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absurdthirst · 5 months

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Dieter's Daughter {Dieter Bravo x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.7k

Warnings: Dad!Dieter, mentions of drug use, unplanned pregnancies, freaking out, mentions of foster care, anxiety, lactation kink, babies, domestic bliss, falling in love, sudden marriage proposals, Dieter being a sap, adult breast feeding, oral sex (female receiving), face riding, vaginal sex, pregnancy

Comments: When a baby is dropped off on Dieter's doorstep, he is completely out of his element and doesn't know what to do. Attending a single mother support group meeting, he finds you. Begging you to become a nanny to his daughter.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Dieter Bravo MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

It takes several minutes for the sounds of the doorbell peeling insistently to break through Dieter’s nearly catatonic state. Too much booze and too many pills are the result of another day of discontent and wishing that there was something other than numbness of life for him. Leaving him grumbling when one eye pops open and he groans when the cotton mouth and headache hits him. “Go away.” He huffs, knowing that there is no way that whoever is at the damn door would hear him all the way in his bedroom. Hell, the only reason he hears the doorbell is because it’s wired to the sound system in the house. Again the bell rings and like the dead rising from the grave, Dieter drags himself out of the safety and comfort of his bed. “Fuck! I’m coming! I’m coming!” The bathrobe he had tossed down last night is put over his boxers and he shuffles towards the stairs as fast as his lethargic body can go.

When Dieter opens the door, he’s shocked to see a woman standing there holding a baby. “Can I help you?” He asks, rubbing his eyes, and she snorts.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” She asks and Dieter squints, “am I supposed to?”

She laughs humorlessly, “I shouldn’t be surprised, you could barely remember my name that night. I was just amazed that a big actor wanted to fuck me. Remember me? That cocktail waitress from the club you took home about ten months ago?” She says and Dieter scratches his neck.

“Listen lady, I sleep with a lot of people. It’s hard to remember them all.” He admits with zero qualms.

“Wow. You’re a fucking asshole. Anyway, I guess the condom broke because congrats, you’re a daddy. It’s a girl. Her name is Rosie. Her birth certificate is in the bag.” She holds the baby out towards him and his eyes widen, looking down at the baby bag in the ground.

”What? I- what the fuck?” He looks bewildered before he starts to laugh. “Good one. Real funny. What do you want? Money?” He scoffs and she shakes her head, tears in her eyes.

“No. No. I need you to take her. I can’t afford her and I- I didn’t want her. When I found out - I was fucking eight months pregnant so it was too late to get rid of her and I can’t work so I can’t pay for my place. I can’t keep her. You gotta take her. She will be better off with you.” She says and pushes the baby into Dieter’s arms.

He scrambles to hold the baby, not wanting to drop her and the woman immediately sprints off towards her car. “Hey! Wait! You can’t just- I don’t know how to look after a baby! I need you to - hey. Where the fuck- get back here!” He yells as she squeals off of his driveway and he curses himself for not fixing the gate yet. “Shit.” He hisses. He didn’t even get her name. Looking down at the baby, he sighs and knows he has to find her mom. He can’t be a daddy. He can barely look after himself.

No, first thing is a damn DNA test and then he’s gonna find that bitch and give her back her baby. He’s gotta call the police after he cleans up his counters from the coke powder. “Fuckkkkk.” He groans, knowing his quiet day just got a whole lot busier.

****

“If we take her, Mr. Bravo, she’s just going to go into a state home. An orphanage.” Dieter frowns and wraps his arms around his chest, nervous for having the fucking cops in his house. Paranoid they were going to find the baggie of Coke he just remembered was in the little box next to his car keys. “You are listed on the birth certificate.”

Snatching the paper from the officer he squints at it. “How the fuck is that legal?” He demands. “That means anyone could put me down as the father of their kid.”

The officer shuffles, clearly uncomfortable and slightly in awe of being in the actor’s presence. “That’s for the courts to decide. Look,” he lowers his voice and looks around. “I don’t think you understand how bad the system is for babies.” He tells Dieter seriously. “Just- keep the baby with you, at least until the DNA tests come back. That way you don’t have to fight to get her back when she is yours. You already said you might have slept with this woman. Stranger things have happened.”

Dieter huffs, upset by the idea of the tiny little human being in an orphanage. Even if she doesn’t look anything like him. He had found diapers and a can of formula in the bag that the mother had left with him but that’s it. He has nothing to take care of a child. “What am I supposed to do? I don’t know shit about kids.” He demands, making the officer chuckle.

“Hire a nanny.” The officer suggests, smirking. “Isn’t that what you Hollywood types do?”

Dieter knows he can’t just ship the kid off. She’s so tiny and vulnerable. He can’t do it, even he’s not that big of an asshole. He will call his assistant to get a nanny in today. “Listen, do you, uh, know how much formula to use?” He asks the cop who nods and walks over to the counter to show Dieter.

“One scoop for every two ounces of water. Get baby water but bottled will have to work for today. So four ounces, two scoops. And shake. After she is finished, shift her to your shoulder and gently pat her back to get her to burp.” He says and Dieter nods.

“How much does she need?” Dieter asks and the cop chuckles, “she’s gonna be hungry a lot. I remember mine at that age. Endless bottles. Be sure to wash them thoroughly.” He says and pats Dieter on the shoulder and makes his way towards the front door of the Sherman Oaks mansion.

“Fuck.” Dieter groans, rubbing his cheek when the police leave and the baby starts to cry. He knows she must be hungry so he fumbles to open the container, grabbing the bottle to fill it with bottled water and putting two scoops in. “I’m coming.” He says, struggling to do the bottle up, and he curses again as he walks over to carefully scoop the baby up. “How do I-?” He struggles to get her to suck on the bottle and sighs in relief when she stops wailing and gulps down the milk.

Dieter holds the baby awkwardly, trying to remember how from that role a few years ago. The baby had been a prop doll, but they had shown him how to hold it. “Your name’s Rosie, huh?” He asks, looking down at the infant. According to the birth certificate, she’s only two months old. “I’m Dieter, but you don’t talk so why am I telling you that?” He huffs, but the baby gurgles around the nipple of the bottle and it makes him grin. “Did you like that?” He asks, lifting a brow. Apparently he’s a natural with kids.

The baby grunts and the grin immediately slides into a frown. “What’s that?” He asks, feeling something moving. “What are you doing?” Instead of sucking down the milk, the baby is grunting and straining and Dieter stares in horror as the smell starts to reach his nose. “Oh shit! You shit!” He groans in disgust.

The baby starts to cry, unhappy with a full diaper, and Dieter is reaching for his phone.

“Hello?” His assistant answers and Dieter is panicking.

“I need you here right now. I need help.”

Johan, his assistant, frowns, “is that- is that a baby?” He asks and Dieter groans, “get here now. And call a nanny service!” He demands and hangs up. “What do I do?” He asks the baby, shifting to lay her down on a towel so she doesn’t get shit on his expensive rug. “I- shit. You - fuck. That’s disgusting.” He groans and pulls his phone out. “YouTube! I’ll try YouTube.” He looks up ‘how to change a diaper’ and grabs the baby bag.

Dieter watches the video, studying it intently as he keeps a hand on the baby’s stomach. “Looks easy.” He frowns at the squirming baby. “But the doll wasn’t moving.” He sets the phone down beside the bag so he can see it and bites his lip as he tries to figure out the snaps on the onesie she’s in. “Holy shit.” He huffs, amazed at how easy it unsnaps. “I need this in a fucking adult version.” Wrinkling his nose when the smell gets even worse, he groans. “Wheeeeew, God you stink.” He nearly gags and pulls his shirt up over his nose. “What did you eat?”

Trying to plug his nose, he follows the YouTube video, wiping the poop off of her skin after rolling up the dirty diaper and putting it in the diaper bag. Anyone watching would think Dieter is dealing with a bomb. He gags when he pushes the wipes into the bag after cleaning her up and he grabs the rash cream, placing some on her bottom where the video details he should. He curses the new diaper, trying to figure out what way is the front until he sees it says “back” on it and he pulls it tight on her tiny body before he clips her onesies back into place. “Shit. That - that wasn’t too bad.” He murmurs, breathing in the fresh air and she hiccups, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“You’re kind of cute.” Dieter murmurs. “In a weird, ‘you don’t look like me’ kind of way.” He frowns when she grins at him, kicking her feet. “You’re weird.” He huffs, but she just waves her arms at him and squeals. Is she his? After all this time, did he finally fuck up and procreate? His mind spins and he wishes he remembers what the woman looks like better than he does but it had been early (for him) and he had just woken up. “We will have to find you someone who knows what they are doing kiddo.”

****

“What did you do?” Johan accuses Dieter who shakes his head, holding the baby in his arms and he looks at her, unable to deny that she looks a little like Dieter.

“I don’t know man. Some woman, I- Jesus. She said I fucked her and don’t even remember her. I’m waiting for the nurse to come for the DNA test.” Dieter confesses, knowing he has to be sure before he does anything.

“Oh my God, Dieter.” She rolls her eyes and immediately steps closer to the baby, unable to resist seeing her up close. “This is why you said you needed a nanny?”

Dieter nods and rocks his body as the baby’s eyes start to drift closed. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” He huff, looking around the house that is definitely not baby proof. “I don’t have anything. I need-” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what the fuck I need. More diapers? That formula?” He nods towards the diaper bag. “She didn’t leave me shit for this baby.” He growls, pissed off at the poor planning of that woman. Who just abandons their baby with someone they didn’t know?

“Let me make a list and we can get what we need for her.” Johan says, knowing Dieter will not know anything that he will need.

“I need help. And stuff. Like now.” Dieter says, feeling the need to use but he can’t since he’s responsible for a fucking baby now.

Johan nods and bites his lip. “I’ve got a call into a nanny service. They are going to send someone over today.” He knows Dieter will be relieved. “Maybe she can help us with what we need.”

“Let’s get her. I need help. I- shit. I don’t even have a crib or anything. I need you to go out. Take my card and get all the baby shit from the best store there is in town.” He orders, wanting the baby to have the best even if she isn’t his. She’s cute and she deserves a good start in this world. “I need - shit - I have no idea what I’m doing. Please help me.” Dieter begs, the baby falling asleep against his chest and he looks down at her, her lips pouting as she sucks on the pacifier he found in the bag.

Johan grimaces and nods, aware that he has even less experience with babies than Dieter does. “I’ll be back.” The other man promises, quickly making his way towards the door and out of the house. He had no clue what the hell to do for his boss, he’s gotten himself in a mess this time. As much as he wants to claim he doesn’t know that baby is his, it is. Dieter Bravo is a father.

****

“It’s nice to meet you. I’ve always been such a fan of your work.” The woman gushes. Dieter can barely remember her name. Violet, Vivian, or something like that. She seems nice enough and her qualifications from the service are good. He doesn’t really know what he’s looking for in a nanny except he desperately needs help. He’s waiting on the DNA results to come in but the little baby is cute and she listens to him rambling without complaints.

Viola looks around the house and wonders how the hell Dieter Bravo became an overnight father. “You must attend parenting classes.” She insists after Dieter finally runs out of steam and shuts up. “There is one I can sign you up for. It’s for new parents and you qualify.” She chuckles, shaking her head. “They have a meeting in two days, I can see about getting you halfway set up.

“What? No. I don’t need a parenting group.” Dieter scoffs and Viola raises her eyebrows.

“Respectful sir, I think you do.” She offers him a wry smile when the baby starts to cry in his arms.

“I’m hopeless, aren’t I?” He sighs, trying to rock Rosie and he is struggling to calm her.

“Here. Can I-?” Viola asks and Dieter practically shoves the baby into her arms.

“You’re hired.” He declares when Rosie calms down and the crying stops. He can’t do this alone.

“Mr. Bravo,” Viola frowns and shakes her head. “I’m sorry if you misunderstood. I am here temporarily.” She explains. “I have already signed a contract with another family. I came today because it was an emergency.” She wonders if he had heard anything she had said when she arrived, he had looked frazzled but she thought she had been clear.

“What? No! You seem like such a nice lady and Rosie likes you. Please. I’ll pay more. I’ll do anything to get you to stay.” He pleads, “name your price. I’ll fucking pay it. Please!” He pouts, eyes wide and pleading.

Viola shakes her head, “I’m so sorry. I can’t get out of the contract. I’ll help you as much as I can. Johan said you need help learning the basics so I’ll show you the basics and take care of Rosie while I can but you’re going to have to learn what to do.” She says, knowing it’s going to be tough.

“I can’t do this.” Dieter wails, knowing life as he knows it is over. Without someone here, he going to fuck it up. “Please, please, you have to stay.” He begs, making Viola shake her head.

“I am here for one week, Mr. Bravo. Then it will be up to you to find someone to help you care for Rosie. Now, let me show you how to bathe your daughter.”

****

“She’s yours.” Dieter exhales shakily as Johan announces the DNA results.

“Shit. I- I have a daughter.” He shakes his head and looks over at Rosie who is asleep in her bassinet. “What am I gonna do?” Dieter asks as reality sets in. He has a child that he’s responsible for and Viola is only here for two more days. “She’s - she’s so tiny and I’m gonna fuck it up. She’s gonna get fucked up because of me.” He starts to panic now that reality has hit.

“You are going to go to the parenting class tonight and we are going to continue to look for a nanny.” Johan tells Dieter practically. He’s been surprised that Dieter hasn’t done as many drugs as he normally does, even smoking weed outside because of the baby. “So far all the services I’ve called don’t have anyone available until next year.” He shakes his head. “Apparently it was baby season this year.”

Dieter groans, covering his face with his hands and dragging them down his cheeks. “I have pre-production for the movie coming up in a few weeks. I can’t take her with me to a table read.” He whines and Rosie shifts in her sleep, making Dieter’s heart melt when the movement catches his attention and he looks over. “Fine. I’ll go to the parenting class. Maybe…maybe someone can help me find a nanny there.” He says, determined to find help.

****

Dieter walks into the church hall, surprised he hasn’t burst into flames. He hasn’t been to church since he was a kid. His mama used to drag him on a Sunday and when he became famous at ten years old, he managed to bail on church because he was working. He sits down in a seat, noticing how all the other attendees are women. Rosie is asleep in her carrier for now and he has the diaper bag at his feet. “Welcome ladies and - oh. Hi, we have a new member.” An older woman smiles at Dieter, “welcome to the single mom support group.”

“Oh, uh, I thought it was-“ Dieter falters for a moment, panicking about being kicked out of the group. “I thought this was a single parent support group.” He explains, shuffling. “I just- uh, the mother of the child- my child- I just got the DNA test back, dropped her off on my door with no warning.” He rambles, trying to explain why he needs to stay. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” He confesses, nearly sounding defeated.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. You can stay.” A few of the moms recognize Dieter and he looks exhausted. Rosie had kept him up half of the night since Viola has been weaning him off of her help, and he glances around.

“I’m sorry to - shit. I can go.” He says and you are sitting next to him.

“No, stay. It’s okay. We are all here to help each other.” Your own son, three months old, is whining and you sigh, pulling your tank top down and unclipping your bra to breastfeed him.

Dieter’s eyes widen at the sight of your breast and he can’t deny his cock twitches a little at the idea of drinking down some milk. Shit, when did that kink happen? “I appreciate it. I have no clue what I’m doing.” He admits again and all the women laugh, “none of us do. It’s instinct and a lot of books.” One giggles, “and Google.”

“I didn’t even know.” Dieter moans, shaking his head. “It was- it was a one night stand.” He feels bad about that, not even able to tell Rosie about his relationship with her mom when she gets older. “I’m trying to hire a nanny but all of them are booked up.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to fuck her up. She’s so tiny. Two months old.”

“What’s her name?” You ask him, looking at the little girl asleep in her carrier.

“Rosie.” He says with a soft smile, it’s hard to not love the little girl now that he knows she’s his. He wants the best for her, even if she’s stuck with a manic mess like him. “This is Oliver.” You gesture to the baby now asleep on your breast.

Dieter smiles and tries not to notice the grunting sounds the kid is making. Feeling guilty because he knows that he would be making the exact same sounds the kid is if he was sucking down milk from your tit. “That’s nice.” He offers.

“So what is your name?” The woman in charge smiles fondly at him and he’s surprised no one recognizes him.

“Uh, Dieter.” He offers, curling his shoulders slightly. “Dieter Bravo.”

“Welcome Dieter.” Several of the women say to him with a smile.

“So do you have any questions?” Julia, the group leader asks.

“Where the fuck do I begin?” He replies dramatically, making all the women chuckle.

“Well, we are here to help each other so might as well start.”

“So my first question. So is their shit always gonna be that black color?” Dieter shakes his head, making a face as he remembers the last diaper he had changed.

All the women laugh. “No that won’t last for much longer since she’s three months old.”

Dieter rolls his eyes gratefully. “Oh thank God.” He chuckles. Looking over at you again. “You said your son is two months old? Is he sleeping all night? Is that something that she has to get used to?”

You shake your head, “he isn’t sleeping through the night yet. I breastfeed so he wakes me up every couple of hours. It takes a while for them to sleep through the night. Like six months or so. Have you read any baby books?” You ask and he shakes his head. “Oh you must read - you know what. I’ll send you a list. What’s your number?” You ask and the women all giggle, making you fluster. “I mean, to help. We have babies close in age. It’s good to have help.”

“Do you need a job?” Dieter blurts out, wondering why he hadn’t thought of it before. “I mean- if your husband doesn’t mind.” He corrects himself, forgetting it was a single mother’s group. “I'm just- I’ve got to start pre-production on the next movie and it’s going to be crazy and you seem like you’re perfect. You handle your baby so easily.” His eyes are wide and pleading, begging you to say yes.

Your eyes widen, "I- um, oh wow. A job?"

The other women all nod, telling Dieter about your history as a teacher and how you know CPR. You fluster, knowing you need a job. Your maternity leave ended two weeks ago and instead of letting you come back to work, your job had fired you. Between losing your job and your landlord chasing you up on rent, you know this is too good to turn down. "I'm not married and um, what job do you have in mind?"

“Nanny.” He jumps immediately on your question. Knowing that it’s not a ‘no’. “I’ll pay you really well and you can- can you live there? I mean, I can have odd hours and you can stay at my place. You and Oliver.” He makes sure to include your son. “I have a big house. In Sherman Oaks.” As if that would sweeten the deal. “Help me with Rosie and teach me how to be a dad. How to look after her. I don’t expect you to do it all.” He clarifies, having already gotten used to the idea of being a ‘girl dad’. He’s watched a few Tik Toks about it and it looks cool.

You know it sounds too good to be true. A job and a place to live with your son. “I think we need to sit down and talk this through properly. You don’t even know me. Don’t you wanna do a background check?” You ask, knowing you’d be doing that if you were hiring someone to live in your house. “We have a lot to discuss.” You bite your lip and look around the room to see the other moms nodding to encourage you.

“Yeah. Yeah.” Dieter nods seriously. “My agent will have that done. Plus the NDA you would have to sign.” He’s grateful you are even thinking about it. “But don’t worry. Most of the tabloid stuff is bullshit. I’m not that bad.” He promises with a quick, charming grin. “We can hammer out the details after this, right?”

“Uh, sure.” You nod and Dieter winks at you before turning back to the women, their own babies in their arms and you know this is too good an opportunity to turn down. “You wanna go get a coffee?” You ask Dieter after Oliver is in his stroller and you look at Rosie who is still asleep, unaware of her father trying to hire her a new nanny.

“As long as it’s quiet.” He says and you frown, “uh, sure. You said you are going into pre-production so does that mean you are an actor?” You ask, unaware of if he’s famous.

Dieter stares at you for a moment, wondering if you are just trying to play coy but you are just looking at him curiously. “Yeah, uh, I am.” He admits, finding it refreshing that someone on this planet doesn’t know who he is or have any expectations of him. “I normally do two or three movies a year, depending on how long they take to film or whatever.” He struggles with the carrier and the door, holding it open for you on the other side. “Gotta get one of those.” He tells himself, eyeing your stroller.

“We can make a list of what you’ll need. I’m guessing you have the basics but there’s so much stuff.” You sigh, knowing it’s not always been in your reach but someone like him could buy it all.

“A list sounds good. Coffee?” He suggests, gesturing to the small coffee shop down the street and you nod.

“Sounds good. I desperately need one. He kept me up all night. He was hungry last night and wouldn’t settle unless he was against my breast.”

Dieter keeps his dirty thoughts to himself, but he doesn’t blame the kid. He would love to sleep with a nipple in his mouth too. “We will make sure to get you an extra shot of espresso.” He promises, carrying the car seat and diaper bag as he walks alongside you. “I’m being serious. About the job, I mean.” He tells you. “I have tried every nanny service in the greater L.A. area with no luck, although I’m on their waitlist.” He sighs and shuffles the carrier when his arm gets tired in one position. “I have an in-law suite you and Oliver can use, if you want a little more privacy than just sleeping upstairs.” He knows he sounds desperate, because he is desperate. Johan knows less than he does about babies and has zero interest in watching the kid while he is busy.

