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fuckyeahdindjarin · 3 years ago

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VII ║ Contrary

Dieter Bravo x f!reader

{ << Part 6: Confute | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 8: Concentric >> }

Rating: E (18+ only)

Summary: You broke the cardinal rule, and Dieter knows it. There’s only one thing to do.

Warnings: ANGST, JEALOUSY, fighting, drinking, swearing, dirty talk, oral sex (m receiving), safe unprotected sex (be smart kids!), bath tub sex, size kink, light cum play, yearning, mentions of food, no use of Y/N

Word count: 8.9k… I tried to write less, believe me 😒

Note: I lied... this is not the end. But I swear this is the penultimate chapter of Consent. Buckle up - it’s a bumpy one 🫢

Originally, there wasn't going to be any smut in this part, but then I read @ezrasbirdie's amazing Dentist!Ezra series, specifically Slick 🥵 and I couldn't stop thinking about a *certain position*, and... this happened. Thank you for letting me use the idea for Dieter, Birdie!

Week 13

As it turns out, deep within the well of infinite chaos that is Dieter Bravo, there is wisdom.

‘Fake Date Gate’, as it has been dubbed by someone in the sound department and quickly adopted by everyone else, does blow over with little pomp and circumstance. A Dieter Bravo newsflash with no full frontal nudity, sex or drugs? Hardly sells any papers.

But on set, it’s a different story.

You bustle into the studio side by side with Dieter on Monday, two days after the story dropped and abruptly fizzled out. Your nose is in the script while you rattle off last-minute changes in the scene at him, your mind having completely moved on from the paparazzi fiasco.

An intense heat floods you as you’re blinded by an unexpected spotlight pointed at you both. Before you can bite out what the fuck, you’re stopped in your tracks by raucous cheers and applause, and you feel embarrassment blooming on your hot cheeks as your pre-coffee brain finally catches on.

Dieter graciously bows at the cheering crew and tries to deflect the attention, but when the noise does not abate, he grins and pulls you close by your waist. He murmurs under his breath, ‘Let’s put on a show, sweetheart.’

Mercifully, he only presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, which is enough to assuage your colleagues, but it still makes you flush to the tips of your ears.

And so it goes for the next couple of days.

When people you hardly recognise wolf whistle at you two walking down the corridor, Dieter indulges them by intertwining his fingers with yours, and bringing your hand up to press a kiss on the back of it. He doesn’t let go even when you turn the corner and out of their sight.

When you’re waiting for the coffee to brew in the break room with Dieter and someone hollers playfully, he comes up behind you to wrap his thick arms around your waist, chin on the top of your head, while the machine whirrs, long after the instigators leave the room.

He doesn’t need to tell you that he enjoys hamming it up for these little skits, knowing full well that everyone else thinks that he’s acting - but you.

It’s Wednesday, and it's time to face the reckoning - Ruth is working at the canteen while you’re on your lunch break.

You steel yourself, pasting on your sweetest smile and walk confidently up to her. ‘Hi Ruth, how are you doing? The new hair colour looks great on you.’

In lieu of a response, Ruth doesn’t break eye contact while she scoops wet, broken layers of lasagne onto your plate, which land with an unappetising splat. The smile on your face wilts.

You’re staring at your lunch in despair when a voice pipes up behind you. ‘Ruth, my sweetling, how are you today?’

She gives Dieter a pout. ‘I’ve been better, not going to lie.’

You glare at him when he gets handed a huge, perfectly sliced piece of lasagne. Dieter goes on to console her. ‘Baby, you know you’re my favourite, right? This one?’ He jerks a dismissive thumb in your direction, before pushing you away and making a blugh face. ‘Just some PR stunt.’

Your eyebrows reach for your hairline, but before you get any words out, Dieter is steamrolling you towards the cutlery station.

‘What the fuck was that?’ you splutter.

He reaches over you to grab forks and knives. ‘Saving your life, duh. Do you want her to poison your food? Because she would've. You’re welcome, sweetheart.’

You slide your tray down and pluck an iced coffee from the fridge. You grumble to yourself, ‘PR stunt? With an intimacy coordinator? That doesn’t even make any sense.’

He follows hot on your heels after he nabs a green juice. ‘C’mon sweetheart, you’re not mad at me for being sweet on Ruth, are you?’

Tobias waves as you power walk past his table. ‘Bravo, you with us or the missus?’

He winks at the director. ‘Sorry man, gotta sit with my girl.’

You roll your eyes as he follows you to your table where your friends are seated. ‘Excuse me. I didn’t say you could sit with me. And don’t call me that.’

He ignores you, fistbumping Pete and high-fiving Ana, making himself comfortable next to you.

Pete sighs, wriggling his fork at you. ‘My favourite lovebirds. I call best man.’

‘You can’t just call best man,’ Ana chides, chewing on her salad, but decides she doesn’t want to miss out. ‘I call maid of honour.’

You cradle your head in one hand, while shoving at the limp excuse of a lasagne with your fork. ‘Oh god, when will all this be over?’

Dieter slurps on his juice, and taps on the table emphatically with his index finger. ‘Listen, sweetheart. The more you resist, the longer it drags on for. The more you lean in, the quicker people get bored.’

Pete holds his face between his palms, beaming from ear to ear as he declares, ‘Not me, I’ll never get bored of the two of you.’

You narrow your eyes at him. ‘Pete?’

‘Yeah, babe?’

‘Fuck off.’

He blows a kiss at you. ‘Never.’

Dieter points a finger at Pete and warns him, slightly garbled, through a mouthful of lasagne. ‘Hey, lay off my woman, punk.’

‘Don’t talk while you eat, Bravo,’ you admonish, wrinkling your nose at him.

His grin drips with lasciviousness and you quickly regret your words. Heat flares beneath your skin when his tongue darts out to lick at a smudge of tomato sauce on the corner of his plush lips. He practically purrs at you, ‘That’s not what you said last night, sweetheart.’

A half-chewed romaine leaf flies out of Ana’s mouth and lands in Pete’s pea soup, but fortunately for him, he’s too busy choking on his coffee to notice, thumping his chest with a clenched fist as the liquid goes down the wrong way.

Over the commotion, Dieter shoots you a cheeky smile, and you have to chew the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from grinning back.

It’s the toughest job you’ve ever been in the running for. You’ve had four rounds of interviews so far, each with a different panel, all scheduled before 7am or after 10pm, which are the only time slots the various directors of casting, photography or producers have been available. If you do get the job, you know you have long days to look forward to.

Dieter helps you prep for your interviews and orders Deliveroo when you’re on your Zoom calls so you don’t starve. He gives you a good luck kiss before and holds you in your self-doubt after.

It’s a nerve-wracking wait for the final decision. You don’t have a Plan B. If you don’t get it, you might be out for months before something else comes along, burning your savings in the meantime.

It’s Thursday and you’re about to head to the break room for a much-needed coffee when your phone screen flashes. It’s a Canadian number.

You press the green button with trembling fingers, and you can’t help the quiver in your voice. ‘Hello?’

At that very moment, Dieter’s eyes meet yours across the set, where Ana is dusting setting powder over his forehead. The hand over your mouth can’t hide the grin of disbelief that’s broken across your face.

One look at your smile and he comes running.

That particular part seems most baffling to the crew, none of whom has seen Dieter at any pace beyond a leisurely swagger.

He all but knocks you off your feet, and you cling to his shoulders, balancing precariously on your tippy toes and his hands on the small of your back.

‘I’m so proud of you, sweetheart,’ he whispers, knowing full well the microphones are feeding his words to everyone wired to the audio.

The I’ll show you how much later, in his eyes - that’s just for you.

The next day, Dieter signs the Linklater contract. Rebecca insists on taking you and Dieter out to dinner with her husband at a rowdy Italian trattoria where the food keeps coming. It’s so loud that you have to shout to hear each other over the racket.

Hank is a Hollywood divorce attorney, and the three of them are obviously very close. You listen to them talk about their daughter, and how the last time they had Uncle D over was for Christmas and that he should come around for dinner before he flies to Italy.

Rebecca covers your hand with hers, glass of wine in the other. ‘You must come along, darling. The last time I let Dieter bring a girl over, Coco was still missing her front teeth.’

‘I would love to, but I think I might be in Canada by then,’ you reply noncommittally, and the conversation meanders in another direction.

Dieter’s hand on your knee wanders higher as the wine goes down. You’re buzzed enough on drink that you don’t protest when he snakes his arm around your waist halfway through the pasta course, his palm resting possessively on the swell of your hip and it stays there all night. You let him feed you tangles of spaghetti bolognese and eggplant parmigiana, giggling when he makes a mess and wipes you off clumsily with his napkin.

You spotted far more famous faces on the way in so you know you could get away with it.

Hank pours you both some more wine, and asks conversationally, ‘So how long have you guys been together for?’

Rebecca elbows him so hard he spills about half a glass onto the table. He splutters, ‘Honey, what was that for?’

The question hits unexpectedly hard, and you try to cover up your discomfort by bringing up your glass of wine to your lips for a long sip. The thought comes to you, uncalled for - in a week, it wouldn’t matter.

Clearing your throat, you excuse yourself to go to the washroom. Gripping the cool porcelain of the sink, you study yourself in the mirror. The elation of these two days is slowly wearing off…

And you have no idea where you stand.

You know what you agreed to. In a week, your job is over. This is over.

Unless - no. In a month, you will be an Atlantic away from each other. There’s no way. No point thinking about that.

You’re shaken out of your thoughts when an out-of-tune birthday serenade floats through the door. You give yourself one last check in the mirror, smooth out your skirt, and head for the exit.

When you sidle out of the bathroom, you’re promptly cornered by Dieter, who backs you up against the wall and kisses you fully on the mouth. His tongue is bitter with the red wine he’s been drinking all night, sliding wetly along your lower lip, hands impatiently squeezing your ass over your skirt. The buzz of the restaurant is right behind him.

You try to squirm out of his grip. ‘Dieter, anyone can walk in on us.’

‘Don’t give a fuck, sweetheart. I want everyone to know you’re mine.’

It hurts, because you can’t be. But he’s too far gone to notice. So you close your eyes and you let him steal your breath away with a kiss so deep that you have to physically steady yourself when he pulls away.

You put on a brave face. ‘Let’s go home.’

The next morning dawns wet and cold. You wake up far too early considering the amount of alcohol you still have sloshing around in your bloodstream.

So you draw a bath - extra bubbles, extra hot. You set your half-empty mug of tea on the floor next to the tub and step in, sighing deeply as you sink into the water, letting the bath draw out your hangover like poison from a wound.

You only realise you’ve drifted off when the burn of moustache dragging on your cheek wakes you up. The water is still quite warm, so you can’t have been out for long.

‘Why aren’t you in bed with me?’ Dieter whinges into the side of your neck, his tongue on your sensitive skin, large hands wrapping around the edge of the bath on either side of you. He’s always extra needy when he’s hungover.

You tilt your head back at him and shrug. ‘Felt like taking a bath.’

He leans over and kisses you upside down - Spiderman style, you think to yourself with a silent giggle - your fingers grasping onto the lapels of his ratty green robe. He growls into your ear, ‘But I feel like fucking.’

You roll your eyes. ‘I’m not the one who started snoring the second we hit the bed last night.’

With a wolvish grin, he grabs your hand and guides it over his erection under the robe. ‘I’m ready now, sweetheart, and that’s what counts.’

You stay put, holding his gaze while you pull on the tie of his robe. His uncovered cock rises over you as you reach up and close your palm around it, and he moans at the contact, brow creasing. Over the floral scent of your bath you smell him - salty and musky.

Shifting so you sit up higher in the tub, you run your tongue over the base of his cock and over his balls, making him shudder and his voice catch. ‘Sweetheart.’

‘What do you want, Dieter?’ you tease, rubbing your cheek against his velvety length.

He pins you with his dark eyes. ‘Please suck my cock. Please.’

An idea comes to you. You relax your shoulders and let your head hang back over the porcelain edge as far as possible, your elbows resting on the side of the tub to hold yourself in position. Your tits hover just above the water line, and you feel your nipples pebble in the cold morning air. You arch an eyebrow at Dieter as he gapes at the picture you make. ‘Well? What are you waiting for?’

‘Fuck,’ he swears and runs a thick finger along the bow of your upper lip, before pushing two inside, stroking himself with his free hand. ‘Gotta open up that mouth for me, baby.’

You suck on his digits, swirling your tongue around the tips, which makes him shiver. Pulling back, you give him the most debauched smile you can manage. ‘Put your cock in my mouth, Bravo.’

Eyes wild, he steps forward and traces the weeping head of his length over both your lips, before dipping carefully inside. You can’t help groaning at the pressure on your tongue, and he chuckles, but the tight pinch of his fingers on your jaw betrays his tension. ‘I’m barely in, baby. Wider.’

You oblige, unlocking your jaw, and he pushes in with sudden ease, sliding in so deep you nearly choke. Dieter exhales heavily through his nostrils. ‘Yes. Shit, that’s so good, sweetheart.’

Your throat feels taut in this angle, and he feels so big as he begins to slides in and out. You have to focus on breathing through your nose as he fucks your mouth.

You feel his fingers weave into your hair, gripping tightly as an anchor. ‘Such a pretty mouth,’ he praises you. ‘Such a good girl, letting me fuck you like this first thing in the morning.’

You shudder, as you feel a gush of want seep from your pussy, your back arching at his words.

‘You like me talking to you like this, hmm?’ he asks, his voice deep and rough. ‘When you can’t talk back, with my cock in your mouth?’

You hum around him, which makes his entire frame shake. He moans, ‘Wanna fuck your pussy, baby. Do you want me to? Can I?’

