsoever. He’s counting on this one to be a success; Wooyoung’s articles have created the right kind of stir he needs, y/n’s been busting their ass helping him with the finer details, the last thing Hongjoong needs is his plan falling apart.

So why the fuck can he see someone stitching a button incorrectly?

“You!” He barks, storming over to the unsuspecting employee, fury lining his brows. It stuns the rest of the room into silence, terror in their eyes as they watch. “Are you trying to ruin this week’s show?! Just what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?!”

They shiver, the poor thing, watching as Hongjoong furiously inspects the garment for any more errors. It’s a simple mistake really, a small oversight but they know better. Everyone at Silver Light knows better:

Captain doesn’t give second chances.

But then Hongjoong smiles. Not a genuine one by any means, no, but something that’s a little too sweet.

“What’s your name, darling?”

“M-my name is Felix, Captain—” whatever Felix tries to say is cut off by a heart-attack inducing bang, Hongjoong’s cane slamming down on their workstation in the blink of an eye. The shock sends Felix tumbling, and they prick their thumb on a fashion pin, droplets of blood staining the floor where they stand.

“Oh, just get out!”

“Captain, wait! P-please!”

“You’re fired, get out!”

A pin-drop silence echoes through the building, Hongjoong’s frustration palpable to everyone watching. The workstation is unmanned now, no one remaining to take the task, yet the buttons still need to be taken out and resewn on. Properly, this time. Exhaling, Hongjoong slips his cap off in favour of brushing his hand through his hair, the black and white split-dye messing up and framing his face.

What he needs right now, is y/n to make his problem go away. To be his reliable ally and fix the problem in his way.

He pats his coat down, looking for his phone and almost wants to cry out in relief when he finds the infernal device in his back pocket. A deep breath slips past his lips, and he calls y/n.

And like the angel they are, y/n picks up.

“…Joong?” They rasp out, clearly still tired. “It’s my day off, is everything alright over there?”

No, everything is not alright, Hongjoong wants to rant, the stress itching away at under his skin.

“I really, really wish it was, pet. How fast can you get here?” He asks, praying that the rustling he hears from the other end is y/n changing into their usual work outfit.

“Y/n? Pet?”

“Still here!” They call out, and Hongjoong has half the mind to kiss them when they arrive. “Just checked the traffic, I can make it in twenty?”

“Make it fifteen and I’ll get you that pretty gem of a car you’ve had your eye on.” Hongjoong offers, huffing out a laugh when y/n readily agrees, and the line goes dead seconds later. They’re on their way to Silver Light, and all his problems will be solved. For whom else can Kim Hongjoong rely on other than his y/n?

The clock ticks by agonisingly slowly, teasing Captain with every second that y/n is still on their way. Sure, he can fix this specific coat that Felix so wonderfully fucked up, but there’s a whole line of these that need to be done, and the designer is only human. He can’t do this alone. But he can relax because as soon as Captain resigns himself to hand-stitching every coat, y/n comes in through the door, hurrying over to the workstation and shoo-ing Captain away.

“And you fired him?! Over a button?!” Y/n asks, completely baffled as they listen to Hongjoong rant while they’re stitching the buttons properly. “You really have lost your marbles, Kim Hongjoong.”

“But you still came to my aid! Y/n, you know I couldn’t do all of this without you~” They deadpan, scoffing with smile they can’t control when Hongjoong latches himself onto their back in gratitude. “You’ll be able to handle doing the rest of the coat buttons, right?

Y/n rolls their eyes. They can handle it.

“Bring Felix back, and I’ll stay until the end of the day,” they bargain.

“Deal!”

Y/n doesn’t regret offering to help Hongjoong, really, they don’t, but they have a day off in the middle of the week for a reason. Exhaustion nips away them as they finish the last of the coat buttons, hanging the last one on the rack and patting the sleep out of their face as best they can. Felix is back inside, replacing y/n at his workstation with a meek smile and y/n doesn’t know whether to be happy the young man is back or give the split-dyed designer running the entire outfit a piece of their mind—

And Hongjoong’s calling them into his office.

There’s a corkboard standing when they enter, Hongjoong pinning post-its with various last-minute details. It’s chaotic — more so than usual. Y/n takes a few steps towards the board, reading Hongjoong’s ideas and avoiding the eccentric designer running circles around them.

“Why the last-second rush around?” They ask, still obediently helping Hongjoong sort out his mismatch of written thoughts. “I thought we figured all the details? You’re going to smash the event, Joong, I know what you’re capable of.”

“Awe, thanks y/n~” Hongjoong pats their shoulder. “Your unwavering faith in me is awe inspiring~”

“Oh, shut up,” y/n laughs, then yawns. Bloody hell, they’re tired. “I know I said I was going to stay for the rest of the day, but I’m asleep on my feet here... I can come in tomorrow?” It’s a risky bargain trying to convince Hongjoong like this, but it’s worth a try.

“Y/n, pet... You’re just fine, just sit in here for a bit,” and there goes their chance at rest as Hongjoong admonishes them. “And I need that brilliant mind of yours for later; can’t have you sitting at home, now can we~?”

No, no he can’t apparently. So, y/n stays, because of course they do.

But now it’s a day before the big hijack, at the god-awful time of one in the morning and Hongjoong is still deliberating over what to wear for the event, lovingly dubbed Project Trafalgar by his darling y/n. Y/n, who answered his messages only half an hour before and watches Hongjoong run around from their spot on his bed, legs crossed and looking oh so cute.

So easily corruptible. But he stores that thought away.

Hongjoong holds up one of his favourite blazers for y/n, a navy cropped piece he’s admittedly worn far too many times. It’s supposed to go with the rest of his outfit that’s already spent a good few hours working on, one that’s going to blow people’s minds away when he reveals himself once Project Trafalgar finishes successfully. Y/n tilts their head, examining the clothing and giving a sleepy thumbs up, nodding their head as they approve of his choices.

“You know~” Hongjoong sings as he goes to hang the blazer up in preparation for tomorrow. “Sometimes I think you’re the true genius behind our success, you always know just how to make everything look absolutely perfect.”

Y/n laughs, and Hongjoong wants to hear more of it.

“Is that Kim Hongjoong appreciating me I hear?” They tease, and Hongjoong gets to hear more of that endearing laugh when he mock-glares in their direction. “I’m just taking the mick, relax. I appreciate what you said, this is important to me. Silver Light and yourself.”

“You’re important me to me too, pet.” And it’s true.

His outfit hung up and decided, Hongjoong finally starts to feel the pull of exhaustion himself. Y/n really wasn’t lying when they said the designer was going to crash from his adrenaline high. He stretches, lithe and cat-like, and disappears into his ensuite to change into something a bit more… suitable for sleeping after an all-nighter putting together his outfit. His cleanser and other nighttime hygiene products are on the shelf above the sink, and Hongjoong figures that he might as well get started removing the stress of the day from his face.

“Y/n, darling,” he starts, “do you think that—”

Hongjoong stops talking when he gets no answering noise in return, and he pokes his head out of his bathroom. Y/n is asleep. He chuckles; of course, y/n is asleep because unlike himself, y/n actually has a normal sleep schedule.

So, he forgoes the question was going to ask them in favour of heading to his bed, lifting’s y/n’s head and resting it on his lap after he sits down. Their hair is soft, he finds, loosely getting his fingers tangled as he finds a strange comfort in the moment he's found himself in. The silence doesn’t help either; letting Hongjoong’s mind spill out words of gratitude he knows his pride would never let him say. It’s better that way, anyway.

But Captain isn’t entirely devoid of basic human empathy.

“Get some rest, pet,” he mutters, “you earned it, my busy little assistant.”

Hongjoong shivers, his head thrown back on the sofa of his flat as he watches y/n through near-shut eyes. They’ve got the head of his cock in their mouth, swirling their tongue around the tip and good lord does Hongjoong want to just buck his hips into y/n’s warm, pretty mouth and—

Not yet. Not if he wants to stretch this out and enjoy it just that little bit longer.

But apparently, he isn’t the only impatient one in the room because y/n wastes no time in getting more of his length inside their mouth, hand wrapping around the remainder. Cold hands and a warm mouth are a killer combination, and Hongjoong shivers with a groan, bucking his hips forward and enjoying the sound of y/n’s muffled surprise.

“Don’t you start acting like that, pet,” he says, reaching down to grab their hair. He gives a few testing thrusts and fuck does he want more. “You’re just as eager as I am, you and I both bloody well know that.”

A rhythm develops, one that has sinful noises bouncing around Hongjoong’s flat and a coil of heat building in his abdomen, his orgasm drawing closer by the minute. Y/n’s moans send vibrations up his cock, and it’s really not all that fair. Not when he’s trying so hard not to just shoot his load down y/n’s pretty throat.

But fuck if y/n isn’t trying to suck his soul out, their criminally talented tongue making his cock twitch. Higher and higher his voice climbs, until his hips are twitching, breaking his rhythm and Hongjoong wraps his legs around y/n’s back, gently forcing them to look him in the eye.

“Where do you want it, pet?” He’s met with y/n’s questioning blink before they tap their face and their chest. “Fucking tease, want me to paint you in my cum? That right, baby?”

They nod, pulling themselves of Hongjoong and yanking off their top in record time. His cock is in their mouth again, twitching as the coil builds and builds, until Hongjoong pulls out, pulling y/n’s face back and coming with a shout of their name.

“Fuck, darling...that was—"

Y/n’s startled awake when Hongjoong shoots up out of bed, watching through tired eyes as the frazzled man looks around the bedroom. They do the same, deciding under the cloud of sleep to not question how and why they ended up in the same bed, but whatever time it is, is no humane time to be awake. So, y/n pads around for their phone, checks the time, and groans.

It’s three in the morning.

“Joong...everything okay?” They ask, shrugging the cover over their face, eager to return to sleep.

“Hm? Oh— yes, yes... everything’s fine, just have Trafalgar on my mind.” Of course, he does. They roll their eyes, an affectionate chuckle and reach over to yank him back down, filing away the sound of Hongjoong’s squeak in the depths of their mind.

“Go back to sleep, love…it’s too early for you to fret.” Y/n says, the comfort of their words wrapped in the inviting warmth of sleep. They fall back asleep just as well, quickly enough that they miss the tint on Hongjoong’s face and his mumbled agreement.

There is all but one precious hour until Project Trafalgar is underway, and Captain has been fidgeting with his hands for the last half of it. He goes through every step of the process once, twice and he’s about to go through it a third time when Captain feels a hand on his shoulder. It’s y/n, and he takes a few deep breaths as per their instructions as his mind hits the breaks on his fretting.

“Captain, you’re doing it again.” They admonish. He blinks; he’s doing what? “Bloody hell, you’re the greatest fashion visionary in British history, this will go perfectly. Ok?”

