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pennyserenade · 1 year

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IT’S NEVER OVER

pairing: dieter bravo x you, dieter bravo x reader rating: mature (no explicit sex but language and content is 18+ regardless) tags: fluff/comfort, some angst but just a little word count: 2.5k+ summary: dieter asks you to go to the opening night of his play and you do. for this he rewards you handsomely. a/n: this was the most fun i had writing in a very long time and i want to thank all of you who encouraged this in me. i love u & i hope you enjoy ex-husband dieter as much as i do <3

For most, divorce is definitive, final. It’s the last act that two people make as a couple, signing their names on a piece of paper that divides their lives the same way the marriage certificate connected them. If Dieter was any other man, it probably would’ve been that way for you, but Dieter is Dieter; he marches to the sound of his own drum.

You aren’t obligated to him, but sometimes he asks you to do things and you say yes like you are. Your five year marriage bore no children — a willful decision on both your parts — and you never felt it was fair to do something like get a dog, because even on the best days you knew you would’ve only done it to cope with being lonely in a relationship you shouldn’t be lonely in. So there’s no reason at all that you should still keep in touch with Dieter, but you do. Five years of marriage and three years of dating before that bonded you to him. You’re used to him. Comfortable. Maybe even achingly in love—but in a more platonic shade than before.

On Sunday of last week, he had asked you to attend the opening of his play and you had said that you would. He told you he’d set two tickets aside for you, in case you wanted to bring someone, but you didn’t. You can see the relief in his eyes as you make your way to him. The throng of actors that occupy the backstage area make it hard to get to him, as they all seem to want him, but the moment he sees you, he parts the sea of them for you with his own self. He meets you somewhere in the middle.

“You made it,” he says quietly, “I know you said you would but, you know….I don’t know.” He shrugs, smiling.

You kiss his cheek. “You did great tonight, kid.”

“God, I’m glad you came.” Dieter brings your body in for a hug and you let him, taking in his scent and feeling a wave of comfortable nostalgia. His voice betrays his anxiety and you hold onto him a bit longer than you should because you know he gets. Even after his best performances, he was always plagued with self doubt and worry. That’s why you came tonight.

‘We’re all so vain, actors. I can’t get over myself,’ he had told you once, on a night much like this one. And he was right, you came to find: Dieter really could not get over himself. But you don’t hate him for it anymore. He wears it anxiously tonight, that strain of vanity. It’s not like the bad times. You even feel the desire to hold his hand.

He lets go of you when a woman to the right — the girl who played his girlfriend in the play — taps him on the shoulder. She is a beautiful young woman, about ten years his junior. “Who’s this?” she asks him, smiling.

“My wife.” He responds. As soon as he says it, you get an idea of just what he’s been doing to prepare for this play of his. The woman tries not to let her face fall, but you know from experience that Dieter could make even Meryl Streep break character with his nonsense. You touch her arm and say, “I’m his ex-wife and you did a very good job tonight. I don’t make it to many plays anymore and it was a real pleasure to see this one.”

The woman relaxes visibly. “Thank you. I’m glad you liked the show. I was just coming to tell Dieter how lovely he did.”

Dieter stares at her like he doesn’t know what to do with her. This poor girl, you can sense how much she doesn’t understand him. He can’t get over himself, you want to tell her, just to assuage the fear you know too well. But then he smiles - a genuine smile - and he tells her he couldn’t have done it without her.

And it makes you mad, and then sad, and then unsure if you know him either. You don’t meet with Dieter often because this happens at least once every time; you think you know every bit of him and then some part of him has changed, been made better, and you wonder bitterly “Why couldn’t you have done that for me?”

Tonight it passes quickly. He touches the small of your back and brings you closer to him than to the woman he’s very obviously fucking. She sees this. You see her see it and you watch as he doesn’t get it all over again.

“I’ll see you later, then,” she manages, before disappearing back into the crowd of celebrating actors behind you.

Dieter watches her go, brows creased. He hums. “Hm.”

You click your tongue. “You ought to be ashamed.”

His dark eyes shift towards you. “I’m positively mortified. Trust me.”

“Good. You’ll apologize to her?”

“I’m in the habit of it these days. Better than I used to be.”

“I’m glad. You can be—“

He cuts you off, “A bit of an ass. I know. I get real neurotic on opening nights. I hate them.”

“Are you going to the after party?” You straighten the tie of his costume instinctively. You don’t get embarrassed by the act once you realize what you’re doing. Dieter doesn’t make you feel like you ought to be.

“Thank you,” he says, “But no. I know you don’t like those things and I wanted to see you tonight. Please don’t get mad but—“

“Dieter.” You scold him preemptively.

“—but I bought out the movie theater. That one we used to go to. I know you said doing things like that isn’t fair to you but you said that like, three years ago, and I promise I’m not trying to fuck you or anything. I mean, if you want, I’m not saying I wouldn’t but that’s not the purpose.” He pauses, then says, “Ignore that last part. I didn’t mean it that way. I wouldn’t have sex with you, but I wanted you to know that I still think you’re good looking and would if life had been different.”

He looks at you expectantly and you feel the will in you fall away. “What if I had a date?” you ask, ignoring his ramble for his own sake.

Dieter shrugs. “I guess I would’ve asked him if he—“ He watches your face “—or she? If they liked James Stewart.” Someone bumps into you, pushing closer, into Dieter. He grabs your shoulders to steady you. “Do they like James Stewart?” he asks.

You shrug him off, shaking your head. “I like James Stewart.”

“I know you do. Mr. Smith Goes To Washington.”

“That makes me cry.”

“I know it does. But that one’s your favorite.”

“But you like Rope better.”

“I like you and I wanted to do something for you.” When he says that, he looks ahead of you, at the people crowding around you. He’s avoiding eye contact, knows he shouldn’t have said it but he couldn’t help himself. You’re not angry with him. You pat his hand affectionately so he knows it.

“Thank you. Sometimes it’s nice to know I’m liked and remembered.”

He looks at you incredulously. “You’re kidding me.”

“Absolutely. I know you’re too fond of me and always will be. It gets me by.”

This makes him laugh. The sound of it makes you grin. “Let’s go.” Dieter tugs on your arm, nodding his head to the direction of his dressing room. “I’ll get undressed and we can head to the theater.”

You shake your head. “I’ll meet you by my car when you’re done.”

His eyebrow furrows, then he realizes. His face falls, and you know you’ve hurt him with the implication.

“I have no interest in hurting some girl tonight, Dieter. She’s bound to be watching and I’d rather save her a little bit of heartache than turn my back to the wall while you get undressed.”

He frowns, but nods his head. “You’re too good for me, you know? I wouldn’t make you turn your head, though. You've seen it before and I’d like to think it looks mostly the same.”

“I know I’m too good for you.”

He clicks his tongue this time. “Give her an inch and she takes a mile,” he says as he disappear through the crowd. You hear the joke in voice even if you can’t see his face.

You watch the back of him for a moment.

As you make your way to the car, you smile more genuinely than you have in a few days. Despite yourself, you love him immensely and you know he loves you too. It feels nice, even if you make a joke of it. He’s family to you. Not a husband, but a friend.

He was always such a good friend.

———

“Oh, kid.”

James Stewart’s young face, wasted away with exhaustion, and his voice hoarse from desperation, never fails to make you cry. He stands in front of his piles of fan mail and is so damned earnest in the face of evil, it makes you ache. Dieter used to think that this movie was too sentimental, but you wore him down over the years. He sniffles now too when it gets to this scene, but nothing like the pitiful sobs you let out.

He hands you a napkin and you wipe your eyes. You watch intently as Jimmy collapses onto the floor from pure exhaustion. You let out another sob the same time as Jean Arthur calls out to Jimmy. You hear Dieter’s soft laughter and you know you’re ridiculous, but you can’t help yourself. He knows this is how you get when you watch this.

“God, this movie.” You shake your head and wipe your nose.

You watch the rest of the movie in silence — or at least, without acknowledging your cries. When the movie ends and the soft hue of lights crowns over the empty theater, you turn to Dieter and sigh. He’s a little red in the eyes too, you note, but he looks at you in pure delight. There’s a fondness to it, though, so you let him live.

“I can’t believe you used to think that was too sentimental.” You shake your head, huffing, getting angry at this younger Dieter. “That was so—that was acting!”

He holds his hands up in defense. “I know! I don’t think that now, you know? I think it’s good.”

You scoff, still infuriated with the Dieter that had told you this was the worst of Jimmy’s works. “You said it was American propaganda!”

He laughs. “I was trying to sound clever. I was too serious of an actor at the time. I’m sorry for having committed that crime many, many moons ago.”

You shake your head, letting the last of your tears fall. “I’m heartbroken.”

Dieter laughs. “But it worked out in the end. I can’t understand why this movie breaks your heart.”

“Because he had to fight so hard.”

Dieter softens. “That’s right,” he tells you, handing another napkin over, “I forgot about that—about why it breaks your heart.”

“It’s silly but I can’t help it.”

“It’s not silly. I married you for things like that. I loved those things. I love them now. I couldn’t remember why I liked watching this with you so much until now, but that’s exactly it. Because he fights so hard it makes you cry.” He squeezes your hand and the casualness of those words hit you straight in the gut. You’re glad to already have cried violently because if you haven’t, you’re certain that would’ve made you.

“I’m gonna die, I’m so sad.”

“Do you want to get high? Will that help?”

You shrug, blowing your nose. “I haven’t in a long time.”

“I brought a pen.”

You debate it for a moment. “I shouldn’t.”

“Alright, but we’ve got this theater all night.”

“All night? I thought you just got it for this movie.”

He nods. “I did, but they don’t let you buy the whole movie theater out for just one showing. Not for me anyways, but I don’t care because I used to sneak into movies when I was younger here and this feels like a kind of karma.” That makes you laugh and he claps his hand. “The cloud is lifting. You’ll make it out alive after all.”

You lean back in the chair, wiping away the rest of your tears and most of your makeup. You sigh. “I care just like he does, don’t I?” You look at Dieter.

“It’s so human of you, don’t change it. Please.” He takes your hand in his. “I always wanted to tell you that, that you care just like that, but I knew you’d take it wrong when we were married. We used to fight all the time for really stupid reasons. But it’s different now.”

“We’re friends.” You look down at your linked hands.

“In a fashion, sure, but I like to think we’re more too.” You quirk your eyebrow. “Not like that—like lovers or whatever, but I don’t know. I know you get it too. You can probably explain it better than me.”

“Oh.” You smile and crinkle your nose. “We’re friends,” you repeat. This time he nods his head. “Yeah.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence. You sit with that knowledge.

“Thank you,” he says suddenly.

“For what?”

“For keeping me in your life. That was honorable of you. I don’t deserve it after the way I treated you during our marriage.”

You wave his words away. “Marriage brought out the very worst of us. This is the best of us. What we did to each other then, I don’t think it’s a reflection of who we are.”

“Yeah but I did the most damage. I know that. I left you alone a lot.”

The pad of your thumb rubs the back of his hand and you watch it as it does, as if you’re not in control of it. “Maybe you did. But it’s finished. We stopped that battle a long time ago and we’re in the clear now. You’re nicer, kinder.”

“I should’ve been all that then. I really loved you.”

“You really love me now. That’s enough for me.”

Dieter reflects. Then he says, “In another life, I’ll find you again and I’ll do it right.”

Giving him back his hand, you shake your head. “I think we’re doing just fine in this one. I think this is where we were meant to be. This is the kind of love that we do the best with.”

“You don’t miss it, the way we used to be?”

“God, all the time, but it was never like this.”

“I guess you’re right. We do get along better. I don’t feel like I disappoint you anymore.”

“You don’t. Tonight is the most fun I’ve had in weeks, and I even cried my eyes out.”

He smiles softly.