You nod as best as you could - not easy with his cock pinning you to the bath - and when he pulls out hastily, you gasp in a deep breath and sit up too quickly, which makes your head spin. You hardly recognise your own voice as you beg, ‘Yes, want you inside me - please Dieter.’

Robe falling heavily onto the heated floor, he climbs into the bath behind you, and you twist around so that you can kiss him, fingers tangling in his unruly hair. Dieter stretches out his legs and positions you above him, your knees on either side of him. He slides two fingers between your thighs under the soapy water and rubs your clit studiously, while he mouths at your breasts, heavy with arousal and covered in suds.

Grasping his length, you hurriedly position yourself over him and notch him at your entrance, hands on his shoulders.

‘Whoa, whoa, sweetheart,’ he asks you to slow down, the span of his palms on your hips steadying you. ‘I haven’t even opened you up with my fingers yet.’

‘I can take it,’ you assure him, and with a roll of your hips, you start your slow descent.

He’s only just breached you before he groans shakily, nails digging into the meat of your hips. ‘Fuck - sweetheart - you sure? Haven’t even touched you yet… you’re really tight -’

The stretch is almost painful, and your noses knock together as you sink lower onto him. ‘You’re so big, Dieter,’ you whine, relishing the snug fit.

‘I know baby, you’re making me so hard for you,’ he croons into your ear, before sucking on the lobe. He lets go of your left hip so he can draw lazy circles on your clit, slicking up your pussy. ‘But you’re doing so well, sweetheart. I’m almost there.’

With his encouragement and one more shift of your hips, you are fully seated, the sheer size of him sheathed so tightly inside you making your tremble.

Dieter chuckles in almost delirium, leaning forward to place a messy kiss on your swollen lips. ‘There she is. You feel fucking amazing, sweetheart.’

‘Wait till I start riding you,’ you shoot back cockily, high on his praise.

‘You’re mouthy this morning,’ he grins at you, which falters when you start a slow slide upwards, the tips of your nipples dragging against his chest. ‘Oh, fuck -’

Water swishes around you as you move on him, your cunt sliding with more ease now, getting wetter as your clit drags against his pelvic bone each time you rock against him. He’s sprawled back against the tub, the tip of his tongue peeking through his slightly open mouth, breathing hard. ‘Wish I could watch my cock go in and out of you, sweetheart. Bet it's a pretty sight.’

You grin and hold onto the edge of the tub behind him, kicking up the pace. ‘I’m not fucking you hard enough if you’re still talking in complete sentences, Bravo.’

He laughs and snaps his hips up into you, hitting somewhere deep inside which makes your breath stutter. ‘Ditto, sweetheart.’

There isn’t much talking after that, definitely not when he flips you around so that you’re on your knees, hands on the edge of the tub, ass hovering above the bubbles. Dieter delivers a sharp slap to your plump cheek, which echoes wetly in the bathroom and you cry out needily. He traces his tip along your folds, watching himself dip shallowly inside you, keen ears picking up the wet squelch as he does. ‘Told you I want to watch this pussy while I fuck it.’

You cry aloud when he thrusts into you, hitting you so deep you feel it in your toes.

‘Dieter,’ you sob breathlessly. ‘That feels so fucking good.’

He sets a merciless rhythm, two fingers on your clit now, rubbing insistently while your knuckles turn white as you claw at the edge of the tub. ‘You’re getting so wet on my dick, sweetheart. Gonna make you come so hard.’

‘Yes, please,’ you beg. ‘Harder, please. Give it to me -’ you’re cut off when a particularly hard thrust knocks the breath out of you.

‘Careful what you wish for now, baby,’ comes Dieter’s smug remark.

You clench your pussy around him hard enough that his footing in the tub slips, splashing water everywhere. You throw him a toothy grin over your shoulder. ‘Speak for yourself.’

Your triumph quickly melts into desperation when Dieter growls and pounds into you even harder. Water sloshes and the wet slap of skin on skin fills your ears. He’s panting loudly, and you know he’s almost there. ‘I’m so close, Dieter. Come with me,’ you plead.

‘Ok baby,’ he groans and rubs your clit just a bit faster. ‘You ready for me?’

You nod frantically, winding tighter and tighter until the ground gives from under you and your voice breaks. ‘I’m coming, oh my god, I’m coming -’

At the first throttle of your cunt, Dieter lets go, his hips driving brokenly and sloppily into you, fighting to stay inside your pulsing walls - impossibly tight, how could you have gotten any tighter after he's fucked you so hard - until he spills deep inside you in long thrusts of hot and thick release.

‘Baby,’ he gasps into your ear as his knees buckle, but manages to catch the side of the tub with one hand before he collapses on you. The sudden movement pushes the now lukewarm water aggressively against the side and spills over the edge. ‘Fuck, you almost killed me.’

You grin. ‘Still complaining about me not staying in bed with you?’

He grabs your chin and twists your face around to kiss you, then retorts, thumb dipping into your swollen lower lip. ‘Still so mouthy? Guess I didn't fuck it hard enough.'

You shiver when he pulls out of you in one slow motion, and he watches in rapture as his spend leaks from your puffy lips, fingers swiping gently over the mess he made. He groans, ‘I’ll never get tired of seeing your pussy dripping with my cum.’

You shudder from both his words and the water that’s quickly getting cold. ‘Keep saying things like that and we’ll be here forever,’ you quip.

You nearly wince. Forever is a poor choice of words.

Dieter seems oblivious to your over-analysis, turning you around to pull you tight against his chest. ‘Sounds good to me, sweetheart.’

The afterglow doesn’t last as long as you hoped it would. The quiet dread that has wormed into your consciousness since Friday night dinner is clinging to you and you can’t shake it. You managed to palm off your quietness for the rest of Saturday as tiredness from the antics in the bath, which prompted a self-satisfied smirk from Dieter and no more questions.

Your saving grace comes in the unexpected shape of big manila folders delivered to the both of you early on Sunday morning, packed full of scripts, schedules and other paperwork for your next respective projects. You desperately need the distraction and you dive in gratefully as the rain continues to come down outside.

You watch him from the opposite end of the couch. You’re wrapped up in his favourite green robe, the same one he was wearing in the bathroom yesterday. It’s ridiculously soft and it swallows you whole. Your fingers barely poke out from under the long sleeves, which flutter busily over miscellaneous papers that you’re going through methodically.

On his end, Dieter has his papers spread about haphazardly, which is nothing new. He’s leafing through the final script, which is much thicker than the abridged one that you read with him a few weeks ago. A pen dangles from his mouth, which he plucks out of his teeth to annotate the pages every now and then.

You let another hour of diligent silence drift by before you work up the nerve to say, ‘You know, I was thinking - I’ll leave this coming Saturday morning, after the wrap party on Friday. My contract ends the same day.’

It takes him a beat to look up at you through his reading glasses, lips pursed. ‘Ok. Where are you going?’

‘Home.’

‘Where’s home?’

‘Two and a half hours drive north.’

‘Ok,’ he shrugs, then goes back to his script.

You blink. Did he just give you a… shrug?

You clear your throat, shifting in your seat. You try again. ‘So - when do you fly to Italy?’

He rustles through a stack of papers till he finds what he’s looking for. Tilting his head to the left instead of turning the page right way round, he reads from his schedule, ‘Second week of May. The week after I finish reshoots.’

‘I fly to Canada the same week.’

‘Ok.’

That’s one too many ok’s for you to handle right now. You get up and mumble something about making tea, pulling his robe tight around you, as if it will stem the hurt blooming in your chest.

What the fuck is going on? He’s always been the one pushing for more. He’s always made you feel wanted. He’s the one who followed you to this fucking apartment, he said fuck lying low. He took you on a double date with Rebecca and Hank.

And now when you tell him you’re leaving in six days’ time - he says ok?

With the kettle boiling and your back to him, you don’t try to stop the tear that slides down your cheek.

Week 14

The last week of filming is always intense, Resurgence is no different. All week, it’s been a matter of physically making it back to the apartment and collapsing into bed. You’ve both been ships in the night - either you have a late call with HBO or Dieter has one with the Linklater team. One of you is always asleep by the time the other gets back. Besides time shared on set, you only see each other over a rushed breakfast in the morning before heading into the studio.

On Thursday night, Dieter makes it back to the empty apartment just before 8:30pm. He realises with a start that it’s the last evening you two have together before principal photography ends the next day.

Shit. He’s really let the week slip by. Grabbing his phone, he crash lands sideways on the couch and opens up Deliveroo.

When you walk through the door half an hour later, your eyes widen at the boxes taking up the entire coffee table, while Dieter fusses with unboxing and rearranging them.

Your bag slides off your shoulder as you stare, stunned. ‘Dieter, this is way too much food! See what happens when I let you order?’

‘C’mere, sweetheart,’ he grins, making space for you on the floor, patting the cushions next to him.

Folding your knees, you sit cross-legged, giving him an assessing lookover. ‘Have you finally lost it?’

He chuckles. ‘No, baby. This is Deliveroo: our greatest hits.’

Sweeping your eyes over the dishes, you recognise some of your favourite takeout that you’ve ordered over the past couple of months - crunchy tuna roll from the tiny Japanese joint around the corner, artichoke and burrata pizza from the Italian place that always throws in a free tiramisu, baja fish tacos from the food truck nearby and -

You frown at him quizzically. ‘Poutine? We never ordered poutine.’

He plucks a gravy soaked fry and feeds it to you. ‘That’s to acclimate you to Canadian food.’

Your chest swells with warmth and you can’t help the laugh that escapes you. You lean in to give him a soft kiss. ‘Thank you. Lucky I skipped lunch today.’

You’ve worked through about a third of the food when your eyes alight on what looks like a tagine. You tap on the container. ‘We never ordered this.’

Dieter grabs the box and shovels a spoonful of the stew into his mouth. ‘We didn’t. I did - that same night I ate you out for the first time.’

His answer is so unexpected that the pulled pork quesadilla nearly goes down your trachea.

He winks at you. ‘Gotta say it tasted better last time.’

You admit defeat around halfway through the food, and Dieter follows suit, flopping heavily on his back onto the couch, his tshirt riding up to show a sliver of his soft belly underneath.

You climb onto him, your smaller body fitting perfectly on his broad chest, the top of your head tucked under his chin. You yawn lazily. ‘I’m stuffed.’

He combs his fingers through your head and you feel the vibrations in his chest when he replies, ‘I like it better when you’re stuffed with something else -’

‘Must you be so crude?’

‘You love it.’

You shift. You know he doesn’t mean anything by it - but the very word makes you uncomfortable. You don’t want to associate him or anything about him with that word. Not when the end is tomorrow.

You fold your hands over the centre of his chest, feeling his heartbeat underneath. You prop your chin up on the back of them, and you smile into his warm eyes. He tucks a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

‘You liked it?’ he asks, just a touch of uncertainty in his voice.

You hesitate, but you decide he deserves the truth. ‘I loved it.’

He nods off not soon after, snoring quietly. But you lie awake, eyes wide, your heart in knots as the quiet hours creep in.

‘And it’s a wrap!’

Cheers erupt, echoing like thunder in the studio as the lighting guy turns on dramatic disco lights. Dieter reaches over and pulls Brooke in for a hug, and over her shoulder, he meets your eyes from across the room.

It’s done - fourteen weeks of principal photography. Reshoots start next week, but the schedule is much more relaxed, and he’s ready to wind down before doing it all over again in Italy.

Dieter wants to make his way to you, but he keeps getting waylaid by various members of the cast and crew. By the time he’s released from Tobias’ bear hug, you’re gone from his line of sight.

He didn’t see you over lunch today as Rebecca popped in for an impromptu meeting, which he wasn’t too pleased about. He wonders if you’ll hitch a ride with him to the wrap party downtown, but reckons you’re more likely to share an Uber with Ana and the makeup girls. He decides he’ll meet you at the club as he gets ushered back to his trailer to change out of his costume.

The club pulses with generic dance music and most of its occupants are already knee deep in drink by the time Dieter arrives. He makes his rounds, giving high fives and shaking hands as he circles the room, looking for you.

Spotting Pete, he wades through the crowds and they exchange a hug. Dieter asks if he’s seen you.

Pete looks confused. ‘I’m pretty sure she said you were giving her a lift.’

Ana stumbles into sight, throwing her arms around Dieter. He asks her about you as well. She shakes her head. ‘Oh no, she definitely said she was coming with you.’

Something doesn’t sit right. He calls you, but the line rings out all three times.

Then he calls his driver and pushes his way out of the club.

The door knob jangles with sudden violence, which makes you jump back and hug to your chest the item you were just folding up to pack away. The door swings open, hitting the wall behind it forcefully.

Dieter’s eyes travel slowly. Firstly over you, wound up tight as a corkscrew, then at the large packed suitcase standing by the door, and finally at the slightly smaller one lying splayed open on the floor.

His tone is accusatory as he slams the door shut behind him. ‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You said you’re leaving tomorrow.’

All the self-doubt and resentment that has been simmering just under your skin this past week finally breaks the surface. And you deal with it the only way you know - angrily.

You glare at him. ‘What difference does one night make? It’s not like you care.’ You spit the last word out like it's acid on your tongue.

Dieter looks at you incredulously. ‘What the fuck are you on about? How do I not care? I ordered you all the fucking Deliveroo that you like just last night, in case you don’t remember!’

You feel your shackles come up, and you yell back. ‘But when I told you I was leaving, you said ok - what kind of an answer is ok? You didn’t even ask me where I live!’

‘Why do I need to ask if I’m going with you?!’

It’s your turn to look at him incredulously. ‘What?’

‘I’m coming with you,’ he explains impatiently, like it's the most obvious thing in the world and he cannot believe it isn’t to you. ‘I’ll commute to the studio. I don’t have reshoots every day. I can stay with you.’