“Ok.” Captain nods, maintaining eye contact. Reliable little y/n, always by his side. He keeps up with the eye contact, looking into the eyes watching him with so much confidence and unbridled trust that he can feel the confidence resurface under his own skin.

And then y/n leans forward to peck his lips, and his heart does a thing.

“Go on, show them all who Silver Light’s captain is.” Y/n chuckles.

“Are you saying they forgot, pet?” Hongjoong counters, the need to fret over last minute details gone entirely. “Tonight, will be unforgettable, I can promise you that much pet. Make sure you’re watching, hm?”

And watch, y/n does, as they stay hidden away from the obvious police presence Silver Light seems to attract and watch as Captain’s show begins. The music is loud, attention-grabbing and y/n feels excitement light up every nerve in their body. Months. Months and months of sweat, blood and tears has gone into every moment, and they watch the models come into view, each wearing an individual piece from Captain’s new line. It’s gorgeous. Utterly stunning, and y/n can’t help but snap a few pictures and record a quick video.

They’re going to need material to send to Wooyoung, after all.

The next half of the models make their appearance, and y/n very much joins the crowd’s cheering, clapping as each piece is given its moment and basking in the theatrics of it all. Everything sings with Hongjoong’s personal touch. It’s dramatic and elegant and everything that y/n knows to be the essence of Hongjoong’s taste and the Silver Light brand. The crowds are loud, and y/n uses the opportunity to slip away unnoticed from the police and the general public, back into the safehouse Silver Light had so kindly borrowed for tonight’s event. Sure, they’re going to miss when Hongjoong reveals himself and scatters leaflets inviting everyone to purchase an item from his collection, but they’ve seen that all before.

And then they fall asleep on the closest sofa.

Hongjoong bounces in with excitement as he pushes the door of the safehouse wide open, the leftover adrenaline coursing through his veins. He laughs, victorious and gleeful before yanking a now wide-awake y/n.

“Someone looks happy~” they comment, and Hongjoong stops outside his makeshift office, letting his adrenaline take the lead and planting a kiss on their lips.

“Oh, y/n,” he exclaims, pushing open the door and pulling y/n inside. “You have no idea! My darling pet, I~ will be making good on that promise I made.”

And almost immediately he has y/n pressed against the wall as he captures their lips in a kiss, eager and finally getting to act on that bundle of unspoken desire in his chest. A hand is cupping their cheek, tilting y/n’s head as Hongjoong’s tongue pushes past their bottom lip, demanding entry in the only way he can. He explores the warmth he had dreamt about, a chuckle sounding in his throat as y/n’s mouths feels just as good as he had imagined.

“Perfect…” he whispers, a trail of saliva connecting their mouths as he pulls away. “my perfect, perfect y/n…”

Hongjoong gasps in pleasant surprise when y/n makes the move to attack his neck, kissing and sucking on his skin with vigour. He relents, exposing his neck for his darling y/n and busies himself with the task of removing their clothes. By simply ripping them clean off, enjoying the surprised whimper that vibrates against his neck. He pulls them back just that little bit, running his gaze across their exposed body and—

Oh, how pretty his y/n is.

The hairs on the back of y/n’s neck stand up under Hongjoong’s eyes as heavy breaths leave their lips. This is happening now, and they want it, no matter what tonight will do to their friendship with the man in front of them. Whatever lingering hesitations they’ve ever had go out the window, and y/n wastes no time themselves in removing Hongjoong’s clothes, just that bit gentler about it than him.

“Pretty little pet,” they shiver as Hongjoong whispers in their ear. “Want to be good for me, don’t you?”

And they do. They really, really do.

Somewhere in between heated touches and the new hickeys being made on their skin, y/n watches as Hongjoong sinks to his knees, grabbing the inside of their thighs and getting dangerously close to their cunt. He’s taking his time, kissing just close enough to their folds, making y/n twitch in anticipation, but it’s not enough. They want more. Y/n needs more. So, they buck their hips, chasing the feeling but whimper the moment Hongjoong pulls himself away and holds them still.

“You said you’d be good for me, pet, didn’t you?” They nod.

“Then beg. Beg for me to get my mouth on that gorgeous little cunt like the good little slut we both know you are for me.”

So, y/n begs. Pleads with Hongjoong to shove his face in between their legs and eat them out until their knees buckle, for him to push his lithe fingers inside and wring cries out of their mouth. For Hongjoong to fuck them.

Satisfied, Hongjoong digs his fingers into y/n’s thighs as he pulls their legs apart, tutting as his favourite little pet tries closing their legs, suddenly shy. What, did they think he was joking?

“Still or I leave you like this, understand?”

“Yes, yes Captain…” And Hongjoong likes that.

“You keep calling me that, pet.” He says, and wastes no time in pulling himself closer, licking a fat stripe along y/n’s folds. They’re wet, and Hongjoong goes to town, indulging himself and sucking on the sensitive flesh until his nose is buried in y/n’s cunt, drinking up the sounds of his pet’s gasps and whines, his title a song on their lips. He keeps going, bringing his fingers to y/n’s untouched clit, rubbing against the bud in achingly slow circles.

He spends minutes like this, slipping two of his fingers inside y/n’s sopping cunt and sparing little mercy as he coaxes them closer and closer to orgasm. Hongjoong’s cock is stiff in his dress pants, straining against the fabric and the taste on y/n on his tongue is going to make him fucking come if he isn’t careful. He peers up from where he’s kneeling between their legs, hooded eyes making contact with the desperation looking back at him.

“Hong— Captain! Please!” Y/n cries when Hongjoong slips a third finger inside them, hands scrambling for purchase against the wall of the office. They’re close, so achingly close and fucking dammit they need to come so badly. But Hongjoong doesn’t relent, raising a brow and watching them writhe where they stand.

“Please, what, pet?” He taunts. “Use your words like the good pet you are.”

“I— I want to come! Please, Captain, I’m so— fuck, fuck— so close, I need—” Whatever words they want to say are stolen out of their throat, replaced instead by an overwhelming pleasure that has them squeezing their eyes shut, at the mercy of Hongjoong’s will. It’s unrelenting, and soon enough their orgasm is crashing through them, shooting stars through their vision all the while Hongjoong makes them ride it out on his fingers, the man getting off his knees and pulling them into a heated kiss. They can taste themselves on his lips, and it only spurs on another wave of desire.

They’re bent over the desk when the last of the first aftershocks leave their systems, head held back by neck as Hongjoong whispers dirty promises and slides his cock into their inviting – and only a little sensitive – cunt. A second goes by, the designer allowing y/n to only just get used to it before he starts thrusting, a leisurely quick pace.

“All this time, darling,” Hongjoong groans from above them,” all this time I could have had this perfect body of yours bent over my desk. Made for me, you were, absolutely made for me.”

And fuck, aren’t they just?

Hongjoong can’t hold back anymore, and he presses his chest against y/n’s back, pounding away into their tight hole and groping their chest in his hands, nipples caught in between thumb and index finger. Y/n’s cries are only motivation, and in the few seconds it takes for him to figure out the best angle, Hongjoong decides he’s allowed to chase his own high, giving into the devil on his shoulder and biting on the soft flesh of y/n shoulder.

“It’s so much, oh god—”

“Fuck- just a little longer pet, c’mon,” he rasps, his own orgasm well within reach. “Where do you want it, hm? You can answer that much, can’t you?”

“Yes, yes, fuck— on my back, I want it on my back!” And what else is Hongjoong to do, but oblige? He fucks them into them with the slightest hint of abandon, holding y/n impossibly closer and the orgasm builds, and builds, until he’s pulling out and coming onto their back with a drawn-out moan, his hips stuttering as the waves of pleasure begin to die down.

Exhaustion makes its way into the room, but it’s welcome this time, as Hongjoong very graciously helps y/n rest on the sofa he’d luckily had moved inside the office. There’s some wipes and a towel, and he makes quick work of cleaning the both of them up, ruffling up y/n’s hair when they watch him, almost surprised.

“And what’s that look for?” He huffs, tossing the used wipes away and patting them both dry. “I’m not that bad.”

Y/n simply laughs and shakes their head. They’re rather cute sometimes.

“Just,” they gesture to the office and between the two of them, “all of this; the event, the sex, the… us, I guess? I’m going to be sore tomorrow but fuck, that was amazing.”

Hongjoong nods along as he heads over to his desk and pulls out two water bottles, handing one to y/n as he sits down beside them, the pair donning robes. Nothing but the finest cotton, of course. There’s a silence that overcomes the rooms, and Hongjoong welcomes it – y/n too, sinking into the plush cushions and eying the evidence of sex in the room.

And then Hongjoong breaks the three minutes of silence, because his mind suddenly craves an answer.

“Y/n, pet… do you think this will change anything?”

“Between us, you mean?” He nods.

“Well, you’re treating me the same way you normally do, I don’t exactly want to date you…seems pretty same-y to me.” Y/n reasons, but then they pause. “Though, the sex continuing would be a pretty nice bonus~”

Hongjoong laughs, “so our little relationship is on the dole then, is it?”

“Oh shut up, you.”

Networks: @kwritersworld, @kdiarynet, @ultkpopnetwork, @whipped-kpop-creators, @ateezlovenet, @cromernet

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deakyjoe · 1 year ago

Text

Love To Hate

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Reader (fem, afab, she/her)

Category: enemies to lovers, smut, coworkers to lovers

Summary: You hate Dieter Bravo more than anything. So why are you asking him to sleep with you?

Warnings: 18+, smut (!!), protected p in v sex, f receiving oral, brief vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, thigh riding/grinding, groping, kissing, body worship (he loves tits and ass), dirty talk, praise, size kink (??), Dieter has a horse cock, crying, Dieter’s a teasing dick, enemies to lovers, coworkers to lovers, insecurities, sex/masturbation problems (for reader), mentions of unsatisfactory sex, mentions of drug use, reader is shorter than Dieter, let me know if I missed anything!

Word count: 8.8k (woah!)

A/N: I have a series in mind for this so the story between these two could continue. But for now it works as a standalone. Enjoy!

Consider buying me a coffee :)

There was no one in the world you disliked more than Dieter Bravo. It was a shame that he knew you better than anyone else ever had.

The two of you had had the unfortunate experience of always ending up in the same place. It had started during a chemistry read for a movie a few years back. Neither of you had ended up getting the job but it was undeniable that there was chemistry between you. Just not the kind of chemistry needed to play lovers on screen. Let's just say that you'd gotten off on the wrong foot and had never really recovered from it.

Next you'd both attended a charity event together, the both of you somehow being the star beneficiaries of the evening. The night included a lot of strained smiles, forced conversation and fake laughter.

Then there'd been the year long shoot you'd both winded up on for some up and coming director who'd begged for the both of you to appear in his movie, the promises of awards from every inch of the world for the both of you afterwards. And when award season came around, it turned out he was right. Awards did come flooding in. But for Dieter. Not you. It didn't help that you had to see the smug actor give the same speech at every ceremony as he graciously accepted the accolades.