“You want to know something?” you ask him. He nods his head. “Nothing in the world makes me feel better than knowing you want me when I’ve got nothing to give you but my friendship. Men don’t want women like that.”

“I’ll always want to be your friend.”

“Then you will be,” you respond, “In the next life too. I promise.”

#dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #the bubble #dieter bravo #josé pedro balmaceda pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal

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anthurak · 8 months

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A little while ago, I floated an idea for a future-fic of Helluva Boss wherein Blitzo quits the assassin business and leaves I.M.P. in the hands of Loona. The funny thing is though, the more I’ve thought about it the more I’m starting to think this may be a very likely endpoint for Blitzo’s full arc and the show as a whole.

Because I think the show has already outlined or at least strongly hinted at what Blitzo’s murder-buisness really represents for him, and it might not be a good thing.

Remember this exchange all the way back in Loo Loo Land?

“Does anybody love you, BLITZO?”

“No. But I’m really good with guns now!”

Think about that for a minute. Blitzo matter-of-factly states that he believes no one loves him, but that’s okay because he’s good at killing people, ie; his job now. And taken in context with what we’ve learned about Blitzo since this episode, I think this line really paints a dark, depressing picture of Blitzo’s relationship with his work.

Because we know that under the surface, Blitzo craves emotional connection and intimacy. He is actually desperate to be loved. While at the same time being terrified of being hurt if he lets himself be open and vulnerable to another person.

Which of course brings us to what we learned in this latest episode: That Blitzo has been living with the guilt of accidentally maiming his best friend and outright killing his mother. Blitzo states outright in this episode that Fizzarolli should hate him for what he did, and very nearly admits that he hates himself for it too.

So taken together, I think we can safely say that Blitzo’s whole ‘badass hitman’ act and even his whole fixation on the assassination business may very well be part a coping mechanism. A way for him to bury his trauma, guilt and whatever other baggage he’s constantly on the run from. A way that he can say he doesn’t need love and intimacy because he gets all the fame and respect he needs by being this badass hitman.

And even more unsettling, Blitzo’s being a hitman could very well represent him INTERNALIZING his intense guilt and self-loathing. That Blitzo sees himself as a killer and a destroyer of lives because that’s what he did to HIS mother and family. We know that Blitzo tried to reach out to Fizz in the aftermath of the fire, but was blocked by some unnamed ‘they’, likely the other survivors of the circus and particularly Blitzo’s father, Cash. Imagine if they pushed Blitzo away, calling him a killer, of his own mother and everyone else who died in that fire. And Blitzo wound up just… accepting that moniker.

Also, does anyone else remember how in the first episode, I.M.P. took a job to kill a mother, who just so happened to have a son and daughter who look about the same age?

A killing which Blitzo was going to do with zero hesitation whatsoever? In hindsight, much like with Moxxie’s comments about ‘a mob family’ in the same episode, I can’t help but feel this might be giving us a hint at just how deep Blitzo’s repression and internalization of his guilt really runs.

As we dive further into Blitzo’s background and learn how he got into the hitman business, it’ll be interesting to see just how beneficial or outright toxic Blitzo’s hitman career path actually is for him? ie; Does Blitzo get something genuinely positive out of the assassination business? Or is it something actively blocking Blitzo from forming healthy relationships and facing his problems? For a potential contrast, look at Moxxie and Millie: Both seem to be in the assassination business because they like it and they’re good at it, but they don’t seem to have based their lives around it like Blitzo seems to have.

Which brings us back to my original concept: We may reach a point eventually in the show where Blitzo has to give up the assassination business for his own good. Let go of this fixation he has on the whole ‘badass hitman’ persona in order to face his real problems and move on with his life.

But instead of dissolving his company outright, Blitzo instead passes leadership/ownership of the company onto someone else. Hence my idea of Loona, after her own personal arc over the course of the show, inheriting the company.

#helluva boss #helluva boss analysis #helluva boss theory #helluva blitzo #character analysis #blitzo is DEEPLY messed up

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whiskeynwriting · 9 months

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Pretty Boy

John “Soap” McTavish x Scottish!Female Reader

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Word Count: 8.1k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Alcohol consumption, size kink for SURE, oral sex (f receiving, brief mention of m receiving), squirting, PDA, fluffiessss, aftercare, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, some hair pulling (baby boy receiving), biting/marking, possessive Johnny (BABY)

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A/N: Johnny is younger here and early in his military life, maybe two-ish years 🥰 There’s also some Scottish Gaelic in here! As always, with the translations (:

Thank you @thesleepingmusicneek for beta-reading once again 😊

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It’s comforting, coming here, especially under the pretense of genuine fun. No longer visiting just to drink away your worries, indulging to simply forget. No, the first six months were filled with that, and afterwards, you’d had enough. You needed to live.

Pushing yourself to be active within your town’s nightlife was difficult at first. Before he left, there wasn’t a night where you’d make an appearance here without him. That extroverted energy was so abundant that it flowed to you, too. But being here alone is nice, it’s new, and serves as a fairly decent distraction. It’s also helped you cope with meeting new people, friends and those with the possibility of being something more. You’ve yet to entertain that idea yet, though, the… something more. That, you still couldn’t get past.

“Hey, love! Drinking tonight?”

“Why else would I be here?” Returning with your own question, the bartender grins.

With a shrug, Duncan responds, “Could be my good looks.”

“Yeah, yer bum’s oot the windae.” In short, yeah right. He often made you laugh, always being one to joke. “I’ll have some Scotch.” And just as he walks away, you specify, “Speyside.”

The atmosphere is lively tonight, as it often was on a Friday. In this particular pub, the lights dimmed when night rolled around, offering a moody ambiance. The music didn’t slow, though, the band only continued the same spirited songs. Here, you felt welcomed, you felt like you belonged. Surrounded by your heritage, traditional tunes and familiar faces, tart liquor and raucous voices. Smiling and conversing with your friends came easy, the small town allowing you to know just about everybody in the vicinity.

Friends from secondary school were enough of a distraction, pulling you aside for shots and dances. Even strangers made their way into your groups, becoming kin by the night’s end.

“His name’s Alex!”

Glancing over at the red-haired man, you force a smile on your lips. “Good to know.”

“He’s fancied you for a while, ya know.”

“Yeah, I know…” It couldn’t be more obvious, and neither could your disinterest.

The mere thought of fucking another man was honestly repulsing to you. And sure, you don’t have to fuck him, but that’s certainly where any night with Alex will head. Besides, you’re still so used to him, your Johnny. It hasn’t even been that long since you last had him. Longer than usual, but short enough to still remember.

“I’m gonna, uh…” Eyes darting to the side, you gulp. “Go to the bathroom.”

She feels bad, your friend, knowing she pressured you a bit. But she can’t help it, she just wants you to get over him. And everyone here agrees. There’s little chance of him coming back, you should just get used to that. And maybe you will, in your own time.

With slow steps, you take your time getting to the washroom, trying your best to keep your spirits light. It’s a night out, after all, this should be fun. And it was before that eejit came along to ruin it. He didn’t even do anything but he honestly doesn’t have to. He’s made enough unwelcome advances to deter you.

Just as you’re beginning to dwell in your sadness, you pass by the wall of polaroids lining this short hallway. It was Duncan’s idea, taking photos of all the regular patrons. Instantly, you’re drawn toward the picture of both you and him, that night a memory you still hold dearly to your chest. The pair of you look like absolute fools, you’re surprised you remember anything from that night.

“Now, right now!”

Your ribs ached from laughter as he pulled you in his direction, stumbling over your own feet like a little baby.

“Wait!” A hiccup popped from your throat, which made Johnny snicker. “I’m fair puckled!” Holding your stomach, you took in a few lungfuls of air, regaining your breath. But Johnny didn’t care.

“C’mon, bonnie.” He insisted, hauling an arm around your shoulder.

With your chuckles subsiding, you stood beside him, posing for Duncan to take your picture. Reaching down, Johnny grabbed your jaw with his dominant hand, pinching your cheeks and bringing your head closer to him. Your hands clinged to his side as he placed a sloppy kiss to your cheek, and that’s just when the photo was taken. Johnny all over you, pressing his lips to your face while your eyes pinched shut with a happy grin.

“My sweet bonnie.” He always said.

After your trip, you return to the bar, sick and tired of dancing and interacting. Inside, you’re not sure how to feel. The memories you have of Johnny are bittersweet. So much love and friendship, for all of it to dissipate into simply… nothing. Or at least, that’s what your friends would have you believe.

“Two glasses of Scotch, Dunc.”

As soon as that voice hits the air, your eyes widen, instantly flashing over to Duncan’s. While towel-drying one of the bsr’s glasses, he grins, giving you a knowing nod.

“Speyside.” The voice then specifies, finally prompting you to turn your head.

And standing beside you, leaning against the bar’s edge, is a taller, broad man. Arms lined with tan and sculpted muscles, smile bright and blue eyes even brighter. But the part that stands out the most, the part that makes him… him, is that longer stripe of hair running across the top of his head.

“Johnny!” Squealing his name, you throw yourself into his arms, already open and waiting.

“Bonnie,” That deep chuckle vibrates through his chest and into your own, smile growing evermore. The familiar scent of sweet patchouli wafts from his body, chiseled muscles holding you against his chest. Your entire body tenses with excitement, butterflies erupting in your belly when he tucks his head into your neck - he still loves me.

“You’re back.” Your tone wavers a bit as you say it, feeling his nose nuzzle lightly against your skin. Lifting your hand, your fingers brush through the longer air at the nape of his neck, standing on your tip-toes to fully encircle your arms around him. His body feels firm, sturdy and muscular, even more so than before.

“Yeah,” He says with a soft voice, rubbing your back fondly. “Few months late, but who’s countin’?”

Leaning back, you scoff, giving his hardened chest a little smack. “Me.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Johnny quips, rolling his eyes as he pulls you back in. “All in the past. I’m home now, baby.”

With the way you’re speaking to each other, you’d think you were still together. But that’s not how things are, not anymore. Not… officially. But with him returning home every six months, you’d come to expect these “surprise” arrivals.

“I was starting to think you’d never come back.” Admitting quietly, you release a contented breath. This time around, six months turned to ten, and your hopes were quickly deflated. And the advice and comments of your friends didn’t help.

“Hey,” He chastises lightly, frowning. “Don’t give up on me that easily.”

Sliding the glasses onto the bartop, Duncan pushes one toward you, and one toward him. With stars in your eyes, you watch Johnny lift the glass, Adam’s apple bobbing as he takes a swig. His biceps flex slightly as he lifts and lowers the cup, the gray fabric around his midsection hugging him tightly. The way his dark jeans tighten around his hips and ass also draws your attention, already obsessed with him all over again. And that mohawk, that signature look all gelled up and styled. A fairly new hairdo he’s kept for nearly a year now, and you’d be lying to say you don’t fancy it.

Taking a seat beside you at the bar, Johnny converses with Duncan, catching up with his old friend. And Lord, all you can do is stare; how you missed him. Even after so many months apart, you find him captivating - that dazzling smile, those beautiful, bright blue eyes. How could one man be so goddamn handsome? So pretty?

“Been keeping after her while I’m gone, Dunc?” Johnny quips, eyeing you from the side.

“Aye,” He nods, chuckling. “She’s been sendin’ all the boys home with their tails between their legs.”

“Ohh,” Fully turning toward you, he raises his brows. “Have you now?”

The boy's small compliments make a light heat warm your cheeks, and Johnny can tell. Reaching out, he taps your chin, giving you a small wink.

“Can’t blame them for tryin’ though, can I? Still just as beautiful, lass…” Leaning forward, he smooths his dominant hand over the top of your thigh, adding in with a quieter tone, “And just as fit.”

Your jaw drops into a wide grin, scoffing. “John Malcolm.” Scolding him playfully, you reach out, tapping the bulging muscle of his arm. And you suddenly find yourself wishing to touch it, hold his arm and squeeze it.