“Let’s sit down with the babies and then we can order.” You suggest and he nods, guiding you over to a table in the back. Rosie is waking up and he panics when she starts to cry. “Oh hello gorgeous.” You murmur, leaning down to look at his daughter and Dieter is fumbling to get the bottle from the bag to make her formula. You sigh, sensing he needs help and you unbuckle the baby, Oliver asleep as you cradle Rosie, her cries settling a little and you stand up, rocking her and you reach for the formula Dieter has, a whole damn container, and work fast on a bottle. “My sister has kids. I used to babysit them.” You explain and work fast with one hand to prepare a bottle and bring it to her lips. “Here you go sweet pea.” You coo as she starts to gulp down the milk.

“You’re really good at this.” Dieter says in awe, watching you handle things so smoothly. “I’m just-I don’t know.” He sighs, feeling bad that he’s not good at this.

“Babies sense the emotions around them.” You tell him quietly. “You panic, she’s going to become more frantic. Just talk to her while you are getting her bottle ready. Or have one already mixed up, ready to go.” You think about all the formulas that are already bottled and just need a nipple slapped on them. “We can find a routine that works for you.”

Dieter nods, “yes. Yes. God, please take the job. I need you.” He pleads and you shift Rosie into his arms, transferring the bottle to him.

“I’ll take the job. On one condition.” You say, sitting back down and you rock Oliver’s stroller.

“Anything.” Dieter vows.

“You learn too. I don’t want you to just shove her into my arms at the first sign of difficulty. She’s your daughter. You need to know how to care for her, to bond with her. You can’t just hand her off and expect me to do it all. She needs to know her daddy.”

Dieter nods, knowing that he would do that if given the opportunity. “Okay.” He agrees. “I want you to help me become better at taking care of her.” He bites his lip and looks at you. “What do you want for pay?” He asks, listing off a number that the nanny services had given him. “Does that sound okay? Plus, you’ll have full use of the house. And a card for expenses. I don’t expect you to buy the diapers or wipes or any of that shit.”

Your eyes widen, it’s way more than you were making at your old job. Your landlord has been threatening you with eviction since you’re struggling to pay, and this almost seems like fate. “Wow. I- are you sure?” You ask him and he nods, “I’m absolutely sure.”

You swallow and offer him a soft smile, “then I’m your new nanny.” He grins and your heart thumps in your chest at how handsome he is. “There’s something you gotta know though.” You sigh and Dieter nods, waiting for you to go on. “Oliver’s father. He - he died.” You feel yourself tearing up, “we - I was only a few months pregnant when we got into the car accident. I didn’t even know I was pregnant at the time but Ollie- he- he died. We were- we were friends, friends with benefits and we got pregnant and he- he never got to meet his son.” You choke, the grief that’s consumed you threatens to take you again. He didn’t have any family left alive so Oliver would’ve been his only family.

“I’m sorry.” Dieter frowns, unsure of how to comfort someone about a death that meaningful but he feels like he should say something. “That is rough. Hopefully- hopefully this will turn into a good arrangement.” He offers with a small shrug, realizing that things could be worse. He can’t imagine what it would be like going through this alone. “After our coffee, do you want to come over? See the house?” He asks. “I can call my agent to draw up any kind of paperwork you want.”

You nod, sniffing to stop yourself from crying about Ollie. You loved him, he was your friend, but you were never in love with him. He had his problems and you had yours. It would’ve never worked. Oliver is here now and you have to be strong for him, to keep Ollie’s memory alive. “Yes. I- this is a lot but I want to change my life. I need a change. I want to work for you.” You say as the barista takes pity on you with the babies and comes over to take your order. “I’ll have a vanilla latte please.” You order and Dieter adds, “with an extra shot of espresso.”

After taking your orders, Rosie finishes her bottle and Dieter shifts to put her up on his shoulder to burp. “Hang on, you need a spit rag.” You insist, digging in your own diaper bag to produce one.

“Huh,” Dieter huffs, “I just thought I was supposed to wear her puke until she stopped doing that.” He jokes, the stains on his shirt only partly from his daughter.

“No, you always carry multiple burp clothes and changes of clothes, for both of you.” You tell him with a smile.

He nods, mentally taking notes. He has so much to learn from you to make sure his daughter is well looked after. He doesn’t want to fail at being a father. He wants her to know he did everything he could to be a good daddy. He knows you will be good for Rosie, for him too. He sips his coffee and watches you with Oliver, rocking his stroller, and he can see you’re a good mom. He feels comfortable with you. “Do you wanna come back to my place?” Dieter asks, realizing that’s the first time he’s asked that question without it being for sex or drugs

You bite your lip and look up at the frazzled, yet handsome man who is offering you a dream situation. A place to live and the ability to stay at home with your son while still earning money. You don’t know if you would ever get a better offer. “Yes.” You agree. “I’ll follow you? Maybe you can text me the address in case we get separated?” You want to look it up really quickly, just to make sure it’s a real place.

He nods, taking your number to text you his address. He is anxious for you to see the house, hoping you love it and it helps to get you to take the job. You strap Oliver into his car seat while Dieter does the same to Rosie and soon enough, you’re driving to his house.

“I, uh, I’ll ask the housekeeper to come in more than once a week.” Dieter offers, climbing out of his car as you do the same. He doesn’t want you to think that it’s all going to fall on you. “Oh, Johan told me about a diaper delivery service. All natural diapers? That’s better, right?” He asks, anxious about doing the right thing. He had read about the chemicals used in the nappies he currently has.

You smile at his anxiety, wanting the best for Rosie, and you know he’s going to be a good daddy once he gets his feet under him. “Johan?” You ask and Dieter nods, “my assistant. He’s - he is my lifeline.” Dieter confesses and you nod, understanding he lives a completely different life to you. He needs an assistant to manage his schedule. You take Oliver out of the car in his carrier and follow Dieter into the house, your eyes wide at the gorgeous home he owns. “This is - wow.” You exhale as you enter the grand property.

“Thank you.” Dieter shows you the bottom floor and opens the door to his study. “I have all this shit I don’t know what it’s for.” The room is filled with boxes of toys and jumpers, cribs and carriers. Johan had gone overboard but Dieter had wanted to make sure that he had everything he needed. Your eyes widen and he blushes, “I was trying my best.”

You nod, understating he has struggled since Rosie was dropped on his doorstep. “We can get everything set up. Does she have a nursery?” You ask and he shakes his head, “she’s been in my room. I- I haven’t really slept. I’ve been trying to watch her sleep in case, you know.”

You understand, knowing you stay awake watching Oliver breathing. It’s a lot of anxiety being a first time parent. “We will get her nursery set up and then you can keep her in your room if you want but then she has somewhere to nap and call her own.” You smile and rub his shoulder after you set Oliver down in his carrier, he’s asleep. “It’s gonna be fine.” You promise him, glancing around the beautiful living room. “It’s gonna need some baby proofing and, uh, that needs to go.” You gesture to the powder packet on the counter.

“Oh, I, uh-“ Dieter rushes forward and grabs the packet to sweep it off the counter and into his pocket. “I haven’t- that’ll be put away.” He promises, cursing himself for leaving it out. He hadn’t taken any lately, not since Rosie arrived because he’s too fucking scared of something happening to her while he’s bombed. “Sorry.” He hopes you don’t decide to leave him high and dry because of that. “Do you want to see the rooms you and Oliver could have?” He asks desperately.

You stop him, “I- I am taking the job but you won’t do drugs in this house with the babies. If something happened or they got hold of it - I couldn’t - no drugs in this house. Period. You wanna go get high somewhere else? Fine. But your daughter comes first, you understand?” You ask him, knowing you won’t risk your own son around that kind of bullshit.

Immediately nodding, Dieter understands what you are saying. “I haven’t- not since she’s arrived.” He confesses. “I’ve been too scared to even try in case something happens.” He’s not stupid enough to think he won’t do drugs anymore but he does want to be there for his daughter.

You nod, knowing it’s not ideal but it will have to do. As long as they aren’t kept in the house and he doesn’t do them around the children, it’s his business. You are just his employee. “Okay.” You pat his shoulder and he guides you to the guest suite. “Dieter…this is…wow.” You gasp at the massive room, “this is - this is a lot. Are you sure - there’s no other room you want me to have?” You ask, knowing this room is the size of your apartment.

“You need room for you and Oliver.” He shrugs, not wanting to say that he doesn’t have guests unless it was someone from a party. And he doubts he’s having those here anymore. “This way you have privacy and your own bathroom.” He knows that is important and figured this would be perfect. “And using another room for Oliver is okay too.” He doesn’t want to suggest the nursery can be shared, but he wouldn’t mind. “Will this work?”

You smile, reaching out to pat his arm, “this is more than enough, Dieter. It’s perfect.” You promise and he grins, pleased that you are happy. He sighs when Rosie starts to cry and Oliver follows suit, both babies waking up. “Come on daddy, let’s go feed the babies.”

He feels more confident with you beside him. Even if it’s just your presence reminding him that he should test the bottle on the inside of his wrist before popping the nipple in Rosie’s mouth while Oliver is greedily suckling at your breast for his own meal. “That wasn’t too bad.” He grins down at his daughter, eyes wide but slowly starting to close as she gulps down the bottle. “How often do you have to feed Oliver?” He asks, trying to keep his eyes on your face respectfully. You aren’t giving him a show.

“About every one and a half to two hours. Depends on when he’s hungry. He lets me know.” You chuckle and watch your son as his gulps turn into suckles which lead to him falling asleep against your breast. “It’s - it’s exhausting but he’s worth it.” You smile at Dieter who is rocking Rosie. “You’re getting better already. We will make a list of everything we need for you and, um, I guess I better go and pack.” You smile bashfully, knowing this is a big move but it’s what’s best for you and Oliver.

“Why don’t we hire someone to pack you?” Dieter asks with a frown. You have your hands full and he knows that it will take a lot to take care of your son and try to pack. “I’ll pay for it. I don’t mind. That way we can get the nursery set up.”

“Are you sure? I- I don’t know if you’re gonna find someone so late notice. I don’t have much. And I will need Oliver’s crib and -”

You don’t get to finish because Dieter is pulling out his phone to call Johan and arrange for your things to be moved today. “Whatever it costs.” Dieter says and you swallow, knowing Dieter has more money than you could imagine if he can waste it like that.

“Thank you.” You tell him, cradling Oliver who is fast asleep.

“It’s nothing.” Dieter waves away the thanks and looks down at Rosie as she finishes the last of her bottle. “Okay little girl, let’s get you to burp, and then maybe a nap?” He asks, grinning. “She has the manliest burps.” He brags, astounded that something so small could make such a racket. “I have the other cradle thingy if you want to lay your son down.”

“The bassinet?” You smirk and he shrugs one shoulder, “I’m still learning.” You nod and let him guide you to the bassinet and you carefully lay Oliver down before adjusting your shirt after clipping your nursing bra. Rosie burps and you giggle softly, liking how proud Dieter is of her and you watch him lay her down in the cradle next to Oliver. “Maybe they will be best friends.” You whisper, leaning closer to him.

“That would be cool.” Dieter imagines it, his own childhood lonely and isolated. There were times he had wished desperately for a built-in friend. “Let’s get out of here before we wake them up.” He has learned that Rosie is cranky if she gets woken up before she’s ready and he doesn’t blame her, he’s the same way. Maybe she got it from him. “So, uh, since there’s two kids….just, um, we’re gonna need that double stroller thingy, right?” Dieter asks as he walks down the hall with you. “And can you show me that carrier thing? The one you have the baby wrapped to your body? That looks cool. Oh, and uh, the diapers. The service, when we get that set up, use it for Oliver too.” He adds. “No need to have two different types of diapers, right?”

You nod, realizing it’s best not to argue. “Let’s leave them to sleep and we can work on getting the nursery set up. I- I really appreciate this opportunity, Dieter.” You tell him and lean in to kiss his cheek. He blushes as you set your phone up as a makeshift baby monitor, calling his phone, and you leave the babies to sleep. Dieter follows you, his eyes dropping down to your ass, and he curses internally when he realizes he finds you hot.

****

“Dieter!” You call out, trying to find your boss. Oliver and Rosie are having tummy time on the play mat and you need your breast pump. It’s been a couple of months since you moved in with Dieter to become his full time nanny and it’s been surprisingly nice. Rosie is a good girl and you’ve grown to fall in love with her, making sure her and Oliver get equal treatment. “Can you get my pump?” You ask when he doesn’t respond.

“Yeah!” Dieter reluctantly lets go of his cock and tucks it away in his dress slacks. He had been trying to tug one out before he had to go to court, formally getting custody of his daughter. Nervous and not able to get high, jerking off had become even more of a habit than before now he had started thinking about you while he was doing it. You’re so fucking pretty and kind. Looking like an angel as you take care of his daughter. Dieter knows that he’s falling in love with you but he can’t do anything about it. Not willing to risk you leaving and denying Rosie the best nanny in the world. Washing his hands quickly, he rushes to the kitchen to grab the pump where you had cleaned it last night while he sterilized bottles. “Here it is.”

You thank him, breasts aching and you attach the suction, not thinking about Dieter as you sigh in relief at the milk finally being pumped. “Shit. That feels good.” You groan, the whooshing of the machine pumping and you have been pumping enough for Rosie to have milk too. It’s been a lot but you love the babies. “What time do you have to leave?” You ask Dieter, catching him staring at your tits and you hate that it thrills you. He’s so sexy, unintentionally so, and goofy as hell. He’s good with his daughter and you’ve grown close, raising the babies together, and you know it’s getting harder and harder to deny how you feel every day.

“Oh, uh, I gotta leave in twenty minutes.” His cock is still hard in his trousers and he twitches at the groan you make. Every day you pump, having no modesty around him now and you shouldn’t - it’s natural but Dieter still thinks it’s sexy. “I’m nervous.” He admits, glancing over at Rosie as she squeals and waves her arms on her tummy. “I know that my lawyer said it’s a formality, but what if the judge doesn’t like me? What if he takes Rosie from me?”

You shake your head and reach for his hand, squeezing it. “I promise you, it’s gonna be fine, D. You’re a good daddy and that will be shown. I know your past hasn’t been ideal but you got this. You’re a good man, Rosie is lucky to have you. We all are. It’s gonna be fine. I promise you.” You offer him a soft smile and squeeze his hand again.

“I’m more nervous than the night I won my Oscar.” Dieter confesses with a nervous chuckle. He doesn’t tell you that he was high, sure that you could guess that, although he has done anything more than hit his weed pen since you’ve moved in. Rosie is surprisingly therapeutic, although he’s glad she doesn’t understand what he talks about during the nights he gets up with her. The movie is almost halfway done shooting and he’s going to make sure that once he’s done, you get a week off so you can veg for more than a night. He looks down at your joined hands and smiles. “I’ll call you when I get out, okay?” He asks, and you nod, letting go of him. “And eat that kale and beet salad in the fridge”, he throws over his shoulder as he rushes towards the door. “It’s supposed to help the milk supply.”

You roll your eyes playfully, looking back at the babies. “Daddy is silly, isn’t he?” You talk to Rosie and look at Oliver, saddened that he isn’t going to know his father. You wonder what Ollie would think of Dieter. They are similar in a lot of ways but Ollie was always practical, making sure you weren’t in a relationship because of his strenuous job as a firefighter. He didn’t want you to be one of those women sitting around waiting for him. You sigh and wonder what you are going to do about Dieter. It’s too comfortable with him.

****

“Dinner’s ready!” You call out. The babies are now six and seven months old. Sitting in their baby bouncers, watching you setting the dinner out for Dieter. He’s finished filming and you want to celebrate. The nice bottle of wine on the table alongside his favorite pasta.

“Oh my god, you spoil me.” Dieter groans as he comes into the dining room, freshly showered and in comfortable clothes. Rosie squeals happily and so does Oliver, both of them in their high chairs. Dieter grins leaning in and blowing a raspberry on his daughter’s cheek and then on your son’s. He never thought he was a kid type of person, but his playfulness extends to your son. He’s a good kid and it would not be right when you are so good with Rosie if he ignored the little guy. It makes him imagine that the four of you are a family, a real one and he was coming home from work to all of you. “You didn’t have to do this.”

You shake your head, enjoying the way his hand finds your waist as you reach for the parmesan on the counter. You turn to face him, cupping his cheek, “you just finished filming. You deserve a treat.” You smile, caressing his cheek and your eyes dip down to his lips for a second. He stares at you and you clear your throat, lowering your hand, “let’s eat. You must be starving.” You set the cheese down and glance over at the babies, you fed them while dinner was cooking so now you and Dieter can enjoy your meal.

“How was your day?” He’s finding that this, fatherhood and responsibility, is grounding for him. Not just concentrating on his whims and trolling through boredom. Every day is different and challenging with kids, especially when he’s trying to make sure that none of his own parents' mistakes affect Rosie. “The kids were okay?” He asks, pouring more wine into each of your glasses. You hum in protest but Dieter shakes his head. “Just pump and dump. You deserve more than one glass.” He huffs.

You sigh but let him pour some more wine, it’s been stressful with the babies today. “Rosie decided to throw up all over Oliver and herself so both of them needed a bath and then Oliver managed to get his diaper off in his onesie so he needed another bath and then Rosie wouldn’t stop crying because Oliver wasn’t next to her. It’s been - it’s been a day.” You sigh and Dieter nods, reaching for your hand. It feels so normal, like you’re complaining to your husband about your hectic day over wine and you look up at Dieter, “I love them both so much but today was…it was a lot.”

“I can imagine.” Dieter squeezes your hand gently and once again thinks that it’s odd that you don’t feel like his employee. You feel like his wife, although he’s never kissed you, or touched you like he’s imagined. “Let me take both the kids tonight.” He offers. “I’ve got the next week off before I have to do all the press bullshit for the other movie coming out in two weeks. Why don’t you take a little vacation? A spa or something?” His parenting skills have improved drastically and there have been times where he’s watched Oliver for you. Like when you had to go for another postpartum checkup.

You groan, letting go of his hand so you can continue eating. “I won’t lie…a massage sounds good. My back has been killing me.” You confess, twirling the pasta around your fork and you bite your lip, wondering what a massage from him would be like with his hands. “I wouldn’t mind going to the mall. I need some new clothes that aren't leggings.” You chuckle, “and I need some new underwear.” You sigh before you chew on the pasta.

Dieter’s cock twitches at the thought of your underwear. Not that he sees them. You’ve taken over doing the laundry even though he offered to have someone come in. Or he could help. Insisting that it was no problem. Johan had even commented that you made his house seem like a real home, and Dieter couldn’t deny that. “You could do all that.” He promises. “I’ll watch the kids. I want to spend some time with R and O.”

You feel guilty leaving the kids behind but you trust Dieter, something you never thought you’d say, but he has proven himself to be an amazing father. You smile, “thanks baby.” You tell him and he swallows the wine down. It’s getting harder to deny how you feel. After finishing eating, Dieter helps you clean up while you have the babies in the play pen. “Bedtime for the bubbies.” You coo, picking up Rosie and kissing her hair. “Daddy is gonna change you, baby girl.” You slide her into Dieter’s arms and pick up Oliver.

“Why don’t you go take your own bath?” Dieter offers, grinning down at Rosie. “You’ve had them all day and you said it’s been rough. Go take a bubble bath. I can get them ready for bed.” He’s made huge strides as a father, as a caretaker and now that he’s more confident, he finds he likes it. Kids are fun. And easy to learn how to please. “I can rock them both and get them settled.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, trusting him but you want him to be comfortable.

“I am for this.” He promises and you nod, “you got this. I- I can feed O before they get to sleep.” You say and he shakes his head.

“No. I got it.” He promises, knowing he can warm up your milk.

You lean in to kiss the babies’ heads, “goodnight my loves. I love you so much.” You say to them and you look up at Dieter, offering him a grateful smile. You make your way into the bathroom, sighing in relief when you sink into the tub.

Dieter hums to the babies as he warms up their last bottles of the night. Changed and in clean onesies, they are ready for that last bottle. Smirking to himself as he tests the breast milk on his wrist and barely resists licking it. He wants to try it, but he feels like that might be crossing a line. Getting both of the babies settled in each arm and they can hold their own bottle now with a little help. “You two are like twins, you know that?” He coos at both of them, settling in the rocker on the nursery while they eat. Watching their eyes grow heavier as they suck. You had both decided to keep them in the same nursery, letting them bond and it has worked out so much better than he had ever hoped. He loves Oliver like Rosie and when they fall asleep at the same time, he’s grinning as he holds them for a little longer before shifting to put them to sleep in the same crib. They cried if they were separated, curling up together during the night as if they were twins.

You sigh, relaxing in the hot water until you decide to get out and say goodnight to the babies. You shrug your robe on, tying it as you make your way to the nursery as Dieter leans over the crib. “They asleep?” You whisper and he nods. You caress their heads, loving how they are asleep together, keeping each other safe. Sometimes you see them holding hands in the night. It’s adorable. You rest your head on Dieter’s shoulder as you watch them for another moment and he turns his head to kiss your hair. It makes your heart pound and you pull away, letting the babies sleep with the white noise machine running.

Dieter’s hands seem to be twitchy as you walk out of the nursery in front of him. He knows that you are only dressed in a robe and he wants nothing more than to strip you out of it and touch you. Make you shake in pleasure. “Do you want to have a drink?” Dieter asks. “Or are you calling it a night?”

“A drink sounds good. Relax after a long day.” You smile, walking into the kitchen to open the second bottle of wine you’d bought earlier. You work fast to open it, pouring a glass and handing it to him before you settle on the sofa. “You wanna continue watching that show on HBO?” You ask, knowing he hates it when you watch an episode without him.