And with that came the press junkets and the rounds of interviews, panels, and question and answer sessions. You pretty much saw Dieter Bravo every single day for almost two years. And the distaste for him never really went away. Sadly, this meant that he came to know the ins and outs of your life. Dieter could recite your schedule, list every single detail of your close friends and family's lives and could read your emotions like an open book. He knew you well. Too well. And he used this to his advantage.

And here you were again. On another movie with him. Somehow. You didn't know how it'd come to be as you'd made your agent swear never to put you in a project with him again. But shit happens.

After weeks of endless negotiations about budget, you'd finally arrived on set for rehearsals and table reads and the director had already warned that you were behind schedule. Shooting hadn't even started yet and you were already regretting it.

It didn't help when you'd been told that the hotel room that had been provided for you by the production company was right next to Dieter's. When you'd gotten there, you'd just stared at your shared wall for ten minutes and wondered how sound proof it was. You knew his reputation, had witnessed it even, and didn't fancy the sleepless nights if he was bringing someone new back to his room every night for the foreseeable future.

When you arrived for day one of table reads, you rushed around introducing yourself to everyone. You weren't the most sociable person ever, funny considering your career choice, and avoided one particular person whose gaze followed you around the room the whole time.

It was impossible not to feel his eyes on you. When Dieter's dark brown eyes latched onto a target, he wouldn't let go until he had his claws sunk in. In your case, it was different. He didn't view you as someone to sleep with but someone to torment with his presence instead.

You managed to successfully ignore him until your over enthusiastic director, Rodney, felt the need to introduce the two of you despite him knowing that the two of you already knew each other.

You looked up at Dieter, preparing yourself for the worst. His eyes looked clearer than usual, not as glazed over. You figured he'd been to rehab recently and was temporarily sober. That happened often. But never lasted long.

"Hi." You nodded up at him, brushing off the director's superficial nonsense that he'd spouted in attempt to make the two of you sudden best friends.

Dieter didn't return the greeting. "How're your parents?"

Small talk was meaningless between the two of you. Dieter knew everything about you. Everything. He'd met your parents on more than one occasion at different after parties, wrap parties, even on set once or twice. You hated to say that your mother loved him and your father liked him more than anyone else you'd ever introduced him to in this industry.

"Fine. Grandparents now." You replied, watching Rodney ease himself out of the conversation and wander off.

"Sister and her husband finally managed to conceive, huh?" He asked and you nodded in response despite the weird way he'd worded it. "You're an aunt. Cute."

"Yeah. How're you?" You sighed and looked over his shoulder, wondering how long it would take before the snappy responses started between the two of you.

He smirked. "Good."

"Good." You cleared your throat. "I hear that we're neighbours."

"Hm, lucky me."

Your eyes snapped back to his, not quite getting the tone in his voice. "Try to keep the noise down."

The smirk on his face was punchable. "I'll try my best."

You scoffed. "Yeah, okay."

Suddenly, you were swept away by other cast and crew members who were just dying to meet you. That was strange. You were used to people wanting to meet Dieter. But, as you found out from someone on the makeup team, you were the hot commodity on this set. A sense of pride filled your bones at the sound of that.

The days flew by. Table reads were completed, along with a few spontaneous rehearsals. You avoided Dieter at all costs, trying not to interact with him if you weren't reciting words from a script. And it was going pretty well. Except for the nights.

The walls were apparently extremely thin in the hotel you were staying in, just as you’d feared. You knew this how exactly? By the very clear sex sounds that would practically shake the wall you shared with Dieter. Moans, groans, a squeaking bed, a rattling headboard, the occasional scream even. It was torture. And you could do nothing apart from bury your head under a pillow. Unless you developed the confidence to go knocking on his door to tell him to cut it out. Which you didn't.

It didn't escape your notice that he was clearly accompanied by a new person every night, the tones of their noises changing each time. It also didn't escape you that Dieter was clearly very good in bed. If the sounds of his partners were any indication at least. They all seemed very enthusiastic to be in his company.

You grew used to it after a few days. Mainly because you had to. There was no point losing sleep over something you already knew about Dieter. He liked sex. A lot. And he had a reputation for a reason. It just pissed you off that you had to hear it. And that it seemed to come so easily to him...

It was devastating news to you when the director told you that the first day of shooting was going to be one of the sex scenes of the movie. You'd initially attempted to persuade him to move it later into the production but he had insisted that there was no need for that. The years of you and Dieter knowing, and hating, each other had been enough to build the chemistry needed for the movie. All the sexual tension was apparently already there. You’d disagreed with that last point.

When the day finally came, you were tense. More tense than usual anyway. The only thing reassuring you was the meeting you'd had with the intimacy coordinator who had told you that every detail you'd told her, everything that you didn't want to happen, would be implimented to make you as comfortable as possible.

You'd been placed in a bed, naked from the waist up and you had been there alone for longer than you should've been. After so many years you shouldn't be surprised that Dieter was late. It was sort of his specialty. The fact that this was the first day of shooting was mildly annoying however.

When he finally appeared in nothing but his underwear and a robe, the latter of which he shed as soon as he saw you waiting for him in the bed, he sent half hearted apologies to everyone in the room. When he got to you the apology was a lot more sarcastic. "And I am eternally sorry for keeping you waiting, sweetheart."

"Whatever." You rolled your eyes and let your head fall back against the pillow, teeth clenching at the sound of the pet name he’d gifted you all those years ago when you’d first met.

Dieter grinned at the reaction and crawled on top of you after both the director and the intimacy coordinator had instructed him of the positioning they wanted. His legs were between yours, an elbow on either side of your head to keep him slightly elevated so he wasn't leaning all of his body weight on you.

You avoided his eyes, having him hovering over you like this with your tits out was embarrassing. Especially when his own bare chest was so close to rubbing against yours.

Dieter lowered his head so his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. "Don't look so tense. It's okay. You're gorgeous and I won't look if you don't want me to."

That surprised you. What surprised you even more is that he looked genuine when he pulled back to meet your eyes again.

You shook your head. "It's fine."

The director suddenly cursed loudly. "Dieter, relax! We're having some issues with the mics so just do whatever for a minute."

"Sure thing, boss!" Dieter called back, sitting up and pulling the blankets up to cover you in the process. "So you don't get cold."

You sat up and clutched the blanket over your chest. "Thanks."

It was freaking you out with how nice he was being. Dieter Bravo was anything but a gentleman. Yet here he was... being almost chivalrous.

And then he winked at you. "Nice rack by the way."

Yeah, okay, you expected him to ruin it.

"Charming, Bravo. Really." You snapped.

"Just stating facts." He shrugged.

You frowned at him and looked away.

"Hey." His voice was soft.

You looked back at him.

"Sorry, it was a joke." His brown eyes were wide and apologetic.

You ran your tongue over your teeth, aggravation rippling through you. "It's fine."

He shook his head, curls bouncing against his forehead. "No, it's not. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Your frown deepened. "Isn't it your life's mission to irritate me?"

He grinned. "Irritate you? Yes. Make you uncomfortable at work? No."

Before you had the chance to reply, the microphones were fixed and the two of you were instructed to get back into places. You both settled back into position, a sigh escaping you. It was difficult to believe that this was the first thing you were filming. Not even the conversation leading up to this particular section of the scene. You questioned the director's choices.

"Right, so we know what we're doing, yeah?" Rodney called to you both.

You nodded but Dieter raised his hand like he had a question.

"I can't remember. Are we touching tits or not?"

The intimacy coordinator looked towards you for a moment for confirmation before nodding. "Yes. Touching breasts is fine, Dieter."

He hummed in acknowledgment before looking back at you as he flexed his fingers and rolled his wrists. "Gotta get the circulation going so my hands aren't too cold. Don't want your nipples freezing off."

You stared back up at him in slight shock. "That would be unfortunate, yes."

He smiled and pressed the backs of his fingers to your cheek. "That temperature okay?"

"Not nipple freezing cold."

Just maybe nipple hardening cold.

You pushed the thought from your head and gave him a nod to assure him that it was fine. "Let's just get this started."

He laughed at your clear disdain of the situation and looked towards the small group of crew members to give them the go ahead.

It went pretty smoothly. All the technology continued to work for the rest of the scene luckily and neither you nor Dieter messed up too much to call for reshoots. You simply just gave each other a lot of open mouthed, but tongueless, kisses with no emotion behind them whatsoever and made noises of satsifaction in all the right places as he groped at you gently but confidently. It was a surprisingly simple day of shooting. The director had decided that this would be all you did for the first day, wanting a few good angles that would take up a lot of time, and didn't want to push you into doing more than necessary.

When lunch rolled around, you grabbed a salad from the catering tent outside and took a seat on a table by yourself. You wanted a few moments of peace to relax before you got back into the swing of shooting. The peace was short lived as your least favourite person took a seat directly opposite you, a sandwich on his plate.

You stared at him with scorn. "I wasn't aware we did lunch together."

Dieter looked back at you amused. "Well, considering that I've felt you up now, I thought it was only fitting to grace you with my presence over a lovely meal." His eyes lowered to your salad. "Why the fuck did you get that?"

You poked at the sad plate in front of you with your fork. "It was the only thing that looked remotely fresh."

He looked at his own food. "I do have to say that my sandwich looks a few days old."

"Days?" You gasped. "Try decades!"

Dieter scoffed. "Well, some of us can't afford to eat a salad. Some of us are trying to maintain our physiques."

He was referencing the so-called dad bod he'd developed over the last few years. People loved it. His cheeks were fuller than they used to be, somehow making his dimples more pronounced when he smiled, and his stomach was now softer. It was hot. That was for sure. You held your own quiet appreciation for the way he looked. But that wasn't something you would ever voice to him. Not in a million years.

"Maybe some carbs would make you loosen up." He added on, frowning down at his sandwich now that you'd both acknowledged how it most definitely hadn't been made that day. "Get that stick out your ass."

Something in you snapped at that. You did not have a stick up your ass. You did not need to loosen up. So you did the thing you'd told yourself you wouldn't. You decided to confront him.

You played it cool at first. "How long have we known each other?"

He looked back up at you, eyes squinted in confusion. "A long time. Too long even. Why?"

"Would it be acceptable for me to ask you for a small favour?" You stirred your salad with the fork, not easily done, in an attempt to seem nonchalant.

That caught his attention, giving you his full focus as his head tilted to the side slightly. "That depends on what this small favour is."

"When you have... fun time with your... friends could you play some music? Or better yet, go back to their place? Walls are thin." You hated the words that came out of your mouth. Why didn't you just say sex? Too late now.

His eyebrows quirked at your strange terminology. "When I what?"

"You know." You waved your hand, determined to stick with it now.