Duncan leaves the two of you be, knowing how long you’ve waited for this. He’s honestly the only one that still held out hope. The rest of your friends take account of Johnny’s presence, choosing to stay to themselves, as well. Looks like they were proven wrong.

“So, is life better in the military?” There’s a bit of humor in your voice, and a dash of flirtation on your lips. And while you try to make yourself seem confident and enticing, the fact that his hand still hasn’t moved from your thigh has you melting.

He shrugs, smiling. “I think so, yeah. Still missin’ you, though, lass.”

“Yeah, sure.” Looking back down at your glass, the warmth in your cheeks has now spread to your ears and neck. You hope he’s telling the truth. “What’s your rank now?”

“Corporal.” Pride positively blooms within him, happy that you asked. “Hoping to rise to Sergeant.”

“Impressive.” Tilting your head, you offer him a cheeky expression, eyeing him up and down.

“Still like what you see?” Johnny teases, fingers stroking the fabric of your jeans.

“Very much so.” It’s like every time he came home, he was that much bigger, that much stronger. It might sound silly, maybe even primitive, but Johnny seemed like such a man now. You’ve seen him grow since primary school, nearly your entire childhood spent together. And to see how he’s grown, it’s not only impressive, it’s wildly attractive.

There’s nothing more Johnny missed from civilian life than you, and that’s the truth. But when he was on base and training, he didn’t have much time to think about you. Mainly, these thoughts came into his mind at night, when he was lonely, or horny. A lot of the time, both.

Round after round, Johnny pays for your drinks, not letting you out of his sight. He’s scooted his seat closer to yours to where your legs are touching, his hand still on your thigh. Every now and then, he’s squeezing it, movements becoming firmer and firmer until he’s leaning in toward your cheek. Sloppily, he kisses your skin, pressing his lips into the plumpness of your cute cheek while grinning. He’s just so in love with you, and he doesn’t even know it.

“Johnny,” Laughing, your body tingles with happiness.

“Wha?” He questions, not backing away even a single inch. “Not want me to? Got some other lad’s eyes on you?”

“Fuck no.” Instantly, you’re turning your head to face him. “Only you.”

Those azure eyes flutter between your own eager orbs and your slightly parted lips, allowing your hands to lift to his face and bring him in. Familiar lips meet in the middle, pressing fondly together, one warm hand rising to your cheek as he moves with your kiss. This is so easy, comforting. There’s excitement to it for sure, but nothing entirely new. You’re falling into him, into his endless embrace.

“Missed you,” He whispers, mouthing at you. “Thought about you.”

At this point, you’re not even worried about anyone else seeing your overt public displays of affection. You kiss him like it’s an addiction, tongue slipping across his lower lip when you hear his sweet admission.

There’s something about you that lights a fire in his depths. He knows who you are, just as stunning on the inside as you are on the out. Not only are you a pretty little thing, with gorgeous hair and a smile that could kill, but you’re sexy as all hell, too. You’re the hottest fucking thing he’s ever seen, even throughout his teen years, his life in the military, he’s never met anyone that even compares. And he can’t get enough of you, can’t believe you fell for him, too.

He’s not sure when he’ll tell you, if he’ll tell you, but he keeps a small booklet of pictures with you in it. No longer than a day or so goes by without him looking at it, and he’s thrilled to see that the real image is still better than the photos. At times, while laying in his cot at night, he wonders if someone else has finally gotten a hold of you, has finally swooped in and taken advantage of his absence. And clearly, others have tried, but you haven’t let them. They're not him.

Swallowing, you take in a short breath, eager to ask him your usual question. “Are you spending the night?”

Just like always, he responds with, “Wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.”

By the time your feet are hitting the pavement, it’s late, the night growing chilly. But you can barely feel it, what with the energy rolling through your body. And the heat from Johnny’s hand only comforts you further, palm dwarfing your own with thick fingers wrapping around your much smaller ones.

“You been lonesome while I’m gone?” His tone hints at a bit of sarcasm, but you know there’s genuine curiosity behind it.

“Mostly.” And when he hears the sincerity in your voice, he’s pulling his hand away from yours and looping that same arm around your shoulders. Here, he pulls you in, giving the side of your head a kiss.

“I’m here, now.”

“Only for a little bit.” You grumble in response, only slightly tipsy. Maybe more.

Johnny’s quiet for a moment, sighing. “Don’t worry about that.” He’ll talk to you about it later.

Glancing over at you, he peers down, his height giving him quite the advantage when looking down your already low shirt. Your cleavage damn near makes him drool, forcing a rush of blood to the sensitive space beneath his pants. And he thinks he’s being sly about it until you look up with a smirk.

“Still fancy me that much, Johnny?” Again, you’re trying to act cocky, display your confidence to him. But on the inside, you’re burning up. All you want is for him to compliment and praise you, make you feel small and warm beneath him, just like he used to. And he knows that.

Turning, Johnny pushes himself against you, leading you backward into one of the side alleys along the street. It takes your breath away, a small gasp puffing past your lips when your back hits the brick. With his hands falling to your outer arms, Johnny releases a heavy breath, head ducking down toward your mouth. Meeting him halfway, you tilt your chin up, feeling the crash of his lips. One of those broad palms finds its way to your jaw, holding you in place while he licks over your lips. His movements are much more passionate than before, back when he kissed you in the bar. It feels hurried and heated, like he needed you right here and now.

“Of course I do.” He says between breaths, mouth opening to slide against your own.

His lips are soft and smooth, the taste of his tongue sweet like candy. And these sloppy kisses are John’s forte, all tongue and spit and it’s all so familiar to you. Heart jumping against your ribs, you feel Johnny’s free hand find your chest, softly massaging your tits.

“John,” Exhaling airily, you reach up with both hands, sliding them over his wide shoulders.

“Wearin’ such a low shirt, lass.” He whispers into your ear, lips brushing against the skin.

It makes you feel vulnerable, the way his hand sneaks beneath the fabric, brushing your shirt up just a pinch within the alley’s darkness. Here, he cups you over your bra, fingers massaging you firmly.

“Missed these.” Mouthing at your neck, he hears you whine when his teeth drag across the crux of it, tongue laving over the hot skin. And he makes his own strangled noise when your nails dig into the back of his neck.

“You’re so much bigger…” Whispering as if you’d be heard, you mumble against his lips, fingers reaching for the longer hair at the nape of his neck.

“Yeah?” That surely strokes his ego, pretty grin shining in the moonlight.

“Mhm,” Nodding, you bring him in again, laying your tongue out into his mouth.

“Christ,” He shivers, bicep bulging as his hand cups your face. “Let’s get you home.”

Dizzily, you stumble after him, feeling the firm pull of his hand in yours once again. With a lovesick grin on your face, you let Johnny lead you back to your flat. And the rest of the walk is easy enough, only being a few more blocks.

With a smirk, his hand slides into the back pocket of your jeans, fishing out your keys. Unlocking your door, his hand on your lower back guides you inside, shutting it in an instant. With already half-lidded eyes, he turns to you, licking his lower lip and reaching for you again. This time, your back meets the wall with a much softer embrace, Johnny’s arms looping around your midsection. Hands lowering, he finds the curves of your perfect backside, squeezing you gently while his lips return to you.

Here, in the comfort of your home, John begins to consume you, soft and slow. With one, passionate grab on your ass, he’s moaning, hot breath washing over your features. Trailing your fingers up, they tangle into the strands near the back of his neck, and he groans. Your nails scratch lightly over his skin, fingers pulling gently on his hair.

“Yeah…” Johnny’s liquor-soaked tongue continues to refamiliarize itself with your own, mouthing at you with sloppy licks and sucks. “Miss your fingers on me.”

“Miss feeling you, baby.” It’s like he gets more fit every time you see him, muscles expanding, body growing. His firm chest and stomach, strong back and arms, and that pretty face. “Johnny,”

Before you can speak any further, the hand not on your face falls to your jeans, cupping you eagerly. It forces a gasp from your mouth, immediately swallowed by him.

“Wanna taste you, bonnie.”

“Ugh,” Rolling your eyes up, your head falls back onto the wall as he begins sliding down. You were wondering when he’d ask.

This, in your opinion, is what he was best at. Sex with Johnny was always intense, passionate and heated, whether it was slow or fast. But using his mouth, that’s definitely his most valuable weapon.

Thick fingers undo the button on your jeans, opening your zipper to reveal your purple, cotton panties. And he moans audibly, fully settling on his knees so he can lean in to kiss them. Soft lips press to your covered mound, your hands falling naturally to his head.

“Sweetest taste,” He mumbles, mouthing at the fabric and pushing your jeans down to your ankles. Hooking his fingers into the hemline of your panties, you feel his tongue lave over the fabric, just barely separated from him.

“Johnny… please.”

He doesn’t listen, nor does he respond; he’s going at his own pace.

The humid fan of Johnny’s breath wafts across your smooth skin, pooling your panties on the ground, just above your jeans. Tilting your head down, you become still, waiting for his movement. With your fingers sifting through the longer stripe of hair at the top of his head, he leans in, sticking his tongue out and running it up your seam to poke teasingly at the peak of your sex.

“B-Baby,”

The excitement that shoots through your body is addicting, feeling him lick tenderly at the crease between your outer lips, tongue diving deeper with every stroke. He can’t fully get to you from this angle, not in the way he wants to, but he likes this. The teasing nature of it is getting him harder than ever, tip already leaking in his pants. So, he licks into you, fingers pressing into your thighs as he begins to pull them apart. Well, as much as he can while your feet are still trapped in your pants.

“John…” Already fisting his mohawk, you wiggle your feet, trying to ask him to take them off the rest of the way.

Hurriedly, he gives in, breaths heavy and fast as he removes your shoes, jeans, and panties from your feet. Quickly tossing them further behind his knelt form, he returns, forcing one of your legs up onto his shoulder. The strength behind his movements has you inhaling sharply, your calf draping down his back as he moves in. Instantly, he’s stuffing his tongue inside, licking directly into your channel. The way his tongue strokes you is languid, firm, caressing your inner skin fondly.

The feeling of being exposed in your own home is foreign to you, your legs open wide for him in the middle of your entryway. But you’re getting used to this again, used to him.

Flattening his tongue, he rubs it up your lips until he reaches your clit, the talented muscle swirling around it. Pausing, Johnny takes a beat to suck two fingers into his mouth before prodding the tips of them at your center.

“Yes,” Shoving your hips toward him, the back of your head hits the wall again, pulling him in by his pretty brown hair.

Smoothly, his fingers sink into you, your soldier moaning from the sting of your fingers and nails. From the moment he got his mouth on you, his receptive buds tingled from your taste. How he fucking missed it. He’d reminisce on these moments back on base, mouth watering from the memory of your taste. It made him drool, saliva currently pooling from the corners of his mouth. Sloppily, it runs down his chin, listening to the wet squelch of your cunt as it sucks his fingers in again and again. He pumps them into you steadily, beginning to curl them when hitting deep.

Lowering his tongue, he laps at your wet folds before returning to suck your engorged clitoris into his mouth. He suckles on it, whimpering softly when you buck your hips against him. With his free hand, he urges you on, cupping and squeezing your ass to push you further toward him.

“Oh my god, yes.” Rolling your hips, you grind yourself down onto his face, feeling his short stubble scratch along the insides of your thighs.

He lets you ride his face, rutting over his mouth like it’s the last time you’ll ever get the chance to. Continuing to mouth at your juicy pleasure center, Johnny moans roughly against you, listening to your own wanton breaths.

While prodding at your core, he hits something special, shooting euphoria throughout your entire body. It forces your pelvis forward, body chasing its high. You can feel it rising, the heat coiling in your belly.

“Bleedin’ Jesus,” Johnny exhales, eyes closed as he devours you. “Dripping on my face, lass.”