“Yes!” Dieter lights up and he narrows his eyes at you playfully. “You better not have already watched it.” He threatens playfully, handing you the remote. He likes when you relax and loves that you feel completely at home here. It is your home. He leans towards you and takes a sip of the wine. “What do you think is gonna happen, this episode? The previews looked good.”

You nod, shifting closer towards him. “I promise you. I haven’t seen it yet.” You assure him and have another sip of your wine. You love and hate how relaxed you are, how easy this is. How real it feels. Like you’re a proper family. The baby monitor is on the coffee table and you rest your head on Dieter’s shoulder as he presses play. You barely watch the show, too focused on the way Dieter feels pressed against you.

About halfway through the show Dieter shuffles, throwing his arm around the backside of the couch and around you. Letting you slide down against him more. You pull the throw blanket over your legs and he smiles, wondering how you are always cold but it’s a cute quirk he’s noticed.

You snuggle into his side, hand finding his chest and you caress the skin under the shirt he always has half buttoned. He sighs and you breathe him in, pleased to feel his heart thumping under your touch. This intimacy, it’s what keeps you satisfied when you yearn for more but you can’t risk it. Your job. Your home. Your life is connected to his and you can’t afford to mess it up.

“Marry me.” Dieter says and you think you misheard him.

“What?” You ask, not moving.

“Marry me.” He repeats and you jerk back from his side so you can look him in the eyes.

“What- did you just ask me to marry you?”

“I did.” Dieter nods, turning towards you and reaching for your hand. “I love you. I love how you make this house feel like a home. I love how you care for Rosie and I love Oliver.” He adds. “I love coming home to you and I want this-“ he motions around the house and between the two of you. “To be real. I want to touch you, kiss you. Make love to you.” Dieter isn’t a man who talks in terms like ‘making love’ but that’s exactly what it would be. “I think you love me too, don’t you? I know you do.”

You shake your head, wanting to tell him you love him. He’s crazy, he leaves his socks everywhere and he has so many holes in his shirts but he’s kind and whacky and so damn funny. You love him, you’re in love with him, but to marry him would be a bad idea. You can’t risk this life you’ve created together. “Dieter.” You sigh, pulling your hand out of his. “We can’t. We can’t risk the babies. We - if it all went wrong, then I’d be moving out with Oliver and Rosie loses him and vice versa. If it all went wrong, I’d be homeless and I wouldn’t have anything. I can’t risk that for my son. I can’t. I’m sorry.”

His heart breaks but he’s determined to convince you this is a good thing. Latching onto what you said about being homeless, his eyes widen. “I’ll buy you a house.” He bursts out. “In your name alone. It’ll be yours. Completely.” He nods to himself, grinning like an idiot and picks up your hand again. “It won’t go wrong, you’re perfect and I love you. I want to be with you and our babies all the time and fuck, I want another baby when you’re ready.” He missed everything about Rosie’s birth and he wants to see your stomach large with a baby, his baby. “But if it did-“ he stresses the word ‘if’, “-you would have a house for you and Oliver. And you could rent it out right now. The money would be yours. Totally yours.”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head, “I can’t - that’s too much. A house here is insane. That’s a crazy amount to put into this. That - a whole damn house? That’s what you want to do?” You ask incredulously and he nods.

“All I know is that I can’t stop thinking about you. I need you. I love you.” He promises and you swallow harshly, tears stinging in your eyes.

Your heart yearns for him yet your head tells you it’s too much of a risk. “Dieter…” You trail off and he frowns, pulling away slightly, sensing your rejection. “I love you.” Your eyes water and a sob escapes your lips as you start to cry. No one has ever been so kind to you. To know he loves you enough to buy a house so you feel secure in case something goes wrong. It has you sobbing.

He lunges forward, crushing you to him in a comforting hug. “Don’t cry baby, please don’t cry. I never want you to cry.” He pleads, sure that he’s messed up somehow. “I’m sorry, I just can’t stop wanting you. Seeing you with our babies, I think- I wish they were ours. Our twins and we had them together.” He rubs your back and pets your hair as you sob into his chest and he tries to think of how he could make you feel better.

You sob into his chest at his words, wishing they were true but it’s not and that’s okay. The babies brought you together and you know you and Dieter would’ve never met if it weren’t for that single moms group. “I - I love you.” You offer him a watery smile as you pull back and he reaches out to gently wipe your tears away. “I love you and I want you to be mine. I want to be yours. I love you Dieter.” You confess, cupping his cheeks.

Dieter’s smile is slow, soft and he can’t believe that you are saying yes. He leans in and presses his lips to yours softly. Loving how you immediately open for him to slide his tongue against yours with a groan. Pulling you close against him again, this time shamelessly pressing his body against yours. “I love you.” He promises, kissing down your jaw line. “Do you want to have sex with me? Or do you want to wait?” He wants you in his bed, but if you wanted to wait until the deed to the house was in your hands, he would understand that. He would go out tomorrow and buy you the best house he could find.

You know you’ve spent far too much time thinking about him, having him inside of you, pressing against you, and you know you should slow down but you can’t. “I want you. I don’t want to wait. I want you now.” You tell him breathlessly and you press your lips to his, cupping his cheek while you slide your tongue against his.

Groaning, Dieter pulls you closer and starts to lean you back against the sofa, knowing that he needs to take you to bed but right now, he needs to feel you under him. “So beautiful.” He praises, kissing your chin and nips your skin with his teeth.

You sigh, loving how it feels to have him touch you. His hand sliding along your thigh and you whimper, “Dieter. Please. I want you to touch me.” You plead, guiding his hand to the tie of your robe while your hands caress his chest under his ratty t-shirt.

He hums, twitching against your hip and he leans back and grins at you, “I’m going to, baby. I’m going to make sure you know exactly what you are getting from me.” He pulls your robe open and groans at the sight of your tits. Looking back up at you. “Can I taste?” He asks. “I’ve dreamed of tasting your milk.”

Your cunt clenches around nothing at the thought. “You’ve imagined it?” You ask breathlessly and he nods so you move fast to straddle him, his cock hard against your thigh, and you lean in towards him to kiss him as you shrug your robe off of your shoulders. “You can have a taste.”

He knows your tits are tender, hearing you complain and watching as you sometimes have to massage them. He cups them in his hands, groaning at how full they are, grinning. “Fuck, I can drink it all since you were going to dump it.” He realizes as he leans forward to wrap his lips around one nipple.”

“Oh shit.” You gasp, groaning softly at the relief and arousal coursing through you. You love it. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you watch him gulp down your milk and you’re amazed that he enjoys it. “Oh God baby.” You pant, feeling the relief of your milk draining and the way he sucks on your nipple, biting it now and then.

“Shit.” He gasps, feeling his cock throbbing. “It’s better than I expected.” He moans, switching to your other breasts and he knows this will become a favorite thing for him now. One hand slides down between your thighs and he is so fucking happy to find you wet.

“Dieter. Please.” You beg, needing more from him. It’s been so long since someone touched you. Not since Ollie. You rock down onto his fingers, loving how he rubs your clit while his lips suckle on your other breast. “Oh fuck, D. So good.” You whimper, caressing his shoulders.

“What do you want, baby?” He pulls off your nipple with a pop. “You want me to eat your pussy?” He groans at the thought. “Want to sit on Dieter’s face? Smother me with your cunt?”

You giggle breathlessly, “that’s the only way to shut you up?” You tease and he nods, “one of the few ways.”

You laugh and he moves fast to shift, laying down and he pulls you over to hover over his face. “Shit baby. So good to me.” You gasp when he drags you down on top of his face.

The first taste is always amazing. Sliding his tongue though your folds as he pulls your hips down onto his mouth. Holding you there as he licks and then sucks on your clit.

You whimper, “baby. Oh baby.” You moan, grinding down onto his face. “So good. So fucking good.” You moan, loving how enthusiastic he is and he squeezes your ass, encouraging you to move. You do, rocking your hips down even more.

He doesn’t care that you two are on the couch or that he is throbbing in his pants. All he cares about is making you moan his name. He knows he will slide inside you as soon as you cum for him. He moans against your clit, loving how you are smothering him just like he wanted you to. Using him for your pleasure.

“Fuck. Fuck. It’s so good, baby.” You pant, lost in the pleasure of his mouth on you. You rock on top of his mouth, his nose pressing against your clit as his tongue pushes deep. “Fuck baby. Yes. Yes. Yes. Keep - keep going.” You beg, moaning his name.

He can’t breathe, but he doesn’t care. Too busy licking into you to feel your walls start to convulse around his tongue. Moaning when the first rush if your juices hit his mouth and your moan of his name almost makes him cum in his pants. Digging his fingers into your hips, Dieter doubles down on making you shriek his name.

You throw your head back as he makes you cum, moaning his name as you clamp down around his tongue. “Fuck baby. Fuck. I- I love you.” You whine when he works you through it and you whimper, lifting off of him when it becomes too much.

Panting like he was the one who had cum, Dieter licks his lips, completely pussy drunk as he caresses your side. Enjoying the boneless way you collapse on top of him as you try to catch your breath. “I love you. Fuck, you’re my new favorite meal.”

You inhale deeply, shifting off of him and you waste no time in tugging his shirt off of him. “Baby. I want to see all of you.” You tell him, tossing the ragged shirt away and you pull his sweats down to expose his cock. “Holy - that’s what you got?” Your eyes are wide at the girth and you wrap your fingers around him.

Dieter groans, bucking his hips and biting his lip in pleasure. “Fuck, is that not enough?” He gasps out. Normally women have no issue with his size but maybe your Ollie was hung like a horse.

“Not enough? Dieter, baby, I’m gonna feel you tomorrow.” You assure him, “I’m gonna need - wow. You might have to get some lube.” You admit and you start to pump him, in awe that your fingers don’t touch. You know it’s been so long since you’ve had sex and he is thick. You’ve always preferred girth over length anyway. “You’re big.” You promise him, leaning in to flick your tongue over the leaking slit.

He preens at your praise, eyes rolling back in his head at the feel of your tongue. “I’ve got lube.” He promises, reaching down and cradling your jaw. “Use it all the time, jerking off thinking about you.” He’s not ashamed of masturbating while thinking of you. “Baby let's go to the bedroom. You can ride me if you want more control.”

You want to suck his cock but you know you’ll have plenty of time to do that later. Right now, you need him inside of you. Releasing his cock, you pick up the baby monitor and stand up, smirking as you make your way to his bedroom. He’s scrambling to get his sweatpants off and you disappear down the hall, throwing over your shoulder, “don’t keep me waiting, Bravo.”

“Shit.” He hisses, eager to chase after you. Noticing that you are headed to his bedroom and not your own. “I’m coming baby, fuck.” He watches your ass shake as you sway your hips. “Gonna buy you the biggest fucking house I can find.”

You giggle, setting the monitor down on the nightstand and you gasp when Dieter’s hands grab your hips, pulling you back into him. You quickly spin and wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your lips to his. “I love you.” You murmur against his mouth, his hard cock pressing into your stomach.

“I love you too.” Dieter moans softly, sliding his hands down and squeezing your ass. “Do you- do you need me to wear a condom?” He asks, sure that you aren’t wanting to get pregnant so soon after having your son. It wasn’t like you two had discussed birth control.

“No. I- I got an IUD put in. Figured they might as well do it while I was there and it wasn’t painful. I’m clean too. Not been with anyone since Ollie.” You promise and wonder if he’s clean. You don’t know when he slept with someone last. Maybe after you arrived. You don’t know. It’s not like it was your business when you were just his nanny.

He nods. “I uh, I haven’t been with anyone since Rosie has shown up. I’m clean.” He promises, eager to slide inside you and feel you without a barrier. “I didn’t want to do that kind to shit around her. Give her a good example. Don’t want her to be like me.”

You cup his cheeks, “you’re a good father and she’s gonna be just fine. You’re doing a good job.” You remind him, leaning in to kiss along his jaw. “Come on baby, you want me to ride you?” You ask and he nods. You let go of him and he walks over to his nightstand to grab the lube while you kneel on the bed. When he’s laying down, you grab the bottle and squirt some into your hand, wrapping your fingers around his cock to coat him before you swipe your fingers through your folds to make sure you’re slick enough. “Fuck, you’re gonna stretch me out.” You tell him as you straddle him.

“Want to see it.” Dieter pants, chest heaving as he watches you position his cock at your entrance. Moaning your name as you start to sink down on him, he can feel his entire body light up in pleasure at the hot clutch of your cunt. “I love you. I fucking love you.” Dieter cries, his fingers digging into your thighs as you slowly take him deeper, watching your mouth drop open and loving the way you moan his name.

Your eyes close as you slowly sink down onto him. He’s so thick, it stings, but you like that. It’s been so long since you had sex and this is the man you love. Your heart pounds in your chest as your thighs meet his, his cock fully inside of you, and his fingers sink into your flesh. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” He grunts and you giggle, leaning down to kiss along his jaw. “I fucking love you too.” You murmur, licking along his neck until you are biting his earlobe so you can give yourself a moment to adjust to him.

He whines, unable to stop himself from lurching up in pleasure. “Oh did you like that?” You giggle breathlessly, making him moan and turn his head so you can do it again.

“More baby, fuck. Want you to mark me up.” He begs, so starved for attention that he needs to drown in it. His hand squeezes your ass again and it takes concentration to not urge you to move, your walls fluttering so deliciously around him.

You love how desperate he is for you. Biting down on his earlobe again and his cock twitches inside of you. You take pity, finally feeling comfortable, and you shift, rocking on his cock while you nibble on his ear, whispering “you’re mine. I’m gonna make sure everyone sees it.” You smirk as you kiss down his neck, sucking and biting on his skin.

“Fuck yes, I’m yours, I’m yours.” Dieter chants, rocking his hips up to chase your cunt when you lift off of him. Hating even the brief few seconds where he’s not buried inside your warmth. “All yours baby.” He groans, closing his eyes at the pure bliss of being able to touch you, to tell you what he’s thinking without worrying about offending you. “Gonna marry you. Give you everything.” He gasps out.

You moan, “I’m yours too. Been yours since I moved into this house. I’m gonna be your wife.” You promise and he groans, hands caressing your back. You kiss his collarbone and shift back, making his cock sink deeper and you grab his hands to help you balance as you ride his cock. “Fuck. Yes. God, so good. So good inside of me.” You ramble, squeezing his hands as you start to pick up the pace.

“God, fuck, your pussy is gold.” His toes curl and he loves how you start to bounce on his cock. Making your tits away heavily and he watches with them unabashed lust. “So fucking gorgeous.” He pants. “Can’t wait to see you pregnant, riding my cock.”

“One day.” You promise with a grin, breathless from how good this feels. You let go of his hands, leaning back to grab his knees, and you grind down onto his cock, hitting just the right spot to make you gasp. “Fuck, baby. Oh my - I’m - it’s gonna make me cum.” You confess, reaching down to rub your clit.

Dieter frowns and slaps your hand away, pouting up at you. “Let me.” He insists, pressing his thumb to your clit and rubbing a tight circle over the bundle of nerves while you bounce on his cock. “Fuck baby, cum, please cum. I’m gonna -“ he hisses. “Not gonna last. Too fucking tight.” Your walls clenching down around him every other bounce is getting to be too much and he grits his teeth, praying he lasts long enough for you to soak his cock.”

Your moans are getting breathier as you struggle to breathe from the pleasure. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Dieter. I’m gonna - oh!” You moan, clamping down on his cock and soaking him, his thumb still working your clit until your thighs are shaking. “Cum for me.” You beg breathlessly, wanting to feel it as you convulse on top of him from your orgasm.

You don’t have to say anything else. His entire body is aching to cum, gripping your hips harshly as he starts to thrust wildly up into your body. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shiiiiiiiiiit.” Dieter whines, burying his cock half a dozen more times before his back is bowing and he is crying out your name, filling you with hot spurts of his seed.

You pant, collapsing onto his chest as his cock twitches inside of you, and you kiss along his neck. Unable to speak, you enjoy the aftermath of your orgasms. The connection you feel to Dieter has you on cloud nine. He’s a good father and a good man, despite what the paps print. He’s changed for his child and that makes you love him more. “Good?” You ask breathlessly, hoping he enjoyed it as much as you did.

“So fucking good.” Dieter’s eyes are closed and his expression is one of pure relaxation. Enjoying the way you feel on top of him. “God, you’re spending the night right here. Every night from now on.” He slides a hand up and down your back, enjoying the feeling of your slick skin under his palm. “Now we just need the kids to sleep through the night.”

“Soon. They are getting better. And you want another one to keep us awake?” You tease, giggling when his cock twitches inside of you.

“I do.” He promises and you caress his cheek, leaning back to look into his eyes. “Me too. One day.” You lean in to softly kiss his lips, knowing you want this man to be your husband, to be everything. ****

“Diet, babe. Can you get me that - shit.” You hiss after you feel the baby kick your ribcage.

“Bad word mama.” Rosie points at you and you nod, “sorry, love. Mama needs to sit down.” You tell the three year old. Ollie comes over to sit down on the sofa next to you, his small hand on your belly as he leans in to talk to the baby in your belly. Rosie follows suit, wanting to do what her brother is doing.

“Hello baby. It’s me. Your big brother-”

“and sister.” Rosie adds as she leans in to press her ear to your stomach. You smile, tears in your eyes and look up to see Dieter walk into the living room.

“You called baby?” He asks, paint splattered all over him from painting the new nursery.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. Can you- can you get me some ice cream?” You bite your lip, knowing he’s been run ragged with your cravings.

Dieter grins, shoving his hand through his paint flecked hair, although he teases that the gray is because of you and the babies. “What kind of ice cream do you want, babe?” He strides over and rubs your bump before dropping a kiss on your lips. “Rocky road or are you wanting that cheesecake strawberry swirl?” He knows you will probably text him with more cravings, but he doesn’t mind. You are carrying his baby and you get what you want.

You smile at him, loving how flustered he looks when he has to go get your cravings, and you run your fingers over the kids’ heads before they look up at Dieter.

“Can we have ice cream, daddy?” Rosie asks, that pout she definitely got from Dieter on her face.

Oliver nods, “yes! Vanilla.”

Rosie shakes her head, “chocolate!”

You giggle and look at your husband, “I’ll have rocky road. Guess it’s an ice cream day.” You say and the kids cheer, excited to have ice cream.

“Vanilla, chocolate and rocky road.” Dieter nods, smiling down at the kids. He could never deny them much and while they would be considered spoiled, they were very well behaved. “Oh-“ he snaps his fingers. “Before I forget. The management agency called. They found another renter for the house and said that the repairs for the house were minimal, just paint to freshen up.”

True to his word, he had bought you a house, deeded it in your name and hired a management company to handle the day to day issues and repairs. All of the profits were deposited into a bank account that was solely yours, even though you had access to everything of Dieter’s. “So that’s a weight off before the baby comes.”

The money going into that bank account is going to pay for the kids’ college. You won’t use it for yourself, not when you are happily married to Dieter. “Yes. Glad they managed to find another tenant.” You smile, reaching for his hand to kiss the back of it.

“Daddy!” Oliver rushes over to him after shifting off of the sofa.

“Yeah, buddy?” Dieter groans as he bends over to pick him up.

“Can I come? To get ice cream?” He asks and Dieter nods, “of course.” You smile, loving how close Oliver and Dieter are. You adopted Rosie and he adopted Oliver not long after you were married. It felt natural and meant to be. Your little family, complicated but perfect.

“We will be right back. Rosie, you wanna come?” Dieter asks and she shakes her head, climbing onto the sofa.

“I wanna stay with mommy.” You pull her close, “we can watch our show while the boys are out.” You tell her in a playful whisper and she grins.