‘Bold of you to assume you could just come with me without asking,’ you retort sarcastically.

Dieter’s eyes narrow. ‘I came here with you, didn’t I? Why wouldn’t I go with you?’

Your conviction in the decision to leave, precarious as it already was, slips dangerously at his argument. But you shake your head. ‘Ten minutes down the road is very different from two and a half hours away, Dieter. And we agreed to stop after filming.’

Dieter throws his hands up in disbelief. ‘Not this bullshit again, sweetheart. You said you didn’t want to stop! That's what you said when I asked after Week 10 drinks, when I found out about Canada!’

‘Tell me - do you want to stop, sweetheart?’

‘No, no, don’t stop, please, I’m so close - I don’t want to stop -’

‘That’s it, that’s a good fucking girl - not gonna stop - ’

You feel heat swell in your stomach and climb up your spine at the memory. You can’t handle that - not now. Finding your voice, you argue weakly, ‘I said - I meant I didn’t want to stop during production.’

He scoffs with a shake of his head. ‘Bullshit, sweetheart.’

You try a different tact. ‘So what if we had another month? We still have to stop when we fly to opposite sides of the world.’

‘Says who?’

‘Says me!’ you point a finger straight at your heart, which is fucking aching. ‘I don’t want to be with someone who’s 6,000 miles away! I can’t.’

But he won’t drop it, he keeps pushing, taking two steps towards you. ‘Why the fuck not? Tell me why not!’

Because you’ll get bored.

Because you’ll find someone else.

Because it will hurt too much.

Except that you don’t say any of it out loud - you can’t. The empty space between you lies heavy and cold.

Dieter’s gaze doesn’t waver, holding yours this whole time. But you can’t bear to look at him.

‘So this is it?’ he breaks the silence, and you let out the a shaky breath you didn’t realise you were holding out.

You shrug, shifting your grip on the bundle you are still hanging onto. ‘I guess so.’

The movement directs his attention to the familiar pinstriped green cloth in your arms. You watch as his eyes light up, and one eyebrow arches in curiosity. ‘Is that - is that my robe?’

Your fingers clench around the soft fabric. Oh, fuck me sideways.

Suddenly, Dieter doesn’t look so angry anymore. In fact, a small smile lifts his entire countenance. Crossing his arms leisurely, he says chattily, as if you weren’t in the middle of a breakup. ‘Just to be clear - you’re stealing my robe?’

‘No,’ you say quickly.

‘You folded it up real nice, sweetheart. Looks like it would fit into that little nook right there above your shoes,’ he nods at your open suitcase.

You blink and try not to wince as the words leave your mouth. ‘I was just tidying up.’

He grins with teeth. ‘I clearly remember you putting it away in the wardrobe a few days ago. You insisted on washing it after I dipped it in soup.’

You curse the day you were born. Why are you such a shit liar?

Dieter shuffles in a bit closer, but not too close. He doesn't want to spook you. He tuts, a playful smile lingering on his lips, hands behind his back. ‘You broke the cardinal rule, didn’t you? You fucked up, sweetheart. You have feelings for me, and you’re punishing me for it.’

Oh, fuck.

‘Don’t talk about me like you know me, Bravo,’ you snap.

‘But I do, sweetheart.’

‘You don’t,’ you spit back. ‘You’ve known me for all of three months - big fucking deal.’

‘Now you’re trying to distract me, you little spitfire. You’re so obvious. It’s cute, really.’

‘Shut up.’

Dieter cocks his head at you. ‘You know, that’s a lot of words coming from you, sweetheart. But none of them are - no, I don’t have feelings for you, Dieter.’

For once, you don’t have any words. You don’t protest. You don’t argue. You don't lie.

He steps confidently into your space, taking your chin between his thumb and index finger, knowing he’s got you. He's taller and broader than ever as he towers over you and slides his lips over your mouth in a no-nonsense kiss, swiping his tongue slowly against yours. He doesn't touch you anywhere else, but there's a slow burn in your blood, wanting him, always wanting him - then he exhales slowly and steps back from you.

‘I’m not going to try to change your mind, sweetheart,’ he tells you quietly. ‘You’re too fucking stubborn and you’ll just resent me even if I do. But I can wait. When you get out of that head of yours, you know where to find me.’

Not trusting your voice, you thrust his robe towards him silently.

He shakes his head and chucks you under the chin. ‘Take it. If you miss me too much, make your new boyfriend wear it and pretend it’s me.’

With one last wry smile, he turns on his heel and walks out of your life.

Dieter winces as Ana narrowly misses taking out his eye with a powder brush when she preps him for the first reshoot the following Monday.

‘She just left without saying goodbye, can you believe it?’ she rants, brushing his hair a bit too aggressively. ‘She called me to apologise last night, but I made sure to give her a piece of my mind.’

He snorts quietly. At least she got an apology out of you.

Ana pauses and gives him a look in the mirror. ‘She said goodbye to you, at least, right?’

He shrugs noncommittally. ‘Kind of.’

‘So - will you guys work it out?’

‘We put a pin in it.’

Ana must have sensed that he doesn’t want to talk about it, and she lapses into uncharacteristic silence while she heats up the hair curler.

Giving the makeup artist a nudge in the elbow, Dieter asks, ‘Do you have anything lined up after this?’

She turns her back on him while she rummages in her bag. ‘Got a couple of things in the pipeline, but nothing confirmed.’

‘Do you want to come to Italy? Be my makeup artist for the Linklater project?’

She spins around so fast that she knocks over a whole string of spray bottles, eyes wide. ‘Dieter Bravo, I’ll remind you that I’m holding a burning hot hair curler. if you’re joking, you better cut it out right now.’

He chuckles. ‘You know I wouldn’t joke about something like that!'

Ana pounces on him with a hug, and Dieter leans as far away from the curling iron as he can as she shrieks, ‘Yes, yes, a million times yes!’

When she lets him go finally, Dieter holds up a finger and says, ‘But I need you and Pete's help with something - well, someone.’

She shoots him a knowing look. ‘If you're talking about who I think you're talking about, you definitely need our help. I'm in.’

Dieter shakes her hand and grins, ‘We have a deal.’

Ana smiles kindly. 'Just so you know, I would've helped you even without the job offer.'

He nods. 'I know. Thank you.'

She squeezes him on the shoulder and grins at him in the mirror. 'Let's get you your girl back, Dieter Bravo.'

Four weeks later

You’re sorry to miss Ana’s bon voyage party, but your flight to Calgary was on the very same day. It’s the first time you’re living abroad for any length of time. You’ve packed two suitcases and that’s going to be your life for the next four months.

You let yourself be consumed by your new job. There’s so much more of everything in TV - more script, more actors, more hours. You work closely with Woody Harrelson, and you hit it off from the first day. He’s such a mellow guy and so easy to work with, you’re relieved to see no signs of any drama on set.

You keep in touch with Pete and Ana. Pete’s still on Resurgence, post-production now in full swing. Ana’s loving every second in Italy and posts every day without fail on Instagram, and you’re so excited for her to work on a Linklater project, if not a little jealous. She keeps bugging you to visit her, saying that she has a spare bed in her hotel room, and she can take you around.

In Calgary, you settle in slowly with your new crew. Quite a few of them are HBO veterans with their own established friend groups, so you feel a bit of an outsider. But you go to the group lunches and Friday night drinks, though you don’t stay too late, preferring to head back to the modest apartment the studio’s set you up in before midnight.

You would pour yourself a glass of wine, open up Instagram, and check Ana’s stories. It’s cold in Calgary, but in Italy, it’s starting to look a lot like summer. The seaside town filming is taking place in is colourful, houses painted pink and yellow and green, and the sea an amazing blue. You like Ana’s posts of sundresses and sunglasses, while you're cuddled up on the couch in Dieter’s robe.

There’s been radio silence from both your end and his since that day he walked out the door, before you could walk out on him. You catch glimpses of him in Ana’s stories - a wave at the camera, a thumbs up while chewing on pizza, talking to someone at the tail end of a panorama video - all out of costume, as per industry rules for in-progress projects.

When you’re tipsy enough, you don’t pretend to not feel the tug on your heartstrings every time you see his face.

He hasn’t updated his Instagram for months - not since Sundance. You still don’t follow him, but you check his page more regularly than you care to admit.

The weeks fly by. You forget how most projects are like this - routine, safe and steady. Two months in, it’s Friday evening again (the weeks are flying by) and you sit down for a glass of wine in your armchair. You pull up Instagram on your phone as usual, except, the very first post catches your eye and your heart lurches.

It’s a new post from Dieter. It’s a photo of him and a woman - she's gorgeous. You recognise her as the actress cast opposite him in the film. She’s a relative newcomer in her thirties, with a background in theatre. In the photo, she’s pressing her lips to his whiskered cheek in a kiss, and he’s smiling so widely that the corners of his eyes crinkle.

It fucking punches you in the gut.

He said he would wait.

Well, you suppose he’s waited two months.

You drink so much that night you pass out on the couch.

She starts to seep into Ana’s stories too, they obviously hang out socially outside of filming as a tight-knit group. She's eating pasta on a rickety table on the beach with him; or feeding him a spoonful of gelato; or pushing him into a pool, and falling in when he grabs her by the waist and pulls her in with him last-minute.

You Google her. Constance Green, 34, 5’7”, 125 pounds, 34D, nominated for an Olivier award five years ago. Single.

You know it's not healthy, but you begin to check her Instagram as well. Most of her posts are beautifully framed shots of the seaside town they’re filming in, but Dieter is in most of her daily stories, which she tags him in, and he also uploads them to his account.

The day before, it was a photo of them saluting the camera side by side with matching glasses of Aperol Spritz.

Yesterday, it was a selfie video of them sitting on a wall next to the lapping sea at sunset, which washes them in orange and gold light.

Today, she’s feeding him pizza - only her hand is visible in the shot as he finishes off the crust, pulling her fingers into his mouth to lick off the tomato sauce.

You literally throw the phone away as if it burns you.

You know you have no right whatsoever. You fucking know that, but it doesn’t stop you from sinking into a funk. You stop hanging out with the crew, and even Woody brings it up one day. ‘Hey, you okay? You don’t seem your chipper self.’

‘When have I ever been chipper?’ you quip with a forced smile.

He smiles kindly. ‘You’re not wrong. Homesick?’

You shrug. ‘Something like that.’

Two weeks after that fateful post on Dieter's Instagram that set you on your somewhat downward spiral, Pete visits you for the weekend. When you open the door to your apartment, he takes one look at you and grimaces. ‘Ugh, babe. Have you been sleeping at all?’

‘Fuck you!’ you gripe, but you pull him in for a long hug. You can really use a friend right now.

You spend the weekend gossiping, eating pizza and drinking beer while playing Sex and the City re-runs in the background. On Saturday night, you two spontaneously decide to Facetime Ana, who picks up promptly and after 30 seconds of excited squealing, she pans the camera to show you the piazza she’s hanging out in with a cold drink.

His mouth stuffed full of now cold pepperoni pizza, Pete is the first to bring her up. ‘Who’s that hottie Bravo’s been hanging out with? They seem to be joined at the hip.’

‘Constance? Oh, she’s super. So down-to-earth, and incredibly talented. Richard swears she’s the next big thing. I think Dieter’s smitten with her, to be honest. They make the cutest couple.’

You chew on the inside of your cheek, going deathly quiet.

‘Well, I say good for him,’ pronounces Pete. ‘There’s nothing like a good leading actor-actress romance. Like Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton.’

Ana comes up with, 'Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens.'

'Alicia Vikander and Michael Fassbender,' adds Pete.

You clear your throat and get up abruptly. ‘Bathroom break,’ you mutter, stepping over empty beer bottles to make your way deeper into the apartment.

You splash water on your face and meet your eyes in the mirror. Pull yourself together. You chased him away. You didn’t want anything to do with him. You could have the decency to be happy for him. Or at least to not give a fuck.

Shutting the bathroom door behind you, you pad back to the living room. You hear Pete babbling on the phone. You can’t pick up the words, but his tone is bossy and rushed, which makes you frown and listen harder.

He’s on your phone and obviously not talking to Ana anymore. He gestures wildly with his free hand. ‘ - absolute mess, she’s crying her eyes out, man. I mean, if you can see the state that she’s in -’

Spotting your suspicious glare, Pete starts at a run around the tiny living room, easily keeping the phone out of your reach as he stands a foot taller than you. He continues speaking into the phone. 'What are you gonna do about, huh? Are you just gonna go about your life like it never happened? Cos that sounds like a stupid idea to me -'

You finally jump onto the couch and wrestle the phone from his grip. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Pete -’ you trail off as look down at the name on the screen.

DIERDRE

Fuck. FUCK.

You hesitate for a second, thumb hovering over the red button, then you impulsive hold the phone to your ear. ‘Hey.’

There’s silence, then his voice comes on. ‘Hey.’

Your palms break out in a cold sweat. And all you can do is hope that your voice doesn’t shake. ‘I’m so sorry, Pete is being an idiot. He's just visiting me for the weekend in Calgary.’

‘It’s fine,’ he replies shortly.

You scratch your elbow idly. ‘I’m not in a state, you know. Not crying, or anything. I’m totally fine.’

‘Good for you.’

Then you both go quiet, until you hear a woman’s voice on his end. ‘Are you ready, baby?’

‘Sorry, I gotta go,’ he mumbles, but before the line goes dead, you hear him say, ‘Coming, sweetheart.’

Sweetheart.

That’s your nickname.

You glare at Pete, your eyes watering. ‘What the fuck was that?’

He puts his hands up in defence. ‘Worth a shot. You two are clearly being complete idiots and need some sense knocked into you. Sorry it didn't work.’