“Johnny,” Whining above his kneeling form makes him grin, a low groan emanating from his chest.

“Give it to me,” He suddenly demands, voice lower and more authoritative. “Right in my mouth.”

His words have you quivering, stomach muscles convulsing as you curl down toward him. A shrill gasp spills from your mouth, watching those dazzling azure eyes open to stare up at you from between your legs. Punching his fingers into your cunt, the hot air of his moans floats directly over you, soaking into your skin. And then he’s opening his mouth, just as you begin to gush.

“John,” Your hips flinch from the force of it, Johnny’s free hand holding you up against the wall. His hand grips your waist, fingers bruising your skin.

Pleasure bursts through your body, shivering from your hips all the way up to your chest. And he holds you through it, through every twitch and quiver, through every high whine and tiny whimper. And Johnny just adores the way you hold onto him, fisting his hair while you ride out your high on his handsome face.

Johnny’s mouth remains open against your cunt, fingers slowing their pace as he swallows down your cum. Breath escaping him, he gives in to the incredible pulse below his belt, hips jerking ever so slightly. Dragging his fingers from your center, he drops his shoulder, allowing your leg to slide off of him. And then he’s standing, pressing his body against you before grabbing onto your face. In a much hungrier pace than before, he kisses you, holding the hinge of your jaw open and moaning when you let him lick inside.

Still dizzy from your high, you can just barely make out the wetness on his skin, your slick covering his lips and chin and cheeks. The taste of your release lingers on his tongue, lips sloppy as he swaps his spit with your own.

Something about Johnny coming home to have the sweetest, nastiest sex of his life just felt invigorating to you. Every time, it’s just as good as the last, if not even better.

“Fuck me,” That thick, deep voice, it gets you every time.

In the heat of it all, Johnny’s hands are lowering to your thighs, lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his toned waist. Clinging to the sturdiness of his body, you hold his beautiful face, bringing his mouth back to you while he begins rolling his hips between your legs. Johnny’s moans, soft and sweet, a genuine melody, flow freely into the surrounding air while he grinds against you. He lets you lead the kiss, focusing on himself for just a minute. The wetness from your cunt wets the front of his pants, girth twitching beneath its confines. Desperately, he rubs himself against you, head lowering to rest against your neck. From the noises he’s making, the intense grunts and groans, you’d think he was fully fucking you.

“Johnny, baby,” You can feel him throbbing against your naked skin, and you want him. “Please.”

Allowing your entire weight to fall onto him, he picks you up from the wall, turning to stride toward your bedroom. Nothing about your flat has changed, not a single detail amiss since he last saw it. At times, he thinks of this place as his own home. Sure, he visits family, his mom, his sisters, but this is where he stays. Here, with you.

Kicking your door the rest of the way open, he walks inside, mouthing along the slope of your neck. He listens to your girlish sigh as he lays you on your bed, lifting your shirt off in the process. And you expect him to lay over you, return his attention to you, but he doesn’t. Standing at his full height, Johnny rips off his shirt before those strong hands fall to his zipper and belt.

Left in only your bra, you watch him, lifting yourself up onto your forearms to lean back against them. In his hurry, he doesn’t see your wanting stare. But upon realization of it, he grins.

“Look any different from the last time?” He asks, cocky as ever.

“Always.” Reaching out, you lay a hand across his abdomen, more defined than it was almost a year ago.

Johnny’s abs made your mouth fucking water, his toned muscles and firm pecs. And his v-line, fuck did that get you going. Hair scatters his entire abdomen and it just makes you want to lick him. He’s so well-built, so pretty and fit. He’s just so perfect.

Sitting upright, you lean in, hands falling to his sides as your lips find his skin. Warm and smooth beneath your mouth, you kiss him, tongue laying out to lick along the lines of definition.

“Christ, I missed you.” Shaking his head, he runs a hand over your hair, admiring you.

He hadn’t finished undoing his pants, so you take up the task yourself. His belt is easy enough, granting you access to his zipper. Sliding it down, you’re greeted with navy blue boxers, the front dampened from his excitement.

“You want it?” Johnny whispers, staring down at you with lidded eyes, petting your hair.

Your answer comes in the form of your next action, pulling him gently from his boxers. In your hand, he’s warm, thick and heavy. A glistening drop of precum falls from his tip, your thumb catching it before rubbing over his sensitive skin.

“Later,” He then decides, licking his lower lip with a swallow. “You can spoil me tomorrow.”

“What if I want to now?” Your voice is tender and sweet, eyes peeking up at him.

“You don’t have a choice.” Grinning widely, he dips down toward you, taking your chin in his hand.

Rising with his gentle tug, you return to your feet, leaning up into his kiss. Pressing into you, Johnny pushes your body onto the bed, lips never leaving. Easily, his hands slide around your back, undoing the clips of your bra while he moves to mouth at your neck.

“Let me see ‘em,” He whispers, dragging the edge of his teeth over your collarbone.

He drags the straps down your arms, discarding the last piece of clothing carelessly onto the floor. Your room is dark, the light switches empty of touch. But Johnny can still see you, the streetlamp outside your window illuminating his view.

While caressing your waist with those strong, calloused hands, Johnny stares at your chest. That warm tongue makes a home for itself between your breasts, licking up the sweet valley of your cleavage. Breathing steadily, you let him enjoy you like this, indulging in you all over again. Turning his head, he sucks on the slopes of them, teasing his tongue around your nipple until you whine.

“Baby, come oonnn.”

With a smirk, he’s wrapping his lips around one of your pebbled peaks, smooshing his face against your soft flesh. He sucks on you tenderly, lips moving in little, pulsing motions. Every now and then, his tongue will come out, laying flat against you. And the best thing about this, were the sounds he made. Boyish moans fall from his lips as he continues, completely losing himself in this.

Slowly, your legs wrap around his naked waist, warm and firm against your thighs as you pull him further in. The second you feel the weight of him hit your inner thigh, you’re releasing an airy gasp, feeling his shaft slide between your exposed lips.

“Oh, Christ…” Dropping his forehead down, he rests it against the center of your chest. Nestled between your velvety folds, he twitches, stomach muscles tightening with excitement.

With careful motions, he moves his hips, sliding himself against your entrance but not yet diving in. His stiffened length prompts your body’s aroused reaction, wetness coating his shaft while the noise of it spills into the room. Back and forth, his hips sway, listening to your timid breaths, your gorgeous body shuddering every time he runs over the peak of your sex.

“I just wanna lose myself in you…” Johnny whispers into the darkness fondly, tip catching at your entrance.

While your breasts offer him a comfortable resting place, he wants to be closer to you, closer to that pretty face. So, he lifts his head, pressing his hairline against your temple as he begins to slide in. Smooth and slow, he breaches you, one of your arms looping around his neck for support while your other hand grabs at his bicep. In unison, your lips part, moans slipping between the nonexistent space between the two of you.

The stretch is gentle, welcoming. There’s just something so specific about this, about the way you open up for him, the way your sex overtly accepts him. You welcome him in like you’ve been waiting for this very moment since the last time he left, which isn’t far from the truth.

Burying himself entirely in your tight heat, he throbs forcefully, uncontrollably. Once his pelvis meets your own, spreading your legs even further around him, your fingers find his hair once again. Running your digits through that feathery stripe of hair makes him sigh, a happy smile blooming right beside your cheek.

“Mm…” Johnny hums pleasantly, nose rubbing against you ever so gently. He could be so sweet, he was always sweet.

The hairs at his base scratch kindly at your delicate skin, your very center fluttering from the contact. Pressing further between your legs, John grinds himself into you, kissing your cheek while you adjust to his size. You’ve taken him countless times and still, his girth always seemed to surprise you. Even more satisfying was his length, never ceasing to hit the deepest parts of you.

“You always feel so good, mo leannan…” You’re whispering to him, the Gaelic words making his heart beat with overwhelming affection. (My sweetheart)

“I come back for you,” He suddenly says, huffing out a harsh breath. “Every time, it’s for you.”

When he says this, he begins to move, creating a steady yet languid pace. Upon his first reentry, he groans openly into your ear, that deep voice creating the loveliest sounds. Johnny’s moans were always so beautiful, not too rushed or frantic, but smooth and deep.

Lovingly, his head ducks down to your neck, reveling in the way you hold onto him. One of the things Johnny enjoys most about sex is the closeness, the body heat. The hand you had on his bicep loops beneath his arm, scratching slightly at his back while your other arm stays wrapped around his neck. You can feel every bit of him this way, every flexing muscle, every firm plane of skin.

“Jesus,” Your lover grunts, left hand sliding up the mattress to hold the back of your head.

Hot and clenching, you pull him in, stroke after stroke. And it’s killing him. You feel ethereal, like everything he needs, everything he’s been missing.

Hitting a particularly sensitive spot, you cry out a bit louder for him, soft moans turning into high whines and little whimpers. Fingernails dig into his sculpted back, feeling Johnny angle his hips just right.

“Yeah, right there…” Mumbling into your neck, he mouths at you, wrapping his right arm around your lower back. Here, he lifts your hips, encouraging you to meet his thrusts. And you instantly do.

With one arm holding your back, and the other beneath your head, he keeps you close to him, chests pressing together, stomach rubbing against the other’s. Already, he feels flush, panting and moaning from the way your entire body squeezes him, especially when your ankles hook around his lower back. That turns him wild, fucking himself into you like he’ll never get the chance to again, pressing his lips to your cheek before moving his head to find your lips.

“J-John, baby…” The small whimpers slipping past your lips prompts a certain cluster of emotions to form within him. You’re so special to him, so sweet and delicate, his perfect lass. And all at once, regret swirls inside his gut, regret for leaving you, for not taking care of you. He wants to, wants to give you everything he can, and he hasn’t been doing that.

Thrusting into you without abandon forces the breath from his lungs, breathing into your space, feeling your own wafts of warm air. Your kisses are passionate, gasps falling into the other’s mouth while your tongues dance together in messy patterns. It’s intoxicating, this feeling with him, the sensation you create when together.

Strong hips continue to pump his swollen length into you, head hitting the deepest parts of your being, shaft keeping you spread.

“Don’t, don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.” The way you sound, it’s everything he’s dreamed of since being gone.

“Beautiful fuckin’ thing,” He suddenly huffs, shaking his head. His eyes don’t open as he speaks, entirely lost in the feeling of you. “Mine, always mine. No matter where I go, how long it’s been…”

“Johnny…” There hasn’t been a moment during his past visits where he’s admitted something like this. It was too hard to admit while he was constantly away. You both agreed to part ways, ending your “official” relationship. And even though he always returns to you, it’s never prompted a continuation of what you once had.

Before you can register what’s happening, he’s pulling out of you and planting his hands on your hips. Flipping you onto your stomach, he slides back in, earning a shrill gasp from your end. With his hands flat on the bed, his hips bounce against your ass, breaths punching from his chest. Something comes over him, he can feel it and you can, too. Leaning down, Johnny’s mouth finds your skin, biting at your back. What first appears as gentle nips turn into mouthfuls of skin, digging his teeth in hard enough to leave marks - you’re his. The subtle sting, the rush of adrenaline it creates, it’s overwhelming. From this angle, he feels even bigger than before, the slap of his pelvis against your backside ringing throughout your bedroom. Leaning further in, Johnny kisses along your shoulder and neck, your skin wet from him and your own sweat. And then his dominant hand is sliding across your hip, lowering to grab a fistful of your ass.

Caressing his forehead against the back of your neck, he whispers, “Bonnie bell,” Entirely out of breath, Johnny admits again, “I missed you.”

Reaching around, you fist the hair along the back of his head, dry moans scratching their way through your throat. Shakily, you respond, “I n-need you.”

“You have me,” He’s confident in promising this to you. “You have me, baby.”