“We will be back soon.” Dieter promises and you smirk at him, “after ice cream, the kids need to nap. Mommy needs ‘nap time’ too.” You say to Dieter and he smirks back at you, “what mommy wants, mommy gets.” He promises, knowing he wants you to moan his name while the kids are asleep. From Rosie getting shoved into his arms on a random day, to having a family with a baby on the way. Dieter never imagined being a family man but now, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#pedro pascal #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo imagine #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo the bubble

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chrollohearttags · 1 year

Text

bed time • a. artlert

I cannot get over the idea of armin trying to help his little insomniac, gamer girlfriend get some rest, putting her to sleep the best way he knows how 😮‍💨🥴

cw: nerdy, bratty, blackfem!reader, mean, dom armin (he’s so aggressive in this 😫), choking, fucking reader in her gaming chair, heavy squirting, overstimulation, degradation, pet names (sweetheart, angel, daddy’s used a couple times), name calling, spit kink, fingering, aftercare

📝: I was supposed to put this out last night but I got preoccupied and didn’t finish so here y’all go! 🫶🏾

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“Dude, you totally could’ve taken that shot. The fuck are you doing?” The sounds of (y/n)’s irate voice ringing throughout the bedroom. It was the late night hours of a relaxed Saturday night, possibly into Sunday..you hadn’t been vexed to check the time as you were busy smashing away at keys on your computer and shouting into your headset. Wired frame glasses sitting atop your pretty face, lights reflecting off of your tiny silver nose stud and your newly installed wet and wavy locks resting underneath the large pink bonnet atop them, along with your cat eared headset. This was a regular occurrence, one that took place more so often than you’d like to admit. It wasn’t rare for you to be up at all hours of the night, playing online games with friends, even at the expense of your own rest. It was a nasty habit, one you formed after pulling all night study sessions. Now you were a full blown insomniac with seemingly no end in sight. Although, there was one person who wasn’t too thrilled about the sudden shift in your sleep patterns… “..come on, (y/n). It’s three am. What are you still doing awake?” The first words to leave the mouth of your long time boyfriend and sweetheart, Armin as he burst through the door of your designated game room. He himself was certainly no stranger to this lifestyle and would happily hop on matches with you..at a reasonable hour of course. But that was never the case with you! Always up until the asscrack of dawn, playing game after game instead of going to bed. But now that he was spending the next couple of weeks at your place, he wasn’t having it. Suddenly, snickers could be heard through the feed of your headphones and talking to you. “Is that your boyfriend, (y/n)? How sweet..” rolling your eyes and smacking your lips at the sarcastic joke of one of your friends. “Shut the hell up. He’s just coming to check on me.” He was standing in the doorframe, shirt off and pajama pants dangling on his v-line..a tattoo each on his chest and forearm decorating his skin; looking good as always.

taking his fingers through the blonde shag atop his head, he’d make his way over to your chair, resting his arms atop the front. He had grown alarmed as is when you’d text him up well up into four am or try to FaceTime when he was so exhausted. It just didn’t occur to him how bad the problem truly was until he visited. He had all but had to drag you off of it and he was really scared for your mental and physical health. “Sorry guys, I’ve been busted. Baby says I gotta go to sleep.” Although you weren’t too thrilled to do so. However, he’d be disappointed to find that you had no plans to go easily. Even so, you’d log off and take off your headset. Turning in your chair in a frustrated huff. However, Armin was not swayed by your tiny tantrum. “Don’t give me that look. You promised you’d get some rest. At this rate, babe, you’re not going to be able to keep going.” You heard what he was saying well enough, too bad his words weren’t quite registering. You were still wired up, hyper and amped as always. Possibly it was the Red Bull coursing your veins or adrenaline from another win but being stopped mid game was truly putting a damper in your mood. “Arminnnnn. I’m fine..I swear, you worry too much.” That agitated and pouty look on your precious face was doing nothing more than fueling his point. “(Y/N), you’re going to bed. That’s it. Now come on. Tell your little friends good night and let’s go to sleep.” When he got like this, it wasn’t in your best interest to attest him but you couldn’t help yourself! It was always fun to push his buttons and poke the bear.

“And if I don’t want to, then what?” Folding your arms across your chest, batting those fluttery lashes and giving him quite the irritated glare. Granted, Armin was used to you being defiant when it came to this but he wasn’t much in the way of arguing with you tonight. Especially with exams coming up and him having to go to work in the morning. The last thing he wanted was to find you collapsed on the floor, in front of the computer after your body gives out. Which has happened! “(Y/N), don’t start. I’m not doing this with you.” Feinting his frustration through a laugh as he stood before your chair. Arms outstretched on each side and towering over you..you couldn’t lie, it was a bit of a turn on! “Well last I checked, Armin, I am a grown woman and I can stay up all night if I want to. Now let me finish—“ but before you could spin around in your chair, defiant and purposely being a brat, he’d spin it right back around and keep it in place. “Do you really wanna try me right now? Because I wouldn’t advise it, sweetheart. Do not piss me off..get up..now.” that low, sexy growl creeping into his tone and it was then that you knew you’d only need to press just a tad bit more to get the reaction you needed. Truth be told, you were beginning to get a bit tired…. “Make me..”

but it was far more exciting to let him fuck you to sleep!

he knew that you were baiting him along, Armin wasn’t dumb by a long shot. You were only stalling to get him riled up. Normally, he wouldn’t think to bite..dismissing you altogether but since you just kept asking for it, he’d give you what you needed: to be put to bed and in your place! Chuckling to himself, Armin would try and calmly respond but it was blatantly obvious that you wouldn’t allow it. Instead, he’d grasp your throat; lightly choking you but with enough force to keep you pinned to the chair. Eliciting a loud gasp from between your lips..gaze fixated solely on him from this point forward. “Remember..you asked for this..” just then, he’d shove his tongue through your pursed lips, permeating the inside of your mouth with sloppy kisses. Ones that took you completely off guard and caused you to whimper underneath his grasp. At this point, you had made your bed and now it was time to lie in it. He gave you an option to get up of your own accord but now? You’d be lucky if you were able to even walk once he finished! Amid the makeout session, Armin slowly but surely began to peel off those thin articles of clothing, exposing those perky titties which were his favorite..your dark hued nipples hardening the second they made contact with the cool air. He wasn’t about to give you an opportunity for the slightest bit of control and that much was apparent when he began massaging those big breasts, fixating on them for a moment but when you tried to put your hands up to assist him, he’d quickly push them away, pinning them to the arms.

“Did I ask for your help?..”

“ ‘Min, I—“

“That’s what I thought. Get those fucking hands out of my way.”

it was something about his sudden aggression and domineering attitude that would turn you on beyond relief. Releasing a couple gasps, you’d chew your bottom lip and allow him to take the reins. From there, he’d nip at your neck, growling and suckling on the sensitive skin. Eventually, he’d pull back those thin shorts and sink his hand inside. He wanted to see your reactions..those cute little faces you made when he was pleasuring you. Burying those digits to the knuckle inside of your warmth and circling your clit with his thumb pad, all while not breaking eye contact once..yeah, you definitely had pissed him off something fierce! “Open your legs, put them on the side of the chair and don’t move until I say so..” positioning yourself in sort of a stir up. It was then that he’d hoist them and remove your shorts to render your bottom half completely nude. It didn’t take long to realize how aroused you were by his sudden shift in demeanor. Your normally sweet Armin was so irate, that he was handling you like a rag doll. Parting your thigh, slapping your ass and clutching your neck. “..such a brat..always giving me a hard time..” muttering to himself as he continued working you over with those middle and index digits; pushing in and out, going slow just to stir up that building slick. Coating his hand and palm with the slippery substance. You were so adorable, attempting to resist and defy him, knowing damn well that you’d only wind up caving to him eventually. Hell, your insides were already two steps ahead of your mind; conforming to his shape! Twisting your head away from him, only to have it forcefully snatched back.

“But you only do it because you know I’ll fuck that little attitude out of you, don’t you?” Grinning with a sinister glare as he sped up his movements. Sounds of sloshing wetness coagulating with your sexy little cries and the squeaking of the chair. “Answer me, sweetheart. Don’t be rude.” And at the moment, you were practically trembling for him and Armin was more than happy to see that sight “..y-yes, daddy!” That bulge was beginning to grow ever so slightly from behind his sweats and you were the reason. Getting his dick all hard when you defied him. It made it all the more satisfying to break you when you acted this way. Going from rolling your arms to not even being able to keep them in the front of your head as he made you climax. To smacking those pretty little lips to having them wrapped around his cock when he throatfucked you for testing his patience…see, to the outside world, he appeared as sweet and innocent but you knew better! Nobody could handle you the way he could and he’d be damned if you kept trying it. He’d continue to press at your spot, mashing against that sensitive nerve to evoke more out of you. Those blonde locks of his straggled in front of your face as he pressed your foreheads together. “Aww, so you haven’t completely lost your mind. Open your mouth, right now.” Prompting you to do so to spit between your jaws. So he could force your head down and make you regurgitate it back into your folds. It was almost pathetic how desperate you looked, bogged down on his hand; squirming in an attempt to take him further. He knew what it was that you needed..craved more than anything and that was to be crammed full of his dick! It was almost disgusting how badly he had been dreaming of doing this exact thing. Fucking you in this very position. Piping you with those eight inches as you played your little games…it gave him a rush to think about all your friends hearing you get fucked senseless. And alas, it had come to fruition. Those little legs dangling off the sides of the chair arms and shaking violently. Before any of that could happen though..he needed something else and that was to make you come. Just one time of many..

“I’m!—Baby, I’m gonna come, pleaseee.” But that was sufficient enough for him. No, if that’s what you wanted, you better have begged for it. “Are you? Last time I checked, that’s not how you ask for permission, sweetheart. Act like you’ve done this before.” That condescending tone twisting your stomach up in knots. But not for any reason other than the fact that he’d always know how to handle you..making you act accordingly whether you wanted to or not.

“Please, can I come?! Please, ‘Min..” and because you groveled so sweetly, he had no choice but to grant your wish. Clutching your shoulder blade, Armin doubled down on his fast pace, hammering into you until you drenched him in that shower of your sweet cum; bringing you to a squirting orgasm with only his two fingers. “That’s right, baby. Let it out..my pretty little slut, squirting all over this chair..fuck yes.” Listening to you cry out in pure ecstasy as you came. “Fuck! Fuck!..” This man was not to be messed with but it was a lesson you’d soon learn. Instilled and implanted in your head until you knew better not to pull this stunt again. It wasn’t until you came to did you see the aftermath but this was just a mere taste of what he had in store. Removing them from inside of your tightness to your tongue, where he had you sucking them clean. That look in your eyes was one of neediness. As if you were longing for far more after that. Whilst you were busy tasting yourself, Armin was getting ready to have his fair share of fun. Tugging down those sweats to reveal his erection, immediately stroking it in his palm. “I wanna fuck you so bad..make you nut all over this dick..” his voice cracking and going high pitched as you watched that precum leak from his tip. Swollen and beaming red, you knew he needed to feel you immediately..and with that warm, dripping little hole all stretched out for him, it was the perfect place. Taking his thumb and pointer, Armin would part those plump lips and suck his teeth. “..that fat little pussy..she’s so wet for me, isn’t she? Let me in it…just like that.” Talking you through as he penetrated that warmth. One thing your man could always agree on was how good that pussy was. No matter how mad you made him, he was going to forgive you the second he could fuck you. And just for troubling him tonight, he was going to need more of those waterworks.

“Mmmm..give me that dick. I wanna feel you so deep up in it..” he wasn’t much for letting you make demands right now but with the way you felt suctioned around his shaft, he’d give you the whole world if you asked for it. “Look at how good you take me, angel…creaming on it. Goddamn, I love you..” having to laugh off his own weakness to your mix. You’d both watch as it slid in, disappearing with each aching inch being shoved into your walls. But it wasn’t until he’d start to move did he regain a semblance of control. Squelching noises arising with each slow push..smacking skin filling the room along with those shuddered whimpers from Armin and (y/n). At that point, you were only fitting him halfway; the curvature of his cock hooked inside of you and trying to hit your g-spot. He knew all the pressure points and ways to make you tick. To have you climbing these walls and crying out for him all night. With your legs occupying the arms of the chairs, you’d toss your hands to the back of it, clawing into the headrest as he fed you those deep strokes and his palm returned to your throat to keep you focused on him.. “That’s it..look at me. Look me in the eyes when you take this dick. I know it feels so good, doesn’t it, sweetheart? You’re my baby but you like it when I fuck you like my little whore, right?” And it was then that you were starting to cave! Melting in his grasp as he mixed up those insides. After fitting only four or so inches, enough to get you stirred up, he’d push in a couple more until he was nearly buried at the hilt. Those heavy balls slapping against your ass.. “I love it, I love it so fucking much! Thank you..” knowing that he had broken you down and got into your head now. All of that instilled in your empty little brain that when he asked you to do something, you’d listen. Of course, you weren’t the only caving and cracking under the powerful sensation. “Mmm! You’re fucking me so good, daddy..keep going, right there..!” whining so helplessly as you remained impaled on his dick. Only mere minutes away from releasing yet again. He didn’t care how many times you came. If you flooded the floor, the chair or anything in your vicinity, you were going to make a mess for him and do so until he felt like stopping. Pinning you to that seat with all his force, Armin fucked up into you relentlessly, with no intention to slow down. Those beautiful tits bouncing with each stroke. Not even when he accidentally coaxed out more of that liquid; this time spraying his chiseled abs in the process. Something about that sight drove him crazy. “Oh my God…you’re squirting. You’re doing so good for me!..stay just like that, don’t move..” he’d prompt you to maintain that pose, thrusting a little faster until he nearly knocked you back into your desk. Meanwhile, the static feed from your headphones could be heard out of earshot. Mumbling from your friends; speculating of what they were hearing at the moment were you and your man in the midst of a rough fuck session. And they’d be correct. They had been on the receiving end of your moans and cries, cursing back at each other in lust filled fury. The two of you would continue on for at least another ten minutes or so. Exchanging orgasms and expletives until either of you could muster up another drop. Ending with him spilling his seed all inside of that fertile womb. But by the end of it all, he'd fulfilled his mission well enough. Your eyes were damn near shut and you were hardly coherent.

“Aww..tired, angel?” Knowing he wouldn’t elicit a real response, he’d just laugh as you nodded your head. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up..” getting himself together so that he could hoist you in his arms and carry you to the bed. It was there where he’d lay you down carefully and go retrieve a warm washcloth; wiping over your sore body and changing you into something warmer and less drenched. All the while, you were fading further into slumber. It didn’t take him long to get you situated but once he did, he’d cover you with a warm blanket, too your forehead with a loving kiss and whisper into your ear;

“…goodnight, angel.”

knowing you’d gladly let him put you to sleep if he did it like this.

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thatsonemorbidcorvid · 1 year

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“I read my colleague Hadley Freeman’s column in The Sunday Times this weekend in a growing state of shock. Hadley described how, on three occasions, a man had choked her in bed. I then read the section in Escape, the book she references, written by another journalist, Marie Le Conte. Le Conte writes that choking during sex was “mainstream” among those under 40. “If I were to rank it,” says Le Conte, “I would say it sits somewhere around the light spanking mark . . . not so out of the ordinary that you would mention it to someone.”

Readers around my age, 58, will appreciate how I felt. Never mind incorporating strangulation into sex, we belong to a generation where the “light spanking” Le Conte references is itself regarded as a bit weird, a bit pervy, a bit “why would you want to hit someone, or be hit by someone, in bed?” As regards throttling a partner, a phrase I am shocked to find myself writing, that belongs in my mind to the realm of bullies, abusers, thugs, misogynists, rapists. Very niche. Very sinister. Very illegal.

I would regard even pretending to strangle a partner as an outrage. If a male friend told me such behaviour turned him on, that friendship would end. If I contemplated doing it myself, I’d get therapy. And let’s be clear, the choking under discussion, which a study last year found almost 60 per cent of female students in the US had experienced, does not refer to play-acting, but actual hands round the throat, pressure on the windpipe, possible-loss-of-consciousness suffocation. WTF?

When I got to work yesterday morning three younger female colleagues — in their forties, thirties and twenties respectively — confirmed how widespread the practice is. I suppose when Men’s Health carries idiotic articles headlined “how to do choking safely, according to experts” I should have known asphyxiation-as-foreplay had become, if a long way from normal, then at least normalised. All three women said they had encountered it, along with being slapped, hair-pulled and spat on (eh?!) by male partners. None had welcomed any of these actions.

I should emphasise that these were not super-traumatic encounters with evil psychos, but otherwise consensual acts with otherwise normal blokes. Not pleasurable in any way, but not, I gathered, a massive deal either, such is the extent to which formerly minority, hardcore aberrations have entered the everyday bedroom experience.

The youngest colleague told me several of her female friends did enjoy the experience. I’m sceptical about that. I fail to see how partial suffocation by someone physically stronger, someone you don’t necessarily know well, with no help at hand, can be anything other than terrifying. I find it more likely that some young women, not yet fully confident, have been persuaded that being choked is not only not weird, but now a standard aspect of sex to which they ought to submit. Human beings are hard-wired for self-preservation: oxygen deprivation is something we desperately strive to avoid, not embrace. I’m in no doubt that the vast majority of women subjected to choking do not like it, to put it mildly.

What shocks me is why men, so-called normal men who aren’t sadists who ought to be locked up, would want to strangle their lover in the first place. Of course the easy answer is the malign influence of protracted youthful exposure to pornography. Such exposure has, it is argued, normalised sexual behaviour previously thought extreme. And yet it is possible to view porn without going anywhere near clips of men choking women.

A correctly socialised teenage boy in receipt of the correct moral guidance would shut down such content in a cold sweat should his cursor so much as inadvertently hover over a link. Yet evidently lots of boys and young men blithely consume the dodgy stuff, presumably not knowing it is dodgy. They then expect to mimic it when their sex lives begin to encompass people other than themselves.

Therefore, older people, parents, specifically fathers, are not doing their job properly. Shame on them. They should be telling their sons that all sexual violence is despicable, full stop. We’re not in groovy, liberal, “each to their own” territory here. We’re not talking dress-up or role play. We’re talking about actions which are at best distressing and degrading, and at worst deadly. This behaviour should not be up for discussion. It’s just plain wrong.”

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mousydentist · 1 month

Note

For reverse trope prompts: I feel like fake amnesia could be super cracky and/ or angsty for kimchay post-breakup. Kim pretending to lose his memory to see if Chay will give him a second chance, OR to try to push Chay further away. Chay using fake amnesia to see how Kim reacts if he thinks Chay doesn't remember getting his heart broken. Or Chay doing it just to fuck with Kim's head for a few mins as payback lol.

ok tysm for the ask and sorry this took a while i probably shouldnt have opened asks right before a three hour exam hdjdjd BUT here it is and. this was hard to do in 500 words so i don’t know what this is dhjdhd but i hope you enjoy

It was around noon when Chay got a text from Porsche that had him sprinting for the elevator: You know Kinn’s brother Kim, right? He’s hurt pretty bad. Chay’d been pissed at Kim for a while, of course, but in the wake of it was the fear that he’d never find someone like Kim again, someone he really, really loved, and a desire not to be alone anymore. Truthfully, he’d nearly taken Kim back after he sent the song. At that moment, he’d seen his own loneliness reflected back at him, and his heart ached. But he’d stayed stubborn and refused to forgive Kim, or even acknowledge his existence. He’d tried to pretend he didn’t care for so long - and now, rushing through winding halls to the compound’s infirmary, all he could do was pray it wasn’t too late. Porsche was right, Kim was in bad shape. His unconscious body was connected to a dozen wires and monitors, and his head was covered in a large wrap that had been bled through. Chay said nothing as he took a post next to Kinn, and in return, Kinn didn’t ask. They stayed vigil for several hours before Kim finally showed signs of life. Kinn immediately called for the doctor when Kim blinked his eyes open, glancing blearily around the room. When he locked onto Chay, his brows furrowed. Chay stood close to him, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Hi.” The crease in his brow got larger. “Who…?” Chay’s heart skipped a beat, but he didn’t have time to investigate further before the doctor came back with Kinn and started a volley of questions at Kim. “And do you know who this is?” “My brother, Kinn.” “Great, and the other person?” Kim squinted at Chay’s face. “Am I supposed to know you?” Chay bit the inside of his cheek in an effort not to cry, or throw up, or something else that wouldn’t be helpful. “I’m Porchay.” Kim seemed to understand something then, and for a second Chay thought he might have remembered, but then he said, “Nice to meet you, Porchay.” Chay really did try to listen to the doctor when she pulled him and Kinn aside, but he only heard bits and pieces like “short-term amnesia” and “brain damage” and a bunch of other horrible things. He did hear when she said he’d need to stay under observation for the next few days, and decided maybe this was the universe’s way of telling him to start over with Kim. That night, Chay told Kinn to go sleep in his own bed, that he’d watch over Kim and let him know if anything happened. Chay could tell he needed it, especially when he watched how the man drag himself out of the room. Chay refilled Kim’s water and threw a pillow to one side of the loveseat he’d be sleeping on. “Psst, psst.” Chay turned around, and sure enough, Kim was waving him over conspiratorially. “How was that?” “Uh…” “Do you think he bought it?” Kim whispered like he was sharing a secret. “What are you talking about?” Chay squinted at him. “Do you think Kinn believed that I didn’t know you?” “Wh- you remember me?” Chay screeched, only feeling half bad when Kim cringed in pain. “Kim, why on earth would I want you to pretend you didn’t know me? He knows we’ve met!” Kim shrugged as much as he seemed to be able to. "I asked if I was supposed to know you." Chay let his face fall into his hands as he flopped to the ground, all the stress and grief of the day finally leaving his body as he cried. “Sorry,” Kim muttered, and Chay just laughed. What the fuck was his life. He did stay with Kim that night, and he spent a lot of it on the floor next to him with Kim’s hand locked in his own.

[kim's texts] Kinn: Did you pretend to have amnesia so Porchay would forgive you? Me: excuse me Me: it’s not my fault he assumed i had amnesia Me: i was drugged and delirious i didn’t know what i was saying Kinn: Whatever you say

(from a reverse trope ask game)

#kimchay #kinnporsche #kinnporsche the series #kim theerapanyakul #porchay kittsawasd #my fic

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livinlikebailey · 25 days

Text

Marauders as things my friend group has said

“Sometimes I forget how many dead people there are.” - Sirius @ Regulus during a family history lesson.

“ I’m gonna bite your toes while you’re sleeping,,, nibble, nibble, nibble” - a drunk Barty @ Evan who is ignoring him.

James: Drops phone on his face. James: claps friends theme song. James: picks phone back up like nothing happened.

“I’m a bi guy, a simple bi guy and I am 99% Lilly Evans and 1% Regulus Black.” - James Potter

“ Why do all the cute ones gotta be Deatheaters?” - Rita @ Bellatrix

“Iron chickens do not have iron testicals” - a very drunk Sirius @ an unfortunately sober Remus.