At the sight of tears spilling over and sliding down your cheek, he opens his arms and you let him wrap you in a comforting hug. ‘Come here, you blooming idiot. It will get better, I promise.’

And it does get better. You find your crowd, a group of backstage crew around your age, and you’re getting recognition on the job from the directors and producers. You hear veiled hints that you might get a contract renewal for the second season with a pay rise. There’s a bounce to your step when you show up to work in the mornings. You even forget to check Instagram most days now.

That is until you get a notification that Ana sent you a private message on the app the first week of July, so you click on the icon and wait for the app to load.

And there it is.

It’s a photo of their backs, on a cobblestone street, the dying light of day casting them in a warm glow. He’s wearing a light yellow shirt, sleeves cut off at his biceps, and linen shorts. His right arm is wrapped tight around her waist, and she has hers around him, left hand tucked in his back pocket.

You stop breathing. Then you see red.

This is your thing. After your date at the French bistro. You walked down the street just like that.

How. Dare. He.

Blindly, you scroll through Whatsapp until you see Ana’s name, and you click the call button. You don’t even know what time it is over there. She’s probably working. But you don’t give a damn at this very moment.

She picks up after four rings, sounding surprised. ‘Hello? You okay, hon? Or is this a butt dial?’

‘Not a butt dial,’ you reply firmly. ‘Listen, did you mean it when you said I could come visit?’

You have to hold your phone away from your ear when Ana shouts in excitement. ‘Girl - yes of course, I've been waiting for months! There’s a bank holiday coming up in Italy next week. Book your plane tickets, you can stay with me over the long weekend. I’ll introduce you to the whole crew and you can meet Richard.’

Yes sure, that’s why you’re going. To meet Richard Linklater.

‘See you next weekend.’

On the other side of the world, Ana does a happy dance and calls Pete as soon as she hangs up on you.

‘Hello?’

‘It worked! It worked - she’s coming to Italy next weekend!’

‘Fuck yeah! Finally! Have you told Bravo yet?’

Ana scans the set and spots the unsuspecting subject of their phone conversation talking to one of the assistant directors, and replies slyly, ‘I think he’d appreciate a surprise.’

‘Ana -’

‘Hey, don’t use that tone on me, Pete. He asked for our help, and he said we can handle the details. Her showing up unannounced is just one such tiny detail.’

Pete huffs, unconvinced. ‘If you say so.’

She grins into the phone. ‘I can’t believe it took two and a half months to crack that stubborn woman. But who cares - mission accomplished!’

Pete laughs. ‘You gotta take a picture of his face when she shows up. I can’t believe I’m gonna miss it.’

Dieter waves at Ana to ask for a touch up, and she gives him a thumbs up, signalling that she’ll be right over. ‘Oh, don’t you worry - I most definitely will.’

{ << Part 6: Confute | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 8: Concentric >> }

More notes: I know, I know, it's a cliffhanger... BUT at least it's not a mean one, right?! I have no idea how I thought I could fit everything into one chapter, even this part ran a LOT longer than my target of 6k 😂

I really hope you enjoyed this part, this was probably one of my favourites that I've written for this series. And next time, we will see how everything wraps up 🥺 THANK YOU all of you who have stuck with this story, your comments and reblogs are so so appreciated and have really motivated me to write the best story that I can for these two ❤️

#dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x fem!reader #the bubble fanfic #dieter bravo x f!reader

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 4 years ago

Text

505- S.G ROGERS

Pairing: SteveRogers x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1548

Summary: You and Steve are going back to 505.. except the room only has one bed. This would be fine on normal circumstances right? Except one thing.. you cannot stand Steve's guts. At least thats what you keep telling yourself.

Warnings: name calling, swearing, pet names, kissing, enemies to lovers, feelings get confessed

Note** ive never wrote an enemies to lovers fic so lord have mercy i apologise if its bad and rushed. i kinda made it as if they've both had feeling for each other but have been pushing it down for a LONGGG time. enjoy!

-claire

“I’m so sorry sir, you must be mistaken, this room only has one bed!”

The front lady’s solemn voice rang through your head like a church bell as you trudged up the concrete staircase to floor 5. Your black duffel bag was slugged across your shoulder as you huffed up another flight of stairs impatiently.

One bed my fucking ass. Fuck you Tony!, you thought, already irked from the mission.

Having to share the bed with Steve fucking Rogers was not making your mood any better. The golden boy trotted ahead of you, barely breaking a sweat as he jogged up the stairs with ease. God, you despised him. You had hated him ever since you had joined the Avengers.

Oh look at Steve he’s so perfect! Oh look at Steve he’s so handsome and so good! I bet he helps old ladies walk across the street any chance he possibly can! Blugh. His goodie two shoes attitude and perfect ass did not fool you.

“ Are you coming anytime, Agent?”

The blonde looked down over the railing at you, eyebrow raised, his gruff voice breaking you out of your thoughts. You stopped and looked up at him, giving him the death glare. His ocean blue eyes shot lasers right back at you.

“ Was planning on it, Rogers. Think you could help me up the stairs like you do them little old lads?” you grumbled and he rolled his eyes. “ There’s no need for the sass agent Y/L/N” he taunted as you rounded the corner, huffing.

Steve opened the door leading to the hallway and nodded his head. “ Ladies first.” You rolled your eyes as you stepped into the dim hallway, the plush velvet carpet feeling better on your extremely sore feet. (Note to self! Do not wear high-heeled black boots on a mission. It looks badass but KILLS.)

Steve tossed you the key and the two of you made your way towards your room. Room 505. It was dead silent along the corridor, the sound of your boots clicking echoed off the walls. Steve sauntered beside you, his presence so close to you made you itch. Finally, you and Steve had reached your room at the very end of the hall. As you swiped the key, the light showed red. You swiped again, getting more and more pissed off by the second. Red.

“ God! Stupid fucking key.” You growled impatiently, and Steve snatched the key from your hands with a start.

“ Language.”

He swiped the card and green reflected back at him. As he swung the door open with a creak there was only one thing on your mind. I wish I could shove that shield where the sun don’t fuckin shine.

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The image that stared back at you was horrendous. Your hair was tangled, lipstick smudged and eyes glassy. A cut was sliced against your cheek, and you noticed purple and blue bruises starting to form across your body. You were a mess. It may not have appeared so, but the mission was a success. You and Steve had got into a HYDRA base and had downloaded the information Tony needed on a USB stick.

It wasn't smooth sailing, but somehow you managed to come out alive. Just not in top shape. The water was hot and felt refreshing as you rinsed yourself off and washed your hair. You let the water fall as you leaned against the shower wall, feeling the tears starting to leak.

Everything had been eating at you lately and it was getting to the point where you couldn’t handle it much longer. The stress of this job was something you were expecting, but you didn’t realise just HOW much stress. Tony sent you on mission after mission, and after each one you felt yourself deteriorating a little more.

The water mixed with your tears as you covered your hands over your mouth to stifle back the sobs.

If Steve heard you… you didn't even want to think about it.

Cool air hit you as you turned off the water and stepped out on the white tile. Grabbing a towel, you shivered. And that's when you realised. Your pyjamas were out in the main room. With Steve. Shit shit SHIT! You took a deep breath and creaked open the door. “ Steve?” you mumbled quietly.

“ Y/N?” His voice sounded confused and you prayed he wouldn't turn the corner. “ I- Um, I forgot my pjs out here and I’m in my towel. Do you mind turning around or something?”

He chuckled as you rolled your eyes. God you wanted to strangle him.

“ Course.”

You peeked around the corner, and there he was, facing the window. You scurried to your pjs on the bed and ran back to the bathroom, slamming the door shut, letting out a breath you didn't even know you were holding.

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“ I can sleep on the floor.” You whisper as Steve untucks the covers and adjusts the pillows.

“ Don't be silly.” He huffs, meeting your eyes with a glare.

“ Get in. I don't bite.”

“Steve I swear it's okay-”

“ Get. In.” Your eyes widen at his authoritative tone and you'd be lying if you said you didn't get a LITTLE flustered. You swallow and begin to climb into bed hastily.

“ Can I turn out the light?” You hinted and Steve nodded curtly. Click. The two of you were enveloped in dark, minus the faint green 1:46am glaring at you from the bedside table. Dead silence lingers in the air. Minutes upon minutes go by and you’re too scared to move. You really should have slept on the floor. You cannot stand this man, so what on earth were you doing? Well, it’s not like you hated him. You just envied him. Your best coping mechanism was to become distant and cold, making him think you hated him. And if you told yourself you hated him enough maybe you truly would. You hated him. There. You thought it loud and clear. But he wasn’t all that bad was he? He was beautiful and smart and caring and funny and god he smelled so good right now... Y/N SNAP OUT OF IT!! You thought, shaking your head as if it would take away any positive thoughts you had about the man.

Maybe if you pushed them super deep down and didn’t speak to him for the rest of well... forever, he’d take the hint.

You shuffle around to attempt to get comfortable when a gravelly voice breaks you out of your trance. “ Y/N?”

Well, there goes that plan.

“ Steve?” you question. “ Why were you crying?” Your eyes snap open and you freeze. Fuck. Super soldier hearing. “ I don't know what you’re talking about.”

“ Don't play dumb with me girl.”

His hand brushes against your shoulder and you turn to face him, feeling his warm breath flutter against your eyelashes. “ Why do you care?” you sneer, not wanting Steve to know any more than he needed to.

“ Because even though you hate me, I care.”

It went so quiet you could hear a pin drop. “ Why do you hate me?” He whispers, and you pull the sheets higher, attempting to hide yourself.

“ Because you're everything I'm not.”

“Y/N-”

“ No. Don't start. You are everything I want to be Steve. And it kills me to know I can’t ever achieve that. You can do nothing wrong, you’re smart, sweet, and god I’ll admit you’re fucking handsome too. You're perfect and I could never compete with that. I'm in the background, the person no one cares about. It kills me, Steve. It kills me to see you all perfect and pretty and to see everyone love you. I can never do as good as you and I'll never be enough-”

Your voice cracked and a sob escaped your lips. Steve wrapped his arms around you and brought you close to his chest as sobs racked your body. It was all coming out. Everything you wanted to hide from him, everything you wanted to push down- it came back up.

You had never felt so vulnerable in your life. Steve brought his hand to pet your hair soothingly as you continued to let the tears fall. “ Shhh it's okay sweet girl let it out.” He whispered and held you closer. “ I'm so sorry I-”

“ Do not apologise. Please.” You met his eyes and he wiped the tears from your cheeks as you sniffled. “ Can I kiss you?” he asked hesitantly.

“ What?” You froze.

Steve Rogers wanted to kiss you? After everything you just told him?

“ I said can I kiss y-” You leaned closer to him and kissed him passionately, rolling on top of him and running your fingers through his hair. His lips were soft and he tasted like butterscotch. You felt as if you were floating as if you were on cloud nine. “ You are perfect Y/N. You are more than enough.” He whispered softly, as you placed your forehead onto yours.

And at that moment you knew that Steve Rogers was not in fact, your enemy. You were your own enemy. With that, you'd decided, that he would help you defeat the negative thoughts that clawed at your brain every waking second. You felt safe. Loved. And perfect.

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the-s1lly-corner · 1 year ago

Note

Ticci Toby trying to understand a s/o with Chronic Pain

Ticci Toby w/ a reader with chronic pain! (platonic)

no hate to you but im still not quite comfortable with writing romantic for toby!/nm wooo first creepypasta request of this batch lets go we're returning to this blogs roots yipee! this post may be a little blugh since i only just started allowing myself to write for toby and im still trying to get a hold on how i want to write his personality

one of the first ideas that came to my head when i first read this when it was sent in a few hours ago is that theres some level of disconnect... for lack of a better word. i mean toby himself doesnt feel pain, and he has mixed feelngs about it. on one hand he knows it makes him different and that often makes him feel like an outsider. on the other hand, he uses it as an advantage to power through things. the topic is complicated with him, and when it comes to you he doesnt fully understand why you're so careful with yourself; its not as if youre made out of glass

lack of being able to relate, you know?

not to say that he completely invalidates your pains. no, i think the opposite would be true. he cares about you a lot and hes going to hold onto you, and not let go. he is clingy and he is going to be obnoxious about it

i think he makes little notes to remember what helps with you (the admin totally isnt self projecting and giving toby horrible memory, definitely not), as well as leaves little notes for you to find throughout the day. cute ones, encouraging ones.. a little clunky and awkward but hey its the thought that counts!

^usually does the little notes for you on days where hes not going to be available for whatever reason, be it he needs to be put to work or what. honestly i dont think its uncommon for him to go MIA for a few days at a time given the nature of his work as a proxy

totally doesnt shoplift things that you like/will ease your pain. meds, snacks, stuff like that. that he paid for, obviously! nooo its not weird that hes asking to hide out at your house for a few hours he didnt do nothing!

offers to do your chores and stuff (with varying success) so you can lay down and rest. tends to only really offer them on your worse days, again in part to him not fully being able to grasp the level of pain youre in every day. hes trying his best!

gets you movies and games.. sometimes books, heating pads/blankets, things like that as well

less of a comfort guy and more of a distraction guy, definitely not a solutions guy; asides from getting (stealing) things for you, thats about where a lot of his comfort/solutions end, hes more so better prepared to keep your mind off of the pain with conversation and jokes and the aforementioned movies/books/games

definitely helps him to understand if you explain whats going on with you, be it simply saying whats hurting and why or even explaining your diagnosis, gives him something more solid to digest and work off of instead of just basic labels

#creepypasta x you #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta imagine #ticci toby x you #ticci toby headcanons #ticci toby imagine

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pregnant-piggy · 5 years ago

Text

The guest list

part four of The Wedding, series masterlist

Sirius Black x reader

Words: 1300

A/N: I’ve lost every sense of time. I woke up and had literally no idea what day it was. but anyway here’s part four, my lovelies!