The sweet moment fades when you feel him throb against your inner walls, shoving your face down into the pillows as you whimper for him.

“So fuckin’ wet…” John whispers, eyes closed as he begins to feel that dull heat rise within his depths.

“Will you cum? Inside me?” He can barely hear you, your voice muffled by the pillows. But he answers anyway.

“Wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.”

As soon as you ask, he feels it hit him, that powerful wave of pleasure. It wreaks havoc on Johnny’s body, convulsing above you as he drops to your back. His hips twitch from pleasure, shaking with every milky rope that spurts from him. And once his chest hits your back, he’s wrapping his arms around you again, pulling you impossibly close, clinging to you in an almost painfully tight embrace.

Your fingers massage his head sweetly, stroking through his hair kindly. His mouth falls openly against your neck, soft and damp. John’s body is hot above your own, his warmth leaking into you with every one of his euphoric moans. He feels the pleasure of it fill every limb, every vein; this type of high, it’s nowhere else he can find.

It’s ages before he’s pulling out, allowing himself to soften inside your sickeningly sweet pussy. His mouth drags across the entirety of your neck, your shoulders and back, releasing soft moans as he displays his adoration for you. Dropping to your backside, he mouths at it, finally able to worship his most adored feature on you. With both hands, he grabs you, massages you and pulls you apart while licking up the curves. Johnny sucks his mark onto you, planting a deep bruise. And while it’s erotic, it’s sensual, too. Deeply sweet in his own way.

“Mo ghrádh…” A jolt thrums throughout your chest when you hear him speak these simple words. My love.

“You stay.” He then says to you softly, turning to leave the room. And you know exactly what he’s doing. And when he’s back, he’s instructing gently, “Up.”

Smiling, you lift your hips for him, feeling the cool wipe of a cloth between your legs. Every time, without fail, he’d clean you, show his gratitude in this way. And while he knew you went to the bathroom after you two were done, he still wanted to do this for you. Even while you were busy doing that, he took your water bottle from your nightstand, filling it before putting it back. He just wants to make you comfortable, wants you to know you’re cared for. And by the time you came back, you were met with the sight of your Johnny baby, your pretty boy, all cuddled up in your bed.

“C’mere,” He calls quietly, a sleepy smile on his lips as he lifts the covers.

Hopping eagerly into bed, you cuddle happily within the embrace of Johnny’s strong arms. Wrapping around you, he pulls you in, allowing you to relax against his chest. You always snuggled this way, facing each other, heads resting against the other’s as you dozed off together. And he finds himself feeling the most at peace this way, in these moments. There wasn’t a time he felt closer to you.

It was something he always liked, something that made him smile and giggle. The way your hands caressed his head, fingers sliding up through his tall strands as you styled them, it just made him so happy. With his new profession, Johnny felt the need to be serious almost constantly. He had an image to uphold, after all. He’s the best at what he does, and is only continuing to sharpen his skills. But with you, he could let go. He could be himself again. And the real Johnny, he was goofy. He was silly and sweet, curious about the world with a childlike innocence that made your heart flutter with emotion.

“I’ve heard this one so many times.” Whispering, your smile forms fondly in the early morning light.

Raking your fingers through Johnny’s hair, you pause to scoop a bit more gel from the jar, styling his mohawk. Sitting comfortably on his lap, Johnny rests back against the headboard of your bed, watching you work with a sleepy grin. Both of those kind hands run up and down your thighs, squeezing you every now and then.

“It’s one of my favorites.” He says, replying to your comment about the song he’d put on.

Just inches from his beautiful face, you feel the breath of his words form along your lips; prompting you to ask kindly, “Doesn’t it get boring, though? Listening to the same songs over and over again?”

“Nah,” He grins, shaking his head but stopping when you frown at him, your fingers stilling in his longer locks. “All the best ones remind me of you.”

“Johnny,” You reply, touched by his admission. But he just shrugs.

“I see you in all my favorite songs.”

He’d woken up beside you this morning, limbs tangled with yours, the taste of your cunt still on his tongue. And he reveled in that, the sensation nurturing his already rising erection, the one that rose nearly every morning. But most important about this morning, was the fact that he gets to spend it with you.

Since highschool, you’d been inseparable. Lovebirds since you were fifteen, stealing glances at each other until he got the nerve to make a real move. And after that, you were hooked. Even when he left, after so many years together, he was never truly out of your head. From the first time you met, the first time you held hands, the first time you kissed… everything was special from the very moment you laid your eyes on him. This is the most intricate, romantic, and passionate relationship either of you had been in.

It haunted you, watching him leave and knowing that your sweet boy, your Johnny baby, was going off to train and fight. And most importantly, leave you. But you can’t think about that, not when he’s right here with you.

“Mo ghrádh…” He mutters again, staring up at you with absolute adoration.

All you do is smile at those words, shaking your head with slight disbelief. But he wants more, he’s calling for your attention.

“Sweet cailín,” Johnny coos, both hands lifting to your cheeks. (Sweet girl)

“What, baby?” Your voice is just as small and sweet as his when you respond.

Bringing you in with a gentle pull, Johnny reunites your lips, the kiss tender and brief. But then another follows, and another, until you’re molding yourself to him all over again.

“Have you had anyone inside you, bonnie?” He suddenly asks, the question entirely unexpected. “Since I last left?” It’s said quietly, carefully; he’s afraid of the answer, but is quickly reassured.

“No.” Holding onto him with your arms looped around his neck, you give him your full attention, having completely forgotten about his hair. “Only you, Johnny.”

“Really?”

“Yes… have… have you?”

“No, no one.” His response is quick, expressed through a deep release of breath. Running a hand down your back, he admits, “Can’t bring myself to.”

“Baby?”

“Yeah, dove?” He misses that nickname, so common and simple but so sweet when spoken by you.

“I love you.” Saying it feels like an enormous release, your emotional wellbeing blossoming just from being able to tell him again. “I still do.”

He smiles, head moving gently against you. “Don’t think I could ever not love you.”

“Johnny,” Sucking in an emotional breath, you decide to be fully vulnerable with him, with your best friend. “I w-want, I miss you.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know…” Johnny thought breaking things off was the best thing for the two of you, he really did, but he’s learning now that that’s far from the truth. And seeing you like this, so vulnerable and wanting, it’s crushing him.

Pushing yourself forward against his chest, you sigh, turning your head to rest your cheek on his shoulder. Broad hands run lovingly up and down your back, soothing you.

“I miss being yours.” Comes your small whisper, breath floating over his neck.

A sudden surge of possessiveness comes over him, strong arms squeezing you tight. “You are mine.”

“Not like I used to be, Johnny…” Sadness consumes you entirely, the emotion ruining your delightful morning. But it would’ve come out sooner or later, and right now, it’s practically spilling from your heart. “Would, would you ever want that? Again?”

For a moment, he stays quiet. He’s trying to figure out how he should word this.

“I wouldn’t expect anything new from you, I promise I wouldn’t.” Desperation seeps from your pores but you’re past the point of caring. You’re in love with him, you can’t help it. “I know you can’t talk to me while you’re gone. It’s just, I… I miss it.

“You know…” He finally says, “I’m kinda sick ‘o that, anyways.”

“What do you mean?” Sliding one hand down his chest, your pointer finger runs over him, creating little patterns.

“Bein’ without you.”

A bright grin slowly cracks across your face when he says it. “Really?”

He shrugs, grinning himself. “Always miss you. Always think about the lads here, someone comin’ into swoop you up. I cannae let that happen, bonnie.”

Lifting your head, you find that cute little smirk. Jesus, how the hell is he so pretty?

“There’s no one here that could ever replace you.” One hand then finds his cheek, his chiseled jawline.

“This doesn’t mean I’ll be home more often though, lass. Still goin’ ta be busy on base.”

Shrugging, you answer simply with, “I figured. I mean, it won’t be any different.”

“Except that I’ll write to you, when I can. I will.”

“I’ll write back.” Smiling brightly, you almost can’t contain your giddiness. “Sometimes… it feels like we never even broke up.”

“Yeah,” Johnny smiles widely, “But I like that.”

For just a second, you’re silent, smiling like a fool in front of him. “Yeah… me too.” A timid grin then pulls at your lips, eyes dipping down to watch your finger move over his chest. “Always knowing you’re around… always coming back to me.”

“And I always will.” He says quickly, lifting your chin for you to look at him, capitalizing on his statement.

“Promise me?”

“Yeah, bonnie bell.” Barely tilting his chin, Johnny presses his lips to your own. “I promise.”

#John McTavish #John “Soap” McTavish #Soap cod #cod mw2 #cod fanfiction #John McTavish x you #John McTavish x reader #John McTavish x female reader #John McTavish smut #John McTavish fluff

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minimallyminnie · 3 months

Text

Moonlight Sunrise

Summary: Vincent tells you how much he loves you and how he wants to stay with you.

Tags: Vincent/Gn Reader, mentions of others, hurt/comfort, mentions of bad parenting (Vincent), proposal, fluff, gender neutral reader!, spoilers for Vincent’s route, you traveled back with Vincent back to the mansion after that incident bc I can’t cope with Vin leaving Theo and William sniff sniff…., based off of Twice’s Moonlight Sunrise!!!

Just in case you’d wanna read it @azulashengrottospiano! Thank you for introducing the most greenest and sweetest person I’ve seen in romance games to me. I love my sunflower to bits <3

“I don’t quite understand this feeling yet.”

Vincent doesn’t know why this emotion makes his heart feel warm.

It doesn’t feel like it’s choking him but it’s similar to a warm embrace from his brother.

You gave him this feeling…But yet just like always when he’s with you

Everything he knows just disappears from his head.

“It’s overwhelming but yet if I let go of them, I feel cold. Empty again.”

He let go of you once. Pushed you into your own world.

And to that, Vincent brought you into his arms instead. Close and tight.

This emotion, his raw and unbridled love for you is so powerful and strange to him, but he would rather take it all in pride rather than let you go for a single moment.

Gods. How long has it been since he’s felt this much love from someone besides Theo?

“Their smile, their eyes, their lips, their hands, everything about them feels so…wonderful.”

Ever so gentle, he loves kissing you. It’s addictive and sweet.

With gentle strokes of his brush, he paints your eyes. The most delicate of touches as he tries and fails to portray how dazzling and comforting your eyes are to him. It could never match the real thing.

He loves it when your warm hands cup his face or when they’re intertwined with his. Stroking tears away, just pressing kisses on his face or just watching as his cheeks turn a pretty pink from you just touching him. Vincent loves it.

And lastly, your smile. Oh he could ramble for days and days on end about why he just adores it. Vincent had the honor to see your first genuine smile when you first came to the mansion. And ever since then, he relished in every sweet and warm honey like smile you have given him.

“They’ve given me everything. No matter what. Even…even their blood.”

The first time you bled, Vincent regretted it so so much of how he just…took from you. Drank from your thumb without your consent. Even if you said it was okay later on, he hated himself.

The second time though, he bit his lip and tried to simply bandage your wrist but then you raised it close to his lips. You told him to take and he was shocked but listened. He was so gentle with you.

Even when you had no injury, you offered him your blood any time he was hungry and he was elated to find out that you didn’t mind. You wanted him. You meant the world.

So anytime he’s hungry, instead of suppressing it using blanc, he goes to his amazing lover to be fed. At the end of his feeding, he licks your wound and just smiles dopily at you.

“Despite everything that I am, despite who I am, they love me to the moon and back.”

He gets his bad days sometimes. Where he feels trapped and stuck inside his head. Where he hears the striking sound of a sharp gunshot over and over again.

Days where he won’t come out of his room at all. Not even eating when Sebastian brings him food. Not even when Theo, Arthur, or even when William or Comte come with concern.

You know this. He’s still a living being with emotions. So you bring both of your plates up and just eat inside his room. No words are needed. Just your presence.