“I have decided that i am a snack it just no one is hungry” - Peter

Marlene: Climbs on train track bridge Dorcas: “Oh you are so fucking dumb, I look away for 2 seconds”

“No bite, no smile!” - Remus @ James who is trying to take a picture of him too close to the full moon.

“If i was there i’d slap her i don't care if she's 9” - Mary to lily after hearing about the shit her sister was doing to her. “James, I am a pussy.” - Peter to James about the forbidden forest.

“I would be James’ sugar bab- AHH!” - Lily about James to Mary.

“I have to go through all my saves and delete the videos of him because he turned out to be a pedophile… Hey! I had a chance with him” - Remus probably at some point.

“Was that CORPSE? Woop!” - Drunk Remus at a party.

Remus: “ughhhh” Sirius: “what?” Remus: “I hurt and I'm dying.” Sirius: “don't die, that's for kids”

Barty : sits up really quick "guys I just swallowed the nail, it's in my throat." Barty: proceeds to cough up the nail

Pandora: shows Regulus a picture she drew "this is cute" Regulus: "you're cute. wait that didn't go how I wanted it to.”

Barty: “RACCOON WORLDS DOMINATION”

Sirius: “Do I look like a freaking rat?” Regulus: ….. Sirius: “Don't answer that”

Effie: hears a song playing from james’ room “I used to listen to this song in grade school.” James: “Oh so it's really old then.”

Remus: "sips coffee stressfully"

Barty: "seductively eats toes"

Evan: "for your next random gift I'll get you a screwdriver Barty: "thanks I'm gonna kill myself with it"

Marlene: whining "mom James got me addicted to cocaine" wait I mean Crack cookies" - Marlene @ Effie

Nymphadora: tries to lick cat. Andromeda: "don't lick the kitty." Dora: proceeds to lick cat.

Barty: "school sh**tings" gives thumbs up

Sirius: shows Remus their high heels Remus: "okay whore" smacks hand over mouth "wait i- that wasn't supposed to come out" Sirius: laughs their ass off

James: yells across the store to mom “mom!" Random person at the checkout: looks at James "I am not mom."

“Effie’s a Milf” - Marlene

“I don't have nothing, other than a few std's” -Remus

“You can eat half a mermaid before you're a cannibal” - Pandora to Regulus

“Probably shouldn't be doing it but we’re definitely going to continue anyway” - Remus, Sirius, James and Peter in sync.

very confused Peter: “leprechauns don't play quidditch.”

Marlene: “like weewoo but not weewoo” exasperated and high off her ass

Sirius: “I like aids”

phone falls off bed Marlene in an Australian accent: "crikey my phone"

“I’m hooked up to so many wires i could connect to hbo on my heart monitor” - Lily on pain killers to James

"I don't think I can lick that, can I?" -Sirius playing goat simulator

watching cloudy with a chance of meatballs and it's at the part where the mayor destroys the machine and James says " I hope you see the error of your ways, you glutton!”

(talking about Cameron Monaghan) the murder child from my chemical romance - Sirius

"Fuckin’ Sirius"- Remus while asleep

Sirius "I've got middle fingers and i'm not afraid to use them" Regulus: "do it" Sirius "I’m a little afraid to use them"

Peter while asleep: groans and sits up fast James: "you okay?" Peter "not really." James: "What's wrong?" Peter: "I'm gonna have to use the loo to solve the thing."

Sirius: "So were you born in 2006, 2007?" Narcissa: "i was born in 2004" Regulus: "i don't mean this in a mean way but wow you are old"

Sirius: "I WANNA HOLD YOU" Remus "NO, LET ME MAKE COFFEE THEN YOU CAN"

Barty: "I'm gonna do a line off your dresser"

Barty: "i have a headache" pauses "and i have 2 more lines to do"

Mary: "I don't have to do acid I have the that back massager that messes with my balance receptor"

Barty: suddenly sits up Regulus: “are you okay” Barty: “i don't know, i'm just gonna go to sleep and try to see what's going on”

Barty: "Why not use a shotgun, it's easier, this is america." (was not in america)

"stop licking the oreos" - Reg @ Barty

"Do i really have to tell you not to mate with the cat"- McGonagall @ the marauders

Remus: “I can feel the brain damage,, and i've got another line”

“MY TRAUMA CAN'T HANDLE THIS!”- Sirius

“Ball licky licky titty croissant” - James trying to learn french from Regulus

“Ooo yay i love being kidnapped!”- Barty probably at some point

“The 3 c's cook, clean, cocktails”- Remus “The 3 b's bake broil blowjobs”- Sirius

“LET ME UPLOAD MY PORN DAMNIT” - Marlene probably

"Dorcas you should be my sugar mommy" - Pandora

"An air whore" Remus

"My skyrim character is Schizophrenic" - James

"I wanna blow up pumpkins, and People!!!!" -Bellatrix

"I can taste it in my eyeballs" - James

"you can't take terrorists to the airport"-Peter

"I'm really bad at swallowing" - Sirius

“you can't fuck a duck, you'd have to seduce it” - Evan

"Hey your boobs are crooked"- Marlene

"i’m sorry, i accused you of taking my grandpa" -Sirius

"im a gay virgin"-Regulus

"duck now motherfucker" Sirius @ James

"i wanna become a rug or everyone does a line of my ashes when i die" - Remus

"you can't be funny while I'm smoking" -Remus @ First year after he walked out the door

"I'm leaving, i don't care that much about being drug free" - Barty

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lizzie-is-here · 1 year

Text

like the dawn

part xviii- the time heist

“am i supposed to be grateful to have survived this?” - brenna twohy

summary: five years after the snap, you still haven’t moved on. but when tony comes calling with a proposition, you aren’t so sure.

wordcount: 4.6k

warnings: cussing, violence, angst, reader has precisely 0 coping skills, events of the first half of endgame

taglist: @whelvedfeelingsstuff @sebsgirl71479 @rebloggingmyrecs @babyblublossom @local-mr-frog @thenyxsky @capsiclesdoll @moonlightreader649 @saranghaey @almosttoopizza @itsprashimusic @yourfavunsub

a/n: two more parts after this 🤭 anyway i’m so sorry @yourfavunsub because it WONT LET ME TAG U CRYIN FR but i do hope y’all enjoy this one. this series has been one of my favs so far and i’m still not sure where i wanna go after this. but love y’all have a nice day 🫶

previous part | series masterlist | next part

After killing Thanos, you run.

You take everything from your rooms in the compound and take off one day after leaving a note to tell the team how to reach you in an emergency.

They respect your decision, especially after hearing you wake up screaming every night.

With nowhere else to go, you head to an old HYDRA safe house. It’s abandoned, obviously, but it has everything you need.

You clean the place up, fix the paint and repair damaged wood. You plant a large garden and buy a few chickens to take care of. You work for two weeks straight.

In the end, the cabin is comfortable. Homey and small but a great place to hide from everything going on. A way to keep running but stay in one place.

The small Romanian town grows used to your presence, and after a few months of living nearby, they don’t even ask about your past when you come to market to trade. They saw the look in your eyes when they asked about Captain America and the Winter Soldier.

You tend your garden that grows every week, in part thanks to your powers that seem to affect the area. You can’t control it, but your crops and flowers grow faster and healthier. In just a year you have a fully-grown plum tree in your walled-off yard.

And the years keep going by.

You celebrate Steve and Bucky’s birthdays every time they roll around, mainly by heading back to Brooklyn for a week and visiting the museum. Your museum.

Despite how often you go, you find that you’re never able to look their pictures in the eye.

All you see is your boys disappearing from your grip.

It’s all you can see when you go to bed.

———————————————————————

“Come, come on Margaret.”

You gather the unusually small chicken into your arms, smoothing her feathers as she clucks in greeting. The birds like you a lot. You suspect it’s the wings.

“It’s about time I fix that fence, isn’t it? If you keep getting out.”

Margaret shuffles indignantly in your arms, bawking as you let her back in the fenced-in chicken coop.

They’re a bit spoiled, you have to admit. All eight hens shared a large coop, with heaters and lights, and hay you change out every week. You let them out every morning and bring them in every evening.

With a light sigh, you start fixing the fence. Enhanced strength makes it easy work as you push the post into the ground, tuck the chicken wire back down, and make sure there are no more holes.

Shaking the dirt from your skirt and wings, you rise and head to the front of your home. As you clean your feathers, your hands pass over the small charms still on them. The ones from Wakanda. From a happier time.

The stone walls surrounding your property have one entrance at a large metal gate, which is currently wide open.

Usually, you keep it open during the day, lest a villager needs a cut healed or extra food. But it’s late now, and you’re ready to head in for the night.

But just as you head to the gate, you see a car. Furrowing your brows, you call out.

“Buna ziua. Te pot ajuta cu ceva? [Hello. Can I help you with anything?]” When no one steps out of the car, you continue. “Am prune în plus [I have extra plums].”

“Come on, (Y/N). Of all the languages I do speak, you know Romanian isn’t one of them.”

A voice comes from behind you and you whip around, firing off a blast of light that the group of three dodges.

Natasha, Tony… and Scott.

Scott was dusted. Five years ago.

You storm up to them, eyes watering.

“What are you doing here? What’s going on?” you ask.

Natasha takes your hand in hers, smiling.

“We might be able to bring them back.”

Your lips purse and you take your hand back, starting to shake. Entertaining such a hopeful idea is dangerous, you’ve learned.

Every night, you dream of your boys. And every time you wake up, you hope that it all was a nightmare and you’ll wake up in their arms.

You never do.

“Don’t tell me that unless you’re sure,” you say, brushing past them and heading towards your house.

They follow you, unsure if this is an invitation or a dismissal.

When you open the door and sigh, they know it’s the former.

“It’s a nice place,” Tony comments mildly. You offer a small smile, stepping into your kitchen. You open a cabinet and grab a tin of tea, the same kind you’d buy in the 40s, and put a kettle on.

You take three cups out, setting them at the dining room table that only has three chairs. Most things here are in threes.

As you hesitate to set the cups down, Natasha speaks up again. Slowly, carefully, as though you’ll run at the wrong word.

“Will you at least hear us out?”

To her credit, you don’t run. You start crying.

Scott and Tony share a look of “Oh, shit,” as the lights start flickering.

“What is there to hear?” you ask, laughing ruefully. “Unless you’re sure, I don’t want to hear anything about it.”

Whistling from the stove catches your attention, and you hurry over to grab the kettle. Like usual, you forget to grab a glove. Your hand meets searing metal and you hiss, cursing your bad habit.

“Are you okay?” Scott asks, standing up quickly.

You nod, eyes watering even more. It’s not from the quickly-healing burn, though. “Yeah,” you sob out. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Leaning on the counter, you take a few breaths. You grab the kettle again and fill all three teacups, dropping in the tea bags and some sugar.

“(Y/N), give us a shot.” Tony takes the cup. “That’s all we’ve got, and you’ve taken chances against worse odds before.”

You don’t dare look at the pictures on the wall.

“These two managed to rope me in, and we need your help. You ran off with Cap to save Barnes, so-“

“That’s before I watched both of them die.” You gently hit the table. “Twice.”

“And we might be able to bring them back a second time,” Natasha adds. “Please?”

A third chance. You’ve seen second chances, but never third. Never. And for you, you rarely got the former.

But here one was.

“Okay. Okay,” you say eventually. They all breathe a sigh of relief.

“Just… find someone to watch the chickens.”

———————————————————————

“I see we’ve both been taking it hard.”

You sit next to Thor on a bench. Everyone else is working on a large platform, but you’ve done your part. The years clearly haven’t been kind to him either. He’s at least 100 pounds heavier and reeks of alcohol.

He shrugs, sipping a beer. “Well, I didn’t have anyone left, so…” He raises the can. “To them.”

You awkwardly form a misshapen can from light and tap it to his.

“To them.”

“Hey Point Break, Lucifer! One of you care to lend a bit of that super-strength?” Tony shouts. You sigh, hoisting a large box of metal supplies in one arm. Tossing it at Tony’s feet, you gesture to the invention.

“So this can do it?”

The genius proudly slaps a metal leg. “Yep. Time travel made simple.” You glance at the complex wiring and countless panels. Sure, simple.

———————————————————————

You watch as Bruce, now half-Hulk half man, Nebula, and Scott test one suit. Apparently, there are risks with time travel. Interdimensional warping, quantum entanglement, String Theory, blah, blah, blah.

You’ve tuned them out by the time Rhodey walks in.

“Time travel suit, not bad,” he comments. As Bruce tries to insert a vial into the suit, Scott snaps.

“Hey, easy, easy!”

“I’m being very careful,” the scientist insists.

The two go back and forth before Scott momentarily disappears. He comes back, sighing heavily.

“There goes the first test run,” you say. When Scott tries to hype himself up to no avail, you pipe up.

“Let me go. Got nothing to lose, right?”

They have you suited up in minutes. The suit, which is nanotech, materializes with a simple tap on the watch, molding around your wings to fit you perfectly.

“(Y/N), now you’re gonna feel a little discombobulated from the chronoshift. Don’t worry about that.” You nod as Nebula types away on a screen.

“Wait, wait, wait a second. Let me ask you something,” Rhodey cuts in. “If we can do this, you know… go back in time, why don’t we just find baby Thanos? You know, and…” He pantomimes strangulation.

“First of all, that’s horrible,” Bruce says at the same time you say, “Honestly, it’s not a bad idea.”

The scientist blinks in confusion before pressing on. “And secondly, time doesn’t work that way. Changing the past doesn’t change the future.”

You groan as they argue and eventually begin listing movies.

“Boys, as much as I love this little debate, can we get going?” They oblige your request, and head to the main room. The platform stands, ominous and waiting.

“Are you sure about this?” Natasha asks. You nod, smiling.

“I just wanna see them, even just for a second.”

She won’t say it, but she thinks it’s a bad idea for you to go. To see your past selves, before all the trauma. But you’re set on going.

You step onto the machine, flexing your fingers as you watch Bruce press various buttons.

“All right, (Y/N). We’re going in three, two, one…”

It’s like the ground opens up beneath you as you dive in, passing through some dimension in milliseconds before you pop back to normal.

You shout a bit, quickly stifling the sound.

You’re in your old apartment. The radio crackles with familiar music, and your bow sits by the door.

Wandering the small rooms, you finally come to your old closet. When you open it and find the box you’re looking for, you smile and pocket it. Past you forgot it even existed, so it wasn’t like you’d miss it.

The door handle clicking makes you jump, quickly closing the door.

Three voices wander in.

“You need to stop spending all this money, or Stevie’s not gonna have any when we ship out.” Your own voice sounds weird to your ears. Not just in the normal way, but because of how light it is.

The next voices knock the breath from your lungs.

“Hey, it was worth it. I got you that bear,” Bucky retorts. You lift a hand to cover your mouth as you sob.

“Three bucks, though? And you’re supposed to be a sniper?” Steve’s voice is wheezy, thin, and breathless.

“There’s a big difference between throwing a ball in a ring and shooting someone,” the brunet grumbles.

The three of you dissolve into bickering, and all the while you sit in a cramped closet. You haven’t heard their voices in so long. So long.

Maybe you can open the door and warn them. Where to avoid, what to do. How to live a normal life.

The moment you reach towards the door, the watch starts beeping.

“No, no,” you whisper, trying to quiet while frantically fumbling with the doorknob. “Please!”

And you’re back.

You’re kneeling on the platform again, teary-eyed for the umpteenth time and more determined than ever.

The team runs up, and Natasha gently helps you stand up.

“Hey, hey look at me. You okay?”

You catch your breath, reaching into your pocket. “Yeah, yeah, it worked.” You present the small box, clutching it tightly in your hands.

———————————————————————

“Okay, so the ‘how’ works. Now, we gotta figure out the ‘when’ and ‘where’,” you say, standing at the front of a meeting room. Various screens show the various stones, and the gathered team is grasping at any ideas.

“Almost everyone in this room has had an encounter with at least one of the six Infinity Stones-”

Tony cuts you off. “Or substitute the word ‘encounter’ with ‘damn near been killed’ by one of the six Infinity Stones. You nod. Two out of three times you’d come into close contact with one, it had almost killed you.

Scott shrugs. “I haven’t. But I don’t even know what the hell you’re all talking about.”

Bruce steps around the table. “Regardless, we only have enough Pym Particles for one round-trip each. And these stones have been in a lot of different places throughout history.”

“Our history,” Tony clarifies. “So not a lot of convenient spots to just drop in, yeah?”

You tap a screen, watching as all six flicker to life with images of each stone. “Which means we have to pick our targets.”

“Correct.”

“So, let’s start with the Aether. Thor, what do you know?” When you mention him, you look up to see the god slumped in a chair.

“Is he asleep?” Nat asks.

Rhodey replies, monotone and unbothered as ever. “No, no. I’m pretty sure he’s dead.”

You manage to shake him awake, guiding him to the front of the room and sitting on a nearby stool.

The god coughs a few times, tugging off his sunglasses. “Uh, where to start? Umm… The Aether, firstly, is not a stone. Someone called it a stone before. Um, it’s more of an angry sludge sort of a thing… so someone’s gonna need to amend that and stop saying that.” You massage in between your eyebrows, waiting for him to continue.

Thor puts in a few eye drops as he speaks again. “Here’s an interesting story though, about the Aether. My grandfather, many years ago, had to hide the stone from the Dark Elves. Ooh. Scary beings.” He makes vague sounds, frightening precisely no one.

“So, Jane, actually-“ He pokes at the screen. “Oh, there she is. Yeah, so Jane was an old flame of mine. You know, she stuck her hand inside a rock this one time, and then the Aether stuck itself inside her…”

You cough to hide a chuckle.

“…and she became very, very sick. And so I had to take her to Asgard, which is where I’m from, and we had to try and fix her.” When you look around the room, Scott, bless him, is the only one paying real attention. You’re pretty sure Clint is asleep with his eyes open.

This doesn’t deter Thor, though. “We were dating at the time, you see, and I got to introduce her to my mother… who’s dead and, um… Oh, you know, Jane and I aren’t even dating anymore, so…” He sniffles a bit, voice growing heavy.

“Yes, these things happen, though. You know? Nothing lasts forever. The only thing that-“

You gesture for Tony to bring his little soliloquy to an end, and the billionaire reluctantly tries to bring the god to a chair. “Why don’t you come sit down?”

Thor brushes him away. “I’m not done yet. The only thing that is permanent in life is impermanence.”

“Awesome. Eggs? Breakfast?” Tony asks. You awkwardly clap a few times.

“No. I’d like a Bloody Mary.”

For the rest of that day and much of the next, you all discuss the rest of the Stones. Where they came from, what their powers are, and everything any of you know about them. And after hours of brainstorming, the plan is all laid out.

Reality is on Asgard in 2013, a mission given to Thor and Rocket. Natasha, Clint, Nebula, and Rhodey will be taking Power and Soul, all in space in 2014. Space, Mind, and Time are all in New York in 2012. And you’re going there alongside Tony, Bruce, and Scott.

“I don’t see how I’ll be much help. These-” You gesture to your wings. “-aren’t very subtle.”

Tony pats your shoulder. “Just c’mon, kid. We could always use the extra hands- or wings.”

“I’m 105, Stark. I’m no kid.”

“You’ve lived less than half of those years. You’re a kid,” he rebuffs. The two of you exchange a smile before he claps his hands.

“Alright, we’ve got a plan. Six stones, three teams, one shot.” He takes one last glance at the screens. “Let’s break some eggs.”

———————————————————————

New York City, 2012.

“All right, we all know our assignments,” you say, still catching your breath from the jump. “Bruce, get to the doctor. Get the Time Stone.” He rushes off, hurriedly jumping between buildings to stay out of sight. You turn back to Scott and Tony. “You two, get the Space and Mind Stones. I’ll get the Mind Stone once it’s in the elevator, but from there, I’ll only be backup if you get stuck.”

You fly up alongside Tony as Scott shrinks down atop his shoulder, ducking out of view as you spot the team. You can spot Steve, but you tear your eyes away, dropping down in search of the elevator.

Once you find it, you land on a ledge, taking a moment as you wait for the right moment.

“Oh, man. I almost forgot that Cap’s suit did nothing for his ass. I’m almost jealous, (L/N),” Tony whispers over comms. “That’s a slappable ass.”

“Tony!” you snap. “No one asked you to look.”

“But it is slappable, isn’t it?”

You sigh, deep and long-suffering. “Yes.”

“I think it’s great,” Scott pipes up. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s America’s ass.”

The elevator beeps, and you get ready to ruin a few HYDRA agents’ days.

“Who are these guys?” Scott asks.

Tony starts to explain, not quite minding his volume. “They are SHIELD, well, actually HYDRA, but we didn’t know that yet.”

“Seriously? You didn’t? I mean, they look like bad guys.”

“Yeah,” you shout over the wind. “It’s even more obvious when they’re brainwashing you monthly and prodding you with needles.”

After a bit of shuffling, you see Tony leap from the tower. “It’s all yours now, (Y/N),” he yells. You mock salute, diving off your ledge and watching as the HYDRA agents load into the elevator. You’re going to enjoy this.

As soon as the door closes, you blast a hole in the glass from the outside.

You hear the screams as you barrel in, immediately smashing the emergency call button to bits. No communication.