GIF not mine

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The table was covered in papers with names. Names of family, friends and acquaintances. James and Lily were sitting at the table with their hands in their hair. The tea was cold but neither of them cared. They were too busy fighting about the guests to even notice.

‘I don’t want your stupid uncle at my wedding! Don’t you remember what he did last time at your family-party?’ Lily sighed; she was too tired to shout. They had been at it since this morning and they were supposed to have dinner at their friends’ place in an hour. When they had started this morning Lily had thought that this could be done in one hour, maybe two. But it turned out that they both wanted different people at their wedding.

‘It was an accident! Nobody knew the tables were made of glass!’ James snapped back, massaging his head with his knuckles. ‘But alright, fine. No uncle Richard, but then I don’t want uhh-’ James looked at the list with names ‘your great-aunt at our wedding! Why is she even on that list? She can’t speak more than three words without coughing her longs out!’

‘There has to be an easier way,’ Lily sighed and she reached for her cold tea. ‘Blugh,’ she said and spat out the cold water. She got up and emptied her mug in the sink.

James was thinking deeply, Lily could see by the crinkles on his forehead. How hard could it be to pick out fifty people for their wedding?

‘Okay how about this,’ James started and he took an empty parchment and a pen. ‘We list the people we both want and then see who is left. First: Sirius, Remus, (Y/N), Peter-’ Lily flinched when James called his friend ‘Marlene, Alice, Frank, Mary.’ More names followed until James reached the end of the list. ‘and McGonagall.’

‘You really want McGonagall at your wedding?’ Lily laughed and James nodded seriously.

‘So that is forty people, forty-two if you count your sister and her douchebag. Eight people left. Do you think Dumbledore would show up?’

‘Honestly, I don’t even care anymore. Put him on the list,’ Lily sighed with her head in her arms. James caressed her hair and bent over to kiss her head.

‘You know what? This is enough. Maybe people want to bring dates,’ James said and started to clean up the dining table. ‘Go get dressed, darling.’

Lily lifted her head and smiled at her fiancé.

- -- -

Remus opened the door. He was wearing an apron and his cheeks were red. From the kitchen Lily and James could hear talking, or better said: swearing.

‘Come in, come in,’ Remus said and Lily and James stepped in. Remus hung up their coats and led them to the living room. Sirius was sitting on the couch, angrily staring at the door opening to the kitchen. James sat down next to him and tried to talk to him.

‘Mate, is everything alright?’

Sirius tore away his gaze and smiled at his friends. In his eyes Lily could see he was still angry but his smile lightened his anger. Remus walked back to the kitchen and closed the door behind him, muting the swearing from (Y/N).

‘Everything’s fine,’ Sirius said and cut off the subject with his tone.

James shot Lily a concerned glare but Lily shook her head. Whatever was going on, Sirius obviously didn’t want to talk about it now.

Remus re-entered the room with drinks and sat down next to Lily on the couch. He was smiling, but Lily noticed he was tensed too. Something had happened right before Lily and James came and it had left an ugly stamp on the mood in the apartment.

‘Remus, have you heard from Marcus and Amber recently?’ Lily asked to take away the attention from the weird tension.

‘No, I believe they went to Spain and they were not planning on coming back,’ Remus answered.

‘Huh, they never mentioned it,’ James snorted.

‘I don’t think anyone was supposed to know,’ Remus explained. ‘They left head over heels. I heard it from Shacklebolt last week.’

‘I hope they are okay,’ Lily muttered nervously.

‘I’m sure they are fine, Lily, don’t worry.’

A silence fell over the group. The swearing from the kitchen had stopped but the sounds were still louder than you’d normally expect in a kitchen. Remus started a conversation with Lily about their wedding-venue and James and Sirius listened to them, both having nothing to say.

After ten minutes (Y/N)’s head popped up from the kitchen with the message that dinner was ready. Lily looked at (Y/N) and noticed that she too was looking irritated. James noticed it too and when Lily looked back she saw that Sirius’ face expression had changed the moment (Y/N) had stepped into the living room.

‘So how is the guest-list coming along?’ (Y/N) asked during dinner.

Lily and James looked at each other and non-verbally decided not to tell their friends about how difficult it actually was.

‘Oh, pretty well,’ Lily lied and took her wine. ‘There was one incident with James’ uncle, but we fixed it straight away.’

The mood lightened when James started to tell the story of his uncle at the last family-gathering. Remus laughed out loud and a small smile occured on (Y/N)’s face. Sirius, however, was looking at his plate. His food was barely touched and with his fork he was pushing around the potatoes on his plate.

The rest of dinner Sirius didn’t talk at all and when (Y/N) got up to clean the table, Lily followed her into the kitchen. The room was a mess. All over the counter was flour spread and there were puddles of water next to the sink. Vegetables were lying everywhere, like someone had picked them up only to put them down at the most random spot.

(Y/N) put the plates in the sink and started to do the dishes with a flick of her wand. While sponges scrubbed the food of the plates, (Y/N) leant back against the kitchen counter. Lily decided to ask her what was wrong.

‘What happened?’ she asked and (Y/N) sighed.

‘One week he is home! One week and then he wants to go away again! Mr. Awesome, putting his life in danger to do the good thing. Well, the good thing can wait a week, or two!’

Lily let her friend rant on about her boyfriend. She recognised the feeling. James used to go on dangerous mission too and it had killed Lily. He would not be home for a week and she couldn’t stand not knowing if her boyfriend was in danger or dead. And though she knew that James was smart and that he could take care of himself, the thought that he might not ever come back still entered her mind at night.

‘When?’ Lily asked and (Y/N) calmed down.

‘The day after tomorrow. Lily, I can’t miss him for another week! He sees the Order more than me.’ Lily nodded.

‘I know what you are feeling. Have you talked to him about it?’

‘No, he told me right before you came and I was too angry to talk to him.’

‘Hence the mess in the kitchen,’ Lily suggested.

‘Hence the mess in the kitchen,’ (Y/N) chuckled softly. She took a cloth and started cleaning the kitchen counter. ‘So tell me, how’s the guest-list really coming along?’

‘Oh, (Y/N), it’s terrible!’ Lily cried out and (Y/N) laughed. ‘He wants his whole stupid family there!’ Lily went on into detail about the fight she and James had had about the guests and by the time she was done, (Y/N) had calmed down.

‘Well, I think I agree with James,’ (Y/N) said and Lily raised her eyebrow at her.

‘You what?’

‘I personally would love to have Dumbledore at my wedding. Maybe even have a dance with him. Taking shots with him,’ (Y/N) teased her friend.

‘Well, he’s probably coming, so be sure you look the best.’

-------------

taglist:

let me know if you want to be added!

MASTERLIST

@missmulti @fific7 @yuptha-tsme @iamak20 @mrspadfoot4

#sirius black x reader #james potter x lily evans #marauders #sirius black imagine #james potter #lily evans #sirius black #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #marauders x reader #harry potter x reader #harry potter #marauders imagine #james potter x reader #lily evans x reader #remus lupin x reader #jily

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dgknightblue · 2 years ago

Text

So there is this AU swimming in my head where RVB characters are from different time periods and gets dumped into some place and are forced to interact.

Im not too sure on exact time periods for them, but an approximation of them.

But who is from the future, Wild West, and stuff?

Carolina and Church are future people trying to do something I don’t know what and accidentally pulled people at first before doing it on purpose kind of.

The people they pull they don’t get to choose who fits into what they are looking for.

But things….

All of our lovely sims are in the cast with a few of the freelancers.

Simmons is a trans man stuck in an era that doesn’t support him. He gets pulled after he finally runs a way. Well he was born with one leg and he kind of got hurt so he was bleeding pretty bad. Yeah he was a mess on the floor. He was scared and begged them not to hurt him or drag him back to his father.

I’m thinking he��s a lower aristocrat’s only child that was out of wedlock during a time of arranged marriages and stuff. He has his mother’s knife that his cousin gave him before going overseas for war. His father tells him that he’ll be marrying some merchant’s son named Gene or whatever and be grateful. He hates it and he feels bad being called his name. He likes his grandfathers name more.

Blugh what an xss!

Once he finally calms down and gets patched up, he accepts what’s happening and loves all the mechanisms he’s never seen before.

They all catch on to what he doesn’t see and don’t know what to do. Except Sarge, Kai, Donut, and Grif.

Sarge boasts about doing his own top surgery before growing a beard and enlisting into the army. Simmons finds himself drawn in and in full admiration for some reason.

Kai has Grif’s support, they would absolutely know how to get him accept little things to get him warmed up to the idea of him being him.

Donut is full of support and advice and is very friendly!

They get Simmons out of his shell enough to see his eyes sparkle some times. Sarge makes Grif Simmons’ personal carrier since they don’t have access to a wheelchair.

Grif is just glad Kai and Donut convinced Simmons it was okay to wear pants. He’d trip over that long xss dress that didn’t belong any where near Simmons.

So they end up spending a lot of time together and even sneak off. I can imagine them in the shallows of water at night talking and Grif teaching Simmons how to swim.

They get real close and Tucker and Kai and Donut try to spy on them sometimes. They individually have to cover each others mouths so they don’t blow their cover just to scream , “JUST FXCKING KISS ALREADY!!! DXMN IT!!!”.

Eventually as other things happen Sarge is more than happy to reintroduce Simmons to the group.

When Simmons gets a prosthetic leg, he gets so excited and runs up to Grif and pulls him a way to do what they usually do but Grif doesn’t have to care him any more!

He can still carry him once in a while though <3

On to other people….

Wash gets trauma sometime before getting pulled but I’m not sure which era and what gives him PTSD.

I know I said I was moving on to other people, I want to say this:

Simmons can cook really good, his father thought that was beneath an elite individual and banned him from going to the kitchen ever again.

Tricks and skills he’s learned:

Piano, violin, proper etiquette, dancing, knife things from his cousin, cooking from his mom, sewing from his grandmother, poison and plants from his grandfather.

The only one that has a problem with Simmons is his father and literally has no reason or excuse to be. Too bad Simmons got stuck with his dad being the only family member he had beside his grandmother. She refuses to die simply for Simmons sake until she gets murdered passes from natural causes.

She was actually the only reason he stayed after his cousin was considered KIA. Never found the body though. It’s been years, where did you go?

Simmons finds a book no one listens to him explain. (It’s the manual, for what? Something he has control of now :3) They are in for a surprise :3

Simmons is his cousin’s last name.

Anyways, I don’t want to separate Grif from pizza so he is in time period where there is pizza even if it’s one of the early versions that’s actually called pizza.

He found a thing called Oreos and worship them.

He also wants to kiss Simmons so fxcking bad, but doesn’t see all the signs. Simmons has no personal space with Grif and only Grif. Kai sticks to Simmons side at first to help him out and gradually slides farther a way to help her brother.

One night they find alcohol and they all talk.

They learn Simmons has more unwanted experience than wanted and that the only one that is considered experience (because it was wanted) is Simmons eating a girl out. Simmons is Bi.

Simmons invites Wash to the virgin club along with Doc. Wash declines and Doc agrees.

Tucker has Junior beside him sleeping. His baby boy <3

Carolina and Church still trying to figure out some bull crxp with the unground lab on the island they are on. Some are not helping like they think they are. Caboose.

The library in the villa is where Simmons is during the day when he isn’t with Grif.

Caboose, Donut, Lopez are sometimes making sandcastles competing with Tucker, Junior, Kai.

Grif is in the kitchen making food for Simmons and him when Simmons is in the library.

Wash is training with Sarge and whoever else from the freelancer group I haven’t a clue.

When Locus and Flex show up as antagonists somehow Locus enters the fold. He tries not to get too close to Simmons, Kai, or Junior for reasons.

Donut definitely didn’t throw a water balloon at Grif’s head from across the beach for revenge and spite.

Doc and Dr. Grey are having lessons on being a good doctor when she shows up.

Eventually things pick up when Temple and his (small) group + Zealot soldiers do the thing that start the problems that got them all stuck together.

When things get bad, Simmons realized what the book he found goes to. He summons Tex kind of and he’s under her protection now. He is also learning coding and glad he doesn’t have to go back to his era. He doesn’t exist until now after all.

Learning his cousin becomes the kings advisor was a shock, but he’s glad they are okay.

I didn’t write for everyone because I got stuck at Grimmons moments <3

#fanfiction #au #cute #red vs blue #rvb Simmons #rvb grif #rvb Kai #rvb donut #rvb sarge #rvb wash #rvb carolina #grimmons #rvb au

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imaginesnkdorks · 5 years ago

Text

Our Dream [Armin x Reader]

Pairing: Armin Arlert/Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

Summary: Armin has always been motivated by his dream to see the Ocean - to see the world beyond the walls. Clearly, meeting someone with the same goal; the same dream is one of the best feelings in the world. Armin is truly thankful to have that.

After the fall of Shiganshina – of the whole wall Maria at that – Eren decided to enlist. It’s something anyone would expect of Eren, anyway. Besides, it’s something he has always wanted. Armin, on the other hand, surprised both Eren and Mikasa when he declared he was going to enlist as well. After all, he’s tired of his friends fighting his fights for him. He wants to be able to finally do something. And maybe someday achieve his dream of seeing the ocean.

His plans are already set, and Armin is nothing but focused in fulfilling them, so why was he letting himself get sidetracked and distracted? He can’t help but pay his undivided attention to Y/N. He can’t even explain it, but Y/N just stood out to him. She’s soft-spoken but headstrong, smart but not overly serious, and is absolutely beautiful.