If he feels okay enough, he’ll sneak his head out from underneath his blanket and simply lay his head on your lap.

“Because despite everything,”

A certain memory strikes in his head as he remembers having a mental breakdown from being reminded of what his parents told him.

“They choose to look at me with stars and colors swirling in their beautiful eyes.”

You were next to him in seconds. Holding him as you guided him to an alleyway to kiss his tears away and be besides him even after he calmed down. He sniffled in your arms and was about to give an apology before you kissed him and assured him that you’d stay by his side.

“I am forever grateful and honored to have such an amazing significant other like them. I want to stay by their side, to be the one to comfort them as they do me.”

Vincent watched one day as you just bit down on your sobs as he was painting one day. He dropped his paintbrush and immediately kissed your head with ever so gentleness. He’ll listen to you if , or just wait in silence if you don’t want to talk about it in the moment. The blond wiped away your tears as they flowed down, let you laid on his chest as you bursted out in tears.

“Because I love them. I love them. I love them.”

You smile at him as you watched the starry night shine down on his beautiful features and warm ocean eyes. Leaning again the flowered gazebo.

For an entire day, he spent time with you, and you just adored that.

But why was he suddenly saying all of this? You didn’t not like it but what was all of this coming from?

“I want to make a wish. A wish to stay by their side forever until…not until our last breath, I want to stay by their side for eternity. For however long they want me by their side. I don’t even know if they’ll accept but…”

….Wait.

Hang on.

It can’t be.

Could it?

A sudden gust of wind went through the gazebo, blowing petals off their flowers inside. The moonlight shining individually on each velvety piece.

But all you saw was Vincent on his knee holding your hand.

“V-Vincent?”

“I’d like to ask them. To ask you my starlight, to marry me. To please stay by my side through all our hardships. Through everything no matter how light or heavy it is. Regardless of what you answer, I love you.”

Again, you took his breath away and his head over heels as you tackled him with a hug and teary eyes.

He fell for you all over again.

#ミミ☆#Vincent Van Gogh x reader #Van gogh x reader #vincent x reader #ikevamp #cybird ikemen #ikemen vampire #Ikémen vampire #ikevamp vincent #Ikémen vampire x reader #ikemen vampire x reader #ikevamp x reader #ikevamp vincent x reader #x female reader #x male reader #x gn reader #x reader #ikemen series

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guess-my-next-obsession · 2 years

Note

Ghost whiskey or Joel (because rip my cowboys 💔)

Is sad smut a thing? Can it be?

I just want him to reunite with his love who hasn't been able to cope. Like a kinda purgatory/ghost that hasn't moved on situation.

Spooktacular Day 4: The Visit

pairing: ghost!joel miller x f!reader

rating: E (brief implication of intended su!c!de, ghost sex that makes like no sense at all, very sad all around i won’t beat around the bush lmao)

authors note: i str8 up cried writing this shit lmao this is my first time writing a ghost!au so 🙈 it’s also prob my last, but i tried my best!! i hope you like it??

Spooktacular Masterlist

The winter had been made even colder—unbearable, really—by the loss of your boyfriend. You had so many questions, so much hurt and confusion and anger inside of you because why? Why would someone take him from you? Why would someone take the man who made everything feel so right, the man who was your shelter through every storm?

It wasn’t fair. He was just right here in front of you this morning, kissing you goodbye. And now…he was gone.

You weren’t sure how to go on without him. Weren’t sure if you even wanted to. He was the only person that ever understood the pain inside of you, the only man who could handle it with gentleness and care. He loved you and you loved him. What greater act of love was there besides sacrifice?

Your shaking hands grabbed the pill bottle of some pain medicine you were given a couple months ago when you broke your arm. You stared at it for a while, considering what you were about to do. What would Joel think of this? What would he think of you? Before you could even think up an answer…the bedroom door opened on its own.

The pill bottle slipped out of your hands and onto the wooden floor, scattering across the room. Your eyes widened in horror, or perhaps it was hope—were your eyes deceiving you?

A hazy figure grew more and more opaque the longer you stared, as though you were giving it the energy it needed to manifest simply by breathing. Fear was soon replaced by disbelief, your chest rising and falling in heaving breaths as it approached you…as he approached you.

“This isn’t real,” you breathed out in a barely audible whisper as the apparition reached to hold your face.

“It’s real,” he promised.

“No, either I’m insane or this is something else pretending to be you,” you argued, heart unwilling, or perhaps unable, to allow you to believe that the universe was giving you a second chance at goodbye. It had to be something evil, a demon perhaps preying on your weakness.

“Italy,” he breathed out and your shocked eyes lifted in a dart to meet his.

On your first date, Joel asked you what the first place you’d want to go if this apocalypse ever ended was—your answer simple: Italy. Ever since then it had become a sort of code, a promise of a future together. Whenever words escaped either of you, that was the one word that always came to mind. And now, you had no doubt that it was truly your late love in front of you.

“I’m so sorry,” he sighed out, looking around at the scene. “I’m so sorry I left you. But don’t do this to Ellie, darlin. She needs you.”

“I want to be where you are,” you felt a tear fall down your cheek as you looked up at him, trying to reach out to touch him but it felt like a jolt of electricity every time you made contact.

“I know, baby, I know.” He sat down on the bed beside you and laid his hand on you, the jolt’s seemingly only occurring when you made the move. “We’ll be together again…I’ll be sittin’ waitin’ with Sarah.”

“Sarah?” You sobbed out a joyful chuckle, your eyes now streaming with tears. “Sarah’s there?”

He chuckled and nodded, his smile just now causing you to realize how lively he looked. There were no scratches on his face, no signs of the brutal trauma he endured. He looked healthy…happy, even.

“Joel,” you reached out to touch him but he grabbed your hand instead, saving you the shock. “Is this the last time I’ll be seeing you?”

“I don’t know,” his response was genuine. “Takes a lot of energy to do this. But if I can muster it again…you’re the only person I plan on hauntin’. Don’t think Ellie would take too kind to it.”

You chuckled and nodded, wishing selfishly to have him again, not for lust or your own desire to get off, but just to have him that close to you again—to feel him and know he was there. Joel seemingly read your mind, his hand dropping yours so that he could cradle your jaw. He eyed you carefully as he leaned in, stopping just short of your lips.

“I…wanna try somethin’. But I need you to let me do all the work, alright? You’re gonna shock yourself if you try to touch me,” he instructed, your breathing shallow as you awaited his kiss. You nodded in agreement, the anticipation killing you. Joel’s hand was somehow there but not as he cupped your cheek, his energy warming your skin rather than the callouses on his palms that you were used to. “I just wanna make you feel good.”

“I miss you, Joel,” you whimpered, a tear falling down your cheeks as you laid on your back and he slotted himself between your thighs.

“I miss you too, darlin, but I haven’t gone anywhere,” he promised, his lips finally meeting yours. It was a strange feeling—warm and electric and…supernatural. It was addictive and felt so forbidden, but so so good. “I’m always here.”

“Promise?” You whimpered and he pulled back, eyes searching yours for a moment as he wiped your tears away.

“I promise.”

Before long, Joel was seated deep inside of you, defying all the laws of this mortal realm and providing you with a supernatural sort of bliss with every draw of himself in and out.

“Joel, you feel so good,” you threw your arms around him but were shocked with electricity, Joel grabbing your hands and pinning them above your head.

“Promise me you’ll keep living for me,” he husked out as he felt you pulse around him. You nodded adamantly with tears streaming down your face. “Okay, baby…let go for me.”

“I don’t want you to leave yet,” you confessed, Joel slowing down and frowning at you.

“I told you, just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean I’m not here. I’ll always be here. You’re the love of my life.” His sweet promises forced your climax to dawn, tears flowing from your eyes at the bittersweet pleasure. Joel kissed you through it before pulling out and resting beside you. “I’ll always be here to protect you, baby. Always.”

“I love you, Joel.” You watched as his form started to fade, your heart strangling itself in your chest.

“I love you. Please…Italy.” With that one wish, he faded completely, leaving you alone in the bed you used to share. Just before you could start to cry at loneliness, the bedside lamp flickered three times, a chuckle of disbelief leaving your lips.

“I love you?” You asked into the empty room. The lamp flickering twice, confirming your guess. “I love you, Joel.”

Three more flickers and you were comforted enough to get some sleep. Even though your heart and mind were still aching at the loss but the consolation of having him there with you, even if he wasn’t there physically, would be enough for now.

•••

joel miller taglist: @uselsshuman @joelmillerscoffee @axshadows @sherala007 @browneyes-issac @kimm4710 @stxrrylunatic @sara-alonso @paulalikestuff @chxpsi @auberosier @mashomasho @harriedandharassed @trickstersp8 @trinkets01 @jlmaddinson @laureliciousdefinition @oh-no-a-whovian @buoyfriend @chorraich @extraneous-trip @oliviajdjarin @graciexmarvel @amb11 @reigndropss @multifand0m-gal0re @hypnoash @chronic-aly @wheresarizona @pedropascalsx @xocalliexo @myswficlist (sorry if your tag isn’t working! and let me know if you’d like to be added!)

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller #tlou fic #spooktacular ‘22

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dnphan · 2 months

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saw your “burning dnp questions” and had to ask- what do you think their relationship details actually are?? ahh im so embarrassed about it but they both mention using grindr but are also clearly together??

i assume- theyre commited romantically but are open to explore why separate like during WAD touring. but like i also just cant wrap my head around that either since dan always so jealous. so idk maybe phil lets dan explore but phil doesnt really because he doesnt need to the way dan wants to know that he’s out. ahh so curious!!

thank u so much for the question!!!!! also don’t be embarrassed this is literally tumblr, everyone is a lil strange and a lil parasocial. we cope with it

i literally think about this constantly so i’m glad to have somewhere to put these thoughts. OVERALL: i genuinely think they are friends. NOW don’t come for me i do think there is OBVIOUSLY romantic feelings. like duh?? hello.

BUT i think at their core they are just best friends. soulmates, if you will. more platonic than romantic, which is something i CRAVVE and think is CRUCIAL for a relationship.

whether dan or phil want an open relationship? probably not. those bitches been settled down in phouse and committed to together since day one!! the jokes about being a swinger were funny and i was honestly kind of hoping they WERE swingers bc how iconic would that be, but then wdapteo came out and i knew that’s not possible for them. i am curious about what u mean with the grindr comments?

and i think the wad touring separation wasn’t bc dan wanted a open relationship but because his need to prove to himself that he can be independent and his own person without phil. but after the tour when dan proved that he could, he went back to phil, because he didn’t want to be independent. kind of like how dan almost moved out so he could be more productive (bc he produces more content when he is sad) and phil was like “lol no?”

now label wise?? i don’t think there is one.

here are some of my fav dan howell quotes that kind of clarify their dynamic for me:

“You can’t even compare … no human has lived and worked together and actually started off as “supposedly” friends before that, so it’s just not natural. We’re like two 4,000-year-old tortoises just silently chewing grass, staring into the sunset. I think it’s quite important to have someone in your life where you can be like “Yeah, we’re pretty weird.’”

full interview

#asks #dan and phil #dnp #dan howell #phan #dan and phil games #dapg #phil lester #dnpgames #dnp games #phandom

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peachmi1k · 8 months

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hey guys. i can’t believe i actually have to make a post like this, but it apparently really needs to be said because some of y’all don’t know how to act right. trigger warning for self harm, suicide, and cursing cause i’m mad af

lately some of my mutuals have been getting some asks that simply aren’t okay, ie requesting they write things about reader being admitted to the psych ward, etc.

i genuinely cannot fathom how anyone thinks that’s an appropriate thing to ask for from a stranger on the internet. you might think it’s quirky and cute but some of us have genuine issues that are absolutely disgusting of you to be trying to romanticize like this.

i have had severe depression for my entire teenage and adult life. i lost my best friend to suicide when i was 17. pain from something like that never ever goes away. another one of my best friends tried to unalive herself when i was 22. i worry about her every day. before finally being medicated at 18 i was going through the absolute hardest time of my life regarding my mental health, and surprise, it wasn’t fucking fun.

i have to assume that the people sending in these asks have no clue what its like to be in this situation or don’t know anyone who has, because if you did, you would know that shit like this shouldn’t be talked about this way.

and i will say, i am a firm believer that you are welcome to cope with your own trauma however you see fit, as long as you are not hurting anyone. yes, i joke about my own trauma with my close friends, because its mine, and however i choose to make myself feel better, i’ve earned that right.

but there are still boundaries that must be respected when it comes to things like this. i know that joking with my very close friends will not make them uncomfortable, because they too share some of the same trauma as me.

however, an account you follow because you like their writing is someone who you know very very little about. we choose what we get to share on social media, and extremely sensitive topics like this need to be respected in the presence of someone you know next to nothing about.

you don’t know if the people you’re asking these things of have been in this situation, and it’s extremely dangerous to assume you can joke about thinks like this with people you don’t know. you could genuinely fucking hurt someone.

people who are actually admitted to a psych ward are people that struggle just living a day to day life. its not a fucking vacation, they are suffering and they need help. and some of you, sending in your stupid fucking asks like “omg being lovey dovey with cc in a mental institution” is so insulting its insane.

grow the fuck up. this isn’t wattpad 2012 core, mental illness isn’t a “just girly things uwu” quirk. its real, and its serious. attempt to see someone else’s perspective. step into the real world for one fucking second and get yourself a reality check.

if you disagree with anything i’ve just said, don’t let me catch you on this blog. as max said, if this makes you angry then it fucking should. you are not welcome here.