"Have sex? Fuck? Bang? Screw?" He asked and you nodded. "Come on, we're both adults. You can say sex to my face. Especially since you've heard it apparently."

Your brows pushed together unhappily. "Fine. When you have sex."

"Only if you promise to play music when you fail to get yourself off when you masturbate." He finally took a bite of his sandwich and immediately grimaced.

Your heart dropped down to your stomach. "What?"

He smirked, knowing he had you. "Walls are thin. You're loud. And frustrated."

"You hear me?" You knew the walls were thin. You didn't know that they were that thin. You always tried to stay as quiet as possible.

Dieter prodded at his sandwich with his finger a final time before pushing it away. "It'd be pretty hard not to. Maybe I should introduce you to one of my friends. To help you, I mean."

"Wouldn't work." You mumbled, not really for him to hear.

His interest was piqued further. "Oh, so a full orgasm mental block then?"

You clenched your teeth together. "I hate you."

"Unfortunate considering I'm the only person capable of reading you like an open book." He grinned at you, fully sarcastic. "Hmm, maybe that's what you need actually."

"What?"

"Someone capable of reading you like a book. To see what's really working, or not working, for you." He looked you up and down quickly.

You scoffed. "You better not be suggesting what I think you're suggesting."

His voice dipped down in both volume and tone. "You know I'd be better than anyone else you've ever had. You've heard my work. I'm exceptional and come highly recommended."

You looked away from him. "That's not funny, Dieter."

"You're sexually frustrated?"

You huffed. "Yes. Very."

"And I'm good at sex and know you better than anyone. Is it not a reasonable conclusion?" He threw his hands in the air as if to emphasise how obvious the solution should be.

"You're ridiculous." You hissed, pushing up from the table and storming away. You hated him. Despised him.

"The orgasms would make you feel better." He called after you.

You didn't fail to notice the use of the plural - orgasms.

Luckily for you the rest of the day consisted of close ups of just you sprawled on the bed. No Dieter needed. But you didn't fail to notice how he hovered around the set anyway and observed. His brown eyes burned into your skin for the remainder of filming.

When you were done, you retreated to your dressing room and got dressed as quickly as you could. A car was called at your request and you were back in your hotel room ordering room service before anyone even had the opportunity to invite you out for drinks to celebrate the first day of filming.

You needed to be alone. For many reasons, including the fact that you just liked your solitude. But the biggest one, the reason that had been plaguing your mind since it had been suggested to you, was the idea of sleeping with Dieter. Not being able to believe yourself at how utterly ridiculous it was, but you were seriously considering it.

You knew he was good in bed. The sex noises you'd heard through the wall didn't lie. But he was the one person in the world that you disliked more than anyone else you had ever met. So why was the idea of it playing around in your head so much?

When you heard Dieter's own hotel room door close, you were surprised that he seemed to be alone. Abnormal. For him at least. But you ignored it.

And you ignored the ache between your legs that was bothering you as you showered and changed into your pyjamas. You ignored the way your heart hammered in your chest as you crawled under the bedsheets. You ignored the fact that you were still wide awake after two hours of attemtping to fall asleep.

Well... you ignored it for another thirty minutes before you sighed to yourself and got out of bed, grabbed your room key and tiptoed to your co-star's room. You knocked once quietly and received no answer. So you knocked again, louder and more impatient this time. After a few seconds his door swung open with the quietest of creaks but loud enough to still make you wince. You weren't doing anything wrong technically but the idea of anyone finding out about this made your stomach churn.

Dieter stood there, rumpled from bed, and looked down at you confused. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he mumbled a gravelly question. "Why're you here?"

You hesitated which caught his attention, suddenly sobering up from fatigue and looking more concerned.

"You okay?”

Your jaw ticked with nerves. Fuck it, what did you have to lose? "Your offer."

"My offer?" He looked more confused than before, obviously not recalling your previous conversation.

You sighed, frustratedly. "Yes. About sleeping with you."

He blinked rapidly a couple of times. "I was only teasing. I'm sorry if I offended you-"

You interrupted him before he could go any further and ruin what confidence you'd managed to build up. "No, I'm here to take you up on it."

Dieter said nothing which was not a good sign. He loved to talk, especially to annoy you. Silence meant something bad.

"You were right. I'm sexually frustrated and can't get off. By myself or with anyone." You whispered harshly. "I think you're attractive and you're my best hope at finding out whether I'm just broken or something else is going on."

He looked down at you with softened eyes. Pity. You didn't want his pity. "I don't-"

You cut him off again. "Please."

He paused and then nodded, opening the door wider. "Okay."

You pushed past him. "No one ever finds out about this and we never talk about it again. Is that clear?"

"Crystal." He closed and locked the door behind the two of you. "For the record, I was going to say that I don't think you're broken."

"We'll determine that after you, hopefully, manage to make me come." You planted your hands on your hips.

His eyes raked over you. "You're too stressed. You're not used to casual, are you?"

"No, I can do casual with people I don't know and who definitely don't know me. And you know me too well, Dieter. So, yeah, I'm stressed. Because this-" You gestured between the two of you. "-isn't casual."

"Relax. I'm sure I'll be able to figure out what makes you tick." He smirked, sauntering closer. "I already know what you don't like."

You flinched at that statement. "How?"

"Had a very long conversation with the intimacy coordinator about what was off-limits. Apparently you had a list." A real smile broke across his face as he reached up to pull your hands from your hips, plucking your room key from your fingers and tossing it onto the vanity, before tracing his own fingers across your arms.

Heat prickled the surface of your skin. "Oh."

"Don't look so embarrassed." His hands got to your shoulders and rested there, forcing them down to relax. "Although, you could've told me yourself."

"And have you tease me? No thanks." You scoffed, looking away from him.

He hummed lowly in the back of his throat. "I like to tease you, yes. But I never want to make you feel uncomfortable. Not like that anyway and especially not at work. I told you this."

Your gaze darted back to him, to see if he was being genuine. He was.

Your eyebrows pulled up in uncertainty. "You confuse me."

"I know." His teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he looked you up and down. "You confuse me too."

"How?"

His hands slid up to your neck, warm palms engulfing you. "Coming to me begging to have sex despite claiming to loathe me."

You briefly snapped out of the atmosphere he'd created with his touch and pulled back from him. "I'm not begging."

"I was joking, sweetheart. I'm sorry. You don't have to beg me for this anyway." He tugged you closer to him again.

"What do you mean?" You moved more into his hold.

He chuckled, one hand lowering to circle around your waist and dipping his head to trace the lines of your neck with the tip of his nose. "Nothing. I'm just talking to calm you and make you more pliant."

Your eyelids fluttered shut. "Touch my tits with your icicle hands again and I'm sure we'll get there eventually."

He laughed louder at that, one hand cupping your cheek as he pulled back to look at you. "Are they really that cold?"

"They were earlier. Now they're warmer." You pressed your cheek into his palm, eyes closing at the feeling.

"Leaning on them for too long fucks up my blood flow." He explained, swiping his thumb across your skin. "You're so pretty."

Your eyes shot open to meet his at that. You'd never seen him look so sincere. You'd also never felt the desire to kiss him before. Until now. "Please kiss me." You curled your fists into the front of his shirt and pulled him down to meet your eyeline.

His forehead pushed against yours. "You sure you want this?"

"Positive."

He took that and pressed his lips against yours, soft and tender, barely there. And pulled back again to gauge your reaction.

"More." You whispered, hands sliding up to thread into the hair on the back of his head.

He hummed lowly, a flicker of a smile on his face before he kissed you again. This time it was firmer and held more purpose. You'd never noticed before but Dieter smelt nice. It was comforting as he drew you into his chest, arms wrapped tightly around you. The kisses grew more heated, moving from a few pecks to being open mouthed and longer. He was a good kisser, you begrudgingly noted. Good for now but the part of you that hated him disliked that he was also gifted at this. When his tongue slid into your mouth and pressed up against yours, you tensed up. It wasn't unpleasant. Just a bit of a shock to the system.

Dieter pulled back to look down at you. "Relax. I'll look after you, I promise. Believe me?"

"Yes." You whispered and pulled him back towards you. No one had ever kissed you like this. Dieter understood you. He felt the way your muscles would shift when he did something you didn't like and would immediately pull back, quickly assess the situation and find something else you preferred. His hands lingered in places that made you feel good, kissed you enough so you felt wanted but not too much to overwhelm you. You'd never felt so safe with someone before.

And you never could have imagined the feeling that was swirling around inside you at the notion that he was touching you, kissing you. This was Dieter Bravo. The man you'd hated for years. And yet here he was, making you feel things you'd never felt before this moment. Sure, you'd acknowledged the fact that he was an attractive man when you'd first met him. But the idea of being attracted to him had never crossed your mind until recently. Very recently. It just didn't seem possible.

His hands slid down to your ass, palming the flesh there as he groaned into your mouth at the feeling. It was nice to know that he was enjoying this as well. He crowded you against him, seeming to take an impossible step closer to you.

He broke away from you momentarily. "Trust me?"

"Yes." You nodded slowly, dazed by the fact that it was true. You did trust him. With this at least anyway.

He smiled against your lips at that. "Do you want control or do you want me to take care of you?"

You pondered it for a moment. You didn't even know where you'd start with this. With him. It was an overwhelming thought. Which is why your answer was so natural.

"Take care of me please."

His responding smile was easy, soothing, as he directed you backwards towards the bed until your legs hit the frame.

"We're going to take this slow, okay? So try to have some patience." He cupped your face in his large hands, looking at you seriously.

You huffed. "I can be patient. As long as it's worth my time."

He laughed and kissed you quickly. "I'll make this worth your time."

You giggled against his mouth. "You're very confident in your abilities."

"As are you considering you're here asking me to make you come." He moved to place an open mouthed kiss on your jaw, teeth scraping against your skin. "Get on the bed."

It took a lot of self restraint for Dieter to stop himself from just picking you up and throwing you on the bed. But he promised himself he'd be gentle with you, giving you some power over the situation. After all, you'd asked him to take care of you. So that's exactly what he was going to do.

He didn't need to ask you twice by the seems of it anyway since you dropped onto the bed at his request, bouncing a couple of times before pulling your legs up and sliding yourself backwards towards the pillows. Dieter smothered a gleeful grin at how suddenly eager you seemed to be. Your enthusiam should only help your orgasm problem, as long as he got you to ease up a lot more. You were such a tense person. He tasked himself with rectifying that.

Climbing onto the bed and sitting up on his knees, Dieter looked at you breathing heavily, chest heaving as you waited for him to get closer. He couldn't quite tell if you were anxious or just turned on. He fell forward onto his hands and crawled to you, pushing you onto your back as he moved over you.

Gaze moving towards the way your breasts were straining against your sleep shirt with every inhale, he let a question roll around in his head for a couple of seconds before just deciding to ask it. "On a scale of one to ten, how horny would you say you are right now?"