“You’re staring again.” Eren said for what is probably the fourth time that day. The contrast between Armin’s blonde hair and his red face is outstanding. “I’m not.” He murmured. He knows it’s in vain, yet he still felt compelled to lie. “I think you should talk to her.” Mikasa told him in between bites.

“I don’t even know what to say to her.” And that is where Armin’s dilemma lies. Among the three of them, he’s probably the most likable, but his meek nature doesn’t really push him into initiating conversations – let alone try to flirt with someone.

“Just tell her you like her. What was it you said the other day? She’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen?” Eren teased, a very naughty smile on his face. “Wha - ! Eren! I didn’t say anything like that.” Frankly, Armin isn’t really sure. He might have said something like that… it sounds like something he’d say, after all.

“Eren’s right. Just be honest. Y/N likes you too, you know.” Mikasa told him before she focused back on her soup. She seems so indifferent, but her words seemed to shift Armin’s world. “She likes me, too?” He feels like he could jump for joy at the news. Seriously run through the streets and yell in celebration. Still, doubt clouded his mind.

��“How would you know that, Mikasa?”

“Because, Armin, Y/N is as obvious as you are.” Really, Mikasa seemed scandalized at that – as if Armin should have known this all along! And to think Mikasa of all people would notice something like that.

Armin felt ice course through his veins, not out of fear or disappointment but due to sudden and uncontainable excitement. His heart seems to be jumping around his chest. Now, what to do with that information? Should he listen to Eren and just walk up to Y/N and tell her how he feels?

That thought stayed with Armin for the next days, and he obviously seem distracted during training that even Ymir who couldn’t possibly give a damn about him noticed.

“Are you gonna eat that?” Sasha asked, pointing towards Armin’s untouched bread. Well, she asked but she didn’t wait for an answer. It was already half inside her mouth before Armin got to react at all.

“Hey!” Armin whined – fully aware that it’s too late to save his bread.

“That’s what you get for daydreaming about Y/N instead of eating.” Ymir commented, her ever smug grin present on her face. It was like a needle dropped in the whole mess hall, because of course Ymir is just that loud! And against his will, Armin looked at Y/N’s direction – finding her blushing and looking straight back at him. In a rare surge of boldness Armin spoke, “Ymir, don’t go exposing my secrets now.”

Cringe. Armin can almost feel everyone cringe at that. He regrets it the moment those words left his mouth. To make matters worse, Connie led everyone in laughing at him. Armin did the honorable thing to do – he ran outside.

Before he can fully marinade in his tears and drown himself in his embarrassment, Armin heard footsteps approach him. Assuming it’s either Mikasa or Eren, he reassured them right away. “I’m okay.” The voice that answered him took him by surprise.

“Good to know. Also, I saw Sasha take your food. I bet you’re still hungry so here.”

“Y/N?” You’d think a million different thoughts would rush around in his head at that moment, but there was actually nothing. His mind was completely blank, especially when he felt Y/N’s warmth as she took a seat beside him. Y/N is starting to double think her approaching Armin since he’s just looking at her.

“Uhmm…” Y/N tried to hand her bread to Armin once more, the action finally taking Armin out of the trance he seemed to be in. “Thank you.” Silence took over them once more. What was he supposed to do or say now? Armin wished he read something about this… talking to girls. He talks to Mikasa all the time, so why is he having such a hard time?

“Y/N, about what Ymir said…” Armin’s at a lost. Was he supposed to brush it aside and lie to her about his feelings? Is he supposed to confess now?

“I’m sorry Ymir put you on the spot like that. That wasn’t very nice of her.” Armin can’t help but smile at that. “Yeah, but I’m used to it. Ymir and I don’t really get along.”

“I think Krista is the only one she likes!” Y/N commented with surprising cheerfulness. The two of them ended up talking about their fellow trainees that night, Armin totally stopping from overthinking and actually getting comfortable with Y/N.

----

“No! I can imagine Eren doing that, but Mikasa?” Y/N said, plucking another flower from the little cluster they’re sitting by. “Yes, well Mikasa can get pretty violent when it comes to protecting us – especially Eren.”

“I think I understand. You two are her precious friends after all. Here.” Y/N then handed a flower crown that she’s been making to Armin. “Wow, this is beautiful.” Armin said, proudly wearing Y/N’s gift. “It is. Looks like Persephone blessed us really well this spring.” “Persephone?” At Armin’s question Y/N tensed up. “Ah, nothing! We’d better go to the dining hall before Sasha inhale every bread in the room!” Y/N went on to do just that, leaving Armin behind.

Armin found it odd, but not really unusual. Y/N seems to be having a hard time totally opening up to him. It’s like there’s something she wants to tell him but would change her mind at the last minute. A clear example was their interaction earlier. Armin made it his goal to make Y/N comfortable around him.

---

Out of breath, Armin stood just outside the little cottage he and his team would be staying at during this exercise. Reiner helped him out again but he still feels as though he carried the world on his shoulders. “Armin! There you are. Here, I bet you’re thirsty.” Before, Armin would have been embarrassed at the thought of Y/N seeing him breathless and sweaty. Now he’s just happy to see her.

“Thank you!” He said, taking the offered canister. “You’re welcome. The instructor said we’re free for the rest of the night, by the way.” After finally catching his breath, Armin decided to take a chance. “Do you want to take a walk? With me?” Surprisingly, Armin wasn’t nervous. It’s not that he’s so confident Y/N would say yes. But there’s a lower chance of her turning him down, as proven by the eager nod that she gave him.

Honestly, the terrain was horrible, the view was ugly and the weather was humid but the two of them don’t seem to mind it one bit. They talked about the most mundane things – their breakfast that morning, Bertholdt’s weird sleeping positions, Sasha’s fascination with the mushrooms they saw earlier and Jean’s horse-like face – and yet it’s like it’s the most important thing in the world. Armin hang onto her ever word and she seemed to be doing the same to her.

“Eek!”

Armin’s reflexes worked so fast he didn’t have time to think. One moment Y/N was about to fall down due to tripping on an exposed tree root, the next she was in Armin’s arms. “Are you okay?” He asked, face the closest they’ve ever been to her. “Yes.” They stayed like that… close. Close enough to feel each other’s breath on their skin; to count each other’s eyelashes.

“I really like you, Y/N!” It just felt like the perfect moment to lay his feelings bare. Armin didn’t have time to doubt himself as Y/N’s reply came right away. “I like you, too.” Mikasa was right, after all.

---

To say they were a hundred percent comfortable with each other isn’t exactly factual. I mean, of course they are comfortable to some extent, but being intimate is just something they aren’t tackling very well. Armin would love to hold Y/N hand as they walk around the training academy, but he’d wonder if he’s being too forward or improper. The teasing from the rest of the guys isn’t helping either.

What’s more is that there is still that lingering hesitation from Y/N – it’s like she has a secret she so wanted to share with him but just can’t find the courage to do so. In fear of judgement, perhaps.

Most of the 104th class are doing their laundry, and Y/N and Armin are doing theirs together in silent companionship when Jean, Connie and Sasha decided to break the mundane atmosphere by hitting each other with their laundry – getting even those innocently doing their chores wet.

“Hey!”

“Blugh!” Armin exclaimed as he was hit straight on the face. It didn’t damper anyone’s spirits though, as they went on and more joined in. Armin and Y/N actually ended up teaming up on Connie. Soon enough, everyone at the riverbank are soaking wet and red from all the hitting that they were doing – the clothes they were washing definitely not getting any cleaner.

It took Keith Shadis himself to stop the trainees’ shenanigans and for them to calm down.

“That was fun.” Y/N said as she tried to fix her hair that’s been sticking to her face. “Oh! Your eyes are so red.”

Armin could definitely feel a slight stinging sensation. “I think the water irritated my eyes. Heh, I guess I’m lucky this isn’t the ocean, because then – ah!” The ocean. Armin is aware that knowledge of this is dangerous – deadly! It’s not that he doesn’t trust Y/N, but he needs to be careful.

Y/N then looked around, as if trying to make sure no one is close enough to hear them. “That would have been painful. It is salty water after all.” She said, followed by a deep sigh. “How did you… uhm, you know of the ocean?” She said in a whisper.

Now, this might be extremely stupid and generous but Armin can’t help but feel like this is the final hurdle they have to get over. “Books.” He answered simply. Y/N then grabbed Armin’s hand – leaving their laundry behind – and went to the dorms. Making sure the rooms she shares with the other trainees is empty, Y/N pulled Armin inside. “I have something to show you and I think you know that it’s between just us two.”

They soon find themselves standing at the bunk bed assigned to Y/N, facing the small nightstand with at least a dozen books. Honestly, nothing really stands out to Armin. Nothing looks like the books his family owned – those about the outside world. “These are history books? Those you can find anywhere.”

“Well yes, but no.” Y/N said before grabbing one in the middle entitled Fritz: The Royal Family. It’s probably the most famous book within the walls – only because it was required to be read by everyone. Y/N pulling that one out served only to confuse Armin. “They say the best place to hide a leaf in is in a forest, so…” Y/N then opened the book, showing Armin that the pages inside are nothing about the Fritz family. “I replaced the cover.”

“The ocean! I know this. It’s talking about how the world has more water than land – there’s also things about the tundra and deserts!” The two of them began talking about the things they haven’t seen but read about. Armin found out that Y/N is fascinated with mythology. He’s surprised to find out that there is a god for everything!

They mostly lingered on the book called World Atlas. It’s full of nothing but colorful maps and of places they couldn’t even pronounce. “Maybe, beyond the walls, these places are still out there. I’m mostly interested about seeing this rain forest.” Y/N said. It was at that moment when realization hit Armin that they truly are perfect for each other. “Of course, before getting there we’d have to cross the ocean. I wonder if it’s truly as beautiful as it is in these drawings. That’s my dream.”

Before he can stop himself, Armin leaned over and captured her lips in a sweet peck. “What?” Surprise was etched in Y/N’s face, but Armin won’t miss the cute flush of her cheeks. “That just felt… right. Don’t you think so?” Armin said, flashing a confident smile. “Let’s try that again.”

#snk armin #armin x reader #armin arlert x reader #reader insert #snk x reader #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #Eren Jaeger #Eren Yaeger #Mikasa Ackerman #104th trainee corps #connie springer #Jean Kirschtein #jean kirstein #sasha braus #Ymir #attack on titan ymir #crista lenz #mod max

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ghastily · 5 years ago

Text

✎ — Thief

➥ Cody x Reader | 1275

You’re desperate for supplies so you decide sneaking into a base is a good idea.

You almost feel guilty as you’re pulling on the passed out clone trooper’s gear. It was their fault really, they had it coming. Your people need help, supplies, food, anything and the Republic are dragging their heels. People are dying and they just can’t wait any longer, and so you saw no other choice — you just hope it’s the right one.

The helmet is so big that it dips forward when you slide it on, and the stale stench of dried sweat assaults your nose. “Blugh! Do they not wash or something…”

You check on the snoring clone one last time before marching out of the barn and into the darkness. His gear is much too big on you, it definitely doesn’t fit around your hips, and pieces of it hand and bump together as you try to walk into the base with the confidence of soldier. You try not to tense up as you get closer to the base, spotting two troopers on duty standing at the entrance.

They don’t pay any attention to you, you waltz right into the base. Phew.

Try to act like you belong, you repeat it in your head like a mantra. You can’t blow this now that you’re inside. Trying to pinpoint where they keep the supplies, you make a beeline through the base. You peek into one of the rooms, disappointed to find it’s not the supplies you’re looking for. Everything is going fine until you’re stopped by someone’s hand slapping down hard on your shoulder.

“Waxer!”

You flail madly and try not to scream, spinning around to face a clone who is just as surprised as you are. The HUD in the visor only identifies him as ‘Cody’, and he is handsome. There’s nothing special about his armor, nothing that stands out to identify his rank — not that you would know what to look for, but the gear on his legs look like they’ve seen better days. You inwardly cringe at some of those gray scratch marks.

“Whoa, what’s got you so jumpy!” He grins, voice light and teasingly, “Wildlife spooked you again, huh?”

Deep breath. Don’t blow your cover.

You flash him two thumbs up.

Bam.

The clone quirks a brow at you, clearly confused by your actions. “Uh, right. I’ve got some free time now, ready to do some hand to hand training?”

You shake your head frantically. No way. You’re not a fighter, the most combat you’ve ever done was kicking a guy in the nuts. Maybe if you pretend to be sick he’ll back off, so you hunch over and pat your chest, coughing.

Okay, bad idea.

Cody doesn’t fall for it, if anything it just makes him more suspicious. You’ve completely blown your own cover and fear grips your soul. Who knows what’s going to happen now that you’ve been caught. Cody crowds you into one of the side rooms, forcing your back up against a wall as he makes a grab for the helmet.

You gasp and clutch hard at it, fighting against Cody’s attempts to pull the helmet off and unmask you. Only there’s too much of a difference between a trained soldier and a civilian, your strength is no match for his and Cody successfully yanks the helmet off.

You glare at each other.

“Who are you! Where’s the trooper you stole this from?!” He growls, and you’re definitely intimidated and maybe a teeny tiny bit turned on.

“None of your business!” You snap back at him, “And he’s fine! Just sleeping off a really strong drink in a barn.”

“It is my business! Now start talking or I’m arresting you!”

Cody sounds furious, for all he knew you were putting the lives of his brothers and their mission in jeopardy. There was no arguing with that. You sigh loudly, dropping your head back against the wall as you reluctantly give him your name, “People in my village are dying. The supplies are taking too long to get there… I thought…”

You take a deep breath and blink away the tears that began to build swell up.