#judah.txt #psa

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somesecretpie · 29 days

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hello! sorry to bother you with this out of nowhere, but do you think ocd might come with auditory hallucinations, seeing trippy stuff when you close your eyes, daily sleep paralysis and stuff of the like? im basically living in a constant state of fear but there are no compulsions to speak of so i had ruled ocd out, but your comic just shed one hell of a light on my current state of affairs. thank you very much, and once again im sorry for this - its just that i really dont have anything else to turn to lol

Hi there,

I’m sorry you are going through this right now. I’m not really an authority on mental health I am just a goober who made a comic and this is mostly a comic blog. But I’m going to try and give you some relevant information anyway:

A frequent obsession a lot of people with OCD can have is their own mental health. “Am I psychotic?” Is a big fear that can lead to someone overanalyzing their experiences and worrying that blurry things they see in their periphery, stuff they aren’t sure they heard, static patterns when they close their eyes, and sleep paralysis are signs of psychosis. The “compulsion” to ease the anxiety of possibly being psychotic might be reading over lists of different mental illnesses to make sure you don’t have one or repeatedly “checking” to see if things are real. And that repeated checking might cause a fear cycle.

But this could also be genuine psychosis. Having hallucinations is pretty scary and could easily explain the fear. But I want you to know that being psychotic is not the end of the world that media and culture often makes it out to be. Many of my homies have hallucinations and various psychotic disorders and they live relatively normal lives. It can be rough, but like OCD, there’s many things you can do to help manage psychosis-causing mental illness.

I don’t know if you have OCD. Maybe you do. Maybe you have a different mental illness. It is also entirely possible (and common) to have both OCD AND other mental illnesses.

I would seriously recommend seeking professional help, if you are able. I know it can be really scary, but I promise they aren’t going to lock you away and your life isn’t going to be over if they diagnose you with something. You can better learn how to cope and treat yourself if you figure out what is wrong, and when you are scared and full of doubt, it can be hard to do that alone. Attempting to self-diagnose, when you have anxiety, can easily send you spiraling.

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khaothanawat · 1 year

Text

i know i’ve seen people say it’s weird that nueng doesn’t, as of episode 7, seem upset that his mother was shot, but i don’t think it’s that weird. or: i don’t think he’s not upset. he’s just either hiding it very well, or completely compartmentalising by giving himself over to the fantasy escape of the island. or both.

like. i feel like the show has, over and over again and since episode one, made it so clear that nueng is a master of hiding his own feelings (unless he’s drunk pleeeaaase kssjdjjd). we saw him do it with ben in the dance hall, right before he decided to poison himself (hhh). my man ate food that was way too spicy for him and kept a perfectly straight face the entire time 😭

equally, it does also seem like nueng’s also keeping his feelings completely bottled up and letting himself instead get lost in this escapist fantasy the island offers him. he said it all out loud in episode 7 - i’m a different person here, i’m free from the weight of the expectations that are placed on me back home, i haven’t been happy in a very long time but i can be happy here… his focus on what the island offers him in comparison to the life he had (and just casually disregarding that the life he had would probably look very different to the life he’d be going back to, without either of his parents.) he was upset the entire journey to the island - and then he locked it up completely.

i mean, he’s out there trying to earn money as a fisherman because he’s never earned his own money before! he’s trying to work out how to put sheets on a bed! it’s not reality and he knows it, but i think that makes compartmentalising his feelings about what happened to his mother so much easier. he can just enjoy his time with palm, enjoy pretending to be a normal teenager (bc omg he’s a teenager) who doesn’t have people trying to murder him and his entire family. how else would you even really cope with that?

i think dating palm is also clearly a part of that. i absolutely believe he has feelings for palm, but i also wonder if he’s operating with a little bit of a #yolo mindset and just trying to make the most of his time on the island and live while he can. he’s never dated anyone!! he was so so lonely before he had palm!!! he’s got so many things he’s trying to escape from!!!! but none of it is permanent in his mind. that’s what he says to palm: while we’re living on this island, can you be my boyfriend?

i wonder if the fact that he’s not sleeping is also a sign of where he’s at - the show has shown us this a few times in the past two episodes. ostensibly it’s because he needs his music; we’ve seen him a number of times listening to classical music, particularly at school which was rough for him, so i suppose that’s an escape too. it’s like the spicy food though - he could hide his reaction to the pain from his voice and his face, but his body still betrayed how well he was actually coping.

the thing is, though, is nueng even really being honest with palm? does he genuinely need to buy a phone just to listen to classical music? don’t be such a zoomer nueng - go find a radio or something omg.

i just think that if i was planning to hitch a ride off of an island, becoming a fisherman with access to a boat and/or getting myself a phone would be a pretty smart call.

or else, getting myself sent to a hospital miles away would probably also do the trick, i guess.

#never let me go #palm x nuengdiao #LISTEN I THINK MY THING IS i never trust nueng #i love him and he is my son but i trust nothing he does ever #anyway watch him accidentally enjoy dating palm WAY too much and have this all backfire on him spectacularly looool #me (32 years old): why can’t he just buy a walkman 🙄#lmao lo where tf is he finding a walkman exactly dumbass #I’M RIGHT THO #show: never let me go #ship: nlmg: palm x nuengdiao #nlmg: meta

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bpdohwhatajoy · 6 months

Text

Realizing I was autistic saved my life.

Yes at points it’s made me feel bad for being different and having to come to terms that I would never be normal even though that’s all I ever wanted sucked bad. Yes at points I’ve felt so behind where everyone else is in life (because I’m autistic) and was mad at that fact. Yes I’m mad I didn’t know I was autistic until my early twenties. All this aside, it did genuinely save my life. If I had to exist through this life while not knowing I was autistic like I didn’t know for the first set of years, I would’ve been so fucking miserable. I would’ve continued to compare myself to neurotypicals and feel immense disappointment when I didn’t live up to a NT standard of life. I would’ve wondered why the fuck I felt so fundamentally broken. I would’ve wondered what the hell was wrong with me that no other label seemed to capture. I would’ve been miserable like I was for two fucking decades and then some years because I didn’t know why I was so different from everyone. I could sense it and they could too but there wasn’t a name.

Knowing I’m autistic has led to so much good. I know more about myself than I did before. I can adjust my life and live according to what’s comfortable for me when my entire life I’ve been taught to stomach discomfort and deal with it. I don’t have to anymore. I can set my own boundaries. I know that no longer I’m not being unreasonable and that everyone who tried to make me think that was an allistic dumbass who literally can’t comprehend what being inside my brain is like. I can mold a life that suits me, not the other way around. I can find ways to cope with autistic struggles now that I have a name for what they are. I can engage and connect with others through special interests that I grew up isolated in engaging in. If I hadn’t realized I was autistic, I would’ve never stopped masking and I never would’ve put myself out there online and connected over my special interests which is one of the most rewarding experiences. Learning I am autistic ultimately allowed me to embrace things I’ve suppressed my entire life and allowed me to live a more authentic life. Yes I’m expressive and emotional when it comes to my interests. Sure I like some things that others consider childish. Yes I take things seriously. But that’s me and there’s nothing wrong with it. There’s nothing wrong with me just because I don’t match the neurotypical idea of right. I don’t feel nearly as wrong as I used to feel because I see that there are so many other people like me.

I’ve spent so much of my life being ashamed for autistic traits while not knowing they were autistic traits. Fuck that. I love how attuned to patterns I am. I love how good at analysis I am. I love getting excited over my special interests. I love how honest I am. I love how passionate I am about things. I love the effort I put into things. I love how much I care about things. I love that my intentions are pure. I love that I’m reliable and helpful and try to find solutions always and don’t give up until I fix the issue. I love that I’m brave enough to put myself out there as an autistic person when it’s really easy for people like me to get mocked. I love that no matter how much life has beat me down, I’m not just hardly surviving anymore while thinking I was an nt with something wrong with me. Now, I’m thriving as an autistic person. So yeah. Discovering I was autistic did save my life.

#ryan.txt #autism #actually autistic #autistic #autism positivity

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stardusthuntress · 1 year

Text

EnigmaTech - Ch. 1

My Tech lives AU! This one is based on the idea that the Bad Batch just needs someone with a clear head to follow his trail and appreciate the man for what he is truly capable of! So far I’ve stuck to one-shots and imagines, but this one felt like it needed a little more. I’m not a many-chapter-fic writer, but this one I felt like it could be divided into 3-4 solid chapters that focus on the beloved brainiac. Consider it a mini-series!

(Part 2)

Chapter 1 - Clues

Tech x FAB!reader (eventually, but he doesn't meet her quite yet) (just female pronouns; no use of y/n, it’s all in third person [she/her]; no physical description in this one)

Word Count: ~2.5K

Chapter Summary: Using only what the batch has at their disposal (a lot more than they realize, thank you Tech), a new friend manages to convince them that Tech survived and is in need of their help!

TW: mentions of Tech’s demise (but he lives!); reader infodumping (self-indulgent, sorry! I really connected with Tech on this and this is how I'm coping with the writers' poor decisions at the end of s2); I am a scientist, so I wanted to bring my own experiences into this a bit, hopefully, I got all the details correct, I'm not a geneticist tho, nor a comp sci person, so please be nice if I messed up!

Author's Notes:

Somehow, this came out from Hunter’s pov. Wasn’t exactly the way I’d planned it, and this might change in the next chapter, but I needed a way to illustrate how Hunter was struggling with losing two brothers and his little girl (he's 100% a girl dad now, no going back).

Also, this is totally self-indulgent. I always write she/her/reader's pov like it's me because that's what I know how to do. If I can write from the heart it's more genuine. Hope you guys are okay with that!

I like to make references to other fandoms and stuff when I write, hope you guys don’t mind that. There’s at least 1 blink-and-you-miss it Hamilton reference, among others… hehehe!

Side note, this was not beta'd. I tend to just crank stuff out because it's on my mind, and post it asap so I can get it off my chest. Please lemme know if there are typos and if you guys like it!

Tech dividers by @/djarrex!

She joins the team shortly after Tech and Omega are stolen from them.