Your mouth dropped open, that was the last thing you expected him to say with the way his pupils had blown wide as he stared at your chest. "A six. Maybe a seven."

He only grunted in response.

"It might be higher. I can't tell. I'm pretty nervous."

Ah, so anxiety was playing a factor in your breathing rate. Good to know, Dieter thought.

"Let's fix that." He rasped before kissing you again, not hesitating this time to let his tongue roam your mouth. He found he liked the way your legs seemed to automatically wrap around him and pull him closer over you so you were chest to chest.

Your arms wound around his neck, one hand carding through his hair. The two of you barely broke away for breath, the only sound in the room being those of your lips colliding and separating. You were surprised to find how long he kissed you without doing anything else. Most guys would be insisting on getting into your pants right about now. But Dieter hadn't done anything more than grope at your ass, and that had been when you were still standing up.

You liked kissing. Liked it a lot. Especially when the person you were kissing was good at it and seemed to enjoy it as much as you did. So this was nice. Just kissing. You hadn't kissed someone for this long since you were a teenager and still a virgin when making out seemed like the most exciting thing in the world.

You let your hands roam Dieter a little more, allowing them to drift down his back and smooth back up across his shoulders. He was so broad, you realised. How had you never realised how big he was before? He was taller than you, sure. But you had never noticed the sheer size of him before. He was broad shouldered and had large hands. It sent a pulse to your core.

He made you squeal in surprise when he managed to wrap his arms around and underneath you and flipped the two of you so you were on your sides, legs tangled together and not an inch of space between you. Despite the lack of room, you still found yourself pushing into him even more. He encouraged this by gliding a hand to the small of your back and pressing you against him. He groaned into your mouth when your pelvis moved against his, rubbing against his hard on.

Instead of pursuing that like you assumed he would, he grabbed your thigh and hooked your leg over his waist so your clothed pussy pushed against the muscle of his thigh. He could feel the heat of you through two layers of clothing, both your sleep shorts and his own pants. Then his hand slipped over to your ass where he squeezed, causing a gasp to rattle out of you into his mouth, and rocked your hips against his thigh. You felt your clit grinding against him and whined at the feeling it made ripple through you.

"Mm, good girl." He whispered against your lips and rocked you against him again.

It felt good. Better than you expected it to. So you picked up the pace yourself, letting his hand guide you as you ground yourself against his thigh desperately. The sensation was slowly building, very slowly, but it was definitely there. You didn't have the brain capacity to think about the potential orgasm sneaking up on you though as Dieter kept kissing you, despite it becoming messier as you couldn't hold back the noises he was drawing out of you. It became a simple clash of lips and tongues, teeth clacking together every few seconds, as you sought out the feeling you craved.

But it became obvious after a little while longer that it was hopeless.

You pulled back from him frustrated and let out a sound of disappointment as you pressed your forehead into his chest. "It's no use- I can't-"

"Hey, hey, hey." He cut you off, placing a finger under your chin to make you look up at him. "Don't give up now. It was close, I know it. We'll just rework and go with a different angle, okay?"

A part of you wanted to run away and forget this whole thing, hoping he wouldn't hold this against you in the future. You couldn't imagine the teasing material Dieter would come up with if he knew the fact that you couldn't come and had run away after failing to get off with him.

But the way he was looking at you, so warm and kind, had you rethinking that. This was so unlike him. So you just nodded at him.

He returned the nod, a smile on his face. "Okay. So, that felt good, didn't it?" He didn't need you to agree. The sounds you were making told him enough. "So we'll slow down and keep going from there."

You didn't exactly know what he meant by that but decided to just carry on following his lead anyway. Delighted when he kissed you again, you whimpered against his mouth as his hand returned to your ass and rocked your hips over his thigh again. But this time more gently. He kept doing that for a while, never letting the speed of it increase. And the sensation from before built steadily. You stayed calm and didn't let it overtake you, allowing Dieter to have control over the situation.

He let the sounds coming from your throat tell him when to move on to the next step. Slowly he rolled the two of you over so you were on your back again, breaking away from your mouth to start kissing down the length of your body.

You raised your head to look at him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going down on you." He said casually, finger tracing along the buttons of your shirt. "Can I take this off?"

You nodded, watching as he unfastened each button unhurriedly and sat up to help him slide it from your shoulders. "You don't have to do that. I know a lot of guys don't like that."

His head snapped up to meet your eyes, looking as if you'd just shot him. "Who the fuck have you been sleeping with?" He asked with disgust, hands landing on your chest and immediately kneading the flesh of your tits.

Your mouth dropped open at the feeling, head dropping back onto the pillows. "Guys not worth my time apparently."

"You're right about that." Dieter mumbled, flicking his tongue over one of your nipples. "I happen to love eating pussy."

"Noted." You sighed, toes curling as he sucked the nipple into his mouth.

After spending a considerable amount of time worshipping your chest, including lots of babbling about how fucking soft you were, Dieter finally decided to carry on with his journey downwards. He tugged at the string of your sleep shorts, ribbon unravelling and leaving the waistband loose.

He glanced up at you with the silent question of asking permission to take the shorts off which you nodded at. He smirked and slid them down your legs with the aid of you arching yourself up to help him, pleased when he saw you weren’t wearing panties. The smirk grew into a smile that could only compared to that of the Cheshire Cat when he saw how wet you were.

"All this from just rubbing yourself against my thigh. Lucky me."

"Don't make fun of me." You grumbled, glaring at him.

He tutted, pushing your thighs apart to get a better look. "I'm not, sweetheart, I promise. I can't wait to taste you."

You had no time to reply as he rubbed a thumb across you, spreading your arousal across your slit and up to your clit where he circled a couple of times. Flattening himself onto his stomach so his face was level with your pussy, Dieter placed a tentative lick on your clit. When a broken cry escaped you, he took it as a sign to keep going. Licking a long stripe up, gathering your wetness on his tongue, Dieter let out a moan of his own. You tasted better than he anticipated. It was going to take a lot for him to not bury his face against you and suffocate himself.

Instead he chose to lick against your clit a couple more times, liking the way your back arched up off the bed at the feeling. Slowly, he sucked the bundle of nerves into his mouth and revelled at the strangled whimper that left you, a hand flying into his hair to pull him closer. Dieter groaned as you tugged on the brown strands. Focusing on your clit for a while, he chose to test something else. He slid a finger into you, feeling your thighs tense on either side of his head. And not in a good way. So he removed the finger and chose to continue just suckling on your clit instead.

You weren't quite there yet and that was okay. He was fine with using just his mouth and tongue for the moment. You started writhing under him anyway, which was a good sign in his mind, so he flattened a hand over your stomach to keep you still.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." You gasped, pulling on his hair even harder. You were close, moving to the brink with every move Dieter made, and you both knew it.

Dieter just wondered what would get you there. He could see out of the corner of his eye that the hand that wasn't in his hair was grasping at the sheets beneath you. So he reached out to take it in his. And so with one of his hands on your stomach to keep you still and one of yours looped through his hair, the free hands that each of you had finding each other and linking, fingers lacing together, that was all it took to have you crashing over the edge.

Your thighs trembled on either side of his head as you practically screamed his name, hand pushing his face into you as your hips moved against him of their own accord. The orgasm pulsed through you, seeming almost never ending, as Dieter crawled back up the length of your body and placed kisses all over your face.

When you finally returned back down to Earth, you opened your eyes and blinked up at him. You couldn’t believe he’d managed it. "You are fucking good at this."

He shook his head and chuckled. "That was the easy part. What's next is the real test."

"Easy- next- what?" You were beyond confused. He'd made you come. His task was complete. What was he talking about?

"The majority of women get off easier with oral. Penetrative sex isn't as likely to make a woman come." He explained, sitting up and reaching off the side of the bed to open a drawer in his nightstand and retrieve a condom. "These are cherry flavoured, is that okay? Or do you have an allergy to flavoured lube? Shit, or a latex allergy?"

You swallowed thickly. "You're going to fuck me? Like actually fuck me?"

"Look at you managing to say fuck. Big turn around from fun time or whatever shit you said to me this afternoon." He shook his head as he chuckled. "But yes, sweetheart. I am going to fuck you. Unless you don't want me to. And in that case I'll have to politely ask you to excuse me so I can go jerk off in the bathroom. But I think it'll be nice. Another orgasm never hurts."

The two of you held eye contact for a moment as he waited for you to respond. The idea of another orgasm had you wanting more.

"No allergies to flavoured lube or latex here." You said, reaching out to grab at his t-shirt to pull him over you again.

"I'm so glad to hear that because this is all I've got." He breathed against your mouth before kissing you.

Your hands slid to the hem of his t-shirt, sliding it up slowly and over his head when he broke away from you momentarily to take it off. Your hands immediately landed on his chest, nails raking down his torso onto his stomach and then your fingers hooked into his waistband. Dieter gave you the go ahead to tug the pants down with a low hum and kicked them off his feet without pulling away from your mouth for a second.

You didn't need to look to know that Dieter was big considering all of him was suddenly pressed up against you. You found it fascinating to know that the rumours of him being hung like a horse were, in fact, very true.

You broke away from the kiss when you felt the full length of him hot and heavy against your stomach. "Fuck me, you're huge."

Dieter looked down between your bodies. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before. "Thanks."

You met his eyes again. "I somehow hate you even more now."

He just burst out into laughter. Now that was new.

"It's not fair that you're good at eating pussy and also have a horse cock. A guy should only have one of those assets. Having both is like having too much power." You groaned, reaching down to take him in your hand.

His laughter abruptly cut off at the feeling of your fingers wrapping around him, head dropping down to meet your shoulder. "Fuck, think it's time to be inside you now."

"That'd be good." You mumbled, watching him as he pushed up onto his knees and ripped the condom open, rolled it down onto his himself with ease and pumped his dick a couple times. The last part was unnecessary considering he was rock hard and not softening anytime soon without coming.

Dieter grabbed the tops of your thighs and used them as leverage to pull you towards him so the two of you aligned. Taking his length in his fist, he slapped the tip against your clit a few times before sliding it up and down your slit, combining the cherry lube with the wetness left behind by your previous orgasm. Notching himself at your entrance, he made eye contact with you for one last bit of confirmation. When he found it, he pushed into you.

He slid in easier than expected, the two of you sighing deeply at the feeling as he leaned over you again. He pulled out slowly after a moment, the clench of your walls making him shudder, and then thrust back in again.

"Does that feel good?" He asked you, needing to check in.

Your legs wrapped around him, forcing him in even deeper somehow. "Fuck yes."

"I'm glad. Because this is heavenly for me." He told you, taking your pleasured expression as an invitation to set up a steady pace. Nothing too fast otherwise he'd be finishing this earlier than he wanted to, but enough to make the both of you feel good.