Fire beams of light as quickly as possible, letting them bounce off the walls in deadly ricochets. Once you take out all but one, you stop.

Brock Rumlow smirks and opens his mouth.

“Свет [Light],” he begins, confidence growing. You watch patiently as he lists off your trigger words, and he finally comes to the end. “Я готов отвечать [Ready to comply]?”

You tilt your head and smile. “I don’t work like that anymore, asshole.”

Grabbing him by the tactical vest, you throw him against the wall, landing a powerful kick to the center of his chest before you start throwing punches. It’s satisfying, watching the man who caused you so much pain actually fear you for once.

You leave him, barely breathing, and pick up the case containing the scepter before starting the elevator and leaping from the shattered glass. You land on a stairwell inside the Tower, hoping to meet up with the other two. Instead, you’re met with one of your best friends.

And he can’t quite believe it.

“Hey, Stevie.”

Instead of the greeting you’re hoping for, the Captain grabs you by the collar.

“Who are you? What’s going on?”

You furrow your brows. “Steve, it’s me. Bucky and I are alive.” When he doesn't let up, you roll your eyes, still adjusting to seeing him after five years. “Stubborn as always, hm? How about I tell you something only I would know?”

He doesn’t respond.

“For example, you wet the bed until you were 7, and one night after you lost a tooth and put it under the pillow you did it again-”

The captain cuts you off, teary-eyed but still mortified. “(Y/N)? Oh my god, it’s you. How did you get wings?”

You barrel on. “-and in the morning you were too embarrassed to admit you’d pissed yourself-”

“Okay, I get it, really-”

“-so you told Buck and me that the tooth fairy did it,” you finish. He pulls you into a hug and you practically melt as he rests a hand on your head.

“Now, I’m from the future, and I really need this scepter, but me and Buck are alive, you’ve just gotta find us.” He never pulls away, just letting you lean into him.

“How am I supposed to find you?”

You sigh. “It’ll all work out in the end. I promise.” You feel him nod into your shoulder.

“I missed you,” he says.

You gently pull away, taking his hand. “I missed you, too.”

“We’ve got a problem, (L/N,” Tony gasps over comms. “Head back to the rendezvous point.”

The blond captain casts his gaze to the ground and purses his lips a bit. A shy tell.

“Guess that’s the future calling?” he jokes. You laugh before your gaze turns a bit sad again. Steve decides he doesn’t like how sad you look however far in the future.

“I love you so much, Steve. Take care.” If the words shock him, he doesn’t give it away.

You give past-Steve one last smile before turning on your heel and heading back to the elevator, prying open the doors, and diving out of the building.

When you land beside your meeting point, all you can do is wait. And when Tony and Scott walk out looking more than discouraged, your hopes sink in your chest.

In between their bickering, they manage to explain. They lost the Tesseract. And there’s no do-overs. You curse, before thinking.

There was a point in time when you were sent on a mission to retrieve Pym Particles. There was also a time when HYDRA was in possession of the Tesseract. But that means…

“I might have an idea. I don’t like it, hate it, actually, but I think it may be our only option,” you finally admit. “There’s a couple of months when HYDRA had both Pym Particles and the Tesseract.”

Scott tries to stand up before hitting his head on the roof of the car they’ve sat down in.

“Wait, HYDRA as in ‘HYDRA’ HYDRA?” he asks.

You furrow your brows. “What does even- You know what? Yes. HYDRA HYDRA.”

“So when was this?” Tony pulls up a screen.

You think about it. You know the time period, but it’ll be easier if there’s less guards around. So what date…

“March 1983. Siberia,” you decide. The peak of the Cold War meant HYDRA was sending out soldiers left and right. Better odds.

Tony nods. “Any particular day?”

“The 10th.”

Scott gets out of the car, much more carefully this time, and holds up his hands.

“So we’re going into HYDRA? No offense, but I don’t want to have to fight past-you or past-Barnes. Or the two of you together,” he says. You smile.

“None taken. But-“ You shove the scepter into his hands. “You’re not going. You’re going to get this back to the compound, okay?”

You see Scott breathe a sigh of relief before quickly hiding it. A few taps to the watch later, he’s gone.

“You sure about this?” Tony asks.

You shake out your hands, getting ready for another disorienting jump to a much more sinister place.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s all good. In and out and we’ll be cooking with gas.”

The genius snorts. “Was that some 40s slang that I just heard, (L/N)?”

You roll your eyes, simply setting the date and coordinates in.

“Do you trust me?” you ask.

“I do.”

———————————————————————

HYDRA Base, Siberia 1983.

You almost forgot just how unforgiving the cold gets here.

The wind buffets your body as you and Tony spark into existence, fighting your way to the base. You let him shoot down the man guarding the door before you step over the body. Muttering under your breath, you punch in the code before slipping inside.

Just as you predicted, there aren’t many people prowling around. A few guards that you slip past or shoot down before they even know you’re there, but nothing you can’t handle. Plus, it’s not like you have to worry about an escape route, You can head back to the present as soon as you get the particles.

“They’re in there,” you whisper to Tony, pointing to a nearby lab. “Furthest freezer on the left, third shelf from the bottom. Code is 3395” You silently thank your usually-detested memory as he slips off, politely nodding to one doctor inside the lab before blasting him into the wall.

As he has his fun, you head further into the building, pressing down the nausea that comes with every familiar corridor.

You remind yourself that you’re doing this for the world, for your boys. You can handle a few minutes in this building.

Finally, you reach a locked door. Another code you remember too well.

In the center of the dull room lies a sealed safe. You raise your hand, focusing light to your fingertips before grabbing the lock. It melts in seconds, and you yank the door away.

Shielding your eyes, you reach out for the glowing cube when you hear a voice behind you.

“Что ты делаешь [What are you doing]?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Привет, Зима [Hi, Winter].”

When you force yourself to turn around, you see him. Not quite your Bucky, but not quite the Soldier either. His hair is shorter, but he’s got that same look in his eyes. Still holding the cube in your hand, you step closer.

He reiterates his question, but you don’t answer, instead opting to take his hand.

“It’s going to be okay,” you whisper. “You’re going to get out, and you’re going to be free. Just a little bit more of this, James, I promise.”

He tilts his head, but he doesn’t reach for his guns or knives. You don’t want him to get punished for not dealing with an intruder.

“What?” he whispers back. You can’t bring up the words, so you simply lean into him and rest your head on his chest. The tactical vest is scratchy and uncomfortable, but you ignore it. “Who’s ‘James’?”

“Not important,” you begin before backtracking.

“Actually, no. He’s very important. He’s you, in fact.” Gently bringing his flesh hand to his chest, you smile. “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. You’re Bucky. And today’s your 66th birthday -technically.”

The man in front of you is bewildered. It’s as if you told him the world was crashing down. For him, it might seem that way.

“And I know that sometime you’ll go back into that damn chair and you won’t remember I was here, but you will eventually. You’ve just gotta hold out a bit longer, m’kay, love?”

He nods, quiet as ever. You hug him tight, just like you’d done to Steve a few minutes earlier. Or- 29 years later? All this time traveling was messing with your brain.

“I love you, okay? Remember that.”

Bucky is still standing in that room when you slip away, heading down the corridor until you find Tony again.

He holds up two vials of the Pym Particles as you hold up the Tesseract, the both of you grinning wide.

“We’re back in the game,” he cheers. Alarms start going off throughout the base, but neither of you care. The agents will be too late anyways.

“Yes we are, Stark,” you yell over the wailing siren. “Now let’s get them back.”

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randomfoggytiger · 11 months

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Inbox being weird again, had to repost (sorry, anon!)

What are your thoughts on IWTB? It’s now on hulu and I am like 15 minutes in to a rewatch (I’ve watched FtF a truly offensive number of times but have only seen this once, when it first came out) and am absolutely incensed already. I’m having trouble making sense of their characters, they seem so OOC to me — even with the understanding that they are (possibly both) depressed and life on the run has really jaded and hardened them. Also its so weird to me that Amanda Peet reaches out to touch Mulders cheek bc he cut himself shaving? Just bizarre behavior all around!

It is a truly bizarre movie. I've not seen it; but I have done extensive research on it, if that makes sense. I think it can be summed up by this one Tumblr post I saw (and lost, someone help me find it!) that noted Mulder requested a helicopter for himself and Scully to, essentially, walk a few street blocks to the next location. Because CC wanted a helicopter in his movie and he was going to get it, somehow, someway.

Below is a tragically long post filled with article links for more enjoyment~.

(**Note**: Will edit this post later, brb.)

TLDR: A movie/tv series worth its salt is well-written, end of story. It doesn't matter how excellent or in-character the themes or motifs or etc. are if the characters are badly written or act out-of-turn. You cannot have a god-tier theme about fighting back the Darkness and seeking for the Truth if at every opportunity the characters themselves reject the message continually in ways that make no sense, especially when they have a history of stellar characterization and well-thought-out opinions and actions. This movie is a prime example of that.

There are numerous blogs here that have already (rightfully) griped about IWTB, so I won't go into plot nonsense or whatnot. But I DO have interviews that show how roughshod the movie making process was before it even hit theatres, so....

I first heard about IWTB's flaws peripherally through this article (that trashes the Revival, highly recommend. Written by a CC fan, too, so it's not a bash-sesh against the Creator.) It spoke endearingly-ish about IWTB, believing it to be more in-character than the Revival (yup.... unfortunately.) Then I started perusing fan opinions... and everyone pretty much agreed it was awful in most parts and shippy in others.

TBH, shippy doesn't mean squat to me. Maybe it's how I'm wired, but I was drawn to The X-Files because the romance is so unspoken with very light kisses. I 100% get Chris Carter's restraint perspective; but I also get the fans' perspective, that it's gone too far to ignore or take back. An example: the movie sets up a "gasp, really??" mystery that Scully is a doctor with a life separate from Mulder, driving over to him to try to get him involved in the FBI manhunt. It's taken back almost immediately when Mulder later springs up beside her in bed, but it's those little touches that start to confuse the message. And then throw in Scully insisting Mulder join the chase while Gillian Anderson acted her completely opposite to what she was saying and you start to see the mess unravel. Then Mulder tosses aside his loyalty to Scully-- something that is KEY to his character, having formerly left his life's work for her and even left his newborn son when she told him to-- to chase the very monsters she begged him to chase but is now begging him not to. There is no reason given other than "It's who I am", which is NOT who Mulder is: he is a man willing to sacrifice who he is and what makes him tick over and over for Scully's sake. This not only breaks his character in-movie, it nullifies all his actions and choices in the original series, stripping them of their consequences and weight.

The movie, I believe, was supposed to be about Mulder and Scully scrabbling against the Darkness while also lost in confusion: they're together but Scully feels threatened by Agent Whitney, Mulder no's the case before getting wrapped up into it, Scully supports then withdraws her support (and LEAVES??), both rely on the word of a pedophile priest (a similar alliance to Luthor Lee Boggs but creepier and less redeemable... and even Boggs wasn't redeemed), and finally Scully casts aside her doubts to get back in the saddle and save Mulder. It seems a compelling story, no? ...No.

An example of the "confusion" theme of the plot: When Mulder meets up with the other agents to discuss terms (I suppose), the camera briefly pans to random people walking past him in the hallway-- one of them is the actress who played his little sister in the OG series; and the camera makes it a point for Mulder to notice that fact... but so briefly and quickly it never made an impression on him permanently, a.k.a. a seeming callback. BUT when Scully yells at him (before? after? I dunno) about always looking for his sister, this is the scene that was supposed to back her up? In which case: dude, we all saw the Samantha Agent. She did, indeed, look like Samantha; and she had NOTHING to do with this case. The only explanation Scully had for her tasteless remark was that she thought Mulder was full-on delusional or so stubborn he was projecting his own demons onto this case. Y'know... the case he didn't want and only got more involved in to SAVE LIVES. In which case, it doesn't fit with the themes of the movie at all: Mulder was right here, Scully was wrong; but the movie stated that SCULLY was right, or at least half-right, and Mulder was at least half-wrong. It's all nonsense.

The dialogue is atrocious. Absolutely appalling. Which makes sense to an extent: CC and Spotnitz had this movie written out right after the series ended as an attempt to gain back the studio's attention. No such luck; and when FOX was finally interested to make more money, the script notes were accidentally lost; so CC and Frank blitzkrieged up a final draft in just a few weeks (very not good.) This and this article breaks down how Spotnitz (in his own words) watched CC battle FOX from the sidelines for the movie, then scramble with him to complete a draft in time for filming; and it explains (but doesn't justify) the stilted dialogue, horrendous pacing issues, and disjointed theme. To summarize:

""Frank Spotnitz: ...The pressure in television is incredible because you’ve got to keep coming up with another script, another script, another script. The movie was completely different. We started work on the story in 2003, and then got derailed for four years by deal-making and the threat of a lawsuit. Then when we returned to it in 2007, we’d lost our notes.

Lost your notes?

Frank Spotnitz: We’d put them on note cards to pitch the studio, and we couldn’t locate them. At first, we were very unhappy, but it ended up being a blessing in disguise. We remembered what the case was about, but the emotional beats, the personal beats between Mulder and Scully, we had to start from scratch, and we had changed.""

Frank Spotnitz claims it was effortless to get back in their characters' heads; and, while that may be true, it was certainly not effortless to put them down on paper.

The messaging of the movie was so confusing that Mark Snow, the composer, didn't read all of it correctly (which is important for the person composing the score for each scene):

""Now the plot of I Want To Believe has characteristically remained a secret – I don’t suppose you can tell us anything about what we can expect from this film?

Well the interesting part was, when I read the script the first thing I got out of it was deep, dark complexity and I spoke to Chris Carter afterwards and he said ‘what do you think?’, I said ‘man, it’s so complex and dark and mysterious’, and he said ‘and it’s a love story with religious overtones…’ Okay! He said ‘just keep that in mind’ and you know I re-read it and I got what he meant, and then seeing the movie I certainly got what he meant. Besides the Mulder and Scully relationship there are some other very very emotional, intimate if you would, moments there that do add spiritual and religious weight to it....""

This article does well at picking apart the claims (some ludicrous) for and against the movie But, for time's sake, let's skip to the summary of the very sloppy (and downright goofy) climax of the movie:

""The biggest shortcoming may be that the case is solved by both Mulder and Scully independently and simultaneously, and thanks to coincidences on both their behalf. Mulder’s investigative skills lead him to the villain thanks to a simple visit to a local store; stem cell research for organ transplants and for curing Christian allow the two storylines to cross, but Scully having a revelation by finding the villain’s research on the internet through a non-related search draws the odds extremely. There is little actual investigation and the case is wrapped up too quickly. All those are little things — but they pile up to too much.""

Both the actors had "notes" and "questions" (read here) about their characters when they first got the script, with Gillian Anderson admitting how hard it was to find her character (post here)--

""Gillian Anderson: I had a similar experience. This feels so weird. Summertime. I didn’t have all the running around that David had to do, but I did have my own unfortunate beginning which was starting with one of the most difficult scenes for Scully in the film where it’s later on in the script and she goes through a range of emotions in confronting Billy Connolly’s character. I just had a really time for those first couple of days that that scene was. I had a really hard time just finding her, finding her voice. I think I must’ve gone through ten other characters in the process of trying to get to her when I had assumed that I would be able to show up on the first day and it would just be there. It wasn’t until I think day three when we got to work together, not just necessarily in a familiar environment which it really wasn’t, but in the environment of each other and the relationship and that it kind of felt natural and familiar and I felt like I’d landed this time."" --

but it was David Duchovny who was surprisingly the most honest to the press about his (measured) thoughts, as he's usually the most reticent. He always wanted to do a movie series, liking the scope and freedom it would give him with acting and scheduling; but he mentioned, once or twice, that he wished IWTB had been a bigger action film in the vein of FTF. Further, he admits to an interviewer about his thoughts and his (slight) dissatisfaction with Mulder's out-of-character element here:

""Since The X-Files: I Want to Believe may not have been the huge blockbuster that everyone was hoping for, we’d like to know: What is your own measure of success for the movie?

Duchovny: I guess it’s always the first time I see the movie. What’s my feeling when I come out? I always felt like the subject matter of this particular movie was limiting. It was dark, and it wasn’t going....

I’ve only seen it one time, and I was sitting in Chris’ editing room. I watched it on a little screen. I guess I missed the chance to see it on the big screen, and that’s too bad, but when I left that initial screening at Chris’ house, the film was pretty much almost done except for some special effects. I just felt like it was really strong and kind of a strangely moving piece of work. Still dark, and still, I thought, limited, but the way that the movie performed did not surprise me so much, and I think that if we do get a chance to do another one … what I always really liked about the show was that it had a dark vision, but at the heart of it being driven by Mulder was this real optimism or wonder or sense of belief, and then it would kind of open out. Most of the best shows that we did would open out into real wonder at the end, if only because you didn’t have an answer, which was the mystery of it, but the wonder.

Mulder’s quest, to me, is a very positive one. If we get a chance to do another one, I think because in this movie Mulder kept getting reinvigorated, Mulder was in a down place for much of this film; he wasn’t driving the way he drives, the way he drove everything before that. In a way, the nature of how we had to get back into the show, which was to take the guy out of his job, also deprived the movie of some optimism and wonder and enlightenment that occurs when you’ve got this unhinged guy trying to prove wonderful crazy things.""

And while DD defended IWTB's box office failings as having to compete against Batman, one of the previous articles I linked had the savvy to tackle that reason and debunk it:

""The defenders of IWTB will endlessly complain about the budget (but look at what a feast Darren Aronofsky did with $35 million: “The Fountain” (2006)), the fact that it’s low-key ‘intellectual’ and not blockbuster-like (so is “There Will Be Blood” (2007), $25 million, and countless other generally agreed upon masterpieces), the lousy promotion (but look at what good word of mouth can do with a movie few believed in in the beginning: “The Matrix” (1999), $65 million), the unforseen success of “The Dark Knight” as competition (hardly an argument) or trends in selfish cinema critics (as if a bad reception is the sole result of a conspiracy).

However what will remain in history is not the whys and hows but the what: the final product itself. And the truth is that if IWTB featured characters other than Mulder and Scully, this would be a not very memorable movie.""

Needless to say: the entire movie's a mess, and it's down to the roots. While beautiful visually and musically-- all the reviews and cast and crew had nothing to say against that-- the characters and the script and the plot were a horrible mishmash that highlighted its weaknesses and smashed down its strengths.

Thanks for giving me the opportunity to ramble; and sorry if this didn't do what you needed! But you did inspire me to find all the old angry IWTB discussions/posts on Tumblr (archive hopping, heheheh) and put them all in one place. So, look forward to that sometime in the future, I suppose~!

Disclaimers: I do not like canon after S8; and that's only because they get a happy ending and, even though it has garbage canon decisions, the characters were able to save most of it and forget the rest. But I will treat IWTB as its own thing devoid of my personal opinion.

#asks #txf #IWTB #thoughts #thank you for sending an ask!#I wanted to take the time to provide scope and scale #I despiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiise IWTB #because it's beautiful and pretty #and so so broken #it's really only “nice” in the shippy moments #because it's just Mulder and Scully banter #but when the plot kicks in they become weird aliens #analysis #mine #meta

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thecrystalquill · 1 year

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A/N: TCMOY/NA part 4!! A little shorter than the last one but the next should be longer. Don’t forget the intros! And let me know what you think :) happy reading

Masterlist Series Masterlist Series Intro Your Hogwarts First Years’ Letter

Chapter Four ~ Preparation

The party had been even bigger than she had thought. Every relative and family friend had been invited, and all with a plus-one. There was dancing and fancy drinks and a feast enough to feed the entire town; the band played countless songs, and her parents even let her have her first champagne. It was absolutely disgusting, but she drank it. She even managed to make it through her father’s speech, explaining to everyone just how proud he was, without expressively cringing. Overall, it was a good night – as all of their parties were – but come early hours of the morning, (Y/N) still found herself relieved to see their guests out. After an early start to the day, she was so tired that all she wanted to do was crash into her pillows. In fact, she was so tired that she almost slept through lunch the next day. It was a good thing that she remembered to close her curtains.

Now that the party was over, (Y/N) only had a week to get ready for her leave, and her nerves built with each passing day. Currently, Morticia and Wednesday were helping her pack her bags, Wednesday was making and checking lists as her mother made suggestions. “Don’t forget to pack your bat. The one with the barbed wire – never know when you might need it.”

“Of course, Mother,” (Y/N) answered, taking the tool from under her bed and finding a place for it in her case among her other things, a separate one from her clothes case – she had rather a lot of things. She’d packed her spare uniform robes, and plenty of her clothes, her books (there were quite a lot of them), some of her collections, and various other things that may come in handy. Jinxy sat at his place on the windowsill, watching curiously as they shuffled about the room. “Oh! Did we get a cage for Jinxy? You know how he likes to wander off,” she asked while packing some peculiar looking jars and bottles into a trunk, letting Wednesday tick them off, then slip another in.

Her mother nodded, picking out some clothes from the wardrobe and packing them up. “Yes, darling. Lurch dug up the old bat cage, it’s quite small but it will do for your travels.” At that, Jinx’s ears perked up and he paused in the middle of licking his paw, tongue still poking out.

“Why do you have to go so far for so long?” Wednesday whined, picking up ‘The Collective Works of Edgar Allan Poe’ and dropping it on the bed. “How am I supposed to put up with Pugsley on my own? Who am I going to practise my sword skills with? You know he isn’t a good opponent, he doesn’t take it seriously enough,” she complained in a low, bored voice.