The tension leaves his posture and you hear him sigh. Guess he’s weak to a sob story.

“I get it, I do but there’s regulations… complications that are preventing us from helping faster.” Cody sighs and takes a step away from you, grasping Waxer’s helmet in one hand. “Let’s make a deal.”

You tilt your head in his direction, heart beginning to pound a little faster. “If it keeps me out of jail, I’m all ears.”

Cody smirks, “Take a small bag of what you need and if anyone asks, we never met.”

“That’s all?” Not that you’re complaining but it was highly suspicious that Cody wasn’t asking anything else in return from you. It was too easy and if there’s one thing you learned out of life — everybody wants something.

“It doesn’t do any good if there’s no one there to save.”

Ah, he’s one of those. A person with a good heart.

How rare.

“Deal.” You hold out your hand and Cody grasps it firmly. His hand is so much bigger than yours, and there’s a restrained strength in how tightly he holds your hand — it makes your stomach do a few flips and your cheeks steadily start to heat up. You let go his hand, quickly rubbing your palms against the stolen armor as if he was something dirty.

He just looks amused and hands you back the helmet before slipping his own on, “Come on. I’ll show you where the supplies are. Remember, only what you need to get by until we can get there with the rest.”

You scrunch up your nose at the thought of putting that sweaty thing back on, reluctantly you plop it back on your head. Cody chuckles and leads you out of the room and through the halls, passing by other troopers with the briefest of greetings. He’s popular with the others.

Cody shows you to a room filled with crates, once he’s sure the coast is clear he hurries you inside.

You waste no time grabbing a small bag and start rifling through the supplies, carefully depositing medicines into your bag. Just what you need, that’s all you take, but a greedy part of you wants to fill the bag to the brim — as much as you can pack in there. You don’t, not with Cody watching you (and the door) like a hawk.

Loaded up with medicine, you carefully fold up the bag and maneuver it inside Waxer’s stolen gear. Last thing you want is for the vials to be crushed en route to the village. You pat the chest piece and give Cody a thumbs up. Chuckling, he’s once more leading you through the base and back outside.

You lead him in the direction you came from, stopping just past the tree line. Once you’re sure it’s safe, you remove Waxer’s helmet and run a hand through your hair. “Um, thanks for helping and not arresting me.”

Cody removes his own helmet, tucking it underneath his arm and smiles so charmingly at you that your heart flutters. “It’s nothing.”

You’ve already made one stupid decision tonight, so what’s one more. Taking a deep breath to steel your nerves, you lean up and press your lips to his cheek. Cody hadn’t expected that, you can see it in how stunned he looks when you pull back. Snapping out of his daze, Cody ducks his head looking away shyly.

“When you come with the rest, I’ll treat you to a home cooked meal as thanks.”

“I look forward to it.”

#star wars: the clone wars #reader insert #commander cody x reader

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wonderlandleighleigh · 5 years ago

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85 Thoughts while watching Return of the Jedi

1. THE HELMETS ARE DUMB

2. I still love the idea that Stormtroopers fucking loved Vader, and all of the commanders were terrified of him.

3. Vader helmet so shiny.

4. Back on Tatooine. It always comes back to Tatooine, doesn’t it?

5. 3P0 was so hoping that the door wouldn’t open. He just wanted to go home.

6. Everyone in Jabba’s palace looks really...gross. I guess that fits, right? Jabba’s palace is super gross, so.

7. I never understood as a child the slavery - and the sex slavery - aspect of Jabba’s palace. Only as an adult have I fully understood just how fucked up this is.

8. Remember kids, Luke has NO IDEA that Anakin was a Hutt slave as a child. Is there any canon stuff where he finds out about that? I’d be interested.

9. Han’s carbonite face is so fucking dumb.

10. Man droid torture is no joke. If that’s what they do to droids, think about what they do to people...

11. Oh god, the musical number. Like I thought it was funny when I saw it for the first time when they did the re-releases, but also, it’s this weird dissonance between that and Oola’s death.

12. Jabba is so much creepier here than in New Hope.

13. I love all the disguises and subterfuge in the opening storyline. And I love that they took the time to deal with Jabba and the bounty on Han’s head. It’s a nice break from the Galactic War.

14. I remember watching this for the first time, and when Leia pulls the helmet off and is like “Someone who loves you” I was like OMG! And my shipper heart grew ten times as large.

15. Han is so...moist. Here. Blugh.

16. Ugh. God. Poor Leia. They do a good job of illustrating just how fucking terrible Jabba is, but...god dammit.

17. Han and Chewie reunion! <3 <3 <3

18. Luke Skywalker - Jedi Knight. Somewhere Mace Windu is looking at all of Luke’s attachments and impulsive behaviors and dry heaving.

19. THE BIKINI IS GROSS! The only thing good about it is that Leia will eventually strangle Jabba to death while wearing it. Otherwise? Ugh.

20. Luke Skywalker. Jedi Knight. Fashion icon.

21. I always felt bad for the Rancor’s master. He loved his Rancor. And the Rancor was just as much a slave as any of the people in Jabba’s palace. It was probably only fed when there was a person Jabba wanted to kill so it would be as vicious as possible.

22. This trio is so bad-ass.

23. Luke knows what the Sarlacc is.

24. BANTHA HERD!

25. Ugh. The Dune Sea is really fake-looking here.

26. R2 as waiter makes me so happy. It’s so ridiculous.

27. “Convenient.”

28. Anakin Skywalker would be so fucking proud of his daughter strangling Jabba the Hutt to death. It’s everything he ever wanted to do to fucking slavemasters on Tatooine.

29. “Boba Fett. Boba Fett. WHERE?!”

30. Per Dettiot: Luke went to Obi-Wan’s old hut on Tatooine and found the handbook to make his lighsaber, as well as some kyber crystals. What else he was up to between Empire and Jedi, I’m not sure.

31. Knee. High. Chanel. Boots.

32. The sheer utter chaos and destruction would make Anakin Skywalker kvell*.

33. I don’t know if Yoda considers Luke his friend. More like just another snot-nosed apprentice who will eventually disappoint him.

34. Leave us alone, Palpatine. What a fucking pruny piece of shit.

35. Yoda’s death is so bitter-sweet for me. I love Yoda. But he made so many mistakes in his life that he never really owned up to. I suppose he felt that his exile was his penance. But I don’t know if I agree. He could have come out of hiding to aid the Rebellion.

36. Also, he was planning to die without coming clean to Luke about Vader. And that is some horse shit.

37. “Suffer your father’s fate.” At least he’s admitting that Anakin wasn’t solely to blame. That there was manipulation there.

38. “I can’t go on alone.” Go find Ahsoka and Ezra! You’re not alone!!

39. The fact that Obi-Wan truly believed that that Anakin had died and Vader took his place.

40. Yoda and Obi-Wan never moved on from their trauma. They keep reliving their trauma and so they cannot move forward, and so they keep making the same mistakes over and over. Asking Luke to kill Vader is proof of that.

41. And it really shows that Obi-Wan, even after his attachments to Satine and Akakin and Ahsoka - does not understand family. Luke saying “I can’t kill my father,” and Obi-Wan being like “Whelp. There’s no other way so the Emperor wins.”

42. There being no mention of Luke and Leia’s mother ANYWHERE except for the one moment later on, drives me CRAZY. Obi-Wan could have told Luke about Padme then.

43. I love that Han and Leia can sit next to each other in a meeting and not have to have arms wrapped around each other. Just being next to each other is enough.

44. GENERAL SOLO! Leia’s face. “Excuse you, how did you suddenly get hotter?”

45. The painted backgrounds are so beautiful.

46. Poncho game is strong in this movie.

47. FLY CASUAL is such a stupid line. I love it.

48. Skywalker twin exasperation is the best. Padme would be proud.

49. Leia just going for it is so so good.

50. I know Ewoks catch a lot of shit for...well..being Ewoks. But I love them. They’re adorable! And they have no qualms about eating humans!

51. “My Son.” I think this is the first time Vader has referred to Luke as his son to someone who isn’t Luke, instead of the “Son of Skywalker.”

52. Watch as we realize that Leia has been holding the one brain cell this entire time, and Han, Luke and Chewie get totally clueless.

53. PROPER.

54. I love Ewok tree houses.

55. Remember kids. They were planning to eat Han, Luke and Chewie.

56. Where the hell did that dress even come from that Leia is wearing??? They just had that lying around?

57. I guess they ate the last woman who wore it.

58. I love that 3P0 in New Hope, claims he’s not much of a storyteller, and then in the Jedi like is like a master storyteller lol.

59. And here, we get the only mention of Padme. And it wasn’t even Padme. It was a handmaiden. I will forever be salty that Padme isn’t mentioned at all because George didn’t think of her until the prequels. Argh.

60. Luke’s unwavering belief in Anakin is so amazing. The sequels did that part of his character so dirty. This version of Luke would never have tried to kill his nephew.

61. “It is too late for me.” God dammit, Anakin. The thing is that if he goes with Luke, he is admitting that everything he has done for the last twenty years is all for nothing, and he just fucking can’t do it. So much denial .So much pain. Fuck you, Vaderkin.

62. EWOK ON A SPEEDER

63. REX! A REX SIGHTING! YES!

64. Y’all remember that Ewok movie with the blonde child? “Star cruiser crash!!”

65. Padme would be so proud of Luke’s fashion.

66. Wedge got promoted! Yay!

67. I love the old Hollywood trick of shadowing the Emperor’s face except for his eyes.

68. I just. I love that the Empire is defeated by fucking teddy bears. I know a lot of people hate it, but it’s just- it feels so karmic. They’ve done such terrible things. And to be taken down by these fuzzy, little bastards. *chef’s kiss*

69. Palpatine hitting in that nerve that Luke has about his attachments. About his hope. Oof.

70. The entire Vader fight is just him trying not to see how much like Padme Luke is. That’s gotta hurt.

71. Bro. Vader. You do not want to try shit with Leia. Like. No. Fuck’s sake. Don’t try it. She’ll have all of you arrested and then executed.

72. Yes Luke. Thow away that lightsaber. Show that wrinky fuck who’s boss.

73. I love that Anakin gets to make the right choice here. He does what he didn’t do with Mace. He finally realizes all the lies...all the manipulation...that he can make things different. And he does. And it rightfully costs him his life.

74. Vader couldn’t survive. Vader would have been tried for his crimes and either executed or jailed for the rest of his life. The same thing happened to Ben Solo in the sequels. He had to die. Otherwise he’d have to have a real-world ending: Prison or execution.

75. I feel so sad that Anakin became this fucking horror show of a person. It didn’t have to be this way. Fuck.

76. “Tell your sister...you were right.”

77. Oh Han no. No no no.

78. No Han.

79. HAN.

80. Han’s face when he finds out Luke is Leia’s brother is hilarious.

81. I wish that Rex and Ahsoka had been there when Luke burned Anakin’s body. I feel like they needed to, for their own closure. And Luke would have felt like he had people who understood. Who loved and knew Anakin before all of this.

82. AND NOW WE PARTY!

83. Let’s eat Stormtrooper!

84. I am SO MAD that all of this will be undone by the sequel trilogy. Ugh.

85. I want them to refilm Hayden now that he’s just about the age Anakin would have been when he died as a Force ghost. I feel like that would be really nice.

*Kvell - Yiddish - to be bursting with pride

#Thinking about Star Wars #RoTJ

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jupitertherevolution · 4 years ago

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[S] Riecre: Interrogate

Haha none of yall r gonna get this but do i care? no! i wrote all 1300 words of this tonight, so suffer. if u want context dm me 👀

Your name is RIECRE MAARDR and you have just come into possession of one of, if not THE deadliest secret you could have: Uldima killed Kiidna and lied about it. There’s apparently a purpleblood going around and snooping on people’s dreams, and star just so happened to come across the dream of one Uldima Cabbhy, your… friend? Travel partner? Your status with him is unknown to you and irrelevant at this point. The dream-snooper, as she has often done before, posted about it on grumblr. You read the post, trolled her about it, and discovered that it was true: Uldima murdered Kiidna, a goldblood whose ghost you and your friends are looking for. You know that if this gets out, it’ll spell a lot of trouble for everyone in your vicinity. Kaevus, your friend and the juggernaut of this journey, is… not in such an amazing emotional state. He was previously depressed after Kiidna’s death, and seems to be pulling himself out of that hole now that there’s a chance he could see Kiidna again, but… learning who killed the goldblood would most likely set him off, and since he’s an indigoblood and stronger than everyone in your friend group by no small margin, you wouldn’t be able to stop him. Now you have to make sure this stays a secret. Gog knows that’s impossible. What do you do now?

==> Interrogate the accomplice Well he’s not an accomplice so to speak, but he was involved in the dream. You’re sure of it. The grumblr post said “someone complaining about something” at Uldima’s hive, which means it could only be his brother Penuld.

envelope Nocturne [EN] has begun trolling obsoleteGuardian! EN: hey assh⟲le

EN: we need t⟲ talk

OG: 🄿 Woah, hey, I’m always one for a pitch come-on but I’m kinda busy right now. 🄼

EN: gr⟲ss y⟲u kn⟲w that's n⟲t what i meant

OG: 🅁 Sure, sweetie. Anyways, what do you need? I’m getting my claws done soon, so make it quick. 🅈 EN: sigh EN: this is s⟲mething that needs t⟲ be said in pers⟲n, where are y⟲u OG: 🄽 Oh that serious, huh? Well, I could always squeeze you into my schedule if you’ve finally realized your burning and passionate hatred for me. 🅅

OG: 🄽 Meet me here in half an hour. 🄳

-- obsoleteGuardian has dropped a pin! --

EN: g⟲d y⟲u're disgusting

envelopeNocturne has ceased trolling obsoleteGuardian!