But you were impatient. "Dieter, faster."

"Sweetheart, if I go any faster then I'm going to blow my load prematurely and I really don't want that. And I’m sure you don’t either."

"I thought you were a veteran at this. Should be able to last longer than two minutes." You quipped back.

He huffed out a laugh. "I was close to jizzing in my pants when we were making out so trust me when I say this is overwhelmingly good for me right now. Besides, gotta make you orgasm again first."

With that statement, he slid a hand between your bodies and rubbed tight circles onto your clit, completely out of pace with the way he was moving in and out of you. The discrepancy between the two sensations had your brain going haywire and you clutched at his face to get him to kiss you again. He groaned into your mouth when you clenched around him again, finally moving a little faster.

As much as Dieter wanted to go slow with you, he could feel how much you craved more. So he picked up the pace and went a little harder, pausing momentarily when the headboard hit the wall and you let out a delighted noise at the sound.

"Oh, you like that?" He asked, mouth dropping open when you nodded rapidly. "Yeah?"

"Yes, Dieter. Oh, my god, yes." You gasped, nails clawing at his shoulders with the need to hold onto something.

"Dirty fucking girl, liking the headboard slamming against the wall." He realised something. "You could hear it when I was in here with other people, couldn't you?"

You could do nothing but confess. "Yes, oh my- fuck!" You were cut off by your own expletive as he rammed back into you, hitting a spot that no one else had even come close to reaching before.

"Wanted to get it as good, huh?" He asked, digging his fingers into the flesh of your thighs as the pace of his thumb increased on your clit. "Promised I'd make it good for you, didn't I?"

You nodded, words escaping you as tears streamed from your eyes.

"Come on, sweetheart. I can feel it. You're going to come for me again, aren't you?" He watched as you attempted to answer him, only managing a few babbled words of agreement. "What do you need? What's going to make you come all over my cock?"

You still couldn't form a coherent sentence as his harsh thrusts had you moving up and down the bed, your tits bouncing in rhythm. So you placed a hand on either of his cheeks and pulled him into a messy kiss, your tongue curling against his. That was what it took to make you orgasm again, a wail leaving your throat and tumbling into Dieter's mouth as your thighs trembled and your walls fluttered around him. The feeling of that sent him over the edge too, a couple more pumps before he was spilling himself into the condom.

Neither of you broke away from the kiss for a moment as you calmed down, sweat pooling between you as he slowly pulled out and the kisses turned sweeter and more innocent. Dieter eventually climbed off of the bed and threw the condom in the trash before crawling back to you.

"What are you doing?" You asked as he settled over you again.

"More making out for a minute." He replied simply, placing his lips over yours.

It lasted longer than a minute, that was for sure. But neither of you were complaining. By the time he decided to pull away again, your legs had stopped shaking with the aftershocks of the orgasm and your breathing had slowed to a normal rate.

Dieter looked down at you pleased with what he'd managed to achieve as a question crossed his mind. "I'm curious... when was the last time you orgasmed?"

You shrugged as the two of you sat up in the bed. "I can't remember."

"Okay, when was the last time you made yourself come? Give me an estimate." He waved his hand around in the air.

You thought about it. "A few months maybe."

He frowned, that was too long in his opinion. "And when was the last time a guy made you come?"

You hesitated before shaking your head.

The frown deepened. "What does that mean?"

You took a deep breath before answering. "Never."

His eyes darkened, lids becoming hooded. "Never?"

"No."

"I'm the first?" He didn't seem to believe you.

But you were insistent. "Yeah."

"Okay, lie back down." He said, poking at your chest to get you to rest against the pillows.

You let out a confused laugh. "What? Why?"

"Because I'm getting another fucking orgasm out of you."

You shook your head, attempting to stay sitting up. "You don't need to. You've done enough."

"Two. You've been given two orgasms by men. Both of which are from me. I need at least a third before I let you leave this room." He stretched his arms out and started moving down the bed. "Besides, you taste good and I already want to go down on you again."

"Dieter, you don't have to do that for me- oh."

He looked smug as he brushed your clit with his thumb, effectively cutting you off.

"Okay, maybe one more won't hurt." You relented, collapsing onto the pillows.

"Excellent." He chirped in response, literally diving in head first into your cunt again with a long lick up your slit. He groaned lowly, looking up at you as he pulled away. "We're gonna have to do this again sometime."

You froze. "What? Why?"

"Because I said I wanted to taste you again but all I'm getting right now is the cherry lube from the condom." He sounded disappointed.

"Sounds delicious, actually." You hummed, pushing yourself up on your elbows so you could see him better.

"Not as delicious as you, fuck." Despite the obvious discontentment, Dieter still went back to licking at you like there was no tomorrow. And it didn't take long for another orgasm to hit you, his skilled tongue combined with the leftover influence of the previous two.

When he made his way up the bed and landed next to you with his eyes closed, you took it as your cue to leave. So you slid out of the bed and started searching for your pyjamas.

"Where are you going?"

You stilled and stiffly turned to look at Dieter. Wasn't it obvious? "Back to my room."

His brow wrinkled "You don't have to go."

You straightened up, suddenly very aware of your nakedness. "I'm not spending the night."

He rolled his eyes. "I wasn't suggesting that, I figured as much. I do, however, strongly believe in this little thing called aftercare.”

"Oh." You hadn't considered that.

"Interested?"

Yes. "Maybe."

He rolled his eyes again, smile still firmly planted on his face, and opened his arms for you. "Get back over here."

You did as he said, easily finding yourself in his embrace as he stroked patterns up and down your back. Some time later he went to get a washcloth from the bathroom to clean away the mess that the cherry lube had made between your thighs, before slipping back into bed next to you.

Despite both of you insisting that you'd go back to your room any minute, you didn't move out of his arms. And eventually the two of you fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms.

A/N: I chose to write this rather than one of my final essays of the uni year… you’re welcome.

#dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo #the bubble #the bubble 2022 #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo smut #ej’s writing #ej’s fics #deakyjoe’s writing #deakyjoe’s fics

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seeingivy · 2 years ago

Text

the time of your life

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting fic, masterlist here

content: character death (LOL), very immature fifteen year old humor (that was cross confirmed with real fifteen year olds), idk reader and eren being mad corny

an: tried my best to make this chapter fun but I will just POST WHAT I HAVE BUT THE NEXT ONE IS ONE OF MY FAVS IM SO EXCITED

previous part linked here

Things settle down after the panel, and Eren convinces you to put all your energy into finishing the season. Because you’re going to prove them wrong and now you just have to do it. And as much effort as you put in, the rest of them all make it fun too.

And Eren’s right.

They really are great - funny, charismatic, and idiotic in their own ways.

The inside jokes start one week after filming when you’ve finally learned everyone’s names. And, of course, it starts with Reiner. You and Historia are so tired after filming that you quickly run back to the townhouse just to get snacks from the main kitchen. With the mention of food, Sasha’s following, and then Connie, suddenly, everyone’s marching back together.

Except when you get there, Reiner is in the kitchen. Not only is he shirtless, but he’s also doing some next-level opera singing. For some reason, he’s trying to sing both parts of the Phantom of the Opera and… actually succeeding?

Connie leans over, whispering.

“Look at those mommy milkers.”

You all burst out laughing, which stops Reiner in his tracks. And he momentarily stops and scratches his head before he keeps singing, this time serenading all of you. He’s taking Ymir by the hand and swinging her around and holding hands with Jean as they rock back and forth that even Mikasa’s snorting at the sight of him. You're all sold after that.

Speaking of Mikasa, as solemn and quiet as she can be, she’s gotten you into quite a bit of trouble. Trouble meaning severe back pain. When she first moved into your room, she mentioned that she was a bit of an early riser. She likes to work out to get her blood moving before shooting, claiming that “it gets her in the zone.”

Somehow, she convinces you and Sasha to join her one morning, and by the end of it, Jean and Marco are dragging you both back to the house by your legs, having to shove the two of you in an ice bath.

You just didn’t realize that an early riser meant four in the morning, and working out means an all-intensive full-body press. Levi’s pissed at you and Sasha for being stupid enough to think you could keep up and you’re both mad at Levi for having such little faith in you.

In true dad fashion, Levi’s always lecturing you guys. More like pretending to be mad, berating you around the set. But you know that he cares because the second that you guys ask him for something, no matter how stupid it is, he’ll be the first to give in.

Exhibit A? Marco and Jean recently find out that Levi became a triple threat from doing his own stunts on Bond - including a quadruple flip. They’re both so intrigued by it that every time they see Levi, they force him to do it.

“Levi.”

“No, Marco. I’m not going to do a flip.”

“Do a flip! Levi, please please please please please do a flip. It’s just so fucking cool.”

“Watch your language, Jean. You need to wash your mouth out with soap.”

“I won’t say fuck for a week if you flip, Levi. Please!” Jean says, shaking Levi’s hands as he talks.

Levi begrudgingly rolls his eyes and then backflips in the living room, earning half hearted cheers. It was cool the first eleven times, but Jean literally asks him to do it daily. It gets old fast.

“That was so fucking cool, Levi! Thanks.” Jean says, running off. He bumps into Sasha, who's clearly going to throw up as she runs past.

Levi’s sick and tired of Jean. And Hange too. And himself for thinking that filming with a bunch of teenagers was going to be a good idea.

After finding out that Sasha will quite literally eat anything you put in front of her, Hange’s started a dangerously horrible game of seeing what Sasha will eat without paying attention to it.

Ketchup on watermelon, ice cream with salt in it, cake with mayo. It’s become so disgusting that you can’t tell who people are more grossed out with - Hange for making the concoction or Sasha for eating it. (It’s Sasha)

Armin’s taken maybe twenty before and after pictures of Sasha during these “experiments” that Hange runs and then sticks them onto the kitchen wall - perfectly labeled with the food Sasha ate underneath them.

And he loves taking pictures so much that there’s now a big wall at the front of the set of just individual and group pictures, Armin’s little pictures and commentary tacked to the wall.

One of Jean and Sasha playing video games, labeled “the great war”

Another one of Ymir and Bertholdt tackling each other, labeled “ice cream gate”

And one of Eren pinching your cheek, labeled “the l/n-jaegers”

Right. In another life, you’re all convinced that Connie was destined to work for the paparazzi. Because every time you and Eren are together, he somehow manages to capture a picture at the worst time - making something innocent look like totally not.

Like when you and Eren share a blanket on set because there’s only one left. Or when he helps you put the harnesses on and his hands are around your waist for two seconds . When you guys share the breakfast burritos on set because they’re too big to eat alone. With context, they’re not that bad.

But Connie always catches it at the worst time and then posts it to his fucking TikTok account. His stupid series has garnered millions of views, and you’ve both tried to convince him to stop, to which he refuses

And when you tried to get Erwin involved, he only supported Connie more - stating it was good press for the show. He’s named the series “the l/n-jaegers” hence the label on the polaroid.