“Oh don’t worry, Wednesday,” (Y/N) replied, contemplating whether or not she should pack her crossbow, “I’ll be back for the Christmas holidays, we can catch up then. And I’m sure Father will be more than willing to fill in for me with your fights.” She couldn’t wait to be back for the holidays. “Oh! Catnip!” She exclaimed, then rushed downstairs, likely going to the greenhouse.

“It’s alright, Wednesday,” said her mother as she packed away her daughter’s set of knives, not forgetting the sharpening tools, “she’ll be home before you know it.”

“It’s not like I’m gonna miss her or anything…” Wednesday muttered.

Two days left before she had to leave, and (Y/N) almost felt like crying – which she absolutely refused to do; but she could almost feel like it in private. She was sat on the wall of the graveyard, overlooking the whole area; from this angle she could see the whole of the Addams residence, along with the town, the coast, and the Abbey. It was one of her favourite spots, where she could watch over everything around her like a gargoyle atop a tower.

She had been reading her new textbooks over the last few weeks, studying everything with fascination and daydreaming about when she would get to explore these new topics fully, somehow it eased her worries a little. She had a herbology book open in front of her, letting the wind turn the pages as she focused her attention on her surroundings. She wondered what her time at Hogwarts would be like; would she enjoy her classes? Make some friends? A few enemies maybe? What house would she be put in? Wednesday had showed her some of the family history books from their library; many family members that attended Hogwarts were placed into Slytherin, of course this doesn’t mean to say that there weren’t any in the other houses – the family tree had its fair share of Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and even Hufflepuffs. In fact, Wednesday said that Alexander Addams married a Hufflepuff lady in 1601, having met her when he was visiting from Beaubatons. There were many people in the family that had gone to Beaubatons – with the Addams’ being from Spanish and French descent – and some even attended Durmstrang, it was more of a personal choice where they had gone. (Y/N) wondered if she would have liked to go to Beaubatons, but that was all the way in the Pyrenees, and she didn’t know a whole lot of French (though she did have Latin and Spanish lessons with her father). There were even quite a few people on their Mother’s side that had attended Beaubatons, and even some from Illvermorny, which she found quite fascinating. (Y/N) thought she shared quite a few qualities from all of the houses at Hogwarts, but she supposed she would have to wait; she thought it was quite a shame that her family couldn’t be there for her sorting, why couldn’t they anyway? If it was so important, why couldn’t her loved ones be there? But she supposed it was just another tradition. And it would probably make it harder for her to say goodbye if they were there the whole time, so it was probably for the best.

Looking down to the swamp marsh that circled the back end of the property, (Y/N) stared into the muddy murky waters that gurgled and moved on its own, hoping that Hogwarts would feel like a second home to her in time.

“(Y/N)!” She heard from bellow, squinting in the near-darkness she spotted her brother from half-way across the graveyard, carrying a few explosives in his arms (he’d likely being playing with them before he came out).

“What is it, Pugsley?” She yelled back, still perched on the ten-foot wall as she grabbed her copy of One-Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi and inspected the page on Devil’s Snare.

He grumbled and trudged forward a few more meters, touching every tombstone he passed – an old habit he developed as a toddler. “Grandmama says dinner’s nearly ready, we’re having eye of newt soup tonight, then she said she’ll make squid ink spaghetti tomorrow,” Pugsley explained, knowing that squid ink spaghetti was one of her favourites (she really hoped they made that at Hogwarts).

Hiding a sigh, (Y/N) took one last look across the view before tucking her book under her arm and expertly climbed down the high wall, using the gaps or odd shaped stones to hang onto before jumping down the last three feet. “Okay Pugsley, c’mon then,” she said, wrapping an arm over his shoulders and handing him her textbook to leaf through, “wouldn’t want our soup getting cold, would we?”

Pugsley shook his head as he looked at the illustrations in awe. “(Y/N), when will you teach me to climb the wall?” He asked, looking back to her spot – just being able to make out her name scratched into a stone half-way up.

She shrugged, keeping up her pace to the door. “How about next week?” She slyly suggested, to which Pugsley gladly agreed.

Tag list: Let me know if you want to be tagged

@boyaddams

@too-attached-to-fiction

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@lady-of-lies

@twsssmlmaa

@asadbisexual1

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fortune-fool02 · 1 year

Text

Home

Jason Kolchek x female reader

Summary: After surviving the horrors in Iraq, Jason finally returns home.

Warnings: Fluff

Hey! Thank you for taking the time to read this fic, I played this game once again and am now ready to give love to this man. Please like, reblog and comment as it really helps. Thank you!

The soft ticking of the clock was the only sound that filled the room. The usual bustling streets were silent at this time of night, or more accurately, this time of morning. Sleep evaded [Name] as it had for the past few nights. Worry gnawed away at her, a tight wire straining within her, ready to snap at a moment’s notice. Something that had become common whenever Jason left for his missions. They would call whenever possible, though she didn’t receive anything for the past couple of days; the spark needed to ignite her worry and steal sleep away.

Jason was tough. Headstrong and focused. Just some of the traits that pulled her towards him in the first place. He was safe, wherever he was, he had to be. Shaking her head, she pulled herself out of bed and headed downstairs towards the kitchen in search of a drink, despite her body’s protest. Before she reached the bottom step, she froze. A light slipped past the living room door, falling along the bottom of the step and scaling up the wall. She knew she turned that light off before she went to bed hours ago. Panic quickly clawed up her spine, a flurry of questions hitting her. Was she being robbed? How did they get inside? Could she reach her phone without being noticed?

Taking a calming breath, she tried to quell her rising nerves. She needed to calm down and think. With quiet steps, she tiptoed towards the door, trying to peak through the gap. All sense of panic was snuffed from her in an instant, replaced by a rushing sensation of joy and relief. There, sitting on the couch, was Jason. He was back! She practically threw the door open and rushed to him, unable to contain her excitement, her arms wrapped around him, catching him off-guard. His arms moved, rolling her weight off and over him and pinning her onto the couch, his arm to her throat. “Jason! It’s me, darling.” His eyes focused and he was off her the next second, helping her up as apologises spilled from his mouth. “Shit! Fuck, I’m sorry, love!” In truth, [Name] couldn’t give a damn about that. All that she cared about was that Jason was here, alive and well. Her second attempt to hold him was much more successful as his arms pulled her close, wrapping around her in a warm, aching embrace that both had missed terribly so. Fragments of dust and dirt, the smell of sweat and something old came of him, indicating that he finished whatever his mission was and came straight home without any stops nor anything along the way. Even his clothes were still a bit dirty.

A part of this didn’t feel real. Like this was all some delusion caused by blunt-force trauma to the head. He feared it to be true, and that any moment now he was going to wake up back in that Hellhole, surrounded by those monsters, ready to claw his eyes from his skull. It was supposed to be a sweep for a chemical-weapon silo and it became the furthest thing from it; a nightmare that will haunt him for the rest of his life. Be it by Divine intervention or sheer dumb luck that they had survived that Hell and clawed their way out of its depths, and back to the morning sunlight. The second Jason got back, he got the light on. He couldn’t sit in the dark, not when every little shadow was a shifting wing or distorted jaws reaching out to latch around his throat, to drag him back there. He was still struggling to keep his hands from shaking despite his best efforts. But now, that didn’t matter. He was home. Just as he had promised [Name] before he left.

[Name]’s lips found his, pulling him into a loving kiss. His lips felt just as soft as she remembered. The warmth of his body more than anything the sun could offer. The sense of security, of protection, his embrace gave her ensured no harm would ever befall her, not while he still had breath in his lungs and blood in his body. With a smile, she pulled back, her hands moving up to gentle caress his cheeks; her forehead resting against his. “I was starting to think something happened.” She confessed, gazing into his eyes. Something wasn’t right though. His soft eyes held this look to them, this sharpness that was not there before. A blackness forced over something deeper, trying to conceal it, to bury it deep down into a forgotten corner. It somewhat reminded her of the stories she was told as a child. The stories of men who claimed to have seen the Devil himself. “Jason? What happened out there?” Concern painted her face, her voice quivering with worry. Her touch on him like a Summer’s morning. Jason simply smiled and held her hand in place, nuzzling into her touch. His body weighed down by a heavy exhaustion that filled every muscle. “... nothin’ to worry ‘bout, love.”

#jason kolchek #house of ashes #jason kolchek x reader #house of ashes x reader #house of ashes jason #the dark pictures anthology #the dark picture anthology #the dark pictures #the dark pictures house of ashes #the dark pictures anthology x reader

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try-set-me-on-fire · 1 year

Note

you mentioned you were writing a proposal fic. is that still happening? i loved the preview you posted!

I am! That one’s going to be longer and I’ll probably finish and post it while the shows on break! Here’s another little scene from it for you, though…

The sticky pads holding the heart monitor sensors to his chest itch. Buck lays in bed staring balefully up at the ceiling and tapping his chest with his fingertips around the nodes, trying to relieve the feeling. Not only does it not work but he also starts to worry that maybe impacts could be jostling the sensors enough to mess with the readings, so he rolls over (gently) to grab the notepad he’s supposed to writing down the “time and severity of any sensations of discomfort or pain, or any irregular heartbeat or palpitation” in and sheepishly writes “maybe itched chest too much, 4:32 pm.” He rolls to his back again. He wishes he could google how to stop itching without actually itching, but his cell phone is in a drawer in the kitchen next to the microwave, which he is not allowed near.

“Ugh,” he says, petulantly, to no one.

Except not no one, because Christopher chooses that moment to make his way through the bedroom door, arms laden with school work. He hands the stack to Buck wordlessly, who holds it above his chest while Chris walks to the other side of the bed and crawls in to sit against the headboard. He holds his hands out and Buck gives the pile back.

“You need help with homework?” Buck asks, passing over the pencil he’d just been writing with.

“It’s math, Buck,” Chris says, making a face. “You can’t help.”

“Ok, rude.”

Chris doesn’t dignify him with a response, getting right to work. His serious little face makes Buck smile. His forehead crinkles when he concentrates, just like Eddie’s does. Buck lays there, listening to the scratch of Christopher’s pencil and watching him breathe. He wonders what his heart monitor is reading from him now. Can it hear the way Buck’s heart swells up like a balloon every time he sees this kid? Should he write that down? 4:43 pm, loved Chris Diaz. Except that is always true, at any time, an overwhelming and constant state of being. Maybe they should have put the monitor on Christopher instead, Buck’s heart outside his body.

Chris glances down at Buck occasionally as he works. His eyeline is aimed at Buck’s chest so he doesn’t think he’s aware of Buck’s study of him. The line of his mouth gets tight each time it happens, a worried little grimace. 4:55, heartbreak. Buck reaches out and wraps his fingers around Chris’s ankle.

“Hey, bud,” Buck says softly, jostling his leg a little. “I’m ok, you know that, right? This looks scary,” he gestures to the wires coming off him, “But it’s just for a longer check up than they have time for at the doctor’s.”

Chris chews on his lip for a moment before responding. “What if they find something wrong?”

Buck holds on tighter. “You and your dad are taking such good care of me already. I’m doing good, and Dr. {name} doesn’t think she’ll find anything unexpected, but if she does and I need a little extra help I know I’m in good hands.”

Chris looks all over his face, examining him in the way his father sometimes does, and then rests his hand on Buck’s chest, careful not to nudge any of the tape. “We’ll help you, Buck,” Chris says, breaking out in a mischievous smile. “We’re even learning to make mac and cheese from Bobby.”

Buck throws his head back in a laugh. “Aw, no! What will you even need me for?”

“We’ll always need you, Buck.” 4:59, emotionally obliterated by a 12 year old. “Dad burns it every time.

Buck laughs again as Chris grins and gets back to work. His hand stays on Buck’s chest, and Buck doesn’t let go of his ankle.

#wip #my writing #it’s also lightning strike recovery fic #its also buck learns the power of self respect fic #its also dispatcher buck fic eventually #proposal fic

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69bitterbeingz · 5 months

Text

IF YOU'RE GONNA BE DUMB || CH. 1

next ->

DISCLAIMER: This is a reupload from my prev account! best to follow the fic through ao3 [linked below] to avoid any future issues PAIRINGS - johnny knoxville, bam margera, steve-o, chris pontius, ryan dunn x reader WARNINGS - swearing, drinking, smoking, brief injury mention

ao3 version

“So what are you doing at the moment?”

“What am I doing…” You repeated, twirling your cigarette between your fingers, clicking your tongue. “Things, y’know. Stuff.”

“Stuff?”

You chuckled. " Yeah, stuff. Guy’s gotta have secrets.”

“Any new music?”

“Well….” You dragged your tongue over your top teeth, then smoked your cig. “…You didn’t hear it from me but we may or may not be working on a new album.”

“Exciting! Fans have been getting pretty restless - after all, it’s been a year since the last album.”

“C’mon, one year really isn’t that long to wait for an album. Want it to be shit?” You took another drag.

“Any details? Release date?”

“Nah, can’t say. Maybe we have some exciting collabs lined up but my lips are sealed.”

“Alright, alright, point taken. Moving on to new appearance, you’ve recently been featured on the new season of MTV's hottest new show—“

You cackled, immediately catching on.

“So what’s the story with you and the ‘Jackass’ daredevils?”

You shook your head, grinning from ear to ear, “Where do I start?”

“How about the beginning?”

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Curtains drawn, lights dead, total darkness in the room; sun tried to bleed through thick fabric, but it was blocked, only able to illuminate the window sill. The room was silent aside from the whir of a desk fan set up on a chair by the double bed, jaggedly inching from side to side, over and over. The floor was littered with clothes, shoes, wires, it goes on. Clearly the inhabitant was a fan of clutter. Everything remained still, until a loud beeping cut through the stagnation. The duvet stirred, and an arm snaked out from under it to clumsily smack the buttons of the wired phone on the bedside table.

Click

“[Y/n] ? Didn’t think you’d be awake.”

“Then why’d’ya call…?”

“ I was going to leave a message. ”

“Mmm…” The duvet stirred again, a head now peaking out from the nest; your eyes were barely open a crack, even the low light of the room hurt. “...For the record, I wasn’t awake. How’s it going, Valo?”

“ Tired, but exciting all things considered. That’s why I called, actually.”

“Oh yeah…?”

“ Mhm, doing a concert in LA tonight, you should come to the show. Been a while since I’ve seen you. ”

“What’s the venue?”

“ A place called ‘The Wiltern’? Have you heard of it?”

“Yeah yeah, done a few shows there myself. I’m game.”

“ Great! I don’t suppose Mila and Dan want to come…?”

“Nah, rest of the band is out of town.”

“ Ok, I’ll see you tonight then.”

Click

Fuck. You should’ve asked when it was. Reluctantly, you pushed off the duvet and pulled up the swivel chair to your desk, powering on the computer. Not difficult to figure it out. You scratched your arm as you waited for the dial-up to stop screeching, glancing at the time on the toolbar and cringing slightly. 3:49pm'. Eh, at least you’re consistent. Looks like the concert started at 7, so you had time, too. That’s good, the last few times you made last minute plans you had about 20 minutes to prepare, but b y the time 7:30 rolled around, you were as ready as you could be, sleep still dusting the corners of your eyes. You were dressed as you normally would, a little on the goth-y side with tripp pants and all, but that's expected from a metal musician. Tripp pants are the shit , don’t need a handbag when you have like 8 fucking pockets. You made the rounds of the house, making sure everything was locked while you rang for a cab; once you hung up, you noticed the text you’d been sent from Valo.

‘See you soon’

It was kinda a pain in the ass having to go outside, but it would be worth it.

There was already a large crowd forming as you pulled up to the venue, making you instinctively sink down into the car seat. At least the cab driver knew to roll around to the back so you wouldn’t have to deal with the large crowd, or god forbid people recognising you. You slunk out of the car as quick as you could, only needing to show the security guarding the back door your face for them to let you through. Another security guard waiting inside led you to the green room, making small talk since you recognised him from one of the previous shows you did here.

“Warm up’s on stage right now, you got about half an hour ‘til the band goes on.” He let you know as you arrived, and you just nodded. Granted you're a little late, but you’d make up for lost time at the bar after. Mr security guard swung open the door, and once Valo saw you he got up to greet you.

“[Y/n], so good to see you!” The two of you hugged, ending with a pat on his back.

“Wouldn’t miss it, Ville. Nice to get out the house.” You said hi to the other band members, until you came to somebody you didn’t recognise. Or- well, not consciously at least, as something about him was oddly familiar. He stared back as you raised an eyebrow, shoving your hands in your pockets.

“Heya stranger.”

“Ah, [Y/n]–” Ville took a seat next to the outsider, gesturing to him. “This is Bam, he's with the warm up band.”

“How come you’re not on stage?” You flanked Bam on his other side, and he shook his head.

“It's my brother's band.”

You hummed, scrutinising him. “You sure that’s all you’re known for? Swear I’ve seen you somewhere…”

He smirked, leaning his arms on his thighs. “You ever watch MTV?”

Then it clicked - that’s where you’ve seen him.

“Ohh, you're on that new show where all the idiots hurt themselves, right? I've seen that, pretty decent for torture porn.” You snickered, satisfied you put it together with his help. He made a face, like he wasn’t sure if he should be smug you recognised him or insulted you called him an idiot.

“Idiot?” He repeated, looking unimpressed; offended it was. You shrugged awkwardly.

“I say as an idiot myself.”

Surprisingly, the two of you continued to talk after that small blunder. It wasn’t long before Ville and his band had to leave, but you were strangely unbothered by carrying on a conversation with a guy you had just met. The warm up band filtered in then left for some pub, empty bottles started to add and add to the coffee table, and soon you were talking like you’d known each other all your lives, braying like donkeys - it's incredible what alcohol can do as a social lubricant. He was a bit of a self absorbed asshole, but hey, who wasn’t? He was fun to talk to and right now that’s all you really cared about. By the time Ville came back, the two of you were very obviously 6 beers deep each. Ville chuckled.

“Good to see the two of you getting along...?”

That was one way of putting it. Bam had his arms tangled around you, drunkenly dragging you into his lap as you cackled and knocked back another beer, ungracefully thrown over his thighs.

“Where were you hiding this one, huh?” Bam slurred, tightening his hold on your waist for emphasis and making you squeak. The vocalist smiled, waltzing over to the couch and grabbing a beer for himself.

“I didn’t think you were her type.”

“Huh?”

But you cut Bam off with a choked back snort, slinging your arm around his neck to hoist yourself up.

“ Come off it Valo, you don't know shit.” You finished your beer in one last gulp and threw it on the floor, breaking free from Bam to stretch your limbs. “You guys’re done here, yeah? How’s about a pub, eh?”

“Speakin’ my language.” Bam’s grin met his eyes. Ville had a look on his face like this would be a disaster of a night, but lord knew he was all in.

It seemed Ville’s intuition was correct. The night consisted of crashing into clubs then getting subsequently kicked out, charging through the streets to find the next poor place to take you all in. Maybe it was how obviously trashed you all were or your tendency to get pissy at the bouncers when they gave you an ‘attitude’ - who knows, who cares? You were all too busy painting LA red. The entire time, you were hanging off of Bam’s shoulder like a lovesick teenager, which might have been embarrassing if he wasn't returning that energy, hugging you close to his side like his life depended on it. The debauchery ended outside some seedy metal bar you’d never come back to as the sun peeked over the horizon, more sober and definitely more bloodied than when you started. There was just you and Bam left, sat next to each other sharing your cigarettes. The dry blood on your hands and face contrasted nicely with the all black [torn] clothes.

“Cab’s comin’.” You said, shutting your flip phone and fiddling with the charms hanging off of it. “You sure you don’t want me to order you one?”

“I know someone lives near here… just crash at their place.”

You nodded, lighting another cigarette and offering him the last from the pack. Bam gladly took it, lighting his end by yours. He kept glancing over at you, eyeliner smudged over his cheekbones blending into the black eye that was starting to form; he seemed like he wanted something.

“Hey.”

You glanced up at him, cigarette hanging from your lips. Bam motioned for your phone, and without question you handed it over.

“Lemme give you my number.”

“Sure.” You shrugged, a slight smile on your lips. “Gotta say, you made this night worth getting out of bed.” That seemed to please his ego, a smug grin on his face as he finished punching in his number.

“Glad to hear that, sweetheart. I had a good time with you.”

“Yea, hopefully it doesn’t end here, y’know?”

He took a drag of his cigarette. “I’m filming here for another couple months before I go back to Philly… come see me on set.”

“Really? They won’t mind some random chick joining in?”

“Fuck them, I want you to come. You’ll make things more fun.”

You scoffed, stamping out your cig and playfully shoving his shoulder. To any bystander, it may have even looked bashful. “Watch it.” But you were smiling playfully. “Alright, text me the office address, or… wherever the fuck you end up. Got nothing better to do right now, so I’ll be there.” You were so occupied by Bam’s wide smile that you didn’t notice the taxi pull up to the two of you until the driver yelled your name. With a sigh, you slapped your hand onto his shoulder in a farewell gesture and rose to your feet, trying to ignore whatever the fuck you had done to your leg. You were too tired to look back as you opened the taxi door.

“I’ll see you round, Margera.”