When the bad situation they were in got even worse, they ran to Rex, in need of a calm, collected, commanding presence that wasn’t in the grip of fresh losses to help them figure out what to do next. Rex brought them his best analyst, an old friend who quietly helped out in secret during the war, and now helped him rescue as many brothers as he could.

Echo knew her. They came up with a few battle strategies together when he was with the 501st. He trusted her with his life.

Hunter, who always held his trust in reserve to begin with, now trusted even less since Cid is the reason Omega is now in the clutches of the Empire. But Rex and Echo insisted, and he knew they were in dire straights and would not be able to rescue Crosshair and Omega (and Tech) on their own, especially not while their better judgment was clouded with so much pain.

At first, she just helps AZI patch them up and keep an eye on them as they heal. Slowly, they begin to trust her a little more. As she brings them water so they don’t have to get up, and sits with and chats with Wrecker until he falls asleep, and helps Echo with his prostheses, and always makes a point to do everything quietly to go easy on Hunter’s senses. They appreciate how her effort says she cares.

Eventually they start letting her learn them a bit more. And they learn more about her. She’s an interesting mix. She’s somewhat neurodivergent like Tech - she can go on endless infodumps and loves to learn. But she also has moments where she exhibits what Tech once described to the as “neurotypical behaviors”. She jokes with the men and flirts with them when the time is right. She gets a lot of social cues, but she does miss a fair amount too. The boys learn why Tech describes his differences like a spectrum.

Eventually, Hunter and Echo come to the realization that she is going to need notes, detailed notes, if they are going to find their lost siblings. They have all tried giving her as many notes as they can remember, but in order to do enough research to find them, she would need to know more about Crosshair and Omega, and no one took notes on everyone quite like Tech did. They decided to give her access to Tech’s notebook, if all 3 of them agree on it. So they confront Wrecker. He’s all in. He trusts her, despite Cid’s betrayal, his determination to see the best in people has hardly wavered. Anything she needs to help them get their brother’s back is fine with Wrecker. And he trusts that if both Hunter and Echo have come to the same conclusion, then it’s worth it.

For days she sat reading his copious notes, it kept her quiet and distant from them - Hunter was grateful for that, he needed time to adjust to her presence He wasn’t used to being around a woman so often. She brought a different way of existing to the soldier’s lifestyle he was used to.

Her habits and mindset was somewhat new to him.

“It may seem like an enigma now, but there are clues everywhere. You just need to know where to look and how to read them” she had said when she began her quest to learn more about their fallen brother, lost brother, and stolen sister.

He was just grateful he, Wrecker, and Echo didn’t have to re-live the pain watching that horrible moment all over again to try to get something out of it.

One day she begins to surface from his notes. Hunter braces, he had gotten used to her presence like that, and didn’t think he was ready for the conversations about brother’s end that were certainly coming.

“This passage here, about Omega… it doesn’t make sense, it’s not Tech’s words”

“What do you mean?” Hunter peers over her shoulder “that’s him alright, watched him write that one myself shortly after we picked her up.”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant, sorry… these words are phrased exactly the way he writes everything, his speech patterns, his grammatical ticks, he IS the one that physically wrote the words down, except one thing doesn't match his pattern: the scientific errors. The one thing he knew none of you could check.”

“So, you’re saying that Tech tricked us?” Hunter’s annoyance is apparent in his tone. His temper was on a short fuse these days, but she understood why.

“No! I’m saying he’s employing a handy psychology tactic here. Usually used only for one of two purposes: reassurance or manipulation, but it’s definitely the former.” You hold up a hand, knowing Hunter is read to interject and snatch Tech’s datapad away from you for implying Tech would ever deceive his brother’s and harm them. “I know, you watched him write it and he would clearly never hurt any of you intentionally. A later passage about his conversation with Omega about feelings clearly conveys that quite eloquently and explains how deeply he cares for each one of you, but I think he might be trying to protect you from the full truth here, at least until he knowns what it is. As I’m sure you noticed, almost everything he writes has a double meaning, if not a triple meaning.”

Hunter’s eyes remain narrowed, but he’s quiet, waiting for the whole story before he makes any decisions. He was protective of his little family before, and that’s multiplied tenfold since Cid’s betrayal cost them so much.

“This passage here uses the word “perfect copy” to describe Omega, but there’s a lot inherently incorrect about that from a scientific perspective, and Tech clearly knows that. Perfection is, technically speaking, unachievable. There’s always something that deviates from the original, just a little, especially when discussing the complexities of genetics. I’m no geneticist, but his notes from when you first met Omega states that according to his scan (the results of which are included in the notes), she bears the female genetic marker - two X allosomes, and no Y - and has since she was created, which in and of itself means that she cannot be a perfect copy of Django who was male at birth, and bears the same male genetic markers that you lot do - an XY allosome pair. Which means, his statement here that she is a “perfect copy” is incorrect and he clearly knows that… at one point he even goes on to describe how she displays more neurotypical traits like you boys, rather than his neurodivergent ones… (whispered) paternal traits indeed, you’re definitely a clone of Django, you shouldn't worry about that Tech... He could be referring to her as a ‘perfect child’, however, again, perfection is inhuman and totally impossible when referring to something as complex as a sentient being, so that’s also unlikely unfortunately, as sweet as it would be for him to describe her like that… Earlier he mentioned that Nala Se told Tarkin that there were 5 ‘genetically deviant clones’ and that that must include Omega because Echo is genetically a ‘Reg’…”

She turns to face Hunter directly, “Tech knew you were reading this over his shoulder and had access to it. He’s doing his best to describe Omega in a way that will only fortify your protection of her, not because that would ever waver - he describes several times how your paternal instincts are very attached to her, and he is both certain and grateful that nothing could change that - but he does it because she is very important to something, some big secret thing the Kaminoans are doing, though I don’t think he knows what exactly…” she trails off, searching through the datapad for more as she thinks.

Hunter is shocked, first by her analysis, second by how easily she read Tech, and third by the fact that he, Hunter, is starting to agree with her analysis. “But if they’re ‘not his words’ as you said… then whose words are they?”

She’s silent for a moment, as she considered this, still scrolling back through Tech’s copious notes. Hunter is struck for a moment how Tech always seemed to write like he was running out of time…

“I think… I think, based on the way he explains how you lot describe Omega when she’s asleep and your paternal instincts ‘truly appear’ as he puts it, and,” she emerges from Tech’s notes for a moment, and Hunter is struck by how she’s just like Tech “and from my personal experience around you lot… I think he’s using your own words as a way to reassure you. Again, a handy psychology trick when used by a kind hand.” she nervously dives back into Tech’s notes. Hunter notes how she seems to make an effort to not annoy him again.

She continues with her thought as her mind races on “all of the words he uses to describe Omega have positive connotations, there’s no hidden negativity, which means his intentions are good and not manipulative.”

She looks up, but doesn’t totally dissociate from the datapad this time, her eyes still glossy wand swirling with thoughts. She opens her mouth like she’s poised to say more, but worry crosses her features “I’m sorry, I’m rambling again. I’ll stop. I do that a lot, I know.”

She looks around concerned, by this point both Echo and Wrecker have joined the conversation, but none of them can look at her right now.

Hunter is the first to speak “don’t worry, we’re used to it, Tech does the same thing all the time… or… used to anyways.”

She tenses a bit “understood, I’m sorry for your loss, I still intend to help you as much as I can. Loss like that is cruel, let’s see if we can get him back, yeah?”

“Yeah” Hunter relaxes a tiny bit, but feels the sadness of loss settling in. He doesn’t believe Tech could have survived that fall.

She dives back into the notes. There’s a moment of silence. She continues to read quietly, giving the men a change to exchange quiet glances, feeling better now that they might have someone like Tech, something familiar, who can help them find their family. They find comfort in the quiet as she continues to ponder his scribblings with a knitted brow for a few moments.

Hunter breaks the silence. “I feel almost ashamed that none of us figured that out. He’s our brother. I guess we didn’t know him as well as we thought we did.”

“It’s not your fault, Hunter. Same goes for you two,” she pats Echo and Wrecker. “Pain of loss can be blinding. You do know him well, but your own emotions got in the way. It helps to have an outside voice to help you see through the haze of emotions. Nothing wrong with asking for help. I’m here to help in any way that I can.”

Her attention shifts again, and she emerges from the datapad completely this time. The hand that clutches it falls to her lap as her eyes find Hunter’s, and he’s not surprised to find a new thought sparkling in them.

“You said Hemlock gave you back his goggles, did he not?”

“Yeah” Hunter’s hesitancy returned

“Don’t worry, I don’t want to hurt any of you lot, either. I just need more information about the incident itself”

Hunter sighs.

“Did his goggles still have the recording device on them?”

“How did you know about that? None of us told you about that”

“He includes many screenshots and videos from them in his notes”

“Right. Sorry”

“It’s okay. Hesitancy to trust is natural after being sold out like that, I understand. But please know that I just want to help you find your brothers and sister, they seem like good people, and this Tech fellow is clearly brilliant!”

Hunter produces the goggles, recording device still attached.

Echo chimes in “I checked for a recording from it, but scans said there’s nothing on it”

“No backups? You’re telling me a man like Tech didn’t have backups of everything in a secure format? Is this not his backup datapad full of his notes I’m holding? I’m guessing that somewhere on here is a backup copy he fashioned himself that the Empire wouldn't be able to tamper with, one with a hidden access port - something the Imperials wouldn't know to look for since to them devices like this are usually only remotely accessed”

She gently detaches the recording device from the goggles and inspects it carefully. The men gather around her and watch her with baited breath. Clearly the Empire did not remove it from the goggles, as there is still a fair amount of dirt on the side that had been next to the band of the goggles. As she gently brushes the dirt off, her finger nail finds the edge of something. Tracing it out, she finds a rectangle in the rubbery casing around the recording device, and gently pops it open.

“Bingo” she whispers, as though a loud noise will shatter the moment.

“I think I’m starting to agree with you” Hunter whispers in her ear, quiet enough that only she can hear.

She inspects the port the silicone hatch revealed “I don’t suppose any of you lot have seen a cable that might fit this lying around somewhere?”

They sit quietly for a moment, well aware Tech left cables for all sorts of things scattered everywhere. Each contemplating the most likely spot for Tech to keep an important cable like this, before Echo pipes up “I’m betting he’d keep a spare in his spare kit!”

Wrecker launches out of his makeshift seat to grab the kit, and hands it to Hunter. “You better look for it, I don’t think he’d like me rummaging through his stuff… might break something…” he trails off, clearly sad.

She pat’s the big guy on the arm and he sits back down, a little closer this time. Seeking her warmth for comfort.

“He clearly loved and still loves you very much Wreck, even if he has his own way of showing it”

Wrecker smiles, “thanks Y/N”

Hunter produces several cords from Tech’s pack and holds them out. “One of these look like it might fit?”

“Yes!”

Echo reaches for the other end of the cable “what does the other end look like?” She let’s him inspect it while she attaches the one end to the recording device.

“This one goes here,” he plugs it into the console they sit next to. “Let’s see what he got as…. Let’s see what trail he left for us”

As the recording comes up on the bigger screen, they all gasp. Most of the contents of the recording are going to be a difficult mess to untangle, but one thing is clear: Tech is very much ALIVE!!!

(Part 2)

Please don't steal my work! I pour my heart into these so if you like it please reblog to share instead of reposting it!

#tbb tech #tbb tech x reader #tech lives #tbb s2 didn't end right so I fixed it #tbb s2 spoilers #the bad batch #the bad batch tech #tbb #tech tbb #tech lives au #zenith writes #I'm neurodivergent like Tech and I really connected with the character over that so please indulge my autistic tendencies #LOTS of infodumping #I'm sorry I'm a scientist and I have info and I need to share it I can't help it there is no off switch when I get excited #EnigmaTech

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