There’s currently 32 different parts.

But you know you can’t stop him even if you tried because Connie proves to be the most menacing idiot on set. Him and Annie have developed a horrible habit of pranking everyone on around - Levi, Hange, and Erwin specifically. It’s not that Annie loves pranks, she’s just the only one who can keep a straight face.

“Hey Hange.”

“What’s up, Annie?”

“There’s this guy who works in hair and makeup. He has a few ideas for the Female Titan costume design. He wants to talk to you.”

“Oh. What’s his name?”

“Ben Dover.” responds Connie, the look on his and Annie’s faces blank.

“Ben Dover?” Hange repeats the rest of you, trying you shoving your faces into the script to stop laughing as they respond.

“Yeah. They said they’ve talked to Erwin before. He’s been working with Hugh Jass, on the makeup team.” says Annie.

Erwin walks over, the look on his face confused. And it just gets worse.

“Who is Hugh Jass? I’ve never seen him before.”

“Oh, he’s hard to miss. Really big guy,” responds Connie, his face breaking a little.

Levi walks over, and when Annie talks again, it’s the final nail in the coffin. You and Eren are literally smacking your hands over each other's mouths, the tears spilling out of your eyes to not give them away.

“Okay, we’ll go over there now. Thanks for telling us Annie, Connie.”

“Cool! They’re waiting with Ben Overbich.”

“What?”

“Ben Overbich. It’s Swedish, sir.” Annie responds.

Levi shrugs as he, Hange, and Erwin walk off to go to talk to the costume designers. And when they all walk away, you’re all panting on the floor, gasping for breath. Connie keeps mimicking Erwin, saying Hugh Jass, and Berholdt keeps quoting it’s Swedish sir, which doesn’t make it any better.

When they return, Levi and Erwin are all yanking you by the ears onto the set since the costume team told them what the jokes actually meant. And there’s something so presidential about Erwin naturally that when he starts lecturing you, it starts feeling like he’s giving a sermon.

“You guys are premier faces in the industry. Imagine how people would feel if they found out you were making crude jokes like you were fifteen years old.”

“Sir.”

“Yes, Ymir.”

“We are fifteen years old.”

You’re all snickering as Erwin continues, Hange rolling their eyes as he goes on.

“You should know better. Ben Dover is not a funny joke. Huge asses are nothing to laugh about. You should wish to have that type of issue.”

Jean leans over, whispering in yours and Eren’s ear.

“The divine truths of humanity.”

You laugh and Erwin stares you down, Eren smacking you for laughing out loud.

“Y/N. Up.”

You groan as stand next to him, the lot of them laughing at you, as Erwin stares you down.

“Erwin.”

“Y/N. What did you learn in class yesterday?”

“Uh. States and capitals?”

“Perfect. Name them all.”

You groan. Of course, you get stuck with Erwin and his weird punishments. He always quizzes you guys on random stuff from your classes when you take too long on set or are late to a table read. And you’re usually free from that, but Jean’s stupid comment got you.

“Uh. Okay. California is Los Angeles.”

“Wrong. It’s Sacramento.”

“I’m Canadian, Erwin. This isn’t even fair.”

He shakes his head dismissively as you keep going, literally getting every single one wrong. And when you reach the fifth incorrect state, Eren takes his stand, helping you with the rest of them.

“Eren. No one asked you if you knew the states and capitals.” Erwin says, pinching both of your ears as they all laugh.

“Can’t leave my girl hanging here.”

“Your girl?” repeats Connie and the rest of them widen their eyes, leaving you and Eren to be met with a bunch of “oohs” and “aahs”

Which only flusters Eren even more. And makes your cheeks burn.

“That’s-that’s not what I meant! It’s because we’re co-stars! Like the leads, that’s why she’s my girl! Not any weird reason.” Eren stammers, the tips of his ears pink and his eyes not meeting yours.

No one believes him.

“Eren.”

“Hm.”

“Hot sauce.”

He leans over in the chair, opening the packet of hot sauce and handing it to you. The crew got breakfast burritos again , meaning you and Eren were slouched up in your chairs eating. The scene that was being filmed was primarily a scene for Jean and Marco, but you and Eren always love to watch everyone else act.

There’s something about the energy on set - Levi directing everyone around, everyone getting in the zone that gets you excited. All jittery and nervous and thrilled that people are going to see this amazing thing that is airing in a few weeks.

You hand Eren the burrito and he instinctively reaches forward, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip. His green eyes focused on your lips and you can feel your heart rising into your throat.

“Eren.”

He looks up, right into your eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, my bad. You had some sauce on your lip.”

And then he takes the excess sauce and licks it off his finger.

“Did you just-”

“Y/N, be quiet. They’re starting.”

You try your best to focus on the scene but all you can think about is yours and Eren’s knees bumping against each other, your fingers brushing across as you share the food, and Eren licking the sauce off of his finger. You try to brush it off as you lean over and whisper into his space.

“What scene is this, Eren?”

“Don’t remember. I was so busy trying to check my own lines I forgot to read ahead.”

You nod as Eren scoots closer, the two of you leaning forward as you start paying attention to the scene. Jeans walks closer and that’s when you realize it - Marco leaning against the wall, all charred and slumped over.

“Hey. Are you…. Marco?” Jean whispers, his voice shaking.

Eren instinctively reaches for your hand, crushing it in his hold. You look over to find Sasha and Bertholdt giving you the same confused looks as you all keep watching, Jean acting on. It seems like no one read the scene before watching it.

Jean’s a good actor. Such a good actor that you think he’s actually crying, that his voice is actually wavering. And that’s when you realize it.

Marco just died.

Your mind is running at a million miles per hour. Does that mean he’s leaving? He’s not going to be in the show anymore? You guys were all supposed to spend four or five years together filming together, but how is that fair if he’s already dead? That isn’t even an entire season-

Eren’s squeezing your hand into oblivion as the tears are falling out of his eyes, his face looking all types of broken as you glance over.

“Member of the 104th Cadet Corps and Captain of Squad 19… Marco Bodt.”

The director calls cut and the crew starts moving around, Jean helping Marco up from the ground as he brushes the tears out of his eyes. And when you catch sight of Erwin, you’re blazing fire angry. And it seems like you’re not the only one, because Ymir and Mikasa are following your suit.

“Erwin. What the hell?” you say.

Erwin and Levi look down at the three of you, confused.

“You can’t just kill Marco! That’s not fair, the show hasn’t even started yet and you already killed him off.” Reiner says, crossing his arms.

“Erwin. Cut it out of the show. You can’t do this.” Mikasa responds, glaring at him.

Levi pinches the bridge of his nose as he bends down, Erwin joining him so you’re all level heights. For some reason, angry tears are building in your eyes and your chest is burning, because…you miss Marco. And he’s not even gone yet. And it’s not fair that he died so soon and his character is all but sweet, so why does he have to die and-

Levi places his hands on yours and Reiner’s shoulders as he talks, his voice soft.

“Are you guys upset that he’s going to be leaving?”

You all nod, the tears finally flowing out of your eyes and streaming down. You can see that Reiner’s crying too, Mikasa swallowing her own tears.

“Yeah. Erwin, Levi he’s our friend. And I’ve never really had friends like this and I don’t want him to go away and-” you choke out, stammering on your words.

Levi squeezes your shoulder as you hiccup and Erwin leans forward to press all three of you in a hug. Levi’s hands are in your hair, whispering something under his breath about how you’re all sweet kids.

They both let you go and you look over to find Marco, still in his death makeup, hugging Eren, who has tears streaming down his eyes too. And when you walk over, Marco opens up his other arm, you and Eren and Jean and almost everyone crushing him into a hug, the discomfort sitting in your chest.

As you all trail back to the townhouse after set, quiet for once, you’re all milling around the main room, aimlessly. You and Armin are playing a very underwhelming game of Uno, Reiner and Marco half-assedly playing Mario Kart, and Mikasa’s teaching Ymir how to braid her hair.

Hange walks in and plops down between you and Armin, the polaroid camera in her hand.

“Hey, you guys.”

“Hi Hange.” you both mutter, flipping the cards down.

“Got an idea. You know, this shows kind of… dramatic . A lot more of the characters are going to die, but it doesn’t have to be a sad thing.”

“It is sad. That means Marco’s leaving and we won’t see him anymore.” you say, boring your eyes into Hange’s.

They lean forward to pinch your cheek, softly laughing as they continue talking.

“You’re so sweet. He’ll be back to film other scenes, yeah? And you’ll definitely see him again.”

You both nod, agreeing with Hange. They hand the camera to Armin, whispering the plan in his ears and then duck out of the hallway. And when you and Armin have everything you need - the industrial box of Rocky Road ice cream and the camera - you head to the center of the room, Armin standing on the couch to get everyone’s attention.

“When you fall off, I’m going to fucking laugh at you, Arlert.” says Ymir, looking up from braiding Sasha’s hair.

“Shut up, Ymir. Listen, we should make a deal. Every time a character dies, we all eat ice cream. Play games, stay up late, and then at the end of the night we’ll add their picture to the wall. So we don’t forget them . Like, one last hurrah or whatever. ” Armin says.

“You sound like Hange.” Annie mutters, flicking Reiner in the forehead.

“It was their idea. But we should. If Marco’s leaving in a few days, I want to spend all the time I can with him, having fun and-”

“Yeah. I want to.” says Marco, which has almost all of you agreeing.

You and Armin start by opening the tub of ice cream, all eleven of you refusing to get bowls and instead leaning over, bumping heads as you eat.

“Eren. Move your big head.”

“Shut the fuck up Connie. Your bald head is bigger than mine.”

You all start snickering as the two of them argue, smacking each other and rolling off the couch. And when Marco suggests that you play truth or dare, you all start nervously giggling as you go around the circle, all jittery from the sugar in the ice cream.

Reiner asks Connie to share the last dream that he had, which he begrudgingly shares is that he kissed Ymir. Ymir is thoroughly disgusted. Historia gets dared to call Erwin dad by accident, which just leads to Erwin giving Historia a lecture about how he appreciates that she can see him as a father figure and that he is already very proud of all of the work Historia has put in.

Bertholdt has to eat a spoonful of mayo, which he consequently throws up and Armin gets dared to steal something from the set. He takes Levi’s coffee cup and hides it in the storage room, which he is sure to get an earful for later.

“Eren. Truth or Dare?” Connie asks.

“Dare.”

“Kiss your favorite person in the room on the cheek.”

They all start giggling as they stare you down, your cheeks burning at the thought of Eren pressing his lips to yours. Connie and Bertholdt are making kissy faces at you, Ymir and Annie leaning over to pinch your cheeks.