#jackass fanfic #jackass x reader #johnny knoxville x reader #bam margera x reader #steve o x reader #chris pontius x reader #ryan dunn x reader #if you're gonna be dumb

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dumbfuck-mojave · 2 years

Text

Number 47

Prompt 47 from this list, chosen by @goodguydxll. He also came up with the lasagna aspect :)))

Franchise: The Evil Dead

Pairings: Ash Williams x Reader

Also Featured: No one, just two people eating in a trailer.

Warnings: Food, some angsty stuff from Ash but it’s hurt/comfort so it’s cool. Reader definitely feels more midwestern in this one than any of my previous fics.

A/N: I’m so SO happy with how this turned out I’m crying I love him so much. This was actually supposed to be done sooner, but I got caught up in writing a Stranger Things fic for another blogs follower celebration! I have an old Ash fic planned, but this is still pre-AVED Ash! I hope everyone enjoys, I love writing for him.

Word Count: 1,432

@f1nalboys @horrorstolemyheart @skeletonsinthebasement @goodguydxll @early20sfailingplenty and @cerebellam (I really love your Ash series and thought this might interest you!)

My other Ash fic!

Support me here!

“I’m about to knock your socks off with this lasagna, baby.” Ash proclaimed, taking a broad step into the trailer as he skipped the untrustworthy wire steps entirely.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Ashley,” You quip back, stepping in behind him and swinging the door shut, “Or rather, I taste it.”

“Good one.” He replies, setting the grocery bags he was carrying down on the counter and reaching over to turn on his poor excuse for an oven, a horrendous tick and snap sounding through the open room.

You and Ash had met about a month and a half ago. He had, (much to your embarrassment), walked into your place of work while you were in the middle of an argument with your shift partner for that day. You had closed thirty minutes prior, but in your rage you had forgotten to turn off the open sign and lock the door. So, Ash had sauntered right in just as you were about to open-hand slap your coworker for taking all your tips, and the rest was history.

It was an interesting experience watching Ash cook. You were nestled into the crook of the couch, chin in hand, while he methodically moved throughout the preparation process. You would have thought someone of Ash’s personality would be a disaster in the kitchen, but no. Aside from a few spots of garlic and a few lines of sprinkled parmesan cheese, he was getting through the recipe swiftly and neatly. You guess years of living alone helps you learn a few life skills.

“What is it?”

“What?” You snap out of your daze and refocus your eyes to see Ash smirking at you, a cracked eggshell in his hand.

“Why do you keep staring at me with that look?”

You lean forward a bit, straightening up, “What, am I not allowed to look at you?”

“I don’t know, are you? Did I ever say you could?”

“Oh, Jeez Louise,” You huff in mock annoyance, making your way towards the door, “Fine, I guess if I’m not allowed to look at you I’ll just be off then.”

“Woah woah woah, I didn’t say you had to leave,” Ash chuckled, wrapping his arms around you from behind. You cautiously eyed the eggshell still in his hand, “I got some movies earlier, yeah? Why don’t you go pick a few for us to watch while we wait for everything to heat up, I just have a few more things to do here.”

“Alright.” You sigh, giggling slightly when he presses a kiss to your neck. Serious or not, you can’t stay mad at Ashley Williams.

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

“This movie sucks!” You exclaim, falling back onto the sofa bed as you point your finger at the box television across from you, grabbing the remote with your other hand, “You know, I was holding out hope it would get better, but I guess it was in vain. Ugh, at least it’s almost over.”

“Well, some good news for you, food’s done!” Ash said, leaning back to see you clearly. You smile at him, a warmth blooming inside your chest.

“That’s great news, my stomach has been growling for the past 10 minutes.” You pause, mulling over what you wanted to say next.

“You know….despite the awful movie choice, this is really nice. The best night I’ve had in awhile.”

“Yeah?” Ash walked into the room carrying a tray stacked with drinks and two plates of lasagna, gently putting them down on the side table as he crawls back into bed with you.

“Yeah,” You reply, leaning into his side when he holds his arm out to wrap around you, “I…really like you Ash.”

It’s too early to say love, especially with him.

Ash smiles down at you, nudging his nose into your forehead.

“Well gorgeous, I really like you too.”

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

“So? Am I going to eat my words about how good my cooking skills are or what?” Ash simpered, looking over at you as you all but cried over your plate of lasagna.

“Ash, I don’t even know what to say. Really, this is fucking delicious.” You praise back at him while taking another bite. He had moved across from you at some point, and both of you had taken to playfully kicking at each other's legs while you chatted.

“Well, I’ll give my compliments to the chef,” Ash looks around, grinning before turning back to you, “Oh wait, he’s me!”

You couldn’t hold back laughter at that, loud and wheezing as you held a hand up to your chest in a futile effort to control your breathing. Ash’s chocolate eyes softened as you fanned yourself.

“Jeez Ash, what are you trying to do to me? Ope-” You bark out, feeling your wrist come down on your plate accidentally and almost tip it over. There wasn’t much left on it besides a few scraps, regardless.

“Do you want me to take that? If you’re done?” Ash offered, holding his hand out while simultaneously inching towards the edge of the bed. You obliged him, handing him your plate and watching him walk towards the trash can. There was a newfound tension in his shoulders, one which you noticed as you sipped down the last of your drink.

“Ash, are you okay?” You question softly as he returns, back on your side this time. He sighed, rubbing his non-prosthetic hand over his face before shaking his head a little, as if clearing it.

“I’m just…trying to figure out my thoughts.”

“Take your time, I’m here for you, okay?” You hum, rubbing your hand over his shoulder.

The next few minutes pass by in silence until Ash’s baritone voice raises up once more.

“Bear with me, because I think this is going to be a jumbled mess of thoughts. I know…I know I haven’t told you a lot about me but, ah, things have-things have happened to me. Awful things, things that keep me up at night. Things that don’t let me get close to people. Which sucks because I want to. I want to get close to people, I’m so tired of sleeping around and changing towns. I just want to be able to rest. To rest and know someone is there that has my back, someone I can talk to, go to get groceries with, all that domestic stuff. I want to think I’m getting there, but everytime I make progress I just…move four steps back. I’m Ash Williams, for Pete’s sake! It’s a name… equal to failure.”

“Ash, you’re not a failure. You’re right, I don’t know what you went through. But you know what? You’re alive, that’s not failure. Living is never failure, no matter how you feel. It doesn’t matter how much progress you think you don’t make, other people can see it. I can see it. I’m with you, until the end. As long as you’ll have me, I’m here. I want to do all those things with you, if you’ll let me. You’re a good person, Ash.”

“Well, we already got the grocery thing down,”Ash attempts to chuckle, but it just comes out as another sigh, “I want to be good for you.”

“You are, don’t you see that? You’re the best thing that could ever have happened to me,” You go silent, looking at the floor in front of you, “Stand up.”

Ash looks at you, confused, “What?”

“Just do it.”

Ash does, and you quickly follow after him. You stand close together, two bodies swaying in the dim light of the trailer.

Gently, you lean in and press a slow kiss to Ash’s lips, which he reciprocates. Kisses aren’t new. What is new, however, is the lung emptying hug you pull him into, arms wrapping around him so tight he thought you might cut off his circulation. Ash stumbles a bit but regains his balance, scrambling for a moment before reciprocating the hug as well, melting into your embrace. You can feel tears against the bare skin of your neck, which only makes you hug tighter.

“This is why I wanted you to stand up,” You state, words muffled by his shoulder, “Easier access.”

Ash laughs, and this time it has actual sound to it.

“You could have just said that instead of being all weird and mysterious.” Ash wriggles against you, and you loosen your grip just enough so he can pull away and look at your face.

He leans in for another kiss.

“I love you.” He mumbles against your lips.

Okay, maybe it isn’t too early.

“I love you too.”

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luccettis · 3 months

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chapter three - april

The New Year and spring came fast. Wayne got his cast taken off another month after the conversation with Terrence about what his plan would be. They settled on Wayne getting a Greyhound ticket to Boston, since Brockton is about 30 minutes away. Terrence even promised Wayne to give him a 200$ Visa gift card so he could get food, clothes and pay the taxi fare to get to Brockton. He told him he was a good kid and just needed to be set on a good path. Their therapy sessions often were sitting in silence or meaningless small talk. Stuff about Wayne’s dad, or his brother before he left. His mom. Del. He gave Torrence a very abridged version of what happened that summer. To Torrence, it was progress. To Wayne, it was wasting time.

With his cast off, Wayne tried to be careful. He still did ‘weight training’ which was more about him getting to balance out his strength than the actual weight training. Initially, he dropped everything he picked up. It was frustrating and annoying. The keyword was tried – within that few weeks of the cast being off, he caused fights every couple of days. It drove the staff and officers crazy, that this one boy could cause riots. But the strangest thing happened after a while of all the fights, bruises, bleeds - weeks, weeks of prying people away from one another, and no one being able to piss without being babysat - everything was suddenly peaceful. Despite Wayne being the harbinger of violence, it was like everyone sang a song of harmony.

It was so out of place. Even new boys to cell block D behaved. It wasn’t like they all clamored around Wayne, but no one picked on each other anymore. The adults were bewildered. As each month passed, a plan bigger than all the juvenile hall’s staff could imagine. They were planning on a jailbreak. Things had gone missing over the course of time - July / August to now April. Pillow cases, socks, cutlery. But not missing in large increments. Nothing to trigger alarm bells. Wayne wasn’t necessarily the facilitator but he was a participant. He paid attention to times and shifts of rotations for the officers. His hearing went well - Torrence speaking highly of Wayne. But still, the severity of what he did, he was supposed to stay in until July. That did not work for Wayne. Being here this long already was Hell. Not a day went by where he didn’t think about Del Luccetti.

The plan was April 15th, it would be jailbreak day. Boys who preferred juvie over going back out to the real world would be the ones to incite one big riot. Someone would steal a set of keys from their counselor, and paperclips to make lock picks for the fire alarms. All hands would be on deck, and left a skeleton crew to watch the rest of the boys. Wayne had pillowcases to help him climb over the fence, and not get cut up by the barbed wire while he scaled it in his jumpsuit. He wasn’t going to get the 200$ Visa card to help him through, or the bus ticket to Boston. But nothing was going to stop him. He was just looking for a final sign to go forth in jumping in the jail break.

⛓𓌹*♰*𓌺⛓

The day before. April 14th. His routine. Up. Bed. Breakfast. Up to therapy with Torrence.

“No fights, collaboration with your peers…you’re doing fantastic, Wayne.” Terrence looks over his notes. Wayne is busy otherwise, looking for things to take. Truthfully, he would feel guilty stealing from him. This man had been nothing but patient. He said such nice things at the review hearing. He fiddles with the small envelope in his hand. He wrote it during individual time - a thank you. Thank you for saying such nice things about me, for me. He was looking for a reason, some final flag to tell him to stay or go.

“Thank you.”

“So do your peers. We’re all really impressed with how everyone is doing and getting along.”

“Yeah.”

“Really, Wayne. You’ve really turned things around. I’m proud of you. Even though we don’t always talk fully during these visits, I am fond of them. That being said…I recommended to the court that you’re done early. Later this year is too long for us to keep you.”

Wayne’s eyes darted from a picture on the wall to Terrence. “What?”

“I recommend you to be released by the end of May at the most.”

The end of May. Still too late to not see Del.

“Really?”

“Yes. I figured our sessions coming up could be us doing maintenance and preparing for transition. You have so much potential, and this won’t be the be all, end all for you, Mr. McCullough.” He felt bad. All of this work. He still needed a sign. “You have a strong sense of justice. You have it within you to do what’s right. And that’s very admirable, Wayne.”

Wayne picks his head up. “What’d ya mean?”

Terrence gave him a warm smile. “You have a very justice forward personality. You protect people who need your help. When you leave here Wayne, do what’s right. I know you will.”

That was it. That was his sign. Wayne juts his hand out with the letter.

“Here.”

“What’s this?” His counselor tilts his head and takes the envelope. It’s addressed to Mr. Brown. “Thank you Wayne.”

“Wait uh. To read it.”

“Why?”

“It’s important.” The best thing was that Terrence respected his clients and their wishes.

“How long would you like me to wait - rather, what day should I read it?” He tilts his head.

“I dunno. Friday. Not today.” Then, Wayne would be gone. He would understand. He told Wayne to do what was right.

“Till Friday, then.” He leans back in his chair, and places it so it leans against a framed wedding photo. “It’s your hour. What would you like to do?”

“Listen to music.”

So, that’s what they did. Terrence and Wayne sat in silence as they blasted Wayne’s preferred music artist out of the shitty desk speakers on his desk. One worked on stuff at his desk, typing up notes and filing papers while the other bobbed his head almost violently to the tracks. Tomorrow was the day he would get out, and get straight to Del.

⛓𓌹*♰*𓌺⛓

The morning of April 15th was the same as the day before, and every other morning. The first half of the day was the same, but group activity. Group activity is when the fun started. Through breakfast and lunch, everyone exchanged knowing glances and acknowledgement of commitment to the plan. Ten minutes after lunch ended, 6 of the 20 boys in cell block D started a fight. Although inflicting physical pain on one another, they promise their concentrated blows on their torsos and backs. It was more painful for the officers to manhandle them in trying to get them to stop. Another 3 pulled 3 different fire alarms with one of the keys they stole, and bent up paper clips that they made work for lock picks.

The alarms blaring, combined with the kicking, screaming and yelling was Hell on Earth for everyone’s ears. For the remaining 13 boys - they bum rushed whatever skeleton crew was left to manage them. They wrapped their arms in sheets and pillowcases, tucking fabric around their necks and faces to scale the barbed wire fence with ease. As Wayne sprinted his way out, approaching it, a gut pang hit him the minute his fingers wrapped around the metal links. He was scared somehow he would break his arm again. In awe of his own feats, he pulled himself up the barrier and climbed over, the worry of his arm still being weak subsiding. The other boys - Christian and Jesus included - hooted and hollered as they ran as fast as they could. Wayne attempted to follow, but had more of a plan than the others did.

Every time he was outside, he looked for hiding spots. Bushes, leafy trees. Of course officers would look under cars, or catch them jay running across the street for their freedom. Sirens rang as people were discharged. Ocala police sped up and down the street, and a loud sound like a tornado siren came from the juvenile hall, signaling lockdown. Some of his peers didn’t get very far - tackled on the hot Florida asphalt in the middle of traffic. Wayne hauled ass behind buildings and alleyways for about five blocks, nonstop. It stung when he rapidly inhaled and exhaled to bring oxygen to his lungs. The closest, ambiguous hiding spot was flinging himself behind a shitty wedding chapel. He jumps inside of the green dumpster, and the top closes as he collapses on top of some stained wedding dresses. Panting, he tries to catch his breath and closes his eyes.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins, pumping his blood through his body what felt like twice as fast. He felt lightheaded as he collapses back against the metal behind him. It smelled sickeningly sweet inside of this dumpster. Like someone poured champagne and cake in the garbage - rotting icing and sour booze. He scrunched his nose. He looks down at the shredded pillowcases stained with droplets of blood. They were in tatters. He touched around his face, thin cuts with little blood. He sighs. His lungs hurt, and he runs a hand through his hair - his scalp moist with sweat. He doesn’t really know how long he had fallen asleep for - when he wakes up again, he’s sweaty and scrambles to push open the plastic swinging top. It was still light out, but he wanted to kick himself. Walking out of the alleyway, he looked for the time. He looks all around for something to signify what time it was - anything. He passes by an antique store, and looks through the window. A large display of clocks, all in sync.

4:15 P.M. On 4/15. Next to it was a bus stop - with little shelter and a small metal stool. He looks at the route map that’s contained behind a large piece of plexiglass. He scours it for the bus stop, or a Greyhound stop. Identifying it and streets, he begins to walk. Eyes frantically analyzing each sign - he walks, and walks, and walks. The adrenaline high has crashed, and he can’t feel his feet. He rotates between walking and running, but it doesn’t feel like he’s making progress. The sun says goodbye, and the moon rises. The air is cooler. He unbuttons the top of the jumpsuit and ties it around his waist. Underneath was a white t-shirt now soaked with sweat. The bus station came into view. It was well lit, and busy with departing and arriving buses. He snuck his way in, and shuffled to a security desk.

“Where’s lost and found?”

The barely conscious security guard sits up - inhaling mid-snore, answering on command, as if he already had the answer loaded in. “Behind here, lad.” His overwhelming Irish accent catches Wayne off guard. He moves around the desk and the man, and gets on his knees to dig through the cubbies.

“What’re ya lookin for?” The man asks, not bothering to look behind him.

“Uh, stuff. M-My stuff.” Wayne blurts. Godamn beacon of truth. Wayne sifts through the lost belongings for a pair of worn Vans that looked like they were supposed to be beige, a pair of torn jeans his size if not a size bigger, and a t-shirt with some forest on it and a grey hoodie. He wonders where his clothes will go back at the juvie. He missed his green overcoat. He listens to the man behind him drift into sleep again. Wayne’s eyes darted around for the time again. It was already 7. He groaned, and dug towards the bottom of the cubbies for wallets. No one carries cash anymore. He found about 50$, which was fine. He slinks away from the desk and to the bathroom.

He discarded the awful, suffocating jumpsuit. He stuffs it into the garbage bin, and takes soap and paper towels and soaks it with water. He washes up under his arms and around his neck. He looks at himself in the mirror. The scar on his nose. The scabs from the most recent cuts. He looked down at his feet - since he didn’t put the shoes on yet. He lifted his legs, and let the water run over his feet in the sink basin. Some men walked in and out of the bathroom, looking at him for a minute but didn’t pay any mind. He pulled on the socks, and the shoes. He shuffles out, and looks for the desk to buy a bus ticket.

He approaches the desk.

“How can I help you, young man?”

He taps his fingers nervously, setting the money on the counter.

“I need a ticket to Boston.”

The woman looks down, and she looks displeased.

“Baby, you need 250$ dollars to get to Boston.”

Wayne’s face went pale.

“What?”

“It’s 250$ dollars.”

Wayne grimaces. “Why’s it cost so much?”

Her earrings jingled as she looked at her computer. “They’re FlixBuses.”

“I don’t know what that is?”

“They play movies while you drive.”

“I don’t want no movies. I wanna get to Boston.”

“I don’t have any other buses until next Tuesday, honey.”

Her demeanor was kind, but almost pitiful. Wayne looked like a sad dog left in the rain. He looks down at the cash. “I’m sorry, baby. I’d make a miracle if I could.” She looks and scans through her computer. There really weren’t any cheaper rates. Wayne sniffles, and takes the cash back. She looks around and leans over the counter. Her hair was streaked with grey, and her tight ringlets frame her face, and her little glasses holders swing as she looks at him.

“There ain’t no other way?” He rests his fists against the counter.

“At 9 o’clock, Jedidiah will be drivin’ out to Boston.” She looks back at her computer. “He close to retirin’.” Her voice has a southern drawl to it. He wonders where she’s from. “He don’t care who get on that bus. He’ll be in row.. 9, spot 3. Get on that bus and go, okay baby boy?”

He looks around, like it’s a joke.

“I mean it. For real.” She holds a hand out and rests it on Wayne’s fist, gently squeezing it. “Get to where you need to be. You look like you on a mission to go somewhere.”

“Thank you.” He mumbles, and she lets him go and waves him off.

“Next!”

He sits down on a wooden bench, surrounded by all kinds of people. People in suits and nice clothes, or lounge clothes. Homeless people, clutching their jackets tight as they watched the red LED clock. It was 8:30 now. He had another half hour before he could leave. How long did a bus to Boston even take? Were they gonna stop places? He hugs his knees, and waits.

When 9 rolls around, he jumps as fast as he can to get into the parking lot. He snatches a used bus ticket out of the trash to at least look believable. He runs out to the parking lot, and runs up the steps of the bus identified by the nice woman he spoke to earlier. The man looked tired, annoyed. He looked close to retirement. He groans in welcoming everyone on board, and doesn’t bother checking their tickets. He holds onto the one he had anyway.

Boston to Ocala. What a coincidence.

He sits down, and jumps - pin stuck in his leg. He lifts his left leg and pulls out the sharp object, and a rubber backing. It was a green four leaf clover pin. He cradles it in his hand, and looks out the dark window - the lights of the city trying to sleep shone through. He looks around the bus. Everyone was so vastly different, going to Boston - or maybe would get off on those stops along the way. A man in a suit sits down next to Wayne.

“D’you know how long this bus ride is?”

The man with his combed over blonde hair looks at Wayne, then to his own ticket.

“Doesn’t it say?” He nods to the paper in Wayne’s hands. Wayne covers up the reversed departure and arrival locations.

48 hours. Two days.

“I believe we have 3 stops along the way, if I’m not mistaken.” The man holds up his own ticket. “Yeah, a few cities. They’ll be brief. It must be your first time.”

“Yeah.”

“It’ll be fine. Get up and stretch during those stops. Sitting here for hours is bad for your legs.”

“Thanks.” Wayne nods, and rests his head against the window. The man nods, and goes back to reading some papers he settled in with a briefcase. The bus groaned as the man pulled the gear into drive and exited the Greyhound parking lot. Goodbye Ocala, Florida. Behind Wayne was the pain of saying goodbye to a mom who he knew now was better without him, and the last thing his dad could leave him. Behind him was the life before, and now things would be different. Things would be different when he got to Boston and reuinited with Del.

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