Blugh. You hate this guy. Even more so now that you know he’s the reason someone is dead. But now, you’ve got business to do. You shoot a quick message to Aniops, who you’re sharing a hive with now, to ask if you can use her motorbike. She initially declines, but you push her, saying it’s important. You obviously can’t tell her about what you know, she’s too close to Kaevus, but she eventually cedes and you head out to the hivestem’s lot. Revving the engines, you make your way through the city. You’ve got a jadeblood to press.

When you arrive at the cafe, Penuld is already sitting at an outside table. He’s wearing a slightly less gogawful outfit today, and his hands are folded on the table, to show off his new acrylic nails. He smirks as he sees you, and you glare at him as you sit down.

“So, come to profess your undying hatred for me, huh?” He leans on his hands and looks into your eyes. It would be unnerving if you weren’t so full of contempt.

“I never said that, you made that inference of your own accord, asshole.” You’re not gonna let him keep flirting like this. “Not a bad inference, though, no? You did seem like you truly hated me,” he says. “Oh I hate you alright,” you say, trying to end this thread of the conversation. “I hate you on a moral level. No, I’m actually here to ask you some questions about Kiidna.”

This makes his eyes go wide. “Kiidna? You’re still looking for him? I was under the impression that the search had pretty much gone under.”

“Maybe for you, but not for everyone else,” you say. He rolls his eyes. “Wouldn’t these types of questions be better directed towards, say, your hivemate or Kaevus?” It’s your turn to smirk. “Some questions, yes, but not these questions.” You lean in close, and he does the same. His expression is hard to read, but his eyebrows are raised. Barely above a whisper, you let him know what you know. “Why did you want him dead?”

His face contorts and he pulls away. His arms fall to be folded on the table, and he narrows his eyes at you. “What exactly are you talking about, Maardr.” He delivers the line flatly, and calls you by your castename to try and sound intimidating. It doesn’t work. “Oh, I just mean,” you start. “What were you ranting about that evening, that Uldima took as an invitation for murder? It must have been oh, say, half a sweep ago?”

He grits his fangs. “How do you know that.” You smile. “Oh, I have my sources, we all do. I’ll ask again, though, why did you want him dead?” He crosses his arms. “Why should I tell you?”

“Think about it this way. There are three possible outcomes to someone else besides you two knowing.” You put up three fingers. “One, that person tells Kaevus, he goes on a rampage, we all die.” Penuld scoffs. “He wouldn’t just go off like that.” You raise an eyebrow. “Really? Once I told him I was being harassed by some ceruleans at work and I had to call Celdae to get him to calm down.” You continue. “Two, you kill that person once you know they know and you live with the secret until you eventually find Kiidna, he says ‘Hey those two killed me’ and you specifically get targeted by Kaevus. Three, you don’t kill that person, they help you keep the secret and get Kiidna to keep it a secret too. I’m getting closer to finding a lead so I could realistically find him, warn him that we’re all here, and convince him not to haunt you. He doesn’t know me, so he wouldn’t know I was biased.”

He nods his head upwards. “Clever, you found a way to bargain for your life.” You feign being shocked. “What, were you going to kill me? I thought I was too fun to poke fun at.” He’s not smiling but he laughs condescendingly. Dropping the melodramatics, you look him dead in the eyes. “But in order to sway your not-so-dearly departed friend, I need the scoop. Why. Did. You. Want. Him. Dead.”

He does one of his classic scoffs and eyerolls. “Ugh, you really wanna know?” He tightens his crossed arms. “I was flushed for Kaevus. I had a big fat crush on him, and Kiidna was getting in the way of that.”

“You had him killed over quadrants?” Your jaw drops. “Hey, I never ‘had him killed’. I mentioned once that I wished he was dead, and Uldima misinterpreted that to mean ‘he should be killed’,” he retorts

“So it’s your wacko brother that was the problem?”

He bares his fangs. “Hey, don’t talk shit about my brother. He got messed up a bit in the head by our old cavern system, okay? And besides, we already had this conversation, the two of us, perigees ago. I forgive him.”

“Well no one else did!” you shout.

“Pipe down, Maardr,” he says. “Look, you know now, okay? You know my stupid mistake I made when I was seven sweeps old that got a guy killed, alright? Now hold up your end of the bargain, and go convince that ghost to not hold it over me. I’ve got a hot date to get to” He stands up.

You cross your arms. “You sicken me, Penuld.”

He’s already sashaying off as if nothing even happened.

#fantroll #riecre maardr #penuld cabbhy #uldima cabbhy #serverstuck #writing #drabbles

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angryhausfrau-writes · 4 years ago

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I Travel Troubled Oceans - Chapter 2: The Heist

Charles was, in fact, difficult to persuade of the plan. Sure, he wants money just about as much as any of the rest of the crew. But he's also pretty fucking pissed at Eleanor Guthrie.

Although the prospect of getting one over on her – and ruining another one of the people responsible for sending him to jail and getting filthy rich in the process – is a strong incentive. And Jack's always been good with words. Persuasive, one might say. Charles is stubbly, slightly recalcitrant putty in his hands.

So they all troop down to the nearest YMCA so Charles can take a shower. And Anne shoplifts him some slightly more upscale slutty clothes, because God forbid the man ever actually wear a shirt. But he looks like a halfway respectable stripogram by the time he shows up to Eleanor's little birthday party – a fashionable two hours late so the party's in full swing and he doesn't look desperate. Though Eleanor will probably still read him that way. A pathetic sad sack crawling back to her on bended knee, ready to beg forgiveness and willing to do anything to get back in her good graces now that his former crew is a wreck and Flint's run off to America.

Eleanor thinks she's got Charles right where she wants him – under her two-thousand dollar heels. But that doesn't mean it's not a scene worthy of the fucking Baftas when she sees him come through the door.

Jack and Anne and the new guy are posted up in the kitchen, dealing to all the posh little fucks looking for a bit of white gold to get the party started right. Just killing time until Charles makes his move and he and Eleanor head to the bedroom.

And minimalist open plan living being in fashion, even in these old Victorian piles, they can hear every fucking word of the happy little reunion from a whole half a house away.

“Why Charles,” Eleanor practically purrs – and it's the purr of a Jaguar, lethal and expensive. “Whatever are you doing here.”

It's not a question.

Charles forces himself to look down at his feet. As if he's weak. As if he's ashamed.

“Eleanor.” He makes it sound anguished instead of angry. “I had a lot of time to think while I was away.”

Because Eleanor and her lot threw him away. And who knew Chaz was such a good actor? There's none of the violent, simmering fury Jack knows he feels over the betrayal. His tone is contrite and he must look suitably groveling, because Eleanor lets him continue.

“I started thinking about what was important – what was good in my life.” Namely her. And what he'd do to get her back. Though that goes unsaid, because there's such a thing as laying it on too thick, even for Eleanor fucking Guthrie.

And they – Jack, mostly Jack, who'd coached Charles through the whole interaction - must have struck just the right balance of pathetic groveling and virile masculinity with that little performance, because Eleanor says, “Why don't we discuss this somewhere more private, Charles?”

A few minutes later, Jack gets a surreptitious eggplant emoji from Charles's burner phone – the prearranged signal that he's successfully convinced Eleanor to sleep with him and that they're free to comb the house. Jack sends a winky face in response and then he, Anne, and the new guy split up to search for the cash.

Knowing Charles – and Eleanor – they'll probably be tied up for a while. Charles almost definitely literally. But that doesn't mean they can dawdle.

Anne takes to rifling through the bedrooms, disturbing several couples – and more – in the throws of passion. But she's always been good at intimidating idiots to stay out of her way – and so obviously on a mission that they don't do more than voice a few token protests. Plus, she's good enough at what she does – and they're so wrapped up in their drugged out fucking – that she's in and out before some of the participants even notice she's there. But, as Jack learns from her regular updates of terse “NO” and red “X” texts, she has no luck finding the cash.

Jack hadn't really expected Eleanor or Woodes Rogers to keep the cash in a random bedroom, where any horny houseguest could stumble upon it. So that just leaves the master suite – empty, what with Eleanor having taken Charles to the room that apparently serves as her bedroom cum sex dungeon, if Max's deeply - horrifyingly deeply - detailed description is to be believed. (Privately, Jack thinks Eleanor may have gotten just a little bit too invested in the whole Fifty Shades trend. But bored horny women are bored horny women, regardless of bank account balance, apparently.)

And Woodes Rogers is otherwise occupied downstairs, courtesy of the new guy, who's apparently caught his eye and is being rather badly flirted at, if the increasingly frantic texts Jack keeps getting are any indication. Jack feels bad, he really does – ok, not that bad, he'd do the same thing on purpose if Woodes Rogers was into queens. But he likes a little bit of rough - not that Jack can blame him – and the new guy seems to be doing it for him, even if he's got a pretty boy face. And this is probably the best chance they're going to get of having the house to themselves for the search. So he tells New Guy to stick it out and if Woodes Rogers starts getting too sleezy to make a break for it. They'll all meet at the rendezvous point at the kebab shop in the West End anyway, it doesn't matter if they don't all go together.

Plus, it'll help take the heat off if they just look like regular party goers instead of co-conspirators in a heist.

But Jack doesn't have a lot of extra time or attention to spare for New Guy's plight. Because Anne's struck out in the master bedroom, except for some rather tasteless but presumably expensive jewelry. And Jack's searched the study - a big, stupidly imposing room that practically screams “compensating” - and he's come up with zilch. A fucking goose egg, outside of a moving bookcase that hides a humidor. Probably Eleanor's.

So he moves on to the library, the last place the cash could reasonably be without them having to try and search the fucking basement.

It's probably the least used room in the house. Because sure, Woodes Rogers is a lawyer of some description and Eleanor an accountant. But the paraphernalia for that kind of stuff gets kept in blinding glass and steel corporate offices. This room is for impressing the impressionable. And it's absolutely stuffed to the fucking rafters with first editions of classics and entire sets of encyclopedias that Jack would bet real money have never even been opened by their current owners.

There are also several oil paintings in heavy gilt frames – perfect for hiding a wall safe. And if that doesn't reveal anything, there's always the horrifically overbearing desk situated in pride of place in front of the enormous bay windows. Jack can just see Eleanor there, sitting in the high backed antique chair like it was a throne, dispensing her version of mercy on groveling penitents.

Jack wonders if she ever made Max fuck her in that chair. That feels like something she'd be into.

And with that lovely thought, Jack turns to search the nearest painting – a drab toned portrait of a man who is presumably one of Woodes Rogers's antecedents. Blugh. But, heinous crimes committed during his life or no, he isn't the final resting place for stolen goods.

Jack turns to the next painting and the next with no more success. The final painting – one of hounds on the hunt – doesn't reveal the cash, but it does reveal some rather racy photographs of Eleanor and one of her previous lovers (neither Max nor Charles, so Jack doesn't remove them) in what is apparently Woodes Rogers's pathetic attempts at a black mail collection on his wife. It's quite sad really, so Jack just takes a snap of it for Anne – who'll undoubtedly show it to Max, who'll get a kick out of it - and moves on to the desk.

There, he strikes gold. Or cash, really. There's a hidden compartment in the bottom of the desk drawer with a lock on it – as if that could stop Jack. Or anyone with better fine motor skills than a toddler. It only takes him a few minutes and an unbent paper clip to open the catch.

And there lays the cash.

Jack signals Anne and the new guy to come help, since there's approximately a metric fuckton of it. Someone who's not Jack is going to have to practically crawl inside the desk to get it all. But they've found it, finally.

Thank Christ.

Jack starts laying bundles of cash into the bottom of his traveling case – one of those hard-sided suitcases that businessmen so love to use. And he's honestly not sure if that's going to be enough. But fortunately, the new guy had the foresight to bring a ratty backpack along and between the two bags and the three of their pockets, they get it all stowed away.

Jack texts Charles a Jolly Roger to let him know he can wrap things up with Eleanor and all that's left now is to get away clean.

Which is almost easier done than said. They walk out the door, times staggered enough that it doesn't look like they're all leaving together, and no one notices a thing. It's all very anti-climactic, honestly. The movies always make this part seem so exciting – car chases and shoot outs and etcetera. But they just walk right out the front door, completely invisible to the partiers still inside the house.

Jack leaves last, so he's only about a half block away when Charles finishes their little distraction off with a bang. They'd planned it all out – how to make it look like Eleanor had the upper hand in the breakup this time, so she wouldn't look too hard at the evening and link the theft back to Jack or Anne. How to make sure that Eleanor was left physically and emotionally satisfied enough that she never seeks Charles out for another night of fun. How to make her feel in charge and in control and like she's throwing Charles over, instead of them conning her.

And frankly, the bits Jack can hear are a masterstroke. Charles is pathetic and groveling in a way that is genuinely unappealing – but that apparently gets Eleanor's rocks off, because she's got the most self-satisfied fucking smirk on face, the one he imagines she wore the entire time Charles was in her bed. And Eleanor stands at the top of the stairs, framed by the open doorway, lauding her everything about herself over Charles as he begs her to take him back. Which she does not deign to do at all.

All the other party goers have gathered around to witness the carnage and Eleanor's not even pretending to feel sorry about making such a scene. This – this is what she's been looking for ever since Charles gave her the boot – coincidentally right before he went away on that two stretch. And she's milking her ability to get one over him in that same way for all it's fucking worth.

“We're done, Charles.”

She says it with the cold finality of a vault door swinging shut. And she sweeps back into the house, surrounded by the ranks of simpering sycophants. Leaving Charles curled into himself on the cold pavement.

#black sails #max/anne #jack/charles #fanfic #chapter 2 #i travel troubled oceans

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