And you brace yourself, for when Eren’s going to press his lips into your skin. Except he doesn’t. He leans over and kisses Armin on the cheek and you try your best to hide your…disappointment? Sadness? But that’s on you.

Why would you assume you’re Eren’s favorite person on set?

Everyone boos at Eren for picking a copout answer and you pretend not to be offended as you keep playing the game. And on hour two of playing, Levi comes and yells at you all to shut the fuck up and go to bed , which leads to Armin taking the picture of Marco - all cheesing and smiley and tacking it to the wall. Connie takes a sharpie and labels the wall “fly high angel” to mark the occasion.

Except his dumbass writes angle instead of angel.

You all shuffle back to your rooms, giggling and laughing, and you and Eren giving each other a smile as you switch into your respective rooms.

You hear a knock on your door and instantly jump up, ready to duck out of set to go get slushies with Eren. Except when you swing the door open, Jean’s standing at your store instead of Eren.

“Oh. Hi Jean.”

“Hi…is-”

“She’s in the shower. You’re welcome to wait for her here if you’d like?”

You swing the door open and he flops onto Mikasa’s bed, watching your fan spin around on the ceiling.

You’re not sure what it is or why Jean and Mikasa are assuaged from the barrage of teasing and cooing that you and Eren get whenever you’re around each other, because you’re almost a thousand percent sure that the two of them are worse than you and Eren.

Because they actually like each other. You’ve often come home from filming or playing games with Bertholdt and Historia to find the two of them sitting on the floor, holding hands while watching a movie. Or Jean giving Mikasa bracelets or telling her that he thinks she’s really pretty.

Maybe they’re not paying attention and that the only person who knows is you. Or maybe it’s because they don’t turn red or deny their feelings, because they actually like each other. You and Eren aren’t like that, because in earnest, you two really are just friends.

“You okay? Your room must be pretty empty.”

Marco moved out earlier today. Not a single dry eye in the room.

“Yeah, that’s kinda why I came. Sometimes it just feels kind of lonely, but I think Levi and Erwin might move someone in with me or put me with Connie or something.”

“That’s nice. It’ll be fun to have a roommate.”

He nods, cracking his fingers as the shower runs behind the two of you.

“Hey Jean.”

“Hm.”

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

You sit up, hopping off your desk chair and onto the bed where Jean was sitting. He’s leaned back against Mikasa’s perfectly propped pillows, lazily swinging the charm of his necklace back and forth on the chain.

“How do you know you like Mikasa?”

He looks up from his chain, giving you an inquisitive look, before answering.

“Dunno. I like being around her. Like, whenever I’m in a room, the person I want to be next to is her. Or the first person I tell good news to and I want her to know like…random things about me. My moms name, my first pet, how I hate my first grade teacher. I just like to share things with her. Like how it feels when I'm with her you know - like...like that's Mikasa. She's my girlfriend."

“Oh. Okay, that makes sense.”

He nods, plopping back down on her pillows and twisting the chain in his hands again.

You halfheartedly nod as Mikasa rolls out of the bathroom, giving you two smiles as she takes the seat next to Jean. You give the two of them a smile as you pad out of the room and straight into Eren and Armin’s across.

“Hi. Mind if I sit? Jean and Mika are-”

“Sure.” Eren says, scooting over on his bed and patting on the sheets.

“Where’s Min?”

“Ah. With Erwin. I think he’s taking the Marco thing kind of hard.”

You nod, shuffling on the bed as Eren shuts his laptop, leaning back onto the headboard.

“Are you okay, Eren? With him being gone?”

“Feels weird. It kind of just makes me nervous for who else will leave us, you know?”

Us.

“Yeah.”

Eren tangles his hand with yours at your side, taking turns cracking each of the knuckles on your fingers.

“Do you ever wonder why they tease us so much? For being friends?”

He angles his head over, the wisps of his brown hair tickling on your forehead.

“Like. Mikasa and Jean really like each other. They’re always holding hands in my room and-”

“What? They like each other?”

“I think so. I don’t know, they’ve never really hid it from me.”

“Well, you’re sweet. You’d never make fun of them for that. I had no idea that they liked each other. They’re probably just not outward with it in front of everyone else.”

“And we aren’t outward with anything. I don’t know, we just act normal and they’re always like saying this stuff about how you and I-”

“Y/N.”

You stop talking as he squeezes your hand three times, almost like a little knock signaling you to stop talking.

“I think they just… don’t get us. You and I are special. I just feel like I’ve known you forever and that we really fit together and I think they can sense that or something. And they think it’s romantic even if it’s not, you know?”

“Yeah.”

He squeezes your hand three more times, the words knocking through your head. Special. Fit together. Not romantic. He leans over, green eyes staring into yours.

“You and me. Always?”

You nod, swallowing hard as you lean back.

“Plus. They can’t kill us off. We’re the main characters.”

You shuffle in your seat as the director yells action, as you look down at Eren, tied up against the post in the middle of the set. You’re filming the scene where Levi is supposed to just kick Eren’s ass in the middle of the court, to prove to the other characters that they can control him and his titan powers.

Except you’re on your fifth take of this scene, Eren getting increasingly frustrated because Levi’s been yelling at him all morning, claiming that he isn’t acting good enough for the scene. Levi’s a bit of a perfectionist, meaning he won’t let anyone leave until the scene is perfect the way he wants it.

Eren especially. You could always tell that Levi was always more fond of Eren than everyone else, but you never thought that would mean Levi would be extra harsh on him. Which is clearly just pissing Eren off today.

“Maybe we should dissect her just in case!”

“Wait. Maybe I am a monster, but she has nothing to do with that! Nothing at all!” Eren screams, his voice straining and his eyes pinching shut as he wrestles against the handcuffs.

“As if we could believe you!”

“It’s a fact!”

“You’re defending her? She must be one of you!”

“No!”

Levi stomps into the middle of the set, leaning down and getting level with Eren. And then he starts yelling at him.

“Eren. You can do so much better than that. You have to give it your all or this isn’t going to work.”

“I am giving it my all. You’ve had me working for five hours now and I-”

“So? You have to get used to that type of time commitment if you want to be the best like you said you did and-”

Eren and Levi keep going back and forth, Hange signaling at you from the back of the set as you both arise from your chairs, leaning down to meet them.

“Levi. Go easy on him, we’ve been-” Hange starts,

“No. He can do better than this and I know he can. He just doesn’t want to. If he would just put in a little effort, it would be better.”

“Levi, maybe you’re being too harsh on him-” you start.

Levi rolls his eyes as he stands up, calling for a break as you unhook Eren from the post. The second you unlock him, he storms off straight off of the set.

“Hange.”

“Yeah?”

“Can you take a longer break from us? I’ll talk to him.”

“I’ll talk to Levi. He just…he knows Eren can be really good. That he has potential. He’s just trying to get him there faster because he wants Eren to do well.”

“I know, Hange.”

You shoot them a smile as you run into the storage closet, yanking out the tandem bike and heading to find Eren.

You kick the rocks in front of you as you hand Eren the slushie, anxiously looking over at him. He’s still radiating anger, from the way his shoulders are tense and how his knuckles are nearly white against the cup. The two of you biked in silence and even the cashier could tell Eren was having some type of fit today.

“Eren.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He sighs as he leans into your touch, resting his head against your shoulder.

“I just-I’m trying really hard to get it. And Levi’s always just so hard on me, I can’t even tell if I’m doing a good job or if I can do this or-”

You reach down, crushing his hand in your hold, as you respond.

“Eren. You’re doing a really great job. Even Levi thinks that. He just… he knows you’re great and he’s trying to tap into that.”

“I know, it just makes me wonder sometimes if I’m cut out for this. Or that Best Actor savant that I-”

“Eren. You’re going to get it. I know that for a fact. It might not be this season or the next, but you will get it. You’re- you’re literally amazing, I just know you’ll be one of the best of our generation and-”

“You’re just saying that because-”

“I’m not! I really do think that, I- I’d even bet on it for you. You’re the best person for this role and you’re perfect for it and in general too and I just think you should be more confid-”

“Y/N, I-”

“Like really, I think you have the chops to be great. I can’t even believe I have to be your costar because I am infinitely mediocre next to you when you’re just so amazing and already have so many credits and-”

You’re cut off by Eren’s lips on your cheek, pressing a soft kiss to your skin. You reach up to the skin as you look over at him, positively bug eyed.

“You-why would y-”

“The other day. You are my favorite person on set. I just didn’t want them to make fun of us for it.”

“Oh. Right, I-”

“Finish the slushie. We’ll go back after.”

When you return, Eren finishes the scene in one take. And gets Levi’s golden stamp of approval.

When you and Eren film the last scene of the season, on your last day of shooting for a few months, you can’t help but feel a despair in your chest. Everyone else was already long gone, having given your wistful goodbyes and promises of keeping in touch until you come back to (hopefully) film the second season.

Which leaves you, Eren, Erwin, Levi, Hange, and the crew to film the last scene. The backstory of how you and Eren came to be, where he wraps the scarf around your neck.

While you love having everyone else around, it was nice to have a few days of just you and Eren, where you can soak in his company before you have to be apart for a few days. You make ramen together in the mornings, he teaches you how to play video games, and you talk about almost anything and everything in those three days.

And when you go to film the scene, the despair of being apart from him…from your best friend really settles in. You’re sure it makes the scene all the more better.

“It’s cold…. I don’t have anywhere to go home to.” you say.

Eren walks over, his voice uncharacteristically soft, so gentle when he wraps the scarf around your neck that it makes your cheeks burn.

“You can have this. It’s warm, right?”

Grisha walks forward, placing a hand on Eren’s shoulder as he says his line.

“Y/N. You should come live with us. You’ve been through plenty.”

And when you look at Eren, you can feel your heart beating as he says the next lines. And for some reason, this version of Eren feels less like the character Eren and more like the real Eren.

Your Eren. Tandem bikes, slushies, squeezing hands three times Eren.

He reaches forward, squeezing your hand three times like he was reading your fucking mind, as he says the next line. While he acts dismissive, you can see the warmth in his eyes, and it feels like something else. Like he’s trying to hint something at you, tell you something you can’t exactly pick up on.

“Come on. Let’s go back already. To our home.”

And when you squeeze Eren’s hand three times back and trail off out of the shot of the camera, you both smile at each other, Eren turning to face you.

“See you in a few months?”

“Yeah.”

“Call me every day?”

You roll your eyes as you reach over to flick his forehead, to which he pinches the sides of your waist. You squirm out of his hold, the feel of his fingers ticklish as you both laugh.

“Yes, Eren. I’ll call you every day.”

“Okay, good. Don’t forget me when you become famous overnight.”

“You’re so full of shit, Eren. That’s not going to happen.”

You’re totally wrong, for what it’s worth. The first episode of Attack on Titan airs on Friday. You and Eren start trending on Saturday.

next part linked here

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